Hablo Español
When I entered third grade in Mexico, my first year of living here, I started school without knowing any Spanish (basically) at all. My mom had taught my siblings and I two useful phrases, "Me llamo Alicia" (My name is Alyse) and "No te entiendo" (I don't understand you). The first few weeks were a whirlwind, often resulting in me breaking down in tears in the classroom, and always resulting in me breaking down in tears at home. But we stuck with it. And slowly, I learned to speak the language that has wonderful, untranslatable words like "sazón."
At the start of my year here in Atlacomulco, the team at my office told me that my teachers would be telling the kids that I don't speak Spanish. At all. And while I've kept up this ruse for many months, I think that only little ones can believe that you understand them perfectly (and so are able to respond in English), but really are unable to cobble together a single Spanish word yourself.
As of this past week, though, the spell has been broken. I have revealed my secret to all of my kiddos, and their responses have been absolutely wonderful. It has gone like this.
The teacher I assist will set up the surprise. "I have a surprise," she'll say. Then, she will explain that it's not candy, stickers, or a made up story (but I have appreciated how many kids get excited at the idea of being told a story that I invented). Afterwards, she'll say that while they've been learning English, I've been learning something too.
You might think that all of the kids would catch on at this point, but many of them don't.
"Has she learned to dance?"
"Does she have a dog?"
"Has she learned to tell stories?"
And then it comes. "Hablo español," I will say.
The responses are mixed. Most of the kids do a kind of happy dance in their chairs and clap their hands. Some look utterly confused. One girl burst into tears (not of joy).
But my favorite part has been the sequence that follows, when the teacher asks if any of the kids have questions for me now that I can answer in Spanish. One girl almost leaped out of her chair with excitement.
She came to the front of the room to ask me, totally seriously, "Sabes coser ropa?" (Do you know how to sew clothes?" She continued, "because my mom doesn't know, and I want to learn."
Other kids have asked me how many siblings I have, whether I like swimming pools, where I live, and what my favorite fruit is. The life fact that draws the most alarm is my age. When I tell them that I am 22, every class, without fail, gasps or screams.
Finally, I asked one group, "Is that old or young?"
"OLD!," my students screamed.
I also love the conversations that my students are eager to have afterwards. In one class, a little girl named Sophie approached me at lunch (the same girl who had started crying when we told her the surprise). She is always eager to ask me translation questions, and she always, without fail, sneaks up, puts her chin incredibly close to my ear, and whispers her query. She is surprisingly quiet as she approaches, and I have had to learn to stop jumping when I first hear the quiet whisper of her non-private question.
This time, she whispered, "Can I tell you a joke?"
"Sure," I said.
"What did the turkey say to the bird?"
"I don't know, what did the turkey say to the bird?"
"Would you like to go to the movies?"
We both laughed for a while (but no, the joke isn't punny in Spanish, either).
There have been so many moments to cherish as I enter my last month here in Atlacomulco. And so many of them have come with the reveal of my surprise language skills.
Perhaps my favorite moment in all of these experiences, though, was in one of my classrooms this Wednesday. After the teacher asked whether the kids had any questions, one little student, wrapped in a paw print blanket, raised her hand.
"I have a question," she said. "Ahleez, when you go, I will miss you SO much. I love you SO much. I will give you lots of hugs and kisses so that you won't forget me."
How could I ever?
Even years after third grade, I have a hard time not bursting out in tears in my classroom. And it has nothing to do with the fact that many of my students don't really understand what "question" means, at all.
