Getting Schooled

Oh man what a couple of weeks it has been. I’ll do my best to catch you all up to speed, starting with this post which I wrote last week about the week before that. Actually, I’m not entirely sure when I wrote this…it’s just been that sort of month, but regardless it is about two weeks ago, just as school was starting up (cue segue music into flashback)…

Monday:  Don’t Panic

So last Monday was the first day of school. There weren’t any actual classes, the day was meant as a sort of orientation for the students to the new school. I was assured that it was going to be an easy day; that I would most likely spend it sitting in the back of the classroom listening to one of the Honduran teachers speaking Spanish to the kids, explaining the rules and expectations for the school year.

Boy was I wrong.

He first thing we did was split up into pairs with each volunteer going with one of the Honduran teachers. This immediately became a problem, as my partner only spoke very rudimentary English, which was about as bad as my Spanish. Next we mixed each of our classes with one of the Cardinal classes. I should explain that we share a building with a second school…none of whom speak any English.

I consoled myself with the fact that the Honduran teacher was doing all the work, going through the school handbook with the students, while I sat there trying to look like I knew what they were saying. This was all fine until some random person came into the classroom, and said something in Spanish to my counterpart, who promptly left the room.

So there I was, staring down about thirty students, none of whom were inclined (or capable) of conversing in English. Some order was maintained by the student aid who continued to go through the handbook, but as the hour ticked by both she and I became rather worried. Neither of us had even the slightest idea as to what we were supposed to do once we finished the handbook (which we inevitably did) and were quite at a loss as to when the Honduran teacher would be getting back.

Desperation finally drove me to seek out Maki, who was just as surprised as I was at my counterpart’s sudden departure. Maki was having an equally stressful time trying to control the mixed classes, so we decided to split them up. “Finally,” I thought, “now they’ll HAVE to listen to my English”.

Yeah right. They barely listened to me at all. I was assigned class 8B, which I soon found out was composed of the most difficult children in the school. The kids had absolutely no interest in playing the “get to know you” game that the other volunteers had recommended and it was all I could do to keep them in their seats. Eventually Maki once again came to my rescue, bringing in a bundle of papers the kids needed to fill out.

Just when we thought the worst was over a tree frog, who had apparently been stuck to the roof of the classroom watching me flounder, decided that things were going a little too well and promptly dropped from his perch onto the floor in the dead center of the classroom. There was a wet “smack”, a moment of silence, and then pandemonium broke loose. Girls screamed and jumped up on their chairs. Boys began laughing hysterically. I swear it could not have been anymore cliché unless the accursed amphibian had landed on my head, as I stood there telling the kids to quiet down and fill out their paperwork.

The rest of the day is a bit of a blur. The only other thing I can remember is collapsing into bed that night thinking “at least tomorrow will be calmer. I’m sure the students will be under control once they start their regular classes.”

You would think I would know better than that.

Tuesday: Meeting my Nemesis

I like my weekly class schedule. Monday mornings are completely free, so I can spend all the way till lunchtime planning my classes for the week. The problem is, I didn’t have Monday classes this week, and thus, I didn’t really have anything planned. To make matters worse, Tuesdays are my crazy days, in which I have all four of my subjects as well as all four of the classes. And to complete my morning of nightmares my first class was World History with 8B, the little monsters I had rescued from the suicidal tree frog the day before. “It’s ok”, I once again lied to myself “they’re pretty badly behaved. I’ll just spend most of the class time explaining the rules and expectations in my class.” On the bus ride to school I even came up with a writing assignment for them. We could discuss why we study history, and I could ask them to tell me about their favorite parts of history.

Rule one of teaching in another country: Learn what the students are like BEFORE you get to the classroom.

As I quickly discovered, Honduran students don’t like to discuss things. The mentality is “get the answer and move on”.  Why write three sentences when you could write one. Why write even one for that matter, when a few summery words on the page will suffice. Honduran students (and many Hondurans for that matter) are like type writers: great at regurgitating what you tell them, but without an original bone in their body. Don’t even TRY to ask them to see something from another perspective. Maki tried that in her Religion class later in the week. When one kid said that the Bible was the most important book in the world Maki, in a fit of academic fervor, suggested that were she a Muslim she wouldn’t think that. The kid looked at her like she had just suggested that the world was square and said “so you hate Jesus then?”

But I digress.

So there I was, halfway through my first ever class period, and already I was cowering in a corner frantically trying to come up with something to do. I tried to look busy and ignore the ever increasingly frequent question of “meester, what do we do now?”

Rule two of teaching in a foreign country: overplan.

Finally I had an idea. I practically ran to the teacher’s supply closet and grabbed a stack of paper and colored pencils. “We’re going to make timelines” I announced. And so we did. Looking at the brightly colored pages I eventually collected, I think our first real class is going to be on how to make a proper timeline. You’re adults now, time to draw like it.

Anyway, so first period came and went. Eighty minutes has never been so long. Walking down the hall to my next class felt like a death march. My next class was 7A Science, and I only had slightly more planned for that than I did for World History. Did I mention I’m teaching science now too? I found out last Sunday, when the Honduran who was supposed to be teaching it left to go back to her old job…the day before classes were due to start.

Much to my surprise, and great elation, class 7A are almost the exact opposite of 8B. They raised their hands and asked relevant questions. Still not the greatest at actual discussion, but I can work on that. Most thrilling of all, class 7A has Nemesis. Nemesis is a Honduran Hermione Granger (if you don’t get the reference where have you been for the last decade?) Her hand is up two seconds after you ask a question, her English is wonderful, she listens to ALL your directions, and she actually writes proper sentences! Along with Nemesis, class 7A is blessed with Tony, Alex, and Fransisco, all of whom are willing participants. There are only two bad eggs in the class, and generally the worst they do is put their heads down and sleep. I can handle that kind of misbehavior.

Bolstered by a successful science class, I went on to have 8A Art (with Michael, the blind kid) which went surprisingly smoothly, back to 7A for Activities (I really do LOVE that class), and wrapped up the day with 7B Art. I went home feeling pretty good about myself.

It had been a rough start, but I had made it.

Wednesday: And things had been going so well

Wednesday started out ok. My first period was free so I had breakfast in the cafeteria. The breakfast baleadas they make are fantastic! Then I had 8B Art, which went surprisingly well. But later in the day was a second Activities in 7A, and something (I really am not sure what) went very wrong. Maybe the kids were just feeling all riled up because we were playing a game. The goal was to walk through  a maze of desks blindfolded, being guided verbally by another student. This was meant to be an exercise on following directions, which is ironic seeing as how they didn’t listen to a word I said. Things just kept getting more and more out of control, and the more they ignored me, the angrier I became. I know that this is probably not the healthiest response to dealing with problem children, but it’s not as if I was speaking Greek. I made the directions clear; I gave them second and third chances to behave. It was meant to be a fun exercise, but at every turn they flung my kindness back in my face.

Finally I had had enough. We put the desks back, and I had them spend the rest of the class period writing in silence a full page about why it is important to follow directions and listen to the teacher. If I heard so much as a whisper from someone I wrote their name on the board. If they acted up again, they went to the Consejera! The Consejera is a cross between a guidance counselor and a Catholic school disciplinary nun. Needless to say, you DO NOT want to get sent to her.

It killed me to have to do that to 7A, but I am not about to spend the rest of the year letting them get away with murder in my class. Never the less, reading Nemesis’s beautifully written letter about how the teacher is like the captain of a ship, and must be listened to in order to ensure learning and fun, I almost cried.

I drew some comfort from the fact that I was not alone in my tribulations. In fact it turned out that almost every single teacher had similar problems. I was starting to realize that Honduran children are not used to structure. In actuality, the country seemed to be the perfect breeding ground for middle-school hellions. We ended all the classes 20 minutes early to have an impromptu school meeting in the cafeteria to go over the rules again and to lay down the law.

Wednesday may have been over, but Friday had never looked so far away.

Thursday: Broken In and Starting Over

Thursday I only had 2 classes, one first thing, and another at the end of the day. First was Art with 8B. By this time I had found my rhythm with the Art classes, and everything went swimmingly. I might actually have some good artists come out of that class! However the day ended in much the same fashion as Wednesday. We ended classes early AGAIN to have a talk with the kids, but not before I finally broke down in 7B Activities. Once again they just did not follow directions, no matter how often I repeated them. This time I had them write about what they would like to do in Activities class, and how they expected me to trust them with cooking or woodwork later in the year if they couldn’t follow the simple directions for a game now? This time I couldn’t get mad though. I was spent. I did end up sending a girl to the Consejera this time, and I hope it got the point across.

I went home and locked myself in my room. What was I doing wrong? I thought I had good lesson plans for Activities? Sure it was the first week, but we were playing games and learning about teamwork! After much introspection and internet searching, it finally dawned on me that I was spending too much time trying to be a teacher, and not enough time teaching. I was structuring my class like an after school special, practically spoon feeding the kids these goofy lines about cooperation and teamwork. No wonder they weren’t listening, I wouldn’t listen to this dribble! This was meant to be an activities class. What they learned wouldn’t be through reflection writings or discussion, but through hands on projects.

So I deleted my class planning folder for actividades and started over. I wanted the kids to think more creatively, but I had to keep them entertained. How was I going to do this? Puzzle games. I looked all over the web for puzzles to give them in class. During my search I also found a great idea for a science lesson plan!

I finally emerged from my room several hours later. My roommates must have thought I had lost it (and maybe I had), as I quickly disappeared out the front door, only to return with an egg shaped rock, giggling maniacally. I had a plan…

Friday: Crash and Burn-ing Trash

Friday I strode into my 7A Science class with confidence.

“Today”, I announced, “I am going to test your ability to listen and take notes. I will start by giving you a lecture on my favorite prehistoric creature, during which you will take notes. At the end there will be a pop quiz.”

Chorus of groans and “Nooo Meester!”

So I began my lecture about the now extinct Cattywampus. I began by saying how it went extinct during the last Ice Age, and no trace of it was ever found. I went on to describe its green scales and reed like mane, its huge nasal cavity and clawed feet (like a chicken). I told them how it made it’s home n a swamp in order to hide from its enemy the Bunyip, which looked like a huge saber-toothed badger. I finished up the lecture by showing them all the fossilized Cattywampus egg that I owned. The kids were really impressed with that, and it took all my willpower not to start laughing.

The kids studiously took notes, and then I gave them the quiz. I marked them then and there, and handed them all back. Every single one got a zero. Not because of any inferior quality of their notes either. Seeing as how the Cattywampus never existed, it couldn’t possibly have had green scales, or been hunted by saber-toothed badgers (which didn’t exist either…I hope). The expressions were priceless. I told the kids that they should have listened harder to my lecture. Didn’t I say that no trace of the Cattywampus was ever found? If so, then how could I possibly know all that information about it, let alone own a fossil egg?

“You have to listen” I told them, “but more than that, you have to question everything!”

It remains to be seen if the lesson actually hit home, but one thing is for certain, they are not going to forget the Cattywampus. I still hear the word uttered with horror in the hall sometimes.

The rest of the day was not so exhilarating. The stress of the week finally caught up to me, and it was soon apparent that I was coming down with something. The game of football (soccer) with the teachers after school only made things worse. Oh I didn’t play, but I did have to sit at the side of the field inhaling smoke for the whole game. You see there was a huge bonfire on the other side of the field, and the wind was blowing the smoke strait at us. No matter where I moved, the smoke followed in a huge noxious cloud. It was a big fire.

Why the big fire you ask? Well here in Honduras, that’s what we call recycling! That’s right. Most Hondurans dispose of their trash by burning it, plastic and all. I probably have lung cancer now.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the weekend with a horrible case of the flu, aggravated by trash smoke inhalation.