a big sigh

[A final tribute to my students? You can see from the following that me being consolidated in Morondava for 3 weeks and then coming back unsure if I'd actually be back for the rest of my service was as stressful for the students as it was for me. They were discouraged and many simply gave up.]


Two explanations are needed. Language and exams. Ranting and raving will come with both, but trust me—I tell you not so I can complain, but to get the most out of something negative—and in this case that means trying to amuse you.

Language. I miss my first year here. There are many reasons. I was naïve and everything was new. Life was challenging in different ways, sure, but it had the distraction of discovery. It had those moments where you suddenly looked around you and got this strange feeling just thinking about how bizarre your life was. You’d think to yourself how crazy and different it was, and that would somehow make up for those challenges. The second time around, you look around you and it all seems familiar. You can’t have that strange feeling anymore. You find yourself more realistic—which is good in the long run, but still slightly less charming.

I also miss that first year because of my relationship with my students. I was so much closer to them, for many reasons. The newness, the fact that I had more time with them (I buried myself in Mahabo, without these month-long breaks away for summer vacations or political crises). Maybe they were better behaved (I like to think so) or smarter (ditto). If I think hard enough, I’ll remember reality and how that’s all a lie. Equally naughty. Equally lazy. Equally number of moments unhappy with the idea of being a teacher. But there are some differences that made my time with them better. That naïve thing, for one. I would sing and dance for them (literally), whereas I now have less time with them so a minute can’t be wasted on that—and they get too riled up and it ruins the rest of the lesson. So that’s pretty much ended. And I was learning to teach English as they were learning it, and that was exciting. We were both attacking together! Their success would be my success! I now know that no matter WHAT you do—how well you teach—learning a foreign language ALWAYS lies in the hands of the student. Good lesson or bad, if they don’t care to learn, they won’t. You just try to be there for the ones that DO.

Okay, so maybe I’m just being a little melodramatic because it’s been a rough week. But still. One thing that IS different is language.

See, that first year, they expect you not to know any Malagasy. You’re new, after all. And it’s GREAT, because ONE word in Malagasy leaves them stunned. They are so proud! Look at our blonde singing and dancing teacher! She learned how to say easy in Malagasy!

The second year? I’m SURE I’ve explained this to you, but consider this a quick review. It’s as if they forget that you’ve ONLY been there a year. Not that long in the big picture. They seem to believe that because they are used to seeing you, you have been there forever—and since you’ve been there forever, you are fluent in Malagasy. During the SECOND year, they are stunned (in a NEGATIVE way) if you don’t understand one word. Who cares if you understood every other word they said. How can you not know the meaning of some obscure word you’ve had no reason to learn at this point? Students about to graduate, who’ve studied English for almost 7 years and can’t speak a word of it except “good morning,” “good afternoon,” and “goodbye” will sit and giggle because you pronounced a word funny or because you don’t have grammar down pact—WHEN YOU’VE ONLY BEEN STUDYING IT FOR A YEAR AND A HALF. And of course by studying I mean speaking it and listening to it and hoping that your brain will somehow learn the subtleties. Not to rant, but you can imagine how frustrating this is. You are no longer a cute dog doing tricks and earning treats. You are silly for not being a complete expert.

And after spending a month in Morondava with other volunteers during consolidation, I have lost a lot of my language (it happens when you stop using it). So when I’m spending a week trying to re-adjust to my life here after a stressful 3 weeks of never knowing each day if I was staying or leaving, it is just too much when I get the “Oh, she does NOT know Malagasy comment” after I have to yell at my students because they are being too naughty. It is downright exhausting. Shame shame shame on them.

That’s part one.

Part two is an explanation of exams. Another thing I’m sure I’ve gone over.

I loved exams in high school. Sure you’d get nervous. But when it came down to it, they were almost like games. Like a quiz show, only you already know all the answers. As long as you paid attention in class, tests weren’t that bad. High school teachers just aren’t that mean.

That being said, I forget how much I hate GIVING exams. I think of exam week with excitement. You take it and you clear the slate and start over afterwards. Plus exams usually come right before a vacation. There’s no new material to learn—just proving that you’ve paid attention this far.

But no. Five minutes into the first exam and I am in agony. They don’t stop complaining that they aren’t ready—that we should delay the test. They want to keep their notebooks on their desks—they try to convince me it’s okay since their notebook is for physics, even though they just heard me tell ten others that I didn’t care—no notebooks means no notebooks. It takes a good 15 to 20 minutes just to get through these preliminaries.

Then the test starts. Note that this does not mean handing out exams. It means me writing the test on the blackboard and them copying it into their notebooks. It takes another 5 to 10 minutes to REALLY start, because I have to keep pausing until they’re silent—something they are very very bad at.

The test finally written, the explanation given, you’d think it’d be okay, right? No no no no no. I spend the rest of the time yelling—and I mean YELLING—at them to be quiet, to quit looking at other people’s tests, stop talking stop talking stop talking. They seem to think exams are group activities. When I’m not yelling, I’m answer questions about the tests. There’s always one question I answer five times because they don’t seem to pay attention when I explain it because someone else asked. There are a couple questions that are legitimate and I’m fine with—no problem, let me help you better understand the test so you can do your best. But the REST of the questions are ridiculous—essentially requests for the answers. If being tested on vocabulary, they’ll ask the meaning of those same words their being tested on. If being tested on the comparative form, they’ll ask me what the comparative form is. They’ll ask for example after example, tell me they never learned it, say it is too hard or confusing or whatever. And all over questions that are EXACTLY the same form as the exercises we did in class. My younger kids understood that if they knew how to do the exercises from the lessons, they could ace the tests—and a handful of them consistently did just that. My older kids seem to think they can argue me into simply giving me the answers.

And THEN I have to take tests from them when they go way past the time limit (and honestly, if you couldn’t figure something out in 2 hours, would you EVER?). I have to listen to EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM tell me how hard the test was, both as they turn the test in and then again every time I see them outside of class.

They fight over their grades (if you talk to friends all the time or skip class and don’t even bother trying to study later, do you really think you’ll magically get anything near a perfect score?). They get upset if I give them a zero because they so obviously cheated. They do not seem to connect their actions with the consequences.

Exam week is exhausting.

And I’ll point out that that doesn’t even include writing and grading those things.

It’s exhausting. And I keep asking myself—and them—why they don’t seem to understand that if they would just sit quietly and take the test it’d be fine—that when they talk and try to cheat all the time I HAVE to be mean—and we ALL hate THAT.

Now, the point of these two little lessons—on language and exams. For the most part, I love my life here. It is a great experience and I am very happy. I appreciate the quality of the way I live and I try to make the most out of it all. And I am grateful that I’m doing exactly what I wanted to be doing—spending a couple years simply helping other people, not worrying about myself, but trying to make things a bit better.

But then there are weeks like this one. They have to happen, and it’s as much a part of my experience here as everything else—and perhaps has an even greater impact on the way I change as a person (it’s the hard times that make us grow, right?). But it’s kind of ironic. I mean, many people tell me how proud they are, what great things I’m doing, and kind things like that that make me sound like a superhero.

But what exactly does it mean to help others? See, in college, it meant spending time with the elderly at a hospice or making someone smile as they order their cup of coffee. It meant using little moments to make someone’s day a little better. And that kind of thing feels good. And then here I am—when my job kind of technically IS to help others—and I’m yelling—I’m babysitting lazy students who don’t give a shit about learning English.

And no, that’s not entirely true. I do have some students who are very smart and disciplined and who can make a difference in their country. It’s just hard to see that sometimes when the majority of your students are nothing like that.

I guess what I’m trying to say—or perhaps what I’m trying to get my mind around or simply accept—is that helping other doesn’t always feel good. In some ways, the more you head in that direction, the more complicated it gets—and the less convinced you are that you actually ARE helping others.

And then you find yourself telling other people what you’re doing—in this case, being a Peace Corps Volunteer—and you kind of cringe, waiting for whatever response it will bring. Because the truth is, it doesn’t completely deserve the glamour many people are ready to give. The truth is, this complicated two-year experience is just another way of chatting with someone as you make them a cup of coffee.