China Gray

Sorry for the delay. My internet has been very bad lately. I've been trying to post this for a week. As a result I am going to post two parts today. This is the second part. Part Three: The Classroom The classrooms all these diverse students wander through on a daily basis vary drastically in atmosphere and organization. In one class I visited, the teacher took on an ultra-strict persona. While she was introducing the material she walked around class. If any student misbehaved, a flick of her wrist and the student would stand up in shame, head lowered for dramatic effect. But 20 minutes into her class the students were organized and behaving. The same teacher, 30 minutes into class, set aside the ultra-strict persona to pick up one of more firm encouragement. She stopped making students stand and really focused on correcting any English errors. She, herself, jumped back and forth between English and Chinese. Whenever a single English word had different pronunciation

Sorry for the delay. My internet has been very bad lately. I've been trying to post this for a week. As a result I am going to post two parts today. Part Two: Standing Tall Broadly speaking, my students are in class for about six to eight hours between 8 am and 9:30 pm, Monday through Friday. Each class is two 45 minute segments with a ten minute break between. Prior to their 8 am class, most of my students go from bed to the running track for an hour or so of mandatory exercise. Between 7 am and 8 am the lucky majority run off to the cafeteria for breakfast. The standard entree seems to be two round pieces of bread that look similar to English muffins, though larger in size, with a saucy collection of meat and veges in between. In Chinese; “肉夹饼.” I’ve come to know the standard breakfast as the semester has progressed and the morning hours shift to other uses. As a natural result, breakfast is brought to the morning class, which I teach Monday through Thursday at 8 am. I wond

After speaking to my mom on Thanksgiving day, I've decided to post this longer piece in parts. She didn't like the already month and a half wait. At this point, I've written enough for three parts, but I expect to add more.  The Life of a Student:  At a Polytechnic Vocational School in Tianshui, Gansu, China Part One: Think of the Thoughts I haven't Had Yet Over the course of this past month I have taken extra effort to see my students in all of their colors. I’ve striven to observe their habits during class and their moods throughout the day as I encounter them on campus. When I see them engaged in an activity, I stop and watch. I ask them about what they are doing, or, more realistically, they proactively explain what they are doing. With an ecstatic smile a student might pull by my arm to a seat so that I can watch or listen as they practice their class’s song, or a new dance routine, or their special talent for the next event. Their enthusiasm seems

It was just last week that I begun teaching class. After three treacherous days of nothing going wrong and waking up at my normal time, national holiday began. Since I teach all freshman, I didn’t teach any classes the first four weeks at site. Instead, all my students were busy practicing goose stepping, military chants, and doing countless pushups as part of their freshman military training. This is all part of a regiment of social cohesion exercises that begins in middle school. The first chunk of time at the start of your first year in middle school, high school, and college is devoted to these military drills. They range in length from one week to five weeks, getting longer as you get older (though the exact durations vary between schools and provinces).  So the first four weeks I spent “integrating” into the community per Peace Corps goals. It was my conscious mindset and I made new friends. Kinda. The first new friend I made is also a teacher on campus. She also fre

Written  September 15th 2015 amid the afternoon silence from 1 pm to 230 pm everyday as the entire campus takes their afternoon naps or relaxes. It’s the little things that count. If you remember every birthday, without a Facebook, your friends will notice. If every time you take in a favor you send out a card or flowers, your friends will notice. If every time you step out the door and heads turn to survey the slender white fingers that poke out from your sweater, you notice. It’s the little things that count, and they can count for or against you. Just under two weeks ago I moved into my new home in Tianshui, Gansu, China. A humble abode of one bedroom, a kitchen, and a living room with just enough space to work through my yoga. I love my new home, despite any deficiencies I may find in my US-China comparisons.  [I've included a complete tour of my apartment at the end of this blog post.] When I walk down the five flights of stairs from my apartment and step ou

Written the morning after the below, September 4th, 2015. After three days of relentless cleaning I transformed my kitchen from a dust lined trash heap into a useable collection of aged appliances and cookware. I dropped most of my 700 rmb move in allowance on redoing my kitchen. Most importantly, I bought a new stainless steel wok.  This morning marked the day I would actually cook in my kitchen. After some serious thought I concluded I would make noodles (since my rice cooker was broken) with carrots and potatoes and an additional dish of cabbage. The carrots and potatoes would be lightly browned and ever so slightly sweetened. The cabbage was to be hit with high heat, salt to soften it (but left with some crisp), and some rice wine vinegar — a Chinese classic. I was so excited since the overwhelming majority of vegetables I had eaten in China were overcooked to my tastes. They always had a texture of no life. The exception to this was my host mom in Chengdu; she was a fanta

Written August 18th amid a whirlwind of fast approaching dates. The days do not cry of their own accord. No, I have banged my drums and spread my paint across the toes of mountains I will soon scale. I stand on the brink of a new adventure that is as monstrous as a silent room. The challenges I face are far above me. Their outlines are fuzzy, mixing with clouds and stars. I can not tell what is far and what is distant. I wonder: What is within reach and what is beyond the scope of two years as a volunteer? It was just over a week ago that they called us up, one by one, to dramatically pull from a box a name, below which a school and location was written; “Ben Elmakias” flip page “Gansu Industry Polytechnic College [break] Gansu, Tianshui.” I swooned like a human swirling in a puddle of expectation, prediction, hope, and reality. Reality is the water, the other three are the mud that give it a color worth examining.                 Gansu, as I under

View of the river that my Apartment complex sits next to. Typical scene of China: Old people dancing in the evening. View from Qingcheng Mountain just north of Chengdu. A weekend trip with the host family and relatives. Qingcheng Mountain again Chinese, TEFL, food, TEFL, Chinese, was the basic arc of my last week. This week is closer to: Chinese, TEFL, food, prep for teaching, teach, self/peer review. To summarize the period  between my last post and right now: brain blisters. Brain blisters are these spots on your brain that hurt whenever you think about the topic associated with that spot. To be clear, I’ve made this up. But this is kinda what a big chunk of my day feels like as I struggle to lift my foot high enough to get through the next threshold. I’m confident that through one I’ll find something soft to sleep on, or at least an air conditioner.  The past days have been sincerely arduous. Time has been tight and even tighter for me as I squander

Friday morning marked our final day at the hotel; we’re all moving on and out into our host family's homes. Each of us has a sheet of paper with their names, phone numbers, and two sentences to describe our life for the next (almost) 3 months: “The host mother works in a company as an administrative staff (sic). Her son is a 15-year-old boy.” Reality: she runs her own company but the boy really is 15 and probably will be for about a year or so. But, who can say for sure? As the Peace Corps manta goes “it depends.”  Ancient Street. I had actually just returned from lunch with Maria. We picked up some food from one of the many “C” rated restaurants around town. That’s a “C” for “didn’t pass a lot of health inspection guidelines.” It sat comfortably in my stomach as rain brushed across my don’t-shoot-me orange raincoat.  The reality of what was happening twisted my head from my neck as I watched Sarah walk past me with her new Chinese family and her next two years in suit