I arrived at Samart School from Siem Reap at 6.10pm on Monday, and at 6.15pm I found myself teaching a class. I didn't have any time for reflection or planning but since I've never taught anything before, an extra half hour was not going to add to my experience. I dropped my bags off in the dorm, and desperately clutching my notebook like a comforter, headed to the school building where the four classrooms are.
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| Samart School, Siem Reap, Cambodia |
Rainbow-coloured benches lined the sandy open-walled classroom. A large whiteboard stood at the front, and the walls were decorated with colourful paintings of everyday objects and their English translations. There were six people there when I arrived: the Khmer teacher Veasna, and five children. Veasna explained that I would simply be assisting him whilst he taught, and providing help in areas such as pronunciation and spelling. I can do this, I thought - I'll just stand out of the spotlight and hop in when needed. We chatted for a while, the children asking me questions that they had been learning: "What is your name?"; "How old are you?"; "Where are you from?"; What are your parents called?"; What is your father's job?"; "Do you have a boyfriend?" This last question generated squeals of delight from the girls in the front row when I answered in the affirmative, and the topic was covered in great detail for some time. I deflected this attention after a while by introducing my scant knowledge of football to the boys, whereupon Brazil was discussed with some excitement.
I asked them questions in return on their demographics so they could practise their phrases, and started to learn a little about them: the two girls, Chanta and Chrab, were seventeen and nineteen - I would have put their ages at a few years younger, because they were quite petite. I wondered at some stage when Veasna would start teaching, because I was curious to glean some knowledge and insight for when I would be taking a class. But I turned around at some point and he was gone. I suddenly realised with a start that I was the teacher, and that I had somehow been teaching already.
As soon as I realised this I started to wobble off my metaphorical bike, until one of the girls handed me a whiteboard marker and said, "Let's play a game!" The question I could rely on being asked upon first meeting anyone here is where I am from (the standard Khmer answer to me saying that I'm from England is, "Me too!"), so I decided to find out how much the children knew of geography. I wrote a few capital cities on the board and asked them to identify the country and how to spell it, and they responded adeptly. My geographical familiarity of South East Asia was quickly tested, as of course that was where their knowledge lay. But we all muddled through together and the time flew, until one of them informed me that class was over. At this point they all stood, put their hands together and chanted loudly, "THANK YOU TEACHER, FOR TEACHING US TODAY, BYE BYE SEE YOU TOMORROW!" And then they were gone.
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| The intermediate class |
I wandered into next door's classroom where the teacher mystery was solved: Veasna was busy teaching this class, and would have somehow taught in both rooms at once had I not accidentally started helping him. It seemed that he had been too polite to ask me directly, and was simply resigned to doing everything himself if necessary.
I felt elated: I had survived my first English class, and possibly managed to impart some knowledge. I wandered back to the open-air seating area, feeling quite drained, and I had hardly sat down when Salav, a local teacher who works full-time for free, asked if I could assist her class. Buoyed by my recent success, I followed her to a third classroom, where about 25 students piled in. I was a little apprehensive, having recently learned what the true meaning of "assisting" was here, but in fact I was helping this time rather than teaching. Salav was superb with the children, holding their attention and making sure that every child interacted at least once in giving an answer.
This was a far more advanced class than my first one: they were encouraged to speak in English at all times. I think this was possible for all of them, despite it not being intuitive to speak a foreign language to one's friends, and Salav gently reminded them on one occasion that "a little English per class is better than none." We were working from a textbook this time, and the topic of choice was The Gingerbread Man. This included reading aloud, comprehension of the text, answering questions on the story, and True or False. (I took them through the story one line at a time, asking questions on what had happened, and I briefly amused myself at being able to ask, "What does the fox say?")
This class was soon over too, and I rejoined the other volunteers at the tables. There is a Polish couple who arrived today and were suddenly presented with lessons in much the same way I was; a girl from Amsterdam who is leaving on Thursday, and a Norwegian who is leaving tomorrow. These last two are heartbroken to leave, and I am highly apprehensive, as this means that we will be only three volunteers in a school of 320 children.
Dinner was served at 8pm for the volunteers. There was a large bowl of rice and Khmer stir-fried vegetables with meat; a generous portion of food for just five of us. Mr. Song, the owner of the school, joined us shortly.
Song Samart is only 25 but he has a clear long-term vision for this place. He was living as a monk in the nearby temple of Bakong for ten years, and his inspiration to found Samart School developed when he saw that the level of education and number of opportunities for local children were far lower than elsewhere in Cambodia. There is a sister organisation 1.5 miles from here called The Brothers and Sisters School, at which there are 160 children. The schools' mission is to provide free education for orphaned and underprivileged children, and they rely solely on donations and volunteers. Song recently acquired an NGO license for Samart School. This means this it's now recognised as a Non-Government Organisation; or a not-for-profit, and therefore should become easier to source sponsorship and funding from companies which seek to donate as an alternative to paying some taxes.
Samart School costs $400-$500 per month to run and the majority of this funds teachers' salaries, even though 80% of them are unpaid. The average salary for a teacher is $50/month here but this is not easy to live on. Volunteers pay $8 per day to stay here; this covers three generous home-cooked meals and a bed in a dorm, where the owners of the house, known as Mami and Papi, also sleep.
It's clear to me the amount of hard work everyone, including previous volunteers, have put into this school. Last week they bought materials for and constructed a climbing frame and swing set; there is a little library with basic teaching materials. The four classrooms have benches, tables, whiteboards and lighting: the classes are from 3pm to 8pm to avoid the midday heat, and there's a book club three times a week.
Tomorrow we will be doing some improvement work around the school, until the children arrive again in the afternoon.
(As I was writing this post, Mami and Papi's tiny grand-daughter climbed up onto my bed, and then into my lap, and read aloud the English alphabet to me whilst pointing at the keyboard. She then took me through the numbers, and typed them out as follows: "12 3 4 5666666 7 8n9nnnn10". Not bad for a five year old!)
You can read more information about Samart School here, and if you would like to donate you can be sure that the funds are going to an excellent cause: http://eco-cambodia.wix.com/samart-school
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