Monday was a disaster. I went to English class, and had spent Sunday night planning a fun class with plenty of games to learn different parts of clothing. Right from the get-go I knew something was off. The kids weren't focusing at all. I tried to teach them a game and they literally just wouldn't move. The game was to have them all sitting in a circle with one person in the middle. The person in the middle needs to say an item of clothing and a color, like "black shoes", which is what Hames came up with after I waited ten minutes for someone to volunteer to stand in the middle. At that point, all the people with black shoes have to jump up and find a different seat. The last person standing without a chair goes next. When Hames said "black shoes", I clarified what it was for everyone who didn't know, and no one moved. I even pointed out which kids needed to get up and run and no one would do it. No one would look at me, and no one would move. I waited and no one moved. I told them to get up and go back to their seats. At this point it had been about 40 minutes without them cooperating. I told them we didn't have to play games, and they could copy the vocabulary words over to learn them instead of playing games. A bunch of them just sat there, didn't take out their notebooks or write. I had to insist, multiple times to many kids, that they had to follow my instructions, and if they could complete the copying, then we could try playing a game again.
I stopped the kids before they finished because I felt bad. They promised me they would participate for the rest of class, and we went outside to play a game. I tried to play their fruit game but they didn't want to and complained about it. We did the two teams game instead, and I would call a piece of clothing and a color and they had to run to the chair in the middle of the court if they were wearing it. However, they hadn't made any effort to learn the vocabulary that morning, and no one knew when to run, and there were about four kids who just refused to play. I had too many girls on one team, and they were dressed similarly, so I needed to break them up. I asked Mishel to join the other team, and she said, with no explanation, "No." I asked her again to go and she just shook her head. I asked her again. Nothing. I told her she needed to give me a reason if she wouldn't participate. She didn't say anything. I told her she could sit inside until we were done playing the game. She just looked at me. I told her again. She just looked at me. I told her one more time, a little bit more seriously, and she finally went inside. We tried to play a little more, but they hadn't learned anything earlier in the day like they usually do. It was less vocabulary than usual and I was frustrated. I brought everyone back inside.
I had drawn a monster with different colored clothes and different numbers of body parts and they had to describe it to me to practice the number, color, clothing, and body part vocabulary. Two kids sort of participated. At the end, I told them each person was going to describe a detail about the monster and then we were all going to draw it. Everyone started complaining to me, "Nooooooo, Teacheeeeer." At this point I was so frustrated, we were making no progress, and had absolutely no idea what I was going to do with them that I told them they could leave. The worst part about it, is that these kids don't have to come and I don't have to teach them. So when it is miserable for me because they don't want to learn, I can't rationalize continuing class if it is just going to make me angry and be unproductive for them. I told them class was over for the day and they could leave. They asked, "to our houses?". It was an hour early. I told them they didn't want to participate and that I was not obligated to teach them, so we would end for the day and hopefully, when they come back Wednesday, they will be prepared to learn and to participate. I was pretty upset.
I started teaching English just to get to know the kids and give myself something to do. At this point, it seemed to be a bit counter-productive, and I still had three classes left. I think the fact that I don't usually play the overly authoritative role at the front of the classroom, and they don't spend the class simply copying things off a board, but actually learning through interaction and games, makes it hard for them to remember that I deserve the same respect that they give their teachers. I don't usually punish them, and they call me "Teacher" instead of "Profesora". Yes, it is the same word, but it doesn't condition them the same way, I don't think. The educational system here is focused on conforming, on training the students to obey authority and do exactly as they are told down to the last detail. The education is about adhering to formalities and learning how to make straight lines on a paper and have clear penmanship, not to learn to reason and think critically. I’m not like any teacher they’ve ever had. I let them play and engaged and I don’t give them meaningless tasks. Learning feels more like play for them than they’ve ever experienced and I think that makes it hard for them to remember I’m not another kid and they are not having playtime.
I went to the health post for a while afterwards and hung out, trying to make some progress on my planning for training health promoters. I went home a bit early to work on my letters to my old High School teacher's Spanish classes through the World Wide Schools program. I got home and was working in my bed, when I got up to straighten up my room a bit. I picked up my shorts, which were right near my surge protector box, and jumped back, barely stifling a scream at the sight of a GIANT TARANTULA the size of my hand with thick legs and pincers. I've seen dogs smaller than that thing. I went running out the door to find Celina.
“Um, there’s a, a tarantula.” Was all I managed at first.
Celina stiffened and immediately asked, “where?”
“…In my room.”
She turned right in the door, headed towards my room. I reluctantly followed her. On her way in, she picked up one of my flip flops. She asked me to show her where the tarantula was, which meant that I had to go back into my room. I was not happy. When I tip toed into my room, it wasn’t where I had left it and the skin on my back and neck prickled.
“it was near that box…” I sort of whined at Celina. I took a step to the left and saw it again.
“It’s right there!” I pointed and then ran out of the room, out the door, and stood outside trying not to think too hard about what it looked like. I heard a couple of smacks from my bedroom, glanced the door opening, and saw my flip flop come down on a large black shape on the floor, which made a revolting thud/squish sound, and didn’t move again. Celina went out the other door and got a piece of wood to shovel the dead tarantula out the door. When I walked back into the room, there was a large wet spot on the floor and the bottom of my flip flop. I tried not to gag. I also couldn’t bring myself to go back in my room. What if he had friends? So I sat by the kitchen on a bench, with a terrified look on my face, unable to stop thinking about that giant hairy spider. Celina would walk by me and just laugh at my facial expression. A couple times she snuck up on me and yelled “BOO”, then burst into hysterics. I tried to smile, but I think it came out more like a grimace. I felt like I was going to cry, hyperventalate, or throw up…for like three hours. I called my friend, Kate, who looked up Tarantulas online to try and make me feel better. Things like: “they only bite if they are scared.” Didn’t help much. I couldn’t eat anything at dinner, and my host mom thought it was a good idea to tell me that Tarantulas are bad luck because they are never seen around here. I had seen two that week. One in my classroom, and one in my bedroom. WHY WERE THEY FOLLOWING ME? My host mom said she thought it was because I had been storing my clothes folded on a blanket on the floor because I had no where else to put them. I had little doubt at that point that I have aracnaphobia. I’ll tell you one thing, I think after that, it’s warranted. In fact, anyone who is not aracnaphobic after seeing a tarantula must be crazy.
My friend Sylvia called me and talked to me about other things while I hyperventilated thinking about going back in my room. I finally managed to run in there, quickly search my bed, and jump in it. We talked for three hours about lots of other things just to keep my mind of spiders. I then turned on Harry Potter as a kind of comfort, so when I finally went to bed I was exhausted. However, I stupidly put in the one Harry Potter movie chalk full of giant spiders. When I realized that, I turned it off, put in music, and tried to focus on the music until I fell asleep.
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