Secret Santa is serious business in Greece. Mere minutes after the names have been drawn, brightly decorated notes started appearing under my door, often attached to candy bars. Lacking markers, I hastily found some leftover thank-yous from graduation and quickly wrote a note back, leaving it tacked to the bulletin board intended for such delivery. Ten minutes later, another note and candy bar had appeared. Slightly baffled by this speedy response, I decided to wait until the next morning to write a reply to my Santa. That evening, at work, one of the younger girls approached me and asked what was wrong. "Nothing. Why, do I look upset?"
"Well, your Santa is very sad. You didn't write back to her. And you haven't sent any candy."
"Candy? I have to send candy to my Santa too?"
The look I received conveyed that it was general knowledge that all good victims reciprocate chocolate with chocolate.
The next morning, I quickly went to Masouti's Supermarket and bought over fifteen euros worth of candy bars, markers, and construction paper. Over the next thirty days, I scrutinized the dormitory's sign-in sheet trying to deduce who my Santa was. I even shared my hypotheses with Kate, having whittled the field of around twenty-five girls down to two. Then, came the earth-shattering moment. The next day, there was a knock on my door. And my prime suspect, Maria, was standing there, nonchalantly holding out a note. "Your Santa wanted me to give this note to you."
Baffled, I continued my second life as Encyclopedia Brown, trying to gather clues from door decorations before finally conceding a certain degree of confusion over who actually was sliding the notes under my door if it wasn't Maria. Everything fit. But what sort of Santa just came and handed you a note? Then, finally, the gift exchange arrived, and Maria, with much pride, announced she had indeed been my Secret Santa. I had to admire the brilliance of her plan
However, my Greek winter was substantially shorter than Kate's. Instead, I headed to the summery Southern Hemisphere to visit my former roommate, and Grinnell Corps Fellow, Megan Straughan in Lesotho. Together, Megan, Sarah Parker '07, and I travelled through South Africa, Lesotho, Zambia, Zimbabwe (okay, we walked on the Zimbabwean side of the Zambezi River), and Namibia for just under four weeks. Though it's not necessarily a unique experience for Grinnell Corps Fellows to visit other sites, I was struck not just by the expected differences, but also the similarities of our experiences, despite the very different settings. Sure, in light of the task Megan undertakes to have a hot shower, waiting twenty minutes for the water heater to warm up isn't such a burden, but we both shared difficulties with learning the language, engaging our students in extra-curricular activities, and responding to what we, as outsiders, see as intolerance towards other ethnic or social groups. And there were many of the same joys-recognizing a student was finally understanding a difficult concept, being accepted by our new community, and sharing parts of our culture with new friends. Hearing that someone else was having those same experiences and talking about how they had reacted was so helpful. By recognizing these similarities, I was also able to personally resolve how working in Greece is a form of service, despite it differing from rural Africa, and return to Anatolia more excited for the upcoming semester.
One of the most notable changes this semester is simply how comfortable I have become around the dorm kids and vice-versa. First semester, there was a stiff awkwardness to interactions, as we both figured out how to best accomplish certain tasks. Now, we all know what the expectations are, though that doesn't always mean they're followed. Plus, as the spring weather helps to coax us all outside more often, everyone generally seems to be more relaxed. So, instead of spending weekends cooped up watching movies, there is a lot more time for playing "Mielo" (Apple), the very physical Greek version of "Monkey in the Middle." Of course, my personal favorite is the ice cream delivery service, possibly Greece's second best gift to the world after democracy.
Outside of the dormitory, Kate and I both had the chance to do some long-term subbing after school resumed. Most of these assignments I enjoyed. On one of these weeks, I had a lower end third form class (9th grade). We were reading Trifles, a play about a woman who kills her husband in rural Iowa, by Susan Glaspell. I love this play, and wanted to get the students involved too. We spent the first two days reading over the play, talking about Iowa, and the role of women in farming communities. But at the end of the second day, when we started on reading comprehension questions, no one knew who the killer was (it's very obvious in the play). Since we still had time left, I asked some students to act out certain scenes, and then would draw on the board how each scene connected to each other. As the class ended, you could sense most of the students were starting to get the bigger picture. The next class, Phil Holland asked if he could co-teach and observe my class. I was nervous having Phil there, especially since I wasn't entirely sure how the kids comprehended the story, even after review. But the class went really well. Not only did the atmosphere stay fun and energetic (including a moment where I demonstrated how the vicim was killed using Phil as a example-his idea) but the kids also proved that they understood the text on a deeper level and we had some great discussions about the social implications and the subtexts of the play.
Besides revisiting Iowa in the high school literature canon, I've also been in the strange position of teaching classes on both September 11th and the Vietnam War. The teaching instructions for the first class were especially vague, since I was supposed to talk about my own memories of that day and then come up with a class list on how September 11th had changed the world. As we wrote different events on the chalkboard, I soon was being faced with questions about various events. "When did Osama Bin Laden die?" "Then why is he still alive?" "Wasn't he in Iraq?" "If he wasn't in Iraq, why did the United States start a war there?" Their questions, entirely innocent within the context of this class, deeply unsettled me since I, myself, had those same concerns about the Unite States' foreign policy, without any real answers. As I provided the answers my government had given me, trying to keep politics outside of the discussion, there was a quiet dissatisfaction throughout the classroom. None of us found tangible answers that day, and our class list became a lightening rod for political opinions.
A month later, my class was reading a short story by Gary Paulson on a returning Vietnam veteran who suffers from PTSD. Though I realized the similarities between this class and the last, I somehow felt that history provided more answers. But unlike the previous class, this one was completely unruly and we did not get very far in the story or discussion. Students kept yelling and talking rather than focusing. I eventually asked three of the students to leave, but the overall atmosphere did not improve. Indeed, it worsened as the students from the hallway kept opening the door or banging on the windows. When I tried to explain to the class, from a personal level, how important the Vietnam War was, in history and to me, as the granddaughter of a veteran, no one seemed to care. I left unhappy because of the discipline problems that had ensued, but the lack of respect these students had for a major world event. Even though I'm supposed to be teaching English Literature, in times like these, classes become more American History. While to me these events carry an almost religious importance, for Greek students, they are just reading selections, with little social baggage attached, and as a teacher, I find it difficult to face these events so lightly.
While I've become more comfortable with the kids, I still often find myself confused or frustrated by certain aspects of my job. One of the dorm students was having trouble in her English class, specifically with her writing, and asked me to proofread her assignments. I greatly enjoyed these sessions, we'd often go through several drafts of an essay, and I could see the progress she was making as she remembered to incorporate corrections from previous papers into new ones. During these meetings, though I was there to help with grammar and structure, I often found myself working as a sounding board, a safe place where she could put together different language concepts or vocabulary words before writing them into her essay. Usually, through the act of talking through a problematic sentence, she could ultimately correct the errors on her own. After about two weeks, the dormitory director asked me to stop meeting with this student, since my job while on duty was to make sure I am available to everyone. While I certainly understand that I should be a resource for the whole dormitory, many of the other students don't actively seek out language help outside of study hall. Without these lessons, my duties consist of sitting with another advisor, in an office, and watching over various sign-up sheets, something I am capable of doing while assisting someone with their homework. Frustrations aside, it once again raised the question of exactly what our position in the dorm is. Am I a language assistant here? A resident advisor? Both? Is one of these aspects more important than the others? How much time should I give to any one student? Do I benefit the Anatolia community more by having informal conversations with a variety of students, intensive meetings with a select few, or a combination?
Complaints aside though, the past quarter (and a half) has certainly been more enjoyable. Besides dormitory work and substitute teaching, I was able to start tutoring several students on campus. Each of these students is a different age and their abilities vary greatly. Beatriki, my littlest, is only four, so our lessons often consist of playing various games, drawing butterflies, or cooking up some imaginary soup. Recently, she has begun to question the justice in having to learn English when I, apparently, don't have to learn Greek. While I certainly empathize with her point, we've reached a middle ground where for each book we read in English, I will also read one in Greek. While this system seems to work right now, I do worry what will happen when we move past picture books. Besides Beatriki, I work with two boys, both named Nikos. Nikos the Younger is a third grader, and presents a unique challenge because I no concept of what a third grader learning a foreign language should really know. While his lessons can't be as unstructured as Beatriki's, I try to incorporate comic books and games such as "I Spy" into our weekly lessons.
Finally, Nikos the Elder is a high school student retaking the Cambridge Proficiency Exam. In the States, we have our own ongoing debates about teaching to the test, but here, these students must take such exams and pass them if they'll ever be able to go to school abroad (or often, even to apply to a well-paying job domestically). There is no other option besides teaching to the test, and trying to reconcile that fact while infusing our sessions with a bit more creativity can be daunting. We have just over a month left of lessons before the exam, and I constantly am worried he won't be suitably prepared. This anxiety leads me to weigh every activity against the possible outcome. If we do a creative writing exercise today, will it be at the expense of learning about formal letters or proper use of infinitives? How do I balance my own desire to show him how enjoyable writing can be with the hard mechanics he'll be tested on? Am I even qualified to teach someone about grammar when I still am guilty of mistakes, like ending sentences with a preposition? When I originally applied for Grinnell Corps a year ago, I did wanted the experience of teaching outside of the prison system, where I volunteered for four years during college. Was it the activity of teaching I enjoyed? Or the setting? These weekly lessons, substitute teaching, and leading various extra-curricular groups haven't necessarily given me a clear answer but have shown that yes, I enjoy teaching to a variety of ages, situations, and subjects. Rather than narrowing my future choices, this year has only seemed to compound them exponentially.
That future seems to be approaching far too quickly, as we continue to roll through April, and June seems almost on the horizon. This winter, the International Baccalaureate students performed one of my favorite shows, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, and three months later, I continue to find myself humming the opening song "Comedy Tonight!" while working. Whether its one of the older students waking everyone else up at 7 AM to surprise me on Friday morning, breaking up a game of strip-poker, or learning the Greek origins of the word "ditto," I continue to find daily opportunities to laugh. Recently, one of our dorm students argued I should watch a funny movie with them because laughing adds years to your life. If that is the case, after this year in Greece, I'll need to start planning for a longer retirement.
