eighth grade

My eighth grade students will be graduating in a little over a month. They are definitely the class that i feel closest with and enjoy teaching the most. Here are three small stories from my days with this class. These are brief glimpses into my days as an elementary school teacher.

I hopped on a truck in the morning with 18 8^th grade girls wearing white blouses and pink pleated skirts. We were returning back to the school after a visit to the prison. For most of the students, it was their first time in a prison. They sang songs and spoke words of peace to the men. They were bothered by the smell. The ride home, along the coast, seemed like a relief for them. It was pure luck that Sr. Sophie left her guitar in the flatbed. The girls played in like a ukulele until they asked if I knew how to play. “Ekis,” a little bit, I responded in Chuukese. Though, playing guitar with both hands, while trying to balance on the rim of the flatbed made me weary of losing my balance. As I began to say, no, I’ll play for you later- the girls on either side of me reached their arms around my back and waist so I wouldn’t fall backwards. Aiko handed me the guitar. “Do you know ‘Open the Eyes of My Heart?’” I played for them that way, my students holding me up, all of us singing, as the truck drove on beside the ocean.

Students in Chuuk don’t bring their teachers apples. They bring them mangoes. Mango season has just arrived. I have been waiting for this since August. I ate my first local mango on the back of the Sisters truck on my way home from work. Aita, and 8^th grader, brought it for me. After she showed me how to cut it, I ate it down to the pit. Now, she brings me a mango every day with her lunch.

5^th period is right before lunch. It is noon and blazing hot under the tin roof of the 8^th grade classroom. 8B is restless. They want out. They have just finished their quiz and small Chuukese conversations are bursting out of them, even though they know the rule is silence until I have all of their papers. My head is up as I am walking around collecting quizzes, making sure no one shares their answers. As I walk through the maze of arbitrarily arranged desks, I take a step, there is a loud squeal, pain, I shriek and nearly fall on Theodore. I realize I have stepped on the sleeping stray cat in my classroom. My students laugh at me.

Tiro

The word tiro qualifies as the most commonly spoken Chuukese word in my vocabulary. Meaning “excuse me,” Chuukese people will voice it before walking in front of you, stepping between you and the person you are conversing with, or while excusing themselves from a room full of people. Tiro is coupled with a bow, a lowering of your body from the waist as you walk past. As I have learned, it exists as a sign of respect. However, only women are culturally expected to use the word as the pass by men. The respectful “excuse me” does not apply to men as they pass women.

Traditionally Chuukese gender roles have been born out a call for respect among men and women, especially brothers and sisters. Beyond the simple trio phrase, women are expected to bow or kneel whenever one of their brothers is present in the room. If she desires to get up and leave the room, she walks on her knees or crawls. While walking on the road, I have watched women kneel down as one of their brothers drives past in a car. Additionally, men will often stand as a woman passes in order to alleviate her bowing, yet still keep her head physically lower than the man’s.

This Thursday I observed another manifestation of this cultural practice. At Holy Thursday services in Catholic churches there is usually a ceremonial reenactment of the washing of the feet rooted in the biblical story of the last supper. As I have observed since youth, twelve individuals are called up to the altar to sit in a chair and have their feet washed by the priest. This week in Chuuk, only men were designated to have their feet washed. Apparently, a woman sitting in a chair higher than a priest, a man, who would be washing her feet, would be extremely disrespectful. Women are therefore excluded from this service in addition to the exclusions they already tolerate in the church, such as participation in the priesthood.

So I ask myself, is the tiro culture oppressive toward women? Does it limit options for women? Is a physical lowering of a woman’s body in the presence of a man indicative of the status of women? I believe very sincerely in the value of maintaining and preserving culture, but can we use culture as an excuse for oppression? Is the church participating in this through abiding by cultural norms? Aware of my status as an outsider, I know I cannot judge actions based on my own ethnocentrism. But I cannot desist in asking questions.