By Prince TAMAKLOE
In a poorly illuminated classroom in Suhum, Ms. Abena Yeboah begins her day not with math equations or grammar lessons, but by consoling weeping children and helping them calm down.
"I was trained to teach mathematics, yet now I spend my mornings comforting hungry students and addressing issues well outside the curriculum," she sighed.
In rural areas such as Suhum and Ayensuano within the Eastern Region, teachers carry responsibilities much weightier than just academic materials. As parent participation has declined, these instructors have taken on roles akin to those of temporary caretakers, therapists, and supporters for students facing challenges related to poverty, relocation, and broken families.
Disappearing parents, disconnected homes
Financial struggles have pushed numerous households into mere survival. Mothers and fathers take on demanding, long-hour employment, which leaves scant time available for attending school events or assisting with children’s studies.
Many have moved to urban areas, leaving their children in the care of older family members who frequently do not have the resources or educational background to facilitate schooling.
A lone parent from Ayensuano, Akua Mensima, stated: "I wish to assist my kids with their education, yet I depart for the marketplace well before dawn and only get back home long past sunset. Should I not go to work, our basic needs would remain unmet."
In communities where time and resources are scarce, the duty of nurturing and shaping children is progressively moving from families to teachers.
Burnout in the classroom
For teachers such as Kwame Mensah, these transformations are quite daunting. "What was once a collaborative effort with involved parents has changed dramatically," he explained. "Parents would regularly attend meetings, but those days are gone. Now, we have to manage everything—from providing meals for hungry students to dealing with traumas stemming from unstable home environments—all while trying to continue teaching effectively."
The pressure continues to build up. Educators are becoming more fatigued and emotionally depleted. Often, the requirements of Ghana’s new standards-based curriculum (SBC)—which involves thorough preparation and instruction—are overshadowed by the urgent social and emotional needs of their pupils.
Time spent in classrooms is currently split between teaching and handling crises, causing learning achievements to become uncertain.
A ray of hope
Even though the outlook remains grim, some shifts are starting to emerge. With focused initiatives like 'Savana Signatures' — a program aimed at bringing rural youth in Ghana back into education — communities are gradually beginning to reconnect with educational institutions.
The initiative has facilitated 45 community meetings with more than 850 parents and helped establish five Child Protection Committees.
Following its introduction, educators at selected institutions have observed more parents getting involved and a significant decrease in classroom tension.
“One parent admitted after an awareness workshop, ‘We were unaware of how our absence was impacting our children.’ Now, I make sure to go to meetings and review their assignments. This is just a beginning, yet it makes a difference,’” she said.
Rebuilding the bridge
Stakeholders in the field of education are advocating for more robust collaborations between communities and schools. They propose forming dynamic Parent-Teacher Associations (PTAs), scheduling school events aimed at engaging families, initiating mentorship programs tailored for younger or single parents, and conducting public outreach efforts to underscore the vital part played by parents in educational settings.
This isn't about assigning blame," explains a local education official. "The focus is on involving parents once again. Teachers cannot nurture these children single-handedly.
Beyond the curriculum
As evening falls in Ayensuano, Mrs. Abena completes grading her students' work for the day. Earlier, she provided sustenance to a child who had gone without solid food for 48 hours, offered solace to one showing evident marks of deprivation, and resolved an argument among brothers and sisters —all this prior to beginning her instruction session.
I adore teaching," she states. "However, I cannot continue handling everything alone. No teacher should have to.
Her voice, similar to countless others, isn't filled with rage, but rather a subdued sense of despair. This is because when the bell sounds in Suhum and Ayensuano, it isn't merely signaling students to attend classes; it's also rallying the whole community into activity.
Provided by Syndigate Media Inc. ( Syndigate.info ).
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