English Summer Camp Update #2
By Genty Daku
July 31, 2014
On Wednesday, June 18, 2014, my father and I arrived in Albania’s capital, Tirana. Clear skies and a warm breeze greeted us as we exited Tirana International Airport “Mother Teresa”. Dusty apartments, Mercedes sedans, and a café on every corner – it was all familiar to me, having visited the country three years prior. Armed with bags full of pants, papers, and pencils, the following days were spent in restlessness as my father and I made the final arrangements and prepared to leave for Radomire, the summer camp location.
The morning following our arrival, we picked up our rental car, a compact yet fully-functional Opel Mini, at the International Hotel in downtown Tirana. There was just enough room to stow our four suitcases. Our main priority afterwards was purchasing notebooks, as carrying them over in our luggage proved too cumbersome. We ended up buying 30 in total, more than enough for each of the students. As far as the other camp materials are concerned, I had already packed them before we left the States.
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We left Tirana at 7 am on Saturday, June 21, heading north towards “Mother Teresa” airport to renew our car rental. The car we had rented in downtown Tirana had worn-out front tires. The new car we received, a compact, American-made Chevrolet Aveo, seemed in much better condition. By 8 am, we were on the highway again, this time with Tirana at our backs. Albania, though modest in size, encompasses a variety of unique climates and biomes in its 11,000 square miles. Within the span of two hours, the grassy flatlands of Tirana metamorphosed into piney mountain ranges. Albania’s recently- built national highway cuts through these alpine regions and the scenic drive rivals that of southwest Virginia. Intimidating rock walls hundreds of feet tall hug the roadway while streams circulate under its many bridges. As we drove farther into mountains, the number of peaks seemed to outnumber the local population. The sheer expanse made one feel inconsequential to the landscape. A five kilometer tunnel – a threshold of sorts into northern Albania – truncates the final stretch of highway. To our delight, a pair of police officers saluted us upon entering the tunnel. We would later realize our Chevrolet was the same model vehicle employed by Albanian police. These scenes would repeat often as we travelled in the Kukes and Dibra district. It seems the police officers mistook my father for a high official of the Albanian State Police.
At 10 am, we arrived in Kukës, a lakeside city home to about 16,000. Here, the countryside was even more idyllic, though in a different way. The green mountain peaks we had previously met still stood, but Lake Fierza was the star of the show. A reservoir for the surrounding region and the source for the nearby hydroelectric plant, its sapphire waters encompass the town.
After lunch and a rest from the road, we embarked on the final hour of our drive. A single-lane thoroughfare runs from Kukës to Peshkopi, through Radomire. No greater than eight meters in width, it connects each village in the region together. It may have been asphalted recently, but for hundreds of years, this forty kilometer length was little more than a dirt road. Even today, unforgiving precipices demarcate the roadway, obliging a careful drive. The views are breathtaking however, a reward for ascending the mountains. In the four hours since we’ve left Tirana, the temperature has dropped thirty degrees. Thousands of feet up, the air is thin, cool, and dry, like on an early spring day. A variety of wildlife and livestock inhabit the region. Donkeys, goats, cattle, and even horses roam freely along the road, paying no mind to the occasional vehicle.
We stopped at a bend in the road to take photos. The valley below is occupied by a sea of pine trees, only broken up by a few villages, independent of one another but connected by dirt trails. With so little ahead, we hopped in the car once again, arriving at our hotel some twenty minutes later. Our car struggled to climb the final stretch of road, which afternoon rain had covered with mud. Within the next few hours, we unpacked and planned for the following week, eagerly awaiting the first day of camp.
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Our alarm shrieked at 7:45 am on Monday, an hour and fifteen minutes before the beginning of camp. All of our preparations had been made the night before. Bags filled with pencils, pens, erasers, chalk, textbooks, dictionaries, notebooks, t-shirts, and soccer balls, dad and I stumbled down the mucky path to the school house. It is a small building, painted a sort of tangerine orange but faded by seasons of harsh rainfall and wind. A gravel courtyard precedes the entrance, enclosed on all sides by a rusted fence. Despite a modest exterior, the classrooms are clean and well kept. Two classrooms are available, each a moderate size given the number of students, who arrived shortly thereafter.
As all 29 of us huddled into one of the classrooms, we began by introducing ourselves. Some whispered to one another while others fidgeted in their seats, but everyone was curious about the American standing before them. The youngest of the group had just finished elementary school while the oldest were now beginning to enter high school. Some students had studied English before and could recite basic information, while others weren’t sure how to respond when addressed with “hello”. But all were eager to learn more. Each student received a t-shirt with the camp logo imprinted on the front, a notebook, pens, the Side by Side textbook, and a dictionary. All surplus materials would also be donated to the local middle school at the end of camp. After each student briefly introduced him- or herself, we divided the students into two groups. I taught older children, who had previously studied at least a year of English, whereas my father headed the smaller, albeit equally determined, group of younger kids.
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I found the first couple of days somewhat of a challenge. My Albanian is mediocre at best, which made communication and explanations a bit difficult. More important still, I had never realized the degree of planning and adaptation that teaching requires. As a high school student, I’ve always taken for granted the lessons and instruction provided by my own teachers. Even if the English textbook provided a general lesson plan, students should always maintain some sort of interaction with the material they are learning. I know from my own experience that monotonous lectures and homework are rarely engaging. Whether it was candy or brief activities or allowing a few students to read aloud each day, it was important to make class interactive.
For the next two weeks, camp would consist largely of hour-long lessons separated by short recesses during which we played soccer. The camp motto was “respect, listen, and learn.” Whatever we were doing however, all students were exceptionally well-behaved. They demonstrated an earnest desire to learn English that I rarely see in my own foreign language classes in the States. In the first week, we began with the alphabet, numbers, introductory conversation, and simple vocabulary – granted, a few had already studied these topics in their own schools. Although their pronunciation and consistency lagged at times, I was impressed by their unyielding persistence both in class and on homework assignments. Even outside of class, they would ask questions and practice whatever new word or phrase they had learned the previous morning. Every day at noon, we finished class and headed to a local restaurant for lunch, which usually consisted of a plate of pasta or rice and soup or local meat.
Everywhere we went, people thanked us and expressed their gratitude by offering free dinners and accommodations. We graciously declined, but it was a welcoming atmosphere that I’ve never quite experienced. Some even asked if their child could attend camp too. We accepted as many new students as we could, explaining that neither of us had been involved in selecting students initially. We managed to collect some additional materials however and ended up admitting five more students. In short, the community genuinely appreciated what we were doing.
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As the end of camp neared, we decided we would provide everyone with both a challenge and an opportunity to reflect through an essay contest. After considering a few different topics, we ultimately decided that the students should write about what they aspire to be when they grow up and why. We also thought it would be fair to pick three first place winners and three second place winners and to give out prizes to each. I was thoroughly impressed with everyone’s writing and how ambitious their goals were.
Higerta, the youngest student in the camp, would like to be a math teacher like her grandfather, who has been teaching math in Radomire for four decades. Elmedin wants to become a pediatrician. “It’s wonderful,” he writes, “to give kids hope for a better future.” Alltan on the other hand wants to move to the capital with his family so that he can pursue further education to become a doctor. Delvina also wants to be a doctor, mentioning that even though it’s a difficult profession, she can help others. Marsel would like to become a dentist and fix teeth for free, while Dituria wants to be a lawyer so she can ensure all are equal before the law. Jetmir wants to become a police detective and arrest all criminals and corrupted officials in Albania. After that he wants to become either prime minister or president. The kids not only pursue lofty professions, but also wish to positively impact their community.
At the end of the second week, we decided to finish camp with a hike into the local mountains (a site called Black Lake) followed by the certificate ceremony. The hike, equally strenuous and rewarding, took us to a nearby plateau. Sweaty and exhausted, we reached the plateau after a thirty-minute climb up across the rocky mountain side. A level plain, free of trees and rocks, served as the perfect soccer field. In spite of the many times we had all played soccer together, I now wore my referee uniform to add a degree of realism to the match. Last year I was certified as the Grade 8 soccer referee by the U.S. Soccer Federation. The boys were on one team while my dad and the girls constituted the other. I was told girls don’t play soccer in Albania as much as in the States. However, the girls team proved to be quite strong and their play was as impressive as the boys’ aka the macho men team. It was a close match and, somewhat fittingly, it ended in a tie – two to two. A few packs of candy and many pictures later taken to a nearby lake, we made our final hike down the mountain for the certificate ceremony. With the American and Albanian flags strung proudly over the walls of a nearby restaurant, we held the certificate ceremony, recognized the essay contest winners, and ate lunch together one more time.
In a period as short as two weeks, every student had made noticeable improvements in speaking and comprehension. They not only developed their own English, but also my own appreciation for what dedication and an enthusiasm to learn can achieve. Not that the entire experience hadn’t been worthwhile, but looking at each of the children – holding certificates and beaming smiles – after two weeks of getting to know them imparted a peculiar sense of nostalgia. It really solidified my own admiration for them. In one of the most rural regions of Albania, a group of children had not been afforded the same opportunities that life in America has for me. Yet their circumstances bore little weight over their happiness, their laughter indistinguishable from any other child’s. In the days following my departure from Radomire, I still thought about their unflagging persistence and their final question to me: Will you come again next year?