Teaching #2

In this life of teaching, there have been quite a few adventures without even leaving the classroom. Teaching is fraught with successes and failures, and just down-right funny tales worthy of taking note. Here I will try to impart some of the funnier of the experiences and make note of the few successes I have had along the way.

I am not going to lie, there are those mornings where I roll out of bed at 6 am and the first thing on my mind is “I really don’t want to teach today.” But I get ready and make the trudge through the dust and exhaust fumes to school, sign-in in the teacher’s lounge, wait for the bell to ring, then gather my books and papers and make my entry into the classroom. At the beginning, I had no idea what situation I would enter upon. But now, having taught for 8 weeks now, I have come to see the pattern of students behaviour in correlation to time of day. So here’s the breakdown.

8am: the students are silent and solemn. They’ll take anything you give them, but don’t expect them to be as excited about verb tenses as you feign to be.

9am: “Miss, please, just stop talking! I can’t focus for one more minute!”

10am: the students are in a state of minor chaos, for they have just made a mad rush for the snack shop and back. Sugar, salt, and carbonation are flowing through their bloodstreams, and they are ready for anything you have to give them.

11am: The students’ only thought is of lunch time. They need a bathroom; they need substance, and they have no interest in any poet you have to offer them.

12pm: This is one of the toughest hours to teach. The students are either severely hyper or lost in a food coma. They range from crazy/chatty/hyper to slumped over their chair and unresponsive. I only teach this period once and it is the Friday afternoon. I plan at least 30 minutes in my 2 hour class for saying the words “Girls!! We NEED to be quiet! We have to get our lesson completed!” or “No, we can’t go outside, we have to get our book read!”

1pm: This is siesta time. The blood has all moved from their brains and the heat of the day inhibits any greater response than the blank gaze, pleas for the bathroom, and the doodle.

2pm: Last period of the day. Absolutely the toughest period to teach. The student does not want to be there, you don’t want to be there, and its just a steady crawl to the finish. You are split between wanting to get through the lecture and just giving the free period.

If, perhaps, you walk into a classroom with the intention of administering a test, absolute panic awaits you. You barricade yourself from the questions such as “The test is today?” or “Miss, is it hard?” “Can you give us real quick, or I will forget now??”

“Settle down, pens out, books on the floor, lets get ready to go!”

“Hay, miss!?!”

“Sooner you do this, sooner we can get our tests…”

“Hay, miss…”

“I’m serious, now. Bags and notebooks on the floor!”

It would almost be worth never giving an exam, just so you don’t have to have this conversation. Unfortunately, I give at least 3 quizzes a week, so this becomes almost an everyday occurrence.

Daily class can range from calm to unpredictable. Some days, all the pieces can come together. The lesson is well-planned and you enter a class of eager and sweet students excited to learn and be with you. This is a rare occurrence. Then there are the days where the students are utterly out of control. Talking, walking around, ignoring every plea for silence and attention. They have even gone so far to moving people and desks around during the middle of my riveting discussion of Trinitarian doctrine. And then there are those moments where I simply have to stand up there and yell at the top of my lungs, threaten jugs and demerits, and then count to ten before I explode. But those, too, are rare days.

Most days are a healthy balance of both. I will enter, give the girls some time to settle down, listen to excuses about why the homework is not on my desk. These range from the understandable to the ridiculous.

“I was at my mom’s and then at my dad’s and it got lost in between”

“My other teachers made me work on their work instead…”

“My social studies teacher stole my notebook”

“Hay, miss, can I just rewrite it?”

And then I begin my lecture about verbs. We review. I ask them to remember about irregular verbs. Why are they called ‘irregular?’ Silence. Utter silence. It is only then that they do not speak. Most instances I am begging for silence and attention. We are at a standoff. Either I will break down and tell the answer, or they will break down and look in their notes. The clock ticks. A tumbleweed rolls by. I stare them down one-by-one with the hopes that someone is courageous enough to answer.

Finally, a girl takes a guess…

“An irregular verb is not normal”

“Good! And why is it not normal?”

Silence. What have I been doing in class? Talking to a wall? Eventually the answer comes, but it could not have been more of a battle. Then comes the battle of the chatty teenage girl. No matter how interesting your lecture might be, the conversations they are having about the cute boys or the latest novellas are much more interesting, and much more important. As I write notes on the board, I am constantly hearing the low muffled chatter. I turn around. I give the stink-eye. They finally notice. The mumble quickly hush.

“Do you have any questions about the lecture?’

“No, Miss”

“Any thing interesting to share with the rest of the class?”

“No, Miss…”

The lecture continues. And such is a typical class day.

Despite the apparent frustrations, teaching does have its many oddly-shaped rewards. One class, after having lectured on Marian apparitions for two hours straight, I looked down to see one of my students creating quite the masterpiece, with no attempt to hide the work from me.

“Is my lecture really that boring?” I asked

“No, but I’m just….so….bored!” was the sheepish reply.

I feigned hurt and threatened detention, but on the inside I was reeling with memories of my own doodling masterpieces. Near the end of the day, the student came to the door of the teacher’s lounge and called me over to the door (The students are not supposed to enter the teacher’s lounge. It is our sanctuary, you know). I came over, and with the same sheepish smile, I was presented with the masterpiece, now personalized with my name upon the design. Though I realized that this was created in the midst of a lecture I had spent hours preparing, I was still grateful for the gesture. The art now hangs at my desk to remind me that sometimes the important thing is to just be patient and let things slide a little. A little understanding and empathy go a long way.

Recently, a family member asked me if I enjoyed teaching. And honestly, I’m not sure. Grading, lesson plans, detentions, lectures, homework assignments, and chalk-dust hands do not excite me as they might do other people. But learning about my students, seeing a girl’s face light up when you recognize her improvement, watching students turn tables into arks, and talking about favorite foods and making poems about them? That is something worth waking up at 6am for.

Hospitality

This past weekend, I was given the opportunity to partake in a completely unique experience from all the rest since arriving in Benque—visiting with my students outside of the school environment. It all began when one of my students approached me after class to announce that she would be receiving her First Communion the following weekend in Melchor, Guatemala. Conveniently, her ‘madrina,’ or godmother, (Unlike in the States, the godparent role is not fulfilled at baptism, rather, it is to be compared to a confirmation sponsor. Students will frequently ask teachers to be their godparents, despite the cultural discrepancies) happened to be one of the other female volunteers and I was invited, as her religion teacher, to come and witness this auspicious occasion and show my support.

That Sunday morning, we made the trek across the border from Benque to Melchor, only a 10 minute drive, and went to mass at the local parish. While in the States First Communion is a given a much greater deal of attention, it was special to witness my little student in her little white dress so nervous and excited to receive such a precious gift for her life. And after mass, we got to see the joy on her face that, not only did she finally get to partake in the sacrament, but also had people come to support her. We got to meet her family, have her picture taken with her, and take pictures of her and her family. And then her family invited us over to lunch. We were quite honored by the invitation, since we were practically complete strangers and, though busy and in need of a laundry/lesson planning/grading paper’s day, the promise of homemade tamales was too much for us to refuse, so we agreed to meet in one hour to walk up to the house.

To fill the hour, we decided to walk around the market in Melchor. The only way to describe the market is to say it looks just like a market in a developing country that you would see in the movies. Clothes, shoes, and wares of all types lined a narrow street covered in tarp and tin. And all the clothes, purses, and shoes looked a tad too familiar. Hollister; American Eagle; Ecko; Roxy. Did the mall in America get transported into Guatemala? Hardly. More like a Korean manufacturing company in Guatemala City had overflow and a bus ride later, here the clothes were—in a shadowy street market, destined to make my students much more stylish than I.

As we walked through the market, we were stopped at a certain booth by a familiar face—one of our own students. Her family owns the booth and all of the siblings, ranging in ages from 18 to 8 work diligently in the store. Their small house resides on the outside of their booth, and everyday they have to bring all of the clothes into their house and back again at 5 in the morning. That is a way of life that many of my students share.

While most highschool students would duck away or turn at the sight of one of their highschool teachers, she excitedly came out to meet us and immediately found us chairs and invited us to come and sit and talk. Never had I been treated like such royalty, especially after intruding in someone’s work space. We were introduced to her family, coca-cola’s were purchased for us, and a fan was moved into our path to keep us from cool. It was just plastic stools and cheap pop, but knowing how far out-of-the-way these people went for us was humbling, to say the least. It gives all new meaning for the term ‘Southern Hospitality.’

Though customers sifted in and out of the store, forcing readjustments to our sitting situations, the conversation between the volunteers and the student and her family continued to flow effortlessly. We talked about her family, her sisters, sports, school, and the pet bird. How different from my past experiences in student/teacher relationships? When I was in high school, I would have never given an hour of my weekend to chat with teachers, and want my picture taken with them, and use them as my confidante. This experience most definitely places a different spin on my role as a teacher here. I am not just a person who teaches verbs and gives homework, quizzes, and detentions 5 days a week. I am a friend and someone who could be a positive influence everyday at even the most unexpected times. This was only exemplified when one of my students spots me while working in her parent’s store and comes running out of the store to give me a hug as I walked past. What a great blessing to have such an influence on a student that they are more than willing to see you outside of school! I would have never been that exciting to see any of my teachers outside of school, especially in high school.

After the market we met with the First Communicant to make the long trek to her house. Her family was waiting to greet us with open arms, as if we had known them all of our lives. They also treated us like royalty. Though we had come bearing only meager gifts of homemade cards and First Communion figurines, they presented us with their best. Without letting us move an inch in their aide, they presented us with a lunch of chicken tamales, which, as we were told, take a whole day to prepare. And they were delicious. Nothing was too much for us, and no words could describe how grateful for the kindness and hospitality shown us.

As we were leaving to make our ways back to Benque, the whole family gathered to thank us for coming and to wish us off. We did not just receive well wishes, but hugs from every member of the family. In that brief moment, we became family. Not just gringos from a foreign land coming to capture a small dose of culture, but people who at any moment one would be willing to share his house or his life. Instead of asking us to make the long trek back to the border on foot, the family offered to escort us on the back of their motorcycles. My first motorcycle ride.

On Monday I will see these students and we will interact as we always had. But knowing just a smidgen about their lives outside of school will give me even more incentive to show them as much kindness and understanding as they showed me—a silly gringo from the States—at all times. They also taught me a very important lesson in hospitality. I hope that when I return home I can place as much effort in creating family wherever I go. Antoine du Saint Exupery writes about tearing down walls between peoples and in that freeing ourselves as a society. How much rewarding would life be if we were to kick down those walls—social, moral, and emotional—that separate us from those around us? What if we welcomed everyone in as a family member after knowing them for less than a day, or even an hour? What a society we have the potential to be if we could just extend a fraction of the hospitality that we were shown on this day.

This is only a futile attempt at putting into words an experience that seemed so ordinary on the surface, and yet was so extraordinary. An experience that, in its lack of ‘extraordinariness,’ has created such a extraordinary impression on my heart and mind. All I can say is, never in a million years would I have guessed that one day I would be escorted to the Belize/Guatemala border on the back of a motorcycle after having lunch with a Guatemalan family. My life amazes me sometimes, and no amount of babbling on paper could ever do it justice.