An unusual commute

Morning commutes to work are usually a rather boring endeavor. For most people, it’s just another part of a daily routine. Some view it as a time to amp up and mentally prepare for a day at work.

My daily commute from Central Phoenix to Glendale is just that. However, when I do break out of my sleep-deprived morning brain fog during the drive, it can be rudely awakening to observe my surroundings. I pass six strip clubs and at least three trailer park communities, all in a depressed, industrial-looking part of western Phoenix. Despite the less-than-aesthetic surroundings, it helps remind me why I choose to teach in the under-served community that I do. During my recent trip to Peru, I took an even more insightful commute to a school community that I don’t think I could’ve ever imagined.

Toward the end of my trip to Peru, we were near the capital, Lima. We stayed in Miraflores, a well-to-do suburb of the capital. I traveled with a group of American teachers, and part of our trip involved a school visit to a school community about an hour south of Miraflores.

We boarded an over-sized, air-conditioned bus to ensure our comfort during the drive. As we pulled away from our hotel, our tour guide announced that the average income in Miraflores was approximately $5,000 U.S. That may not sound like much to the average American, but in Peruvian terms, this neighborhood was a haven for Peru’s elite — families here could afford to send their children to national universities and lived in mansions overlooking the Pacific Ocean. And then our tour guide mentioned one of the more staggering statistics I’ve come across lately — “For every two minutes we drive, the average family income decreases by $200 (U.S.).”

When I first arrived in Phoenix, I found the city’s layout strange. Driving up Central Ave., I could pass one of Sen. John McCain’s seven or so houses and some of Phoenix’s more elite properties. Go less than three miles west, and drivers are in a low-income neighborhood filled with run-down houses and trailers. Continue heading further west, and drivers pass a hodgepodge of neighborhoods, many of “average” income, and many more with varying degrees of wealth.

But to drive south of Miraflores and watch the neighborhoods’ average income drop so rapidly was a stark realization. I looked out the bus window as the average family income slipped away with every passing mile. Mansions became modest houses; modest houses became dilapidated; dilapidated houses turned into shacks with tin roofs. We had been transported from the bustling Peruvian capital to a vast, empty desert with sand dunes dotting the distance. Our bus driver pulled off to the side of the highway and we got off the bus. It was hard to not be taken aback by our surroundings. Sprawling communities full of shacks surrounded us. I’m sure I was not the only traveler to wonder how so many people lived in the middle of a windy desert with no running water. We took a short jaunt across a bridge over the highway, and noticed a group of smiling women. They quickly greeted us with “Buenas dias” and even a few hugs. One woman opened a heavy iron door. As soon as we stepped over the threshold, applause erupted. About 150 kids were standing in organized lines nearly jumping up and down with excitement — school had let out hours ago and although they were told to go home (the students don’t get lunch at school and hadn’t eaten since breakfast), all of the students were too excited to leave. They had waited hours to greet our group of 16 American teachers and show us their classrooms.

Like the surrounding community, the school buildings and classrooms were rustic. Class sizes were smaller; no class had more than 20 students. Students aged 3 to 14 attended this school. As we met the teachers, they proudly displayed their students’ work, and, funny enough, students’ parents’ work. School supplies were so limited in this school that the teachers depended on families to save a part of their meager income and use that to buy or make usable school supplies. Looking at the supplies from the 5-year-olds’ classroom, I could tell those parents had spent hours making manipulatives and small books for the children to use.

When I look around my classroom, all of my materials are store bought. I have some student work on display, but by and large, everything I have was provided to me by my school district, which, in turn, is supplied by tax dollars. In Peru, a much smaller portion of government expenditures is put toward education. Government dollars that do go toward education are given to schools ravaged by earthquakes, for example, that have classrooms and buildings that are barely standing. This school and community was making do with what it had.

And, even more impressively, they were doing so with extreme pride and humility. It was not out of the ordinary to the families that their classrooms were seemingly bare and lacking many resources that teachers here take for granted. Everyone there was working hard to ensure his or her children got the best education possible. If that meant taking a fairly significant part of a family’s weekly earnings, then so be it.

As I walked around the campus, I was humbled and amazed. At one point, the school’s principal expressed her concern that they didn’t have a computer lab. Once the 14-year-olds “graduated” from this school, they went to a bigger junior high much further away. Once they started there, they were at a huge disadvantage, given they had little experience with computers. When our group asked what and how we could help, she suggested helping their school set up a computer lab. Students at the school (including the students in the 3-year-old classroom) would walk to the local Internet Café owned by one of the school’s parents. However, the owner still charged students one sol (about $.30 U.S.) for an hour, and not all of the students could afford this. On the day students were to go to the Internet Café, those who didn’t bring money stayed behind. Those who did have the money walked the equivalent of several city blocks dangerously close to the highway. On one trip, a stray dog bit a student. The principal was hoping that money donated to the school could help solve this problem.

This story struck me for many reasons. First, the teachers, parents, and principal seemed unfazed by this situation. Their bigger concern was the fact their students weren’t getting the computer experience they needed to succeed. Many Americans, including myself, often get upset about the apparent lack of importance of education here in the U.S. While Peruvians do value education, the funding for it is much more limited. The Internet Café story here would be an outrage; there, it was an unfortunate situation that could hopefully be solved with some financial help from others.

After several hours of tours and a question-and-answer session, the principal asked for donations. It may sound crass to you as a reader, but it really was an honest, forthright request. Shipping computers and related supplies to Peru would be extremely costly (not to mention risky, as the school not only lacked a mailing address but the packages stand the high chance of being searched and confiscated), but giving financial support in cash or money order would be helpful.

I chose to donate to the school. Even though my donation was relatively small to me monetarily, I felt such a great sense of gratitude from the school’s faculty and parents. One of the many reasons I love traveling is that I meet new people and learn more about their day-to-day lives. Traveling abroad always makes me realize how well-off and even spoiled we are here in the U.S. To us, it seems that many others around the world have so little. But many of the happiest and most generous people I’ve ever met live outside the U.S. Not only was this a powerful school visit as a teacher, but an important lesson as a traveling American.

How much money do you spend a week on coffee at Starbucks? On a drink at a bar? On renting a movie? When I look at my personal spending habits, I could save enough for a used computer within a couple of months if I were to forgo a few drinks here and there. Now think how much five old computers would cost. Better yet, maybe you have an old computer you could donate. Regardless, if we united and donated, we could make a world of a difference to this school.

If you are interested in donating, the money would go through Global Exploration for Educators, the group I traveled with. Send an email to janetnester@yahoo.com with any questions or specific details about donating.