Today I've been reflecting on my love/hate relationship with teaching children. They are so annoying but I would certainly miss them if I didn't work with them anymore. They mess around and fidget and fight. They tell the teacher on each other, "Teacher Cunning!" being their way of informing me that someone is cheating during a game. They pick their noses all the time. They don't listen, they argue and bicker and swing back on their chairs until they fall. Then there are the funny, quirky things. Like this morning, a boy took the stairs four at a time, stretching each leg out as far as it would possibly go, just for fun. Another boy "swam" across the floor to his team line. They laugh at my stupid jokes and are enthusiastic about games and stamps and winning. Boys and girls will scream and immediately stop arguing with each other if I ask if they are boy/girl friend (whilst making a heart shape with my hands). They emphatically inform me they are bery bery bery hungry! or moan when another student cuts the lunch line Teacher, sejegae! (bad spelling).
But my favourite thing about kids, the thing I would miss the most, is how happy and in the moment they are. The other day we had a talent show. Being someone who only plays the piano in a shadowy, deserted room, I'm always amazed and delighted by the willingness of Korean kids to showcase their talents. They love to dance to K pop (with its wonderful set dance moves- so regimented, so Korean). They love to sing. Sometimes they play instruments and other times they act. I've seen all sorts, and naturally the ability ranges from wonderful to painful, but in my eyes the students who suck are to be more admired. To be able to stand up on stage in front of your whole school and sing a shaky, way-out-of -your-vocal-range rendition of "I Dreamed a Dream" from Le Mis is no easy task. Well done, I say! Seriously though, somewhere down the line I developed this idea that I would only do something if I was good at it, and even then sometimes I wouldn't want to. I love that these kids just go for it, whatever their ability. This week's talent show was extra special because we had a surprise performance from the entire school, aka more than a hundred kids dancing in a regimented mass. It was amazing.
How can I ever say my job is boring?
Last week Lee and I went to the Asian Games, to watch a women's semi-finals cricket match between Bangladesh and Sri Lanka. It wasn't the most spectacular thing I've ever seen but nonetheless it was fun and I improved my (albeit almost non existent) cricket rule knowledge. The crowd was sparse to say the least, outnumbered by cameramen 2-1, meaning that we were filmed quite a lot and probably have now appeared on Bangladeshi prime time TV. It was a wonderfully sunny beer-filled day, so perfect that I even had a little snooze halfway through the game. Afterwards we walked around the stalls outside the main stadium, so Lee could play on the games and make new friends.
I recently went on an outing to an ice rink (and on a side note I'm pleased to announce that, unlike the skiing debacle, it was a roaring success!) As I slid at my 'Rachel pace' around in a steady anticlockwise motion, I watched the girls in the coned off section in the middle practicing their turns and spins. Despite often falling over (to the great displeasure of their rather grumpy old man instructor), they were amazing. One girl, aged about eleven, span quickly round and round and round, holding her leg bent behind her as she went and then slowly bringing it up until she was doing the vertical splits. Wowser.
Olympic champion skater Kim Yuna
My friend told me that Kim Yuna herself used to practice at that very ice rink when she was a hopeful figure skating youth.
As I watched I began to ponder on the wonderful- and often later forgotten- world of children's hopes and dreams.
A few years ago I attended a training workshop as part of a collaboration between youth workers and other agents of services for young people. The training was led by a woman from Connexions, which for any of you who don't know, was a careers advice service for 13-19 year olds in the UK. My own experience of them had been less than positive, consisting of a single thirty minute slot in which a fifteen year old me checked boxes next to the relevant interests and strengths and was then presented with a list of completely bizarre 'suitable' jobs. I seem to remember accountant being one of them...
The workshop was about helping to guide young people on the right paths to jobs. I can't say I was particularly inspired, but thought the premise sounded fair enough. That is, until the trainer opened her mouth. Within five minutes she'd depressed me so much I just wanted to run out the door and never look back.
Her opening deal was this:
"What did you want to be when you were young?" We went round the room:
"A fireman!" "A Space man!" "A Gymnast!" "A Pianist!" "A children's author!"
Oh how we all laughed.
Then she said (brace yourself):
"And what do you want to be, now that you're grown up?" Nobody else even flinched.
"A lifeguard." "A police man." "A senior youth worker." "A manager." "Erm...A children's author?" She chose to ignore the fact that my two answers were the same (I suppose it didn't really fit with the ethos of her workshop) and proceeded to announce:
"And thats what Connexion's is here for-
to connect young people with their realistic dream jobs!"
I'll never forget that.
I teach a class here where each student thinks about what job they want when they grow up. I love that to a child the difference between becoming a teacher or becoming an opera singer, is nothing.
It's their dream, and that's it.
So I say dream big, dream big like a kid and forget what that Connexions woman said.
A bit of background info about the place I work at.
Seoul English Village is an English immersion camp, with situational classes. Students come and stay here for a few days, usually with their school, usually hundreds of students at a time. Students come, students go: a fact which has positives and negatives in equal parts. We get variety in age, English level and background of students, but don't get to build relationships. Kids we like leave, and so do kids we don't like.
Over Winter Camp we've done Oral Tests, to allow us to put the students into teams based on their level. The Oral Test involves asking questions, to elicit answers hopefully using a range of tenses and vocabulary. As the student sits down in the seat opposite us, we have no idea where they're going to be at. Sometimes they are incredibly cheerful, other times they look around shiftily, looking for someone to rescue them. Sometimes they're fluent. And other times when we ask the first question, 'how are you?' the answer is a slow, practiced, careful 'I am nine years old.'
Usually I ask a random selection of suggested questions on the list, steering clear of the last one.
"What is the most important thing in the world?"
Whoa there! I'm sure there are many adults who would struggle to come up with a quick or real answer to this mind blowing question. I can't help feeling it's immenseness is rather inappropriately aimed at the (more often than not) 9-12 age bracket here at SEV.
That being said, this time around I decided to give the question a go and have become intrigued and slightly addicted to the answers.
"Money" "My brother" "Homework" "Energy" "English" "Water" "Study"(so I can speak to people when I visit Paris) "My dream"(to become an actor as well as teacher)
and the most wonderful answer of all, "Peace"
I love how individually valid and different these answers are. There's a distinct line between awareness of the wider world and a close, egocentric (and therefore childish) sense of what is important.
A class here that can be at either end of the mind numbingly boring-amazingly interesting spectrum for a teacher is Post Office. The main aim of this class is for each student to write a letter to their favourite teacher. More often than not the kids have only been here for a couple of days, and so aren't particularly bothered about writing to a teacher. Other times their English is so poor that they do well just to copy out the words I've written on the board, including the gaps I meant for them to fill with their own words.
I'm having a ____________ time at SEV. My favourite class so far is______________.
Nice one.
Needless to say, every teacher is thrilled when one of these bad boys appears in their mailbox.
Other times you get a strangely insulting letter, such as the one I got a few weeks ago, which went something like this:
Teacher have big face
I'm love you
Joke
I'm sorry!
My my. Rude and bad grammar.
But then occasionally you get those students who've been here for a while, who know the teachers and really want to write a good letter (and not to mention, have the ability to do it). My most recent Post Office class was one of these instances, and here are some of the results:
One Last Winner is a quiz competition- does she think it's gonna be lots of questions relating to snow??
He is quite alone in being impressed with the food here!
I'm concerned my hair colour has really descended into a nasty yellow.
Another highly entertaining event here at SEV is the evening Winter/Summer Camp Talent Show, of which we've had a few recently. The talent show is a time for students to dance, sing, attempt magic tricks or put on skits. It's all very cute. There are times when the kids are so good they leave you speechless.
And there are other times when they leave you speechless in a whole other way. A couple of weeks ago we had one of those Talent Shows, where most of the acts were just plain painful. One girl (I like to think of her as the ringleader of the painfulness) decided to sing a cappella. It's not that she was bad, it's just that even professionals can't necessarily sing to a room full of people without musical accompaniment. The audience talked over her and we were embarrassed for her, but she plowed on, seemingly unaware (for not one but two songs.) At the end she won third place, but when she got up to receive her prize she looked far from pleased, clearly not having praticed her 'gracious loser' face.
Then last week she came back for more! Her rendition of 'I Dreamed a Dream,' from Les Miserables of course had no music to accompany it. It was a painful re-enactment of the last weeks performance, but made even better by the last note, which dragged on and on.
drrreeeeaaaaaaaaammmmmm! (for at least 10 long, slightly warbly seconds)
It's been a busy few weeks getting settled back into life here. I'm slowly but surely crawling towards this semester's hand in date at uni (hooray!). I've decorated the apartment and put up the Christmas tree. After a rather painful three weeks we've moved onto night shift, finally allowing me that peaceful, wonderful time in the morning to write, read and sleep. Work is as it ever was and the students are much the same. I've been surprised by their general low level of English, making me realise how good some of my other students have been since last time I was here. In stark contrast to the Saudis, Korean kids are so well behaved and conformist, sometimes to the point of freaky. Generally they are very sweet and enthusiastic about being here at English Village. It's great to be in an environment where the students are happy. I am especially loving them stopping to bow at me in the corridor! Being back after so many other experiences both in and out of the classroom have made me view this job in a completely different light. I'm finding new and interesting ways to teach the classes and am basking in the glory of the non-existent planning. I'm finding the menial paper cutting tasks given to me during 'programming' lessons relaxing and fun. I'm pleased with the free food, even if sometimes there are squid tentacles swimming in the soup. Perhaps as a direct result of my magical positive state, I'm noticing how much other people complain. I've come to realise that depending on how you choose to see it, there is so much to be happy about or equally so much to hate. I notice people saying things that maybe I would've said the first time round. I'm noticing arrogance and superiority and grumbling over nothing. It's making me laugh that people can be so openly lazy and sometimes rude in front of the bosses. At times the unprofessionalism (word??) makes me cringe. I'm seeing that being ungrateful and negative are not attractive traits. Maybe I've just learnt to live with the shit, but I have to say I prefer viewing the job -and my life- through this new, happier lens.
So here we are back in Korea, back in our old job. Apart from the other people teaching here, everything is still the same. Lesson plans and resources are prepared for us, the classes are easy and (sometimes) fun and there are new students all the time. I was sitting in Bank class giving out stamps in passports and I had a bit of moment. I was like, "Have nearly two years passed since I last did this? Weird." It all seemed so incredibly... normal. We've been to a fair few countries in the last three years and attempted to start new lives in three. I find the process exhausting- getting used to the things that are different or strange, and trying to get around the place (which for me with my almost non existent sense of direction is a real struggle). So it was great to arrive at Incheon airport, catch the bus to the local area without a thought, and easily give the taxi driver directions to our school. I'm enjoying going to old favourite restaurants and catching up with old friends. I'm also enjoying trying out new places and making new friends, although I have the freedom to do this at my own pace. When we first arrived we realised (too late) that we'd left one of our back packs in the taxi we got from the airport. We were totally panicking because this backpack had one of our laptops in it-with Lee's recent Uni work on it- two hard drives, PSP, ipod, HDMI cable, English to Korean plug adapters and all sorts of chargers. It was a struggle to be upbeat for those first couple of days, stuck in limbo while we waited and hoped that the taxi driver would bring it back. The following evening he did. It had taken him a while because he'd been retracing his steps, trying to find the owner of the bag. I just love this. And I have to ask, 'why wouldn't we expect this kindness in other countries?' It's sad to say, but Korea is the only place I've been to where I had faith that the taxi driver would return. Sure, some Koreans have annoying habits such as a tendency to dig their elbows into your ribs to allow them to get on the subway, or chewing loudly with their mouths open, but they are also honest and respect other people, which are much more important traits to have.
I'm happy we're back. I'm excited to spend hours singing my heart out at karaoke. I'm excited to eat lots of BBQ. I'm excited to have new adventures such as skiing and visiting different parts of Korea. And most of all, I'm excited because I feel like I'm back in my home away from home.
If you read my last post then you'll know that Lee and I have packed in our job here in Ho Chi Minh. And now, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I present to you my reasons why.
The boring stuff/list of grievances regarding the job itself include:
medical insurance that
only covers you for death or hospitalisation (the NHS never looked so good)
No sick
pay.
No paid planning time.
No system for sharing lesson plans, creating a situation where hundreds of teachers are reinventing the wheel with each day, at great cost to their time and
effort.
No paid bank holidays.
Only two lifts in a building with 14 floors, so at the weekends you have to walk up floors and floors
of stairs over and over because the kids are using it to go from floor
1-3. This sounds trivial but walking from floor 3-9 in your break to get to the staff room, I think takes the piss.
Boiling hot classrooms. Don't these people know how much I sweat?
The crux of the work related issue is that we felt we weren't told the whole story at interview, and the truth of the job just didn't sit right with us.
And now we come to issues with the city itself, or should we say 'dealbreakers.'
We were picked up from the airport by a friendly South African girl from the company. Tired, sweaty and ready for bed, we got in the taxi, so glad to have arrived. Then SA girl begins to tell us things. Scary things. Sure, it's nice and probably necessary to be warned, but still these were things I for one didn't want to hear during my very first moments in Ho Chi Minh.
"Two teachers from the company died this year, they think from poisoned fake alcohol. One of them was found dead alone in his hotel room. Don't drink the spirits." Right. What, anywhere? Ever?
"I never carry a bag because there are so many bag thefts by scooters on the street. If you're lucky they'll rip it right off you, if not they might drag you along the road with them. I keep my money and my phone in my bra, and that's it." O....K
We weren't sure how seriously to take this- for all we knew she was a bit paranoid. Could Ho Chi Minh seriously be worse than, say, Bangkok? The thought seemed ludicrous.
But since that initial warning we've met at least four women who this has happened too. (And bearing in mind we've been here for three weeks, I think that's quite a lot.)
We were out having a drink the other day and we met with a girl we knew who was quite drunk. We walked home with her, with the view that this would keep her safe. As I've mentioned in a previous post, in this city there are no proper pedestrian crossings, you simply have to go. I walked with drunk girl across a big, deserted road. A scooter was heading towards us and I was trying to work out if they would go in front or behind. They seemed to be aiming for us, it was weird. Most scooters, aware that you are moving forwards, head behind you, but this guy with friend on the back came infront. Very, very close. All too late, I was like 'shit, they're gonna hit us,' then they veered into drunk girl and I heard a BANG!
I thought they'd hit her but then seconds later I realised (as did she) that they'd pulled her handbag clean away, the strap making the noise as it broke away from the bag itself.
And then they were gone.
To experience it up close like that was shocking to say the least. Drunk girl was in utter shock, we all felt terrible for her but didn't really know how to make her feel better. And then there was that deep down selfish part that thought 'thank goodness it didn't happen to me.'
This is not the life I want. The constant vigilance at all times of day and night for bag snatchers, or making Lee carry everything, hence relying on him in much the same way I did in Saudi.
Maybe I'm being melodramatic, I don't know. All I know is that it's not nice.
The next day we were warning a hippy couple, who promptly came back with the story that the guy had been recently held at knife point and mugged in Nah Trang up the coast. Talk about trump your story! But apparently that was OK, because 'They won't actually stab you here, not like back home in Australia.'
Oh, yipee! Now I feel thoroughly at ease. The day after that we told a senior teacher at work what had happened, to which she promptly showed us her arm scars. 'I got dragged about 20 metres before they let go.'
Unfortunately these are not just rumors, they are all too real and I just don't like it.
The last point I will discuss in my blog post of pure joy and happiness is scooter accidents. The roads here are crazy. It's organised chaos, organised I believe on because the Vietnamese people have been scootering the streets here since they were born. But for a foreigner, how the hell do you navigate your way across a cross road where everyone just filters constantly like sand. You've got to have eyes in the back of your head.
There is no way on earth I am buying a scooter.
Although we seem to be pretty much the only foreigners that feel like this. Square?
On our first night, South African girl showed us the massive scar on her foot (and later we found out she also skinned her chest) from a scooter accident. On that same night we met a guy who'd broken his collar bone.
We've heard stories of handle bars being yanked, people being flung, we've seen scars and cuts and bruises. And it's enough to put us off for life.
And the big problem with writing off having a scooter is that Ho Chi Minh doesn't work without one. Taxis are slow and expensive, and walking is a gauntlet.
So in conclusion- 'That's it, I quit, I'm moving on!'
This time last week I was so excited at work because we were about to go to Dubai! After planning a party then being told to cancel it, a few of my kids turned up anyway so we had an impromptu party complete with pin the tail on the donkey and a cake with my face on it! In a place where people are obsessed with technology and often shove their kids in front of an Ipad, it was so sweet/ sad to see how much the boys loved playing the old school party game. They really appreciate attention and a bit of simple fun.
Random....
We got to the airport late and were covered in sweat by the time we got there because the mini bus had no air con, so the 40 minute journey in the 40 degree heat was pretty hardcore. At the check in desk it was clear there was a problem, and we were told to go and see the manager. This 'manager' was one of the most unhelpful people I've ever met and simply kept telling us we didn't have a ticket number. He wouldn't even make a call for us or make any attempt to sort it out. I freaked out and wanted to punch him, but Lee stayed cool and let me sit down while he tried to deal with it. With less than an hour before the flight we had to go to the other terminal (not close by) to the Gulf Air desk to get our ticket number. At Riyadh airport you have to go through security even to get to the ticket desks, so Lee went in and I waited with our bags. Luckily, after fighting his way to get some help, he managed to get hold of the precious ticket numbers, and now with less than 30 minutes to go, he ran back to the first terminal to check in, with me attempting (badly) to run behind with two bags. Somehow it all turned out alright and we got on the plane. I just couldn't believe the managers attitude towards us, he made me totally appreciate customer service at home. Even when we had the tickets and clearly not a lot of time, he insisted on giving Lee a lecture about how he was right about the ticket number.
The flight from Riyadh to Bahrain (we had to change to get to Dubai- seriously no flights come to Riyadh, I suppose because no passengers want to come here!) was only 50 minutes, but Saudi Air insist on putting on a full meal service. We were starving so I wasn't complaining, but when the seat belt sign came on for landing and the flight attendants had only just started cleaning the trays, we knew there was trouble. One woman dropped a tray as she tried to clear it away, and rice went everywhere. I've never seen a flight attendant do that before and I realised later that she must've been stressed. As the lights of the city came towards us, they were still frantically cleaning, then they gave up and made a run for the back, to try and secure everything and hopefully sit down. The last attendant - a tiny Filipino woman- didn't make it before we actually came in to land. We were in the very back seat so we saw her brace herself against the back of the chair opposite and attempt to hold the very heavy wheely container thing to stop it rolling down the aisle. Lee helped her by holding it too. As the plane landed and put on the brakes, the trays began flying out of the holes, down the aisle, flinging rice and other leftovers everywhere. We were in row 48 and I heard a man say later that a tray reached him in row 32. By the time we stopped the flight attendant was crying. We asked her if she was OK, to which she replied, "no" and then said the heartbreaking words, "this is my life." It's classic Saudi behaviour to expect totally unreasonable things to be done and to force 'lesser' people to do them. They don't care that their staff have to go through hell; they are determined to provide that meal at whatever cost. They are willing to risk their employees lives and also even put the passengers in danger. When we left the plane there were loads of trays on the chairs, which meant people had to hold them on their tables until we landed. Not to mention the fact that there was no time for a seat belt check. It was all horribly undignified and embarrassing for the staff, and we heard them talking about how they had one hour to clean up and get the plane ready to fly again. We realised that they probably go through that shit at least once a day, every day. And all because the Saudi big men are too stupid to listen.
On Tuesday and Wednesday after weeks of waiting and worrying (for teachers), the students finally did the performances for the mothers. I played camera man on Tuesday, taking videos of the girls, although I kept having to cut whenever someone walked through the shot. The principal had told the mothers that they weren't allowed to take any photos or videos, because women don't want their skimpily clad selves caught on camera. And of course what I mean by skimpily clad is wearing something like a long sleeved shirt and ankle length skirt. One woman was about to enter the auditorium (late for your child's end of year play, how Saudi of you) when she caught sight of me filming and jumped back out the way, hastily putting on her headscarf and covering her entire face with a veil.
This is fine by me if it's really how these ladies feel- each to their own and all that, but I found it slightly contradictory when they then all wanted to take photos of me. Seriously, after the boys performance I felt like a celebrity. Everyone took my photo with their kids, and sometimes with themselves, and by the end I was standing with about twelve boys infront of an army of abaya wearing paparazzi. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't care who had a photo of me, but in a place where men never get to see women it makes me a bit uncomfortable wondering who's hands these pictures might fall into. Better not to dwell on that one I think.
I was proud of the boys and what they achieved in their little performance. Sure, it wasn't Oscar winning, but I thought they did really well at speaking in English on stage and in speaking in front of all those people. I was planning to upload it for your entertainment and delight, but after 24 hours of computer torture the exercise has been deemed impossible.
Sorry folks!
One day I hope to not be such a computer spaz.
Anyway, last week I told the students that I'm leaving at the end of the year (big fat yippee!). In the boys class this caused a wave of shock and horror. Here are some snippets of conversations we had re: my departure.
Student: You not in Grade 3 teacher?
Me: No
Student: (look of pure confusion) Why?
Me: I'm going to go somewhere else. Maybe Dubai.
Student: No problem, I come Dubai.
Me: Or maybe Spain.
4 students: No problem, we come Spain!
We made some folders for them to put their English work in. They decorated them with crayons and pictures and glitter, which the boys enjoyed more than I expected.
One boy came up to me and said:
"Teacher, how spelling 'teacher Rachel is the best teacher?'"
Trying not to crack a smile I replied:
"Well, Teacher and Rachel are both on the board, you work the rest out."
He nodded and went back to his desk. About five minutes later he came back:
"Teacher, how spelling best?"
He's written teacher Rachel is the best teacher on the inside of his folder. The next day another boy opened it and read it out loud, to which the first boy got all embarrassed and slammed his folder shut. Ah so sweet.
My vain hope for these lovely eight year old Saudi boys is that they will grow into good people, not disrespectful bigheaded teenagers who drive around wearing thobes (the white dress and red and white tea towel, for want of a less racist description), thinking they're the biggest, best men in the world, swerving about the street like maniacs and shouting insults at foreigners.
But alas, I fear for most of them their path is already set. Still, a girl can dream can't she?
On Friday the heavens opened and there was a major downpour. Much like England and the snow, Saudi Arabia is not at all prepared for rain. There's no drainage on the roads so even a short sharp shower can create a problem. The sports centre had water pouring in through various holes in the ceiling, creating big puddles on the indoor football court. We had to wade through a river in the road to get back home (luckily I was wearing flip flops, but the old abaya got a soaking). Our school driver lives in a room by the outer door of our apartment block, and he was in serious danger of being flooded. It seems the idiots (I mean people, cough cough) who built this place thought it would be OK to make it on a slope, with no drains, leading down to the drivers room. Poor George was trying to push the water away before it came over the threshold.
So anyway, on Saturday we had a small miracle befall us, in that school was cancelled! Hurrah for King Abdullah who declared that all schools be closed. Sweet! The only annoying part was that we didn't find out until half 11 at night, by which time I was already in bed, rather than up partying.
On Saturday, much to my disappointment, there was hardly any rain. I had a great day watching films, making a map and generally bumming around. In the evening we waited up way too late hoping and wishing for that happy text message saying we would be off again on Sunday. But it never came (sob), which meant not only did we have to go to school the next day, but we were also really tired from excitedly waiting into the night.
Sunday morning was the first time in my life I've ever been angry at a clear blue sky. Damn you sun! Ever since then the clouds have been playing with my emotions, gathering and looking ominous, then disappearing beyond trace. And the weather forecast is just as bad, predicting thunder storms and then failing to deliver. What's the point in even predicting anything if you're as wrong as thunderstorms to 'actually no it's really hot and pleasant.' Hmpf.
My students were all really excited when they came back to school on Sunday. They were full of stories of picnics and swimming in the rain. Weirdos.
The title of this post might be a bit premature as we still have 4 official weeks left until the kids leave, but actually they won't turn up for the last two so I feel now that the end is nigh. I have to say I'm already feeling a bit sad about it. In Korea I only ever got to know the kids for 10 days at the most, so its been a new experience for me teaching 26 students for a whole year. As you might remember, at the beginning I absolutely despised the boys here. They were so undisciplined and rude that it was horrendous. But through a slow and steady drip of kindness, humour, rewards and a LOT of smack down, I now have lovely students who listen to me, enjoy my classes and crack me the hell up. One of the turning points in me realising I might learn to love these boys was when one of them was sick in the class and another pointed at the pile of puke and said (insert Arab accent) 'teacher, corn flakes!' A recent spelling word was 'moist,' which I explained by saying it meant 'a little bit wet.' The students looked confused so I elaborated by adding that it's like the wet stuff on your head after you play football. So now, every time they come in from break, they show me foreheads and sometimes even arm pits, and say 'teacher, I have moist!' It just makes me laugh every time.
The girls class have been a constant throughout the year. Screechy, needy, full of endless stories, but also sweet and easily amused. This week they cut out and coloured planets and I set them homework to write about the solar system, to present to the class the next day. One girl, aged eight, stood up and began to attempt to read a large passage of information beginning thus:
The solar system consists of the sun and its planetary system of eight planets, their moons and other non-stellar objects. It formed 4.6 billion years ago from the gravitational collapse of a giant molecular cloud.
It went on for another 100 words or so; you gotta love the old copy and paste from the internet.
Another girl presented this picture with pride:
Well done on the research
She told the class how each of the planets were feeling. The Earth is feeling sleepy, Neptune is feeling dancing, Uranus is feeling funny. I stopped her halfway with a subtle 'Thank you Yara, that's great,' but she responded with 'teacher, I not finish.' Then she carried on until she'd read everything on the page.
Sometimes this job is too funny. There are moments where I want to kill someone and overall it's been a real roller coaster, but that's mainly due to the staff and the company. One thing's for sure, when I leave I'll really miss the little monsters that have made this place worth coming to.
I've been thinking lately about the idea of "looking forward to things." When I was about seven years old I remember being freaked out when I realised that all things come to an end, no matter how long you look forward to them beforehand. For example, I would be excited for months about going away on holiday in the summer, and then all of a sudden it would come and go and I'd be like, Oh, it's over. I think sometimes the act of looking forward to something can eclipse the thing itself- if you get overly excited you're at risk of disappointment when the event arrives. There's also the age old problem of "time flies when you're having fun." I guess this is on my mind because of the way my life is here. Sure, we're lucky to be able to afford lots of holidays, but it's tiring spending all the time in between just looking forward to them. And then inevitably they're gone in a flash. That's just the way it goes. Also I think being a teacher makes you see your life in blocks. Getting through that lesson, or that day, or that semester. Looking forward to Wednesday (that's Friday to you) and feeling a sense of dread when Friday night comes (the Sunday night blues). And it's weird because I don't even dislike my job, it's almost just an automatic reaction to 'going back to school.'
A quote from Catch 22 on the subject:
"Maybe a long life does have to be filled with many unpleasant conditions if
it's to seem long. But in that event, who wants one?" In a place where I constantly live for the holidays, I like to try and savour the boring/ down-right awful moments. I don't like to wish things away, and am also aware that in a few weeks I'll leave this place forever and hopefully will look back with some fond memories(?!)
My plan is this: to savour and secretly enjoy every moment, whilst tricking my brain into believing I'm not enjoying them. Also to not think too much about holidays but to let them creep up on me. Then I'll have a slow and fun life! Ha!
Anyway, enough rubbish. Here's my holiday video. It's my second attempt at movie making, and I think it's a little better than the last one.
Last Tuesday we took the kids on a trip. We were told of this two days before, and given an Arabic consent form to hand out. I was informed neither of what time we were going or where in fact we were going. I was simply told we're going on a trip. But such is the Saudi way. We went to a activity centre in a mall, where the kids went into different areas to paint, cook and play. It was actually really good and there were staff running each activity, which made it easier on us. My class of boys went around with two others classes, which meant there were quite a lot of kids.
Look at my boys so good colouring in their pots
I noticed immediately that it was only the three western teachers accompanying the students to the activities. At the second station (cooking) we began to wonder where are those other teachers? Then I looked out the window....
Can you see what I saw?
That's right! All the other staff-and I mean ALL the other staff- were sitting around drinking coffee and eating pizza. We went to see why and to see if someone else wanted to help the kids for a while. We were met with a crowd of stubborn and quite angry women who were unwilling to help out, based on the fact they'd been told the staff had it under control. But three classes of these boys with two adults simply isn't a good ratio. They needed us and it was probably just the company policy to say they didn't need help. In my opinion it was a bit dangerous to leave the boys unsupervised as they enjoy to run and kick and hit a lot. Being told they 'didn't have to work' however, provided the perfect excuse for my colleagues to sit on their bums and do nothing. When we pushed the fact that someone else needed to go and help, the Saudis just started shouting at an Egyptian assistant, telling her she needed to go. Pass the blame, pass the responsibility.
As if this wasn't enough to prove the absolute laziness that exists here, I then witnessed this:
Guess what?
One of the Saudi women had brought her toddler along for the trip. As well as sitting on her butt the entire time talking to her friends, she actually got the maids to look after her child!
In the last week there's been a bit of panic at work regarding illegal workers. Illegal working is a massive problem here mainly for Pakistani, Indian and Egyptian women who come here with their spouses and then want to seek employment. It's generally cheaper for the employers to take them on illegally, rather than applying to change their visas, and so this is what happens. Not to mention that they then have no rights, which suits the companies fine. Last week there were rumours that police were coming into schools and checking papers, and that illegal workers were being thrown into prison or deported. As you can imagine, the seven women who come under the 'illegal worker' bracket at my school, were pretty freaked out and all stayed at home for a couple of days until things blew over. The Saudis on the other hand appeared pretty smug about the whole thing. They seem to think foreigners are 'taking all the jobs.' The fact is that people from Asian countries such as India and the Philippines who work here do a lot of the menial jobs and are paid almost as slaves. Try 80 pounds a month for a full time job. I'm so tired of the racism here. It's like they don't even see these people as real people. And the joke is, a lot of the people who come over here to work are actually Muslims and they are still treated like inferior beings. I find myself fantasising about all the immigrants leaving overnight. Because I'm absolutely sure that the following day Saudi Arabia would grind to a very abrupt halt.
It's funny really, to call somewhere so alien 'home,' but there it is: I'm back home. It was nice to return to our flat and to put up the new pictures we've bought, although due to carelessness on my part we're now the proud owners of a Bob Marley poster (instead of the serene beach scene I thought I picked up). Bit late for me to be entering a stoner/hippy/student faze, but I suppose it adds a certain charm to the pool room. In coming back I had hopes and dreams of doing all sorts of motivated things- you know me- like writing and speaking Arabic etc, and especially with our private lessons being cancelled this week I thought I'd have loads of time. But actually I've just slept most of the afternoons away so far, and now I'm wondering how on earth I'll ever find the space in my life for the eight hours a week tutoring, let alone anything else. School is comfortingly chaotic. There've been a lot of changes, some good and some bad, meaning the school is just going in a crab-like sideways motion in terms of any improvement. It's starting to be quite amazing how there can be so many staff but so little organisation. My boys class have gone back to their jungle child punch up ways this week, as they're being left unsupervised way too often. The only difference now (for me) is that they listen (to me), but apart from that the school has reverted back to a place not dissimilar to when I first arrived. Sigh. On the bright side however, they've finally deemed it necessary (due to my constant whining) to put pencils and crayons in each classroom. Hurrah for progress! And they've also given us some books with space for writing and drawing, where the kids can actually take pride in their work rather than just working on a piece of paper then loosing it. Big things are happening here I tell you, big things.
This is what the classrooms are like sometimes.
I often call the kids monkeys, to the point where one girl
wrote on her new book today Name: Yara monkey.
One thing I keep reminding myself is that it's only 8 weeks till the next holiday! And I've already done three days...
Last week we had a 'mothers meeting' at school, which is Saudis answer to a parents evening. Of course I was grateful there were no men, as this would've resulted in me having to wear my abaya for the whole thing, but it still seemed a bit one sided and unnatural to me. You'd think one of the perks of a man-free meeting would be that the women could uncover but actually there wasn't a single one who took their abaya off. One woman even chose to discuss her children with me whilst wearing a full burka, which meant I couldn't really hear what she was saying.
But abaya or no abaya I was still struck by the glamour and glitz of the occasion. I've really never seen so many women doing their makeup and sorting out their hair in a childrens' bathroom. Also there were some people who brought their girls in pretty party dresses complete with blusher, eyeliner and lipstick; miniature doll version of their mums.
Another odd part of the 'no men' set up was that I spoke to one lady who is divorced and doesn't live with her child. Her boy is quite naughty and a bit of a handful, but it was impossible to discuss strategies for improving behaviour with someone who a) doesn't see the child and b) was nearly crying in front of me.
Some women found it impossible to comprehend that their children are badly behaved. There seems to be a general consensus that the boys are just 'babies,' which accounts for a lot really.
In other news it actually rained last week and the kids went crazy. When we arrived to our private tutoring the two boys were running around in ponchos, screaming and playing in what can only be described as a bit of drizzle. Exciting times. I just wish the rain would happen in the morning next time because apparently so many people stay at home that the King has to call it a national holiday.
There were two main highlights of the last school week. Firstly, I did a mini award ceremony with my boys class, for the winners of the most stamps. It was very cute.
But my absolute favourite moment of the week has to be the pride I felt in my teaching ability after doing a plural nouns worksheet with the girls class. This girl clearly didn't get it, as she decided to take off the last letter of each word and and replace it with s.
Please note number 13:
I really am so impressed with myself. Maybe it was some sort of subliminal messaging that she picked up on? Pat on the back for me.
I was in the middle of writing a blog post on Sunday when I received the news that my beautiful cat Freddie had suddenly died. I would like to say I held it together but truth be told I was devastated. Freddie was lovely and I was very attached to him from the moment we brought him home six years ago. He was so much smaller than his brother and didn't even know how to drink milk properly at first. He was such a curious and sociable cat and would often follow me wherever I went round the house. While I've been at home recently he watched me play on the Wii a lot, his head going back and forwards, trying to figure out what on earth I was doing. I never once saw him remotely angry or vicious (except of course when he brought in mice). He was found under a neighbours garden bench, and just looked asleep. I know he was just a cat, but he was my cat and I loved him. He will be truly missed and the Rock house won't be the same without him.
Anyway, that's that. This is what I was writing before about my new job:
A combination of spoilt children brought up by maids and lack of organisation in the school, meant that on my first day I stepped into a classroom that was worse than any I have experienced before (that's right SEV people, they were in fact worse than aloysius). The principal's warning that morning that I should be strict, in no way prepared me for the running on the tables, the water fights, the actual fights and the screaming and shouting that were pretty much constant through my first and second day. I know I'm not the toughest person in the world and I don't claim to know everything about classroom management, but I really did try. When you've been given no reward or discipline system, however, and no pencils, paper or even teachers desk, it is basically impossible. I asked the principal if I could send students down to her office if necessary, to which she just laughed and said, "no we don't do that here." So what then? Eventually, after a few instances of taking children by the arm and hurling them out of the room (not my proudest educational moments) I finally found someone to call on in times of crisis. A non-English speaking intern who by goodness knows how to shout. By the end of the week, just the threat of bringing her in was enough to make most of the boys at least sit down, if not be quiet. One week in, I think I'm going to be OK. Yes, the boys are still naughty and loud and one in particular is completely defiant and refuses to do anything- he lay on the floor, plumping up other people's bags to use as pillows in my last class- but they are also really sweet and hilarious. And it's amazing how a seven year old can be bought with the promise of a smiley face stamp on their hand. And tomorrow, after I introduce the magical all controlling star chart, my students will finally be powerless to resist my rule. hahahahahahaahaha (evil laugh).
I can now tell you, after my second week, that things are getting there slowly. My star chart is up and running and I've also been to talk to the big bosses to vent my issues. They've agreed to give me a learning support assistant, so things are looking up!
Hmm where to start.... Probably in a place that isn't too overt and at risk of getting me thrown in prison. Joke! Or is it? Who knows.
Highlights so far have been as follows: 1. Being with Lee again (aww) 2. The vast selection of chocolate (sorry Korea, but what you have to offer chocolate-wise is truly pitiful) 3. The people we live with.
And now for the low lights, which I don't think I could simply list. I guess I'm just struggling to get to grips with things I already knew. It's not like I wasn't warned, but still, it's quite a shock to experience for real. On my first day, a man who didn't even acknowledge me came to pick me up to take me to the admin building. Madly trying to keep my ever slipping headscarf in place, I walked into a huge office, everyone averting their eyes as I walked past. I then sat, almost ignored, for an hour and a half while the men 'sorted' some of my work stuff out. After that I was whisked away to the school, where I had to just walk in and introduce myself, as no one was expecting me. When I left home I was unaware that I would be going to school so I didn't have the regulation long black skirt on, meaning I was stuck wearing my abaya for the rest of the day. After a brief five minute introduction, the headteacher opened a classroom door to reveal a room full of kids running wild, and actually said the words 'would you like to start now?,' to which I replied a hasty 'no' (adding a 'hell' before it in my head). I was then deposited in the staff room to talk to people who were too stressed to talk to me. After finding out that the students don't have all the books they need and that the school are understaffed and therefore I have to teach 6 of 7 lessons from the first day, I then had to wait ages for someone to sort out a driver for me to get home. When I finally did get back I was pretty much a wreck.
My hopes that maybe the kids would be nice and make it all worth while were sadly crushed the very next day when I started for real. But that, my friends, is a story for another time...
Ps dont worry too much because things have vastly improved already-I can't imagine what this post would've said if I'd written it yesterday or the day before!
Working with children is something I don't think I could ever live without. Don't get me wrong, they're irritating and overly energetic and they pick their noses all the time, but they are just too funny. And, as is the reason for this blog, they make me happy and help me to remember what's good in life.
Anyway, enough mush. A Polish boy in my class aged 8, is hyperactive and asks about a million questions a day. When everyone else is quietly working, he will have a monologue going on that can't be stopped, directed at no one in particular. He has an incredible memory, and when he wants to do something, there's no persuading him otherwise- a combination that can be a real pain in the butt. The other day we were drawing pictures of central London. I'd told the students a few days before that there was once a whale stuck in the River Thames. The Polish boy came over to me half way through drawing, showing me 'in secret' the tiny whale he'd drawn in his river. Then he said, "shh, or the others will want whale in river too."
The other kids in the class drew their London eye, Buckingham palace, telephone box and taxi the same size as each other on the page, but not him. When I suggested he draw the taxi big to fill up the space, he immediately pointed disapprovingly, "No, but London eye is this big, taxi is on the road."
My suggestion that perhaps it didn't matter, fell on deaf ears.
So here's the picture- can you spot the phone box, the taxi and the whale? I love it.
Today I was left in the office while the kids went to Cambridge. For the first two hours the tranquillity was pure heaven, but after a while I got a bit lonely. Finally I heard the sound of children in the distance, gradually getting louder until in they all burst down the corridor. As if to give me a big slap in the face reminder of why I do this job, a rather tubby Russian boy turned the corner wearing his newly purchased items- a union Jack t-shirt, with matching hat and bag. When I saw him and started laughing (I couldn't help it) he just beamed proudly from ear to ear.
Then last night we watched some of the opening ceremony of the Olympics. It was past bed time and I went to turn the TV off, to be met with a chorus of pleas from 24 little faces, begging me to let them watch a bit longer. But it was when a nine year old Thai boy said (in his lispy voice and with perfect English), "Please Rachel, it's a once in a lifetime opportunity," my heart just melted. Because he is so right; the ceremony was special and it made me proud. But more than that, I am so happy that I get to work with children. They are just great.
