I entered school precisely at my assigned time of 10:00 a.m. and was immediately handed a form to go substitute. I had a 2nd year Spanish class, and not surprisingly struggled for their attention. Since almost none had their Spanish textbook with them, I wrote sentences in English on the board for them to translate: My name is Maestra Raquel; I am from Chicago; Maestra Elisa is now in Chicago; In Chicago there is a lake and two baseball teams, one football team, one soccer team and one basketball team; My favorite food is pizza and I also really like Mexican food. Those who could give the answer or something in the vicinity of the right answer by raising their hand and (this is the key) WAITING to be called on, won a Starburst. This seemed to help a bit so I need to stock up on candy!
During “descanso” yesterday I battled with so many students to pick up their trash after tossing it to the ground. When I asked them to pick it up, they either ran away or said it wasn’t theirs. I had to search out another teacher to help me, the students apologized after she spoke with them. Since I had already substituted for a class and didn’t feel like further wasting my energy, I didn’t ask the students to do anything at “descanso” today, but instead stood with two other teachers and watched a bunch of boys play soccer. When we saw a student toss his trash on the ground and didn’t pick it up when one of the others teachers asked him to, she said to me, “They do whatever they want.” Before class I picked up my belongings in the office where I saw a bunch of boys fighting and holding another in a bear hug - not one secretary or teacher so much as flinched in response. Bearing in mind that this is only my seventh day at the school, what the teacher said and what I saw in the office sums up much of what I have thus far observed.
I was walking towards the metro stop when one of the teachers, the youngest one there – about 25 – stopped and gave me a ride to the Puebla stop. It was great to avoid the first of the three metro rides I take. All rides are 1 ticket, 2 pesos (less than 20 cents) – except if you pass through Pantitlan, which costs another ticket. So I saved 18 cents – score! More importantly, of course, I was able to learn about her: She returns home each day to Tlapan (an hour and a half from school) for lunch with her family; she studied psychology and teaches “Orientación” that is a values class. I was inspired when she said that her practice teaching in Coyoacan was completely different than the situation of the school we are at. Because, as she explained, the students at our school have great problems at home that, in addition to parents not being around, include drugs and prostitution. The other day this teacher gave me a guide to Mexico City, so, once I learn her name I’ll be all set! On the other hand, most teachers call each other “maestro” or “maestra” so I figure I can get by on that for a while.
Now I’m sitting in one of my favorite spots, I’ve written about it before, “El ocho – café recreativo” – a café with good food (today I’m having pita with chicken, cheese, guacamole and tomatoes) and great looking pastries (that I’ve been able to resist so far) and, most importantly, FREE WIRELESS Internet. I just asked for another glass of ice for my Coke, the waitress brought a half filled one before, but I like ice. I figure I already stick out, they know I’m not Mexican, so I’m giving in and enjoying the ice – most Mexicans don’t drink beverages with much ice, or any at all. Anyway, when I arrived here, I was feeling good, grabbed a table and the waitress said, “Alone or waiting for someone?” I say “alone” and she tells the busboy two times, “Just set one place, one place only.” So, anyone want to visit? And if Mexico City isn’t your thing we could easily meet up in Acapulco (a 5 hour bus ride from here) . . . At the moment “I Was Born in the USA” is playing on the sound system and I feel like jumping onto the counter to sing along. Probably not the best idea so instead I’ll listen to the guy who just wandered into the restaurant, playing his guitar and singing. Technically speaking I think it’s singing, but it sounds more like he’s crying out in pain. Now he’s walking through the café asking for money; I’ll pay him, if he promises never to come back.
A dark, well-dressed young man just smoothly came over here, mesmerized by my computer and asked what I was doing. He was certain I was from Brazil and seemed fascinated by me, asking many questions. I wrote down some words in English that he asked how to say and then he retreated to his table and excitedly told his mom that I’m from the U.S. and that I’m here as a teacher. Disappointingly, he’s only EIGHT years old and doesn’t have any older siblings.
