This morning I returned to the university to begin the Spring semester. Last night I was busy preparing my notes, trying to tap into the teaching mojo I built up in the Fall. It's been a long time since my last class. I last taught on December 21st, 2010, and this wasn't a 'true' class, I only listened to students deliver oral presentations. I delivered my last lecture the first week of December. So this morning, on my way to campus, I was a little nervous. It's amazing how much we can forget after three months.
To a certain extent, my nerves got the best of me. My lecture was rigid, I found myself explaining information that I could have evoked from my students, the questions I asked were poorly worded, either too obvious or too abstract. I could sense my struggles, so I reverted to my natural defense mechanism: sarcasm. The only problem is that sarcasm doesn't work with first year university students with only a few semesters of English study under their belts. So with every joke that fell flat I grew increasingly anxious. The notes I had prepared evaded my memory, and I just kept stumbling along, worried about how I would fill the remaining 2.5 hours of class.
Thankfully, I was saved. 45 minutes into my lecture, my class welcomed some very special visitors. My good friends, the Riffaqis (the Comrades, or the Socialist Students Union), had returned to liberate my students from their oppressed states.
The moment they walked in I knew what they wanted. I let their leader speak to my class. My students listened attentively to him explain the purpose behind the protests and demonstrations. But they kept their notebooks open, pens at the ready. They seemed bored by a speech they've probably heard dozens of times. For a moment, I felt like they wanted him to shut up quickly so we could get back to class. And then he said the magic words (which I didn't understand), flicked his wrist, and my students, smiles beaming, packed up their bags and left class. I guess they didn't want to study after all.
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Morocco has not been immune to the unrest affecting the entire Middle East and North Africa region. February 20th was the nation's 'day of anger', and many Moroccans took to the streets in protest of government corruption and socioeconomic stagnation. To be true, these demonstrations were much smaller and less energetic than those that initiated the revolutions in Egypt, Tunisia and Libya, and there has been little unrest since February 20th. Nonetheless, the concerns voiced by Moroccans on that day are legitimate, so much so that King Mohammed VI delivered an historic speech last week initiating major political and social reforms, including a "deep revision" of the constitution and a reduction of his executive powers.
What does this have to do with the university? Moroccan universities, like those in most countries, are centers of political activism. Two student groups, the Ikhwanis (Islamists) and the Riffaqis, dominate campuses all across the country, organizing protests and demonstrations whenever they see fit. These are not "student groups" like the chess club or the dance team, they are more like labor unions of old. Violence is common (there was a knife fight between the Ikhwanis and Riffaqis during final exams at my university) and it's not uncommon for the government to call in their Pinkertons (aka the police) to break up prolonged student strikes.
There is no doubt these student groups have been anxiously awaiting their opportunity to capitalize on the February 20th protests. Starting a general strike on the first day of the new term sends one message to the Ministry of Education: promises are great, but we want what is ours now.
I knew the strike was coming. Yesterday I met with a student who told me I shouldn't get too excited to teach this week. But I didn't want to believe it. For all intents and purposes, I've been on a three month vacation. At this point in the year, I've spent more time out of school than in, and maybe that will continue. And while vacation is nice, that's not why I'm here. I'm here to try my damnedest to be an English teacher. I also crave the routine. It feels good to wake up in the morning with a sense of purpose, to go to class and return with a sense of accomplishment, however minor it may be. For now, I must wait to get back to that.
As I left the university this morning, a friend of mine passed a long a pearl of wisdom he heard from one of his teachers. It describes the school year in Morocco: "In Morocco, the school year is comprised of vacation which is cut off my intermittent time in class." When I described what happened this morning to a different friend of mine, she quipped, "who doesn't want a day off?"
From what I've seen so far this year, I can't help but agree.
To a certain extent, my nerves got the best of me. My lecture was rigid, I found myself explaining information that I could have evoked from my students, the questions I asked were poorly worded, either too obvious or too abstract. I could sense my struggles, so I reverted to my natural defense mechanism: sarcasm. The only problem is that sarcasm doesn't work with first year university students with only a few semesters of English study under their belts. So with every joke that fell flat I grew increasingly anxious. The notes I had prepared evaded my memory, and I just kept stumbling along, worried about how I would fill the remaining 2.5 hours of class.
Thankfully, I was saved. 45 minutes into my lecture, my class welcomed some very special visitors. My good friends, the Riffaqis (the Comrades, or the Socialist Students Union), had returned to liberate my students from their oppressed states.
The moment they walked in I knew what they wanted. I let their leader speak to my class. My students listened attentively to him explain the purpose behind the protests and demonstrations. But they kept their notebooks open, pens at the ready. They seemed bored by a speech they've probably heard dozens of times. For a moment, I felt like they wanted him to shut up quickly so we could get back to class. And then he said the magic words (which I didn't understand), flicked his wrist, and my students, smiles beaming, packed up their bags and left class. I guess they didn't want to study after all.
---
Morocco has not been immune to the unrest affecting the entire Middle East and North Africa region. February 20th was the nation's 'day of anger', and many Moroccans took to the streets in protest of government corruption and socioeconomic stagnation. To be true, these demonstrations were much smaller and less energetic than those that initiated the revolutions in Egypt, Tunisia and Libya, and there has been little unrest since February 20th. Nonetheless, the concerns voiced by Moroccans on that day are legitimate, so much so that King Mohammed VI delivered an historic speech last week initiating major political and social reforms, including a "deep revision" of the constitution and a reduction of his executive powers.
What does this have to do with the university? Moroccan universities, like those in most countries, are centers of political activism. Two student groups, the Ikhwanis (Islamists) and the Riffaqis, dominate campuses all across the country, organizing protests and demonstrations whenever they see fit. These are not "student groups" like the chess club or the dance team, they are more like labor unions of old. Violence is common (there was a knife fight between the Ikhwanis and Riffaqis during final exams at my university) and it's not uncommon for the government to call in their Pinkertons (aka the police) to break up prolonged student strikes.
There is no doubt these student groups have been anxiously awaiting their opportunity to capitalize on the February 20th protests. Starting a general strike on the first day of the new term sends one message to the Ministry of Education: promises are great, but we want what is ours now.
I knew the strike was coming. Yesterday I met with a student who told me I shouldn't get too excited to teach this week. But I didn't want to believe it. For all intents and purposes, I've been on a three month vacation. At this point in the year, I've spent more time out of school than in, and maybe that will continue. And while vacation is nice, that's not why I'm here. I'm here to try my damnedest to be an English teacher. I also crave the routine. It feels good to wake up in the morning with a sense of purpose, to go to class and return with a sense of accomplishment, however minor it may be. For now, I must wait to get back to that.
As I left the university this morning, a friend of mine passed a long a pearl of wisdom he heard from one of his teachers. It describes the school year in Morocco: "In Morocco, the school year is comprised of vacation which is cut off my intermittent time in class." When I described what happened this morning to a different friend of mine, she quipped, "who doesn't want a day off?"
From what I've seen so far this year, I can't help but agree.
Yeah, the girl I live with that goes to a different local uni had so many problems with strikes during her exams (she actually wanted to take them and prepared for them, to constantly have them moved). They haven't even started semester yet!
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