My Multi-Grade Mountain School =)

This past Thursday, I left my host family's house at 5:30am to begin the trip to my fourth school, way out in the mountains. I met Gisselle, the teacher that “commutes” out there everyday, and the two of us started our trek on foot. We took the dirt road out of town, crossed the river, and climbed two of the “lomas” (giant hills/mini-mountains) before her brother caught up to us with a mode of transportation that I don't have the liberty to talk about right now. Thanks to him, we arrived at school a half hour early, and the kids that have to trek from their farms to the school always arrive late, so we had plenty of time to work on decorating the two classrooms they have there – one for 1^st - 5^th grade, and one for pre-school. Yes, I said one classroom for 1^st - 5^th grade. Not counting my bi-weekly visits there, these kids have only one teacher and she has to plan lessons for each subject for each grade to keep them all occupied and productive everyday.

Being there with her for the day was such a culture shock – and that's coming from someone who's lived here for more than 5 months now. The other three schools I work in are all pure-grade like back in the States, and the two “urban” ones (using that term loosely) have way over-crowded classes (47 kids in my 3^rd grade class). The kids there though, generally show up with complete uniforms, usually clean and very crisply pressed. I think it's safe to say that the majority of students in my urban schools are matched age-to-grade about the same as in the US, obviously with a bunch of exceptions. There's a large variety in terms of socio-economic status, parents who are professionals, others who work in the plantain/sugar cane farms, others who can't read, kids that live in the center of town, those that travel miles to get there.

Out in the mountain though, things were very different. First through fifth grade consisted of only 38 students – 20 of whom showed up that day because the older boys have to work in their families' farms in the mornings, and many of the girls already work making and selling tortillas, etc. Four of the 1^st graders were over the age of 9, the oldest being 11. The oldest in 5^th grade for the day was 14, but the teacher told me she had two 16 year olds on her matriculation list.

I observed in awe as she wrote her four separate assignments on the board for them (there is no one in 3^rd grade, which means she has to plan for 1^st, 2^nd, 4^th, and 5^th. Then, as the older students worked in pairs to read and answer questions from shared textbooks, she sat with the few 1^st graders that couldn't copy the alphabet from the board because they had never attended pre-school. Supposedly, there was going to be another teacher with her for the year, which would've meant that she could just teach the 1^st and 2^nd graders, but last minute, it was decided that there was no money for another teacher. Now, Gisselle, this awesome 28 year old that's 100% dedicated to her students, and who travels 6km each way to teach them everyday, is sick to her stomach, worried about how she's failing them because it's not possible to give them all the instruction and attention they need.

On top of all that, every cheerful song and tearful cry coming from the pre-school classroom, which is only separated from them by a sliding wall, can be heard perfectly all day long. There is no water in the school, which will make my job of starting a garden and tree nursery very challenging. (The mothers that helped to clean the school before the first day, for example, walked from the well with buckets on their heads to do so.) Worst of all, after 6^th grade, these kids have to travel into Belen for high school, and there is no form of transportation from their community out to Belen, aside from the motorcycles or carretas their families might have.

Speaking of carretas...

After school, we walked to the house where Gisselle grew up (and where her family still lives), which is less than a kilometer from the school we were at. We had an awesome lunch there and then got a ride back to town in her father's carreta, aka ox-drawn wooden cart!! Yeah...it's going to be a lot of work, but I love love love it here. =)