WorldTeach

The Polish forest looks like something out of a mystical story from the Brothers Grimm. The pine trees look normal at the bottom, with ash-gray tree trunks and peeling bark. But the tops of the trunks, capped off with a few sprucy bristles twenty miles up, glow like orange embers, no matter the light. Scout Camp was tucked into these enchanting woods by one of the beautiful Mazurian lakes in northeastern Poland. Hansel and Gretel (whom the Polish insist on calling 'Jan i Malgorzata') was surely set in this very forest, and I got goosebumps on my walks to the outhouse. Scout Camp is something like a mix of ROTC training, color guard practice, and a Halloween festival with seven year olds and 16 year olds running completely amuck together. In the mornings, children reported to their captain immediately for duty in their PJs, while I was usually still recovering from the mild panic after being awoken by whistles and Slavic barking to find myself on a military cot from 1956. Forty seconds later, the kids were in perfectly pressed button-down uniforms, complete with berets and knee-high woollen socks with stripes. The horseback team wore fantastic woollen britches with eighteenth-century riding boots, and it was all a little disconcerting, albeit extremely good looking. I spent my week trying to fit in with this breed of fairy tale characters, trying to teach a little English, but mostly just trying to survive. Days were fun, filled with singing, sailing, riding and incomprehensible games involving screaming and running. All Polish younguns play the guitar, so we often gathered by the lake and sang cheerful songs about both Polish cartoon characters and Mary and Jesus. Sometimes we practiced English by playing American tunes they love, like 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door,' but the youngest ones were only familiar with 'Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut' - an old American camp favorite with virtually no English vocabulary. A highlight of the week was climbing to the tippy top of a pine to tackle a haphazardly assembled ropes course, when I got to see the storybook glowing embers close up. The meals, too, were Hans Christian Andersen reminiscent, with scarfed old women ladling warm milk from ceramic pails and spooning goulash from enormous cauldrons. (Real goulash, really!) Even the youngest children impressed me by never wasting a bite, and as there was no place to dispose of the inadmissible leftover grub, I found myself sometimes wandering into the woods to paper bag some grossly overbuttered bread nubbins or beets. Polish people tend to have startling generosity. When the rains came down heavily this week (as they often did), we gathered in the canvas tents to share candy bars and pass out treats. The owner of the first candy bar, be him seven or seventeen, takes one bite and then passes it to a neighboring friend. After the next six people take a tiny bite, the candy bar is gone, and the last person to nibble pulls out his Cheetos to continue the process. It is quite heartwarming and is typical all over Poland. A chilling day was when we scouts took a field trip to the Wolf's Lair (Wolfsschanze in German), which was creepily close by. You might remember this name from being Hitler's hideaway and headquarters in the Polish woods during all of World War II. Half-blown, moss-covered bunkers stand as the only reminder of the evil place, where I was mostly nauseated and shivering. I was relieved to by warmly greeted home by my host family in OstroBka, and Friday I left to meet some teacher friends in beautiful Krakw for the weekend. Have had a marvelous time, but am looking forward to getting back to my eager overachieving high schoolers in class on Monday. After a week of 'KFC and a Pizza Hut,' I am particularly grateful for my class's zeal for learning English.

50 Days in Chaling, by Travis Henry You learn something new everyday. After 50 days in Chaling, I have learned the following: 1. The name of the city, 'Chaling', is very close to cha ye, the long name for tea, because there used to be a lot of tea trees here. Before there was a city. 2. Hosting a weight-lifting contest is a legitimate reason to delay the beginning of school for two weeks. 3. People laugh at you wherever you go. Whatever you do. Whether you open your mouth or not. And you don't know why. Unless you're wearing pajama pants. Then you know why. 4. There are no car taxis in Chaling, only van taxis and motorcycle taxis, which should be referred to as 'death bikes'. 5. When dismounting from a death bike, do NOT accidentally put your leg on that big hot metal pipe because it will NOT feel good. 6. If you're riding a bike taxi and the driver gets a call on his cell phone, guess what he does? He answers it. If you're lucky, he'll pull over. 7. There's a shampoo store across the street from my school, and if you're scruffy, the lady will try to sell you facial care products for men. 8. The girl who checks people's bags at the grocery store has been practicing her English. And I'm not her English teacher. 9. The only sound you can hear outside at 12:45 is the chirp of crickets. A car or bike may pass every minute or so. 10. If you're in the grocery store, and you ask if there's any peanut butter, you will be shown to the peanut oil. If you ask again, they will point to the peanut milk. 11. I do consider the town of Chaling to be within the boundaries of civilization because they do indeed sell q-tips at the grocery store. 12. It is perfectly acceptable for a dog to wander into the school dining hall, and even into the kitchen, to sniff the fresh vegetables. If the dog only knew the danger of this activity... 13. Don't lend my liaison money. That, or be prepared to wait three weeks to get it back. 14. Everyone in the city shifts from short sleeves to long sleeves on the EXACT same day. This year, the switch was made on September 7. 15. There's a female tailor outside the school gate. She was curious as to why I hadn't made the shift to long sleeves, and I showed her my arm hair. She had to pull it. Her neighbor had to join in, as did the female friend who was walking with me. It was very enjoyable. 16. It's easy to tell the difference between a brothel and a hair salon because the ladies in the hair salons look better than the ladies in the brothels. 17. If you're done eating a watermelon, just throw the remains out the window. Even if you live on the second story. I was walking down the street one night and a watermelon missed my head by inches. 18. A mule pulling a cart is still a viable method of transporting goods in Chaling. 19. A dude pulling a cart is still a viable method of transporting goods in Chaling. 20. No business is private business' even passport business. Even the contents of your wallet. 21. The senior classes are numbered, and the junior classes have some of the same numbers for their classes. On my second day of teaching I almost taught the wrong Class 138. 22. Occasionally, and without warning, some teachers will take their classes to the library to read. Nothing says, 'Go back to bed' like an empty classroom. 23. The students make artwork to decorate their own classrooms. Class 109 has a naked angel reading a book on the back wall. 24. Even after you've been here a month, they still don't stop staring. 25. In my shower, there's an inverse relationship between water temperature and water pressure. 26. China Post is open 7 days a week and doesn't close on holidays. I felt patriotic when I got mail on National Day. 27. The biggest National Day fireworks show was conducted at 2:51 am (the next morning). I was not given any advance notice. 28. Whistling has increased 200% sce I started working to end the shortage. 29. There's a kick-ass Mexican restaurant a short walk from my school. No, there isn't. 30. You know a student's English is good when they walk up to you and say, 'My English is poor, but I would like to talk to you... 31. My liaison's daughter will always be known as 'little empress' because she always gets what she wants. 32. Chickens poop silently and without squatting. 33. At a small countryside bus station, the buses park less in parallel fashion and more like a herd of cattle settling down for the night. 34. The biggest fuss made at my school happened when the parents came to pick up their children for the weekend. I've never heard so many car horns. 35. If you try to observe another teacher's class, you will be the biggest distraction. 36. If a student comes up to you before class and says that they are going to go play basketball, they may be on the basketball team. Or they may not. 37. Whenever I get on the bus, I'm a conversation starter for everyone riding. Not for nothing, either. One time, I was riding and somehow everyone knew when I was going to get off... before I did. 38. That pretty blue army jacket is not becoming of teachers. It's for old men. 39. Whenever I teach a class of students for the first time, I like to make them ask each other questions. The best question I've heard was: 'Can you lend me money?' 40. I like to end every class by letting the students ask me questions. The best one so far: 'Can I feel your hand?' (Another hairy reference). 41. There is one substance that can assume all three states of matter (solid, liquid, and gas) at the same time. It's called diarrhea. 42. The students think my eyes are blue, which would be fine, except that they are green. 43. One female student has a jacket with a pin that says 'I Love Lesbians'. I asked the student if she knew what it meant. She did. And how to say it in Chinese. 44. A student commented that I resembled one of Harry Potter's friends from the movies. I asked 'which one?' to which the student replied, 'the fat one'. 45. Air freshener is fast-acting, incense is long-lasting. Both are essential for the bathroom. 46. When the bell rings to go to bed, it sounds like thunder because 4,000 students get up out of their desks at the same time. 47. Zhuzhou is 79 miles away from Chaling, and Changsha is 103 miles away from Chaling. However, a bus ride from Zhuzhou to Chaling takes four and a half hours, and a bus ride from Changsha to Chaling takes three and a half. 48. Usually, before or after a meal, students will have to mop the floors of the dining hall, and it will become slippery. The best way to get across is to waddle like a duck. 49. If a local citizen offers you a white-clear liquid in a secondhand container, it's probably moonshine. If you drink it, your stomach and liver will rebel. 50. Oh, look, there's a man standing in front of a public telephone...but he's not making a call, he's taking a piss. Selected as Third Place, WorldTeach Fall 2006 Journal Contest.

Sunset with Fish, by Eva Lieberherr Stepping out of the shadowy classroom, arms full of books, I gaze across the basketball court at the lagoon. As I feel the weight of the books, I try to release my urge to do more work and breathe in the vibrant colors of the sunset. Having pondered for a moment too long, my eighth grade boys abandon their game and come running over to me, shouting "likatuuuu....!" I love how the students in Utrik stay after school with me. They don't run away from school as soon as it's finished, but they're eager to stay in the classroom, look at books, talk and help me with tasks. Although they often distract me from my work, I enjoy their company and am thrilled that they want to learn. My students look at me expectantly, wanting me to entertain or teach them something. We had already made plans that I would teach them some songs on the violin, but the violin was at home and the sunset was enticing. Ignoring my grumbling stomach, I hand some books to one of the bright-eyed students, Josey, who lives by the lagoon. I ask him if it's alright if I walk across his parents' land and sit by the lagoon to draw the sunset (of course it's okay). Although most of the students aren't sure what I intend to do, they follow me to the lagoon. The sky is ablaze with orange and crimson colors, which I hastily try to capture on my paper with my charcoal pastels. The students, and now some parents as well, huddle around as I intently draw. All eyes shift from the brilliant sunset and glistening lagoon to my paper -- evaluating the accuracy of the reproduction. While I'm in awe of the colors and shapes of the sky and water, I soon realize that my companions see a lot more than I. All of the sudden, Josey points excitedly to the water. He shouts to his father, who immediately scrambles to get something from the house. Not seeing anything, I turn questioningly to Josey, who says, "Fish!" A few minutes later, after several men and boys have tossed nets into the water, fish are flying through the air towards me. As I smile in amusement, Josey asks me, "Emman?" [Good?] "Emman!" I say, realizing now that I'm starving. While the poor fish are seeing their last sunset, I finish the last strokes of the painting. It's getting too dark, and I'm getting too hungry. Before going home, I'm given two fish, strung on a palm frond. I stumble into the house in the dark, books almost falling and fish flapping at my side, content with my day's work. While I'm learning what it's like to feel hungry, I have not learned yet how to see and harvest the food that is all around us. I'm still mesmerized by the beauty of the island and view it in an artistic way. Yet I realized that there is another aspect of nature that satisfies more than the eyes.

''Thin-Slicing' Ecuador,' by Maire Casey Despite having weighed my suitcases down with books, materials for teaching and for anticipated 'free time,' I was ecstatic to come across the WorldTeach library five narrow shelves of well-stacked classics and modern best-sellers. Anyone can sign out the books, even those volunteers not near the office in Quito. My heart started pounding a little as some of the better titles traveled off to Loja or Guayaquil, wondering when and if they would return to Quito where I am stationed. But luckily the Ecuadorian 'no pasa nada' attitude has already infiltrated my northeastern anxiety. In the past two weeks that I have regained my life from orientation, I managed to finish Blink by Malcolm Gladwell solely on my bus rides to and from the center of the city. This is an even bigger feat considering that only a third of the time do I actually get a seat during the 25-45 minute commute each way. Although it is my intent to eventually read El Commercial or another Spanish text, until my basic language skills improve I am content to give myself this English break. Moreover, it is only through a distinct literary perspective that I can coherently see this country sometimes; there are just too many daily observations to filter for us, the extrañeros. In Blink, Gladwell discusses the concept of 'thin-slicing' this in a nutshell refers to the quality of the judgments we make within the first few seconds of encountering someone or something. Obviously the ability to judge wisely requires practice. For example, let's take my taste for the myriad of delicious 'jugos' here. All I knew before arriving in Ecuador was that I loved orange juice with lots of pulp and that cranberry bogs near my house were good for ice-skating. But here, there are so many combinations of fruits, and there exists a careful chemistry of fruit, water and sugar. My judgment of jugo hardly measures up to say my host mom's, who can immediately size up the amount of water or sugar needed. After seven weeks here I am sometimes entrusted with this important task of making juice to help out with lunch and dinner preparations while Yenny makes the rice, potatoes and meat. An example of judgment that is much less specialized is human to human. As Gladwell points out, we are all experts in some way of judging character, as long as we do it quickly, in a blink, before any form of prejudice steps in. This idea is comforting to me for the moment, mostly because as a new inhabitant of a foreign country I still possess some bearings. My lack of Spanish or familiarity with the Ecuadorian psyche-historical, cultural, social, etc. doesn't need to impede my natural instinct to make friends or relate to people here. I knew immediately that my host parents and I were going to hit it off. I live in a more modern household that consists of a graphic designer, Guido, his Colombian wife, Yenny, and their two small children Nico, three years old, and Martin, eight months old. On the first night, we laughed together about my relatively tall height, my heavy suitcases filled with books, and 'gringolandia,' the area in Quito where I spent much of my initial time along with all the other Americans, Brits, and Germans. By the end of the first week Guido had confessed his love for Van Halen and all music 80s and 90s and Yenny and I bonded over the guapo men on the daily novellas, or soap operas. By week two, Yenny and I had discussed the opinions of Ecuadorians towards Americans and Colombians, specifically the women, and I learned that she still does not feel close to Ecuadorian women after living here for four years. Now that I have a better grasp of the past, future and subjunctive verb tenses, Yenny and I often compare our childhoods in relation to Nico and Martin. Both boys are being treated for potentially serious allergies and asthma, chronic illnesses that I easily identify with. However, I really only need the present tense to make Yenny and Guido laugh; I consider it my duty to liven up lunch and dinner conversations with anecdotes about SECAP, the government-run continuing education school where I teach, how my students call me 'Morita,' or about the different ways I falter everyday literally tripping regularly on the strangely slick sidewalks. A few nights ago, on the first day of teaching, I met Sandra, a 24-year-old petroleum engineer. I offered to give her a conversation class to catch her up on what I had done that morning in class since she would be coming the next day. She took me to a restaurant, 'Entre Amigos,' where she used to work, and we talked about both of our jobs over free coffees. Again, I barely had to blink, or think, before knowing that Sandra, with her unassuming smile and fondness for walking everywhere, and I would have a lot in common. Naturally, it is easy to make conversation with a more educated, liberal-minded person here. Yet this is not universally true most Northeasterners I know are constantly busy. When my co-teachers and I suggested to our two-week intermediate class from orientation that we have a closing party, everyone made time. No one was too busy, or had made other plans. The three of us were treated on a Wednesday night to games, karaoke, dinner, and dancing at the house of one of our students and not only did no one skip out, but everyone thanked us profusely for just doing our jobs. After coffee, Sandra offered to walk me to the bus stop. Initially I politely declined, wanting to spare her the trip. She replied, 'This is what everyone here does with visitors.' I believed her, realizing after weeks of similar experiences that my judging individual people to be caring and open, who all see life with the right set of priorities-making time for conversation and adjustments is not an individual quality but a national character. Now the Sierra is fully in 'winter.' Thus each day can still go through four seasons, but there is more emphasis on the rainy spring. Today it couldn't have started raining at a worse time Friday rush hour. I found myself on the bus around six in the evening after a meeting with the other volunteers at SECAP. Although we have taught one week of classes, we are still working together to plan the best layout of English classes for our students. What is usually a 45-minute trip from SECAP to my house took an hour and 40-minutes, the same amount of time it takes me to drive through two states. There I was standing on the still bus, with no light to read by and no good music to think to. Aside from the few hours of intense stomach pains I have had during the past seven weeks, this moment really challenged me. How could I eradicate my boredom? I texted back and forth with Yenny about what was going on; she texted back that we would need to fall asleep to a movie to make up for the experience. I silently cheered along with the other passengers, ('Venga! Venga!') when the bus moved. I watched people move their position along the corridor as seats by the window became soaked. Eventually, we would all make it home, to feast on bread and coffee, to watch the soccer game, to sit and chat about the day with our friends and family.

When I first came to Ecuador in September of 2004, I was clearly a tourist. Every corner I turned revealed some new and alien scene: a five-year old boy selling gum on the street, his mother nowhere in sight; a pick-up truck with a clearly unsafe number of passengers precariously balanced in its bed; men jumping on moving busses while the money-collecting assistant shouted, "Toda la Colon, Plaza Artigas, Doce, La Catolica"; dogs looking both ways before crossing the road. It was, as they say, something to write home about. And I did. I kept a website, updated with frequent journal entries and photos of our adventures in Ecuador; I wrote emails every chance I got. And often, when I was typing away in some internet café in the "Mariscal" neighborhood of Quito, I'd encounter other gringo tourists. I looked at them with a sort of disdain, especially when they were talking to each other too loudly about how drunk they got the previous night, or showing off their knowledge of Quito, making claims about how "cool" various parts of the city were. My wife and I were to be here for a year, and I knew that in time, I would be more familiar with this place than any tourist, that we would come to call Quito home. We spent the next couple months trying to find our niche in Quito. For four or five weeks, we searched for a quality gym. We frequented fancy bakeries, where we could find American-style pastries. We scoured the town for bagels. Despite our loathing of big boxes like Wal-Mart, whenever we walked into the Mega-Maxi in Quito, our eyes illuminated with a mixture of nostalgia and hope. In fact, entering any sort of Americanized realm gave us a certain sense of comfort, especially as Thanksgiving approached. By then, I had met my students and had been teaching them for four or five weeks already, long enough to finally have built some sort of relationship with them. There was Lourdes, who worked part time at an orphanage, setting up a workshop where the children could create handmade crafts to sell to the public. She inspired me with her ideas and dreams and before long, got me dreaming of various side-projects -maybe volunteering at the orphanage, or creating a foundation for more affordable study/live abroad programs. There was Diego, the policeman in my morning class who told me about his wages, describing the pay schedule and the various raises for having a wife, a child, for having worked for one year, five years, ten years. At twenty-five, he was married with two kids. He made $360 a year, about the same as I was making as a "volunteer." Because of this, he explained, many policemen accept bribes, especially for petty crimes. You need to supplement your income somehow. I talked extensively with Natalia, a mother of four boys, about adolescents. She spoke freely about the failings of Ecuadorian schools, and urged me to talk with the teachers at her sons' school, hoping that I could somehow inspire them to make their methodology more like my own. Ivan, in my night class, was a high school teacher. He worked from 7:00 to 12:30 every day, took lunch until 2:00, then worked four more hours as a volunteer with a foundation that helps poor and homeless children. At 6:00, he came to a two-hour English class, often late, but always eager to learn. In talking with my students outside of class time, my Spanish began to improve; I began to feel more comfortable with the culture. And I had no lack of stories to send home in emails or to post on my website. Three months into my stay, I had worked through much of the homesickness. I had a routine. I could navigate Quito's bus system and negotiate successfully with cab drivers and fruit vendors. I had become the person I thought I might be, the American in Quito who could chuckle at the naïve tourists who bragged about the fact that they'd been in Ecuador for three weeks. We still sought out Duncan Hines brownie mixes in the grocery store, and pancakes at the very touristy "Magic Bean" restaurant, but despite these clear gringo preferences, my disdain for the tourists remained. They were there to see new places, but very few of them were learning about the people and the culture like I was. I was always quick to tell Ecuadorians I met that I was living in Quito for the year. I wanted to set myself apart from my traveling countrymen. After my third month, however, things started to change. I don't recall one single incident that precipitated the change. It came gradually. One day, I was playing soccer with my morning class, which consisted of 14 policemen and four civilians. I thought I'd be horrible, but I was doing okay. My team captain had put me on defense, saying, "Tim, you play last man." I was in the swing of it, directing my fellow defenders, and keeping pace with the footwork of my opponents. In the final minute of the game, however, with the score tied, I misjudged a high ball and jumped up for a header too soon. The players on the opposing team swept in and scored easily. I felt horrible. I literally hung my head in shame, lamenting the fact that I couldn't swear in Spanish with the same sort of convincing authority as I could in English. I wanted to show my self-disgust, just like I would back home, just like I did back home many times throughout my life. The trick had always been to show enough disappointment with yourself that others didn't need to lambaste you with insults. I was surprised, however, when my Ecuadorian teammates didn't allow me to exceed their disappointment. All at once, they unabashedly blamed me for the loss. They described my error in detail; they told me about how that one mistake lost the entire game; they questioned each other on whether or not they had seen my gaff. And when I tried to agree and demonstrate how awful I felt, they didn't allow me that even. "Ya, okay," they said, let's go eat. And that was that. I had already been noticing that when I got on a bus filled with teenagers, they didn't talk about me, the obvious foreigner. I had observed how little I saw children cry when playing with each other. And after the soccer game, I began noticing other little things. On buses, three or four times I witnessed people get knocked in the head with a backpack. They never uttered a word. Just last week, I saw a man moving a pizza delivery scooter on the sidewalk that was not his. He ended up tipping it over, then picking it up and awkwardly trying to get the kickstand back in place. Just then, the delivery man came out and very kindly took the scooter from the man. In my head, the profanity-filled American version of the confrontation played out, contrasting the tranquility of the Quito scene, and illuminating the profundity of the reverse culture shock that awaits me when I return home. With such observations, I began to change. In my musings on my website, I theorized about the differences between American and Ecuadorian cultures. Though I am a foreigner here, I have never been made to feel self-conscious in public, except by other Americans. I have never felt the American variety of competition-for-who's-coolest. And though this culture certainly has its racism and classism, from what I've observed of teenagers in colegios and in my own classes, they're much kinder to each other, much more accepting of varying levels of "cool." Your individual worth in Ecuador is not on such shaky ground. Thus, you don't see kids crying out of embarrassment, you don't get labeled an "asshole" if you accidentally bump someone with your backpack, and you don't need to insult goofy-looking tourists to establish your own level of "cool." Of course, my conclusions about the differences between the two cultures are very amateur. I am no cultural anthropologist. I can imagine that a less individual society, one more family-oriented and less competitive, would logically lead to one in which individual social status were not that important. But my conclusions are not science. They are personal. And since they are so personal, I have to look twice at my own behavior. My impatience, my hasty judgments, my comparing myself to them - I am a product of my being an American. To compete in my own mind with other gringos' worth, and to have a vague set of criteria by which to measure that worth - these things are alien in this culture, and even more so than my Patagonia shirts and Nalgene water bottle, mark me as a foreigner. You can read any number of travel narratives relating in flowery detail alien scenes in foreign lands. You can even pick up a National Geographic or an Outside Magazine and see some of those scenes captured on film. Indeed, narratives relaying experiences in foreign lands are so abundant, they've earned their own genre label. I've done my share to add a little to that pool of "travel narratives." I have turned my experiences here into media - website, blog, pictures, stories, essays - but my whole experience itself is mediated by my being an American. We all know that real experience differs from virtual experience. But when you're a tourist, the difference is not that huge. Virtual experience comes to you through the medium of a magazine, a film, or a book; "real" experience is mediated by the long history of your cultural background. Thus, it wasn't until I released some of my cultural trappings that I could release myself from the American medium through which I looked at the world. It wasn't until I altered my disdain for my fellow tourists that I could even begin to stop being one. I remain, however, an American in Quito. It's still something to write home about. I suspect it always will be.

Reasons I Still Love Luis Kong, by Kelly Wright The fact that I came to Chile with 4 months of Spanish training has provided countless opportunities for me to learn, and countless opportunities for me to get myself into trouble. During my first three weeks here in Chile I had an orientation with 17 other volunteers. We spent two hours a day in Spanish classes. My teacher's name was Luis Kong, a really wonderful person who I am still in contact with. I had five other volunteers in my class, the beginner class. We had quite the experience with Luis Kong. Sometimes we loved him (like when we were able to practice speaking in class, which didn't happen often), and sometimes we were a little upset with him (like when we spent four class periods on the alphabet and counting). But, he was such a nice and funny man, that my entire class always came away saying, 'We love Luis Kong'. These words sort of became one of our favorite sayings during our orientation. So, with this favorite saying in mind, I wrote this article for our Newsletter. I look back to my first day at my home stay, and realize my four months of Spanish class before I came to Chile and my three weeks with Luis Kong were slightly insufficient for me to understand anything that was going on at my house. I was never quite sure what was going to happen in the next five minutes. For example, the first day I was at my house, all of a sudden my family was saying 'Vamos, vamos, Kelly', and they were pointing to the car. Everyone was getting into the car, and it seemed as though they really wanted me to get in, so I climbed aboard. The whole car ride I was wondering if we were headed to a slaughterhouse or something. Luckily, we were just going to the local Lider (a Wal-Mart type of store). They talked a lot at me those first few days, and I think I heard them say 'casa' one time, and I also think I heard them say 'pizza' a couple of times. Other than those few words, I was lost. Oh dear. So, here are some the reasons why I still love Luis Kong, even though it is clear I am not able to speak or understand Spanish. Reason Number One: My relationship with my 14-year-old brother. I need you to do some pretending. Ok, imagine you are 14 years old. You have tons of friends at your school, you have a reputation to uphold, and you need to make sure your hair and clothes are just right. Your major concerns are what you are going to do that Friday night, and if your crush is going to be there. Suddenly, beginning on your fourteenth birthday, you have a martian type thing living in your house. Keep imagining. The martian doesn't speak English. In fact he doesn't speak much at all. He is sort of mute. He looks at you and smiles. He laughs when you do something funny, but he still doesn't say much. The martian comes home after work, and your mom tells you that you have to sit with him while he eats dinner. You talk to the martian, but he only responds with 'yes' or 'no'. Get it????? I am the martian. I am not sure what my brother thinks of me, but he is super-nice, and he must think I am super-crazy. Hopefully soon I won't be a weird mute martian, I will just be a weird martian that talks like a two year old. Reason Number Two: I got to make up my own kind of Poker. In the first two days of my home stay, I now realize I told my family that I knew how to play poker. Oops. I watched some friends play poker once. I think this is insufficient experience to teach others how to play. But, last Saturday night, you will be happy to know that a new type of poker arose in Santiago. 2-Card-Cambio (I named it myself). I created this type of poker as I was teaching it to my 14 and 7-year-old brothers. I think my version has something to do with poker. It involves chips and cards at least. I am sure by the time I leave Chile, this type of poker will have swept the nation and you will be able to watch the major 2-Card-Cambio tournaments on Spanish-ESPN. Reason Number Three: I get to make up conversations in my mind. In my house we have a nana (a baby-sitter/house-cleaner) that comes everyday to help my 2-year-old brother hacer pipi (this is how they say I have to go to the bathroom, which literally translated means to make pee) and do other things that 2 year olds do. A couple of minutes into our relationship, it was clear that I understood Felica less than I understand anyone else. I had no clue what she was saying to me during our first conversation. I had a distinct strategy worked out in my mind before we ate lunch together for the first time so that I didn't get into a conversation that I couldn't handle. I was going to make sure to dominate the conversation. I knew I had to talk first, otherwise I knew she would ramble off many sentences that sounded like a long string of gibberish. So, I figured I would ask her questions. For example, how many kids do you have? Where do you live? How old are your kids? Had you sat in our first five lunches together, you would know that we talked about the exact same things every time. Oops. Finally, by the sixth lunch, I figured I needed to think of another question to ask her. As I was thinking, she got the first words in. Darn. Needless to say, I didn't understand what she was saying to me. We had a couple of weird interactions, where I responded with a polite 'si', or else I replied with 'doy clases a las cuatro' (I have classes at four), or simply I would reply to her long string of gibberish with, 'como te fue el fin de semana?' (how was your weekend?) Later, I reflected upon our sixth lunch together and tried to figure out what we were talking about. I realized that the conversation could have gone something like this&. Felica: Kelly, your hair is on fire. Me: I have classes at 4:00. Felica: You are bleeding out of your cheek. Me: Ok. How was your weekend? Reason Number Four: I jumped a fence with large spikes at the top. A few weeks ago I had a true South American experience. I drove with my family in our Toyota Corolla through the suburbs past HomeCenter (a store similar to Home Depot), past the five star cinema, and past a Chinese food restaurant, where we reached our South American destination&&the Florida Center Shopping Mall. There you will find many Chilean things that you won't find anywhere else. For example, in the food court there is a combined Taco Bell & Pizza Hut. This is where we chose to dine. As we were enjoying our personal pan pizzas, french fries, and cokes, my family started talking to me and asking me about what time I had gotten home the night before. Well, the night before I had been dancing with many of the other volunteers, and so I told my family that I had gotten home around 5am. They told me they hadn't heard me, and then started talking much more quickly, and I had no idea what they were saying. My host mom suddenly stopped talking and everybody looked at me. Well, in my mind I thought my host mom had taken a pause and was going to continue telling her story. I gave her an affirmative 'si' as if to say 'yeah, continue'. When I said si, everyone, even my seven-year-old brother who had been playing with his Happy Meal Toy, started laughing. Slowly, they explained to me that they were wondering how they didn't hear me the night before, because the gate to our house is pretty loud. Besides being loud, the gate also has four-inch spikes on top that would surely impale anyone's skin that came close to the spikes. When everyone stopped and looked at me, my mom had asked me as a joke, 'Kelly, did you jump over the gate last night when you got home? Is that why you were so quiet?' I had replied with a confident 'yes'.

Impressions of Chile, by Kelly Wright Things that I should have known, but didn't really stop to think about before I came here: -I can't pronounce my students' names -I have a hard time pronouncing my family's names. They have a hard time saying my name. -I live in a big house by standards here. It is by far the smallest house with the most people I have ever lived in. -This is an URBAN program. It is not like living in a hut in the jungle somewhere. There aren't bugs and snakes and rains beyond end. But, it is its own jungle of sorts. The big city with the buses, colectivos, people, taxis, metros, stores, etc., is a different kind of jungle that you must learn to navigate your way through. -I was very worried before I came because I didn't speak Spanish, and I had this fear of being stuck on a bus somewhere and people pointing me in the wrong direction when I was just trying to get home. But that has never happened. Everyone has been so helpful and so nice and so caring towards me, that it has been incredible. How I was initiated into my family? With my family and friends in the states, I have always had relationships with many jokes and much laughter. We always try and fool one another. I thought I would lose these practical jokes when I came to Chile. Last weekend my host family and I celebrated my birthday together. It had been about two months since I arrived at my host family, and they invited some friends over for a dinner and cake. Well, I really felt right at home when my 14-year-old host brother tried to push my head straight into the cake while I was blowing out the candles. Luckily I only got frosting on my nose. Later, we went on to have a squirt gun fight and a tickling fight with everyone. After that weekend, I have felt really at home with my family. I have learned that even though I can't communicate very well with them (my Spanish isn't so good), laughter is a common language for everyone.

La Florida, Santiago, by Kelly Wright Community I live in La Florida, a community that is part of the city of Santiago. Santiago has about 6 million people living in its 20 'comunas' and La Florida is one of the biggest. Santiago is the largest city I have ever lived in, and it is just that...a big city. Santiago is surrounded by mountains on all sides. There are a few parks and some 'comunas' are tucked up right next to the mountains, but it is a city with a lot of people squished into a small amount of land. In Santiago, you can find virtually anything that you need. There are malls with stores found anywhere in the U.S. (e.g. Puma, Skechers, and even Chile's own brand of Wal-Mart called Lider). There are all kinds of cultural events: art exhibits, films, museums, soccer games, university classes, dance shows, symphonies, etc. Some of the biggest tourist attractions are La Moneda (where the Chilean president works), and Plaza de Armas, where you can find art shows. I live on the outskirts of Santiago, about five blocks from the mountains. When I go running, I see people traveling by horse, I see people living in very small tin-roofed houses, and I hear sounds from all types of farm animals. But, a 15 minute car drive in the other direction gets me to one of the biggest malls in Santiago. It is a strange clash of cultures. When I am around my neighborhood, I feel as though I am in South America. When I go to the mall, I feel as though I could be in any suburb in the United States. School All 18 volunteers here in Chile work at an institute equivalent a community college in the States. There are 6 sites in Santiago, one in Valapariso, one in Vina del Mar, and one site in Concepcion. There are about 100 professors (10 in the English Department) at my teaching site in La Florida. All students are required to take Basic English, but some continue to an advanced level. Each semester here, I've taught four basic classes and one intermediate. The Basic students come in at a Basic level. They need practice saying, 'My name is Kelly.' But, there are some students that had English in high school and they can speak fairly well. We administer a diagnostic test at the beginning of the year to ensure the students register at an appropriate level. The school is quite modern and located right next to a typical US mall. Each day, I ride an escalator up to my classroom. The classrooms are small, but well-equipped, with, for example, whiteboards and CD players. A TV/DVD player is also readily available. I was a bit surprised to be working in a mall, with TGIFriday's, Hooters, and AMC theaters a short walk from school. But, I have found advantages to working in this area. I am close to the metro station, several bus routes are quite handy, and there are exercise gyms nearby. Teaching Assignment The schedule of classes here is a bit crazy. Many of my students work during the day, which means that they need to take classes at night and on weekends. Classes run from 8:30 in the morning until 10:45 at night. Yes, 10:45 at night. And on Saturday the classes run from 8:30 - 4:30. Each volunteer teaches five classes; each class meets for 90 minutes, twice a week. Last semester I had 2 classes each day Monday through Friday. I taught until 8:30pm three times a week and until 10:45pm twice a week. This semester, I have a morning class and an evening class Monday through Friday, and a class on Saturday morning. Our site coordinator organizes all of the schedules for the English teachers, and we have little (or no) input about when we teach. When I talk with people from the United States about my schedule, we all agree it's pretty horrible. But, when I talk to Chileans about it, they seem to think it's not too bad. Many, many Chileans work very long hours, so working until 10 or 11 at night is a part of the normal culture and doesn't interfere with my social life. I usually go home between my classes to exercise and eat lunch. Then I return to the mall for my evening classes. The first semester began March 10, and lasted until July 7. After a week of oral finals, we had a three-week vacation before the second semester began on August 7. We usually have about one holiday a month, and we have had one longer (four or five day weekend) holiday each semester. Living I live with a family that has three young boys (14, 7, and 2). The parents are 35 years old, and are separated. I live with the mom and the boys. The dad spends a lot of time at the house on weekends. Occasionally, the boys will stay at the dad's apartment. Recently, a live-in nanny moved in with us (mom is working long hours). At the house, I have my own room with a TV and a stereo. We have all modern conveniences (hot water, washing machine, microwave) minus a toaster (which don't seem to exist here in Chile). At first, I didn't think everyone would fit into the house, because we have a lot of people and only two bedrooms. But, it works out quite well because the family is used to sharing and being together. Language Issues When I arrived, I had only studied Spanish for about three months. I was at a very beginner level. In some ways I wish I had studied more, because it is difficult to form solid relationships when my friends spend so much time explaining our conversations to me. On the other hand, there are a surprising number of people that do spend time with me - hoping to learn more about the United States - and showing incredible patience with my Spanish skills. I've also gained a new appreciation for second-language learners and immigrants. I am now at the six-month point, and I still have trouble understanding people when they are talking quickly or with many other people. However, I am now able to hold one-on-one conversations when people don't talk super fast. I have learned to embrace body language and laughter as crucial parts of communication. Greatest Challenge For me, it is the language. I know that I have made progress, but still feel like I'm drowning in an ocean of new Spanish vocabulary. Greatest Rewards Recently, all the other WorldTeach volunteers and I have been running into our students from the past semester. It feels wonderful to hear from our students that they enjoyed our classes. A number of those students have even been trying to rearrange their schedules and switch into our classes. This has been very gratifying. Just recently I experienced a personal triumph. I bumped into the man who taught me Spanish during the WorldTeach orientation. During orientation, I was hardly able to respond to anything he said to me. But, when I saw him last week, we carried on a 45-minute conversation - in Spanish. I could finally see that my Spanish had indeed, improved. I felt proud and so did he. WorldTeach History I am one of four WorldTeach volunteers at my site, and we are the first volunteers at that site.

Running, by Ashley Boyle Six months ago -- when I was wearing a business suit and worrying about training meetings and sending faxes -- I could have never pictured me "here". Here is a dusty road, me clad in my running shorts and a t-shirt, trotting up los cerros with six young girls and two mangy dogs in tow. Almost every weekend I make excursions like this one. It began a few months ago, when-to my utter surprise-a young girl beckoned me from the street outside my home-stay in Antofagasta, Chile. When I went outside to greet the beckoner - "la" Nicole - I was naively surprised to discover my daily runs in the hills behind my home had not gone unnoticed in my little community. And this little girl wanted to accompany. So we set a date: Saturday at 10am. That first Saturday I didn't know what to expect, I simply appeared outside my house at 10am sharp and waited. To be perfectly candid, I was not even sure I wanted Nicole and her friends to show up. This entire situation was stretching further and further outside my comfort zone. Trying to adjust to living with a Chilean family and teaching in a Chilean public high school had just about pushed me to the edge; and here was this group of excited, energetic girls who wanted to intrude on the one constant of my life-my daily runs. But eventually Nicole arrived with a few shy, but obviously enthusiastic girls. As we prepared to run a woman emerged from the house directly next to mine and asked: "Ashley, vas a correr?" I had never spoken to or even seen this particular woman before, so I was surprised she knew my name and my plans for the day. All I knew about her was that she liked to listen to extremely loud rock music and owned a trope of angry-looking dogs. I must have given her a curious look as I contemplated if she was planning on accompanying us as well, because she shot me a queer glance as I replied "Sí." She then loudly called "Carolina, La Gringuita va a correr." Carolina, her 10 year old daughter, appeared, ready to run. It seemed as though all these random people were appearing from every brightly colored house on the block and sending their little girls out to run with me. It was not surprising, but regardless, slightly unsettling to recognize how many unfamiliar people knew me and my activities. As I looked over my group of runners, I could not help but laugh. They were all strangers to me; dressed up, ready to run with their odd gringa neighbor. Despite my initial shock, I had remembered to mention to Nicole to wear running shoes -- and indeed them all wore sporty shoes -- but I neglected to be more specific about attire. One does not run in little skirts and fancy hair. Once we started I realized just how closely I had been observed on my daily jaunts. They knew exactly where I went each day, and even insisted on taking the correct route when I attempted to divert onto a less strenuous course. However, when I refer to this outing as a "run" I'm taking great liberties. The youngest and most vocal member of this group is "La" Fanny, and she goes to great lengths to keep the running to a minimum. Whenever actual running occurs, La Fanny grabs the back of my shorts and lets out an irresistible "no más!" So we walk and talk instead. The group changes just a little every Saturday; sometimes we even allow boys-and street dogs regardless of gender-to tag along. But since I was firm after the first day, no skirts have appeared; instead they wear athletic clothing and tote water (even if it is in old Coca-Cola bottles) per my instructions. I quickly learned to cherish these "runs." They provide an opportunity for me to interact with these girls in which I'm not embarrassed about my still evolving Spanish stills. In fact, my funny Spanish is an important element. The girls tell simple jokes and laugh-not at the punch line-but at my complete failure to recognize it. So we "run" in the blazing Antofagasta sun and make uncomplicated conversation and laugh, mostly at my willing expense. I've never spent much time with young girls this age; it was never something I sought out. I didn't know how to have a conversation with them, or what would interest them. But because they were joining me in my activity, I felt at ease. Coming into this WorldTeach experience, I wanted to find away to share a part of myself with those Chileans who welcomed me into their community. With these runs, I stumbled upon the part of me that I can best share with the girls. Running has been so important and positive in my life that it felt exhilarating to it share it: to imagine it might affect them. I cannot honestly say I fell into the situation through no conscious intention of my own, because I did make very specific decisions to extend outside of my comfort zone (for instance, joining WorldTeach). However, I do feel overwhelmingly lucky my community reached out to me in such a special way and invited themselves into my favorite hobby. It's now comical to me that I would have been surprised my neighbors knew my routines and activities. With my fair skin, blue eyes and light hair, I would not stand out more if I were from Mars. Of course these neighbors will be curious about the habits of a foreigner like me-not unlike my own curiosity and eagerness to absorb their culture. Six months ago I could never have pictured this exact scene, but I knew the potential was out there. I merely opened myself up to the experience: that openness allowed this scene to take shape.

Alonso Ovalle, Santiago, by Nancy Moore Community I have spent most of my time in Santiago, the capital of Chile which is home to one third of the country's 15 million citizens. On the surface Chile appears very advanced, especially in Santiago Centro, the downtown area. The pride of the city is its subway system, or 'metro', which is efficient and excessively clean. The walls of each metro stop are beautifully adorned with murals of artwork, and one could practically eat off the floor. During rush hour, or 'la hora de peak,' Santiaguinos pack in the metro cars like sardines and breathe down each other's necks. Personal space does not exist in this city. Impressive about Santiago Centro are the pedestrian only streets. Open to foot traffic only, these numerous streets are packed with people, lined with trees and huge buildings, and characterized by the 80's music that floats through the air, whether it be Madonna, Four Non-Blondes, or some other long forgotten band. Hairstyles are also reminiscent of the eighties, as mullets and rat tails can hardly be avoided when strolling the streets. If you see a 'gringo,' or white person on the street, you can guess how long they've been in Chile based on whether their hairstyle has adapted to trends here. Beyond this surface image and beyond the immediate downtown area, there is another reality that exists in Santiago that is more reflective of the society in general. Chile ranks third in the world for having the largest income gap between the working class and the elite. Ironically, its socialist government has done little to improve the conditions of the middle class, much less those of the working class. There is a community in Santiago fifteen minutes from downtown called Peñalolen that houses 10,000 people in shanties constructed from scraps of wood and metal. Ten thousand people! This week, actually, the government is evacuating and relocating these people throughout the city so the area may be leveled and transformed into a park. They are aided by the government in finding housing, but not in funding it, and so many who are not accustomed to paying rent or utilities (they had no running water or electricity in Peñalolen) will likely find themselves on the streets. Host School The institute where I teach is well-known throughout Chile. They have advertisements on buses and are reputed for offering affordable educations in technical training. The majority of my students are first generation higher education in their families, and the concept of a 'community college' is new and encouraging here. It should help bridge the gap between classes because historically only wealthy Chileans have been able to afford attending a university. Students at my site primarily study Tourism and Gastronomy. They are curious, kind, and mostly respectful, although I never make homework assignments because nobody does homework. As should be the case, my students are why I like my job here. Outside of classes, Claire and I have organized an 'English Film Festival' for our students that will feature a different movie in English every other Monday, complete with a raffle! Greatest Rewards A daily routine has been starting to form for me in Chile, and for the first time in my life I feel like I have a real world job! I teach five classes total, each of which meets twice a week for an hour and half. Also, I teach three different levels (one beginner class, one intermediate class, and three advanced classes), so I am very busy with three different class preparations. Moreover, there is an online component for which I must post discussions and constantly monitor students' completion of weekly activities. Needless to say, I am busy! My schedule is quite interesting and in some ways the bane of my existence. I work Tuesday through Saturday, and all of my classes are in the evenings with the exception of one morning class on Tuesdays and Thursdays and 3 morning classes on Saturday (starting at 8:30am!). On Wednesdays and Fridays I don't finish until 10:45 p.m., which means by the time I take the forty-five minute bus home, I don't get home until nearly midnight, at which point I eat the dinner that Marisol usually has prepared for me. One might think, 'How awesome! You have the whole day free!' True, but this makes it difficult to make friends and spend time with my host family, because 'normal' people have the exact opposite schedule as me. But, I'm making the most of it and getting accustomed to the routine. Normally I wake up around 9 am to an empty house, and I warm up a cup of milk and add a spoonful of Nescafe (real coffee is virtually nonexistent in Chile). I sit at the counter in our tiny kitchen and sip my 'coffee' and eat bread, cereal with yogurt, or maybe a scrambled egg. The bread which accompanies (or makes) every meal is not sliced bread, but baked rolls that are bought fresh from the grocery. If I want toast, I slice one open and put it on the stove, as there is no toaster. I usually leave the house around 10 to head into town. Daily I greet the guards who stand at the gated entrance of the condominium and pass the large, dusty, trash-littered field (an entire block, really) that rests outside the haven of our complex. I´ve become accustomed to passing the scattered remnants of a broken toilet, worn out dogs, and the occasional horse and cart that ornament the field.

Chile Ministry, by Megan McLean I'd been living at home for almost eight months when I started to get the itch to pack up and travel again. In March, I packed up my bags and headed to Chile to participate in an English-teaching program run through the Ministry of Education in Chile. Although I imagined it would be different than my prior experiences living abroad because I would be living in a small town and working with high school students, I tried to leave my expectations behind and embrace the challenges and adventures that came along. But still, I had no idea what I was in for. My first month is Chile was pretty exciting. We had a month-long orientation in Santiago. There were about 60 volunteers in the group, all sent to different parts of Chile, and we were all packed together in a hostel. It was like reliving the college experience. But finally, we all parted ways to head to our respective sites. I was placed in Los Angeles, about six hours south of Santiago, with four other volunteers. The first few weeks were incredibly rough. It was difficult to adjust to living with a family since I hadn't lived with my own for a few years. And my new family was very different from the one at home. I felt smothered by all of their attention and annoyed by their over-protection. I had to give up my independence and learn to live by their rules. My high school proved to be even more challenging. In Chile, they have recently adopted a system called the Jornada Escolar Completa. The idea behind the program is to keep kids off the streets, so school runs all day from 8am until 5pm. Perhaps this system has helped to keep children off the street, but it has left the teachers and students burnt out and unmotivated. My high school was one of the roughest and poorest. The conditions of the school were pretty bad; it was cold, dirty and run-down. As I made my way down the hallway, the boys whistled and hissed at me. Although I had tried to leave any expectations behind, it was now apparent that I had kept some. Like many high school students, these kids weren't interested in learning anything, especially not English. Even I was struggling to understand why they should. These students weren't going to study at a university. These students were going to become maids and janitors. Why should they learn English? I spent my winter vacation in Buenos Aires, loving the big city, enjoying my freedom and independence, and dreading my return to Los Angeles. On the six hour bus ride back to Los Angeles, a new feeling took over. I realized that I was looking forward to returning, that I had missed my family and all of the people that I had gotten to know over the past few months. Although my family certainly could be quite overbearing and Los Angeles wasn't exactly the most exciting city, it was comfortable. It had become home. I even missed some of my students and felt re-energized and motivated to get back into the classroom. When one of my students said to me 'Miss Megan, I never liked any of my English classes until yours,' I realized that it didn't matter if my students learned English. Exposing them to a different culture and different teaching methods is important in itself and probably more valuable to these students than learning English. I now embraced and actually came to appreciate what had once made me feel inconvenienced and uncomfortable. I learned that I couldn't blame every bump in the road on cultural differences because many of the difficulties I encountered were actually due to my own inflexibility and intolerance. Once I came to accept where I was, instead of trying to make it how I thought it should be, everything became much simpler and I started to appreciate and enjoy the experience I was having.

Los Angeles, by Megan McLean Community For the last 4 months, I have been living in Los Angeles, Chile located in Region VIII, about six hours south of Santiago. Los Angeles is known for producing lots of fruit, wood and milk. Wood is probably the largest industry here and also provides many of the jobs. Most of the wood is made into paper, but some is used for construction and exportation. It is city of roughly 170,000 people, mostly families and youngsters. Although it is a small city, it has everything you need. There is a small university here, a shopping mall with a movie theater, several bars, a couple places to dance, plenty of parks, and many places to eat. Just a short bus ride to the north you will find the incredible Salto del Laja. Also, Concepcion is just a couple hours away. On clear day you can see Sierra Velluda and Volcan Antuco, and on really clear days you can view the Cordillera de los Andes. Los Angeles is a great location if you like to ski. The Termas de Chilln are nearby as well as Volcn Antuco, and both are incredible! Host School I am working in a high school recently renamed Santa Maria de Los Angeles, formally the Liceo de Ninas, which means it is overrun with female students. Classes usually have about 40 students (but don't worry, you only get half at a time). Most of my classes are all female with 4 or 5 male students, but there are some classes of all males. There are over 50 teachers and around 8 English teachers. I work with 2 of them. The English level of the students is very low. I am lucky enough to have my own classroom (one of the things the Ministry requires) which is pretty nice in comparison to the other classrooms. There is a white board and the Ministry provided a load of supplies at the end of Orientation. The school also provided me with 2 boxes of materials for my classes. My school does not have a lot of money, but they make every effort to provide me with whatever I need and so far I cannot complain. However, you learn to make do with what you have. For example, I bring in my computer speakers and iPod when I want to play music in class. Teaching Assignment My school is part of the Jornada Escolar Completa, which means school goes from 8-5. The idea behind this plan was to get kids off the streets, but the ridiculously long school day has left teachers and students burnt out and unmotivated. Fortunately, I have about half the hours of a regular Chilean teacher and a very nice schedule. Originally my schedule was very scattered, but now I only have classes in the morning, except for Friday when I teach both in the morning and afternoon. My co-teacher and I have a good relationship, and any issues I have I usually talk about with her. The director of my school is also really great and helpful. I teach for 20 hours a week (but I am supposed to teach 25). I teach all 4 levels of high school, but the level of English is basically the same (very, very low) so I manage to use the same lesson plan for every class, with a little bit of tweaking. I have over 400 students and even after 4 months am really struggling to learn names. I see them once a week for 45 minutes (but by they time they are actually in class, seated and quiet it's really 30). Living Arrangements I really lucked out with my host family. At first their over-protectiveness was incredibly overwhelming. I don't remember receiving this much attention EVER in my life. They refer to me as their hija (daughter) and really make me feel like a part of the family. Sometimes it's frustrating my mom always has to know when I will be home, they don't let me leave my bed if I have a runny nose, and they constantly worry about me. However, I often get breakfast in bed, my mom gives me Spanish lessons everyday, and they take me places on the weekends. I have 4 brothers (ages 24-30, they don't all live at home but they come to visit) who take me skiing, dancing and to Chilean barbecues. We have a nana (maid) who washes, dries, irons and folds my laundry, makes my bed and cooks delicious, healthy (this is not so normal) food. I have hardly washed a dish since I arrived. When I tell my mom from home about this, she laughs at me and tells me not to get used to this lifestyle! The house is incredibly clean, I have my own room, and I think perhaps the warmest house in Chile. There is no central heating here, but there is constantly a fire burning, and I cuddle with a hot water bottle at night. My house is a 20-minute walk from the school (although there are plenty of colectivos (form of public transportation), I prefer to walk) and about a 10-minute walk from the center. Language Issues This program requires that you have a basic level of Spanish upon arrival. When I got here I had a pretty good grasp on Spanish. I am now halfway into my stay here, and my Spanish has improved immensely. The Ministry provides us with bi-weekly Spanish classes. It's not easy though, Chileans have just about the most difficult Spanish I have experienced in all of South America. Greatest Challenges I think the biggest challenge I am facing here is figuring out what to do with my free time. I only have classes in the morning and because I use the same lesson plan for all of my classes, I don't spend a lot of time lesson planning. I have found it difficult to meet people my age because most of them have left to study or to find work. That is not to say that there aren't people my age here I just haven't found them yet. This has also been a brutal winter (the coldest in 40 years they say) which has turned me into a bit of a homebody. Greatest Rewards Some days it feels like my students aren't learning anything, and I get so frustrated. But then a student walks in the classroom with a big smile on her face because she is excited to see me and be in my class because it is different and I am different. My presence in the school makes them curious about the world outside of Los Angeles, Chile, and I find that to be incredibly rewarding. WorldTeach History I am one of five WorldTeach volunteers in Los Angeles, and we are the first volunteers at this site.

Teaching Assignment 'I will come back to this table every day!' Vuyo said as he was leaving the Masiphumele Library. He was one of the many learners that eight of the WorldTeach volunteers had the pleasure of experiencing in Masiphumele. This two week reading tutorial program not only encouraged the learners to have a greater love of reading but also gave the volunteers a sense of joy and warmth within their hearts. Each day the learners were filled with excitement waiting for permission to walk upstairs to greet their teachers. The volunteers were always greeted with sparkling eyes, big smiles, hugs, and an eagerness for learning. What was nice about the program was that it was a voluntary choice for the learners to participate in. Before starting our reading tutorial program, the eight volunteers were trained by a very knowledgeable woman named Shelley. She has developed a Word Works Program that helps learners get better at and love reading. She provided so much support, materials, and organization to make the two weeks incredibly successful. Even though she did provide us with many supplies, we still recommend that you bring as many books, pencils, crayons, sight word games, and paper as possible. Shelley loves new ideas! The program was broken up into two one hour sessions. One was 9:30-10:30am, and the second was 10:30-11:30am. We had no break in between the two sessions which made it a little difficult to get ready for the second session, so we recommend that you try and provide one for yourself. All of the volunteers normally arrived around 9:00am and that gave us a half hour to discuss ideas and prepare for the learners. During this time, we read our stories, made sure we had supplies, and practiced games. Organization and dedication was what made our program so much fun! Each of the volunteers had about 2 to 3 students ranging from grade one to grade four. Each session was divided up into 20-minute parts. The first 20 minutes involved reading one or two stories. During this time it was important to emphasize the students using their finger to follow the words and really trying to sound out words that they didn't know. At times the language and skill variability made things very difficult, but having an alphabet chart handy, going over alphabet sounds, breaking up words, and working with learners later on in the day really seemed to help. If some books seem a little too long or difficult, there was nothing wrong with the volunteer helping to finish the story. Keeping a flexible and relaxed mind is very helpful. It is important to remember that the students are on their holiday and this experience should be fun and exciting for them. Making animal sounds, imitating certain parts of the story, and attempting to learn and speak their native language always brought a nice sense of comfort and relaxation to the sessions. We always felt it very important to show the students that we appreciate and love their culture and language. Lots of laughs and smiles came every time we tried to speak it! Don't be afraid to get them out of their seats! Try and picture it as if you are reading with a younger sibling, cousin, or neighbor. Having a learner gain a love for reading is the best gift you can give them! The second 20-minute part of the session is meant to be concentrated on writing. It normally involved pulling words or sentences from the story and having the learners write them and then relate to them by adding a sentence. For instance, for a book about animals, they could write: Many animals live in the desert. It is dry. Then they could write a sentence about their favorite animal or an animal of their choice that lives in the desert. Sky is the limit! You can set how many words or sentences they write according to their abilities. Shelley has lots of word cards that you can use to help the learners, but again, you really want to emphasize them trying to sound out the words and spell them on their own. Even if the word is slightly wrong, at least they are getting the practice of sounding it out! Please be mindful of erasing! The learners are constantly aiming to please and looking for reassurance. This can cause the writing part to take a very long time! If it is necessary, you may want to hide the eraser or keep it in your hand and erase their work when needed. They can also draw an illustration to go along with their sentences if there is time. They all love to color! The last 20 minutes of the session involved playing a word card or board game of some sort. The learners would pick a card with an animal or object in it. They would then have to try and spell that word, read it, or sound it out (depending on their ability level). If they got the word correct, they could then roll the dice and move along the board! The learners always loved this part of the session! Again, helping the students to sound out the word and spell it on their own is very important. If they miss a letter or two, you can help them correct it and then allow them to move along the board. Shelley provided so many games for us, but if you know of any fun ones, bring them along! The only down fall we ran into at times was that we ran out of time to play the game. The writing part is very important and strongly emphasized and it was very easy to get carried away! It was always promised that the game could be played for a few minutes in the beginning of the next day's session. Greatest Rewards At the end of our two-week holiday session, it was very difficult to say goodbye to the library and all of the learners. We did hold a small certificate/prize giving celebration for all of the learners and their parents. We hand them certificates and gave them some small prizes that were generously given to us by the Fish Hoek Library. 'The volunteers must not leave,' one of the parents stood up and said. We all had tears in our eyes for the overwhelming amount of appreciation we received from the parents, staff, and learners. Another parent said, 'I am very proud about the teachers who volunteer themselves to help our children improve reading and writing. Keep it up lovely teachers!' It was a very memorable experience that none of us will ever forget!