A motorbike rumbles by on the gravel road out front at Kampung Kumpul. Two adults with a child squeezed between. Viana. I listen until the engine stops further down the street, and then comes a flapping sound. Flap-flap-flap. It is the sound made by Viana's flip-flops as she runs back up to the street to my door. It seems to take her forever to get here, but she is, after all, only 10, and rather short in the leg, and just a little bit overweight.
"Meester!" she calls.
"Hello, Viana."
She rattles off something in Indonesian.
"Huh?"
She sighs.
"Meester," she begins again. "Can. You. Help. Me. With. English?"
'Sure. What do you want to know?"
"Wait."
Viana flaps off again. Flap-flap-flap. Like a small flock of birds. After a time, she comes flapping back, lugging a school book, a tablet. Out of breath.
"Meester, I don't understand," she says.
So we take her books to the patio area at the back of the villa where there is a table and chairs. She opens the book, slaps the page as if the book itself has done something to offend her, and repeats emphatically that she does not understand.
"Well, English is hard," I say.
"Yayss."
"So, what part don't you understand?"
Viana flips through about 10 pages or so, pointing to each as she goes.
"This."
"Oh, good Lord."
"Yayss."
"Okay, let's take a look."
The trouble is, I don't understand either. Page one, for instance, asks us what street the post office is on, what street the police station is on, what street the library is on. How should we know?
Viana is dumbfounded as well.
"I mean, it must say somewhere."
Viana sighs. She flips back through the damnable book, finally locating a map.
"This?"
"Yes, that must be it. See, here's the post office."
"How do you know?"
"Because it says 'Post Office'. You see?"
"No. I can't speak English."
Hmm. Apparently, teaching is going to be more difficult than I thought.
But we get that done, and move on to page 2 of 10. This one shows a big square with hundreds of random letters. We are to pick out English words that pertain to previous exercises. I hate these sorts of puzzles. Even in good health without a headache, I hate these sorts of puzzles. I struggle to find even one word in this sea of consonants, while Viana rapidly picks out one after another.
"Aktikann!"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it's not a word."
"Stoobret!"
"No."
"Wumplly?"
"What's a wumplly?"
"An animal?"
"No."
Finally, I pick out a couple, and Viana, by miraculous accident, picks out one herself.
"Yayss!" she says. "Only seven more."
This time we sigh together.
"Viana, how can you learn English if you don't know any English at all?"
"Yayss," she agrees.
Page three wants us to say fifteen things about a picture showing three people and a desk.
"I've never seen a more stupid way of teaching English," I say.
Viana agrees.
"Viana, did your teacher really give you ten pages of English homework in one day, or have you been saving this all week?"
"Yayss," she said. "I mean, No. Yesterday, Meester not here."
"So, essentially, it is my fault?"
"Yayss."
On we go, page to page. Viana is drooping. Her head hits the table.
"Hey, don't give up. We've only got six pages to go."
She gazes at me thoughtfully and says, "Meester, where is the laptop?"
"No laptop. Homework first."
"Ughh."
"You want to be smart, don't you?"
"No. I want to be Balinese singer and dancer."
"Ah. Well, that probably is the best choice, after all."
"Yayss."
So, we power through the remainder of the pages, trying to learn English from lessons that are written in poor English to begin with and seem focused, in any case, on teaching nothing in particular, until finally the trial is over, the laptop is produced, and Viana happily pursues her study of Balinese dance through instructive YouTube videos. She dances, she sings; I listen, I watch--and Yayss, the world makes perfect sense again.
"Meester!" she calls.
"Hello, Viana."
She rattles off something in Indonesian.
"Huh?"
She sighs.
"Meester," she begins again. "Can. You. Help. Me. With. English?"
'Sure. What do you want to know?"
"Wait."
Viana flaps off again. Flap-flap-flap. Like a small flock of birds. After a time, she comes flapping back, lugging a school book, a tablet. Out of breath.
"Meester, I don't understand," she says.
So we take her books to the patio area at the back of the villa where there is a table and chairs. She opens the book, slaps the page as if the book itself has done something to offend her, and repeats emphatically that she does not understand.
"Well, English is hard," I say.
"Yayss."
"So, what part don't you understand?"
Viana flips through about 10 pages or so, pointing to each as she goes.
"This."
"Oh, good Lord."
"Yayss."
"Okay, let's take a look."
The trouble is, I don't understand either. Page one, for instance, asks us what street the post office is on, what street the police station is on, what street the library is on. How should we know?
Viana is dumbfounded as well.
"I mean, it must say somewhere."
Viana sighs. She flips back through the damnable book, finally locating a map.
"This?"
"Yes, that must be it. See, here's the post office."
"How do you know?"
"Because it says 'Post Office'. You see?"
"No. I can't speak English."
Hmm. Apparently, teaching is going to be more difficult than I thought.
But we get that done, and move on to page 2 of 10. This one shows a big square with hundreds of random letters. We are to pick out English words that pertain to previous exercises. I hate these sorts of puzzles. Even in good health without a headache, I hate these sorts of puzzles. I struggle to find even one word in this sea of consonants, while Viana rapidly picks out one after another.
"Aktikann!"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it's not a word."
"Stoobret!"
"No."
"Wumplly?"
"What's a wumplly?"
"An animal?"
"No."
Finally, I pick out a couple, and Viana, by miraculous accident, picks out one herself.
"Yayss!" she says. "Only seven more."
This time we sigh together.
"Viana, how can you learn English if you don't know any English at all?"
"Yayss," she agrees.
Page three wants us to say fifteen things about a picture showing three people and a desk.
"I've never seen a more stupid way of teaching English," I say.
Viana agrees.
"Viana, did your teacher really give you ten pages of English homework in one day, or have you been saving this all week?"
"Yayss," she said. "I mean, No. Yesterday, Meester not here."
"So, essentially, it is my fault?"
"Yayss."
On we go, page to page. Viana is drooping. Her head hits the table.
"Hey, don't give up. We've only got six pages to go."
She gazes at me thoughtfully and says, "Meester, where is the laptop?"
"No laptop. Homework first."
"Ughh."
"You want to be smart, don't you?"
"No. I want to be Balinese singer and dancer."
"Ah. Well, that probably is the best choice, after all."
"Yayss."
So, we power through the remainder of the pages, trying to learn English from lessons that are written in poor English to begin with and seem focused, in any case, on teaching nothing in particular, until finally the trial is over, the laptop is produced, and Viana happily pursues her study of Balinese dance through instructive YouTube videos. She dances, she sings; I listen, I watch--and Yayss, the world makes perfect sense again.
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