I have no idea what impact I had this morning during my first day teaching English, but I was given an exquisitely drawn rendering of my name in Arabic by the one student who told me without words that she was not going to talk. Instead, she carefully drew a very stylized version of my name in Arabic. Every once in a while, I’d notice her looking up from her drawing, with a
grin or a chuckle at something I had said, so responding or not, I think she understood more than she wanted to admit, and was simply shy about speaking.
There were 20 students at the school, mainly female (three male students trickled in during the course of the class, which surprised me, but I was told that men were allowed to attend the English lessons). Although they all had different skill levels, the one thing they had in common was their desire to learn. I was with another volunteer from the house, Kelsey, who made it a bit easier, even if that was simply to have someone to share glances of “what do we do now?” We decided to break into two groups of ten, which made conversing a bit easier. Because we didn’t know what their English abilities would be, we didn’t bring any materials with us, so we were winging it all the way. I did, however, bring some photos I had of my family and life, as I thought they would make for a good conversation starter. They all seemed to be able to understand most of what I said and could string together simple sentences.
Shortly after passing the photos around, I noticed that the woman seated next to me had lowered her head onto the table. I thought that perhaps she wasn’t feeling well, but then I realized that she was crying. She explained to me that her son lived in California and she missed him terribly. Seeing the photos of me with my children made her sad. Of course, I felt terrible, and any momentum I had made with my now smaller group of students was quickly lost.
One of the other women glanced at me and, without saying a word, giving me permission to go on, as she knew her friend would be fine. No one else in the group reacted to the crying. Maybe this happens a lot? I couldn’t help but remember something Mohamed had told us the previous day: never take the value of our passports for granted. In Morocco, you must obtain a visa to leave the country, which requires an application several months in advance, along with a $160 fee. He said that you may or may not get the visa, and you don’t know until you are notified by mail. Of course, the $160 is lost either way (minimum wage is $250 a month, so a $160 fee is considered a lot of money). This poor woman, working so hard on her English so she will be able to speak English for “when I’m in America,” may not even be able to get a visa, regardless of her language abilities.
I had just gotten started again with my impromptu teaching when the same woman who indicated to me that it was Ok to continue, grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to her, and told me she had recently had an operation. It took a few tries of her telling me, but I was finally able to put it together that she had breast cancer, had recently had a mastectomy, and had just finished radiation. She may have found a friend, but I’m not sure sitting next to me is such a good idea, as I think she was trying to turn a classroom situation into “private lessons.”
I pulled out just about everything I had, as my group patiently waited to see what I had for them next. No one, except for my new best friend, wanted to take any initiative in the talking, short of the guy in my class who was very interested in learning more about Las Vegas. I’ve only been there once, but I did my best to stretch out what little I had. Oh, and he wondered…”Did I eat at McDonald’s a lot? I think he was disappointed when I told him no, I didn’t eat at McDonald’s.
This was not easy today, and if I didn’t have something to tell them, they would quickly fall into spirited conversations among themselves… of course, all in Arabic. I experienced several of those awkward moments of watching myself as I tried to work my way back into the attention of everyone who was surrounding me at the table. Slowly, work myself back into visibility with anything I could pull up… “What did you do yesterday? Wasn’t it hot?” Sorry, folks, but short of asking you your favorite color, that’s all I’ve got. I know it will get better.
Kelsey had a similar experience with her group, so once back at the house, we started poring through the stacks of materials we found in a supply closet and were relieved to at least have something to work with tomorrow. This is a free language school for students and is staffed solely by volunteers. I always wonder how much impact I’m really making during volunteer situations like this, but when Mohammad told us that if we weren’t there, they wouldn’t have had class, it made me realize that we absolutely were making a difference, regardless of how inept I felt today.
Teachers: I’ve always had the utmost respect for what you do, but that respect doubled today.
The rest of the group volunteered at the children’s orphanage or the children’s hospital. After hearing their stories, I am confident that I made the right choice in my job placement. Most of the children at the orphanage were “thrown away” after birth by single mothers to avoid jail time, as giving birth out of wedlock is punishable by law. One of the other volunteers told me that most of them were severely deformed and needed complete care. She also told me that the place was immaculate and that the children were very well cared for.
I remember the long, quiet rides back to the house after volunteering at my placement in Perú, and today was no different. No doubt, first and foremost on all of our minds was how fortunate we were that we were born in the United States. It’s easy to forget that.
We had an afternoon of sightseeing, with time inside the Medina (the old walled town), an ancient fort, and our first glimpse of the ocean. The colors were amazing.
One last thing… in the short amount of time I’ve been here, I’ve already become accustomed to the bells, that sound more like fog horns, that signal prayer time… four times a day..
