Why this is "the hardest job I'll ever love"

I have been so frustrated lately. For the past month, actually. And maybe it’s because I’m homesick, or maybe it’s because I have now been here for 6 months (and counting!) and have yet to see a difference in these kids’ behavior. I am not a patient person, and I want to see results now!

I told mom the other day that I wish that she and dad had been more of slacker parents, that they didn’t hold me to such high standards when I was growing up (and now) because then I wouldn’t hold the kids here – my kids – to such high standards. Every day I realize that my standards are way too high for them, but I refuse to lower my standards. I want them to try harder and reach them.

This is all abstract talk, so let me give a few examples.

I started my English class because everyone wanted to learn English. Seriously, every single person that I talked to in Baoba told me that they wanted to be in the class. I didn’t even want to teach English (I joined the Peace Corps to save the world, not to teach Dominicans how to flirt with the American tourists that come to the beaches), but to make them happy, I started three classes with 20 students in each class. The course was supposed to last 16 weeks. I am now on week 21, and have yet to finish it. We had a month-long break in December, and I spend so much time repeating classes for the people that didn’t come to the previous class, that not much new teaching gets done. And I am down to just two classes of 10 students. If they wanted to learn English so bad, why are they not putting any effort? The students don’t come when it rains, or when they know that I was out of town the day before, and when they do come, they arrive 30 minutes late, don’t do their homework or copy the notes and vocabulary lists. Some of them sleep or chat or talk on the phone, and all of this drives me nuts. The frustrating part is that all of these kids know that this behavior makes me upset, yet that doesn’t seem to stop them.

Which just re-emphasizes for me what a disaster the education system is here. They are in school for 4 hours a day, and one of those hours is recess. And since arriving in Baoba, I have yet to see a student go to school all 5 days of the week. The teachers have weekly meetings, and when there is a teacher’s meeting, they cancel school. God forbid, the teachers to have to meet outside of their 4-hour workday. So to clarify, the students here have class 3 hours a day for 4 days a week. And yet they still skip school, and their parents just don’t seem to care. (side note: You know how our grandparents always say, “back when I was your age, I had to walk 10 miles in the snow to go to school.” Well I now tell my kids “back when I was your age, I had to go to school 8 hours a day, 5 days a week” and the kids’ jaws drop every time they hear this.) So every time one of my kids does not go to school, I march directly over to the parents and ask them “why didn’t Fulana go to school,” and the response always is “oh, she didn’t want to.” I’m just going to let you all imagine what would have happened if I had told my dad that I didn’t want to go to school that day. (In case you don’t know my dad, here is what would’ve happened: he would have pulled me out of bed and said ‘I don’t care if you don’t want to go. You are going to school.’ End of discussion.) Or the parent may tell me that the kid had a headache. But it is my belief (my dad taught me this also) that if a kid is too sick to go to school, then the kid is also too sick to ride his/her bicycle to the beach and spend the afternoon sunbathing. These kids don’t even try to fake their illnesses. Or the latest excuse, which I heard just this morning, was that the grandmother told her three kids not to go to school today because they had to clean the house to get ready for visitors. The visitors arrived at 6:30 p.m. The kids could have easily gone to school, returned by noon and cleaned the house, but apparently that idea didn’t even cross their minds. So then I get upset and tell the parents “of course Fulana doesn’t want to go to school. No one likes to go to school, but it is YOUR responsibility as mother/father/grandmother to make your kid go. How is Fulana going to learn if she never goes to school??” The parent always agrees, I leave, and then the following week the exact same scenario happens with the same exact kid. Everyone here in Baoba thinks I am totally crazy because at one point or another I have yelled at them for not sending their kid to school. And while I don’t believe anyone has learned anything about the importance of education, I do believe that they have all learned to stay out of my line of vision if they are skipping school because no one wants the crazy Americana yelling at them outside their house.

The education system doesn’t make things any easier. All students have to wear a uniform to attend the public schools (khaki pants or skirts and a light blue polo shirt). And for some of the poorer families, the kids only have one pair of khaki pants and one shirt. So many times the excuse the family gives me for why Fulana didn’t go to school today was because her uniform was dirty. And it’s so hard to argue with that reason when we don’t have water, no one can do laundry, and of course kids are going to get their clothes dirty when they have to walk 2 miles to the school every day. What is especially frustrating is that school won’t accept any student without a uniform, and often if the student is wearing a dirty uniform, the school sends them back home. And the teachers here are a whole different problem all together. They cuss in class, they tell the students “you are stupid. You are worthless. You can’t do anything,” and corporal punishment is very much accepted. If I was a student, I wouldn’t want to attend a class like that either.

So moving on to my sex-ed class, my Escojo kids, who I love dearly and who at the same time I want to strangle their necks. These kids are my neighbors, my friends, and whenever I refer to “my kids” (such as in the previous paragraphs about those that never go to school), it is my Escojo kids who I am referring to. It’s a tough job because I want to be their mentor and their friend, and yet at the same time, sometime I feel the need to discipline them and act as their mom. And these kids are generally good kids. I have seen other Escojo groups, and my kids are by far the best. But the thing that I am realizing is that those early teenage years are tough, tough years, especially with the girls. (side note: I now realize what a hard job mom and dad had raising two girls, and I am so very sorry for all that I put you through when I was a teenager myself. I now understand completely how you felt.) When I started the Escojo group, I thought I would feel more comfortable around the girls, but the reality is that I really enjoy the boys better. The boys ask me relevant questions, they pay close attention to my lectures, and they don’t laugh and correct all of my Spanish. Also if the boys begin to misbehave, I can shoot them a look (Thomas and Pete know the type of look I am talking about), and they immediately stop what they’re doing and pay attention to the activity. The girls however, are constantly squealing and laughing in their high-pitched voices. They are too embarrassed to participate, they want to sit in the back of the class and chat with each other or send text messages to friends (side note: I’m going to go out on a limb and say that the reason why the poverty level in Baoba is so low is because everyone spends all of their money on the latest cell phone. I am such a loser because my phone does not have a camera or video recorder; it only has 2 games; and I can’t use it to access the Internet or to download music). These girls also laugh at my Spanish pronunciation and correct almost every single word that I say. And while I appreciate the helpful tips, I am extremely grateful for the boys in the group who tell the girls to shut up because they all understood what I meant.

I think the reason why I have such high standards for these kids is because the majority of the time, they act (and look) so much older than they really are. Girls in this country get married and start having babies when they’re 13. Girls who are 11 are teaching me how to cook and clean my house properly. The guys who are 15 and 16 are constantly flirting with me. And the older guys (above the age of 25) in Baoba are dating the 13 year old girls. So it’s hard for me to remember that these kids are just babies. I’m sure if I was being taught about condoms and birth control when I was 13-years-old by a silly-looking foreigner, I would laugh nervously as well.