Hunger for Learning

Uliga and Rita, the two towns on the northeast end of Majuro, are two of the lowest income communities on island. For my very first taste of being an educator in the Marshall Islands, I got the pleasure of working with kids from these towns in a summer camp.

The summer camp is just a thinly veiled ploy to get warm bodies into chairs so volunteers, such as myself, will have a tiny glimpse of what they have gotten themselves into. The way that they get kids to skip the tail-end of their summer vacation is to literally drive a minibus down the street and herd kids on.

I was paired with three other volunteers and we were teaching basic music to fifth and sixth graders.

For my part specifically I was in charge of reading the kids a story about the sounds we hear all around us and how people can use those sounds in music. Before I got up in front of the kids I was not nervous at all. I had a good story, I had a good plan and I have always enjoyed an ability to connect with young people — I thought I was set.

Turns out I was wrong.

First of all, the minute I stood in front of the class, my mouth went completely dry and my shirt sucked onto my body with sweat.

I asked them how they were doing.

No one spoke.

I asked them if they wanted to read a book with me.

Nothing.

I read them a book and asked them what they thought.

Crickets.

I immediately had a ridiculous amount of respect for each and every one of my teachers I have ever had. I can’t imagine needing to think of things for me and every other trouble-making kid I grew up with to do every day. I don’t know why every classroom in the country is not experiencing riots all of the time.

Being up there in front of so many eyes made me nervous at any hint of silence and so I started to rush through everything I planned.

When I found out that the copies of the story I handed out were in the wrong order, I brushed past them instead of stopping and trying to salvage them. When the kids didn’t understand my vocabulary words right away, I moved onto the next thing.

The problem was, I had no next thing, and the kids were growing restless. Suddenly my lesson on sound was extremely acute to only one person in the room — me.

There came the uncomfortable sounds of shifting desks and low murmuring. The kids were asking what time it was and I was sure that if I didn’t do something soon I would have a spirited, if not bloody, rebellion on my hand. The situation called for drastic actions.

Recess.

In the classroom with me was a local American teacher who had been observing me.

“Don’t get too down on yourself,” he told me after the kids had filed out. “This is your first time teaching, and most of these kids are just really hungry.”

I walked outside and saw my whole class hunkered down against the wall, ravenously eating their lunches that were provided by my program.

Suddenly the draw of summer camp became clear; it was a chance to eat a warm and ready meal.

These kids came from Uliga and Rita where finding a job can sometimes be tough and eating breakfast is no sure thing.

They didn’t need my lesson on noises, the rumbling of their stomach was making racket enough.

The love you give comes back in the end.
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