27 Luni

It’s been a busy week with lots going on at PST.  From the extensive, half-day language lessons to supplemental classes on safety, security and health concerns to our first onsite visit at a local school.  With the later being the most interesting.  Friday morning, the 39 of us volunteers met at the PST school in the southeast part of Târgoviște at 8am (an hour earlier than our usual start time).  From there we were broken up into small groups of four to five and escorted to one of eight elementary and/or high schools in the city.  My group went to the southwest side of town straight down Bulevardul Ion C. Bratianu, twenty-five minutes to our destination: Scoala Tudor Vladimirescu.  The school is typical when compared to most schools that I’m familiar with in the United States.  Painted cinder block walls, old school chalkboards, three or four stories, courtyard complete with basketball net and legions of children running in every direction.

Scoala Tudor Vladimirescu services students from the first grade through the eighth.  Upon arrival we were wished luck by our personal escort, the Director of Training for PST, and warmly welcomed by two of the friendliest teachers I have ever met.  As we went through the main entrance, four students dressed in traditional Romanian costume greeted us.  In youthful synchronicity, we heard the Romanian equivalent of “Welcome to our school.”  One of the students was holding a large round loaf of bread without a center; picture a large Bundt cake, but made of bread dough.  Each of us was instructed to tare off a piece and to dip it in a small bowl of salt; a tradition.  Next our teacher escorts hurriedly ushered us through the lobby to the Director’s (Principle) office where a large, clean-shaven, grey hair gentleman embraced us in his yellow dress shirt and suit jacket.  The Director doesn’t speak any English but welcomed us through translation.

After a couple short minutes we were brought into the first of four classes we would observe that day.  The students from each class had their own unique and enthusiastic spoken English variant on “hello.”  This will probably be the event that I look back on ten years from now and know as the exact second that my decision to join the Peace Corps was initially justified.  The class of fourth graders was full of excitement, nervousness and pure honesty.  They had decorated the classroom in honor of our visit with drawings, streamers, balloons and English greetings; my favorite expression written on the whiteboard in big bold letters was “Wellcomes!!!”  Despite this misspelling many of the students speak better English than I probably did in the fourth grade (I wasn’t and am still not much of an accurate speller).  The task at had for the day, of course, is for the five of us to observe English classes in session, so our lovely teacher protagonist set off to action.  She maneuvered the class as smoothly as one might expect from a tenured teacher, engaging the class in a way I can only one day hope too.  This first lesson focused on articles of clothing, colors and the use of his, hers and mine in complete sentences such “Is this her yellow shirt?”  Throughout the fifty-minute session the instructor used many different teaching techniques, exercises and activities to ensure comprehension.  Later she apologized to us for her poor performance, indicating that she was nervous with us watching, my chin dropped; the fact is that she was amazing and so were the students.

The class was not only mentally sharp but was dressed so as well.  Each student, guys and gals, had on a crisp white, button down dress shirt, silver vest, dark blue jeans and “trainers” or as we know them in the States, tennis shoes.  When prompted, and sometimes when not, they raised their hands, extended two fingers, as if making a peace sign and furiously flittered them about in an effort to garner the teachers favor to answer a question or grab something out of the “Mystery Bag” for English description.  The children were absolutely precious.  This same experience replicated itself several times throughout the morning until our departure shortly after 1pm.  Between classes, we used the ten-minute break to ask questions of our own in the small, smoke free, teacher’s lounge; where there was a large spread of cookies, cakes, vegetables, coffee, and tea.  Traditional hard-boiled eggs, beautifully painted, akin to Easter Eggs in the United States, were presented to each of us as an activity to encourage good luck throughout the year to come.  We were instructed to each pick one up and in turn bop it on top of our neighbors.  If a persons egg doesn’t crack on top or bottom they are said to be strong of will (mine broke on the top and bottom; so it goes).

A few interesting things that stood out in my observation:  the textbook was from the 90’s and hosted such characters as Dolly Parton, Iron Maiden, Blur and Whoopi Goldberg.  Also, the textbooks were clearly British in nature as witnessed by the aforementioned “trainers,” “trousers” instead of pants and “jumpers” in lieu of women’s sweaters.  The colors and styles of clothing in the pictures made me wonder how adults could possibly have taken each other seriously back then.  One thing scarier than the 90’s garb was our teacher’s perfect usage of cursive.  Aside from travelling back in time, Romania might be the only place were cursive is the de facto standard for blackboard writing.  My only salvation is that misery loves company and that the other members of my group are equal in their inability to effectively write in cursive.  Later I asked how important the use of cursive would be; let’s just say I had better start practicing.  Now remind me, that is two humps in an ‘n’ and three in an ‘m’ right?

This coming week we will have continued language lessons and will start our initial instruction on how we are to actually teach English.  Wednesday my group is expected to have our first practicum, where we will each be responsible for a very short part of English class instruction.  Wish me luck.