Teaching
When I wasn't conducting interviews and researching language, I spent my days teaching English to the children of Amatlán. On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I taugh the elementary school students at 5 pm, and on Tuesdays and Thursdays I taught the middle school students at the same time. On Wednesdays at 11, I taught the kindergartners and preschoolers.
Not only was this an excellent way to meet informants and build trust and relationships with them; it was a great way to make friends. The young people of Amatlán are wonderful. The classes were offered on a voluntary basis, and through thunder storms, heat waves, and power outtages, the class went on.
My lesson plans focused on basic grammar and vocabulary. Although the students had had some English in school, it was rudimentary and poorly taught. No one knew the correct pronunciation of English words, and the students were often reluctant to speak in English out loud. We sang songs, drew pictures, played games, had friendly competitions, and simply talked to each other. The students' curiosity and desire to learn were absolutely wonderful. For them, I took on the identity of maestra, or teacher, a sign of respect. It made me feel good that I had something to teach the children around me in return for all that they had taught me about themselves and their homes.
Perhaps the greatest moment during my summer in Amatlán came on a hot, dry Wednesday evening. The truck bringing me back to town had come in late, and there was no other way back to the village save for a three mile walk through unpaved roads. It was 5:45, I noted as I checked my watch anxiously from the truck bed. I was incredibly late for class. The truck bounced its way down the road and pulled up in front of the house where I was staying. As I stepped out of the truck, a huge group of kids started running towards me from the primary school, screaming and swinging notebooks and backpacks. Their sandals and bare feet pounded against the cobblestone road as they ran, yelling "Maestra! Maestra!" They attacked me with hugs and pushed fruit into my hands before walking with me back to the school, reprimanding me for being so late. I felt blessed to be a part of the lives of the children I had gotten to know so well.
Not only was this an excellent way to meet informants and build trust and relationships with them; it was a great way to make friends. The young people of Amatlán are wonderful. The classes were offered on a voluntary basis, and through thunder storms, heat waves, and power outtages, the class went on.
My lesson plans focused on basic grammar and vocabulary. Although the students had had some English in school, it was rudimentary and poorly taught. No one knew the correct pronunciation of English words, and the students were often reluctant to speak in English out loud. We sang songs, drew pictures, played games, had friendly competitions, and simply talked to each other. The students' curiosity and desire to learn were absolutely wonderful. For them, I took on the identity of maestra, or teacher, a sign of respect. It made me feel good that I had something to teach the children around me in return for all that they had taught me about themselves and their homes.
Perhaps the greatest moment during my summer in Amatlán came on a hot, dry Wednesday evening. The truck bringing me back to town had come in late, and there was no other way back to the village save for a three mile walk through unpaved roads. It was 5:45, I noted as I checked my watch anxiously from the truck bed. I was incredibly late for class. The truck bounced its way down the road and pulled up in front of the house where I was staying. As I stepped out of the truck, a huge group of kids started running towards me from the primary school, screaming and swinging notebooks and backpacks. Their sandals and bare feet pounded against the cobblestone road as they ran, yelling "Maestra! Maestra!" They attacked me with hugs and pushed fruit into my hands before walking with me back to the school, reprimanding me for being so late. I felt blessed to be a part of the lives of the children I had gotten to know so well.