The Donkey cart of Death... Actually, it wasn't that bad.
I tried to find the most tame goat-becoming-dinner picture from the last update. If you want the real story just let me know :)
June 6th 2008 – Can you believe it? Can you really?
I’m working on my 7th month in Namibia. That’s two tubes of toothpaste. Three bottles of shampoo. Countless phone minutes. Three red pens. One full tube of chapstick – which I never lost. And more than 30 loads of laundry. It’s a strange strange feeling. In some ways, I feel like I just blinked and wound up in a classroom on the wrong side of the planet. In other ways, I feel like the past seven months have been so wonderful and so terrible that I may never be the same again. And I think I’ve finally realized that I would like to be a different person after this. I’m just not sure what kind of person that will be.
This past weekend I was in Windhoek to see Heather off to America. Since a trip to Windhoek costs a minimum of Namibian $160, I decided it was time to check in on some PC business I had been putting off. It was good that I went to the office because they decided to keep me an extra day to finish everything up. It wasn’t so bad because, being there with approval, I got a free place to stay and three free days off work.
Windhoek is a magical place. It has restaurants and hot running water. If you ever happen to be stuck in Windhoek and need a croissant sandwich, I can tell you where the best one on the contintent is… but you have to promise to take me too… and buy me carrot cake. But, while being so wonderful, and magical, and housing croissants, Windhoek is also a bear trap for my poor little volunteer wallet. Lucky for me, there was another 27 volunteer staying an extra few nights in Windhoek. And instead of painting the town red our extra night, we found an old VHS and a dusty PC TV and watched Shallow Hal. It’s a classy movie… Ok, its not. But I thoroughly enjoyed it. According to the movie, Peace Corps volunteers all look like Gweneth Paltrow – on the inside. The bottom line? If you’re having inner beauty trouble, just volunteer.
Wednesday, I got a ride with a Peace Corps driver part of the way back to site. I know I’ve mentioned PC vehicles before but I just need to say again that they are beautiful. They have more inner beauty than any volunteer… including Gweneth Paltrow. They’re so great because they have seatbelts and air conditioning. They’re so great because they have diplomatic plates and they’re not allowed to pick people up by the side of the road. And they’re so great because the drivers know we think we’re poor and they know they’re being used. You know those times when you invited someone to go to a concert, or movie, or out to dinner just because you didn’t have a car and they did? And you know how you felt like they could see right through you? That is my life. But when someone just wants to give me something for free and I don’t have to ask for it or convince them I need it, it really is a great feeling. It’s like being taken care of. It’s like having my mom around. It’s a relief.
To get the rest of the way home though, I had to find a taxi. There are two taxi drivers that go from Otjiwarongo to Khorixas that I like. Everyone else I’ve experienced who drives that route is, well, crazy… or racist… or sexist. I’m not sure which. I SMSed the two I like but was plum out of luck. They weren’t driving. I sat in two taxis in various parking lots for a combination of three hours without going ANYWHERE before I finally got in a car that had enough ambition to actually leave. And while it was nice to be headed towards home, the ride made me think of Tyra Banks… And I’m sure you are all wondering: Why? Well, I thought of Tyra because of one particular episode of her talk show I had watched before I left the states. It wasn’t a regular occurrence that I used to watch her show. But if it was daytime, and I was bored, it was better than soaps. Anyway, on one particular show she decided she would wear a fat suit and see how the general public treated her differently. I don’t remember the exact outcome of the show. But whatever she experienced would have been hard to describe. I know this because I want to describe the feeling of being an American woman by yourself and crawling into a taxi in the middle of Otjiwarongo. But a concrete description would be almost impossible. Not to mention that half of the experience could be written off as paranoia – prolonged stares, looks out of the corner of their eyes, whispering, pointing, squishing to the opposite side of the car, overuse of the words “!uri”, “skol jefro” and “Amerika”. Then halfway home, they interrupt the conversation to tell me, “These two [passengers] are your good friends”. What does that mean? And what have they been talking about? And if two in the car are my friends, does that mean that the other two have chosen to be against me? And why do we need to choose one way or another? Can’t I just have a ride to Khorixas without being a car debate? But if I am going to be a debate, can’t I at least have the courtesy of being talked about behind my back instead of in front of my face in the wrong language? Inner beauty? Try inner self-doubt.
I saw one of the women from that taxi ride recently. She was so excited to see me. So I’m not really sure what was discussed. Being in the dark really is a tough place to live. And it’s not really something I’ve ever had to deal with before. I’ve always had some sort of cultural cue. Something to cling onto and claim I knew an inkling of what was going on. But here, sometimes I can’t even pretend. Is clueless an aura? I think I glow clueless.
June 11
Sometimes I wonder if I’m becoming a bitter person while I’m here. I would like to change and grow while I’m here but I don’t think that bitter is the direction I would like to go. Some of you may argue that I was already bitter before I came and I say to you, psshaw… Some of you more kindly put that I am a realist, in which case I say, I am. And realism and bitterness do not go hand in hand. Unless you’re a pessimist, which I’m not.
So, using my realistic eyes I have made a few observations that I would like to share.
Most recently, my observation was of the 7th grade math book. On the back cover, it has a picture of the Namibian flag and says, “Buy Namibian products”. On the inside it has a word problem that asks learners to make a pie graph of the different color eyes in their classroom. Sally’s got hazel. Michael has blue. Jeffery has brown. Etcetera etcetera… I consider the problem, look around the classroom and consider the problem again. First, no one is named Sally, or Michael, or Jeffery. But names are the least of our problems. And I don’t want to be the downer but I imagine this problem isn’t going to help anyone’s math skills. I could draw plain circles before grade seven. And that would be the answer – One plain circle with the word “Brown” written on the inside. And when we had finished our eye survey I’m sure no one would be any cleverer about pie graphs than they were before the pointless exercise. So, moral of the story? Buy Namibian products if you live in Windhoek or Swakop. But if you live anywhere else, ask the Peace Corps for a volunteer who will come and help you write more plausible math questions for your learners.
Observation number two? We form a committee for everything. Everything. If there isn’t a solution in the first two minutes of a topic, it’s going to a committee. There’s nothing you can do about it. Once the word committee hits the fan, you’re out of the game. Unless of course, you get nominated for the committee. In which case, you can’t do anything. You’re there. You’re the committee. If you didn’t want to be on the committee? You have to form another committee to discuss the replacement options for you on the first committee. And don’t forget the committee that we’ll need to form to assess the emotional needs of everyone involved. Which is only second in importance to the committee we’re going to need to get all of this paperwork done. I’ll volunteer for that committee but only if I can be the chair of laminating flowers to all the paperwork.
Another thing I’ve observed in my time here is the state of Namibian classrooms. I can’t speak for all of Namibia because I’ve only taught in two schools here. But one of my favorite things about the classrooms here are the desks. The desks at my school are trick desks. I think this is brilliant. If you have a learner you don’t like, just make sure they sit at the trick desk. This may not make them a better learner. But it will sure make you laugh when the desk plays a trick on them. You see, trick desks are the 4 out of 5 desks whose tops are not attached. This means if you try to move the desk or anything on top of it the board that sits on top of the metal frame will come crashing down to the ground. Sometimes only one side will slip. This is also entertaining because all of the learners’ possessions will slide and roll to the ground. I’ve been attempting to think of a solution for trick desks for a while and really can’t think of anything. Except duct tape. Trick desks are second in entertainment to trick chairs. Trick chairs have ceased to be funny to me though because I too have been attacked by them. Sometimes, the fake-stable board doesn’t even exist in trick chairs. In this case the learner will balance themselves on the bars that make up the frame of the chair. Then they will proceed to make all sorts of funny faces until I stop class and tell them to go find a board somewhere to spread across the bars. I found a board for one of my learners today. But to my surprise, she rejected it. It was too dusty. She would rather balance her behind on bars than to get her skirt dirty. Oh, this place.
This observation is actually more of second hand information. But I’ve definitely experienced evidence that it is true. I’ve heard that dating in Namibia goes a little something like this: The guy asks a girl out. The girl says no. The guy asks the same girl out. The girl says no. The guy asks the same girl out. The girl says no. The guy asks the same girl out. The girl again says no. Repeat for a prolonged period of time. Really the girl likes the guy this whole time but they aren’t supposed to say yes right away. I’m not really sure why. But, I do know that this practice is really obnoxious for visitors and volunteers. Because when I’m saying “no” I really mean no. A lot of times I say “no” and I really mean, “I’d be really happy to never talk to you again and you’re scaring me a little”. But “no” is nicer, don’t you think? Anyway, as far as they can tell, my no may mean “maybe later”. And this is sticky because then they ask again and again. And every time they ask the “no” that is coming out of my mouth starts resembling the “get away from me!” more and more. And that’s just being a rude volunteer.
That’s about all I can observe for today. I’m sure there’ll be something else to boggle my mind tomorrow. I do kind of resent the people that describe what happens to your point of view here as, “becoming more bitter”. I don’t think you become more bitter. I think you just start to accept that you may never understand the way things work. I think that you start to understand that cultures really do affect who you are and the way you do things. And I definitely think that, while the bureaucracy and red tape of a foreign country make me want to pull the hair straight from my head, I am still enjoying the company of the people around me. Because, in the root of who we are, I’d like to believe we are beyond culture. And that has got to be one of the least pessimistic things I’ve observed here.
June 12
Today, I had my math class working on multiplying and dividing decimals. I asked them to raise their hands if they needed help on any problem. Recently, my math class has gotten really good at doing work on their own. In term one, I would ask them to do work and they would just stare at the wall or pull out and OYO (a youth publication that educates about life skills. It’s really a neat idea but a bit of a nuisance in math class). I don’t know what got into them but most of them will actually work on their assignment now. The only problem is that there aren’t five of me to walk around and answer questions. The kids know how to do the problems but they don’t know they know how to do the problem. If I’m there saying, “Now what do you do? Now what do you do?” they’re magically able to do the problem.
Today though one of the kids raised his hand and when I came over he told me, “Miss, this one’s ear is paining”. I asked the girl he pointed to if it was true that her ear hurt. She said, “Yes, miss, it is a Kakerlaka”. Ewww – remember the kakerlakas from previous blogs? I hope so because…ewww. That’s got to be so terrible. Terrible. She went to the clinic but has to go back a few more times. She cried for a good part of math class. But she’s such a good girl because she also finished her assignment. A few weeks ago she told me she wanted to be a doctor when she grew up. I hear that a lot around here so, while not neglecting or discouraging, I accept those claims from learners with the grain of salt. But today I decided that with her determination, she might be able to make it.
She’s also one of the members of our new girls’ club. Our first meeting was last Thursday. It went really well. I think that was mostly due to Jill’s amazing marker collection. We let the girls decorate some regular exercise books to be their journals. Most of the girls seemed really excited about decorating their books. Then they wrote about what makes a good leader and a little about themselves. This week, we talked about teamwork and played a few games to encourage teamwork. It was also a large success, I would say.
I’m really excited to be working with a few learners more closely. There’s just a lot that I want to teach them about. One thing in particular has been bugging me lately is the fear of mistakes that leads to lack of creativity and lazy work ethics. When kids write most of them are literally copying drawings of letters from the board. They look and see “e” then they look in their book and draw an e. They look and see “a” then they look in their books and draw a. They look up and see “r” then they look in their books and draw r... it takes so long to copy just one word from the board because they are literally just drawing it into their books. This is a problem when I’m asking for something creative too. I’ve learned that I have to show an example or two then erase it. Then the next day I have to say, “Remember the example? Do something like that”. A lot of times it will still vaguely resemble my work. When I don’t do an example at all, they copy from each other. This would be fine it they were sneaky or smart about it. But mostly, they just blatantly copy. Sometimes they don’t even copy the answer to the write questions. And, worse is when they copy from someone who is not as smart as they are. If someone got a 1/20 on their assignment, don’t copy from them! They don’t know what they’re doing! And I’m not even going to accept it because it’ll be late work! Not that they understand late work.
I don’t blame the learners completely though. The system has a lot to do with… well, everything. Yesterday, I did a simple experiment in class. We mixed salt and sesame seeds together to show what a mixture looked like (they were the only two things I had lying around my kitchen that were cheap enough to use). Then we put the mixture in water to dissolve the salt. Then we filtered the seeds out. The glass of water is currently sitting in the window to evaporate the water. It’s supposed to leave the salt but since then a few bugs fell in and a lot of dirt. By the time the water evaporates, the salt will be in another mixture of gross things that float around in classrooms. Anyway, the experiment was fun because it was so different from what they normally do at school. It was nice to break away from the Namibian norm and have a little fun in class. It was also fun because the last time I brought in food for an experiment, learners were begging me for food to eat. Begging like starving people. So I prefaced this experiment by saying, “you can eat whatever you want but you have to wait until after school today”. They thought it was hilarious. And sure enough, kids showed up to guzzle old pop bottles of salt water with sesame seeds floating in it. It was almost like the Khorixas version of Fear Factor. I was proud… actually I was laughing my face off.
Well, before I go, I definitely need to tell you about the epic adventure I had this week. I took my first donkey cart ride!! Our SCORE volunteer, Tonje, is leaving tomorrow. It is the end of her service here. One of her friends offered her a ride in his donkey cart as a going away gift. After school on Tuesday, I was standing around to watch her ride off into the sunset on a donkey cart when they told me to get in too. What was I to say? “No, sorry, I don’t believe in donkeys”. No! I said, why not! As the donkeys were being beat to start them running, the driver made sure we knew that these donkeys were the slow ones. I was A-ok with slow donkeys but later I decided he was lying or had somehow mixed up his donkeys. And with the generic sad eyes and malnourished bodies, I could see donkey mix up being a common problem and a plausible explanation for a lot of donkey cart death. But this is a theory I will have to test later in my time here. The ride wasn’t so bad for the first little bit. We were on a generally flat road. It wasn’t until we made it to the part of the road going downhill that I really did start to worry. And to make it worse, the young man who was driving the roller coaster cart decided downhill was the time to tell us about a recent donkey cart mishap he and his close friend luckily survived. His nerve-racking tail was only interrupted every so often so he could whip the donkeys to make them run faster. This whole time, I had been holding onto the side of the cart like there was no tomorrow. I decided that a death grip would be the best means of survival in the event of a crash. But, I learned from the tail of the donkey cart crash, the course of action previously taken by cart driving experts is jumping. I’m sure you’re not surprised that this didn’t sooth my nerves at all. Jumping is not in my reflexes. Flinching, death grips and the fetal positions are all in my reflexes. But jumping? Jumping is not in my reflexes... I was pondering this when I was suddenly brought back to my current situation by a flying pebble that made its way into my mouth. First, ow. Second, eww – donkey foot pebble. You’ll be happy to know we made it to the bottom of the hill intact. I would like to think this was due to my death grip skills and Jill’s simultaneous death grip on my knee (You should know that my knee and her large variety of “Oh My God!!!!!” noises were the only thing keeping her in the cart. I don’t think jumping is in her reflexes either). But we could also blame this success on the driver, the slow donkeys or Tonje’s calm demeanor throughout the entire experience. We got a few more minutes of touring around before our shaky legs were dropped off by the side of the road to walk to rest of the way home. And it was definitely on this walk home that I decided I will never be bitter at another donkey cart that passes me by when I’m walking to town on a hot afternoon. I decided this because I never want to get in a donkey cart again without preparation. This preparation will include one or more of the following: a helmet, elbow pads, a will, a recent prayer to God, or personal acquaintance with all two to four of the donkeys so that I can ensure they are in fact “the slow ones”.
I’m working on my 7th month in Namibia. That’s two tubes of toothpaste. Three bottles of shampoo. Countless phone minutes. Three red pens. One full tube of chapstick – which I never lost. And more than 30 loads of laundry. It’s a strange strange feeling. In some ways, I feel like I just blinked and wound up in a classroom on the wrong side of the planet. In other ways, I feel like the past seven months have been so wonderful and so terrible that I may never be the same again. And I think I’ve finally realized that I would like to be a different person after this. I’m just not sure what kind of person that will be.
This past weekend I was in Windhoek to see Heather off to America. Since a trip to Windhoek costs a minimum of Namibian $160, I decided it was time to check in on some PC business I had been putting off. It was good that I went to the office because they decided to keep me an extra day to finish everything up. It wasn’t so bad because, being there with approval, I got a free place to stay and three free days off work.
Windhoek is a magical place. It has restaurants and hot running water. If you ever happen to be stuck in Windhoek and need a croissant sandwich, I can tell you where the best one on the contintent is… but you have to promise to take me too… and buy me carrot cake. But, while being so wonderful, and magical, and housing croissants, Windhoek is also a bear trap for my poor little volunteer wallet. Lucky for me, there was another 27 volunteer staying an extra few nights in Windhoek. And instead of painting the town red our extra night, we found an old VHS and a dusty PC TV and watched Shallow Hal. It’s a classy movie… Ok, its not. But I thoroughly enjoyed it. According to the movie, Peace Corps volunteers all look like Gweneth Paltrow – on the inside. The bottom line? If you’re having inner beauty trouble, just volunteer.
Wednesday, I got a ride with a Peace Corps driver part of the way back to site. I know I’ve mentioned PC vehicles before but I just need to say again that they are beautiful. They have more inner beauty than any volunteer… including Gweneth Paltrow. They’re so great because they have seatbelts and air conditioning. They’re so great because they have diplomatic plates and they’re not allowed to pick people up by the side of the road. And they’re so great because the drivers know we think we’re poor and they know they’re being used. You know those times when you invited someone to go to a concert, or movie, or out to dinner just because you didn’t have a car and they did? And you know how you felt like they could see right through you? That is my life. But when someone just wants to give me something for free and I don’t have to ask for it or convince them I need it, it really is a great feeling. It’s like being taken care of. It’s like having my mom around. It’s a relief.
To get the rest of the way home though, I had to find a taxi. There are two taxi drivers that go from Otjiwarongo to Khorixas that I like. Everyone else I’ve experienced who drives that route is, well, crazy… or racist… or sexist. I’m not sure which. I SMSed the two I like but was plum out of luck. They weren’t driving. I sat in two taxis in various parking lots for a combination of three hours without going ANYWHERE before I finally got in a car that had enough ambition to actually leave. And while it was nice to be headed towards home, the ride made me think of Tyra Banks… And I’m sure you are all wondering: Why? Well, I thought of Tyra because of one particular episode of her talk show I had watched before I left the states. It wasn’t a regular occurrence that I used to watch her show. But if it was daytime, and I was bored, it was better than soaps. Anyway, on one particular show she decided she would wear a fat suit and see how the general public treated her differently. I don’t remember the exact outcome of the show. But whatever she experienced would have been hard to describe. I know this because I want to describe the feeling of being an American woman by yourself and crawling into a taxi in the middle of Otjiwarongo. But a concrete description would be almost impossible. Not to mention that half of the experience could be written off as paranoia – prolonged stares, looks out of the corner of their eyes, whispering, pointing, squishing to the opposite side of the car, overuse of the words “!uri”, “skol jefro” and “Amerika”. Then halfway home, they interrupt the conversation to tell me, “These two [passengers] are your good friends”. What does that mean? And what have they been talking about? And if two in the car are my friends, does that mean that the other two have chosen to be against me? And why do we need to choose one way or another? Can’t I just have a ride to Khorixas without being a car debate? But if I am going to be a debate, can’t I at least have the courtesy of being talked about behind my back instead of in front of my face in the wrong language? Inner beauty? Try inner self-doubt.
I saw one of the women from that taxi ride recently. She was so excited to see me. So I’m not really sure what was discussed. Being in the dark really is a tough place to live. And it’s not really something I’ve ever had to deal with before. I’ve always had some sort of cultural cue. Something to cling onto and claim I knew an inkling of what was going on. But here, sometimes I can’t even pretend. Is clueless an aura? I think I glow clueless.
June 11
Sometimes I wonder if I’m becoming a bitter person while I’m here. I would like to change and grow while I’m here but I don’t think that bitter is the direction I would like to go. Some of you may argue that I was already bitter before I came and I say to you, psshaw… Some of you more kindly put that I am a realist, in which case I say, I am. And realism and bitterness do not go hand in hand. Unless you’re a pessimist, which I’m not.
So, using my realistic eyes I have made a few observations that I would like to share.
Most recently, my observation was of the 7th grade math book. On the back cover, it has a picture of the Namibian flag and says, “Buy Namibian products”. On the inside it has a word problem that asks learners to make a pie graph of the different color eyes in their classroom. Sally’s got hazel. Michael has blue. Jeffery has brown. Etcetera etcetera… I consider the problem, look around the classroom and consider the problem again. First, no one is named Sally, or Michael, or Jeffery. But names are the least of our problems. And I don’t want to be the downer but I imagine this problem isn’t going to help anyone’s math skills. I could draw plain circles before grade seven. And that would be the answer – One plain circle with the word “Brown” written on the inside. And when we had finished our eye survey I’m sure no one would be any cleverer about pie graphs than they were before the pointless exercise. So, moral of the story? Buy Namibian products if you live in Windhoek or Swakop. But if you live anywhere else, ask the Peace Corps for a volunteer who will come and help you write more plausible math questions for your learners.
Observation number two? We form a committee for everything. Everything. If there isn’t a solution in the first two minutes of a topic, it’s going to a committee. There’s nothing you can do about it. Once the word committee hits the fan, you’re out of the game. Unless of course, you get nominated for the committee. In which case, you can’t do anything. You’re there. You’re the committee. If you didn’t want to be on the committee? You have to form another committee to discuss the replacement options for you on the first committee. And don’t forget the committee that we’ll need to form to assess the emotional needs of everyone involved. Which is only second in importance to the committee we’re going to need to get all of this paperwork done. I’ll volunteer for that committee but only if I can be the chair of laminating flowers to all the paperwork.
Another thing I’ve observed in my time here is the state of Namibian classrooms. I can’t speak for all of Namibia because I’ve only taught in two schools here. But one of my favorite things about the classrooms here are the desks. The desks at my school are trick desks. I think this is brilliant. If you have a learner you don’t like, just make sure they sit at the trick desk. This may not make them a better learner. But it will sure make you laugh when the desk plays a trick on them. You see, trick desks are the 4 out of 5 desks whose tops are not attached. This means if you try to move the desk or anything on top of it the board that sits on top of the metal frame will come crashing down to the ground. Sometimes only one side will slip. This is also entertaining because all of the learners’ possessions will slide and roll to the ground. I’ve been attempting to think of a solution for trick desks for a while and really can’t think of anything. Except duct tape. Trick desks are second in entertainment to trick chairs. Trick chairs have ceased to be funny to me though because I too have been attacked by them. Sometimes, the fake-stable board doesn’t even exist in trick chairs. In this case the learner will balance themselves on the bars that make up the frame of the chair. Then they will proceed to make all sorts of funny faces until I stop class and tell them to go find a board somewhere to spread across the bars. I found a board for one of my learners today. But to my surprise, she rejected it. It was too dusty. She would rather balance her behind on bars than to get her skirt dirty. Oh, this place.
This observation is actually more of second hand information. But I’ve definitely experienced evidence that it is true. I’ve heard that dating in Namibia goes a little something like this: The guy asks a girl out. The girl says no. The guy asks the same girl out. The girl says no. The guy asks the same girl out. The girl says no. The guy asks the same girl out. The girl again says no. Repeat for a prolonged period of time. Really the girl likes the guy this whole time but they aren’t supposed to say yes right away. I’m not really sure why. But, I do know that this practice is really obnoxious for visitors and volunteers. Because when I’m saying “no” I really mean no. A lot of times I say “no” and I really mean, “I’d be really happy to never talk to you again and you’re scaring me a little”. But “no” is nicer, don’t you think? Anyway, as far as they can tell, my no may mean “maybe later”. And this is sticky because then they ask again and again. And every time they ask the “no” that is coming out of my mouth starts resembling the “get away from me!” more and more. And that’s just being a rude volunteer.
That’s about all I can observe for today. I’m sure there’ll be something else to boggle my mind tomorrow. I do kind of resent the people that describe what happens to your point of view here as, “becoming more bitter”. I don’t think you become more bitter. I think you just start to accept that you may never understand the way things work. I think that you start to understand that cultures really do affect who you are and the way you do things. And I definitely think that, while the bureaucracy and red tape of a foreign country make me want to pull the hair straight from my head, I am still enjoying the company of the people around me. Because, in the root of who we are, I’d like to believe we are beyond culture. And that has got to be one of the least pessimistic things I’ve observed here.
June 12
Today, I had my math class working on multiplying and dividing decimals. I asked them to raise their hands if they needed help on any problem. Recently, my math class has gotten really good at doing work on their own. In term one, I would ask them to do work and they would just stare at the wall or pull out and OYO (a youth publication that educates about life skills. It’s really a neat idea but a bit of a nuisance in math class). I don’t know what got into them but most of them will actually work on their assignment now. The only problem is that there aren’t five of me to walk around and answer questions. The kids know how to do the problems but they don’t know they know how to do the problem. If I’m there saying, “Now what do you do? Now what do you do?” they’re magically able to do the problem.
Today though one of the kids raised his hand and when I came over he told me, “Miss, this one’s ear is paining”. I asked the girl he pointed to if it was true that her ear hurt. She said, “Yes, miss, it is a Kakerlaka”. Ewww – remember the kakerlakas from previous blogs? I hope so because…ewww. That’s got to be so terrible. Terrible. She went to the clinic but has to go back a few more times. She cried for a good part of math class. But she’s such a good girl because she also finished her assignment. A few weeks ago she told me she wanted to be a doctor when she grew up. I hear that a lot around here so, while not neglecting or discouraging, I accept those claims from learners with the grain of salt. But today I decided that with her determination, she might be able to make it.
She’s also one of the members of our new girls’ club. Our first meeting was last Thursday. It went really well. I think that was mostly due to Jill’s amazing marker collection. We let the girls decorate some regular exercise books to be their journals. Most of the girls seemed really excited about decorating their books. Then they wrote about what makes a good leader and a little about themselves. This week, we talked about teamwork and played a few games to encourage teamwork. It was also a large success, I would say.
I’m really excited to be working with a few learners more closely. There’s just a lot that I want to teach them about. One thing in particular has been bugging me lately is the fear of mistakes that leads to lack of creativity and lazy work ethics. When kids write most of them are literally copying drawings of letters from the board. They look and see “e” then they look in their book and draw an e. They look and see “a” then they look in their books and draw a. They look up and see “r” then they look in their books and draw r... it takes so long to copy just one word from the board because they are literally just drawing it into their books. This is a problem when I’m asking for something creative too. I’ve learned that I have to show an example or two then erase it. Then the next day I have to say, “Remember the example? Do something like that”. A lot of times it will still vaguely resemble my work. When I don’t do an example at all, they copy from each other. This would be fine it they were sneaky or smart about it. But mostly, they just blatantly copy. Sometimes they don’t even copy the answer to the write questions. And, worse is when they copy from someone who is not as smart as they are. If someone got a 1/20 on their assignment, don’t copy from them! They don’t know what they’re doing! And I’m not even going to accept it because it’ll be late work! Not that they understand late work.
I don’t blame the learners completely though. The system has a lot to do with… well, everything. Yesterday, I did a simple experiment in class. We mixed salt and sesame seeds together to show what a mixture looked like (they were the only two things I had lying around my kitchen that were cheap enough to use). Then we put the mixture in water to dissolve the salt. Then we filtered the seeds out. The glass of water is currently sitting in the window to evaporate the water. It’s supposed to leave the salt but since then a few bugs fell in and a lot of dirt. By the time the water evaporates, the salt will be in another mixture of gross things that float around in classrooms. Anyway, the experiment was fun because it was so different from what they normally do at school. It was nice to break away from the Namibian norm and have a little fun in class. It was also fun because the last time I brought in food for an experiment, learners were begging me for food to eat. Begging like starving people. So I prefaced this experiment by saying, “you can eat whatever you want but you have to wait until after school today”. They thought it was hilarious. And sure enough, kids showed up to guzzle old pop bottles of salt water with sesame seeds floating in it. It was almost like the Khorixas version of Fear Factor. I was proud… actually I was laughing my face off.
Well, before I go, I definitely need to tell you about the epic adventure I had this week. I took my first donkey cart ride!! Our SCORE volunteer, Tonje, is leaving tomorrow. It is the end of her service here. One of her friends offered her a ride in his donkey cart as a going away gift. After school on Tuesday, I was standing around to watch her ride off into the sunset on a donkey cart when they told me to get in too. What was I to say? “No, sorry, I don’t believe in donkeys”. No! I said, why not! As the donkeys were being beat to start them running, the driver made sure we knew that these donkeys were the slow ones. I was A-ok with slow donkeys but later I decided he was lying or had somehow mixed up his donkeys. And with the generic sad eyes and malnourished bodies, I could see donkey mix up being a common problem and a plausible explanation for a lot of donkey cart death. But this is a theory I will have to test later in my time here. The ride wasn’t so bad for the first little bit. We were on a generally flat road. It wasn’t until we made it to the part of the road going downhill that I really did start to worry. And to make it worse, the young man who was driving the roller coaster cart decided downhill was the time to tell us about a recent donkey cart mishap he and his close friend luckily survived. His nerve-racking tail was only interrupted every so often so he could whip the donkeys to make them run faster. This whole time, I had been holding onto the side of the cart like there was no tomorrow. I decided that a death grip would be the best means of survival in the event of a crash. But, I learned from the tail of the donkey cart crash, the course of action previously taken by cart driving experts is jumping. I’m sure you’re not surprised that this didn’t sooth my nerves at all. Jumping is not in my reflexes. Flinching, death grips and the fetal positions are all in my reflexes. But jumping? Jumping is not in my reflexes... I was pondering this when I was suddenly brought back to my current situation by a flying pebble that made its way into my mouth. First, ow. Second, eww – donkey foot pebble. You’ll be happy to know we made it to the bottom of the hill intact. I would like to think this was due to my death grip skills and Jill’s simultaneous death grip on my knee (You should know that my knee and her large variety of “Oh My God!!!!!” noises were the only thing keeping her in the cart. I don’t think jumping is in her reflexes either). But we could also blame this success on the driver, the slow donkeys or Tonje’s calm demeanor throughout the entire experience. We got a few more minutes of touring around before our shaky legs were dropped off by the side of the road to walk to rest of the way home. And it was definitely on this walk home that I decided I will never be bitter at another donkey cart that passes me by when I’m walking to town on a hot afternoon. I decided this because I never want to get in a donkey cart again without preparation. This preparation will include one or more of the following: a helmet, elbow pads, a will, a recent prayer to God, or personal acquaintance with all two to four of the donkeys so that I can ensure they are in fact “the slow ones”.
2 comments:
I have seen your fetal position...I think it might actually save you. Although I also think that a previous relationship with the donkey would work too.
Also, I can vouch for the realism. There is nothing that says realism better than "Instead of writing my final 20 page lab report, I am going to crawl through and slide down sewers with Erin and Dave Way." That's what I thought.
how the heck have i been missing this awesome blog?!?
hey, can you mail me a robot beetle? those things look cool. they remind me of the hissing rhinoceros beetles i used to throw on my female classmates.
hey, my brother steven is doing tilikum this year. his stories make me miss it.
catch ya later.
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