Yes, a blog post actually mentioning "work"

March 8^th, International Women’s Day, commonly raises gender inequality awareness. In my community this was not the case, at all. Women’s Day consisted of food, food and more food, a mariachi band, and male teachers reading poems in addition to telling sexist jokes and super-imposing female teachers’ faces onto bikini models. International Men’s Day is November 19^th; however, in Colombia it is celebrated on the 19^th of March (Husband Day, supposedly?). Not to mention the day off of school, female teachers similarly prepared copious amounts of food and held an after-school teachers dance party with Shakira, aka when a representative from “Colombia tiene Talento” (a knock off of the “America’s got Talent” TV program) came in a gold bikini and blond wig (pictured below with the cook at the school). As if that wasn’t sexy enough, male teachers went loco for her beer belly and lap dances.

Despite how this blog may portray it, I promise that your tax dollars are going towards more than beer and mangos and that I am in fact working (although it was a slow start). My primary job is not as an English teacher but instead working alongside Colombian English teachers introducing methodologies and strengthening competency. Having my own class would be far less sustainable than working with Colombians who will teach here 5, 10, or 20 years from now. I work with four English teachers this semester and a different four next semester. Co-planning and co-teaching have been both successful and frustrating. All teachers, English and from other departments, are fantastic, happy individuals and so welcoming. Teachers have never written and saved lesson plans, but after developing a system with each individually, all four teachers I work with now have a few. The ultimate goal being not only understanding the importance of planning lessons before walking into the classroom but also to organize and save plans for future years.

Teachers need little help with English grammar, which is awesome because my capabilities in that area are borderline nonexistent. Most lessons involve exclusively grammar exercises, one problem being students’ limited vocabulary. Although they may know the structure of a modal verb sentence, they have no idea what modal verbs “could, might, can” mean, not to mention the meaning of “I, you, he, she, it, we, they” (some students have taken 5 years of English and still do not know the meaning of ‘we’). One of my main aims has been figuring out successful ways to introduce vocabulary into the lessons. I am fortunate that all teachers are very open to and receptive of my approaches and activities while simultaneously have their own, good ideas on how to teach grammar. Having my time split between four teachers is challenging and I wish that I could assist more of each one’s classes; implementing changes takes even longer than it otherwise would.

My first effort in getting the whole school more bilingual has been making English signs to for various areas. Secretary, Teacher’s Room, Physics Lab, and Men’s Bathroom, among others are currently labeled in Spanish. With the help of an art teacher, I bought 25 blocks of wood, paint, and nails. Students, teachers and my host grandmas helped me paint the wood and drill the signs into the school walls so that beneath each Spanish sign is an English one! Below is a picture with 2 English teachers and "Teachers' Room" sings in Spanish, sign language (there are a ton of deaf kids at my school-who don't take English-, and in English).



I made it out to Tierra Bomba, an island off the coast of Cartagena where another Peace Corps volunteer, Mike, is placed. Despite the plethora of water and therefore potential beachable spots, trash and pigs for the most part had taken over…

Anything (and Everything) Goes

Peace Corps is really hard. If I had a nickel for the amount of times I’ve considered myself out of my mind for choosing to do this, I’d have doubled or tripled my $10 a day the salary (another reason why I consider myself possibly insane). Every time a volunteer leaves Colombia to return home to the US, I am reminded how simple it’d be to go home and how short the plane flight is. One day co-planning is a disaster because the teacher has never planned a lesson in his life, I’m dripping with sweat and yelling over outside noise in a room full of 40 students who cannot understand a word I’m saying, the water is out at home so I have to spend my salary on bags of water and take a bucket shower to rinse off the sweat, and to top it off a 70 year old man just hit on me. But then I have one of those days… those cloud nine, this is where I’m meant to be and meant to be doing days when the thought of living a “sane” lifestyle in the US is about as appetizing as the fried frog my family tried to give for lunch last week. Suddenly the crazy things about this life aren’t so strange and that which is normal back home seems trivial. And I start to look at my problems here differently: my teaching partner doesn’t plan lessons because he has two other jobs, a family, and has never been exposed to teaching methodologies which I have been raised around and trained on; most of my students don’t have air-conditioning, electricity, or running water not to mention a sturdy roof over their heads or food for breakfast, so why am I complaining?; finally, thanks to Colombia my insults and bitch potential have dramatically improved, so I’ll just tell that 70 year old man that he’s a decaying carcass if need be and get on with my day. The truth is between American and Colombian cultures, one is not more rational, crazy or better, but the differences make me appreciate aspects about both.



My lifestyle here has become pretty normalized, or should I say I am used to the mindset of not having anything shock me. However, then I meet with or talk to someone from the US or a Westernized culture and realize what a freak show I sound like. So, for one day I decided to take note of things that would be ridiculous, hilarious, or bizarre if it happened back at home. Here you go:

First difference would be waking up and walking out of my room to three old ladies in nightgowns. I kill four mosquitos over breakfast of papaya and salty cheese. Upon arriving to the teachers’ lounge at work I look over the daily stuff for sale laid out on one of the desks: croissants, pork rinds, and hair bands… hmm, nope don’t think I’ll buy anything today. On the way to class I am whistled at and told I love you by students half my age and tell the ones that I can see that this is not appropriate and to have some respect. I make it to class and co-teach with Carlos, one of the English teachers I work with and who is about 6’6” 300 pounds; we make quite the pair. None of the students can afford books, and so if we want to give a handout, worksheet or test that isn’t copied from the board students have to pay 100 pesos (about 5 cents) for a photocopy. Only about half the class has the money. I go back to the teachers’ lounge and politely agree to eat some mystery eggs, which I later find out were iguana eggs (PS iguana’s are endangered and I am very upset about eating the eggs). On my way to go swimming, I pass piles and piles of trash, several large speakers blasting salsa music, one crippled man dragging his feet behind him, two dogs humping each other, a group of fifteen 10 year olds choreographing a dance to Beyonce’s “Single Ladies,” and two men drinking Smirnoff Ice (which is no longer drunk exclusively by 16 year old girls but is quite popular amongst grown men. Nonetheless, classiness is sporadically regained with extremely expensive and sophisticated whisky… all or nothing.) After swimming, I get some chicken flavored potato chips and when I get home I walk past a man digging through my trash bag I had put out earlier and say hi to the six ladies sitting on my front porch. I take my second shower of the day, but first kill an inch-long cockroach.



I continue to love living in Cartagena because there is so much going on. Two weeks ago was the International Film Festival, and films and people from around the world (including Turkey!) were here. In April is the Summit of Americas and Obama, Chavez and 33 other presidents will be in Cartagena!

Last week was the quincinero of a cousin, Jesus (15^th birthday party, a very big deal in Latin America). Two separate bands came, tons of food was served and we sweated away the night on the dance floor.

Last weekend I went with Monica and visited Victor and his town, Pasacaballos, which is half an hour away. We went to a bull fight, which not even my expect anything Colombian mindset could prepare me for. Men (mostly drunk) were in the ring with a giant bull while crowds stood on the makeshift wooden stands watching. We were on the bottom level, and I felt slightly like a caged animal and kept hoping that the wood was sturdy enough to support the people standing above me. That day someone lost an eye to a bull and the day before another died. Again, insanity.

We also went to Playa Blanca with Victor’s uncle and 20 other Colombians squished in the back of a truck. Playa Blanca is a famous, postcard picturesque beach with white sand and bright blue water. It was absolutely beautiful.