Teaching 28 students to sew...

DATELINE; August 8 2013
Patricia E Lyon

on the floor. I start a second class of students today at the Siem Reap Provincial Teacher’s Training School. I arrive 15 minutes early to arrange materials and write on the green board. The students from my last class come by and peek in the windows and doors. I put my hands around theirs or wave and tell them I miss them already. They say, “same, same.”

Alas, twenty new students have already arrived and arranged themselves in two neat rows. They watch me closely. They look a little worried. I try to smile to reassure them. At 12:00 noon (your midnight), I begin to talk. Mony translates: I ask them about their homes. They are from the countryside. I tell them I used to teach small children. I used to live in a rural area like the students. More students trickle in, apologizing. Everyone chooses a sewing partner. They come forward, one row at a time to select a fabric rectangle, a button and a needle. On the “desk”, I have clippers and thread. I point to phrases on the green board. Two projects today: pin cushion and yoyo.

I briefly speak of classroom management and safety of children. Mony and I explain each step of the pin cushion. I invite one young woman to come forward to show how she has knotted her thread. They see the picture on the green board. I climb around them in my long skirt and bare feet to see if the stitches are small enough so that the grains of rice will not fall out of the pin cushion. I pick up each folded rectangle to examine. We stop to show shank button. I climb around the students to show them the button with the pin through the first stitches. Now they know.

Then I tell Mony, “Please tell them only four people to the table at a time to put rice in the pin cushion. Next time I look maybe 10 or 12 people scooping rice. Lost in translation?

I feel sweat trickling down my back. The students are doing overcast stitches to close their pin cushions. I tip-toe next door to observe the Apsara dance lesson. Oh, I want to be in this class, too. I run back to start yoyo. Mony and I look at each one. Stitches too close, too far from edge. A young woman masters yoyo and says “cute.” She likes.

By the second yoyo they have all attained yoyo cuteness. They pitch in to clean up and stop by the teacher: “See you tomorrow, Teacher.”

I hoist up my back pack and the empty plastic box that held the rice. I climb in the 1991 white Toyota.

Back at the hotel, my roommate is recovering from a cold. Mony gave her medicine from the pharmacy. She has been eating gallons of chicken soup. So much better.
Mony picks up our passport extensions, diet Coke, mints for Deanna and crackers I'm about to eat with Laughing Cow Cheese. Pre-tea time snack.