There’s no such thing as
“prepared”
At the beginning of the month,
I obtained my foreigner’s ID card, making it possible for me to be legally
employed! Nearly immediately, I received
an email detailing a time to teach a mock English (as a foreign language)
lesson at Señor de Sipán University. It
was a Tuesday morning. Wednesday night,
I received a text message that I would be teaching two classes the following
day: the first to begin at 7:30 am. Not
that we’re ever completely prepared for what life throws at us, but sometimes
we’re more prepared than others. I
accepted the job, thought about a few activities (still not knowing what level
my students’ English was at nor how many of them there would be), and went to
bed. The next day, I taught students
with an extremely low level of English and later got the books. Of a class of 29, only 6 were there the first
day.
A sound I’d never heard before
One night, I was up later than I wanted to be, preparing classes,
helping Igor find his misplaced surgical uniform, finishing cooking our lunch
for the following day, and other such
minor but time consuming mundane tasks.
I went to bed around midnight and heard singing outside, the faint sound
of a choir. I soon learned from Igor, a
light sleeper, that it is a religious sect whose house of worship is located
several blocks away that sings from midnight until 5 am every Saturday and
Sunday night. I’d never noticed, but he
assured me, he had (many times).
Then the lights went out
I live in a desert. It never
rains. Well, never say never. Ok, so, almost never. One day last week, we decided to wash the
bedspread that had collected the city’s dust for a few months. Since we didn’t get it done until late
afternoon, we decided to hang it on our makeshift clothesline on the roof to
dry overnight. Of course, that night it
rained. It rained so hard that the
streets flooded with more than six inches of water in them. It rained in through the windows, washing
some of the icky, smelly fish oil putty we’d put on them to keep the glass from
falling out, onto the floor. It rained
in through tiny fissures in cement roof and came pouring through our ceiling
where the light fixtures are attached.
It rained and rained. In the
morning there was no electricity. It
didn’t return in the afternoon or evening.
It didn’t come back the following morning either. After numerous phone calls to an electrical
company, after having a neighbor (who’s an electrician) dangerously (and
irresponsibly) lay a ladder from the top of our roof across the chasm of
nothingness to the lightpole and letting the other end rest on the cables as he
inched out to see what was wrong, the company sent a few workers to repair the
cable that had been destroyed by too much water. Finally, we were able to use our computers
again to study and prepare work for the university. Let there be light!
Follow the Rules and We’ll Get along
Fine
That’s what I said before the exam, but true to the corrupt, chaotic,
relaxed ways of this land, we were soon to have an issue arise. Cheating is a given and I was already prepared
to let little things slide. It not, I
wouldn’t have a job. Most students, if
only to save face or feel less guilty, will hide their cheat sheet or make
their eyes return to their own exam when the teacher is near. For this particular exam, I had two students
who seemed to lack a few neurons.
Despite a few very clear verbal warnings (in Spanish, mind you) and my presence
they not only used a cheat sheet, looked at others’ tests, but also conversed
in low tones about the possible answers.
Not wanting to raise the issue during the exam and distract others, I
asked Carlos and Karin to stay after class.
I told them what I’d witnessed and asked their input about what would be
a just punishment. After a few moments
of silence, I got the typical, “But other people were copying too!”
argument. That was irrelevant to
me. Without any apology or promise to
not do it again, I heard their excuses they left. “I didn’t know the answers, so I just had to
check with someone else,” and probably
one of the most absurd excuses I’ve heard, “It’s not fair Miss. I’m pregnant, so I had to cheat.” Some things never cease to amaze me!
Everyone was staring at me
With a three-piece navy blue suit, a pastel pink blouse, black heels, a
leather bag, papers in my hand and sunglasses atop my head, I dashed out the
door to teach. First I had class with
some young children (ages 4-7) and then class at the university. I waited impatiently for the menagerie of
traffic to pass so I could cross the Pan-American Highway to take public
transportation to work. I hailed a
Combi, and wriggled my way through the people and took a seat towards the
front, facing all the other passengers, while packed like sardines in a crushed
tin box. Everyone stared. Perhaps it was because I wriggled my way into
a seat at the front rather than thrusting my way past other passengers to the
already crowded backseat, to which the cobrador
(money collector) had directed me with the infamous phrase Al fondo hay sitio (there’s room in the
back). Or perhaps they stared at me
because of the large bag I had full of toys and games for children and books
for the university and the roll of papers in my hand and wondered what I was doing
there or what was in the bag. But more
than likely, everyone was staring at me for the same reason as every other day:
There’s a “blonde” girl in public transportation rather than a taxi. She pays in coins like everyone else rather
than in large bills. Like many of us,
she’s dressed in a suit and headed to work.
Is she really Peruvian?
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