I walk into my classroom to wait for my students for the first time ever. In fifteen minutes twenty-five seniors will crowd into my room, and I will have to teach them or else go home and forget this foolish idea of teaching. Nervously I look over my detailed lesson plans. Next I glance over the first few pages of my beat-up twenty-year-old chemistry book. Finally, and the students start coming in, I run over in my head exactly how I will introduce myself and the subject. This seems like the hundredth time that I have reviewed these words.
"Hi, my name is Mr. Wright. I'm from Michigan in the United States." I continue with my introductory speech. Halfway through the class description, my words trip over each other like a growing boy with too big feet. I stumble trough the rest of my speech and stop.
"Any questions?" I asked. Twenty-five blank faces stare blankly at me. Not knowing what else to do, I start into chapter one. After a few minutes, I look back at the still blank faces of my audience. Not a pencil is moving. Not a notebook is opened. They stare at me and quietly converse with each other seeming oblivious to me. As I continue lecturing, I look around my now filled classroom.
Across the back wall are four windows. Each window is made of 20 tilting yellowed strips of glass. Past the glass on the outside of the building, clings a very rusty wire mesh designed to keep trash inside the classroom. However, the screen is so rusty that is ready to fall off the building. Past the screen I can see nothing but the deep blue ocean breaking into white foam against the reef which surrounds the island.
The lower part of the walls is painted dark gray, while the upper portion and ceiling is white. The floor is a light gray tile. A few posters pertaining to chemistry and physics adorn the walls like oddly placed trophies. My chalkboard is simply a piece of plywood that is painted green. The paint is of such a high gloss that the students cannot read anything written on the board due to the glare from the windows. On the left of the room is a locked storage room which I hope to use some day. Starting by that door and running to the other end of the room is a counter and bookshelf where I plan on doing physics experiments.
The students are seated at five long tables which are covered with several years worth of graffiti. They are wooden tables made by former maintenance men of the school. The front left table has a wobbly leg. Whenever the students bump it, the table teeters and shakes like an old dog with unsteady legs.
My desk consists of a very rusty teacher's desk with only half of its drawers in working order. In order to write on my desk I have put some glass windowpanes on my desk. They make a better writing surface than the rusty metal top. At least I assume it is a metal top, for I cannot see anything except rust. It is the first day of school and already my desk has stacks of books covering two thirds of it.
A boy yawns loudly. I must be putting them to sleep, so I ask another question. No response. Glancing at my watch I notice that the class period is almost over.
"Okay, for your first assignment I want you to write down something about yourself, including where you live, your phone number, and your interests."
"We don't understand what you want," a brave student says.
I repeat what I said along with adding several more direct questions and write them on the board ignoring the fact that they cannot read anything through the glare. A few students start moving to get paper and pencil. Some talking in Marshallese starts. I do not understand the language and ask the students to constrain their comments to English. The talking stops.
As I watch a girl stands up and stretches. She is wearing the school uniform consisting of a purple skirt and a white blouse. The style is very unattractive. Most of the girls wear shorts under the skirt. As a consequence the girls all look like they have very big hips. As the girl stretches with the window backlighting her, I can see right through the shirt. She has a perfect Barbie doll figure. All the curves of her body stand out so gracefully. She has a beautiful face and the common long hair of the women of the country, although her hair is slightly curly. Her brown face cracks into a sarcastic smile as if to say, "you aren't really going to make us do anything are you." I push away amorous thoughts, after all she is my student, and meander among the tables to help the students decide to start working. In the back of my mind I wonder why, in a conservative country, to they make the girls wear thin white blouses especially when most of the teachers are young males.
Now the room seems to erupt. Students yell across the room to their friends. Many get up and walk around going to communal backpacks to get books and pencils and pens. It seems like no one brought their own tools. Even the carriers of the backpacks go to other backpacks to get their things. I wonder is this is done just to annoy new teachers.
"Mr. Wright, can I go get my pencil?"
"Where is it?" I reply
"Mekkie has it." The girl bites her lip and fidgets.
"Who's that?" I don't have a Mekkie in my class roster.
"Over there." She points out the door and gives me an embarrassed smile.
"Okay, hurry."
Shortly after the return of the unprepared student, the bell rings signaling the end of class. Lazily the students gather their papers and give them back to the carriers. Some of the kids are still in my room when the second bell rings. Punctuality is not a high priority here.
The rest of my six classes follow in their due course with much the same events only the students are younger. I get more of the same blank stares, more of the incomprehension, more the yawning, more of the asking for pencils and paper. The day finishes and I wonder what has happened. Will all year be like this? How did I get into this? Why do I like this business? Oh well, I had better prepare for tomorrow.
It all started my freshman year in high school when a new science teacher came to my academy. He was young, energetic, charismatic, and a devoted Christian. I ended up working for him that year and all the rest of my years in high school. I graded papers, set up laboratory experiments, and organized his science lab. It wasn't long until Mr. Thornton had organized a weekly Bible study group at his house for the students. I wasn't interested so I didn't go.
One day at work, he found out I had my eyes on a certain girl, so he decided to try a play the part of matchmaker. His wonderful plans didn't develop any new feelings between Marie-Lys and myself, but at least they didn't come to any harm. We became better friends through it. Through it all he didn't push for me to come to the Bible study. I never showed up that year.
The next year came. My friends went to the Bible study while I stayed home. My responsibilities in the science lab grew to where I knew all the passwords and took care of all the grades. Then one day after school, the beautiful vixen that I still admired came into the lab. Marie-Lys invited me to the Bible study that night. I went even though the girl had another boyfriend at the time. Something happened during that study. I don't remember what it was even about. All I know is that by the time the study was over, I was crying. I had felt the spirit of God. From that time on I went to the Bible study every week. One week I stayed home because I was already late and wasn't feeling like meeting society. While I was relaxing in front of the television, a caravan of cars poured into my driveway. Since I hadn't gone to the Bible study, Mr. Thornton brought it to me.
Through the rest of my high school years, I participated in short mission trips and prayer conferences. I helped run a religious club at school that went and preached at the surrounding churches. By the end of my senior year, I was ready to go straight out into the mission field. I was on fire for God and wanted to tell the whole world. However, the administrators from Andrew University told me to take a couple of years of college first because the mission calls asked for people with some college. I consented and went away to the university to study engineering or something as long as it wasn't teaching.
During that first year of college something happened. I was looking for a girl to replace my long time girlfriend, but all the girls I could find didn't want a romantic relationship with me. At least none of the ones I saw as beautiful. I went from a jilted lover to an abused little Asian girl to her Christian friend. The friend, Shallena, was pretty and very friendly with good advice and a delightful southern accent. Shallena would spend many hours talking with me much to my enjoyment. She had another friend, Jamie, who led a small Bible study every week. After going with Shallena to the Bible study a few weeks, I found out that her and Jamie were dating, but the studies were good, so I continued to attend.
Near the end of the year, many of my friends including my roommate were deciding to go out as student missionaries. I didn't sign up because I had lost my fire and was having more fun flirting with the girls both at school and at home.
That summer I found a delightful little girl who I thought would be great fun to be with. She was a pretty little blond with a great body. Her lovesick wit was too much and I spent too much time kissing her sweet lips.
Going back to school that following fall found me troubled. I still enjoyed the company of my infatuation, but my long-term girlfriend lived at school and wanted me back. The girlfriend wanted to have a wonderful Christian relationship. This was better than the physical infatuation I had at home so I dumped my summertime companion.
By November I had decided to leave the next year as a student missionary. I wasn't too sure about how well I liked my major in college either. Engineering was nice but not what I wanted, so I looked at my options. Teaching looked pretty nice. So, I decided that I'd finish the year as an engineering student and then go somewhere as a high school math teacher the next year. I looked in the student missionary call book and found two locations for high school math teachers with only two years of college. One was Ebeye SDA School and the other was Delap SDA School. Both were in the Marshall Islands in the Pacific Ocean. At first I chose Ebeye by flipping a coin. Then a friend of mine who happened to already be in Delap told me to quickly change my choice because I'd like Delap better. Ebeye they said was just a city and that Delap had some room and was right on the ocean. I ran into the missions office and quickly changed to Delap. Things progressed and now here I was in the Marshall Islands as a high school math teacher.
Richard Wright Copyright 2001