whatt is yourrr favo rit co loor?

Exactly a month since my last post.

[So much to tell...I will try and release my thoughts/experiences fairly methodically so as to make sure they all get out, and to get myself back on track with the weekly postings.
There will likely be a post every few days for the next week to make up for lost time]

Almost two months ago, I went to the head of UNRWA's Education Department in the West Bank to ask him what opportunities were available to begin teaching/tutoring at an UNRWA school. Frankly, he was taken aback by the prospect - it seems like the idea of an UNRWA staffer spending personal time in our schools was unprecendented, and neither the Education Department nor the principal of the school were sure exactly what to do with my request.

Nevertheless, they were excited at the idea, and Ros and I went down to the Amaari Girls School one Saturday afternoon in mid-February to meet with the principal and discuss what we would do. We agreed that we would come down to the Ramallah camp the following Saturday, and every saturday thereafter, and teach conversational English to a class of 4th grade girls. Arwa, the principal, warned us at the outset.

"There are 46 girls in one class," she said. "You're not going to be able to deal with them. They're crazy."

Each class in al-Amaari Girls' School, which serves as the main primary/middle school for al-Amaari's nearly 15,000 residents, has no less than 40 students. (Each grade has two/three classes.) The teachers are spread painfully thin, and the English teacher, upon meeting Ros, did her darndest to avoid speaking the language that she avowedly teaches.

Suffice it to say, the girls were crazy. Maybe not all of them - but two or three were crazy enough the next Saturday to rile up the rest of their classmates. Ros and I, armed with eight 1/2 shekel Cadbury candy bars and our UNRWA IDs dangling at the neck, walked into the jungle that is any 4th grade classroom anywhere in the world. The room, roughly 1/2 the size of a football field, had an old, beaten chalkboard at the front, carpeted flooring with no chairs, and 5 overly inflated bright orange basketballs. The girls, all smiles, were standing in a blob near the front of the class waiting for instructions.

I tried the classic teacher call and response. (You know the one...say something and then say "i can't hear you!")

"Good morning class!" I yelled over their hubbub.
"GO-OD MOR-NING...," they yelled back, rhythmically in unison...already impressively loud.

"I said good morning class!" I interrupted them, urging them to raise their voices.
"GO-OD MOR-NING!..." Christ, they were loud, but I cut them off again.

"GOOD MORNING CLASS!"
"GO-OD MOR-NING TEA-CHAIR"

I was impressed. Wow, these guys were ready to speak some ENGLISH! Aright!

My confidence was quickly dashed. "Ok today we are going to have some conversations! Can we get in pairs?" I wiggled two fingers at them...

"Aish? Ya3ni sho bta7kish 3arabi? Tarjimilna yallah..."
"What? So you don't speak Arabic? Translate for us come on..."

I refused. "No I don't speak Arabic. Only English." They weren't buying it - they knew my name was Tarek. And they know that's a name in Arabic. We kept trying to give them instructions, and they kept demanding that we translate. We gave an example:

"What is your name?"
"My name is Tarek."
"Where do you live?"
"I live in Jerusalem."

"Now you try!"

After struggling to put them in pairs, we got finally got them to ask each other...

"What is your name?"
"My name is Maram"
"Where do you live?"
"I live in Jerusalem."

WALLIK YOU CAN'T EVEN GO TO JERUSALEM! From there, the class broke down. We tried a game of "Tarek Says..." but all they understood was "Tarek says jump." and they would jump. Most of their distraction was owing to a whole bunch of girls running around the back throwing EXTREMELY bouncy basketballs at one another.

By the end of the lesson, it was nothing short of mayhem. The girls, struggling to understand our English, encircled me. They really did want to know what was happening (some of them), but our refusal to speak any Arabic wasn't helping the case...

They were used to their English teacher translating everything for them into Arabic or hand motions. While we were asking them how old they were, we were trying to teach them "I am nine." They didn't completely understand, and their English teacher walked in. She pointed to her head, and swiftly moved her finger downward. "Ahhhhhhh 'I am' the class said..." That's not how English is taught.

"Minshan Allah tarjim ya Tare2...bidna nifham...mna3rif inno bta7ki 3arabi.."
"For God's sake translate for us Tarek...we want to understand...we know you speak Arabic."

"La2 Ba7kish!"
"No I don't speak."

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Bya7ki 3arabi! Bya7-ki 3ara-bi."
"Ooooooooooooooooo he speaks Arabic! They started chanting: He speaks Ara-bic. He speaks Ara-bic."

I blew my cover. And then the bell rang.

We agreed with the principal after that period that we would have a smaller class on our hands next time, and allow it to grow if we could handle more kids.

The next week, and the few weeks thereafter, have been awesome. Slowly but surely, I'm trying to teach them how to pronounce certain phrases, and we've been using "question words" - Who, What, When, and Where. They've been far more tame and are super interested in learning what we teach them.

We taught them..."What is your favorite color?" and it resulted in this...

"Whatt iz yoor favo-rit colooor?"
"My favo-rit coloor is oRANJ."
"What is somefing oRANJ?"
"An orANJ!"

I asked them "Who is the president of Palestine?" and it resulted in this...

"Who is the President of Palestine?"
"The bresident of balestine he is Abu Mazen yil3an abo."

We played pictionary. I taught them "cucumber" and "onion" and "pants" - which they called trousers. I corrected them.

It's been great so far. While we are teaching them, little by little, how to actively use the English language - I'm still looking for ways to get it to STICK. I might try and start teaching one more day during the week. We have the long-term, lofty goal of performing a short play by the end of class. A play that will be broudly broduced in balestine.

Wish us luck.