Pier

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Sunday, June 30, 2013

La Escuela Folclórica



La Escuela Folclórica – Working with Youth and Kids to Strengthen Afro-Colombian Traditions

“We’re Afro-Colombian. This is in our blood.” – My community members, on several occasions
 
Cumbia presentation at school

Identifying a Community Need
My first weekend in town at site, nearly 18 months ago, I walked around to get out of the house and to understand the lay of my new land. If the town was much larger I may have gotten lost, but with only one real street (unpaved like all the other streets, alleys and paths) I wasn’t at much risk of anything other than unexpectedly surprising a stray dog. Crossing around the dusty softball path, seeking shade from the fierce sun, I heard the banging of wood and metal accompanying a joyous and rhythmic yelling. Using anything at hand – discarded and rusted oil drums, plastic buckets, sticks and boards – a group of young kids was getting the energy out of their systems by pounding out beats and belting out chants. In the true sense of the word, it was awesome: wondrous and eye-opening, invoking of awe. I was hit with a wave of aural and visual joy. It was – in sum – totally rad. 

Working with the English teachers in the high school being my primary project, I had my eyes and ears open in an attempt to understand the needs of the community and find a secondary project outside of teaching English where I can (hopefully) make a larger impact during my service. Stumbling upon this raucous group of merrymakers, I was convinced that something related to youth and drumming was where I could apply some energy and get a better understanding of the local culture.
 
Informational meeting - lots of interested teens and kids!
Drums at school - lots of repair work needed

Developing a Plan and Finding a Local Counterpart
After many months of thinking about this idea and having numerous conversations on the topic with neighbors and potential community counterparts, I was well into formulating a solid plan: Reach back into the (gradually disappearing) traditions of this Afro-Colombian community and get the older residents of town to teach traditional dancing and drumming techniques to the musically inclined, rhythmic teenagers and kids, seeking financial support from a Small Project Assistance (SPA) grant from the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) through the Peace Corps to fund the project start up. 
 
Mapalé presentation in the park for the town's festivities
With some frustration that potential community counterparts – critical for short-term success and vital for long-term sustainability – seemed to back out at committing to work on the project with me, through sheer coincidence a master drummer and dancer (“El Doctor” as he is known) moved to my town, escaping the crime of the city to live more peacefully here in town where he had family. A natural partnership was formed between us through evenings spent on his front porch talking about drumming and dancing and the overwhelming amount of free time of the local youth. Using his expertise and experience teaching traditional Afro-Colombian drumming and dancing to youth, my project planning and coordination and relationships with teenage students through months of English classes at the high school, we refined the project plan, roughly:
1.       Gather potential students together to see who wants to learn drumming and/or dancing;
2.       Form a group of youth dancers (12 to 18 years old) to present at the town’s festivities;
3.       Present at the festivities to energize the town and gain momentum for the project;
4.       Apply for a SPA grant to equip the group with the traditional instruments (drums and other percussion, flutes) and uniforms for two traditional styles of dance (cumbia and mapalé);
5.       Strengthen the formation of a youth drumming and dancing group and use these teenagers to help form and develop a similar group for children (6 to 11 years old);
6.       Present both groups locally here in town and the youth group in surrounding communities;
7.       Develop “youth leaders” that can oversee the group and allow it to become a sustainable entity in the community responsible for all future drumming and dancing activities.




El Doctor tuning some drums
Selling the Project and Getting the Funding
Identifying what we had in the community and what we needed for project success, we decided to apply for a SPA grant and seek some financial support to get the group off the ground. After many long nights on my end and many conversations with the Doctor, a local seamstress, other community leaders, my Peace Corps bosses, and the teenagers I submitted our request for SPA funding. Detailing the need for this project and potential positive impact for the community, all foreseen budget expenditures (including how we would meet a minimum 25% financial support of the project to be contributed by the community, either in direct money or in in-kind contribution such as use of space or labor contributed by community members as part of the project), a calendar of activities, goals that we would meet, number of participants and beneficiaries as well as a plan for long-term sustainability, our request pushed for us to receive the maximum financial limit established by Peace Corps Colombia for SPA grants. After a few more email exchanges with the grant coordinator and some additional polishing for the proposal, my counterpart and I took boat, bus and taxi to the PC Colombia office in Barranquilla to present and defend the project to PC office staff – my Project Manager, Director of Programming and Training, Training Manager, Grant Coordinator, and other indispensable personnel that had assisted in shepherding the process. I led the hour-long presentation, completely in Spanish, and then answered questions with my counterpart before being asked to leave the room for a few minutes while the decision makers deliberated. Five minutes later smiles were on all faces in the room, hands extended for firm handshakes with the men, arms opened for hugs with the women. Not only was the project approved, but it was approved at the maximum possible amount for the Peace Corps posting. Awesome. El Doctor and I rushed to the bus stop to make it back to catch the last boat to town, feeling like champs. Money in the bank. The “Escuela Folclórica” (“Folkloric School”) was born.
 
Drum practice
 
One of the drummers hanging out before practice. Instruments from left to right: Llamador, guache, tambor alegre, tambora.
Making Things Happen
There has been way too much going on in this project – and I have been too busy to write detailed postings on all the many aspects of it – to provide an intricate account for now. Here’s a run-down of what we’ve done and how we’re taking the project from a plan to a reality:

  • Juegos de Instrumentos – Drums, other percussion instruments are flutes are what compose the local type of music we would be making. The school had drums that, in theory, we could use but they would need some significant repairs including changing the leather skin (the drums at the school had holes in their skins owing to bugs and being poorly kept). El Doctor got to work making two new sets of drums – working with and leading some of the teenage musicians in polishing the wooden bodies, curing the leather skins, and putting the drums together; not only is the result two sets of drums for the group, but also a transfer of knowledge on traditional drum making techniques and the history of the instruments to the youth drummers. Separately El Doctor purchased additional percussion instruments and flutes to complete each of the instrument sets or “juegos de instrumentos.”
    Untying the tambora for a tuning

    Wooden husks for drums. Left to right: Tambor alegre, tambora, llamador.
  • Estuches – Cases for the instruments. We got these custom made to make sure they fit the drums well. Absolutely necessary for good storage of the drums and to keep them safe from the elements and animals and bugs that might munch on them or burrow into them looking for places to lay eggs.
    Brand new drum cases

    Checking to make sure the drums fit

    What happens to drums that aren't properly cared for...
    Drums poorly maintained and not kept in cases lead short, brutish lives, often winding up in trash piles.
  • Vestuarios – A local seamstress (Liana) has done a fantastic job getting us uniforms, “vestuarios”, for two traditional styles of dance: Cumbia and Mapalé. The final result will be ten cumbia uniforms for youth male dancers, ten for female dancers, ten mapalé unforms for youth male dancers, ten for female dancers, and then six more cumbia uniforms for the youth musicians as they wear the same cumbia clothing for all different songs they play. That will be forty six uniforms in total. After me making a few trips to the market to buy the fabric and other components of the traditional uniforms, Liana has finished the youth uniforms and is now repeating the process to have the same two styles of uniforms for the childrens’ group we are also forming. My room – currently the storage space for the uniforms while we continue to try to identify a more permanent location is awash in while cumbia pants and shirts, bright mapalé shorts and skirts, and sombreros vueltiao worn by the musicians and male cumbia dancers.

    Cumbia uniforms in progress
  • Prácticas – Dance and drumming practice has been pushing forward. The youth have learned not only cumbia and mapalé, but also garabato and cerececé, two other traditional Afro-Colombian styles of dance and music. In this, we are extending beyond the Afro-Colombian traditions of the north Atlantic coast of Colombia and into some of the styles traditional to the Afro-Colombian diaspora on the Pacific coast in the department of Chocó. The kids, practicing Sundays at school, have been learning cumbia and mapalé. I have the luck to join in as well when some of the male dancers fail to show up to practice – it’s a great way to work up a good sweat on and everyone gets a real kick out of my yelling a cumbia “Uepa!” yell or bouncing around in a mapalé solo. I’ve also picked up some rhythms on the tambor alegre and instruction in gaita (the traditional flute with indigenous roots) just got underway with me putting my effort into learning it as best as I can.
    Guiding some young dancers during practice


    Kids´group

    Drum practice with both the kids and teens

    Working on our finger placement during gaita practice

    Drum practice - Trying to get some rhythms down on tambor alegre

    Working on some mapalé moves

    Kids practicing, wearing some sombreros vueltiao

    Even the Peace Corps Volunteer gets a chance to dance!
  • Líderes – The teen group has selected three leaders: One for the male dancers, one for the female dancers and one for the musicians. There has been a little start and stop with delegating responsibilities, but the musician leader – Rafael, a good friend of mine here in town – has been vital in getting things as well organized as they currently are. Other than El Doctor and myself, he’s been instrumental (no pun intended) in pushing this project forward.
    Rafael relaxing on his tambora
  • Presentaciones – We’ve had several presentations and the group has getting requests to present at town events. There have been three presentations for the school – Cumbia, Mapalé, and a separate drumming presentation (including yours truly on tambor alegre) for the Día de la Afrocolombianidad (Afro-Colombian Day). The group showed off their new uniforms for a Mother’s Day presentation at the senior citizens center, an event that was a hit. We’ve been invited to present in the next adjacent town during their town festivities in next month, an occasion that has the teenagers quite excited. And the musicians have shown up as surprise guests at three birthday parties (including my own, nearly bringing me to tears with joy and appreciation) to create some noise.

 
Mapalé presentation at school

Mapalé

Cumbia presentation for Mothers´Day at the senior citizens center

Cumbia presentation at school

Cumbia presentation in the park for the town´s festivities - we borrowed these uniforms since we didn't have any of our own at that time. And the torches were home made.

Mapalé in the park

Pushing Forward and Catching the “Fever”
We’re not without our challenges and we certainly have had our share of frustrations: Lack of a dedicated practice space, competing town events which occasionally distract the youth participants, and – not least of all – the challenges associated dealing with a 40-odd teenage males and females and about 60 children. We’re pushing forward though and have a lot more work to do. Although this is technically a secondary project for me, I find myself spending about equal amount of time working on items for the group as I do in my primary project of co-planning and co-teaching. It’s well worth it, even if it means more late nights and using some of my own living allowance for small things that weren’t included in the original budget (photocopies, boat transportation to the city to buy materials at the market, etc.) It looks like a busy next few months for me and the group as we get more organized and show off our skills in presentations here and in other areas.

It’s going to be a fun next few months working on this project. There is such a “fever” in town now for this activity that I have witnessed impromptu dancing break out in the street and in my house when several of the dancers are together. From my window I often hear the “rat-tat-tat-tat, tat-tat-tat,- tat-tat-tat-tat” of cumbia drumming from kids beating out the rhythm with sticks on buckets or boat hulls. Needless to say, I smile a lot. If this is truly in the blood of the community, we’re striking at the vein.
The musicians getting a primer on the gaita after a presentation

"Uepa!!!" Cumbia dancing in the park.


Nicknames Around Town

Carlos, Leocadio and Felipe - or, as we call them, Galera, Cachaco and Arache
There are quirks and peculiarities that come with living in a small, isolated community. One of the most common in my service is that of people’s names, or rather, the reliance upon nicknames, or apodos in Spanish. With about 1,800 inhabitants and seven or eight dominant surnames, I find most people at my site have some sort of nickname or, in some cases, multiple nicknames which can be fun and occasionally frustrating for the outsider. I once had a slightly tense conversation, for instance, about why we should invite Epifanio down the street to an event while my counterpart was overwhelmingly in favor of Tobillo (“ankle”); twenty minutes into the discussion we both realized we were actually talking about the same person and, shaking our heads in recognition of our mutual foolish error, fist bumped that we were in complete agreement about who to invite. Ranging from the standard – Juancho for a handful of town males named Juan Andrés – to the fairly ridiculous – one of my friends in town is sometimes referred to by a local word denoting, um, large genitalia – a splattering of interesting apodos certainly make daily life colorful and occasionally humorous. 

In typical fashion of the Colombian coast there are plenty of blunt nicknames that would seem rude or grossly inappropriate to American sensibilities, but are rarely negatively intended and, for the most part, merely physical descriptors. La Gorda (“the fat lady”), for example, is identifiable without too much difficulty, even in a town that is not soon to win any awards for petiteness of local residents.  And despite being a predominantly Afro-Colombian community, Negro (“black male”) – to the best of my knowledge – is used for only a couple of specific guys of standard local complexion while on the other end of the color spectrum Mono (the “light guy”) is used for two slightly lighter-skinned Afro-Colombian males in my part of town. There are several Calvos (“Bald guys”) with various states of baldness. Lobo is called such because of his physical likeliness to a small, darting lizard of that name in the local dialect.
 
One of these is "Mono" - any guesses?
Some nicknames are physical descriptors stemming from childhood and, while no longer applicable, have stuck. Cachaco has never left the north Atlantic coast, but apparently had lighter skin when he was a little child and thus looked more like someone from the interior as his nickname indicates. A neighborhood kid, whose real name I have never heard, suffered from some malady during his infancy and is therefore known solely as Hueso (“Bone”).

Individual behavior, understandably, can result in some fun nicknames. Boca (“Mouth”), my next door neighbor, is easily heard blocks away. El Bobo (“The Fool”) famously hopped on a boat leaving town one day and left his infant daughter at pier, realizing she wasn’t with him only when he arrived to the city. Socotoco was punished as a child for touching a machete (“soco” being a synonym for the tool, the name would mean more or less “touch machete”) and Escopeta (“Shotgun”) is fittingly rambunctious and ready to go off any moment. 

Other names come from random places. There’s Mello (“Twin” in the local parlance) who has a twin sister and Arache who is from a town of that name outside of Montería in the department of Córdoba several hours south in the mainland. Pambelé (the name of a world famous Colombian boxer from the region) may or may not have won a fist fight while a teenager and Peluche (“Plush”), though currently with short hair, could have been particularly fuzzy at some time. Candela (“Candle” or “Flame”) is my host sister’s godfather and, in addition to not knowing why he is called that, my host parents can’t recall his real name, having called him Candela in thirty-odd years of friendship. My counterpart for traditional Afro-Colombian drumming and dance activities with kids and youth we started in town goes by El Docto or El Doctor (“The Doctor”; I have seen both spellings on his shirts). “The doctor without a title,” he jokingly refers to himself sometimes. I am in the minority of people in town who know his actual name; I have never heard anyone in his family (his wife included) call him anything other than “Doctor”. I’ve never figured out why Mocho (“guy with the stump” or “the amputee”) is called that, having all four limbs intact; I can only speculate about different potential nicknames for Osvaldo down the street who blew off both forearms in a dynamite accident years ago. The nicknames of other neighbors and friends can probably be traced back to some obscure, inside-joke origin but I haven’t heard good explanations; they could easily fall that into that category of nicknames which are just made up through the boredom and restlessness that permeate island life.
 
El Doctor, my community counterpart
And my own personal favorite? My neighbor Lidis is more often called Ñaña (“Older sister”; it sounds like “Nya Nya”). I just love to say that name!

Oh, and as for me? I just go by “Mike”.

Friday, June 28, 2013

Some Photos

A year and a half of Peace Corps service can mean lots of photos. For purposes of this blog I try to hold on to certain photos for when I get to a specific post topic (lots of good ones coming! Enjoy the other new posts and stay tuned for more!). There are lots of others though that don't fit so neatly into my topic system but are worth sharing. Here are a bunch. Hope you enjoy.

Park Cleanup
Every now and then during town festivities or a holiday, some of the local teens think it's a good idea to go to the local park and smash bottles. Seeing as there is no police in my town there is not much recourse for this delinquent act. I've noticed that when this happens the park - usually a bustling center of youth activity - is quiet and nobody uses the mini soccer field due to the glass. In an unplanned effort to try to encourage volunteerism, twice I've gathered groups of my students and brooms, dust pans and plastic bags to clean it up. Seeing the kids use the park again immediately following the cleaning is a fantastic feeling.
No soccer going on today

Park covered in glass
Some awesome helpers
Getting it clean!
Enjoying the clean field with some exercises!

Impending Storm
My school has an annual kite day. The students make their own kites at home (sticks, thread, plastic bags) and then all go out to the softball field to fly them. Seeing the clouds turn into a scene close to the end of Ghost Busters I asked if we were still doing that and received a quizzical "Uh, why wouldn't we?" from a co-teacher. You can see the kites flying in the background.

Looks like a great day to fly kites!

Future Drums
In my main secondary project (about which I will post soon) I am working with a master drummer and dancer. Below are the wood bodies for drums that he made with some of our students. The tall ones are for tambor alegre, the wide short ones for tambora, and the small short ones for llamador. More info on what that all means soon!

Going to make some great sound!

Boat
A loaded chalupa coming back from the market. In the background you can see some factories on the other side of the bay. 

Coming back from the market and bringing goods to the town


A Nice Pet
Some host family down the street have this turtle as a pet. Here he or she is, munching on a mango.
Hi there!


Going to Class
A few students on their way to class. 
Time for school


Bring The Youth Some Knowledge 
My co-teacher, José, hard at work with the eleventh grade class preparing for an exam that is more or less like the Colombian SATs.



Dinner!
A family friend dropped this fish (sábalo - one of my favorites!) off for our dinner. Here it is on the chopping block waiting to be hacked into chunks for our family and the neighbors. Machete to the bottom right, my host brother's little feet to the top right.
Tasty sábalo!

Machete
A neighbor was doing some work and took a break, during which he left his machete stuck in a little stump.  Learning to wield a machete in town is almost second nature, next to swimming and running in the street. Seeing little kids walking around town with machetes in hand is nothing alarming - they're probably just doing some work around the house.

Machete. Or, locally, "soco" or "rula".




Community English Classes


Hi There, Neighbor. Want to Learn Some English?
Like the other Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) in my group, my primary project is working with Colombian teachers of English to strengthen the English program in my local high school; this means I spend a good chunk of my time at school with my counterpart teachers co-planning and co-teaching classes and planning the occasional school event. Outside of this, PCVs are expected to have secondary projects that support the communities we live and work in. A natural outgrowth of our primary projects is to have community English classes as a secondary project. The tourist-heavy cities of Cartagena and Santa Marta and the industrial base of Barranquilla require skilled workers that can navigate English in their interactions with foreigners. Community English classes can help support the development of neighborhoods and individuals that may not otherwise have the financial means – or an amenable schedule – that would lead to more formal English language classes.
Teaching some boat driver-specific vocabulary

That being said, I initially hesitated to lead English classes for my community. Focusing on English during most days of the week, I wasn’t too keen to spend my nights on the topic as well and was hoping to focus my spare energy on something related to small business development or youth development instead. However, once everyone in town discovered that there was a real, bonafide English-speaking gringo in town, it was difficult to turn down the opportunity to teach English to my new community and especially to the boat drivers who occasionally drive the occasional American or European tourist whose Spanish vocabulary doesn’t extend beyond “cerveza”. The projected eagerness to learn English directed toward me was surpassed only by my neighbors’ seemingly unquenchable thirst for Aguila beer on hot sunny days. I promptly gathered some community members, got my school principal to grant permission for me to use an empty classroom a few evenings each week, and started planning.

I thought I was decently prepared for this endeavor. I’d taught community English classes before. In college I helped with community English classes for Latino immigrants every now and then; while waiting to ship off for my Peace Corps service I assisted a social organization with teaching fundamental English to refugees from Bhutan. But stepping into an overflowing classroom of my new Afro-colombian neighbors and community members, I knew I was a bit over my head.

So Many Students!
My first community English class was packed. I had about 30 adults packed into the small classroom and a waiting list for those that couldn’t physically fit in the room. Nearly every day, and often several times each day, I would be approached by someone else trying to get into the class. “But I’m really interested!” they would plea; I would promise to put them on a list for the second class I would open during my second year of service. “How can I get my ten year old daughter in your class?” Sorry, I responded. This class is only for adults; I already work with the children and teenagers in my primary activity of co-teaching in the school during the day, drawing a line to neither negatively affect my primary project nor to show up to class one day to deal – for the second time of the day – with dozens of rambunctious teenagers who just want to flirt with each other or have me translate lyrics to the latest Chris Brown hit.
A semi-successful activity

Hey, Where’d Everyone Go?
As the weeks went by the number of students in my class plummeted. Thirty plus people dropped to twenty students, slumped to fifteen students before slowing to ten students and glumly settling around seven or eight students before another drop to four or five students depending on the day. My initial reaction was that of feeling like a failure, that my classes weren’t interesting or dynamic enough for the students. After having this happen twice during two years of community English classes – and seeing it happen to another community English class here in town organized by a local foundation – I no longer take this personally. My town refers to this as the “fever”. When a new activity starts in town, people come out of the woodwork to check it out and clamor for the opportunity to participate before quickly getting bored or settling back into their favorable activities of watching tv, going to church or drinking beer. Coupled with the local belief that people can learn a foreign language without actually exerting any effort by studying and doing homework, this can be quite frustrating for the local PCV who is trying to make a lasting impact in the community. “Last month I had thirty super excited students and now I only have five that come whenever they feel like it! What the heck!” After going through this a few times, my perspective now is that most of the initial students won’t stay with the class and the best approach is to teach to the remaining dedicated students, hoping that something I cover in a class helps them in the future.


A few remaining diligent students hard at work

Limited Resources
The classrooms where I work are bare, basic. Painted concrete walls. Dilapidated, stained whiteboards. Four bulbs in the ceiling with three constantly burned out, the one remaining bulb casting a soft shadow in the pale dusk light. One or two fans above our heads circulating the hot air and occasionally pulling in a cool breeze from the bay while whispering away the soft voices of the more timid students. My pedagogical method is that regrettable standard of standing in the front of the class writing on the whiteboard while describing prepositional verbs and conjugations and asking the students questions for them to respond to. I have no resources – no curriculum, no book, no cd, no technology – other than what I myself have developed or bring to the classroom. The idea of “Teaching with Limited Resources” is very true at my site. During the early days of my community classes I spent my free mornings and evenings developing a curriculum for the course and identifying activities that map to certain topics. I would spend hours preparing an activity that more often than not would incite mass confusion among the students, fail miserable, cost me my own money in materials, and require me to reteach a class. After having this happen multiple times, I decided it was best to just keep it simple – stick to the whiteboard and try to get the students to talk more in class.
 
An elementary classroom - the chairs are a little small for my adults class.
Doing It To Serve and Not For the Pesos
I started by charging the students $10.000 pesos (about US$5.00) for the entire year making my class, arguably the most inexpensive course with a native English speaker in the metropolitan area. (“I’m confused,” I was told on several occasions by locals. “Is that 10,000 pesos per class?” “No, for the entire year, the whole course” I responded. “Ummm, that’s like nothing. How is that possible?” they would ask. “Well, I’m a volunteer…” I would explain over and over.) A basic course with the local institute can run into several millions of pesos, way out of budget for almost everyone in my community. My class, on the other hand, was basically free. Serving as a Peace Corps volunteer, I receive no financial compensation for my effort in the class. The money would cover materials I bought for the class – whiteboard markers, photocopies, butcher paper and sharpies for classroom activities, etc. I have probably received about 10% of the money I have spent – out of my own pocket, from my own tight budget – on the class. The other English class in town – led by a Colombian and paid for by a local foundation funded by local factories to offset the contamination they emit into the bay (occasionally visible in oil sleeks in the water) – is free, as are most of the other activities in town. People are simply not used to paying for activities here in town (other than drinking at the local watering holes). Recognizing that some of my students don’t have set incomes, I even tried to do a little bartering to offset my expenses: “How about the next time you go fishing you bring me a couple little fish for dinner and we’ll call it even, okay?” “Sure,” the student would agree before going to go play soccer and conveniently ignore that class was to start in 30 minutes. Needless to say, I’m not holding my breath waiting for an overflowing wheelbarrow full of fish to miraculously appear one day at my front door as compensation.

Homework? What’s that?
My students don’t do homework. Being adults, some of them are quite busy. The most dedicated students I have are young mothers who squeeze a few hours out of their week to come to class when not busy cooking, cleaning, taking care of their children, going to the market in the city for their grocery shopping, doing laundry, attending church services, and myriad other duties. I can’t blame them for not having much time to study. I recognize their never-ending domestic obligations and really admire them for simply making the time to come to class and pay attention (and they’re actually the better students). Other students with more leisurely schedules just don’t study or do homework. I have tried to assign my students simple homework that would take 15 minutes or so to complete. The vast majority of the people in my community, however, have never had to do homework other than a handful of times and still graduated high school; they aren’t likely to start now, especially when the majority of the other students in the class aren’t likely to do the homework either. Education here is viewed as a classroom activity – if it doesn’t happen in the classroom, it simply doesn’t happen.

Is There Class Tonight? Yeah, about that…
Attendance in my community class is sporadic, at best. I used to have class on Monday nights but quickly realized the futility in that – Sundays being the local day for many adults to drink and party, Mondays are spent continuing the party or in a cloud of guayabo, the local word for a hangover. Other events – certain soccer teams having matches, church events, an ill child, rainfall, the power going out, feeling a bit tired – can mean students don’t come to class or that the class will be cancelled and moved to the following day. The idea of progressive classes that continuously build upon each other is a laudable educational form, but is difficult to implement with very sporadic attendance. Best to plan each class as an individual lesson from which something valuable can be learned – it’s hard to use a class to reinforce a previous lesson when only half the students attended the lesson.
 
The view of the rainy bay while waiting for students to come to class...
In Retrospect
With six months remaining in my service, I intend to continue my community class until I finish my service and teach my students some specific themes and phrases they want to learn. I feel a commitment to the few students who actually regularly attend my class and every now and then learn something new, although it can be completely frustrating to take the time out of my schedule for a two hour class when only one or two students bother to show up. If I were coming in as a new volunteer, I honestly don’t know if I would teach community English classes at my site. Sure, it looks great on paper and meets one of our local Peace Corps goals, but I already have English classes several mornings of the week with Primary school teachers and work with high school teachers most afternoons. Having more English classes at night is too much of the same thing and I also have another project (afro-colombian drumming and dancing with teenagers and kids) that is much more interesting and requires a lot of my time and energy. I think I would feel differently if I had a classroom full of eager students interested in speaking English and participating in dynamic activities to practice English, however “English Fever” came and quickly left.

If I were to do it again, I think I would do less of an actual English class and more of an “English Conversation Hour” like several other volunteers have organized in the city for people to meet up and engage in speaking English. With local English language ability significantly below that which my fellow PCVs encounter in the city, this would still involve plenty of teaching – explaining vocabulary and linguistic nuances in the moment – but would put the burden more on the students to attend and lead the classes and develop their speaking ability rather than simply showing up and expecting instant fluency via osmosis by being in the same classroom as a native English speaker.