I've said it before and I will say it again: There's never a dull moment at Thandokhulu. From the very first day of my internship until now, my days have been occupied to capacity with the work my fellow colleagues have been kind enough to "loan" me during my short stay at the school. I grade papers, make photocopies, proctor exams, create assignments for class, and generally assist students (and Ms. Bopi) in class in any way I can. Most importantly (to me, anyway), when given the opportunity, I've attempted, to the best of my ability, to teach the learners what I know (and love) about literature and poetry.
As of late, I've given a lot of thought (as opposed to just toying with the idea as I've done in the past) of applying for a post with Teach For America after I graduate from UConn. The frighteningly inconsistent nature of the job market is incentive enough to pursue a position teaching for this highly regarded NPO, but this fact is hardly my only motivation for applying (nor should it be). If accepted to the program, I would get the opportunity to share my academic passions with my students on a daily basis and have it qualify as work. Sounds great, doesn't it? I thought so, too.
And yet, in thinking on my experiences with teaching at Thandokhulu, I've forced me to ask myself if I'm really prepared for weathering the high highs and low lows of teaching in an underprivileged school. On one hand, you get to see the progress each student makes, the positive impact your efforts have on their lives, and the look on their eyes when they really "get" what you're trying to teach them. At the same time, you have to be prepared to face how poorly organized and under-resourced the school is, how hopelessly ill-suited some of your co-workers are for their jobs, how much potential the learners have that they just don't use, and how much you could accomplish if you had just a bit more time to work, more energy to expend, more money to spend, more…
In reading some of the experiences of former TFA teachers (and in speaking very briefly to Testing Hope filmmaker Molly Blank about her own experiences with TFA), I've found that my conflicting emotions about teaching at Thandokhulu were echoed in the their stories and advice. In these personal accounts of their experiences, I found that there wasn't a single person who claimed that their stint with education wasn't rewarding, at least some of the time. And yet, a common thread in the posts I've come across was the plea to potential applicants not to apply if they weren't in it for the kids. Having opened this Pandora's Box, I continued to read, and came across this higly discouraging little gem of advice:
"The chances are good that, if you become a TFA teacher (or any teacher, really), most of your students will have little to no initial interest in what you teach. They will not bring to the study of lipids or the analysis of novels the same enthusiasm and energy that you do. Many of them may regard school as a prison, your classroom as a cell, and you as their warden. Your lessons? Just more instruments of oppression. Some students will take pleasure in deriding the subjects that you obviously find most interesting… If you love a particular subject above all else and don’t care as much about kids, consider grad school. Reconsider TFA. "
Without ever having participated in TFA, I can honestly say I know exactly how the person who wrote this feels. There is nothing like the feeling of sharing something you love with students and having them openly mock you for your passion. There is nothing worse than having to wake a student who fell asleep when you were flailing around in front of the classroom in an effort to convince them of the importance of themes in poetry or iambic pentameter. And there is nothing worse than coming to the cold, cruel realization that maybe, just maybe, what you're teaching them isn't important in the grand scheme of things. You start to wonder whether interpreting Sonnet 104 is necessary when the kids you're teaching go home to an impoverished township and deal with things that you've never had to even contemplate, let alone deal with on a regular basis. When the warm, cozy blanket of Academia (the same one that allows all of us English majors to aspire to having careers that are rewarding AND pay well waiting for us when we graduate) gets yanked away, it isn't any fun, let me tell you. The trials and travails of teaching could turn even the most optimistic, energetic human being on the Earth into an eternally miserable pessimist. Anyone who really knows me will tell you I've been cynical since birth, so it's not much of a stretch for me to imagine me reaching the figurative end of my teaching rope in frustration.
There is still time to decide whether or not I could "hack it" for two years at TFA, and I still have a lot of soul searching left to do before I'll know if I'd be doing it for all the right reasons, but the short time I've spent at Thandokhulu has taught me a great deal about myself and my capacity for the teaching profession. For every reason I have to feel frustrated, there are at least one hundred instances where I know I've made a difference here. It is those times that I rely on for strength when I feel discouraged or frustrated at Thandokhulu. There are reasons to hope that what I'm doing will make a difference someday, and at this moment in my life, that is what is important.
The time I have left here will continue to try my teaching endurance in ways I never imagined it could be stretched, pulled, prodded, and otherwise abused. I've always had a grudging respect for those unshakably tough veteran teachers I had in school, but in my time student-teaching, that respect has evolved into something akin to hero worship. On that vein, I'd like to take the opportunity to figuratively bow down to every great teacher I've ever had. If you've managed to stand the test of time in the field of education, and more importantly, to inspire your students to want to learn while you were at it, you are worth your weight in pedagogic gold, and I salute you. As a pseudo-member of your ranks, I'm begging you: teach me!
