On October 8th, I finally got to start Turkish high school. The results so far have been çok komik.
I wrote about my first day here for my American high school's student paper. Since then, I've settled into a kind of routine. I get up every morning around 5:45 and commute to school, which starts at 8. Every once in the while I'll miss the bus or sleep a little late and have the distinct pleasure of trying to explain why I'm late in Turkish. I sit in my various classes and study Turkish, do Tömer homework, or write college essays while my classmates take in the information. There's never really homework, and if there is I'm not expected to do it. Most of my classmates speak decent English, and they switch between speaking Turkish with me so I can practice and speaking English to get to know me.
My class is funny. They love to hear me speak in Turkish, and post snap chat videos of me saying things like "hello friend!" in their native tongue. They sat down to teach me Turkish swear words on my first day of school directly in front of a teacher that wasn't doing anything, and they beg me to use them. Apparently there's something particularly cute about a giant blonde girl with a terrible accent confusedly repeating things.
I'm pretty tall for a girl here, and the classrooms are crowded. This combined with my general clumsiness and eye-catching blondness makes me a sight to behold. I haven't quite figured out how to imitate my classmates' grace or impeccable sense of style. I know that I'll never quite fit in, but my class has been so welcoming that it doesn't matter. They're all very kind and I've tried to stay on good terms with all of them. They take me to visit their friends in other classes during breaks and lunch. On one occasion I was taken to another class and surrounded by a group of girls that I was being introduced to. One of my classmates ran into the room and yelled "You stole Kendal!". Two boys immediately appeared in the window to ask "Is this the American?". I'm quite popular here. Another time I was taken to a classroom to learn a Turkish card game that literally translates to "stab your friend in the back" where the objective is to end up with the fewest cards. The fact that players can give each other cards complicates this a bit. I sat and watched as my Turkish peers dramatically accused each other of various things, and bestowed cards accordingly. Arguably the most fun card game I've ever played. Other students watched "Prison Break" on the giant-ipad-computer-smart board thing at the front of the room in the background. Things like this happen daily, and I usually look forward to lunch.
Another change that has come with my new routine is going by my first name, Kendal. I discovered awhile ago that the "Gr-" sound in Gracie doesn't really exist in the Turkish language, and people have trouble pronouncing it. They usually substitute a K for the G, making my name "Kracie". Then they slur the "c", making things particularly hilarious for English speaking Turks. Say it out loud and you'll get what I mean.
Academically, students don't pick classes. They pick tracks. There are classrooms focused on foreign languages, Turkish and math, math and science, and social studies. This is how it's possible for an entire class to stay in a room while the teachers come to them. I'm in the Turkish and math track. So far I've experienced the subjects that the class focuses on to be rather difficult, while the others are so easy that I can understand them despite the fact that they're in rapid Turkish.
Kids don't really do class work, they just take exams. They happen every few weeks and are the only things that people seem to really take seriously. Kids have to take a giant test to get into high school, and another one to get into college. The system doesn't involve lists of extracurricular activities or essays on "times you challenged a belief". Students take the test, their score is added to their numerical high school grades, and they are offered a place at a University. The owners of the top 1000 scores are offered a place at the country's best university in Istanbul, and so on. This provides an interesting contrast to the hodgepodge college admissions system that I'm currently navigating.
Trying to explain to Turkish kids that colleges in the states care about the quality of my essay on "how I came of age" or whether I was an active member of my community is difficult. They don't really do outside activities and spend their time on test prep. Frankly, each system has its merits and drawbacks. The Turkish system tends to be more egalitarian because it offers equal access to education despite geography. My Turkish public high school even takes boarding students from smaller nearby villages for free if they score well enough on tests to indicate that they're too smart for small local schools. College is also a lot cheaper and less bound by geography. However, this egalitarianism only really works for students that score well on tests initially. Kids that don't test well experience an early decrease in opportunity. It's tempting to quickly berate the Turkish system. To Americans it appears to stifle student creativity and devalue actual education in favor of test taking skills. But American education has similar pitfalls. The U.S. system is much less focused on standardized tests, but opportunities can be severely curtailed depending on the geography, and therefore socioeconomic status, of a student's community. Opportunities are further limited by the wildly expensive nature of American higher education. Kids that don't grow up in a district rich enough to fund decent primary education lose opportunity just as fast as Turkish kids that can't keep up their test scores. Turkey's system is imposed from the top down by a country's federal government and the US system is grown organically from local school boards. Having experienced both, I can clearly see the value of a mixture.
While Turkish high school followed by two hours of Turkish class can be exhausting, I'm glad to say that I've enjoyed it thus far. One of my biggest goals is to completely understand a history class being taught in Turkish. Hopefully I'll get there quickly.
My class is funny. They love to hear me speak in Turkish, and post snap chat videos of me saying things like "hello friend!" in their native tongue. They sat down to teach me Turkish swear words on my first day of school directly in front of a teacher that wasn't doing anything, and they beg me to use them. Apparently there's something particularly cute about a giant blonde girl with a terrible accent confusedly repeating things.
I'm pretty tall for a girl here, and the classrooms are crowded. This combined with my general clumsiness and eye-catching blondness makes me a sight to behold. I haven't quite figured out how to imitate my classmates' grace or impeccable sense of style. I know that I'll never quite fit in, but my class has been so welcoming that it doesn't matter. They're all very kind and I've tried to stay on good terms with all of them. They take me to visit their friends in other classes during breaks and lunch. On one occasion I was taken to another class and surrounded by a group of girls that I was being introduced to. One of my classmates ran into the room and yelled "You stole Kendal!". Two boys immediately appeared in the window to ask "Is this the American?". I'm quite popular here. Another time I was taken to a classroom to learn a Turkish card game that literally translates to "stab your friend in the back" where the objective is to end up with the fewest cards. The fact that players can give each other cards complicates this a bit. I sat and watched as my Turkish peers dramatically accused each other of various things, and bestowed cards accordingly. Arguably the most fun card game I've ever played. Other students watched "Prison Break" on the giant-ipad-computer-smart board thing at the front of the room in the background. Things like this happen daily, and I usually look forward to lunch.
Another change that has come with my new routine is going by my first name, Kendal. I discovered awhile ago that the "Gr-" sound in Gracie doesn't really exist in the Turkish language, and people have trouble pronouncing it. They usually substitute a K for the G, making my name "Kracie". Then they slur the "c", making things particularly hilarious for English speaking Turks. Say it out loud and you'll get what I mean.
Academically, students don't pick classes. They pick tracks. There are classrooms focused on foreign languages, Turkish and math, math and science, and social studies. This is how it's possible for an entire class to stay in a room while the teachers come to them. I'm in the Turkish and math track. So far I've experienced the subjects that the class focuses on to be rather difficult, while the others are so easy that I can understand them despite the fact that they're in rapid Turkish.
Kids don't really do class work, they just take exams. They happen every few weeks and are the only things that people seem to really take seriously. Kids have to take a giant test to get into high school, and another one to get into college. The system doesn't involve lists of extracurricular activities or essays on "times you challenged a belief". Students take the test, their score is added to their numerical high school grades, and they are offered a place at a University. The owners of the top 1000 scores are offered a place at the country's best university in Istanbul, and so on. This provides an interesting contrast to the hodgepodge college admissions system that I'm currently navigating.
Trying to explain to Turkish kids that colleges in the states care about the quality of my essay on "how I came of age" or whether I was an active member of my community is difficult. They don't really do outside activities and spend their time on test prep. Frankly, each system has its merits and drawbacks. The Turkish system tends to be more egalitarian because it offers equal access to education despite geography. My Turkish public high school even takes boarding students from smaller nearby villages for free if they score well enough on tests to indicate that they're too smart for small local schools. College is also a lot cheaper and less bound by geography. However, this egalitarianism only really works for students that score well on tests initially. Kids that don't test well experience an early decrease in opportunity. It's tempting to quickly berate the Turkish system. To Americans it appears to stifle student creativity and devalue actual education in favor of test taking skills. But American education has similar pitfalls. The U.S. system is much less focused on standardized tests, but opportunities can be severely curtailed depending on the geography, and therefore socioeconomic status, of a student's community. Opportunities are further limited by the wildly expensive nature of American higher education. Kids that don't grow up in a district rich enough to fund decent primary education lose opportunity just as fast as Turkish kids that can't keep up their test scores. Turkey's system is imposed from the top down by a country's federal government and the US system is grown organically from local school boards. Having experienced both, I can clearly see the value of a mixture.
While Turkish high school followed by two hours of Turkish class can be exhausting, I'm glad to say that I've enjoyed it thus far. One of my biggest goals is to completely understand a history class being taught in Turkish. Hopefully I'll get there quickly.