The Respected Science and Technology Teacher
I, Mayor Ikima, came to a Junior High School here in Makurdi with a heart full of shea butter – hope. As a man raised by the Benue, science and technology were like the mighty rivers that flowed through our land – powerful and ever-changing. I wanted to share that wonder with these young minds, but respect, especially from these city children, wasn't guaranteed.
The first day, I walked in with my worn copy of "Elementary Physics" under my arm. The classroom buzzed like a startled beehive. I started with a folktale, a story passed down from my grandfather about the trickster Tortoise who used fire (chemistry!) to outwit the mighty Elephant. Their eyes widened. Science wasn't just textbooks, it was woven into the fabric of our lives!
Next, I brought in yams from my own farm. We talked about how to store them using the right technology (ventilation!), preventing rot, just like how our ancestors used knowledge to survive. The students, many from farming families, saw the real-world connection. Their questions flowed like the rain after the harmattan – "Why do yams sprout?", "Can we grow them faster?".
For technology class, I used old radios from the marketplace. We took them apart, piece by piece, like deconstructing a folktale. The students, used to sleek phones, were fascinated. We built simple circuits, using copper wire from discarded coils as our bridge to the modern world. They learned the magic behind the very tools they used every day.
Slowly, the respect bloomed. Even the toughest boys, known for causing trouble, were tinkering with wires, their faces alight with discovery. The teachers, initially skeptical of my unorthodox methods, saw the spark I ignited. They started incorporating local examples into their lessons – the mathematics behind our marketplace bargaining, the history of iron smelting techniques used by our ancestors.
One day, during the annual cultural festival, my students presented a project. They built a solar phone charger using recycled materials! The whole school was buzzing. The old principal, a man with a beard as white as guinea corn, approached me. "Uncle Mayor," he said, his voice thick with pride, "you've shown them that science and technology aren't foreign things. They're part of our story, our Tiv story."
Now, when I walk the halls, I'm not just a teacher. I'm Mayor, the man who brought science and technology alive, who showed them the connection between the wisdom of our ancestors and the future they could build. The respect and, I dare say, love, is a gift more precious than any harvest. It's the sound of the Benue flowing strong, carrying the knowledge of generations forward.
The first day, I walked in with my worn copy of "Elementary Physics" under my arm. The classroom buzzed like a startled beehive. I started with a folktale, a story passed down from my grandfather about the trickster Tortoise who used fire (chemistry!) to outwit the mighty Elephant. Their eyes widened. Science wasn't just textbooks, it was woven into the fabric of our lives!
Next, I brought in yams from my own farm. We talked about how to store them using the right technology (ventilation!), preventing rot, just like how our ancestors used knowledge to survive. The students, many from farming families, saw the real-world connection. Their questions flowed like the rain after the harmattan – "Why do yams sprout?", "Can we grow them faster?".
For technology class, I used old radios from the marketplace. We took them apart, piece by piece, like deconstructing a folktale. The students, used to sleek phones, were fascinated. We built simple circuits, using copper wire from discarded coils as our bridge to the modern world. They learned the magic behind the very tools they used every day.
Slowly, the respect bloomed. Even the toughest boys, known for causing trouble, were tinkering with wires, their faces alight with discovery. The teachers, initially skeptical of my unorthodox methods, saw the spark I ignited. They started incorporating local examples into their lessons – the mathematics behind our marketplace bargaining, the history of iron smelting techniques used by our ancestors.
One day, during the annual cultural festival, my students presented a project. They built a solar phone charger using recycled materials! The whole school was buzzing. The old principal, a man with a beard as white as guinea corn, approached me. "Uncle Mayor," he said, his voice thick with pride, "you've shown them that science and technology aren't foreign things. They're part of our story, our Tiv story."
Now, when I walk the halls, I'm not just a teacher. I'm Mayor, the man who brought science and technology alive, who showed them the connection between the wisdom of our ancestors and the future they could build. The respect and, I dare say, love, is a gift more precious than any harvest. It's the sound of the Benue flowing strong, carrying the knowledge of generations forward.
