The end of the work week usually brings good feelings, but not when you've only worked for 2 hours and it's Tuesday morning. 7AM Monday found me turning the corner to my school to face my high school, chalk and lesson plan in hand, alone but for the secretary. Classrooms were closed, flag was down, and I thought, "tell me, secretary lady, why am I not in bed right now?" I asked her as much, and was informed that all the students and teachers were in Fianarantsoa at a training, until Thursday. "But I'm a teacher." "Well, I forgot to tell you." One deep sigh, one tongue bitten, I pivoted and cursed her and everyone I work with the entire walk home. So I wouldn't be teaching 2nde this week, but at least I'd still have 4 hours with 4eme the next day. Not the 6 that I should have, because one month isn't enough time to sort out the schedule enough to give me a slot for my 1-hour class with each section, but I'll take what I can get.
So, 7:30AM on Tuesday and about 2/3rds of my class was present. A majority is a majority, so I began the lesson for anyone who chose to learn (or at least show up). Today's lesson is family vocabulary, which they should have down pat by now, considering this is the third year they will have been taught these words. After going over the words themselves, I tried to present the information differently, and went through my own family tree, labeling each relation as father, mother, sister, brother, and so on. I left out half/step-families because a) I don't know how to explain this, and b) I don't know how to draw this on a family tree. (Sorry, Michael/Nathan). In it's original form, my family is impressively symmetrical; two children, two parents with one sibling each, who are then married with two children (cousins). All, of course, with the two sets of grandparents above.
The real exercise here was to then have them draw their own family tree and use the vocabulary. Most students, naturally, drew my family until I intervened and assured them that their grandparents were not Philip and Marion. Despite my example, the kids insisted on starting from the top-left corner of the tree and working downwards, creating all sorts of chaos, but by the 2nd or 3rd a handful of them were getting the hang of it. I sometimes wonder if they do this intentionally to drive me insane. But, as I walking through the aisles, picking my battles, I noticed a pattern in many of their notebooks: large portions of the "tree," otherwise done corrently, were left off. I'd ask, "well, what is your father's name? what is your mother's sister's name?" "I don't know," they told me. They were laughing, so I laughed nervously too and scurried away. I didn't want to ask questions; it wasn't necessary for the exercise.
One student worried me, though. He's a repeat from last year left a distinct impression on my mind. This boy, Caliste, is 17 years old but looks about 7 or 8 on a good day. He spent most of my class last year trying to desperately stay awake--usually failing. His paper had his own name, and nothing else. "What is your father's name?" "I don't have one." "What is your mother's name?" "I don't have one." "Grandparents?" "Nope." Not wishing to scar the kid any more than I already had, I said "OK, good work!" and tried to move the class along.
Towards the end of class, the middle school secretary took me aside and informed me that I wouldn't have the second section at 9:30AM so that they could attend a dance party. I didn't bother protesting, forseeing its futility, and acceded. And so ended the school week for yours truly, wondering why I ever came here, and why I've stayed so long.
