Bingo Gone Bad

Cheating is rampant here. Good kids, bad kids, adults, students, teachers, principals, employees, mail men, trash collectors, lawyers, doctors, etc.- in Nicaragua, they're nearly all guilty.

Why?

The stakes are high to get ahead. And getting ahead is laudable, by any means necessary.

I realized the culture of cheating here long ago, but its extent continually astounds me. For example:

-The lawyer who “sold me a fridge” which devolved into him absconding with my money and leaving me fridge-less

-The teachers who not only accept but reward good grades for clearly copied homework (directly quoting from Wikipedia = brilliant idea At way to go Jorge!!!)

-The English teachers who not only condone cheating in their own classrooms, but accept sums of money to complete other students' English homework from different academies

-The cobradores who try to charge me double the cost of a bus ride, when I know the real price, hand them the just amount and watch their faces twist up in anger

-The Mayor's office employee who tried to charge me twice for the same month's trash collection. I brandished the receipt of payment and flatly refused to pay double. He slunked away 50 cents less richer, and visibly disgruntled.

-And among many other examples I've neglected to mention, my Bingo debacle last night.


So last night I was scheduled to play Bingo with my children's English class. Around 7 pm I head to class to see 10 beaming children running toward me, Bingo boards in-hand, ready to play. We go to class, review the numbers 1-20 (the current topic) and I set about to begin. The premise is this- we'd been learning/reviewing the numbers for two weeks now, and to conclude our unit would play Bingo. As last week's homework each student had to make a 5x5 Bingo chart and fill it in using the numbers 1-20, with one free space in the center. I gave an example on the board, they copied it, we were all on the same page.

Or so I thought.

My friend and fellow PCV Donna helped monitor the game as I called numbers. At first, just the usual suspects tried to pull the wool over my eyes. The older girl who runs with a rough crowd and the hyperactive bandit of a boy both yowled “Bingo!” way before it was possible to have won. Thinking they were stealthy, they erased numbers and rewrote five in a row of the ones I'd called to try to claim victory. Now I might not be the sharpest knife in the kitchen, but I know that 5 consecutive 13s were not part of little Xochilt's original game board (especially not when they're overtly scratched over the original numbers.)

But what surprised me more than Xochilt or Ricardito's conniving ways was what happened next.
The game continues, I call numbers, we have a few more false Bingo alarms, Donna and I look mildly disappointed that nobody seems to be getting the gist of it, and then-

Ashley, one of my best students in the class (a personal favorite of mine for her diligence, thoughtful questions and overall alacrity) suddenly cried Bingo. She too, had a flawed board.

Donna and I swapped defeated looks, decided to re-explain the rules of the game and call it a night. The students' task- make varied and veritable boards, in ink no less, for next class. I'll approve each board before we commence, then all pencils and pens will be stashed away so as not to tempt any shenanigans. I think this time they understood, although I did last time too so what do I know.

That was the kicker. Ashley cheated. I didn't see it coming. Sure, there are always some wiseguys in any class. I have them in mine, and I've mastered my “you're not fooling me” eye roll in response to their customary tricks. But not Ashley. And then it hit me.

Maybe she was trying to save Donna and I the embarrassment of a Bingo game failure, and give us a winner. Maybe she thought she, the undisputed goody two shoes of the class, could get away with hijinks that the other little rebels couldn't. Beats me. All I know is, I for one was disappointed.

Cheating happens here.

In a desperately poor country, people do whatever it takes to one-up each other. It's a positively Machiavellian society- the end justifies the means. Always. I continue to be baffled by this because it is contrary to the American dream of picking yourself up by your bootstraps, setting out on your own and working exhaustively toward bettering yourself. In America, it's not just the point at which you arrive in life, but also how you got there. Not so in Nicaragua.

Nor in India. Read “The White Tiger” by Aravind Adiga for a better idea of cheating and corruption in the third world. Trust me, it's spectacular.