My First Day of School

Writing this in retrospect of one day removed, I realize that my first day of school actually went pretty well. No one yelled in my face or told me they hated me, like the other volunteers told me they likely would do, and no one tried to throw rocks at me like they did at the old volunteer maestro once. In fact, only one of my students, Isaac, kind of fell asleep; the rest were awake and participating, even asking questions. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the two classes that I taught were the best part of my day in Talleres, not the worst part. Granted, I had quite the morning before classes even began. Once again, I learned a lot about how things are done in Honduras.

I arrived at school at 7:10, early enough to set some things up in my office before morning prayer at 7:25. I had been preparing for days in advance, creating each lesson plan and practicing what I was going to say. My first class was scheduled to begin at 9 am, and I was to have three 45 minute classes. The previous volunteer in my position had just changed the whole class schedule around in Talleres for each individual grade. (There are 6^th through 9^th graders here and they are broken up into levels a, b, c and sometimes d, but the ages in a grade vary depending on how much education a kid has when he gets to the Ranch.) This new schedule allows for more classes per week and less time in each class, so instead of me having to teach a 2 hour class twice a week (and the kids having to sit through it), I would teach three or four 45 minute classes per day. Shorter classes more often is MUCH better for language learning, and I was thankful that this would be the new schedule for me.

This new, elaborate schedule—which the old volunteer had cleared with Jorge—was to begin on my first day. The old volunteer purposefully did not give me the old schedule so that we could not return to it, no matter how much the teachers here would be opposed to changing anything. All of us teachers sat down with Jorge soon after prayer for a meeting about the new hours and my first day teaching. As soon as Jorge mentioned that the new hours were beginning, chaos erupted in the tiny classroom where we sat. Four angry voices rattled off their discontent in rapid Spanish, each of the female teachers building off the heated responses of the others. I didn’t stand a chance to get a word in—at least until Jorge asked me why the old volunteer wanted to change the hours. I tried my best to explain that the old schedule was too challenging for the volunteers in terms of planning and that the classes were too long for these young kids to pay attention the whole time. I pointed to the past three volunteers who left the position dissatisfied and frustrated.

The other women teachers would have none of it, and though I suggested that we try the new schedule starting the following week, they stubbornly resisted. After much more discussion about the behavior of the kids and what would be best, Jorge capped the meeting by deciding that we would go back to the old hours for the rest of this quarter, and then “discuss” starting the new ones in the next partial. My stomach dropped; I felt like someone had just stolen my homework that I had worked so hard on. Another battle lost.

On top of it all, I locked myself out of my classroom twice in under an hour (I was very flustered, as you can imagine) and had to search for the electrician teacher to open the door for me—who then asked me for my phone number so he could take me to sushi this weekend in Tegucigalpa. That’s all I need: a balding, middle-aged Honduran electrician teacher chasing me who can’t even say the word “sushi” and hides his premature aging with a sad looking comb-over. Welcome to Talleres!

After the meeting, I ran around the school grounds to each teacher to ask whether I was supposed to teach their kids, and when, and where, and how often. Of course, no one has a copy of the old hours here, so nobody really knows what my schedule should be. I quickly scribbled down a makeshift schedule from what I could gather, and it seemed that I had one class that day before lunch. Relieved to at least be able to have a minute to gather my thoughts, I returned to my office to plan. Ten minutes later, there was a knock at my door, and Angel, the youngest in level IIIb, told me I was supposed to be teaching their class right now. Oh. OK then. I grabbed my stuff, headed off to class, and winged it.

The kids in both of the classes I taught loved my power point presentation of my life with pictures of family (“your sister is so fresh and beautiful! Is she coming to visit?”), my pets, my friends, my house (“you LIVE there? you have a POOL?”), my favorite foods, and my favorite activities. They howled at the video of me faceplanting in the snow after attempting a ski jump in the Alps, and they listened entranced at the concept of fishing with a fake bug. After explaining my “Pelicula Puntos” system (points to earn a movie day), and how they can earn Daniela Dolares for our bodega (Danielle dollars for a class store), and the fact that we’d have a Song of the Day that could be Michael Jackson music, the kids were sold—I think. I also gave them an assignment: find out the meaning of the Word of the Day (‘help’) and bring the answer to class the next time to earn a Daniela Dolare. Three kids already came running up to me today to tell me they knew the word.

The classroom system here is so different than in America, and I am sure that I will come to realize more just how much. When I asked the kids what kinds of things they would like to have in our classroom store (bodega), their answers surprised me and brought me back to the fact that these kids are living in a community setting with little privacy and few personal belongings. “Boxers!” they shouted. “Socks! Underwear! Hair gel!” I never would have wanted underwear in a class store growing up—that would be way too embarrassing, and I had plenty at home. I’d much rather of had cool pens and markers and candy, maybe a fake tattoo. They’d love to have those things, too, but there is a distinct difference here between want and need.

In the evening, I had my first Projecto with one of the girls from my hogar, Jocelin, and her older sister, both very timid young ladies who seemed to be rather awkward around each other at first. Projecto is an evening activity where brothers and sisters on the Ranch have a chance to connect with each other (when they are otherwise usually separated into Hogars) by spending the evening cooking a meal or dessert with a volunteer and playing a game. Candy, another volunteer, and I made brownies with Jocelin and her sister and then played the game ‘Sorry!’ while listening to Reggaetone, the most popular music here. The game became pretty heated when it was a race between Jocelin and her sister to get all their pieces back to the Home square. The two sisters were laughing hysterically and making jokes, challenging each other and just behaving like any two close sisters do playing a game and having a good time. They ate tons of brownies and we bought them each a Pepsi. They savored all 700mL of it.

By the end of the evening, the two sisters were hugging each other and telling us they had a wonderful time hanging out with us in the volunteer house. It was a true reward for me to see their joy and happiness to feel special for a night, to spend time with just family and some loving volunteers when family is quite a rare treasure here. At one point during the night, Jocelin’s sister asked me whether I missed my family. I wasn’t quite sure how I should answer the question without making her feel bad. “Yes,” I said. “Of course I do.” But at least I can talk to them when I want and know that I’ll see them soon enough, I thought to myself. Most of the kids here don’t know when, or if, they will see their parents again.

As I plan for the rest of the week—making sure to be flexible enough now to NOT have plans—it helps to remember that I can only offer my best. I am finding that the key to being a successful teacher is to relax, breathe, give it all you can that day, and of course, just smile when I don’t understand something.

-DJ