Practice school is the best training that future Peace Corps Guinea teachers receive. They are in real Guinean classrooms, (half-)filled with Guinean students, writing in mostly real French, on really terrible chalkboards.
Classes begin at 8 am sharp. Students arrive between 7:50 and 8:10. There is a flag-raising ceremony, and the Guinean tricolor is hoisted up the rather unimposing pole. The principal explains again that all students are to arrive on time and refrain from mocking our accents or brandishing their cellphones. Classes begin at 8:10 or so.
I start by telling the students to sit down, as they have gotten to their feet as I crossed the threshold. I say good day, and write the date in the upper left corner of the board; day, month spelled out, and year. I have been commended in evaluations for my directed inclusion of the date. Then I divide the long rectangular chalkboard into four relatively equal portions. Guineans like structure. I write the name of the current lesson at the top, and begin.
Students sit two or three to a desk; a one-piece wood construct sort of like a church pew with a writing surface, only smaller. They take notes in pen in a cahier, a small staple-bound notebook with gridded paper and the latest pop diva or soccer star on the cover. Any and all lines must be drawn with a ruler. No problem if they don’t have one, they can borrow their neighbors’. However, when there are only 12 rulers in a class of 35, the going is slow.
Seventh graders are learning first about the states of matter. Limes are good surrogates for molecules; hold a handful tightly to indicate their arrangement in a solid, palm a couple and roll them about to show liquid behavior, and throw them around the room for a gas. They seem to understand, but the real test will be on Friday.
Tenth graders are learning about convergent lenses. Luckily, I have a medium-sized lens scavenged from an old magnifying glass. If all goes well tomorrow, we’ll light some paper on fire and talk about focal lengths. We’ll also try to flip the image of a candle over, and explain what’s happening. Unluckily, explaining the physics of light and lenses requires significant elaboration of several abstract points: two focal points, distances, a similar triangles theorem, and some not-as-straightforward-as-expected fractions. How do you explain how to divide one by one third? Remember that decimal points and commas are switched in the French system.
By the time I’m done teaching the sun is high, although the air is more humid than hot. Back at the office I plan for the next day’s lessons and reflect one what went well. Then chat for a bit the other teachers, maybe walk the six blocks to the market and get a bean sandwich or try and find someone selling mangoes. The afternoon passes slower, our shirts slowly but surely dampening as we learn Pular grammar. Apparently, there are 24 ways to say “the”.
