Tests and Juicys

I loved school, but I never loved tests. I didn't hate them, but I didn't like them either. After all, who likes tests? Little did I know, however, that many years later, as a teacher, I would rather subject myself to a painful dental exam than have to proctor an English one.

Before any test, I do a review of what we have learned with my classes. Inevitably, everyone has forgotten everything except for maybe two kids. Concepts that really should not be that difficult seem impossible to grasp. ("FOR GOD'S SAKE, YOU JUST LOOK AT THIS CHART THAT I MADE SPECIFICALLY FOR YOU TO FIND OUT WHAT THE PAST TENSE IS!") I cross my fingers and hope that at least something has sunk in.

Come test day, I have to set aside the friendly-English-teacher routine and put on my Stern Teacher Face.

"Put all your notebooks, backpacks, and papers at the front of the classroom," I say, and the students all groan (as if this is a surprise -- not like we've been doing it every single time...) I remind the kids of the rules, which are always the same.

"If I see you talking, minus 1 point. If I see you cheating, minus 5 points. Repeat offenders immediately get a zero. Are we clear?"

"Yes, teacher," the students murmer, rolling their eyes. I roll my eyes back at them and they laugh.

And yet, inevitably, when the test starts, not 5 minutes goes by that someone doesn't turn around and talk to their friend. Moments later, I hear the tell-tale rustle of a notebook being pulled out of some hidden location.

And so it begins.

These kids just love to cheat. They're used to cheating -- that's how most of them have gotten through school up until this point. They don't understand why it's a big deal to me, so they all try -- even the good kids who study for the test cheat.

Boys hide notebooks in their pants. Girls have them up their skirts. Kids put notebooks on the floor so they can kick them open when the test starts. They write on their hands, their arms, their thighs. They hide cheat sheets inside their pencil cases, taped to the underside of their desk, on their friend's backs. They copy their notes several times over to hide them in several places at once. They text answers to each other. They arrange to have someone come to the window to whisper answers into the classroom. Heck, they're probably having someone smoke signal answers to them from the market.

Seeing as you only need a 50% to pass here, if these kids put some of that cheating energy into studying, they'd be just fine.

It's exam time right now, and that means I'm generally in a pretty bad mood. Giving my own tests is rough, but at least I have the authority to take off points and kick kids out. Now that we're doing final exams, I have to proctor other teachers' tests and I have no authority to do anything.

After a particularly rough test today, I was in a foul mood. My next door neighbor's daughter had given me attitude in front of the whole class, nobody was listening to me, and I ended up smacking a kid upside the head with his notebook when I found him cheating for the 3rd time. ("Did I really just hit one of my students? What's happening to me!?")

When that test was over, I seriously considered calling in sick for the rest of the day. I was having one of those moments where you think "Why on earth am I here? What good is this doing anyone?"

That's when my student, Izaquel, came up to me.

"Here teacher," he said, holding out a small frozen popsicle locally called juicy. "I thought you might be hot. And angry. Have a juicy."

"For me?" I asked, and he nodded.

Now let me put this in perspective. Izaquel walks an hour to get to school every day. He owns one shirt and one set of pants, and can't afford the school uniform. His father is drunk most of the time, and spends what little money his family has on low-quality gin. In order to get money to feed his sisters, Izaquel herds cows before and after school for a local farmer for a few meticais a day. Izaquel and his family live on much less than a dollar a day. And yet, here he was, giving me a popsicle.

Honestly, I felt bad taking something from someone who has so little, but refusing would have been rude, and Izaquel genuinely wanted me to take the juicy. I took it, and I ate it, and it wasn't very good and probably gave me some kind of unfiltered-water-parasite, but I enjoyed it 100%.

Immediately, I remembered why I'm here. It's for kids like Izaquel, who, if he continues to study as diligently as he does now, might have a real shot at becoming a professor someday and really improving his station in life. I'm here for the kids who pay attention and raise their hands in my class, even if they have the answer wrong. I'm here for all the students who come to me after class and ask for help.

Tests are awful, and I hate them with every fiber of my being, but I'll get through them. I'll stick it out for my students.