The Mountain I Climb Every Day

My first three months here have been a whirlwind of adjustment.  I have started a new life in a foreign country.  I have put together a new Indian wardrobe, I have obtained and set up a house, I have pieced together a group of friends and family, and I began a new job.  It has been exciting, challenging and overwhelming but finally, I am in a place where my daily life is almost normal. And my eyes have opened to the realities of India.

Until now, I have focused on sharing the events of my adjustments because as with all stories, it is essential to create the setting and provide the basic background information.  But now, I think I should go into my real purpose here- my job.  As you may already know, I am working for the Nanubhai Education Foundation.  I am teaching English classes (8^th and 9^th grade), as well as a more intensive Spoken English classes to select students.  In addition, I am mentoring and training a recent college graduate, Ameetaben.  Throughout the year, I will coach her and she will begin taking over the classes I teach and in the process, I will observe and evaluate her performance.  Furthermore, I will implement several seminars and workshops for local English teachers.  Lastly, I am conducting research within the village that will hopefully assist the Foundation in future programs and projects.  My main goal is to give these village students a better English education so they can strive for better futures and overcome poverty.  Needless to say, my days are full and busy.  On most days, I face an uphill battle.

Madhi High School is a Gujarati-medium school.  What this means is that the students are taught all subjects in their native language, Gujarati, a variation of Hindi.  You are probably thinking all subjects, except English, right?  I only wish that were the case.  In fact, many of the other English teachers teach English in Gujarati.  The textbook is written in English, but the teachers will translate the story so the students can understand.  So in a give 45-minute English period, the students may not hear or speak  a single word in English.  When I realized this, I was appalled.  Why am I here? How on earth are my students going to understand me?  My Hindi skills are still in the beginner’s stages at best.  (There is currently a rumour circulating the village that I have a four year-old illegitimate son, Andrew, because I was trying to describe my family and accidently used the wrong word for nephew.)  I have not begun to broach the topic of Gujarati.  Thus, I was instantly overwhelmed and disheartened. 

Thankfully, I have Ameetaben.  While I still personally find it hard to believe, everyone here says it is beneficial that I am here because at least my students are forced to learn in English.  And when they don’t understand- only when necessary- Ameetaben translates for me.  We are in the process of smoothing out our classroom system.  We are attempting to use as little Gujarati as possible, which makes for a long 45-minute period often filled with eighty or so blank or puzzled faces staring up at me.  And that is a whole other hindrance in my job.  My classes are extremely over-sized.  I have between eighty and ninety students of completely different backgrounds and skill sets jammed into a tiny, fan-less dilapidated classroom.  

And the absolute icing on the cake, the cherry on top of it all, is the English textbook I am forced to use.  Each unit consists of a ridiculous story with at least fifteen grammar errors and ten or more spelling errors, overly advanced comprehension questions, and a few assignments.  There are few or no grammar lessons.  The stories are confusing and poorly written and the students never understand them.  I have to define and explain almost every other word, which Ameetaben then translates into Gujarati.  The Ministry of Education in Gujarat mandates that students learn this textbook.  They must know each story inside and out because on the examinations, they must regurgitate the facts and details from each unit.  Yes, they have to memorize the characters, the vocabulary words and the main plot of the story because all questions on the exams are taken directly from the units in the textbook.  Creativity and abstract thinking are foreign concepts that my students have never come in contact with.  My last two and half years in Malawi, at Chaminade Secondary School seem like a dream in which I was able to develop my own English curriculum and my students regularly used their inspiring creativity to write poetry, short stories and even novels.  I long for the days when I graded seventy short stories, each unique and entertaining in its own way.  Sigh.  I know my students have the ability to express themselves creatively.  They just aren’t given the outlet to do so.  Suddenly, I appreciate the countless teachers I had growing up who flooded me with opportunities to think for myself and convey my thoughts creatively.

Please don’t take my words as complaints.  It is only the truth of the matter.  And while it frustrates me to no end, I will do whatever I can do to break through this system.  I will teach them what they need to know but I will do so creatively.  I want them to learn the information instead of merely memorizing it.  It will be anything but easy but I’ll do what I can.  That’s why I am here.  And I am grateful for my Spoken English classes in which I can work with a smaller group of students, using my own resources and activities.  As with everything here, it is a challenge, but one I aiming to overcome.   

And don’t get me wrong.  My students are fantastic.  They work so unbelievably hard.  Before and after school every day, they take supplementary private classes with teachers in the village.  They forgo sports, clubs and a social life to get extra tutoring.  It is inspiring how hard they work.  And they make my countless frustrations and obstacles worth it.  They make me laugh all the time.  A few weeks ago, during Spoken English, they were writing their autobiographies, simple stories about themselves and their families and friends, probably at the level of a fourth or fifth grader in the U.S.  I brought in my iPod and speakers so they could listen to music while they worked at their desks.  They were requesting “Waka Waka” and “Wavin’ Flag” and a few other current favourite songs.  Suddenly, Nirmal, one of most hard working, soft-spoken boys, spoke up, “Emily Teacher, can you please play ‘Sexy Bitch’?”  As he finished his question, the class grew quiet and then erupted in laughter at his request.  I couldn’t be angry because that’s the name of the song! I could only laugh, too. 

A few weeks ago, I celebrated my birthday and my students surprised me with a small birthday party and countless gifts of Indian knickknacks and jewellery.  They were so excited to present me with their neatly wrapped tokens of appreciation.  Another week, I had a terrible cold and every day for a whole week, my student, Rahul, brought me Vick’s Cough Drops.  They are genuinely sweet and considerate kids and would do anything to please their foreign teacher.  So, while this year is going to take serious concentration and endless energy, it is all worth it.  These students deserve the best.  But I will say it would be a whole lot easier if Gujarat was not a dry state and I could end my weeks with a nice, relaxing happy hour! 

Our House, in the Middle of the Street

After seven weeks of living out of my suitcase in a two-room guest house with four other people, I finally moved into a house with my roommate, Priya.  We are living in the same village, Kadod, but now we are in the bazaar, in the middle of the main street.  Word in the village says we are in the coolest section of the bazaar.  We have super-friendly neighbours, everything we need is within a minute’s walk and our house is comfortable, and quirky.

On moving day, our neighbours came over to welcome us and since then, they walk in whenever they please.  Thankfully, I was prepared for no privacy in my first seven weeks.  And we are fortunate to have a neighbour who sells every kind of candy in the whole village.  There are probably one hundred different penny candies to choose from and I have yet to try them all.  Sometimes, when I stop by her shop to say hello, she lets me try one or five of the new candies, so needless to say she’s my favourite neighbour!  And the other night, when our new kitten ran away, our whole street formed a search party to find her.  This was more than generous since most people here regard cats as no more important than pigeons.  Also, the women around have been my saviours when it comes to wrapping my sari.  The official dress of Indian women is extremely complicated and every time I try to dress myself, it falls off me immediately, which would create quite the scene at school if it weren’t for my women neighbours.

Our neighbour's swing! The best swing in the whole village

The family living in the other half of the duplex is also very kind.  They have the best swing in the whole village and let us use it freely.  And the sights we see from the front porch! In a given twenty minutes, a herd of cows will pass by, a couple goats will attempt to walk up our stairs and into our house, two chukras will almost collide because our street isn’t wide enough for both to pass and no drive concedes to the other, and between thirty and fifty villagers will stop to say hello.

A couple days after we moved in, we were busy organizing and decorating, when a familiar melody began getting closer and louder to us.  My first thought was, “An ice cream truck! This really is the best house ever!”  I grabbed a few rupees and ran out to the porch, excited for a cold scoop of mango chocolate chip ice cream.  When the truck reached our house, it stopped.  There was a big cow painted on the brightly coloured truck.  The driver got out and sat on the edge of our porch.  I peered towards the back of the truck and realized it was open.  Inside, there was not a hint of ice cream.  Rather, it was a cow painted pink.  And instead of a tail, there was a dangling and lightly swinging fifth leg. My mouth hung open in awe of this 5-legged animal.  Priya came outside and explained that when a deformed animal is born, it’s a sign from the Hindu gods and the owner will showcase it and accept donations, which will bring the donor good luck.  So,, when I snapped out of my daze, I dropped my five rupees in the man’s basket and went back inside with a picture of extremely strange cow forever etched in my brain.

With our house, we received the best cook in the village.  Since we are quite busy with work, and because cooking is a lengthy process, we decided to hire someone to prepare a couple of our daily meals.  Thanks to our friend Vilmalbhai, we found Auntie, the best recommended chef in Kadod.  She can prepare almost anything you ask for, including....chicken!  She calls us her American children and basically force-feeds us at each meal because she’s so worried we aren’t eating enough.

Me in my first official Indian sari

After a week, our house began to show its true colours.  One night, the power went out as it often does.  It usually comes back within fifteen or twenty minutes, but this time it seemed to last much longer.  After an hour of sitting in the dark, sweating, we went out on the porch to catch a breeze.  We expected our neighbours to be outside, too, but instead no one was out, and every house was lit up.  It turned out that only we had lost power.  We talked to our next door neighbours and immediately all the husbands in our area rushed over to examine the situation and fix the problem.  Within a half hour, thanks to our gracious neighbours our electricity came back. Back inside, Priya went to shower and a few seconds later, she screamed.  I ran outside (our shower is in the back of our house) to see what happened and she explained that when she touched the wall in the shower, she was shocked.  While our neighbours fixed our electricity, they may have mixed wires and it resulted in an electrical current throughout our house.  Any part of our wall that contained metal was sensitive.   It took two days to solve the excess electricity running through our house.   And now our outlets and switches are a little mismatched.

Other than the power problem, speaking of, it just went out again, our house is great.  We always have visitors and friends stopping by to chat or play cards or listen to music.  When it rains, the house gets dark and cool and we can cozy up on the couch and read a book. I am looking forward to practicing my cooking and preparing some Indian feasts for our new friends and neighbours.