English Language Week

In Ukrainian society, everyone has their day. The Soviet Union, as a part of their efforts to instill a collectivist mentality, mandated a holiday for all possible non-ethnic subgroups. There is a Victory Day, which seems appropriate enough, and an Army day, and a Women’s day, and two Men’s days, nothing all too out of the ordinary. But there is also a Teachers’ day, and a Volunteers day, and a Dentists’ day, and a Tourism day, and so on, and so on, and so on.

And just as every profession has its day, in a Ukranian School, everyone has their week. There is a math week and a physics week, a technology week and a Ukranian language week. I’ve been wanting to contribute for some time, so I thought to myself, why not have an English language week, as well?

While I first kicked the idea around with my fellow teachers last November, it was only at the beginning of February that I was informed that we would be having an English language week. And that it would start in just over two weeks. Nothing like have to get things moving on the fly.

Most of these weeks tend to be much of the same: a few contests, maybe a crossword puzzle, and a heavily scripted skit where a few students will memorize their lines and the rest will awkwardly read off of sheets of paper. I wanted to try something new---thats why I’m here, isn’t it? But new is always a struggle here, in a village where traditions are older than anyone can remember.

On Monday, I came into school a bit early, and wrote out on 8 1/2 by 11 pieces of paper simple English words with their Ukrainian translation. Dog. Sobaka. Cat. Kit. Door. Dveri. School. Shkola. 50 pages in tow, I headed to the first grade classroom. Placing the piles of paper in front of them, I asked them to draw the words in front of them. By the end of the day the halls were lined with illustrated vocabulary.

Additionally, I announced that for the entirety of the week, five items in the two village stores would be English-only. Pechivo would be cookies and tsukerki candy, buluchkas would be rolls and shokolad would be chocolate, students from ages 6-16 forced to say an english word, albeit a sugary one.

On Tuesday, we held an event we entitled “global tourist.” We assigned each grade from 8th to 11th an english speaking country. They had to research the country, make a presentation, and then ask the other grades questions about their presentation. It was, I feel safe to say, a resounding failure. Few students really learned any facts, most read awkwardly off of sheets of paper.

On Wednesday our week was interrupted by a Ukrainian holiday, roughly translated as “Defense of the Homeland Day,” although it is really some variation on a celebration of men. Women are supposed to buy men gifts and celebrate their contribution to Ukrainian society. The female teachers at our school decided to end school 40 minutes early and cooked a huge feast. The food was good, but they tried to mix it with a bit too much vodka for my taste. When I told them I could not drink, that I had lessons after school, they told me to cancel the lessons.

Thursday was the big day for the week. For the two weeks of preparation, Vitalina and I had been teaching every grade, 1st-11th, an English song. The songs varied from “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” for the first graders to “Yankee Doodle” for Sixth grade to a hodge-podge of music by The Beatles for 8th-11th. Two of my guitar students in the tenth form even learned how to play Let it be on the guitar. It all culminated in a huge school-wide concert, whose result was the polar opposite of the country reports. Most of the grades learned their songs quite well, the little kids were adorable, and smiles were visible all around. It felt pretty good.

It had been a tough few weeks for me at site, a lot of work to be done and seemingly little time to do it. Our business plan is in full throw and our school newspaper is a bit stagnant. Peace Corps always emphasizes that we need to create something sustainable. And while a new business and a newspaper and garbage cans might have some more permanent elements, knowing how to sing Yellow Submarine likely does not.

I think one of the lessons I’ve started to learn is that not everything I do has to be life altering, as hard as it can sometimes be to place my still vibrant youthful idealism on the back burner. A couple of village youth learning the words to The Beatles and the Alphabet Song and Jingle Bells won’t change the world. But the teachers have a day and the men have a day and the women have a day and the army has a day and tourism has a day. For me, that Thursday was a really great day, and that feels important, too.