Saturday, April 26, 2008
Border crossings
Some of you know that I've become slightly addicted to the Voice of America music request show, Border Crossings, and had asked friends and family to request songs for me. Well, last week I heard two requests for me in two days. Thanks! And even better is that in the second request, the announcer mentioned "We've heard a lot of requests for Peace Corps volunteer Kristen in Tanzania--from her grandparents, her family, her friends . . . in fact we've heard from everyone except Kristen herself!"
Your requests make me very happy, keep them up! Send an e-mail to bordercrossings@voa.gov with a song that you think I'd like to hear, and make sure to mention my name and your name, and maybe include a short message as well. Unfortunately I don't catch the show every day (sometimes I return late from school or neighbors come by to visit). But chances are I'll catch at least some requests, and if I'm lucky similarly-addicted PCVs will tell me about the requests I didn't catch.
(As for what types of music I like . . . I listen to a lot of country, folk, and oldies. But really any song that you think I'd like is fine, feel free to surprise me.)
Your requests make me very happy, keep them up! Send an e-mail to bordercrossings@voa.gov with a song that you think I'd like to hear, and make sure to mention my name and your name, and maybe include a short message as well. Unfortunately I don't catch the show every day (sometimes I return late from school or neighbors come by to visit). But chances are I'll catch at least some requests, and if I'm lucky similarly-addicted PCVs will tell me about the requests I didn't catch.
(As for what types of music I like . . . I listen to a lot of country, folk, and oldies. But really any song that you think I'd like is fine, feel free to surprise me.)
Madaftari (notebooks)
All day yesterday, students were knocking on the door of my office. They would enter, looking rather embarassed, and hand me a notebook that they'd been holding at their side and behind their back. When I returned to my office from teaching, I would meet students standing outside it, or they would simply follow me there.
Why all the concern about notebooks? Well, they have mid-terms next week. And the message that their homework average is 15 points of their mid-term has finally gotten through.
In short: my students are panicking.
So, I thought I had explained my grading system. But admittedly the explanation was in rather bad Kiswahili. I hadn't figured out the Kiswahili word for points, or even the Tanzanian English word (now I know: the homework is 15 marks, maksi kumi na tano, of their midterm). I figured since my explanation probably wasn't very good, I'd give them the chance to make up the homeworks they missed.
Now the fun begins. I wrote four sets of make-up questions, each focusing on a different topic we'd covered. I posted all four sets on the walls of all the Form II classrooms. Then, on Friday, instead of teaching, I wrote review questions on the board for the students to work on. I then went around my chem classes and told every student how many marks they currently had for homework. This was a huge pain in the neck, but had the side benefit of helping me learn the names of several students. I may have doubled the number of names I know!
I told the students they had until Tuesday to give me their make-up problems. Well, apparently I caused a high level of panic, because by Friday afternoon there was a huge pile of notebooks on my desk. And a large crowd of students pushing notebooks at me for me to correct immediately, then quoting the Vodacom ad "faster faster faster" while waiting for me to recalculate their grade and write the new grade in my notebook. Including students I had concluded didn't exist from the number of zeros in my notebook)
(By the way, they say Americans are impatient! Panicked students have us beat.)
So. You may be wondering, why do I bother giving homework, and putting myself through all this trouble? Admittedly, it's a huge pain. I collect homework from all my form II chem students ever Wednesday. If they all gave me their notebooks, that would be 150 notebooks. It's probably good that only half of them consistently do homework, as it's hard enough to correct 75 notebooks and return them by Thursday afternoon.
Plus there's the problem of cheating. I know my students copy homework from each other. I have yet to mention it to them because I feel that if I fight cheating, I should conduct an all-out war, not do it halfway. And I really don't have time to compare all their notebooks against each other to see who's copying from who.
Oh, and there's the problem of posting questions. We have no photocopier. I write two copies of the questions by hand, and use carbon paper to make a second copy of each of these two copies. I then post the questions on the classroom walls. Students then take them off the wall to copy into their notebook, and sometimes don't return them. I really don't have a good answer for the students who come to me and say "I want to do the homework, but the questions are gone."
So: given all the trouble, why give homework? And if I'm going to give homework, why correct it? And if I'm going to correct it, why count the grade if I know they're cheating?
My current answer: first, I want to keep their minds on chemistry. If they have to do homework every week, that means they're thinking about chemistry at least a little each week. And it means at least some of them are doing practice problems every week--problems which I don't have time to give them in class, but which they need to do to learn the topic well.
As for counting homework to their grade, well, it motivates some who otherwise wouldn't do the homework. And even if they copy off each other, someone has to be doing the problems that other people are copying. Plus it forces them to write sets of chemistry questions and answers in their notebook, which they'll be able to study later.
In an ideal world, my students would be self-motivated, all do their problems by themselves, and stop stealing my valuable copies of homework questions from the wall. Things aren't ideal here. But I feel like the homework is worth the trouble, even if I go slightly crazy every time I receive a giant pile of notebooks.
Why all the concern about notebooks? Well, they have mid-terms next week. And the message that their homework average is 15 points of their mid-term has finally gotten through.
In short: my students are panicking.
So, I thought I had explained my grading system. But admittedly the explanation was in rather bad Kiswahili. I hadn't figured out the Kiswahili word for points, or even the Tanzanian English word (now I know: the homework is 15 marks, maksi kumi na tano, of their midterm). I figured since my explanation probably wasn't very good, I'd give them the chance to make up the homeworks they missed.
Now the fun begins. I wrote four sets of make-up questions, each focusing on a different topic we'd covered. I posted all four sets on the walls of all the Form II classrooms. Then, on Friday, instead of teaching, I wrote review questions on the board for the students to work on. I then went around my chem classes and told every student how many marks they currently had for homework. This was a huge pain in the neck, but had the side benefit of helping me learn the names of several students. I may have doubled the number of names I know!
I told the students they had until Tuesday to give me their make-up problems. Well, apparently I caused a high level of panic, because by Friday afternoon there was a huge pile of notebooks on my desk. And a large crowd of students pushing notebooks at me for me to correct immediately, then quoting the Vodacom ad "faster faster faster" while waiting for me to recalculate their grade and write the new grade in my notebook. Including students I had concluded didn't exist from the number of zeros in my notebook)
(By the way, they say Americans are impatient! Panicked students have us beat.)
So. You may be wondering, why do I bother giving homework, and putting myself through all this trouble? Admittedly, it's a huge pain. I collect homework from all my form II chem students ever Wednesday. If they all gave me their notebooks, that would be 150 notebooks. It's probably good that only half of them consistently do homework, as it's hard enough to correct 75 notebooks and return them by Thursday afternoon.
Plus there's the problem of cheating. I know my students copy homework from each other. I have yet to mention it to them because I feel that if I fight cheating, I should conduct an all-out war, not do it halfway. And I really don't have time to compare all their notebooks against each other to see who's copying from who.
Oh, and there's the problem of posting questions. We have no photocopier. I write two copies of the questions by hand, and use carbon paper to make a second copy of each of these two copies. I then post the questions on the classroom walls. Students then take them off the wall to copy into their notebook, and sometimes don't return them. I really don't have a good answer for the students who come to me and say "I want to do the homework, but the questions are gone."
So: given all the trouble, why give homework? And if I'm going to give homework, why correct it? And if I'm going to correct it, why count the grade if I know they're cheating?
My current answer: first, I want to keep their minds on chemistry. If they have to do homework every week, that means they're thinking about chemistry at least a little each week. And it means at least some of them are doing practice problems every week--problems which I don't have time to give them in class, but which they need to do to learn the topic well.
As for counting homework to their grade, well, it motivates some who otherwise wouldn't do the homework. And even if they copy off each other, someone has to be doing the problems that other people are copying. Plus it forces them to write sets of chemistry questions and answers in their notebook, which they'll be able to study later.
In an ideal world, my students would be self-motivated, all do their problems by themselves, and stop stealing my valuable copies of homework questions from the wall. Things aren't ideal here. But I feel like the homework is worth the trouble, even if I go slightly crazy every time I receive a giant pile of notebooks.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
"Nimekuja kukusalimia"
On Sunday, I went to the Catholic church with a friend. I had promised to go to lunch at another friend's house after returning. But almost as soon as I returned to my house from church, there was a knock at the door.
"Shikamoo!"
It was a kid who looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't remember from where.
"Nimekuja kukusalimia." I came to greet you. Followed by a further explanation: I came from town, from Peter's school.
Peter is my sitemate. He lives in town, 21 km away by dirt road. This kid is a neighbor of his, who I've met on the two occasions I've stayed overnight at Peter's. He's very polite and seems like a good kid, but we've never really had a conversation. He comes by in the evenings to greet Peter, sees me, and becomes very shy. The last time I was there, Peter invited him in, but he just stood in the doorway, too shy around me to enter.
And then, this Sunday, he showed up at my door. As far as I can gather, he rode 21 km just to come by and say hi. Despite having never been to my village, and not knowing anyone else there. He also arrived with a broken bike, which we spent 2.5 hours trying to fix. I was then going to offer for him to stay the night, but he said confidently that he could get back in an hour and a half, and jumped on his bike and rode off. No such luck--I hear from my sitemate that his bike broke on the way back. He walked the 21 km back to town and arrived a bit after dark.
Why did he ride 21 km to visit me? Was he simply looking for an adventure and thought, well, I know someone in that village? Did he have another reason for going to the village that he didn't tell me? Or did he just want to see me? I have no idea. But I wish I'd had a better greeting than "Er . . . how are you?"
"Shikamoo!"
It was a kid who looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't remember from where.
"Nimekuja kukusalimia." I came to greet you. Followed by a further explanation: I came from town, from Peter's school.
Peter is my sitemate. He lives in town, 21 km away by dirt road. This kid is a neighbor of his, who I've met on the two occasions I've stayed overnight at Peter's. He's very polite and seems like a good kid, but we've never really had a conversation. He comes by in the evenings to greet Peter, sees me, and becomes very shy. The last time I was there, Peter invited him in, but he just stood in the doorway, too shy around me to enter.
And then, this Sunday, he showed up at my door. As far as I can gather, he rode 21 km just to come by and say hi. Despite having never been to my village, and not knowing anyone else there. He also arrived with a broken bike, which we spent 2.5 hours trying to fix. I was then going to offer for him to stay the night, but he said confidently that he could get back in an hour and a half, and jumped on his bike and rode off. No such luck--I hear from my sitemate that his bike broke on the way back. He walked the 21 km back to town and arrived a bit after dark.
Why did he ride 21 km to visit me? Was he simply looking for an adventure and thought, well, I know someone in that village? Did he have another reason for going to the village that he didn't tell me? Or did he just want to see me? I have no idea. But I wish I'd had a better greeting than "Er . . . how are you?"
Books
Books are a valuable commodity at my school. Most students don't have them, and if they do, they're generally dog-eared, taped, well-used books. We do have a school library, built by the last volunteer, but it's small and has little space to sit down and flip through books. Also, book-lending by the library is unfortunately on hold, as a very large number of students have taken out books and not returned them.
Some examples of how valuable books are:
-I've been doing after-school chemistry question and answer sessions once or twice a week. I always bring a large pile of chemistry books with me. As soon as I put the books down at a desk, students race forward to take them. For the next hour and a half, there are three to five students clustered around each book, sounding out the English words and staring at the color pictures. I generally sit and read a novel or write a letter while this is going on, and wait for them to bring me questions. There are maybe two or three questions per session. But 20 to 30 students come, and I almost always end up staying late because they don't want to give up the books.
-Sometimes I bring textbooks to my biology class to show them pictures of the things I'm teaching about. Whenever I do this, I end up staying late, as the students invariably want to continue flipping through the book and asking me questions about it.
-And the half life of books in my hand has become alarmingly short. I'll admit it, I'm a sucker for lending out books. If my students want to learn, who am I to deny them? But this can be a problem when I lend out rather useful books such as my English-Kiswahili dictionary, and the students are late to return them . . . I'm still trying to think of a better lending system.
Some examples of how valuable books are:
-I've been doing after-school chemistry question and answer sessions once or twice a week. I always bring a large pile of chemistry books with me. As soon as I put the books down at a desk, students race forward to take them. For the next hour and a half, there are three to five students clustered around each book, sounding out the English words and staring at the color pictures. I generally sit and read a novel or write a letter while this is going on, and wait for them to bring me questions. There are maybe two or three questions per session. But 20 to 30 students come, and I almost always end up staying late because they don't want to give up the books.
-Sometimes I bring textbooks to my biology class to show them pictures of the things I'm teaching about. Whenever I do this, I end up staying late, as the students invariably want to continue flipping through the book and asking me questions about it.
-And the half life of books in my hand has become alarmingly short. I'll admit it, I'm a sucker for lending out books. If my students want to learn, who am I to deny them? But this can be a problem when I lend out rather useful books such as my English-Kiswahili dictionary, and the students are late to return them . . . I'm still trying to think of a better lending system.
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