SIXTEEN HOURS A WEEK

 

Pens; notebooks; a blackboard; chalk; tables to seat eighty students; four hours a week with each section—these are the resources my students and I have to work with. Half of the time my blackboard is a metal slate painted black. The other half it’s a piece of wood painted black. On the first day of school I walked into my classroom and tried to write an exercise on the board—incomprehensible scratches. The blackboard had yet to be painted; my chalk was too old. Ninety students; one teacher; zero blackboards; zero chalk. I leave the room and search out a coworker. The following discussion ensues:

Me: “Look my students can’t see anything I’m writing. There’s this big craggy, metal slab where my blackboard should be and I tried using these little white sticks to write with but, uh, they just break. So…

 Coworker: Which room are you in? Oh you’re in that room. They haven’t painted the board in there yet. You need to find another room on the compound somewhere. But don’t use that room and that room because they just painted the boards there and they need to dry for at least twenty-four hours.

Me: You mean school was supposed to start last week and the boards aren’t painted—won’t be painted until Friday (it’s Tuesday).

Coworker: Yes, you see that’s the problem with developing countries. The proviseur (principal) and proviseur-adjoint (vice-principal) have been dealing with enrollment issues and can’t be expected to take responsibility for everything. It’s we the teachers who should take responsibility for it.

Me: Okay…anyway what about this chalk?

Coworker: Oh (pulls out magic plastic container) take a piece of this chalk. (Hands over chalk.)

Me: Thanks. (Immediately notices the superiority of coworker’s chalk. Mind begins to reel: Why wasn’t I given this chalk? Where can I get this chalk? Where can I get a cool plastic container like that. The mental notes go on and on.)

 

I return to class. Rally my students and we head across the compound to a different classroom. Rules are laid. Exercises are done. Class. Must. Go. On!

 

Let me take a moment here to describe the school. The Lycee, or high school, is comprised of a series of buildings which are composed solely of classrooms. Walk out the door and you’re in the middle of a small field the center of which is marked by a Malagasy flag and occasionally by a small herd of goats searching for food.

 

All students in Madagascar where uniforms to school. The uniforms for all levels of study follow the same general pattern, a rather long button up shirt with no collar and deep pockets at the waist. The shirts are complemented below with a simple pair of shorts, no pockets. Color is the identifying feature of which level of study the student is currently engaged in. Bright pink at the elementary level (EPP), sky blue at the middle school level (CEG), and at the high school level (Lycee), where I teach, the most noxious shade of beige you ever did see. Teachers in the public education system, like myself, have the option of donning a white overcoat that hangs down to the mid-thigh level, comes equipped with two deep pockets (one for colored chalk and one for white chalk), protects your clothes from pesky chalk dust, and also imbues the wearer with tremendous amounts of authority and respect. Why is the coat optional? Because if one wants to acquire a white overcoat, one must buy fabric from the fabric seller, and then take fabric to the tailor, all of which will cost you the not-so-small sum of seven thousand ariary (about three dollars). Yes, all the uniforms, including those of the students, are made by local tailors. You can tell school is about to start because the tailors all have different colored uniforms hanging outside there stores.

 

I chose to don the white coat for reasons. One, the coworkers who do where the white coat command my respect. Two, try doing clothes by hand—you will do whatever it takes to keep clothes clean for as long as possible. Three, to garner respect both from students and coworkers. Finally, the white coat is a physical manifestation of how I view myself as a teacher. In my white coat I am an English surgeon. I walk into class holding my chalk as though it were a scalpel. “Please class, this will only hurt for a moment—I’m going to cut open your minds and surgically implant some knowledge.”

 

TWENTY HOURS A WEEK

 

So first week goes by without a hitch. Standing in front of eighty students and teaching them English is easier than I imagined. “Maybe sixteen hours a week is not enough,” I think to myself. “Maybe I should start looking for other ways to fill my time. For instance, what are the extracurriculars here in Befandriana-Nord? Yeah, I think I’ll mention something about that to the proviseur.”

 

Now, the proviseur lives right next to me. Our houses are in the same building—along with the main office for the Lycee. More on the details of my house later, but for now suffice to say that we see each other on a daily basis. So one night we’re sitting out just chatting when I think I’ll ask him about the sports teams at Befandriana (I have this fantasy about starting a frisbee team or coaching a track team, and coaching a soccer team too until I remember that the nine year-olds here are better than me at soccer).

 

How conversation (in Malagasy) sounds in my head:

 

Me: Hey proviseur, what are the sports like here?

Proviseur: Oh there are a lot of sports. Every grade has their own sports. But we really don’t have enough coaches.

Me: Oh really? You know, I used to do track and I really like running. I run everyday. Who are the coaches here?

Proviseur: Oh Honore and Henri are the coaches.

Me: You know, at some point in the future, maybe not right away, I’d really like to work with them on that. Do you think you could speak to them for me?

Proviseur: Oh of course no problem. Sure is warm isn’t it?

Me: Sure is warm. Gosh I really like it here.

 

How conversation must have actually sounded:

 

Me: Proviseur, what do the kids do here for physical education?

Proviseur: There is physical education classes for every grade in which the students partake in a multitude of sports. However, we are currently lacking a gym teacher for some of them.

Me: Well isn’t that quaint. I happen to be extremely qualified to teach physical education. I ran track in college and played frisbe—, er, other sports in college too. I still run every day. Who are the teachers now?

Proviseur: Honore and Henri.

Me: Do you think they’d be willing to work with me right away? I mean, I know it’s short notice and all, but there is nothing more I would like to do with my time that teach PhyEd.

Proviseur: Wow this is great. Of course they’d love it. I’ll speak with them tomorrow. Sure is warm isn’t it?

Me: Sure is warm. Gosh I really like it here.

 

 

Conversation with Honore (also in Malagasy):

 

Me (still flabbergasted by what I’ve gotten myself into): So look, Honore, do you, err, think we could sit down for a minute and go over how to teach gym class here? I’ve never taught gym before, so, uh, yeah anything you can tell me would be great.

Honore: Like what?

Me: You know, like what you do for the first hour…and then the second.

Honore: Sure. First of all, there is a curriculum you need to follow.

Me: Oh great there’s a book?!

Honore: Yes.

Me: Okay could we look at some examples:

Honore: Sure. (Paging through curriculum.) First week: Long jump (this is in French and much time elapses before I figure this out). Second week: high jump.

Me: Oh wow? I didn’t think we had a high jumping pit.

Honore: We don’t. Third week: Javelin.

Me: We have a javelin?

Honore: Yes. It’s in the closet. Fourth week: Judo

Me: That’s amazing! You know judo? No way.

Honore: No I don’t. You just do the punches (punches air).

Me: Huh….

Honore: Fifth week: Karate.

Me: You know Karate?

Honore: No (Punches air again. Smiles.)

Me: Look Honore this is all great but I was more thinking along the lines of just how to teach a class. You know, like what you do for the first half an hour, and the second…how you fill two hours of time with physical education…

In the end I just made my Malagasy students run for half an hour, watched my them do calisthenics like drunken marionettes, and blew some minds with a couple of cones and some frisbees.