Student Party

Today is the day labeled “Student Party” on all the CWF calendars. An ambiguous event that some students adore and some teachers dread. I had low expectations for the student parties this morning at six and seven. I brought some pandan (that's a common sweet flavor in Asia) snack cakes, some juice and even some crackers for the less sweet-toothed students. Expecting the fizzle-out party of last semester, I was delighted when some of my Advanced Discussion students showed up happy and ready to teach me some games. It was fun to let them lead and to see their personalities in a different setting. At the end, the female students presented me with a lovely card, shoulder bag and a blinged-out pencil case. I felt funny receiving such nice presents from my most experimental class, but they gave it to me with such pride and gratitude that I nearly cried!

The morning level 4's, whittled down to four men about my age, showed up with a few bottles of Coke, some rice cakes and even cups and straws. It was so cute. They asked me a lot of questions about America, my boyfriend, and they even gave me a lot of advice about what to do and see in Siem Reap. I felt more like their friend instead of their teacher. That's a good feeling at the student party.

I also said goodbye to my Khmer teacher, the person who has been there for me since I arrived in Cambodia. We have grown into our roles as big sister and little sister. I've been teaching her how to use Facebook with the hope that we can stay in touch. She has given me faith in the future of Cambodia, and she has shown me an honest friendship (which is saying a lot in this country). Under cover of giggles, we saw the tears in each others' eyes this morning as we said our well-wishes, hoping that this wasn't our last iced coffee with sweet milk together.

Despite the solar-heated water (reminiscent of the NE Family YMCA) I tried to savor my final swim at the Sport Club. Sun blazing, rich blue sky, and the sound of power saws and jackhammers across the street—yes, this will be one of my finer memories. Barely afloat thanks to a week of overindulgence in last-chance foods and student party buffet, I cranked out 1000 meters and bid farewell to the delightfully upper middle class oasis I have grown so fond of.

My evening level 4 class, the one with 15 students who come every single day, treated me to Lucky Burger and Karaoke—at the same time. We sat in the tiny VIP room with burgers in one hand and microphones in the other. Between songs, we ate a burger each, then moved on to the mountain of fried chicken and french fries. Greasy as the whole situation was, I enjoyed the company of my students, and I was flattered that they wanted to do something this nice (and expensive) for me. There were times in the semester when I forgot who (and why) I was teaching, but tonight I was able to deeply appreciate my students.

Skype

After 60 minutes of swapping computers, exchanging headphones, and trading internet cafes, I finally sat in front of a computer with internet connectivity and a working microphone. All I wanted to do was talk to my mother via Skype. We haven't had many opportunities to Skype since I've been in Cambodia, and I was so frustrated that not one, but two internet cafes could not even string together a working Skype connection.

Nerves frazzled, patience gone, I found myself wiping off tears in the internet cafe while my mother waited on the other end of Skype. While we waited for my composure to return, I felt angry that Cambodia could take this away from me. There are many things that I will sacrifice to live abroad, but communication with my mother is not one of them. My once-a-month phone call to my mother has been consistently corrupted by faulty headphones and rat-gnawed Ethernet cords. And now that I had a connection, I couldn't even speak because of the lump of self-pity in my throat. I'm not really this broken, am I? I thought as I struggled for air in between sobs.

I really hate when I finally get the chance to talk to my mother and all I can do is moan about how many roaches I see in the laundry room or how dreadful the heat rash on my shins is becoming. Surely I could find some redeeming quality to describe to my mother who waited so patiently for me to find a working computer.

In three weeks' time, Cambodia will be just another one of those places I've been, just another blurb on my CV. And while I am counting the days until I get on the plane to Tokyo (and modernity), there are pieces of Cambodia that I am desperate to hang on to: kicking lazily through a sunny work-out at the pool, enjoying the sunset with my students on the balcony, and sharing a dream or a laugh with my Khmer teacher over iced coffee.

My goal for the last two weeks of teaching is to stay healthy, to enjoy the company of the people I've met here, and to belt out at least cheesy love song at Karaoke.

This tummy bug can't stop me!

Lately, I've been feeling lost—to say the least. My old identity as student and writing tutor has been traded in for wandering foreigner, leaving me confused about my niche in the world. To add to my disorientation, for the first time since I can remember, my success is not measured in grades. I have no A's to assure me that I am doing good work. Here, success is much more difficult to gauge. When my envisioned lesson plan leaves me reaching for the ejection seat, I often feel personally responsible, like I've really failed my students. Sure, I've only been a teacher for a short time, but I take such pride in my work that I am constantly evaluating my lessons. In Cambodia, my identity is based on my work at CWF, and I take that commitment very seriously—As always, I want to do my best work.

This morning, I know I was successful. Not even the ominous lower abdominal rumblings could stop me (though for just a moment, I was very concerned). My lesson on peer review with the Advanced Discussion went like a dream. As an English teacher, I was pleased that my students were communicating with the vocabulary I had presented. As a writer, however, I was thrilled to share my enthusiasm for this aspect of the writing process.

In this identity crisis, I am able to see what I really love doing. Whether as a teacher or student, I am fascinated by the writing process, the language acquisition process, and that moment when a new concept makes sense. Painful as it may be sometimes, realizing stuff like this is exactly what I wanted out of Cambodia (good thing because there are no refunds on journeys to find yourself). I can't wait to see what else Cambodia has in store for me!

Where's Las Vegas when you need it?

Today I'm feeling lucky. Not lucky as in something good is going to happen to me, but more like I feel lucky to be me at this moment. I had a great night out with the group last night, and despite the “memories” of Angkor beer in my bloodstream this morning, I pedaled off to the Sport Club for one of my best swims ever. Walking out of the Sport Club, the Cambodian sun that I often curse for its infinite heat was warm and delightful on my face. I thought, yep, this is where I am supposed to be right now.

The best part is that, in my initial plan, volunteering a CWF was sort of an afterthought. I was so focused on CamTEFL that I did not give CWF the credit that it really deserves. The volunteers are a special lot—it isn't just anybody who devotes three months of his life to teaching, lesson planning, and sweating without pay. The CWF staff are also extraordinary. The entire staff is under age thirty, comes from rural Cambodia, and works long, hard hours for a small salary because they want to help develop their homeland. It's a great project to be a part of.

Some semblance of routine in my life...it's about time!

I'm learning the art of lesson planning as I figure out my daily routine. Between my early morning and evening classes, a daily swim, and mandatory nap time, I still have a free hour or so to plan out activities for upcoming classes. The level 4 and 6's have course books that I can use to pretty much spoon-feed new material. The preparation includes sifting through the book exercises and adding some games or Cambodi-fying some of the activities to be more interesting. Sometimes the book is a useful resource, but other times, the material in the book is just crap (and yes, I get to decide)! The Advanced Discussion also has a book; however, my preparation is mostly to educate myself on how to run debates, how to teach presentation, how to present the more advanced forms of discussion. It is actually quite intimidating.

During class, I am bursting with energy. I love being in front of the students, talking, using gestures, and writing on the board. It is so energizing to think on my feet. Even the diabolical heat inside the stuffy rooms can't slow me down. I bring a hanky to soak up the sweat and a bottle of water to hydrate. The students are so much fun that I usually forget about the heat. When they have a questions, students will shout “Teacher!”, or the shortened version: “'Cher! 'Cher!” That always makes me smile. Sometimes I wish I could get away with calling them “student!” because their names are nearly impossible. Never one to be outsmarted by another language, I am trying my best to learn and use all 48 of my students' names. Good luck, me.

The initial high of teaching quickly gives way to hunger and exhaustion as soon as I'm back at the house. Especially in the morning, after two classes and my Khmer class, at 9:00 AM, I'm ready to call it a day. Instead, I grab a quick and sugar-laden breakfast from the bowl on the dining table. Fully sugared, I can usually convince myself to go for a swim because I've already paid good money for my membership. After a swim and shower, I have a few minutes to lesson plan, and before I know it, some strange (and increasingly yummy) curry lunch is in the big pot, and I've got a big bowl of rice at the ready.

Post-lunch is a real treat. Finish up the lesson plans, check Facebook, and crawl under my mosquito net for a nap. It's just too hot to do much else. By three o'clock, I'm usually ready to face the world again. Pour cup of instant coffee (and a lot of milk), grab some fresh fruit and a peanut butter toast and I'm almost human again. Another hour or so and it's time to bike over to the school for another, hotter round of teaching.

After the ride home, around 7:30 PM, I'm “pretty knackered” as my British friends say, and the remnants of dinner go down without complaint. A group debriefing about the day's mishaps (and “haps”?), a final check of the lesson plans, perhaps another check of Facebook (or Blogger!), and I'm ready for a second shower and lights-out!

Believe it or not, it's a full-on day to to be a 20-hour per week CWF volunteer. I'm absolutely exhausted every night. It's a good thing that all of my applications to volunteer elsewhere were rejected. This is plenty!

CWF Semester 15 is Underway!

I have a lot to learn about being a teacher. The first week of semester 15 went very well considering the amount of environmental stress that Cambodia puts on poor ol' me. In the wee hours of the morning, I teach an Advanced Discussion class. This course is designed for students who are fluent in English and who have a desire to keep practicing via more formal types of spoken communication (debate, presentation, media review, etc.) These students, although they still have varied levels of English proficiency, are willing to speak up in class and share their thoughts on almost any topic.

In contrast to the confidence of the Advanced Discussion students, many of my early morning level 4's are still shy about making mistakes. I enjoy teaching level 4 very much because they have accumulated a usable vocabulary bank, but they still look to me for a lot of assistance. As a teacher, I like to be needed. My morning level 4's are very reserved compared to the 4's I teach in the evening—what a rowdy bunch! The evening class is mainly high school students, which means a lot of chit-chatting and giggling. It's great energy, but I find myself having to shout to get (and keep) their attention. Our lesson about farm animal noises went over particularly well because this group can appreciate the silliness of oinking, mooing, and meowing our way through an hour.

My level 6 class is held at 5:00pm, a universally bad time to try to be patient, attentive, or energetic. My students have just come from the university, or from a full day's work, and they are exhausted, hot, and ready for dinner. The first two days of class were like a trip to the Cambodian dentist, but yesterday we got on the subject of child abuse and our class had a great and lengthy discussion about parenting technique. Who knew?

Volunteers go to Kratie Province

Finally back in Phnom Penh, and after a good night's sleep, I can't wait to start writing about the week. My sweetened-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life cup of tea is at the ready as I review the photographs from Kratie province. The Conversations with Foreigners (CWF) volunteers made our pilgrimage to the Cambodian Rural Development Team's (CRDT) headquarters in Kratie Town and to the island village of Koh Pdao to see the projects that CWF helps fund. Our four-day trip included an orientation to CRDT and an overnight stay in the village to see the projects that CRDT has helped established.

CRDT was established in 2001 by four university students who believed in sustainable and environmentally-conscious ways of improving the lives of rural Cambodians. Now a successful and well-known NGO, CRDT has helped over 3,000 families in Northeastern Cambodia. Like all NGO's, CRDT needs a source of funding, and that's where CWF comes in. The Conversations with Foreigners school was created as a way to fund the projects and to provide a unique and cost-effective place for foreigners to volunteer. Students pay $40 per 10 week session to study with a foreign teacher. After the base costs of payroll and school maintenance are fulfilled, all remaining profit is given directly to CRDT. The students who pay tuition to CWF are typically from provincial areas; so in addition to the cheaper price, the incentive to support their own communities influences many students' decisions to study with CWF.

Like the Sustainable Tourism book on our table says, this trip is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see how the majority of Cambodia lives.

For more information about the CRDT follow this link: http://www.crdt.org.kh/

New Kids on the Block

I'm going to sleep well tonight. Today was the official first day of CWF orientation for semester 15-- the February-May group. For me, it was a day I have been longing for since I arrived. With the group of nearly 20 assembled at our breakfast table, a fresh energy radiated from the new faces. The glow of pale skin and the sugar rush of morning doughnuts and sticky rice could have contributed to the radiation, but I prefer to think that the exuberant souls who chose the hottest, driest three months to live in Cambodia have something special. We are a diverse bunch with several Americans, a sprinkling of Canadians, a few Brits, some Australians, a Singaporean, a German, a Spaniard, and a Slovakian. I share a room with a young Canadian who does things like run a creative writing center, stay at yoga ashrams for 3 months, and come to Cambodia with literally only a normal sized backpack. She's way cool.

Back to breakfast--after a crash course in eating the rambutan, an exotic fruit that reminds me of a big grape, we set off in a caravan of tuk tuks, ready to take on the city. Our first stop was the CWF school to take individual pictures to hang at the school. They made me go first, and as I can never say no to a prop, I decided to sit on a nearby motorbike for my portrait. I'm not usually a trend-setter, but as the resident expert, my opinions and actions are easier to imitate.

Several overstimulating hours of tuk tuking, sight-seeing, and cell phone-buying later, we arrived back at the house for lunch. Twenty servings of rice and mystery Khmer dish, please. The heat and dust from the morning were wearing on my energy and my patience. I've learned to give my body some form of midday rest (or face the health consequence), so my roommate and I each took a few minutes of shut eye until the next orientation activity.

The energy change is a godsend. I was in a bad place mentally the past few weeks, and I was very worried about surviving the next three months. Now, however, with the support of this group, I know I can do it.

By the way, food tastes better when people say positive things about it. Suddenly, the meals that used to be somewhat disappointing for me are tasty and satisfying—though I'm still waiting for the dessert course...

Lost Post from Sunday

I'm nearly alone in the house tonight. The same house that normally harbors the energy of 14. It's strange and lonely to have eaten my dinner in silence for the first time in a month. I'm in the cusp between semesters, dangling between the excitement of those returning home and the thrill of my new adventure. Since I can't talk to anyone anyway (laryngitis can shove it!) I'm using this long weekend to regroup.

As Fiona predicted, I'm asking a lot of the big questions to myself. Who am I? Where am I? What am I? Perhaps interesting for a conversation over coffee, I'm not terribly worried about these yet. I'm more concerned with questions like how can I spend 3 days at the house and not go nuts? When the heck will my voice come back? Will I fit in with the new volunteers? Am I blogging too often?

I'm also thinking about my real purpose here. I don't foresee an extended career of teaching English in Cambodia, so I've got to focus on what I can do for these students in the next three months. When I began teaching in late January, most of the other teachers had already given up on lesson planning and found a natural rhythm with students—or, they resorted to field trips and the media room. I felt a lot of pressure to make my lessons really fun, to disguise the learning part. I tried to be really creative and use lots of mini games to engage students. However, the feedback I got last week made me rethink my method.

Students at CWF are mostly university students or young professionals who are looking to English as a way to get a better job. At $40 for 10 weeks, these Cambodians are investing a hefty sum, though not the $120+ that similar schools charge. These are not restless children who were forced to come to school. These are adults who are motivated to improve their lives. They don't mind doing the grunt work that learning a language takes.

Based on that, of course I want to have a fun classroom atmosphere, but I want to focus on giving them a real learning environment. I've learned that Cambodian education is inconsistent at best, and that students at CWF have very little understanding of learning strategy and classroom behavior (at least the strategies and behaviors that western cultures take for granted). The best gift I give them is to do everything I can to help them learn the course material and give them a learning strategies for the future. The typical language classroom includes an introduction of new vocabulary, drills, controlled practice, and review.

My responsibility as a conversation teacher is to speak slowly and clearly enough for students to understand, but also to challenge them in real time. In a real conversation, many times there is no pen or whiteboard to write the word or draw a picture. In real time, we use gestures or description to get our point across. Sometimes, I have found that even if the student knows the correct word, the pronunciation limits my ability to understand. The Khmer-accented English is one of the most difficult I've come across. Similarly, listening to English must be very difficult for Khmer-trained ears. The sounds and emphasis are just back to front different. For instance, when we were talking about food, one student was raving about “spAHgehdEE” and I just couldn't make sense of it. Eventually, we got “spaghetti” and the world was small again.

I have a lot to learn.

Learning for a reason

Teaching is hard. All you teachers out there nod your heads in agreement because I am right. There's nothing quite like the desperation of watching your lesson plan tank as you stand in front of a white board, unsure of what to do next. Do you abandon ship and let class out early? Do you persevere, despite the looks of horrified confusion on the students' faces? Do you casually mumble something and then spend the rest of class explaining/apologizing about the naughty words in English?

Luckily, in a low-pressure school like CWF, most class periods are a breeze (indeed the only breeze in Cambodia). Today, for instance, I used a high-energy game to review the past two weeks' material. The students were excited, bursting out with laughter, and speaking English! I was pleased. The CWF students are motivated by business and education opportunities and I am so proud of them for doing something to advance themselves. Cambodia is a sink hole unless you get a leg up. Cambodians who can get a university education and significant English language training have a much higher chance to break the cycle.

On my first week at CWF

The world looks pretty good from here. Fiona (my current roommate) and I just indulged in the best brownie sundaes at Cafe Yejj. I'm feeling quite pleased with the afternoon so far.

I taught classes every day this week, and aside from my apprehension about feeling out lesson plans amidst more experienced teachers, I think the week was a success. My intuitive lesson plan about death and dying, though a bit grim, provided the students a window into how the West handles the funeral process; and in return, I got to learn about the Cambodian rituals. The best part of my plan was making the card for Delma. Students were able to use the vocabulary we learned in their messages, and they were able to tell Delma how much they appreciated her work at CWF. It was very encouraging to see how much the students cared for their teacher, and how eager they were to learn new material.

Because CWF focuses on conversational English, I am trying to figure out how best to introduce vocabulary as a part of conversation. The obvious solution is to get students speaking for as much of the class time as possible. Some students would be happy to just chat for the entire hour, but other students are less willing to speak. The challenge is getting the chatty students to focus on the new vocabulary and to encourage the quiet students to practice speaking. None of this is ground-breaking discovery, but as a fledgling teacher, it's all new to me.

CWF tests incoming students and ranks them in classes from level 1 (very beginning) to 8 (fluent). Students may also choose Advanced Communication or Advanced Discussion if they are looking to continue practicing. My classes are level 4 and 5, which puts their abilities at medium, with lots of variation among the students. Most of my level 5's are business people in accounting and finance, so their existing vocabulary is very tailored around money, banking, and work. My 4's are an endearing bunch, one older woman who works for an NGO, and three university students. The hard part about this group is figuring out concepts that will challenge them but not be too hard (my stereotype lesson was overly ambitious). Today's lesson, Driving in America, went over well. We even had a mock driving lesson and a through discussion of American laws regarding seat belts and child safety seats.

I can tell that teaching isn't going to be as easy as I thought, but I'm up for the challenge because I'm already feeling the rewards. One of my students even friended me on Facebook.