My first experience of anything like mentoring was far from formal. When I was in year three my patron saint was a lovely year six girl with a brown bob and a red puffa jacket. She taught me how to French plait my hair and that boys are only horrible because girls are really scary.
When I was in year six myself I was hustled into “mentoring” a year three kid, Priyan, who was struggling with reading. A few times a week, for that year, I would proudly march off to the playing field with a book wedged under my arm, hunt down a reluctant Priyan and help him tortuously pick his way through Biff Chip and Kipper for half an hour.
A few years ago, in my hometown supermarket I bumped into a grown-up Priyan; he grinned at me then shot off as if he still expected me to give pursuit. At least he remembered me!
This summer at the end of a long day in a failing Tanzanian school a boy approached me with a question. With only weeks left until his finals he still couldn’t get his head around wavelength and frequency; his only teacher was in hospital and his parents didn’t understand the language of the textbook.
And so what keeps me coming back? Because that moment when everything slotted into place and his eyes lit up was a total gift. Because what comes around really goes around. Whether its two hours a week for a full year, a couple of months or the length of one conversation, whether it’s through a formal scheme or a playground friendship, everyone deserves positive mentoring experiences, even if they don’t always define them that way....
Liz White
ReachOut! Club mentor
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