How my English class was thwarted by goats

“Madame. Please, Madame,” says Florent, one of my students, interrupting my lesson on the months of the year.

“Madame. The goats.” He gestures to the fields beyond the school building where the teachers are growing mangoes, papayas, manioc and beans, the latter a particular favorite of the gangs of goats that wander around the village.

The animals here are not kept in pens, but rather allowed to walk freely around from yard to yard, eating what they can find. Along with children, I have to watch for goats, chickens and pigs wandering into my house without knocking first. I once chased a chicken around my front room for 5 minutes while trying to direct it back out my front door.

Several students follow Florent’s lead. “Me too Madame! The goats!”

Now the attention of almost all is directed toward the animals in the field. I nod my permission, and the three boys, grabbing rocks from outside the classroom, run toward the herd, jumping over the taller plants.

The rest of the class cheers as the goats scamper back toward the primary school on the other side of the trees. My serious teacher façade is broken when one of boys grabs a stick and wildly chases after a particularly stubborn mutton.

The boys return to the class a few moments later, sweating and out of breath, but the beans, at least for now, have been saved.

“Can we continue now?” I ask, trying not to smile.