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Schooldays at Chalimbana

"I will finish school." 

Her grandmother may worry, but Catherine allows no room for doubt.

When she is thinking of an answer to a question, Catherine will tap one index finger against her lips. After she has gathered her thoughts, she smiles before she responds, a smile that begins at her eyes before it envelops her entire face. It is a smile that easily elicits one in return.

Catherine has a plan.

"I'm good in mathematics, so I'm going to be an accountant. Then I can take care of my grandmother, my sister and my brothers."

Catherine is fortunate to be able to attend school. Worldwide, 55 million girls are not in school. That's why one of the eight Millennium Development Goals emphasizes primary education, especially for girls. Four years ago, in part with funds saved from debt relief initiatives, Zambia was able to institute free primary schooling for all children. But parents or families must still pay for uniforms and books, an amount beyond the reach of many families.

And they must allow their girls to go.

The "girl-child," as girls are called in many parts of Africa, has responsibilities at home that often impede her opportunity to get an education. It is usually the girl's job to bring water back to the home from the nearest water source. For many girls, this means walking one hour or more, each way, to fill buckets with water for the family to use to drink, cook, and clean (themselves, their dishes and clothing). She must do this every single day.

Catherine is very lucky in this regard. A borehole—a pump attached to a clean, safe water supply deep in the earth—has been installed near her home. She and Bernadette also gather the water every day, but it is only a 10-minute walk each way for them. They balance the large buckets on their small heads. Nine-year-old Bernadette can do this while wearing wedge heel sandals, without spilling a drop. So this responsibility does not interfere with their classes and these girls can go to school. 

 They leave their home around 6 a.m. every morning, Catherine making sure that Bernadette does not dawdle. After an hour of walking, they reach Chalimbana Public School, which serves 1,732 students in grades 1 through 9.

School may be free, but teachers are in short supply. There are 64 students to one teacher in Catherine's Grade 7 class. Overcrowding is even greater for the younger grades. In Bernadette's Grade 3 class, one teacher handles 85 students.  Kids sit four to a desk, sharing one book in a stuffy classroom.

"Teachers are trained, but schools like ours don't have the money to pay them," says Chalimbana's headmaster, Joseph Longwani.  He knows the family stories of many of his students, stopping to ask one girl, 12-year-old Samantha, how her grandmother is doing.

"She's an AIDS orphan. She lost her parents at age seven. More than 50 percent of our students are orphans. Some have lost one parent. Most have lost both of them."

Mr. Longwani, the teachers and staff at Chalimbana try to do what they can for their students. Healthcare workers visit to distribute anti-malarial and de-worming medication and iron pills, and to administer vaccinations. But the school's basic facilities cannot meet all the needs of the children.

"See that cistern?" Mr. Longwani points to a large holding container situated high on a tower at the edge of the school. It leaks precious water.

"We get our water from a nearby college [secondary school]. We only have access to it for one hour in the morning. It's gone by the time the afternoon students arrive. Then they will have nothing to drink, nothing to flush the toilets with. And some days it doesn't work at all."

For all his efforts, Mr. Longwani knows his students face many battles. Like any educator, he wants them to lead his country into the future. But these students have yet to catch up to present times.

"The world is changing. Our children don't know what a computer looks like. Some of our teachers have never worked on a computer. Even once we've educated them, these children will be starting over again from scratch when they leave us, if they're even lucky enough to go on for more schooling."

He is working to catch them up. He shows off a locked, newly constructed shed. Long shelves are built into the perimeters of the classroom. There are electrical outlets (not yet live) every few feet apart. Mr. Longwani is trying to secure used computers from donors in England. They have collected nine so far, and he's hoping that British Airways can be persuaded to ship them to Lusaka for free. Right now, with its layer of sawdust and the darkened overhead lights, the room looks like an empty promise.

Grade 7 is a turning point for young girls all over the world, and especially for Catherine. This is the final year that she will have no school fees. If her grandmother can find the money, Catherine can continue at Chalimbana until she completes Grade 9. After that, things look even more uncertain.

While there are 67 primary schools in the Chongwe district, there is only one secondary school. Each year, students must compete for only 70 spots to enter Grade 10. Most do not even attempt the task.

But Catherine believes it will be different for her. She has her plan, and that accounting career ahead of her. So every day, she walks an hour back home with Bernadette. They bring in the water, and then Catherine prepares dinner for her family. After they eat together, sitting outside her grandmother's hut on a straw mat, Catherine retreats to the hut she shares with Bernadette and the aunts, to do her homework by candlelight, when there is money to buy candles. The firelight flickers off her face, her brow scrunched in concentration, one finger tapping against her lips. 

Catherine's story continues with: Why Development Assistance Matters