Enter the Students

During the first six days of work at the schools, we did teacher-ly things. We chose textbooks from the traveling textbook salesman (we went with Pearson’s PostCard series, for better or for worse), made goals, talked a lot in meetings, and spent a lot of time waiting around for said meetings.  On numerous occasions, we “Hacer-ed la vaca“ or “made the cow,” (aka collected money for group snacks), and I was told to take advantage of my “gringa” status to help inspire the other teachers to get things done.

Then, it was Tuesday: And on the seventh day, the students arrived.  

One would think that, once the students got there, it was time to start classes. One would think that, since the students are in school, we would have, at the least, a class schedule. One would think that, since the students are in school and we have two rooms of computers, someone would have found out why all the computer hard drives have gone missing and/or the computers don’t turn on. One would think that, since the students are coming every day, the school would have made the decision whether or not we have so many students that we will have to make Saturday classes mandatory, to fit them all.

One might make these assumptions; in Barranquillan public schools, things go a little differently.

Brief summaries of school responses to the above: 

*note, all entreaties made by me were said politely and with a great big smile. :D

On starting classes:

Emily: “So the students are here. Will we have classes this week?”

Co teachers: “No no, we don’t start classes yet this week. This time is for presentations and such.”

Emily: “Oh. So when do we start classes?”

Co teachers: “Oh you know. Later.” *shrug*

On having a class schedule:

Emily: “So do we know when we’ll receive a class schedule?”

Co teachers: “Well, these things are complicated.”

Emily: “Of course. Is there an estimate when we usually get schedules?”

Co teachers: “Oh you know. Later.” *shrug*

On why the computers don’t work:

Emily: “Can we talk about why the computers don’t work?"

Person in charge of computers: “Of course. I’ll take a look. We’ll have a meeting.”

*after several reminders, meeting time arrives”

Emily: “So, can you tell me more about the computer situation?”

Person in charge of computers: “Well, I haven’t walked into the room yet.”

Emily: “Can we look at them now?”

Person in charge of the computers: “Of course.” *Person in charge of computers walks into another room. PICOC starts talking to another person there. PICOC shuts door in Emily’s face*

On whether or not we will have classes on Saturday:

Emily: “Will we have classes on Saturday?”

Co teachers: “Probably.”

Emily: “When might we find out?”

Co teachers: “Oh you know. Later.”

Suffice it to say, my prediction about having no idea what’s going on for weeks is not simply a state of being that I, as a volunteer in a strange land, am going through—instead, it seems to be the commonly accepted state of reality here in Colombia. Or at least it is at my school. The biggest difference between what I know and what my co-teachers know is that they know not to mind that they don’t know. "It's okay," they say. "We understand you're not used to this. Things will pick up. In a few weeks."

In the meantime, I have visited the homeroom classes of all the students. There has been a wide mix of reactions to my presence, but the amazing thing is that in almost every class, at least one girl has shocked me by asking me questions in fairly fluent English. These girls are hungry for the language, love it, and want to know more. Their shy pride and surprising ability surfaces quietly in rooms full of excited, just-back-from-holidays schoolgirls. I try to make note—these are the girls for whom I will be starting conversation clubs, for whom I will be choosing extra-curricular songs and activities, the girls who may shape a huge part of my existence at the school and whom I will count on to lead the bilingual charge in the student population. 

As for the rest, well, I’m still in honeymoon phase with them. Their eyes light up at the “gringa” presence—I’m a novelty, an ornament, a diversion who they don’t realize plans to make them work hard! I will have to toughen up and make sure to foster that bridge from “gringa” to “teacher” and hope nothing sours too much along the way.

And in the meantime, I’m certainly working on that flexibility thing…

Presentation in my school--as you can see, our school is only one building. All but three classrooms are upstairs. They open into the courtyard, where things like marching band practice and gym take place, all during the academic school day:

Break time!: