Introducing Teacher Katarina

Day 1:

Thinking to myself: Oh gosh, I am teacher. Who put me in charge of these students learning? And what were they thinking. Oh well. Besides, I know English. I can do this. And they are in eleventh and twelfth grade, they have been learning English for at least three years. We can probably chat a little. Here goes.

“Good evening class.”

(blank stares)

And then I threw my entire 90 minute lesson plan out the window…

I am teaching two classes at night, one of 11^th and one 12^th grade English. In Mozambique, students begin English classes in 8^th grade. However, these eleventh graders claim to have never before taken an English class. I am not sure if they are lying, something was lost in translation between their broken/non-existent English and my mediocre Portuguese, or they really somehow missed out on three years of English in school. But honestly, just judging by the fact that they were dumbfounded by my greeting, I wouldn't be surprised if they were telling the truth. So anyway, here is the challenge:

The eleventh grade curriculum changed this year, a number of new subjects were added, and the number of English class hours increased from three to five. But, seeing as I declined to teach French on top of my already full schedule, we are not implementing the schedule changes. Rather, I am teaching the newly expanded five hours a week eleventh grade curriculum in three hours a week, to students that are at an eighth grade level.

But let’s face it, I wouldn't be happy if my life was easy.

The plus side: the night students are eager to learn. They are mostly in their late 20s, work during the day, and are coming back to school to finish. So they are tired and busy, but motivated and attentive.

I am still hoping my daytime students can chat a tad… but this time I am preparing a plan b.

“When in doubt, just have them sing a song” – My mother.

I guess I need to compile my repertoire.

Day 2

National holiday, no classes, so I go to the beach :)

Day 3

The posted timetable is incorrect, so only one class shows up, and of that class, only about half the students are present. But, thankfully their English is more at the level that I had expected. They are not fluent by any means, but most of them can generally decipher my instructions with a few examples and some excessively animated hand gestures.

Day 4

I taught seven class hours. One class is a bunch of talkers. I can just tell they want to test me. It’s ok, I enjoy laying down the law.

But just as I am finally getting into some sort of slightly off-tempo groove we are remaking the timetable entirely, because they have decided that 11^th grade English should in fact climb from three to five hours a week in accordance with the new curriculum. And now I have to re-make my unit plans for the third time. Make up your minds people.

And finally, the cherry on top of the very long Thursday was when my colleague approached me:

“Caitlin” (because they are finally starting to be able to actually call me by my English name. Actually, it sounds more like Ka-tin, but I will take what I can get).

“What’s up Macuacua” – BTW if I can say Macuacua (Mah – kwa – kwa) they can say Caitlin.
“I need to talk to you”
“Ok, about what”
“Amor”
“What?"
“Amor”

“What?” – this is one of those situations where I think that I can’t possibly be understanding the person correctly because what they are saying is so strange/outrageous.

“Love!” he says in English. Ok, I guess I did understand you crazy pants. But he is a teacher, and seems like a pretty smart guy, so maybe he is just trying to open some sort of theoretical discussion of love, perhaps a platonic forum on the wonders of its different forms.

“Love? What about love?” I ask naively, thinking that the man, who on his tippy-toes might brush five feet tall, can’t possibly actually be confessing his love to me, the giant white girl. Really, I think my feet are bigger than he is tall, and unlike Samantha, I have no qualms with dissing a man simply because he is small enough to shop in the little boys department. I am not anti-those-who-are-vertically-challenged, I mean my best friends are all teeny tiny. I just don't plan on dating Mozambican mini-men.

He continues in Portuguese, “I have much passion for you”

“You are kidding?” Nada.

“Não, you impassion me.”

Keep your passion to yourself, and your hands where I can see ‘em little man.

Day 5

I officially survived my first week as a teacher… and thankfully little mister passions hasn't come around again.