Turkish schoolchildren during lessons
Like most people who go to Turkey for vacation, I used to think that everything here is created for hedonism: people are relaxed, positive, easygoing, always ready to have fun. And Turkish children, as it seemed to me, are kissed, spoiled, and generally play football all day long.
But one day I enrolled in Turkish language courses for foreigners in Antalya. And after that, the country, which I thought I knew well enough, revealed itself to me from a completely different side. All my stereotypes about education, attitudes toward learning and knowledge turned out to be as far from reality as possible.
So, one day I left my house at 7:30 and went to the bus stop to go to my first Turkish lesson. And then I saw the place where I have been coming for many years, and my neighbors, whom I have known for a long time, with completely different eyes. At the crack of dawn, in the morning twilight, sleepy children with huge backpacks trudged along the street, parents carried very little ones in their arms (in Turkey, children go to first grade when they turn 5.5 years old, and before that they attend preparatory classes). I never thought there were so many children in our neighborhood, and I realized that everyone I see in the yard simply does not go to school yet.
The language school where I started studying (courses for foreigners organized by Ankara University are available in every major city in Turkey) is designed for 12 months, with five lessons every day. At the very first lesson, I was surprised by how serious it was. Well, courses are courses, I thought. It turned out that, despite the excellent relationships that the teacher develops with students (among the latter are adults from different countries who came to learn the language for life or work, and teenagers who need a language certificate for admission to a lyceum or university), constant laughter and jokes in the classroom, everything here is absolutely real.
If a student misses four school days within a month (one month is one course), they will be asked to take the course again. Every two months there are transfer exams, or rather, five exams. If you don't get the minimum score on one, there is an opportunity to retake it; on two, goodbye, go back to the previous level. Honestly, I thought these were horror stories, but no, they really do make you study a second time.
But it's not just about strictness; the very attitude toward the learning process is amazing: teachers also give their all, as if it's not a language course for foreigners, even if at a university, but a real university. It so happened that I studied with breaks, changed groups and teachers several times, all of them became my friends, then I met other teachers from schools and universities, so I can generalize.
Teachers in Turkey are a true elite—educated, very socially active, progressive, free, and respected people. On November 24, Teacher's Day, the Turkish Facebook feed turns into a stream of gratitude to educators, as well as quotes from the founder of the republic, Kemal Atatürk, about the importance of education. His most famous words: "Education is what will make a nation free, independent, and wealthy, otherwise it will remain in poverty and slavery"—can be found everywhere here, even on cups.
At the same time, if you ask any Turk, they will immediately say that the main problem in their country is education. A popular joke in Turkey: "The peculiarity of the Turkish education system is that there is no system and no education." Citizens of the Turkish Republic criticize the authorities for endless reforms (this is very familiar to us). Recently, for example, school periods changed; now primary and secondary school each last four years, compulsory education ends there, and then those who wish go to lyceum (in our terms, high school) and study for another four years. From the outside, it's hard to understand why, but so many spears were broken over this innovation, everyone was buzzing and predicting that because of this "three times four" system, the country would soon fall "into poverty and slavery."
Many criticized the exam that needed to be taken for admission to lyceum, but just recently it was abolished, and now everyone has started criticizing its abolition. University students—and Turkish youth are very politically active and passionate—do not miss any opportunity to take to the streets demanding accessible education for all. Again, we cannot understand why it seems inaccessible to them—education in Turkey is free, including higher education. I think they mean accessible good education. One thing can be said: this is one of the most acute topics in society.
In order to score enough points and get into a good university, as with us, children start preparing for the exam long in advance (it is taken on one day across the country). They also attend endless additional courses and live in constant stress. At the same time, as they say, the exams are really difficult: for example, two girls who had just finished school in Krasnodar and were preparing to enter a university in Turkey studied in my group. In their opinion, the Unified State Exam in mathematics is not even close to the exam they have to take.
Turkish schoolchildren have the fewest days off—during the school year, essentially only one vacation (two weeks in February) and a few days that fall on holidays. And even adults, as I later began to notice, are constantly learning something. Even in our language courses, the main topic, both in textbooks and in classroom conversations, is education: how it is structured in different countries, what is lacking, how to fix it. I even got this topic on my written exam.
And so (it's strange to say this) only after all this did I understand that all the words about "learning is light," which we have been accustomed to perceive as hackneyed pathos since childhood, are actually important. And everywhere, in any society, in any country, this rule applies: only education will make us strong and independent.
Natalia AFANASYEVA.
Portal Ucheba.ru