For three months this
year I had the privilege of leading Writing
Through workshops in Cambodia, teaching children sponsored by Enfants du Mekong (EDM) how to write
poems and stories in English.
Fifty lessons, hundreds
of poems and stories and six “big events” later, almost 200 children have
received a ‘magic pencil’ and with it the new experience of writing creatively
in English.
The workshop represented
a lot of firsts. It marked one of the first large-scale projects funded by Children of the Mekong – the UK division
of EDM. It was Writing Through’s,
largest roll-out so far, and one of the first times founder Sue Guiney handed
over the reins to her carefully devised workshops. As for me, it was my first
formal experience of teaching, and my first time in south-east Asia.
The biggest first of
all was for the students. Answering a questionnaire before the workshop
started, almost half of them said they had never written a story before,
whether in Khmer or a foreign language. Just 28 per cent said they felt they “had
something important to say” and only 17 per cent said they “felt confident”
before the workshop started.
Their reservations
were understandable. The workshop, which includes group work, speaking in front
of the class, creativity and spontaneity, differs from the typical Cambodian
education style, which relies on rote learning and places a high importance on respecting
the teacher, rather than freedom of expression.
Added to this, reading
for pleasure is not common in Cambodia. The national literacy rate is around 73
per cent, and even lower in the poorer, rural areas where EDM’s sponsored
children come from. On bumpy bus rides between EDM centres in Bantaey Chhmar,
Sisophon, Samrong and Preah Vihear, I did not once see someone reading a book,
or even a
newspaper.
This context can make
teaching a challenge. Tell a group of English, French or American seven year
olds to write a story about anything they want, and most of them will start scribbling
away. Asking a group of 12, 15 or 21-year olds they are about to do the same,
and I was met with many blank, or plain terrified, faces.
Here is where the
careful structure of Writing Through
comes into its own. Through brainstorms, group discussions and visual prompts,
the students are gently nudged towards writing for themselves. As in any
classroom, confidence, ability and enthusiasm varied across the children, but by
writing first as a class and then individually or in small groups, students
were able to learn at their own pace.
Teaching face, Prear Vihear |
The theme of each
workshop was “Taking Risks”. Before each session, I showed the class
photographs. Some showed physical risks: a woman climbing a mountain; a girl
who had fallen off her bicycle; a man smoking a cigarette.
Some were emotional or
intellectual; and harder for some of the students to identify as ‘risks’. In
many cases, these inspired the most interesting work – an image of a boy crying
on his friend’s shoulder led to discussions about emotional risk and how the
students dealt with their problems. A picture of a Khmer couple on their
wedding day prompted initial exclamations of “Sah Aht Na!” or “Beautiful!”, but
often produced discussions about arguments, poverty and even alcoholism and
violence.
The students I taught ranged
both in their ages and their abilities. So did what they wrote about. For
younger children, talking animals and ghosts in the forests were perennial
favourites. University students in Battambang wrote an impressive anti-smoking
poem, including the catchy line: “When we smoke, we choke”. Traffic accidents, remained a constant, and
quite understandable, theme across groups.
The capacity for
conceptual thought also varied. In Preah Vihear, EDM’s newest centre, the Grade
11 and 12 students were shy about speaking out in class and tended to base
their stories and poems resolutely within their own province, often in their
high school. In Sisophon, EDM’s longest-standing Cambodian centre, the
confidence and ability of the students was more developed. My final groups wrote
sophisticated, Bollywood-inspired stories featuring poison, disguise, revenge
and romance across enemy lines. For them, several years learning in EDM had
made an obvious difference, as had regular film screenings and a well-stocked
library. I am confident that within a few years the students of Prear Vihear
could be at the same level.
Small group story in Prear Vihear centre |
One of my youngest students, Battambang |
In every centre I was
particularly touched by the student’s enthusiasm for learning English and their
apparently boundless curiosity about England and my life there. They were
surprised that I did not live with my parents, concerned that I did not usually
eat rice every day (or even every week), and were shocked that, unlike them, I
did not consider 6am to be a lie in, and in fact would have happily slept until
1pm when I was their age.
In turn, they told me
about their siblings, families, ambitions, favourite foods. The boys sang
mournful warbling Khmer songs after dinner, hand on heart, while their friends
sat with their heads bowed. I mastered my own interpretations of both Let it Go and My Heart will Go On, and came dangerously close to believing that
my singing was as “Sat Aht Na!” as they claimed it was.
One girl, Sali, a
Grade 10 student in Sisophon, told me that she was one of seven brothers and
sisters. Her youngest brother was “too lazy” to go to school, she told me, with
the classic distain of the older sibling. Her oldest siblings were working in
factories or at home with babies. Her 17-year-old brother wanted to continue to
learn but had no bicycle with which to travel the 20 km to the nearest High
School.
As the only one in
school, her working siblings sent money to help with her education. She laughed
as she told me that that is why she was the first to go to bed in her dorm, and
why she always missed the centre’s film screening on Sunday so she could study.
She brought out library books she was reading in English to show me and we
talked about our favourite characters in Harry Potter. She told me her aim was
to learn “all the languages”.
In some ways, Sali’s
knack with languages (she is also doing well at French) and her willingness for
swapping Bollywood for biology make an exceptional student. But, time and time
again, I was struck by how seriously the students took their education, how
welcoming they were of me and how receptive they were to learning. It
frustrates me that there are those like Sali, living in villages in Cambodia,
that could be bursting with the same creativity, academic potential and
willingness to study, but are not given the same chance.
I am terrible at selfies. Sali is pretty good. The guy at the back definitely has the best idea. |
At the end of each Writing Through workshop, the children
read out their work to an audience. This often took on a party atmosphere; in
Samrong we had a traditional Khmer band, in Preah Vihear we spent the afternoon
making decorations and there was singing and dancing afterwards. In every
centre, there was an abundance of quite disgusting durian-flavoured biscuits. Each
child received a magazine with the work produced during the workshop, complete
with illustrations drawn by the children and some photographs of our time
together.
Big event celebrations, Prear Vihear |
Asked to evaluate the workshop
afterwards, 89 per cent said they planned to write stories and poems by
themselves and 88 per cent said they would now feel more confident going to
their English lessons. Nearly every child said they would like to participate in
the workshop next year. Asked if they had anything else to add, one student in
Preah Vihear wrote: “The workshop helps us to have self-confidence. We learn to
be brave, to persevere and to write. We think that things are difficult but
after we realise that we can do it.”
There is a certain
Khmer art to telling the listener what he or she wants to hear. In the space
of
a week, I saw each child progress in confidence and ability, whether by a small
or large amount. For some, I think our week together will be the start of them
using writing to express their thoughts and ideas. For others, I hope the
workshop has opened up new ways of thinking about the world and has taught them
that learning English can be inventive and fun.
As the workshop drew
to a close, it was clear that Sue’s theme of “Taking Risks” was a very
pertinent one. It is a risk for an NGO to prioritise a programme that teaches
poetry and stories; whose focuses on confidence and conceptual thought are subtle
and difficult to measure. It is a risk for these children to express themselves
in a language that is foreign and in a style that is unfamiliar. To think in
new ways; to stand up and share their work; to write.
I believe it is a risk
that has, and will continue to, pay off.
I thought it would be
fitting to end with a short poem, written by Sompha, Hom, In Chhorm and Sith,
Grade 10 students in Samrong centre. (The poem's original title was actually the less charming "Workshop with A Foreigner", but I suggested they might want to use my name instead).
Workshop with Katy
Today we are very happy
Because we study with
Teacher Katy about poems
And short stories
The first time we feel afraid and
Have difficulties with this
Now we don’t feel afraid about learning
Because we have no problem
We can write
A short story and poem
And then we can read
For our friends
And each other
And everybody
Listens to us
We hope that
We can be successful!
Peace out, arkoen chraen, and thanks for reading! |