The Desk Graveyard

Behind one of the schools I work at is a desk graveyard. After years of torture and abuse from young children the desks silently die. Their remains, often simple metal frames their wooden tops long since expired, are tossed haphazardly behind the classrooms where I assume they will spend the rest of eternity.

I look at the voluminous stack of metal and see clutter. There is not a waste disposal system in the village, save burning trash, thus the result is a multitude of trash in every location. In my new corner of the world broken pieces of glass are just as common as rocks. In my opinion, we need a school beautification plan.

If I were to implement a school clean up plan what would be the result? Inevitably, a few situations would occur:

1. The girls would do all the work. The boys would play. This is what often happens in this culture. Do I want to give even more work to the females?

2. Once we collect a mountain of trash what will we do with it? Burn it? Is it better to release those toxic fumes that plastics and other materials will give off?

3. A lot of the waste is glass. Some learner is going to get hurt when dealing with the glass. Do I want to be responsible for sending a six year old to the clinic to get stitches?

Perhaps this problem of clutter is part of this engrained mental image of what constitutes beauty in the world. I see broken glass on the ground. Perhaps the children see buried treasure. I see plastic bags littering the area. The seven year old sees the outer covering for his soccer ball. Much of my “junk” is another person’s entertainment. Maybe the problem is my thinking, not theirs.

As I contemplate the trash issue children are swarming the desk graveyard. The stacked metal frames provide the only play equipment available to the children. A little boy has made it to the top and smiles in triumph. He is the picture of accomplishment and endurance: king of the jungle gym. Other children follow his lead and attempt to master his feat. He alone is the one who has defied natural odds: a fight against height and unsteadiness.

In all my focus on beauty, I have lost my inner child. Am I to be the one responsible for dashing that boy’s sense of accomplishment by tearing down his “mountain” to clean my “junk?”