Walking towards the Linden Bus Park, Chels and I chat about nothing in particular. My water flask, a large 40-ounce, stainless steel bottle from Danny Black, swings to-and-fro attached to its ever present carabiner. The “Santa Cruz: Local's Only” Sticker draws some eyes, but I'm impervious the stares, this flask has been a steady constant throughout our experiences.
The first one approaches, a smile, a “My friend? Town?” We try not to show any interest so as one treats a forceful bazaar merchants in Turkey, we shrug off his advances with a smile. This is old- hat stuff, you give them an inch and these touts will pull you to the bus their working for, even if it is empty. We used to think they were so forceful to us because we were white and they saw the dollar signs, but now, after almost a year of walking by them, waving a smiling and brushing off their approaches with a “Not today, man,” we know its just their job and several of them even know us by name. And they do it to the Guyanese too.
Anyway, the first one usually stands at a corner 3 blocks from the bus park. He walks next to us. Our idea is that we will decide which bus to board once we're at the bus park. Our criterion consists of who has the most passengers at the time since most busses wait until they are full before they depart to Town. Some days it takes longer, like 30 to 40 minutes, other days it could be as little as 5 minutes.
Another conductor saw me in the distance, I don't think the one next to us was working for the same bus because this conductor came running up to us, saying, “Come on, come on, my bus is almost full”. I knew this conductor I've ridden with him a few times, he's pretty honest and not to pushy, but today he was on a mission he began pulling me towards his bus. This whole time Chelsea just stayed out of it, they don't usually pull the girl when they are walking with a guy, so I was a target of their attentions.
Soon enough I was surrounded on all sides by 6 different touts grabbing me and pulling me towards their busses in different directions. Whey they are all screaming at me ( “I need three, er..two,”; “No, no, his bus is full,”; “Come on, my friend remember when I picked you up?” “Don't touch the man! My friend, come on take my bus.”) they're a wall of sound. They were pushing and pulling me. Chels was on the outside laughing at the situation. We weren't even at the bus park yet. Must've been a slow day.
A bus left the park and stopped on the street to pick us up, they were almost full, this conductor came over and started pulling me too. This whole time I am smiling, standing still, trying not to be pulled. All I need to do is make a decision. Chelsea got on the bus that was leaving already, and I said, “Alright gentlemen, I am going to go with my wife, please excuse me.” They let me go with grumbles and statements intent on making me feel guilty, but it's just another day. At this point climbing into the bus in the street, I realise that we've been in Guyana a fair amount of time. Before yesterday, something like that would set me off, get me furious, but really it's just how it goes. We can either accept it and see the amusement in it or fight against the inevitable and take on more stress. I'd rather choose the former.
As our bus drove off, stuffed in a bench seat with four people that is suppose to only hold three, Chelsea said, “God I wish I had a camera to take a picture of that! So we'd be able to show the folks back home what we mean when say how much it is an ordeal to get a bus to Town. But you handled it well.”
We may not have had a camera but I'd hope my description suffices.
I could stop there, but I haven't written in a while and my verbatious (yeah I made it up, the adjective form of verbose) itch is demanding I write.
In other news, I was in the classroom for the first time in a year the other day. A teacher from one of the Linden secondary schools asked me to help with some writing strategies. At first, I thought I would be working with the teachers, however, the day before I was suppose to present (and my session plans were all written out) I learned I would be working with 70+ CSEC students. These are the students who are going to take the Caribbean Secondary Exams in April. Basically, if students want to go to university or get higher paying jobs they need to pass these exams.
To say the least I was nervous. I didn't have a solid lesson plan, I haven't worked directly with students (in terms of teaching) since I left HSHMC in January 2010, what if they don't respond well? What if everything I am preaching to these teachers fails? And I lose faith in myself as well as lose the respect of the teachers? These fears and hesitancies passed through my mind, but I calmed down because I'd have the Literacy Advisor with me so we'd be able to co-facilitate. However, the day we were supposed to present she called in sick.
Great. (sarcasm)
I was the first to present. The teacher wanted me to do something about writing persuasive essays. When I found this out I told myself, “I got this. I have my California teaching credential. I've taught persuasive writing before both at HSHMC and before when I was a student teacher. No problem. This is kid stuff.” I even printed out a couple handouts I created, originally for the teachers, but the kids could read them too. The school copied the handouts and I based my lesson on the activities outlined on the handout.
Here goes nothing. I leapt right into it, feeling surprisingly more comfortable then I have before, even in front of my own classes back home, I began by introducing myself and having the kids define “persuasion”. Then I did my first activity, something I read about in one of Dr. Frey and Fisher's books called “Take a Stand”. I had the kids take a stand on this question, then tell me why, “Is music the cause of violence among youths? Yes or no and then three reasons why you say so.”
Here is some background. The day before a student at this same institution was stabbed with scissors and months before another student was stabbed with a knife. I am sure there are plenty of social reasons for these outbursts of violence, but that is beyond the scope of this entry. Most of the older generation, though, besides reflecting on their own cultural culpability, usually put the onus on the “music” the “youts” are listening too. So this question was interesting and relevant for these children. Check. I always tell my teachers to look for content that resonates with the kids. (The best part is that this question came to me moments before I posed it. And I realised the students don't really ever get asked their own opinion very often. They loved it.)
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| Students Writing their "Take a Stand" Bellwork |
The kids wrote, I walked around, practicing being and active teachers. Once they were done I let them do a “Pair-Share” activity where they shared their opinion with their table mates. And if someone had something they did not, I encouraged them to add it to their reasons.
They were into it.
This activity is so simple, but a lot of the time students aren't encouraged to speak to each other in class. From what I've seen the teachers may ask for volunteers, but most of the time it's the same students over and over again who are participating. It was a wonderful feeling watching all the students be engaged.
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| Students being engaged |
I then launched into the content part where I outlined a simple, but probably not the best persuasive essay (introduction, first reasons, commentary, commentary, second reason, commentary, commentary, etc. ) But on a whim I added in another roman numeral: the counter argument. They had no idea what a counter-argument was, so the rest of the lesson was based around developing one.
The second activity I wanted the students to practice was the RAFT strategy (I even wrote FART on the board with respect to Mr. Bonine). This was also on the handout I figured in writing a persuasive argument its good to get into the heads of the opposition, so you can bash them down to further prove that you are right and they are wrong. So I did a RAFT having them playing the role of the opposite of what they were for the bellwork (if they were a yes to music causing violence among youths, then they needed to play the role of a no.). This was a bit more difficult, but some students got it.
The last part of the lesson I told them to write a counter-argument to their RAFT. They didn't quite get it. But I used student examples, and modeled what I expected them to do and it helped a bit (acknowledge the other side, but then dismiss it as still wrong.) It didn't come out perfect, but it was a ton of fun to be back teaching students. And I realized that even just being here, doing all my research and writing my gigantic teacher's manual of classroom strategies, has helped me become a better and stronger teacher. It felt good.
I'd feared what it would be like back home when I went back to teaching students rather than adults, but this experience has reaffirmed my commitment to the classroom. I still want to go back to grad school and get my masters in Admin (or Reading) and become a Reading Specialist/Reading Coach/VP/Prinicipal, but those interim years before I go back to school, when I am teaching full time, won't be nearly as stress inducing as I worried.
But this is what Peace Corps does. It takes me to the limits of what I think I'm capable of. It twists and stretches me like a rubber band, pushing me to the brink, but snapping back or stretching leaving me stronger, more durable. I think both these anecdotes illustrate the “PC effect”. It's not easy, by any means, and things come up in the hours of self-reflection, existential moments assault our senses, when all we want is a bloody sandwich (I'll let Chels explain that one). Moreover, discussion with locals and fellow volunteers broaden our own horizons and we form these bonds and relationships of shared growing experiences.
In the end we all will be stronger people.
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| The Head Mistress Giving another lesson after mine. On Critical Thinking! |
Some Shots from the other day.
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| From the Hill Towards the Ward |
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| Looking towards Linden Proper |
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| Hmmm...What's happening here? Strangeness in our own front yard. |
