The Cambodian challenge: tackling illiteracy and high dropout rates

Schull in west Cork is a beautiful place, and the view from my desk in the community college principal's office, overlooking the harbour, was magical. After 15 years at the helm I had the urge for something different, and I got the chance to work as education management adviser in Battambang, Cambodia, through Voluntary Services Overseas.

My little knowledge of Cambodia was limited to the horrific atrocities under the Khmer Rouge regime and subsequent turmoil through civil war, occupation and corruption. Between 1975 and 1979, up to two million Cambodians out of a population of five million were killed or died of malnutrition or neglect. Specifically targeted were professionals and those who were literate (anyone who wore spectacles was classified as part of the intelligentsia and summarily murdered). As Pol Pot and his executioners imposed Year Zero on Cambodia, their campaign destroyed any semblance of education provision. By 1980 the national literacy rate was almost zero.

Rebuilding education has been slow. As a long-term volunteer, I’m working on strengthening the sub-national education system, by supporting education working groups (primarily NGOs), strategic planning for provincial education and focusing on management skills. I also analyse data to support underperforming sectors. Normally this job would be a major undertaking; in Cambodia it is mammoth.

The education system faces significant challenges despite substantial international investment. Much funding appears to be swallowed by bureaucracy, with a tiny portion filtering down to where the needs are: at school and commune level.

Stark numbers

Enrolment is over 95 per cent at primary level, but over 11 per cent of students drop out before grade 2 and up to 10 per cent have to repeat. Despite Cambodians placing high importance on education, economic needs take precedence, so more than 40 per cent fail to complete primary education. At secondary the figures are even starker, with high dropout rates in every grade from a very low enrolment baseline.

Pupil-teacher ratios range from 25:1 to 40:1 with anecdotal evidence of up to 60:1 in remote areas. Teachers and school directors are paid $90 to $130 per month. Many of the lowest-paid teachers are unqualified, having only completed primary or lower secondary school. They are often subject to unofficial deductions from their poverty stipend. So teachers regularly take unofficial fees from students for classes, extra tuition, success in tests and providing scripts, answers or simply turning a blind eye in exams.

To address this, the new minister for education insisted on proper invigilation of the terminal exams last August. Whole streets were cordoned off by police for the exams, students were denied access to the outside world, and extraneous materials were forbidden for the first time. Results plummeted from an average of 90 per cent pass rate to an abysmal 26 per cent. Hopefully this invigilation will continue, to give the exam some semblance of credibility.

Cutting through international jargon and working within this system requires patience and determination. My work involves attending the provincial office and advising on management structures, coaching and mentoring senior personnel and supporting education partners such as NGOs. It also involves training school directors, supporting district education offices and mentoring in teacher training.

I recently travelled to a remote school with only one class group attending and term tests under way. This was because it was the last day of term. Who thought this was a good idea, I wondered. Then I recalled when an Irish minister for education instructed inspectors to visit schools on the day of closure to verify attendance.

Here the diligent pupils worked on basic maths problems, history, geography, Khmer and social studies before their holidays. Students in tattered uniforms and with unwashed but smiling faces were working with an untrained teacher in appalling conditions.

Earlier in the month I had presented two days on school development planning for school directors in the district, so when I met the director he was familiar and welcoming. The formal introduction was in his “office”, a ramshackle old classroom with shuttered openings, devoid of light except for shafts of sunlight coming through nail holes. With opposite shutters now open, the baking heat was reduced somewhat by a welcome breeze. The light revealed a dusty collection of broken furniture, some classwork of long-gone students and a thick layer of dust on floor and desk.

I dusted my unsteady seat with a file, creating a dust cloud. Before us was the school director, who was paid about $100 a month and had a wide range of duties and no obvious support from the community. He was working under dire conditions and was now being inspected around matters of compliance.

I thought:, I put this unfortunate gent through eight hours of punishment while outlining the importance of strategic, short-, medium- and long-term planning.” To show up to work most days must be a demoralising challenge for him, without our additional demands.

On request he produced documentation. It was outdated and irrelevant, and his apologetic demeanour increased my feelings of guilt. I noted the compassion of my colleagues who, instead of criticism, provided encouragement and guidance, which was accepted by our relieved director. On departure, I gave him my card and encouraged him to call me if he had any queries. I’m not expecting a call any time soon, as he continues his struggle to survive.

Floating schools

The remotest of schools lie north of Battambang on the Tonle Sap Lake, the largest freshwater lake in southeast Asia. These are the floating schools. Here, entire village populations are conceived, born, raised, work and die afloat, before being returned to the waters of the Tonle Sap.

I spent four days here, visiting schools on the lake, where the ministry had never previously visited. Apparently I was the first European the children had seen. Although extremely difficult and challenging for me, it was also immensely rewarding.

Within the floating communities, formal education is not a high priority and recruiting teachers is difficult. Schools are extremely basic, and, like all other wooden structures, they rise and fall with the water levels. They are accessible only by boat and have no sanitation. The children are enthusiastic and exude warmth as they sit in their classroom, which has no furniture. Comfort is in the form of reed matting, shared by children and adults. I attempt to speak Khmer and the smiles break into laughter as words are mispronounced or plain wrong, but my attempts are appreciated.

More than 12 months into my assignment, I ask what has been achieved. If learning is a “change of behaviour” then it is I who has learned. I have tried to understand the complex cultural machinations of the Khmer people, to engage with them at all levels, build relationships and trust, advise when advisable, remain silent when expected, understand where possible and develop patience.

I hope to be well placed to effect some level of “change of behaviour” with some of my colleagues and in a small way contribute to the improvement of education in this beautiful country of contrasts.