Walking around my 5th grade classroom just before class began Tuesday, I noticed a boy, shifting in his seat, furiously blowing into his gloves in hopes of warming up a bit. He was sitting directly below a broken window, shivering as cold air blew into the classroom. His jacket was old and thin, clearly a well-worn hand-me-down that was still a bit too big. His gloves weren’t doing much to keep his tiny hands warm. Looking around our too-small classroom, I realized the only open seat away from the window was the teacher stool at the front of the room, so I asked if he would like to come sit in the front of the classroom during English class, hoping that moving away from the window would help to warm him a bit. Instead, he looked at me and said “No, somebody needs to sit here. If it’s me, I’ll become really tough.”
This week has been chock-full of stories like this. It has been cold. Really cold. The kind of cold that numbs you straight through to the bone. Chilly afternoon winds sneak through the spaces where windows don’t quite close all the way, swirling around my room and blowing out the candle I keep trying to light. Children head to school before the sun rises, their hands stuffed in puffy gloves that look like stuffed animals. With no heaters to speak of, inside it is nearly as cold as the world outside, cement classrooms providing little respite from the freezing mountain air.
This week has been chock-full of stories like this. It has been cold. Really cold. The kind of cold that numbs you straight through to the bone. Chilly afternoon winds sneak through the spaces where windows don’t quite close all the way, swirling around my room and blowing out the candle I keep trying to light. Children head to school before the sun rises, their hands stuffed in puffy gloves that look like stuffed animals. With no heaters to speak of, inside it is nearly as cold as the world outside, cement classrooms providing little respite from the freezing mountain air.
Though the temperature, inside and out, makes it hard to focus on anything but the color slowly draining from your hands, I have been constantly amazed by how attentive and engaged my students remain. On one particularly cold day, I stood shivering at the front of the classroom, listening to the wind as my students diligently wrote our vocabulary words in their notebooks, awkwardly gripping their pens and pencils with brightly colored gloves. Two boys were running back and forth between the back of the classroom and the door, building a barrier of every heavy thing they could find—plants, stools, and books— attempting to keep the classroom door closed despite the wind threatening to blow it open, yet again. They received silent nods of appreciation from classmates who were thankful to have a little less cold air in their room. Yet, despite it all, not one child complained.
Most days here in Dayao are sunny, crystal clear, and beautiful, but though the sky looks like a summer day, the temperature is a reminder that it is, in fact, winter. However, the last few days have brought about clouds, rain, and even colder temperatures, making the town buzz with hopes of snow. Realistic local teachers have been quick to point out how unlikely snow is in Dayao; one teacher who grew up here clearly remembers that the first time he ever saw snow was when he was 14 years old. Other teachers tell stories of the one time it snowed last year, a welcome anomaly that brought an inch or so of fluffy fun in December. Yet, my students have been speaking about snow with the wonderful sense of possibility that only a child can have. They tell stories about the magic of last year’s snow, making me promise that I will build a snowman with them “when it snows tomorrow.”
Most days here in Dayao are sunny, crystal clear, and beautiful, but though the sky looks like a summer day, the temperature is a reminder that it is, in fact, winter. However, the last few days have brought about clouds, rain, and even colder temperatures, making the town buzz with hopes of snow. Realistic local teachers have been quick to point out how unlikely snow is in Dayao; one teacher who grew up here clearly remembers that the first time he ever saw snow was when he was 14 years old. Other teachers tell stories of the one time it snowed last year, a welcome anomaly that brought an inch or so of fluffy fun in December. Yet, my students have been speaking about snow with the wonderful sense of possibility that only a child can have. They tell stories about the magic of last year’s snow, making me promise that I will build a snowman with them “when it snows tomorrow.”
When I grew up in Seattle, snow days were a wonderful, wonderful thing, not just because it was fun and exciting and we got to go sledding, but in part because it meant school was cancelled for the day. I asked a local teacher how we would know if school was cancelled if it snowed, and she simply laughed. Though individual classes at Jinbi Primary School are cancelled for everything from speech competitions to mandatory war movie watching, the thought of cancelling school for weather seems to them a preposterous idea. I suppose that when children walk to school, and there is no threat of a school bus full of children sliding on ice, there’s no need to cancel classes.
For now, though, the cold is bringing out a bit of holiday magic in Dayao. Everyone has new reasons to talk to each other, bonding over the cold, working together to build small fires out front of their shops, and reminiscing about times spent playing in the snow. Children look to the clouds covering the tops of the nearby mountains, dreaming about the snow falling in a land that lies just out of reach. And, for the few Americans living in this little town, the cold provides opportunities to bundle up in scarves and blankets, savor hot chocolate packets from home and pretend, if just for a minute, that Christmas away from family is going to be alright.
For now, though, the cold is bringing out a bit of holiday magic in Dayao. Everyone has new reasons to talk to each other, bonding over the cold, working together to build small fires out front of their shops, and reminiscing about times spent playing in the snow. Children look to the clouds covering the tops of the nearby mountains, dreaming about the snow falling in a land that lies just out of reach. And, for the few Americans living in this little town, the cold provides opportunities to bundle up in scarves and blankets, savor hot chocolate packets from home and pretend, if just for a minute, that Christmas away from family is going to be alright.