P.S. -- I'm home

I have been putting off this post for weeks now.

I really did intend to share pictures of my time in southern India...

and a brief stop in Singapore...

and a lovely week in the Philippines...

but then it didn't happen.

I let myself be overwhelmed by time changes, international flights, reunions with family and pets, packing/unpacking, and trying to establish myself back in the United States. I gave myself permission to reflect at whatever pace felt most comfortable.

I didn't want to write until I felt like I could say something that would appropriately represent this experience.

And because there aren't any words to fully capture or express my time in Nepal, it's July and people think that I'm still trapped on a camel in Rajasthan. So I'd like to apologize for misrepresenting my return to the United States, I made it back safely... about ten weeks ago. While I don't know how to write in a way that I feel satisfactorily represents the last year, I am getting better about doing it in person. If you are interested in hearing more let me know. I'd love to go out to coffee or even make another attempt at crafting momos in an American kitchen.

Grace and peace,
Rachel

Camel Riding in Rajasthan

The desert is hot and sandy.

Obviously I knew this when I signed up and paid to spend three days riding a camel in the Thar desert outside of Jaisalmer, India. But I didn’t know what it felt like.

The desert is unrelentingly hot. The sun chases you from every direction and even the breeze is too hot to be refreshing. The heat seeps under your skin and sweat never stops running out of every single pore because at least it can just evaporate and escape to the upper atmosphere.

The desert is sandy. Not in the shovels in a sandbox kind of way, but in the oh my gosh how did I get sand there!?! after a day at the beach kind of way. It coats your feet so completely it makes them look clean. It’s like constantly exfoliating your face every time you try to wipe away the perspiration.

 

Another thing that probably should have been obvious prior to my grand romantic visions, is how uncomfortable it is to go from walking like a normal human being to sitting on a camel. First of all, camels are wide and since I don’t spend much time straddling things in my everyday life my inner thighs were not pleased about this. Secondly camels walk funny. They move both legs on one side of the body at the same time. So both left legs take a step, then the camel shifts all its weight, and then both right legs take a step. This lurching side to side while also moving forward is not the smoothest ride. Perhaps if it wasn’t already hot and sandy this discomfort could be overlooked.

As Sydney and I lay down to sleep on the sand the first night, we had good reason to be afraid of what it might feel like to get back on a camel the next day, and the day after that. There were a few moments when we questioned our judgment and looked longingly at the group of people who would head back to town in a jeep at dawn.

 

But it wasn’t as bad as it might have been. You do kind of get used to it. Not that I want to ride a camel for 2-3 hours at a time again right now, but I wouldn’t be completely opposed to doing it somewhere in the far off future. And it was definitely worth going for multiple days. The second and third days felt much more authentic since we were farther away from all the tourists doing “non-touristic” tours where young boys roam the sand dunes selling coca-cola at exorbitant prices to desperate foreigners.

My face is still recovering from a lot of sun, a lot of sunscreen, a lot of sweat, and no place to shower for three days. But I’m happy I went and I have some beautiful pictures show for it.

Also in Rajasthan...



Jaisalmer Fort



Part of the white temple in Jodhpur



Sydney and me with Jodhpur Fort in the background



Flying Fox zipline over the fort at Jodhpur

Zipline goes back and forth over the water

Jodhpur Fort at night

 

 

 

Not a Polar Bear or Pope

In Nepal, I did not experience many people staring at me or seriously haggling me very often. My skin is dark enough that many times I can pass for Nepali, or Punjabi, or Bengali depending who you ask. But since arriving in India two days ago it seems impossible to go for more than 10 seconds without someone not only staring, but rushing to get my photo.

At the Red Fort in Agra, lots of people cared more about posing to catch the two foreigners in the background than the Taj Mahal. A family – mother, father, and toddler – kindly approached and asked us for a photo. Not for one of us to take their photo in front of the world’s most beautiful building…the dad wanted a photo of myself, Sydney, and the baby. He even started to hand us the kid at one point.

I don’t know you and you don’t know me thus it is unnecessary, and weird, for you to thrust your child at me for a picture. If I was the pope, holding babies so their parents could click one photo would be part of my job. I am not the pope…so keep your kids to yourself.

And it’s not like this was one family. The “can I take a picture of you and my kid?” scenario has played out at least three times in the last 72 hours and I fully expect it to continue throughout our journey.

Some people prefer not to ask. Perhaps they recognize that it is inappropriate, awkward, uncomfortable, and borderline racist. Instead, they just strike a pose in such a way that Sydney and I are in the background or the foreground or any other ground that will let them memorialize these two pale skinned strangers trying to enjoy a historical site. Particularly interested groups take turns being the photographer or try multiple poses in search of the best effect.

This photo was used in our hotel's sightseeing guide. It inspired today's blog title.

I am more than my skin color – in America, in Cameroon, in Nepal, and even in India – I am a whole person. I’m not even that white. (I occasionally wonder how our experiences would be different if Sydney and I were traveling separately.) My whiteness is nothing in the shadow of the Taj Mahal so take a picture in front of that, not me.

The whole experience has raised some questions for me:

1) What am I doing to contribute to the idolization of white people and white culture?

2) What am I doing to make other people feel uncomfortable when they visit my country?

3) What am I doing to help dismantle a culture where thin and white are the definition of beauty?

While I cannot comment on the quality of all the unauthorized photos of me, I can show you what I chose to remember about my brief stops in Delhi and Agra.

 



Humayun's Tomb in Delhi.



Beautiful stone lattice windows were everywhere.

The Taj Mahal, seen from the Red Fort.

A step well at the Mehrauli Archaeological gardens in Delhi.

Me and Sydney enjoying sunrise at the Taj.
Please note that there are literally no other people in this photograph.



The classic reflection picture.

A beautiful gate at Fatepur Sikri, sight of the most organized scam I've ever witnessed.

 

 

How Was Nepal?

From March 10, 2014

How was Nepal?
And how were the last eight months of your life?

I don’t mean to be rude, but if you ask me this question I probably won’t answer. It’s just too hard. It’s too much information, too much complexity, too much everything to consistently and repeatedly verbalize. Plus it’s not all the happy, rosy, wonderfulness that is expected in those two second conversations as you pass someone in the parking lot.

But I understand that the question comes from a genuine place and today, sitting back at home after my last day of school, I’m in the mood to try and speak the past eight months of my life.

How was Nepal? Nepal was this…

Nepal was disorganized and lopsided.

Nepal was vibrant and fragrant and beautiful.

Nepal was handpicked for me by a group of children whose faces in my eyes are chased by tears because today I said goodbye and I don’t know if I’ll see them again.

Nepal was precious and delicate. Probably not how I would have designed it, but infinitely more meaningful because of that.

Nepal was a lot of weeds.

Nepal was overwhelming and too much to take in all at once. But I desperately want my memories to maintain their truth, even as the experience itself wilts and this season closes.

Nepal was Dipika, Sunita, Sajan, Asmita, Karan, Postraj, Bijay, Niran, Sarmila, Parbati, Dipa, Numa, Sunder, Roshni, Sapana, Sabina, Sangita, Rashmee, Sumanta, Namrata, Arjun, Suraj, Dipesh, Saswot, Hira, Shila, Sushma, Laxmi, Bimala, Dipraj, and Pawan.

Nepal was singing with class one, doing puzzles with class two, learning to whisper in class three, practicing the months of the year rapid-fire with class four, and wishing class five would stop yelling.

Nepal was walking to school and covering my face with a scarf

when a truck left me inside a tunnel of thick, cancerous, smoke.
 

Nepal was being caught by surprise when the mountain peaks were suddenly whiter and brighter after new snow.

Nepal was milk tea.
 

Nepal was me giving handshakes and high-fives and hugs at the gate. Nepal was my students going round and round in the line instead of leaving after the first goodbye. Nepal was me not even caring and perhaps even wishing they would never stop.

Nepal was biting my tongue and smiling through a salty, facial monsoon while my students told me not to cry or be so “sadly.” Nepal was me not even being able to correct their English, but only standing there sniffling.
 

Nepal was me walking home with the most beautiful bouquet of flowers

I will ever receive and realizing I have to come back.

On Coming Home

From February 24, 2014

My grant officially ends in 22 days. Although I won’t be immediately returning to the United States, it is getting close enough that I am allowing myself to think about the transition. I have loved my time in Nepal. I love my students. I love my host family. People often ask “which is better – Nepal or America?” and I can’t really answer that question. But here are a few comparisons I do feel comfortable making.

I love the word prefer. I love that in America when someone asks me a question there is a way to express my opinion without giving the impression that I absolutely hate one thing and enthusiastically adore the other. Maybe there is a word for this in Nepali, if so someone should have told me about it a long time ago because I’ve spent the past eight months feeling like my preferences are getting lost in translation.

I am excited to return to a land of options. There are so many wonderful things to do, to eat, to talk about, to enjoy. Here, someone might ask me if I like a particular food item and if I say yes I will get it at every meal from now on. If I say no, I’ll never see it again. It’s so permanent and unchanging. In the U.S., it is perfectly acceptable to like something but not feel like it on a particular occasion. Maybe I’m just wishy-washy, but I’ll accept that and enjoy returning to a society where wishy-washy is normal.

I can’t wait to cook for myself. I really miss getting home from school and thinking “hmmm…what do I want to eat?” Will I continue to enjoy daal bhat? Absolutely. Will I enjoy not eating it every day? You bet. But more than what I eat, I am looking forward to controlling how much I eat. The combination of American body image issues and the communication of Nepali love by heaps and heaps of food, just makes meal time uncomfortable. My host family has learned to accommodate my small stomach but I am quite certain Dr. Oz would not approve of the typical portion size in this country. And one more thing, I definitely prefer eating lunch around noon and dinner earlier in the evening. I am confident I will adjust back to the American breakfast-lunch-dinner time table very quickly.

Maybe my opinion will change when I start paying my own utilities, but I’m also looking forward to consistently hot showers with good water pressure. The thought of being clean on a regular basis is pretty appealing. So are washing machines. Can I live without these types of luxuries? Yes. But if I’m going to shower with cold water I’ll be moving to a warmer climate.

A mattress that is thick enough that my hip bones don’t touch the wood underneath. Cars with shock absorbers. Consistent internet access. Celery. A Christian church. Central heat. Strawberries. News in English. Going barefoot.

Nevertheless (just for you Rashmee!), there are of course things that I will be sad to leave behind.

The Himalayas. I wouldn’t consider myself a very nature-y person. But I have come to love looking out my classroom window to admire the bright white peaks sawing into the sky.

 

 

The ease of going slow. There is so much pressure in the U.S. to be going, doing, working… and that pressure doesn’t really exist here. It drives me nuts when I see teachers sitting in the sun instead of teaching their classes, but it has also been nice not to spend hours afterschool trying to keep up. I know that my early bedtime, relaxed morning time, and shortened school day will seem very faraway when I return to teaching in the U.S. Why can’t there be a happy middle ground?

Public transportation just outside my door. Because American buses have actual stops and don’t just pull over when anyone wants to get on or off.

In Nepal, I never feel pressured to put fashion before warmth. It is perfectly acceptable to wear two shirts, a sweater, a scarf, leggings, pants, a coat, gloves, socks, and sandals all at once. In the U.S. I have definitely endured goosebumps in the name of looking put together.

In a strange sense, I will actually miss loadshedding. It is kind of nice to have a certain number of hours every day where I am forced to disconnect and only interact with the people in front of me. It has also made me realize just how severe my need to be digitally connected really is; I occasionally find myself checking my email at 3am when I roll over and see that the light has come.

When I lived in Cameroon, I came back very cynical about technology and modern conveniences. Probably because things like washing machines and dishwashers and freezers were extremely rare. In Nepal, there are lots of people who live without these things but there are also lots of people who have them. It’s definitely harder to appreciate a simple life when the person next door has their own generator. I think my time in Nepal has helped me reflect on my life in America in a more balanced way. It would be hard to come home and live like I had never been to Nepal, but I also recognize how silly it would be to ignore the culture around me in the U.S. I will continue to reflect on this for a long, long time.

No More Monkey Business

**Disclaimer: due to technical issues I have been unable to post for several weeks. The next few posts are severely back dated. In real time, my grant in Nepal is finished and I am travelling before returning to the US. If you were thinking about sending me something, just send it to my US address and I'll get it when I come home.**

From February 20, 2014
Friends, I am very happy to announce that Kitini school no longer has a resident monkey! He was picked up by employees from the zoo in Patan. I hope that he lives a long and healthy life under their care.

He is gone now, but in the three days between the first terrorizing event (see here) and his departure the monkey did manage to create havoc in my classroom.

The monkey was consistently entering classrooms, going through kids’ backpacks, jumping on desks, etc. which is disruptive, but I had little sympathy for teachers who this happened to because they left their doors wide open. I worked very hard to make sure that my door and windows were always securely shut.

Well, except the one day when I didn’t notice that the last window was only closed, but not locked.

Naturally, the monkey sensed this opportunity to pry the window open and come in. He sat directly on top of the bench where I lay out all of my materials. On top of the materials. He dumped out the entire contents of the trash can and spread them all over the front of the room. He flipped through my flashcard box and moved all of the g’s to the front. (Monkeys really are quite clever with those opposable thumbs.) He chewed on my colorful pen and every single one of my board markers. Then he walked over to the only student who didn’t hurriedly leave the classroom, climbed onto the desk next to him, bent over, and stared at said student from between its legs. I wish I had been faster with my camera.

 

 

Needless to say, I was quite pleased to see him go. But just because my classroom is all one species again doesn’t mean they always act like it.

What the Number One Teacher Education Program in the State of Michigan Failed to Preare Me For; Or Why I Am a Teacher and Not a Zoologist

I blame the man in the yellow hat for giving me an inaccurate picture of monkeys. They are not mischievous in an innocently curious and laughable way. They are not snuggly. They are not named George.

Just before winter break, an injured monkey took up residence at Kitini School. Since the school was empty and peaceful for a month when it arrived, it seems to have decided to stick around. It’s kind of a milky brown, about the height of a small child when it sits on its haunches. It can be quite fast when it wants to, and it does a nice job distracting students and teachers alike for vast portions of the day. It’s male; which I know because today it sat outside my classroom window and played with itself. In this instance, I was actually happy that my students haven’t mastered questions in English just yet.

Did I mention that the monkey is terrifying? Because it is. It has nasty looking sharp teeth, makes scary noises when provoked, and definitely seems ferocious enough to send a kid (or an American volunteer) to the hospital if it wanted to.

But no one else seems concerned. Most of the students now spend their breaks taunting the monkey. They like to throw food at it and then see how close they can get before the monkey lunges at them. It is a horrible game, but I have yet to see an adult make the effort of approaching the herd of screaming children and encouraging them to leave the monkey alone. I frequently try to warn children by miming a scary monkey biting them. Apparently I’m not very convincing.

Today the monkey (and the mob of animal hating children) were between me and my classroom. It was unfortunate. I worked my way up to the front of the group and then made all the kids go back downstairs…which meant they backed up in the general direction of the stairs. With more enthusiasm I got some to leave at least temporarily. But when I turned around one poor little boy from grade one had been left alone on the opposite side of the monkey. Without the protection of the older kids, he was now realizing that being trapped in a 3 ½ foot wide hallway with a wild monkey between you and the stairs was not an ideal situation. Especially if you are six years old and the monkey probably weighs more than you.

Annoyed that I somehow seem to end up as the only adult around in these situations more than my share, but also sympathetic for the kid, I took on teacher role #1356: human shield between student and aggravated wild monkey.

Getting past the monkey to get to the kid was no problem because I just walked really close to the wall. But escorting him back to the other side meant I was suddenly a full child’s width into the middle of the walkway…a clear invasion of the monkey’s territory. Plus once said child was an inch past the monkey he was no longer interested in matching my calm – let’s not frighten the animal – walking speed and he bolted.

The combination of proximity, sudden motion, and loud footsteps startled the monkey. Obviously. And it basically lunged at me. The few students who remained within sight laughed because I’m pretty sure my entire leg visibly trembled and I may have made a small noise of terror. I don’t entirely remember because the whole time I was just thinking, “what are the nurses going to say if I go back to the clinic and ask for my THIRD post-exposure rabies series?”

All’s well that ends well and, for now, the monkey has yet to actually make contact with anyone at the school. But perhaps Hope College should consider some interdisciplinary courses for education majors like: Animals in the Classroom 101 or Introduction to the Schoolyard Dynamics of Primates and Immature Homo-sapiens.

 

 

January: A Series of Mildly Unfortunate Events

Here is what your federal tax dollars have funded over the past month:
1) The aforementioned trip with my American family to Pokhara and Chitwan. 2) A massage and facial at my favorite Nepali spa. 3) A two week sightseeing tour with my friend Sydney, another ETA, to Lumbini, Gorkha, Manakamana, and Bandipur. 4)Two group celebrations, a firecracker candle, and a really delicious slice of birthday cheesecake.

It was an eventful month with lots of delightful plans and unexpected...inconveniences.

LUMBINI

This unassuming “town” is the birthplace of Buddha. It’s really just a small collection of ruins, a dozen monasteries, and a few basic hotels. But it was on my list of places to see before leaving Nepal so Sydney and I made the nine hour bus ride, loud Hindi music playing the whole way.

The best way to enjoy Lumbini is to rent a bicycle and spend the day riding along the canal to the various attractions including a large peepul tree, the actual site of the ruins, an eternal fire, a museum, and one of the World Peace Pagodas.

Foundation squares are all that remains of many buildings in Lumbini.

The World Peace Pagoda at Lumbini

The most uncomfortable way to see Lumbini is to rent a bicycle and spend the day riding in the POURING rain. It was wet. It was cold. The path was so muddy that at times the bicycle wheels just sunk into the ground and it was impossible to move without using your feet like paddles to inch forward. The wet conditions also mean I don’t have too many photos. But we did ask a hotel staffer to take our picture in the world’s most ridiculous lavender and buttercup yellow raincoats (the only ones in the whole town) before we left. Throughout the day, many other people stopped to pull out their mobile phones to snap a quick picture of the out-of-place tourists, in pastel rain jackets, riding rickety bicycles with plastic bag wrapped backpacks in the basket.

Make it work?

My favorite part of the day was when, approximately 2 minutes into our ride, the chain came off my bike. Or was it when, upon reaching our final destination, the clouds literally parted and the sun came out to mark the beginning of the perfect afternoon for riding bikes. Ke garne?

 

Not wanting to waste the sunshine, Sydney and I extended our bike ride past the hotels, around a local village, and out into wide fields of mustard. Under a cluster of trees we happened upon a collection of elephant statues. It was extraordinarily random and beautiful.

GORKHA

This hillside bazaar town is where six of the other ETAs are living and teaching. It was really fun to get to visit their families and schools. Each homestay has a distinct flavor; even the daal tasted different! Doing some classroom visits gave me an appreciation for some of the things I haven’t seen at my school (intoxicated parents entering school grounds, young students toddling dangerously near to ten foot drops in the landscape, a child having a seizure during class, etc.) And hearing the kids in Gorkha add an /i/ sound before words like school and shoulders was a comforting reminder that my students are pretty much on par with students in other government schools.

And the sunsets in Gorkha were worth watching.

The only really disgusting part of the trip was when, after four days and an increasingly offensive odor in our hotel room, we realized that the brown hole in the wall of our bathroom was actually a broken pipe leaking raw sewage from the toilets upstairs. In America, you alert the health department, sue the company, and collect a large settlement in exchange for not writing about this on tripadvisor. In Nepal, you ask for a different room and remind yourself to ALWAYS wear shower shoes.

 

MANAKAMANA

Perhaps the most surprisingly worthwhile part of the trip was taking the cable car up to Manakamana. This foreign sponsored project eliminated the need for a four hour, uphill hike to reach this famous temple and pilgrimage site. (After seeing how roads are maintained in much of Nepal, I will admit that as I boarded the little white car that would carry me dangling over the hills, I hoped that the foreign investors were still involved in keeping this form of transportation running safely.)

Sydney and I estimated that the line to enter the temple was about one mile long. We didn’t go inside, but I did spot one of my co-teachers among the thousands waiting! Even with the partly cloudy conditions, we enjoyed the view over a cup of hot tea.

The day trip was punctuated by several incidences of public nudity while waiting in line to go down the cable car. Two from small children whose parents decided letting them pee in the gutter was more convenient than walking to the public bathrooms, twenty feet away. A third from an adolescent boy who was jumping around a nearby grassy area with his pants at his ankles. Neither his friends nor the security guards seemed bothered by this behavior.

BANDIPUR

Our last stop before returning to the noise and pollution of Kathmandu was the peaceful hilltop community of Bandipur. To round out our trip of misfortunes, we visited a silk worm farm with nothing to see because it was the off season, and walked before dawn to a high plateau where the sunrise was perfectly blocked by another hill. But thanks to a long, luxurious hot shower the night before we boarded the bus feeling rather content.

And then… we got into a heated quarrel with some Chinese tourists about seat numbers, folded under their frighteningly loud voices, and spent five hours feeling jostled, nauseous, and unreclined in the very last row of seats.

***

There have been many occasions during the past six months when I have called upon my mantra “if you are not having a good day, you are in the middle of a great story.” But even the annoying, inconvenient, and confusing times haven’t been unbearable thanks to great friends and family both here and back home. All of whom made my 23^rd a very happy birthday.

 

Disillusioned

Lately I find myself leaving school with a particular flavor of exhaustion. The more time I spend at Kitini School, the more I recognize that I cannot fix everything. Which might seem obvious, but if you have met me perhaps you will understand how this hurts me. I care deeply about my students wherever I am. It’s what motivates me and what makes me so emotionally vulnerable. I love what I do because teaching is such an intrinsic part of who I am. But that also means that when work is hard I feel it deep in my bones.

 

Right now, work is hard.

I want all of my students to be able to write their full names with js and gs and ys that drop below the line. And I know that if I had infinite time with each of them I could make it happen, but I don’t.

I want the tests to actually measure students’ ability to read, write, speak, and listen. Rather than whether or not they have memorized the questions and can regurgitate minute details from a story we read in October. And I just spent four years learning how to write appropriate and meaningful assessments; it’s one of the things that I love most about teaching because it creates a tangible way to go to a student and say “Wow! Look how much you’ve grown!” But I don’t make the exams; they come from a Nepali organization and go to all the schools in the district. Kind of like MEAP tests or PSSAs except they’re the only form of assessment.

I want to stop everything and work with my third grade girls who still don’t have any idea what sounds the letters make. But then what will the other students do? And what about all the other struggling students in all the other grades? Who will drop everything to tell them that they still matter even if they can’t read and that they’re not stupid and that they can learn to be just as good as everybody else?

I want the key to the library to stay on school grounds because I hate that if the teacher with the key is absent then no one can access the resources that other schools can only dream of.

I want my co-teachers to talk to me. To tell me what they like about the way I teach and what they think is silly and what they will never ever use after I leave. I want to ask them questions and I want them to ask me questions. I want them to come to class or not come to class, I just want to stop living in this strange limbo land where I never know how much to plan.

I want to know the words to say in Nepali when I walk into a classroom and find a student crumpled in his/her chair with tears dripping onto the floor. I want to know how to ask if they’re hurt or sad or hungry. I want to know enough to understand when they finally blubber out a response.

I want to be able to communicate to the kid, who hit the grade one student so hard, that his behavior is not okay without making him feel like he himself is horrible.

I want my girls to grow up in a world where their teachers and principals don’t hit them. Because if every male authority figure you encounter beats you, even once, why would it even occur to you that it’s not okay for your boyfriend or your husband to do that too.

I want the things that I learned in college to apply in this context. I want to have a team of colleagues, administrators, and specialists who I can call upon to cooperate and bring so-and-so up to grade level because I’d hate to see him/her drop out at the end of third grade.

It’s hard right now because I want all of these things from the most well-intentioned part me, but the more time I spend at Kitini School, the more I understand why things exist the way they do. And when you start to understand something it becomes harder to wish it away.

I now know how little teachers are paid; probably not enough to even compensate for the work they are doing let alone the work I think they should be doing. I now know that the decision to cancel school at 1:00 instead of 4:00 is far more complex than I could have ever imagined; weighing political factors, policy decisions, economics, and even physical safety threats. In America, the culture drives people to create change and make progress, and I now see the consequences (positive and negative) of a society with different priorities.

This casserole of wishes and realities, this complicated mess of life, is forcing me to let go of my illusions. Which is good because it means that I am beginning to grasp the arrogance of what I hoped to accomplish in eight months as an ETA. But it’s also deeply painful because letting go of what I want for myself includes letting go of things I want for my students. I want the world for them, but my time and my resources are so much smaller than the universe.

So where do I go from here? How do I choose where to invest what I do have to offer? Do I choose the student most likely to succeed in hopes that they’ll pay it forward one day? Do I choose the students who nobody thinks will succeed and swallow the reality that they still might drop out next month? Do I stick with the whole class just to be an example of an adult who follows through or do I drop my classes and switch to intensive small group work? Do I pursue the goals I originally set for creating sustainable change in teachers and administrators or do I focus on making my last six weeks unforgettable for my students?

The teacher voice in my head says “those are great questions!” But the actual me wishes I also had some really great answers. Fortunately winter break is fast approaching and with it comes my American family! Perhaps I’ll become enlightened somewhere between trekking to Poon Hill and riding elephants in the terai ;)

What Teachers Want

Teachers want

Less standardized testing

Smaller class sizes

More engaging in-service days
More appreciation
More leveled books
Less paperwork
Cuter classroom decorations

In America

I hope they get the chance to take risks and try new things without fear of falling test scores, job insecurity, and budget cuts. I hope different styles of teaching gain recognition like different styles of learning so that all teachers can succeed in a field where 50% leave within their first five years.

 

In Cameroon

Teachers want

Practical training instead of theories from the 1950’s
Enough textbooks for every child
Math manipulatives
Chalk

I hope they get a stable and honest government with a commitment to equally distributing materials and appropriately allocating resources. I hope they get opportunities for professional development. I hope they get a sense of satisfaction for doing so much with so little.

 

In Nepal

Teachers want

Smarter students
More consistent attendance
More time to finish the book
To sit in the sun

I hope they start setting goals and creating solutions more often than sitting back and asking “ke garne?” I hope they get support rather than empty resolutions on “continuous assessment” or “differentiated instruction.” I hope the ones who go above and beyond get rewarded; they deserve it.

Spontaneous Holidays and Unexpected School Days

Perhaps one of the most challenging parts of teaching in Nepal is knowing whether or not the school will be open on a particular day. I have basically always taken it for granted that school would follow the calendar published months in advance, with an occasional but widely announced change due to a snow day or two. That is not how it happens here.

Don't assume that February and March will actually include that much school,
it's just too early to know about the unexpected stuff.

I live with another teacher from my school and the headmaster of another local school, so if anyone should be in the know about whether or not school is running, it’s me. But that hasn’t really been my experience. Here is a quick guide to determining whether or not school will be open based on my diligent observations and questioning in a desperate search for answers:

1. Be sure to say “see you tomorrow!” to everyone you encounter at school. Hopefully one of the dozens of students and teachers will pipe up if it has already been determined that school will be closed the following day.

2. Don’t count too strongly on strategy number one. It probably works 50% of the time.

3. Try to make friends with people who are well-connected to the grapevine. This provides access to rumors about upcoming bandhs or poorly publicized local holidays that are approaching. Any kind of a rumor, no matter how seemingly ridiculous, is enough to indicate that school may or may not be closed.

4. Don’t spend too much time asking people. When confronted directly with the question “Is there school tomorrow or not?” in English or in Nepali, most will say “there may be school tomorrow.” Which is a frustratingly vague answer.

5. Definitely don’t try to get an answer the night before. It’s too early. No one knows.

6. In the morning, check with your host family. Questions like “are you going to school today?” generally receive a more informative answer than “is there school today?” Even though it would seem like within three hours of school starting a decision would be clear. If you don’t get a clear answer, check back in 45 minutes; kind of like shaking a magic 8 ball until it gives you what you want.

7. If on the way to school you pass an entire soccer field full of students from grade three, don’t assume this means that school is closed. Simply make a note that class three will be smaller than usual.

8. When in doubt, take everything with you to school on the assumption that even though less than half of the staff have showed up the school will still run and you will suddenly be in charge of way more classes than normal. At least the student numbers will also be running below half so even when the headsir says “you take grades one AND two” the class size won’t be terribly overwhelming.

9. Even if school is running, don’t assume that it will be a full day. Assume that any adult approaching your classroom, at any time during the day, is coming to announce that everyone is leaving at 12:00 or 1:30 or right now. NOTE: DO NOT listen to older students who deliver the same message, always wait for a credible adult who you can identify if later asked “who told you to let all the grade ones go running out the gate?”

10. Laugh. Go with the flow. Bat away a single tear as the time you were going to use to teach that great new game with rhyming words is snatched out from under you. Enjoy the six kids who actually showed up – be sure you know their names and give them an extra star just for coming when no one else did. Sigh as you develop a deeper understanding of why teachers in Nepal are frustrated beyond belief and have no interest in lesson/unit planning. Why plan for a day that may or may not happen? Force a smile when you walk past the seven teachers enjoy their leisure period outside while you run between classes wondering how there can possibly be any spare adults on a day like today. Take the long way home when the day ends three hours early. Buy yourself a pack of oreos at the grocery store to remind yourself that somewhere in the world things are different. Then eat a huge plate of daal bhat to remind yourself that you’re in Nepal whether school runs today or not.

Classroom Management 2.0

I think I am successfully conquering class three.
And the use of the word "conquer" is very intentional because it's been a battle. 



They look so innocent.

After the catastrophic failure of the girls vs. boys point system in grade five and the rapid intensification of behavior management issues in grade three, I determined it was time for a completely redesigned strategy.

Just to recap...I'm working with students who are totally unaccustomed to any kind of classroom management system based on reward. The popular forms of discipline that I have witnessed include yelling at the whole class, hitting students (on their backs, heads, foreheads, etc.) and having students kneel on the cement floors. Although it should be noted that some teachers have managed to develop enough of a rapport with their students that they rarely require serious discipline.

I also wanted my system to address the most frequent problems preventing me from making the most of my instructional time; which has been severely limited due to holidays and bandhs. Problems like frequent absenteeism, constant request for bathroom/drink breaks, talking during class, not bringing a pencil or notebook to class, etc. I needed a way to limit negative behaviors and reward students who were already being awesome, but I wanted to make sure it would not be subjective or cumbersome for me to consistently enforce (part of the problem of the girls vs. boys points system). Based on some fantastic advice via a desperate facebook status, I was reminded that for kids new to behavior management the more immediate the consequences (positive and negative) the better.

And STARS was born.

Here's how it works. Students earn stars for various good things and spend them as they choose -- either by choosing to misbehave during class or by cashing them in for tangible rewards. I use a marker to draw the stars in the front of each child's notebook which means that suddenly I no longer have kids forgetting their book at home. Miraculous! I always have markers in my bag and it takes me less than a second to draw a star so the day-to-day doesn't require me to bring any extra materials or remember who earned what yesterday.

A lot of people have asked, "But don't the students add their own stars to get more prizes?" which is a really legitimate concern. So far I haven't had any problems. I talked about it on the first day and told students that if I caught them cheating by drawing their own stars I would take away ALL the stars. I said it really dramatically and even let my co-teachers translate the warning into Nepali. I usually use the markers that I brought from the U.S. so the colors are slightly different than the standard sign pens you find in Nepal. I told the kids that I could look at the colors and know that it wasn't from my marker. In reality, the kids just aren't that good at drawing stars so it would be obvious if they tried to add their own.

All students get four stars just for showing up on Sundays. In retrospect, it's a little bit high considering they can start earning prizes at five stars but it was a worthwhile decision to get the system going. Plus it encourages kids to show up at school on the first day of the week which is also the day that I am most likely to start something new and the higher the attendance the less re-teaching I have to do later in the week.

Each day I try to offer at least one opportunity to earn a star during class. Sometimes we play a team game and everyone on the winning team gets a star. Sometimes my co-teacher assigns homework and anyone who has it done, BEFORE class, gets a star the next day. Sometimes I forget and there aren't any opportunities for a star but when students ask I'm just honest and say "maybe tomorrow."

Of course students can also spend stars during class. It costs one star to go to the bathroom or get a drink during my class. For me, this is huge. I hate deciding when kids can and can't use the restroom. It's not okay with me for everyone to need to go at the beginning of class, but I'm also unwilling to arbitrarily decide who gets to go and who doesn't. As a friend likes to say "it was only four years ago that these kids were toilet trained" and I certainly don't want to be the one responsible for a kid who really really has to go not quite making it. In another miracle, the 25 tiny bladders that used to be nearing an explosion two weeks ago have suddenly synced to the school schedule and I rarely have anyone asking to leave the room.

Students can also spend stars by choosing to create disruptions during class. Most of the time it's enough for me to walk towards the offenders and take the cap off my black board marker (thus indicating that I am about to cross out someone's star.) I always have the marker in my hand when I'm teaching anyways and I love that it's a non-verbal method. The students stop what they're doing to disrupt class and they don't even get the satisfaction of interrupting my train of thought or forcing me to stop giving directions. Perfect.

For students who opt not to misbehave, do assignments, and regularly come to class stars can be spent on prizes.

• 5 Stars: choice of pencil, eraser, or sharpener
• 10 Stars: new notebook
• 20 Stars: lunch with Miss Rachel

Pencils, erasers, and sharpeners are all pretty cheap. And I don't mind spending money on them because it means that I no longer have trouble with kids not having a pencil. At the very least, there's always a friend nearby who has an extra. Similarly with notebooks, I know that finances are not great for all my students and this gives them an easy way to get the supplies they need. I don't care if they use the notebook for my class or someone else's. I have also learned that kids LOVE drawing copies. These are just notebooks without lines, but most parents don't spend their money on them. So students can now decide whether they want a lined copy or a drawing copy (they call notebooks copies because they are mostly used to copy whatever the teacher has written on the board.)

The prize of getting to eat lunch with me is admittedly a bit vain. But it's also a huge hit. I had two boys in fifth grade cash in all 20 of their hard earned stars for this last week. I met them for lunch and we walked to a nearby restaurant and shared some momos. Feeding myself and two students cost me all of... one dollar.

In an effort to get students to save their stars, (another good life lesson to be earned from a classroom economy), new prizes will be unveiled the next time we have school.

• 15 Stars: a medium sized chocolate bar (based on a poll of students' favorite candy.)
• 15 Stars: a small box of colored pencils (a nice addition to the drawing copy.)
• 25 Stars: a printed photo of me and the student (because I would love an excuse to take pictures with my kids and as a child I would have jumped to the moon with excitement to have a picture with me and any of my student teachers.)
• 30 Stars: an English picture book

I anticipate that the story books will become a fast favorite based on student reactions when I bring mine to class. What more could an English teacher want than students on their best behavior clamoring for the opportunity to earn a new book?

For now, I'm extremely happy with the STARS system. Since I get paid WAY more than the average Nepali teacher I have the funds to support a system based on store-bought prizes. Normally I work hard to avoid doing things at the school that the average teacher wouldn't have the resources to do herself. But I have two solutions for this: 1) prizes for this system don't have to be store bought and the next time I do a teacher training at the school we're going to talk about some ideas for no-cost rewards. 2) I have seen prize distributions after school games days where winners of the banana eating contest go home with three new copies and two pencils...so somewhere in the tangle of bureaucracy and lack of administration there is money to purchase things that the school thinks are important.

Why are your cheeks so puffy? Oh because you just ate a whole banana at once.

Now I just have to convince the headsir that supporting a classroom management system might be more beneficial to society than rewarding the kid who can shove a whole banana into his/her mouth the fastest...

Sigh, only one enormous institutionalized problem at a time.