Blogger's Note: For those once weekly readers, there are three posts for your reading pleasure. I was able to get to the internet in the middle of the week for an update.
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There are some phrases in English that carry a different meaning to those in US than those in Guyana. I’ve compiled a list of a few things that we’re used to saying that might translate a little differently here.
“Don’t leave home without it”
In the US it means- your credit card
In Guyana it means- your hand sanitizer
“Don’t let the bed bugs bite”
In the US it means- sleep well
In Guyana it means- brush off any bugs from your mattress, light a mosquito coil, spray Deet on yourself, and pull the mosquito net over you before you go to sleep
“Rain shower”
In the US it means- a mild rain storm
In Guyana it means- take your soap and shampoo outside and get to cleaning
“I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine”
In the US it means- I’ll do a favor for you in return for a one
In Guyana it means- I’ll itch the mosquito bites on your back if you’ll do the same in return
“Don’t sweat it”
In the US it means- don’t worry about it
In Guyana it means- don’t let your constant sweat drip on the students’ papers you’re grading
“Cruel and unusual punishment”
In the US it means- what our forefathers vowed in the Constitution that we would not have to endure
In Guyana it means- spending all morning under the hot sun hand washing a bucket full of jeans, towels and bed sheets, wringing the heavy cloth dry, hanging them out on the line only to have it rain.
“Your way, right away”
In the US it means- A common customer service motto originating from a fast food chain’s promise to make your burger the way you like it immediately
In Guyana it means- Does not compute
Friday, September 29, 2006
Learning Something New Everyday
The way the education system works in Guyana is students grades 1-6 attend Primary School. To move forward they take an entrance exam which places them in a certain range of Secondary Schools (grades 7-11). Many students in Secondary School write at an American 2nd grade level. If a student fails the entrance exam, they attend a Community High School. These students tend to have more behavior problems. Most of them can’t read or write, but keep getting passed onto the next grade. Many of them can’t even correctly copy something from the board.
I teach at a Community High. (Yes, I’m quite brave.) The children at my school are monkeys and they’ve turned the school building into their circus. I tell them that everyday. A typical day is filled with a roller coaster of emotions: anger at their egregious conduct and audacious attitude, sadness from their poor school and home environment, frustration with the education system and that learning is not occurring, and delight by the way some of them brighten your day with their generosity or consideration.
Before I came here, I thought it would be nice if I could help/teach/change/motivate/inspire one student a day. Clearly I was being very foolish and overzealous. I’ve created a new math equation to help me calculate what a reasonable goal would be instead.
1 student a day
x 200 days of school (approximately)
- 20 days of doing nothing because there was no class schedule
- 82 days wasted managing behavior issues
- 44 days when students decide not to show up or randomly leave school without permission
- 9 days on the calendar for “final exams” but actually doing nothing
- 27 days the students randomly leave for “athletics” even though they aren’t on a sports team
- 7 days of not teaching for unannounced staff meetings that take place during school hours
- 10 days of not teaching set aside for “Sports Week” but lasts longer than 5 days
= 1 student
Out of all 200 students I have, touching one student’s life this entire year is a much more reasonable and attainable goal. I still have a lot of work to do.
It’s a month into school and we just got our class schedules this week. Oh, and I also found out I’m going to be teaching Reading as well as Social Studies.
I teach at a Community High. (Yes, I’m quite brave.) The children at my school are monkeys and they’ve turned the school building into their circus. I tell them that everyday. A typical day is filled with a roller coaster of emotions: anger at their egregious conduct and audacious attitude, sadness from their poor school and home environment, frustration with the education system and that learning is not occurring, and delight by the way some of them brighten your day with their generosity or consideration.
Before I came here, I thought it would be nice if I could help/teach/change/motivate/inspire one student a day. Clearly I was being very foolish and overzealous. I’ve created a new math equation to help me calculate what a reasonable goal would be instead.
1 student a day
x 200 days of school (approximately)
- 20 days of doing nothing because there was no class schedule
- 82 days wasted managing behavior issues
- 44 days when students decide not to show up or randomly leave school without permission
- 9 days on the calendar for “final exams” but actually doing nothing
- 27 days the students randomly leave for “athletics” even though they aren’t on a sports team
- 7 days of not teaching for unannounced staff meetings that take place during school hours
- 10 days of not teaching set aside for “Sports Week” but lasts longer than 5 days
= 1 student
Out of all 200 students I have, touching one student’s life this entire year is a much more reasonable and attainable goal. I still have a lot of work to do.
It’s a month into school and we just got our class schedules this week. Oh, and I also found out I’m going to be teaching Reading as well as Social Studies.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
The Post Game Report
Blogger's Note: Since this is a mid-week post there will only be one. I'll post two more this weekend.
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Two weeks ago I mentioned how impossible it is to maneuver the postal system in Guyana. Well after a few more obstacles, I’ve finally scored my package from the impenetrable Guyanese Postal Services. It was done with a good solid fight from the Post Office and many offenses made to me.
Monday Night
I receive a call from my Field Director saying that she received the package slip and since she was already going to the post office she would (as a favor this time only) go ahead and pick it up for me. We planned to meet in town after school on Tuesday. Sadly, receiving a big brown box was going to be the highlight of my week. I was so excited I couldn't sleep at night.
Score: Yvonne-0, Post Office- 16
Tuesday After School
My Field Director goes to the post office with my package slip in hand. She asks to pick up a package under my name, in care of [Ms. Field Director]. The Post Office goes on defense.
Postal Worker: Your name is not Yvonne. You cannot pick up the package.
Field Director: But it says c/o. That stands for “care of” which means I can pick up the package for her.
Postal Worker: No. She has to pick it up herself.
Field Director: But you see, my name is also on the package under “care of”, which means I can pick it up as well.
This match continues for 15 tedious minutes.
Postal Worker: Fine! I will let you pick up her package. But you will have to come back tomorrow morning because there is a bomb threat and we’re shutting down the Post Office.
Apparently bomb threats occur quite often. I wonder why.
Score: Yvonne-0, Post Office- 19
Wednesday Morning
I go into town bright and early for another attempt at the Post Office. There is no line, just a huddle of people gathered around a window waving their package slips at a postal worker. I hand in my slip and wait 15 minutes for them to retrieve it. Then the package sits there for another 15 minutes as the postal workers stand around taking time outs as they please. I’m never getting a break with this.
A woman approaches me and asks if I was here two Saturdays ago. I confirm she's correct and she tells me I’m being awfully quiet today. She searches for my package. I see it underneath a pile of boxes. She finds it then flagrantly walks away. That was foul, but apparently they get to just make up the rules as they go along.
15 minutes later they rip open my package and fumble through it like it’s a Barney’s sale. After emptying out the contents of my package it sits there for another 15 minutes. A woman comes around, shoves my belongings back in the box, then haphazardly tapes it back together. She writes down all the information from my package slip, attaches a random value for its contents, and tells me to advance to the next window to pay a customs fee.
At the next window the woman writes down all the information over again from my package slip. I pay and she asks me to go to the next window.
At the next window I can pick up package after the woman writes down all the information from my package slip again. Their strategy is clearly to run down the time on the clock.
Postal Worker: Sign here.
I sign my name
Postal Worker: I can’t read that! That’s scratch!
Me: But that’s my signature.
Postal Worker: Well write it out. Here and then here again.
After over an hour at the post office and a month of waiting, I finally score my package. (Thanks Mom! I love you!)
Final Score: Yvonne- 1 Post Office-24
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Two weeks ago I mentioned how impossible it is to maneuver the postal system in Guyana. Well after a few more obstacles, I’ve finally scored my package from the impenetrable Guyanese Postal Services. It was done with a good solid fight from the Post Office and many offenses made to me.
Monday Night
I receive a call from my Field Director saying that she received the package slip and since she was already going to the post office she would (as a favor this time only) go ahead and pick it up for me. We planned to meet in town after school on Tuesday. Sadly, receiving a big brown box was going to be the highlight of my week. I was so excited I couldn't sleep at night.
Score: Yvonne-0, Post Office- 16
Tuesday After School
My Field Director goes to the post office with my package slip in hand. She asks to pick up a package under my name, in care of [Ms. Field Director]. The Post Office goes on defense.
Postal Worker: Your name is not Yvonne. You cannot pick up the package.
Field Director: But it says c/o. That stands for “care of” which means I can pick up the package for her.
Postal Worker: No. She has to pick it up herself.
Field Director: But you see, my name is also on the package under “care of”, which means I can pick it up as well.
This match continues for 15 tedious minutes.
Postal Worker: Fine! I will let you pick up her package. But you will have to come back tomorrow morning because there is a bomb threat and we’re shutting down the Post Office.
Apparently bomb threats occur quite often. I wonder why.
Score: Yvonne-0, Post Office- 19
Wednesday Morning
I go into town bright and early for another attempt at the Post Office. There is no line, just a huddle of people gathered around a window waving their package slips at a postal worker. I hand in my slip and wait 15 minutes for them to retrieve it. Then the package sits there for another 15 minutes as the postal workers stand around taking time outs as they please. I’m never getting a break with this.
A woman approaches me and asks if I was here two Saturdays ago. I confirm she's correct and she tells me I’m being awfully quiet today. She searches for my package. I see it underneath a pile of boxes. She finds it then flagrantly walks away. That was foul, but apparently they get to just make up the rules as they go along.
15 minutes later they rip open my package and fumble through it like it’s a Barney’s sale. After emptying out the contents of my package it sits there for another 15 minutes. A woman comes around, shoves my belongings back in the box, then haphazardly tapes it back together. She writes down all the information from my package slip, attaches a random value for its contents, and tells me to advance to the next window to pay a customs fee.
At the next window the woman writes down all the information over again from my package slip. I pay and she asks me to go to the next window.
At the next window I can pick up package after the woman writes down all the information from my package slip again. Their strategy is clearly to run down the time on the clock.
Postal Worker: Sign here.
I sign my name
Postal Worker: I can’t read that! That’s scratch!
Me: But that’s my signature.
Postal Worker: Well write it out. Here and then here again.
After over an hour at the post office and a month of waiting, I finally score my package. (Thanks Mom! I love you!)
Final Score: Yvonne- 1 Post Office-24
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Choose Your Own Guyanese Adventure
From now on I think I'll keep up the two posts at a time. So unless otherwise specified, please scroll down when you’re done reading the first post to enjoy some more Guyanese fun.
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I’ve been writing so much about my adventures here in Guyana that I felt like it’s time the readers gave some input. So, I’ve decided to let you guys choose your own adventure. Fun! Now select wisely and you’re on your way to your very own Guyanese adventure.
It’s 5:30 am and the sun has started peeking over the horizon. You are awakened by the sound of:
a) The neighbor’s dogs barking and the roosters crowing.
b) The offensive blaring sound of Indian music exploding from your neighbor 4 houses away, but actually sounds like they set up the stereo system on your pillow.
c) Your alarm clock.
You decide to go for a run this morning on your usual path. You run a short distance down the East Bank Highway and turn off into a dirt road thick with tall bushes. Your head is clear and you’re at peace for a moment as you admire the beauty of the country. All of a sudden you get a quick burst of energy and start running faster because:
a) A pack of 5 dogs from the house you run by regularly can’t seem to remember that you’re not an intruder and chase you down barking and biting at your heels.
b) You are trying to escape a group of men making sucking noises and lewd comments.
c) The motivating beat of your favorite song starts playing on your iPod.
As usual, you walk to school with your umbrella shielding the sun rays. The entire left side of your body is darker than your right side because the sun is always on your left when walking to and from school. You look like a chocolate frosted Pop-Tart. When you arrive to school, a group of students eagerly run over to you. They:
a) Greet you with “Good morning Miss”, followed by a hug.
b) Give you snacks and fruit so you’ll have enough energy to last throughout the day.
c) Turn in their homework.
The bell rings at 8:45. School was supposed to start at 8:30. The students slowly trickle into class around 8:50, stand up, say their prayers, then wait for the teachers to walk into their “classrooms.” In your first class, you couldn’t teach the students because:
a) There are four noisy classes in one room, so none of the students could hear what you were saying even though you were yelling.
b) You had to break up multiple fights in multiple classes since the other teachers didn’t show up and the children were left unsupervised, so there was no time left to teach.
c) It was picture day for the school year book.
It’s lunch time and you’re starving! You have an hour and you spend it:
a) Eating lunch in the library while disciplining a student.
b) Eating lunch in the classroom while disciplining a student.
c) Eating lunch in the staff room while discussing different effective disciplining techniques.
In your afternoon class you give the students a quiz. You collect the papers and begin reading some of the responses. There’s a paper that catches your eye because:
a) The student is illiterate and wrote: “I frind sipenti minv entoents I frind sipenti minv entoents”
b) The student was not paying attention and wrote: “Miss bon’t teech me this. I bo not no ansr.”
c) The student wrote in purple pen when they’re supposed to write in blue or black and made lots of drawings on the border.
School’s over. You walk home with a few school children. They’re somewhat charming only when they want to be. Actually it’s only the ones that walk with you that are charming. One of them invites herself over to your apartment on Friday, which creates a domino effect of all the students wanting to visit. You finally arrive home tired and sweaty from the heat and having to carry home a bunch of books and papers. You rest for a short while, but then decide to:
a) Lesson plan. You need to prepare for the next day so better get started.
b) Do a little bit of laundry. You have a huge pile to hand wash so better get started.
c) Open a bottle of wine. You promised a friend you would meet up at a bar later, but might as well get started.
Congratulations, you just finished your very own Guyanese adventure! But if you chose c) for any of the above, then you need to start over because you just chose yourself an American adventure.
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I’ve been writing so much about my adventures here in Guyana that I felt like it’s time the readers gave some input. So, I’ve decided to let you guys choose your own adventure. Fun! Now select wisely and you’re on your way to your very own Guyanese adventure.
It’s 5:30 am and the sun has started peeking over the horizon. You are awakened by the sound of:
a) The neighbor’s dogs barking and the roosters crowing.
b) The offensive blaring sound of Indian music exploding from your neighbor 4 houses away, but actually sounds like they set up the stereo system on your pillow.
c) Your alarm clock.
You decide to go for a run this morning on your usual path. You run a short distance down the East Bank Highway and turn off into a dirt road thick with tall bushes. Your head is clear and you’re at peace for a moment as you admire the beauty of the country. All of a sudden you get a quick burst of energy and start running faster because:
a) A pack of 5 dogs from the house you run by regularly can’t seem to remember that you’re not an intruder and chase you down barking and biting at your heels.
b) You are trying to escape a group of men making sucking noises and lewd comments.
c) The motivating beat of your favorite song starts playing on your iPod.
As usual, you walk to school with your umbrella shielding the sun rays. The entire left side of your body is darker than your right side because the sun is always on your left when walking to and from school. You look like a chocolate frosted Pop-Tart. When you arrive to school, a group of students eagerly run over to you. They:
a) Greet you with “Good morning Miss”, followed by a hug.
b) Give you snacks and fruit so you’ll have enough energy to last throughout the day.
c) Turn in their homework.
The bell rings at 8:45. School was supposed to start at 8:30. The students slowly trickle into class around 8:50, stand up, say their prayers, then wait for the teachers to walk into their “classrooms.” In your first class, you couldn’t teach the students because:
a) There are four noisy classes in one room, so none of the students could hear what you were saying even though you were yelling.
b) You had to break up multiple fights in multiple classes since the other teachers didn’t show up and the children were left unsupervised, so there was no time left to teach.
c) It was picture day for the school year book.
It’s lunch time and you’re starving! You have an hour and you spend it:
a) Eating lunch in the library while disciplining a student.
b) Eating lunch in the classroom while disciplining a student.
c) Eating lunch in the staff room while discussing different effective disciplining techniques.
In your afternoon class you give the students a quiz. You collect the papers and begin reading some of the responses. There’s a paper that catches your eye because:
a) The student is illiterate and wrote: “I frind sipenti minv entoents I frind sipenti minv entoents”
b) The student was not paying attention and wrote: “Miss bon’t teech me this. I bo not no ansr.”
c) The student wrote in purple pen when they’re supposed to write in blue or black and made lots of drawings on the border.
School’s over. You walk home with a few school children. They’re somewhat charming only when they want to be. Actually it’s only the ones that walk with you that are charming. One of them invites herself over to your apartment on Friday, which creates a domino effect of all the students wanting to visit. You finally arrive home tired and sweaty from the heat and having to carry home a bunch of books and papers. You rest for a short while, but then decide to:
a) Lesson plan. You need to prepare for the next day so better get started.
b) Do a little bit of laundry. You have a huge pile to hand wash so better get started.
c) Open a bottle of wine. You promised a friend you would meet up at a bar later, but might as well get started.
Congratulations, you just finished your very own Guyanese adventure! But if you chose c) for any of the above, then you need to start over because you just chose yourself an American adventure.
Frank-in-style
The Guyanese are really frank and candid when it comes to speaking. What Americans might perceive as monstrosities are actually just their style and manner of speaking. Most of the time, there’s no need to take offense. Here are a few examples of how their brutal honesty has come across to me or other volunteers:
Student: Wow Miss! You’re very sweaty. Your back is soaked with sweat. How come you’re always so sweaty everyday?
[Ok, so I look like I just jumped in the creek.]
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Student: Miss, why do you wear your (button-down) shirt tucked in your skirt?
Me: Don’t you think it looks nicer this way?
Student: I don’t like it. You shouldn’t wear the same thing every day. You should wear more dresses.
[Ok, so I have bad fashion sense.]
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Teacher: I can tell you slept well last night because your cheeks are fat today.
[Ok, so I ate a lot of carbs yesterday.]
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Neighbor: Hey, you look fat in that shirt.
[Fine, I’ll lay off the carbs.]
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Student: Are you and Miss Nadia sisters?
(Miss Nadia, my roommate and other volunteer at my school, is Hispanic. She has brown hair and blue eyes, but she looks pretty white for all intents and purposes.)
Me: No, do you think we look alike?
Student: Oh, then are you her mother?
[Ok, so I look old.]
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Man on the street (referring to the recent break-outs we’ve had due to the heat and dirt): Did a lot of mosquitoes bite your faces?
[Ok, so we’ll scrub our faces again when we get home.]
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Fight count: 31.
To keep my sanity I stopped counting the fights after a Form 4 student (a sophomore/junior) spit on a Form 1 student (a 7th grader), then punched him because he felt like it. When I tried to talk to him about it, he laughed in my face. When I tried to punish him (by NOT beating him like most teachers would have), he ran away. Yup, this is what I left my fabulously air-conditioned job in Manhattan for.
Student: Wow Miss! You’re very sweaty. Your back is soaked with sweat. How come you’re always so sweaty everyday?
[Ok, so I look like I just jumped in the creek.]
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Student: Miss, why do you wear your (button-down) shirt tucked in your skirt?
Me: Don’t you think it looks nicer this way?
Student: I don’t like it. You shouldn’t wear the same thing every day. You should wear more dresses.
[Ok, so I have bad fashion sense.]
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Teacher: I can tell you slept well last night because your cheeks are fat today.
[Ok, so I ate a lot of carbs yesterday.]
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Neighbor: Hey, you look fat in that shirt.
[Fine, I’ll lay off the carbs.]
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Student: Are you and Miss Nadia sisters?
(Miss Nadia, my roommate and other volunteer at my school, is Hispanic. She has brown hair and blue eyes, but she looks pretty white for all intents and purposes.)
Me: No, do you think we look alike?
Student: Oh, then are you her mother?
[Ok, so I look old.]
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Man on the street (referring to the recent break-outs we’ve had due to the heat and dirt): Did a lot of mosquitoes bite your faces?
[Ok, so we’ll scrub our faces again when we get home.]
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Fight count: 31.
To keep my sanity I stopped counting the fights after a Form 4 student (a sophomore/junior) spit on a Form 1 student (a 7th grader), then punched him because he felt like it. When I tried to talk to him about it, he laughed in my face. When I tried to punish him (by NOT beating him like most teachers would have), he ran away. Yup, this is what I left my fabulously air-conditioned job in Manhattan for.
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Going Postal
Blogger's Note: Two posts again! Lucky readers.
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Going to the Post Office in Guyana is the most frustrating experience ever. I’ve had to take a mini-bus 45 minutes into town twice knowing that I had mail sitting in the back, only to come home empty handed. If the American postal system frustrates you, try dealing with the Guyanese one. Sometimes you just have to laugh it off to keep from going postal.
First Trip Friday afternoon:
Me: I’m looking for a letter here that was sent back from Soesdyke.
Postal Worker: (flips through a small stack of graphing paper with hand written notes) It’s not written in here. Come back on Monday and we might find it by then.
Me: But I’m a teacher and I can’t leave school. I was only able to leave today because it’s the first week of school and we don’t have our timetable yet.
Postal Worker: Then call back on Monday. Maybe we will find it by then.
Second Trip next week Saturday Morning:
Me: Hi! I would like to pick up my package, but I don’t have a package slip because it was sent to an office address instead of my home address.
Superintendent: Where do you live?
Me: Soesdyke.
Superintendent: Well you will get a slip at Soesdyke, then you will come here and pick up your package.
Me: But the package was addressed to an office address in Georgetown, not to Soesdyke.
Superintendent: Then you come here Mon-Fri before 3:30 and go upstairs. They will give you a number. You come back downstairs with your number and we will find your package.
Me: But I’m a school teacher and I cannot leave school to get here in time. I know two other school teachers who had packages without package slips and were able to pick up theirs last Saturday.
Superintendent: Do you even know if it’s here yet?
Me: Yes, it was sent 6-10 day airmail from the United States and it’s been over 2 weeks.
Superintendent: No, it’s not here. It will be here in 3-4 weeks.
Me: But the girls who picked up their packages were sent from the same place and it arrived in 6-10 days.
Superintendent: Do you understand what I’m saying? You come here Mon-Fri, go upstairs, then come back down with your number and we will get your package.
Me: Is there anything you can do to check for me right now?
Superintendent: No. These are the guidelines and you have to follow them.
Me: (sigh of deep frustration) Sir, then can I have your name please?
Superintendent: I’m the Superintendent. If you need me, just ask for the superintendent.
Me: But what is your name?
Superintendent: Mr. Patterson.
Me: And what is your supervisor’s name?
Superintendent: I’ve already give you too much information and I’m being very patient with you. If you want my supervisor just ask for the Post Master General. Good-bye.
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Going to the Post Office in Guyana is the most frustrating experience ever. I’ve had to take a mini-bus 45 minutes into town twice knowing that I had mail sitting in the back, only to come home empty handed. If the American postal system frustrates you, try dealing with the Guyanese one. Sometimes you just have to laugh it off to keep from going postal.
First Trip Friday afternoon:
Me: I’m looking for a letter here that was sent back from Soesdyke.
Postal Worker: (flips through a small stack of graphing paper with hand written notes) It’s not written in here. Come back on Monday and we might find it by then.
Me: But I’m a teacher and I can’t leave school. I was only able to leave today because it’s the first week of school and we don’t have our timetable yet.
Postal Worker: Then call back on Monday. Maybe we will find it by then.
Second Trip next week Saturday Morning:
Me: Hi! I would like to pick up my package, but I don’t have a package slip because it was sent to an office address instead of my home address.
Superintendent: Where do you live?
Me: Soesdyke.
Superintendent: Well you will get a slip at Soesdyke, then you will come here and pick up your package.
Me: But the package was addressed to an office address in Georgetown, not to Soesdyke.
Superintendent: Then you come here Mon-Fri before 3:30 and go upstairs. They will give you a number. You come back downstairs with your number and we will find your package.
Me: But I’m a school teacher and I cannot leave school to get here in time. I know two other school teachers who had packages without package slips and were able to pick up theirs last Saturday.
Superintendent: Do you even know if it’s here yet?
Me: Yes, it was sent 6-10 day airmail from the United States and it’s been over 2 weeks.
Superintendent: No, it’s not here. It will be here in 3-4 weeks.
Me: But the girls who picked up their packages were sent from the same place and it arrived in 6-10 days.
Superintendent: Do you understand what I’m saying? You come here Mon-Fri, go upstairs, then come back down with your number and we will get your package.
Me: Is there anything you can do to check for me right now?
Superintendent: No. These are the guidelines and you have to follow them.
Me: (sigh of deep frustration) Sir, then can I have your name please?
Superintendent: I’m the Superintendent. If you need me, just ask for the superintendent.
Me: But what is your name?
Superintendent: Mr. Patterson.
Me: And what is your supervisor’s name?
Superintendent: I’ve already give you too much information and I’m being very patient with you. If you want my supervisor just ask for the Post Master General. Good-bye.
Trash Talk
Littering is a huge problem in Guyana. People here don’t dispose of trash properly and oftentimes throw it in the creeks or rivers or along the street. After collecting a large stash, they might burn the pile and leave it for the goats to eat.
The government has started an ad campaign called “Nice Up Guyana” in hopes of educating their citizens about pollution. It’s similar to the “Don’t Mess with Texas” campaign, except I’ve only seen one billboard for it.
On the school grounds, it’s a bigger problem. There are ladies who sell snacks right outside the building for the students. After consuming their snacks, the kids will throw the garbage right on ground or in the classroom. Sometimes it’s snack bags or drink bottles, sometimes papers from school and sometimes it’s banana peels. The school looks like a landfill.
Well I’ve decided that I will not have of this at my school. I’m going to start an environmental club called Tree Huggers Uncontaminating Guyana (THUG). I’ll be the leader and all my little THUGs will join me in the school beautification project. As a member, if you see someone littering you will be required to talk trash to them. I’m going to have my THUGs educate litterbugs on the consequences of polluting their environment. Hopefully by the end of the year, my school will be filled with THUGs and people will be more conscious about their garbage.
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Fight count: 17. Brazen little monsters.
The government has started an ad campaign called “Nice Up Guyana” in hopes of educating their citizens about pollution. It’s similar to the “Don’t Mess with Texas” campaign, except I’ve only seen one billboard for it.
On the school grounds, it’s a bigger problem. There are ladies who sell snacks right outside the building for the students. After consuming their snacks, the kids will throw the garbage right on ground or in the classroom. Sometimes it’s snack bags or drink bottles, sometimes papers from school and sometimes it’s banana peels. The school looks like a landfill.
Well I’ve decided that I will not have of this at my school. I’m going to start an environmental club called Tree Huggers Uncontaminating Guyana (THUG). I’ll be the leader and all my little THUGs will join me in the school beautification project. As a member, if you see someone littering you will be required to talk trash to them. I’m going to have my THUGs educate litterbugs on the consequences of polluting their environment. Hopefully by the end of the year, my school will be filled with THUGs and people will be more conscious about their garbage.
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Fight count: 17. Brazen little monsters.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Why Guyanese Men Suck
Blogger's Note: It's a rare occurrence that I have internet access two days in a row. Originally I wasn't going to write another post, but since I was just on the most horrific mini-bus ride where roller coasters haven’t made my heart thump as fast, I feel the need to take advantage of this opportunity.
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I’ve been wondering for a long time what it is about the men in Guyana that make them suck. I think it might be in the culture or generations passing along unruly bad habits.
Whenever women walk down the street, the men make these sucking noises followed by some sort of inappropriate line. It’s the Guyanese version of whistling at a girl, except they suck.
Unfortunately a majority of the men behave this way. American women find this conduct rude and obnoxious. We’ve been instructed to ignore the sucking noises and comments and continue walking.
One afternoon as we were heading home from school, we heard the same group of men making sucking noises at us. As usual, we kept walking and ignored their Will-you-marry-me-and-take-me-back-to-America-with-you comments. After having us ignore them all week, one of the men got fed up with our standoffish attitudes and shouted, “Why are you so anti-social?”
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I’ve been wondering for a long time what it is about the men in Guyana that make them suck. I think it might be in the culture or generations passing along unruly bad habits.
Whenever women walk down the street, the men make these sucking noises followed by some sort of inappropriate line. It’s the Guyanese version of whistling at a girl, except they suck.
Unfortunately a majority of the men behave this way. American women find this conduct rude and obnoxious. We’ve been instructed to ignore the sucking noises and comments and continue walking.
One afternoon as we were heading home from school, we heard the same group of men making sucking noises at us. As usual, we kept walking and ignored their Will-you-marry-me-and-take-me-back-to-America-with-you comments. After having us ignore them all week, one of the men got fed up with our standoffish attitudes and shouted, “Why are you so anti-social?”
Friday, September 08, 2006
The First Week of School
Blogger's note: This is quite a long post about my first week. I've also made it a double header again so scroll down for some pretty pictures after this. Hopefully this makes up for two weeks of inactivity.
Day 1
School starts at 8:30am. The headmaster told us to arrive at 8:30am. There's no need to arrive early in Guyana. Students dressed in sea-foam green button downs and khaki bottoms litter the entrance of the tiny run-down wooden building. They look as if they could probably work at Prada, save the fact some of them would give you an attitude. All the girls have pretty green ribbons decorating their hair- it’s school policy.
A few of the teachers gather in the staff room while the rest instruct the students to move the tables and benches to their respective classes. There are four classrooms in the entire school. The classrooms are a larger room, and 4 classes gather in the same room with a chalkboard in front of them. Noise carries. Heat intensifies. There is no air conditioning, no fans. I have a permanent layer of sweat encrusted on me. Even my knees sweat. I didn’t think I had sweat glands there.
I am the most underdressed teacher wearing a button down shirt dampened by perspiration and a knee length skirt. All the female teachers wear polyester suits and three inch heels. How they travel in heels through dirt and sand is beyond me. How they stay cool in their suits, I'll never understand either.
After the students move their furniture, they just sit there all morning staring into space or chatting with a classmate. Teachers occasionally walk in and out of class to check on them, but they are busy writing their schemes for the term, something one would think would have been done over the summer.
I spend the entire morning cleaning and organizing the library. I peek my head out the window to take in the breeze and I see a young male student urinating on the grass next to the school.
By afternoon I’m surprised the students even came back after lunch. I take a book from the library and walk down to a random class and read to them. It’s useless since the "classroom" is so noisy.
The day ends at 2:30. I’m exhausted from yelling, I’m hot, and I have to walk 30 minutes back home.
Mental note: Don’t let kids pee in the field.
Day 2
Student: Miss you’re my favorite teacher.
Me: But I haven’t taught you yet, and I’m not even going to be your teacher.
Student: Yes, but you don’t give us lashes.
Mental note: No one likes a beating.
Day 3
There is still no class schedule. A teacher makes a sign that reads “We are no longer enrolling any more Form 1 students. We are out of furniture and space.”
Students have to fight for a seat. When there isn’t space available, a teacher will come and get angry at them for disturbing the class.
Downstairs a girl and a boy start punching each other. I break up my first fight, my good teacher deed of the day. Fight count: 1
Mental note: Teach the students kindness.
Day 4
A student from another class waves at me while I’m talking to another class. I ask her what she wants. She comes over and says she’s just “shaking me off.”
“Excuse me, you’re doing what?”
“Miss I was just shaking you off,” she smiles sweetly.
“Oh you mean you’re saying ‘hello’?”
“Yes Miss.”
Mental note: Do not get angry at students when they tell you they’re shaking you off.
Day 5
A handful of teachers have yet to make an appearance in school. Still no class schedule. I do know that I’m teaching Forms 1 (7th grade) and Forms 2 (8th grade). I start to go over my class rules when a teacher interrupts me and tells me there is a school assembly.
The students pile into one of the rooms, barely able to breathe. Yesterday two students had stolen a bike. A male teacher forcefully gives a lecture about stealing. The perpetrators are shamefully standing on two desks for all the school to witness. After the 25 minute lecture, the teacher instructs the students to step off the desks, bend over, and receive eight lashes each. The students who were sitting quietly on benches simultaneously stand up to catch a glimpse of the punishment. Silently protesting, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and walk out of the room, my heart breaking.
Mental note: My job here is more complicated than I thought it would be.
Day 1
School starts at 8:30am. The headmaster told us to arrive at 8:30am. There's no need to arrive early in Guyana. Students dressed in sea-foam green button downs and khaki bottoms litter the entrance of the tiny run-down wooden building. They look as if they could probably work at Prada, save the fact some of them would give you an attitude. All the girls have pretty green ribbons decorating their hair- it’s school policy.
A few of the teachers gather in the staff room while the rest instruct the students to move the tables and benches to their respective classes. There are four classrooms in the entire school. The classrooms are a larger room, and 4 classes gather in the same room with a chalkboard in front of them. Noise carries. Heat intensifies. There is no air conditioning, no fans. I have a permanent layer of sweat encrusted on me. Even my knees sweat. I didn’t think I had sweat glands there.
I am the most underdressed teacher wearing a button down shirt dampened by perspiration and a knee length skirt. All the female teachers wear polyester suits and three inch heels. How they travel in heels through dirt and sand is beyond me. How they stay cool in their suits, I'll never understand either.
After the students move their furniture, they just sit there all morning staring into space or chatting with a classmate. Teachers occasionally walk in and out of class to check on them, but they are busy writing their schemes for the term, something one would think would have been done over the summer.
I spend the entire morning cleaning and organizing the library. I peek my head out the window to take in the breeze and I see a young male student urinating on the grass next to the school.
By afternoon I’m surprised the students even came back after lunch. I take a book from the library and walk down to a random class and read to them. It’s useless since the "classroom" is so noisy.
The day ends at 2:30. I’m exhausted from yelling, I’m hot, and I have to walk 30 minutes back home.
Mental note: Don’t let kids pee in the field.
Day 2
Student: Miss you’re my favorite teacher.
Me: But I haven’t taught you yet, and I’m not even going to be your teacher.
Student: Yes, but you don’t give us lashes.
Mental note: No one likes a beating.
Day 3
There is still no class schedule. A teacher makes a sign that reads “We are no longer enrolling any more Form 1 students. We are out of furniture and space.”
Students have to fight for a seat. When there isn’t space available, a teacher will come and get angry at them for disturbing the class.
Downstairs a girl and a boy start punching each other. I break up my first fight, my good teacher deed of the day. Fight count: 1
Mental note: Teach the students kindness.
Day 4
A student from another class waves at me while I’m talking to another class. I ask her what she wants. She comes over and says she’s just “shaking me off.”
“Excuse me, you’re doing what?”
“Miss I was just shaking you off,” she smiles sweetly.
“Oh you mean you’re saying ‘hello’?”
“Yes Miss.”
Mental note: Do not get angry at students when they tell you they’re shaking you off.
Day 5
A handful of teachers have yet to make an appearance in school. Still no class schedule. I do know that I’m teaching Forms 1 (7th grade) and Forms 2 (8th grade). I start to go over my class rules when a teacher interrupts me and tells me there is a school assembly.
The students pile into one of the rooms, barely able to breathe. Yesterday two students had stolen a bike. A male teacher forcefully gives a lecture about stealing. The perpetrators are shamefully standing on two desks for all the school to witness. After the 25 minute lecture, the teacher instructs the students to step off the desks, bend over, and receive eight lashes each. The students who were sitting quietly on benches simultaneously stand up to catch a glimpse of the punishment. Silently protesting, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and walk out of the room, my heart breaking.
Mental note: My job here is more complicated than I thought it would be.
Short Picture Stories
I'm back in town now and everything with the elections are fine. I apologize for the delay in posts, but things should be up and running back to normal now. Here are some photos... less reading, more pictures.
We visited a beautiful Monastery during orientation. The priest had invited us to come so we arranged a time with him to visit. The hike was about 30 minutes through the rainforest, and when we got there he was taking a nap. Here’s us sitting on the steps. You can’t tell from the photo, but I was hungry.
The volunteers from Friendship, the village 20 minutes away, came to stay with us for five days during the election period. Their site was a polling location so they were instructed by our field director to stay with us until everything was safe. The night they came a big iguana ran into their living quarters. Mr. Williams, their groundskeeper, caught it for them. There was a rumor of him making Iguana curry afterwards. Seriously.
Yup, I’m living it up in Guyana. Here’s my roommate Nadia and I in our hammock out on the veranda. The electricity went out Tuesday night, so we swung in our hammocks by the moonlight.
Meet the 2006 Guyana volunteers. If we weren’t tree huggers before coming here, we are now. We’re all smiling because it’s the third day and we have no idea what we just got ourselves into.
These are our guinea pig students during our teaching practicum. They were trying to show us a Caribbean dance move, the Passa Passa. The one in the white shirt brought a Bible to class last year. When the teacher questioned him about it, he told her it was to keep the demons away. Then he went around class charging students $0.25 for a prayer. Absolute genius.
We visited a beautiful Monastery during orientation. The priest had invited us to come so we arranged a time with him to visit. The hike was about 30 minutes through the rainforest, and when we got there he was taking a nap. Here’s us sitting on the steps. You can’t tell from the photo, but I was hungry.The volunteers from Friendship, the village 20 minutes away, came to stay with us for five days during the election period. Their site was a polling location so they were instructed by our field director to stay with us until everything was safe. The night they came a big iguana ran into their living quarters. Mr. Williams, their groundskeeper, caught it for them. There was a rumor of him making Iguana curry afterwards. Seriously.Yup, I’m living it up in Guyana. Here’s my roommate Nadia and I in our hammock out on the veranda. The electricity went out Tuesday night, so we swung in our hammocks by the moonlight.
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