Still Teaching

At the Zoo

I’ve been teaching my year 10 English class Simon and Garfunkel’s “At the Zoo”. For those unfamiliar with the piece, the latter verse of the short song is a rundown of the state of inter-species politics at the Central Park Zoo. “Zebras are reactionaries / Antelopes are missionaries” etc. The effect is that of a children’s song written for adults, and I feel like there’s got to be some good English lessons to be taken away. So all week I’ve been using the song for more than just singing.

It’s not ideal though. For one, Samoa doesn’t have a zoo, so the concept is obscure if not baffling to my kids. Going along with that, I don’t think most of my kids have seen a giraffe in person, or an elephant or very many of the other creatures in Simon and Garfunkel’s menagerie. But there are occasional nature shows on TV here. My host family had a few books with pictures of various animals from around the world. So we’ve been making do.

This posed a problem yesterday when I had my kids try and draw the animals the way the song describes them. Monkeys standing for honesty went okay, and portraying a kindly-but-dumb elephant was easy enough, but the kid who drew the reactionary zebra was clearly taking shots in the dark. The class corrected him, but I so loved his original picture I had him re-draw it after he erased it.

It’s difficult describing an animal to a person who’s never seen one before. How do I explain an antelope? “It’s similar to a skinny goat, and it can run very fast.” And an orangutan? “It’s like a gorilla with longer arms. It’s from Indonesia.” And a hamster? “Similar to a mouse.”

Today’s lesson was my favorite though. We wrote our own bizarre personifications of Samoan animalia. The animals we came up with were less “zoo” and more “petting zoo”—dogs, cats, cows, pigs—but that didn’t hinder the assignment.

At first the kids had a difficult time wrapping their minds around the concept. I got a lot of sentences like “The dogs don’t like the cats, but they do like bones.” I told them to separate themselves from real life, and to try to think of something funny.

Their reactions were entertaining. “What if you walked up to the fale’oloa, and there was a cow behind the counter?” I asked. “Would a cow be good with money?” I asked this question to several times to several different groups of students, and each time they answered with a confident, “No.”

It took a while, but the concept slowly dawned on a few. As a class we came up with, “Cats are lousy drivers.” A couple other highlights included:

• Cows often play rugby, but they’re slow;
• Chickens are very cheeky (which I liked for the consonance); and
• (My personal favorite:) Pigs are strong and silly, and they always want to play dress-up games.

Now that’s the spirit.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

It's a nice pigeon. The hamster looks a little like Sonic the Hedgehog. The antelope looks like an unidentified giant microbe. Maybe Listeria?

The beautifully drawn orangutan, the zookeeper, and the amazing zebra, which is amazingly reminiscent of Trogdor (Watch the whole video.).

Year 9 Nakisa wins my unpublished magazine award for best smile.

Singing Test

As with many of the activities I do with my English class, I stole the concept from Señor Martín. I teach English to my Samoan students the way he taught Spanish to his American students. It’s not exactly the same, but there’s some overlap. If nothing else, the singing tests brings closure to studying the lyrics and melody of a song, and it’s always fun to watch the kids squirm a little when they have to get up in front of the class to perform.

The test essentially works as follows. After I’ve taught the lyrics and the melody and I’m satisfied with students’ comprehension of those things, I schedule a test. The test consists of groups of around 8 students getting up in front of the class and performing the song. No one gets graded for anything other than participation, but pride is a strong motivating factor, and most students are willing to put in some effort. When all the groups have gone, the panel of judges (i.e. me) announces the first, second, and third place winners. So far I haven’t given prizes, but I think I might try that sometime soon.

When I first tried this with the class, figuring out groups was difficult. As with most social situations in Samoa, students sit clumped into boys and girls, as though there’s an invisible border. I prefer each group has a similar gender make-up, and I found that having an entire row of students group together was the best way to do this since rows run perpendicular to The Gender Divide.

At the beginning I told the students they had to memorize the lyrics, but this resulted in uneven performances where entire groups would go silent or fade into gibberish for long stretches of melody. So I changed my mind and started allowing students to hold lyric sheets. Staying away from the lyrics sheet earns points with the judges though.

Judging tends to be extremely arbitrary and subjective, I’m not ashamed to say. In fact, the more I ham up the judging the more fun the kids have. There’s a reason Simon Cowell was so captivating on American Idol: people like a reaction. When I announce the results, there’s usually a big crowd reaction, hooting and hollering.

We’ve done this four times now, and the kids are familiar with the routine at this point, and have begun to up the ante a bit. During today’s singing test for Cat Stevens’ “Moonshadow,” several groups used percussionists, and two used conductors to keep the group together. The last group that got up to perform did rather dramatic curtain call. The judges gave them points for style.

With the singing test comes task of finding a new song to teach. So far we’ve done Peter, Paul, and Mary; Herman’s Hermits; The Beatles; and Cat Stevens. Apparently I’m trying to raise a new generation of hippies. I’m thinking Simon & Garfunkel next. “Mrs. Robinson”? It might be difficult to explain the cultural context of “Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio,” but the kids would have a ball with the “Woo woo woo” part. I’ll think about it.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Sometimes the gender homogeneity doesn't work out. Today we had an entire row of boys. They did all right.

This group, the curtain callers, tied for first place with the group in the above-the-fold photo.

This was my chalky hand after my science class today. There's got to be a better way to say that.

No Instructions (Part 2)

I admit I try to be liked. I’ve still got emotional scars from my own years in middle school, and consequently, I try and carry myself in a manner that will make students and staff like me. This actually works well in the Peace Corps because from a public diplomacy standpoint, they also want me to be liked. I’m not saying I’m a foul, despicable ass in sheep’s clothing; I’m just saying I consciously try to put the best foot forward. And sometimes diplomat Matt and teaching Matt run into conflicts.

Believe it or not, teaching isn’t all glamour and cocktails. No one likes to punish behavioral problems or assign bad grades or mark up an essay in red pen. It’s not polite.

So I try and focus on the upside of teaching: watching my year 13s excel at Excel, telling goofy jokes to my year 9s, walking to school every morning through a barrage of shouts of “Morning, Mister!” And I downplay punishment and bad grades and criticism as much as I can.

So it goes with my year 10s. I teach 10.4 English, i.e. the kids at the bottom. With a textbook that calls for analyzing themes in short stories, conducting research using the Dewey decimal system, and making impromptu speeches, my kids raise their hands to ask questions like “How do you spell ‘bowl’?” They’ve got some catching up to do.

And while I believe these kids are getting the short end of the stick and someone needs to light a fire under them, I’m not into hard love. I don’t dumb down the work or lower expectations, but I show sympathy and discretion when I can.

So back to where I left off yesterday. I have this brilliant idea we’re going to read our journals aloud. The kids can practice speaking publicly, and social pressure will force everyone to write their entire journal lest they be publicly shamed.

When I introduced the idea, the class was caught off-guard, which I liked. There were a few itching for the spotlight though, and they set the bar. They were the brave kid pushing off the wall—exactly what I needed. And just like in the pool, others followed. It worked for a little while. But then the class got bored, and I had to shush them several times.

The sound of my shushing invited the 10.4 form teacher out of her office. I should explain. Every classroom at my school has a small adjoining office that belongs to the form room (home room) teacher. Teachers often hole up in their offices when they have prep periods.

Now, the trick with the “No Instructions” style is you have to be congratulatory. No one wants to push off the wall and swim if they’re going to get badgered for poor technique. In my English class, this meant we’d applaud when someone went up, and we’d applaud when they sat down, and I very rarely corrected anyone’s English. Mechanics were not the point of the exercise.

But the form teacher comes out and starts nit-picking. “My father was come to the plantation,” said one kid.

“Your father WAS COME?” she yelled.

The kids in class were shocked. The kid at the front of the room was surprised and embarrassed. It was awkward.

But only for a moment because I realized as much as everyone was stunned by this turn of events, they are all quietly entertained. Even the kid at the front of the room, in the midst of his shame, started laughing.

It was 5 minutes before the end of the period by then, so I just let things run their course until the bell rang. I didn’t know what else to do; educational, cultural, diplomatic, and grammatical issues were everywhere.

Isn’t that always the trouble with having no instructions? It’s hard to know what to do when things go wrong. Because there are no instructions.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

10.4 girls shying from the camera.

The kid in the center is Akari. In "T" language, his name is Atari. Awesome.

No Instructions (Part 1)

I hate reading instructions. I enjoy musical theatre, I cook well, I’m not big on MMA, but when it comes to not reading instructions, my stereotypical guy-ness comes through. My 10th grade math teacher was baffled when she saw my work for dividing polynomials. I made up my own way to do it. I got the right answer, and I could explain step-by-step how I did the problem. But I didn’t do it her way because I would have had to read the instructions. And if I can get around doing that, I will every time.

This informs my teaching style. I’ve talked about this before on the blog. I’m less about mechanics and more about facilitating students with the tools to teach themselves. For example, back when I used to teaching swimming lessons, I’d take a small group of 3-year-olds to a part of the pool where I knew they could stand, and standing just out of their reach, I’d tell one to swim to me. Some were scared, but inevitably one brave soul would push off the wall, wriggle around in the water, and instinctively propel her body to me. And once you get the first one student to do it, the rest follow.

This method works well in computer studies. I assign a task with general instructions, and then watch the students figure out the details. Some of the kids sit around for a while scratching their heads and getting lost in strange dark corners of Microsoft Office, so I stroll around the classroom making sure no one gets too far off the beaten path. But for the most part, the kids find their own way to complete the task. No instructions. Perfect.

This style is more difficult to implement in an English class—particularly in an English as a Second Language class—though not for a lack of trying. In fact, the first task I assigned on the first day of class, which I have repeated weekly ever since, fits the “No Instructions” mold: I assigned a journal entry.

When I have the kids journal, I’ll give them a topic, which usually includes ~3 related questions. For example, the topic I assigned yesterday was, “Who is your father? What does he do? What have you learned from him? Tell a story about your father.” I give the kids a 7-sentence minimum, so I try and make the topic open-ended. At first the kids would protest, “Why do we have to write 7 sentences if you only asked 3 questions.” Because I said so.

I admit, my year 10s’ journal writing hasn’t seen the same success as the tiny tots at swimming lessons or my year 12s teaching themselves to format a page header. Getting the year 10s to sit through a root canal every Monday would be easier than getting them to write 7 whole sentences.

So I’ve tinkered with the system. I’ve offered rewards, and sent the non-writers to detention. On one occasion I was so unimpressed with their performance on Monday I gave them a new journal topic on Tuesday. Nothing sticks.

But I’ve been thinking: It’s all about seeing that first kid push off the wall, right? There needs to be a more public element to the journal writing. So yesterday we wrote journal entries. Today, we read them aloud.

I’ll let you know how that went tomorrow.

I hope you’re well. Picture below.

Rachel and Blakey at The Yacht Club this afternoon.

Shades of Gray

When my high school chemistry teacher Mr. Johnson gave tests, a couple days beforehand he’d hand out an exact replica of the test, except with different numbers. The idea was we’d figure out how to do the problems and then demonstrate literally the exact same skills once the numbers changed. I assume there were students in my class who thrived because of this practice, but I absolutely hated it. And now I’m doing the same thing in getting my year 13s ready for their big practical exam, and I have mixed feelings.

For whatever reason, the Pacific Secondary School Certificate committee sends the standardized exam 2 weeks ahead of time. This morning my secretary showed up to my classroom holding a CD that contained the big test my year 13s have to take August 18. I think the idea the two weeks give a teacher due time to familiarize herself with all of the test materials. It also presents the teacher with some unethical temptations.

Within Samoa, this used to be the practice for the year 12s as well. The rumor I heard is the computer instructor at Samoa College handed out the exam to his students a week early, and a few of them brought it to their tutor looking for guidance. It turns out their tutor worked for the Ministry of Education, and he was the one that actually wrote the test. It was all kinds of bad.

I have no intention of distributing the exam to my students days before they have to take it; ethically that’s pretty black-and-white. But if I switch the numbers á la Mr. Johnson, does that make it okay? Hard to say.

As with any standardized exam, the PSSC practical tests students on their ability to take a test at least as much as it tests their actual knowledge of the subject matter. This is especially true for my weak English speakers. I certainly feel obligated to review the practical’s instructions with them before they’re in the exam hot seat. But where do I draw the line between preparing them for the specific type of exam and spoon-feeding them answers?

For one, I don’t plan on asking the exact same questions with different numbers. I think I can mimic the tone of a test question beyond simply changing the numbers. I’m less concerned with the kids answering questions by rote memory than I am with having them be comfortable with the method of testing, the format of the question, the way they fill in their answer.

After all, this is a practical exam, not a written one, and maneuvering through a computer program is a skill you practice, not something you study. I see benefit in having my students literally go through the motions involved in answering questions for the PSSC.

In the end, the whole argument is moot because the PSSC committee publishes tests from previous years, and there’s little variation from year to year anyway.

So we’ve got 2 weeks to practice now. They’ll be ready.

I hope you’re well.

Scheduling Conflict

I’ve had success with time conflicts in the past. The summer after my junior year of college I got an internship through the County of Los Angeles, for which, in order to get credit, I had to work 10 weeks. It worked out that the last 3 day of my tenth week were the first 3 days of RA training at USC. Both of these organizations were staunch about time commitment, and for a while there it looked like I’d have to make a choice between the two. But that’s when I came up with a brilliant third option: oral surgery. I had to have some dental work done that summer, and what better way to get out of a double-booking than to trump both with a more important triple-booking? Today didn’t work out so well.

Today was the Ministry of Education’s common exam for spreadsheets—every year 12 computer studies student in Samoa took the same test today. Today was also the interchurch athletics meet at Apia Park for which I was an official. In fact no classes were held at my school today because everyone, faculty and student alike, was at the athletics meet.

I admit partial blame. I was at the meeting (I blogged about it here) where the teachers rebelled and changed the dates of the common exams. I voiced no protest to holding the test on the 2nd of July.

That’s the big picture. In the smaller picture, I take a lot more blame. While I was aware of the conflict a few weeks back, I neglected to tell my pule. He found out yesterday, and called me aside after the staff meeting. “When are you going to give the common exam?” He asked.

“Monday,” I said with as much nonchalance as I could muster. My pule has a hands-off style of management, and I find it best in these situations to continue with my own plan until someone tells me otherwise. Or it blows up in my face.

This answer satisfied my pule. I told my class we’d have the exam Monday, and even asked them to come in Saturday morning to practice for it. I printed out letters to parents on school letterhead announcing tomorrow’s session.

So we get to the athletics meet this morning, and during the second event, I am summoned to meet with my principal.

He was one of the field marshals today, so I met up with him next to the long jump pit. “You have to give the exam today,” he told me. “Papalii says you can’t postpone it.” I don’t know who Papalii is, but it doesn’t seem worth the trouble to argue.

Today’s meet was slow. By 11:45 we were an hour-and-a-half behind schedule. I was told to gather my students and take them back to school after the scheduled break, but since that came an hour-and-a-half late, I opted to take them early.

We had no means of transportation. Imagine how delighted the students were. You know that test that I said we’d take on Monday? We’re taking that today. Also we have to leave the athletics meet early. Also we have to walk.

They took it in stride though. And when we passed a taxi stand on the walk back, I put up fare for 2 taxis.

The test didn’t go too well. I was banking on tomorrow’s practice session beefing up their skills before Monday. They did finish somewhat quickly though, and the meet was slow enough we were able to get back in time for the last few events.

Of course, we had to walk back, which wasn’t the kids’ favourite.

In the end, it wasn’t too bad, but I should have, you know, scheduled a dentist appointment or something.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

The walk back.

High jump. This particular jump was successful.

The intermediate girls' 100-metre dash.

My school in the grandstands.

Chemistry

When I trained to be a Resident Advisor at USC, they used to say the program was full of 2 kinds of people: the people that were inspired by terrific RAs and the people who were disgusted by terrible RAs. I fell into the latter group. After the fact, I got to be good friends with my freshman year RA, but during my freshman year, the guy was never around. I was reminded of this inspired-by-the-uninspiring today when I brought out The Periodic Table of Elements in my year 9 science class today.

My high school chemistry teacher was lousy. At a very basic level, he was not a good teacher. His idea of providing a lesson was to hand out large packeted worksheets that we’d work on in small groups with little-to-no prior instruction. He probably would have described the method as Socratic and “problem-based”, but came across as apathetic and “lazy”.

But worse than his methods was his attitude. He was, perhaps, the most discouraging teacher I’ve ever had. It wasn’t that he didn’t inspire any passion for chemistry, he made us feel like we weren’t worthy. Sometime later in high school I took one of California’s standardized tests for chemistry, and I did surprisingly well—the only reason it was surprising was because I was under the impression I was terrible at it.

For some reason, I look back on this as a crucial point in my education, and I sometimes wonder how my educational path would be different if I’d had a more inspiring chemistry teacher.

All this floated through my head as I drew an abbreviated Periodic Table on the chalkboard. The year 9 book only requires the students know the first 20 elements on the table, which meant I could cut out all the precious metals in the middle, thus making it easier to write out.

I’ve always had a lot of respect for the classic Periodic Table (Yes, there are new iterations, I know.). It’s a very simple visual representation of lots of different points of data. I like to think this respect came out in my lesson as I read off the first twenty elements.

Also, the first twenty elements have a lot of fun aspects to them. Helium in balloons, chlorine in swimming pools, calcium in milk. There are a few week hangers-on like beryllium and boron (although anyone who’s ever been to the Borax Museum in Boron, California would beg to differ), but really the first 20 carry themselves.

Did I inspire a new generation of chemists today? Probably not. But I like to think that I didn’t discourage the possibility.

I hope you’re well. Picture below.

The rest of my diagram.

No Good Deed...

My free time lately has been wall-to- wall with “The Wire” lately, a show in which blind loyalty toward one’s co-workers, whether they be police or drug dealers, seems to be valued above all else. I think I had a pulse of that mentality running through my head today. That and any time there’s a classroom full of students and things are on certain path, it just seems easier to ride them out rather than to try and turn the boat around.

As with anything, it started out innocently enough. My 5th period year 13 class had ended, and I have a prep period 6th, so I sat at my desk playing Minesweeper while a few of the dawdlers finished up their assignment. I’d shut off the rest of the computers in the lab, and had 2 more minutes passed, I would have been out of there, finished for the day. But then the door opened.

Three girls from the 11.1 class poked their heads in. “Where is Mr. Tulei?” Mr. Tulei is the other computer teacher at my school. He was hired back in February, and though we never really hit it off socially, we have a good working relationship. “Are we having class in the lab?” the girls asked.

I didn’t know the answer to either of their questions. I don’t keep tabs on Mr. Tulei, and I had no idea what his lessons plans for today’s class were. But I had seen him in the lab with the 11.2 class earlier today. They were taking notes on spreadsheets. Adding all this up in my head, I figured it was likely they were indeed having class in the lab. I told the girls as such, and soon 11.1 came flooding in.

I hurried around the room turning all the computers back on; I wouldn’t have turned them off if I’d realized there’d be another class today. I logged them all in and then setup the teacher computer to broadcast the spreadsheet lesson. The kids sat on the floor, squawking and squealing. There was still no sign of Mr. Tulei.

At this point we’re 15 minutes into the period. It seems silly to let the kids sit around and do nothing in my classroom, but it also seems like we’ve come too far for me to send them back to their classroom to wait out the period there. What to do, what to do?

So, feeling that surge of loyalty and covering for my comrade, I taught the lesson.

But of course the kids have 30 different opinions on where they ended last week and where I should pick up. Also they have a terrible time getting themselves focused after 15 minutes of sitting around. Also there aren’t enough chairs. Also there are a ton of new faces, and though I taught this class at the beginning of the year, I remember maybe 10% of their names.

Mr. Tulei never shows up, the lesson is a disaster, I’m annoyed because the kids won’t stop talking, and the kids are annoyed because they don’t have chairs. It’s a mess.

And to think, if I’d just left 2 minutes earlier I would have had a free period.

I hope you’re well. Picture below.

At one point the girl on the right, Ruby, took out a bottle of perfume and sprayed it on herself and the boy and the other girl in the picture. They were bored floor-sitters.

I'm Ready

I’m almost qualified for my job now. The main thrust of my job, teaching computer classes, has always been within the scope of my ability. Sure, I’ve never had a teaching credential, but I’d say I have good teaching instincts and I’ve been capable of that all along. It’s the fixing hardware issues and speaking Samoan and maneuvering staff politics and living without hot water in which I have no background. But at this point I think I’m finally qualified.

At my Peace Corps interview the lady sitting across the table told me that engineers and other highly qualified computer professionals often find teaching computers to complete novices to be below them, which is understandable. It doesn’t make sense for a networking whiz or a systems expert to teach a 14-year-old to use a mouse.

But it would be nice to have a little more expertise in Microsoft Server. Also I came in to this knowing almost nothing about hardware. But I’ve learned plenty about both.

Sometimes I forget what recent experience has taught me, and I slip into a pre-Peace-Corps mindset. For example, one of the Dells in my lab stopped functioning at the end of last term. When you pressed the power button, nothing would show up on the screen, and the system unit would make a high-pitched whining sound. My first instinct was to leave the machine alone and teach with one less computer.

And that’s what I did. But then yesterday—six weeks after the fact—I thought to myself, that’s probably just a RAM issue. The humidity here does funny things to computers, and with RAM all you have to do is take it out and put it right back in, and that fixes the problem. Sure enough, I popped them out and then popped them right back in. Success!

I also realized moments later I could consolidate parts from the machine missing a SATA cable and the other machine that needs a new power supply. Both of those have been out of commission for months. What a waste. I switched the SATA cables (and the hard drives for good measure), and now there’s a working computer at that station. Success again!

I’m not claiming to be an “expert”, but I have learned to deal with very specific issues in my lab, almost to the point I’d be willing to hire me to work here.

I’m not particularly good at living without hot water, and my bucket-laundry leaves something to be desired, but I’m functional. And that’s progress.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Notice anything weird about this picture? That's right. The lights are on. For the most part, there is more than enough ambient sunlight here that we almost never have to use the classroom lights. But today it was so rainy, the cloud cover so thick, we had to turn on the lights. It was crazy.

The kids from the school across the street racing in the rain.

Hot Air

For those of you who enjoy This American Life, I highly suggest you check out RadioLab from WNYC. The format is similar to that of This American Life, except with a scientific bent. You can download old shows via their iTunes podcast; they've got entire shows available going all the way back to 2007. A couple of good shows that aired recently include “The Bus Stop” and “Vanishing Words,” both about different aspects of Alzheimer’s. The stories are depressing and fascinating; much like This American Life.

I bring this up because I nearly brought it up back in February when my Vice Pule asked if I’d feel comfortable teaching a science class. As part of my credentials, I nearly submitted my RadioLab podcast subscription, but then I thought the better of it.

On one hand, I feel completely qualified to teach my year 9 science class. Though I didn’t major in science, I did well in the science courses I took in college. In fact, I’ve always done reasonably well in science going back through high school and middle school. And my cursory interest in pop science keeps things fresh. RadioLab is just another installment in a long line that’s included Mr. Wizard, 3-2-1 Contact, MythBusters, and Discover Magazine.

On the other hand, I feel like I could be exposed as a phony any second.

I felt like I came stunningly close today when the text book gave me a question to pose to the class, but didn’t supply an answer, as though it was obvious I should know. The bizarre thing was I had pondered the exact same question less than a week ago.

As I mentioned in Odds and Ends last Thursday, I walked my bike to the Peace Corps office to get fill up the tires. While working the pump, I got to thinking, just why do we fill rubber tires with air? Why not a cushion of pressurized water? Or, for that matter, why do we need cushioned tires at all? Why not ride around on tires of solid rubber? Looking back now, the answers to these questions seem obvious, but at the time I didn’t come to any definite answers.

Fast forward to today when after the lesson about solids, liquids, and gases—we got farther than I had planned—the book asks, “Why do we fill car and bicycle tyres with gas?”

I find moments like this are when my teaching is at its best. It’s happened before when a student asks a good question and I’m immediately forced to re-think the material, wracking my brain for reasoning, pulling a rabbit out of a hat I hadn’t intended to wear. Students recognize when I get into territory I hadn’t intended to tread, and I actually think it brings an air of spontaneity and freshness to a lesson.

I was greeted with silence when I posed the question, and then one kid raised his hand. “It’s easier to recycle air. It’s all around us, and it can be used and reused easily.” Not the answer I was looking for, but shockingly astute. That kid gets an A.

What was the answer I was looking for? I thumbed through today’s lesson again. Of course. Gases are far easier to compress than water. And gases expand to fill a confined space, ensuring constant pressure throughout the entire tire. A tire filled with water would be heavy and, even if you could pressurize the water, if pressure decreased at all, a bike ride would be sloshy and uneven. As I said, this seems quite obvious now, but last Thursday bike tires filled with water seemed whimsical.

And science is always most fun with a little whimsy. For proof, tune into RadioLab.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

We're doing impromptu speeches in my year 10 English class tomorrow. This is a list of possible topics.

There's a guy working in the alcove on the right. If you look closely, you can see there's no floor. Also, he's 3 stories off the ground.

"Curry Pockets" from K.K. Mart, the store next to the Peace Corps office, are a favorite among volunteers. Until today, I'd never had one. They lived up to the hype. They were delicious.

Waxing Poetic

I admit I still don’t understand iambic pentameter. I’ve understand that it’s “da-DUH da-DUH da-DUH da-DUH da-DUH,” but I’ve never been able to hear that as natural. But as much as I’m no poetry connoisseur, I know that rhythm and syncopation can be important poetic tools, although I don’t think that specific thought was in my head when I started practicing the poem with the 10.2 class. Mostly I figured having the kids read the poem to a beat would help them stay together. The poem is part of our school-wide English Day competition that will be held Thursday.

In regard to the poem itself, I feel a little ambivalent. Here it is:

Listen Teacher
Listen teacher
Listen to me
Don’t look away
See my eyes they hold messages
That can make you understand me
Hold my hand and your heart
Will warm towards me.
Let me dance and sing you
My own songs which you don’t know,
And you might smile
As you’ve never smiled before
Let me tell you a story
Of my ancient past
And then, maybe, you can see
Another person in me.
- Emma Kruse Va’ai

Bernie was originally going to be in charge of the poem, but he was absent the first day, so I took on the project. The kids had a tough time staying together, so I started clapping a beat. The rhythm we fell into was a staccato “DUH-da DUH-da dutta dutta DUH”. It didn’t work with every line, but we went line by line, and figured out the whole thing. When I heard the finished result, I realized the syncopation was similar to the rhythm we used during training when the guys did the “Slap Dance”, though I didn’t mention this to anyone. I didn’t need to. When another teacher heard it, she said, “Oh. You’re doing a haka.”

The haka is a sort of warrior chant. The Manu Samoa, Samoa’s rugby team, do a haka before each game to psych out the other side. It’s posturing as performance art. “Have them do a haka dance,” she told me.

So I went off with the year 10s to oversee the choreography and coordination of an English haka. Far be it from me to create a dance, so I used the method I learned last year: open up the floor. Students came to the front of the room, suggested a move, and there was a collective decision to incorporate or veto. The result is a weird mix of modern and traditional, but a pretty good haka, if I do say so myself.

I’ve tried to pull out all the stops too. Today I borrowed a pair of sticks from another teacher so I can do the percussion, and I think we’re going to perform it twice through—once normal speed, once fast. The kids really like the fast.

Reception so far has been muted. The other teacher came to rehearsal today, and nodded stoically when the kids finished, but smiled warmly at me when the kids left the room. The kids liked the idea at first, but their pretty over it at this point.

Although there was a telling moment after rehearsal today. We were sitting in the hall while another class was practicing on stage. It turns out they’re performing the same poem. I watched them, but I kept a close eye on my kids to gauge their reaction. The performance was good, but my kids smiled with quiet satisfaction. The other teacher winked at me. Ours is better.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Our "house" learning the song.

Apong playing guitar while the kids sing.

Wrestling with the CAT

Jordan texted me with the news yesterday. “Did you just get a call saying they changed the cat date?” I texted back asking for the new date, but in my heart, I knew the answer. May 7. I’m not usually one to channel Murphy’s Law, but I guess scheduling my trip to Hawai’i the week after the first CAT was scheduled was an invitation for conflict. Oh well.

I should clarify. This year the Samoan Ministry of Education has decided to combine what have in previous years been the first two common assessment tests (CATs): file management and word processing. On one hand this makes sense since both of these skills are pretty basic, and it’s difficult to flesh out an entire test based on one or the other. On the other hand, they are two very different skills, and preparing for the test has been awkward.

In any case, the CAT was originally scheduled for May 7, but at the teachers meeting it surfaced this date was inconvenient for the Congregational schools (and I think the Methodists, as well?) on account of our breaks being earlier than the government schools’. We collectively decided to move the CAT to April 30, and the Ministry agreed. Perfect.

But now it’s back to May 7. I will be in Hawai’i. And though students are technically required to show up to school, with exams and English Day over, many of them won’t be showing up either. This is problematic.

Until this morning, Jordan was the only one who was officially informed of the date change, and Koa and I crossed our fingers it was just rumor. But during Interval, a teacher approached me and said, “I forgot to tell you. The Ministry called yesterday because your test is re-scheduled.”

So after school today I marched over to the Ministry’s headquarters (conveniently located right across the street) to give them a piece of my mind. I practiced my speech. I wanted to start with an emphatic “I’m VERY upset” said with a respectful Samoan lilt.

When I walked in the room, there were two boys being castigated for who-knows-why by the testing director, but their lecture stopped so I could come in and chat. Now that I had an audience, I lost my nerve and settled on, “The new dates for the computer CAT are very inconvenient.”

Friends back home know that I can get overly testy when I have a bone to pick; this often works to my own detriment. But today I stayed cool, calm, collected. I reasoned and invoked my students and observed how the date change put them at a disadvantage.

It was surprisingly effective. I was told I might be able to administer a different CAT prior to the test. Yeah, that works.

When I got back to my school, my pule was just getting off the phone with the Ministry, and he and I discussed the matter. We’ll administer the alternate CAT if they let us. If they don’t, I think PCV Jordan will come to my school and administer the CAT on Friday, May 7.

I think I’d be more aggravated, but you know, I’m going to Hawai’i. I’ll cut my losses.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

I took a team portrait for the school magazine.

These girls asked me to take their picture after I took the team pic. The one on the right is one of the goofier (and higher achievers) in my year 9 science class.

Holy Week

We diagrammed the heart in Science today, aorta and ventricles and all. I’m a little worried about my science class because we’ve still got 3 units of material to cover and not very much time until the common exams in late April. And school-wise, this week is a joke. “Tomorrow is Sports Day,” I announced, “So we’ll finish up the circulatory system on Wednesday since I probably won’t see you tomorrow.” The class let out a collective “YESSSSSS!”, which I like to think they did because they don’t have class rather than they specifically don’t have my class.

If there’s a term for Holy Week in Samoan, I don’t know it. In fact, the term “Easter” doesn’t get much play either. The focus of this week is Aso Maliu, the day of death, Good Friday. And we’re to the point now when it feels like just about everything we do is in some way preparation for Friday.

To’o, a science and religious knowledge teacher, stopped in during my English class this morning to collect two students, a boy and a girl, to go rehearse for Wednesday’s passion play assembly. “Who are your best actors?” he asked. I shrugged and turned to look at the prospects. To’o picked out a boy from the front row and one of the school’s more well known female vocalists from the back. Fine by me.

Rehearsal went on all day in the Great Hall. I know because my computer lab overlooks the Great Hall and I got to hear the assembly’s soundtrack over and over and over. The play is being directed by 4 teachers, who have given up all of their classes today, and probably tomorrow and Wednesday, to coordinate Wednesday’s assembly.

I don’t mind all this. If nothing, I’m reveling in the downtime. I’m exhausted, and I welcome the break in activity. I just think it’s a bit of a farce to hold classes this week. Classes were shortened today because of the morning assembly. We’ll have a half-day tomorrow for sports. I’m guessing we’ll have a morning assembly on Wednesday and then another one in the afternoon. No classes Thursday, Friday, or Monday.

As I said, I welcome the break, but when am I going to finish teaching my kids about the circulatory system?

There again, no one else seems to worried, so I’m not going to get myself all worked up. If the kids don’t learn it before the mid-term, I’m sure we’ll find time to teach it to them before the end of the year. Unless sports and assemblies get in the way.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

The new art room has been too hot lately, so in addition to passion play rehearsal (up top), art classes have also been meeting in the hall, easels and all.

The cat jumped into a plastic bag this morning while I was getting ready for school, and then got stuck. It was pitiful and hilarious.

Hey Jude

It was similar to a mistake I made my sophomore year of college. I had a crush on a girl, and in talking the two of us realized we’d never seen each other’s favorite movies. We watched hers first: “The Sound of Music” (That’s right. I grew up in Marlis’s house, and I never saw “The Sound of Music” in its entirety until college.). Then it came time to watch my favorite: “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”. The girl, my crush, fell asleep. It was like punching my soul in the face. I’d gone too far out on a limb with one of my great loves, and I got burned.

In my English class today, I introduced the new song: “Hey Jude”. Yes, Koa taught his class “Let It Be,” but I’ve never been a big fan of that song. And yes, “Hey Jude” is pretty epic and probably a large pill for my kids to swallow, but I figure go big or go home, right?

I’d rank it in my top 5 favorite Beatle songs, which puts it pretty high in the running for one of my favorite songs of all time. And it doesn’t have much to do with taboo subjects like love and romance and heartbreak, or at least not overtly. We have about 6 weeks left in the term, which seems about enough time to make it to the na-na-na-nanana-na’s. So at the beginning of class today, I walked to the chalkboard and wrote out the lyrics to the first verse.

At first, my class was quiet and diligent enough. They copied down the words, some of them elaborately stylized the song’s title in their notebook. They kept it together for a little bit of the melody too. By this point we’ve worked out a system of call and respond, and they were willing participants today.

But soon things descended into giggles and goofiness. Perhaps the “Henry!” and “No Sam!” shouts in “Henry VIII” cast an air of silliness for any future singing we do in class. Or maybe the kids just don’t take me seriously. When volunteers get together, it’s a common complaint that since our methods of discipline aren’t as harsh as the other teachers’, and since our Samoan fluency is behind the students’, the classes we teach are seen as lax and are not taken seriously.

Now, yes, I like “Hey Jude,” and it annoyed me when the kids started to goof off, but perhaps I’ve framed this post poorly because I didn’t care so much about the “Hey Jude” aspect as much as the fact that I myself felt disrespected.

Things continued raucously, but stopped suddenly when I became visibly annoyed.

By that point in the lesson, we were going over what the words to the song meant, and I was just about to explain the line, ‘You were made to go out and get her.’ And so when I finally had the class’s attention, I asked who the word “her” was referring to. “Is this song about a girl? Is he trying to maua se teine?” I asked.

“Yes!” the class responded.

“No!” I came back. And then I went into this longwinded speech about how “her” is your life goals, your dreams, your ambitions. And how the song is all about reaching for those, even when times are lousy. And I referred them back to the journal entries they’d written about what they want to be when they grow up, and I went on about how the song is about keeping your eyes on the prize, about how being in 10.4 probably feels lousy compared to being in 10.3 and how it’s a wake-up call to remind them to keep their head in the game, and how it’s on them to take a sad song and make it better. Cheesy? Certainly. Relevant? I like to think so.

The class shut up after that—not because they’d been moved, but I think more because they realized they’d hit a nerve in me. And even though I don’t think it’s very effective to make such speeches, it felt kinda good and I was surprised by some of my own insights. Whatever. They were on task for the rest of the period.

I’m still pretty annoyed though. They’re going to do a lot of writing tomorrow. The English class equivalent of wind-sprints; you know, make them write until they throw up.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Things have been extra dusty along Beach Road lately where they've been digging up large chunks of the uta side of the street, the side away from the water, to lay purple pipe.

First the guy with the concrete-cutting saw moves through cutting along the dotted lines.

Then the big machine moves through that punches holes in the cement and then these guys come and stand inside the trench.

And these guys sit with the purple pipe.

Lame Duck

Teaching is a peculiar profession. Teachers spend their work day separated from their peers and they spend hours after work preparing for hours during work the next day and they’re a little repressed since they’re constantly on their best behavior. Even in Samoa, teacher parties are a little crazy because it’s people who never let their hair down letting their hair down. In any case, one unexplored area of teacher weirdness is the way in which, more than other profession I’d say, they operate on a yearly scale, which makes things feel almost geological at times.

Sure, working in the corporate world there are annual reports and analysts continually compare the current year’s data with data from years past. But with teaching, with each year there’s a new class of students each year with unique personalities, both individually and collectively.

Growing up, we noticed this, and Liam and I still have conversations about the 2000 kids versus the 99ers. My senior English teacher, who I still talk to occasionally refers to us as “The lazy kids who were too smart for your own good”. Maengi does this same thing with different classes at my school here in Samoa. “2007 was a good year,” she’ll say. “But, oooh, 2006. They were so hard to manage.”

This also shows up in lesson planning and polishing. I’m teaching my new year 13s databases right now, and I have notes that I wrote to myself last year about what worked and what didn’t work, and it’s weird because I vaguely remember, but a year is such a long time to connect from one point to the next. It’s like drawing a picture by connecting the dots where every 2 dots are separated by an entire piece of paper.

It’s such a slow progression, it really feels like the formation of a mountain range or the slow movement of a glacier.

And now I’m constantly being singled out by other teachers because I this is my last year. On two separate occasions today, I was confronted about this being my last year and what is the school going to do next year? It seems like the kind of questions and sentiments that would spring up toward the end of the year, but because education takes such a macro view of the year, I’m already at my endpoint, even though I’ve got another 8.5 months.

Really, it’s a good thing. I’m glad teachers are thinking about the future and making plans for when I’m gone. I know I’m making plans for what I’ll do after, and I guess it’s good we’re all thinking about the future.

On one hand, it feels like senior year of college. I remember talking to some freshmen on my floor rather callously about how I’d be gone the following year. They were slightly offended, and I had to explain that the idea of leaving was something I was constantly aware of, every minute of every day.

On the other hand, it feels like I’m resigning my position, and I’ve given an amazingly long amount of notice, and now I’m in that period where I’m still expected to be working, but everyone knows I’m leaving. And I’ll simply be in this weird nether-state for another 8 months. Hooray.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

My students asked where Greece is, so I drew a clumsy world map on the board. When I asked me kids to identify "Africa," they called it "East America." So then I got cranky and labeled the continents and told them to copy it. So then I saw the way this kid had copied it down, and I think the whole thing may have done more harm than good.

Let's Not Do That Anymore

In high school I knew a girl who swore by a philosophy in which posited that any time you try something new, you are obligated to try it twice to either confirm your experience and/or dispel any part of the initial experience that was false. This philosophy, at least somewhat based in reason, seems logical enough, and I’ve employed it on quite a few occasions in Samoa. For example, there’s a restaurant in town where some Peace Corps love to eat while there in town. Tried it. Didn’t like it. Gave it the benefit of the doubt. Tried it again. Still wasn’t impressed. Done and done.

But on some occasions, the first experience is so jarring and wrong, that one can forego the whole doing it again thing. That was my experience in my English class this morning.

It is common among teachers at my school to write heaps of text on the chalkboard and then have the students spend the period copying it all down. For certain aspects of computer studies, I felt like I could justify this method to a certain extent. For one thing, my school doesn’t have the resources to make lots of copies of handouts. Also, the physical act of writing helps the brain commit it to memory. So, for example, when I’d draw out all of the Microsoft Word icons they were responsible for knowing, and then list the definitions alongside, I had no problem making the kids spend a good half hour drawing the pictures and copying the notes.

But in English, I've always been a little weary of the practice. But the plan was to read a short story together as a class, and since there aren’t enough copies of the story to go around, I figured I’d write the story on the board and have them copy it. Bad idea.

My first problem was choice of story—I decided to use the one from the Year 10 textbook. It should be reputable, right? Wrong. This story had words that would have perplexed an American twelfth grader, let alone my kids who don’t speak English natively. The story, written by a Samoan, uses words like “austere” and “implicitly” and “swathes” and “profusely” and “defiant”, not even close to my kids’ English vocabulary.

I wrote the first two paragraphs on the board. They were both quite long, and even though I wrote fairly small, they were all I could fit. Many students, who by this age are quite proficient at blindly copying the board, actually kept up pretty well. Others, understandably, got that glazed-over look in their eye.

The first two paragraphs set the scene: A Samoan family living in New Zealand. The mom constantly picks the red roses that grow in front of their house, and she and the dad sing in the late afternoons before taking the flowers to church.

After my kids labored for most of the period, I decided to ask some of the critical thinking questions the textbook suggests. “How do we know the people in the story live in New Zealand?” I asked.

“Because they’re palagi,” Because they’re white people, said a kid in the front row.

“Whoa,” I said. The words ‘Samoa’ and ‘Samoan’ appear in these first two paragraphs several times. “Are the people in the story palagi?” I ask the entire class.

“Yes!” They shout back quickly and in unison.

“No!” I shouted back at them. “What are they?”

“Afakasi?” Half white? The same kid in the front row half states, half asks.

“No!”

Finally a girl in the second row: “They’re Samoan?” The two paragraphs are dripping with nostalgia for Mother Samoa, and my kids aren’t getting a hint of it. It’s way over their heads.

I will never spend another period writing English on the board for my kids to blindly copy, and we won’t be reading any more snooty stories from the textbook. Done and done.

I hope you’re well. Pictures below.

Apong and the sixth grade rugby team.

The kids loved practicing plowing into each other.

Boys waiting in line.