The Challenge
Sep. 29th, 2013 11:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootThe Challenge teaches young people worthwhile skills...The Challenge helps young people develop confidence and entrepeneurial expertise...my challenge was to read the email properly. I failed.Thanks to the power of skim reading, instead of clipping some hedges for a reasonable fee this weekend, I found myself faced with 120 teenagers tripping over their hair extensions in a wood.
Admittedly, it was only 60 each day, but I am no teacher by temperament, and if I was, a mob of 16/17 year olds, all bigger than me, all dedicated solely to getting laid and getting out would not be my target group of choice.
The idea was that they were all divided into smaller groups, and these groups would each be given a task of environmental impact on a woodland site. The site was managed by a lovely and capable lady with an understanding of conservation and teenagers, unlike the majority of the team leaders who were basically vehicles for thoroughly masticating gum. They were silent or they shouted; either way they were ignored, hence my sudden promotion to Pointer of the Way, as opposed to occasional safety guide.
Saturday's task: Cutting back the branches of the willow woven dome, or weaving them into the lattice design of the structure.
'So let me get this right,' Asks Precious* 'Are we basically basket weaving?'
'Yes.' I say, without mercy; at this point, I would give a lot to be basket weaving somewhere far away. In despair they start chopping. To my astonishment, they all burst into song together, some rubbish piece of pop, but they get the rhythm going and they're very good.The dome gets well pruned.
Sunday, it's a new group, but I'm still trapped at the willow dome. This next task is about turning the dome into a safe space where kids can roam, so basically they are cutting more of the willow, cutting back the blackthorn and uprooting the nettles. I find myself facing the blank mystery of an entire group who, no joking, can only guess what a nettle looks like. The first casualties come to me with woeful faces.
'It really hurts, Miss,' someone says. I check for symptoms, no-one is swelling up, though terror at seeing the traditional white bumps of nettle rash spreads fast among the population; clearly the zombie apocalypse is upon us. I rub their wrists with dock leaves and tell them to come to me if symptoms change at all.
The big lads don't want to do any of it; I tell them about the dangers of blackthorn - 'Black Widow,' according to their team leader - and they turn into hero lumberjacks. They're happy...right up til the moment they are reminded they have to turn the tree chunks into logs for the fire. At this point, they wistfully ask for a sledgehammer.
A pair of secateurs breaks; a clever boy who always smiles picks the blade up and starts to whittle a piece of wood to a sharp point. I hold out my hand and wait, while everyone shouts at him to give the blade to me. He does eventually. It all feels very odd.
The strangest thing was hearing myself called 'Miss' and being asked for permission to go to the toilet; I was so surprised I just stared at the student for a moment. 'Yes, of course,' I said. She spread her arms expressively. 'Where?' gesturing at the woodland around us with gentle disdain. 'There are four toilets back at the main house,' I said, 'If you decide to use a bush, hide well; no baring your arse to passing children.' She stared at me and disappeared among the trees in her quest to find a more elegant world.
'Miss, do mushrooms actually do anything?' says another girl, wrinkling her nose at huge and slimy fungi oozing out of an old dead log. 'Yes,' I answer, 'They help break up rotting stuff,some of them absorb nutrients from trees and they filter other kinds of nutrients back to the tree out of the soil. So they help trees develop and grow more efficiently.'
'A symbiotic relationship,' says one of the lumberjacks, smiling.
'I'm glad they got some use, cos they're so nasty, wouldn't make sense if they didn't do nothin. Miss, do I have to stand at the fire? It's gonna make my weave smell of smoke...'
I have met some amazing people this weekend, vibrant, honest,strong, intelligent - and they succeeded too; the willow dome looks much better. But exhaustion is seeping through my bones, and I have realised something. Teaching this lot would either keep you young forever, or age you in a matter of weeks.
Time for Methuselina to hit the sack.
* It's her name.
Admittedly, it was only 60 each day, but I am no teacher by temperament, and if I was, a mob of 16/17 year olds, all bigger than me, all dedicated solely to getting laid and getting out would not be my target group of choice.
The idea was that they were all divided into smaller groups, and these groups would each be given a task of environmental impact on a woodland site. The site was managed by a lovely and capable lady with an understanding of conservation and teenagers, unlike the majority of the team leaders who were basically vehicles for thoroughly masticating gum. They were silent or they shouted; either way they were ignored, hence my sudden promotion to Pointer of the Way, as opposed to occasional safety guide.
Saturday's task: Cutting back the branches of the willow woven dome, or weaving them into the lattice design of the structure.
'So let me get this right,' Asks Precious* 'Are we basically basket weaving?'
'Yes.' I say, without mercy; at this point, I would give a lot to be basket weaving somewhere far away. In despair they start chopping. To my astonishment, they all burst into song together, some rubbish piece of pop, but they get the rhythm going and they're very good.The dome gets well pruned.
Sunday, it's a new group, but I'm still trapped at the willow dome. This next task is about turning the dome into a safe space where kids can roam, so basically they are cutting more of the willow, cutting back the blackthorn and uprooting the nettles. I find myself facing the blank mystery of an entire group who, no joking, can only guess what a nettle looks like. The first casualties come to me with woeful faces.
'It really hurts, Miss,' someone says. I check for symptoms, no-one is swelling up, though terror at seeing the traditional white bumps of nettle rash spreads fast among the population; clearly the zombie apocalypse is upon us. I rub their wrists with dock leaves and tell them to come to me if symptoms change at all.
The big lads don't want to do any of it; I tell them about the dangers of blackthorn - 'Black Widow,' according to their team leader - and they turn into hero lumberjacks. They're happy...right up til the moment they are reminded they have to turn the tree chunks into logs for the fire. At this point, they wistfully ask for a sledgehammer.
A pair of secateurs breaks; a clever boy who always smiles picks the blade up and starts to whittle a piece of wood to a sharp point. I hold out my hand and wait, while everyone shouts at him to give the blade to me. He does eventually. It all feels very odd.
The strangest thing was hearing myself called 'Miss' and being asked for permission to go to the toilet; I was so surprised I just stared at the student for a moment. 'Yes, of course,' I said. She spread her arms expressively. 'Where?' gesturing at the woodland around us with gentle disdain. 'There are four toilets back at the main house,' I said, 'If you decide to use a bush, hide well; no baring your arse to passing children.' She stared at me and disappeared among the trees in her quest to find a more elegant world.
'Miss, do mushrooms actually do anything?' says another girl, wrinkling her nose at huge and slimy fungi oozing out of an old dead log. 'Yes,' I answer, 'They help break up rotting stuff,some of them absorb nutrients from trees and they filter other kinds of nutrients back to the tree out of the soil. So they help trees develop and grow more efficiently.'
'A symbiotic relationship,' says one of the lumberjacks, smiling.
'I'm glad they got some use, cos they're so nasty, wouldn't make sense if they didn't do nothin. Miss, do I have to stand at the fire? It's gonna make my weave smell of smoke...'
I have met some amazing people this weekend, vibrant, honest,strong, intelligent - and they succeeded too; the willow dome looks much better. But exhaustion is seeping through my bones, and I have realised something. Teaching this lot would either keep you young forever, or age you in a matter of weeks.
Time for Methuselina to hit the sack.
* It's her name.
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no subject
Date: 2013-09-30 08:39 pm (UTC)Incidentally, I saw this - http://www.freedomfromtorture.org/document/publication/5758 - and thought it might interest you.
no subject
Date: 2013-09-30 09:40 pm (UTC)My interest in creating this kind of charity stalled, due to the requirement of trustees to refund any losses made; the group urging me to set one up never made that clear. But I may well make contact with this group. Thank you so much!
no subject
Date: 2013-10-01 05:57 pm (UTC)