So why haven’t I written? There are a variety of reasons.
1.
My fellow SALTer, Alex, bought a wireless
internet thingy that he lets me use when I want to send emails. I mooch the
internet 2 to 3 times a week for about half an hour to an hour. The internet
here is incredibly slow so I don’t usually get much done. I copy all the emails
and messages I receive and paste them onto Microsoft Words to read when I have
time. Then I write my replies in a word document and wait until the next time I
have internet to finally send them. It is a process.
2.
I need power to run my computer, and in this
country power is spotty. This is the first day my house has had power in three
days so my computer died a while ago. It doesn’t do me much good if the
internet stops by and my computer is dead. Do you see my problem?
3.
When something worth writing about happens to
occur, my computer is usually dead. By now, there are so many things I could
blog about that writing is a daunting task that I admit I have avoided. sorry
mom…
Today, September 22nd, is my one month
anniversary in Africa. It has been over a month since I slept in my bed, hugged
my family, ate ice cream, or drove a car. It isn’t until I pause that I realize
I miss all of those things. However, in this month I have produced a full
French sentence, climbed a guava tree to get a snack, held an African baby, and
witnessed an unhappy moto taxi driver attempt to transport three full-grown,
bleating goats in his lap. (And just now I successfully reattached the ‘k’ onto
my computer keyboard after snapping it off in a moment of frustration. Miss
Independent!) Would I trade these experiences for a big bowl of Cherryberry
frozen yogurt? Vanilla? With some raspberries? After a short moment of internal
struggle I think, “Of course not!”
I have 3-4 French classes every week with a tutor named
Jonathan. He only knows basic English so we draw and act out a good deal of our
vocabulary (ever seen a chalk drawing of a chicken laying an egg?) Learning
another language is difficult, and for as many times as I do a mental victory
dance for correctly conjugating a verb, I also want to put my head on the desk
and sob. Honestly, not knowing French makes absolutely everything significantly
more difficult, and the moments that I have really struggled this month have stemmed
from the language barrier.
I found out this last Monday evening that I had missed the
first day of school at Altonodji Village and I was expected to start teaching
on Thursday. What an awful feeling. No one had thought to tell me exactly when
school started. I did not have materials or lessons. I had no idea where my
students were at in their English education. I didn’t even know how old they
were. No one sat me down and went through how an English class should run. After
I completely panicked, a kind fellow teacher told me to introduce myself and test
out the students’ English by running through verbs, ABCs, numbers and such. The
program I was supposed to follow had never made it to me, and they would get it
to me the next week. So I had 6 hours
of class time to fill with…something.
My first class on Thursday began at 7:30, which was a
problem because the driver who was supposed to pick me up at 7 actually came at
8:15. So I was an hour late for my first class ever. I didn’t know where my
classroom was when we finally arrived, so a smiling administrator who didn’t
speak a lick of English walked with me into a simple concrete room filled with
forty-three 11-14 year-olds squeezed into little benches. Then he said
something about “this is your teacher” and “no French,” and then gave me a
smile and left. After that the room erupted with basic English phrases shouted
my direction. I managed to get through the remaining hour alive and kind of
smiling.
The next day I made it to my class on time, so I had two
hours to fill. These students were 13-16 years old, and there were only 26 of
them (what a relief). I pretty much did the same thing I had the day before,
which filled up one hour. A nauseous feeling came over me when I realized I had
nothing left to do and 60 more minutes to stand in front of students who did
not understand 90 percent of what I said. Thank goodness for my years of
Spanish in high school and college (a shout-out to Cindy Graber). We did mini
dialogues in front of the class, and they seemed to like that.
The last two paragraphs actually sound a little amusing, but
let me tell you, there is not a whole lot of laughing on my part at the moment.
Teachers in America, hold your lesson books close. Care for your text books,
dry erase markers, posters and bulletin boards. Rejoice that you have the
internet, libraries, visual aids, and some sort of educational training. Cherish
your post-its and that little cup of pencils and pens that sits on the edge of
your desk. These things are precious. Even more important is that your students
understand simple words like, “no talking.” I have none of these things and I
honestly do not know how I am supposed to teach these kids. As an academic
overachiever, this is really difficult for me. I refuse to fail at educating
these children, and I will stress about it until I do a good job. If you want
to say a few prayers for me, I will take them.
After those complaints, I should tell you that I am pretty
sure my students like me. We had a few laughs together and I found my name
written all over the chalkboard after the break (Kelsey is a new name for
everyone). These kids are excited to have the white teacher even if she seems a
little incompetent. Yesterday while I was teaching my class of 40-something, I
realized I had about 30 more children peeking through the windows and door. So
I guess I was teaching 70-something students. J
I would like to write more about home, church, friends, my
family and my most embarrassing moments, but this is already fairly long. I
will try to blog more often for those of you that enjoy reading blogs.
One final note – I know that you are on the edge of your
seat concerning my cockroach infestation. I will put your mind at ease – there
have only been two more sightings and I took care of them with fierceness that
is rarely seen in a Mennonite girl. My room (and home in general) is a safe
haven where I am now completely comfortable. The little bugs and spiders (and
one teeeeny-tiny lizard) that wander my walls just add to the feel of my
African home. I am still adjusting, but my heart is starting to soften for this
place. There are moments of complete beauty and I feel so blessed to witness
them.
Again, thank you to those who write and pray. I am thinking
of you all also.
