The Final Stretch

School in Moldova officially ends on the final weekday of May. This means that students unofficially checked out around the beginning of May. More so, in my case, as certain students harbor almost no respect for me, the foreign teacher, which leads to completely unproductive classes. As a result, I have little choice but to check out, as well.

In the States, summer vacation persists as an archaic tradition wrought by the agrarian demand for child labor during the peak growing and harvesting season. Many would argue that because that demand no longer exists* in any real form, the three-month break from school serves only educationally detrimental purposes. Summer vacation sees unbelievable mental attrition in students. The first one to three months of any school year are consumed by "reviewing" or relearning what the students failed to retain during three months of TV, video games, and internet, to say nothing of their other, more nefarious pursuits.

However, this first year of teaching in Moldova have made clear to me the true purpose of summer vacation: teachers would go completely insane if continually and unceasingly exposed to the stresses of the classroom -- namely, the students. Teaching is a tough job, and like most tough jobs it is vastly under-rewarded. Low salaries and long work hours are common for teachers around the world. And while the "joys of teaching" are myriad, so are the stressors.

For the past several weeks, school has gradually been losing touch with that primary quality: education. The first real indicator is the kids, who grow louder and more restless as the days tick on. The teachers have to spend more and more energy just keeping the kids in their seats. After about a week of this, the teachers begin to show signs of resignation: yelling turns into disenthused pleading; lessons plans are replaced with "activities" (read: games); classes occasionally change venues, to greener pastures. In the end, we teachers are so shaken from our groove, our rhythm, that we are finally in a position to realize how tired teaching makes us. The days get warmer, and fruit starts appearing on the trees outside, and suddenly we begin to think of days without classes. Ah... Summer is almost here.

Indeed, by the time summer arrives, I can't say for sure who wants it more: the students, or the teachers?

*In Moldova, this demand most certainly does exist, at present. Thus, summer vacation has real and apparent purpose, and most of the next paragraph or two don't actually apply to it.

On Tutoring

I recently began accepting requests from people -- both individuals and groups -- to teach English classes outside of school. In my first few months as site, I had refused such requests on the grounds that I was simply not settled enough in the community and in my primary role as a volunteer. However, one of the results of my hitting bottom a few weeks ago was the realization that I do not particularly enjoy teaching English in the classroom. This, paired with my lack of diverse social interaction in my community, spurred me to change my self-limitations, thus opening the doors for tutoring.

I waded into the waters of tutoring with one-on-one home lessons with a student who desired knowledge of English, in addition to his in-school French studies. Sure, why not? Ambition should not be stifled, right? He proved to be an eager learner, which is (incidentally) my favorite kind of student. In these lessons, I discovered that such tutoring could proceed at a much faster pace than classroom lessons. More importantly, I could teach material that matters: relevant grammar, phrases and idioms, American and British variants of words, vocabulary that is more pertinent than "Wellington boots" (yah, that's a real vocab word from the Moldovan textbooks). And all of this at a variable pace that best suits the particular student.

The following week, I began classes with a small group of women at a local social services NGO. The first week with this group was quite fun for me, as I led three happy and energetic women through the alphabet and some basic salutations. The next week, I arrived to a group which had more than tripled in size, including two priests and a few people from a nearby government office. Word was getting out that a volunteer was offering free English classes to the community. Suddenly and unexpectedly, I was becoming fairly popular in town. What started as one-on-one tutoring with a student had quickly exploded into several separate classes of groups which varied both in number of attendees and average age. This week, I began a class with over 15 people at the primaria (the Mayor's office), to which the mayor is expected, post-elections, to attend.

All of my out-of-school classes started with the very basics of English, such as the alphabet, common pronunciation, and plenty of pointers, such as: English isn't a phonetic language, and To make the 'th' sound, put your tongue between your teeth... no, don't use your lips, and Remember, English is not phonetic. The 'a' makes a lot of different sounds. These are the sort of reminders that English teachers in this part of the world get to (or should, at least) use every single day of their careers. Luckily, the materials for these lessons are easily adaptable to all types of classes, whether younger or older, smaller or larger.

Let's be clear on one thing, though: I don't teach these classes simply out of my love for the English language. I teach English at the school enough to satisfy my responsibility as an English Education volunteer. However, teaching these courses provides me opportunities to meet and get to know people in my community -- such opportunities as were painfully lacking in the first seven months of my service. This extra social stimulation, the subsequent filling of my free time, and the coming of spring, have all contributed to bringing me out of the shell of my bedroom / the internet.

Now, if only I could just do this sort of thing all day, instead of banging my head against the wall (read: teaching English according to the national curriculum)...

Primavara A Venit

As I sit in my room at the tail-end of a long day, listening to "Beautiful Otherness" by the Nottingham, England-based group, Bent, I feel a pleasant feeling of contentedness. Today was a good day, finishing out a fairly good week.

My Fridays are always a bit easier to swallow than the other weekdays. While I must rise early, my eight o'clock class eighth-form class is both the beginning and end of the school day for me. Despite an epic battle between my alarm clock and my dreams, I managed to get out the door in time. On my way to school, ignoring the frost and biting breeze, I observed the year's first bright red squirrel bounding down a tree on some dangerous mission, its strangely long ears and scraggly tail bringing a smile to my face. I seem to remember hearing a bird slamming its beak into some nearby tree, as well. Ah, so spring my finally have arrived! Indeed, small buds were even beginning to push forth on the tips of small tree branches.

The rest of my Friday mornings are spent teaching English to a group of adults at a local social services organization. Teaching this group is extremely fun for me -- partly because the "students" are much more engaged and interested in their studies, but also because I have the opportunity to socially interact with people who are not younger than me. A fringe benefit that is worth noting, is that I am not restricted by any National Curriculum, and can thus teach pertinent material at whatever pace is most appropriate. Teaching English outside of the classroom has rapidly become my preferred mode.

This Friday class is relatively new. Today, it tripled in size to an impressive head-count of nine. Among the new attendees was a priest, who I hadn't seen in town before. At the end of class, I asked him which church he was with, and he informed me that he is actually the priest at a nearby monastery. I told him that I have been on the edge of my seat to visit some of the monasteries around my town, and he immediately offered to show me around his.

After a short 10 km drive, we stepped through a great iron gate and onto the modest monastery ground. In fact, we entered the convent, for this was home to a devote group of women, and the only men were the two or three priests and some helpers (such as our chauffeur). The priest explained the history of the 200-year-old community and convent, including the Soviet decades in which the churches had served as a sport center and a night club.

The monastery was practically destroyed during the Soviet period, but it received official support again in 1994. It wasn't until 2003 that work began to restore the main church. The project, supported by local communities and the larger church, was finished a year later. This smaller church was not as badly damaged and will wait for the relatively minor repairs it needs. Seeing both of these churches, hearing the history of the monastery, speaking with the priest, and seeing some few aspects of daily life among the women -- all of these were exceptional treats for me, and I look forward to further conversation with the priest.

It seems that the coming of spring may bring budding social opportunities, in addition to furry squirrels, flowering trees, and (hopefully) warm weather.

A Threatening Black Cloud Has Passed

Those in Peace Corps service often face what is called "Early Termination" (ET), which is to return home before the full 27 months of volunteer service. Sometimes, it is the result of some event at home which requires their return. Other times, it is the inability or unwillingness to continue service under varying degrees of difficult lifestyle or work. Almost none of us enter Peace Corps expecting to ET, and those who do return home early do so only after much struggling, I imagine.

A few weeks ago, for the first time, I seriously weighed the possibility of ETing. After two weeks of solitude (due to illness, cold weather, and only minimal social opportunities in my town), I returned finally to the classroom. As in the States, students are often unresponsive in class, and all but the most stoutly confident instructors stumble at the lack of any apparent appreciation students may have for them. I am not, to be sure, a stoutly confident instructor when it comes to my students' valuation of me. That, coupled with my feelings of intense isolation among my community, contributes to a recurring sensation that my service is not welcome. And, as the thinking goes, if my service is not welcome, then why am I here? In my case, the face of this uncertainty and isolation is the face of Early Termination.

The straws which didn't break the camel's back, but still managed to put it in critical condition: some species of cold virus, a week-long spring vacation, and a subsequent two-week absence from school. Being out of the classroom for two weeks set me up for a huge shock when I returned. It was during those first few hours that I found myself contemplating a plane ride home. As the day progressed, however, I slowly fell into an attitude of dull, subconscious resignation toward teaching. One thing I realized: I am not a high school teacher. I enjoy teaching English, but I have patience for neither adolescent attention spans, nor semi- and unmotivated students.

But the day progressed and improved. I had hit bottom, and if there is one thing that tends to happen when one hits bottom, it would be to bounce back. I floated through the remaining classes. The day prior had been 8 March, International Women's Day, and the fifth graders were following Monday classes with a short performance honoring their female teachers and beloved mothers. In need of a positive focus, I decided to sneak in to see and to hear the cheerful celebrations of these young students. This put the first smile on my face, thereby breaking the mood and opening the way for further bouncing back.

After the performance, several of the teachers (male and female) and I conducted ourselves to a local restaurant to further celebrate 8 March. Over pizza and some more traditionally Moldovan food, the teachers happily chattered about life and sang songs (which most of them mostly knew). And while I sat amidst their company, I could feel my spirits rising. The negative effects of social isolation are quickly dispelled, as it were.

The celebrations concluded with one of our fellow teachers inviting a small group of us to her house for tea and further conversation. In the seven months I had lived in the town, this was the first time I had personally been invited to any person's house for a social purpose. Despite a calm exterior, I was altogether elated. Even though my confidence in my Romanian does not yet permit me to participate in the discussion more than haphazardly, I am thrilled to be included in any socializing among my Moldovan colleagues and friends. At the end of the day, I was feeling great and ready to get on with being a volunteer. In fact, the rest of the week was among my best since I arrive in Moldova. I started several tutoring classes, recommitted myself to previously suspended clubs, and began to feel more secure in my place in the town, despite the isolation.

Hitting the bottom permitted me to reassess my personal goals in Moldova. It confirmed that I do not consider myself a teacher of public secondary education, by nature. But it also showed me that I can (even if only occasionally) feel very welcome by my community.

The Blessing of Schools

First of all, let me say that the following is based strictly on observation. It is neither my opinion nor fact unless specifically identified as such. Second, I have been working on this post for weeks. The reason for its delay has been my inability to carefully weave an informative yet apolitical essay on a matter that involves the interaction between religion and government. After many attempts and several stressful paragraphs, I've decided to cut the informative yet potentially explosive preface and just explain the story. The links used in that prefaces, should you desire to imagine the potential controversy, are: Here, here, here, here, here, and here.

OK, let's see what I can do about a simply retelling. Ready?

A few weeks ago, following several tragedies involving students from my school during the winter holiday, an event occurred at my school which I'm sure most Americans (of the US variety) have never experienced. The school was blessed. Given the fact that the vast majority of Americans are Christian, in one form or another, this probably didn't bother most volunteers. However, I know that a significant portion of volunteers (as with Americans, in general) are non-Christian or even non-religious, and their experiences with such an event are probably beyond my imagining. I suppose I fall into the 'Christian, in one form or another' category, although primarily on grounds of theology, not practice. So for me, the event was intriguing, culturally educational, and even touching.

The school day began as normal. After the second or third lesson, all of the students at school convened in the foyer and milled around, chattering, while the priest prepared the ceremony, the three or four choir singers discussed something inaudible, and the teachers passed out thin, yellow candles to the students. Just before the ceremony began, one of the teachers noticed the absence of a candle in my hand, and (after confirming whether I wanted one) quickly found an extra for me. The ceremony was relatively brief, with the priest singing some beautiful prayers and the whole crowd repeated making the sign of the cross with dizzying speed and synchronicity.

At one point, a list of names was read, which I deduced to be the names of people specifically being blessed, of which my own name was one. Shortly thereafter, having finished the initial batch of prayers, the priest walked around in the crowd, flinging holy water onto the students and teachers using a bouquet of fresh basil. It should be noted that basil is only used for religious ceremony, here; despite it's delicious effect on food, adherents to Serbian, Macedonian, and Romanian Orthodoxy abstain from using basil as an ingredient.

Once the students had been blessed, they returned to their classrooms and continued with the daily lessons. But the ceremony wasn't quite over. Back in my English class, I explained that this was the first such event I had ever experienced. Then I asked them, "Why do you think that is?" Some of the students suggested it was because we don't have Orthodoxy in the States, which is a good guess. When I explained that such events would be considered illegal in schools in the USA, most of the students seemed very surprised. It stimulated a lot of interest in hearing about why government in the States is (supposed to be) secular -- where the idea comes from, and why such separation of church and state is so important for such a culturally (and religiously) diverse place as the USA.

About ten minutes into this discussion, the school blessing ceremony caught up to us. While we were discussing why religion is necessarily absent from public schools in the States, the priest and his choir were walking from room to room in the school, blessing all four walls and singing further prayer. The priest entered our classroom, threw water on each wall (and on any students or teachers in between), said another prayer (accompanied by the choir, in the hall), and then moved on to the next room. The ceremony wasn't very well explained to me, but it left me feeling honored to be included in such an event. It also left me with a feeling of curiosity and intrigue, which I hope to answer with discussions with the priest and other members of the community.

On Cheating

People here often ask me what the most challenging part of my service is. It's a difficult question to answer, sometimes.

Teachers all over the world, in all subjects and all levels, have the unfortunate responsibility of dealing with cheating students. It may come in the form of subtle (or not so subtle) plagiarism or seemingly innocent glances (or staring) over the smarter kid's shoulder. Often, these cheaters are students who lack self-motivation to learn the material, who lack interest in the subject, or who simply think it's not going to matter. And it doesn't. Well, maybe not at first.

I wasn't the sort of student who even considered cheating in school. I would rather take an honest zero (and I did) than take a grade I hadn't earned. Sometimes it had to do with not wanting to lose the respect of a teacher whose opinion I valued, although such figures in my academic history are few and far between. Instead, my excuse for not cheating was simply that I was not in class for a grade; I was in class for the knowledge. For those who cheat, even with the improved academic record and any accompanying rewards, the fact remains that no knowledge is gained. That record is only a thin, brittle shell over an empty mind. Ultimately, that lack of knowledge will begin to show, and no amount of cheating, lying, or deception can hide it.

It seems to me that the concept which underlies cheating is the same which supports bribery, fraud, and other forms of corruption. I'm not an expert on corruption, but I know that any action that unjustly and selfishly propels one person above the rules or laws of a system is extremely destructive to that system. In a school system, cheating causes disruption in the classroom, undeserved progression from one grade to the next, and a sense that no student really needs to study in order to pass. What does it say about a student when their high marks conflict with an essay copied from the internet or a book? What does it say to the students who actually try when the student who only lies is still allowed to pass? Doesn't it say that lying is acceptable? Doesn't it say that cheating is an OK way to live?

I find it not only frustrating but utterly disappointing to see my students so completely reckless with their education. It's my responsibility to teach my language to students in a country on the opposite side of the world from my home. What is the most difficult part of my service? Convincing myself that the students who try outnumber the students who lie, and that I wouldn't be more productive helping Sisyphus with his boulder.

All the medicine and technology in the world can't heal a person who doesn't want to get better. All the books and teachers in the world can't teach a student who won't lift a finger for his own education.

I'm a Real Boy... I Mean Teacher!

After an unexpected hiatus for over a month, I now have both the time and the internet connectivity to resume activity on this site. PST became extremely busy during the last four weeks, due in no small part to practice school. This is a time when we TEFL and Health Ed. volunteers are given a classroom full of Moldovan students and three weeks to try to figure out how to teach. Peace Corps does a great job of training us during PST, loading us up with all sorts of teaching theory, creative ideas for in-class activities, books, and an excellent support network. Practice school is kind of like the test at the end, where we find out how much we still have to learn about teaching in Moldovan schools. Personally, I love being in the classroom, and I've found Moldovan students so attentive and so intelligent that I am often at a loss as to how much I really need to teach them.

After Practice School, PST rapidly came to a close with one more week of language training and a Language Proficiency Interview (LPI), in which we all found out how much language we still need to learn. I scored dead center with an "Intermediate Mid" and I'm pretty OK with that, for now.

Now I'm at my permanent site, which is a wonderful town in the center of Moldova filled with friendly people and several highly-remarkable schools. Friendly people can be found everywhere in Moldova, but I consider myself uniquely lucky to have been given the opportunity to teach at the lyceum (roughly equivalent to high school) in this town. The teachers are all top-quality, and the director (read: principal) seems to be universally loved, not only in the school but also in the town, the raion (kind of like a county or district), and by just about everybody who has ever heard of him. The students are, of course, of no lesser quality; it is of these students, primarily, that I formed the aforementioned opinion about being in Moldovan classrooms.

In Moldova, school starts on September 1 (or the following Monday, if it is a weekend) -- a day in which students assemble in what need only be described as clothes that look better than anything any volunteer has ever brought with them, ever. I decided not to wear my suit, mostly because I know that I cannot compete with the impressive accouterments of Moldovan students. Had I thought ahead, I would have taken my camera to capture the sea of well-clad students standing in the courtyard before the school, waiting for the school year to be introduced.

At this point, I really didn't know any students at the school, and I tried my best to hide off to one side. The students, as they milled about, cast curious glances at me which seemed to say: "Who are you? You're not a student, unless maybe you've transferred in from Romania or somewhere. Maybe you're just visiting somebody? Hrm..." Just before the ceremony began, the director, the mayor, and the regional minister of education appeared at the top of the steps, drawing the attention of most of the students. The director, seeing me, motioned for me to join him, stimulating a new set of curious glances from students, this time implying: "OK, so you're not a student. You're standing next to the director, so you must be somebody of some importance. Hrm..." I tried my best not to make eye contact with anybody for more than a second or two at a time.

Speeches were made, most of which remained shrouded in the veil of my own personal language deficiencies. Gifts were given to certain teachers, and to certain students. After pretty much everybody at the top of the steps had spoken, the master of ceremonies said something in Romanian, the only words of which I could really understand were "Corpul Paci" and "Jeffrey Zundel" and the microphone was passed to me. The students, their questioning glances answered, promptly delivered to me a surprisingly enthusiastic cheer. I sputtered some broken Romanian about being happy to have the opportunity to teach English and, trembling ever so slightly, retreated to the side of our director.

Every moment I have spent inside the school since then has been great. The daily schedules are still a bit unstable, and I am still figuring out how to be most effective in my role, but I have a great set of students, talented partner teachers, and a generally positive attitude. With luck, I'll still have all three by the end of the year, too.