Compound.

It really hit me today (the whoa moment I have been waiting for) when I visited a community school in a shanty compound on the outskirts of Lusaka. Just imagine a dilapidated two-room building, formerly a government school, seven teachers, and 800 children, almost half of them orphans. There are no water and sanitation facilities aside from one public pit latrine. Five years ago, the government school closed as the marketplace encroached, but an unofficial community school soon took its place. Many of the children are likely those of the women in the market. The teachers are seeking to relocated, but the proposed new school will be 7 km away. A new school will no doubt provide a more suitable educational environment, but there will probably always be the demand for some kind of school directly for the children in the market.

I think what I did not expect was the density of the compound. It is almost impossible to walk beside someone through the maze of alleys. Houses and little shops occupy every available space. I felt obnoxiously clean in my white shirt. For me, the short stroll with a few of the teachers contextualised what it means to be vulnerable and how the factors of poverty amplify one’s vulnerability. I am not sure if I will ever grasp what it would be like to live in these circumstances. How and where people get water? How do you stay healthy? Safe? How many of people will be able to improve their situations? Will it ever be possible to meet basic needs? The solutions to meet the needs of children in the compound (whom I think are all vulnerable) includes education, but needs to involve those who can address the living conditions in the compound.