Finding Balance: Claret Volunteering

Throughout the semester I've been going to Colegio Claret, a private Catholic school for grades k-8 (or like the Spanish version of that) every Wednesday to volunteer with the same class of students, ages 14-15, during their English period. I practice English with them, doing whatever lesson the teacher sends me the night before. I never really talked about it much, but until the last day I went I absolutely dreaded this 2-hour span of my week. The class itself was too old to have a person like me come in and try to demand their attention. They just didn't care what I had to say, and when the teacher would send me a recommendation of what to talk about, it would be so vague I would have to make things up on the spot every week. I spent half the time just pleading everyone to please be quiet. I honestly didn't think they got much out of it at all, they seemed so bored with me, and only 3 or so students out of the entire class of 30 answered any of my questions or spoke up at all. But the actual hour of class time wasn't even what I loathed about Claret. It was getting there. It's way too far to walk, and I had a class that ended at 12:00 on Wednesdays and my volunteering began at 12:30. The bust stop was too far away to walk there and then catch the bus to the nearest stop by the school, and then walk to the school from there. So, Sevici-ing was my only option. And when I say I had to book it there, I am not exaggerating one iota. We're talking no looking both ways before crossing the street just making a mad dash for it, pedaling until my quads were throbbing and then pedaling some more, dripping sweat when I finally arrived- the whole shabang. One day early in the semester when it was still frigid in the afternoons it was also raining and I had to wrap any loose articles of clothing I could around my laptop in my backpack so it didn't get ruined, and when I got to the school I was a complete mess. The class made fun of me the entire day for not taking the bus (which I couldn't, but they just didn't understand, or care). When it started getting warmer a new problem arose. There's a million Sevici stations near the school, but somehow everyone needed to bike to that area of town at the exact time that I did and by the time I arrived, there were none open to be found. Twice I biked until I had a minute left on my bike rental, and I had to frantically bike back and forth on the street, scavenging for any new action on the bike-checking-out front.

The task of getting to my last day of Claret was no different. Except maybe that it was twice as hard since Rachael came with me and we had to maneuver two bikes in the war zone instead of just one. Oh and it was raining and cold. Oh and when, at one point when I looked back to see if Rachael was still behind me, the bike turned the wrong way and on the slick ground I did a baseball slide for a few feet, landing totally on my side with the bike on top of me. An old man biking past me shouted "esta bien chica??" but never actually slowed down to hear my answer. It was just the suddenness of falling, and the frustration of needing to find two empty spots in 5 minutes, but I teared up when I tried to shout at him "estoy bien gracias!" I looked pitiful. All this mess for a stupid commitment required by our school, which neither party really gets anything out of- or so I thought. We found one spot for R's bike, but I honestly thought I was going to have to leave her outside in the rain with mine while I went in for my hour of misery (which I hated the thought of because I wanted her to meet the kids, didn't want to leave her out in the cold, and I didn't want to pay all that extra change for keeping the bike over 30 minutes). But just in scene-from-a-movie time, someone checked out a bike across the street, and all was fixed. Great note to end on for my time at Claret.

But no, this one is better: when I got to class today Rufino, the English teacher (not English at all) told me today would be different. The students were going to teach me a lesson instead of vice versa. Some girls came up and showed a PowerPoint of a pilgrimage that happens around this time of year in Sevilla, one boy came up with a recipe for salmorejo written down for me, one kid wanted to teach me a magic trick (pushing down on my arm as I pushed up, and after 30 seconds when he let go, my arm magically raised above my head), but the cream of the crop were the kids that taught me some Sevillana dancing. They all sang a traditional Sevillana song, with words that meant they were sad that I was leaving. It was truly sweet, and in a totally non-sappy kind of way. They continued playing and singing the song as a couple got up and demonstrated the first 4 steps to the dance, and then another girl got up with me as I tried to keep up with them. I definitely wasn't getting it all right, but when the song ended the entire class clapped and cheered for me. I don't know why I didn't see some of their smiling faces before (actually I'm not entirely sure they were making them). But now they all seemed so happy that I was there that I felt like I might actually mean something to them. Rufino presented me with a giant card, signed by all the kids, for me to take home.

So no, Claret is not my favorite place in the world; the kids are rowdy, there isn't much organization, even the teachers' lounge is like a madhouse (when I walked in there one day when I arrived early I was shocked to see teachers standing on chairs, all talking over each other while their colleagues were reading or grading papers, definitely not using their indoor voices or acting much like professionals, it seemed to me)... but this one day may have made my whole experience almost worthwhile. And Rachael was there to capture the whole thing with photos (minus the baseball slide in the rain).

The arm-raising game. Notice the board- it says: "Have you enjoyed with us?" And there's a meter shaded in so that however high my hand goes up, that's much I 'enjoyed with them'