The English Club

I am constantly worried about what the students think of me. Can they see the anxiety surrounding my head when I walk into that classroom? Can they tell I am no better than a first year volunteer English teacher? Perhaps they can do both of these things, but they sure as hell don’t show it. Most of them keep an impenetrable attitude throughout the class; a flat expression that evades boredom, excitement, shock, and other emotions that I might have been able to arouse. Other than this, there is that smile. It responds to either some vague embarrassment, or just some feelings of satisfaction in listening to me speak. Either way, I can never tell what their reactions are. It is not their fault, for it is part of their culture. Besides, what did they expect of an American? Probably nothing. I cannot imagine what they felt like when I walked through that classroom for the first time. Having a green space creature speak to you in your native language would probably replicate the experience. They have warmed to me over the course of the year, but without a strong response to what I teach every week always leaves me with a feeling that I have somehow failed them.

The school year is over. I went on vacation for a few weeks, and I have come back to do some work on summer projects. Some weeks are filled with things to do, and others are not. My Khmer lessons have continued as usual, and I have about ten students that come to a summer English class. I teach them for four hours during the week, twice with two-hour sessions. The students who come to the class are not from the rice fields beyond the jungles in Poum Bott and Srey Snam. The class almost always comprises of a female majority. They come from the markets near by. They are the ones who can afford private classes and can speak better than most of the other students. They are the ones who will grow up and become the merchant class of Angkor. Perhaps they will even move into the professional class. These students scare me the most because they are the ones who can do the most with whatever I teach them. How can my lessons be adequate with that?

The students enjoy speaking, so I designed the class to revolve around conversation. I teach alone, for I have not seen my co-teacher for about a month now. It is better this way. When I teach with him, he usually translates everything I say into Khmer. The students often do not pay any attention to anything I say and just wait for his translation. When I teach alone, the students have to think for themselves. It is hard for them at first, but they get used to it.
It is a good class, but I still struggle to come up with lesson plans that the students will both enjoy and will improve their English abilities. I still have the nagging fear that I have no idea what I am doing (I don’t, but I have gotten far better at pretending that I do). Even writing this now, I know I have to walk into that class tomorrow at 7 AM and have a lesson ready to go that will last a good two hours.

The morning today went like this: at 6:15 AM I woke up, washed, dressed, and got ready for school. I went outside, locked my door, and walked to the front of our yard. I bought two waffles from the grandmother there, who put them into a plastic bag for me (she recently bought the cast iron waffle maker, which she uses over a charcoal fire to cook the batter). I was running a little late, and I walked quickly to school knowing that the students would be waiting for me. When I arrived at the school building, the room we use was still locked. I chatted with the students there for a bit, although their friends obviously had more entertaining conversation. None of us wore our school uniforms. When the room was open, I put my bag down on the teacher’s desk and mechanically began to unpack its contents. While the students were trickling in, I wrote on the board, “Today is July 23rd, 2009.” I told them that this marks the one-year anniversary of me coming to Cambodia. One girl threw me a look that seemed to say, “You want a medal for that, or something?”

I turned to each of them and engaged in a brief conversation. “Hi, how are you? Did you eat breakfast already? Did you hear the thunder last night?” and other questions like that are posed. I’m always poking and prodding them with words in order to get them to talk. Some students are better at this than others. Many are forced to giggle, make their heads fall into their chests, and turn to their friends for help before they can engage me with a thought or an answer.

I turned to the material I had prepared for the day. I gave each student a photocopied page of an article from the Phnom Penh Post. I am always trying to interest the students in current events, and this article was about the rate of mine accidents in Cambodia. I gave the students about fifteen minutes to read through the article and find all the words that they did not know. After this period was up, I wrote all the words on the board. I quickly explained what these words meant, and afterwards we looked at the article. I had a student read a paragraph at a time, and I quizzed them about the meaning. As a closing, we had a discussion about mines in Cambodia. They did not seem to know very much about them, but they did not seem very curious about them either. Again, I could not really gauge their interest. At nine, I dismissed the class. They hopped on their bicycles and went home.

I will do it all again tomorrow, and I will keep doing it until I find something that provokes a strong reaction. Difficult as it may be, it is a goal that keeps me going.