In the US, we have something called ESOL - English as a Second or Other Language - and every year the district's ESOL teacher would have to give several presentations or talks to all the teachers, about sensitivity and how to handle ESOL students. Even if you didn't have any ESOL students, you were required to attend. Not much, but something.
Well, now I'm teaching ESOL and what I'm concerned about is RSOL - Russian as a Second or Other Language - students. Every class has at least one of these. Sophia is one.
I've mentioned before that the foreign students are LOST. Confused, perplexed, bewildered, scared, sad, upset, lonely, you name it.
According to the local teachers, these kids understand them when they speak Russian.
Really? Sophia's wide-eyed, dumb-faced look seems to convey to others that she understands, but I know that she doesn't. Not only by her look (she doesn't even pretend to understand when she doesn't) but also because she tells me. Many kids aren't so open-faced as she, they try to look like they fit in. (Perhaps she does this, too, I'm not with her all the time.) No one wants to look like the fool. No one wants to stick out as the "other". So nodding your head when a grown-up is talking gibberish, really fast and without expression, sounds like a great idea to a kid.
How often these RSOL kids are stuck in a class that's going on in Kazakh or fast Russian, and they are expected to sit quietly and do nothing, or, worse, to understand! I would like my ESOL kids to understand, but I understand if they don't, and I am quickly learning how to make myself more understandable--gestures; slow, articulate speech; repeat, repeat, repeat!
Today during Etud (Study Period) they were reviewing Kazakh as usual. My Korean students--who are not in the class for the Kazakh lessons but rather are in Beginner's Russian--were sitting in the back, bored. My Korean girl must have said or done something--she is a quiet, timid girl, with a very soft voice. Whatever she did caused my Kazakh teacher to yell at her--not overly harshly, but enough to put this timid girl to tears. The Korean girl then put her head down and cried softly. What else could she do? She was sitting in a classroom, completely lost and confused, the lesson was in a language she did not understand, about a language she understood even less, and she was yelled at by the teacher.
I felt miserable for her.
From what I've seen and heard, the other RSOL kids are pretty much in the same predicament. The local teachers aren't mean, just clueless as to what it's like to not know the language. These kids can follow some basic commands, can say "da" and "nyet", and so they think they understand.
They do not.
We need RSOL sensitivity training, because this is supposed to be an international school! Even if it were just a local school, the teachers should be sensitive towards the needs of all the children, not just the locals!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Packages - Wednesday, 18 November 2009
So it cost my mom $53 a package, and so far only one out of three has arrived. I had finally decided just to give up and let it be a nice surprise when and if it arrived. So it was definitely a nice surprise when one finally arrived.
What do you want from America when you live in Kazakhstan? Well, I wish I had asked for my Christmas stuff earlier. Now it's too late. But books for the children was on my list (I had left about a hundred behind, and so she sent some). The crucifix I had forgotten. Magnets for the fridge (I have souvenir magnets from different places I've visited). And, best of all--Parmesan cheese, Mac and Cheese mix, Ritz Crackers and Rice Krispie treats for Sophia.
She finished the Parm. cheese in less than one week. She gobbled down pasta so hungrily as if she hadn't eaten in a year. The Rice Krispie treats lasted as many days as there were treats (about 8, I think) and the Ritz crackers are still here. They serve as her lunch.
I'm ready to be pleasantly surprised with the arrival of one of the other two packages!
(Update: The Ritz crackers are finished as of Wednesday, 9 December 2009.)
What do you want from America when you live in Kazakhstan? Well, I wish I had asked for my Christmas stuff earlier. Now it's too late. But books for the children was on my list (I had left about a hundred behind, and so she sent some). The crucifix I had forgotten. Magnets for the fridge (I have souvenir magnets from different places I've visited). And, best of all--Parmesan cheese, Mac and Cheese mix, Ritz Crackers and Rice Krispie treats for Sophia.
She finished the Parm. cheese in less than one week. She gobbled down pasta so hungrily as if she hadn't eaten in a year. The Rice Krispie treats lasted as many days as there were treats (about 8, I think) and the Ritz crackers are still here. They serve as her lunch.
I'm ready to be pleasantly surprised with the arrival of one of the other two packages!
(Update: The Ritz crackers are finished as of Wednesday, 9 December 2009.)
Monday, December 7, 2009
I am a rich American - Wednesday, 18 November 2009
First: Packages. Valerie's parents had mailed her a package when she was still in Uzbekistan, waiting for her letter of invitation. They wrote the school's strange-sounding address in English and took it to the local post office. The package arrived before she did.
So, I excitedly told my mom that same address and that using the post office works. Mom then mailed me one a package a week for three weeks.
I told her to stop after 3 weeks and no packages. (Valerie's had taken 10 days!) 4 weeks passed and no package. I learned from Valerie that around the time that I had arrived, her mother mailed her another package, and this one had yet to arrive. So that arrived-in-10-days was a fluke.
So now, on 18 November, a full 6 weeks since my mother mailed the first package, I was sitting in the teachers' lounge when an assistant handed a note to another assistant (who spoke better English) to give to me. It was a slip explaining that I had a package awaiting me in some place in Astana. Somehow the librarian had had the slip, and she had given it to the assistant. I was happy to learn that a package had made it Astana, I was unhappy to learn that it was who-knows-where and had to be picked up.
I went to see the secretary, who told me that the principal knew about it and that Valerie's had arrived too. He would make she we were driven to this place.
Good.
Then: The secretary came to see me. With her was a short middle-aged Kazakh man. He was carrying a box.
"This is your driver," she said; "he has your package."
So... Now the foreign teachers have a driver ("chauffeur", if you will) and he was sent to pick up the packages.
Most of our students have drivers, and all of us had been told during the interview process that we would be picked up by the school bus. Christie was content to walk, at least not when it was absolutely freezing (below minus 10) or extremely muddy or icy; I was content to walk, and was equally content to pay the bus fare (because Sophia was not content to walk). The Filipinos were not content to walk. It was freezing cold (the Philippines, of course, are even warmer than South Carolina). They also could not afford the bus far--60 Tenge, or 40 cents, each way. Valerie was not content to walk--it was too cold, plus she had been promised a driver.
So... I had never raised the issue. My previous school certainly had not provided transportation for its teachers! Of course, we were all local. But still. 40 cents per bus ride equals $3 tops a week. So much less than what I had been paying for gas. (Sophia rides free, although I suspect that if I admitted that she were 7, I might have to pay. Every now and then they ask me how old she is, when I answer, "Six" they nod and move on. I haven't answered "Seven" yet, and she knows that when she's on the bus, she's six.)
We have seen many colleagues riding the bus--even the vice principal. I can't see why we should be treated any more special than him. And no one's a local, everyone is new to Astana, if not Kazakhstan. (The v.p. is Turkish, so he's foreign too. He even has a story about being arrested for being outside without his passport! After a couple hours in jail he managed to bribe his way out.)
So I was surprised that we had a driver. Sophia, of course, was happy.
We then learned that he only has a small car and so we must work out whom he picks up when. The head English teacher, a Turkish guy, worked it out for us in the end--he would pick up the Filipinos first, at 8:15, and then come back and pick up Valerie, Christie, Sophia, and me at 8:30. He would pick Christie and me in front of our apartment (Christie is close) and Valerie in front of the pharmacy by her building. We got the later time because of Sophia--having a kid means it takes longer to get ready. I couldn't complain! Although there are 5 Filipinos in one apartment, with one bathroom, and so that means it takes them longer to get ready, too.
I later learned that the guys still had to walk; there wasn't room for them in the car.
The first day that he was to pick us up, I was in disbelief. At 8:10 am I was not yelling at Sophia to hurry up so we could catch the bus. I was saying, "Oh, we have time." This was great.
There still were kinks to work out. He couldn't pick up Valerie and Christie, Sophia, and me at the same time. And the short drive to Valerie's stop from our place requires a U-turn onto a street that is super-busy during rush hour, so it takes 5 minutes or longer. We finally worked out that I would text Valerie as soon as he picked us up.
One morning, I was pleased that Sophia and I were out early (this was before we had worked out to text Valerie, and I knew that I was the reason she had waited in the cold a couple days in a row, so I really wanted to be on time!) Christie had texted that she would be walking, and when the driver asked, "Ann?" I just assumed he had confused Christie with one of the Filipino teachers and said that no, she was not coming. She we headed off.
Then he received a phone call, which he passed onto me. It was Ann, still in her apartment with the other 2 Filipino teachers. They had been running late that morning! Oops! Their running late coincided with my running early. We worked out that, since we were near Valerie's stop and Valerie was early as usual, we would go to school first and then he would come back for the others. They ended up just-on-time, which really is late (by the time you get inside the school and put your things away).
The Filipinos had originally told him 8:10. One day they were "on time"--8-15--and we ended up being late. I think traffic gets worse the closer to 9:00 you get, and so those extra five minutes at the beginning really added up, and we were dropped off with only a few minutes before 9:00.
That Saturday we had to work, and when he dropped us off, we think we said, "Zavtra"--tomorrow. Well, Christie and I waited quite a while Saturday morning and he never showed up. She texted Eric--we didn't know that the boys weren't using the driver--who texted back that he was still inside the apartment. We assumed this meant that the driver hadn't come, and so we walked. Sophia was in a good mood and was willing to walk.
Goodness! We had gotten so used to having a driver that I hadn't put on my snow-boots. I was wearing nice heels and thin tights. Sure, I almost never wear those tights in South Carolina because it's too warm. But here I was freezing.
We arrived late, and I taught 1st period while still wearing my coat.
When I explained to my students (grade 5) why I was late, they could empathize. Another student said her driver had been late that day, also.
We later learned that the other teachers, in their extremely broken Russian, had managed to get the point across to the driver that they needed to be picked up on Saturday. We hadn't stressed, and so he hadn't come for us. Oh well.
It's nice to have a driver. And I'm sure he doesn't cost the school much. He likes us, and he's given us candy. But it really makes me feel set apart from the locals. I belong more to the class of the students than the class of my co-workers.
But it's really nice not to have to put on so many warm clothes in the morning! Being picked up from the front door is great!
So, I excitedly told my mom that same address and that using the post office works. Mom then mailed me one a package a week for three weeks.
I told her to stop after 3 weeks and no packages. (Valerie's had taken 10 days!) 4 weeks passed and no package. I learned from Valerie that around the time that I had arrived, her mother mailed her another package, and this one had yet to arrive. So that arrived-in-10-days was a fluke.
So now, on 18 November, a full 6 weeks since my mother mailed the first package, I was sitting in the teachers' lounge when an assistant handed a note to another assistant (who spoke better English) to give to me. It was a slip explaining that I had a package awaiting me in some place in Astana. Somehow the librarian had had the slip, and she had given it to the assistant. I was happy to learn that a package had made it Astana, I was unhappy to learn that it was who-knows-where and had to be picked up.
I went to see the secretary, who told me that the principal knew about it and that Valerie's had arrived too. He would make she we were driven to this place.
Good.
Then: The secretary came to see me. With her was a short middle-aged Kazakh man. He was carrying a box.
"This is your driver," she said; "he has your package."
So... Now the foreign teachers have a driver ("chauffeur", if you will) and he was sent to pick up the packages.
Most of our students have drivers, and all of us had been told during the interview process that we would be picked up by the school bus. Christie was content to walk, at least not when it was absolutely freezing (below minus 10) or extremely muddy or icy; I was content to walk, and was equally content to pay the bus fare (because Sophia was not content to walk). The Filipinos were not content to walk. It was freezing cold (the Philippines, of course, are even warmer than South Carolina). They also could not afford the bus far--60 Tenge, or 40 cents, each way. Valerie was not content to walk--it was too cold, plus she had been promised a driver.
So... I had never raised the issue. My previous school certainly had not provided transportation for its teachers! Of course, we were all local. But still. 40 cents per bus ride equals $3 tops a week. So much less than what I had been paying for gas. (Sophia rides free, although I suspect that if I admitted that she were 7, I might have to pay. Every now and then they ask me how old she is, when I answer, "Six" they nod and move on. I haven't answered "Seven" yet, and she knows that when she's on the bus, she's six.)
We have seen many colleagues riding the bus--even the vice principal. I can't see why we should be treated any more special than him. And no one's a local, everyone is new to Astana, if not Kazakhstan. (The v.p. is Turkish, so he's foreign too. He even has a story about being arrested for being outside without his passport! After a couple hours in jail he managed to bribe his way out.)
So I was surprised that we had a driver. Sophia, of course, was happy.
We then learned that he only has a small car and so we must work out whom he picks up when. The head English teacher, a Turkish guy, worked it out for us in the end--he would pick up the Filipinos first, at 8:15, and then come back and pick up Valerie, Christie, Sophia, and me at 8:30. He would pick Christie and me in front of our apartment (Christie is close) and Valerie in front of the pharmacy by her building. We got the later time because of Sophia--having a kid means it takes longer to get ready. I couldn't complain! Although there are 5 Filipinos in one apartment, with one bathroom, and so that means it takes them longer to get ready, too.
I later learned that the guys still had to walk; there wasn't room for them in the car.
The first day that he was to pick us up, I was in disbelief. At 8:10 am I was not yelling at Sophia to hurry up so we could catch the bus. I was saying, "Oh, we have time." This was great.
There still were kinks to work out. He couldn't pick up Valerie and Christie, Sophia, and me at the same time. And the short drive to Valerie's stop from our place requires a U-turn onto a street that is super-busy during rush hour, so it takes 5 minutes or longer. We finally worked out that I would text Valerie as soon as he picked us up.
One morning, I was pleased that Sophia and I were out early (this was before we had worked out to text Valerie, and I knew that I was the reason she had waited in the cold a couple days in a row, so I really wanted to be on time!) Christie had texted that she would be walking, and when the driver asked, "Ann?" I just assumed he had confused Christie with one of the Filipino teachers and said that no, she was not coming. She we headed off.
Then he received a phone call, which he passed onto me. It was Ann, still in her apartment with the other 2 Filipino teachers. They had been running late that morning! Oops! Their running late coincided with my running early. We worked out that, since we were near Valerie's stop and Valerie was early as usual, we would go to school first and then he would come back for the others. They ended up just-on-time, which really is late (by the time you get inside the school and put your things away).
The Filipinos had originally told him 8:10. One day they were "on time"--8-15--and we ended up being late. I think traffic gets worse the closer to 9:00 you get, and so those extra five minutes at the beginning really added up, and we were dropped off with only a few minutes before 9:00.
That Saturday we had to work, and when he dropped us off, we think we said, "Zavtra"--tomorrow. Well, Christie and I waited quite a while Saturday morning and he never showed up. She texted Eric--we didn't know that the boys weren't using the driver--who texted back that he was still inside the apartment. We assumed this meant that the driver hadn't come, and so we walked. Sophia was in a good mood and was willing to walk.
Goodness! We had gotten so used to having a driver that I hadn't put on my snow-boots. I was wearing nice heels and thin tights. Sure, I almost never wear those tights in South Carolina because it's too warm. But here I was freezing.
We arrived late, and I taught 1st period while still wearing my coat.
When I explained to my students (grade 5) why I was late, they could empathize. Another student said her driver had been late that day, also.
We later learned that the other teachers, in their extremely broken Russian, had managed to get the point across to the driver that they needed to be picked up on Saturday. We hadn't stressed, and so he hadn't come for us. Oh well.
It's nice to have a driver. And I'm sure he doesn't cost the school much. He likes us, and he's given us candy. But it really makes me feel set apart from the locals. I belong more to the class of the students than the class of my co-workers.
But it's really nice not to have to put on so many warm clothes in the morning! Being picked up from the front door is great!
Dance Update - Saturday, 28 November 2009
Sophia didn't go to dance the next day. Although I told the assistant in her class, the class celebrated a birthday. The assistant said they would go after. I was in a teacher's meeting, and when I came downstairs after it, I learned that Sophia had not gone to dance. She had no idea why. What fun it is to be in a school where you can't communicate. Sophia often has no idea what's going on. (And I wouldn't complain as much if this school didn't claim to be international and English-speaking.)
The next Monday she went to dance, and was so very happy afterwards. Wednesday also she went to dance. That Saturday we had school, so no dance. Friday, 27 November we went back to Artyom and I found a leotard for 1000 Tenge. I was quite proud of myself to be able to do that on my own. I knew to look in a sports store, and all I said was, "tanser" which is, I think, Russian for "dance" and the workers knew what I was asking for.
The black leotard they showed us not only fit Sophia perfectly and was identical in style to those of the other girls', but was also 1000 Tenge-- 1/3 of the price of the leotard in Eurasia. We also bought black dance shoes, to match the leotard. The secretary had thought that white shoes wouldn't match a black leotard, and I didn't want a white leotard, for fear it might end up being see-through.
Saturday morning, 28 November, we showed up for dance 10 minutes before 10, the time I had been told it would start. The dance room was locked, so we went to the teachers' lounge, where we found the dance instructor playing games on the computer. Around 10:15 she got off the computer and put on a game for Sophia. Then she left the room. I followed her and asked, "Kogda dance?" (When is dance?)
Oh, yes, she said, now, 10:00, and she waved Sophia on. I went with Sophia and the other girls--3 from my room who weren't with Sophia on the other two occasions that she had danced. Sophia's friend Irene was there too.
How strange. I am not sure about this system--is it just show up for a lesson if you so desire? Or are they grouped somehow?
However, Sophia is in dance, she does enjoy it, she has the proper attire, and so far, I haven't had to pay a dime (or Tenge).
The next Monday she went to dance, and was so very happy afterwards. Wednesday also she went to dance. That Saturday we had school, so no dance. Friday, 27 November we went back to Artyom and I found a leotard for 1000 Tenge. I was quite proud of myself to be able to do that on my own. I knew to look in a sports store, and all I said was, "tanser" which is, I think, Russian for "dance" and the workers knew what I was asking for.
The black leotard they showed us not only fit Sophia perfectly and was identical in style to those of the other girls', but was also 1000 Tenge-- 1/3 of the price of the leotard in Eurasia. We also bought black dance shoes, to match the leotard. The secretary had thought that white shoes wouldn't match a black leotard, and I didn't want a white leotard, for fear it might end up being see-through.
Saturday morning, 28 November, we showed up for dance 10 minutes before 10, the time I had been told it would start. The dance room was locked, so we went to the teachers' lounge, where we found the dance instructor playing games on the computer. Around 10:15 she got off the computer and put on a game for Sophia. Then she left the room. I followed her and asked, "Kogda dance?" (When is dance?)
Oh, yes, she said, now, 10:00, and she waved Sophia on. I went with Sophia and the other girls--3 from my room who weren't with Sophia on the other two occasions that she had danced. Sophia's friend Irene was there too.
How strange. I am not sure about this system--is it just show up for a lesson if you so desire? Or are they grouped somehow?
However, Sophia is in dance, she does enjoy it, she has the proper attire, and so far, I haven't had to pay a dime (or Tenge).
Friday, December 4, 2009
Dance - Tuesday, 17 November 2009
Now that I had Internet, I finally got around to researching Sophia's rash and the medicine that had been given to her. On Saturday I googled "cold rash" and found a forum where parents were discussing rashes on their children that sounded pretty similar to Sophia's.
While it is perfectly true that someone can develop a rash in reaction to cold, dry weather, I was stunned to learn that it is also perfectly true that someone can be allergic to the cold. Not develop a rash that looks like an allergic reaction (what happens to me when I wear jewelry; I doubt I'm actually allergic to every piece of material that touches my skin; my skin is simply sensitive and easily irritated). But it is possible to have an allergic reaction to the cold--your body has a histamine reaction to the cold. Wow.
So I decided to try giving Sophia Benadryl every night. I still had a decent-sized supply of Children's Benadryl that I had brought with me from the US. For a short while, I had been giving it to her every night, but since I didn't think her rash was due to allergies, I had stopped. The rash had started before she had been exposed to anything in this environment--clothes, food, etc--other than the cold weather and water (which she doesn't drink, she only uses to brush her teeth in and take a shower, which she does rarely). So I had highly doubted that it was an allergy.
Her rash was getting worse--very red and spreading all over her body, even on her neck and starting to get on her face. I was applying lotion at least once daily, which she hated.
So I started, once again, to give her Benadryl nightly. I even stopped applying the lotion as much, not out of any experiment but because it was such a hassle. (And the rash is not due to the lotion, I got the lotion about 2 weeks after the rash had started.)
Remember how earlier I had thought that the rash was going away? During that period, I had been giving her the medicine prescribed by the school nurse and Benadryl. I had stopped giving her those medicines.
To my surprise, her rash has been improving! While she still itches, it is not terrible and you can barely see a rash on her body.
I checked the medicine that the nurse had prescribed--it appears to be a Russian form of Zyrtec. Of course, had I known that earlier, I probably wouldn't have given it to her, as I highly doubted it was an allergic reaction. And I was a bit angry that I hadn't been informed as to what it was--I had been double-dosing her on allergy medicine without knowing it.
So my daughter's rash is due to an allergy. I'm still skeptical of the allergic-to-cold theory, although it is definitely the best. And, of course I have to laugh. What kind of a mother am I? My daughter is allergic to the cold, and I bring her to one of the coldest places on Earth!
I checked the other medicine that the nurse had prescribed, the black tablets that dissolved in water and Sophia hated. I had assumed they were some kind of vitamin. Wrong. They are "activated coal"! Used to purify gold, treat sewage, treat poisoning in people, and in some folk remedies for irritable bowel. Really? Well, I don't feel too bad now that Sophia didn't take that much.
So I double-dosed my child on allergy medicine (for a while), gave her coal that is used to treat sewage, and took her to one of the coldest places in the world when she might have an allergy to cold. Wonder what I'll do next?
(Update: We have completely stopped using the lotion. Her rash is almost non-existent. She takes Children's Benadryl nightly and I take the Russian Zyrtec for my allergies.)
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Ouch! Monday, 16 November 2009
Our projectors our nice, and today I was backing up to point to something that was being projected. Backing up near a desk is never a good idea, and today I tripped over the edge of the desk. (Actually, the edge of the mini-cabinet; none of the desks have drawers, and so they are all next to cabinets that serve as the desks' drawers.)
I banged my foot pretty badly and I went sprawling backwards. The children gaped at me. Normally, in a situation like this, I try to make a joke of it--lecture the desk for hitting me--basically try to save face, move class forward as quickly as possible, and show the children how to react positively when you make a fool of yourself in front of others. But I was stuck wondering how on earth I could do this with students who don't understand me?
Luckily, my brain worked fast, and as I staggered up, I realized how I could express myself in a way they could understand. I had just introduced a new method of discipline--four simple rules and a chart of student names that I keep on a clipboard (similar to what I've done in previous years!) If they break a rule, they get a "mark" (like a tally mark) next to their name. Each mark equals one minute that they must stay at their desk, with their head down, during the 10-minute break.
So I looked at the desk, explained that it had broken Rule #4 --Hands and feet to yourself--and gave it a mark on my clipboard. The students laughed, and that eased the tension and allowed me to move on in the lesson. My foot smarted, but I was laughing too.
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