Six Months

I opened my planner this morning and there it was, dutifully written in: "March 27th: Six months in Mozambique."

However, at the time, I didn't have time for quiet self-introspection. I was too busy being overwhelmed with my grading frenzy.

In my last post, I expressed annoyance at having my 10th grade class randomly canceled mid-evaluation. Well, if that was at a level 3 on the Mozambican Frustrations scale, I am currently at a Level 10.

I was talking with one of my colleagues about how peeved I was on Monday. He shrugged and told me not to worry about it.

"Yeah, I'll just do the test next Monday instead." I said.

He looked at me, head tilted. "Uh...you know there's no class next Monday, right? It's Easter holiday."

I stared. "No, no one told me about that either. Hmm....I guess as a last resort, I can do the test on the final Monday of the trimester..."

He looked at the floor awkwardly. "Yeah, about that... that's Mozambican Women's day. There's no school."

I closed my eyes and breathed deepy. Don't let it get to you, I told myself. Stay flexible.

"Ok. Well they have last period on Fridays off, right? I'll tell them that we're doing the English test this Friday. They'll complain about it, but its really my only option left at this point."

He was silent. An apologetic smile started to form on his face.

"Oh, jeez, now what?" I asked.

"Well, Friday is Good Friday... there's---"

"Let me guess. No class." I rolled my eyes.

"Exactly."

So I have no more class with my tenth graders this semester. Somehow I am supposed to fill out grades for a class that I currently don't even have a class list for yet, much less complete grading information.

I was justifiably upset. My school administration doesn't tell me anything -- dates for important meetings, school holidays, curriculum changes... these things are always springing up and surprising me. Maybe they think I'm psychic? I don't know.

I went home and I complained to my friend, another teacher, about how frustrating it all was.

"Still, I guess its only tenth grade," I said to her, "Tenth grade is always challenging. At least I'm on track with the other grades. Our final next week is the only score I still need for them."

 She gave me a strange look. "Your final... next week?" she asked carefully.

"Yeah. We're doing  review this week and then I'll give the test next Tuesday and Wednesday.... oh no, why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, panic creeping into my voice.

She gave me a pitying look.

"Didn't anyone tell you? We have provincial exams next week.... there's no class. Just exams. Besides, why were you planning on giving a test next week? Grades are due today."

WHAT!?

At this point, I am at my wits end. Not only am I not able to give my test next week, but my students have to take some other test that they have not studied for and probably won't pass. I haven't prepared them for the Provincial Exam because I didn't even know that it existed until this morning. I also have not prepared grades for any of the classes because I was under the impression I still had three weeks to put them together.

This was all about 12 hours ago. Since then, I've been running around, trying to collect as many grades as possible to try and complete my grading. I've collected and graded about 350 notebooks. I've hastily made up new grading schemes that will stretch the number of grades I can put in the gradebook. I spent hours on end at school, copying names so I'd have an accurate class list, only to find that most of the lists were outdated and have since changed.

I'm exhausted. And there's still so much to do.

So on this date, marking six months in Mozambique, I'd love to sit and think about what the last six months have meant, how I have changed, and what I hope to accomplish in the next six months -- but I'm too busy. Right now, I have time only for grading.

Snow Days

Growing up in Virginia, some mornings we woke up to the glorious surprise of snowfall. My brother and I would immediately turn on NPR, listening attentively as we munched on our Cocoa Puffs, waiting for "Traffic and Weather on the 8's!" Finally, the moment would come.

 "Inclement weather advisories for the following counties: Montgomery County... Prince George's County..."

We'd hold our breath, our spoons of soggy Cocoa Puffs stopped mid-way to our mouths, all attention turned to the radio.

"... Loudon County... Arlington County..."

Come on! COME ON! Fingers crossed!

"...and Fairfax County."

YES! SNOW DAY! NO SCHOOL!

We'd jump up and down in excitement, and immediately dash to the closet and pull out our jackets and boots, prepared for a busy day of snowball fights, sledding, and fort-building. The second we heard those fateful words, our hearts filled with joy.

This is approximately the feeling I can imagine my students are feeling today.

It started out as any other Monday might. I headed over to teach tenth grade at 1:30, as usual. The trimester is coming to a close, so we were doing some graded group work before our test next week. They were supposed to write sentences about healthy living. "You should always wash your hands," and "You should never eat trash," that kind of thing. I explained the assignment to them, answered some questions, and then they dutifully started working.

Then one of my colleagues knocked on my door.

"Classes are canceled today. We have an assembly. Have your students pack up and go to the village center."

"Wait, what?" I said, "But we're in the middle of an avaliação. They're not finished!"

"Director's orders, sorry. You'll have to finish next week."

I scowled.

"OK, class, I know you just started but please hand in what you have done and go to the assembly. I'll only grade what you managed to finish so far."

There was a communal "WHOOP!" and the class emptied within ten seconds, leaving me with a dozen unfinished assignments, and a thoroughly messed up lesson plan.

Now, usually, I am a very flexible person. I know that things here run differently than in the United States. Classes have been canceled on a whim before, but never mid-class, and never while I was giving what was effectively a test. I was peeved.

I happened upon my director as I was leaving the classroom.

"What is this meeting about?" I asked him, "And why is it so  important that we have to cancel classes for it? Why was there no advanced notice?"

He laughs. "A representative from the Provincial branch of the FRELIMO party is coming to visit. We forgot to tell the townspeople, so there's no one in the village square. We're making all the students go so that there will be a crowd there."

I fumed.

"You're telling me that I had to stop my test because someone screwed up and now you're sending all my students to a meeting of a political party!?"

"Yes. It's very important. You need to be there too."

I had to tell myself to take ten deep breaths.

The meeting was long and useless. I used the time to re-arrange my grading scheme for my tenth graders. And while I was sitting under the shade of the giant tree that marks the village center,  I thought back to those days in Virginia.

I always assumed that everybody loved snow days. But now, looking back, I'm realizing that teachers probably don't always love snow days. Teachers don't love surprises like canceled classes. It messes things up.

But what can you do? Not much. You take it in stride, you remember to breathe, and you think on one of the favorite sayings on Mozambicans.

Vai passar. It will pass.

Victory!

Every class period, I tell my students that if they have any questions, or just want to practice English, they can come to me anytime for extra help. The total number of students who have taken advantage of my offer of free unlimited tutoring: zero.

Until today!

This morning, I woke up early after sleeping badly. It was barely 6:00 in the morning, and I opened my door to see two of my ninth graders sitting on my porch.

"We came for English help. We want to learn to speak better."

I was still half asleep, hadn't brushed my teeth or eaten breakfast, but they were looking at my expectantly so I let them in.

"Just let me uh... get something," I said, frazzled.

To buy me some time, I had them do an exercise from my grammar book, and once I had somewhat composed myself we tried a reading and speaking exercise.

After we finished, Hélder and António wanted to know how to say a bunch of random phrases, so I wrote them down and we practiced the pronunciation and meaning together. They wanted to know all about my family and where I was from, I took out my world map.

We worked on English for an hour. I don't think they learned anything groundbreaking, but I do think they enjoyed themselves. For them, it was a small victory.

For me, this was a huge victory. Finally, my students are realizing that I'm not just some teacher whose here for the paycheck at the end of the month. I'm not some random foreigner who is going to disappear next week. I am here for two years. I am here for the sole purpose of their English learning. I want them to learn. I want to help!

Finally, someone asked for help!

When I walk in the classroom these days, the students perk up. They say "Good afternoon, Teacher!" when they pass me in the hallways. They actually volunteer to answer questions. They speak! It's these little things that have been happening recently that are giving me the motivation to continue with full force.

What a great feeling!

One is the Loneliest Number

The excursion to Messica last weekend left me exhausted, so despite the existence of several planned get-togethers around the country this weekend to celebrate St. Patrick's day, I opted to stay home, save for a Friday morning Tete City shopping excursion with Szasha.

It was a quiet weekend.

Saturday dawned cool and bright, with a cloudless sky warning of the hot day to come. I washed all my clothes, re-organized my kitchen, swept and mopped the floor, planned the coming week's lessons, played guitar, made a study plan, cooked a big pot of feijoada to eat from for the next few days, and wrote in my journal.

By this time, it was 10:00 a.m. Not even half the day gone, and my to-do list was empty. Many of my colleagues had left town to spend the weekend with their families in the city, leaving me with few people to talk to.

 I read, read, and read some more. In the space of two days, I read three books. I tackled my reading list with previously unmatched fervor, simply because it was the only thing I had left to do. Other than briefly talking with my mother on her birthday and the occasional "Bom dia" or "Como está?" to passers-by, my only source of conversation was with Poppy -- very one-sided.

Around 4 p.m. on Sunday afternoon, I thought to myself "I wonder if this is what solitary confinement is like?"

Isolation is something that we hear a lot about during training. They talk about being the only American for miles. They talk about the  overpowering "new-kid-at-school" feeling. They talk about the long evenings, where you're forced to pick up a hobby or risk insanity -- or worse, depression.

I'm very much the type of person that doesn't mind being alone. I spend most of my evenings here alone, and I quite enjoy them. After teaching 50-person classes all day, the quiet sanctuary of my house is welcoming -- and yet this morning, that very same sanctuary felt somehow suffocated. This morning I realized that I hadn't actually spoken to a real, live, person in over 24 hours. This morning, for no particular reason, I felt very isolated indeed.

And that's when the phone rang.

"Hey girl," said Lisa, "I was missing you a lot, so I thought I'd call and see what you're up to."

I smiled, feeling refreshed already.

"You have such perfect timing, you have no idea." I told her.

We didn't talk for long. Ten minutes, maybe, but it was enough.

Friends are widely acknowledged to be the cure for isolation. Talk to someone, says our manual. The friends I've made here are people I've known for less than six months, but already they feel like lifelong friends. There's something about what we've all gone through that binds us together -- our common experience turns new friends into old ones in an exceptionally short period of time.

As the afternoon approaches, I'm so thankful that I have class today. A room full of 50 people to talk to! Jackpot! (Added bonus: They have to listen to me!) But most of all, I'm thankful for Lisa and all the other people here who make the rough days smoother and the good days even better.

What Doesn't Kill You

To say I had a bit of a shock when I started teaching here would be an understatement. I have almost 400 students in 8th through 10th grade, and despite having had English instruction since 6th grade, only about a dozen of them can actually string together an original sentence in English. They know greetings, they know "stand up" and "sit down" and half of them know how to form a sentence with "to  be". Honestly, I think most American house-pets have a bigger vocabulary.

Most of my students don't really care about learning English, or learning at all. Apart from a select few, these teenagers know that when they grow up, they're going to get married, have kids, and farm the land -- just like their parents and grandparents and great-grandparents did. School is something you're supposed to suffer through for a number of years, doing just well enough so that you can move on to the next grade, and eventually you won't be required to come anymore. Most of the classes consist of well-intentioned but under-trained and underpaid teachers dictating notes that the students then copy, repeat, and memorize. That's what passes for "learning" here. Critical thinking and motivation to improve oneself are non-existent. The idea that school can be interesting and enjoyable is (literally) a foreign concept to them.

Clearly, this is quite different than my attitude to learning. Back when I was in school, I was the kid that counted down the days to start school, the kid who went to school with colds, fevers, and laryngitis. I elevated the annual autumn stroll through the aisles of Target -- surrounded by gel pens and glitter pencils and notebooks of every color -- to about the same level as Christmas.

As a teacher, too, my experience so far has been at a summer camp in Germany and a Montessori school in Houston, both of which employed the basic philosophy that anything can be made interesting and fun to learn when presented in a creative way by a determined teacher. I've slowly come to believe that if my students aren't enjoying what I'm teaching them (or at least finding it intellectually stimulating), I'm teaching it wrong. If my students here aren't learning anything and aren't finding the lessons engaging, it's not because they are lazy and unmotivated, it's because they don't consider learning enjoyable -- and, along with English, that's one of the things I'm here to teach them.

This is easy to say, but hard to do. How do you motivate a room of 50-plus kids who stare at you like zombies when you ask a question? How do you get kids who are used to being hit and yelled at by their teachers to stop being afraid to speak? How do you get the girls, who are under the impression they should be seen and not heard, to participate in class? When asked a direct question, students generally stare at the floor silently or mumble something incoherent, so how much valuable class time do you spend trying to coax a simple answer out of a reluctant student? How do you get them to want to learn?

For me, one of the biggest answers has been music. I don't have a single student who doesn't like music -- so anytime I can find a song that ties in to the vocabulary or grammar point that we're studying, I use it. "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong for colors and adjectives, "On Top of Spaghetti" for prepositions of place, "Rock Around the Clock" for telling time, etc. Sometimes they fill in missing words. Sometimes I teach them the words and we sing it. Sometimes they stand up and have to do certain movements when the hear certain words.
But every single time I pull out a song, they visibly perk up. They stop looking like zombies and start looking like students. It's refreshing.

However, sometimes I worry that these kids are so far behind that we can't afford to waste class time doing things like choreographed dances to American pop songs, even if it does vaguely tie in to what we're learning. When trimester exams come up, it's going to be much more important that they know how to write a sentence in the passive than if they know where the meatball that was on top of my spaghetti went.

About a month ago, we were learning about comparatives and superlatives -- "João is shorter than José, but Manuel is the shortest" -- that kind of thing. I taught my classes the chorus to the song "Stronger" by Kelly Clarkson:

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, stand a little taller
Doesn't mean I'm lonely when I'm alone
What doesn't kill you makes a fighter, footsteps even lighter
Doesn't mean I'm over 'cause you're gone

I told them this song was about personal empowerment and resilience, and explained what each line of the lyrics meant. They loved it, and wanted to listen to it over and over again.

Two weeks later, we had our first test. As I was correcting, I couldn't help but notice that almost everybody remembered what "stronger" and "taller" meant -- and nobody remembered how to form sentences in the passive.

Maybe I'm not wasting my time with these activities.

I've taken a sizable risk, in that I've thrown the provincial curriculum out the window. I may incur the wrath of the provincial Ministry of Education, but there's no point in trying to explain relative clauses to students who can barely put together a sentence in simple present tense.

What I'm gambling on is this: If I can get my students to a very basic level of English -- something that's at least better than "trained household pet" level, some of them might, just might, be able to pass their exams -- and more importantly, improve their lot in life.

I have no idea how it will pan out -- but for now, after facing a zombie class, when I come home exhausted and frustrated, I am greeted and calmed by the words that are now hanging above my workspace:

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Central Cohesão

This past Friday marked exactly three months since we arrived at site. This is an exciting time, firstly because we've survived what's widely known to be the hardest time of Peace Corps service, and secondly because it means our three-month travel ban is up! No longer confined to our provinces, we're now allowed to travel freely throughout Mozambique.

So, naturally, at our first opportunity that's exactly what we did. This weekend, all of us living in the Central provinces of Tete, Manica, and Sofala got together in Messica, just north of Chimoio,  and spent two days at a secluded lodge called Casa Msika. We enjoyed the company of other volunteers, relished the quiet luxury  of the lodge (i.e. took an excessive number of showers), and got caught up on the latest fofoca (gossip).

This is apparently an annual event, called Central Cohesão, and is intended to bring volunteers in the Central provinces closer together to form an unbreakable bond of friendship and cameraderie. There may have also been some kind of strange initiation ceremony, but I'm not at liberty to say.

Needless to say, we had a blast, and got to do the three things that volunteers do best:

1. Descansar (Rest)

LEFT: Sarah's tuckered out from an all-day hike. RIGHT: Wendy enjoys a nice nap on the grass.

2. Relaxar (Relax)

LEFT: Shane and Dylan share a special bond. RIGHT: Chilling out by the pool.

3. Festejar (Celebrate!)

I am joyously reunited with Lisa, completing our trio, the self-dubbed "Blondtorage"

We had a great time, and the weekend passed much too quickly for my liking. As much as I like the quiet life in Mavudzi-Ponte, I'm always counting down the days until the next time I get to see the other volunteers.

Nevertheless, I was very happy to be home again at the end of the long and tiring trek back to Tete -- I walked into my complex to an ever-so-happy to see me Poppy, made some dinner and promptly slept for twelve hours.

Dealing with O Senhor Carpinteiro

I've heard a lot about our local carpinteiro (carpenter) since I've moved here. He's lazy, they say. He lies. He's slow.

Not wanting to succumb to local gossip right off the bat, I thought I'd give him a chance. My house is somewhat devoid of furniture, so two weeks ago, I asked the carpenter to make me a bookshelf. I showed him how big it should be, and drew a picture of what I wanted it to look like.

"No problem, no problem," he said, "I'll bring it on Thursday."

We agreed on a price, and I paid him part of it up front so he could go buy materials. He told me he would come find me in a week, on Thursday, to inspect the finished product.

Thursday (Expected Shelf Delivery Day): 

The day comes and goes with no word from the carpenter.

Friday (1 day late). 

Having forgotten exactly where the carpenter's house is, I ask my neighbor's daughter to show me. All her friends get really excited and want to come to, so I show up there with about a dozen children to ask where my shelf is.

"The man who was supposed to bring me my wood only came yesterday, so I haven't had time to make the shelf yet," the carpenter says.

"You haven't even started?" I ask.

"Unfortunately not. But I will be done by Monday. Tuesday at the latest."

"At the latest? You're sure?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, yes. No later than Tuesday! Promise!"
 

Tuesday (5 days late)

This time, only one child accompanies me to the carpenter's house. He smiles when I walk up, but looks visibly annoyed that I keep bugging him.

"Is my shelf ready yet? You said you'd bring it today, and it's already almost sundown."

He squirms. "Well, I needed glue to put the wood pieces together, and I only went the city to get the glue yesterday, you see, so I'll need one more day. I'll come find you tomorrow when I am finished so you can look at it."

I seriously consider telling him I'm no longer going to pay full price, but I think he might just take longer if I do that, so I hold my tongue. I tell him I'll wait for him at home tomorrow morning, and hope against hope that he'll come.

Wednesday (6 days late) 

I wait at home all morning. Nothing happens.

 

Thursday (7 days late) 

In the afternoon, as I'm heading back home after one of my classes, I spy the carpenter walking away from my house. I wave at him to get his attention.

"There you are," he says somewhat accusingly, "Where were you?"

"At school, teaching, like I am every afternoon." I say.

"Oh. Well I've finished your shelf."

Finally! I walk with him to his house and inspect the item in question.

Well...

My new shelf.

It's a shelf. You can put things on it. It's made of rough wood, sloppily nailed together, and it wobbles, but it looks more or less sturdy. There's a backboard behind it that doesn't quite reach all the way down to the bottom, leaving a gap. The corners don't quite fit together.

It doesn't look much like my drawing.

Still, looking around at the other projects in the carpenter's yard, I gather that this is about the level of expertise I can hope to enjoy from him, so I tell him it's fine, though secretly I'm thinking that I've made theatrical props in half an hour that look better than this piece of... shelf.

"Who is going to carry it?" he asks.

"You said you would," I tell him.

"Well, I can, but it's heavy. I'll want an extra 50 mets for delivery."

At this point I'm fed up. "Fine, add an extra 50 mets for delivery, but I'm taking 50 mets off since you're a week late," I snap at him.

Realizing that I'm not going to pay him to carry the shelf, he mandars a kid from nearby to come carry it. The scrawny twelve-year-old picks up the shelf, muscles straining, and starts hobbling towards my house with it.

In the mean time, I pay the carpenter, and start walking to my house to meet the boy.

On the way, I realize that the carpenter definitely isn't planning on paying that boy for carrying my shelf, and I feel bad -- it's really heavy! I should have just carried it myself.

Darn.

I make it home at the same time as the boy, and he puts the shelf on my porch. I give him some money and thank him profusely. He's dripping with sweat. He takes the money, panting, and wanders home.

At the end of this tale, I find myself having gained two things: first, a shoddily built shelf. Second, the knowledge that if I need any other furniture made, I am going to ask anybody but our carpenter.

Going with the Flow

It's been an interesting few days here in Mavudzi-Ponte. Yesterday, I woke up energized and ready to teach my tenth graders about present continuous, only to find out from my friend Vanda that school had been canceled for the day. Why, you might ask? No idea. I hate missing Mondays, because it's the only day I see my tenth graders, but what can you do? Not much. Foi mandado. It was mandated.

Today, I checked beforehand to make sure we were actually going to have class. Yes, yes, Vanda assured me, there's class today.

And yet, lo and behold, when I went to school at 12:30 as usual, none of my 8th graders were in their classroom. They were all in the salão, the big room, for a mandatory anti-drug seminar. Now I'm all for the anti-drug message, but does it have to be during my teaching time?

Apparently so.

I paced the hallway waiting for them to finish -- and once they did, I quickly ushered my kids to their classroom and did my best to cram my 45-minute lesson into 15 minutes.

Next up, I was slated to teach two ninth grade turmas -- the same lesson twice, back to back. As I went to get my materials for the first class, I had (what I thought was) the following conversation with one of my brightest students, Cristiano:

Cristiano: Teacher, can I please sit in on the 9A class today?
Teacher Helena: Don't you have another class to be in?
Cristiano: No, teacher. The Portuguese professor's not here today.
Teacher Helena: Well...I suppose you can sit in on the class.
Cristiano: Can my friend come too?
Teacher Helena: Sure.

Cristiano's a very bright student and shows a real aptitude and willingness to learn, so if he wants to sit in on an extra class, great! After all, 9A is one of my smallest classes, and who would notice just one (well, two) extra students?

Cristiano, smiling, turned and ran to go get his notebook. I went to the sala dos professores, the teacher's lounge, to get my lesson plans. Then, I walked into the 9A classroom to see this:

A sea of students!

"Holy guacamole! Where did all these students come from!?" I thought, "These kids can't possibly all be in 9A! In fact, I know that one there is in 9B... and that one... and that one... wait a minute, half these kids are from 9B! What's going on!?"

At this point, I would like to add, as a disclaimer, that generally my Portuguese is pretty good. I have no problem communicating and  there are very few times these days when I have trouble articulating my thoughts or have to ask for clarification. And yet, sometimes I, too, misunderstand.

This was one of those occasions.

Turns out, the conversation I had with Cristiano actually went like this:

Cristiano: Teacher, can our class please sit in with the other class for English today?
Teacher Helena: Don't you have another class to be in?
Cristiano: No, teacher. The Portuguese professor's not here today, and if we do English all together we can go home early.
Teacher Helena: Well...I suppose you can sit in on the class.
Cristiano: The rest of my classmates can come too?
Teacher Helena: Sure.

You see, Cristiano is the chefe da turma, the class president, and so the task fell to him to ask me if we could juntar (join) the two groups into one. I just didn't realize what he was asking me.

Usually, I say no to these types of requests, figuring that these classes are already big enough -- but at this point, I had about 85 expectant faces staring up at me, having already moved all their chairs and desks into the room, waiting to learn about present continuous.

I decided to just go with it.

And you know what? It was a great lesson. Maybe it was because there were so many of them, and they were feeding off of each others energy. Maybe they were excited to go home early. Maybe it was because my 9th graders are just awesome. (I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but let's get real here. Who doesn't have favorites?)

In any case, I they all understood the material, they were all participating, laughing when I cracked jokes, working when I assigned them problems, and (for the most part) they were quiet when I was talking. It was a fantastic!

I can only hope my lessons tomorrow will go just as well. I have my two most challenging turmas, and to make things more stressful, I'm being visited by one of the Peace Corps staff. Don't get me wrong, Ramiro is really great, but he's also the one who taught all of our "How to Teach English" classes, so the idea of having him sit in on my classes while I teach is nerve-wracking.

Wish me luck!