Basic Stitch

Hawa shows me her knitting.

'Is it right?' she asks. 'Its wrong. I will loosen it.'

I look at it. It is the third time she has tried the rib stitch, and as I look at it, I realize there will be a fourth time. I sigh inwardly. Somehow I get the patience to teach her again. I have gone over this many times already and each time she tells me she understands, but the results say something different.

It isn't rocket science. And I'm not saying this because I know how to knit. I am trying to teach her that the stitch needs to alternate. You put the yarn to the front, then to the back, then to the front, then to the back. So on. So forth.

The next day whenever I return, I see front, back, front, back, front, front, back, back. She doesn't see how this is wrong.

What am I doing wrong? We are both asking ourselves this.

She's patient in learning as much as I try to be in teaching.

But today I sat there, teaching her in yet another way, so that she can learn the same thing. This is the second thing I've shown her. The first thing I showed her, I taught her about seven times. At the seventh time, at some point it clicked. It had nothing to do with repetition, mastery or even understanding, I don't think. Just somewhere along the way, she got it.

Several times, when I say, No, that's wrong. She just begins to guess. That shows me that she's not absorbing what I'm teaching her.

I'm learning that when we teach something, we have to use what the person already knows. I suppose that's why Jesus spoke in parables to the fishermen and farmers. But what if the person doesn't know much? What rubric do you go by? I'm uncertain.

The ladies in the ward have big aspirations with knitting. 'We want to make sweaters for the dry season! Hats for the rainy season! Hair ties! Yes!' Yet, I cannot hand them a pattern and go. If I were at home, I could do that, and count on them at least knowing how to do basic math and read. But most of my patients can't read or do basic math. With that, I feel like I can only do some basic things with them.

Still, I see that they are just pleased with a basic stitch. They've made the most interesting things - fold over clutches, hand bands, hair ties. They just enjoy having a purpose, even if it is very small. And as for me, I am happy to teach them. With each woman, it turns into a conversation about something else - their lives, my life, politics, men, babies, God, everything. With Hawa, it has turned into a conversation about perfection, and paying attention.

'You are not reading the stitches, Hawa,' I said. 'You must read it or else it will not be perfect.'

Her big brown eyes are cast to her lap. Her hands folded. Her teeth are clenched and her high cheekbones protude from her face. I hand her her knitting. She takes it, determined. Whispering, I see her smile and say, 'By the grace of God, help me. I will learn this.'