How was I to Know?

I think spring might finally be on the way. The snow, for the most part, has melted. The sun was out for two hours today and a record breaking three hours yesterday. In other news, I have two more days of classes before spring break, a day and a half before I move into my own apartment and three days until my friend Dave comes to visit. Basically, I'm on top of the world.

I will be moving into my sprawling apartment on Friday. (It is in fact, quite sprawling: big bedroom, fair sized living room, hallway, small dining room and a tiny kitchen.)The move is a day sooner than I was expecting and two days sooner than peace corps technically wants.

Today my 10th form had an "open lesson" in their Ukrainian History class. Some big-shots were coming to watch the class. The kids had been rehearsing with their teacher for the last two weeks so the lesson would be flawless. I, of course, had no idea that this was going on. Moreover, I had no idea that they even had Ukrainian History after my class. There had never been any evidence of Ukrainian History in the classroom before. How was I to know?

When I walked into the classroom this morning, there was a huge map of Ukraine taking up more than half of the front of the room. It was a little odd simply because it was so huge, but I didn't think much of it. As often happends, the chalk board had all sorts of writing on it-- flowing Ukrainian cursive that I can't read-- left over, I assumed, from some previous lesson.

While the kids were busy asking each other warm-up questions, I went to the board to write directions for the next assignment. The board was full, so I took the eraser and started to erase one part of the board. As I did so, the class let out a loud, horrified gasp. I turned around and they were all silent, like ghosts, looking at me as if I'd just set the school on fire.

"What?" I asked, totally confused.
"Open lesson," they whispered. "We have an open lesson in Ukrainian History."
"Oh," I said, "Didn't know that. I'll just stop erasing then." Suddenly the billboard map of Ukraine made sense.

Ten minutes before the lesson ended, the Ukrainian History teacher came marching into my room. I had my back to the door when she came in, but I knew it was her by the way the students madly scrambled from their chairs to stand at attention. (Students have to stand any time a teacher enters the room. They have to stand until they're told to be seated. They even have to stand if a teacher just pops his or her head into the room. Sometimes this is funny, especially if a teacher pops his or her head in multiple times in a row.)

The Ukrainian History teacher is a small, scary woman. She's one of the few teachers who walks around with a permanent scowl on her face. She might be the only teacher to have ignored my "good mornings" and "good afternoons" as I've passed her in the hall. Anyway, she walked in and looked at the board. She stood stiff, staring at it for what felt like an eternity. Everyone in the room held their breath. Then she turned around really slowly and glared at the class. They rushed to my defense, but not before she turned back around and shook her fist at the board.

Of course, I apologized, in Ukrainian. How was I to know? She brushed off my apologies by telling me that English class was over. They would now be preparing for their history lesson. She busily began writing on the board. I hadn't really erased that much. Maybe a line. I barely did one swipe before the class had gasped, sucking all the air out of the room.

I bid my kids farwell. I wished them luck on their lesson. I walked out laughing to myself because really, open lessons are so abusrd. Talk about a dog and pony show. It's not real learning if the class has been rehearsed for two weeks prior. Anyhow, I left the class and found Sasha, my favorite English teacher, and told him what I did. He grimaced and then laughed.

"I'm going to be in trouble," he said,"Because I was supposed to tell you. I guess she'll come and shake her fist at me."
"Oh," I replied, "So that's how I was to know. Thanks."