CHALK
A Story of an American Abroad

J. Denny Weaver

Falling abruptly into my schedule of classes with no introduction to how things worked in the Algerian education system presented me with a bewildering series of problems. They were highlighted by my adventures with chalk.

The first hurdle, before I even got to the chalk, was simply finding my classes. It was during the Vietnam War, and I was in Algeria as a conscientious objector to war, doing a term of alternative service with Mennonite Central Committee’s Teachers Abroad Program. My assignment was to teach English as a foreign language in a public lycée—high school—in a small town in Algeria.

I arrived for school on the first day of class, idealistic but apprehensive. I was a remarkably inexperienced teacher, having had no education courses or teaching experience in college. The language of instruction was French, and I would be using the French we had spent the last year learning. Although anxious, I was also eager to use my newly acquired French and demonstrate my ability to function in that language.

The only orientation I received to my school setting was a list of the English classes that I would be teaching. I arrived on that first day to the sight of several hundred students milling about over a large, enclosed court yard ringed by classrooms. Timidly I asked another teacher where I would find my classes. I learned that they were "over there somewhere." That was how I learned that in this system, a class of students used the same room all day and the teachers walked from room to room between classes.

I made my way "over there." A bell rang, and students lined up in front of their rooms, waiting for the teacher to arrive. I walked down the line, asking students in each line if they were my section. Of course, each class joyfully responded, "Oui, Yes!" Eventually I did discover the room of the class that I was to instruct for first period, and I ushered them in.

Thus began my crash course in learning about teaching in an Algerian lycée, including my introduction to the chalk problem. Teaching a foreign language involved lots of writing on the blackboard, which required a lot of chalk and an eraser—seemingly obvious equipment for a classroom. I observed that the other teachers always seemed to have that equipment, but my rooms somehow lacked these obvious instructional tools. On more than one occasion, I tried to stretch a centimeter-long piece of chalk through an entire period while erasing with a wadded-up piece of notebook paper for an eraser.

After several days with minimal chalk and no eraser in my classes, I decided to take the initiative and solve the problem myself. I went to see the principal to ask for my own eraser that I could carry around with me in my book bag.

He gave me a quizzical look, which suggested that it was an unusual request. He also said something about having a responsible person get it for me. I replied that I really did want to have my own eraser—if I carried it myself I could always count on having an eraser.

The principal granted my request. That he had to search for a while to find an eraser further demonstrated that my request deviated significantly from normal practice, but finally he found an eraser. I thanked him profusely and went happily on my way.

The next step was to locate the source of chalk. It turned out to be in the office of the dean of students, located handily in a room adjacent to the classrooms. On my way to class every day, I could drop in and pick up chalk. Again there was mention of having a responsible person pick up chalk for me, but I explained that I preferred to do it myself, so that I could be certain that I would always have chalk. The dean of students agreed. Again I expressed my gratitude and departed happy, my problem solved.

But the solution was not what I thought it was. I was still a long way—and a number of other mistakes—from learning that, in that culture, it is impolite to disagree with or say "no" to a guest. And I was clearly the guest in Algeria of the principal and the dean of students.

I put my eraser and chalk in a plastic bag, and it became a permanent accessory of the book bag I carried to class everyday. After that bit of problem-solving, I never again went through a class with only a centimeter of chalk and a wad of note paper for an eraser.

I was delighted with my problem-solving ability and impressed with what individual initiative could accomplish in the face of seeming indifference to details and good organization. I was delighted—until I found out what was really happening.

I no longer recall the circumstances, but in the last week of the school year, I learned what I had missed. Blame it on my less-than-perfect understanding of French. I had heard something seemingly obvious all year without realizing that my assumption of meaning was far off the mark. The magic phrase was responsible person. In French, an adjective used alone becomes a noun. The principal, the dean of students, and other teachers had mentioned "le responsable de classe," for which a literal English translation is "the responsible person of the class."

When the principal and dean of students had mentioned having the responsable de classe get chalk and eraser, I had presumed that they were simply suggesting that I pick a responsible student and ask that student to get eraser and chalk for me. My assumption was quite wrong. In fact, "le responsable de classe" was the title of a designated individual in each class. In our system, we might call this person "the class secretary."

Le responsable de classe for each class was chosen by the dean of students. Le responsable de classe had assigned duties. Those assigned duties included the job of keeping the eraser for the class and picking up chalk for the professor from the office of the dean of students.

While I spent the year admiring my initiative and efficiency in having chalk and eraser every day, each of my classes of students was secretly laughing. They were enjoying my ignorance of the system and my inability to ask a student—le responsable de classe—to perform a simple task for me.

I laughed with the students at my ignorance. They had fooled me, and they deserved my acknowledgment of their year-long ruse.

But the following fall, I was ready. After the first class had filed in on the first day of school and I had given them permission to be seated, the first thing I said was, "Who is le responsable de classe?"

A timid hand slowly raised itself.

I asked the boy to stand. He stood.

I asked to see the class’s eraser. He showed it to me.

I pointed at the corner of my desk nearest the door. In an authoritative voice I said, "Every day when I come in the door, I want to see the eraser and four new pieces of chalk on that corner of the desk. If those items are not there, you will have four hours of detention. Do you understand?"

Le responsable de classe said, "Oui, Monsieur."

I repeated that scene in each of my classes that day. Just as was the case the previous year, for this year also I had an eraser and chalk every day.

A couple days into that second year, some students clustered around my desk and asked where my sack was with the chalk and eraser. I laughed and said that this year I knew better, I did not have it any more. One smiled and said, "Oui, Monsieur, this year you know how to control the boys. C’est bien."

On occasion, I even entered into their system and helped them manage it. Every couple weeks as I was approaching the room for the next class, two or three students would intercept me and explain in hurried and excited voices, "The Thirds stole our eraser, and we know you’ll be upset if you don’t have the eraser, but it’s not our fault. What shall we do?"

I never figured out whether these "borrowed" erasers were actually mean or merely amusing tricks they played on each other. Either way, I responded, "That is not my problem. All I know is that when I come in the door, I need to see an eraser and chalk." Then I found important reasons to stop and converse with another teacher before I got to my room, giving my class plenty of time to "organize" for my coming appearance when I would enter the room and discover once again an eraser and chalk on my desk.

It took more than a year to discover my ignorance and to arrive at what—I think—was a solution to the chalk problem. I still shudder at the thought of how many other mistakes and faux pas I never learned about.

This ignorance opens the door to another conversation—the one about how United States policy blunders in the Middle East are frequently fueled and exacerbated by ignorance and misunderstandings of Middle Eastern languages and culture. Statements by Palestinians have been frequently misread in the U.S.

In exponential expansion of my ignorance of the "responsible de classe," cross-cultural ignorance and misunderstanding of face-saving comments and gestures, likely by both sides, undoubtedly contributed to both U.S. wars on Iraq. Becoming even slightly aware of the number of people who have died in these conflicts because of cross-cultural misunderstandings and ignorance is quite a sobering realization.

—J. Denny Weaver is Professor Emeritus of Religion and the Harry and Jean Yoder Scholar in Bible and Religion of Bluffton University. He and his wife served with MCC in Algeria in 1966-68. Weaver reports that he and a student from one of his classes have recently been in contact by e-mail. He looks forward to sharing this issue of DreamSeeker Magazine with the student at an upcoming conference at which they plan to meet after all these decades.