Maestra de Caña

Thank you to all who have made inquiries and offers of donations for school supplies! I am overwhelmed, but not as much as the teacher and students of Mata de Caña will be.

It’s hard to write about the reality of my recent experiences when they have so far exceeded my expectations. I have gotten myself into such a wonderful conundrum that I can’t believe it! After a bit of worrying and lot of over preparing for my first day as a literal English teacher, I arrived at the school in Mata de Caña to be greeted by a sea of smiles, curious glances, and welcoming gestures. I was immediately put at ease. Before class started, the 8-year-old girls followed me around, sat next to me, drew me pictures, and gave me gifts of candy and gum. There are two different pulperias run out of two different homes near the school (the town is bigger than I thought) and the kids run there between class sessions from 8:30 to noon to slide their few colones across the rough wood countertops in exchange for sour lollipops, bubblegum, and spicy corn chips. Junk food crosses all language barriers, so we bonded over sweet and salty snacks before entering the classroom.

I spoke briefly with the teacher, Luis, who seemed happy to see that I was there but was more interested to know where my esposo was because, alas, he was having a computer problem. (Chris’ reputation precedes him just about everywhere we go, and in this day and age it often trumps my linguistic and composition abilities.) So even though I was all prepared to explain my curricular strategy (what there was of it) to Luis and to hear what his expectations were (you know, a real Spanglish meeting of the minds), my orientation to the school was simply being there. Busy overseeing and preparing lessons for six grade levels himself (three of which usually break while he teaches the other three) he didn’t inquire about my intentions, ask to review my materials, give me a class list, explain classroom protocol, introduce me to the students, or even tell me where the bathroom was (the students later helped me out with the latter). I was there and that was enough; he either trusted me or was too preoccupied not to, and pretty much left me to my own devices. What he did tell me was that first I would be teaching the first, third, and fifth graders in the big, open-aired building, and then after a short lunch break, I would teach the second, fourth, and sixth graders in the smaller concrete building. I knew beforehand that I would be teaching two different sessions, but I thought the kids would be grouped by grade and age (first through third, then fourth through sixth). And I didn’t expect much formality (my native tongue provides me with all the credentials I need for this gig), but I sure am glad for my ability to improvise, adapt, and overcome, as my good friend Cat would say.

I won’t bore you with the millions of thoughts and ideas and difficulties I have wrapping my brain around teaching six different levels of students with whom I communicate best in smiles, but I will tell you that being in the classroom with them provides me with a whole different set of challenges that not only keeps me on my toes, but makes me want to come back for more. I don’t know what it is about half a dozen kids yelling “Maestra! Maestra!” while I’m busy talking to another student that is more endearing than rude, but they’ve captured my heart. You’d think that by interrupting me so often and deliberately they might at least have something important or pertinent to ask. But, no, they just want to know how to say “fish” or “hair” or “full” in English. And they’re out of their seats, circling around me like sharks, ignoring my shouts of “Momento! Momento!” until I answer their questions or listen to their favorite English phrasings (“Hi. How are you? I am intelligent.”) Ultimately, what constitutes decorum in the classroom is vastly different from anywhere else I’ve taught. Then again, I have never taught in an elementary school classroom (especially not 3 different levels at one time), so what I may be perceiving as cultural differences may actually be normal behavior. Or enthusiasm. Can anyone tell me if any child 11 years old or under ever stays seated or raises their hand to speak?

Outside of the classroom is just as fun as I spend time with the students playing Heads or Tails with a domino, sucking on sweets, throwing sticks at the manzana de agua tree so it will drop its unreachable fruit, sitting underneath a cloud of dragonflies watching the boys play futbol, or stealing the ball with another girl and butting into their gender exclusive fun.

Ultimately, this has so far proved to satisfy my proclivity for independent and unceremonious responsibility. I take it seriously and work hard to devise language-learning lessons and activities, but I am really learning as I go along and simply enjoying myself. I hope the students can say the same (in Spansh and English).