MUCH HAS HAPPENED
Much has happened since my last post. I prepared and facilitated a training for AMIDEAST teachers in the ACCESS program. ACCESS is a free English program for disadvantaged youth. Yes, there are disadvantaged youth in Kuwait. There are Kuwaitis who are not rich and there is a group of people living in Kuwait called the Bedoon, who are stateless. The Bedoon live in Al Jahara, outside Kuwait City. One could compare their shanty town to the favelas in Brazil or the rancheros in Venezuela, with the exception that the Bedoon have cars.
The training went very well. The teachers are American but they hail from all parts of the world, as Americans tend to. I prepared so much material! I’d forgotten how much teachers like to talk. It felt good to finally train. I have one more week of visiting (private) schools under the administrative purview of the Directorate. I’m looking forward to the end of these visits, which can be stultifying. There are exceptions of course.
Now that Ramadan is over the school visit is a study in form and formality. Now there is coffee, tea, juice and water, small pastries (little pizzas, zatar bread, cheese, chicken) with the principal. I am welcomed and welcomed and welcomed offered coffee and tea, then fed. We (the principal, the English department head, the supervisor and possibly a second supervisor) proceed (waddle) to the English department to meet the teachers, where we are coffee-d (tea-d, juice-d) and fed again waiting for the teacher to set up the lesson. Then we observe one or two classes. Then in the meeting with the teachers there is more food, tea, juice, coffee, pastries, dates, and chocolates. Some days I arrive home so strung out on white flour I don’t know what to do with myself. It took me a day or two to learn not to eat breakfast. During Ramadan I had been eating a large breakfast to get me through the day of fasting.
Gradually it dawned on me how important my visits are to the schools. They roll out the red carpet. They want me to say that they are the best. The schools are competitive amongst themselves in a friendly way. But to have the honor of a foreign expert is something else again. The teachers want to know they are doing a good job and I feel I have to encourage them so I say this a lot. The teacher whose class I observe wants to hear that (s)he is great, and wants to be compared with her/his colleagues at other schools in Kuwait. The teachers want to hear my feedback about their lessons in front of their peers.
I’ve trained myself to first ask the teacher is she was satisfied with the lesson. Then I ask her if she met her objectives. I tell the teacher some specific things I liked about the lesson. The criticism I rephrase a question, for example, “What is a way that you can structure your lesson so that all of your students get to talk?” or “What was the purpose of having the students repeatedly read the (reading) passage out loud?” “Why not let the students ask each other the questions?” This usually leads to a lively discussion. The male teachers tend to be more defensive and argumentative than the female teachers. I think they don’t like to be challenged by a female foreign expert (I am known as the American Expert), and when I ask them what they want in terms of professional development they invariably say phonetics and pronunciation, in that order.
There is a kind of obsession here with dividing students into groups: the exceptional students, the average students, the low achievers. The teachers and supervisors think of the students in this way. At a recent visit I suggested that the low achiever is a student whose interest in English has not yet been activated. Silence. “well, yanni (yanni=that is), what do you mean?” I mean your students are all students, regardless of the label you give them, and if some are not achieving it’s because you haven’t figured out how to activate them. More silence. I talk about learning styles, teaching styles and meeting student’s needs as language learners, the teachers had never considered thinking about their students in this way.
Sometimes a character can really make my day. Last week it was supervisor Al Moiz. I think he’s in his 70’s, Egyptian. He has the best sense of humor in English of anyone I’ve met so far in Kuwait. Apparently he has the same talent in Arabic. Visiting the school with him was a joy. Abdul doesn’t take life too seriously even though he knows his stuff and there is always room for a joke, a wry comment and plenty of laughter. Among the supervisors, he’s an institution.
Nizar wanted me to meet two Syrian women who teach in public school, so we went to the beach one Friday to have tea. We went to the beach near Marina Mall. We walked along the shore after setting up a blanket, thermos and the rest of our stuff. The beach was full of trash. When I asked about it, Nizar chuckled and said that I didn’t know Arabs. The women agreed. What is there to know? People in Kuwait throw trash on the beach and wait for some dark skinned, underpaid man from the Indian sub-continent to come pick it up? I felt compelled to pick up the trash in our immediate area.
One of the women was horrified. “It’s dirty,” She said. I couldn’t argue with her. When we sat down to have our tea, we had trash-free view of the bay, but I won’t do that again.
I met Helena, a supervisor in one of the schools I visited in Ahmadi Educational Area. She’s 42, divorced with no children. She’d been married for 19 years and was enjoying her freedom. Part Scottish and part Kuwaiti, Helena told me she feels most comfortable in the U.K., even though she grew up here. She wants to get a PhD in linguistics/training but she’s frustrated because at the university here they told her she was too old. Helena took me shopping. While I shopped I asked her all kinds of questions, which she answered! I was impressed. Helena lent me 5Kd (about $15) when I was short. She helped me load my groceries into her car, then she drove me home.
There was the first big rain. When my driver picked me up at 7:30, there was none of the usual traffic. I asked him why and he told me that the Kuwaitis stay home when it rains.
At the beginning of the highway I counted four crashed cars. It just as well that people stayed home. The way driving is here-pass on the left, pass on the right-high speed tail-gaiting in the rain could be a quick death. When I got to the school I noticed parents picking their children up because it was raining. In the desert, rain is a big deal. The supervisor suggested that parents wanted their children with them at home to enjoy the rain.
I met a lovely Kuwaiti-Syrian family (the Al Zamels) who have taken me under their wing. the father is a Supervisor in the Al Jahra zone that i'm visiting this week. He picked me up last night and took me to a three star hotel (not what you're thinking...) He wanted to show me the hotel it looks like a building out of the Casbah--beautiful—and it is home to one of his three grocery stores. Then we went home to meet his family. Out on the patio I smoked shisha, a water pipe with apple-flavored tobacco for the first time. Honestly I don't know how anyone could get anything done in shisha culture. It is immensely pleasurable the smoke is light and cool and one just wants to lay about, drinking coffee or tea, eating sweets and talking while puffing away. Mr. Al Zamel has four daughters and two sons, and three grandchildren. One of the first things I noticed was that half of the family was in their pajamas when I arrived. It was around 8:15pm. Someone suggested going inside. So we moved to the upstairs living room. Al Zamel left the room and came back in a caftan type robe. Anyone else who was not in his or her pjs changed into them. I was wearing a silk dress but I felt overdressed. They encouraged me to bring my pjs to lunch the next day. The family liked me so much they wanted to eat with me, so we had dinner. When picture taking time came the women flew out of the room and returned wearing head-scarves. I was brought home at1am and was up at 5:30 am to prepare for the day's visits.
I had lunch with them. Arrived at their house at 2pm and left at 8:30 pm, they didn't want to let me go. It is unbelievable how generous and kind people can be. They are very open and talked about everything. The father is quite ambitious and has so far been successful. There are 6 children, four girls, two boys, and three grandchildren under the age of 6. The grandchildren are particularly helpful in my study of Arabic as they will yammer on, repeating the same story over and over until I get a clue! Or someone gives me one! Mr. Al Zamel, a former English teacher, provides structure and vocabulary and is a willing and patient translator. With the possible exception of the boys, they all seem desperately in love. It is really strange. Mrs. Al Zamel prepared a feast worthy of Thanksgiving and I had to fight back tears because I suddenly missed my family and friends so much. I thanked the family profusely and exclaimed over the food (it was amazing because of the taste, variety and abundance, and also because we ate it with big spoons. And people don’t use individual napkins here they use tissues—boxes of tissues.) I changed into my PJs and we hung out big time in front of the TV. I tortured the family with my Arabic. Every once in awhile they'd fall on the floor laughing at something I said.
I had a birthday. Nizar brought me a cake. He took me to dinner at a restaurant overlooking the harbor where sailboats and yachts dock. Over dinner I said, “Wouldn’t it be great if I could get into one of those boats and sail away?” This is not a original thought and many people may say it everyday, but I meant it. This place can get to you.
The training went very well. The teachers are American but they hail from all parts of the world, as Americans tend to. I prepared so much material! I’d forgotten how much teachers like to talk. It felt good to finally train. I have one more week of visiting (private) schools under the administrative purview of the Directorate. I’m looking forward to the end of these visits, which can be stultifying. There are exceptions of course.
Now that Ramadan is over the school visit is a study in form and formality. Now there is coffee, tea, juice and water, small pastries (little pizzas, zatar bread, cheese, chicken) with the principal. I am welcomed and welcomed and welcomed offered coffee and tea, then fed. We (the principal, the English department head, the supervisor and possibly a second supervisor) proceed (waddle) to the English department to meet the teachers, where we are coffee-d (tea-d, juice-d) and fed again waiting for the teacher to set up the lesson. Then we observe one or two classes. Then in the meeting with the teachers there is more food, tea, juice, coffee, pastries, dates, and chocolates. Some days I arrive home so strung out on white flour I don’t know what to do with myself. It took me a day or two to learn not to eat breakfast. During Ramadan I had been eating a large breakfast to get me through the day of fasting.
Gradually it dawned on me how important my visits are to the schools. They roll out the red carpet. They want me to say that they are the best. The schools are competitive amongst themselves in a friendly way. But to have the honor of a foreign expert is something else again. The teachers want to know they are doing a good job and I feel I have to encourage them so I say this a lot. The teacher whose class I observe wants to hear that (s)he is great, and wants to be compared with her/his colleagues at other schools in Kuwait. The teachers want to hear my feedback about their lessons in front of their peers.
I’ve trained myself to first ask the teacher is she was satisfied with the lesson. Then I ask her if she met her objectives. I tell the teacher some specific things I liked about the lesson. The criticism I rephrase a question, for example, “What is a way that you can structure your lesson so that all of your students get to talk?” or “What was the purpose of having the students repeatedly read the (reading) passage out loud?” “Why not let the students ask each other the questions?” This usually leads to a lively discussion. The male teachers tend to be more defensive and argumentative than the female teachers. I think they don’t like to be challenged by a female foreign expert (I am known as the American Expert), and when I ask them what they want in terms of professional development they invariably say phonetics and pronunciation, in that order.
There is a kind of obsession here with dividing students into groups: the exceptional students, the average students, the low achievers. The teachers and supervisors think of the students in this way. At a recent visit I suggested that the low achiever is a student whose interest in English has not yet been activated. Silence. “well, yanni (yanni=that is), what do you mean?” I mean your students are all students, regardless of the label you give them, and if some are not achieving it’s because you haven’t figured out how to activate them. More silence. I talk about learning styles, teaching styles and meeting student’s needs as language learners, the teachers had never considered thinking about their students in this way.
Sometimes a character can really make my day. Last week it was supervisor Al Moiz. I think he’s in his 70’s, Egyptian. He has the best sense of humor in English of anyone I’ve met so far in Kuwait. Apparently he has the same talent in Arabic. Visiting the school with him was a joy. Abdul doesn’t take life too seriously even though he knows his stuff and there is always room for a joke, a wry comment and plenty of laughter. Among the supervisors, he’s an institution.
Nizar wanted me to meet two Syrian women who teach in public school, so we went to the beach one Friday to have tea. We went to the beach near Marina Mall. We walked along the shore after setting up a blanket, thermos and the rest of our stuff. The beach was full of trash. When I asked about it, Nizar chuckled and said that I didn’t know Arabs. The women agreed. What is there to know? People in Kuwait throw trash on the beach and wait for some dark skinned, underpaid man from the Indian sub-continent to come pick it up? I felt compelled to pick up the trash in our immediate area.
One of the women was horrified. “It’s dirty,” She said. I couldn’t argue with her. When we sat down to have our tea, we had trash-free view of the bay, but I won’t do that again.
I met Helena, a supervisor in one of the schools I visited in Ahmadi Educational Area. She’s 42, divorced with no children. She’d been married for 19 years and was enjoying her freedom. Part Scottish and part Kuwaiti, Helena told me she feels most comfortable in the U.K., even though she grew up here. She wants to get a PhD in linguistics/training but she’s frustrated because at the university here they told her she was too old. Helena took me shopping. While I shopped I asked her all kinds of questions, which she answered! I was impressed. Helena lent me 5Kd (about $15) when I was short. She helped me load my groceries into her car, then she drove me home.
There was the first big rain. When my driver picked me up at 7:30, there was none of the usual traffic. I asked him why and he told me that the Kuwaitis stay home when it rains.
At the beginning of the highway I counted four crashed cars. It just as well that people stayed home. The way driving is here-pass on the left, pass on the right-high speed tail-gaiting in the rain could be a quick death. When I got to the school I noticed parents picking their children up because it was raining. In the desert, rain is a big deal. The supervisor suggested that parents wanted their children with them at home to enjoy the rain.
I met a lovely Kuwaiti-Syrian family (the Al Zamels) who have taken me under their wing. the father is a Supervisor in the Al Jahra zone that i'm visiting this week. He picked me up last night and took me to a three star hotel (not what you're thinking...) He wanted to show me the hotel it looks like a building out of the Casbah--beautiful—and it is home to one of his three grocery stores. Then we went home to meet his family. Out on the patio I smoked shisha, a water pipe with apple-flavored tobacco for the first time. Honestly I don't know how anyone could get anything done in shisha culture. It is immensely pleasurable the smoke is light and cool and one just wants to lay about, drinking coffee or tea, eating sweets and talking while puffing away. Mr. Al Zamel has four daughters and two sons, and three grandchildren. One of the first things I noticed was that half of the family was in their pajamas when I arrived. It was around 8:15pm. Someone suggested going inside. So we moved to the upstairs living room. Al Zamel left the room and came back in a caftan type robe. Anyone else who was not in his or her pjs changed into them. I was wearing a silk dress but I felt overdressed. They encouraged me to bring my pjs to lunch the next day. The family liked me so much they wanted to eat with me, so we had dinner. When picture taking time came the women flew out of the room and returned wearing head-scarves. I was brought home at1am and was up at 5:30 am to prepare for the day's visits.
I had lunch with them. Arrived at their house at 2pm and left at 8:30 pm, they didn't want to let me go. It is unbelievable how generous and kind people can be. They are very open and talked about everything. The father is quite ambitious and has so far been successful. There are 6 children, four girls, two boys, and three grandchildren under the age of 6. The grandchildren are particularly helpful in my study of Arabic as they will yammer on, repeating the same story over and over until I get a clue! Or someone gives me one! Mr. Al Zamel, a former English teacher, provides structure and vocabulary and is a willing and patient translator. With the possible exception of the boys, they all seem desperately in love. It is really strange. Mrs. Al Zamel prepared a feast worthy of Thanksgiving and I had to fight back tears because I suddenly missed my family and friends so much. I thanked the family profusely and exclaimed over the food (it was amazing because of the taste, variety and abundance, and also because we ate it with big spoons. And people don’t use individual napkins here they use tissues—boxes of tissues.) I changed into my PJs and we hung out big time in front of the TV. I tortured the family with my Arabic. Every once in awhile they'd fall on the floor laughing at something I said.
I had a birthday. Nizar brought me a cake. He took me to dinner at a restaurant overlooking the harbor where sailboats and yachts dock. Over dinner I said, “Wouldn’t it be great if I could get into one of those boats and sail away?” This is not a original thought and many people may say it everyday, but I meant it. This place can get to you.
posted by Roja at 1:53 AM
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