Teaching in Pohnpei

To help in our Pre-Service Training, the local Peace Corps Staff orchestrated a “Model School” in which local children from all over came to “school” for two weeks so we could get a feel for working with Micronesian students and have a chance to put into practice all the theory we’ve been digesting for the past month.

I’m so glad they did it, because I desperately needed instruction time. Sitting for endless hours in training session lectures led me to almost forget why I had come. But being in the classroom again reignited the passion and love for teaching that caused me to make this crazy decision in the first place. It was a much needed change, and a rekindling of excitement that was lost so easily during our training classes.

Here are some things that are much different about teaching in Pohnpei:

  

     1.    Students get to school way too early. In the States, I would arrive to school 45 mins-1 hr before the start of the school day, which would typically yield upwards of 30 minutes of quiet before the students arrived. Here, I arrived to school roughly an hour and a half prior to the start of classes, only to receive 15-20 minutes of peace before students were sitting in my classroom, talking and playing and making it impossible for me to get any semblance of work done.

I’m told it’s because children are so bored at home, they take any chance to get out and go somewhere. In my permanent site I may need to instate a rule for when students are permitted into my classroom. Closing or locking the door doesn’t help here, because all of the classrooms are fitted with walls of windows on either side, to allow cross-breeze (thank you, God). And by windows I mean wire grates which create open squares large enough for children’s’ fingers. So even with the door shut, students simply stare at you from outside, through the permanently open window and ask you, “Teacher Christy, why is the door locked?” with their fingers wrapped around the grates, until you ultimately go let them in.

  

     2.    Supplies are very limited. I never want to hear another American teacher complain that they don’t have what they need in the classroom. Have you ever taught 2 week of class using only a chalk board and chalk? I have.

And the point is not to send over supplies, because the intent of my time here is to create a new, sustainable way of doing things in Education. Having enough supplies shipped in to make the classrooms seem “American-grade” is neither reasonable nor sustainable.

I did manage to get my hands on recycled paper from the Peace Corps office (paper that had been printed on one side). So three times during Model School (and only three times) I copied by hand 12 sets of a worksheet for my students to complete. Let’s just say I’m hoping to find a copy machine at my next post.

  

     3.   The people here are generally shy. So whereas in America, you might pose a question to the class and have to preface it by demanding students not shout out their answers, here I have grown accustomed to 5 minute stare-downs where absolutely no one responds. It’s awesome. Eventually the class warmed up and we were able to get responses from them (or at the very least, acknowledgements that I had in fact spoken to them), but nothing beats standing helpless in front of a silent group of children.

But aside from that, the classrooms are largely the same. I had to privilege of borrowing an exceptional 1^st grade classroom, which bore a striking resemblance to a classroom of the same grade in America. The teacher had painstakingly hand-copied poems, nursery rhymes, the alphabet, numbers, key words, and the like onto large reams of paper (some of which were laminated—where on Earth did she find a laminating machine?) which were festively posted around the room. There was a thin mat on the cement floor in one corner, resembling a meeting rug one might find in the US, used for read-alouds and the like. And right as you entered to classroom, my favorite part, was a line of nails, pounded into the wall, which above it had each student’s name written carefully on a piece of masking tape. The classroom in which I resided for my two-week stay in Model School was evidence that, even with limited resources, one can create a beautiful, inviting, and effective classroom.

On our last day of classes, I had a really nice moment when I was taking out our classroom’s trash. [This involves carrying whatever receptacle is being used for garbage outside to one of several cylindrical tin trash cans. I’m told there is some sort of trash service here in Pohnpei, but I have yet to see it in action, as similar trashcans line every street, full to the brim. The people deal with this by simply burning the trash in the cans when they get too full, a smell that easily passes into my glass-less windows and of which I have grown quite accustomed.] As I traversed the crowded schoolyard, dodging playing children and carefully stepping around large rocks or animal droppings, carrying out an everyday task of taking out the trash, I suddenly had this sensation of being at home. Like this is me, on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere, just going about my business. It was oddly comforting, and actually quite pleasant. So even once I got to the trash cans, swarming with flies and stray animals, I couldn’t help but smile. 

This may not be the life I am used to, but it is definitely my life. And I’m glad it is. 

--Christy