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Broadcasting to an audience of three (and a goldfish)...
Comment, ramblings and musings... life through the eyes of a Japanologist...
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Thursday, November 21, 2002 |
 Another article, on the 10 o'clock news, was a report on the arrival of this year's Beaujolais Nouveau. There were plenty of amusing shots of young Japanese women (presumably in Tokyo, judging by the sophistication of the fashions) trying the wine in a department store, and nodding sagely while trying not to grimace...
Even if the people on the news footage didn't seem to find it that pleasant a drink, though, someone in Japan must do. In fact, quite a few people must do: the report stated that the Japanese are predicted to buy more than 7 million bottles of the stuff this year, the highest level in history.
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On the news this evening was an article about the five people abducted by North Korea (all of whom, incidentally, are still in Japan). The article itself was about the arrangements the state is making to support them (and their families if they eventually come to Japan), but what caught my attention was the fact that at least two of the five were still wearing their North Korea pin badges, along the blue ribbons of the group campaigning for the return of the abductees.
Two things spring to mind here. Firstly, I wonder if I'm the only person who thinks that it's really about time they took those little pin badges off? And secondly, isn't it slightly contradictory to wear a sign of support for the group demanding the return of the Japanese abducted by North Korea, while at the same time pledging allegiance to the very same North Korea?
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I got the guide book out when I got back to the office, and so I was immediately asked where I was planning on visiting. When I told them, the two ladies asked straightaway, and straight out, if I'd bring them back a little piece of Tobe pottery.
Damn!- I should have known to wait until I got home before getting the guide book out...
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As I walked back to the office, there were about twenty junior high school students sitting around behind the bookstore, eating ice-cream and o-nigiri. They're here quite often lately, and I notice there's always litter after they've left. They're mostly good children (although there are exceptions in this 'bookstore gang'), which is why I wish they'd be a little less boisterous and a little more considerate. The way they are now, although they're doing nobody any harm (apart, of course, from the litter issue), it won't be long before somebody complains, and they won't be allowed to spend a little time together after school. This would be a shame, I think.
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After work, I decided to go and get a haircut. When I got to the barbers, though, there were three people waiting, so I didn't bother- I'll try again tomorrow. Instead, I called in at the bookstore to get a guide book to Ehime Prefecture, and then wandered back to the office.
Japanese guide books are great. They're actually magazines rather than books, and they cover one area rather than the whole country; I've never seen a Japanese guidebook covering the whole of Japan. This focusing in on an area means that if you're travelling a lot, things get expensive, but on the plus side, the guide books are incredibly detailed, and interesting to read even if you have no intention of visiting the area they cover. Or perhaps it's just that living in a small town for five years has altered my concept of 'interesting'...
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Spent much of the day at Akizuki Elementary School, which I have to say is the most difficult (in various senses of the word) school I visit. I visit this school less often than the other six schools, but when I do visit, it's for three or four lessons instead of the normal two.
Anyway, I started off with the first- and second- years, who sang a curious melange of the Japanese and English versions of 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' (the teacher had obviously decided that getting the children to learn the lines beginning 'Up above the world' was too difficult, thus proving my assertion that the previous lesson was a pointless waste of time to have been correct), and then we played 'Cat, Cat, Dog' with days of the week. Again, my comment- born of experience- that doing English with first- and second- years is pointless, which of course had been ignored, was proved correct. Sunday and Monday were just about fine, but hardly any of the children could remember Wednesday and Thursday. In any case, I ask myself, what would they do even if they could remember these words? I'm all for introducing the children to simple English, but it has to be English for a purpose (for example, so that they children can play a game)- English as a simple way to fill 45 minutes with the minimum of thought or effort on the Japanese teacher's part serves no purpose whatsoever. I suspect that the first year teacher has worked with AETs in the past- I can't think of any other reason why she insists on pointless English to the extent that she does, and why she insists on treating me like her helper, when in fact it's my lesson, and she should be assisting me. Well, it's not going to happen any more. This was the last lesson with these children this term, so before next term I'm going to reiterate exactly how things should- and moreover, are going to- be.
The next lesson was with the third- and fourth- years, who are only six in total, but who are by a long way the best class in the school (apart from one intensely irritating boy who insists on trying to explain things before I do). During this lesson, we looked at colours and shapes in English, and I explained how to play Go Fish! using these shapes and colours. I ate lunch with these children, and afterwards one of the boys asked if I'd play football with him, so we went outside and had a kickabout, which was most enjoyable. In the end, half of the third- and fourth- years joined in, along with quite a few of the younger children too. I had great fun teasing- purely in fun, of course- one of the third year girls, telling her that I'd get everyone to ask her questions when we played Go Fish!. This little girl was a bit of a handful in the first year, but she's calmed down and is great fun to teach. I'm quite fond of her; I shall never forget her brother standing up at the Seijin-shiki- the Coming-of-Age Ceremony- in January this year, and making one of the most moving speeches I have ever heard, a speech thanking his mother for bringing up him and his three brothers and sisters single-handedly after his father died of cancer.
Anyway, after lunch I took a second lesson with the third- and fourth- years, during which we played Go Fish! using the vocabulary we'd practiced before lunch. The children all enjoyed themselves, and the game was very successful, although the boy who thinks he knows everything had seen no need to listen to the explanation of the game, and as a result didn't get even one pair of cards. Serves him right- maybe next time he'll have the manners to let me speak without interrupting me every thirty seconds or so.
The final lesson was with the fifth- and sixth-years, the most difficult group of all the children I teach, I think it's safe to say. The fifth-years were a great class when they were fourth years, but recently they've all 'grown up' (I hesitate to use that phrase) into their unruly and uncooperative phase. The sixth-years, meanwhile... well, I'm afraid to say I gave up on them a long way back. There are only three children, one boy and two girls. One of the girls is pleasant enough, but she's so quiet as to be hardly noticeable, and the other girl... well, I think in a few years' time she'll be a real problem, and not just at school. She sits sprawled in her chair, legs splayed, playing with a piece of paper, talking to the person next to her, examining her fingernails... anything other than paying attention. The boy, meanwhile, seems to take pleasure out of being openly insolent. He mocks me and the Japanese teacher, refuses to respond when he's spoken to, goes for a walk in the middle of the lesson... as I say, I gave up long ago. Forty-five minutes with this class is just something to be endured with as much stoicism as possible.
Anyway, the lesson was a discussion of how to make a programme about Akizuki in English. The fifth- and sixth-years had made a short programme at the NHK studios in Hiroshima a while back, and the teacher wanted to produce a simplified English version of this. Fair enough, I thought, so we agreed that we'd use the lesson to get the children to think about which parts of the Japanese programme they wanted to use, and so on. The only problem was, well, was that it was the fifth- and sixth-years we were dealing with. I tried to get them to think what they'd want to include in a video to send to a school in England, I tried to get them to think what they'd want to ask if they had the chance to talk to a schoolchild from England... but the answer was 'nothing'. Nothing, because they have no interest in anything except their messing about with each other. The lesson really was a complete waste of time, and moreover a disagreeable waste of time, so much so that I seriously considered walking out at more than one point. I don't mind the children having fun or being boisterous- they are elementary school children, after all- but I do object to having my time wasted like this, when a group of rude and objectionable children have no interest in anything. I didn't mince my words to the teachers after the lesson, and I was told that it wasn't just me and my lesson, that they were like this all time. In this case, I can only wonder why something isn't being done to bring these children into line?
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© Copyright 2003 Nathan Duckworth.
Updated: 8/1/03; 8:56:34 pm.
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