This is an extract from Zen Kyu Maestro: An English Teacher's Spanish Adventure, Monday Books, 2013, available from Amazon.
I
CLICK THE ‘PLAY’ button on my laptop and my maths lesson is
shattered by the chugging drumbeat and incessant bass line of an MP3
file I downloaded a couple of years previously. It’s a lesson idea
I tried without a lot of success a few times back in the UK. I have
an inkling that I might have more luck here.
A
mass of heads jolt upright in startled disbelief as the tune gathers
momentum. Pablo (the First) is the first to gather his wits. He joins
in with the drumbeat using the flats of his palms on the desktop.
Carmen,
Macarena and María Two are swaying rhythmically in their seats and
(surprisingly quickly) synchronising a sort of hand-jive which takes
them left, then right, then forwards, then backwards (but not yet out
of their chairs).
I’m
sitting at my desk pretending to be engrossed in the weekly spelling
test results. The vast majority of the class are still looking
stunned, thinking maybe that I’ve accidentally hit the wrong key on
my laptop while simultaneously going deaf.
The
vocal line starts, accompanied in perfect timing by at least a dozen
of my more brazen flock, many of whom also send their chairs
skittering backwards and jump to their feet, arms flapping in unison,
hips swaying and gyrating in time.
My
numeracy lesson begins. We’re (well, they’re) dancing the
Macarena.
Mac herself is blushing slightly as a dozen fingers point as they
sing the chorus: ‘Hey, Macarena!’ But she’s safely flanked by
Carmen and María Two so she dances on undeterred, her Latin blood
obviously too strong to submit to any minor embarrassment.
I
don’t really know the moves of the Macarena.
It wasn’t my era, I was much more of a Le
Freak
man. But it’s not difficult to copy the movements ever so mutedly,
as I continue to puzzle over a dozen permutations of the spelling of
‘wait’. There is near uproar. Pablo (the First) redoubles the
enthusiasm of his hip-swinging, possibly afraid that I might be about
to steal his limelight. This encourages most of the others to join in
now, with the notable exception of Jake.
Jake
is nailed rigidly to his seat with a look of horror chiselled into
his features. He’s probably never seen a teacher dance the Macarena
before, seated or otherwise. Not at the start of a maths lesson,
anyway.
The
song reaches its conclusion. Pandemonium. They’re hopping and
squealing and hugging each other. ‘¡Otra! ¡Otra!’ (again,
again) they chant.
‘If…’
I bellow, my hands up in the air, trying to regain the smallest
modicum of control over this seething mass of junior excitement.
‘I’ll play it again if…’
‘Yes,
yes, OK, vale!’
‘…if
I can teach you some new words. Very easy words.’
‘Vale,
OK!’
‘Right!
Now watch and listen.’ I put my hands behind my ears and mime being
unable to hear anything. This isn’t brilliant acting, the noise
would drown out The Who jamming in the corner. Their furious shushing
for quiet increases the volume by 10% and showers me with spittle,
but they finally quieten. I grab a marker and scribble across the
board, ‘3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, 27, 30, 33, 36, Hey MACARENA!’
Then I hit the play button and they burst into life.
I
quickly carve my way through the disco and crouch down in front of
Jake. It’s clear this is never going to be his style. He’s got
about as much Latin blood in him as a Pukka Pie. I could just about
imagine him singing and dancing if Sheffield Wednesday were to win
the Champions League, but we’d have a long wait for that.
‘Listen,
Jake,’ I plead. ‘I need someone who’s brilliant at maths!’
He’s not, but that’s not the point. ‘Could you point at the
numbers on the board as I sing them? This lot are never going to get
it right if you don’t help me.’ I flick my eyes towards his
gyrating classmates with a look that says, ‘Look, they’re crazy.
I can’t manage them on my own!’
‘I
no ’av to dance?’ he checks.
‘No,
you don’t have to dance,’ I reply.
‘Vale!’
he says, making disturbingly better progress with Spanish than with
his English.
We
just about make it into position as the vocals start and I boom out
the three-times table, drowning out whatever it is the singers are
singing and nailing each number to the incessant beat that the hand
(and hip) movements follow. Jake tries gamely to keep up with his
pointing duties but he’s only made it as far as ‘18’ as the
rest of us are bellowing, ‘Hey Macarena!’ and doing that neat
little two-footed jump with 90 degree turn included. Luckily, Pablo
(the First) is a whizz at maths, so he picks it up instantaneously.
Carmen, Mac and María Two are also pretty sharp cookies, so I’ve
soon got the three-times table drowning out anyone who is still
trying to sing the original lyrics.
We
reach the end and again, I have to use every trick I know (short of a
large tin of Quality Street) to get them off cloud nueve
and ready to listen. I’ve got an unforeseen problem when we get to
21. All the numbers before 21 have one or two syllables, perfect to
fit in with the beat of the song; 21, sadly, has three syllables and
the ones who know their three times tables this far can’t say it
quickly enough for them to be ready to say ‘24’ on time, which is
another three syllables. By the time we get to 27, a four-syllable
number, they are so far off the pace that it’s degenerating into a
fine solo performance (guess who) until we reach the punch line of
‘Hey Macarena’ when everyone joins in lustily, including, I’ve
noticed with some surprise and pleasure, Jake.
I
pray that Ofsted aren’t in the vicinity, as I do a quick
demonstration of how boys who were brought up in Cricklewood learned
how to say ‘Twenny’, using only one syllable, instead of
‘twenty’, using two. Before long I’m chanting, ‘Twenny-one,
twenny-four, twenny-sevn,’ at them and they’re parroting them
back perfectly using only two syllables for each. I do a similar,
slight adjustment to 33 and 36 and we’re off and running again.
They
barely miss a beat, although I manage to crash a verse by putting my
hands on my hips when I should have put them on my head, but they
give me pitying, raised eyes and we regain our composure and carry on
regardless.
‘¡Otra!’
they yell.
‘It’s
too easy,’ I yell back as I rub the 6, 12 and 18 off the board.
‘Eeeeesss
EEEEEEEEEEZZZZZZZZEEEEEE!’ they respond and we start again.
It’s
playtime but they don’t want to go out. Even more remarkable, it’s
snack-time and they’re not interested.
‘OK,
OK,’ I concede, feigning great reluctance, ‘We’ll do it again
tomorrow, but only if you can sing it without any numbers written on
the board!’ I clean the board theatrically. ‘Tomorrow, no numbers
on the board!’ I repeat, for those who seem slightly to have lost
the drift.
Bedlam.
‘¡We do
eeet!’ they yell, leaping up and down and hugging each other.
I
escape to the staffroom for a saline drip and return to the class to
find a huddle of a dozen or so around a table. I edge closer to wig
what they’re saying.
Macarena
(appropriately) seems to be in charge. ‘Next ees 24 but you say
twenny-four, den ees 27 and you say twenny-sev’n quickly, quickly,
quickly!’
Scraps
of paper are being scribbled on hurriedly. I mosey across.
‘What’s
all this?’ I bellow, nearly sending Carmen into Earth orbit.
‘That’s cheating! You can’t take it home and practise!’
‘You
no say we no can!’ Pablo (the First) responds dismissively. If I’ve
not said they no can then I guess I’ve got no argument. I bluster
on a bit but they quickly see that I’m not really going to try to
stop them.
Then
I notice that even Jake has a damp scrap clutched in his palm. And as
they head for the playground, humming the tune and swinging their
hips, even he makes a rather stiff-limbed attempt to join in.
It
might not always be clear what I’m teaching them, but it’s
becoming obvious what they’re teaching me (and Jake). They have
such energy, such enthusiasm, they love to be involved. Linda and I
are seriously doubting whether we’ll stick it out here for two
years, but at moments like this I feel sure I’ll want to. They
might have been learning the three times table; I’ve been learning
how to teach, all over again.
I
have used this lesson before, but never with such a response. It
makes me think that, as well as needing a lot of spoken work, these
children really do respond well to a more active style of learning. A
second year would be an opportunity for me to develop things more in
that direction.
I
hear the three-times-table Macarena
starting up in the playground, so I look out of the window. A dozen
of them are in two lines (Macarena out front) swinging and jerking in
perfect time. Well, nearly perfect time. For in the back row, at the
far end, moving a split second after all the rest, is Jake. (He even
seems to be having a good stab at the words!)
A
note on copyright. While I’d love to be able to pretend that the
idea for the Macarena
Times Tables lesson was mine, sadly I can’t. There are very few
primary lessons with a copyright attached. I saw this lesson idea in
the Times
Educational Supplement
around about 2004 as a suggestion sent in by someone, somewhere.
Whoever you are, thank you – and if you haven’t already had the
chance, I hope one day you’ll be able to teach it to a class of
Spanish children. But a word of warning… Make sure you fully warm
up the muscles around your hips before you start!
Click on the image for a free sample chapter of Zen Kyu Maestro (Amazon.co.uk)
