What A Difference A Year Makes
Last year, one of the most terrifying days of my life happened on the first day of school, September 1st, when every student and teacher in Moldova returns to school, back to work. Back then I knew nothing – my knowledge consisted of 1)Where my classroom was, 2)Where my partner-teacher's classroom was, 3)That I was supposed to teach English. I had no idea who any of the kids were (to that point that there was one girl who gave a speech and I thought she was a teacher I hadn't met. Then the 10th graders walked in and sat down in the front row). I had no idea of the student's skill level, let alone how to really teach them. I could barely communicate in Russian and my comprehension was at a similarly low level. And at the same time, I was just this American enigma to the kids here – just as I was apprehensive and nervous about how to deal with them, they were equally apprehensive and nervous with me as their teacher.
Fast forward one year. I have known – and worked with – my kids here for nine months already. I know them, they know me – there are very few surprises anymore. My language skills have improved dramatically, to the point that I don't really have any issues and have had conversations for hours in Russian. I have a year of teaching experience under my belt, which while not much is certainly a far cry from the 'zero years' I had a year ago. The level of comfort is so much higher now than it was a year ago, I can't even begin to explain. Case in point: this year I'm teaching a new group of 4th graders whom I don't really know yet. On the first day, into the first lesson, there was one student who I can already see may be a handful. He certainly didn't make a good impression on me. Whereas last year I would have had no idea what to do and didn't have the language skills to do it even if I knew, this year after the bell rang I told him to stay around then calmly explained that my classroom is not his theater, that he is not there to entertain us and that he had a decision to make: if he wanted to work during lessons or to spend his time in the hallway, a place he'll go to often if he doesn't do what he has to.
At the time of this posting we've had two days of classes and, as it's Wednesday morning here, I'm heading to school in a few minutes to start our third well. In all honesty, I (and most of us second-year volunteers) were dreading this return to school, but I have to admit that it hasn't been hard at all to get back into it, probably because while I've been in my village for a year, nine months of that has been as a teacher at our school. So in a way, I'm more used to this lifestyle than the one that I had to leave-behind to return to school. It's actually been fun at times, like when one of my favorite 7th graders walked in with a buzz-style haircut and I asked him if he's been in prison or in the army.
There has only been one not-so-bright spot so far – they took my favorite class from me. Last year the class I looked forward to the most was 10th grade (11th this year); while they're not the best from a skill standpoint and could be rather difficult to work with at times, they really were just a great set of kids. Having worked with them last year I assumed I would work with them again – I even set up a work plan for the first month or so do drill certain grammar that they need to know for their exams at the end of year. On Saturday in school I went to my partner teacher so we could divide up the classes for the upcoming year. She claimed 11th grade and I quickly objected, telling her that I wanted them. After some discussion we agreed to talk with my director and vice-director about the situation.
An hour later we had a teachers meeting and, after some talking (I'll admit – I don't really listen unless they're talking to me. As a result I listen for ten minutes of a two hour meeting), it came to the point to talk about our class schedules with all other teachers present. My partner told the director that I had something to say and I just said that I wanted to work with the 11th graders again. He and my vice-director quickly jumped in and told me that the reason why they couldn't be with me is that because at the end of the year an exam will happen and my partner can prepare them better (something I disagree with but didn't vocalize). My director thought it was over then but I quickly responded that I was able to work with the 11th grade last year with an exam so what would be difference if I did so again (something that shocked the other teachers, who had never seen me voice any disagreement with my director before). He responded with something but after a few words it was clear he wouldn't acquiesce so I stopped listening.
While it's a minor set-back, it certainly puts a damper on things for a while. I'll just try not to let it get me down and get over it quickly (although I will say, I'm not done fighting yet).
Notes:
- In my village almost every one has a cow or two (we had one but she was getting old so my host mom sold her last Sunday to – no joke – a meat factory in Chisinau). Every day there's a group of people who work as the de-facto shepherds for all the cows, one big herd, leading them in a slow lap around the village and lake so they can graze and at the end of the night, leading them through the only street in the village. On Tuesday night as I was walking home I saw them ahead on the street and realized that I was likely to get caught behind them, meaning I had to basically slow to a crawl for the final quarter-mile home. I thought quickly and realized that, if I hurried, I could take an alternate route and maybe beat them to an intersection so I could get ahead of them before going home.
So I took a right and took off down the street, moving quickly because while the second street was shorter I had to double back a little to get there. I hauled it about 200 yards, turned a left, and found that I didn't make it – the cows beat me. So I had to walk the last 200 yards home at a baby-ish pace, stuck behind a herd of 100 cows all smelling like manure and meandering slowly.
It was either the high-light or the low-light of my week – not sure yet. But I definitely know that it's one or the other.
Fast forward one year. I have known – and worked with – my kids here for nine months already. I know them, they know me – there are very few surprises anymore. My language skills have improved dramatically, to the point that I don't really have any issues and have had conversations for hours in Russian. I have a year of teaching experience under my belt, which while not much is certainly a far cry from the 'zero years' I had a year ago. The level of comfort is so much higher now than it was a year ago, I can't even begin to explain. Case in point: this year I'm teaching a new group of 4th graders whom I don't really know yet. On the first day, into the first lesson, there was one student who I can already see may be a handful. He certainly didn't make a good impression on me. Whereas last year I would have had no idea what to do and didn't have the language skills to do it even if I knew, this year after the bell rang I told him to stay around then calmly explained that my classroom is not his theater, that he is not there to entertain us and that he had a decision to make: if he wanted to work during lessons or to spend his time in the hallway, a place he'll go to often if he doesn't do what he has to.
At the time of this posting we've had two days of classes and, as it's Wednesday morning here, I'm heading to school in a few minutes to start our third well. In all honesty, I (and most of us second-year volunteers) were dreading this return to school, but I have to admit that it hasn't been hard at all to get back into it, probably because while I've been in my village for a year, nine months of that has been as a teacher at our school. So in a way, I'm more used to this lifestyle than the one that I had to leave-behind to return to school. It's actually been fun at times, like when one of my favorite 7th graders walked in with a buzz-style haircut and I asked him if he's been in prison or in the army.
There has only been one not-so-bright spot so far – they took my favorite class from me. Last year the class I looked forward to the most was 10th grade (11th this year); while they're not the best from a skill standpoint and could be rather difficult to work with at times, they really were just a great set of kids. Having worked with them last year I assumed I would work with them again – I even set up a work plan for the first month or so do drill certain grammar that they need to know for their exams at the end of year. On Saturday in school I went to my partner teacher so we could divide up the classes for the upcoming year. She claimed 11th grade and I quickly objected, telling her that I wanted them. After some discussion we agreed to talk with my director and vice-director about the situation.
An hour later we had a teachers meeting and, after some talking (I'll admit – I don't really listen unless they're talking to me. As a result I listen for ten minutes of a two hour meeting), it came to the point to talk about our class schedules with all other teachers present. My partner told the director that I had something to say and I just said that I wanted to work with the 11th graders again. He and my vice-director quickly jumped in and told me that the reason why they couldn't be with me is that because at the end of the year an exam will happen and my partner can prepare them better (something I disagree with but didn't vocalize). My director thought it was over then but I quickly responded that I was able to work with the 11th grade last year with an exam so what would be difference if I did so again (something that shocked the other teachers, who had never seen me voice any disagreement with my director before). He responded with something but after a few words it was clear he wouldn't acquiesce so I stopped listening.
While it's a minor set-back, it certainly puts a damper on things for a while. I'll just try not to let it get me down and get over it quickly (although I will say, I'm not done fighting yet).
Notes:
- In my village almost every one has a cow or two (we had one but she was getting old so my host mom sold her last Sunday to – no joke – a meat factory in Chisinau). Every day there's a group of people who work as the de-facto shepherds for all the cows, one big herd, leading them in a slow lap around the village and lake so they can graze and at the end of the night, leading them through the only street in the village. On Tuesday night as I was walking home I saw them ahead on the street and realized that I was likely to get caught behind them, meaning I had to basically slow to a crawl for the final quarter-mile home. I thought quickly and realized that, if I hurried, I could take an alternate route and maybe beat them to an intersection so I could get ahead of them before going home.
So I took a right and took off down the street, moving quickly because while the second street was shorter I had to double back a little to get there. I hauled it about 200 yards, turned a left, and found that I didn't make it – the cows beat me. So I had to walk the last 200 yards home at a baby-ish pace, stuck behind a herd of 100 cows all smelling like manure and meandering slowly.
It was either the high-light or the low-light of my week – not sure yet. But I definitely know that it's one or the other.
posted by Andy Buchanan at 12:36 AM
1 Comments:
Andy !
I caught up on your enthusiasm and its great that your back to work. I love the line about the haircut !
There must be a lot of excitement in the air in the first days of the year, personally I can no longer recall those days but do fondly recall what it was like when you guys were in school. I have no doubt the kids will do much better in their testing, especially on the standardized exams at the end of the year.
Over my years at work I've also lost control of a few of my favorite projects to people who I don't think could do as good a job as myself. But the bosses decide and that's that, and if it all goes completely haywire they can always make new adjustments.
No problems dodging the cows here but there are plently of Pit Bulls to keep in your view.
'Saw an article about the possibility of the finding of the last two graves from the assassination of the Romanovs, have you heard about this ?
Also, almost finished with Anthony Beevor's classic "Stalingrad", the history of the battle. Nastier then I had imagined and an awful lot of Romanians died there, too.
'Bye for now !
Dad
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