breaking my routine

[Insert Title]
Tuesday, 13 July, 2010

Is it really only Tuesday???

This week we’re (teachers) having a “workshop” about OVCs (Orphans and Vulnerable Children). So far, better than meetings, and kind of even better than supervising studies. Almost anyway.

I was really uncomfortable in the workshop at parts because my past is so glaringly different from everyone else’s. We didn’t have to share these reflections, but questions were asked: What was your childhood like? Happy? Sad? Lonely? What kind of house did you live in? Where did your parents work? What kinds of games did you play? It was the house question that really got me. If only someone had a clue of where I grew up.

After just thinking about those questions and comparing our thoughts to our current living environment and where our learners come from each day, we went outside to do an activity that I did in a college education class. We were all given a slip of paper with a “role” on it. Mine said “street kid, age 16.” We all stood on a line, side by side. Statements were read by the facilitator and if it was true for you, you took a step forward. The statements included things like “I can talk to supportive adults if I have to” or “I buy new clothes when I want to” or “I have gone or plan to go to secondary school.” I didn’t move off the line. The activity was called Power Walk. In college it was something about privilege; white privilege. We talked about leaving those behind who can’t fend for themselves when it’s not really their fault.

The last thing we did was to write briefly about the teacher who inspired us. A few people shared and then I was asked to share mine as the last person. Mr. Daley, my high school geometry teacher. He was the first one who inspired me, or really affected me whole view of education. In college it was Professor Hammond. I talked about Mr. Daley. (Thinking more about it, Mr. Hogan in grade 5 was another influential teacher I had. I was lucky in my teachers, especially compared to what is the norm here.) Siyanga talked about her volunteer teacher from America when she was in school.

We were finally asked to just share what we learned today or offer any reflections. I didn’t really learn anything new, but was reminded about why I’m here for many reasons. This IS new conversation for so many teachers! These kids need so much more than we’re giving them and whatever I do makes some kind of difference. Sihope was sitting next to me and urged me to speak up, I told him I was still processing and would talk on the final day. But I decided to say what was on my mind then and there instead of possibly forgetting by Thursday.

I told everyone that it was a good reminder that we have a lot to offer these kids, that they have so little and everything we do influences them. I told them that the least important thing I’m doing here is teaching math. I told them that the way I see this whole experience for me is to be a caring adult for so many kids who need that. I told them that I realize we have a lot of things going on in our lives and it’s hard to focus on so many people, but if we can just make it a higher priority to be a positive influence and an adult that these kids can go to for help or advice or anything, it would make a huge difference.

I felt like people were really listening.

The workshop ended 15 minutes before study ended, so we all walked out of the room to find about 30 kids kneeling on the stoops of buildings. Siyanga asked who’d sent them – Ngasia in grade 9. Why? Because they were making noise. There were 12 learners from my class kneeling and 2 dodging to play soccer. Those 2 boys were called back and they were each hit in the face by a teacher. Another teacher went to each of the ~30 learners and hit them each in the head with her knuckle.

It made everything so clear – why I’m here, and why nothing will change.

Fat Cakes
Sunday, 18 July, 2010

I will never eat a donut again in my life. They just aren’t good.

But fat cakes? There’s something to them that makes them delicious – a little piece of perfection amidst so many problems. They come in many shapes and sizes and colors. Ok, really only one shape – spere. But the color varies between a light almost orangey brown, to a dark burned brown, almost back. They’re usually so greasy that the newspaper or old exercise book page or marked test paper they come in is transparent by the time you’ve finished them.

I’ve had good experiences eating them, and not as good experiences.

The absolute WORST fat cake I had was the size of a golf ball, and almost that hardness! It was after 4:00pm, so it had been the reject all day. Nicky was supposed to come back with two cakes, one for each of us, but this was the only one left. It was cold. We split it, with difficulty because it was so hard we could hardly pull it apart! It was not satisfying at all.

The best fat cakes I’ve ever had were not only perfect in hotness, ingredient ratio and in taste, but also in the company I got to share them with. Kaitlin was visiting, so that meant Nicky had two friends to hang out with instead of just the usual one. We all walked into the village to get fat cakes, just two each, our normal amount. Nicky came with 6 cakes. She put them on the bench under the awning we were sitting under and let us choose first. I could smell them already. My mouth was watering and my stomach was growling. I picked one up, dropped it in surprise and asked Nicky if they were just from the pot. Ghiii. The woman making them didn’t even put them in the bucket first, just straight into the paper in Nicky’s hands! They were heavenly. Big. Hot. Oily. Sugary on the outside even. We slowly enjoyed our two cakes each, taking the time to cool off our fingers between satisfying bites. After finishing, none of us were ready to have that deliciousness end. Nicky, go get 2 more each. She brought the same paper back (Kaitlin and my insistence) and came back so we each got 2 more. They were just as hot. Just as oily. Just as sugary. Just as perfect. This time we ate even slower, taking time to laugh and talk between each taste.

My principal, even after a year and a half in the village, didn’t know I could eat the food here. At break one day, as I walked over to the group of teachers basking in the sun, he inquired about the fat cakes in my hand. Of course I can eat the food here! Even if it’s made with mahangu instead of flour! I told him about the perfect fat cakes I’d shared with Nicky and Kaitlin.

Now, every time Nicky and I share fat cakes at our usual place in the middle of the village, I remind her about the best and the worst fat cakes I’ve ever had. She agrees on the status of each. Her smile after each story, every time, is another reason I love her so much.

This afternoon, Nicky, Kunyima and I each had 3 fat cakes. They were small. Cool. And average in taste. Not so hard, but sitting around too long to be great. But it was great to be back after a weekend away and sharing something I love with people I care so much about.

The good day I’ve been waiting for!
Wednesday, 21 July, 2010

I woke up not ready for school. Wednesdays are tough. I teach for 8 periods. That’s 5 hours and 20 minutes I stand on concrete in Chacos. My legs were paining at the end of the day. Never mind my growly stomach and tired kids. That’s what I woke up thinking about.

But then the day happened, and it was Namibian perfect.

Yesterday during study I told Mbamba Johanna that I wanted to buy ndongo (peanuts) from her. No, Madam, for free. But I want a lot. No, I’ll just give them to you. She’s done that a couple times in the past, unprompted, and it was always the highlight of my day. But I wanted enough of that salty homegrown boiled goodness to last a while and eat when I wanted. I told her I’d give her the containers I wanted and then she could ask her mom how much I could pay. I gave her 2 yogurt containers. After teaching all 4 periods before break, 7A followed by 7B with Mbamba, she told me it was N$4. I couldn’t believe it. I was planning to pay N$10!! I think they still didn’t want me to pay, but she wanted fat cakes. Fine by me! I found her again at the end of break, after eating enough to make me feel a little sick, and told her I wanted to come eat with her on a weekend at her home. She was happy about that. I told her, just tell me which day. OK. I might have weekend plans without Nicky. Weird.

At lunch I came home to a sleeping Ziggy. He spends his nights out, so it only makes sense that he’d sleep all day. But he’s always excited to see me. He’s African, he ALWAYS greets me! But he barely meowed in greeting today. I was a little worried. Until I looked closer around my relatively messy house and found the source of Ziggy’s sick feeling confining him to bed. He has a habit of going into my neighbor’s house and stealing chicken sitting on someone’s plate waiting to be eaten at lunch. Today, he took the liberty of stealing the biggest piece he could find, while it was thawing. There was a giant piece of raw chicken on my floor, barely eaten. He’s been pretty listless since then. I cleaned it up and apologized to Vusi for Ziggy once again stealing someone’s lunch. He told me there’s a show on the TV where animals do funny things. Ziggy’s antics would qualify. He told me, “If you’re not having enough money, just use your cat to get food from your neighbors!” I told him I’ll have to train Ziggy to start stealing vegetables!

I went back to study to find the office locked so unable to ring the bell. That meant kids continued to play soccer outside while I began preparing for tomorrow. Finally it was official that there was to be a soccer game and no study. Fine, I’m going to prepare instead. Nicky had other plans. First she just yelled through my classroom window that she’d see me after study. Maybe, I told her. Huh? I might go for a walk. Then she came into my classroom and we talked about the fat cake making lesson I’ve been looking forward to. We have enough time? It’s almost 3. How long does it take? Only 30 minutes! Even on a fire? I’m not about to trash my kitchen with oil! Yes. OK. Let’s go make fat cakes.

Nicky made the dough, I observed this time. I commented that she was doing the same motion with her legs and body that she does when she pounds. “Because all my powers are in this flour.” I can’t handle this girl! After putting all her powers into the flour and dough, we went to search for oil. It cost twice as much as in town, but was definitely worth the price. On our walk to the shebeen to buy it, Nicky told me that yesterday they saved a plate of mahangu porridge and chicken for me at lunch! I would love to eat lunch with her! But they saved it for after study, and when she came to find me, I wasn’t there because I’d dodged early to go for a walk, kind of to get peace and quiet alone time! Well, serves me right to miss out on that meal then. I told her to just tell me any day I can come for lunch. We came back and started to make the fire. Now, I love camping and cooking outside and doing everything that way. But I’ve never been good at it, lack of practice really. Together we were making the wood into smaller pieces and putting it between the bricks that would hold our pot. I got the matches and cardboard, ripped up the cardboard to act as our starter and used one match to get the fire going. I told her I was taking credit for the fire. She let me. With the dough ready and the oil heating, kids started coming to see what was going on – hence why I wanted to wait until Saturday. Nicky was in charge of everything, and every time one of the spectators disappeared around the corner, she gave them a mean look and shooed them away further with her hand. In Africa we share, but not when it comes to Miss Lori apparently. The first 4 fat cakes were BIG. We gave 2 away for the 4 kids next door to share. The next 8 fat cakes we smaller. And we kept the rest for ourselves. We didn’t finish. We ate in front of my computer watching The Lion King – Nicky’s favorite parts only. I wanted to eat outside, but it would have involved more sharing, which Nicky was not ok with. We have a few left for break tomorrow. With honey, on Nicky’s request.

I told Nicky today, “I wish we didn’t have school so we could hang out all the time.”

After stuffing our faces as much as we could, Nicky wanted me to test her on her x10 facts. I did them all, she got them all right, so I asked, “Ten times broom” as I walked outside past my broom. “Ten times broom???” Ghiii. “Sweep.”

I wish I knew high ups in governments so they would give her the required documents to get to America whenever I could get her there.

Lesson 1
Saturday, 24 July, 2010

Kids are great. They get it. They get that I can talk to them, that I WANT to talk to them. They get that I don’t really know how to talk to adults, don’t feel as comfortable with them. We can make eye contact and I can see their understanding, and they can see my pleading to save me from whatever one sided conversation I’m trapped in.

So when I got abandoned by Nicky and Kunyima who were cooking and doing something else, I was dingungwa – lonely and bored – even though Nicky’s mom was talking away to me in Thimbukushu. Kunyima came to my rescue; simply sat next to me and we started breaking up sticks and throwing them at each other as Kalenga talked away in Portuguese and Thimbukushu.

In Kaitlin’s house for a while, there was a small poster. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen and I will search for it until I get myself a copy. There are about 8 pictures, all the same, of a table and two chairs. No people. No food. Each one has a few words under it. My favorite is “the solution to the problem.” To me, that means eating together, sharing in something so necessary for survival, is vital. And today I saw that in its purest form.

Nicky and Kunyima’s mom only speaks about 5 words of English, so I understand hardly anything she says. Some of it gets translated, but even without that, I understand her tone. And when she’s talking to her kids, I want to cry. I can barely handle it. But then when the food came, all four of us eating from the same bowls full of rice flour porridge, rwidhi – vegetables – and nyama – meat – for the Namibians, not for me, were laughing together. As soon as the food was finished, the communication went back to the impatient tone from before lunch. But when food is involved, and we’re all eating together, sitting on rocks in the shade with barely clean hands, no silverware, life is good and you can feel the love.

Finally Nicky and I managed to get to my house alone. More fat cakes. This time Nicky was teaching me by letting me do it. They were not very good. There wasn’t enough sugar. There wasn’t enough salt. The first few got burned. Then there was too much salt. I need lots more practice. This will be a delicious experiment!

Playing
Thursday, 29 July, 2010

I try to make my classes fun. If that means we spend 5 minutes of our precious math time playing games, so be it. Those 5 minutes make the kids enjoy my classes that much more.

Recently, I taught them the chicken dance. It actually started as a punishment for kids not having done their homework. I worried that kids would STOP doing their homework because they enjoyed it so much! So it’s no longer a punishment, just a break for 80 minutes of solid math.

This week I gave a test in each of my classes – grade 7 on Wednesday and grade 6 today. But that means we might finished the test before the period is over, but they’re already drained from the test and don’t have energy to push on to the next topic. And neither do I. So we just play games.

The new one is Telephone. I played in 7A on Wednesday. I didn’t even have to give an example sentence, they had ideas from the start. We only had time for 2 or 3 games, but each time, the sentence got significantly changed and it provoked many laughs – even from me.

Today we played in 6A. I gave an example sentence so we knew what we were doing the first round – Milk makes strong bones. Once it got around the circle, Mbamba Gerolda, to my left, said “Kayende ghukanyeko.” We all laughed. I had an idea of what it translated to, but I couldn’t imagine someone would have ACTUALLY thought I’d say that. I asked, what’s that mean, already pretty sure my first thought was correct. It was. Go and … defecate. No one wanted to be the one to tell me. We all laughed. And played for the next 15 minutes. Again, each sentence was changed. We discussed communication. I’m sure that was lost on them. But it was more fun than math!

Sara
Sunday, 1 August, 2010

It seems that half of my female learners are named Sara. I use it in word problems all the time because of that.

Last Tuesday, Mbamba Johanna Sara came to me at school and told me I could come to her house for lunch on Saturday. She’d recently given me many many delicious homegrown, homeboiled, homeroasted, homesalted peanuts and I wanted to share a meal at her home with her and her family. I told her to just tell me when and I’d be there. So Saturday it was.

On Wednesday I let her know I can’t eat meat. OK. On Friday I reminded her and asked when she’d come get me, I don’t know where she lives! I asked what time? And she laughed. I pointed to the east and used the Mbukushu clock – the sun. This time? I asked with my hand low, somewhere around 6am. This time? with my hand a little higher indicating 9ish. This time? with my hand almost at the noon position. She told me “Somewhere here” with her hand around what I took to mean 9ish.

And it was 9ish when she came.

We had a 30ish minute walk to her house – a walk she does every morning to get to school, late most days she told me. I asked her questions so I’d know what to expect once I got to her house. How many people do you stay with? Where are your parents? Sisters? Brothers? She stays with 2 aunties and their kids. Who speaks English? Just my sister. How old is she? 22. Did she complete school? She failed grade 10.

We got to her home and I greeted the 2 people present in Thimbukushu – Prisca and her husband. There were 3 small boys sitting in the sand building cars out of wires and cans for wheels. I took Prisca to be her sister, though I later found out that Sara is actually her aunt and Prisca is 25, compared to Sara’s 16 years.

We sat in plastic chairs and on stools, looking at each other, no one really sure what to say, and me feeling fine about that. Sara and Prisca disappeared into a house to get food and drinks. I hadn’t told Sara that I can’t drink river water, and I quickly noticed there was no tap – they’re close to the river so fetching in buckets is their water source. I also thought how stupid I was to not bring my water bottle with me. But it was fine, no need to panic, we had tea so the water was boiled. Tea and home made fat cakes for breakfast. It was suddenly easy to be there. With food to share, life is good again and conversation comes easily, or the silence is comfortable because we’re busy eating. We talked about fat cake making, me praising hers especially compared to my feeble attempts. I watched them make their Rooibos tea with half of the mug filled with sugar before putting in the water. I don’t usually put any sugar in mine, but I felt too funny having to explain that, so I put in one teaspoon, and I could taste the difference! No sugar next time, I’ll just explain!

We spent some more time sitting around looking at each other before we started pounding. Then the 3 girls – Sara, Prisca and myself – moved the shaded area near the fence, away from everything and everyone. Sara and I pounded and Prisca separated the shells from the grain after we finished.

More people showed up, marveled at my pounding knowledge and ability to greet in Thimbukushu and offered big smiles, seeing me at their home for the first time.

One woman came, missing her 2 front teach, clearly the matriarch of the home, and was so welcoming, even though we couldn’t speak to each other! Sometimes I wonder if it’s easier to try to talk to someone who speaks no English so we suffer through charades and misunderstandings than to have someone try to carry on a conversation is extremely broken English with my even more broken Thimbukushu. At least we know we have to act ridiculous when we have no common language except smiles, laughter and body language!

I got a tour of the home – there are pigs, many many many chickens. The woman missing her front teeth had killed one and was busy plucking the feathers as we walked by. Lunch, I thought to myself.

Prisca was very open and curious about America and me. She told me people say there’s a single pill in America to cure HIV. She asked about malaria prevention programs, like the one she has a temporary job with distributing mosquito nets to kids under 5 and pregnant women. Malaria isn’t a problem in America. Huh? What diseases do you have? She asked about my education – did I go to university or college; a 4 year or 2 year program. Do volunteers go to other countries? How long to fly to America? It’s good to see other countries, to see how other people live. The white people who come here from America are good people, she told me. Some of them. Huh? Only some? OK, most of the people who come here are good. But in America, there are good and bad, just like here. In America, people are rich. Some are very very rich, they have so much money that they don’t know how to spend it all! In America, you can drive a car? Yes, and in America, you can’t hike! You’ll be killed, or no one will stop to give you a ride. Everyone is having a car!

Sara’s home is a completely different feel from my usual Saturday venue of Nicky’s home. At Nicky’s there are always scores of people passing, coming to greet me because it’s very open to the outside, there’s always a crowd drinking, interacting with kids as young as one year old. At Sara’s, I saw no alcohol, no one drunk, there is a reed fence separating her home from the path going to the river, so those who come are coming because they have a reason, not because they saw me and wanted to greet me or ask me for money. It was very relaxing, easy and enjoyable.

We didn’t finish pounding until almost 2, Sara and Prisca wouldn’t let me pound the second time around because blisters were popping up on both hands. That’s part of life and I was ready to keep going, but they wouldn’t hear of it! It was too late to cook porridge, Sara had to get to the marathon training. So I was given a couple more fat cakes with the chicken I’d seen being plucked. Delicious. I was also sent home with some freshly pounded mahangu – breakfast for the next week or two!

I’ve been spending so much time with Nicky that I’d forgotten how exciting and rewarding it is to visit a new learner at her home and meet her family who are so appreciative to have me there. Nicky’s wonderful, and I love visiting her family, but that’s become very routine and it was great to break that routine for a weekend.

One more week of school before exams start!