A professor from my middle/high school was chosen to represent our zone. She wanted me to be her escort. They dressed me up in ropa típica and included me in the festivities.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Teachers' Day Parade
Saturday, December 1st was Teachers' Day, a nation-wide acknowledgment of the hard work teachers and professors put in to educating the youth of Panama. Or maybe it's simply another excuse to have a coronation, a parade, and a huge party.
A professor from my middle/high school was chosen to represent our zone. She wanted me to be her escort. They dressed me up in ropa típica and included me in the festivities.
Each princess had a float, on top of which she danced and waved to the crowd. Behind and around the float was her group of supporters, who threw candy to the observers.
Here is the professor with her adorable six year-old daughter.
They lent me the hat, a sombrero pintado, traditional clothing, and a small bag known as a chácara. The sandals are called cutarras. I stood in front of the car pulling the float and waved the flag.
The parade started at the cathedral in the heart of town and ended at the Escuela Normal, the university where they train teachers and professors. Each princess entered with her escorts. Then, her group of supporters entered and danced around the gym where the announcement of the winner took place.
A few little girls (and women, too...let's be real) ran into the street and asked to take pictures with me. I had dozens of people point and stare at me because, for some reason, I stood out. There must be a huge, invisible sign on my forehead that says, "I'M AMERICAN!" But anyway, it was a lot of fun. I felt like a celebrity.
A professor from my middle/high school was chosen to represent our zone. She wanted me to be her escort. They dressed me up in ropa típica and included me in the festivities.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
They come in droves, they come in waves
Peace Corps has changed the nature of my relationship with children, at school and at home. I'm still quick to say that I love kids, but now, after ten months of dealing with kids, albeit from a different culture, I've changed my tune slightly. Now, I'm not afraid to get terse with some kids. Or straight up yell.
I work in the schools, so I deal with kids every day in the supposed teacher-student, "expect respect" relationship. However, I have come into an educational system where insulting kids (or at least labeling them) in school is more common than where I'm from. (Remember Teacher Meany Pants from an earlier post?) Also, slowly but surely, the culture of blaming the parents and the students has seeped into me, and although the lack of initiative is a collective issue, it's hard not to think, "These darn kids just don't care anything about school." So the respect from teachers to students is often absent. So, sadly, it has changed the way I interact with kids. For example, when I see kids from the middle school walking around the elementary school, I ask, "Hey you, troublemaker! What are you doing here? Did you get suspended? If not, shouldn't you be in class?" The sad truth is that in too many cases, the students respond saying the teacher sent them to do an errand or that their class is not in session. What does this all lead to? My mistrust of most children. That's not good. I always thought to assume their innocence, but that has now changed.
So of course, get respect, give respect. The opposite, students respect teachers, doesn't always happen either. I can't assume they're all bad kids, and sometimes they don't even know they're up to no good. Or that what they're doing is widely considered disrespectful. It's a cultural thing, you know? As soon as I got here, I came face to face with snotty children in school. See, back in my day, a snide, rhetorical question like, "Is the teacher's desk really where you're supposed to sit?" got a kid to get up, move, sit down, behave, whatever. Here, it seems like an invitation to respond similarly, i.e. "Yes..." (tongue out or heavy sarcasm implied) Teachers have no qualms about taking class time for meetings, teacher parties, idle chit-chat, whatever. And if the teachers don't respect class time, why should the students? However, I leave that issue for another day.
Outside school, it's a bit different. They like to think you're their friend, just another member of the community. What they don't know is that I'm not Panamanian, and that what they do can really annoy me. Let me give an example of a regular day in which I can touch on several points.
Today several waves of kids stopped by the house. Wave One was a pair of boys. They came to talk and play with the cat. No big deal. They're good kids, so it was fine. They asked over and over again if I had peanut butter to give them.
Point 1: They never forget anything. ANYTHING.
To review quickly, I went out and gave Oreo cookies with a dab of peanut butter for my birthday. I wanted to share a tasty treat with the kids. Since that day (April 10th), I've gotten kids asking me, "Y las galletas?" And the cookies? In that exact way. Not at all specific. Not "Do you have more cookies?" or "Wow, I really liked those cookies." or "What kind of cookies were those?" (The phrasing of their inquiry irks me, if you can't already tell.) Same thing with the goodie bags from Halloween. Now every kid, whether they came to my house and got a bag or not, is asking me if tomorrow is Halloween again or if I have more bags. How am I supposed to answer that question in a way that shuts down the conversation? NO I DON'T HAVE ANY MORE BAGS! You think that'd work, but they still ask over and over.
Then the kids poked their head in the house when the cat went inside. They played with the cat in a way that annoyed me, yanking his arms and holding him up on two legs, pulling his tail, etc. Then, they saw the bicycle and immediately went inside to touch it.
Point 2: If you're not careful, they will invade your house.
And they touch everything. They ask you what you were doing on your computer or what you were reading (or "studying") on your Kindle or what you were listening to on your iPod. Then they'll ask you how much it cost you. In this case, it was the bicycle. It's a difficult situation, because if I divulge too much information about how much money I make (however little it may be), I may give the impression that I'm rich...which I'm really not. Then you get kids, or worse, parents, asking you for money for a soda or cookies, or bigger things. Luckily, that hasn't really happened too often. But I digress. The point is that the kids come in and touch things. They don't understand that my house is my sanctuary.
The culture here is such that anybody can walk up to a house in the neighborhood unannounced and just come inside. And if you stay at a house long enough, they eventually give you food and drink. Really great, right? Until they flip the script on you. Now I have a house and all the little kids expect me to give them something. I don't make a huge pot of rice and beans for everyone, so I don't just have food to offer. The little food I have in the house is for me. I mean, I paid for it, right? It sounds selfish, but I really only make enough food for myself. Sometimes I give a tiny bit of something, but from there, it only gets worse.
Point 3: The "If you give a mouse a cookie" Scenario
So finally after the kids got under my skin (or into my heart, depending on how you look at), I finally gave some peanut butter. I had them go buy cookies to spread the peanut butter--made 'em work a bit for it. They came back with cookies, and I gave them as little peanut butter as I could manage. (Heck, the 18oz. jar is almost $4.) I gave a bit of peanut butter, but then when they finished, they licked their lips and the roof of their mouths. Then they asked for water. I went to get water, and then they came inside while they poured. At that point it was too late to shoo them out of the house.
I kept having to say no to everything. No, I can't play the video I played for you that one time. Why? Because then you'll want to watch a thousand other videos just like it. No, I won't download Call of Duty and play with you. Why? Because you'll come over every day and want to play. On my computer. MY. COMPUTER. No, you can't borrow the bicycle. Why? Because then you'll be seen riding it and then every kid in town will ask if they can ride it too. Everything I do has the potential to fall down a slippery slope.
And it kind of did. I had a pack of kids, Wave 3, come asking for water and peanut butter.
Point 3: They are entitled little blabbermouths.
As soon as you give to one, it's like you have to give to everyone. Wave 3 had come from playing in the dirt and their hands and feet were filthy. What did they want? Water to drink. No, I said. Can they at least have water to wash their feet and hands? Fine. Go around to the back. One kid tried to go to the back porch by walking through the house. Hey, I said. Go around back from outside. (SEE Point 2) One or two had especially dirty feet. So they put out their hands and I poured water from my homemade totuma to help them get clean. First question: why weren't they doing this at home? I made the mistake of opening my door, meaning they could ask for something the way they ask anyone else. As soon as the two were done, the rest immediately put out their hands. Even clean hands extended, simply for my attention. I was like Jesus pouring water on disciples' hands and feet. They just wanted water poured by my hand, it seemed. Then they started asking about peanut butter and water. Kids from Wave 1 had told them about the food I had told them to keep secret. I wanted to avoid that exact situation.
Point 4: They don't listen until you raise your voice.
I skipped Wave 2. Wave 2 was a pair of boys. One of them is an 8th grader, whom I'm certain has a crush on his English teacher. How does he express it? By constantly bringing her up to me? Teacher Nicholas, why don't you go out with Teacher Four-Foot-Nothing? Teacher Nicholas, if you and Teacher Four-Foot-Nothing had kids, they'd be so short. And so light-skinned. So should I tell her you said you love her? She told me to tell you she misses you. Probably all lies. It just fits into the category of bugging me about my personal life. They ask me about my romantic life. This same kid has asked me how many times I've had sex. Of course, I didn't answer. I tried to be an adult about it.
On top of that, they were playing rough with the cat. Then they started doing the same thing the other kids did, asking for food. But they went further, poking their heads in, wimpering like dogs, saying, Please. At the time, I was making a peanut butter sandwich. I eventually got fed up, closed the door, and ate. The kids didn't leave. They went to the window facing the table where I eat and proceeded to wimper more, beg, and stick their hands through the window cracks. I told them over and over to stop it, that I'm not in charge of feeding them, that they need to leave. They didn't leave. Only when I stood up, screamed in English expletives, and slapped the window did they finally leave, running away...just like stray dogs that come here begging. They weren't willing to respect me until I made it crystal clear.
This often happens, too. Not the yelling, but the kids not getting the picture. Not picking up on the subtleties of my actions, my body language, my shoulders hunched and my butthole clenched, all screaming, "Leave me alone! Go away!"
What else can I do but put up with it? I try to teach the kids better manners, try to slip in little lessons about behavior whenever I can. If not from me, then from whom? I handle it all because there are those moments when the kids make you smile. When they say somethiing hilarious or profound or awe-inspiring. I long for that. It sustains me. Most of the time, though, I have to tell them that farts aren't really that funny.
I work in the schools, so I deal with kids every day in the supposed teacher-student, "expect respect" relationship. However, I have come into an educational system where insulting kids (or at least labeling them) in school is more common than where I'm from. (Remember Teacher Meany Pants from an earlier post?) Also, slowly but surely, the culture of blaming the parents and the students has seeped into me, and although the lack of initiative is a collective issue, it's hard not to think, "These darn kids just don't care anything about school." So the respect from teachers to students is often absent. So, sadly, it has changed the way I interact with kids. For example, when I see kids from the middle school walking around the elementary school, I ask, "Hey you, troublemaker! What are you doing here? Did you get suspended? If not, shouldn't you be in class?" The sad truth is that in too many cases, the students respond saying the teacher sent them to do an errand or that their class is not in session. What does this all lead to? My mistrust of most children. That's not good. I always thought to assume their innocence, but that has now changed.
So of course, get respect, give respect. The opposite, students respect teachers, doesn't always happen either. I can't assume they're all bad kids, and sometimes they don't even know they're up to no good. Or that what they're doing is widely considered disrespectful. It's a cultural thing, you know? As soon as I got here, I came face to face with snotty children in school. See, back in my day, a snide, rhetorical question like, "Is the teacher's desk really where you're supposed to sit?" got a kid to get up, move, sit down, behave, whatever. Here, it seems like an invitation to respond similarly, i.e. "Yes..." (tongue out or heavy sarcasm implied) Teachers have no qualms about taking class time for meetings, teacher parties, idle chit-chat, whatever. And if the teachers don't respect class time, why should the students? However, I leave that issue for another day.
Outside school, it's a bit different. They like to think you're their friend, just another member of the community. What they don't know is that I'm not Panamanian, and that what they do can really annoy me. Let me give an example of a regular day in which I can touch on several points.
Today several waves of kids stopped by the house. Wave One was a pair of boys. They came to talk and play with the cat. No big deal. They're good kids, so it was fine. They asked over and over again if I had peanut butter to give them.
Point 1: They never forget anything. ANYTHING.
To review quickly, I went out and gave Oreo cookies with a dab of peanut butter for my birthday. I wanted to share a tasty treat with the kids. Since that day (April 10th), I've gotten kids asking me, "Y las galletas?" And the cookies? In that exact way. Not at all specific. Not "Do you have more cookies?" or "Wow, I really liked those cookies." or "What kind of cookies were those?" (The phrasing of their inquiry irks me, if you can't already tell.) Same thing with the goodie bags from Halloween. Now every kid, whether they came to my house and got a bag or not, is asking me if tomorrow is Halloween again or if I have more bags. How am I supposed to answer that question in a way that shuts down the conversation? NO I DON'T HAVE ANY MORE BAGS! You think that'd work, but they still ask over and over.
Then the kids poked their head in the house when the cat went inside. They played with the cat in a way that annoyed me, yanking his arms and holding him up on two legs, pulling his tail, etc. Then, they saw the bicycle and immediately went inside to touch it.
Point 2: If you're not careful, they will invade your house.
And they touch everything. They ask you what you were doing on your computer or what you were reading (or "studying") on your Kindle or what you were listening to on your iPod. Then they'll ask you how much it cost you. In this case, it was the bicycle. It's a difficult situation, because if I divulge too much information about how much money I make (however little it may be), I may give the impression that I'm rich...which I'm really not. Then you get kids, or worse, parents, asking you for money for a soda or cookies, or bigger things. Luckily, that hasn't really happened too often. But I digress. The point is that the kids come in and touch things. They don't understand that my house is my sanctuary.
The culture here is such that anybody can walk up to a house in the neighborhood unannounced and just come inside. And if you stay at a house long enough, they eventually give you food and drink. Really great, right? Until they flip the script on you. Now I have a house and all the little kids expect me to give them something. I don't make a huge pot of rice and beans for everyone, so I don't just have food to offer. The little food I have in the house is for me. I mean, I paid for it, right? It sounds selfish, but I really only make enough food for myself. Sometimes I give a tiny bit of something, but from there, it only gets worse.
Point 3: The "If you give a mouse a cookie" Scenario
So finally after the kids got under my skin (or into my heart, depending on how you look at), I finally gave some peanut butter. I had them go buy cookies to spread the peanut butter--made 'em work a bit for it. They came back with cookies, and I gave them as little peanut butter as I could manage. (Heck, the 18oz. jar is almost $4.) I gave a bit of peanut butter, but then when they finished, they licked their lips and the roof of their mouths. Then they asked for water. I went to get water, and then they came inside while they poured. At that point it was too late to shoo them out of the house.
I kept having to say no to everything. No, I can't play the video I played for you that one time. Why? Because then you'll want to watch a thousand other videos just like it. No, I won't download Call of Duty and play with you. Why? Because you'll come over every day and want to play. On my computer. MY. COMPUTER. No, you can't borrow the bicycle. Why? Because then you'll be seen riding it and then every kid in town will ask if they can ride it too. Everything I do has the potential to fall down a slippery slope.
And it kind of did. I had a pack of kids, Wave 3, come asking for water and peanut butter.
Point 3: They are entitled little blabbermouths.
As soon as you give to one, it's like you have to give to everyone. Wave 3 had come from playing in the dirt and their hands and feet were filthy. What did they want? Water to drink. No, I said. Can they at least have water to wash their feet and hands? Fine. Go around to the back. One kid tried to go to the back porch by walking through the house. Hey, I said. Go around back from outside. (SEE Point 2) One or two had especially dirty feet. So they put out their hands and I poured water from my homemade totuma to help them get clean. First question: why weren't they doing this at home? I made the mistake of opening my door, meaning they could ask for something the way they ask anyone else. As soon as the two were done, the rest immediately put out their hands. Even clean hands extended, simply for my attention. I was like Jesus pouring water on disciples' hands and feet. They just wanted water poured by my hand, it seemed. Then they started asking about peanut butter and water. Kids from Wave 1 had told them about the food I had told them to keep secret. I wanted to avoid that exact situation.
Point 4: They don't listen until you raise your voice.
I skipped Wave 2. Wave 2 was a pair of boys. One of them is an 8th grader, whom I'm certain has a crush on his English teacher. How does he express it? By constantly bringing her up to me? Teacher Nicholas, why don't you go out with Teacher Four-Foot-Nothing? Teacher Nicholas, if you and Teacher Four-Foot-Nothing had kids, they'd be so short. And so light-skinned. So should I tell her you said you love her? She told me to tell you she misses you. Probably all lies. It just fits into the category of bugging me about my personal life. They ask me about my romantic life. This same kid has asked me how many times I've had sex. Of course, I didn't answer. I tried to be an adult about it.
On top of that, they were playing rough with the cat. Then they started doing the same thing the other kids did, asking for food. But they went further, poking their heads in, wimpering like dogs, saying, Please. At the time, I was making a peanut butter sandwich. I eventually got fed up, closed the door, and ate. The kids didn't leave. They went to the window facing the table where I eat and proceeded to wimper more, beg, and stick their hands through the window cracks. I told them over and over to stop it, that I'm not in charge of feeding them, that they need to leave. They didn't leave. Only when I stood up, screamed in English expletives, and slapped the window did they finally leave, running away...just like stray dogs that come here begging. They weren't willing to respect me until I made it crystal clear.
This often happens, too. Not the yelling, but the kids not getting the picture. Not picking up on the subtleties of my actions, my body language, my shoulders hunched and my butthole clenched, all screaming, "Leave me alone! Go away!"
What else can I do but put up with it? I try to teach the kids better manners, try to slip in little lessons about behavior whenever I can. If not from me, then from whom? I handle it all because there are those moments when the kids make you smile. When they say somethiing hilarious or profound or awe-inspiring. I long for that. It sustains me. Most of the time, though, I have to tell them that farts aren't really that funny.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Fiestas Patrias
One of the greatest aspects of Panamanian culture--which is simultaneously its biggest downfall--is the ability to celebrate for any reason, and to make a big deal out of anything and everything. Panamanian Independence from Colombia (November 3rd) is a momentous occasion for the country, yes, but the celebration doesn't last one day. They also celebrate minor holidays like Flag Day and Veterans' Day and National Anthem Day, and sort of group them all together, since they fall so close to one another. The country prepares by having the kids learn marching in a band consisting of various drums and xylophones in the shape of harps called liras. This takes time out of the school day for months before, and then on the special days, class is either preempted for band practice and decoration or cancelled. It was fun for me when I was able to separate from my mind how much class time we lost to idle preparation (three teachers preparing, the dozens of kids in the band practicing, and the rest of the school doing absolutely nothing).
Elementary school boys in their uniforms (like train conductors, right?) ready to march in the town for November 3rd.
To begin the celebration, they have a typical acto cívico, but with a more patriotic flare, including a history lesson, and of course, the singing of the Panamanian national anthem.
4th grade girls sing tamborito style, voice accompanied by one drum, about their "clásica polleras."
Leading the march through town is the flag, of course.
Queen Liz (from the School Anniversary back in May) dressed in a lovely pollera.
Little girls (again with the makeup thing...) dancing to the beat of the drums behind them in the procession. Perhaps I shouldn't use the term "to the beat" so flippantly. They occasionally walked in rhythm to the music.
The little guy is in Kindergarten. He was smacking that drum. He kept dropping his sticks. It was so cute.
The order was flag, banners, special people like the Queen, dancing girls, the drums and liras, students, then teachers.
My cute little next-door neighbor in another kind of pollera, less expensive, part of the ropa típica series.
A little boy who won an award for having the highest GPA in elementary school dressed in ropa típica. Looking good. And look at that serious face.
The next day, they had another march, but that time, more schools from the area showed up to participate. Then after the march, these ranchos opened up and sold fruits and vegetables for their respective communities.
One thing I really don't like about these marches: they go on FOREVER, and by the end, the kids are exhausted. Look at them, drenched, red as those jackets.
November 9th was the Grito de Santiago, a similar parade celebrating pride for the province of Veraguas. This one lasted LITERALLY all day. It started at 10am and had groups marching until 1am. It was fun to spend that day with Peace Corps volunteers, because restaurants stayed open late, and since we weren't Panamanian (meaning we weren't ENTRANCED by people walking down the street for 15 hours), we had no qualms with leaving and coming back later. The parade did get progressively more interesting. The day was time dedicated to schools in the province. The later groups were visitors from other provinces, groups that had a fuller band, a better sound, likable music, and even some good dancing!
Friday, November 2, 2012
¡Feliz día de Halloween!
Halloween is not much of a thing here. In fact the only knowledge of it is the worst kind. People in Panama City celebrate it more or less the way we do, but what appears on the news (and what arrives to the middle of nowhere) are the few incidents of people causing trouble in a cemetery or young men asking an old lady for candy, then robbing and killing the poor old woman. So unfortunately, it seems Halloween is associated with devil worship and all other superstitions, and general violence and tomfoolery. Sadly, I didn't get any support in doing an activity at school, or even so much as a short English lesson about Halloween.
However, I had a bit of fun at home. I had my Mom send me candy and other Halloween things (spider rings, pencils, etc.), which I used to make Halloween goodie bags. Then I announced to all my Elementary school kids that I would be having a little "cultural exchange" at my house, where I'd teach about trick-or-treating and pass out candy. The educational aspect sort of fell by the wayside, but it was a success nonetheless!
The decorations are a bit lackluster, but I think it was just enough to let people know that it was no ordinary day.
The kids enjoyed the goodie bags, although it led to a lesson in proper disposal of garbage. They LOVED the Batman mask I bought as part of a Halloween costume. They all wanted to try it on and run around as Batman.
The same kids who are often too shy to even attempt to answer questions in class are yelling for me to take picture after picture in endless silly poses. And I was more than willing to oblige.
Included in the goodie bags were temporary tattoos, with phrases like, Gimme candy!, Boo!, and Trick or treat! There were a bunch of other typical Halloween images, which the kids most likely had to explain to their superstitious parents. "What are you doing with a tattoo of a ghost? You know that's sacreligious..."
Notice the door is closed. No kids allowed in the sanctuary. However, the porch was a funhouse for a few hours. Everyone really enjoyed their "HopiHalouin!"
However, I had a bit of fun at home. I had my Mom send me candy and other Halloween things (spider rings, pencils, etc.), which I used to make Halloween goodie bags. Then I announced to all my Elementary school kids that I would be having a little "cultural exchange" at my house, where I'd teach about trick-or-treating and pass out candy. The educational aspect sort of fell by the wayside, but it was a success nonetheless!
"Say Hello to my little friend!"
Last week I finally broke down and got a pet. I've been so bored while at home all by myself. So I got one from a neighbor down the street whose cat had just given birth to kittens. I'm guessing he's still about two or three months old.
His name is Maní, which is Spanish for peanut. AWWWWWWWWW!
I put a little sort of collar on him to be patriotic (one of the Panamanian Independence Days is November 3rd), but it slipped off his neck. Too bad.
He does a lot of chilling anywhere and everywhere: on the couch, on the chairs on the porch, on my lap, on top of the computer while I'm trying to do something...
This is been a huge boost in the home life department, especially since I haven't heard those mice since I got him! Companionship? No more pesky mice? Double win!
His name is Maní, which is Spanish for peanut. AWWWWWWWWW!
This is been a huge boost in the home life department, especially since I haven't heard those mice since I got him! Companionship? No more pesky mice? Double win!
The Library Renovation Project
In the time I've been in Panama, I have spent an inordinate amount of time wishing I could make a difference, leave some sort of legacy, a noticeable impact, etc. Unfortunately, the nature of teaching makes results and effectiveness of teacers difficult to gauge. Many teachers I've talked to have said flat out that the fruits of our labor in the school will not be apparent for many years. It's all quite understandable. However, as a hard-working, goal-oriented person, it's a bit disheartening to hear that all my hard work will seem to amount to nothing in the two years I'm here. However, that might have just changed.
Recently, I've been talking with neighbors and community members. They, as usual, are discouraged that I haven't started community English classes. This pair of women phrased it better than most, citing the community's lack of initiative in setting up classes or collaborating with me. They said that I've been here for 9 months and they've yet to take advantage. "But Nick, why don't you just start the classes yourself?" Good question. Well, it's difficult to get projects done alone, especially when you're in a foreign county and culture, living in a close-knit community. If I start classes without real interest already built up in the community, it wouldn't be sustainable. They'd come one week, get bored, and stop coming. So they need to meet me half-way in anything I do here.
The conversations (by my probing) transitioned to the community library, a space used in the past for classes in literacy and other useful skills. It actually has some books, which is huge. The place used to have computers and electricity. The problem is that since no one was willing to work there for free, no one managed the space. The light bill went without paying, and so the lights eventually got cut off. Kids would take books without asking, and never returned them. You can imagine the rest of the story. Of course, I was drooling at the potential of the place and community members got excited about a new catalyst in the form of a Peace Corps volunteer.
Step 1 was getting the key. It turned out to be a wild goose chase. One person said they gave the key to Fulano (So-and-so), who then gave it to someone else to use this day. I went to no less than 5 different people, but I tracked it down. I now hold on to that key with my life. If I didn't, who knows what could happen?
The next step is cleaning up the place. It's not too bad, but there are bats hiding all in the roof and behind the circuit breakers (or whatever they're called). So that'll take some doing. I started by my lonesome, but some kids have helped on occasion. A few ladies have come as well to help.
After that I want to form a library committee to make the project more formal. That has proven unusually difficult. Ladies are willing to sign my little declaration, but we've set up meetings to get more involved. Two meetings and abysmal attendance have me down, but it's the culture. People say they'll come to your meeting. "Of course," they reply. And then they don't show up...
I'd like to:
-repaint the walls
-possibly redo the floor
-stock the place with new books, encyclopedias, children's stories in Spanish and English
-get new tables, chairs, a whiteboard (and possibly, possibly high-tech items like a copy machine, projector, etc.)
-start my English class by the new school year, end of February into March
-get an Infoplaza (internet cafe, more or less) in the space
We'll see how it goes. I'm gonna need a lot of help.
This doesn't look as bad from a distance. Perhaps I should have taken close-ups of the dust and gunk everywhere. Aside from that, it's a great space. And it actually has books, some of which are worth keeping!
This is the other side of the space, which I'd like to convert into an internet cafe. It's supposedly a "streamlined" process, seeing as how there's money in the federal budget to build these Infoplazas all across the country. As soon as we can write a letter to our representative, we'll have to wait. But even before that, we need to get a committee together.
Also, you'll notice chéchere in the corner. This is one of my favorite new words: it's a technical term for junk. People use it all the time.
Aside from the standard cleaning, we have to combat critters like bats in the ceiling and wasps' nests in all the windows. Bright side: we have windows with screens.
The possibilities are endless, and with the support from my community, this could be that one thing I've been searching for in my service, that brass ring.
Recently, I've been talking with neighbors and community members. They, as usual, are discouraged that I haven't started community English classes. This pair of women phrased it better than most, citing the community's lack of initiative in setting up classes or collaborating with me. They said that I've been here for 9 months and they've yet to take advantage. "But Nick, why don't you just start the classes yourself?" Good question. Well, it's difficult to get projects done alone, especially when you're in a foreign county and culture, living in a close-knit community. If I start classes without real interest already built up in the community, it wouldn't be sustainable. They'd come one week, get bored, and stop coming. So they need to meet me half-way in anything I do here.
The conversations (by my probing) transitioned to the community library, a space used in the past for classes in literacy and other useful skills. It actually has some books, which is huge. The place used to have computers and electricity. The problem is that since no one was willing to work there for free, no one managed the space. The light bill went without paying, and so the lights eventually got cut off. Kids would take books without asking, and never returned them. You can imagine the rest of the story. Of course, I was drooling at the potential of the place and community members got excited about a new catalyst in the form of a Peace Corps volunteer.
Step 1 was getting the key. It turned out to be a wild goose chase. One person said they gave the key to Fulano (So-and-so), who then gave it to someone else to use this day. I went to no less than 5 different people, but I tracked it down. I now hold on to that key with my life. If I didn't, who knows what could happen?
The next step is cleaning up the place. It's not too bad, but there are bats hiding all in the roof and behind the circuit breakers (or whatever they're called). So that'll take some doing. I started by my lonesome, but some kids have helped on occasion. A few ladies have come as well to help.
After that I want to form a library committee to make the project more formal. That has proven unusually difficult. Ladies are willing to sign my little declaration, but we've set up meetings to get more involved. Two meetings and abysmal attendance have me down, but it's the culture. People say they'll come to your meeting. "Of course," they reply. And then they don't show up...
I'd like to:
-repaint the walls
-possibly redo the floor
-stock the place with new books, encyclopedias, children's stories in Spanish and English
-get new tables, chairs, a whiteboard (and possibly, possibly high-tech items like a copy machine, projector, etc.)
-start my English class by the new school year, end of February into March
-get an Infoplaza (internet cafe, more or less) in the space
We'll see how it goes. I'm gonna need a lot of help.
Also, you'll notice chéchere in the corner. This is one of my favorite new words: it's a technical term for junk. People use it all the time.
The possibilities are endless, and with the support from my community, this could be that one thing I've been searching for in my service, that brass ring.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Fiddler on the Roof (in Spanish) at the Teatro Nacional and more!
It's great to have friends. The two people I know from Panama have both gotten in contact with me since I've been in country. One of them was working on a show in the city and invited me to see it and hang out for the weekend. They were (or still are, I suppose, since the run ends today) doing Fiddler on the Roof. It was the first time I got to see theatre here in Panama. I couldn't pass it up!
The show was wonderful, and a very interesting experience. I've been in Fiddler before, so I'm very familiar with the music and the show in general. It was odd seeing it performed in Spanish, with translated songs. "To life, to life, L'Chaim!" became "Brindemos por la vida!" (Let's toast to life!) So it often worked out wonderfully and I understood without any problem. There were other moments where I had to laugh at the strange Spanish I was hearing. Casamentera (their word for Matchmaker) is one I've never heard before and will likely never hear again. But the overall message stayed the same, and I thoroughly enjoyed the show.
Un violinista sobre el tejado, playing at the Teatro Nacional in Casco Viejo, Panama City. A gorgeous venue.
(The front entrance)
Everyone and their mother was taking pictures of the beautiful stage with their smartphones before the show started. It was a bit of a shock, coming from my site to the city, and such a yeyé (upper class) experience as the theatre.
A very classic interior, with several balconies for small group seating. The first time I saw it, my mind immediately went to Abraham Lincoln. Abe, no!
My University of Michigan and Panamanian friend. Thanks Andrés for a great weekend!
The show was wonderful, and a very interesting experience. I've been in Fiddler before, so I'm very familiar with the music and the show in general. It was odd seeing it performed in Spanish, with translated songs. "To life, to life, L'Chaim!" became "Brindemos por la vida!" (Let's toast to life!) So it often worked out wonderfully and I understood without any problem. There were other moments where I had to laugh at the strange Spanish I was hearing. Casamentera (their word for Matchmaker) is one I've never heard before and will likely never hear again. But the overall message stayed the same, and I thoroughly enjoyed the show.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
I.P.T. School Anniversary
Quick review of what I.P.T. means before I launch into the real content. I.P.T. stands for Instituto Profesional y Tecnico. It's a term referring to the type of school. There are two levels: pre-media, middle school including 7th, 8th, and 9th grades, and media, 10th, 11th, and 12th grades with a sort of major. In the case of our school, the media program's focus is agriculture. The high school kids spent a lot of time learning about crops, working out in the fields, and learning to use machinery.
This past Thursday was the I.P.T.'s school anniversary. The festivities are pretty standard across the country, but compared to the elementary school's anniversary, this one was a bit different for me. Namely, the theme was more traditional Panamanian as opposed to the rural, "cowboy" theme. But like any other Panamanian celebration, dancing and eating were major themes of the day.
On Wednesday night, teachers stayed and prepared the school for the next day. Then, that evening, they had a procession with all the teachers and students, a kinda sorta drumline, and torches. It was very interesting. Everyone in the community emerged from their houses to join the procession, which went from the school to the church (about a 4-minute walk).
Thursday, September 27, was the big day. And just how exactly did we know it was a big day? Cars were parked in front of the school. Barely anyone in my community has a car, so that means people from elsewhere came out.
One of the fun activities they had was a tug-o-war with a nearby school (the same school where I took a group of kids to recite the poem I wrote back during English Week). The visitors won every round of the game. They were bigger, and one kid looked like a bodybuilder in training. Beastly...
The school named a student queen (not pictured here). They also had a faculty king and queen. I lost in a very close race. I think the applause-o-meter was faulty. The two here are high school students in ropa típica, traditional Panamanian clothes. The men ususally wear collared shirt like that (occasionally with designs), jeans or dark pants, cutarras (sandals), and a chácara (small, handwoven bag).
The girl here is from a neighboring community's conjunto típico, a traditional dance group. She is wearing what is called a pollera, a beautiful dress, wonderfully ornate and elaborately, painstakingly handmade (especially with the authentic, expensive ones).
Here you can see the sort of headdress the girls wear to accompany the pollera.
An interesting stand brought to us by ARAP, which is essentially the Acquatic Protection Agency. They set up acquariums with different fish and sea creatures with a small blurb about each one.
This past Thursday was the I.P.T.'s school anniversary. The festivities are pretty standard across the country, but compared to the elementary school's anniversary, this one was a bit different for me. Namely, the theme was more traditional Panamanian as opposed to the rural, "cowboy" theme. But like any other Panamanian celebration, dancing and eating were major themes of the day.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Site Envy, or Work I'm Doing Elsewhere
Every now and then I get this feeling. I go to another volunteer's site and I see nicer stores, or parks, or well-kept gardens and friendly neighbors. I look around and get that unsavory feeling: site envy. I've been placed in a community and I've grown to love it and the people who live here. However, there are moments when I wish things could be just a little bit different. Sadly, this feeling now arises, without fail, once a month.
I have been collaborating with an English professor who works in my district capital, a larger town in the equivalent of my "county." One day back in May, I was at a Ministry of Education English Department meeting. This man approached me and asked if I could come to his classes once a month and give seminars to his students to occasionally provide them with native pronunciation and an opportunity to practice with me. This professor has pretty darn good English. Furthermore, he was willing to plan these lessons with me, and even came to my small town to do said planning. This, namely teachers who take that kind of initiative, is almost unheard of. So a part of me was sad that he doesn't work at my school. Part of me wishes I could always work with this guy, because then the possibilities would be endless.
This site envy only got worse when I visited the town where he works. My standards for what constitutes a nice town have really dropped. The first time I saw this town, I felt a tingling in my pants brought on by the following things:
-A pretty church with a priest who gives mass there every week. (My little chapel has a priest that has to rotate between the churches in the area. It's annoying, because if I want to be a good Catholic, I have to walk up to an hour to church in another village.)
-a park with benches, a little pavillion, and kids' playscape
-Chinos, or small markets with varying amounts of good, sometimes American products. I also appreciate the chinos because they're usually run by chinos, Chinese people. That would be a nice, four-person (one family) splash of diversity.
-An infoplaza, an internet cafe with free access to all. I could spend several posts about the opportunities this could open for the members of my community.
-A waterfall. I mean, who wouldn't want one of those?
During the second seminar this professor and I had last month, the school's art teacher pulled me aside and showed me an art exhibit she had organized with the School of Fine Arts in Santiago, in collaboration with the National Institute of Culture. There were works from the university students and high school kids alike: paintings, collages, and even sculptures (done by the high school art teacher herself). It was a great way to showcase the kids' talent and expose them all to art, which is seriously lacking out here in the interior. I was salivating because I could never imagine this in my school. It proves that with committed teachers, good things can happen.
(My favorite painting at the exhibit)
What is this picture supposed to be? It's just kids in a class, right? Yes, but it's also Panamanian students, normally characterized by crippling shyness (pena), walking around and participating, doing a guided speaking activity. The implications of this seemingly mundane picture is what Teaching English volunteer high-fives are made of.
Today I had a successful English seminar by the waterfall. We took the kids out and taught some nature vocabulary. Then we taught them how to say "I see..." and "I don't see..." Then the kids got to go exploring and use their vocabulary or ask us about new words they wanted to know. Then we got back together as a group and the kids shared with each other. "I see butterflies. I don't see tigers." It doesn't seem like much, but in a culture where kids would sometimes rather take the failing grade than give an oral presentation, this is nothing short of amazing.
So some of the work I've been doing shows some visible, albeit small, success. Baby steps. Now if I could only have the same effect in the school they sent to me to work in...
I have been collaborating with an English professor who works in my district capital, a larger town in the equivalent of my "county." One day back in May, I was at a Ministry of Education English Department meeting. This man approached me and asked if I could come to his classes once a month and give seminars to his students to occasionally provide them with native pronunciation and an opportunity to practice with me. This professor has pretty darn good English. Furthermore, he was willing to plan these lessons with me, and even came to my small town to do said planning. This, namely teachers who take that kind of initiative, is almost unheard of. So a part of me was sad that he doesn't work at my school. Part of me wishes I could always work with this guy, because then the possibilities would be endless.
This site envy only got worse when I visited the town where he works. My standards for what constitutes a nice town have really dropped. The first time I saw this town, I felt a tingling in my pants brought on by the following things:
-A pretty church with a priest who gives mass there every week. (My little chapel has a priest that has to rotate between the churches in the area. It's annoying, because if I want to be a good Catholic, I have to walk up to an hour to church in another village.)
-a park with benches, a little pavillion, and kids' playscape
-Chinos, or small markets with varying amounts of good, sometimes American products. I also appreciate the chinos because they're usually run by chinos, Chinese people. That would be a nice, four-person (one family) splash of diversity.
-An infoplaza, an internet cafe with free access to all. I could spend several posts about the opportunities this could open for the members of my community.
-A waterfall. I mean, who wouldn't want one of those?
So some of the work I've been doing shows some visible, albeit small, success. Baby steps. Now if I could only have the same effect in the school they sent to me to work in...
Thursday, September 20, 2012
A Day in the Life
The past few posts have all been about trips I’ve taken out of site. When looking from an outsider’s perspective, it dawned on me that, to some, it might seem like I’m not doing much work. Well, there’s an ounce of truth to that, but it doesn’t owe to a lack of effort on my part. Let me give you an idea of what a day is like. Of course, no day is typical, but this is a breakdown of a recent day.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
???: Roosters crowing, but it’s not light out yet.
5:45am: Begrudgingly get out of bed. Set a pot of water to boil. I mix a pot of hot water with water from the outdoor bucket to make it bearable. Start making oatmeal. (Never used to be an oatmeal person.) Both burners of the electric stove are on, so the lights flicker. Whenever I leave the room, I turn the lights off immediately to conserve energy. The lights have shorted out on me before.
6:10am: Eat breakfast while watching an episode of The Boondocks, ripped from the Internet.
6:30am: Shower/bath. Carry a bucket of lukewarm water, totuma, soap, shampoo, and shaving tools. Today I shave, which is no fun. Rarely turns out well without a mirror. I can see my breath. Chilly.
6:45am: Get dressed. I'm feeling lazy, so instead of doing the dishes, I just pour water on them and save the work for later.
7:00am: Walk to school. Five-minute walk on the gravel road, slightly uphill. On the way I see chickens, horse droppings, and kids in their uniforms. The older ones clutch the hands of the younger ones.
7:05am: Arrive at school. The bus that brings the teachers from Santiago (the nearest city, an hour away) beats me here. I always try to get here before the teachers. Drop off my empty gallon jugs and say “Buenos días, etc.” to my former host mom, who works at the school kiosk.
7:10-7:50am: 7th grade English with Teacher Four-Foot-Nothing?
Nope. I ask her what she’s doing today. “We’re just figuring out grades and then we’ll discuss next week’s school anniversary activities.” The first week of school is dedicated to tying up loose ends from the previous trimester. A week is lost. If I were to go to a more “normal” class with this teacher, her instruction would go for approximately 10 of the 40 minutes. Then, feeling obligated to fill the time, I would get up and explain the same material in more detail with several examples. I would try engage the students to answer questions in chorus or come up and write on the board. Anything to get them awake. But not today.
7:50-8:30am: Teacher Class for high school English teachers
My initial plan for the class: reinforcement to help improve their English, and a chance for me to offer suggestions for methods and activities, and collaborate with them.
What happened: Teacher Not-Really-Blonde, assertive, dominates the conversation. Talks about how my presence in the classroom is off-putting to students and teachers. Mentions how I get visibly upset when instruction often gets preempted by school activities: band practice for the upcoming Independence Day parades, students poking their heads in selling raffle tickets, movie showings, assemblies, etc. Admits that the way things are done her aren’t the best, but that nothing will change. Same teacher then changes discussion to plans for the 3rd trimester (Holidays in the US). But before the big project, she wants to teach phrases to express emotions like "Wow" and "Ouch." This when the students can’t form simple sentences or read their own homework. Argue with her about that. We agree to phase me out of work in the classroom and work together during two of their free periods every week. Guess that means I don’t have to go to their classes anymore.
9:10am: Return to Elementary school. Go to boy’s bathroom, brand new, which had been locked for the whole past trimester because some kids supposedly threw gum in a urinal. Punishment didn’t match the crime, which infuriates me. Brand new bathrooms with all the necessary amenities locked and inaccessible forces the kids to use disgusting, poorly-kept latrines and discourages them from washing their hands (which, in all honesty, would only consist of splashing water on them anyway). Natural selection compels me to squash a beetle struggling on its back. Those huge bugs are annoying and stupid.
9:20am: Sitting in on 4th grade English with Teacher Meany Pants. He’s giving a dictation quiz of numbers 1-100. (Think about it: 9 year-olds forced to memorize the non-intuitive spelling of words in a foreign language. What were you doing in 4th grade Spanish, if it was even offered to you?) Yesterday, in order to fill dead time during which he was organizing portfolios with all the grades of the previous trimester, I reviewed spelling of numbers. If I hadn’t done that, the only instruction the kids would’ve gotten would have been staring at the book, which, by the way, only goes up to 50. Since the instruction is so flippant and doesn’t really build from one year to another, this is essentially new to them, especially spelling.
9:30am: Meany Pants yells while writing answers. Goes through it all at lightning speed, never giving students an opportunity to realize their mistakes or correct them on their own quizzes or on the board, which the kids would have loved. Then repeats over and over how easy it should be for them.
Students exchange papers and correct each other’s quizzes. However, since half of it is written, and since the kids often copy wrong or don’t pay close attention, they don’t catch all the mistakes. Writing is too often the focus of English class, but since their native language is Spanish, and since they don’t have the basic tools for understanding phonetics and the combination of letters and the sounds they make, you get answers like this:
1: uan
9: nain
54: fivti-for
9:45am: Quote from Meany Pants: “Debes morirte…así habrá más espacio en el salón,” which translates to “You should just die…that way there’d be more room in the class.” Meany Pants says things like this a lot, and delivers lines like that in such a loud, stern voice that students and I are unable to tell if he’s joking.
10:00am: In a period of five minutes, Meany Pants makes racist jokes about both Indigenous and Chinese people. Do I say something? I have before, and it doesn't stop him from saying it in class.
10:05am: Meany Pants finally breaks down differences in spelling. Thankfully I’m there to catch small mistakes in spelling and pronunciation.
10:06am: Teacher’s cell phone rings. Amazingly, he doesn’t pick it up this time. Another identical quiz on Tuesday. Test Wednesday on same material.
10:20am: RECESS. The search for a snack begins. Edwin, the custodian, cuts the grass with a weed whacker.
Snack:
-Crackers and American cheese mini-sandwiches: $0.30
-Empanada from the lady who walks around the school at recess: $0.25
Give out gum sent in a recent package (thanks Mrs. Fenske!). Kids crowd me. I have them form a line, and after I give them a piece, I have them say thank you in English. If I hadn’t told them to, they would have said nothing at all.
10:40 am: Teachers and students drag their feet at the end of recess and I’m done trying to get them on task. I hide out in the computer lab (air-conditioned, under-utilized) and read.
11:30am: Meany Pants sends student to find me, although, according to the schedule, he and I don’t have class together. 6th grade: Dictation on school supplies, a topic from last trimester. In fact, a repetition of an old test.
11:45am: Review of Numbers 1-100. Teachers tries to get me to do the review again. I tell him that I’ve already done it twice and showed him what to do and that he should try it this time. Disagreement.
His thought process: This lazy kid doesn’t want to do any work. He did it before. Can’t he just do it again?
My thought process: I’m here trying to improve the teachers’ methods. Theoretically, when I do something in class, I try and model everything, and then give the teacher an opportunity to do the lesson/review themselves.
Teacher pairs kids up and opens books. Students point to each number and look at word, then repeat after teacher. Listen and repeat. Supposedly, this is meant to teach spelling, seeing as how the next quiz is dictation.
12:00pm: Teacher takes time to explain differences between several sets of sounds:
-v sound and f sound
-Voiced and voiceless th
-Reduction of t in words like twenty
Might be over the kids heads a bit, but at least he's doing something relevant.
12:15pm: Gather gallon jugs, filled with boiled water now cool, go back home.
12:20pm: Quickly eat lunch of peanut butter sandwiches on bread (not toasted since electricity is currently out). Then go across the street to host mom’s house to do laundry. Separate, throw in washer for two 15-minute cycles, wring out each article of clothing, transfer to large bowl to rinse, dunk clothes in and pull out over and over, wring out again, transfer to centrifuge quick-dryer, put up on line to dry.
2:45pm: Finish clothes, go back home, and sit down to check e-mail. First time in a while that I didn’t plop down on the chair in front of the computer as soon as I got home. Search for free online Chinese lessons, since I feel a pang of regret about having given it up. Research my tentative future plan: Peace Corps Fellows Masters in Education program at Columbia University. This would lead to becoming a teacher in New York for a minimum of 3 years.
5:00pm: Go to the store to buy replacement soap, since I used up all my host mom’s soap (a package that I technical bought, but still). Meet two students on the road. They ask to race me. I agree. We start running. My flip-flop thong pops out and the whole thing flies off while I’m running. I keep from tripping, but lose. They ask if I want to play with them over by the basketball court, where the kids play soccer. I say yes. Go to the store, buy the laundry soap, and head home. Go get my basketball and go back to the court, which is filled with kids playing. Kids and I play a bastardized form of basketball for a while. Kids range in age from 5 to 9, boys and girls, all more or less adorable.
6:45pm: Go home since it’s getting dark. Make dinner (heat up previously prepared lentils and cook two eggs). Eat dinner while watching ripped stand-up comedy videos of Eddie Murphy. Yay technology.
7:45pm: Throw dishes in the large bowl, my makeshift sink, and bring the clothes back inside, in fear that it might rain at night. Some of the clothes are still a bit wet, so I’ll have to hang them up again tomorrow morning.
8:10pm: Vitamins. Dental hygiene. More videos and time-wasting.
9:15pm: Bed time. Slip under mosquito net into my foam mattress bed, which bows in the middle. I lie down closer to the edge of the bed and curse the roosters in advance.
So, nearly all my frustrations are centered around school and the culture surrounding education. Serious problems are pervasive. I'm starting to realize that I can't do everything I want to do. Sadly, I base my feeling of accomplishment on how much I can change and improve the way things are done around here, especially since my project is called Teaching English. In all honesty though, that's only one facet of my purpose here. And school doesn't dominate my whole day. While writing this post, I realized that everything else in my Peace Corps life isn't so bad. Compared to others, it's actually quite charmed. The impact I have here is something that may have nothing to do with English, or what goes on during those five hours of school. Know what that means? More having fun, less getting worked up about things over which I have no control.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
???: Roosters crowing, but it’s not light out yet.
5:45am: Begrudgingly get out of bed. Set a pot of water to boil. I mix a pot of hot water with water from the outdoor bucket to make it bearable. Start making oatmeal. (Never used to be an oatmeal person.) Both burners of the electric stove are on, so the lights flicker. Whenever I leave the room, I turn the lights off immediately to conserve energy. The lights have shorted out on me before.
6:10am: Eat breakfast while watching an episode of The Boondocks, ripped from the Internet.
6:30am: Shower/bath. Carry a bucket of lukewarm water, totuma, soap, shampoo, and shaving tools. Today I shave, which is no fun. Rarely turns out well without a mirror. I can see my breath. Chilly.
6:45am: Get dressed. I'm feeling lazy, so instead of doing the dishes, I just pour water on them and save the work for later.
7:00am: Walk to school. Five-minute walk on the gravel road, slightly uphill. On the way I see chickens, horse droppings, and kids in their uniforms. The older ones clutch the hands of the younger ones.
7:05am: Arrive at school. The bus that brings the teachers from Santiago (the nearest city, an hour away) beats me here. I always try to get here before the teachers. Drop off my empty gallon jugs and say “Buenos días, etc.” to my former host mom, who works at the school kiosk.
7:10-7:50am: 7th grade English with Teacher Four-Foot-Nothing?
Nope. I ask her what she’s doing today. “We’re just figuring out grades and then we’ll discuss next week’s school anniversary activities.” The first week of school is dedicated to tying up loose ends from the previous trimester. A week is lost. If I were to go to a more “normal” class with this teacher, her instruction would go for approximately 10 of the 40 minutes. Then, feeling obligated to fill the time, I would get up and explain the same material in more detail with several examples. I would try engage the students to answer questions in chorus or come up and write on the board. Anything to get them awake. But not today.
7:50-8:30am: Teacher Class for high school English teachers
My initial plan for the class: reinforcement to help improve their English, and a chance for me to offer suggestions for methods and activities, and collaborate with them.
What happened: Teacher Not-Really-Blonde, assertive, dominates the conversation. Talks about how my presence in the classroom is off-putting to students and teachers. Mentions how I get visibly upset when instruction often gets preempted by school activities: band practice for the upcoming Independence Day parades, students poking their heads in selling raffle tickets, movie showings, assemblies, etc. Admits that the way things are done her aren’t the best, but that nothing will change. Same teacher then changes discussion to plans for the 3rd trimester (Holidays in the US). But before the big project, she wants to teach phrases to express emotions like "Wow" and "Ouch." This when the students can’t form simple sentences or read their own homework. Argue with her about that. We agree to phase me out of work in the classroom and work together during two of their free periods every week. Guess that means I don’t have to go to their classes anymore.
9:10am: Return to Elementary school. Go to boy’s bathroom, brand new, which had been locked for the whole past trimester because some kids supposedly threw gum in a urinal. Punishment didn’t match the crime, which infuriates me. Brand new bathrooms with all the necessary amenities locked and inaccessible forces the kids to use disgusting, poorly-kept latrines and discourages them from washing their hands (which, in all honesty, would only consist of splashing water on them anyway). Natural selection compels me to squash a beetle struggling on its back. Those huge bugs are annoying and stupid.
9:20am: Sitting in on 4th grade English with Teacher Meany Pants. He’s giving a dictation quiz of numbers 1-100. (Think about it: 9 year-olds forced to memorize the non-intuitive spelling of words in a foreign language. What were you doing in 4th grade Spanish, if it was even offered to you?) Yesterday, in order to fill dead time during which he was organizing portfolios with all the grades of the previous trimester, I reviewed spelling of numbers. If I hadn’t done that, the only instruction the kids would’ve gotten would have been staring at the book, which, by the way, only goes up to 50. Since the instruction is so flippant and doesn’t really build from one year to another, this is essentially new to them, especially spelling.
9:30am: Meany Pants yells while writing answers. Goes through it all at lightning speed, never giving students an opportunity to realize their mistakes or correct them on their own quizzes or on the board, which the kids would have loved. Then repeats over and over how easy it should be for them.
Students exchange papers and correct each other’s quizzes. However, since half of it is written, and since the kids often copy wrong or don’t pay close attention, they don’t catch all the mistakes. Writing is too often the focus of English class, but since their native language is Spanish, and since they don’t have the basic tools for understanding phonetics and the combination of letters and the sounds they make, you get answers like this:
1: uan
9: nain
54: fivti-for
9:45am: Quote from Meany Pants: “Debes morirte…así habrá más espacio en el salón,” which translates to “You should just die…that way there’d be more room in the class.” Meany Pants says things like this a lot, and delivers lines like that in such a loud, stern voice that students and I are unable to tell if he’s joking.
10:00am: In a period of five minutes, Meany Pants makes racist jokes about both Indigenous and Chinese people. Do I say something? I have before, and it doesn't stop him from saying it in class.
10:05am: Meany Pants finally breaks down differences in spelling. Thankfully I’m there to catch small mistakes in spelling and pronunciation.
10:06am: Teacher’s cell phone rings. Amazingly, he doesn’t pick it up this time. Another identical quiz on Tuesday. Test Wednesday on same material.
10:20am: RECESS. The search for a snack begins. Edwin, the custodian, cuts the grass with a weed whacker.
Snack:
-Crackers and American cheese mini-sandwiches: $0.30
-Empanada from the lady who walks around the school at recess: $0.25
Give out gum sent in a recent package (thanks Mrs. Fenske!). Kids crowd me. I have them form a line, and after I give them a piece, I have them say thank you in English. If I hadn’t told them to, they would have said nothing at all.
10:40 am: Teachers and students drag their feet at the end of recess and I’m done trying to get them on task. I hide out in the computer lab (air-conditioned, under-utilized) and read.
11:30am: Meany Pants sends student to find me, although, according to the schedule, he and I don’t have class together. 6th grade: Dictation on school supplies, a topic from last trimester. In fact, a repetition of an old test.
11:45am: Review of Numbers 1-100. Teachers tries to get me to do the review again. I tell him that I’ve already done it twice and showed him what to do and that he should try it this time. Disagreement.
His thought process: This lazy kid doesn’t want to do any work. He did it before. Can’t he just do it again?
My thought process: I’m here trying to improve the teachers’ methods. Theoretically, when I do something in class, I try and model everything, and then give the teacher an opportunity to do the lesson/review themselves.
Teacher pairs kids up and opens books. Students point to each number and look at word, then repeat after teacher. Listen and repeat. Supposedly, this is meant to teach spelling, seeing as how the next quiz is dictation.
12:00pm: Teacher takes time to explain differences between several sets of sounds:
-v sound and f sound
-Voiced and voiceless th
-Reduction of t in words like twenty
Might be over the kids heads a bit, but at least he's doing something relevant.
12:15pm: Gather gallon jugs, filled with boiled water now cool, go back home.
12:20pm: Quickly eat lunch of peanut butter sandwiches on bread (not toasted since electricity is currently out). Then go across the street to host mom’s house to do laundry. Separate, throw in washer for two 15-minute cycles, wring out each article of clothing, transfer to large bowl to rinse, dunk clothes in and pull out over and over, wring out again, transfer to centrifuge quick-dryer, put up on line to dry.
2:45pm: Finish clothes, go back home, and sit down to check e-mail. First time in a while that I didn’t plop down on the chair in front of the computer as soon as I got home. Search for free online Chinese lessons, since I feel a pang of regret about having given it up. Research my tentative future plan: Peace Corps Fellows Masters in Education program at Columbia University. This would lead to becoming a teacher in New York for a minimum of 3 years.
5:00pm: Go to the store to buy replacement soap, since I used up all my host mom’s soap (a package that I technical bought, but still). Meet two students on the road. They ask to race me. I agree. We start running. My flip-flop thong pops out and the whole thing flies off while I’m running. I keep from tripping, but lose. They ask if I want to play with them over by the basketball court, where the kids play soccer. I say yes. Go to the store, buy the laundry soap, and head home. Go get my basketball and go back to the court, which is filled with kids playing. Kids and I play a bastardized form of basketball for a while. Kids range in age from 5 to 9, boys and girls, all more or less adorable.
6:45pm: Go home since it’s getting dark. Make dinner (heat up previously prepared lentils and cook two eggs). Eat dinner while watching ripped stand-up comedy videos of Eddie Murphy. Yay technology.
7:45pm: Throw dishes in the large bowl, my makeshift sink, and bring the clothes back inside, in fear that it might rain at night. Some of the clothes are still a bit wet, so I’ll have to hang them up again tomorrow morning.
8:10pm: Vitamins. Dental hygiene. More videos and time-wasting.
9:15pm: Bed time. Slip under mosquito net into my foam mattress bed, which bows in the middle. I lie down closer to the edge of the bed and curse the roosters in advance.
So, nearly all my frustrations are centered around school and the culture surrounding education. Serious problems are pervasive. I'm starting to realize that I can't do everything I want to do. Sadly, I base my feeling of accomplishment on how much I can change and improve the way things are done around here, especially since my project is called Teaching English. In all honesty though, that's only one facet of my purpose here. And school doesn't dominate my whole day. While writing this post, I realized that everything else in my Peace Corps life isn't so bad. Compared to others, it's actually quite charmed. The impact I have here is something that may have nothing to do with English, or what goes on during those five hours of school. Know what that means? More having fun, less getting worked up about things over which I have no control.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Isla Grande, Colón
A small group of Peace Corps volunteers and I decided to spend a few days of our vacation in Colón, a northern province in Panama on the Caribbean side. Colón has a high concentration of the country's black population. People from countries like Jamaica, Trinidad, and Barbados came to work on the Panama Canal back at the turn of the 20th century and stayed there. Nowadays, Colón and Panama City host a fair amount of the country's Afro-Panamanian population. It was an interesting change of pace from the homogenous "shades of brown" at my site, and helped me remember the country's diversity.
Here is the first view we got of Isla Grande. It was a nice spot, a very relaxing place to swim at nearly any point in the day. The first day, we arrived in the mid-afternoon, had time to settle down and eat, and then went out for an evening swim. It was pretty awesome. The hotel in the middle-right of the picture is where we stayed. If you can't tell, it was pretty darn close to the water.
The island lent itself well to casual walks, but sadly, a fench prevented us from going all the way around. Every now and then we arrived at nice little stretches of beach like the one above.
We spent a fair amount of our time at this one particular restaurant, but it was totally worth it. Great food, pretty chill, and not too filled with tourists. In fact, I could describe the whole trip that exact way. Supposedly, we picked the wrong days to be there. We left on Saturday, which is when things kick into high gear, the music gets louder, and people come in droves. Whatever. I really liked the atmosphere.
One night we went to a restaurant suggested by a sign on the "sidewalk." Roasted chicken and patacones (twice-fried plantains) for only $2.75, or something like that. We found out that the place was actually just a house. The man who served us was a really nice guy. He eventually pulled out this huge, fancy historical encyclopedia and told us about how a Spaniard spent time on the island gathering info on the book he was writing. This man later gifted the restaurant guy a copy, which, according to him, was reserved for the embassies. Nifty. This guy was extremely friendly. He showed us his little cabins nearby for rent, which we plan to use when we come back sometime later. Then, the next day, he offered to give us a ride back to the mainland on his boat.
On our way out, we stopped by Portobelo, another small tourist destination famous for its church depicting Black Jesus, and the forts in ruins along the shore.
The rolled-up khakis were kind of the theme of the trip. I didn't want to bring shorts and get labeled a gringo tourist, but I was on vacation. I had to let loose a little bit. Thankfully, this picture was taken at that exact moment, because only moments later, I slipped in the mud and got those pants super dirty. That almost ruined my day.
We finished strong by having a final night in Panama City before going our separate ways. As it usually happens, we met up with other Peace Corps volunteers, met random international tourists while we partied, and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly before going back to the ol' grind.
We spent a fair amount of our time at this one particular restaurant, but it was totally worth it. Great food, pretty chill, and not too filled with tourists. In fact, I could describe the whole trip that exact way. Supposedly, we picked the wrong days to be there. We left on Saturday, which is when things kick into high gear, the music gets louder, and people come in droves. Whatever. I really liked the atmosphere.
One night we went to a restaurant suggested by a sign on the "sidewalk." Roasted chicken and patacones (twice-fried plantains) for only $2.75, or something like that. We found out that the place was actually just a house. The man who served us was a really nice guy. He eventually pulled out this huge, fancy historical encyclopedia and told us about how a Spaniard spent time on the island gathering info on the book he was writing. This man later gifted the restaurant guy a copy, which, according to him, was reserved for the embassies. Nifty. This guy was extremely friendly. He showed us his little cabins nearby for rent, which we plan to use when we come back sometime later. Then, the next day, he offered to give us a ride back to the mainland on his boat.
We finished strong by having a final night in Panama City before going our separate ways. As it usually happens, we met up with other Peace Corps volunteers, met random international tourists while we partied, and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly before going back to the ol' grind.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Seeing Friends and American-esque Towns
This weekend I went to visit a friend in the central province of Panama, which includes the capital city. She lives close to a tourist destination known as El Valle. She and I were planning to go to our old host community during training for a party. Another friend's host family from training decided to throw her a party for her birthday and invited us to show up and surprise her.
On Friday, I spent the day with my friend's landlord, who is a very kind man and proud gardener. His house, and by extension my friend's house, are covered with flowers and plants that end up in the fancy hotels and resorts of the area. One of those fancy places is called Coronado. It's an upper-class neighborhood, a sort of gated community for rich foreigners. From the Interamericana, the main highway, you can tell you're coming up on Coronado from the high concentration of nice restaurants, fast food, and stores that seem to pop out of nowhere. What I didn't know was just how well those people live. Until now...
This is a view from one of the beachside condos/houses in Coronado. The residents have pools and tennis courts and spas and their own stretch of beach. It's really a very nice setup.
While on that little Coronado tour, my friend's landlord and friend took us to an especially beautiful house with mango (which amazingly still bear fruit even past the normal season) and lemon (or lime, depending on what you see) trees. Since this man sells many owners of these houses the flowers and plants that line their properties and the grounds of the complex, he has run of the place. So the owners had no problem with us taking some limones. No big deal. Here I am reaching up high getting some tasty fruit, all while trying to avoid the thorns.
Something interesting: as you can see, these are green citrus fruits. In my mind, lime, right? The Panamanians call these limón (lemon) as opposed to lima (lime). No matter what you call it, these bad boys make delicious juice. Yesterday, when I went shopping at the grocery store, I had to giggle when I saw people buying limones. Hehe, I got 'em for $FREE.99!
That night she and I traveled to our host community from training for the birthday party. Here you see my friend Becca in the middle holding her birthday cake, and my friend Catherine and me on either side. Her host family is so wonderful: they threw her a party and wanted to make it memorable by surprising her with a special appearance from her best Peace Corps friends.
The next day Catherine and I went to El Valle, a nice town.
We were very wise to choose Saturday to go to El Valle, because the locals were celebrating Semana de campesino. On that day were was a parade with floats and dancing groups and people crowding the streets.
A very colorful fruit and vegetable market and artisan stands lined streets and offered nice souvenirs.
It was a very nice start to my vacation week. And there's more to come!
On Friday, I spent the day with my friend's landlord, who is a very kind man and proud gardener. His house, and by extension my friend's house, are covered with flowers and plants that end up in the fancy hotels and resorts of the area. One of those fancy places is called Coronado. It's an upper-class neighborhood, a sort of gated community for rich foreigners. From the Interamericana, the main highway, you can tell you're coming up on Coronado from the high concentration of nice restaurants, fast food, and stores that seem to pop out of nowhere. What I didn't know was just how well those people live. Until now...
The next day Catherine and I went to El Valle, a nice town.
It was a very nice start to my vacation week. And there's more to come!
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