school life

My third graders provide me with consistent entertainment. I feel more like a mother than a teacher most of the time, because they fight like only siblings can fight -- you'd think that they've all grown up together stealing each others toys in the bathtub and bickering over who gets the last of the Lucky Charms (or the "spicies" as I and my brothers used to call them -- you know the much-coveted handful of powdery sugary goodness at the bottom of the bag? That turns your milk purply-pink? Anyway…) 

From 11:20am-12:40pm I battle their incessant squabbling. They'll look at me with a concerned and hurt expression, and protest:

"Madam! This one is take pencil!"

"Madam! This one is hit me!"

"Madam! This one is telling me I am bear and I have big head!"

To which I respond (of course): "Tell him your heads are the same size!!"

Certain students, of course, are more tenaciously disruptive than others. As you watch this video, notice the ridiculous child in the lower-right corner with the blue ruler who never seems to have a normal facial expression. This is Rama. Observe also the ruthless shoving, biting and face-to-elbow contact going on between my charming boys as they vie for the camera's view.

Before I remembered anyone's name in the class, I remembered Rama's name, since I ended up yelling it about 35 times during the course of our first class. I think he's physically unable to stay seated facing forward in his own chair. Have you ever seen this video of the sneaky cat? That's who Rama reminds me of, except for the motionlessness part. I can't comprehend how he can get to the other side of the room so quickly, but every time I turn around he's on the floor, at another student's desk, or in some sort of contortion "sitting" at his own.

Last week he was truly in top-form: I hear (for the 57th time) a commotion behind me as I'm writing on the blackboard. I walk over with my feigned stern face to see that Rama is barefoot and one of his socks has magically relocated to his right hand. I try to keep up an authoritarian demeanor and communicate the disgraceful and unacceptable nature of this behavior. Their main teacher, Charles, walks by the window and all the kids yell over to him indignantly, obviously dissatisfied with my disciplinary approach and determined that justice be swiftly carried out -- "Teacha! Teacha! Rama is put sock!" He looks at me as we both try to hold our laughter in (which I'm really not very good at… "Teacha, you are laugh!")

Although they adore me, the kids are of the opinion that I do not provide sufficient retaliation in response to unruly behavior. They usually try to encourage me toward harsher methods, yelling at me to pinch or strike the offender, or smack his hair full of chalk dust with the blackboard eraser. But I am getting better -- I bought a ruler this week…a very good slapping device. I've grown to enjoy improvising discipline methods depending on the situation, as this tends to entertain the rest of the class…drawing Xs on their foreheads with my chalk or whacking Collin with the same shoe that he just threw across the room at Rama. 

As you might have inferred, they're pretty good at self-policing, which is lots better than having an entire insubordinate class. A few kids in each grade are designated as class leaders; it's so funny to see how seriously these 8 and 9 year olds take up their role, acting like little adults. On Tuesday I sat in on their science class after my class was over, as they couldn't stand to see me go and begged and pleaded for me to stay…class leader Deborah was conducting everyone through a science review, in a section marked "Match the following items with their definition":

Deborah: 11. Beans and milk. Rama?

Rama: B. Land animals.

Deborah: Eh!? Land animals?! BEANS and MILK! (shakes head disapprovingly)

Here's Charles, science teacher and fellow devotee/lover of Class 3. He read over part of this blog post, cracking up at my very accurate description of our dear delinquents. Apparently he's the only one that can handle them; the other teachers shy away. Charles uses the "-ee/-y" suffix to an extent that approaches incredulity. It's kind of like a new language. After the 'sock'  incident the other day, he came into class and picked up a piteous-looking ruler from off the floor, held together in two pieces by masking tape: "Why-ee thees-y ruler ees-y lame-y??" 

"Lame"…the meaning, i assume from the context, to be "broken." Just one of many words given a colorful new meaning by my beloved Tanzanians. Such as "squeeze" -- a verb, used in a healthy assortment of situations. Need to move your desk to a spot where someone's foot is currently located? "Squeeze!" Someone in the way of your jump rope's personal space? "You! Squeeze!" Or "tuition" -- a noun I've understood to mean any sort of homework, exercises, sample test questions, as opposed to it's traditional English definition of "a sum of money charged for teaching or instruction." As in, "Teacha! Today you will give to us tuition?"

Tanzanian English-wise, I've also been very entertained while helping the teachers to type up the students' tests for their Annual Examinations. For instance:

Man, the African resistance against colonial occupation would TOTALLY have succeeded if it weren't for those dang blessed foreigners...

Some are just straight-up funny, but I can't tell if it's a joke or not (probably isn't). Like, on a 5th grade Civics exam:

13. The aim of defense and security is to:

            A. torture people until they cry

Certain to trip-up inattentive students from the correct answer, "ensure the safety of people and their property."

Here you can see the fabulous Marantha Mission School -- this wing currently houses the baby classes (ages 3, 4 & 5), 1st through 4th grades, principal's office and staff lounge (my usual haunt in between classes). There's a comparable wing (although the upstairs is un-finished) on the other side of the grounds that holds 5th through 7th grades, school manager's office and another teacher's room.

And here you can see some fabulous school lunch fare -- makande, which is beans and lentils (I think). Very hearty. By this time, I'd think that everyone would be used to the fact that I eat their food…I mean, I have lunch with them almost every single day. But it continues to amuse them...

"Leez! Unakula makande?" (Lindsay! You're eating makande?)

"Ndiyo, napenda!" (Yep, I love it!)

"Ah!" (gleeful laughter follows)

Everyone wants to know if I've eaten ugali (very very African) and if it exists in America. This is how you make ugali (get ready): Boil massive pot of water. Add tons of flour. Stir. Add more flour. Stir. Add more flour. Stir. Repeat indefinitely. Yum… It's actually really good as long as you have stuff to eat with it! And a very practical recipe if you ever find yourself in a situation in which your pantry happens to be stocked with nothing but flour. I've quickly gotten over my aversion to beans, as they seemed to confront me at every turn. To my great surprise, I've also gotten used to the cooked unripe bananas…I used to dread the sight of them, anticipating with trepidation the impending dry and bready texture, so inappropriate to a fruit, that was about to enter my mouth. But I have recently had some really great cooked banana experiences that changed my outlook. It's all in the mind, really. I've reshaped my expectation concerning daily meals -- if I'm only bargaining on sustenance and nutrition, then any amount of tastiness is a happy bonus!

My lessons are coming along pretty well…learning a lot as I go. Haven't been able to go very deep since their school year is already finishing up this month, but hopefully next year will be a bit more structured.

Though my video editing skills are minimal, enjoy this compilation of kids songs :)

**

Thank you teacher

Thank you teacher to help to teach us

Love Jesus is the Lord of mirrocor is the lord of He God

**

Our teacher is Linsi

we Love our teacher

is Linsi we love her

it is our teacher

**

for Largsay:

I Love you Lasay

I help to see your

and I love one day

you will to our home

or I will cowe to you

to go to our home where

you came to our home yow

will meet the cake and 

and sweet do you love 

me or other class?

One day you will meet

the dog and will playing 

today do you will the when

you go to our home

do you like the

banan

orangs

ugala

ar

you sings

sings i you come to our howe

**

home life

First of all, let me just get out a random mosquito rant: Do they not realize that my mosquito net is a death zone? Because I know they're not suicidal… Can their microscopic little eyes not see the graveyard of small black stains on the white mesh netting, the exact size and shape of their former companions? [**note: Miriam informs me that mosquitoes, in fact, do not have eyes but are led by heat] Because landing on the outside of it means certain death. You have cut off entirely one half of your escape route by coming to rest on a flat surface, especially one that your killer lies directly underneath.

Back to my topic: So, because we haven't yet been able to open the orphan home I'm going to live at and help out with, for now I've been living with the pastor's family, a little bit outside the main part of Arusha. The pastor is currently in America for the year, but I live with his wife, daughter and usually 3-5 various transient house guests, which makes for a a nice lively family environment.

Mama Elisikia, Pastor Eric's wife, and her 18-year old daughter, Miriam, dressed up for church

They are beautiful and hospitable people, so full of love…Mama Elisikia adoringly considers me the replacement for her first-born daughter (about my age) who is currently living in Korea. She started giving me hugs the first day I got here, which immediately induced my love. Miriam graduated high school last month and I'm currently helping her with college applications to go study in the US next year. Luckily for me, she's one of the best English speakers I've met here, so it's nice to have someone to translate ridiculous things for me and to talk to when I need someone there. Mama tries really hard to speak English, and is usually able to communicate what she needs to, but often slows down trying think of a word, gets frustrated and switches to Swahili mid-sentence. For some reason, she also adds "-ee/-y" to the end of pretty much every word, which is cute :) [Actually an exorbitant amount of people do this] She goes, "Ooh my Dohter! You giv-ee me headache-y!" when I come home after 4pm without telling her I'm going to be "late."

I'm filled with thankfulness so many things--my own room and bathroom, soft bed, comfy blanket, mosquito net with no holes [okay, there's just 1], toilet paper in the bathroom, crickets and roosters the only sound outside my window (goodbye Muslim prayer calls & brassy-voiced bread vendors!), and Mama who comes into my room every evening saying "Leez! Come to eat-y!" It's really nice to be living with Christians again…Mama E's favorite phrases--considered appropriate to use in any situation, whether blessing a newborn baby, slowly lowering herself into a chair, or opening the refrigerator door--are "Halleluuujah, thank you Jesus!" "Ooh my God-y, thank you Jeeesus!" and "Ohhhhh I love-y you Jesus." You can just feel that the house is filled with love, peace, and God's Spirit. After living for a month in 99% Islamic Zanzibar and only getting to go to church one time, it's crazy how much comfort I found when I arrived simply in hearing people pray together before they eat! Mama has started to make me pray in Swahili before dinner every night, which struck fear into my heart at the first request, as the classroom doesn't really teach you how to say things like "bless this food to nourish our bodies." I usually manage to haltingly get out "Jesus Christ---I thank you---for---this food---that Mama has cooked. Bless---this house---and this family. In the name---of Jesus. Amen." If I think harder and maybe mention something about the weather and some church prayer request I'm aware of, I'll usually get some exuberant encouragement from Mama: "Goood! Today-ee you try! You are-y real Tanzanian!"

Partly spurred by this pressure to know how to bless the food, as well as by my desire to be able understand the sermons on Sundays, share the gospel, lead worship, teach Sunday School and pray for people, I have started on a quest to read through the Swahili Psalms and New Testament. I'm also trying to memorize one short verse in Swahili per day…obviously it helps to learn verses I already know in English. My first few days' verses:

Mshukuruni Bwana kwa kuwa ni mwema;        (Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good;)
Kwa maana fadhili zake ni za milele.                 (His love/faithfulness endures forever.)
Zaburi 136:1 / Psalm 136:1

Nanyi, mtanitafuta na kuniona                           (And you will seek me and find me)
Mtakaponitafuta kwa moyo wenu wote.             (When you seek me with all your heart.)
Yeremia 29:13 / Jeremiah 29:13

If you think that "mtakaponitafuta" might be hard to say, you are right. Swahili grammar is 'agglutinative,' which means they put all the modifiers (object, tense, relative, etc.) into the verb itself. The plain version of that word would be "tafuta" ("seek") But they add so much into it that it transforms into MegaWord--"mtakaponitafuta" ("When you will seek me"), which I have never been able to not stumble over. Kind of reminiscent of "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious." Intimidating, but runs trippingly on the tongue.

Last week I was encouraged almost to tears by Mama Elisikia and our new guest (James' mom)…they both went off exclaiming for the longest time, 'you're such a special girl…you're so different…you like our food…you don't have high expectations…you bear with us in our lifestyle…you'll be able to be a missionary anywhere, even in a Masaai village…it's so hard to move to another country, you have God's calling on your life...etc etc!' It's so sweet, because I don't see anything special about the way I act--they're the ones who are ridiculously hospitable and generous. I'm always anxious to show thankfulness and not to offend people, even at the expense of having to eat until I'm going to explode or swallowing things that I would have never deliberate sought to put in my mouth.

One one hand, it is affirming to my life direction and investment. My whole life I've tried to take every uncomfortable situation as "missionary training." Have to sleep on the floor? Oh well, missionary training. Spiders? Be brave, missionary training. Hot water is out? Missionary training. If I think about it, I suppose on some level what they're saying is true--I take showers with a bucket of cold water, I open my bathroom door and baby cockroaches scatter, I eat pretty much the same plain food every day--but on the other hand it's really not…even in writing that, I'm like, oh my gosh seriously praise the Lord I have a bathroom door to open, clean water, and these people cooking me satisfying (and free!) food! The problem is that their outburst mainly arises from comparing me to other American visitors who apparently, in their experience, are quite a bit more discriminating in their palates and arrogant in their attitudes. But I'm not too interested in being judged in comparison to Americans… Like at the end of my life, God's looks at me and goes, "Well, at least you were awesomer than the rest of America! Nice job!" Yeah, I'm not banking on that. I don't think anything really looks that impressive next to being torturously murdered on behalf of people that hate you. My goal is not to be impressive…Jesus has that covered.