My internship at Centro Conviven has, without a doubt, been one of the highlights of my time in Buenos Aires. I've neglected to write about it until now because it's so difficult to put into words the unpredictable/overwhelming/chaotic-yet-sweet/adorable/rewarding nature of the English classes I teach for elementary school students living in or near the slum of Mataderos. I spend about 10 hours a week at the little-but-lively community center, though usually I'm only teaching for 2-3 of those hours; the rest of the time I plan lessons, hang out with my fellow volunteers, eat lunch prepared by the amazing staff member Carmen (arroz and milanesa, usually), play with the younger kids who are always around, and do my homework. Conviven relies completely on foreign volunteers to keep the English classes up and running, which means that those of us helping out this semester have complete responsibility for designing and implementing a curriculum even though we may feel totally unqualified/inadequate/clueless as to the best way to instruct these kids. I had the chance to observe the class when two Irish girls were in charge of it (their last days were my first), so we've been able to maintain a bit of consistency in terms of structure, but let's be honest we're just more or less making it up as we go along and hoping desperately that the students learn something. Though the class is pretty much always on the verge of an absolute quilombo, I truly adore our rowdy group of a dozen or so 7-10 year olds. Here's a glimpse of how a typical 60-minute class goes down:
"Hello! Welcome!" I say, as several lab-coat-clad kids enter the upstairs classroom. They greet me with a kiss on the cheek and take their seats. "How are you doing today?" Blank stares. "Good?" I show them two thumbs up. "Bad?" Thumbs down. "OK?" Thumbs in the middle.
"Good!" one or two of them reply. (Every once in a while we'll get a "Happy!" which is always a thrill.) Bored expressions from the rest.
"Alright, well let's wait for the everyone else to arrive before we get started..." Awkward silence. I'm paralyzed between trying to engage them in Spanish and committing to English immersion. I comment on the weather in English, pantomiming dramatically to express how hot it is outside/in the classroom. They look back at me endearingly, all clearly weirded out.
Once the chairs around the table are full, we get into our introductory activity: "My name is Malissa. What is your name?" I toss the plush die (dice?... English is confusing and I'm clearly not good enough at it to teach it...) to a student.
"My name is Guadalupe," she answers and then throws it to a classmate, "What is your name?" Mariano intercepts it and chucks it across the room. I run to retrieve it.
"OK, we don't need to toss anything, let's just go around the circle..."
After several minutes, we switch to "How old are you?" then we start to get into the real material. We review the parts of the body and then it's time for the real crowd-pleaser, "Head, shoulders, knees, and toes."
"Everybody stand up!" Drawing on my experience as a junior marshal at Riverside graduation, I make the exaggerated motion for "rise" with my arms. A few of the boys remain seated. "¡Chicos, levántense por favor!" All but one of them get up. After we sing through it a few times, I stop doing the gestures to see if the kids can remember on their own. This confuses most of them, so I feel bad and join back in.
Next we'll play a game or read a book. This portion of the class is often characterized by random interruptions: "Profe, dónde aprendiste inglés?" someone queries. I explain that I learned English growing up because that's what most people speak in the US, just like they learned Spanish from their parents and others around them here in Argentina. Although no one seems quite satisfied with that response, I try to move on with class.
A little while later, someone will usually interject with, "¿Profe, la merienda?" Ahh, the snack. It may be the reason most of them are here, but I try not to take it personally (and trust me,
gordita understands).
I call them up to the front, one by one.
- "Araceli, would you like water or mate?"
- "I would like mate, please."
- "Here you go. Would like you a cookie?"
- "I would like a cookie, please."
- "¡No no no cada persona sólo puede tener uno!" I yank the second alfajor out of her hand and call on the next child, who also knows the all-important snack dialogue by heart-- asking for a cookie is probably the English phrase they know best, but hey, it's something.
We fill the last 20 minutes of class with more games and songs (the Hokey Pokey typically consists of me singing and wildly dancing while some of them follow along and the rest point and laugh at me...), and now that the snack is over many of them have lost interest.
At 5:30 we says our chau's and they scurry out of the classroom. As us volunteers clean up, we laugh/whine about that day's triumphs and antics ("Did you notice that Alex was explaining the activity to the new boy sitting next to him? A few weeks ago he was the one who didn't know what was going on! He's making such good progress!" or "Ugh, what should we do next time Damian lies down on the floor in the middle of 'If you're happy and you know it'?").
Sure, the class is always a
desafío, but it's also fun, often hilarious, and very humbling; my time abroad has been greatly enriched by my days spent at Conviven. I'm already dreading having to leave these kiddos in a couple months. They're really incredible.
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| Mid cookie-stealing debacle |
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| View of the center from upstairs |
