Because Meena’s pumpkin and shrimp curry was one of my favorite dishes during training and since Gie and Shannon made that great dinner in TBC a couple weeks ago, pumpkin has been put on a pedestal and became my next dish to accomplish. I bought my own small pumpkin last time in TBC, and have been waiting for the right time to try it out. Yesterday was the day. I had a general idea of what I needed to do from watching Meena and Gie, and then I got tips from Maisie, Mike and Ashley on how best to cook it. “Oh, pumpkins are easy,” Ashley said. “Good, it’ll boost my confidence with cooking,” I replied.
I cut into my slightly-bigger-than-a-big grapefruit-sized pumpkin and immediately start scooping out the goo with my hands. Why is it the slimyness and stench of a pumpkin is so enjoyable, when descaling a fish gives me the heebie jeebies? Then I realized it was because it was so familiar to me – I’ve de-gooed a pumpkin countless times, though never for the purpose of eating one. Every year at this time, I usually carve a pumpkin. The act is one of several things that happens in the fall, and along with the stench of pumpkin goo came the smemories of all that. Roasting pumpkin seeds in the oven, carving crazy pictures in the sides of pumpkins, the people I’ve carved with – mom and brothers, Susie, and Devon, Lacey and I’s pumpkin goo fight that one year. I remembered trips to the Pumpkin Patch, cutting out pumpkins out of orange construction paper, Halloween, pumpkin pie, Thanksgiving… Oh, I love fall. And, even though I’m away from my favorite season and all the events that encompass it, I realized last night, I still got my pumpkin.
Shannon and I talked about how pumpkin will have to be a staple once we get back into the states – how did we carve pumpkins all those years and then just throw them out without noting the goodness within? It seems so obvious to cook more with pumpkin now! And the way it’s cooked here, yum… First had to peel it and cut it into chunks. Heated oil then added curry seasoning, then onions and garlic. Added pumpkin chunks, then some water and some sugar. Let them stew for about 25 minute. Mash with a fork and stir. My first time cooking with curry and the smell was magical. I made some roti to go with it; my second roti came out better than my fist one. The pumpkin was a little too sweet and not as spicy, but it was pumpkin. And that’s how I got my pumpkin for Halloween.
Days later, still before Halloween, some girls visited my house. One, in particular, has wormed her way into my heart; she usually comes bearing bread from her grandmother, and requesting peppers and other things for her grandmother’s kitchen. She came asking for “plants” this time, so we started picking these tiny peppers that grow abundantly on a bush in my yard. Then, I think she got in the spirit of receiving, because she started asking for all the other various plants I have in my yard. “What is that, Miss?” –“Those are shallot.”- “My mother wants dem, Miss.” And of course, since she was getting all the freebies, even if they WERE just veggies not fit to eat on their own, the other little girl wanted some, too. I got them plastic bags, and we put some sorry-looking boulanger, some shallot, and the peppers into their bags, the girls resembling trick-or-treaters without costumes, I thought, with an inward smile. After the girls collected their loot, they took off for home, looking proud. Yup, trick or treating, veggie style.
Happy Halloween!
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Fifteen Kids, a Bull Cart and a PCV (Part 2)
Friday was a little different. At 6:30, no one was out waiting, so I just start walking, Malinda and others catch up and Marva catches me to say she’s getting some things and will come along just now, but we shouldn’t wait. We start walking. I expect to meet Russian with the cart at the same location, but he wasn’t there. We keep walking. Did we get left behind? I wonder, Was the plan to meet him further up the road? What else was there to do but keep walking? Though I walked with my “on a mission” walk, I know I held the kids up; they all somehow manage to make the trek look like a short, fun trip with running, skipping, walking and exploring all part of it.
Even though Q is 7 miles from Y, many people walked or biked there, fairly easily. I could have done so myself, though I was grateful for the alternative transportation. While, admittedly, I’m not in the best shape the village seems to find me even less so and doesn’t think me able of certain tasks. Either way, it was with relief on different level at reaching Russian’s house and seeing he hasn’t left yet. We get going and this day, I remember my camera. Since the cart is returning for other cargo, we walk the last leg of the journey, having arrived early, despite the slow pace.
More people are here this day and there’s even an opening ceremony with marching and everything. A lot of the events are for older students, and they’re more exciting. Also, though, the nursery school kids had running competitions which was a highlight. I got some great pictures I’m happy with. More camaraderie with the kids and me and Russian kept getting more and more excited as Pheasant House took and maintained the lead in points. At the end of the day, the score totals were: Eagles 312, Macaw 316, and Pheasant 331! Russian and Monique had pondered what we could do to celebrate if we won and they decided to do a lap around the track shouting “We’re number 1!” So, we did. Russian asked if I would (could) and I said sure (though I wasn’t quite so sure) but we took off with the banner, all the kids and changing “Who brought first? – Pheasants! Who brought second? – Macaws!” At the last 1/4th of the track, Russian looks at me (maybe I was puffing extra hard or something, I dunno) and calls “Stop!” and we walk a bit, then he looks at me, as if to check and starts jogging again to the finish. I actually think I could have ran/jogged the whole thing, though I was appreciative of Russian’s consideration and his quiet way of doing it. And because he wasn’t driving the cart home, he made sure I had a ride back in a truck.
I learned some new things about my counterpart these two days – he’s very good with kids, he knows how to raise morale and get people energized, he can be thoughtful ---- and he’s one bad ass bull cart wrangler.
Even though Q is 7 miles from Y, many people walked or biked there, fairly easily. I could have done so myself, though I was grateful for the alternative transportation. While, admittedly, I’m not in the best shape the village seems to find me even less so and doesn’t think me able of certain tasks. Either way, it was with relief on different level at reaching Russian’s house and seeing he hasn’t left yet. We get going and this day, I remember my camera. Since the cart is returning for other cargo, we walk the last leg of the journey, having arrived early, despite the slow pace.
More people are here this day and there’s even an opening ceremony with marching and everything. A lot of the events are for older students, and they’re more exciting. Also, though, the nursery school kids had running competitions which was a highlight. I got some great pictures I’m happy with. More camaraderie with the kids and me and Russian kept getting more and more excited as Pheasant House took and maintained the lead in points. At the end of the day, the score totals were: Eagles 312, Macaw 316, and Pheasant 331! Russian and Monique had pondered what we could do to celebrate if we won and they decided to do a lap around the track shouting “We’re number 1!” So, we did. Russian asked if I would (could) and I said sure (though I wasn’t quite so sure) but we took off with the banner, all the kids and changing “Who brought first? – Pheasants! Who brought second? – Macaws!” At the last 1/4th of the track, Russian looks at me (maybe I was puffing extra hard or something, I dunno) and calls “Stop!” and we walk a bit, then he looks at me, as if to check and starts jogging again to the finish. I actually think I could have ran/jogged the whole thing, though I was appreciative of Russian’s consideration and his quiet way of doing it. And because he wasn’t driving the cart home, he made sure I had a ride back in a truck.
I learned some new things about my counterpart these two days – he’s very good with kids, he knows how to raise morale and get people energized, he can be thoughtful ---- and he’s one bad ass bull cart wrangler.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Fifteen Kids, a Bull Cart and a PCV (Part 1)
Inter-house school athletics were this Thursday and Friday I had no idea a few weeks ago, just how big this was. But then the practicing during and after school started, and then a week before, practicing before school started. At 4:30, I’d hear the gong of the makeshift bell in the play field, which just happens to be my side and backyard. I, being assigned to the Pheasant House (Eagle and Macaw being the other Houses), attended and slightly aided in some of these practices. I’m no professional nor veteran athlete, but sports is in my blood and background, so I was able to at least pass on information such as the importance of stretching, graduated exertion and protocol/tips for competition.I’ve come to appreciate and enjoy this October disruption to the calendar and I’m glad I was a part of this first week of competitions.
Since the village of Q’s school annex is still considered a part of Y’s school, the two had three houses between them – Eagle and Peasant at Y and Macaws at Q. These Inter-House competitions were held at Q. I’d been away in TBC, then occupied by my first PCV visitor, so I was out of the loop in regards to preparations for set up. I did, however, secure a ride to Q with my inclusive counterpart, Russian. He, a former member of the Peasant House, offered to transport some of the house members in his family’s bull cart. He said there’d be enough room for me, too. Well, alright!
Miss Marva, Russian, I and some kids met at the market shelter at 6:30 Thursday morning and walked down the hill, past the formerly flooded ravine and to Miss Inez’s house, where the cart waited. I said I’d ride in the cart, but then Marva asked if I was walking, “I’ll walk if you walk,” I told her; I figured following her would be best. “We ride,” she says so we both hop on board, legs dangling over the front, two bulls' behinds staring at us. The cart is about 5’x7’, and some kids pile in behind us, Russian walking alongside, guiding them and Marva holding a makeshift whip out of a tree branch, whacking them every once in awhile and grunting “Hum! Humm!” at the pair. I, unfortunately, forget my camera – what a sight it was, though. The cart hardly went faster than those on foot around us, and I nervously heled on as the bulls slipped and backed up into us a couple times I didn’t realize it until later, but Marva was nervous, too. We had some good laughs, though.
The trek called for some chanting or road trip songs or something, but I was too busy with the novelty of the trip to organize it. We were on the road for about an hour.
Russian, as well as Rosita, are with the Pheasant House, and Miss Marva is busy with the scoring table. Between Rosita, Russian and I, we make sure each competitor is ready for the events (running, jumping, cricket ball toss) and I check off completed events, and note if any Pheasant bring first (that’s how they say take first, or place first – I brought first). I pass around my water bottle for the kids and athletes, probably not the most sanitary thing, but we didn’t think to bring other bottles for the kids. Russian is especially enthusiastic and invested in the kids and their events; he really gets the other kids (and me) to cheer the competitors on. Plus, those kids, some at least, try so hard they practically collapse once they reach the finish line; it’s hard not to get caught up in the competitions. “Run up, run up!” they call to the competitors, meaning “Run faster, catch up!” I learn names better because of this, too.
At the end of the day, around 2:30, the total points earned stands at: Eagles 156, Pheasants 149, and Macaws 135. We wait for Russian to collect the bulls and yoke them back to the cart. The kids dub the cart a “minibus” and giggling and jabbering in Makushi is heard all around. I hop on again, but Marva stays behind. Russian hands the lead ropes to Malinda, a quick 10 year old and we’re off – more kids on board then in the morning, and completely devoid of all adults besides me. It takes me a second to realize this, and I didn’t know whether to be nervous or simply place my life in the competent (?) hands of 15 Y kids, whose expertise added together may or may not equal one adult. Malinda and Lucilyn, another 10 year old, are liberal with the “Hum’s!” and whip lashes, though we don’t seem to go very fast at all, and I have kids hanging all over me and messing around in the back. The road splits and the bulls take one path. “Are we going the right way? Should we turn them?” I ask. “They know the path, Miss,” they tell me. Okay….
But then we veer off that path – and keep going. No one really does anything about it, either. “Aren’t we supposed to be up there?” I ask. “Yes, Miss,” they answer. But nothing. Then they try pulling the ropes to get the bull to go right, they try whacking them on their sides, but the bulls don’t care. “Whaow, whow,” they say, trying to get them to stop. “Whaow!” I shout, too.
They stop, get all turned around, one with his messy butt up close to us in front. I wait for something to happen, but it doesn’t. I start to hop down, figuring, sure, I don’t know a thing about leading a bull cart, but maybe I can pull them back to the road somehow. Though the kids, through their unstructured chatter and inaction, shout, “No, Miss, no!” Right after that, the bull closest to us starts to seriously pee, so I quickly jump back up, out of range. I look to Sevannie, the oldest in the cart for guidance, though it’s Lucilyn who eventually gets out, takes the ropes and guides us back to the road. I am in hysterics with laughter and ignorance, already forming this blog in my head. We get back on track, Lucilyn hops back on board and I begin craning my neck around, searching for Russian or Marva – nothing.
We get off the road again and it hits me how even though the kids are very skilled in some things more than kids in the States are, or even I am, and that Russian and Marva made it look easy enough earlier, it’s not exactly as easy as pie and what the hell am I doing in a cart pulled by bulls several hundred pounds in size, “protected” by a gaggle of kids and nothing else?? It was with great relief I hear Russian catch up to us and to get the bulls as responsive as they were this morning, pulling them back on the road and shimmying up to the front and taking over. He chastises Malinda for letting them get off track, as if she should have known, and I fell a tad less foolhardy about getting myself into the situation I was in; the kids could (should) take care of things. All’s well that ends well, I suppose.
Since the village of Q’s school annex is still considered a part of Y’s school, the two had three houses between them – Eagle and Peasant at Y and Macaws at Q. These Inter-House competitions were held at Q. I’d been away in TBC, then occupied by my first PCV visitor, so I was out of the loop in regards to preparations for set up. I did, however, secure a ride to Q with my inclusive counterpart, Russian. He, a former member of the Peasant House, offered to transport some of the house members in his family’s bull cart. He said there’d be enough room for me, too. Well, alright!
Miss Marva, Russian, I and some kids met at the market shelter at 6:30 Thursday morning and walked down the hill, past the formerly flooded ravine and to Miss Inez’s house, where the cart waited. I said I’d ride in the cart, but then Marva asked if I was walking, “I’ll walk if you walk,” I told her; I figured following her would be best. “We ride,” she says so we both hop on board, legs dangling over the front, two bulls' behinds staring at us. The cart is about 5’x7’, and some kids pile in behind us, Russian walking alongside, guiding them and Marva holding a makeshift whip out of a tree branch, whacking them every once in awhile and grunting “Hum! Humm!” at the pair. I, unfortunately, forget my camera – what a sight it was, though. The cart hardly went faster than those on foot around us, and I nervously heled on as the bulls slipped and backed up into us a couple times I didn’t realize it until later, but Marva was nervous, too. We had some good laughs, though.
The trek called for some chanting or road trip songs or something, but I was too busy with the novelty of the trip to organize it. We were on the road for about an hour.
Russian, as well as Rosita, are with the Pheasant House, and Miss Marva is busy with the scoring table. Between Rosita, Russian and I, we make sure each competitor is ready for the events (running, jumping, cricket ball toss) and I check off completed events, and note if any Pheasant bring first (that’s how they say take first, or place first – I brought first). I pass around my water bottle for the kids and athletes, probably not the most sanitary thing, but we didn’t think to bring other bottles for the kids. Russian is especially enthusiastic and invested in the kids and their events; he really gets the other kids (and me) to cheer the competitors on. Plus, those kids, some at least, try so hard they practically collapse once they reach the finish line; it’s hard not to get caught up in the competitions. “Run up, run up!” they call to the competitors, meaning “Run faster, catch up!” I learn names better because of this, too.
At the end of the day, around 2:30, the total points earned stands at: Eagles 156, Pheasants 149, and Macaws 135. We wait for Russian to collect the bulls and yoke them back to the cart. The kids dub the cart a “minibus” and giggling and jabbering in Makushi is heard all around. I hop on again, but Marva stays behind. Russian hands the lead ropes to Malinda, a quick 10 year old and we’re off – more kids on board then in the morning, and completely devoid of all adults besides me. It takes me a second to realize this, and I didn’t know whether to be nervous or simply place my life in the competent (?) hands of 15 Y kids, whose expertise added together may or may not equal one adult. Malinda and Lucilyn, another 10 year old, are liberal with the “Hum’s!” and whip lashes, though we don’t seem to go very fast at all, and I have kids hanging all over me and messing around in the back. The road splits and the bulls take one path. “Are we going the right way? Should we turn them?” I ask. “They know the path, Miss,” they tell me. Okay….
But then we veer off that path – and keep going. No one really does anything about it, either. “Aren’t we supposed to be up there?” I ask. “Yes, Miss,” they answer. But nothing. Then they try pulling the ropes to get the bull to go right, they try whacking them on their sides, but the bulls don’t care. “Whaow, whow,” they say, trying to get them to stop. “Whaow!” I shout, too.
They stop, get all turned around, one with his messy butt up close to us in front. I wait for something to happen, but it doesn’t. I start to hop down, figuring, sure, I don’t know a thing about leading a bull cart, but maybe I can pull them back to the road somehow. Though the kids, through their unstructured chatter and inaction, shout, “No, Miss, no!” Right after that, the bull closest to us starts to seriously pee, so I quickly jump back up, out of range. I look to Sevannie, the oldest in the cart for guidance, though it’s Lucilyn who eventually gets out, takes the ropes and guides us back to the road. I am in hysterics with laughter and ignorance, already forming this blog in my head. We get back on track, Lucilyn hops back on board and I begin craning my neck around, searching for Russian or Marva – nothing.
We get off the road again and it hits me how even though the kids are very skilled in some things more than kids in the States are, or even I am, and that Russian and Marva made it look easy enough earlier, it’s not exactly as easy as pie and what the hell am I doing in a cart pulled by bulls several hundred pounds in size, “protected” by a gaggle of kids and nothing else?? It was with great relief I hear Russian catch up to us and to get the bulls as responsive as they were this morning, pulling them back on the road and shimmying up to the front and taking over. He chastises Malinda for letting them get off track, as if she should have known, and I fell a tad less foolhardy about getting myself into the situation I was in; the kids could (should) take care of things. All’s well that ends well, I suppose.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Sarah Meets World
The world is not angels and butterflies. I am finally being forced to reconcile with this fact. I’ve had a charmed life. I blame my parents, only half blame, though. They gave the boys and me all the good in the world. They gave us love, stability, sustenance, creativity, fun, attention and freedom. Despite the freedom, we still were kept in a somewhat sheltered and limited world, not experiencing/knowing all that was out there. As I’ve said before, I remember my childhood as being magical, being complete. Magical in the discoveries, the trials, the triumphs. My childhood, nor my family, was perfect, but we had love and happiness. The negatives seem few and far between.
Now, I only half blame my parents for my charmed life – I accept the other part of the blame. I looked (look) at the world in rose-colored glasses. I did not look at or fixate on that which was not rosy. I built my world around the goodness, I did not engage myself in activities that would invite uncharmed results I believe the boys accepted (did not reject) some uncharmed parts of life. They did not willfully ignore it as I did. That makes them stronger people in some regards. Anyway, because they experienced the less-than-rosy world first- and second-hand, I know it was not all mom and dad’s “fault.” (Though it was Dad who would whisper “angels and butterflies” to me before I went to bed – still does, when I’m around). But me, I still like to deny it and avoid it.
Yet another trait my adventure is molding. It is imperative I come to embrace the world for what it is and all it contains. No matter how much I don’t want to. And I am being forced to here, in this time of my life. Life is poverty, intoxication, ignorance… life is screwworms, cockroaches and spiders… life is fear, suspicion and unstructured. Life is not all these things all the time… but it certainly is not all angels and butterflies, either. I mourn the loss, the defilement of my rosy world. But, I welcome the clarity.
Now, I only half blame my parents for my charmed life – I accept the other part of the blame. I looked (look) at the world in rose-colored glasses. I did not look at or fixate on that which was not rosy. I built my world around the goodness, I did not engage myself in activities that would invite uncharmed results I believe the boys accepted (did not reject) some uncharmed parts of life. They did not willfully ignore it as I did. That makes them stronger people in some regards. Anyway, because they experienced the less-than-rosy world first- and second-hand, I know it was not all mom and dad’s “fault.” (Though it was Dad who would whisper “angels and butterflies” to me before I went to bed – still does, when I’m around). But me, I still like to deny it and avoid it.
Yet another trait my adventure is molding. It is imperative I come to embrace the world for what it is and all it contains. No matter how much I don’t want to. And I am being forced to here, in this time of my life. Life is poverty, intoxication, ignorance… life is screwworms, cockroaches and spiders… life is fear, suspicion and unstructured. Life is not all these things all the time… but it certainly is not all angels and butterflies, either. I mourn the loss, the defilement of my rosy world. But, I welcome the clarity.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
The Magical World of Elementary School
Is it just me, or did elementary school seem like a magical world in which everything was created, supervised, accounted for and everything was full of discoveries? Maybe it’s just looking back do I remember it so fondly, but, man, the fun things we learned and did! The power the teachers had! It seemed the teachers knew everything; they commanded an audience, were presidents of their mini countries, and their subjects followed for the most part, in that created and sustained environment. And we followed, out of the aura created, not out of conditioned response. Well, some of it was, but there just seemed to be something special about school that screamed completeness, that in doing whatever you were doing, you fulfilled the scholastic need. The day went on, long and filled with activities that seemed to have a greater significance you couldn’t quite comprehend, yet you still absorbed everything; it made sense.
Things flowed easily, because for most kids, you just followed the rules the teachers laid down… if the chart said you were the Paper Collector, you proudly collected the paper. If it was three strikes and you were out, by two strikes, you started being extra careful. If you made a pen-mark in a book, you got sent to the principal’s office, a threat strong enough to usually prevent you from doing it. In my school, we had suites, not individual rooms, though there were always the invisible boundaries of the classroom, which everyone adhered to – the 2nd grade corner belonged to the second grade, you didn’t go over there unless for a special reason, and you generally kept your eyes and attention to your own class area.
Assignments were done with decorum, if you were told to spend the next 10 minutes on math problems, you did so, with the small interruptions like an occasional trip to the pencil sharpener, or one or two kids who were fooling around instead. Things were numbered and accounted for.
Though, in hindsight, this was from the observation of one student; specifically, one well-behaved student who did her homework and followed instructions most of the time. Maybe the teachers would say differently. Regardless, school was mostly a place of learning, discovery and order.
Which is why I’m still shaken to the core from my time in the primary schools here.
I checked out Little Town on the Prairie from the library, and it’s fitting, because Miss Wilder and her classroom management have kept coming to mind in the past weeks. She was a new teacher, sister of a well-liked man in town, and generally respected just for being an educator. She had everything going for her; if she expected work to be done and demanded it, it would happen. If the students knew she would not tolerate bad behavior, they would not behave badly. She single-handedly ruined her effectiveness as an educator and lost all respect from her students, though, when she came in, being too nice and telling the students she wouldn’t punish them. Her declaring they would be “the best of friends” did not make it so – the students did not know what to do with that. Eventually, when she called for order, the class was out of control, caught up in disregarding her and making disturbances. And the disruption fed upon itself, until it the purpose of going to school was entirely lost. I fear I am in a similar situation.
What is it that makes people (kids) obey? Respond? What is it about a parent that makes a child eat his peas, even though he doesn’t want to? Or then, what makes that child blatantly disobey their parent’s orders to NOT jump on the bed? As adults, I think the rewards or benefits are more understood – we do as our boss says, so we earn money and keep our job, not just because they told us. We go to church because we know it will benefit our souls, we don’t eat ice cream for breakfast because we understand that’s not a nutritional beginning to the day and that our bodies need something else. Children, though, at one point or another, do not understand the “why,” only the “must.” That sort of puts them at the mercy of parents/adults, relying on older people who know “why” to guide them. And, as told from at least one former child (me), we look up to adults as knowing “a lot;” a lot more than we know, at least. In fact, we tend to think adults may know it all, if not most of it. Which gives rise to that whole scholastic atmosphere.
This is not the case (necessarily) here. It’s as if things are being held together by a thread, a fine thread where nothing is consistent, reliable or permanent. The essence of school is here, but the atmosphere is not. The motions are made, but not the emotion. Adults do not seem like they know it all, and do not act to earn respect. Teachers do not seem like they know it all (let alone the content they are teaching), and do not act to earn respect. (These statements are generalities and don’t reflect the country, or my village for that matter, as a whole.)
I used to think that if you acted in a respectful manner to kids, you would earn respect. Not expect too much, not insult others’ intelligence, give praise and make lessons interesting or fun. This is not working for me here. But perhaps the children don’t know how to show respect. Perhaps they just don’t know what to do with me.
While Miss Wilder’s intentions may be been good (ahead of her time, but good), it did not work, and then she did not try to correct it. The fall term was a failure. Giggling, fidgeting, practical jokes, teasing songs, unlearned lessons… You half feel sorry for her, half think she got what she deserved. Can anything be done once a class loses respect for you? How do you maintain control without controlling the kid?
Strict authoritarian manners with the kids don’t work, being their friend and having fun doesn’t work. Wavering inconsistently between the two doesn’t work. The “lead by intimidation and degradation” method that the teachers use here only gets the kids to do the action requested, with no emotional/intellectual participation from the kids. The smiles and outside-the-box techniques I use are hit and miss. I don’t have the answers, and the teachers here don’t have the answers, but at least they (some) get kids to respond to their methods.
I loathe the set up here and loathe that I have resorted to employing some of the common methods here to keep order; before which, I appealed to every level of a person’s psyche, to no avail. I have become unsympathetic to students’ reactions to my efforts. It feels as if I have tried everything I know. It’s not like this in the US, and despite the overall importance to not make comparisons, I told one class that. “Students back home listen when a teacher tells them something. Students do not erase the board unless the teacher tells them to. Students back home are not as bad as you all are being right now.” Being used to lectures, they mostly stomached this tirade of mine. I think they sensed I gave up on them (for the day, at least).
The function of school here is propelling, but only at the minimum level. The incomplete way many things are done here really is exasperating and angering. Despite these negative feelings, I do have an understanding that this is so only because it is how it was done in the past. Teachers teach in the way they do because they were taught in that same manner, and that’s what they know. Children learn only as much as their parents know in regards to life choices and such. And, I do understand that it is for these exact reasons that I was called here to volunteer. I will grin and bear it, and maybe, just maybe, I will succeed in creating some level of Elementary School Magic here. (Good Lord, it’s difficult, though.)
Things flowed easily, because for most kids, you just followed the rules the teachers laid down… if the chart said you were the Paper Collector, you proudly collected the paper. If it was three strikes and you were out, by two strikes, you started being extra careful. If you made a pen-mark in a book, you got sent to the principal’s office, a threat strong enough to usually prevent you from doing it. In my school, we had suites, not individual rooms, though there were always the invisible boundaries of the classroom, which everyone adhered to – the 2nd grade corner belonged to the second grade, you didn’t go over there unless for a special reason, and you generally kept your eyes and attention to your own class area.
Assignments were done with decorum, if you were told to spend the next 10 minutes on math problems, you did so, with the small interruptions like an occasional trip to the pencil sharpener, or one or two kids who were fooling around instead. Things were numbered and accounted for.
Though, in hindsight, this was from the observation of one student; specifically, one well-behaved student who did her homework and followed instructions most of the time. Maybe the teachers would say differently. Regardless, school was mostly a place of learning, discovery and order.
Which is why I’m still shaken to the core from my time in the primary schools here.
I checked out Little Town on the Prairie from the library, and it’s fitting, because Miss Wilder and her classroom management have kept coming to mind in the past weeks. She was a new teacher, sister of a well-liked man in town, and generally respected just for being an educator. She had everything going for her; if she expected work to be done and demanded it, it would happen. If the students knew she would not tolerate bad behavior, they would not behave badly. She single-handedly ruined her effectiveness as an educator and lost all respect from her students, though, when she came in, being too nice and telling the students she wouldn’t punish them. Her declaring they would be “the best of friends” did not make it so – the students did not know what to do with that. Eventually, when she called for order, the class was out of control, caught up in disregarding her and making disturbances. And the disruption fed upon itself, until it the purpose of going to school was entirely lost. I fear I am in a similar situation.
What is it that makes people (kids) obey? Respond? What is it about a parent that makes a child eat his peas, even though he doesn’t want to? Or then, what makes that child blatantly disobey their parent’s orders to NOT jump on the bed? As adults, I think the rewards or benefits are more understood – we do as our boss says, so we earn money and keep our job, not just because they told us. We go to church because we know it will benefit our souls, we don’t eat ice cream for breakfast because we understand that’s not a nutritional beginning to the day and that our bodies need something else. Children, though, at one point or another, do not understand the “why,” only the “must.” That sort of puts them at the mercy of parents/adults, relying on older people who know “why” to guide them. And, as told from at least one former child (me), we look up to adults as knowing “a lot;” a lot more than we know, at least. In fact, we tend to think adults may know it all, if not most of it. Which gives rise to that whole scholastic atmosphere.
This is not the case (necessarily) here. It’s as if things are being held together by a thread, a fine thread where nothing is consistent, reliable or permanent. The essence of school is here, but the atmosphere is not. The motions are made, but not the emotion. Adults do not seem like they know it all, and do not act to earn respect. Teachers do not seem like they know it all (let alone the content they are teaching), and do not act to earn respect. (These statements are generalities and don’t reflect the country, or my village for that matter, as a whole.)
I used to think that if you acted in a respectful manner to kids, you would earn respect. Not expect too much, not insult others’ intelligence, give praise and make lessons interesting or fun. This is not working for me here. But perhaps the children don’t know how to show respect. Perhaps they just don’t know what to do with me.
While Miss Wilder’s intentions may be been good (ahead of her time, but good), it did not work, and then she did not try to correct it. The fall term was a failure. Giggling, fidgeting, practical jokes, teasing songs, unlearned lessons… You half feel sorry for her, half think she got what she deserved. Can anything be done once a class loses respect for you? How do you maintain control without controlling the kid?
Strict authoritarian manners with the kids don’t work, being their friend and having fun doesn’t work. Wavering inconsistently between the two doesn’t work. The “lead by intimidation and degradation” method that the teachers use here only gets the kids to do the action requested, with no emotional/intellectual participation from the kids. The smiles and outside-the-box techniques I use are hit and miss. I don’t have the answers, and the teachers here don’t have the answers, but at least they (some) get kids to respond to their methods.
I loathe the set up here and loathe that I have resorted to employing some of the common methods here to keep order; before which, I appealed to every level of a person’s psyche, to no avail. I have become unsympathetic to students’ reactions to my efforts. It feels as if I have tried everything I know. It’s not like this in the US, and despite the overall importance to not make comparisons, I told one class that. “Students back home listen when a teacher tells them something. Students do not erase the board unless the teacher tells them to. Students back home are not as bad as you all are being right now.” Being used to lectures, they mostly stomached this tirade of mine. I think they sensed I gave up on them (for the day, at least).
The function of school here is propelling, but only at the minimum level. The incomplete way many things are done here really is exasperating and angering. Despite these negative feelings, I do have an understanding that this is so only because it is how it was done in the past. Teachers teach in the way they do because they were taught in that same manner, and that’s what they know. Children learn only as much as their parents know in regards to life choices and such. And, I do understand that it is for these exact reasons that I was called here to volunteer. I will grin and bear it, and maybe, just maybe, I will succeed in creating some level of Elementary School Magic here. (Good Lord, it’s difficult, though.)
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Liming
“You don’t go and lime?” One of the librarians half-asked, half stated today during our meeting. No, I haven’t lately. (Liming, by the way, is another word for walking around, or hanging around with people gaffing. Gaffing, is chatting, talking.) In fact, most of my time in relation to the village has been from behind the walls of my house, peering out the window. Many activities take place (such as football, getting water, going to and from the CH) and my house has a lot of windows. I can actually see people at church from my toilet (don’t ask how I know that).
I admit, I watch the comings and goings of the village around me often. I look up whenever I hear a motorbike, curious to see who it was and what direction they are going. I see kids fooling around, animals “migrating” some doing chores or are on an errand. But my migration is limited to mostly my house, the school and the CH, occasionally the HM’s house or Junita’s to eat or get bread.
Why? Well, one could argue the days are pretty short and if you’re working most of the day… or that time out of working, you are tired… it’s part of that, but also – I am a simple, quiet person who didn’t really lime at home, either (spend time with friends, yes, but chill for the sake of chilling, no); I still don’t know many people by name yet, and sure the village is still intimidating, lastly, I miss home and being by myself lets me recreate the feeling of home to some degree. Oh, and plus, I like being alone and reading in my hammock.
There are, I’m sure, several more treasures to discover in my village – nature-, people-, event-, factual-, food-, and PC-wise – and there certainly are thing I’d like to learn about like making stuff out of cassava, basket weaving, cloth weaving, horse riding, food making, Makushi-speaking…
I know I need to push beyond the comfort zone to truly and fully integrate into my community. I need to know people and things and feel at home here and not miss US home so much. But, I also need to stay true to myself and go at my own rate (as well as keep my sanity). I guess I can’t fully rely on time to make all the right connections, but I will certainly let it help. Maybe I should ask the librarians to lime with me?
This past Saturday was the end of Heritage events, and my village got together for a barbecue type thing, complete with eating competitions, drinking, archery and volleyball. I did 3 out of the 4. I’ll let you guess which ones. It was a good bonding experience with the village, and especially with the volleyball, it felt like a gathering at home. I was happy to participate in stuff with my village. At least I'm doing some things.
I admit, I watch the comings and goings of the village around me often. I look up whenever I hear a motorbike, curious to see who it was and what direction they are going. I see kids fooling around, animals “migrating” some doing chores or are on an errand. But my migration is limited to mostly my house, the school and the CH, occasionally the HM’s house or Junita’s to eat or get bread.
Why? Well, one could argue the days are pretty short and if you’re working most of the day… or that time out of working, you are tired… it’s part of that, but also – I am a simple, quiet person who didn’t really lime at home, either (spend time with friends, yes, but chill for the sake of chilling, no); I still don’t know many people by name yet, and sure the village is still intimidating, lastly, I miss home and being by myself lets me recreate the feeling of home to some degree. Oh, and plus, I like being alone and reading in my hammock.
There are, I’m sure, several more treasures to discover in my village – nature-, people-, event-, factual-, food-, and PC-wise – and there certainly are thing I’d like to learn about like making stuff out of cassava, basket weaving, cloth weaving, horse riding, food making, Makushi-speaking…
I know I need to push beyond the comfort zone to truly and fully integrate into my community. I need to know people and things and feel at home here and not miss US home so much. But, I also need to stay true to myself and go at my own rate (as well as keep my sanity). I guess I can’t fully rely on time to make all the right connections, but I will certainly let it help. Maybe I should ask the librarians to lime with me?
This past Saturday was the end of Heritage events, and my village got together for a barbecue type thing, complete with eating competitions, drinking, archery and volleyball. I did 3 out of the 4. I’ll let you guess which ones. It was a good bonding experience with the village, and especially with the volleyball, it felt like a gathering at home. I was happy to participate in stuff with my village. At least I'm doing some things.
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