Flexible

The dictionary defines flexible as:

“adjective

capable of bending easily without breaking 

•able to be easily modified to respond to altered circumstances or conditions

• (of a person) ready and able to change so as to adapt to different circumstances”

Life is teaching me it’s saying “okay then” to random events and making the most of whatever unforseenness has occurred.

Flag Day:

     The chipping, once solid white line is barely visible on either side of the road under the brightly colored plastic shoes of hundreds of 9^th and 10^th graders. Teal uniforms flank each side of the road like trees on a path. Girls, walking in the left lane, whisper and giggle to each other. Boys, on the right, try to talk about the latest football game. The occasional bus, bajaj (mini blue taxies), or car slows down to go smoothly down the middle avoiding teachers and administrators walking or biking to keep track of the students. I smile. An hour ago I was walking along this same road wondering if the tactile manipulates would actually work as my lesson plan suggested. Unbeknownst to me then, today was Flag Day. A holiday celebration for the students that (according to a teacher) was started 7 years ago by an Ethiopian who was intrigued by America’s tradition. So, instead of teaching about present simple and progressive verb tenses, I waited for the police to direct our group down to the very open dirt market space. As students looped around the area songs continued to play. A curious three year old in French braids and a yellow dress, came up to hold my hand. Her smile lit up even more as I sunk down next to her to ask about her name and notice her beautiful purple fingernail polish. Sanding and swaying to music bypasses the language barrier all together. Two flags (one Ethiopian and Tigrignian) were raised into the clear blue sky by the police as the national anthem cracked through speakers to the students and on-lookers. There was a speech that only half came through the mutters of those next to me and then we were all released.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t start that walk back to town unfrazzled. I was. I hadn’t been told about the ceremony (like other events) which is irritating. Holding that little girl’s hand, reminded me that it doesn’t matter. My day was still pretty great even though it wasn’t like I had planned. Sure, my weekly lesson plan wasn’t going to conquered completely, and I didn’t have my camera for the ceremony, but I’d made another memory that was even better just for going with the flow.

Buna Ceremonies:

Dense corn injera is lightly dusted with a hot spice. Corn is roasting over charcoal turning the tips of the yellow kernels black. Dark, rich, strong, bitter liquid sloshes around my white tiny cup on saucer. Which number cup this? I am no longer sure. While there are only three rounds in the traditional buna ceremony, there is no set number of cups per round.

There are two shifts at my school: morning and afternoon. Each shift is composed of 6 periods with a half hour break between 3^rdand 4^th. This week I taught in the morning shift. Next week, I have afternoon shift. Like the British with their tea time, coffee ceremonies tend to be during the afternoon. Although the taste of coffee is not my forte, I could not say no to Mama when she insisted I come for a traditional buna ceremony on Saturday, Monday, or Wednesday. Wednesday I’d made it to round three (possibly four cups) when one of my site mates dropped by. Being completely hospitably, Mama offered her a cup and injera. She then restarted the ceremony so that Stephanie could get her three rounds in. I possibly ended with 8 cups…maybe 9.

The unexpectancy of buna ceremonies changes my plans of what I get done in a day. I never know when an invitation is going to be issued. But having time to tell Mama about my family and friends in America, talk with compound friends about what is happening in our days, and taking a break is all worth it. I learn more about them as people and the language than I could ever learn by studying flashcards in my room.   

Free Time:

     Two dinner size tables are pushed together in the staff room. A couple chairs pushed around it. A box of chalk sits alone at one end. Various stairs papers are left around. It’s outside on one of the many the stairs where fellow staff memories sit under the shade during their free time between classes. It’s here on these steps inside jokes, precious memories, debates about English grammar and Tigrignian lessons take place for me.

     On Thursday I delighted one of the math teachers, by allowing him to teach me and giving him feedback to make it easier to understand for students. He even gave me homework on different functions to learn and new verbs to memorize. Other English teachers come up to look at my teaching aids and ask to borrow them. The physics and biology teacher laugh when I state their subjects, but remind me that so is English.

     Although I could leave when I am finished teaching, I stay. I stay for the laughs. I stay The conversations that flirt between Tigrigna and English. I stay to continue to building relationships that brighten my day.