More Lessons

Teaching is always interesting.. working with kids is the best.  They are so open.. so ready for a challenge.  And really, aren’t we all?  My teachers seem a little … distant sometime.. but under their flowing clothing and head covering many of our differences are just cultural.  We really have an awful lot in common.

I headed off to one of my brilliant orange schools, with it’s open cafeterias serving a constant supply of chicken and rice, surrounded by palm trees and the open drainage ditch. 

Jackie asked what Malaysia smells like, and I would love to say like sunshine and ocean, but actually my most vivid and immediate thought is sewage.. and fish. 

They love fish sauce.  It permeates everything. A lovely salsa.. fresh tomatoes, onions and peppers.. has the added aroma of fish sauce.  A delightful egg noodle dish in a rich, delicious chicken stock is sprinkled with little dry minnows.  Fish heads float in red, yellow, green curries.. whole fish are deep fried, pan fried.. sliced and diced and fried. 

For me, the aroma seems to blend in with a hint of sewage and.. well, I eat a lot of chicken and been known to go vegetarian for weeks.  The food is spicy, and there are enough Indians in town to keep the Dahl flowing.. God Bless them. 

But.. I was talking about teaching…  

Teaching can be very private and personal.  Students become our kids, our family.  My ‘students’ these days are teachers.. and them not wanting a lot of people budding their noses in is a natural urge.. not just here but in many places around the planet.  No one wants the mother-in-law, the ‘expert’, telling you how it should be done.  For the most part, teachers, like mothers, know and understand the needs of their kids best.

In the west however, attitudes in schools are changing as we make way for TA’s to help with our integrated special needs kids, parent helpers mean we can have more eyes watching over the kids at special events and activities and an array of specialists work with children with different requirements: helping them with their reading, emotional needs, and giving them that extra little push they need.

But this wasn’t the way when I was a kid, and it isn’t the way in developing countries.  More people in the classrooms requires more money.  And Malaysia has more money, than it used to anyway.

So here I am.. sticking my nose in to the private domain of teachers across the Pacific Ocean.  Here I am, ‘helping’ good Muslim teachers teach a language that they aren’t all that good at and which introduces a culture that isn’t really all that welcome.

Here I am telling them how to do something that many of them have been doing for years: teaching English.

Me: with my tattooed ankle that I refuse to cover with long pants or a skirt and the audacity to bare my wild, frizzy light coloured hair. 

It is just too hot to cover up. 

Really.. I would faint. 

Besides.. it goes with the language.. and the culture.  ‘Get over it’ I say.    “The tattoo and hair are going no where, as long as I am an invited guest.”  So they shrug.. and reluctantly let me in. 

They let me in mainly because they are mandated to do so.. and the Guru Besar’s make them. 

But it is going ok.  Although, I knew the teacher whose class I was entering on Thursday was not too happy about me being there. 

We met in the Special Ed room.. she had told me she would be in the library or the cafeteria and was actually hiding.  However, I got lost and found her before I found either the library or the cafeteria and together we made our plan. 

We looked at the book.. decided on our objectives, made up a plan of who would do what and when and off we went. 

It was a delight.  The kids loved the story I read.. the phonics game she introduced, they laughed as we danced and sang.. and it was over much too soon.  The teacher was so excited.. “That was wonderful!  When can you come back?  I can’t believe how much they know.. I can’t believe how much fun it can all be!” And really, either could I! 

I was all smiles when I got in my car and headed to the next school.. I mean really.  I rule.  Mentoring is my thing! 

The next school was going to be a breeze.  The teacher was much more open.. she had asked me to come and even met me in the parking lot.  Other teachers were going to come watch us.. no worries!  I was ready.. sort of. 

Or not.  I had left my lesson plan somewhere.. probably at home.  But really.. who needed it?  I rule! 

Or not… What a flop.  I was hot flushing.. menopause? The humidity and heat?  Whatever! I couldn’t find my whiteboard pens.. didn’t know what to write anyway.  Forgot the puppet I was going to use for prepositions.. couldn’t remember the prepositions.. went with right and left and up and down and messed that up..

Observing teachers actually walked out. 

Hours later (or so it seemed) the teacher and I headed to the cafeteria to discuss what had gone on.  Debrief. 

“It was awful” I admitted and the teacher agreed.  (They do that a lot here) We discussed what went right, but mostly what went wrong and it was time to go. 

“No workshop next week” I told her.  I knew she would be happy.  My workshops are extra time at school that teachers don’t get paid for.  Every week they have to come and listen to me natter on for three hours.. every week, for the next three years.  I knew they would be glad to have a week off.  It is exam week and I knew their heads would be elsewhere. 

“Why?” she asked.  I smiled knowingly and said I figured they could use a break… especially after seeing me teach.  “You could use a week off from such a bad teacher.. I’ll use the time to read up on education.” 

“We like your workshops.  All the teachers like your workshops.  We are learning a lot and we know we have a long way to go.”

“Really?” I asked incredulously? 

“Really.” 

And as I packed up to leave she smiled and said.. “It wasn’t that bad you know.”     

So.. I learned yet another lesson.  I don’t ‘rule’ and I don’t ‘stink’.. I am just learning like everyone else.  And.. I have to keep working at it.

Bugger.