100th Day!

Happy 100th Day of school from First Grade! This was my first time on the teacher side of the 100th Day celebrations and it was a fantastic day for teachers and students alike. I remember my elementary years and how I eagerly anticipated the 100th Day because the number 100 was infinitely large in my young brain. Every morning we count the number of days we have been in school so the excitement has been building since Day 1.

In preparation for the big day, I've been scouring the web for ideas and it seems that almost every school in the US has a school wide celebration. Here, unfortunately, the day usually passes without mention. But not this year. With the help of our larger than life sign, the whole school asked about the significance of the "100" and we gleefully shouted, "Happy 100th Day of School!"

The teacher in my classroom had a marvelous day planned for our little ones. The students wore crowns celebrating that they are now 100 days smarter. We counted 100 things for snack and then grouped them by tens to make a mix of all the snacks. The students refashioned their number "100" (poster board cut outs) into imaginative butterflies, scooters, dumbbells, balloons and rings of fire. The most entertaining part of the day was when the children had to write what they will be like when they are 100. Most assumed that they will have white hair, children and a chauffeur, but one particular child is hoping to have a very special career in 93 years...

Today was the perfect way to celebrate all of our chicos being 100 days smarter & brighter. I loved seeing them so excited about learning and about reaching such a terrific milestone. We ended the day with each child receiving a small diploma noting their accomplishment. There were ecstatic, their enthusiasm and pride radiated throughout the classroom. 100 days smarter and 100 days cuter. 

Names

A few days ago as I was riding on a bus and I instinctively responded when addressed as "Señorita". Although I've lived in Lima well over twenty months, I'm still surprised at how easily I answer to my long list of new names. In the States I would simply be called "Meghan," "ma'am," or "miss". Don't get me wrong, my heart jumps for joy when a Southern gentleman calls me "ma'am" or "miss" but I think I prefer the endearing nature of my following new names:

Meghan (pronounced as a mix between "May-gone" or "May- gun")
Meghancita- little Meghan
Miss Meghan- all female teachers are addressed as "Miss"
Missita- little Miss Meghan
Señorita 
Amiga- friend
Linda- cute
Mi hija- literally "my daughter" but sometimes used to speak to younger generations
Mi hijita- the same thing but diminutive
Flaquita- skinny
Mami- literally "mommy" but sometimes used to address women
Mamita- little mommy

The Blues & Roses

I've been pretty down lately. Mostly I blame my emotional state on the sinus infection I have been fighting for the past six days. What started out as a small cold with the change in season, turned into a full blown sinus headache that left me home in bed for four days. My doctor enforced quarantine coincided with the Fourth of July, which left me to sit at home and wallow in my homesickness while watching an obscene amount of Friday Night Lights. I haven't eaten a real meal in days and I am tired of my constant state of nausea.

Too much time alone at home resulted in lots of research about my inevitable move back to the States. I began looking up courses to take in my first semester of grad school, I googled apartments that I will never be able to afford and started dreaming what the next- next step will be.

I've been dreaming about theological conversations over coffee and internships in museums. I've been thinking about thesis topics and whether or not I want to get a degree in art history. I've been dreaming about moving to Europe after grad school and getting my PhD.

Then on Thursday, it was back to reality and back to teaching six year olds about fact families. Maybe it was the hunger speaking, but I was in a foul mood yesterday. I nearly broke into tears when thinking about how I just don't want to do this anymore. I didn't feel passionate about any of the work that I was doing and became jealous of all those who calling teaching their vocation.

This morning, as all of Peru erupted into happiness to celebrate Teacher's Day (because everyone has a day), I was resentful. I couldn't understand why there was all this commotion. I wanted to scream out, "And what about theologian's day? Art historian's day? Don't you know, I'm a fake! I'm not a real teacher!"


But then, this afternoon we had a small party to celebrate "our day". Before the party started, one our our sweet boys ran up to me and gave me a dozen roses. He wrapped his arms around my neck and proclaimed, "Happy Day, Miss!", then bounced back to his table. My heart melted. How can I be resentful about a job that allows me to accept flowers from a six year old whose hoodie zips up into a Spiderman mask? How can I possibly be upset about spending my day getting hugs, tying shoes and helping with spelling?

I might not have studied elementary education and at times I might feel lost, but at the end of the day it's just about loving those kids. About teaching them and helping them and showing them how to be decent human beings. I have the rest of my life to get lost in theological discussions and art history theory, but I only have a few more months with these kids. Next year, when my brain feels like it is going to explode from a theology reading, I will miss the days of kids making predications that water is going to explode in the freezer. Or coming out of the bathroom with their jacket on upside down. I will miss their innocence.

So to all you real and maybe not so real teachers out there, Happy Teacher's Day from Peru!

Missing Consonant

As part of our unit on water, yesterday we visited a 1950s submarine that is docked at Lima's main port in Callao. All of our children were brave and climbed down the scary looking ladder. The oohed and awwed over the bunk beds, tiny shower and mannequins stuffed into the kitchen. They courageously made it through the fake explosion, complete with loud sirens, red lights and a fire made of fabric.

As were standing on top of the submarine getting ready to leave, one cute boy showed off his English language skills:

Juan Diego: "Miss Meghan, I know how to say rascacielos in English."
Me: "You do? What is it?"
Juan Diego: (enthusiastically) "Skycrapper!"
Me: "No, Juan Diego, it's skyscraper!"


I adore my inquisitive, energetic, curious and fearless first graders. What an adorable age!

An expat first: Reflecting on my first job

It's been one week since my last day at the language institute. I was so excited about leaving that job that I made a countdown chain. Reminiscent of my days in the third grade, I excitedly ripped off one chain per day for one month. Until this, the final chain. Celebration all around!

Here's what I learned from my first Peruvian expat job:

1. Things in Peru take a lllooonnnggg time. It took two and a half months and my boyfriend pretending to be my lawyer in order to get my visa process moving. Finally on day 88 my papers were submitted. I began work in the middle of March. Eight months after first making contact with my employer.

2. Working conditions outside of the US are not the same as inside the US. This I should have expected, and it was my own ignorance that led to my sincere disappointment. That being said, my current full time job is wonderful: I am appreciated, compensated for my time and effort and it feels like a community. So maybe this lesson is about the institute itself. Let's change it to: This anonymous institute fails at employee relations.

3. Students are the reason teachers teach. I've known this my whole life, either from my own teachers or from my dad who is a professor. But since this was my first teaching job, I had never experienced it. It's true. It broke my heart to leave all my students. 

4. Peruvians are incredibly hard workers. My fellow teachers were some of the most hardworking people I have ever met. They worked insane hours and I never heard a complaint. The cleaning lady was there first thing in the morning and didn't leave until well past dark. Everyone was serious about their job and did it well. This is not only true of my former colleagues, but of most Peruvians I have encountered thus far. 

and the last thing I learned...

5. Expat teachers should skip the institutes and go private. It's true that I needed this institute in order to get my visa and they gave me a good jump start. But other than that, I think most native English speakers should skip the institutes and create their own private teaching business. The hours are flexible, you can choose the material and your paycheck will increase by at least five times. 

I'm thankful for the start in Peru and to be holding my work visa, but other than that I say, "Adios!"

Quaquer?

The institute where I am teaching, believes that it is important for their students to be exposed to a variety of teaching styles and accents when learning English. As a result, students are not assigned to one particular teacher, but rather, the teachers rotate between the groups regularly. Last night I had class with one of my favorite groups.

This group of three women is in Level 2 and they all speak surprisingly good English for being so early in the program. Since there are together every day for class, they have formed friendships between each other which makes the learning atmosphere more enjoyable. They are funny and sweet and their enthusiasm is one of the highlights of my job.

Last night, we were reviewing the words like/love/hate/enjoy. The task was for each student to think about when they were a young child and tell the class what they liked, loved, hated and enjoyed.

Merli started by telling the class that she, “loved to go swimming everyday but I hated to drink quaquer.” She and Eloisa burst into laughter as they reminisced about this horrid childhood drink. I didn’t have a clue what she was referring to, but didn’t ask because I wanted her to finish her statements. After she was done speaking and we had discussed a few corrections I asked, “Merli, what is quaquer?”

She told me, “It’s a drink, but is very dense. Sort of like yogurt.”

I still had no idea what she meant. I started to wonder if it was sort of like the very dense, yogurt like qwark that I loved in Germany, but you eat, not drink, qwark. Eloisa also struggled to come up with the words to adequately describe quaquer. I asked Merli how to spell the word and I wrote on the board:

Q-U-A-Q-U-E-R

And still, the language barrier was high. Finally, Eloisa pulled out her Blackberry and did a quick search for the translation of quaquer. The result: oats. As in Quaker oats.

I let out an enthusiastic, “Ohhhhhhh, Quaker oats!!!”

Everyone had a good laugh as we reveled in the relief of finally having the answer and in the realization that the words for “oats” is Spanish is nothing but a Spanishized version of the biggest name brand.

I then asked Merli, “But did you drink [making a drinking gesture with my coffee cup] the oats?”

“Yes,” she replied, “I drank them.”

Thinking that she was wrong, but yet surprised that at this level she didn’t know the difference between to eat and to drink. I said again, “No, but did you drink [again making the gesture] the oats?”

“Yes,” she said, “in Peru, we drink them. That’s why it’s so terrible.”

“Oh,” I replied, “that does sound terrible. In the States you eat them.” I completely agree. Drinking oatmeal sounds awful, no wonder she hated it as a kid. To that I would have to say no gracias.