...and then there were 7

On Wednesdays, we've started a literacy class in the middle of Paris. Every other day, we're in the banlieue with groups of 20 or 30 women flooding in. In Paris, it's more of a trickle. Usually, we have 1 or 2, on a big day, 4 women, who attend these Paris classes. I always say to the woman I work with, "Well, we're only just starting out..." implying that I want more women to come, and I want the classes to grow. In fact, I think even yesterday I wanted more women to come, and I wanted the classes to grow. I was thinking 20-30 women would be nice. A few more people to form relationships with. Today, well...
But then, that's jumping ahead. Let's start at the beginning.
I have a Moroccan woman and an Algerian woman in my class. Both are on the verge of being fluent in French. Neither can read or write very well, so I've been having a grand old time doing reading comprehension exercises with them. Today, I had a great lesson. We would study the letter L, study a few verbs, but then, I had this cute story of a cat that walks into a cafe to order lunch. It was a joke written in the form of a dialogue with true and false questions at the end.
But at 2:00, I had only one student ("Grace"). She explained that the other student ("Hope) would be over in 15 minutes--she was still in her apartment finishing her ablutions. Grace explained that Hope was really strict in her faith--when Grace had left their apartment buildling, Hope had the arms of her robe rolled up and was rubbing the water all over. "Give her a few more minutes," Grace said.
So, I did, and finally, Hope wandered in, and we got started.
But then, at 2:30, we had what I can only term as an invasion.
The three of us were reading the dialogue, and then, noise. Footsteps, shouting, whining, screaming--noise.
5 women marched in, each one with an infant tied in colorful cloth on her back. The last woman walked in, steering 3 children in front of her.
"We don't know a thing," the one, whose name is Baby, said. "Start from scratch."
I was standing there with my mouth hanging wide open, and my fingers still clutching that cat story that suddenly seemed completely irrelevant.
I gathered up 5 more chairs and squeezed them around the table, telling them, "Well, let's keep working on what we've started, and if it's too hard, just tell me."
We got through one line of the story when Baby said, "Too hard."
So, I attempted to have two groups. One with Grace and Hope, and one with Baby and Company.
I started Baby and Company on an exercise where they'd practice copying the letter L. Meanwhile, I went to check on Grace and Hope who were working on something else. When I was with Grace and Hope, Baby and Company started chatting and laughing and altogether forgetting to work.
So, I hurried back over to them, checked their progress, and discovered that one had drawn circles all over the paper where she was supposed to be practicing her Ls.
"Is this good?" she asked. "Is this what you wanted?"
"Well..." I said, and mumbled something that I hoped didn't sound too discouraging. And then, as I was helping her try to hold the pencil (which it seems she hadn't done before), she told me to wait a second, and she proceeded to slip her shirt off to nurse her baby.
I stood there a minute, completely bewildered, got one look at the milk slopping out of the sides of that baby's mouth, got a whif of the sour smell of breastmilk, and started dry heaving.
"Go on," she said. "I'm listening."
I had to walk away and take a sip of water first. And as I was standing there with my water cup, completely frazzled and worn out and speaking some exhausted language that no longer resembled French, I thought, "Maybe 7 is enough. We're only just starting, but I think 7 is enough."
Of course, we'll have to see what happens next Wednesday, but for now, is it so bad to wish that we stay at 7 for a while?
I hope not, because I'm busy wishing.