The Privilege of Organization and Human Resources

On Monday night, I wrote a quiz on the English words and phrases that I've been teaching my class and printed out several worksheets and notes to teach afterwards. I felt well prepared to lead a two hour class (the duration of all of my classes) without any awkward pauses or downtime. Surely, this class would pass by without any bumps in the road.

Unfortunately, Tuesday's class ended up being probably the most difficult class yet. The atmosphere of taking a quiz at my school, I quickly learned, is far different from what I'm used to. In the pictures I posted, you might have seen that in my class, the students sit at small tables in groups. This makes it very easy for students to talk to each other and look at each other's papers without it being too noticeable. But my class wasn't too concerned with whether they were being noticed; they simply talked to each other almost constantly. When I demanded silence, specifically instructed them not to talk to their neighbors, and reminded them that we were taking a quiz, they would quiet down for just a few moments and then continue speaking. What made this particularly difficult to manage is that, as all three of us volunteers have noticed, most of the students read outloud to themselves whenever they read. I'm not sure if this is common for most fifth graders, but for kids of various age groups at our school, it is. Thus, it was difficult to keep my eyes on who was exchanging answers and who was just doing their best to read what was on their paper.

When one of the students notified me that our class clown/trouble maker, Luis, was copying his answers from his English notebook, I took away his notebook and test. It would have been a lot easier had I never known, since this gave him nothing to do and invited him to agitate the class. I sat him in the corner of the room, but he continued to whisper across the room with other students, and when I was wasn't looking, peer at other students' quizzes and tell them answers. I did my best to stop him from doing this while also trying to maintain some sort of general quiz-taking environment. Unfortunately, it was never completely quiet, and there probably wasn't a single student in the class that actually completed their quiz without help.

After the quiz, the lack of control and formality of quiz time spilled into class time with full force. Luis continued to cause trouble and distraction, now reinforced by the rest of the boys. As I tried to lead lessons and activities, most of the boys didn't pay attention or purposefully disrupted, while half of the girls payed attention and half didn't. Rather than a useful class, it was more of an exercise for me in trying to control a completely hectic and disorganized clasroom. When I did successfully encourage the class to repeat phrases several times and copy them into their notebooks, I was disappointed by their inability to reproduce even the simplest phrases on command. After making it clear several times what a question meant and putting a variety of possible answers on the board, having them repeat them several times with the equivilents in Spanish, the kids still rarely understood how to respond. Considering that when I started 6th grade Spanish, I found it incredibly easy, it seemed to me like my students are well behind their potential ability to read and comprehend new words and phrases.

As draining as this experience was, in many ways it was also depressing. The chaotic classroom is taxing for me, but more importantly, it significantly hinders these students' ability to learn. The more I've worked in this school, the more I am reminded that organization and consistency can be powerful privileges. Calling to mind Peggy McIntosh's famous essay, Unpacking the Knapsack, in which McIntosh creates a giant list of the privileges she is awarded due to being white, I started to think of some of the many ways that my elementary school (as well as my middle school and high school, all public, like the elementary school in which I work), and other elementary schools in well-funded areas, enjoy the privileges of rigid organization aided by plentiful human resources and bureaucracy. As much as I hated these things as an angsty, rebellious kid, and even with the many problems that plague all rigidly organized schools, it's now clear as day how much those privileges aided my learning. What follows is just a few of the ways that my elementary school, and other elementary schools like it, benefit from these organizational and human resources. Everything mentioned on this list is something that is not present at my school.

• Behavioral conduct for taking quizzes and tests were taught at a very young age and reinforced in consistent manners as children grew up. These standards of behavior were enforced with increasing strictness and more serious consequences as children got older. Because of this, it was less likely and more difficult for students to help each other during quizzes and tests and more likely to think for themselves and evaluate their grasp on a given subject.
• Worksheets were frequently distributed for both in and out of class purposes. This is easy at schools that have a printer in every classroom and at least one giant printer/photocopying machine. With worksheets, students are offered straightforward ways to practice what they are learning in class, where teachers can help them, and at home. Grading each and every students' homework was a surmountable task, since all of the worksheets were the same. With the aid of worksheets, children were able to clearly understand how well they are performing in a given subject area. Teachers saved time by being able to reuse previously created worksheets and download and print worksheets from the internet and by more quickly and accurately assessing student performance.
• Poorly-behaved children (like I was) were able to be dealt with through several channels. One was being sent to a principle or vice principle who would determine punishment. Punishment could be given with different levels of severity, all of which are understood by the student, and all of which can result in further punishment if they are repeat offenses. Detention was an option, since there were school employees available to supervise that time period. Recess privileges could be taken away and replaced with boring, sitting time, since employees were available to supervise that as well.
• Recess and lunch time were supervised by school employees rather than teachers. This allowed for a relatively safe recess time, since these employees' sole responsibility was to maintain a safe recess environment. Teachers were able to take a reasonable break from their loaded schedules and meet with other teachers to coordinate and organize comprehensive curricula and activities. Surely, the ability of the teachers to have time at work away from students (including class periods in which they did not teach) allowed for better course planning.

These are just a few ways that my school was organized in ways that fostered my learning. My school was far from perfect, but I'm sure that if I wanted to, I could come up with a much longer and comprehensive list of privileges that I enjoyed in that school. In contrast, the school in which I work here has significantly less resources and is organized much differently. If a child is encroaching on a class's abillity to function, they cannot be sent away or subjected to well-established disciplinary action, since there's nowhere for that child to go and no bureaucratic disciplinary systems to throw at them. Class materials are usually hand made by teachers, if used at all, and usually don't have much to take home other than their notebook. As I've described, these notebooks are often full of incomplete notes about information which may or may not be understood by them. There is no after school homework help or resources for aiding study, and there is no time during the day in which teachers are free to grade and plan independently of students.

Of course, many schools in the states suffer from similar problems, as well as completely different problems that just as severely hinder learning. I'm aware that my elementary school is a privileged one, and that even with the privileges that the school provided, many children were less successful than I was due to countless factors. And none of this is to say that the kids don't learn or the school doesn't function, and my understanding of how the school does function is still limited.

Instead, I consider these observations illustrations of how powerful privilege is and how deeply it permeates our identities and lives. Childhood is an integral stage in a person's development; it is the best time to absorb information and develop a firm grasp on fundamental skills. The further behind a child is on her fundamentals in elementary school, the further behind she will be as she ages, and the less likely it will be for her to break out of the debilitating conditions of poverty and oppression. Rather than being far behind us, the amount of privilege or oppression we experienced in various facets of our lives as children are almost-essential components of our personalities. Privilege, or lack of privilege, shapes us from the moment we set foot in our first institution.

Mas Fotos

The fence posts once the dangerous wire had been removed.

Goin' to the market to get the rope.

Near the market.

Buyin the rope.

The finished product.

My class.

Whites, ''ethnic people,'' and Jesus on the wall for comparison.

Julia working on Brown Jesus with some chicas.

Me at the Brown Jesus table with some chicos.

BROWN JESUS!!!

Chiquitos playin with POGS!

A birthday party. Three cakes. They don't mess around.

And finally, me lifting kids up in the air and or on my shoulders.

That's all for now! Thanks for looking.

Miercoles y Jueves, en Breve (featuring BROWN JESUS!)

During the second half of the day yesterday, the director, Camille, Julia and I went to Trujillo's Central Market to buy rope which would replace the previously dangerous garden fence. We purchased the rope with a chunk of the money that everyone in the 'VEN-Peru' program raised. Today we finally put it up, marking our first tangible contribution to the school.

Unfortunately, it didn't go quite as I had hoped. Today, while Julia was out sick, Camille and I found ourselves experiencing the familiar feeling of not understanding the director's decisions. Instead of the three of us putting up the rope, the director pulled FIVE boys out of class to come help -- and generally take over. The task entailed draping rope across fence posts and nailing it in place with nails and hooks. It wasn't something that required eight people. Thus, Camille and I were less useful than we could have been and five boys missed their morning classes.

After recreo, I went to work with Julia's class. It may have been the change in teachers or the particular day, but her kids behaved quite well. They payed attention to ''Head, shoulders, knees and toes'' as if it was the most interesting thing they've done all year and copied the names of shapes into their notebooks as if it was information that their lives would depend on. It was fun. Towards the end of the day, however, one of the teachers pulled members of the volleyball and soccer teams out of class for practice, leaving only about a quarter of the class still there.

Understandably, this left the remaining kids feeling antsy and excluded, resulting in a less focused and harder-to-control class room. The kids probably got the feeling that it was the end of the day and that they should be able to play outside too. I probably could have restored order by putting some math problems on the board or asking the class to repeat English words after me. But the truth is, I didn't think that would be fair. If I were in their shoes, I'd want to go outside too, and I don't think that some kids should be entitled to more physical activity than others, especially at a young age.

I thought that I was once again running into a conflict between what I thought was right and what the authority figures at the school thought should be done. However, giving it some more thought, I realized that I was presuming a conflict that might not exist. In that situation, as in many others, the teacher gave me control of the classroom and exited without giving me any specific instructions. The teachers may be absolutely fine with additional time for physical exercise but don't have the time or energy to supervise it. They might prefer that the students stay in class while their colleagues are outside playing sports on practice days, but that preference hasn't ever been communicated to me. So with ambiguity and innocence at my side, I took the kids outside to play.

I don't know whether or not that decision was expected of me, but I know that playing with the kids was incredibly fun. First, I would hold their hands and spin around in a circle, lifting them off of the ground as they laugh and scream. This is a favorite of theirs, so I was quickly surrounded by kids extending their arms towards me and saying, ''A mi, a mi!!'' I got them to teach me the Spanish word for dizzy: ''mareado.'' It's generally hard to remember all of the many new words that are thrown at me every day, but after saying ''Espera, espera, todavia estoy mareado!'' so many times, I'm sure to remember that one (Wait, wait, I'm still dizzy!).

Later, we went over to a small concrete building that consists of six or seven steps up to a ten foot by ten foot platform with four pillars and a roof. I'm not sure what to call this thing, but the kids like to play on it. Not sure what to do, I decided to do a quick beatboxing demonstration and workshop. A lot of people get a kick out of my beatboxing, but these kids' reactions have to take the cake. They looked confused and incredibly fascinated at the same time, and couldn't stop giggling when they tried it for themselves. They wanted me to dance, but I insisted that they do so first. So there I was, on some kind of concrete stage, beatboxing just like I do in the states, surrounded by dancing Peruvian schoolchildren. Eventually I danced with them.

On Thursday, my English class went better than it has yet. I came prepared with worksheets that I had printed out and a new game to play between review and worksheets. Still tedious at times, I managed to maintain the class's attention most of the time and allow the class to flow from one activity to another without many problems.

The second part of the day became an interesting application of something I've been thinking about while I work. The school has plenty of just the kind of posters and pictures that you'd find in any elementary school -- posters that exhibit snippits of history, pictures of children doing various activities, lists and pictures of good values, pictures of Jesus and Bible stories (something you wouldn't find in public schools in the U.S.), etc. What bothers me is a problem that is just as severe in the United States: that there are only pictures of white people. The only exception I could find are pictures of dark and tan-skinned people who, of course, are dancing and/or wearing tribal clothes.

This is a serious problem in the United States, but it's more surprising and tragically ironic when it happens in Peru, where whites aren't the dominant presence and don't occupy most positions of power. To give you an idea, Trujillo isn't much of a tourist center -- it's nine and a half hours away from Lima in the opposite direction from Macchu Picchu, the largest tourist attraction in Peru. I seldom see foreigners here that aren't other volunteers. To me, that it doesn't strike the children or teachers as weird to have nothing but white people displayed on the walls, when it's very likely that many of them don't know any white people, illustrates well that white supremacy is far reaching. The depiction of Jesus as white -- once again, something that's just as common in the states -- is infuriating to me, since there isn't even the slightest chance that Jesus was a gringo. To falsely associate the son of God with whiteness is to subtly say that brown skin is a deviation from the ideal, a powerful association in a predominately Catholic society.

This is why I was so excited to help create a brown skinned Jesus for one of the classrooms. Julia was recently tasked with creating a new poster of Jesus, a replicate of an older one that is made out of different colors of rolled up foam. She's been working on it for a few days. The last one was white, but neither of us hesitated to find a way to make this one brown. We couldn't find a good color for dark skin, so we decided to color over the skin with the pastels we were using for details.

As I see it, this is another attempt to passively demonstrate something subversive. While no one is being lectured or pressured into doing anything, Julia and I just chose the color brown for Jesus's skin. This might strike people as strange or unsettling, but ultimately, even if it's uncomfortable for anyone, it won't do any lasting damage. We're from a far off land and don't even quite speak their language, so if the brown Jesus is objectionable to anyone, it might be blamed on the fact that we're strange foreigners that just do things differently. His brown skin isn't deep brown, so it might just sit on one of the walls without much notice.

I still think what we did was important. I can't help but think that there is a connection between the fact that whites are depicted as the default person, that the kids are constantly bombarded with idealized images of whites (like Jesus), and that the kids are fascinated and enthralled by me and the other white volunteers at their school. I wonder how the white-as-default-person phenomenon empowers my image, actions, and authority. And without doing any damage, I wonder how to subvert that privilege or do something useful with it. Brown Jesus, however modest the effort, is an attempt at that. I am reminded of a section in Malcolm X's autobiography in which he more aggressively attacks the issue of the white Jesus. After a Bible lecture in a prison class, X asked what color Paul was. ''He had to be black...because he was a Hebrew...and the original Hebrews were black...weren't they?'' The teacher awkwardly paused and said yes. ''What color was Jesus?...he was a Hebrew too, wasn't he?'' An earlier bored class was now sitting ''bolt upright.'' Finally, the teacher quietly stated, ''Jesus was brown.'' Julia and I aren't anything like Malcolm X, but I think that in a way, we replicated his method of counter-hegemonic action by drawing the school's first Brown Jesus. We're not starting a revolution or converting people to join the Nation of Islam, but in a slight similarity to X's prison class, we're (less outlandishly) planting seeds of thought, of subversion. I like to think that we're hinting at the problem of hegemony.

Long before I knew what a feminist was, my Mom referred to God as ''she'' in an interview I conducted with her for a 5th grade homework assignment. My teacher found that funny and I remember thinking she shouldn't have. Then in middle school, probably as the result of similar experiences as I grew older, the song that moved me most was ''Both Human'' by Thulsa Doom, a gritty hardcore punk song that calls for equal respect between the sexes. The tiny little experiences that challenge our notions of hegemony as children can resonate in our memory for a long time. Kids can notice these issues and they can grapple with them.

It's really difficult to figure out my place in this school. Sometimes it's hard just to communicate simple ideas. And sometimes I really doubt whether I'm contributing anything to this school or to these kids. These kinds of actions, tiny as they are, give me hope that I am.

Proof that I Still Exist and that My Height Hasn't Changed

These girls were straight stoopin before I asked to take their photo.

Camille gettin some hugs.

Julia with a group.

Julia, Camille, and I with Rosa, who works at the school, and a bunch of chiquitos.

Takin' photos.

Yes, I'm still taller than Rosa even when on one knee.

Checkin' out the photos.

(First three photos have color issues because of accidentally shooting raw without having an actual raw converter.)

Judgment and Paternalism

I want to start by, once again, talking about gender. On Thursday, one of the teachers I work with led an oragami activity during an amount of time designated for art. While the teacher demonstrated each step, I followed along with my own piece of paper and helped kids figure out the folds. At one point, I understood that we would be making a dog. After many steps into the supposed orgami dog, I noticed that the teacher was focusing on something else and that my paper, along with with all of the kids around me, didn't look anything like a dog. When I asked him what we missed, he told me that what we had made was a 2-dimensional vase and flower, not a dog, para las niñas (for the girls). The dog would be next.

I couldn't help but think, ''Seriously? Do girls not like dogs?''

This particular manifestation of inscribing gender roles strikes me as particularly absurd, but does a good job of illustrating how reinforcing gender roles can become second nature. There's no reason to indicate who should choose which oragami project -- other than the assumption that girls will like one thing and boys will like the other. This is, of course, not the case, but the teacher seemed to designate the different projects by gender without needing a reason why to do so. I don't think anyone would deny that plenty of girls adore dogs and would love to make an oragami dog. But this format invites girls to think that they aren't supposed to want to make a dog -- and none of them did. It's a subtle message, but it's a powerful one, especially when repeated over and over in different ways during childhood.

On Friday, the afternoon was devoted to physical education. This essentially meant that all of the kids would run around, most of them playing soccer or volleyball or switching back and forth in a disorganized manner, while Julia and I supervised. Camille was teaching. I don't know how this happened, but during the beginning of the period, Julia gathered a huge group of children together -- boys and girls -- to play a huge, co-ed game of soccer. Julia is a soccer player, so a few days ago she asked the director if it would be okay if she played soccer with the boys. He said it would be okay, but that the kids might think she's kind of manly. Without hesistation, that was fine with her, and I couldn't be happier about it. Creating a somewhat charming and unusual picture for this school, we played a giant and crazy game of soccer, including any girl that wanted to play.

Since girls rarely get the chance to play, the boys are much more skilled at soccer than the girls. But the girls didn't hesitate to kick the ball with all of their might when it came their way. They were having a blast, and I hope that seeing Julia playing with finesse and experiencing their own participation in the game demonstrated the possibility of participating in activities that fall outside of gender boundries.

We ran into a problem when one of the boys kicked the ball and a girls head happened to be directly in its path. The ball floored her and she immediately began to cry. As boys and girls crowded around, Julia came over and picked her up to comfort her. We quickly discussed whether we should play a different game, given the apparent risk of injury. I think we made the right decision by continuing the game. If we had stopped, we would have been supporting the idea that girls can't handle playing soccer and given the kids the impression that we had made a mistake by allowing girls to play. After the injury, I did take the girls who were interested to play volleyball. Since Thursday, I've generally played volleyball while Julia plays soccer, in what I hope is an understandable demonstration that men can play volleyball and women can play soccer -- both without hell freezing over.

Moving away from gender, the soccer incident was only one of many injuries and health risks. As you might be able to see from the pictures in the previous post, there are two large play areas that are simply empty rectangular patios of concrete. The two are directly next to each other and a garden separates them. There is a footpath that connects the two and a fence that runs along one of the patios' borders that is made up of wooden posts connected by two old, rusty wires. When the volleyball net is set up, one of the loose wires is tied to the volleyball post to keep the net taught -- which includes keeping a long, sharp, and rusty wire taught across about 7 feet of the play area. Sometimes, the kids 'limbo' under this wire, causing Julia, Camille and I to cringe and tell them to stop. But anyone who works with kids knows how deaf they are to warnings of danger. On Friday, one of the kids' limbo attempt didn't work out so well, and he cut his neck on the wire.

Luckily, it didn't cut deep enough to necessitate panic. It did cause bleeding, which means the wire could have been in contact with his blood stream. I don't know whether or not it's true that you can get tetanis from a rusty nail, but either way, this was frightening. In a place where it's unlikely that the boy has any immunizations or access to reliable health care, this kind of injury makes your heart pound. The director cleaned the wound with alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, so hopefully the kid will be fine. But after talking about it, Julia and I agreed that the fence is way too dangerous to stay there. While there is a path between the two play areas, often the kids just climb between the two wires to cross the fence. Or, when a soccer or volley ball goes astray and into the garden, they run right up to the fence to grab it. With so many nicks and twists and with so much rust, the fence poses obvious danger.

I asked the director whether the fence needed to be there. We could cut and remove the wire, I suggested. He said that they needed the fence, since they intend to preserve the garden and ask to children not to run through it (something they frequently disobey by climbing through the fence). I suggested that we replace the wire with rope and he responded that they didn't have the money for that. Julia, Camille, me, and the organization we came here with do have money, so Monday we will be replacing all of the wire with rope.

I had another clash with the director when at a certain point during physical education, he wanted the volleyball and soccer teams to train, while the others were left sitting on the sidelines with nothing to do.

This brings me, finally, to the issues indicated by the title of this post: judgment and paternalism. In the case of orgami, sports, and gender, I am caught in a somewhat awkward position between my radically leftist views, reinforced by my highly privileged education, and the desire not to paternalistically impose my views on others. I believe, amongst far more radical views, that gender is socially constructed and that rigid gender dichotomies are harmful. I have no doubt that many girls suffer from their squelched desire to play soccer and that many boys suffer from bottling up interests that may paint them as ''feminine.'' I also believe that the fence poses such an obvious and considerable danger that I wouldn't hesistate removing it for the sake of the kids, even if the garden it protected was the garden of Eden. I also would rather have every kid play whatever sport they wanted during the physical education period than have teams at all.

At the same time, I believe that considering myself both qualified and obligated to impose my views on others, especially in this situation, is problematic. What comes to light is the seemingly cliche conflict between moral convictions and relativism -- or maybe moral convictions and anti-paternalism. I'm not going to volunteer at a Peruvian public school for a month, or possibly two, and change it into my ideal elementary school. But how should I deal with this conflict on a practical level? What can I do with my tendency to judge decisions like the designation of gender roles when completely unnecessary, the unaddressed exclusion of children from paricipation in activities, or the insistence on preserving a health risk to children in order to preserve a garden? How aggressively and frequently should Julia, Camille, and I transgress the norms of the schools' activities in ways that challenge the kids' conceptions of gender -- or any other issue?

It seems to me that our task is to assist the kids in their learning and make sure that they enjoy themselves, no matter what activities serve that ends within reason. But even appealing to that conviction with my every action would be entitling myself to defining the school's mission and which action best serves that mission. I'm a volunteer, not a staff member, nor a stakeholder in the organization, so my responsibility is to work cooperatively. I don't have experience in the Peruvian Public School system, or experience working in any school system, and I don't understand how this school functions and the issues they face.

If what I wanted or needed was to put my idealism and insistence on practical, progressive action in perspective, to compare my knowledge of sometimes-utopian radical theory with sober reality, I couldn't possibly ask for more.

Despues del tercer dia en Trabajo

After finishing my third day at work, I'm determined this time not to take a siesta, as opposed to yesterday and Monday. It's demanding to work with a bunch of young kids in a school that is far from rigidly organized and the language barrier makes it more tiring, so each day that I've gotten home I've flopped down into my bed and passed out. I'm assuming that the more I get used to the work, the more I will be able to sustain energy and not feel like I just got hit by a tornado when I get home.

My coworkers, Julia and Camille, and I, are enduring what you could call an accomodation stage. Nothing is expected of us other than teaching English twice a week, so a lot of time between tasks is spent awkwardly asking people what we can do. As we've been warned by our volunteer-abroad program's director, the people who run the non-profit organizations throughout which us gringos are dispersed tend to see us as guests. The adults appreciate our mere presence and the students are completely fascinated by us, which is helpful in itself. As I mentioned in my previous post, sometimes our entertainment of the students frees up the teachers' hands to do much-needed busy work. However, the teachers don't tend to ask us to do anything, forcing us to continually reassert our desire to work constructively and cooperatively. This sounds relatively easy, but there's a difficult balance to be sought between a simple intrusion and an assertion of your desire to help.

Teaching English is a much more straightforward situation. Each of us three volunteers had different experiences in our classes, but in my class, I was the teacher and sole authority figure. The class's teacher came and went while I was expected to run the class. It's flattering that the people who run the school tend to assume that Julia, Camille and I are universally competent people, but controlling a class of fifteen differently-aged Peruvian children is no walk in the park. Had I not called one of the directors of our program on Monday night, I probably would have lost my sanity trying to teach, but luckily he gave me some suggestions for where to begin. A lot of the students already know their numbers up to ten and most colors, so I started with a review of those. I wrote everything on the board in English and Spanish, read them out loud, and asked them to repeat. I also instructed them to write it all down in their notebooks.

Witnessing their writing skills was illuminating. My students are between 9 and 11, yet it takes them a very significant amount of time to write down a simple list of numbers in English. It took them just as long to write down the list of about ten colors. It's very obvious that they lack practice in writing, which reaffirms my previous conclusion that teaching English to them -- and having them practice writing in English -- is serving them well.

The main difficulty is a term you've probably heard if you have any familiarity with the education field: classroom control. As I may have mentioned before, people come and go in these classrooms and no class appeals to a rigidly set schedule. In such an informal classroom environment, the time-consuming task of writing a list of English words invites a lot of shennanigans. Students get up and mess with other students, run up to me and ask me how to say certain words in English, ask to go to the bathroom, etc. It's cute that they address me in the usted form and call me Profesor, but their fascination with me and the absence of their teacher's leadership can distract them.

This is even more difficult when I move the class past the stage of copying from the board and repeating terms after me to playing a game. After the same copy-and-repeat process for animals, I separated the children into four groups and put posters of various groups of animals on each of the four walls in the classroom. I would then select one person from each group and call out the name of an animal in English. The first person to run to the correct animal and touch its picture would earn a point for his or her team. Of course, they absolutely loved the game, but it was increasingly impossible to keep under control. Students would run up to me begging to play next and I would lose track of who had played and who had not. One girl sat in her group with her eyes directed at the ground, refusing to play. Others would just run back and forth talking to other students without any particular purpose. Eventually I was able to settle things down and end the game, moving on to introduce simple greetings and invite the students to practice in pairs, and finally my first day of teaching class was over.

As difficult as it was, I think I can say that the class went relatively well. Though hectic, it wasn't a disaster, and the students both challenged themselves and learned. However, as much as they want to learn English and despite their high level of curiosity, my classes aren't going to be effective without improving classroom control. I've been thinking about different ways to get serious about demanding silence and organized behavior during lessons and games. If I can outgrow the awkwardness of the situation and pretend I'm as professional as the other teachers treat me, the classes will be better for the students.

Yesterday before leaving I asked the director of the school if I could help with math at some point. He instantly responded, ''Sure, of course! You'll do math tomorrow,'' and then confirmed with one of the teachers that they were doing math the next day. Before I could say ''Matematica,'' I found myself helping my class with multiplication tables today. The students' math skills, like their reading and writing skills, are somewhat lacking. Many of the students still struggle with their multiplication tables and thus struggle to complete several-digit multiplication problems and long division. I know my multiplication tables pretty well, but had to recharge my ability to do large-number multiplication and long division quickly. Luckily, checking the students' work turned out to be a good refresher course. I never thought I'd doubt my multiplication and division skills, but since the way they layout the problems and where they put their 'carried' and 'borrowed' numbers are both a little different, I had to get my mental math skills going quickly. I can't demonstrate a problem the way that I learned it as a kid, because not only would that require that the students re-learn, but I don't have the language skills to talk through a 10-step math problem.

I spent half of the rest of the day organizing new books in the library -- a room with about 3 unfilled bookshelves -- and the other half playing volleyball with the girls.

My job is hard. I'm completely unqualified by many standards to be an elementary school ESL teacher, let alone to occupy the position with poor communication skills. What adds to the stress is the downtime spent trying to figure out what I can do or how to fit in and allow things to run smoothly. Sometimes it's hard to tell if I'm more of a distraction than a helpful aide, and sometimes I even wonder whether the kids like having me around. The school is ridiculously understaffed and barely funded, so feeling unable to help can crush my motivation and optimism. But one of the things I have to keep in mind is that I'm volunteering in a place that has to draw from limited resources, improvise, and be creative. That's what the teachers are doing when they make up games that involve no tangible items and hand write tons of worksheets. I have to remind myself that I'm doing exactly that by volunteering in a foreign country with limited Spanish speaking skills and teaching experience. I'm expected to improvise, and my improvisation can be more valuable than I realize it is.

And every day when it's time to leave, Julia, Camille and I are bombarded with hugs and kisses. As our taxi pulls away, manuvering around dirt piles, big rocks, and stray dogs, some of the kids run alongside the car. ''Ciao profesor, ciao profesora,'' they say to each of us, ''Hasta mañana.''

El Primero dia en Trabajo

Today I began my volunteering gig at a public elementary school just outside of Trujillo. I will be working there for at least a month doing whatever is helpful. In this post, much sooner than I thought I'd be able to, I discuss some social issues that I've been contemplating while I'm here. I encourage you to write me with your thoughts about any of the things I discuss.

The two young women from my program who will be working with me and I took a taxi this morning around seven thirty. The school is hard to find, located down a few twisting dirt roads that run between farms, but eventually the taxi driver was able to find it. One of the amenities of the program that I'm here with is that this same taxi driver will be driving us to and from work every day. He's a nice guy, as far as I can tell from pleasantries. Hopefully our conversations will be more interesting by the end of the month.

As soon as we found the school and saw a bunch of kids standing outside of the gate, and as soon as they noticed us and ceaselessly fixated their eyes upon us, I felt a wave of nervousness. I'm not very experienced with kids, let alone kids with which I have a hard time communicating simple ideas. I kept my cool and entered the gate with my friends to see a group of about 20 or 30 kids standing in separate lines. The school, like others in the area, has two long, one-floor buildings painted different colors and one or two patios for playing soccer and volleyball. A few moments later, a big speaker that was placed outside the office began to play what I think might have been the Peruvian national anthem, or some other rousing orchestral song, and the director entered from his office. One line of the kids was instructed to march to the end of the patio and back, and at different points all of the kids had to march in place. Obviously, I couldn't help but compare it to military schools, but since none of them were anywhere close to being in unison, I concluded that it's not a very strict activity. My friends and I just stood there marveling at the situation.

The director greeted us and brought us into his office to say many things to us, a few of which we understood. Afterwards, we were brought to classrooms to talk to teachers and kids. One of the teachers told us it was his first year there, and that last year teachers came and went, so some of the kids' reading skills are poor. Then he dropped the bomb on us that they hoped we could teach English twice a week. More on that later.

I went into a class with one of my English-speaking friends and we began to introduce ourselves to the kids. The teacher was drawing exercises on deducing how patterns will continue, and after each kid was done with his or her exercise, they would sit and wait. It seems like due to low resources, teachers have to create teaching materials on the fly sometimes. This worked out well for us because it gave us some time for the kids to warm up to us. My friend was much braver than I was, but eventually she and I had exchanged names with each kid. My friend began inviting the kids to teach her new words, which they seemed to enjoy, while I suggested that the kids write their names on the board so that I could learn them. Some of them gave me funny looks, but others enthusiastically ran to the board to do so. This was total improvisation on my part, since the teacher seemed stressed out and didn't express any interest in helping us figure out what to do. Soon after writing our names, I discovered that my poor drawing abilities are actually impressive to these kids, so we began to draw different animals on the board. I would do terrible drawings of whichever animal they suggested and then they would suggest another one. Since they were enjoying it so much, I suggested that we draw on paper. We got a big piece of poster-sized paper and I sat down at a kid's size desk (another funny image for you). A group of kids immediately surrounded the desk and we began to draw things together. They really enjoyed it, and after filling each big piece paper with scattered and totally unrelated drawings, they insisted that we tape them up to the wall.

For recess, we all got a shrink wrapped piece of bread to eat and were invited to play either volleyball or soccer. I had discussed playing soccer (futbol) with some of the kids earlier (a given conversation topic), so as soon as recess started, they asked me ¿Cual partido vas a jugar? (which game are you going to play?). I told them, ''¡Futbol, claro!'' A few of the girls grabbed my hands and walked me over to the area where soccer is played. It was incredibly sweet. This became a little more complicated when we began to pick teams and I noticed that all the girls had vanished. I turned around and they were sitting on a bench beside the patio. I asked, aren't you going to play? They gestured to the boys and said ''No quieren'' (they don't want that). One of the boys told me the girls can't play soccer with them, that girls had to play volleyball.

Unfortunately, this wasn't a place for me to start teaching Peruvian children about the deconstruction of gender roles. Maybe if I were fluent in Spanish and had some sort of familiarity with the place in which I am working I would do that, but I had to figure out what to do in that moment. My solution was to walk over to the girls and offer that I would play some soccer with the boys first, then come play with them. Their facial expressions instantly changed from frowns to smiles and they enthusiastically affirmed their support of my suggestion. A perfect compromise, I thought. Unfortunately, I thought that recess was longer than it turned out to be, so after playing only a bit of soccer with the girls at the sidelines, the bell rang and it was time to go back to class. I feel awful about it, but considering that it's my first day, I think it should be fine. As soon as recess starts tomorrow, I'll see if even after this blunder, the girls still want to play with me. Ojala que si.

The director wants my group and I, the three of us, to teach three separate English classes twice a week. This is obviously a hugely demanding task, especially for three completely inexperienced college students that barely speak Spanish. It's also a timely task for me because I've been grappling with the issue of teaching English in developing countries since coming here. Until recently, I wasn't comfortable with the idea of teaching English abroad. Though my discomfort wasn't grounded in a particular theory or familiarity with how English programs across the world actually function, reinforcing the English language's dominance and ubiquity was not something that called my name.

After several conversations and this experience, however, I've reconsidered. In age groups ranging from kids to adults, there are strong arguments for why teaching English isn't something that should make me uncomfortable. In the case of teaching adults, my refusal to teach English on the grounds of not wanting more people to learn it would imply that I know better than these adults what they should learn. People have all kinds of reasons to achieve proficiency in English -- significant class mobility, for example, can be one of them. There's no question that knowing English, or any other commonly spoken language, can be an empowering skill. Others simply enjoy learning the language even though they don't envision themselves becoming fluent. Obviously I don't know shit about what a Peruvian who I don't know should learn, since I'm not them, and I am not qualified to determine what's best for them. My education and upbringing in a highly developed country -- and my desire to see the flourishing of multiculturalism and the abolition of imperialism -- doesn't qualify me to go around the world telling people what to do with their lives. This isn't what I'd be doing by abstaining from teaching, but it's the extension of the argument to which I was appealing by thinking that English shouldn't be taught all over the world.

In the case of kids, the utility argument is even more applicable, since the earlier you begin to learn a language, the better. Learning multiple languages has other benefits as well, like helping kids to understand grammar and allowing more time for the practice of their written and spoken communication skills. As to the issue of one's personal desire to learn a language for whatever reason, obviously with kids the situation is different. It's appropriate for teachers of children to assume that they are more qualified to determine what should be taught than the kids are. But there's not much dispute over whether kids should learn multiple languages for reasons discussed above, among others. And most importantly, if there's something that's both enjoyable to kids and rewarding to learn, then it should be taught, and when I asked the kids, '''¿Que les gusta estudiar?'' (what do you like to study?) they replied in one voice, ''¡INGLES!''

Fotos

A street corner in Lima

Another street corner in Lima

One of the huge villages that we saw on the way to Trujillo.

Another

The first bedroom I stayed in until my host Mom insisted I move to a bed that fits me.

The empleada (cleaning woman) who lives here has a 1 year old named Mabel. Every time I walk into a room she smiles and runs up to me. Sometimes, if she's crying, just me walking into the room will make her stop. I don't know why that is, but it's friggin adorable.

This is the view from the roof of my house.

This picture was taken steps down the street from my house.

A typical street in Trujillo.

Outside of Trujillo.

Native Peruvian hairless dogs.

We saw ancient ruins.

The tour guide.

Pescado al ajo con una Inca Cola y un pisco sour. Que rico!