Class Rules (9/18)

It's 4:52. My ceiling fan above me seems to be calibrated a bit off as it's rhythmically rocking from side to side as it spins. Today I had my first pseudo-class. The form one kids (fresh out of primary) were my first lesson. Today, the 18th, is the 4th day of school and less than half of the teachers are here. The kids finished weeding ahead of schedule so today was an open day to do reviews and for me, introductions. The Form ones are a tiny little group. Not in number, in size. Bright expectant white eyes stared at me contrasting their dark black faces. I could see in their faces they didn't know what to expect from me. It's strange, being in front of a crowd it seems that only 2 things can happen: 1) The group looks like a bunch of blank stares and you have zero read (good or bad) on what they are feeling. or 2) you are inundated by individual faces, expressions, and attitudes of all kinds. Today I had option 2. Some kids looked excited and eager to move onto this next phase in their lives, proud of themselves for passing the JHS entrance exam and scoring well enough to move on in their education. (During my site visit I saw the exams taking place. The students who didn't score high enough were sent home and could apply again next year.) Some seemed sleepy and bored at the idea of a lesson, the first of many which was to remind them that their summer break was over. Some as I explained my "Class Rules" seemed skeptical of how boring I could possibly make a science class. Others were like happy puppies just dying for my first question so the could raise their hands and answer it.

It was loud. It was a rush of unique faces, thoughts, expectations, and fears. The interesting thing was that the noise, the music, was clearly there; the kids all had little antennas on their heads and they were broadcasting loud and clear, but to hear it you had to be tuned to the right frequency. As we looked at each other, my eyes gazing over the sea of little faces, little feet and little hands, we exchanged volumes of information. But as Mr. Bubu walked past our class he saw a dead silent room with me occasionally piercing in, in a slow methodical way, my lesson and rules.

The entire communication of substance was non-verbal, and I responded. I was calm, confident and sure. Nothing about me was anxious. I sent back "I know I look strange. No you won't get away with any crap in my class. You're gonna learn a ton by the time I'm through with you." And to those who could interpret the half smile that came to my face: "We're going to do lots of stupid stuff together."