a captive class

     Today I attended a play here in Bobov Dol. There were several differences between this show and others I have seen. For one, I wasn’t allowed to go in with my identity card or my cell phone. Another difference was that there were no female actors, only a bunch of men, two of which were in drag. Also, the theater was patrolled by 10 guards. But I must say the biggest difference was that I was surrounded by about 80 convicted killers.
     As odd as it may sound, I have begun to rely on a prison to keep me from going insane. Twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I teach English to a small group of prisoners here in town. Before my classes with these prisoners, I teach a small group of prison personal who also want to learn English. We don’t have textbooks, I usually get hassled by the guards before I go inside, and I always feel like I am gonna do something stupid and get shot, but these four hours remind me that teaching can make you feel good.
     I don’t know what these men were like in the outside world. I don’t know what crimes they committed. And though, I am curious, I know that it is better that I don’t know. I learn during my lessons some details surrounding their imprisonment. One guy, Boris, is in there because he was caught in the Czech Republic by INTERPOL and extradited to Bulgaria. Another guy, Kiril, wrote during an exercise that he likes to drink blood for breakfast. I asked in Bulgarian, „кръв? (blood)” and he said, “well I am a killer.” The rest of the class laughed; I slowly backed away.  
     I do know the kind of men they are in my class though. They like talking about women, and sex, and alcohol. They talk about loneliness and missing their families. They study hard. They listen well and they get bored if I go too slow. But they are patient. When I used BINGO as an activity and it ended up becoming an agonizing 30 minutes of me saying “B17, O2, N9…” they didn’t complain or whine. If they don’t understand something they ask for more explanations and more work. There is one prisoner, George, who is my age. I thought that he didn’t like my class, and didn’t understand much. But he asked at the end of one class if there was someway I could help him with spelling. So the next week, we had a lesson on phonetics and he couldn’t have looked happier.  
     And they learn. After 2 months, I am teaching most of the classtime in English. One prisoner, Hristo, works in the employee cafeteria of the prison. He has invited me to eat dinner there, and so now I have plans to eat there after every class rather than going home and eating by myself. When I went there today to see the play, I got there early to have lunch with the prison psychologist (who is also a student, though in my class for employees) and Hristo, asked what my order was in English, and took it in English, even explaining what was in everything.
     I know these men have done bad things in their lives, and I know that they have hurt many people. I also know the respect with which they treat me. I consider myself very fortunate to be able to teach these men.
     The play was great, by the way. Three of my students were in it. It was all in Bulgarian of course, and there were no microphones, or stage lights. But between my weak Bulgarian and the psychologist explaining the plot in between scenes (of course, again in Bulgarian), I got the gist. A very special play from a group of special students.