Last Thoughts

-Laura

Just a head’s up: this post will be slightly all over the place.

Behind the Scenes
One of the many things that I will take away from my experience this summer is the preparation and dedication it takes to be a teacher. I thought I knew, but I really had no idea. I had no idea how much time it takes for a teacher to plan for the next day’s lessons. I had no idea how much effort it takes to change a lesson plan in an instant — just in case it falls flat in the classroom. I have always respected teachers, but now my respect goes even further. Whenever I sat in the classroom as a student, I never really saw what was going on behind the scenes that made the lesson I was sitting through interesting, informative, and worthwhile. And what’s even more amazing: to have lesson plans for a whole year, and to be teaching for decades! I had a 3-week taste of what it means to be a teacher. And now my opinion of this noble profession will never be the same.

A Shout Out
I just wanted to say thank you to a very important person in Otomani: Judith. She was my translator — my co-teacher, basically — and without her teaching would have been do-able, but just 10 times harder. She was with me at every lesson since day one. I fully realized the extent of her help only today, my last day of teaching. We were starting a bingo game to review all the words we learned the past three weeks. Judith had to go outside for a bit, and I told her that we would be fine. Right then, I tried to explain to the class that even though there are more than 25 words on the board, they can just pick the ones they want. Instead of the affirmative head nod I was looking for, I got blank stares. I tried again. I tried the hand motions and the writing on the board. Nothing. After my third attempt, a student goes out of the classroom and yells, “Judith!”
Judith was helpful beyond words, and I have her to thank for making my job easier (and in the end more fun!).

Finally, I wanted to end with saying that these past three weeks went by quickly — too quickly, almost. I still feel like there are so many things to teach, to experience, to learn. Regardless, I am so grateful that I had these past six weeks. I am sure that it has been an experience I can never relive at any point or anywhere in my future

Community Love

-Alex

From the moment I met my host family at the hostel in Oradea, I knew I was in for a great time in Romania! My host sister and her boyfriend spoke great English and they eagerly told me about the many students I would teach and all the activities we would do. I have had a wonderful experience teaching all my favorite childhood songs to my enthusiastic group of 30 3-7 year olds; sharing my love for Pictionary and Sharks and Minnows with my 35 9-12 year olds; and my love of American culture with my ten shy teenagers.

Aside from a passion for teaching and an appreciation of a non-consumerist lifestyle, Romania has given me an understanding of what it really is to love and respect your community. Here in the village, it is accepted that everyone will greet every person they walk by (which makes jogging even more tiring). Over the weekend, over 50 villagers, the mayor, and various other officials attended the grand opening of a small, colorful, new apartment building constructed for young couples to be able to move out of their parent’s homes without leaving the village. Afterwards, a large portion of the villagers, ranging from infant to elderly, attended and participated in a war memorial decoration ceremony, and stood silent as they remembered those form their village who had died for Romania in the two World Wars. At a village festival over the weekend, I had the privilege of watching my students, and indeed the majority of the village’s young people, perform traditional and modern dances together. I am so grateful that this tight-knit community has welcomed me into their homes and their lives. I am truly experiencing what it feels like to be part of a community that feels like a large family, and it has been a joyful experience! I am so thankful for all the Romanians have taught me.

A Smile is worth a thousand words

Upon arriving in Europe, my intent seemed clear to me: my plan was to make a noticeable improvement in the students’ English that I taught. This task, I learned after a few days of teaching is easier said than done. Over the next few days I relentlessly conjured up different ways to control the childrens’ precious attention. I started realizing three weeks is just not enough time to teach a class English and wasn’t sure how to go about my task at hand. However, the simple words of one of my best teenage students was just what I needed to hear, “they’re just kids.” Although an obvious statement, these wise words reminded me that there’s more to teaching than teaching.

Each child who enters my classroom has their on unique story. At first, it was challenging to get children on summer break eager to learn, especially when I did not speak their language. However, one commonality we all share is body language. I have come to realize that if you can’t convey your feelings through words, you must act out through your body twice as much: raise your arms, clap, and dance twice as much. Smile ten times as much. I have learned teaching cannot be measured based on the amount of words you have successfully gotten your students to memorize.

While now I do hope that those I taught improved in their English, I hope my exaggerated body language, care, and engergy spoke to them in a way that words sometimes cannot. Besides, they’re just kids.

Two Weeks – Too Short

Being one of the volunteers at the foundation home, I’ve had the opportunity to teach a new group of children every two weeks, instead of every three. For these children who are a part of the foundation, and have come from difficult family situations, forging meaningful relationships is huge. With the real young kids, you can see them simply searching for someone to hold onto.

With our second group of children, ages 3-6, our time with them consists mainly of laughter and smiles. We sit together at meal time, attempting to communicate table manners in English, as they joke around with one another in Hungarian. In the hallways outside their room, they zoom past us on plastic bikes, bouncing balls against the walls. When their energy is too high to be contained inside (which is basically all the time), we move outside to the blacktop and makeshift soccer field. For being youngsters, these kids have skills in soccer that surpass all us teachers! They dribble around and through us, laughing as they leave us in their wake.

Though our verbal communication is slightly limited, I feel their attachment in the constant hugs we receive and the hand that won’t stop clutching mine in fear that I might leave just for a moment. I see their care in the smile that instantly beams when we arrive to breakfast, and the tears that well up when it’s time to head inside and go to sleep.

I began this session thinking two weeks was too little time, that we wouldn’t be able to teach them everything we wanted or talk with them enough in English. But in such a short time, we’ve taken them under our wing and don’t want to let them go. A focus on English and talking takes a back seat to swinging the kids on our hip, digging in the pile of sand with the little ones, and laughing as the older kids own at soccer. Two week is too short a time, but definitely long enough to make a lasting impression.

-Margo Kelly

Sciti

-Emily

Today at breakfast, I sat beside Scitica, the tiny blonde three-year-old with a stunning smile and brown cracks throughout her teeth. Sciti’s nose barely measures up to the table top, so watching her–with tiny elbows bent in the air– try to spread the margarine across her bread with the backside of her knife for a good 5 minutes was thoroughly amusing.

The procedure was interrupted when Sciti responded to my playful tickle by allowing the expression to drain from her face, and hiding her face beneath the table. After intensive coercing, it was clear that Sciti wasn’t playing around. Slowly, I lifted Sciti’s slice of bread and knife and smoothed the margarine across the surface. Then I used the tip of the knife to carve a shallow heart shape in the center of the spread, and placed the slice back down on her plate. Several minutes later, Sciti glanced up warily, but I soon watched her eyes sparkle at what she found.

I learned my lesson about touching Sciti. Just as with Erika and dozens of others, I’ll never know what Sciti’s first three years of life were like. It’s strange how after spending time with enough of these kids, I’ve stopped wondering altogether. The children don’t need a past, they need here and now. So, I not only settle for the same, I rejoice in it.

Erika

-Emily

 

The newest group of kids had arrived at the foundation, and Erika—the youngest— had been very quiet since. It wasn’t that she didn’t get along with her “siblings”, just that she didn’t speak unless she needed to, and she hung back a bit in all the group activities. I hadn’t yet had the chance to interact with her directly at all.

As I stood in the center of the classroom during free time, just soaking in all the chaos, Erika came over and wrapped her arms around my waist. I returned the hug, of course, but to my surprise, Erika remained there— latched onto me— for an eternity. I rubbed her back for a while, then took out her hair elastic and combed my fingers through her hair, planting kisses on her forehead. I could taste the oil of a child’s unwashed hair on my lips. Time passed, but I didn’t let go, and neither did Erika.

“I think you remind her of someone,” Aoife whispered. Indeed, Erika had my dark blonde hair and blue-green eyes, and according the Aoife, even my nose. As we stood in the midst of the bustling room, intertwined, I thanked God for letting me be whoever it was the Erika needed me to be. This is what it’s about, I thought. This is why I’m here.

Erika hugged me long after the others has dispersed. Slowly, she released me, looked up into my face, and said “Hello”, then left. I stood there, laughing inside at the irony, but feeling truly blessed. As I looked down at my wrist, I saw that I has forgotten to return her cotton pink hair elastic. I thought, I might just have to keep this, and give her back 3 fresh ones in return.

___

(This anecdote was the several dozens like it. Erika holds my hand and buries herself in my embrace over and over, all day, everyday. Forget personal space; the ritual honestly never gets old.)

 

Dreams Do Come True

After spending time with the other volunteers and exchanging stories during the midpoint break, I was certain about one thing: I wanted to see a pile of wheat kernels. I know, I know, not the most amazing thing in the world, but after seeing pictures of Greg and hearing his wheat story, I decided that I had to try it.

After putting that thought in the back of my mind, I met my host family. It was the best welcome I ever had: before even entering the house, two kids (Dora, who is 5, and Tibike, who is 7) ran out and hugged me. After I told them my name, they ran back inside and (corny alert) my heart basically melted. They were so cute! I also have one other host sibling who is 10 years old and her name is Réka.

Later on, Dora took me by the hand and gave me a tour of their backyard in Hungarian. (We actually communicate very well. She or Tibi talks for a few minutes in Hungarian and at the end of it I just say, “Igen, igen, igen.” Then I might tell them something in English and they’ll just reply with “Yes, yes, yes!”) For every little thing, Tibi told me the name in Hungarian and he would pronounce it slowly and loudly. I’m pretty sure I never said it correctly. And five minutes later I would (unfortunately) forget it. As we were nearing the end of the tour, we saw besides the “auto” a pile of…búza! Wheat kernels!

We played for I don’t even know long. We ran around, had races, buried each other, pretended that we were swimming, and made “wheat angels.” Every so often, Tibi would turn to me and say slowly, “Booo Zah. Boooo Zah.” Búza, a word I will never forget.

-Laura