The meeting started about a half hour late and began in Arabic. I had done this before, not just in meeting format, but through parent teacher meetings as well, when things would ocmpletley be in Arabic, I’d try my very very best to understand (it’s funny how much a lack of the right vocab can really throw you off when you’re trying to understand things, and you won't even know what you misunderstand) I always actually enjoy full on Arabic real life scenarios, because believe it or not, in Ramallah I always find myself in half Arabic immersion at best, so it’s always a nice challenge for my ears to try to pick up mannerisms, the language and understand my linguistic limitations. The new French teacher I met made me think of the turnover of teachers, with several old faces missing, and also the fresh start that this year is supposed to bring. Her enthusiasm and sweetness made me feel so at ease that I started a conversation with her that lasted about an hour and a half. She’d be talking to the other new French teacher, and I’d catch a few phrases here and there now and then (flashback to the 4 years of high school French that I had totally blocked out).
Interestingly enough, as I was sitting there, with my ears perked and alert ready to pounce on any familiar Arabic phrases from the meeting, (from which I caught many many times that students should never wear jeans, their shirts should always be white, their pants always ‘kohli’, no hair gel, and no chocolates or junk food either (when I would translate my limited understanding to the French teacher, she’d look at me confused as well asking “does that mean that we can’t eat chocolates either??” I had no idea. Also there are new rules that some of the teachers were irritated with) The mannerisms of anger is so interesting when you don’t know the language. Hard to explain, but anyone who has been in this position definitely understands what I’m talking about. So this is what ended up happening. The French teacher started talking to the other French teacher who was sitting two chairs over. And as the Arabic was coming from the principal’s mouth, the two French teachers would lean in as I would have to lean back, since they weren’t sitting next to each other and they’d translate the Arabic to French. My brain was doing sommersaults. I don’t even know at that point which language I was registering in, Bengali or English? I’d start thinking in spasms. “oo! Travailer is ’to work’” “ooo mamnuya! Forbidden! All that stuff she just said is not allowed! What smoking isn’t allowed?? That can’t be right. This palce is a chimney..all the time, that’s not gonna go over well with the teachers lemme tellya" is what I was thinking (then I understood that there was a separate non smoking teachers room (missed that part!)
The list of the students wasn’t ready. There was no schedule. Each day we find out our schedule on a whim. Back to Palestine :) Back to work :) where the bell doesn't ring and it's my fault for not being in a class that I didn't know I was supposed to be in, and when you do show up on time sometimes, the kids or another teacher tells you that you are not supposed to be there. Patience is a virtue :)
It’s absolutely wonderful to see the same students again. It’s strange to think of the little 3rd grader munchkins in 4th grade, and the 4th graders in 5 grade now. I somehow feel maternalistic about it thinking “aww they’re growing up!”….and then several years from now I wonder who’s going to be where and if they’ll remember me. I did get attacked by hugs by one of the sections, to the point where one of my students had to scream out “khallas!” to the rest of the kids and peel them off of me.
The schedule looks like a morse code written out lab report with boxes and scribbles in indecipherable writing with gray charts with white printed out arabic print that makes my brain hurt when I look at it, and I have to wait until I catch one of the teachers writing their schedules so that I can quietly stand next to them, wait for them to be done, and meekly ask them if they can help me out in trying to figure out my schedule.
After the first day of work, yesterday, I was exhilarated, completely in love with what I do here, and after today, I was absolutely exhausted, thinking about how the teaching clock never stops, where I'm always thinking about making posters or more rules or thinking about what to do in class, realizing that there's no structure or framework that I was ever given, so I have to continuously come up with things as needed and just figure it out. Trying to get feedback is always more frustrating than just having to deal with things, without the proper resources, so often times it feels like a one man (woman) game.
Sidenotes :
-I forgot about that one student who always dances and runs up to class, takes my cell phone and turns on the radio.
-I also forgot about the kid that rips the papers you give him.
-I also forgot about the trio best friend, in grade four now, who always greet me with a giant hug and a kiss when I come to class.
-and that kid that literally understands no direction, no word that comes out of my mouth, and draws every single thing that I put on the board
-and that other kid who does nothing but draw on every piece of paper he can find.
- and most importantly : The copy machine. Which can make or break a teacher's day. When that machine is malfunctioning, you can bet that I am malfunctioning as well.
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