Learning a new language in their new world of Iowa

In a small basement room tucked at the back of West Liberty's library, five of the city's newest residents met two Mondays ago. They've come from Colombia and four very different parts of Mexico, but all five have one thing in common - the desire to learn English.

Low voiced and hunched over their desks as if having trouble seeing the page, each adult in turn reads from a journal, an assignment to explain in ingles what they ate for breakfast, lunch and dinner the day before. It's 6:15 p.m., and each one of the adults already has put in a full day's work.

"Today is Nov. 16, 2003," one reads, "It is 8:30 in the night. For breakfast this morning, I ate cookies. For lunch I ate enchiladas. For dinner I ate eggs, beans and toast with butter."

J.D. Munoz, still decked in his McDonald's managers uniform, stands in front of the class. He leads this session, one of four sessions that Muscatine Community College offers weekly at the library. He corrects their pronunciation and tense, partially in English, partially in Spanish: "8:30 at night," he says, "8:30 in the morning, 3:30 in the afternoon."

The student who'll read next mouths his journal entry as Munoz elaborates. A yellow-covered "Photo Directory of American English" sits next to his paper.

After each journal reading, Munoz also is quick to tell them "good job" and point out what they got right. It seems so minor telling them he was impressed that they used "ate" instead of "eat," but each of his students' faces brightens. One of them crosses out a word in his notebook and scribbles another one in the meager space above it. They listen a little more closely to the next journal reading and smile when he uses "ate" instead of "eat."

•••

Not too far into the class, the students hear a guest speaker, a young woman in her 20s. A native English speaker who grew up amid southern Iowa's cornfields, she's studied espanol for several years.

Still, her face blushes as she begins speaking in Spanish. She talks at a moderate pace, obviously trying not to stumble over her sentences. Sometimes an English word, such as "which," slips into a sentence.

The students listen politely, their eyes growing larger when she slows, like parents waiting for a child to say the word that the meaning of the whole sentence hinges on.

Later, she looks away, trying to think of the word, a long "uh -" breaking her speech. The students lean forward, resisting the temptation to blurt out the word they know must come next.

She will not learn, after all, by being given the an-swers.

•••

Most of the students wear hooded sweatshirts, beat-up caps and blue jeans. One used to be a newspaper reporter in Mexico City. For a woman from Colombia, Thursday was her first Thanksgiving in the United States.

Munoz tries to explain the holiday. "It's about being with your familia," he says. The students give him knowing nods.

"And the pilgrims," he adds. Some of the students' brows furrow.

Later in the class - it goes 21/2 hours until 8:30 p.m. - they'll learn something about the American farm of the 1930s by reading "Charlotte's Web." Besides expanding their vocabulary and understanding of English grammar, it'll help them better grasp the rural history of the state they've moved into.

The young woman passes a handout to the students when Munoz tells them to take a short break. As the students rise and accept the handout, they do not say gracias.

They say "Thank you."

(originally published Nov. 30, 2003)