This week I started work. I am working at three different high schools here in Manosque: Les Iscles, the posh new “traditional” high school (except su-hu-per mod – photos in a later post, I’m sure, but picture an architectural expression of Matt’s furniture – it’s very lovely, actually), International, the scrappy new international school, and Martin Bret, the technical high school.
Sorting out where I’m supposed to be when has been quite the project. Everyone seems to think that someone else is in charge of my schedule, but I figured out pretty quickly that no one was, so I decided that it would have to be me. So, armed with a vague idea of how many hours I was supposed to give each school, I went about the process of figuring out who needed me when, but went to bed several nights this weeks with no clear idea of where I needed to be the following day. I showed up at one of my schools yesterday thinking that I was going to do two hours of classes, only to be told “Oh no no. Not today. Maybe next week.” Mais, bon.
Scheduling aside, everything has been peachy. I’ve found all my students completely charming in different ways. The kids at International are appropriately worldly and diverse, and very enthusiastic and warm. I’ve only been with one of my classes at Les Iscles thus far, but I found them quite motivated. I spent today with all my boys at Martin Bret. They are all learning to be car mechanics and electricians, and I passed four delightful hours with four different classes chatting about our favorite American movies, cars, Bill Gates, the significance of baggy jeans, and the difference between gangsters and gangstas. At the end of the last class (the most timid of the four) I busted out my broken French and tried to explain that I am learning too, that I understand that it’s intimidating to speak in another language, and that I promise not to judge them. I hope I got through.
I’m definitely in a crash course on being a language teacher. I’m learning to slow myself down and use what one of my profs calls “transparent words” – words that are the same in English and French (like saying choose, which is closer to the French choisir, instead of pick or select).
The International School has decided to take advantage of my actual, y’know, earned skills and put me in their theatre class. Yesterday they did improvs, and I was quite impressed with what they came up with, considering that improv is tricky even in one’s own language. Choice quotes include “Shut up you stupid…drunk…RUSSIAN!” and “Be quiet! I can’t hear my baby!” Also of note was the moment when the teacher put everyone into pairs and told them that they had to be couples – husband and wife, brother and sister, gay couples, whatever. There were some titters, but really not much of a reaction. The same thing happened in another class when the teacher handed out a dialogue and mentioned that some of the boys would have to play girls. One of them raised his hand enthusiastically and said “I want to be a girl! I want to be a girl!” Dorothy, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.
It’s a glorious Friday evening here, and I’m sitting in the sun on the balcony sipping a glass of rosé as I write this. It was a stressful week, but satisfying, and I’m looking forward to weekend of tranquillité (and laundry – are the two mutually exclusive? Stay tuned.)
Bon soirée,
H
Grabbed this shot of students and petanque players in the park by the school as I left work this evening.
This is a few days old, actually, but it looks like how it felt tonight as I was walking home.
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