Bittersweet 07 July 2016

        It’s referred to as the end of a chapter, or a turning of the page. Some call it starting a new adventure while others claim it’s turning over a new leaf. However one describes what happens when life goes in a new direction, it rarely adequately sums up the emotions that relate. Recently at my final Peace Corps conference our Director Programs and Trainers used terms like limbo, flux, adjustment, readjustment, and disorientation. I’d like to think that I am just redefining what the adjective bittersweet means.

         When I say bittersweet, I am not talking about the chocolate chips I just munched on. I mean that complicated, hard to adequately explain feeling that transpires when two opposite feelings occur simultaneously. Just like bitter and sweet are antonyms, according to the dictionary, as an adjective this term can mean “both pleasant and painful or regretful.” One thing sparking opposite reactions.

         That’s how I am feeling in my last month in Selekleka, Ethiopia.

         On one hand, I am pleasantly excited about packing my bags, taking a mini bus for the last time, and flying back through the time-zones to the waiting tight hugs of friends and family. I smile as I close my eyes and picture a blue sky over a baseball field with my knees showing and an iced drink in my hand. My heart gets excited as I think about decorating my new classroom, planning lessons with technology and the 28 smiling kids I will soon call “mine.” I relax when I remember that I will regain my freedom of driving and can go visit places on my own schedule. My tongue craves food it hasn’t tasted in ages, and my hands itch to make a rhubarb pie and fresh bread. Running off a dock, playing guitar, biking with dew on the ground, worshiping in a church in English and more compile a long list of things I am eager to do when I get back.

         In the other corner of my heart, I am in pain--pain from experiencing and noticing all the “last times” happening. The last time I eat hilbet. The last time I go to Shire. The last I see _(fill in with a bazillion friends’ names)_____ smile.  The last time I dance with Tigringans. The last…. I still have three weeks in country and I know it’s not going to get easier. I am going to have to say goodbye to more friends, memories, and kids (who probably don’t really understand that I am not going to come back). I am going to continue to have to clean out the one room house that has become a home. I am going to have to turn off my phone and disconnect with those (Americans and Ethiopians) that have been easiest to reach the last two years. The pain is just as real as the pleasure.

         Thankfully, I don’t have much to regret. While writing my final program report of Peace Corps this week, I had to look back at the first research paper I wrote about my site. This included the plans that I had said I wanted to do. Some of them I exceeded my own expectations. Others shifted to become something new. Some just stayed dreams. If I become critical on myself, I can point out my flaws that I am disappointed in, but smiling faces, laughs and other thoughts soon put those in perspective. I lived this Peace Corps life to the fullest. I don’t regret joining Peace Corps, staying here for two years, or the mistakes that happened along the way.

         Don’t ask me how I am. Too many people already have and I don’t know how to adequately tell them. How can I be both happy and sad? It’s not a common place to be and not one shared at the dinner table or through emoticons. How can one have two pieces of her heart in two different places full of love and life and yet feel content in just one of them? How can I articulate in a way that does justice to this paradox of emotions?

         At our Close of Service (COS) conference, we were asked to think about the fears and joys we feel about coming back to the States, as well as, what we want others to know about. Here is what I want you to know: It is bittersweet. I am leaving one home to come to another. I am ending one dream to start a new one. I want to share about my life here and how it has changed me, but don’t know how or where or when to start that sharing. I am going to happy and sad and maybe not even know why. Please have patience, love and respect about how I want to share my Peace Corps experience and how it has impacted me. I am also looking forward to seeing how two years have impacted you so please share! And, if all else fails or gets too confusing, chocolate chips are always an option!

                                            * * * * * * * * * * * *

For those of you who don’t already know, I am leaving Ethiopia on the 29th and should be arriving the morning of the 30^th back in Spokane, Washington (thank you time-zones!), where I flew out of 25 months and two days (plus a leap day) ago for this adventure. I should be finding out specific ticket information in the next couple days and will share what I know when I know it via Facebook. Prayers for safe travels would be greatly appreciated. Thank you all and God bless.

The End of Teaching 24 June 2016

         I walked out of Hakfen Secondary School’s gate today and realized: this is the end! While I will teach in other schools in other places in other countries, I am done teaching 9^th grade here. (pause) It is slowly sinking in with waves of relief and sadness. Some things I am thankful to say goodbye to; however, most things I am sad to leave behind.

         So, let’s start with the things I am glad to be leaving behind in the Ethiopian school system:

         For starters, not having a schedule that remains a schedule. Things were never planned which was both frustrating and annoying. I usually found out things were happening tomorrow…. or today…. which throws my American schedule-oriented brain. The mid-exam got moved. School started late. However obnoxious this was, it allowed me to relax, take a breath, and build confidence in my ability to be flexible to change. So, yes I am looking forward to more of a schedule, but I did learn a lot from having an inconsistent/random/changing one.

         Standing in doorways is a thing here. I don’t know why, but the doorways are always clustered with people even if the steps or room are completely open. I have needed to get something from the staff lounge and can’t get through the one or two people blocking the way. However, just yesterday I realized that I had stopped in the middle of the doorway for no apparent reason. Guess I’ve integrated, or I’m going to need to make sure I don’t do this in the States.

         The way the grades were divided were: 5% Attendance, 10% Homework, 10%Assignment, 5% Short Test, 5% Short Test, 25% Mid Exam, and 40% Final Exam. Students had to have 50% to pass the class. Everything I did in the classroom only accounted for 35% of the students’ grades. However, there was some flexibility that allowed me to make the most of this 35%. For example, only two short tests scores were recorded. Traditionally one would be before the mid-exam and another before the final. I gave a short test at the end of every other chapter. This allowed me to have 4 test scores for each student that I was able to choose the top two scores to record. I was also allowed to add extra credit for the students that came the day after holidays, and use participation as part of the assignment grades. While the breakdown of grades was constricting and really frustrating for students that don’t test well, it was pretty straightforward.

         Okay, I guess those aren’t big complaints, but what can I say, there really aren’t that much to complain about.  Some things really are two-sided with their “cons” also contributing to the “pros” in my books.

         The main example of this would be the textbook. (Con) The material was often in an odd order, lacking in details, or missing relevance to students’ lives.  This lead to me finding additional resources to research topics, spend hours trying to find an easier and more logical explanations.  However, (Pro) I had complete freedom with the curriculum. I could reorganize it any way that I wanted to. I could make my own schedule while filtering in the four language skills (listening, reading, speaking, reading) and various activities into each of the activities even if they weren’t originally in them. I wasn’t restricted to teaching to multiple tests, because the test was made after we taught. This freedom (and almost expectation) of recreating or creating anew curriculum is going to be hard to give up.

         Along with the freedom of curriculum, was the sheer fact that I have only been teaching English. (Con) Before Peace Corps, I was an elementary school teacher and/or substitute. I loved doing science projects, writing goofy history songs, and figuring out how to make long division not so tricky. I still miss these things. It is probably why so many of my teacher friends aren’t English teachers. I missed other subjects to the point that I daily asked other subject teachers what they were teaching. I’ve learned that an unfertilized ostrich egg is the largest single cell organism (thanks to Biology teachers) and how to calculate cos, sin, and tangent without using a calculator (admittedly not very well) from math teachers. While I do miss other subjects (Pro) I love that I can spend hours preparing a lesson plan that will be used three times in a day strengthening it and many were used for a second year. I love that I can be passionate about one subject, while incorporating others, and thus grow greatly in that field. I went to college thinking I wanted to be a 3^rd grade teacher. I have taught for two years as a 9^th grade teacher and think maybe middle school would be fun, if I want just one topic and to have younger kids. Next year in 5^th will be an adventure to figure out where my heart for teaching lies.

         Another (slightly strange, but totally relevant) example would be chalk. (Con) Dust would daily get in my eyes, on my clothes and pretty much everywhere. Granted I am white, so this lead to many jokes about chalk not being that big of a deal for me. Due to the fact that chalk dust is down right obnoxious and logistically takes time to erase the board, (Pro) I developed the skill of organizing lessons and board space to minimize dust and maximize learning. While I planned out lessons, I would also keep track of what I was writing and how important it would be. Many things can be reviewed orally only, but sometimes it is important to write the review so that examples are already being built for today’s lesson that builds off of that. Ethiopian students are conditioned to write whatever is on the board; however, this takes too much time, and also prompted me to be very clear what I wanted written in exercise books or just reviewed. Thanks to chalk dust, I am a much more organized and scripted teacher.

         Probably what people assume would be the biggest con would be my class sizes. Most people would be right. Having 3 classes that averaged 73 students in each was tricky on so many levels. Correcting exercises books would take a whole day to look through. Grading exams made me cross eyed and thinking ABCAD BBAADCACD long after I turned out the lights. Figuring out how to write on the boards so all students could see gave me a refresher course in angles while preventing cheating on such close quarters made me slightly agitated. Names were hard to get straight and then figuring out which Rahel was who when there were 6 in one class just complicated matters. But whenever I walked in the class, heard kids get excited that it was English time, have kids by for erasing the last classnotes, and heard them respond “Good morning, Teacher” it didn’t matter that much that there were so many. True, they didn’t like the new way I arranged desks so there were 9 or 12 T-shaped groups in the class when I first did it, but it didn’t take long for them to realize that it made competitions more fun, attendance easier to take, and exercise books to all be signed within the 42 minute class period. They lit up when I did call them by (the correct) name, and were right there to laugh along with the rest of class when I messed up. Daily participation was important for attendance which means attention was usually on me. If something did pop up, there were students who would help sort out the mayhem or get another teacher. I’ve taught small classes of 30 on days after break and felt out of place. I am comfortable with so many, it will be a trick to get back into a smaller class size with the size of the room being about the same.

         Then there are some things that I am just going to downright miss and am pessimistic about finding in America.

         I only teach three hours of the day for half the day. During the other time I would go get tea with teachers, play volleyball, climb mountains, eat cactus fruit or just read a book. While I am looking forward to a full day teaching, I am really going to miss the excess of free, uncharted time that many of my days held.

         Friends are irreplaceable. Sure, new ones can be made, but having to say goodbye to my teacher buddies is a huge part of the sadness of the school ending. These teachers are the people I vent frustrations to about students’ misbehaving and they calm me down while correcting the class. These teachers are the ones I play volleyball with till long after the sunsets and are always there to walk me home after dark. Teachers that are more like brothers and family members than just friends. Saying goodbye to the nicknames, fun texts, and tight shouldered bumping handshakes is something I am really thankful I experienced in Ethiopia, but know it can’t be replicated exactly back in the States.

         I love teaching. I love teaching in Ethiopia. Some days I wish I could stay forever. To see my little five year old friends grow up and be in my classes. To wear my white coat with chalk in the pockets for school years to come. But despite my heart’s longings to stay, I know God is calling me elsewhere. The lessons I’ve learned teaching here will impact my teaching for years to come in ways I haven’t even realized it yet. Some things I will miss, other things I won’t as much. It is the end of one chapter of my life, but “the rest is still unwritten.”

Where is the love? 14 June 2016

There are many things on my “Internet To-Do List” sticky note on my computer. Here are just a couple of them:

-       Average income for Americans.

-       Trump’s religious affiliations

-       Area of America compared to Ethiopia

-       Create new email

-       Youtube: “Where is the Love?” By Black Eyed Peas.

Everyday I am asked question. Many of which I don’t know the answer to, but want to. This turns into me wanting to research, but don’t have access to web browser at the moment questions are asked. That is where the first three things on the list come from: quizzative Ethiopians asking me profoundly awesome questions. The fourth I need to create as my Ethiopian friends all call me “Jessie Bruce” and I am tired of explaining my last name to them. The last one has been added in recent days as I can’t answer all the questions presented to me about the Orlando massacre, the rumors that Eritrea is invading Ethiopia and the disheveling-ness of the humanity.

Social media is a powerful, yet often sloppy resource. While most of my Ethiopia friends share a “squat pot” bathroom, have only one electric outlet in their homes, and cook with charcoal, the majority of them have phones that can load facebook and other media sources better than my cheap brick of a phone. News sources get lost among the shares, likes and opinions that quickly link Ethiopians in the States back here. Memes are taken at face value and facts merge into murky details. This leads to half-stories being shared and other images of the world to be formed.

I was told today by a highly educated teacher buddy that the shooting in Orlando was done by a terrorist. When I tried to clarify and state that the shooter was an American, I was told I was wrong as “Americans don’t attack Americans. It must have been ISIS.” Another teacher asked me to draw a map of America to show where Florida is. After I did, he stated: “So the Terrorists came across the ocean.” Again I was reminded that Americans would not harm Americans when I tried to point out the flaw in the logic. (Not to mention that the dictionary defines a terrorist as: “a person who uses terrorism in the pursuit of political aims.” )

A friend of mine who does have access to internet and news channels, has informed me that the shooter was Muslim, but, according to his parents, had been lapse in practicing for years. However, news reports are making this as a reason he decided to harm over 100 people.

I just finished reading a nonfiction book called “Zeitoun” by Dave Eggers in which Zeitoun states “… everytime a crime was committed by a Muslim, that person’s faith was mentioned, regardless of its relevance. When a crime is committed by a Christian, do they mention his religion?” Then later, “When a crime is committed by a black man, it’s mentioned in the first breath: “An African American man was arrested today…” But what about German Americans? Anglo Americans? A white man robs a convenience store and do we hear he’s of Scottish descent? In no other instance is the ancestry mentioned. (37)” In the seven years since the book was published, and 11+ years since Zeitoun first thought this, how have things changed so little?

Living in Ethiopia for almost two years I’ve seen America through the eyes of Ethiopians many times. They revel at the extravagance of a Thanksgiving dinner and presents at Christmas they see in movies. Teachers are jealous of class sizes of 25 and the up to date material teachers have access to.  The misconceptions that a developed country means that everyone is rich, has their own personal cars, don’t walk, and has large houses are considered facts. Not only have I had to explain countless times that there are black people in America, but also that we are not a perfect country. But which country is?

There are bombings happening frequently. Cops are getting shot or shooting too often. Kids are getting kidnapped, running away, left in toilets and more. Rumors are flying of invasions, while other countries are at an open war with each other or themselves. I openly admit to skipping past the posting from news stations’ facebook pages, when there just seems to be too much depressing news being shared.

It all goes back to the song. While I haven’t heard it (or watched the amazing youtube video of it) in a long time, the Black Eyed Peas were right when they asked the world “Where is the love?” Why are we falling apart when we have more ways of connecting with others than ever before? Why do we, Americans, religiously and racially discriminate, when we tear down Confederate flags that signaled the splitting of a country on similar grounds? Why do we leap to conclusions about individuals and are offended when anyone makes assumptions about us?

Tonight, I am heading over to a friend’s house for dinner and coffee. We will probably watch t.v., definitely laugh, and enjoy a blessed evening together. The only way religion is a factor is that it is Ramadan, so we have to wait till after 7 to eat. Love is in seeing people for the beauty that they are and not seeing the differences as blemishes. Love is in the simple act of treating others like one would like to be treated as a fellow human being. So, where do you see the love?

Named For A Reason (and maybe a Purpose?) 31 May 2016

Names are important. They identify the individual from a group. They help distinguish lineage even if many of us aren’t in line for a throne. Many in the 21^st century give their sons and daughters a name that they like the sound of, just like their parents did for them, so the meanings behind the names are lost, unknown, and/or unconsidered.

When I was born in Scotland, my parents took a while to decide what to name me (they weren’t expecting a girl, so they only had boy names planned out). They both hold true to the belief that not only do they need a name, but that there needs to be a reason behind the name given. It will be the name written on God’s hands and the one that will be used for the rest of their lives and mine.  While my mom thought Fiona and Shona were beautiful, Scottish names, my dad vetoed those for Jessica. I thought for a while he was slightly crazy to name me the most popular name in the US (granted they didn’t know that at the time), until he told me the reasoning. He had always wanted a daughter, but was slightly pessimistic about that becoming a reality as his older brothers had only had boys just like several generations before them. Jessica, coming from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice’s daughter, means ‘priceless treasure.’ The merchant had everything, but nothing could be given to him for his daughter. My dad felt the same way about me; hence, I am Jessica.

Names have meanings in Ethiopia that everyone knows. Whenever someone introduces him or herself to me, I also get a mini-lesson on what the name means. Tesfay means ‘light or hope.’ Almaz means ‘diamond.’ Gebre means ‘follower or servant’ so Gebre Michael is ‘follower of St. Michael.’

A little over a month ago, Tesfay, one of my friends and fellow teacher, decided that I had lived in Ethiopia long enough, so I needed an Ethiopian name. He first asked me what name I liked, but I insisted that he give me a name as he knew the reasons. So, after consulting with other teachers and staff he game me the name Meseret. When I asked why, he responded “Meseret means ‘cornerstone or base.’ You are the base of something new.”

         I’ve been called lots of name while being in Ethiopia that made me roll my eyes (like Forengi, China, Stephani, You), or laugh outloud (like, Jelly, Josie, Yogi, Jon Cina, Jonni) and smile (like Messy, Jessie, Jessie Bruce).  Throughout all the names, there is something important about being known. I travel to big cities and hate that I don’t know anyone. I love coming back to small Selekleka where everyone yells my name.

          I have been named for a purpose. We all have. There is meaning behind a name whether that be a given name or a nickname. We partially get to decide that purpose, but how cool can it be to live into a name.

Starts to Conversations I Never Thought I’d Have May 25, 2016

I have added many conversations into my blogs; however, there are some that just made me pause and question what is going on. All of these were asked as I wrote them in English, so I wonder what is being missed in translation or understanding. Whatever the reason, they are always a reminder to keep on my toes and be ready (or as ready as I can be) for the unexpected. Some of them have been asked multiple times and I’ve yet to develop an answer I really like. How would you respond to some of these?

“What is a hip-oh-pa-tah-mus?”

“There are no dirt roads in America.”

“Where is Califoria?”

“What happens when a man and woman stop being married?”

“You are Protestant?”

“You are from Washington. So is Obama.”

“All cars in America are cheap.”

“Sex is a basic need…according to psychology.”

“There are no black people in America.” (When asked about Obama: “Okay there is one black person.”)

“Do you go by bicycle or ride bicycle or drive bicycle? What is grammatically correct?”

“I want to marry you…so we can have a hybrid!”

“Jessie you don’t have a boyfriend?! Not even in America? But you are sexy!”

“Jessie you are beautiful! Yesterday you were 75%, but today...WOW!”

“What is the difference between shit and sheet and shoot?” (Note: With Ethiopian accent this is tricky!)

“You didn’t eat a snake today?” (teacher friend meant “snack”)

“I’m the best smasher, but you are the best digger.” (referring to playing volleyball)

“Why didn’t you come visit me in jail? It’s part of our culture to visit colleagues in jail.”

“What jobs in America could I have?” (asked by a completely blind teacher)

“Why are you white?”

“White hair is not caused by genetics.”

“Do you accept my idea to love you?”

“What is brat warts?”

“How is life being single? It is difficult for me.”

“I don’t think Uruguay is a part of America.”

“Hot weather is best for women and cold weather is best for men” (When asked why: “Because women are bigger in places where it is hot and men are bigger in places where it is cold.”)

“Do you agree that if Ethiopia wants to stop poverty it needs to improve education?”

“What do you call white hair in America?”

“Which is better red or black?” (referring to light and darker skin tones)

“Are there illiterate people in America?”

“Are there beggars in America?” (When told yes: “No, you are lying to me.”)

“I know the states of America: Texas, Los Vegas, Hollywood, Ohio and Washington D.C.”

“How are Americans Christian if they eat meat before Easter and celebrate on a different time?”

“Jess, do you know WWE? Is it real or fiction?”

I’m Not Changing the World 16 May 2016

I've been told multiple times that what I am doing in Peace Corps is honorable, impactful and world changing. Three adjectives that promote Noble Prize winners, political agendas and missionaries into action. They are postive adjectives. We all want to be important. To have our work be recognized as having an impact. To know that we made a difference. As I meander on the dirt path towards school, I realize that I am not changing the world, my impact is invisible and honor is much more complex than moving half-way around the world.

I know when someone tells me, 'Jess, you are changing the world!' he or she doesn't really believe that my impact in Ethiopia is as far reaching as every surface habitated by oxygen. The 'world' incorporates all landmasses and the vastness of cultures of people on it. Very few things that happen in one place around the globe truly affect the rest. An example would be Mount Saint Helen's errupting which, some scientists believe, is impacting climate change around the globe. I'm not a volcanic erruption so I'm not really changing the world at all.

If instead of looking at the vast world, I look at the worlds I live and interact with that is plenty of places where the potential for impact comes in.

Redefining Hard (The week I won’t forget: April 11—April 15) May 20, 2016

This week has been one of the hardest, most trying weeks of my life and definitely of my Peace Corps experience. My heart has been over flowing with joy and crushed with sorrow. My body has been pushed to exhausting limits and completely relaxed. I've had answers given and more questions arose. At thousands of feet above the world, I'm able to just breath, turn up the tunes and process this week. 

On Monday, April 11, I spent the morning inputting students' grades from a four part skills assessment that tested grammar, reading, writing and listening skills. So many grades, but great to see growth of many students and awareness to weak spots. In the afternoon, I was able to get some internet that was strong enough for a quick chat with Mom. Thankfully she listened to a “God nudge” and corrected my poor time zone calculations so that I was completely ready for my 6:10 pm my time (8:10am Hermiston, OR time) phone interview. An interview which  I came away from thinking I spoke much too quickly and praying the connection held up for them to hear and understand me. I was told they would be interviewing the next day and let me know in a week. I went to sleep thinking it was a fun day and excited for the prospect to start imagining teaching Stateside. 

Tuesday morning, April 12, I was so excited I skipped breakfast to head straight to the bus station to take me to the airport. Unlike many airports, one has a twenty minute walk to get to Axum Airport. A walk where brown grass blows in the wind and birds can sing to their hearts content. I'd barely started eating my orange when a plane landed 30 minutes ahead of schedule (something unheard of around these parts). A plane that had one of my dearest friends aboard. Hugging her for the first time in two years filled my heart to overdrive. We spent the morning exploring Ethiopia's deep rich Christian history with obelisks, tombs of emperors, and Queen Sheba's bath. We relaxed with delicious special fuul and juices before catching a bus headed to Selekleka. Two letters were waiting for me at the post office, but instead we met people and I introduced my friend to injera and tradition dishes. A little bit of lesson planning and then we crashed. 

I woke up on Wednesday, April 13,  thinking it would be an ordinary, normal day with teaching in the morning and a kindergarten program in the afternoon. We grabbed teaching aids and filled our water bottles before leaving my house at 7 am. Part of the walk to school is done on the main paved road. Usually in the mornings not many people are out walking about. Students slowly filter to the school. However, as we got closer my heart began to sink with the cars, bajajs and people clustered all around.  Trying to avoid causing more of a scene with two white people I kept eyes down and just walked around. However, when I looked back my eyes were drawn to teal blue legs and lime green plastic “jelly” shoes laying motionless under a blanket. I kept walking, but was soon confronted by other students who were confirming my worst fears: a student had been killed by a car. The student was one of mine. Nothing seemed ordinary or normal after that. 

       There was a meeting where teachers and directors decided that morning classes would be cancelled so the entire school could pay respect to the boy's family. While many asked why I was going, they understood the importance of the walk and that he was one of mine. My friend Rowanne and I left with students clustered around us. We walked and walked and walked. Up and over five mountains for two and a half hours as our water diminished as we sweated it out. We would peak on mountain just to see teal uniforms climbing a hill at least a mile a head of us. We made it to a church and then there was a funeral ceremony. 

     Walking back to the boy's house, about five minutes for the church, the wailing reverberated in my heart as I realized I'd never had a clearly definition of grief and mourning before. I wanted to cry as I saw tears streaming down so many faces, but couldn't. Priests brought down a cot wrapped in red cloth and performed more ceremonies while the crying and wailing continued. Questions filled through my head, but couldn't quench the realization that this was something special and unique that showed the tenacity and respect everyone was giving to this 15 year old. 

         A couple of my female students and I were blessed with corn injera and water before heading back down to town under the sweltering heat. Reaching town, a couple of my other students made sure that Rowanne and I got bottled water though they were very hesitant to take some after we had poured some into our camel backs. One of my close teacher friends admitted that he had been planning to eat breakfast at school so he hadn't had anything eat. When I told him he was strong, he shrugged it off and said "I just accepted the journey that was put on front of me." 

        Rinsing off the dirt that made my skins look as dark as my students', I realized that I couldn't wash away the tiredness that was settling in my legs and heart. After a quick lunch, Rowanne and I grabbed a mosquito piñata and headed to "0 Class," kindergarten. Even though we were late, the kids (ages ranging from 3-5) and teachers were glad to see us. I adapted "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" to be part of the mosquito, before attempting to play tag. Even though the piñata hook broke, kiddos were amazing at taking turns at braking the piñata as I buzzed it around. 

   Finished the night by watching the new live action "Cinderella." 

      How does one teach the day after that? How can we do group work when one group's member isn't just absent with the flu?  How can the normal walk to school become normal again? That's what rushed through my head and heart a million times, Thursday morning. I still don't know all the answers. 

      What I do know, is that the rough parts have to acknowledged and "moving on" or attempting to do normal things help with it all. We did group stations which kept things busy and mostly productive. During break we recorded students reading malaria facts in an attempt to make a video. Time and people took on new perspective as I realized the future, not even the next hour, is ever guaranteed. 

         After class, Rowanne and I were invited to Teklay's parents' house out in a village for a "kusme," religious celebration for the Orthodox Christians. We kind of joked that we hoped it wouldn't be as long of walk as yesterday, but he assured us it wasn't even over one mountain. Eobel, a charismatic three year old, brightened up the day with his facial expressions and love of Rowanne's camera. Had to leave early to get a delivery of 45 bed nets, but enjoyed the gusty walk back through dry fields. 

         Had a fabulously full coffee ceremony with laughs and giggles at Fergenet's to leave us full of love and joy. 

Friday, April 15, was suppose to be piñata and mosquito net distribution day. Neither happened. Students were about as done as I was with the week and the overall behavior of many of them reflected that to a wild extreme. No piñata. 800+ people signed up for nets and we couldn't get lottery system done before flag ceremony, so no mosquito nets. Instead left school after a couple rounds of checkers. 

      Called a friend in country who checked my email to find that there was a letter of intent to hire me for a fourth grade position in Hermiston, Oregon that I had saved for me until my visit Stateside in a couple weeks. Got reassuring Facebook messages from Mom and mentor teacher that assured and left me pondering as I waited at bank. Surprised by a new ATM card which makes my life easier. 

       Once back, Rowanne and I had a fantastic guided tour of Selekleka by Billion, a sixth grader who can do anything she wants to with her energy and passion. We all relaxed with a cold pop before coming home for checkers and for Billion to braid Rowanne's hair. Read 1 Peter 4:7-13,19 which could fill another blog with how much it pertains to this week before rewatching "Cinderella" and bed. 

The weekend included going to Adwa to hang out with Peace Corps buddies. Then to Addis Sunday afternoon for Rowanne to catch a flight on Monday to go back to the states and me to head back to site for a visit from Peace Corps personal. 

I should be used to things being topsy-turvey. To expect the unexpected and abnormal to crop up where and when I least expect it. But how does one balance so many emotions in such a short period of time? From grief in the morning at a student's wake to joy in the afternoon with Kindergarteners? I don't know. I know things aren't really fine, but that's what I have to keep saying until some semblance of understanding comes. 

One month later: (May 20)

     It's been a little over a month since this horribly hard week happened. A month where I was able to process and try to put things into some sort of perspective. A couple things have happened that I want you all to be aware of before I post this. 

     Most importantly, Teachers and community members have thanked me multiple times for being part of their culture. They thank me (and Rowanne) for walking that long, hard, hot walk to respect the student, his family, and the culture. They mentioned that they never would have thought a foreigner would care so much about them and want to take part in the hard parts of their culture. It's brought to my attention that there are many different types of ways to show love and respect for people and culture. 

      Friends and family haven't let me just be fine. Many have been inquisitive and supportive in various ways as they know that grief takes time. 

      I've gone to a Christening, wedding and condolence ceremonies. Life keeps going on with new life and death part of the flow. They can't be denied, but rather acknowledged to influence the only thing for certain: the second in which you are living. Since this week, I've tried living every second of ever minute of every hour with purpose as if it were my last. While I don't expect to die anytime soon, practicing this has opened up my life to experiences I wasn't expecting. I've met fascinating people all over the world and more friends around Selekleka. I've helped slaughter goats and played more rope games than I have since elementary school. 

        I didn't write this blog to complain or state the woes of life. I want to be honest about My Peace Corps experience and what God is trying to teach me through it. I want people to be honest with me when I ask "How are you?" Instead of stating an "I'm fine" response behind a mask of emotions. So I'm being honest now. Life is full of emotions, obstacles and choices. What makes it doable is knowing there are friends who will listen and support you in all of them. Thank you for all your support and please let me know how I can support you.