Chapter 2, Week 1 of English teaching has come to a close, and I'm happy to say that I think it went considerably better than last year. With a better understanding of the students capabilities, and lowering my standards to below sea-level, things went smooth and bode well for the upcoming semester. Last year, I tried to begin my 2nde classes with a discussion about the importance of English in Madagascar's and their own future . This year I started by reviewing basic verbs in the present and past tense, and teaching them to raise their hand when they want to answer a question.
As for the younger students, whose behavioral problems last year (generally just incessant talking) became increasingly maddening and sanity-destroying, I walked into my first class walking my professional walk. You might as well have given me a briefcase. This facade was quickly shattered when I stopped short, wondering if I had walked into the wrong room. I recognized about 1/3rd of the students from last year and hesitated at the door, throwing chum to the piranhas that can smell and feed on confusion and opportunity for ridicule--also known as 12 year olds. As it turns out, I was correct, and all of these familiar faces had been held back a year.
To get momentum back in my favor, I began to tease them about having to repeat the grade, using them as an example for the remaining kids. I didn't feel bad because, as far as I can tell, there isn't the same dynamic of an eternal popularity contest that defines the American middle/high school experience. So, I don't think I'm prompting any wrist-cutting or eating disorders. After the introductory spiel was over, I moved onto the second class where a full half of the students were repeats. One was surprising, actually--one of my best students last year. I suppose she just failed some other classes miserably. As for my own role in their overall failure, I think I'm off the hook. Each class here is weighted and the averages are totaled, for the final grade. English, though, is given a "coefficient" of 1, whereas Malagasy, or Science has a coefficient of 4. Basically, my class, in terms of their overall grade, is meaningless.
Meanwhile, speaking of miserable failures, I've officially eulogized, embalmed, and buried that part of my brain responsible for for mathematics. When you've hunched over a GRE study guide, slamming your fists and cursing at the walls over 9th grade algebra, I think it's evident that you're just not going to get that 800 on the Quantitative section. After 5-6 hours of studying per day, I can at least hope for something that doesn't make the admissions committee question my fitness for graduate school, or perhaps even breathing and feeding myself.
