Reaching the Taiyebat al-Ism School, six kilometers south of the city of Al-Qubbah, is not an easy task. A bumpy ride through the desert with several stops to ask villagers the way leads only to a windy asphalt road, at the end of which there are containers scattered about; these containers are actually where the children go to class.
Aqila Saleh, the principal of Taiyebat Al-Ism School, cheerfully greets visitors with the traditional warmth and hospitality of desert inhabitants.
Reaching the Taiyebat al-Ism School, six kilometers south of the city of Al-Qubbah, is not an easy task. A bumpy ride through the desert with several stops to ask villagers the way leads only to a windy asphalt road, at the end of which there are containers scattered about; these containers are actually where the children go to class.
Aqila Saleh, the principal of Taiyebat Al-Ism School, cheerfully greets visitors with the traditional warmth and hospitality of desert inhabitants.
Saleh’s office is a small, metal-roofed room with an iron file cabinet packed with teacher and pupil files and school archives; first aids kit lay in the corner. On an old wooden table stands a small sports cup, which Saleh explains that his staff won at a competition organized by ‘Derna’ Municipality in eastern Libya.
About his school Saleh describes the educational level as “distinctive” compared to others, but he speaks of poor conditions. “There are no toilets, there is no school yard or playground, other than the rickety containers themselves,” he says, “and the weather is chilly, where temperatures drop to five degrees Celsius in winter. All we have are pupils sitting on desks.”
Saleh claims that he has written to the Al-Qubbah Education Department and its local council, requesting they provide a few classrooms, a laboratory and a toilet, but to no avail.
Do-it-yourself repairs
Near the principal’s office, the teachers share a small room where breakfast dishes sit alongside half a bag of cement and a paint brush – remnants of a modest repair project that had been carried out by the teachers themselves.
One teacher complains that rainwater drips through the roof and speaks about the serious risks of the cold weather for small children. Her colleague expresses surprise that such a school still exists in a country like Libya. “Nothing has changed since the revolution; things are the same,” she says in a sharp tone.
A lavatory was recently built. It has a tin roof, and the smell of fresh cement fills the place. It could be confused for a solitary confinement cell, if it were not for the unfinished window, pending government allocations. Due to a missing sewage system, the lavatory’s iron door will remain locked, until a septic tank has been dug up.
Low expectations
Inside a classroom, where electric wires are precariously installed, a teacher explains an Arabic lesson to second graders, aided by the sunrays passing through the window in the absence of electric lights.
“There is no backing away now,” says a new teacher with a confused look on his face. “I will continue my assignment.”
A pupil named Hayam says the conditions in her school are “good”. But Saleh, principal says: “The pupils know nothing about what is going on outside their village. For example, when we give them a lesson about observing traffic signals, we have to show them the signals because they have never seen them before.”
Pride of the school
The Libyan flag of independence waves above the first grade classroom, where walls are so worn out that the insulation wool peeks out. Childish scribbling in support of the February 17th revolution and calling for a free and independent Libya cover the place.
Saleh says that sixth graders have donated 45 Dinars (US $36) for Brega frontline revolutionaries. This class is the pride of school thanks, Saleh says, thanks to the pupils’ discipline and excelling level. One pupil, Saja, complains about the cold weather: “When the cold weather sets in, I can do nothing; it is really cold here, but I have to concentrate on the lesson.”
When they are asked ‘who wants to become a doctor’, most of them raise their hands. “Some of our pupils have become army officers and teachers,” boasted Saleh.
Outdoor ‘dining’
During the breakfast break, the children gather in groups in the open air, because there is no fence around the school. The teachers gather near their cars for breakfast. Leaning on his car, a teacher says: “When the weather is fine and sunny, like today, we have our breakfast outside. But, when it rains, we have to stay in the room, while rainwater drips through the tin roof.”
Another adds: ” In winter, the temperature drops and rain leaks into the classrooms and covers the blackboard, making it difficult to complete the class.”
Dawood, a villager who studied at the school in the 1970s, says: “The school was built in the early 1970s. It was originally a simple tent then it turned into a tin-roofed room. With the passage of time, we managed to get three containers.” He and Saleh recall the time when a container was transported from a nearby village; it had discarded after that village had built a modern school.
