The pace of my life triples with that siren. Collecting my scattered papers I hurriedly climb the hill to my home room. There, 37 blue uniformed students, soon to be men and women, rise at my entrance. "Good morning class." And 37 voices chime "Good morning, Mr. Meetch!" I tell them to be seated and roll call commences. A very contagious eye disease has infected the boarders at school and five of my Form 1 students are not present. Luckily the disease, though painful, is finished after 10 days with no lasting harm. Today, since there are no announcements, we sing a hymn of their choosing: "Take It To The Lord In Prayer." But since they are young and this is their first year at this boarding school they have yet to work up the confidence to match the thundering coming from the neighboring classes.

The siren sounds again, and we're off to our first class. On the way I search the sky for signs of rain, but there is nothing save another radiant Zambian sun burning away the early morning coolness. The rainy season has gone dry and the maize desperately needs water. As I enter Room 6, once again the class stands. After the formalities I begin to teach Form 1 Maths. Perhaps "teach" is too strong a word; attempting to communicate might be better. These young students are bright, eager and motivated (for the most part) and incredibly deficient in their understanding of the English language in which I am required to teach. Here is where the strain of teaching comes: speaking very clearly and slowly, not using complicated sentences or words, making sure they understand you, and trying to understand them. After teaching four straight 40 min periods, I'm spent and ready for morning break. The students go for breakfast and I go the staff room for some rest, refreshment, and the latest school goss... er, news.

Within Chikankata's Sanctum Sanctorum, I spy Simon Mweemba, a fellow math teacher who is taking guitar lessons from me. I ask him how he is progressing, and he proudly shows me the developing calluses on his still tendered left-hand fingers. He is determined to play guitar. From Cliff Cunningham I find out the possibilities of getting beef this weekend: none. The whole Southern Province is still under quarantine because of an outbreak of hoof and mouth disease. I say good morning to Al Reynold as he holds his ever present cup of coffee, and to Bert Bakker, a huge young Dutchman who thoroughly intimidated me in our last basketball match. But all too soon the siren sounds and it's back to the glorious mill.

The next class is a Form 2 General Science. This particular class has been teaching me the third role of a teacher: Teacher, Administrator and now the very untidy role of Disciplinarian. It's not that the class is rebellious, just a bit overjuiced. The role of Disciplinarian does not sit well with that of servant love. As ersatz policeman and the wielder of power and command, the model of Jesus seems a bit hard to emulate. I am a functionary of the state and the state (i.e., school rules) must be upheld. Perhaps father love is a model more appropriate for a school teacher. Anyway, I begin to practice my art by asking some review questions of last period and work. Next I explain and demonstrate by experiment the days material, concluding with a complete set of notes written on the board for the students to copy since no books are available.

Two more periods pass into eternity and I am finished for the morning. Making a quick pass through the staff room before heading to lunch, I overhear a most interesting story being told by Duncan Dixon, a bushy bearded Canadian and fellow MCC'er. He and Ron Zimmerman, biology teacher, MCC'er, live together being Chikankata school staff's only bachelors. Duncan relates,

Last night my student bible study wanted to pray that Ron would become saved. When I ask why they thought My. Zimmerman wasn't a Christian, they replied "Ah sir, he is a scientist!" "But Mr. Mitch teaches science. Isn't he a Christian?" They answered, "Yes, but Mr Mitch is different. He plays music."

There is, perhaps, a profound philosophical truth here. However, my stomach urges me on to more earthly matters, and I head for lunch.