Gathered around the flagpole at Eric Zinnah Elementary School, the students appear distracted as they sing the national anthem. Donning their mint and brown uniforms, their eyes follow me, the white man, instead of being fixed on the Liberian flag. Every morning, the students, pre-school to grade six, assemble in the courtyard and sing hymns, pledge the flag, and recite Liberia's national anthem. A teacher greets the students and the crowd replies in unison, "Good Morning Mister Morris. How are you today?" The teacher says the day's announcements before the student body disbands and each student migrates to his or her classroom. A teacher stands at the door, switch in hand, to remind those that linger where they should go.
The classrooms are rudimentary. The walls are made of earthen bricks stacked between mortar. The windows are nothing more than vacancies where the blocks were not placed to allow a meager amount of light into the classroom. For the pre-school, and kindergarten classes, the four walls make a box, about the size of a small dorm room (five yards by six yards), and 50-plus students pile in and sit shoulder to shoulder on wooden benches. Notebooks in lap, a lefty knocks elbows with a righty as they dutifully copy their lessons from the chalkboard. First through sixth grades share one long room; a chalkboard amid rows of benches, partitions one class from another. The difference is striking from that of an elementary school that I recently visited in the US. There I was in a climate-controlled classroom where each student had his or her own desk, books, and supplies.
I am invited here by Ambrose, the principal and founder of Eric Zinnah School, founded in 1998. He brags that he wanted to give the children a place to study despite the conflicts that plagued Liberia throughout the 1990's and early 2000's. The school's motto is: The children will see the light. His invitation isn't purely altruistic, as few invitations in Liberia are. As one of the poorest countries in the world, most live in extreme poverty (less than $1 a day) and are still working to rebuild their livelihoods after civil strife has wrecked infrastructure and stolen economic opportunities. Most enticing offers will eventually reveal a hidden agenda. Ambrose's invitation to visit his school is no exception. He wants me to link my world with his; he wants a sponsor. Eric Zinnah is not a government school nor funded by a religious institution. It is funded by significant yet paltry fees from caring parents that want to see their kids receive a solid education.
With an optimistic look in his eyes, Ambrose shows me an area where he hopes to build an auditorium. I make no promises about sponsors; however, I tell him that I will share the story of his school.
