So I showed up and asked some kids where Jasminka's mom, the teacher was. They giggled and didn't say anything. Then luckily I saw one of the English teachers, Pavlina, who helped me find Kata's classroom. Kata informed me that we would go to the teacher's lounge, so the three of us walked there. There were tons of teachers hanging around in there, smoking, talking, watching war coverage on the television. I cautiously averted my eyes from the television but no one seemed to glare at me. I figured out that there are thirty minute pauses between morning classes... good grief.
The kids were playing outside, screaming, running amok with zero adult supervision. Finally a bell rang, but no one seemed to notice. I sat, drinking tea someone had brought for me, conversing with some of the other teachers who were amazed at how much Macedonian I know for four months. I was told that a speech was going to be read by the Biology teacher Valentina, about the environment. Suddenly, a second bell rang, and the teachers slowly started getting up, putting on their long uniform smocks. I followed them down the hall, and out a side door, where tons of children were amassed, talking. Smaller kids were in the front, and everyone was packed unnecessarily close together with no teachers in the crowd. When I stepped out onto the top stair with a few other teachers, and smiled down at them, there was a near dead-silence. They gazed up at me, in various styles of dress and cleanliness, some with little hats on, all with big eyes looking at the American.
Valentina read from four pages of handwritten notes, nearly shouting, about the state of the environment that we find ourselves in. Whenever one of the kids would whisper something, a teacher standing nearby would hiss out a warning, or snap out something gutturally. As Valentina was shouting like a dictator, and the kids were all ears, some older kids randomly walked around by the playground, where a big stray dog was sleeping. Some plastic bags and other random garbage blew through the front of where the kids were listening, and one older girl stepped on a chip bag to keep it from rattling, later kicking it away from her while her friend giggled.
After the speech, all the teachers abruptly turned and went back into the hall. I waved to the kids with a grin, and they grinned back, and I followed the teachers inside. I don't know if this was the most effective way to talk to the kids about the environmental problems of today, reading to them off a page, and then that's it. I would have hoped more for an activity, a discussion, something more interactive. But since I did not understand everything that was said, it was hard for me to know how exactly to feel about it.
I spent the next couple of hours with Kata in her classroom. When we walked in, the students were all seated, and they immediately rose and said "DO-BAR DEN" in long, drawn-out voices the same way little kids in the States would say, "GOOD AF-TER-NOOOON MIS-SUS BROOOWN". The first hour was an exhausting conversation with Kata about everything hanging on the walls, or traditonal cultural items like wool looms and pottery in the back of the class on a table. She spoke only to me, and the kids sat patiently, watching. Numerous times I turned to them and smiled, because I felt kind of bad that they were being ignored. Finally, the bell rang, and there was another break. We left, while several children remained alone in the classroom, which gave me pause.
We went back to the teacher's lounge, and sat, and sat, and sat. The second part of the third graders' class was story-reading, and then all of the kids eagerly came to the front of the class and stood anxiously before me, reciting from memory ecology poems they had written. When finished, they went hastily back to their seats. One little boy struck me because when he stood to speak, he stuttered terribly. I couldn't understand a word, and I looked sharply at the other students, expecting them to laugh. Their faces were expressionless, and I smiled at him encouragingly. I then recognized him as the little boy I always see near my building, playing. He smiled back at me.
When class was over, Kata graciously told me to come to her house anytime. She offered to help me study language, or to practice conversation. When I finally left to go home, I felt good inside. This was one of the days where I felt like I belonged here, like I could do something that mattered. I didn't feel scared, peeved, confused, I just felt good. I walked to the store to buy bread to make a lunch sandwich, and the kids playing outside shrieked their greetings.