Back in the Classroom after 40 years

Back in the Classroom After 40 Years:  This Time in Africa

            What am I doing lying on the hard tile floor in the middle of the night, still damp from my last cold shower, fanning myself with the air conditioner’s instruction booklet, listening to my neighbor’s noisy generator and smelling its fumes?  Moving to Africa seemed like a good idea and a dream come true last February. Now it is my nightmare!   

I had always wanted to return to teaching and have an experience of living and working overseas, before I retired.  When I moved to the Boston area in 1965, I never thought I would still be living and working in Boston, 43 years later.  

I love to travel and I had lived overseas as a child.  Besides, I had never had my fill of classroom teaching. Early on, I had been promoted to administrative and supervisory positions. I use the word “promoted” advisedly. In one sense, it was a set back from dealing directly with kids. In my judgment, that’s where the vitality lies.  In 2008 I learned my position with a non-profit agency supporting early literacy programs would end in the following year.  It was therefore a perfect moment to pursue my dream: I wasn’t committed to a job, I had divorced, I had sold my house the year before and both adult children had moved to New York City.  I had already downsized to a small apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

Fortunately for me an international school job fair held every February in Cambridge.  My first worry about finding a job overseas was age discrimination. I was 66. Friends, younger than I, had faced that frustrating issue.  To make matters worse, at the same time, I developed a severe case of arthritis in my knees and was walking with a cane.  Nevertheless, I redid my resume, omitting some of the dates, such as when I graduated.  I dosed up with painkillers and without my cane, made my way to the fair.

And I did get a job.  I accepted a position as a kindergarten teacher at the International School of Dakar, Senegal.  Small in size, less than 400 students--Pre-K 3 through high school-- located on a lovely campus, with a director, one each elementary and middle & high school principals.  I am so fortunate to land at this particular school, but more about that later.             Excitedly I emailed family and friends. Senegal connections came out of the woodwork: The daughter of my sister-in-law’s friend had worked at that very school. My wasband’s (a term for my ex-husband) cousin’s daughter, who lives near me in Cambridge, had also worked in Africa and knew Dakar. A friend told me about a French bakery that had recently opened up in Boston. Its owner was from Senegal. I made a special trip to the bakery and asked the owner lots of questions about Dakar.  I started brushing up on my French, as Senegal is a francophone country.

In early August 2009 I arrived in Dakar.  It was the hottest, most humid time of the year. The apartment had air conditioning and supposedly a backup generator in case of power outage. The first time without power, I learned the brutal truth--no generator, no air conditioning, not even a fan. Intermittent electrical service in Africa is common. The lack of sleep due to the oppressive heat did not improve my coping skills. By the end of the two week orientation I was seriously sleep deprived.

            I scrambled to prepare my classroom before school opened.  All the classroom materials that I had shipped months earlier had still not arrived. But my excitement and self-confidence as an early childhood educator buoyed me up. Little did I know that it would be my teaching assistant who would save the day.  She had been at the school for ten years, spoke fluent French, English and the local language Wolof, and knew everything about the school that I didn’t.

Then the children arrived. I was overwhelmed. There are so many minute to minute demands to attend to: When do I have time to pee? How can I change up the routine every fifteen or twenty minutes? How can I best manage all the transitions?  These were the very topics I had been counseling my early-childhood education students about, for many years.  And now I found myself beset with handling issues in practice, not just theory.  I often left school on the verge of tears, dissatisfied with how the day had ended. I thought about quitting, I felt I just could not hack it. And I had not been here for even 3 months.  Being a brand-new teacher in the classroom in 1965 was easier because I was so ignorant, now I was an “expert” early childhood educator who had been lauded by the teachers I had supervised, taught, mentored, or counseled. What a blow to my ego to feel like such a novice.

To add to my woes, my wonderful, experienced assistant left for maternity leave after the first 6 weeks, and the school hired a replacement who could speak English, but had never taught young children.  I was reminded yet again the value of team teaching. Early childhood classrooms generally have two teachers for good reasons: sharing on a regular basis help you grow, maintain perspective, and enhance the enjoyment of the kids. That’s why a good sense of humor is essential.  Classroom teaching is the best part of being a teacher, even though it is the most demanding. It’s way better than lesson-planning, team meetings, report writing, etc. It is when you get to play and have fun. When you interact with children during a lesson, you learn so much about their thinking, problem solving, confusions, and especially their strengths.

So, it is understandable that I missed my assistant.  No matter how sick I might be, I could not take sick time and leave my temporary assistant alone to deal with the class or even with a sub.  I heard some parents grumbling about the new assistant, so when some parents asked to meet with me, I thought the topic would be about the new assistant. Instead they came to register their disapproval of me! I wasn’t “academic enough”, I should be sending home worksheets, and their children were missing out on opportunities the other kindergarten class offered.   They had already made an appointment to meet with the elementary principal the next day, because, as he surmised, they knew his first question would be: “Have you talked with Karen about your concerns?”

Their criticism resonated with my own dissatisfaction although for different reasons: I felt constrained by the prescribed curricula imported from the US; I never had the time or resources to integrate the curricula; and worst of all, lack of sleep left me cranky and short tempered with the children. 

One particularly difficult day when I was especially harsh with the class, was followed the next day by a child coming to school in tears. She had been experiencing separation anxiety, something I’m excellent at dealing with.  However all I could image was that she didn’t want to come to school because of ME! I am just a rotten, no-good, very bad teacher (maybe I’ll move to Australia).   

Some parents’ criticism sparked a reaction from other parents who were very satisfied and did not want me to change how I was teaching. Parents compared me to the other kindergarten teacher—who has a similar philosophy—but very different style. Parents lined up in different camps. This is point when I most appreciated the leadership at the school. The director dealt directly with the parents—meeting with them and offering strong support to both teachers.  I saved a copy of the letter he sent to all the parents which I re-read for support.  When I went in to talk with the director and told him, “I think I am bi-polar, one hour I hate it here and can’t last out the week, an hour later I’m loving it”; he didn’t have me committed.

No matter how experienced you are, criticism is hard to take, even if it’s offered with the best of intentions. But as an experienced teacher, to get beyond the sting of the critique and appreciate the difference in approach that generates the complaint is the where you grow as a professional.   Once after listening to some strong criticism, I returned home at the end of the day, upset, distraught, thinking angrily, I’ll just quit, that will show them.  I started writing a defensive email of resignation—I couldn’t sleep—when I had a flash of insight: my bruised ego blocking what I could learn from this.

Parents are a child’s first--and best--teacher. I know it is almost a cliché in our field, but it is more pronounced when working with such a diverse student populations.  I needed to listen better to understand where parents are coming from in order to offer the most effectively support.  I survived that first year by learning to take better care of myself—making time to do other things outside of school that I enjoyed. A teacher must cultivate self-care; it is not selfish but essential.  Coaching myself, I would ask myself the same questions I would ask beginning, shaky teachers, like what went well—instead of only focusing on the problems. I learned that when certain kids began to act out—it was time to do something else—they were like the canary in the mine. They were the early warning system and clamping down tended to make them act out even more.  I would add more choices and kids were able to get what they needed: lay down and rest, buddy up with a friend to read, get out some work from earlier in the day to finish and once a child who was acting aggressively due to stress, said, “I don’t want to do anything.” “OK”, I said, “would you like to do nothing sitting on my lap?” He quietly climbed onto my lap and gave a great sigh.   I began to incorporate activities that I enjoyed and therefore had more fun with the kids. You cannot teach someone, if you do not establish a relationship with him or her. Getting to know each child and building rapport is more important than all the screening and assessment you might administer.   I remembered why I devoted my career to early childhood education—because I began in the classroom.  It is never boring. Unlike working in an office, the day just flies by. It is a thrill to watch the excitement on children’s faces as they solve a problem, reach a goal, or proudly show what they have completed.

I adapted the science unit on Trees (created in the US) to explore the very different trees in West Africa. I knew I wouldn’t be able to teach a unit if I found it irrelevant and boring. I spent more time getting to know the children, and the cultures they were from.  Some of the things that surprised me at international schools: UN day in October is a special holiday; working in a predominately Muslim country you are not bombarded with Christmas commercialism; a child might have two mothers, and no, it isn’t a lesbian couple.  When the school year begins, half the children have just arrived from a different country, speaking another language and are living in temporary housing or in a hotel; a teacher’s job includes being a social director, who support the transition for the child and his or her role in life in general, not just beginning school.  I would help families connecting with others for “play dates” after school and also reach out to the mothers who were more isolated.

A turning point for me was getting immersed in the local culture. I traveled with my housekeeper to her family’s home and had a chance to experience life outside of Dakar. I visited a healing marabou in a remote village with a Senegalese friend.  With some dear friends from college, who visited me during Thanksgiving break, we spent time in St. Louis the old colonial capital of Senegal. I was in Dakar to celebrate the 50^th anniversary of independence in 2010 and the historic presidential election of 2012. I visited some local schools to see what early education was like for the Senegalese.  I learned to love many of the new things in my life, from special drinks made from the fruit of the baobab tree to acquiring colorful fabric with bold designs. Although I never learned to enjoy the bargaining, which is a necessary part of shopping.

Having survived my first year back in the classroom, I was really looking forward to the second year. The school moved me to a new apartment, with a working generator. Because I had lived a year without a generator, I laughed when I read a poem entitled, “Light” by one of my European students:

Light comes when power is on.

Light comes when the generator is on.

Light comes when the sun is up.

It is the morning.

I stopped using my cane, as my knees were better, which I attributed to three things: the warm climate, losing some weight, and drinking lots of ginger.   I was biking to and from work, swimming regularly and exploring Senegal.   I considered the many improvements I would make if I returned to teaching teachers.  In fact, I thought that professors of education should spend their sabbatical year teaching children.  Before this experience, I would have sworn that I did not actually have to return to being a teacher to be an effective professor of education since I was in early childhood classrooms almost every day.  My students gave me high marks for my teaching—but I realize it was the support I gave them.  I admire the new teachers as they persevere in honing their craft and the seasoned teachers who have an amazing repertoire of  “tricks” to keep the day moving smoothly.

I had fine-tuned my daily teaching routine: No teacher directed activity should last more than fifteen to twenty minutes. After that, you have to change things up--even sooner if you get indications they are losing focus. I try to think in terms of this cycle:  large group; work in pairs; choice time; back to large group; small group; independent reading layer with recess, lunch and specialists.  When children are making choices about what they want to work on the time frame can be expanded to an hour easily. Don’t be afraid to grab the unexpected teachable moment or focus on what is most interesting to the children. Trust what children tell you. There is truth for that child somewhere in the garbled story he or she might relate to you.

As passionate as I felt about teaching children through active learning, hand-on experiences, and making choices, I continued to be frustrated with parents who want me to send homework to drill the children in math or reading.    You can please some of the parents some of the time, but you cannot please all of the parents all the time. You have to stay centered when they complain.  In my case, there was one instance in which the mother of one of the best, most skilled, artistic, and advanced writer in the class told me she was disappointed her child had not progressed more in her writing! This kindergartner has written and illustrated a 25-page book, including dialogue between characters.

I added a final reading unit at the end of the year, we dropped reading groups, and instead had only independent reading—the children could chose any book to read—to read by themselves or with a friend.  I sent a letter home explaining to parents that the children were choosing their own books. They could read to the parents, read silently, or ask the parent to read aloud to them.  I wanted them to love to read and continue over the summer.  I was surprised at the variety of books chosen—some children wanted to read chapter books, which were way beyond them, but they persevered and made great gains.  Other children who were good readers wanted to read simple beginning books. It reminded me of myself reading mysteries for relaxation.  Others took great pride in reading to younger siblings—an excellent way to increase fluency.  Many begged to be allowed to take home more than one book for the night.

A teacher never stops learning. One of the special qualities of the school was the director’s commitment to professional development.  The school offered in service training days the second month of school each year, featuring outstanding presenters.  After my first year I attended the International OMEP conference in Gothenburg Sweden and the following year the OMEP African regional conference in Benin.  I even had the opportunity to attend the Africa regional conference for International schools in Kenya.  You might become more self-directed in knowing what you want to work on but you have to continue to challenge yourself to improve.   

My second year went so well, I signed up for a third.   By now I have been at my African post for three years and ready to retire.   With all its trials and tribulations, my experience in Dakar is serving as a capstone to my career in education.  In 1965, shortly after college graduation, I was a Head Start teacher in Cambridge, MA with a group of fifteen three-year-olds. With only one course in childhood development behind me, I had much to learn.  At the time, early childhood education was a new field. I headed off to graduate school for a master’s in education at nearby Tufts University, where I met Abigail Eliot, then seventy-seven years old. It was she who had founded the Eliot-Pearson Department of Child Development at Tufts, originally called the Ruggles Street Nursery Training School. She was already retired but she continued to come to alumni events.  I was in my twenties. I was in awe of her. I loved hearing her stories about training at the MacMillan sister’s open air nursery program in London, such as the one about the London fog moved in and she could not see all 30 three-year-olds across the room. I remember reading that at the end of her career, at the age of seventy-two, she returned to the classroom and taught for three more years.  Thus in some small measure I feel that I am following in her footsteps.

After graduate school, I taught for only two more years--at community mental health therapeutic nursery schools. Then I ended direct teaching. I moved on to supervising others who were teaching in the classroom. Also I had an individual caseload, working with families and children in play therapy. Additionally I worked as a consultant to preschools, day care centers, and even directed the Head Start program where I had begun my career.  I earned another graduate degree, worked for a state agency, directed an AmeriCorps project, and so on.   I embarked on my latest adventure of returning to classroom teaching, at that pivotal moment in 2009, foolishly thinking that with all my variety of jobs, teaching would be a piece of cake.

There is still time for me to get back into the classroom, I thought, like Abigail Eliot did. 

Recently I came across an article about her. I learned she was sixty-two when she returned to classroom teaching, not seventy-two.  I guess in my own mind I had aged her, just so she would be closer to my own age when I embarked on my own adventure.  

Older folks are always telling young people to travel, move out of your comfort zone, and experience other cultures and ways of life.  But I would give the same advise to anyone, at any age. I would not have missed this experience for all the tea in China.