04249
May 25, 2004

Big-game safari

For African children in need of learning, the stakes couldn’t be higher

by Alexa Smith

      Sherri Auld was still rolling the jumbo dice. She took four steps, stopped and read the square on which she’d landed: “Your classroom wall has collapsed. Go back two spaces.”

      Scott Smith, his sock-clad toes peeping out from the bottoms of his khakis, tumbled the dice and read out loud: “Because you didn’t have study books, you could not prepare well for your test. You failed.”

      It’s one step forward, two steps back. Or three. Or four.

      The “she” Hardison was quoting was Christi Boyd, a Presbyterian Church (USA) mission worker who helped create this calamity-laden, human-sized game board to illustrate how hard it is for African children to stay in school. Boyd and the game’s co-creator, her husband, Jeff, serve the PC(USA) in Cameroon, where they live with their three children.

      Dice pretty well symbolize the gamble that getting through school is for most African kids, where even nominal fees are too much for most parents to pay.

      And even if tuition is paid, other daily obstacles rear their ugly heads to stop or delay education. There’s malaria: You can’t go to school sick. Or the grass roof of the village schoolhouse collapses. Or school has to be canceled because rain is pouring through holes in the roof. Or you’re a girl, and your parents can’t afford to send all of their children to school, so they only send the boys. Or you fail the entrance exam for secondary school, despite years of hard work.

      It’s a crapshoot, plain and simple.

      The Africa Game comes in three sizes. This gigantic version will be rolled out at the General Assembly and Youth Triennium, this summer’s two biggest denominational events.

      A smaller model is being shipped to each presbytery resource center, thanks to a $5,000 donation from The Outreach Foundation of the Presbyterian Church (USA), an evangelistic group that raises money to support global mission, often including education. In this version, the game pieces are small photographs of African kids.    

      “We hope the game will help Presbyterians understand the challenges that our partners face in Africa as they seek to educate their children, youth and leaders.”

      Jeff Boyd, standing next to the mat, handed the dice to the next player. She rolled to see what the future held. A 1 would mean that she could start first grade; a 2 would also be good: It would mean her parents could afford to send her to pre-school. Three also would be lucky, meaning her parents could get her into a church school with a good reputation for discipline and teaching.

      A 4, 5 or 6 would put her out before she started: There’s no money for school fees, period.

      Doug Welch, the PC(USA)’s liaison to Central and West Africa, stood by, watching. “This is a way to help people understand the role that education plays in people’s lives in Africa,” he said. “It’s a way to help Presbyterians in the United States understand that this is really the way it is. ... It’s the perfect subject to address, and this is the perfect way to address it.”

      When the Boyds began touring U.S. churches years ago, The Africa Game wasn’t nearly as snazzy. The first board was flannel. The tiny photos were stuck in place with Velcro.   

      That was before Vennie Constant, a conference planner in the Worldwide Ministries Division (WMD), got wind of the project and decided to spruce it up.  

      Even in the old days, Christi Boyd said, North American players were immediately struck by two things — the gender bias (girls seldom keep pace with boys because they’re needed at home, to care for smaller children or a sick mother, or they unexpectedly get pregnant); and the irrelevance of winning.

      While Boyd was speaking, the Rev. Marian McClure, the WMD director, lolled along the far side of the mat, reading: “Your teacher did not come to today. He must work in his field to feed his family. Move back a space.”

      McClure shook her head and asked whether it would be possible to make a second mat like this one, so that two huge maps could be available on a rotating basis to presbyteries and congregations, to reinforce Presbyterians’ long commitment to education abroad.

      Stepping back from the board, Jeff Boyd tried to sum up how tough it is, even for church schools, to survive financially in Africa. In Cameroon, churches educate about 25 percent of the children in school; in Congo, the figure is 65 percent. But parents are still required to pay tuition, even though there is little money.

      Church budgets are too strained to pick up the academic tab or to pay teachers well. Scholarships are rare. Many denominations don’t have enough money to pay their pastors on time. Teachers take on second jobs to supplement their monthly salary of $10 to $20.       

      Just then, Kate Hartman – who’d been working her way around the mat -- landed on the last square and lifted her arms over her head in an impromptu victory dance while reading: “You, your family and community have worked hard, persevered and succeeded. You have earned a place at the university. Congratulations.”

      Smith, needing a 2 to land on the final square, instead rolled a 5. As far as he was concerned, he was finished. He headed for the edge of the mat, looking for his shoes.

      Boyd told him it was a good thing he wasn’t playing with the Africa-savvy Boyd children. They’d enforce the exact-finish rule, and make him risk rolling a 1: “Your father died. You must quit school, look for a job and care for your family.”

      “In that case,” he said, “you’d have to drop out.”