I'll Never Really Fit In Here

The students at my school were taking a timed test in which they had to assemble and disassemble an assault weapon in school today. I was particularly taken by the part where they all were jamming magazines into the gun while pointing the barrel directly at their seated classmates in front of the table. Something of my thoughts must have shown on my face, because on of my counterparts treated me to a 15 minute explanation of why it was important for children to know how to use guns. It's days like this when I feel completely alien in this country. 

My Winter Commute Is Going To Be Awesome This Year

When we moved into our house, the street I had to walk down to get to my school was a washed out dirt road. Now look at it! No more puddle hopping and hoping not to fall into hidden pot holes during my walk to work this winter!

First Bell Ceremony

Fist Bell Ceremony...

All the students are dressed in their fanciest black and white clothes. Girls wear their hair in pig tails, with ribbons and bows. The first graders- for whom this is their first First Bell Ceremony- are dressed the fanciest, the boys sporting little suits which make them look like very tiny old men and the little girls apparently competing in a fierce "Who Can Wear the Puffiest Dress and the Biggest Bows In Her Hair" contest.

The parents, too, are dressed for the occasions- or at least the mothers are. Fashion here is heavily influenced by Russian tastes, and the outfits worn by young mothers would look more at home in a night club in the US than at your child's elementary school. 4 to 6 inch stiletto heels abound, and the makeup is on point for a night out on the town back home. 

Oddly, given the intense preparation that has gone into dressing for this event, no one seems to care a great deal about what is being said in the actual  ceremony itself. Students and parents alike have gathered in the front of the school building where they mill around and talk with each other, seemingly oblivious to the various members of the community who stand on the steps of the school- barring entry- and speak into a microphone at length. Finally, about an hour later than I was told the schedule had planned, there is music, doves are released, and everyone is allowed into the school.

I had expected that this would lead to the first day of school. But how very wrong I was. Turns out, each student goes to their homeroom where they get their school books for the year (there is much scheming and swapping at this point as each student tries to get the best, least worn out, copy of the books most important to them), and then each classroom has a little party at which the teachers are given flowers by the students and their parents.

Finally, in our class, we took a group picture, and all the students went home. The teachers stuck around and had a party of their own (yes, cognac was involved and I'm only grateful that this party happened *after* the students had all left the building). Everyone packed up and headed home by noon. All in all, definitely not what I was expecting, but I guess not a bad way to being the school year.

Getting Ready for School

Well, summer's officially coming to a close here in Sisian. As students are getting ready to return to classes, parents (okay, moms) are working to clean the school up and get it ready for the First Bell Ceremony on September 1st. 

One interesting thing I learned during this process is that most of the classroom improvements are not financed by some sort of school-wide maintenance fund, but rather from contributions of individual parents for students who will have that classroom as their homeroom. Thus, today, in my school, some teachers were excitedly talking about the new wealthy student they have in their homeroom, and the improvements that such a student's family would mean for that teacher's working environment. One of the classrooms, which will be homeroom to a local military leader's child, had young soldiers making repairs to the floors and walls today. 

I found this whole system very strange. It seems especially odd that, in a country which still espouses so many communist social values, improvements to the school would be made in such a small, nepotistic fashion. On the other hand, when there aren't enough resources to go around, I suppose it's only natural to want to make sure that *your* offspring get as much as you can give them, even if it means that improvements aren't distributed equally among the classrooms, or even in some sort of triage-based system where the worst equipped classrooms get the improvements they need most. 

I tried asking my counterpart and the mothers who were working in her classroom today about this, but they didn't seems to understand why I was asking- to them, this seemed like a very logical system, and challenging it was frowned upon. So I didn't push. But it still doesn't sit well with me...

ABC Party

Today the 3rd graders, who spend the year learning the Latin alphabet and how to read English had their culminating school event: the ABC Party. The students have spend the last several months rehearsing their parts for the performance in class, and learning songs that they sang for their parents and teachers today. Overall, I think they liked the event very much, and had a good time on stage.

School Gym

I was told by my school principal today that she wanted me to get the school a new gymnasium. It wasn't the first time she has said this to me, and I answered her the same way I always do: "We can try!". The "we" in that answer is especially important. I think my school principal feels that Peace Corps grants are something I can go out and get rather than something we can apply for together as a small part of implementing projects that we plan as a team.

Today, in addition to telling me she wanted a new gym, she had the PE teacher take me down and show me the old gym for the first time. (Prior to this, I was under the impression that our school didn't even have a gym, since the room is locked up and never used). I can see why she wants me to work on getting the space renovated.

At the moment, the gym isn't used at all. Any PE classes that the kids have take place outside on the football field, such as it is:

When it is too cold, too muddy, to rainy or too snowy, PE class is cancelled, and the kids have to stay seated in their classrooms all day. That's a tough thing for a grade-school kid to do. Unlike schools in the US, there is no 'lunch & recess' break for them to relax and burn off excess energy. It's a bad day when PE classes are cancelled due to weather.

The biggest problem (I think) is the floor. Currently it's an uneven concrete that just screams trip-and-fall waiting to happen. Plus, with the level of dental care readily available to many of our families, I think that if a kid falls down and knocks out a tooth here, that tooth stays knocked out. 

The second problem is that the lights don't work. Whether this is because there is a problem with the electricity or because the light bulbs themselves are high up and no one has a ladder long enough to change them when the burn out, I don't know. I suppose the firs time to solving this particular problem is going to be finding out exactly why the electricity doesn't work in the first place. Honestly, the lights aren't a huge deal, though: there is plenty of light coming in from the windows in most weather. The only place where this isn't true is in the boy's locker room, which is as dark as an unlit cave at midnight. That's a problem we'll have to fix.

The light in the girl's locker room- I should say 'changing rooms' as there are no lockers- works though, so I was able to see what kind of condition it's in:

I think the first step to rehabbing this space is to give it a good cleaning. What I don't understand is why that hasn't been done already. This space isn't being used at all right now. It's kept locked up. The students don't have access to it- so why are there empty plastic bottles and wrappers on the ground? Why not go through, sweep it out, pick up all the trash, and *then* lock the door behind you? This is one of those cultural differences that I just don't get yet. 

We do have some resources to work with- I'm told that the heaters work just fine, which opens up the possibility of afternoon sports in the winter.

I am, however, skeptical of how effectively 6 radiators, nestled into an un-insulated concrete exterior wall, can heat a space of this size with high, high ceilings. 

And the school does have some equipment, although one of the priorities the principal and PE teacher both expressed was the need for more.

They'd like to acquire more volleyballs, footballs (soccer balls to us Americans), and basketballs, more hula hoops, and more jump ropes. They'd also like to get a set of lifting weights and a wrestling mat. They also want something called a "goat-chair", which I think is a type of hurdle (certainly, if their pantomimes are anything to go by, you're supposed to jump over it...) but I've never seen one before. 

I'm not really focused on the equipment right now- that's such a small part of the problem and so, so easily fixed that I can think about it later.

Right now, I have to worry about getting a new gym floor...

View from School #4

There are few places in Sisian without spectacular mountain views, but even given this, I think that the view from School #4 is particularly nice.

It's really wonderful to walk into the teacher's lounge in the morning and look out the window to see the mountains looking back at me. 

The Food Room

In School #4 there are two teacher's lounges. The official lounge is large, a little chilly, and doesn't see much use. The real teacher's lounge is a small storage closet just next to the official lounge, that I have taken to calling the Food Room.. In the Food Room, there is a long table, some chairs, and- most importantly- a teapot and a fire hazard. I mean a hot plate.

In between classes, teachers come to the Food Room to make themselves and each other cups of Armenian-style coffee on the hot plate (which, and I cannot stress this enough, is a fiery death just waiting to happen), and eat snacks. Everyone brings something: some fruit to be cut up and shared, or walnuts, or candies, all of which are left on the table and eaten over the course of the day. The teachers lives seem to center on this room.It is where they snack, socialize, and decompress between classes. It's also a place of commerce: many teachers bring clothing or makeup that family members in Russia or the US have mailed them to sell. Several times a week, I'll walk into the Food Room and find that it's been transformed into a little khanute (an Armenian word meaning "store" or "shop").

I like the Food Room in general- dangerous hotplates of death not withstanding- but it does pose one significant challenge in my life: because it's purpose is so social-centric, it's not a very productive space in which to work. Conversations about lesson planning are constantly side tracked by the necessary social rituals of coffee, snacking, and chatting that are so important in Armenian culture. Unfortunately, because it is warm and there are snacks, the Food Room is my counterparts' preferred space for lesson planning. Which means we get about 5 minutes of actual work-related discussion accomplished over the  course of an hour. This is difficult for a task-oriented American, but makes complete sense to a relationship-oriented Armenian.

I think that eventually, I'll want to move our lesson planning out of the Food Room and into the official teacher's lounge, but I'll participate in the social aspects of the Food Room a little while longer. If they are so important to my counterparts, I feel I should make an effort to appreciate their significance before pushing them aside in favor of my own priorities.

Besides. The official teacher's lounge will be warmer in the spring. I have a complicated, love-hate relationship with that hot plate.

What am I teaching these kids...

The textbooks here are truly horrendous. In the few days that I've been working at School #4 in Sisian, I've seen text book exercises ranging from the harmlessly amusing:

to the factually inaccurate:

To the downright insidious. Today I was asked to read a poem from the 7th graders textbook, so that they could hear what a native speaker sounded like. I opened book borrowed from one of the students to the page specified by my counterpart and read:

What did you learn in school today,
Dear little boy of mine?
I learned that Washington never told a lie.
I learned that soldiers seldom die.
I learned that everybody's free.
And that's what teacher said to me.

I learned that policemen are my friends.
I learned that justice never ends.
I learned that murderers die for their crimes.
Even if we make a mistake sometimes.

I learned our government must be strong.
It's always right and never wrong,
Our leaders are the finest men.
And we elect them again and again.
That's what I learned in school today.
That's what I learned in school.  

This being Armenia (where plagerism isn't really a thing), the 'poem' was not cited, of course. Had it been so, the book would have informed students that it wasn't in fact a poem at all, but the truncated lyrics of a song written by a young Tom Paxton, recorded in 1964. If the book had cited the work, it probably also would have mentioned that the song was written as a criticism of the national education system,  and was quickly taken up as a rallying call by critics of the US government protesting the Vietnam War. Essentially, the song existed to indicate that the things which it presents as factual pieces of information are falsehoods we tell to children in school. Ironically, that's exactly what I was doing.

As is was, none of this contextual information was included in the textbook. I read the passage aloud as I had been asked to do, and sat there as the students translated the 'poem' line by line into Armenian. 

I struggled with the issue of whether or not I should say anything. 

On the one hand, my counterpart seemed not to know about the passage's history- and why should she? These days it's a fairly obscure piece of music, relatively speaking. There's no reason for someone living halfway around the world to have ever heard of Tom Paxton or his songs. But Armenian culture is very authoritarian- for many English teachers, to have their knowledge of all things English-language related questioned in the slightest would be completely unacceptable. My relationship with my counterpart is probably the most important factor in the relative success or failure of my work in School #4. I really didn't want to jeopardize it by pointing out something she didn't know (in front of students, no less) so early in our work together.

On the other hand, the idea of teaching young students that "our government must be strong, it's always right and never wrong...."- especially given the authoritarian and militaristic tendencies within Armenian culture- really didn't sit well with me.

Surprisingly, it was the students themselves who helped me out of this predicament. I should have given them more credit. As I struggled with my thoughts, they continued to translate away until they reached the line which read "Our leaders are the finest men...". The students faltered in their translation. A few giggled. One girl said something to my counterpart in Armenian that I didn't understand. I assumed it was something to do with the rampant corruption that plagues the Armenian government. I took my opening:

"I should also say" I started, directing my gaze at my counterpart as if I were talking to her rather than the students, but trying to pick my words so that the students could also understand them. I spoke slowly and carefully, trying to be as clear as possible- I had to communicate a concept that would not be easy for the students to understand, as there isn't much space for political satire in Armenia's public discourse. "that this was written ironically- the man who wrote it did not believe any of the things he said. Instead, he believed these things were lies. He wrote this to criticize the government." 

My counterpart looked surprized and amused- thankfully neither angry nor upset- "Oh- I didn't know that," She said. "I don't know how we should teach this poem now." It was as positive a response as I could hoped to have received, although she did not translate my comments for her students as she normally would have. I'm not sure how much of my little speech they understood. Of course, it sounded like the students already knew that at least parts of the 'poem' didn't coincide with their reality, so maybe they didn't need my explanation as much as I thought they did.

I'm sure this won't be the last time I'm confronted with inaccuracies in the text. Some are easy to let go: what difference does it make in these children's lives if they are taught that there are "more than 50 states" in the US? Or that "Eskimos live in Arizona and Indians live in Alaska" (issues of politically correct language and respect of indigenous peoples aside)? These small factual errors have little bearing on their lives and can be easily corrected later on if necessary. 

Passages like "What Did You Learn in School Today?" raise much more significant problems. I don't know how to deal with situations like this one. Today I was lucky- the students caught the problem with their text and all I had to do was confirm their suspicions. What if I'm not given that opening next time?

I think that the solution lies in my relationship with my counterpart. If we can be comfortable enough with each other, it won't be a big deal when I point out problems I have with the textbooks. And if we can develop a pattern of lesson planning together, I will have a chance to talk wit her about my concerns before we present the information to the students. They tell you during training that relationships are everything here. I'm beginning to understand what they meant.