Teaching pt 1

In case it hasn't been clear - I'm, sure it has, actually, but what the hell, it'll save some people from catching up - I'm here in Palestine primarily as an English teacher. In the mornings I teach at Amari refugee camp; in the afternoons I divide my time between a group of (very serious) Bir Zeit University students and a (rather less serious) group of staff at Jalazone children's centre. So far, I've refrained from commenting on the teaching side of things, probably because it takes up so much time and requires so much energy, mental and physical, that it's nice to dwell on other matters for a change. The teaching has also, in truth, been a dispiriting enterprise at times, and when I drop into my regular chair after another crushing morning there's not much solace in reviewing the day's events, piecing together calamity after abject calamity. It wasn't supposed to be like this. I had had four completely free weeks after my college teaching finished to organise myself, tell everyone how serious I was, and (eventually, after much pontificating about objectives) put some actual actual lesson plans together but a couple of days into the programme I realised that all of these were useless and threw them out.

For some reason, I'd thought that the kids would be easy. I'd read all the theory about managing difficult behaviour, which I think is pretty understandable in most circumstances anyway. I was going to be a good little facilitator, and get maximum participation from all my students so I'd be able to channel all that wholesome, teenage exuberance into fun and productive lessons. Well, it's not worked out like that, exactly. I don't get a chance to set up lessons involving learning games and interaction because the children won't let me speak long enough to give instructions and make sure they're understood. Every lesson at least half the class will moan about not having anything to write with, despite the astonishing amount of pens and pencils that I've given out (of the original ten packs of felt-tips I proudly stashed in my resource cupboard on the first day I have a couple of individual pens remaining, and those don't have bloody tops). As well as disrupting anything involving writing, the chronic shortfall in resources means that artistic expression is considerably reduced in scope, and I get ten versions of the Al-Aqsa mosque in brown. And I'm all for a certain amount of chaos, usually, but in this situation it excludes the younger / smaller ones, who can't hold their own in the shark-feeding frenzy that takes place when I organise (say) a bartering game with flashcards and retire to the back seats with glum expressions and baleful stares. The worst thing is that this is not a caricature.