The Smell of Fear

First and foremost, I must apologize for taking so long to post my first blog entry; the combination of a lack of time, sleep and technological prowess conspired against me, delaying my long-awaited entry into the world of blogging. Those of you who know me well will know that I don’t do things in half-measures, so I hope the following, lengthy, dispatch makes up for the delay.

Training week was full of lessons, activities, brainstorming, and, of course, a couple of trips to the lovely pubs of Chester (where, you’ll be happy to find out, the price of beer is significantly lower than in the south of England, where many of us live). While not as difficult as the CELTA, the training course was nonetheless very demanding, entailing long hours spent learning new tricks, gathering tips and practicing the art of teaching English as a foreign language on hypothetical children, the roles of which were invariably played by us teachers-in-training, often to comedic effect—I’m thinking of you, ‘Boris’ and ‘Vladimir’! After filling our teachers’ toolboxes with language games and activities ready to be unleashed on unsuspecting Spanish kids, we finally headed off to Valencia, taking a circuitous route that lead us from Chester to Manchester, then to Alicante and, finally, to our base in Valencia.

The following morning I was met by the lovely Mampa and Alicia from Schola, as well as two of my brilliant tutors from UKLC, Carolyn and Amy, who drove me to Domus, the school where I’ll be teaching for next month. I was all nerves as we made our way through the crowded schoolyard filled with hundreds of screaming children. An old, traumatic memory flared up in my mind: that of my first day at primary school, when my mother dragged me, kicking and screaming, into the classroom, except this time I was smiling on the outside while kicking and screaming only in my head. I muttered to one of my colleagues that I’m of the opinion that children can smell one’s fear and she nodded in agreement, ‘oh, yes, they certainly can.’ This did not bode well for me. I was then ushered into my first class by Inès, my talented mentor at Domus, where I felt all 58 eyes of our 29 13-14 year old students sizing me up. I smiled and said ‘good morning’ to the terrifying little creatures, somehow managing to hide my anxiety and therefore succeeding in concealing the stench of fear rising up inside me. They are a loud and rambunctious group, curious about this new, strange person in their midst.  I answered their questions and breathed a sigh of relief when I was allowed to take my seat to observe Inès working her magic.