Last week, the preschool teacher at the community center went on vacation. She asked if Courtney could sub in for four days. Teaching 30 kids, aged 4-6, for three hours a day? How hard could it be? We both volunteered to help. Courtney had been helping out at the preschool pretty regularly, and had warned me that it would be difficult. But I’d only been a few times. I was not ready for such intense feelings of helplessness, personal incompetence, and simultaneous love and hatred for little children.
On Monday, the first few kids showed up at school right on time. They were smiling and happy. They even held our hands for a bit. It was wonderful.
But 30 minutes later, when all of the kids had finally arrived, things changed. Our day with the preschoolers turned to madness. Courtney and I tried having all of the kids in one classroom, teaching them the names of the different colors. Oops. The ones who already knew the colors started shouting them out and not paying attention, and the ones that didn’t know the colors just started hitting one another and crying. These were the same kids that had been so docile at the beginning of the day! This wasn’t going to be easy.
So Courtney took half of the kids, and I tried to keep teaching colors to the other half. 45 minutes until break for porridge. I could keep their attention that long, right? I tried, I really did. I wasn’t lecturing either. I was singing, dancing, having kids work in pairs, and anything else I could think of. But within 15 minutes, they were crying and hitting again. Instead of crying myself, I gave up on the lesson and let them outside.
Outside was also a disaster. They kept crying and hitting, though now they were running around and harder to manage (which was all I was trying to do at that point). “Where are you going?” “What are you doing?” “Don’t hit!” “Why are you crying?”
Imagine this: Kids are playing peacefully together, then one second later they’re hitting each other and really fighting. One starts crying. You try to tell them that they can’t hit, and pull them apart. Then one of them gets angry and hits you.
What to do? I started marching around, back and forth between buildings, singing and dancing. Then suddenly, when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the kids started following me. And then one of the kids started singing in time with the marching, and all the rest of the kids started singing along. It was brilliant! We walked back and forth between buildings for 20 minutes! Singing together! What great kids!
Monday was the hardest day, but not a single second of any of the four days was easy. By the end of that fourth day, we were exhausted and ready for our vacation to Mbeya (more on that later).
Why was teaching the kids so hard? I’ll stay away from discussing the Tanzanian tendency towards rote memorization and corporal punishment in schools. Certainly being fluent in Swahili would have helped, but really I think that teaching has to be just about the hardest job around. I’m just proud that there were moments when the kids were engaged and creative and lovely. Those moments made the whole experience worthwhile for me, and hopefully for them too.
Hats off to you, teachers!
On Monday, the first few kids showed up at school right on time. They were smiling and happy. They even held our hands for a bit. It was wonderful.
But 30 minutes later, when all of the kids had finally arrived, things changed. Our day with the preschoolers turned to madness. Courtney and I tried having all of the kids in one classroom, teaching them the names of the different colors. Oops. The ones who already knew the colors started shouting them out and not paying attention, and the ones that didn’t know the colors just started hitting one another and crying. These were the same kids that had been so docile at the beginning of the day! This wasn’t going to be easy.
So Courtney took half of the kids, and I tried to keep teaching colors to the other half. 45 minutes until break for porridge. I could keep their attention that long, right? I tried, I really did. I wasn’t lecturing either. I was singing, dancing, having kids work in pairs, and anything else I could think of. But within 15 minutes, they were crying and hitting again. Instead of crying myself, I gave up on the lesson and let them outside.
Outside was also a disaster. They kept crying and hitting, though now they were running around and harder to manage (which was all I was trying to do at that point). “Where are you going?” “What are you doing?” “Don’t hit!” “Why are you crying?”
Imagine this: Kids are playing peacefully together, then one second later they’re hitting each other and really fighting. One starts crying. You try to tell them that they can’t hit, and pull them apart. Then one of them gets angry and hits you.
What to do? I started marching around, back and forth between buildings, singing and dancing. Then suddenly, when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the kids started following me. And then one of the kids started singing in time with the marching, and all the rest of the kids started singing along. It was brilliant! We walked back and forth between buildings for 20 minutes! Singing together! What great kids!
Monday was the hardest day, but not a single second of any of the four days was easy. By the end of that fourth day, we were exhausted and ready for our vacation to Mbeya (more on that later).
Why was teaching the kids so hard? I’ll stay away from discussing the Tanzanian tendency towards rote memorization and corporal punishment in schools. Certainly being fluent in Swahili would have helped, but really I think that teaching has to be just about the hardest job around. I’m just proud that there were moments when the kids were engaged and creative and lovely. Those moments made the whole experience worthwhile for me, and hopefully for them too.
Hats off to you, teachers!
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