PHOTOS!!!! And other less important things.

April 20, 2009

I invigilated an end-of-the-term exam today. I teach every single one of the upper primary (grade 5 through 7) learners at my school now. At the beginning of class, Namibian tradition dictates that I should ask that class, “How are you, learners?” To which they will invariably answer, “We are fine, Miss. And how are you-oooOO?!” (Progressively getting higher and higher in pitch with the “you” that they just sound silly).

I think this tradition is stupid. If we do it so that they can practice English greetings, they need to move on, advance. If we do it so that I can gauge the emotional state of my class, they are all lying anyway and in the end, I know nothing (except that Morris has a strange ability to hit very high notes still).

Instead, I have developed a very technical system. I walk into a class and don’t have to say anything, and I know how every learner is feeling. It’s called The Thumbs Up System.

In The Thumbs Up System, I started by asking the learners, “How are you feeling today?” If they are feeling well (not “goodly”), they get to give a thumbs-up. If they are feeling badly, they get to give a thumbs-down. If they are feeling “somehow” (Namlish for average, blah, apathetic, etc.), they get to give a straight thumb. In my more advanced classed we also have 45degree thumb angles to signify somehow-good and somehow-bad.

The Thumbs Up System is so successful that I do not even have to ask them how they are feeling anymore. If I walk into a classroom on accident or while looking for someone, the whole class will throw me some kind of thumb sign. Some kids like to give me a thumbs-down and a big frown, then when I ask them what is wrong they laugh and turn their thumb up. Tricky tricky.

I lied though. It’s not called The Thumbs Up System. It’s not called anything. At least you know the truth. And I know the truth from the learners now too. The learners do not have to lie anymore. If they are not fine, they do not have to say that they are just for the sake of unity. And if they do not care how I am, they do not have to ask. It’s freedom. Just how we like it.

So, I invigilated this exam today. When I walk into the room, everyone gives me the thumbs up. It is really encouraging. Everyone is happy. All these thumbs up make me feel like I am approved of. Like maybe I am the cool teacher. I divide the exams among the learners, ask for quiet, please, and take a seat at the teacher’s desk. I was thankful to have such a cooperative group of learners to look after. They are concentrating, moving their mouths while reading questions, scratching their foreheads, trying to remember. I am flying through GRE flashcards (only a few weeks from my own exam now). We are the most productive room in the whole school. In all of Khorixas, in that moment.

Then, there is a squeal of joy. What?! I looked up from my cards. Every eye in the classroom was angled upwards. Hands and pencils still poised in test-taking mode. Everyone is frozen, not sure what to do next. Above our heads is a small bird flying, flying in circles. We’re all getting dizzy watching it. We are happy just to watch it for a while. Then the thought slowly comes to my head, we need to do something. We need to fix this. But how?

I look at the learners and, “Ahem”. I point my eyes downward towards their tests and they all reluctantly start to work on their tests again. We can hear the bird flapping above our heads. It is going faster now. Soon I realize that I am still staring at the bird. It is futile to try to not stare at the bird. At first the bird appears magical and free. It flaps it wings for half of the classroom and then soars the rest of the circle. It does not dip close to any of our heads. It is just here to say hello, maybe to wish us luck. It is not threatening.

Some learners are trying so very hard to keep their eyes on their exams. They look down and put their pencil to the paper. Then slowly, their eyes, almost involuntarily, turn back upward. When their thoughts return to their absentminded heads, they quickly look down at their exam again. They are losing time. They may not finish if this keeps up. I realize this and start to make plans in my head: We could all stand up and urge to bird out of the open door. We could try to throw a sweatshirt over the bird and carry it outside unharmed. We could… just then, one of the learners shows the bird a big thumbs-up… or we could tell the bird how we’re feeling.

None of us are getting anything done. The bird, at first wonderful and exciting, is getting more and more difficult to watch. We cannot take our eyes from it. But, where at first it was gliding and smooth, now it is floundering. It’s circles, at first perfectly geometric, are now irregular and incomplete. The bird is so so tired. It is looking for a way out. The windows are wide open and it does not see them. The door is free and clear and it just passes it by. Each time the bird pauses at a window, the classroom tenses it’s muscles. Then the bird continues on its wearied path and our hopes are dashed. It seems like there is no end in sight. Maybe this bird will just fall from the air, dead with exhaustion. Maybe it will free itself before anything drastic happens. Maybe… The bird lands on the chalkboard and readjusts itself so that it can stare at us all. It’s breathing hard and its eyes are pitch black. For a beat the classroom is silent. Then, like the opening of the stock market, the kids all remember their exams and start feverishly writing. Outside, they can see other children, from other classrooms, who have already finished their exams. The bell will ring soon.

I am thankful that the bird just sits there. It is still. It stares at me. I wonder if this will end up messy. Droppings on my head. Splatters on the window. We stare each other down. A dual. I wonder if the principal will let me go home and wash my hair… if the need somehow arises.

The learners are finishing their exams. Some of them have put their heads down. Some of them blow kisses to the bird on the chalkboard. I am thankful that it is still. A short while later, the bell rings. To my surprise, no one moves. Everyone just sits are stares at the bird. They are missing out the food and fun of break time. But they just sit there. Almost every eye in the classroom is on this small, pitiful bird. And as though it could sense the collective stare of 40 Namibian children, the bird reluctantly lifts itself into the air and resumes its circular path. Being free from their exams, the kids giggle and wave as the bird flies overhead. It tires faster this time and it becomes almost painful to watch it pause before windows and doors. It’s back hunches. It’s eyes become darker. We sit there for ten, maybe twenty, minutes. Circles and circles and more circles. At one point I remember that children like to catch birds here when they’re feeling extra hungry. Then they cook the tiny bodies over a fire made from donkey dung. I survey the classroom looking for learners who are drooling. There are none. Circles and circles and circles. And then, a charge. The bird backtracks and flies straight at my face. I panic and duck. The bird misses by and inch. It turns and swoops again, just over my head. Then, hovering by the door, it pauses. None of us believe it will leave. It is here to stay. A permanent fixture in the classroom. But, to our surprise, the bird pauses in front of the door, bows it’s head, as if to say goodbye, and ducks out the door. It’s gone.

“Yipppeeeee!” I hear from the back of the classroom. “Yipeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” All the kids join in. They are imitating Grandpa Joe from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It’s adorable. I am happy that they are happy. I am happy to have avoided disaster. The learners collect their exams and turn them into me. Then, they file out of the classroom and disperse. But we are all bonded together. Stuck with this common experience.

Then, later, I went home. And, not having studied all that much while at school, I toss my GRE flashcards on the table and lay down – momentum is to blame. What to do? What to do? I’m bored. But I don’t want to study, too much brain energy. I know! I’ll write! I’ll write about that damn bird.

And here we are.

I can’t believe you read all that. :)



April 23, 2009

That last post, that was mean. I promise to never do that to you again. At least not intentionally. I’m sure I will write about pointless things again but will then think that they’re completely serious and interesting. I urge you not to tell me when they’re not interesting.

One of the more interesting things in my life, however, I will tell you about now. His name is Tu-o. Sometimes his name is Johannes. And occasionally it’s Kloefas. But if you ask him, he will say Tu-o. He is three years old and visits every Saturday morning when his mother comes to do the wash. Right now, he is my all-time favorite thing about Namibia.

Tu-o is my favorite because he is crazy. Not literally, but in practice. He is my favorite because he laughs like woody woodpecker. And he’s definitely my favorite because he’s never afraid. Sometimes during the week, my mind wanders and will end up at a memory of Tu-o from the previous weekend. Sometimes, in my memory, he’s trying to sneak up on me without being seen. If I turn my eyes even slightly in his direction he will bolt out the door where he is hidden again. Other times, in my memory, he’s lining up all his toys (that we let him borrow when he’s here) and then terrorizing them Godzilla-style. And sometimes, in my memory, he is wearing a silly Halloween costume sent from America, running around in circles and terrorizing his sisters, Emma and Katrina (one of my science fair stars from last year).

This last memory still makes me giggle out loud. At the time, it made me laugh so hard I was crying for half an hour straight. He is adorable. I hope you think so too:

I hoped you enjoyed that montage. I picture it to the tune of “Get Rhythm” by Johnny Cash – couldn’t tell you why though. It’s your lucky day though, because I’ll show you another picture montage. This one is of my outing for the Easter holiday. Before you look at them, though, you should know that they do not represent a normal volunteer life. The luxuries found below do not occur everyday. If they did, everyone would be rushing to be a Peace Corps volunteer. And then, it wouldn’t be called volunteering; it’d be called taking over another country… or something.

Also, the pictures are taken in a coastal town called Luderitz in the South of Namibia. It’s about 1200Km from Khorixas and took me about two days of crazy Nam-travel to get there (totally worth it). Lastly, you should know that I didn’t take any of the pictures (my camera was stolen in the previous blog post and, if I weren’t so lazy to write about it, I would tell you about how the police found it in this blog post. It was really amazing. They didn’t even use the footprints in the yard to find the 15 year old boys who were not even clever enough to leave Opuwo with 2 computers, American passports and wallets and a couple of digital cameras. So, the police easily found these youngsters and recovered our goods, minus my camera charger – a part of a camera you never really feel too attached too until it’s gone missing… No, I will not tell you that now). Please, do enjoy:

First, the two crazy days of travel to Luderitz involved a combi ride with, ahem, just the right number, er, the safe number of PCVs crammed in. This shows row 3, 4 and 5 in the combi. Let's not even talk about row 2.

That's my beautiful green eye that you can barely see in the back there.

We stopped in the desert so that we could stretch our legs and honor the event by catching a photo with Flat Stanley for an elementary school in America

We visited the ghost town called Kolmanskop. Houses full of sand. Fantastic stories.

We went out on a sail boat. It was beeeaaauutiful. And cold. Very cold.

We had a fantastic braii with lovely toasties (the process pictured below) (a toastie is a grilled cheese sandwich with any variety of other fillings).

And then everyone rejoiced!

Happy Easter!

Next time, on The Elephant in the Middle of the Room, we'll see the brave parents conquering Namibia! Stay tuned.