Frustration

I haven't written for the past couple of days because I come back from teaching completely exhausted. During the car ride out to the village of Chuchuqui, we talk and giggle, but on the way back, we simply stare out the windows at the passing mountains. In addition to the usual frustration of teaching things that are already so familiar to you that you've forgotten how to explain them (like how to say hello), there are so many more that I never would have expected.

First, language barriers. For some kids, spanish isn't a first language. They speak an indigenous language and often slip into it during class. Imagine if all those kids giggling at you in class were giggling while speaking a language you don't understand, leaving you free to imagine countless jokes as possibilities. Also, speaking of language problems, it is nearly impossible to command the respect of the students when they know you can't speak Spanish with absolute precision. They giggle at each mistake I make.

Second, pronunciation. Even though much of the curriculum is devoted to teaching usual language class things, from vocabulary to verb conjugations, none of that matters when the kids can't master pronunciation. Some of the sounds in English, like the "g" in girl and the "h" that is actually pronounced, are completely foreign to these kids. And even with endless repetition, it still doesn't seem to stick.

Maybe it doesn't stick because they've never been told how to study. They come in each day and it's as if we need to build everything from the ground up again. We give them homework and advice on how to learn new vocabulary (say the words out loud to memorize them), but it hasn't seem to sink in.

And then there is the vergüenza. The kids are too ashamed to say that they don't understand or need help or couldn't hear.

Oh. And there's this group of guys that hangs around the school and whistles at me. Actually, being white here means that when you walk on the street, men will whistle at you and say "hello."

I'll be headed back tomorrow. That's all I got.

In the Classroom

Since everything is new to me here, I'm on information overload and everything is going to come out in fits and starts. Maybe chronological order is the best way to go.

I started out the day with a run. One of the other volunteers knocked on my door at seven thirty (apparently this has been going on for the whole two weeks that everyone else has been here ), and a large group of us met up in the courtyard to go for a morning jog. Usually they just run around a track at a nearby stadium, but today they wanted to actually get somewhere and have hills, so they decided to run to the cemetery. I did not make it to the cemetery. Since we're up fairly high in the mountains, the air is a lot thinner and that makes it really difficult to breathe. The rest of the group says that it gets easier as time goes on, and I hope they're right.

I hope that as my lungs grow, my knowledge of this town will too. If we hadn't gone running in a group I would have been completely lost after about five minutes. Everything looks the same. It's not just the squat, pastel houses and small shops, it's also the short streets without traffic lights and equal height of all the buildings.

We spent the morning making posters of the English alphabet, gathering supplies, and generally preparing for the classroom. Everything was complicated by the fact that I had no idea what to expect.

We took a small van up to the school in the village of Chuchuqui. It stalled out on one of the hills, so we rolled right back down. I was sitting backwards because for some reason there's a row of seats facing the wrong way. It felt a lot like falling. Again, completely irrelevant.

Teaching. It's so hard to remember because I was so terrified the whole time. And something about speaking in Spanish makes it so much harder to have an awareness of what's going on. It takes so much effort that the only way to go is forward (rather than fretting about the past or the future). Most of the day was devoted to introductions and creating rules and discussing note taking skills. But we also spent a lot of time going over "l, m, n, o, p." Apparently that is one of the most difficult parts of the alphabet song. It's so easy to forget how foreign the most familiar things can be to people.

Arrival

After two days of travel I'm here in Otavalo, Ecuador.

I flew in yesterday, leaving my house at 10:00 and not arriving until 12:30 in the morning (actually 1:30 at home due to the hour time difference). My flight was delayed due to a medical emergency and an unexpected landing in Panama City. It was like something out of a movie, what with them asking if there was a doctor on board. I was so happy to see faces of other Swarthmore students that I recognized at the airport. The Program Director came to pick me up, and he was waiting with another arrival.

We spent the night in a hostel in Quito that had internet and free breakfast! It was only $10 (yeah, they use the USD here). Everything is so much cheaper.

We rode a bus to Otavalo today. While I did sleep most of the time, driving through the mountains was beautiful. And if the outside sights weren't enough to keep me entertained, people came onto the bus to sell ice cream and soda and other snacks. Some even jumped off while the bus was still moving!

Now I'm here at the hostel (pictures to come if I'm not feeling lazy). There are roosters that squawk and crow at all hours, as well as loud music that's coming from who knows where. Home?

Packing!

To get all of the nervous energy stirred up by the prospect of traveling to a foreign country where I can barely speak the language out of my system I've decided to focus on packing. The type of packing that involves a lot of lists and not too much actual decision making.

Previous volunteers say that the weather in Otavalo isn't very consistent because it's up in the mountains. It can be cold at night and in the morning but still relatively warm during the day. So I scribble little numbers next to the words "shorts" and "pants" on my list, wondering what the right combination is and how much will fit in my rolling duffle. I don't want to be the girl that shows up with too much, but I don't want to feel like I'm missing something! (I really hope thoughts like that seem really insignificant a week from now, when I'm in Ecuador.)

The easiest thing to pack was toiletries, but I'm beginning to wonder now if even that was a mistake because you can buy them there.

And as I'm gathering all this together, I can't help but imagine myself schlepping it all through three different airports and how heavy it will feel at 10:00 Saturday night when I finally arrive in Ecuador. I will be so happy when I find the program director at the airport!

My First End/New Beginning

Even if I say that I won't be a sophomore until school starts again in the fall, there's no way to pretend that my first year at Swat isn't over. I definitely did not spend enough time documenting all the new things I experienced, but maybe that's a good thing as I had an opportunity to "live in the moment." But even though at times I've been really bad at keeping my blog up to date, I'm not giving up on it.

Although my first year at school is over, I've still got plenty of things happening that are both worth recording and Swarthmore related. This summer I'll be traveling to Otavalo, Ecuador with the Village Education Project, a program started by Swarthmore alum Katie Chamblee. I'll stay there for four weeks to teach math and english to students preparing for high school, and I'll use this blog to keep track of what happens.

My First Spanish Essay

This post is pure procrastination. 

But I have to write my first ever critical essay in Spanish, quite a daunting task. Spanish has been my hardest class this semester, probably my hardest class at Swat, and possibly my hardest class ever. It meets everyday, so I never get a chance to put off assignments. And while I manage to keep up with the day to day assignments, worksheets and book work for the TTH grammar section and readings for the MWF "drill" section, there are also long term projects (such as this one) looming over my head.

The hardest thing about this essay is that it brings me the closest I've ever been to thinking in Spanish. I'm writing in Spanish about a book I read in Spanish, so there's really no room for English to intervene. 

My friend Sarah asked me once over dinner if I felt that I write differently when I write in Spanish. She's a junior and knows the language well enough that it takes her as much time to write an essay in Spanish as in English. "I really think I write differently," she says, or something like it. 

As I write this essay, I'm trying to negotiate this empty space, or rather, this space where I'm not in control of the words. My thoughts, and the words that actually come out on the page, are limited by my vocabulary and knowledge of grammar. I am sure that I'm writing differently because of these constraints, but I'm also sure that this isn't what Sarah means at all.

Are these things I would say in English (if I were in the sixth grade)? Is my organizational scheme somehow different? 

But in my frustration (and procrastination) I begin to wonder if I will ever know if something's different, if I will ever have the upper hand in this battle for expression, if I will ever hold the reins tight enough to know that what comes out is me, and not the lack of the right word.  

My First Internship

Not only was it beautiful out today, I got a chance to get off campus and read poetry. Professor Betsy Bolton invited all twelve of the Poetry Workshop participants to help a Drexel professor read through manuscripts for the Saturnalia Press manuscript contest.

A fellow student and I had a little adventure: got on the train, navigated the city on our own, bought Auntie Anne's pretzels. 

We sat in the corner of Drexel's basement Writing Center and read through manuscripts, discussing what we should think about when choosing yes, no, or maybe. We learned quickly and got started, marveling at the stacks of unopened manila envelopes teetering in his office. It's weird to think that next year one of them will become a book that you could hold in your hands, complete with cover art and a spine waiting to be broken in.

On the train ride home, we dreamed about staying on campus through July 1 (when the process ends). Something idyllic (and perhaps causing the men and women commuting home from work on the express train to think of us as cliche): reading manuscripts out loud in the outdoor amphitheater, discussing poetry, cooking our own meals.

Turns out there's no partial summer housing on campus. Students who are specifically working at the college get first preference. And no air conditioning. Ugh.

Maybe we'll house sit for some professor.