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."

My Slippery Students

My 11th formers gave me the slip today. Tricky kids. I have them for the 6th and 7th lessons on Wednesday. Only a couple of classes have the 7th lesson. The school is pretty empty and the students spend most of the class wishing they were somewhere else. I'm sure they spend most lessons wishing to be elsewhere, but they're more vocal about it during the 7th lesson on Wednesday. They start every answer with "I wish I could go home." To which I say, sorry, I didn't make the schedule. Anyway, today my tricky 11th formers gave me the slip and I can't really be mad at them because I think I gave them permission to do it.

At the start of the 6th lesson, two of my strongest girls approached me. They asked if they could leave to prepare for their home teacher's birthday party. Birthday's are a big deal here and I certainly didn't want to be the American who didn't let them set up for their beloved teacher's birthday party. I told them they needed to stay for the first lesson but then they could go. I assumed that they were talking about themselves. I didn't think they meant we as in everyone in the class. They did though. After the 6th lesson, (a fairly good discussion of women in politics around the world) everyone started putting on their hats and their scarves. They packed up their bags and literally, in the blink of an eye, they were all gone from the room. It was just me and my gradebook and my lesson plan for the next hour. Next time I'll have to be more specific when I say yes.

I teach grades 5,6,7,8,9,10 and 11. The fifth graders understand a fraction of what I say but they're eager. My 6th graders all have ADD. They drive me bonkers. I like them as people, but as attentive students, good grief! They're making me go gray. There have been days where I've been so frustrated by them that I leave the room muttering: Assholes. Mature, I know.

My 8th formers are pretty good. Some days they're crazy, most days their lazy, but for the most part they listen to me and respect me. I like my 10th formers the best. The class is mostly girls and they're so sweet and pleasant and they all try really hard. My 11th formers, when they're not giving me the slip, are good too. Some of the kids speak english really well. It's those students that I feel I have the most to offer.

Women's Day

Well, International Women's Day came and went with the drunken debauchery that I've come to expect from any and all Ukrainian holidays. Though March 8th was on Wednesday, the celebrating started on Tuesday. I taught lessons on Tuesday but they were a joke. The kids were completely out to lunch. They were excited about the holiday, they knew they had the next day off from school and all they could think about were the class parties they would be having after the fourth lesson. The school day was cut short so that the kids could have their parties and the teachers could enjoy a concert put on by a few kids from each grade.

The kids were cute. They spent their breaks between classes running around congratulating the women teachers on, well, being female I suppose. I got half a dozen carnations and a couple boxes of chocolates from my kids. I also got a number of cute little cards in the shape of the number eight.

After the fourth lesson, the teachers gathered in the teacher's room and enjoyed a concert by a handful of kids. The concert involved singing, poetry reading and dancing. The kids danced in the most elablorate costumes. They waltzed, they tangoed, the mamboed and "cha-cha-chaed" (please excuse my ignorance when it comes to dance). With their elaborate (and often uncomfortably sexy) constumes, the kids looked as if they should be performing in a pageant or something, not dancing for the female teachers. After I got over the uncomfortably sexy outfits, the dancing was nice.

After the concert, the male teachers invited us female teachers to the physics room. There they had prepared two long tables of food and drink. We sat down and ate and drank. We drank 4 or 5 shots of vodka, I don't really remember. We drank enough so that all the males could toast us women. After the drinking, the teachers all started singing. I like it when they break into song. It's not something that we do in America. After the singing, we were invited into the hallway where the music teacher had set up his keyboard and speakers.

We danced in the hallway for awhile. Mostly we danced in a circle holding hands. Of course this led to the horrid "scarf dance" where one person has to dance alone in the middle of the circle with a scarf and choose someone to pull into the circle with them. They then have to dance together and then kiss (ON THE LIPS!!) and then the first person joins the circle and the poor sap who was pulled in has to dance and then choose someone else to yank in and kiss. I hate the scarf dance. The teachers did it at our New Year's party too so I should have expected it.

I danced the scarf dance twice before making up an excuse to leave the party. I'd had enough to drink and I'd certainly had enough of the scarf dance. The teacher's ended up partying long after I left at 4:30. My coordinator told me she didn't get home until midnight. She also told me that she was so sick on Women's Day that all she could do was sip hot tea. Yeah, I wasn't sorry that I left early.

Wednesday the sun was out and I walked around and enjoyed it. I then went over to Jennifer's and enjoyed a nice dinner with her family. Yulia invited me out to celebrate with her friends in the evening and so I went. We went to the cafe/club. We drank vodka and danced. I left around 11:30. The party was in full swing but I had to get to bed since I had lessons to teach on Thursday.

All in all, Women's Day was fun. I think we should make more of it in America. It's nice to be able to honor women who don't happen to be mothers. And as one, I must say, it's nice to get so many flowers.

Still Winter Here

It dumped snow on March 1st. Our snow had more or less melted, but now there is tons of it again. I like the snow when it is white and brilliant, but when it starts to melt and there is muddy slush everywhere and there is no place to walk without getting your shoes muddy and wet well, then I don't like it.

My regional manager visited me this week. She came and observed a class and met with the english teachers at my school. I was nervous about her coming not because I thought I had anything to worry about, but simply because she's my boss. She observed my 8-A class. My 8-A class can be unpredictable. Sometimes they are crazy and it is all I can do to get them to shut up and listen to me. Sometimes they're calm, so calm in fact they might all be sleeping with their eyes open. I wasn't sure how they would act with Natasha in the back observing and taking notes.

Usually, when there is going to be an "open lesson" as it's called, kids practice the class for a week or two before. They practice the class so that when they are observed, they all know the answers and they all know who will answer and everything works like clockwork. It's really weird. Watching a class that's been rehearsed is creepy. The kids are like robots. When I came for my site visit in November, two out of every three classes I observed where rehearsed beforehand. Needless to say, I didn't rehearse with my students. I in fact, didn't even tell them that there were going to be observed because I didn't want them to think about it. Really, I was the one being observed so they didn't need to worry about what they were supposed to do or say.

Natasha gave me positive feedback. She liked my lesson. She liked how I interacted with the kids. She flattered me by saying that she saw a "natural born teacher" up in front of the class. She said she could tell that I didn't change how I usually teach because she was there and she appreciated it. She even told the other english teachers at my school that they should observe me when they get a chance and use my ideas in their own classes. (I wasn't there when she told them that because I was teaching another class, but I certainly hope she said it in a tactful way because some teachers have been teaching there for more than 20 years.)

I enjoyed Natasha's visit. She stopped by my host home and we filled out paper work and chatted. My host mother knew she was coming by and she kept darting in and out of my room taking things out that she knew shouldn't be there. I had to laugh. At this point, it doesn't matter much what she stores my room. It just made me chuckle to see her frantically making sure that there was no excess of her stuff in there when Natasha arrived. While Natasha was there, my host mother invited me to stay with them for the next two years. I said thank you, but no. I'm flattered that she would want me to stay, but I don't want to in the slightest.

Election season is in full swing. Elections are at the end of March. These elections are a big deal because they will determine the party in power when the new prime minister is nominated. There are campaign fliers everywhere. The center of town is full of tents for different parties. Each tent hands out it's own newspaper and waves it's own flags and hands out it's own fliers. It's pretty crazy. Over night, a billboard appeared outside my apartment building. It seems that every night, more and more billboards pop up all over town. An english teacher at my school told me there are more than 40 parties on the ballot and that the ballot is more than a meter long. He said that more than anything, he's just confused.

Wednesday is International Women's Day. It's a national holiday so that means no school. Tuesday my teachers are planning on celebrating (ie: drinking wine and vodka) after school in the physics room. I'll go to the celebration for a little bit, but I won't be drinking because tuesday afternoon is English Club and I don't want to be all drunk when I arrive. That would just be bad taste.

Today is Sunday and I went to the bazaar with Yulia and Misha this morning. Yulia went and helped Misha buy a pair of boxers. (It was kind of cute.) Then we went to the meat market and I watched Katia at work. The meat market is gross. That's all I have to say. It's a big room with tables of raw meat. All I could think was: oh gross and, nothing here is refridgerated and, everyone is touching raw meat with their hands! It really was disgusting. There were pig heads everywhere and rolls of salo (big fat attatched to the pig skin...) and the ground where the sellers stood had bits of meat and intestines littered all over. I kept my mind focused on not looking disgusted and reminding myself that this is just a different way of life. Next time I go, I'll take some pictures. It's really quite a spectacle.