To keep those of you, both far and away, happy, I need to alternate between the school life and those few hours of life that happen outside it. So today's story features one of the newest developments in my teaching career here in Colombia.
Three weeks back or so, my boss told me that they would be hiring a new assistant to work with the 6th and 7th grade classes. Okay, I thought, that might be nice, to get a little extra support and have another set of eyes and hands in the classroom. Now, I guess when you learn that it is the head of the schools brother, and he has no background in teaching, and shows up about this time of the year annually, looking for a little extra cash, be wary.
Schedule arrives in my inbox, and for some reason, he is only scheduled to work in my classroom and in one of the other 3 middle school classrooms. Odd, I think to myself, but this is an off week, so maybe it is just to get him acquainted with the students, and then he will start to rotate more often.
"What can I do to help?" he asks me the second day in the room. I instruct him that at this point, I really just need another set of eyes to watch the ridiculous behavior that occurs in the classroom, and to circulate and help keep students on track and focused. Well he takes this as, sit down and read the novel that the students are reading. Hmmmm, I think to myself, really?
Day three, he plops himself down again in the last desk in the back of the classroom, book in hand and reads silently, it isn't long before I see him dozing. Grey head, bobbing up and down. Wow, what a help! The next day he tries to be helpful, I ask him to pass out the students cursive books, that it will be a good way for him to get to know their names, but tell him he will have to use a somewhat loud voice, that the classroom gets quite noisy. (Yes a classroom management skill I still need to master, but Costenos are really loud too!) Well, by the time he had them passed out, bell work time was over, and it was time to collect them and put them away. Great, so the assistant, who is getting paid, actually needs to be babysat, just like another student. No self-direction and hard of hearing on top of it.
Inside my head I am screaming, "Come on people! This is my first year teaching! It is hard enough, and first year teachers don't get student teachers for a reason! Get me an assistant who can actually DO something." A couple weeks pass, and it pretty much continues this way. Him sitting in back of the class, reading the book to himself. Not circulating and keeping kids focused, like I have asked, not reminding students of the way they should behave in a classroom. And then the clincher comes...
The man has found something to do now, sitting at the back of the class. No longer with the novel in hand, but with like Brit with the Clipboard, a white binder, filled with pages of some sort of charts. So I am unavoidably distracted by what these charted pages are, especially as I see him taking notes on them, after I scold the students, or after a student acts out in class. Walking slowly by, trying my damnedest to eavesdrop with my eyes, and figure out what it is he is doing, but I have no luck. I can't believe it they have sent in a spy!
Days pass, and our interactions are uncomfortable, not really interacting with each other. I don't know what to say to this guy. I mean, he seems pretty incompetent to me, so not really sure what to give him to do, and now with this mysterious white binder. After many days of just pleasant salutation, good mornings, he has the nerve to point out to me, that I have used the wrong patients in the power point slide. Like I didn't notice that I had written doctors patience instead of patients! "Ahhhhhhh," another internal brain scream.
The last thing I needed on top of dealing with 90/100 poorly behaved 6th and 7th grade students, spoiled rotten, with low attention spans, motor mouths and attitudes that would make my 6th grade teacher give the "attitude" speech, is a 70 year old man, taking notes on my falters and my inabilities. The anger inside my chest builds and I just want to run over and rip the binder out of his hands and yell, "what have they put you up to? Spying on me? Spying on the students? Instead of being mister check happy, why don't you actually stand up and walk around and tell the kids to shut-up!"
I am not a person who like confrontation, and I am bombarded with it nearly every single day in my classroom. I know my co-workers are tired of hearing me bitch, about the old spy, but it is so hard to even get a minute and humanly ask him, what it is he is doing. Or if it wasn't the brother of the head of the school, and my boss' brother-in-law, marching my fattening self into office headquarters and stating, "This guy is a joke" wouldn't be so hard. "Instead of hiring an assistant 10 weeks before the end of school, why don't you just pay us underpaid teachers his salary. I could really use a few extra pesos to stick in the baby fund, or really just so I can actually buy groceries and pay my bills when the end of the month hits. Insisting in an answer, "Why have you sent a spy? What is it you are trying to determine?" But until I get up that courage, or get so frustrated, I will avoid confrontation with brother-in-law boss, and continue silent brain screams.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
How Do You Buy Your Fruit?
As an American, I am accustomed to quiet super markets, tranquil farmers markets, and the summer time roadside stand that sells fresh veggies and fruit. Here in Colombia, buying fruit is a whole new venture. Of course, you can settle on the statuesque boring way, where you walk into the super market and (most of) the veggies are washed and stacked in an attractive arrangement. Or you can opt for the colorful, boisterous Latin American way. No need to seek it out, it will come to you! Just listen and you will hear,
"Aguacate!!!!"
Here in Rodadero, every morning between the hours of 10:30 and 1:00, you can here the musical canter of the days selection of fruits. First comes the shouter, his angry grunt drifting in my open window...
" AGUAcaTEEEE!!! aGUACATEEEEE!!!," sounding as though, if you don't come relieve him from his heavy cart of glistening lime green avocados he is going to start throwing them at you.
Then we have the man with the loudspeaker, cheerful, quick and informative, unavoidable....
"Aguacate, limones, maduro...... a mil peso" " Hoy hay aguacate, maduro, limones, un mil... un mil peso!"
And lastly, there is the mellow man. His voice still distinct, just less obtrusive...
"aguacate, aguacate, aguacte... aguacatE... aguacatE"
And they move with lightning speed, circling through the neighborhood, strong voices, reverberating off the tall concrete buildings. If its your lucky day, there may be papaya as well, golden yellow and as large as a watermelon.
Its not just the fruit guys, but this is a common way of selling goods. Some of them ride three wheel bicycle carts. Peddling quickly against traffic, weaving their way in and between buses, taxis, motos, pedestrians and the starving street dogs. We have the Arroz con Lecheeeeeeeeeeee! man, which took me about 6 months to figure out what he was screaming, the bollo man (a cross between a polenta roll and a tamale), carrying his heavy cooler across his shoulder, yelling "Bollo de maiz cerca". Both these gentleman appear in the evenings. In the mornings there are the already spoken of avocado guys, and even earlier, right from the docks is the PesCADO! man, with his array of pargo fish, fresh caught, dangling from a sturdy branch he hoists on his shoulders, his barefeet slapping the hot, dirty pavement, as he calls out hoping for a customer to call back in return, pescado!
Colombia, as I have found in other Latin American countries, is very vocal. People are somehow able to drown out the bizillion of noises that are going on at once, and still maintain a conversation, mind you. We have the street peddlers, who sell anything from food to the can't live without t.v. remote, to my recent discovery of portable video games (yes! t.v. and video games on a cart, which are rolled through the street, ready to play). Then there are the moto taxis and the taxis, whom have the most obnoxious sounding car alarms, whistles, horns and attention-getters you can imagine. Often they congregate below my house around 5:30 to play with their repertoire of whistles. On top of that, here on the coast, it is all either suttley accompanied by the loathful, Vallanato music, or just plain drowned out by the accordions and repetitive rhythms and lyrics. It often times makes me yearn for my parents, quiet backyard, the sound of birds singing, and an occasional rumbling by of a truck or a chainsaw off in the distance.
So how do I buy my fruit? Well, I honestly usually stick to the status quo. Walk into the super market and pick out my fruits and veggies. Avocados however, I do purchase them from the man with his cart outside the grocery store. You can taste them, and they are just so much better and cheaper than the ones that take a week to ripen from the store. But, I haven't quite gotten myself able to yell back, aguacate!, when I can't help but hear the men passing by the house. It still just seems so foreign to me. You do have to admire how hard the people who do work, work to to make a living here, and I often wonder how they do it. When 3 people selling the same product all come through at the same time, in the same place, how do they sell to anyone? I guess in some sense, better competition, but then they are all getting so much less profit.
And now off to finish my delicious fresh avocado, creamy like butter with a little lime, salt and sugar sprinkled on top!
As an American, I am accustomed to quiet super markets, tranquil farmers markets, and the summer time roadside stand that sells fresh veggies and fruit. Here in Colombia, buying fruit is a whole new venture. Of course, you can settle on the statuesque boring way, where you walk into the super market and (most of) the veggies are washed and stacked in an attractive arrangement. Or you can opt for the colorful, boisterous Latin American way. No need to seek it out, it will come to you! Just listen and you will hear,
"Aguacate!!!!"
Here in Rodadero, every morning between the hours of 10:30 and 1:00, you can here the musical canter of the days selection of fruits. First comes the shouter, his angry grunt drifting in my open window...
" AGUAcaTEEEE!!! aGUACATEEEEE!!!," sounding as though, if you don't come relieve him from his heavy cart of glistening lime green avocados he is going to start throwing them at you.
Then we have the man with the loudspeaker, cheerful, quick and informative, unavoidable....
"Aguacate, limones, maduro...... a mil peso" " Hoy hay aguacate, maduro, limones, un mil... un mil peso!"
And lastly, there is the mellow man. His voice still distinct, just less obtrusive...
"aguacate, aguacate, aguacte... aguacatE... aguacatE"
And they move with lightning speed, circling through the neighborhood, strong voices, reverberating off the tall concrete buildings. If its your lucky day, there may be papaya as well, golden yellow and as large as a watermelon.
Its not just the fruit guys, but this is a common way of selling goods. Some of them ride three wheel bicycle carts. Peddling quickly against traffic, weaving their way in and between buses, taxis, motos, pedestrians and the starving street dogs. We have the Arroz con Lecheeeeeeeeeeee! man, which took me about 6 months to figure out what he was screaming, the bollo man (a cross between a polenta roll and a tamale), carrying his heavy cooler across his shoulder, yelling "Bollo de maiz cerca". Both these gentleman appear in the evenings. In the mornings there are the already spoken of avocado guys, and even earlier, right from the docks is the PesCADO! man, with his array of pargo fish, fresh caught, dangling from a sturdy branch he hoists on his shoulders, his barefeet slapping the hot, dirty pavement, as he calls out hoping for a customer to call back in return, pescado!
Colombia, as I have found in other Latin American countries, is very vocal. People are somehow able to drown out the bizillion of noises that are going on at once, and still maintain a conversation, mind you. We have the street peddlers, who sell anything from food to the can't live without t.v. remote, to my recent discovery of portable video games (yes! t.v. and video games on a cart, which are rolled through the street, ready to play). Then there are the moto taxis and the taxis, whom have the most obnoxious sounding car alarms, whistles, horns and attention-getters you can imagine. Often they congregate below my house around 5:30 to play with their repertoire of whistles. On top of that, here on the coast, it is all either suttley accompanied by the loathful, Vallanato music, or just plain drowned out by the accordions and repetitive rhythms and lyrics. It often times makes me yearn for my parents, quiet backyard, the sound of birds singing, and an occasional rumbling by of a truck or a chainsaw off in the distance.
So how do I buy my fruit? Well, I honestly usually stick to the status quo. Walk into the super market and pick out my fruits and veggies. Avocados however, I do purchase them from the man with his cart outside the grocery store. You can taste them, and they are just so much better and cheaper than the ones that take a week to ripen from the store. But, I haven't quite gotten myself able to yell back, aguacate!, when I can't help but hear the men passing by the house. It still just seems so foreign to me. You do have to admire how hard the people who do work, work to to make a living here, and I often wonder how they do it. When 3 people selling the same product all come through at the same time, in the same place, how do they sell to anyone? I guess in some sense, better competition, but then they are all getting so much less profit.
And now off to finish my delicious fresh avocado, creamy like butter with a little lime, salt and sugar sprinkled on top!
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Where does the story begin?
Where does the story begin? Well, from where I stand, or perhaps I should say sit, from the 7th story of my apartment building, 2 blocks from the Caribbean Sea in Santa Marta, Colombia, its hard to really say. Thinking back to a year ago, never would I have imagined myself here, teaching 6th and 7th grade English to spoiled rich kids on the coast of Colombia. I really would have never imagined myself, teaching middle school English, on the coast of Colombia, pregnant, living alone and wondering if I will make it home to the U.S. to have my ever-dreamed-of-home-birth by my due date in the beginning of September.
The stories I have to tell swim rapidly inside my head, wondering where to begin, funny, sad, annoyed, shocked. Perhaps I should begin with why a blog. Why bore the world with more garbled, lost words floating in cyberspace, hoping some day to be found, read and enjoyed by fans and random readers. We have arrived at story number one. Don't worry it is a short one.
Why Blog
Perhaps it is the inspiration of the recent fame and talk of my new book club book, Julie and Julia. Perhaps it is the need for something to fill my time, when I get home from my long 9-10.5 hour day, venting my experiences to a cyber-buddy excited to indulge me. Perhaps it is the deep down hope, that I can make a new career, and escape the woes and frustrations of the middle school classroom.
Family, friends, and acquaintances alike, seem as though they are riding on a different wave in a far-off galaxy somewhere. Keeping in touch from Colombia is about as easy as making a baked-Alaska in, well, the Caribbean. The lines of communication seem to just melt away rapidly. When I learned I was pregnant on January 27, 2010, after 3 negative pregnancy tests, but that is a story for another chapter, I decided a blog would be an excellent way to share my experiences and photos with loved ones far away. Unfortunately, I learned quickly, that the first trimester or pregnancy comboed with teaching about 10.5 hours everyday, sucked away my energy as fast as the silent and sneaky mosquitoes suck away my warm, prenatal vitamin-enriched blood. Now, 4 months later, and after promising myself to leave school by 3:30 pm 4 days a week, I think I can summons up enough finger speed to get down a few stories.
So there you have it folks, no profound explanation to my desire to blog. Just hope you can stick it through and follow me on my adventures through Central and South America, the ups and downs of first year teaching, in a middle school classroom in coastal Colombia, while pregnant and unsure of how to get home to have my baby.
Colegio Arbol: The Brit with the Clipboard 5/12/10
One o'clock, lunch bell rings. Twenty-seven seventh graders trying to race and scramble their way out of one narrow doorway. Teacher, trying to keep order and control. "Wait you have not been dismissed, sit down and wait for me to call your row." Teacher thinking to herself, "Supervision, starts in 15 minutes, must eat, must avoid Brit with clipboard." Two minutes pass, students dismissed. Five minutes pass, teacher can't get rid of one student. Time to sit and talk with adults while eating, down to 10 minutes. Arrive at cafeteria (yes, four-five hours of classes with our students isn't enough at Colegio Arbol, we must also eat with our students, the luxury of a private teachers lounge, is just a dream as far away as the United States). 1:10: No! Brit with clipboard has beaten me to the Cafe, scolding other teacher for arriving late for lunch line duty. Brit with clipboard headed for classrooms, my duty starts there in 5 minutes. Must wash hands, down almond butter and jelly sandwich and try to have at least 5 minutes of adult conversation. Gulp, Chew, Chat. Gulp, Chew, Chat. 1:20, Run to classrooms. Brit with clipboard has beaten me again, sitting in chair with clipboard. I shout out, "I'm coming, I'm coming Brit with clipboard (real name wont be mentioned)". "Here have a seat," says Brit with clipboard. Too late, another mark on the totem, that I have once again, arrived late to supervision duties. Surely will affect data for thrilling Wednesday meeting. Bad teacher! Very bad teacher! Must finish crusts of ABJ sandwich while supervising. Results of thrilling Wednesday meeting? Tomorrow is another day. Be sure to arrive promptly to my am supervision post. More importantly, middle school and high school teachers are slacking on their supervision, data from Brit with clipboard determines, way below our mecca. Must show up on time! My calculated result, after compiling the number of times Brit with clipboard has reminded me to show up to supervision, or just number of times a day seeing Brit with clipboard: Think like a 6th grader, steal and hide clipboard, problem solved!
The stories I have to tell swim rapidly inside my head, wondering where to begin, funny, sad, annoyed, shocked. Perhaps I should begin with why a blog. Why bore the world with more garbled, lost words floating in cyberspace, hoping some day to be found, read and enjoyed by fans and random readers. We have arrived at story number one. Don't worry it is a short one.
Why Blog
Perhaps it is the inspiration of the recent fame and talk of my new book club book, Julie and Julia. Perhaps it is the need for something to fill my time, when I get home from my long 9-10.5 hour day, venting my experiences to a cyber-buddy excited to indulge me. Perhaps it is the deep down hope, that I can make a new career, and escape the woes and frustrations of the middle school classroom.
Family, friends, and acquaintances alike, seem as though they are riding on a different wave in a far-off galaxy somewhere. Keeping in touch from Colombia is about as easy as making a baked-Alaska in, well, the Caribbean. The lines of communication seem to just melt away rapidly. When I learned I was pregnant on January 27, 2010, after 3 negative pregnancy tests, but that is a story for another chapter, I decided a blog would be an excellent way to share my experiences and photos with loved ones far away. Unfortunately, I learned quickly, that the first trimester or pregnancy comboed with teaching about 10.5 hours everyday, sucked away my energy as fast as the silent and sneaky mosquitoes suck away my warm, prenatal vitamin-enriched blood. Now, 4 months later, and after promising myself to leave school by 3:30 pm 4 days a week, I think I can summons up enough finger speed to get down a few stories.
So there you have it folks, no profound explanation to my desire to blog. Just hope you can stick it through and follow me on my adventures through Central and South America, the ups and downs of first year teaching, in a middle school classroom in coastal Colombia, while pregnant and unsure of how to get home to have my baby.
Colegio Arbol: The Brit with the Clipboard 5/12/10
One o'clock, lunch bell rings. Twenty-seven seventh graders trying to race and scramble their way out of one narrow doorway. Teacher, trying to keep order and control. "Wait you have not been dismissed, sit down and wait for me to call your row." Teacher thinking to herself, "Supervision, starts in 15 minutes, must eat, must avoid Brit with clipboard." Two minutes pass, students dismissed. Five minutes pass, teacher can't get rid of one student. Time to sit and talk with adults while eating, down to 10 minutes. Arrive at cafeteria (yes, four-five hours of classes with our students isn't enough at Colegio Arbol, we must also eat with our students, the luxury of a private teachers lounge, is just a dream as far away as the United States). 1:10: No! Brit with clipboard has beaten me to the Cafe, scolding other teacher for arriving late for lunch line duty. Brit with clipboard headed for classrooms, my duty starts there in 5 minutes. Must wash hands, down almond butter and jelly sandwich and try to have at least 5 minutes of adult conversation. Gulp, Chew, Chat. Gulp, Chew, Chat. 1:20, Run to classrooms. Brit with clipboard has beaten me again, sitting in chair with clipboard. I shout out, "I'm coming, I'm coming Brit with clipboard (real name wont be mentioned)". "Here have a seat," says Brit with clipboard. Too late, another mark on the totem, that I have once again, arrived late to supervision duties. Surely will affect data for thrilling Wednesday meeting. Bad teacher! Very bad teacher! Must finish crusts of ABJ sandwich while supervising. Results of thrilling Wednesday meeting? Tomorrow is another day. Be sure to arrive promptly to my am supervision post. More importantly, middle school and high school teachers are slacking on their supervision, data from Brit with clipboard determines, way below our mecca. Must show up on time! My calculated result, after compiling the number of times Brit with clipboard has reminded me to show up to supervision, or just number of times a day seeing Brit with clipboard: Think like a 6th grader, steal and hide clipboard, problem solved!
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