I'm From. . .

Today, I was able to observe and tour several classrooms, including a Math lesson and Chemistry lesson in the lab. Quite by accident, I was able to observe Sarah Eaton (another TGC fellow) teach a group of 10th standard ladies. I also taught a poetry lesson to another wonderful group of young ladies in 10th standard.

The Math lesson was in a classroom that many would consider a patio and not a proper classroom. The learning space consisted of a concrete floor that was attached to the back wall of elementary rooms; the only solid wall included two wooden-shuttered windows. The rear wall was created by two large metal sheets that were attached to tripod stands (and there was another classroom opposite the metal-sheeted wall). The remaining two “walls” were comprised of ⅓ wall of bricks and ⅔ wall fashioned from metal fencing. In one corner in the front of the room was a 3 x 5’ slate chalkboard on an easel and the other front corner had an opening in the fencing for a doorway.

As I watched the teacher instruct a group of 48 uniformed young ladies, I was in awe that they never so much as glanced out the open fencing to the courtyard, despite chatty younger students passing by and peering in at “the American teachers,” teachers walking by and talking, kitchen workers preparing lunch with loud clangs of pots and goats and chickens in the nearby courtyard. They were completely focused on the formulas that were being presented and examples given by the teacher. The room was stifling hot, with only a blue tarp in the corner to block the morning sun from casting a glare on the slate board. Students sat in neat rows, four or five to a bench and long desk, The space between the two columns of seats was so narrow, their backpacks had to be lined up along the concrete wall and, once seated, students remained in their place for the duration of the lesson. The teacher questioned sums and formulas, students responded in unison. There was almost a rhythm to the class. Homework was assigned and not one girl complained or questioned it. The teacher simply walked out and, not knowing what else to do, we followed him.

Amazing.

A classroom facility that would have any PTA in America shudder was a place of challenging learning with respectful, attentive young ladies who hung on every word of their teacher.

It turned out that this was the same group of ladies and the same classroom that I would teach later that day. I was honestly nervous because it was truly uncomfortable, and sweating and puffing in front of 48 students doesn’t make a great impression. Although the young ladies could keep their focus, how would I not sneak a look or wave out the open “walls” when younger students passed by?

The time came to teach the “I’m From” poem and I began by talking about the Question Words that we use often in English. When we ask “Where are you from?” the answer is usually a place (the US or Chicago or Wilson Street), but seldom deeper than that. Only once we get to know another person do we share where we’re really from--from family dinners and desserts only on Sundays or from mom yelling that “a few vegetables wouldn’t kill you!” I modeled a poem based on some questions I had typed and passed out to them and had them create a poem that really demonstrated where they were from, based on their answers. They worked on the responses and created a short poem in a draft form (it was very important to stress that it was a draft and that they were not expected to show me a perfect copy). The responses I got back were full of thought and a cultural insight that is beyond compare. I think I’ll take these home with me and type them up into a booklet to mail back to the class. Their ideas are important and it would be amazing if they saw their work in finished form. Perhaps they would even illustrate the poems (the artwork I’ve seen from the students is really incredible--details, colors, precision and creativity!).