Despite what the above undoubtedly suggests, life here isn't easy! The area is absolutely beautiful, and it'll certainly be disappointing next year when I'm back in the UK and no longer waking up to the babble of macaws in the tree beside my window, but I will definitely not miss the mosquitoes, sand flies, unrelenting heat, lengthy water-purification process, chalk dust all over me ("dust-free" my arse) or having to cook everything in one tiny karahee (a wok-esque aluminium thing). Actually, I won't particularly miss the parrots either. In Guyana, the generic parrot name isn't Polly, it's Robert, and people have repeated this to the flock enough that they now scream "Robert" at each other constantly. It was amusing initially, but when you're trying to sleep it can get a little wearing.
September is Amerindian Heritage Month, and to celebrate this several days are organised where typical Amerindian pursuits are showcased. Wakapoa is home to the Lokono (Arawak) tribe, and most of the activities, foods, and dances were specific to this area. We caught a boat to a nearby island to see what these would be. It turned out the day mainly involved imbibing copious amounts of paiwari (chewed up, fermented cassava) then drunkenly chasing mangrove crabs around a field. We did sample the paiwari (and we were essentially forced to participate in the crab chasing), but managed to refrain from getting drunk. Another moment of confusion - and they are frequent - was experienced when we were jokingly accused of being high. We later learned that "high", in Guyana, means tipsy, and "drunk" is completely catatonic, so we relaxed a bit. Tomorrow we're heading to another island to, in all probability, chase more crustaceans, so we'll be sure to use high and drunk correctly.
In other news, teaching is DIFFICULT! Wakapoa Secondary School is simply one room, containing five classes and four teachers. Entrance exams for many schools were also abolished recently, meaning that secondary school-aged children who have never been in any formal education before can now be enrolled directly into 7th grade. This removal of a barrier to education is good, but what the Ministry of Education is asking these children to achieve academically is no different to the children who have been lucky enough to attend school since kindergarten. They are being set up for failure, and funding to schools is promptly cut based on their perceived lack of attainment. When there is nothing else to take in terms of resources, this means one or two fewer teachers are employed, regardless of the number of enrolled students, and the problem is compounded. Enter the relatively cheap Project Trust teachers.
A remedial class for Grade 7 has now been created, and this is the class to which I have been assigned. I am their sole teacher. Even though the curriculum, exams, and mark schemes are identical to those of the existing Grade 7, it nevertheless grants me more freedom to go at the class' own pace most of the time. I try to work through the niggling futility of being expected to catch up to another class but having to go slower than them by necessity. In a perverse way the futility is freeing.
I spend a good chunk of my days singlehandedly attempting to teach my class how to read and write (as well as sit down and listen for prolonged periods), whilst trying to keep things varied and engaging. I'm trying to recall all the best and most exciting (and least resource-dependent!) lessons I've ever had, and serve up some kind of useful amalgamation. I also fret about whether literacy will actually serve my students in the future. For many, surely, it won't. Luckily I also teach the other core subjects, so try to address this doubt with more practical lessons elsewhere. I am already so tired. I don't know how doable I would find any of this long-term if I didn't have the naïve, frenetic energy of an 18-year-old.
The 38 children and I have also now been relegated to what can only be described as a falling-down shack, on the other side of the school compound to the main school building. It is dark, stiflingly hot, and floods almost immediately whenever it rains - which is a lot, in rainy season. We have, incidentally, perfected the art of hurridly leaping onto the desks and baling the water out of the hole in the wall that constitutes a window when this happens.
I'm yet to utilise the "rod of correction" - my punishments tend to involve sweeping sand out of the room or shooing bats away - but the other teachers do. Frequently. Hearing it is taking some getting used to.
We were warned before coming here that everything is covered in a "blancmange of buearocracy", and I can wholeheartedly confirm this. It seems that actual teaching comes completely secondary to all of the records and daily/weekly/termly/yearly schemes we have to fill out. Completing these would obviously be fine, but it's not great when there's an entire school full of children sitting at their desks with no teachers or activity, since the teachers have all been pulled out of their classes in order to write these records for the following terms. I was scoffed at and admonished by our headmaster when I tried to leave my class with something to do in my absence. It's frustrating not being allowed to teach because we're too busy filling out forms detailing how important teaching is. On the plus side, my moods are improved almost instantly when our next-door neighbour blasts the Backstreet Boys or Celine Dion, and we warble along whilst eating mango and stroking the dogs we appear to have adopted.
I'll try to post again soon, but now I'm going to go and apply insect repellent before I'm eaten alive.
Lucy x
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