Every so often, I have to file an official report to the Peace Corps detailing how my work is going. While most of the report consists of detailing how many students I teach, what the level education is like, blah blah blah, and other things that will never be complied into useful data, one of the questions asks how integrated I feel within the host community. The choices are "not at all," "somewhat," "positively," and "very." This is followed by an essay prompt asking you to explain your answer. When I turn in my report for this quarter, this is going to be my answer:
"As a volunteer, I feel that I have successfully integrated into my host community. In fact, I do not think that I could become any more integrated than how I already am. My reasons for this are very simple: I now receive free vegetables in the market, whereas before such vegetables were not forthcoming. How does this mean that I have integrated? It is quite simple. The woman who sells me daily supplies of lettuce, onions, tomatoes, eggplant, and limes for my daily sandwich lunch has moved our relationship forward. Now when I buy tomatoes, she give me a handful of wild onions! If I buy eggplant, she throws in the lettuce for free. Such gestures are monumental! Think not that she gives me these vegetables for free because of their extremely low cost. (One clump of lettuce is 200 riel [around $0.o5]) Rather, I have gained enough recognition in my community that I awarded with these vegetables on a daily basis. There is no more proof needed that I have become a successfully integrated volunteer. The proof is in the mango salad."
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The Classes
I am not the world’s greatest English teacher, nor have I ever held grand visions of being one. How you could ever hope to accomplish this in the environment that I am in is beyond me. That being said, I consider what I do in the classroom to be more entertainment than real and rigorous classroom work. The majority of the students are not really interested in studying to the best of their ability; They know that, and I know that. If they were, they would find some way of leaving Angkor Chum district in search of a better education elsewhere. Every once in a while I bump into these students in Pourk or Siem Reap. I ask them how they are, and they tell me they have found a better school somewhere else. You cannot really blame them for leaving, but it does leave one less student in the classroom who can do the studies assigned to them. And believe me, these students are very rare. So while I am jealous that other volunteers have students who can read Animal Farm, I try and focus on doing the best I can with the students I have.
On a typical day, I walk into a classroom full of students who all rise to greet me. Standing at the doorway, I try to throw to throw my hat on the teacher’s desk at the front of the room to the amusement of onlookers. I always miss. After the students sit down, I begin the class by writing the date and the agenda on the board. I then ask the class to recite the date, after which I choose one student to read it out loud for the rest of the class. It is a routine activity, and I think it makes the students feel relaxed in the presence of a strange foreigner. The student picked at random to read the date is usually reluctant, but the students are usually reluctant to do anything that does not involve copying notes from the board or repeating words out loud. To get around this, I use the simple, beautiful, and effective art of peer pressure. In response to the answer “Awt Cheh” (“I can’t, I don’t want to”), I say the student’s name with vigor, smile, clap my hands, and encourage the other students to do the same. A sudden rousing chorus of voices and claps comes from the other students, and the poor thing is pressured into trying their best at reading the date. If they have trouble, I help them through it.
The next stage of the class is open ended. I can give them a grammar lesson, play a game, do a writing activity, or any number of things. The only thing I really have to do is teach the lesson from the book, which comes later. Anything that requires creativity is the hardest to teach, and anything formulaic and predictable is the easiest. Creativity is not something they are taught in any of their classes or in anything outside the home. Buddhist instruction, which is what the education system is modeled on, typically requires a student to be a blank slate. This is to say that they suppress all thoughts of their own in order to completely absorb what their master tells them. How this translates into the classroom is very simple. Were I to assign the students an essay, they would simply have no idea how to do it unless I spoon fed it to them piece by piece.
Grammar lessons have turned out to be the easiest things to teach because grammar is mechanical, predictable, and easily interchangeable. Grammar lessons also tend to be very dry, so I often try to put a few jokes in here or there to spice things up. In the example sentences I give, I often reference a long running joke between my counterpart and me. The joke is that Mr. Nou is constantly trying to steal or run away with my girlfriend, who is a travesty of a stick figure that I draw on the board. A sentence highlighting the use of the simple past, the past perfect, and the use of the word “By the time” might run something like this: “By the time I arrived at my home, Mr. Nou had already eaten dinner with my girlfriend.” Mr. Nou will then translate this, and raise his hands in triumph. It usually gets a laugh.
Another useful gag can be used when the students practice using the grammar they have learned. After writing an exercise on the board, I ask a student to come up to the front and do it. I carefully watch them as they write their answer, and if it looks incorrect I start to make sour looking faces and moan. The students laugh, and the person writing the answer knows that they must change their answer. If it looks like they are getting the right answer, I smile widely and sigh. The student ultimately has the chance to save face, something which valued very highly in this culture, despite the silliness of my actions
After this first session is complete, I usually turn the class over to Mr. Nou. He will usually write some vocabulary words on the board and go over the reading passage assigned in the book for that lesson. I usually help with the readings and the vocabulary practice, even though I know that the students could care less about what they are reading about. Here is what they often sound like.
The book was written for students in urban areas such as Phnom Penh, Battambang, Kampong Cham or others. It was never meant to be engaging or interesting to those in rural areas without access to significant amounts of resources. However, the government says we have to teach using this book. Most of what I do during this time is walk around the classroom making sure everyone is paying attention and not playing with their mobile phones. If one of those things goes off, I usually answer it and speak to the caller on the other end. Much hilarity often ensues.
After we are finished with the book, it is usually time for the lesson to be over. If extra time remains, I usually ask the students to translate something for me from Khmer into English. It usually works as a good closer. The students learn how their language fits in mine, and I learn a little bit more about Khmer script. Now the students usually complain that they are hungry, and so we let them go.
On a typical day, I walk into a classroom full of students who all rise to greet me. Standing at the doorway, I try to throw to throw my hat on the teacher’s desk at the front of the room to the amusement of onlookers. I always miss. After the students sit down, I begin the class by writing the date and the agenda on the board. I then ask the class to recite the date, after which I choose one student to read it out loud for the rest of the class. It is a routine activity, and I think it makes the students feel relaxed in the presence of a strange foreigner. The student picked at random to read the date is usually reluctant, but the students are usually reluctant to do anything that does not involve copying notes from the board or repeating words out loud. To get around this, I use the simple, beautiful, and effective art of peer pressure. In response to the answer “Awt Cheh” (“I can’t, I don’t want to”), I say the student’s name with vigor, smile, clap my hands, and encourage the other students to do the same. A sudden rousing chorus of voices and claps comes from the other students, and the poor thing is pressured into trying their best at reading the date. If they have trouble, I help them through it.
The next stage of the class is open ended. I can give them a grammar lesson, play a game, do a writing activity, or any number of things. The only thing I really have to do is teach the lesson from the book, which comes later. Anything that requires creativity is the hardest to teach, and anything formulaic and predictable is the easiest. Creativity is not something they are taught in any of their classes or in anything outside the home. Buddhist instruction, which is what the education system is modeled on, typically requires a student to be a blank slate. This is to say that they suppress all thoughts of their own in order to completely absorb what their master tells them. How this translates into the classroom is very simple. Were I to assign the students an essay, they would simply have no idea how to do it unless I spoon fed it to them piece by piece.
Grammar lessons have turned out to be the easiest things to teach because grammar is mechanical, predictable, and easily interchangeable. Grammar lessons also tend to be very dry, so I often try to put a few jokes in here or there to spice things up. In the example sentences I give, I often reference a long running joke between my counterpart and me. The joke is that Mr. Nou is constantly trying to steal or run away with my girlfriend, who is a travesty of a stick figure that I draw on the board. A sentence highlighting the use of the simple past, the past perfect, and the use of the word “By the time” might run something like this: “By the time I arrived at my home, Mr. Nou had already eaten dinner with my girlfriend.” Mr. Nou will then translate this, and raise his hands in triumph. It usually gets a laugh.
Another useful gag can be used when the students practice using the grammar they have learned. After writing an exercise on the board, I ask a student to come up to the front and do it. I carefully watch them as they write their answer, and if it looks incorrect I start to make sour looking faces and moan. The students laugh, and the person writing the answer knows that they must change their answer. If it looks like they are getting the right answer, I smile widely and sigh. The student ultimately has the chance to save face, something which valued very highly in this culture, despite the silliness of my actions
After this first session is complete, I usually turn the class over to Mr. Nou. He will usually write some vocabulary words on the board and go over the reading passage assigned in the book for that lesson. I usually help with the readings and the vocabulary practice, even though I know that the students could care less about what they are reading about. Here is what they often sound like.
The book was written for students in urban areas such as Phnom Penh, Battambang, Kampong Cham or others. It was never meant to be engaging or interesting to those in rural areas without access to significant amounts of resources. However, the government says we have to teach using this book. Most of what I do during this time is walk around the classroom making sure everyone is paying attention and not playing with their mobile phones. If one of those things goes off, I usually answer it and speak to the caller on the other end. Much hilarity often ensues.
After we are finished with the book, it is usually time for the lesson to be over. If extra time remains, I usually ask the students to translate something for me from Khmer into English. It usually works as a good closer. The students learn how their language fits in mine, and I learn a little bit more about Khmer script. Now the students usually complain that they are hungry, and so we let them go.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Conversation In Bott Village
The following is a translated account of a conversation I had with a man and a waitress in Bott village near the border with Varin district. It took place at a drink stand after I had bought some bottled water. I arrived and left by bicycle. I had never spoken to these people before now.
Listening Waitress: Where are you coming from, where are you going?
Me: I coming from Angkor Chum High School, and returning there later this afternoon.
Listening Waitress: You are not tired?
Me: No, not yet. I am riding my bicycle for exercise. It is good for one's health.
Man: Many Khmer girls love French men.
Me: Yes, I have heard this already from others.
Man: Many French men love Khmer girls. They give them money.
Me: Then it is a good thing I am neither French nor in love with a Khmer girl.
Man: Love them for a long time... a long time. Give them money.
Me: And how are you today, sir?
Man: (Ignores me, picks up his cell phone and calls a friend)
Listening Waitress: Don't you think that a Khmer girl could love you?
Me: My mother would not approve.
Listening Waitress: But she would love you!
Me: My mother would not approve.
Man: (Puts down the phone) Many Khmer Khmer girls love French men.
Listening Waitress: A Khmer girl would love a French man like you!
Me: Well I must be off. Good day to you both!
Listening Waitress: Where are you coming from, where are you going?
Me: I coming from Angkor Chum High School, and returning there later this afternoon.
Listening Waitress: You are not tired?
Me: No, not yet. I am riding my bicycle for exercise. It is good for one's health.
Man: Many Khmer girls love French men.
Me: Yes, I have heard this already from others.
Man: Many French men love Khmer girls. They give them money.
Me: Then it is a good thing I am neither French nor in love with a Khmer girl.
Man: Love them for a long time... a long time. Give them money.
Me: And how are you today, sir?
Man: (Ignores me, picks up his cell phone and calls a friend)
Listening Waitress: Don't you think that a Khmer girl could love you?
Me: My mother would not approve.
Listening Waitress: But she would love you!
Me: My mother would not approve.
Man: (Puts down the phone) Many Khmer Khmer girls love French men.
Listening Waitress: A Khmer girl would love a French man like you!
Me: Well I must be off. Good day to you both!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Celebrating The 7th of January
January 7th, 1979 was the day that Vietnamese troops marked the defeat of Pol Pot, and effectively ended the genocide enacted by his troops. Cambodians celebrate this day every year, and Angkor Chum a sort of night festival was held to mark the occasion. Food vendors were scattered around the district offices, and the entertainment included a games, rides, movies, dancing, and karaoke. I took a walk over there around seven in the evening, and found the other teachers near some banquet tables near the back of the offices. They were dancing happily maybe six feet in front of some very large speakers, and cheering to each other loudly as they opened can after can of beer. Much pulling and grabbing ensued because they wanted to make me dance. (This seems to happen to me frequently) I finally managed to get away and take some pictures of the place all lit at night. My apologies for the blurriness, taking pictures at night is pretty hard to do.
Cambodian Weddings
I could probably write something elegant about going to a Cambodian wedding, but there's nothing particularly elegant about them at all. I will try to describe one that I went to recently. One of the teachers who used to live in Angkor Chum recently got engaged to a woman in Pourk. As custom dictates, they held the wedding there last Wednesday. (He will also cease to work in Angkor Chum, as he will now have to live with bride's family in their house) So after morning classes at the high school, a bunch of teachers and I piled into the school director's car and set off for Pourk. I could hear the loud music from about a half a mile away. In the past, Cambodians employed musicians to play in order to let everyone know that someone was getting married. Nowadays, they prefer a stack of speakers ten feet high and turned to the highest decibel level. When we arrived, the bride and groom greeted us by the entrance to a massive pink and yellow tent. The groom was wearing a long silver coat, with a golden chain necklace around his neck. The bride was wearing some white and yellow polythene dress. Between the arches curving up from her shoulders and the pasty white makeup on her face, she seemed more dragon-like than graceful. I shook the groom's hand, and sat down at a table with the school director and some of the other teachers. Mostly everyone wore the same thing. Men wore what they usually wear to work, and women wore these ghastly wedding costumes that resembled what the bride wore. I have heard from the female volunteers that these wedding outfits are very costly to make, and are extremely uncomfortable. They mostly consist of a long skirt, and elaborate blouse with an open back revealing the shoulders.
Before this stage in the wedding, there is a point where the bride and groom process in front of the house, and a monk chants over them to enact the marriage. I have never seen it, because the party I go with usually arrives too late. Instead, I hold witness to the eating, drinking, and dancing. The food is usually ok, but since they have to provide lunch for several hundred people it is not always fresh when it reaches your table. It can sometimes make you violently ill, but you still have to eat it to be polite. Dogs also pass freely around your legs, eating what the guests have not finished off.
The drinking, however, is what most of the men arrive for. The next few hours can be visualized as this: Imagine a very large and very drunk Cambodian man hovering over you, pouring glass after glass of beer for you and shouting to drink it all in one go. Sometimes you can deflect this (I fill my glass with a centimeter of beer and the rest with water), but other times you cannot. If the groom hands you a fresh glass of Anchor Beer and commands you to drink with him, are you really going to deny him that? It is his wedding after all.
Add also to that vision that it is boiling hot, and that Cambodian pop tunes are being jack hammered into your head by a very large sound system. Now I do not mind talking with the other teachers and joking around with them over a few glasses of beer. Sometimes these weddings can be a lot of fun! At this one, I kept telling my co-teacher that the girl in the white dress behind him was dying to talk to him if not for being nervous. I kept goading him to make the first move, and the whole thing has become a long running joke between us. But when someone grabs me by the shirt, pulls me out of my chair to the ground, and commands that I should dance...that is really too much. Sadly enough, that happens too often.
One usually stays for about two to three hours. After that, things usually get ugly. This is the point at the party where everyone has gone home except a few diehards. Language also gets pretty vulgar. At this last wedding, a man who worked for the local government sat at my table and spoke English reasonably well. By the time the party was over, he was reduced to asking questions like, "Do you like to f$%k?"
When people are ready to leave, envelopes are distributed among the tables. It is customary that the guests put money in these envelopes, about $10 is appropriate, and place them inside a heart shaped box towards the exit. The bride and groom then thank you for coming, and give you a stick of gum as a parting gift.
Then comes the part where you go home and out of the sun, strip off your clothes, shower, and try and sleep off the beer before dinner time.
Before this stage in the wedding, there is a point where the bride and groom process in front of the house, and a monk chants over them to enact the marriage. I have never seen it, because the party I go with usually arrives too late. Instead, I hold witness to the eating, drinking, and dancing. The food is usually ok, but since they have to provide lunch for several hundred people it is not always fresh when it reaches your table. It can sometimes make you violently ill, but you still have to eat it to be polite. Dogs also pass freely around your legs, eating what the guests have not finished off.
The drinking, however, is what most of the men arrive for. The next few hours can be visualized as this: Imagine a very large and very drunk Cambodian man hovering over you, pouring glass after glass of beer for you and shouting to drink it all in one go. Sometimes you can deflect this (I fill my glass with a centimeter of beer and the rest with water), but other times you cannot. If the groom hands you a fresh glass of Anchor Beer and commands you to drink with him, are you really going to deny him that? It is his wedding after all.
Add also to that vision that it is boiling hot, and that Cambodian pop tunes are being jack hammered into your head by a very large sound system. Now I do not mind talking with the other teachers and joking around with them over a few glasses of beer. Sometimes these weddings can be a lot of fun! At this one, I kept telling my co-teacher that the girl in the white dress behind him was dying to talk to him if not for being nervous. I kept goading him to make the first move, and the whole thing has become a long running joke between us. But when someone grabs me by the shirt, pulls me out of my chair to the ground, and commands that I should dance...that is really too much. Sadly enough, that happens too often.
One usually stays for about two to three hours. After that, things usually get ugly. This is the point at the party where everyone has gone home except a few diehards. Language also gets pretty vulgar. At this last wedding, a man who worked for the local government sat at my table and spoke English reasonably well. By the time the party was over, he was reduced to asking questions like, "Do you like to f$%k?"
When people are ready to leave, envelopes are distributed among the tables. It is customary that the guests put money in these envelopes, about $10 is appropriate, and place them inside a heart shaped box towards the exit. The bride and groom then thank you for coming, and give you a stick of gum as a parting gift.
Then comes the part where you go home and out of the sun, strip off your clothes, shower, and try and sleep off the beer before dinner time.
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