On Being a Teacher


“MY STUDENTS!” Tanita screams, as she leaps up from the couch. I look down at my phone and see that it’s 5:59, and Tanita is about to be late for her 6 pm tutoring session. It’s Sunday evening and, like the vast majority of the students, me and my girls have been hanging out and enjoying the last few moments of the weekend before the week starts back up again. We’re watching a movie (The Notebook, because 16 year olds are 16 year olds everywhere you go) which Tanita has been dying to see ever since she devoured the book last year. She can’t stay to watch the end though, because her students are waiting for her.

Tanita is one of my 18 girls, now in her second year. She’s completely fluent in English (and French, and of course her native language, Kinyarwanda, and she’s in the process of learning Hebrew too) and she spends a lot of time thinking about her peers who are less linguistically advanced than she is. One of the major philosophies of the Village is that students should not spend their time thanking us – the educators, donors, or Village founders and leaders. Rather, our students are encouraged to use their skills to pay it forward, thus increasing the impact on the community. Tanita, whose talents, skills, and abilities can – and have, on several occasions – brought crowds to awed appreciation, has the potential to create breathtaking ripples of impact once she figures out how she’ll pay it forward.

She’s already begun though, with our first- year students. She works with Patrick, my current Minister of Foreign Affairs, who’s now in his fourth and final year at ASYV. Last year, Patrick started tutoring the first-year students – Tanita’s classmates – in English. He and Tanita became good friends through the Debate Team and when Patrick realized his schedule this year would be too difficult to maintain, he enlisted Tanita to pick up the tutoring baton. Pick it up she did, and now she, usually along with Patrick, and one or two occasional others, runs hour-long tutoring sessions three or four times a week.

I check in with Tanita sometimes to update her on what I’m teaching in class. I give her copies of classwork, tell her when my students have homework, and help her find resources whenever she asks. The rest is up to her. She schedules classes, takes attendance, and scolds students who miss class or come late. Yesterday she came to me asking for (read: demanding) printed lyrics to songs, as well as downloaded mp3 files of the songs, a flash drive to store the files on, and the Library speakers. Why? Because she wants to work on pronunciation this week and the best way to teach vocabulary and pronunciation and not bore the kids to death is to teach them a song. She’s a genius.

Back to Sunday. It’s now 6:30ish and my movie has ended. I’m walking home and I pass a building where I can hear a group of students singing. I sneak a look through the window and sure enough, there she is. My 16-year-old tutor, running a classroom of about 15 students, more or less her own age. She’s singing at the top of her voice, while the other students are hunched over the lyrics, doing their best to mimic her pronunciation. I spend about thirty seconds trying to decide if my presence will be distracting, and then I take a step into the room so I can enjoy them a bit more comfortably. Tanita catches me watching her and just smiles as she continues – she used to me coming over to watch kids do their thing, so she doesn’t falter when I invade her space uninvited. Her students smile a little self-consciously, but they know they’re being watched so they continue on attentively. Patrick sees me in the doorway and he comes over to say hi.

“This is amazing Patrick! I’m so proud of what you’ve started! I can’t believe all these kids are here on a Sunday afternoon.”

“I know! You can’t even understand,” he says, with his big eyes smiling the sheepish smile of a teenage boy whose been caught doing good.

“Can’t understand what?”

“You just can’t even understand how amazing they are! They’re all just such incredible students!” he responds.

“Oh Patrick,” I laugh, as I start to head back home, “I think I understand just fine.”


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