In an adjoining classroom, a group of 5-year-olds repeat after their teacher as she reads to them. “Where do sharks come from?” A chorus of voices sweeps over the chalkboards that separate the classrooms, once again distracting the girl from her mathematics.

Outside, about 25 second-graders arrange their desks into a messy rectangle under the concrete school building, where the combination of shade and breeze provides a slight relief from the heavy heat. They chatter as their teacher runs inside to prepare a poster for his lesson.

A 270-pound man peers down at them from the wooden railing above, leaving his own students unsupervised. As a teaching principal, Rodney Griffith must oversee all the lessons, students and teachers for the entire school, not just his own classroom.

Satisfied that everything is under control, Griffith hurries back to his class, dancing and swinging his arms as he enters.

“Any number to the zero power is one,” he chants, careful not to waste any more teaching time.

What St. John’s Memorial Anglican School lacks in funds, teachers and resources, it makes up for in spirit, optimism and hope.

No one knows for sure, but St. John’s Memorial Anglican School, the only primary school in Placencia, Belize, is estimated to have opened in the mid 1960s. Before that, school was taught on the steps of a nearby house at the urging of the Anglican bishop. The original building had only one room until a couple of small Mennonite houses were added as classrooms in 2000. As the town grew, the school tried to keep up, but poverty stepped in. A small school in a laid-back, rural beach-front town tends to be overlooked by church and government officials. Yet St. John’s remains responsible for educating all the Placencia children, just as it taught their parents and grandparents. After Hurricane Iris destroyed the peninsula in 2001, parents began the push to rebuild a bigger, better school. New people with different perspectives offer input and strive for improvement, bringing a shift from the old laissez faire attitude to a passion for change.

“We want to be the most productive and beautiful school in a village community, one on par with the best in the village areas,” Griffith says. “The kids are beginning to believe it’s all about them. ... The community will get the kind of school they deserve.”

We’re all in this together . . . literally

At 8:30 on a Monday morning, 198 students in starchy navy and old-man blue uniforms mill around the aqua building in 88-degree heat. Sand creeps into their flip-flops and sticks to their toes. Principal Griffith towers above them from the school steps. He claps his hands to get their attention for the morning prayer. He demands respect from students and teachers alike—and not just because he’s 6-foot-3 and built like a grizzly bear.

He admits he is a “no-nonsense principal” and “not the smiley type.”

But he’s also a teacher. He teaches Standard 6 (eighth grade in the United States). He often must leave his class to roam the hallways of the school, checking on classes and performing administrative duties.

Including Griffith, eight teachers work at St. John’s, but the Parent Teacher Association must raise money to keep the eighth one at school—otherwise, they’ll have to combine two grades into one class. But the students, from Infant 1 (equivalent to kindergarten) through Standard 6, need constant attention and instruction for everything from explaining difficult arithmetic problems to watching for bullies during snack time.

Griffith does his best to balance productivity in the classroom and managerial duties outside of it. He assigns work to his class when he needs to leave the room and moves uncooperative children to a supervised classroom. When he has to go out of town for administrative meetings, he asks a parent volunteer to cover his class or assigns another teacher to do double duty for the day, teaching two classes at once.

“Between administrating and teaching, I’ve been working at it for 16 years,” he says.

Griffith, 46, has three children, including one in Standard 2 at St. John’s. He lives in a church-funded house adjoining school property. His 14-year-old lives away from home in Belize City because the school there is “the best in the country.” In 1984, Griffith worked as the principal at St. John’s for three years before being transferred to another location. He says those years allowed him to get to know teachers and parents who would later trust him more because of their experiences together. When he became principal again last year, Griffith already possessed the respect of the staff, and the students followed.

“I love teaching in rural, small communities because that’s where the need is for stronger teachers,” he says.

But some parents say dedicated teachers and administrators are not enough; a good education requires money and resources, too.

People like Jodie Leslie, 41, blame the Anglican diocese for lack of funds to hire extra teachers.

“Churches should invest more in education,” Leslie, the president of the PTA, says. “They don’t give you a red cent.”

“And every time the PTA wants to do something for the school, the diocese makes it difficult,” PTA Secretary Elysia Dial says. “We try to get clearance to build on the grounds, but no—they have other intentions for that property.”

Spare me a chair

Inside the school, students cram into tiny wooden desks on the unpainted concrete floors. They wear Barbie backpacks and Spiderman sandals, but don’t have bookshelves. The lone dictionary stands out with its taped-up binding and make-shift handwritten cover, and a girl sits at the teacher’s desk because she doesn’t have a chair of her own.

A boy arrives at school after classes start. Principal Griffith signs him in, but he doesn’t have to go very far. The school’s “main office” is just a wooden table in the corner of the hallway, piled high with administrative records as well as random old textbooks and school supplies.

Teachers can barely move around the classroom, yet the rectory, on school grounds, remains unused most days.

“It’s empty space that could be used for classes or teacher housing, but instead, it’s reserved for whenever the church may need it,” Dial says.

The Ministry of Education’s Handbook of Policies and Procedures for School Services states, “There shall be a minimum floor space of 15 square feet per student.”

But when asked about that requirement in relation to the Placencia school, Gwen Nuñez Gonzalez, acting education manager for the Stann Creek District, throws back her head and laughs.

“The guide is just the ideal,” she says.

She explains that there is not enough money to make those rules a reality.

“Poverty does not mean you are dumb,” she says. “Our task is to focus on quality education, knowledge and resources … and to convince teachers to go the extra mile and use the guides.”

This means that parents and teachers must get creative to make up for what the church fails to supply. Teachers sell chips and ice cream and have “Rags Days.” They collect $1 from every student. In exchange, the students can wear their own clothes instead of the uniform. The PTA often holds dinner sales to raise money and morale. Parents volunteer to cook traditional Belizean dishes like rice and beans and sell them to students after school at a low price. The money raised is used for school supplies, the salary of the eighth teacher, the school’s electric bill, fans, water coolers and toilet paper. Any savings go toward an expansion fund.

When the school was destroyed by Hurricane Iris, Leslie, who runs Placencia’s Sea Spray Hotel, used her business contacts in the United States to raise money for rebuilding. Her PTA co-chair, David Vernon, says this is the way to go when fund raising is concerned.

“Why are we going to get $2 here and $5 there when organizations come down from the States and paint the library?” he says. “People just don’t know. They don’t get estimates [for construction projects]. The PTA sees changes that need to be made—it’s those of us who lived in the States.”

Vernon, also on the board of Friends of Nature, an environmental group in Placencia, says his wife could build a Web site to raise donations. Vernon received grants for environmental education and built a nursery in the back of the school. They installed two garbage cans, and he and his brother painted the classrooms.

“They’re stuck on an old way of fund raising in a now-changing world,” he says.

Who's the teacher here?

Four o'clock rolls around and Principal Griffith accompanies the Standard 6 boys  to the Placencia basketball court down the street from the school. He watches the boys work together to paint the boundaries for a volleyball game. Two of them stretch a string tightly across the court, while another follows, making a straight line in baby blue paint. A couple of teachers prepare cheers from the sidelines. One, still dressed in uniform, clutches her purse and visor together as she jumps up and down in a huddle with the students.

Student Ashley Glenn loves school activities, but her favorite part is not learning; it’s teaching.

“Every day, we get to meet up with our friends and teach them and help them with all the things they don’t know,” says Ashley, who is ranked No. 1 in her class.

Vernon says those with influence work toward their own version of schools in the states, similar to the private schools.

“We want 12 to 13 students per teacher; we have 30,” he says.

At least most of the teachers make a concerted effort to be inspirational.

Principal Griffith teaches class on Saturdays in order to prepare his students for the PSE, an exam that determines their acceptance to high school.

“The more you put in,” he shouts in an effort to motivate them to study harder.

“The more you get out,” students chorus.

Mid-lesson, a boy walks into Griffith’s classroom late and without books. Griffith quickly hands him some supplies and sits him down at a table of girls near the back of the room. He looks longingly at his male peers working together across the room, but does not complain. He seems to understand his punishment and starts studying.

But as hard as they may try, many of the teachers lack training and experience.  Vernon says the teacher’s aid materials in the library go unused. Many of them have “the old mentality of listen, lecture and smack.” Qualified teachers don’t want to move here because living costs so much, he says.

Moreover, teachers fail when dealing with children with learning disabilities, PTA Treasurer Betty Neal says. The other students bully the slow children, and teachers treat those with learning disabilities like they’re lazy.

“They didn’t want to accept that she had a learning problem. They hit her hard and made her afraid of trying,” she says about her daughter’s teachers. “But you can’t blame them because they didn’t know any better.”

The teachers shouldn’t be saying to the students, “I’m new so you guys have to help me,” says parent Wendy Westby. “They are supposed to help the students.”

The school posts signs in the hallways to help teachers improve their skills. One, hand-written in marker, sticks out: “Qualities that makes an effective teacher.”

But when only 50 percent of teachers come trained, according to Griffith, it’s surprising these mistakes don’t happen more often.

The main problem, it seems, centers on reading. Parents complain that the children don’t get the literacy skills they need early on to succeed in other subjects.

Both parents and other teachers credit Rosalind Eiley with the students’ success in literacy. Teacher Rosie, as she’s called, has been working at the school for 29 years. She teaches phonetically, using games, riddles and stories to reinforce concepts.

“I dedicate myself to my job and learn through experience,” she says. “I love teaching, and I love little kids.”

In her classroom, a 6-year-old hangs back after most of the other children leave. Wordlessly, she hands her workbook to Rosie to check. After a quick glance, Rosie sighs and shakes her head, but her smile stays in place—she doesn’t give up easily. “Hey diddle diddle. The cow jumps over the moon. Mmmmm is for moon,” she explains. They make the “mmmm” sound together until she’s confident the child understands.

Three years ago, the diocese started a program to help students pass a literacy test before they graduate. But parents must do their part, Rosie says. The problem is some parents are illiterate or too busy working to help their children with homework. As a remedy, Teacher Rosie remains after school tutoring children who need just a little more time. She walks around the classroom while she teaches, making sure the children pay attention and checking their progress as she goes. She pauses mid-sentence to help a girl with a long brown pony tail trace R’s in her workbook, then picks up right where she left off, maintaining eye contact with the rest of her students.

“You have to work [with them] individually to make sure they are doing the right thing,” she says. “They lose interest in reading when they don't get the proper background.”

Like the others, she has hopes for change and has seen a gradual improvement over the years.

“It will get better,” she says.

This is how we do it

In the morning, the bell rings and Principal Griffith welcomes everyone, before saying the Lord’s Prayer. “This is our flag,” he says as a few boys help raise the Belize flag. “This,” he gestures around him, “is our school.”

“Is everybody happy?” he asks.

“Yes!” the students and teachers yell together.

Later, back on the basketball court, Principal Griffith stands with a smudge of dirt on his behind and bops hands with the boys from his class.

“Outside the classroom, I play with them, and deep down, they know I'm a gentle giant,” he says.

“We have a very upbeat, positive attitude and vision for creating the ideal village school here,” Griffith says. “Kids are in love with school. We have to chase them home at night.”

And it’s true. Despite the hand-drawn pictures threatening to fall off the walls and the books stacked haphazardly in old cookie cartons along the floor, the children seem satisfied.         

On a Monday morning, Leslie attempts to make small talk with her sons while they get ready for school. “Gotta go Mom!” they yell impatiently as they grab their backpacks and race down the sidewalk, excited to chat with friends before the bell rings.

“They already gave us the bigger building and funds and computers and water coolers,” student Ashley Glenn, 12, says. “They’re helping our school look better.”

Two years ago, only 50 percent of students passed the PSE, according to Griffith. In 2004, 75 percent passed.

“There are a lot of problems, but already, I can see a shift taking place as more people come in from other places with different perspectives, envoking positive changes,” PTA Secretary Elysia Dial says. 

But Leslie says there’s always more to be done.

The walls of the school allow sound to easily travel from room to room, and most teachers keep the windows open for air flow. Roll-away blackboards still separate three of the classrooms. They don’t have air conditioning, so teachers sometimes move their classes outside underneath the school where air can circulate.

On any given morning, one classroom remains empty for about the first half hour of school as the students clean the toilets out back. The school can’t afford to hire janitors, so the students are responsible for cleaning the schoolyard, taking out the trash and scrubbing the bathrooms.

Ideally, they wouldn’t have to take time away from their studies to clean and copy work from the chalkboard. But textbooks can cost up to BZ$500 ($250) for high school, and parents sometimes have to travel two hours away to Dangriga to locate the proper books for their children. Often, they simply can’t afford the purchase or can’t take time off to secure the books, 21-year-old teacher Denise King says.

 “We come from a poor culture, but we have to uplift ourselves in some way,” Leslie says.

Griffith says he expects tremendous improvement over the next five years.

“Once kids are performing as good as urban schools on exams, when kids excel in extracurriculars, when the school can provide the kind of environment conducive to learning, to grow and develop as a person, then we will be satisfied,” Griffith says.

 “The bottom line is with time, faith, motivation and belief in God, it can happen,” Nuñez says. “I believe all things are possible.”