When It Rains, It Pours: Frustrations with Teaching

I had high hopes for this class. There were only six students (originally). They all had learned a lot of the most basic aspects of English. Even better, they were all bright kids who were eager to learn. They behaved. They answered our questions, albeit sometimes shyly. They did what we asked of them. Most importantly, at least for me, we were starting from scratch in this class. Our first day there was also the kids’ first day there. It was a chance to start things on a high note and keep them that way throughout the three-month vacation school period. There wouldn’t be any confusion about what the previous volunteers had taught them. There wouldn’t be the stagnant repeating of “How are you” and the verb “to have.” I would know exactly what these kids did and what they were capable of; I would be the one steering the class. I had high hopes alright, but now I’m scared they may have been washed away with a week’s worth of rain.

Let’s back track a little before I go on. The regular school year in Guatemala ended only a few weeks ago and now most kids have off until mid-January. Realizing that every second of education these kids receive is invaluable, El Nahual offers two vacation school programs: Manos de Colores – English, Art, and math and science reinforcement classes in the actual community centre every day – and La Cuchilla – a two hour, twice-a-week English and Art class in a school outside of the city.

The week before classes ended, I tried leading a class at Telesecondaria, a high school only minutes away from El Nahual by foot. As happens too often down here, I was told what class I was teaching until about a half hour before it was time to leave. I also learned that the lesson plan that I was going to use was done with these classes the week before. Well… Shit, I thought. We scrambled and put together our plan: practicing the verbs “to have” and “to be” with adjectives by having the students draw crazy alien pictures and describing them in English – yeah right – to their partners.

I walked into the class with the two other volunteers that were supposed to be my support, my voice even weaker than usual because of the cold I was fighting to get over. When we got there, we found about thirty-five 13 to 17 year-olds who couldn’t give half a shit less about what we had to say. The girls in the back corner sat in a square chit-chatting, half of them with their backs to us completely. The guys in the front – hair gelled and collars popped – cracked jokes about us, each other, the girls... who knows, I couldn’t understand what they were saying. There were a handful in the class that were actually interested, but with all the commotion and disorder I don’t think we could even reach them that day. The second class was not better.

I had written that the previous Wednesday – the one I spent with the God’s Child project – had been my high point on my trip; this Wednesday at Telescondaria was the exact opposite. I walked out feeling the stress tense up every one of my muscles. I was pissed. I didn’t know why the hell we were there. I couldn’t blame the kids, though. After all, they had a week left in school. If I were in there place, I couldn’t say that I’d give a damn about some incompetent volunteers struggling to teach their own language, especially when I knew that I wouldn’t even be tested on the material I learned. That day, I really believed the kids would be better off without us being there at all.

Things were changing though. School ended for the year. And fortunately, I was not the only volunteer who realized how absurd the whole system had been to date. Far from it. Talks about a creating a curriculum for volunteers to follow, as well as a system to keep the classes progressing and the volunteers supported was well under way. This news gave me hope that maybe we were still just in the early phases; maybe we would finally have a foundation on which to build much better classes. Determined not to let my memory of volun-teaching be a bitter one, I immediately requested to be in charge of the La Cuchilla until I left here in late December.

The first week was shaky, but the class definitely had potential. We showed up the first day not sure if we’d have three students or twenty-three students. There were five of us volunteers on the first two days; there were only six students. As I said before, these kids were/are amazing. You call on them to answer a question, and they answer it. You tell them we’re going to play a game and all of their eyes light up, even though we all know that it’s going to be a semi-lame English practice game. It doesn’t matter. These kids’ enthusiasm is reason enough to make the half hour trip to the school twice a week.

The second week was even better. My friend Eleni – who had also been pretty frustrated with the volunteering thus far – wanted to help out with this class as much as she could. With both of us focused on making this class legit it seemed like we would finally be able to avoid the usual disorganization and confusion.

Unfortunately, however, the rains came this week. In Guatemala, it is supposed to rain essentially non-stop from April/May through September. October is wish-washy and November is the start of the dry season. This year was an exception to that rule. The country suffered a horrible drought, causing crop yields to plummet. Ironical in an almost cruel manner, it rained almost non-stop the first week in November when it was harvest time.

This past Tuesday, Eleni and I made the half hour bike ride to La Cuchilla. We rode uphill, inhaling the dust and fumes spewed by the endless train of freight trucks and chicken buses roaring to our left. I had a bad feeling, and it wasn’t the usual tightening of the throat from inhaling the dirty air nor was it the usual fear that my bike – which sporadically forgets to dig its teeth into the chain – would hurl my body in front of a delivery truck; no it was something else that day. Did I feel unprepared? Did I feel insecure about teaching the material we had prepared? Did I just feel tired and cranky and did I not want to teach that day? I don’t know, but it didn’t feel right.

Every time we rolled up to the school, we always found all of the kids outside waiting for us, sometimes as much as fifteen minutes early. Today there were only two of them. Marta and Rosario – two sisters who have been the most ambitious and eager to learn in class – told us that the others were not coming. They also told us they thought class would be boring without more people, and we could tell that they did not want to be there. Eleni and I were lost. It would be boring, we both thought, but maybe we should teach them anyway. I don’t know if it was fear or laziness, but we ended up giving in to the girls’ wishes. “We’ll see you Thursday,” we told them in Spanish.

Thursday came and I hoped that this time would be better. I had a new teaching partner this time and she was a bit scared to ride on the bikes through Xela, which – especially in the rain – I can’t blame her for. So after walking literally forty-five minutes, uphill in the cold rain, we got to the school fifteen minutes early and the kids were not there yet. They probably didn’t want to be stuck out in the rain. They’ll show up, I thought to myself. Three o’clock arrived, but it didn’t bring any students with it. Five minutes passed and no one showed up. Ten minutes and still no one. At 3:15, Abby and I decided it was time to walk back with our heads bowed and tails tucked in shame.

Nothing comes easy here: not the volunteering, not the language, not the digestion. After this past Thursday, I couldn’t help but doubt myself. Maybe Eleni and I did something wrong. Maybe we lost our credibility by not having class. Maybe the parents thought the class was a waste of time. Whatever. Such thinking will leave you stuck in the past, and I’d rather keep moving forward. Going up the hill to La Cuchilla is challenge enough in itself, but every time I climb it there always seems to be another mountain waiting. I’ll keep climbing, though; sometimes that’s all you can do.