butidunwanna

Growing up is weird.

As you may or may not be able to decipher from my latest pathetic attempt at “free verse,” (see last post) working for the Public School System in Guadeloupe has me conflicted on a variety of levels.

 

To begin with, the rapport between teachers and students is entirely different from the way it is in Canada.

 

Here, if a student makes a mistake, she or he is (in my experience) immediately scolded, and is (in my opinion) made to feel “stupid.”

 

For example, if a student is asked to write something down, and she misspells it, one could expect the teacher to say something along the lines of “what are you doing?! What is this? Erase it immediately!”

 

As you can imagine, those who commit more serious mistakes are in for punishments of a more grave nature: a child who slouches while lining up outside the classroom is shoved against the wall in disapproval, one who laughs at another in class is asked to stand up on his chair for five to ten minutes as his classmates remain seated; anything more “daring” usually results in a “light” whack to the back of the head or a twist to the ear. I kid you not.

 

To be honest, I don’t know why I haven’t talked about this before with you Canadian lot.  I definitely mentioned it to my roommate and fellow Language Assistants during my first week at work, but after that, denial was most likely the reason as to why I said nothing to anyone.

 

As a foreign teacher, I find myself in a very uncomfortable position. To be working within a school system that endorses physical punishment—having grown up learning that said method of discipline is violent and ineffective—leaves me feeling morally conflicted.

 

While I certainly do not practice any “physical punishment” myself, I do feel like a bit of an accomplice-by-default at times. You see, my English lessons work in the following manner: I teach classes of twenty to thirty-five students for 45-minute long lessons. While I am solely in charge of giving the lesson, the classroom teacher is required to stay in the room to assure that the students are well behaved.

 

Thus, even though I spend approximately 40% of my time telling students to “please be quiet” and to “look and listen,” they nonetheless have a tendency to ignore me and continue talking/throw spitballs/sing/draw/crawl on the floor/laugh. That’s when the teacher comes in. Most of the time, they will speak to the child harshly and “shush” them. But every now and then, they will whack the students, and it is then that I feel like a terrible person and an awkward teacher.

 

In direct correlation to all of this is the fact that—even without physically punishing students—I feel so unlike myself when I’m in “teacher mode.”

 

Before my first day of class, I received numerous speeches from a plethora of teachers telling me that I had to be “strict” and “distant” with the students at the beginning, so that they would comprehend that they would not be able to “eat me alive.”

 

Scared shitless by such a warning, and more than lightly traumatized by my experience as a basketball-assistant-coach-in-a-tumultuous-Montreal-suburb-at-the-age-of-17-who-no-one-respected-because-I-was-a-softie, I’ve tried to maintain a straight face for the past month and a half.

 

To an extent, I believe it’s working. I’m almost certain that if I were to be my chipper, smiling, giggling (snorting) self all the time, the students would not take me seriously and would walk all over me. At the same time however, it’s exhausting—it’s like I’m acting all day long; I put on my “cold teacher” mask in the morning and don’t take it off until the afternoon, when all I want to do is crash on my bed and watch merengue music videos from the 80s to cheer me up….

 

And even at recess, guys! Even at recess I don’t know what to do. Because the students are so exited to see me (being Canadian is quite the novelty in Capesterre J) but at the same time, they try and touch my hair, they crowd around me, they ask me a billion questions…. and even though they’re adorable and I politely answer their questions, I have to sort of delineate that “power differential” between teacher and student, and I try to not engage in too much conversation with them.

 

Sigh. There are some moments, however, where I don’t feel like such a biotch. Magical moments in which I’ll be teaching a phrase, and then the phrase will turn into a musical performance/rhythm involving clapping hands, stomping feet and smiling faces—the students shush, they smile, I smile—and I let out a deep breath. I am myself for a moment. And it feels so good.

 

Guess I just need to work on my musical career to further my 7-month vocation as a teacher…

 

In any case, I’ve decided that I’m going to speak to my “Professeur Referrant” about the matter; I’m going to tell her that I feel uncomfortable with certain methods of discipline employed by the teachers. Additionally, I’ll ask her if it’s appropriate (in terms of cultural norms) to approach the teachers that I work with and ask them to please not whack the children while I am teaching. I think, in this way, I will not feel like an accomplice of something I disagree with, and maybe, in speaking to the teachers, I can learn a little bit more about their views on discipline. What makes it all a little more complicated, is that the teachers are truly, genuinely very kind people. Outside of the classroom, they are so so so sweet—they are always asking me about my time in Guadeloupe, offering help should anything ever come up, etcetera, etcetera so…it’s not like they’re “bad guys.”

 

Donc, it’s a hairy situation.

 

Anyway, if anyone has any alternatives as to how to handle such a prickly affair, do let me know. I would be delighted to receive any suggestions. (I love the word “delighted.”)

 

I could go onto about five other different reasons as to why “growing up is weird” but I will stop here for tonight. It’s 10:20 pm (PAST MY GUADELOUPIAN BEDTIME) and tomorrow I have to start getting ready for Ramon’s visit! (My pops arrives on Friday for ten days J )

 

Anyway. Hope everyone is well, and thanks for reading.

 

Love.