We talk a lot in Barbados about our aging population. The phrase is usually said with concern, as if it is a burden we must manage rather than a gift we should protect. Yet every day we are surrounded by walking libraries, filled with stories, skills, memories, and wisdom that shaped this nation long before the first Google search or tablet. We have an entire generation of knowledge sitting quietly, often on verandas at bus stops, or in church pews, waiting for someone to ask, “What was it like back then?”
In a world obsessed with information, we have forgotten the value of conversation. Our children scroll through social media feeds that teach them how to do everything from dance routines to chemistry experiments, but rarely how to listen to the people who lived the lessons we are still trying to teach. We have digitised our libraries, our classrooms and our communication, but we have not yet figured out how to digitise wisdom. Perhaps that is why so much of it is slipping away.
Imagine a school system that recognised the elderly as living archives. History would no longer be confined to dates and names on a page, but would be experienced through voices that remember. Nurseries could have story time in the mornings with grandmothers describing what it was like to fetch water from a standpipe or light kerosene lamps before electricity came to their districts. Primary school students could listen to a retired nurse talk about the challenges of health care in the 1960s. Secondary students could sit with farmers as they explain how the rhythms of planting and harvesting have changed with the climate. These are the kinds of encounters that make learning come alive.
We could begin with small steps. Schools could partner with senior citizens’ homes or community centres and create intergenerational learning programs. Students could interview older citizens as part of their social studies or history projects. They could record those conversations and turn them into podcasts or short documentaries that preserve our oral history. They could learn how to ask skillful questions, how to listen carefully, and how to capture a story without changing its essence. Those are not only academic skills but life skills.
The benefits would flow in both directions. Many seniors feel forgotten once they retire, as if society has quietly decided that their usefulness ended with their last pay cheque. Yet when they are invited to share their experiences, they regain a sense of purpose. Their stories remind them that their lives still matter and that their contributions are still valuable. It is not charity, it is a partnership that enriches both sides. The young gain wisdom and the old gain a renewed belonging.
Families could also take a cue from this idea. Education should not stop when children leave school at the end of the day. At home, parents can encourage children to spend time with grandparents, great aunts and great uncles. Instead of only asking, “How are you feeling?” they can ask, “What was your childhood like?” or “What games did you play when you were my age?” The answers might surprise them. Children will not only learn about their family’s history but also about resilience, creativity and resourcefulness. These conversations build empathy and deepen identity. They teach children that wisdom does not come from age alone but from experience.
Respect for the elderly has declined in ways that are painful to see. The growing number of cases where older people are robbed or mistreated tells us that something has gone wrong. We have lost the reverence that once defined our communities. In earlier times, the word of an elder carried weight. Advice was sought after and valued. Today, we tune out their stories or dismiss their opinions as outdated. Schools can help change that culture by reminding students that progress does not mean abandoning the people who built the foundation we stand on.
There is also a national benefit to this approach. Barbados is filled with cultural and historical knowledge that has never been written down. From herbal remedies and culinary traditions to songs, poems and folktales, much of what makes us unique exists only in memory. When those memories fade, we lose more than facts. We lose a sense of who we are. Recording and preserving these stories through student projects could help safeguard our cultural identity. It would also strengthen language, communication, and critical thinking skills, since students would have to interpret, analyse and present information creatively.
Even subjects like science and technology could draw from this connection. Older generations have practical knowledge about weather patterns, crop cycles and resource management that could inform today’s sustainability lessons. A conversation with a retired carpenter could teach geometry, measurement and problem-solving more vividly than a textbook ever could. Learning from the elderly makes education not just about passing exams but about understanding life.
Of course, this kind of integration requires intention. Teachers would need time and support to plan these collaborations. Schools would need to coordinate with community organisations. Families would need to see the value in it and make space for it in their routines. But the investment would be worth it. It would humanise education and restore a sense of continuity between generations.
The erosion of respect for our elders is reflected not just in crime statistics or neglect, but in silence. When we stop listening, we start forgetting who we are. It is time to bring conversation back into learning. A project like “Adopt a Grandmother”, “Adopt a Grandfather” or “Wisdom Wednesdays” could bridge generations and create spaces for students to learn lessons that no curriculum can capture.
Every time an old person dies, a library burns. That saying is repeated often, but it feels especially urgent here. Barbados cannot afford to keep losing its libraries to time and neglect. Our elders are the keepers of stories that textbooks will never tell. The question is not whether they have something to teach us, but whether we are still willing to listen.
If we truly want an education system that prepares students for life, then we must teach them where life lessons really come from. They come from the people who have lived through change, survived hardship, and kept faith through it all. They come from the voices that still sit waiting, ready to remind us that learning is not just about what we know, but about who we know and what we choose to remember.
Dr Zhane Bridgeman-Maxwell is a science educator, researcher, writer and disruptor of outdated education systems in Barbados. Focused on redesigning learning through policy shifts, change management and pedagogical innovation, she amplifies the voices of students, teachers, and parents, while reimagining what school can and should be.
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