Teaching a Man Who Knows Much
Written by Abdelkader Hamouchi
I can't remember when the idea of doing something, anything, to help with my villagers' well being first struck my mind. In truth, the prospect of having an impact on my surrounding had nagged my conscience more times than a thousand. Yet, how to get this wish was neither easy nor obvious. So, on a summer's evening I seated myself on a chair that lingered in what could pass for a veranda. I put up my forearm and set a thumb under my chin and a forefinger against my temple in the attitude of a thinker. I pondered; and since nothing grew out of my pensiveness I shifted my business to the contemplation of my fingers.
It occurred to me all of a sudden that Afak Association was a venue where I could be useful. So I rushed there with a strained mind, thinking of teaching and the trouble that might attend it. On arriving, I looked searchingly, then walked up to the secretary's desk, 'excuse me!' said I, looking levelly at her. 'Could I see the association's president?' I demanded; 'the president did you say?' she repeated and glanced at me above her glasses. 'Come on,' she added, rose and preceded me to his office. The president bent on his desk and sipped mint tea when I walked in. With great composure he lay down a cup, looked up at me and smiled in greeting; then he pointed to a plain chair on the opposite side of the desk and I sat down. 'Well,' said I, 'my wish is to teach Classical Arabic, if you think this may concern illiterate villagers'. He nodded his agreement, chuckled and gently patted the arm of his chair. 'Oh, that sounds very interesting,' So, he listened intently as I delineated my plan, the fact which culminated in a warm, encouraging handshake. 'Oh, it's kind of you,' said he, 'your enthusiasm shows in your eyes.' He went on after a thought, 'we'll make necessary preparations for the operation.' 'Thank you so much,' said I, 'thank you.' 'To start right,' he promised, 'we'll put up an announcement on the notice board and launch a campaign for adults' literacy.' I was satisfied.
In the hope to cater for my subjects I found myself running after old men and women, explaining to them that my intention was to fight illiteracy. In view of my acquaintance with the so called Moha, a man who prided himself on knowing much from experience, I went straight to him like an arrow. We talked over my enterprise and he agreed with a sigh, but not without arguing against the feasibility of teaching people who have witnessed the reign of three kings. 'You can't teach old apes new tricks,' said he with a chuckle. In another moment he looked up at me, grinned, narrowed his eyes, contorted his face and said, 'Son! We fought colonialists and crickets.' He paused allowing the words to take effect; 'Now, what is it you want to fight?' added he.
The next day, men and women swarmed into my classroom whose size didn't suit the purpose. Moha looked sideways and mumbled, 'We're in a pot!'
At first they showed some apathy to attend my lessons: at times Moha, like some others, groaned at my explanation; in other times they rose to walk out; yet this didn't deter me in the least from making preparations and proceeding to the instillation of things into their brains. Bearing on my vocation as a teacher, I thought the use of a stick, ruler or something alike to point to items on the blackboard, picture or map, would never fail me; yet I realized afterwards that it's not always the case. When I wrote the alphabet on the board, I asked my students to repeat after me while indicating each letter with my pointer. Things went well and gave me the same satisfaction as a parent who discharged the responsibilities and pressing demands of life might feel.
As we went through the letters, however, I pointed again to the first one with my stick and asked one of the men to say what it was. 'It's a stick,' said he with a sense of confidence. Silence composed everybody's nerves; a touch of sorrow tinged with nervousness possessed my heart, and I immediately I spared my pointer. Then I pointed to the letter with my finger hoping to direct the man's attention to the item in focus. I tried in vain. 'It's a finger!' answered the man, to my surprise, with a tone giving the impression that it was beyond question.
© Abdelkader Hamouchi
