How am I ever going to leave this place?
by Katie Neal
Teach Immersion in Chile
Upon hearing that I would be the lone volunteer in my city, La Serena, to work at a public school elementary school, I was instantly overwhelmed by an influx of terrifying images. Fantasies of chaos and anarchy plagued my mind, only further abetted by dire warnings from other volunteers and blogs depicting some of these low-income schools as a scene straight out of “Where the Wild Things Are.” My heart sank deeper as I recalled exactly how little Spanish I knew- best described as none. Plus, there was my general lack of experience in the teaching field. Certainly there were others better suited for this placement; the group with whom I had arrived was populated with teachers and Spanish majors-I could hardly fathom what a liberal arts major like me who can barely speak Spanish could contribute to such a situation. Granted, I had been well aware of these veritable facts when I set off for Chile two weeks before, but now, as the start date loomed nearer and nearer, a viable tornado suddenly not so far off on the horizon, the realization had begun to hit me with its gale force winds. Unprepared and butterfly-hearted, I ventured to La Serena, braced for the onslaught of my mind’s conjurations.
First Day of School: blonde-haired, pale-skinned, green-eyed, I felt like an impostor in a city in which all things, landscape, houses, people, subscribed to a certain earthy, honey-brown beauty to which I could never aspire. Heavy-limbed and hearted, I walked the thirty minutes to school (much needed when taking into account my recent consumption of manjar for breakfast, lunch, and dinner), only to be led into further neuroses by the inquiring looks and comments I received along the way. Expecting to stumble upon a milder derivation of “Lord of the Flies,” I fumbled with the lock on school gate, and entered. Lo and behold, I was greeted by swarms of children, buzzing across my path in an attempt to kiss my cheek, hand me a homemade present (I am now the proud owner of upwards of eighteen hello kitty artifacts), or ask me about my relations with various celebrities. After several clarifications that Selena Gomez and I were not on a first name basis, nor had I ever crossed paths with the debonair Brad Pitt, some of the attention subsided and I finally found my way to the Inspector’s office. Here, I was greeted also by an outpouring of warmth, contrasting the exclamations of “¡Tienes frío mi amor!"(I had overdressed in a dress, not expecting the cold front), and half-dragged, half-ushered out towards the blacktop in the center of the school.
Blinking into the sun, I made out the shadows of five-hundred or so students, lined up according to grade and class, a phantom sea of crisp red, gray, and that honey-brown. At once, my ears thundered with the sound of music and an eighth grade girl and boy, outfitted in traditional garb, emerged from amongst the waves and grins. Their feet tapped along rhythm to the music, as they performed the traditional dance of Chile, the Cueca (I happened to be familiar with this dance, as the previous night, my host parents had attempted to induce some rhythm into my unfortunate bones). A group of kinders sang the “Hello-Goodbye” song to me in my native tongue, and presented me with the flower of La Serena. As the students bristled aside, I glimpsed a handmade board sporting colored letters, “Miss Katie, We hope you spend a good time here and enjoy your stay.” I’m blinking again, but this time it’s not against the sun; it’s against the slow creep of tears to the corners of my eyes. The teachers ask me to say a word or two in introduction, and I manage to gush out, in broken Spanish, a three-minute montage. The overwhelmed feeling from Santiago had returned, by this time with entirely different connotations.
From that moment on, I knew I had been fortunate to be placed in such a welcoming, enthusiastic, and genuinely caring school. Any previous anxiety I had was banished, though I now felt a new twinge brought on by wondering how I could repay this outpouring of generosity. After the welcome ceremony, I accompanied my teacher Xjimena, to the classroom. The students filed in, boys first, followed by girls, all stopping to kiss me on the cheek, welcome me, and a few to slip (hastily consumed) candy into my palm. I immediately felt at home in the classroom, and could hardly wait for the observation period to be over, so I could pick up the whiteboard pen and begin opening new passageways for the students. This was not to say it was all a fairytale from here on out, after just one one-and -a-half hour class; I could not help but note a lack of materials, an assortment of reluctant children, and one English teacher (now, two) struggling to conjoin these two realities. However, the passion of the teacher for her subject, coupled with the thirst for knowledge that many of the students had overshadowed these inconsistencies.
As time passes, I become more and more attached to the children, looking forward to the 6 am wake up calls so that I may spend some time talking with the students before the first bell rings. Though I teach fifth through eighth grade, the younger students are also interested in learning common English phrases, which I rehearse with them on the steps outside the office. From there, I venture to my classroom, decorated with a wide, albeit random, variety of the students favorite associations with the English culture (I must brace myself each morning for the onslaught of Justin Bieber’s face), to begin a lesson, on this particular Tuesday, on the vocabulary and grammar structures associated with family. Upon telling them about my own family and drawing a family tree, my heartstrings pull when I ask the students to do the same, and several call me over to ask what to put down if one, or for some, both of their parents had left. Moments like this push me to create the best possible environment for their children at school, making the classroom not only a place where students may learn, but where they are also able to enjoy themselves and forget any hardships. Through games, through songs, and through candid exchange, we spend each day growing closer together, begging the question of “How am I ever going to leave this place?”
The school that had once caused me such anxiety, is now one of the main sources of my enjoyment in this beautiful country: quite a feat when you take into consideration the fact that I am surrounded by 16 beaches, spend my weekends at various asados, and a have a wonderful host family and group of friends. At the risk of sounding cliché, I came here to teach English, hoping to make some kind of impact, but have found instead that I’m the one being “schooled” by my students. Not only is my Spanish improving, but I have also uncovered a knack for teaching and a renewed passion for learning. My only wish is that I may be able to return this favor to my school, my students, and my teacher in kind.