Paro? Qué "paro"?

Wednesday is in the can. Let’s begin to edit it down, shall we?

First off, I saw two of my compañeros from the Fulbright program this morning at the hotel, Paul and Joanne, which was an unexpected treat. We’re all staying at the same hotel, those of us who are “stationed” in Montevideo, but we don’t really see much of each other. We have different schedules, since they largely mirror those of our host educators, and so there’s no reason why we would necessarily see each other. But today I got lucky, and we had breakfast together. It was a treat to compare experiences (I shouldn’t say “compare” – We shared. How about that?) and feel that we weren’t alone in this. Not that I feel lonely – I don’t at all. But I’m the only American living my end of the experience, and it was nice to re-connect with them.

From there I walked to the bus stop, as Natalia had instructed me, to meet her for her 10:35 class. On the way, I saw a lavadero, which is something we’ve been on the hunt for since we arrived. I inquired as to their hours, and found out they’re open from 9:00 to 6:00. Which pretty much eiminates me from the ranks of their potential customers, since (a) I don’t get back until well past then, (b) I usually hit the road well before then, and (c) I’m not going to be here forever. But I made a note of it and moved along to the bus stop.

Bus #148 came along just as promised, and some forty-five minutes later I was stepping off in Colón, where Liceo #9 is. (Two people on the bus had helped me to recognize where to get off, though Natalia’s instructions were right on. And I recognized the place anyway.)

Now, a break, because I want to interject that before, when I wrote this back in Natalia’s English institute, I did not remember to mention that there was a teachers’ strike today in Montevideo! And the reason I didn’t remember, is that it did not affect Natalia at all. She came to work, as did almost al of her fellow teachers, and the vast majority of their students. Strikes apparently happen all the time – this time, the teachers were protesting terrible working conditions as far as the physical plant – broken windows, no heat in the rooms (I hear that complaint loud and clear, as the photo of the woefully inadequate electric space heater to the right should indicate), a lack of facilities, etc. But for all the world it looked like a normal day. Unless, of course, one peeked across the fence into the school that’s attached to Liceo #9, because there, the teachers were much more in solidarity with the strike, and NONE came. The place was a ghost town. They just closed up shop. So the following picture, which I took as I walked home to the hotel today past the building where “El país” is published, and where a banner scrolls the headlines of tomorrow’s paper, reflects precisely the ratio of schools participating. So here’s what I waited ten minutes, shivering, to shoot:

Translation: "Montevideo: Strike in half the high schools".

But, to resume the narrative as it was written earlier this evening:

And I spent the day as I had the day before: Going to her classes, answering questions from her students, and giving my slide show on Massachusetts / US History and Culture. Or something. The title of my little PowerPoint is actually “Massachusetts: Just Like the USA. (But Smaller. (And Different.))” The point I try to make in the presentation is that the US is SO big and SO diverse, that it’s almost impossible to say anything beginning with “The US is very…”, and then have it turn out to be true. You can’t say it’s cold, because the South isn’t. You can’t even say it’s diverse, really, because while this may be true overall, any given slice of the US (like, say, mine) isn’t necessarily diverse. So I try to make a lot of points about the US by showing how Massachusetts isn’t like the rest of the country. Or, to make a difficult point even more so: How Massachusetts is unlike much of the rest of the place, which makes it typical, because so many other places in the US are unlike the rest of the country.

Anyway.

I gave my presentations, and then was given a tour of the place by two of Natalia’s old students. Truthfully, I’d already seen the place, but it was great to give them the chance to re-explain it to a real live English speaker. One of them had a very good level of English, while the other was definitely less gifted, but had a heart that simply leapt out of his chest with good will, effort, and sincerity. I enjoyed the tour immensely, and took some photos for good measure.

The guy, whose name I can't recall, unfortunately, was a rugby player, and a ridiculously elegant and articulate off-the-cuff speaker. Everything he said was poetry. In Spanish - his English, as he continually reminded me, was not great. But he'll do OK - he's so sincere, everyone he meets everywhere he goes will fall in love with him. The other student had very good English, and she's not even a senior yet. Impressive young people.

After the tour, Natalia sat me down in the cantina so I could eat some lunch (she had done so while I took the tour), and went off to teach another class. Once I finished eating, I met her in the classroom, and had another question-and-answer session with her students. (There wasn’t time for me to do the PowerPoint show.) Folowing on the heels of that was another class, this one 2 “hours” long (each hour being 45 minutes).

Natalia, you see, sees every group of students for a total of three hours (classes) per week. Once it’s in the form of one class, and then it’s as two consecutive periods. They’ve been staggered throughout the week. This class had already done the question-and-answer when they saw me the other day, so today I hit them with the power point.

Natalia told me that this particular group was one of her favorites. They didn’t necessarily come out that well on exams, but they were such good-hearted kids that that made up for it. And she was right – they worked SO hard at making good, comprehensible questions for me in the Q-and-A, and then paid unbelievably intense attention during my presentation. I again started feeling like I was doing the world a great deal of good just by coming here and sharing this perspective with students who likely had never met an American before. And of course I felt proud that our State Department was funding such a program. It’s really been quite a revelation for me in that way.

Natalia’s last class at the Liceo ended at 4:45, and we walked over to the Instituto, where I currently sit, writing this. Natalia has a class of rank beginners, with whom I’m really of little help, so she suggested that I come to the kitchen and get some of my own work done or write down my observations while she works with them, until 6:30, when I will go and meet with the students that her colleague Beatriz has at that time. I’ll only be able to stay with them until 7:00 PM, but it’s better than nothing. And, hey who knows – I might stick around longer, since at that point Natalia is just going home on her bus, and I’m going “home” to the hotel on mine.

On the way to the Instituto, Natalia noticed a guy on the street selling ticholos, which are a banana-based sweet with the consistency of a tough fruit leather. It is dee-lish, as I found out at the feria the other day, and so I picked up a giant package of them to spread around among my gringo friends when I get back.

Some other random observations from the day, as I have the time:

So again, every group of students stays in its own classroom all day in Uruguay, and the teachers come in and out as the subject changes. Natalia, as I’ve said, goes to the big cupboard of class boxes before every class and takes out the book she keeps for that particular class, as well as the overall class attendance book. Every teacher does the same, so that by the end of the day, you can scan the sheet and see which students were absent from each class all day. This is entered into a database and attenance policy consequences ensue accordingly. None of the teachers question it or see it as an imposition – it’s just the way it is.

I got a good, detailed look at her class book today while her students took a test, and Natalia talked me through it. 

At the beginning of evey year, she has to write a plan for every group she has. This plan has to go to a supervisor from the Education department, who approves it with a stamp and a signature. Then for every unit, which will last a month or two, she has another unit plan page. Each day of class, then, she fills out a log entry about whether the class was held, what material was covered in what way, and how many (and which) students were missing. This is supposed to be done before she leaves the building every day (and knowing Nataia, it absolutely is). There’s a big notice at the back of the class book that says “This is a public document and as such cannot be removed from the site to which it refers” – that is to say: Teachers can’t take them home. Some do take them home, though – “it happens”, as Natalia told me, with a patient impatience. This way, at any time, the director of the school – or whoever descends on the school from the department of education – can pluck the class book out of the cupboard and see just what Natalia (or any teacher) has been doing.

I have to say, coming from the controlled chaos of the American system, this system has been able to attract me. I get very frustrated with the fact that students can skip classes with so little effort, knowing as they do that their third period teacher has no real way of knowing whether the student was there for first or second. When we have students not show, we assume they’re out of school, and not hanging out in the locker room or the cafeteria study hall, as they often are. But on the other hand I think this system is a reaction to the reality of the Uruguayan “turno” system – there are three shifts of kids that come through every day, and you simpy have to have some way of controlling who goes where when, and who knew about it. (They actually lock the door once the students are inside!) Because our entire crop of 9^th graders, say, comes into the building and leaves at the same time, these hour-by-hour attendance systems have seemed less necessary.

Anyway.

So tonight I’m probably going to go back to the vegetarian all-you-can-eat buffet, though honestly, I doubt I’ll be that hungry. There’s something about the rhythm of Natalia’s life that leaves me without a huge desire for a supper meal. She nibbles throughout the day and fights off the hunger pangs that way, and by the end, there’s little need for a whole chivito or asado or whatever else one might be able to find around here. Who knows: We’ll see how I fee in an hour and a half, after one last presentation and the bus ride home. 

UPDATE: I ate there. And now I’m in the room, eager to get to bed and looking forward to another day of sinking my teeth into Uruguay’s education system. So to speak.

I will close with a picture of the "yerba mate" section of a small supermarket we popped into so Natalia could buy milk. In these packages, my friends, lies bliss.

...provided you drink it before 6:00 PM. Otherwise, you're up all night. Blissful!, blissful - don't get me wrong. But the next day, you're a mess.