On the edge of Ungava Bay, still caught in the April ice that clashes with the tides, stands the village of Kangirsuk. Colorful houses follow one another on either side of the road that goes up and down through the village landlocked between the mountains and accessible only by plane.
At the top of a hill, near the municipal arena in the colors of the Montreal Canadiens, the Sautjuit school seems to dominate the village, offering a breathtaking view of the fishing territory which mingles with the sky in different shades of white.
The link to the territory is omnipresent and is inscribed even in the name of the school. ” Sautjuit, it means a school of seals on the ice floe, launches the director of the center, Alec Kudluk, all smiles, opening the door. It’s a bit like the students here, who are all grouped together. It’s a good name, I think. »
The bus drops off the children. Others arrive with their parents on four-wheelers or snowmobiles. They are few. The school has a total of 114 students, from primary and secondary – in a village with less than 600 inhabitants – but many are late or do not come to class.
Absenteeism is a daily reality that has been exacerbated since the pandemic, notes Joseph Vettickal, a high school math and science teacher for the English as a second language sector for nine years. Several schools in Nunavik, including the one in Kangirsuk, were closed for many months last year, causing significant academic delays. “I don’t know if it’s because they got used to staying at home when the school was closed, but I’ve never had so few students in my class,” he observes. , discouraged.
This week, the situation is exceptional, because some students went on an excursion on the territory with teachers and the organization Jeunes Karibus (see box). Still, there were only two out of ten in Joseph’s class that morning.
James, 14, considers himself a good student and dreams of becoming an engineer. His favorite part of school is recess, he replies shyly. Behind, Kanusa sighs as he eats some grapes he just took from the Breakfast Club box, provided in all classrooms. For him, the only interest in school is gymnastics.
A feast of mini pizzas
“I can’t lie, it’s hard, but I make it easy,” says Marie-Louise Nkwaya, who also teaches math and science in high school, but in the French as a second language sector. “Sometimes I prepare the lesson, but no one comes. They will say it without embarrassment: “I didn’t want to come this morning.” Spring is a very difficult time when everyone is tired. My mind works hard to bring them to school and motivate them. »
The next day, Marie-Louise finds herself with an empty class. But the one affectionately nicknamed Mamalou has more than one trick up her sleeve. She calls out to the assistant director in the hallway. “Winnie, I need your help. Play a message on the radio to say that there’s going to be a mini-pizza feast this afternoon, so they’ll come. Parents will wake up children when they hear this. »
Two hours later, Mamalou is in the kitchen, all smiles, distributing his orders to a handful of students who are chopping the vegetables and spreading the sauce on tortillas, laughing.
Nobody wears rose-colored glasses, we know that absences and unmotivated lateness are problematic. We notify the parents, but generally speaking, in Nunavik schools, we choose to provide positive reinforcement rather than banging the fingers of the culprits.
We don’t know what they went through at home, we don’t know the context behind the delay or absence. Many reports have shown over the years that difficult socio-economic conditions, including overcrowding in homes in Nunavik, have a negative impact on the educational progress of children. So, when they come to class, we salute the effort they make, whatever time they arrive.
Exceptional students
“When they’re there, the students are really good,” proudly says Joseph, who has taught many of the school’s young teachers.
“These are exceptional children,” adds Lise Deschênes, who teaches French as a second language to students in 4e 5e and 6e years for seven years. They are trilingual, super resourceful and autonomous children. There is this freedom that we give to children here, and that, we never hear about it. »
The word “freedom” often comes up in the mouths of teachers qallunaat (name given by Nunavikois to non-Inuit). They appreciate the flexibility of the rules and the great autonomy they enjoy. As the classes are small and often include several levels, the teaching is more personalized. This also corresponds to a need among the students, notes Joseph. “The way they learn is different, they need more interaction. »
Several mentioned the fact that they are “very physical” children, who need to move and who have difficulty remaining seated in order to concentrate, which requires a great deal of adaptation and flexibility on the part of the teachers, who must find the balance between benevolence and discipline. For some, the adaptation was easy. For others, a little less. “The first few months were chaos in my class,” says teacher Helen McGall.
If the bond with the students is sometimes long and difficult to create for new teachers, it quickly becomes very strong, as evidenced by the many exchanges of hugs in the corridors. “I take the students as my children, confides Bernard Gueu, physical education teacher. In the south, it’s not acceptable to hug, but here, it’s not possible not to. »
Some teachers, like Mamalou, even receive the children at home after school. “My door is always open,” she says. No need to mention that that of the refrigerator is just as important.
Graduation
Despite all the initiatives and efforts made by the Kativik School Board, the staff and the many organizations that work with the communities to keep children in school, the graduation rate remains very low in Nunavik, hovering around 23%. according to the latest official figures.
However, the problem is not only that the pupils of 5e secondary school fail to graduate, it is rather that a large number of students drop out of school before they get there. The dropout rate is around 80%. “Our students have experienced several traumas and some have difficulty staying in school, but we are doing everything we can to support them and keep them,” said the director general of the school board, Harriet Keleutak.
At Sautjuit school in Kangirsuk, six or seven new faces are added to the wall of graduates every summer. But this year, we can count the graduates on the fingers of one hand. “We’ve had a lot of dropouts this year,” said Winnie Grey, the vice principal, with a sigh. It saddens me, because we had practically no more dropouts. We work so hard to keep them in school! »
But nothing is final and she remains hopeful that they will return next year. Life in a small village even allows him to do direct intervention. “When they see me at the grocery store, they hide, because they know I’m going to tell them that their place is in school,” she says, bursting out laughing. I tell them all the time that they have to be successful in school, because I’m going to retire one day and I want them to take my place and that of the other teachers at school. »
This report was produced in part with the financial support of the Kativik School Board.