Saturday, April 18, 2015

Potter Meet Peace Corps Friday, 17 April, 2015

                   I grew up with Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the gang. Philip and I would go to Costco with Dad when the new books came out and were already racing through it on the way home (benefit of living 30 miles away from town). I laughed when Aunt Marge bloated up and the Weasly twins made their grand escape on brooms. I cried when Dobby and Sirius died, held my breath for the quiddich games and tried to figure out what was going to happen next. On long car rides to Spokane, we would remain silent as Jim Dale read the books on tape being unique with individual character’s voices. One year Philip had a Harry Potter themed birthday party with a mobile of quiddich match that stayed up longer than the party. Although I was often questioned why I was reading it, as it “wasn’t Christian,”  I was thankful my parents agreed that it is just a good really good story. Most of the spells have Latin or hidden meanings, which were fun to figure out along the way.
                     My friend, Kelsey, has a similar obsession. 
Although Kelsey and I now live 60ish kilometers (37.2 miles) away from each other when we couldn’t decide what to do on a free Saturday night in our own sites, we decided to start a Harry Potter Movie Marathon. We’d push “play” on our own computers and text each other throughout. Soon we realized that many of our comments related to where we were now. As it took days to get through all the movies (we do have jobs), so also this blog took days. It’s a “brief” collection of some of our thoughts and conversations. (Please take into consideration that there are 7 books, but 8 movies worth of quotes so “brief” is completely relative.)
            “Now, if you two don’t mind, I’m going to bed before either of you come         up with another clever idea to get us killed, or worse, expelled.”
           “She needs to sort out her priorities.”
-----
           “Lucky we didn’t panic.”
           “Lucky Hermione pays attention in herbology.”
                                    --Hermione/Ron and Harry, The Sorcerer’s Stone
               
                   Hermione values education. So much so that Ron thinks her putting death as lesser evil to expulsion is “mental.” However, as Ron and Harry realize in the dungeon’s labyrinth, it is very lucky she is smart, educated, informed, and dedicated to her studies. Throughout the entire series Hermione’s brains prevent them from being killed.
                   If you have the chance, look up the documentary entitled “Girl Rising.” Although it is a couple years old, it goes into the grim facts that very few females are educated world-wide and the causes which prevents them from attending classes. I won’t put the statistics in here, but I do want to make the point that Hermione is a symbol for equality in education, strength of the female mind, and  that girls young and old should be given the opportunity to take extra classes, research in a library and hopefully be appreciated.
                  As I have gotten to know my female students more and more throughout this school year, I wonder how many will get caught in culture’s trap of forced marriages, early child bearing, and other obstacles that will prevent them from attending education. How many of my bright-eyed, eager to learn females will not find themselves at school next year or the year after? I am blessed that half of my students are female, but know that other schools tend to have substantially more males enrolled. Some of my top students are female, but majorities are male as they have time to get homework done. I cannot create the change over night, but I do try daily to remind my students to pursue their education, to be the Hermione Granger role model in their own classrooms.

                                 
“I’m telling you, it’s spooky! She knows more about you than you do!”
                       “Who doesn’t?”
                                                         ---Ron and Harry, The Sorcerer’s Stone
                  Everywhere I go kids ask me to twirl them. Adults laugh and wave. I’m used to the hundreds of looks. What I am not used to is why. This past week I’ve had about a dozen people come up to tell me they saw me somewhere in town. Why are they telling me this? Do they think that I don’t know where I was? They just think it relevant that I know that they saw me. They tell me I haven’t been to the pool hall in “x” days. They tell me I go to the post office too often. They ask why I leave for school early. Some days it seems they know more about what I am doing and where I am than my daydreaming brain can pinpoint. Unlike Harry whose scar identifies him, my light skin is the beacon of awe.

                                         
“It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live.”
                                                          --Professor Dumbledore, The Sorcerer’s Stone
                  My whole life I’ve dreamed about boarding a plane, traveling half way around the world and teaching. I was going to finish high school, graduate in four years with a degree from a university, and head out to Africa to teach. I’m a long-term planner. So now, for once in my life, I really have no idea what the next 4-10 years is going to look like. That’s a little unnerving.
          Kelsey knows what she is doing after Peace Corps. She is going to take her GRE this summer, head to grad school in the fall of 2016 and get a master’s in Teaching English as a Second Language (TESOL). I could go back to Spokane, apply for Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL) programs around the world, do Teach for America, or hundreds of other doors that could opened for me with my degree and experience. I have no idea where God will lead me.
                  One thing I have learned about being in this new place with unknown future goals, is how important living daily really is. I can dwell on the dreams of clubs, murals, grad school, traveling back to the states, but that prevents my mind from focusing on what is ultimately important: the here and now.

                                    
“Me? Books and cleverness. There are more important things:                                   
                                                          friendship and bravery, and Harry, just be careful.”
                                                                 ---Hermione, The Sorcerer’s Stone
           Packed away somewhere is my official transcript and diploma from Whitworth University and my teaching certificate for the state of Washington. The culmination of four years of long nights, countless due dates, standardized tests, and internshps in three documents. What did your college years give you?
                    When I think of college, I don’t think about the note taking or research done for a paper. I don’t think about hassle of balancing classes, homework, and work. I think of randomly color coordinating with my freshmen roommate first day of college and the memories we made in those four years together. I think of the nights I got kicked out of the HUB at 2 in the morning talking to a friend just to continue the discussion in one of Arend’s lounges. I think of the basketball game a girl told Philip to be quiet in the middle of the cheering section so I yelled louder behind her. When she gave me a horrified look, Philip responded, “That’s my sister.” I think of going to grandparents’ house with friends for tater tot casserole, Thursday nights for watching “Mysteries at the Museum” with Grandpa, and meeting Grandma at water aerobics. I think of eating Nutella off a spoon, singing at Hosanna with friends, “prison tat” prime times, running through sprinklers, cheering on the basketball and football teams, smiles from students, and sipping tea with professors. I think of the friendships.
                  Peace Corps is the same way. While the material I teach my students is important, the relationships I establish with them are much more so. Being invited to play volleyball with them or eating a meal for a holiday makes me remember that these are the things that are going to last longer than the lesson I taught them.
                  Some people have called me brave for moving around the world to find these friendships. I am still coming to my own definition of brave (maybe will write a different blog about it someday), but I do know that bravery is partially just overcoming one’s introverted fears and uncertainties to do what God has called one to do. It’s going to buna ceremonies and it’s starting a conversation that you know will end in someone laughing at your Tigrigna. I’m not brave, but God is here so why should I worry? Especially when I have Isaiah 54:4 and Psalm 46:5 on the door reminding me before I go anywhere.

                                                      
“What happened down in the dungeon between you and                                          
                                                   Professor Quirl is a complete secret, so, naturally the whole                                     
                                                   school knows.”
                                                                     ---Dumbledore, The Sorcerer’s Stone
                  Maybe it has something to do with the fact our phones only have so many contacts or we crave speaking in English with native English speakers, but news flies fast in the Peace Corps. Between groups and regions, it doesn’t take long for something that seemed secret to become common knowledge. However, just like in high school and college, I always get the news two weeks after the fact. Sometimes the news is complete rumors, other times it has more details than DVinci’s masterpieces. It’s a mark of true friendship for those who stay quiet or divert the rumors from circulating. 


                                                            “What exactly is the function of a rubber duck?”
                                                                     ----Mr. Weasley The Chamber of Secrets
          The main significance of this question is Harry’s complete bewilderment as he sits at the Weasley’s dining room table for the first time. He’s spent the whole night escaping in a flying car flown by two minors and has just sat down when this question is thrown his way.
           This is me every day someone asks me to clarify something in English or to comment about what life in America is like. Often the comment is thrown from left field and not at all what is expected. “What’s the main difference of V2 and V3?” “There are dirt roads in America? No you lie.” “You like it here? But you are from America?” “What is the difference in probably and possibility?” “What does gastroenteritis mean?” I know there are answers to these questions, but often times I just pause and give a “huh?” look.
           It’s also the same whenever I’m walking with students and I think they forget that I am foreign. They start rambling quickly in Tigrigna, assuming I am getting all the meanings. Sometimes I translate pieces that don’t make sense...like rubber ducks have purposes.

                                              
“Why spiders? Why couldn’t it be 'follow the butterflies'?”
                                                               ----Ron Weasley The Chamber of Secrets
            I love Ron. He’s completely honest and blunt in his disgust about the task ahead. However, he doesn’t allow that fear to keep him at Hagrid’s hut and let Harry go into the Forbidden Forest alone. No. He goes in. Into his fear---which turns out to be massive, mammoth, and multiplied by hundreds of 8-legged beasts.
                    Some days I don’t want to leave my house. I question why I couldn’t be following butterflies for work. Instead of having language barriers, few supplies, spotty cellphone service, no water, I wish I was in the States where things are substantially easier. It’s still work to follow butterflies, but you aren’t facing fear along with it.
Peace Corps has taught me that I can’t let that fear keep me in. Instead, I battle the language barriers to get approval for new mural projects and English Club. Instead, I adapt the few supplies to be reusable for all classes this year and maybe next. Instead, I write letters and go visit people. Instead, I ration water and am thankful for electricity. Instead, I learn to love spiders.

                                              
“Yeah, take it away Ernie. It’s going to be a bumpy ride!”
                                       ---Head Hanging in the Night Bus, The Prisoner of Azkaban
                        While there are many fascinating things about the purple double decker bus Harry gets on to escape Privet Drive, Kelsey’s and my first reactions were: “WOW! Room on the bus!” “Beds!” “No animals.” Proof that living in Ethiopia for nine months is plenty of enough time realize the luxury of these things.
              I may have ridden the bus twice in Spokane, once in Portland, the subways in New York and London, and a double decker a couple of times in my life. I’ve been cramped between my brothers (they insisted I have good shoulders to sleep on) for car rides around the world, but nothing really like it is here.
                        Mini buses are the primary form of transportation. Like the Night Bus, one has to stick out an arm to flag them down. Then you pile, squeeze, scrunch, twist on. Often times the windows don’t open, and if they do there is an odd superstition that fast air will kill you. The more people in means more money made so, although there are laws about how many people can be in a minibus, many people are packed in.
             My friend Natanya has a working theory that if a bus has to swerve 95% of the time it’s a donkey’s fault. It’s true. Sheep, camels, goats, cows, and people, however, also get in the way. Although most of the road is nicely paved, there are giant pot-holes, quick turns and random things in the road that make the way unpleasant.
         We did realize though that Ernie, the Night Bus Driver’s driving isn’t much different than the majority of drivers around here. However, unlike the magical world of wizards, things don’t jump out of the way or the bus can’t suck itself in. Instead one often wonders if they are going to make a corner, hit something, or get to the destination in one piece.
        
                                            “Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times,   
                                             when one only remembers to turn on the light.”
                                                          ---Prof. Dumbledore, The Prisoner of Azkaban
        The dark is discouraging. It takes out the safety of walking at twilight. It plays nasty tricks on one’s mind. Dark times aren’t much better.
        My definition of a “bad day” has changed dramatically since embarking on this adventure. What starts off as a small thing can become a bigger deal when one realize it’s the tenth or forty-seventh time that day it’s happened. Familiar, standard coping mechanisms are no longer available. In the States I would drive on the back roads with the windows down and music blaring or curl up in the library and forget about whatever. Here, that isn’t an option.
                  It’s hard to find happiness when the darkness drags on for days. When you just want to hear your mom’s, dad’s, brothers’, friends’ voice to tell you it’s going to be okay…eventually. But you know, that no one really understands what your day-to-day struggles are. You feel alone when you are surrounded by others rapidly speaking and laughing at punch lines you can’t understand.
         But there is always a candle to light or a window to open to let in the light. There is a little thing that can relieve the pressure if just for a moment. It’s embroidering on the front steps of your house as the sunsets. It’s the smiles of kids running towards you with arms wide yelling your name. It’s rereading letters for the hundredth time. One just has to remember where the switch is to turn something negative positive. 


                                                        “How ’m I doing me first day?”
                                                        “Brilliant, Professor.”
                                                           ---Prof. Hagrid & Harry, The Prisoner of Azkaban
                  Although we love Hagrid since he delivered Harry his invitation to Hogwarts on his completely miserable 11th birthday, in the third book he is given his dream job—“care of magical creatures.” True to his larger than life personality, he starts off the first day with hippogriffs, giant half-horse half-bird animals. He has just had Harry bow, touch, and fly one when he asks Harry this question.
            Up until this point, Harry’s remark is completely adequate. The lesson is interesting and brilliant. However, within seconds of Harry acknowledging this, Draco Malfoy opens up his taunting, drawling mouth causing the prideful beast to attack. Hagrid’s lesson goes from 7th heaven to the depths of despair. A discouraging conflict remains throughout the book.
          Teaching in the Peace Corps is like this. There are days when one class is amazing and the next is absolutely horrible. It’s the same lesson, but some thing happened somewhere that causes it to backfire.  Sometimes it happens in the same class. First 22 minutes are wonderful and the last 20 are torture. Often one focuses on that horrible, but that is counterproductive.
                     I journal every night. One way that I fight the urge to dwell too long on the negative is keeping my journal chronological. This is something Peace Corps service has taught me. It helps me remember the remarkable things that happened in the day and put the negative back into perspective. It’s to remember the brilliant times to try to find ways to turn the negative that way too.  
                                                      

                                                                      “Dad, where are we going?”
                                                            “Haven’t the foggiest. Keep up.”
                                                    ---Weasley Twin & Mr. Weasley, The Goblet of Fire
              Peace Corps volunteers laugh about the lack of organization and abundance of spontaneity one often feels. The term “flexible” is used thousands of times in training. Often one doesn’t know what a training is for or what the ultimate goal is of something. However, we are told to keep coming and going. And we do.
The Weasley children, Harry, and Hermione are heading to find a port key to take them to the Quiddich World Cup, but don’t know where they are









 going or what, exactly they are even looking for.  Here, we are not sure when the mid exams are or what material is going to be tested. What I do know is that I have to keep up with the other English teachers and prepare my students as best I can.

                                                         
               “Keep your friends close.”
                                                                       ---Sirius Black, The Goblet of Fire
                   What does close mean? Is it a matter of proximity in location or the strong emotional affection two people exert on each other? Is it a combination there of?
                   If the dementors or death eaters wanted to torture anyone to find information out about me, Kelsey would need a very protective charm put around her. She knows details about my horrible days and the sunshine ones. She knows the details of things that letters or phone calls can’t do justice to. She’s a text, phone call, bus ride away. She is close.
But there are friends thousands of miles and hours of flight time away that are very close to me. Those that I send letters to and get the best encouragement on facebook from. Those that know more than blogs and Facebook status, and check to see how I am doing. Those that ask questions and those that send chocolate and seeds.
                  Sirius knows Harry would rather not have others put in danger because of him. Throughout the series Hermione and Ron have to remind Harry that he is not alone in his battles. They will go through the trap door under the mammoth three-headed dog, help find solution to the tasks of the tournament, go to the Department of Ministry for some secret door and will skip their 7th year of Hogwarts to fight Voldemort with him.
         Keeping friends close means being honest, open, real and fair with them. It means answering, “I’m having a bad day” instead of keeping the “I’m fine” mask in place. It’s asking them questions and genuinely caring about the response. It’s acknowledging that some things are hard to translate through cultural differences, but trying anyways. It means not allowing the physical distance to impact your relational distance. 

                                                              “Curiosity is not a sin, Harry, but you should                                                         
                                                               exercise caution.”
                                                                  ---Prof. Dumbledore, The Goblet of Fire
                While I am not dunking my head in a swirling basin in Professor Dumbledore’s
         office, curiosity presents itself daily to me. Recently that has been in the form of edible dishes.
                  My parents had an outstanding law when I was growing up that you had to at least try something once before you weren’t going to eat it. If you didn’t like what Mom had made you had to make your own meal. I like pretty much everything because of this.
                   I try new food and there is plenty of that around here. However, last month I couldn’t eat anything without excessive chest pain. It felt like a knife was digging into my chest whenever I ate or drank anything (even water). My throat would constrict with pain. It would happen even when I wasn’t eating. It made sleeping, teaching, and just functioning difficult.
                   When I called the Peace Corps’ Medical Officers (PCMOs) and explained what was happening. I was told to exercise caution on trying different people’s coffee, dishes that were excessively spicy, and tea. In their view I was having a gas problem with too much acid, and my malaria medicine was reacting. Change of malaria meds, healing medicine, and limiting coffee for a couple weeks got me feeling better. However, I still exercise caution whenever I eat other’s food so that this doesn’t happen again.
                   Peace Corps has also taught me to exercise great caution in concerns to the water I drink. Kelsey’s water in Adwa is safe to drink at restaurants. Water at my site may cause diarrhea if not filtered. Wherever I am and a glass of water is placed in front of me from an unknown source my mind battles the curiosity that this is good, but I have to exercise caution to not drink it. 

                  
                           “While we might come from different places and speak                                                  
                                             in different tongues, our hearts beat as one…The bonds                                         
                                             of friendship we made this year will be more important                                               
                                             than ever. Remember that.”
                                                           ----Professor Dumbledore, The Goblet of Fire
                  The friends at site I’ve only known for 6 months. My Peace Corps friends have only been in my life for 9 months. We are all different. Different religions, accents, languages, cultures and backgrounds. Some of my friends are only children and others one of 13. Some friends live in Tigray and others in the far south of Ethiopia. Some have fair white skin and others deep dark brown. We’re all different.
                   This week I also watched Disney’s “Tarzan.” When young boy Tarzan is feeling different and an outcast, his gorilla mom has him feel his heart beat and then hers. To his astonishment they are the same. Differences can often divide, but deep, down people are people with the same heartbeat.
                  My Peace Corps friends and I continue to function on a pumping heart for making an impact, no matter how small, at our sites that our Peace Corps Oath of Service started.  The teachers at my school continue to show me how to coexist despite differences. All my new friends are vitally important to making sure I continue to pursue a pumping heart towards the oath I took. 
                  This year has been hard. The next 18 months are going to be hard. It is important for me to remember these new friendships are established to help me succeed and thrive through these times.   
                          
                                                     
“Dark and difficult times lie ahead, soon we must                                                           
                                                       all face the choice between what is right and what is                                                
                                                       easy.” ------Prof. Dumbledore, The Goblet of Fire
        At the end of the first semester, we tallied our students’ scores and turned them in to our respected schools. Most all PCVs used the same grading sheet that their school uses. However, directors around the country started debating and questioning the PCVs work. Instead of looking at the progress students did make, directors hampered, condemned, and degraded volunteers for their students having low scores. Many were asked to change the scores to improve school report.
                  It would be easy to change a student’s grade. It wouldn’t take that much work to add extra points in to push them above passing. Many teachers do this. However, that’s not right. It’s the reason why so many of our students can’t recognize the ABC’s or read at Grade 1 levels. It’s why students become furious at us when we don’t change their grades when they ask or bribe us. It’s why directors ask us why our students’ are below other teachers.
This is one difficult time we will have to face three more times before escaping back to the States. It’s not the only hardship we will have to do. It is easier to stay in one’s house to watch movies than start new projects. It is easier to just speak English than to battle the language barrier. It is easier, but that doesn’t make it right.
                    What is right is trying to integrate into the culture by learning the language. What is right is trying to fulfill our program’s goals of educating teachers, students and improving libraries. What is right is doing what we took an oath to fulfill.

                          
                                                            “Everything’s going to change now, isn’t it?”
                                                   “Yes.”
                                                                   ---Hermione and Harry, The Goblet of Fire
                  In a recent letter from a friend back home, she voiced the fear that everything was going to change. That I would change and come back completely different and foreign. In a conversation with a fellow PCV a couple weeks ago, we talked about how everything is going to change and be different than when we left. In the last 9 months away, my youngest brother Thomas has started university and gotten a girlfriend, my dad got a new job in Oregon, my parents house-sat in Spokane, WA, then bought a new house in Hermiston, OR. Philip will graduate in May and head off somewhere afterwards for a new chapter of his life. Mom will move down officially to Oregon in June. That’s just the changes in my immediate family. Weddings, birthdays, kids, moves, grad school are all happening to friends and extended family that I have or will miss. The dock at my grandparents’ were I lived during my college summers is currently in pieces and going to be redone soon. Stateside is changing.
                  But I’m changing too. I’ve been told that I need to speak up more. My thoughts and ideas are shifting with the new experiences. My level of “dirt” tolerance on my skin and clothes has shifted drastically. Peace Corps is changing the way I think about foreign aid, sustainability and utilizing resources.
                  Unlike the impending doom of Lord Voldemort, not everything is going to change. For me, I still need chocolate chips when I cry during a book. My love for God is only deepening, teaching is my passion, and standing in the rain is completely refreshing. Stateside, my grandparents’ blue carpet is still going to be there to lay out on with brothers for movies, fro-yo outings with friends are going to be exciting and fun, Charlotte (our family dog) is still wanting to go for a run after circling around my ankles 54 times, my dad and brothers are going to have the best hugs, I will be able to paint nails with mom, Colbert Presbyterian Church will still have sun streaming in on the right side of the congregation and Mill City Presbyterian Church will have it coming through the stain glass windows. 
                  Change is inevitable. But God is in control of that change. Since He is pretty remarkable and keeper of my trust, change doesn’t seem like a bad thing.  

                   
                          “It is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge     
                                            will be sufficient to get you through your examinations    
                                            which, after all, is what school is all about.”
                                                          ---Professor Umbridge, The Order of the Phoenix
                  When Professor Umbridge (does any one else cringe when you hear this name?) makes this announcement in the first Defense Against the Dark Arts class, she is reminding them of the control that the government is inflicting at Hogwarts. Her and the Ministry’s purpose is to attempt to dissuade individuals that Voldemort is back by convincing them there is nothing to fear, nothing to prepare to fight against. They do not need to practice defensive spells if there is no one going to attack them.
         When teaching a new concept or reviewing prior knowledge, students always want to know the formula. For example the formula for Simple Past is:  Subject+V2+Object+Punctuation (I+ate+injera+.). They want to know that you always change a “y” to an “i” before adding a suffix like “-ly” for adverbs. Everything is very rule oriented. Why?
                           In Ethiopia students have to take a National Exam their 10th and 12th grade years. This exam dictates their future. If they fail 10th they cannot go on to 11th grade. Their 12th grade scores directly result in which universities and colleges they are eligible for. These tests are entirely multiple choice.
                  Students have access to previous test packets. Many students come up to ask me for answers and/or clarification on these. Some of the questions have multiple right answers. They do not need to write or speak English to pass the test. They need the theoretical knowledge of the language to find the best answer and fill in a bubble on their tests.
                  While there are no wizards intent on killing students here, there is the testing practice that discourages authentic creation and use of the English Language. In both schools theoretical knowledge is often deemed acceptable.


                                                      “Working hard is important, but there is something                                                
                                                       that matters even more: believing in yourself.”
                                                                    ---Harry, The Order of the Phoenix
                  Harry is training up Dumbledore’s Army, a mixed group of students protesting Umbridge’s many educational degrees. They use the Room of Requirement in order to practice skills to defend against dark arts. Harry is teaching them the many spells he has used and found important in defending and defeating his enemies. However, he realizes that there is something more important than just the effort put into the task. One has to believe deep down that he/she can do the task if it is going to be powerfully effective.
        Teaching in the Peace Corps is tough. Teaching anywhere has its struggles. Working hard in order to achieve goals is key. Here, working hard entails rearranging the textbook material, learning key phrases in Tigrigna, creating manipulative that might last, adapting for changes in daily, weekly, semester schedules, correctly assessing 210 students formally and informally, and walking 30 minutes to school in any type of weather.
        There are days when I leave the house confused about my lesson. When I’ve done all the planning and get into the classroom and realize it’s not going to work. There are days when all my hard work is underappreciated and non-productive. But it’s on those days that I make sure to walk, to erase the board, to remind myself about something that I can do. I can speak English. I can adapt and be flexible. I can believe that God can do anything through me if I let Him. 


                                “How can someone feel all that? They’d explode.”
                                 “Just because you’ve got the emotional range of a teaspoon.”
                                                           ---Ron and Hermione, The Order of the Phoenix
                  In the Ethiopian context, emotions are closely monitored and are a very personal affair. They have mastered the art of always being okay and fine. The exception is when someone dies. Then there is great bereavement through loud wailings and moanings.
       This can make is very hard for them to understand when I get frustrated, flustered or down. When I did share feeling discouraged once with a friend, he told me to not be sad, don’t worry and be happy. I don’t need to feel all the feelings of being thousands of miles from home, teaching 70 students on a rough day, and all the other things that Ron claims would make me explode.
It’s been a learning experience to be in a society where emotions are closely monitored or not expressed. In the states, when a child falls down he or she would cry loudly till an adult comforts him/her. I have seen kids fall hard, yet they pop back up without a sound. It’s all a matter of habit.

                              “You’re not a bad person. You’re a good person who has had bad 
                               things happen to you…The world isn’t split into good and bad 
                               people. We’ve both got light and dark inside us. What matters is  
                               the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.”
                                                      ---Sirius Black, The Order of the Phoenix
                  Recently I’ve rereading some of my blogs. I’m shocked at how much darkness I put in there without really realizing. I talk about harassment happening frequently. I’ve shared what teachers and director have called others.  I’ve expressed the feeling of being in a mud puddle of junk trying to find silver linings. There is darkness here.
         But that doesn’t mean there isn’t light too. The same individuals are also texting me encouragement. They are there for a smile when I want to cry. They translate a joke so I can laugh too. The director lets me go to trainings and repaint murals. There is light here. 
                     Individuals are like places too. There is good and bad in each of us at least I know there is in me. However, as Sirius points out to his godson, it’s our actions that speak for which side others view us as.
                      I’d like to think Sirius is also warning Harry to not quickly judge himself. The same goes for others and their actions. There is good and bad. In that one moment they chose to show the dark instead of the light. Does that one moment define a person or is an accumulation of actions that determine a true character?

                                             “What? We can’t do that. We have to plan. We have to                                              
                                             figure it out.”
                                   “Hermione when do any of our plans every actually worked? We   
                                    plan, we get there, and all hell breaks loose.”
                                                                  ---Hermione and Harry, The Deathly Hallows
                  Harry and Ron want to be spontaneous, quick, and just get on with their horcrux search. They recognize that there is very little time left now that Voldemort is onto them and has the Elder Wand. Hermione, true to her punctual and practical nature, wants to set out a plan first. Harry gives her back the reality of their situation that could also summarize the entire series. They never really plan out what is going to happen, but adapt to when troubles break out.
        Kelsey and I are both trained teachers. We’ve done the years, practicums, lesson plans to be certified in our respective states. What we both realize through our Peace Corps experience is that lesson plans are, to borrow a line from Elizabeth Swan, “more like guidelines anyway.” We both plan. We figure out what is necessary for students. But often times when we get into the classroom, chaos ensues.
Instead of backing down though, we adapt, change, and flex. One of my favorite professors at Whitworth constantly asked us “What is your purpose?” and encouraged us to ask that of ourselves throughout the lesson. As long as we are pursuing the purpose, learning objective, it doesn’t really matter the means by which we end up at the outcome. Students need the material in one way or another. 

         Although JK Rowling never joined the Peace Corps and her characters are fictional, many ties can be made. Her magical world offers light to the real, muggle-inhabited one. From food to classroom to relationships, Peace Corps is teaching me lessons with the same themes.

The Run (Thursday, 9 April 2015)

          I know very little about running. I know even less about the science and art behind it. I spent the majority of middle and high school making fun of my track and cross-country buddies and rarely laced up during college. Team sports and bikes were more my forte.
         What I do know is that there is a difference between sprinting, running, and jogging. While the main difference is speed, the subsequence difference is time.  Sprinters usually have fast, powerful, short times while the 1500-meter usually is in double-digit minute times. The more meters, the more minutes. Why? In unscientific terms, an individual has the same amount of energy, but needs to exert it at different levels of power in order to persevere the whole time. It would be absurd to start a marathon at a sprint. One’s energy would be exhausted 1/5 of the way through. No matter the distance, the practice of perseverance is important.
         This evening I went for job-run. Ethiopia, my landlady’s daughter, offered me the invitation while I was on the 4th cup of buna in an exuberant buna (coffee) ceremony. (I think I had about 8 cups by the end as no one else was drinking.) We walked to the edge of town and then started jogging towards the school at 6:15 pm. The sunset, cool evening air greeted us, kids called out as we passed and the kilometer markers came and went. However, I haven’t run in weeks. I didn’t stretch before we headed out. My knees started to ache, my feet could feel every rock I stepped on, caffeine on an empty stomach was giving me a headache. But, after an hour we had made it back for an 8 kilometers (5 miles) trip and stretched out under the stars. Now as I sip on water, listening to the “Hairspray” soundtrack and munch on popcorn I consider a connection to life in Selekleka.
         When I first arrived, I was ready to go. I had all the plans and wanted to kick them all off at once. I wanted to sprint. However, I realize that life, education, friendships aren’t sprints. I burned out with frustrating setbacks on projects. Students needed more time to understand concepts and adapt to my accent.  I had started like a sprint, but this is a longer distance. I’m only a 1/4 of the way through my time. I need to make sure that there is plenty of energy and endurance for the way.
         I’m not sure what the scientific term is, but when one is running there is this “wall” that you have to get passed to obtain your second wind. While running Spokane’s famous 12k Bloomsday course, the second breath for me always comes after Dooms Day Hill. It all feels like an impossible battle until that time, then my body just comes to terms that it is running, so it might as well have fun and get it over with.
         The last two weeks have been that wall. Power has prevented printing out the directions needed to start drawing out the world map mural. Circumstances have caused certain friendships to crumble. Absurd rumors have flown that I am dating and pregnant with twins (neither are true).  Every kid under 13 wants to be twirled every time they pass me so I can’t go anywhere without kids in open arms blocking my path. I have been homesick, actually sick and probably battling protein deficiency. But that’s part of the race.
         I have no idea what the next three laps in this run I’m on are going to look like. I’m guessing there are some hurdles I’ll have to overcome, and the finish line is going to look a long way off at times. But my 2nd (3rd? 4th?) wind will come. I just have to keep going. If I stop, I have to start all over. If I give up, I’ll never know what the outcome would have been.  Like any distance run, this adventure will come to an end. As college pastors reminded us during sermons around finals, “this too shall pass.” I will be stronger after than when I started. I will be covered in dirt, sweat and experience. I will need a Western shower. But I will finish this Peace Corps track.

         I still love biking more. I’d rather run lines on a basketball court or a pick up game of volleyball with teachers than run. I still think running a track is just running in circles, and in baseball you have to earn your way round. But I’m learning to run literally and metaphorically. I’m learning what I need to do to keep going and gain my second wind. I’m saving and exerting power daily to obtain my own prize. And, I’m learning to enjoy the run.

Monday, March 30, 2015

What does trash mean?” (Friday March 27, 2015)

        She sat on the broken chair next to the small metal gate: the only entrance in or out of school. I smiled and jokingly asked why she isn’t in class. She was late to my second period, but at least she showed up. Her string of Tigrigna is fast, harsh, disgusted. The director made her sit here when a boy ran off and someone had to watch the gate. (The guard was arrested the other day and they haven’t replaced him.) Her brown eyes are stone cold when she tells me she doesn’t want to be here.  I believe her.
       Another girl came. The first’s best friend but in a different one of my classes. We talked for a little bit, before they smiled, we exchanged “Salam ma-all-tees” (Peace for the Day), and I left the campus. The blue sky is a relief from the long day at school. I came for the entire first shift and the week hasn’t been easy. I am ready for a long, relaxing walk back to town. Then the first girl called out to me.
       I turn. Thinking she is just going to yell “Chow!” or something, I realize she is running to me.
       “What does ‘trash’ mean?” she asks seriously as she stops in front of me.
       “What?” I asked confused at the use of English and from the return from my daydreams.
       When she repeated the question she hesitated on the unfamiliar word, not sure if she is pronouncing it correctly. We’ve been together for 6 months. She knows sometimes it takes more than one try for either of us to understand each other, but repeating is okay.
       “Oh, uh,” I am confused, but continue, “It’s rubbish.”  Sometimes they know England’s English for a term so I often start there, but her tipped head in the like-that-is-any-better way. Looking around I lead to where some trash has blown against the school’s barbwire fence. “This is trash—it’s what we throw out.” I then give the analogy of a lollipop and how we eat the top and throw out the stick. (Side note: Lollipops are known as “lake-a-lake-as” and cost 50 Ethiopian cents or 2.5 pennies.)
       I know she understands when her face falls, but I’m not sure why. She yelled back to the other, using the Tigrigna word. The exchange a brief discussion. Disgust lined her voice. Anger tainted the response.
       I asked her where she heard this word. Thinking maybe it was in another subject class. Students often come up to me for random words after teachers assume they know the vocabulary. She looks at the ground. The strong, slightly stubborn individual I know isn’t there for a minute or two until she looks up at me again.
       “Teacher Solomon called me trash. He said I didn’t need to be at school.” She whispered in English as she searched my face.
       “No,” I say seriously moving to keep my eyes locked on hers. “No.” I gave her a hug that she came into gratefully. “You are not trash. You are good. You are smart. You are beautiful.” I translated as best I can and she nervously laughed.
       “Thank you.” She nodded into my shoulder.  “Salam maalltee, Teacher,” she showed a small smile before running back to her post.

       My blue day didn’t seem so cloud free anymore. The mud didn’t cross my mind. I walked in a daze over the rock and grass. I turned back and look at the school compound. Tiny speaks of teal uniforms move around. From here, I don’t know if it’s because of change of classes or students are skipping. What I do know is that there are other girls who probably don’t know what trash means or do . . . and  are thinking that is what they are.
       This week I’ve been harassed. A teacher I once considered a close friend has started to call me “forengi” (foreigner) for an unknown reason instead of my name. Daily I am reminded by someone young or old that my white skin and long dark hair is an anomaly. I hear the snickers and comments by teenage boys as I twirl kids or walk by, but don’t really understand. I’m not strong. I have buttons that get pushed to breaking points. But I am strong enough to know when I just need to reevaluate and reassess myself. I know how to put on a mask and smile in a crowd, when I just want to be alone. I can text friends simply asking for an encouragement without explanation and have a message within seconds (depending on network connection). Maybe that’s what I’ve gained from growing up: a tough shell to other’s words.
       But that tough shell gets pierced when those brown eyes fill up with doubt. And I see my own 15 year old self in them. The self that escaped into journals and books to avoid high school drama. The self that just wanted to be good enough for some appreciation. The self that was shy and wouldn’t talk during lunch with the upperclassmen her best friend decided to join.
       These two girls are a dynamic duo. Their energy, spirit, uniqueness has got me thinking weekly, “These girls would love Younglife camp!” They may be small, but they are full of 15 year-isms. The best part is: They aren’t the only ones. My female students are a varied treasure chest of jewels. There are those who are the first to raise their hands, those who only write out responses, and those who sleep through class. Girls that are the top of the class and those who are the bottom.  The smiles, jokes, handshakes, rolling eyes that I get from girls makes me crave a Girl’s Club (goal for next year). There are 1,043 of them at my school that I don’t have in class.
       Trash isn’t the only word I heard girls referred to today. Another teacher wanted me to talk to a student next to him who “has no brain,” is “stupid,” and “definitely has something wrong.” I’m not sure how her English is, but her comprehension was evident in her downcast, rejected stance and glance. When I commented that a majority of the students admitted into the campus after first period were females, the teacher next to me made a joke about domestic violence and that they are late because of chores. I didn’t laugh.
       How many other names are students getting labeled as which I don’t know or hear? How many understand and have that name pop up in their head when they start to think otherwise? Where else are labels and demeaning titles being hung like a crown of thorns on these princesses’ heads? Do they hear them as often as I hear the ones being called out to me? Who is telling them the truth?
       Words have power…no matter the language. Who speaks them gives them weight. Tone determines the mass of that weight. Repetition helps the weight stick.  Weight has consequences in terms of self-esteem, self-value, and confidence. It’s a matter of factors whether the consequences are positive or negative. Whether the power changes an individual for better or worse. What are your words really saying?
       Trash, according to the dictionary.com app, is either a noun or a verb. As a noun it is “1. anything worthless, useless, or discarded; rubbish 2.foolish or pointless ideas, talk, or writing; nonsense 3. a worthless or disreputable person 4. such persons collectively 5. literary or artistic material of poor or inferior quality 6. broken or torn bits, as twigs, splinters, rags or the like 7. something that is broken or lopped off from anything in preparing it for use 8. the refuse of sugar cane after juice has been expressed.” As a verb, it is “1. Slang to destroy, damage, or vandalize, as in anger or protest 2. to condemn, dismiss, or criticize as worthless. 3. to free from outer leaves of (a growing sugar cane plant) 4. to free from superfluous twigs or branches.” Are those the words you want your daughter, granddaughter, niece, mom or student to hear and believe as true? As a teacher, parent, friend, human do you want to be the reason someone feels broken, discarded, or worthless? What do you want to hear people say to you? I’m guessing all are craving the same thing.
       I have a new challenge for myself that I want to encourage others to take part in. Wherever you are in the world, fulfilling whatever occupation at any time of the day/night, give meaningful compliments. Tell the positive truth that you really want to them to know. People know when you lie so be honest. Repeatedly. Be blunt and say no to lies you see them starting to believe. Don’t just do it to the people you know, or those who are the best. Tell the person serving you coffee who might be having to pull an extra shift. Tell the person at church you don’t usually talk to who might be there just for the routine. Tell the girls. Tell the boys. Tell them definitions if you need to.



[Side note: Beyonce’s “Run the World (Girls),” Bruno Mars’ “Just the Way You Are,” One Direction’s “What Makes You Beautiful,” and the documentary “Girl Rising” are all great things to look into if you have great internet connection. They also make for great songs to play for English Day at school!]

Monday, March 23, 2015

Imagining Yogurt: Yuck? or Yum? (Alternative Title: 6 Months, 6 Lessons)

I just ate yogurt.

Reread that again to try to find the significance. 

I just ate yogurt.

Did you? In case you didn’t here you go again: I just ate yogurt.

Maybe some context will help. I am sitting in my 10 foot by 15 foot room, with only the little window above the door open, in the Northwest Tigray region of Ethiopia during hot season. It is also Lent. The one outlet goes to a power strip that has my computer charger, phone charger and single burner stove plugged in. Power is working, though water is out. 

So, what is so interesting to write a blog about eating yogurt? If you were in my classroom, I would pause and wait for some brave soul to answer. However, seeing as I don’t know who, when, where this blog is being read, I suppose I shall just have to explain and you can check your own understanding.

As I tell my students, the first thing to do is identify the words. “I” is the singular pronoun for one’s self. “Just” implies recently finished. “Ate” is the past tense of to eat or consume food. “Yogurt”…. Is it the extra fruity, bursting with sugar Danables’ or the thick, almost sour Greek yogurt? Here yogurt is not what you picture. Two days ago when a teacher gave me a gift, it was a liter of milk. After being divided into an old extra-crunchy peanut butter container and a Tupperware, it’s sat on my kitchen table for two days. It is what we refer to as yogurt. As one may add berries or honey to Greek yogurt, I add a little bit of salt to this. Strangely enough, it tastes remarkably like the offspring from Greek yogurt and cottage cheese parents.

When I showed my students American peanut butter their noses scrunched up in utter disgust. Did you do the same thing when hearing about Ethiopian yogurt? As of Friday 20 March 2015 I have been a sworn in Peace Corps Volunteer for 6 months. In these six months of Selekleka, I have been taught many lessons that I would have scrunched up my nose at if the context was different. However, what I am learning here is just as applicable in downtown Spokane, little ol’ Mill City, or wherever else God calls His children to serve. So, here are six lessons Selekleka is teaching me:

1. Faith Influences Life
Who picked up the details of the closed door and window even though it is hot season in the context above? Or the added detail that it’s Lent? Why are these important?
         For Lent Orthodox Christians are vegans as part of their fast.  No eggs, milk, meat. Nothing from animals. I wear a cross around my neck. People know that I am Christian. However, distinguishing the parts of the Christian body are like teaching Grey’s anatomy to a preschoolar – confusing, leading to confusion, not really worth the division. Last Saturday I was pulled away from going to get eggs by my students, as “those are only for the Muslims.” These are the same good-hearted girls who informed me on Friday, that licking fingers is a strictly non-Christian behavior. Religion is life.
         My impression of fasting in the States (and someone please comment below if I am way off base) is that it’s done by some religious people at certain times of the year. During college, my friends and I would give up something we craved or used a lot, to focus on God. (One year I gave up any drink besides water. Another was Facebook.) But that would be only a fraction of the fasting, that majority of Christians do here. Every Wednesday and Friday there is the fast of all animal products. Butchers close down. Not only do people not eat animal products during Lent, they also don’t eat until 9 o’clock in the morning. As my darling girls explained, it is so they focus on God all morning. While I notice the lack of energy in early morning classes, I am impressed at the dedication.
         The few times I have bought eggs on a fasting days, the sideways looks I got was slightly unnerving. I see how uncomfortable restaurant owners shift when a site mate asks for meat and they don’t have it. It might be different in bigger cities where you can go anywhere and people don’t know details about you, but I really don’t mind just going without for awhile. Sure, I would love to have meat (or pork which is against every religion here), but it has got me thinking about what I do to incorporate my faith into my life.
         I closed my window and doors because I didn’t want anyone in my compound seeing me. I’m not embarrassed as I recognize the difference in religious customs, but I don’t want to tempt them or create a barrier.  I didn’t buy the milk: it was given to me by a Muslim friend, who is completely free from the sideways glances of breaking the fast. I’m not saying that I completely agree with the rules of fasting nor do I follow the fast completely (nutella usually breaks this for me), but I am trying to find ways to spend more conscious time focusing on God.

2. Silver Linings in Mud Puddles
When I first applied to Peace Corps I rolled my eyes at their motto “the hardest job you’ll ever love.” How could you love something that is hard? Why would people swear an oath to hardship? Six months is more than enough time to realize how hard “hard” can be. It can break people, cause cravings for plane tickets home, and discourage those who stay. While I am here, I can’t think that thought without also realizing all the people that are no longer here.
Often when things start piling up, the aches start forming, the buttons reemerging to get pushed, and unexpected curve balls making one strike out, it often feels like swimming in a mud puddle. Completely dirty and not really making any progress. These kind of days are not confined within in third world country borders. I’m sure you have those days when you just need a Starbucks, maybe with an extra shot, or a nap. Hard days are part of life.  But as my friend Kelsey mentioned last week in a text “We are getting really good at finding the faint silver linings.”
         It’s the twirlings, saved candy canes in a cup of cocoa, a kid calling you by name, fresh hot injera, smell of sweet rain, a student’s smile, that pushes down the homesickness, unknown physical illness, frustrations, and general overwhelm-ness. It’s realizing that these hardships will end when the plane ticket comes in 18 months, having a fresh pot of tea when the water is being rationed, an early bed time when the power goes out and a child’s dark hand in yours forgetting all differences and barriers -- those rim the mud puddle in light and goodness.
         Statistically, all days cannot be hard. Eventually there will be a good one. It’s just finding ways to get through the bad that makes all the difference. It’s remembering the pure joy of stomping in puddles, instead of sinking in it.

3. Family goes beyond blood
         June 28, 2015: I woke up, ate some scrambled eggs and cinnamon rolls with grandparents, parents, Thomas and Heather, my college roommate. After hugging the youngest and oldest of that group, I got into a van for the longest car ride of my life, the hour or so to the Spokane Airport. I rushed through security so that I wouldn’t have to cry, but did later anyways. It was the day I said goodbye to those closest, dearest, and blood related family (Philip had his goodbye the night before) for 27 months (3 months training and 24 months of sworn in service). 27 months. More months than my age. 823 days without being a text away from those that always loved me. It’s no surprise that part of Peace Corps’ application asks how are you prepared to be gone for this long. You can’t be prepared for it.
         If you asked me what my landlady’s name is, I have no idea. I call her “Mama.” That is what she introduced herself as and what the community calls her. While walking back from one of my site mate’s house I had one child per finger, others grabbing onto my bag and shirt as we ran, skipped, laughed to my house. Walking home Wednesday, I had a cloister of grade 5 girls run after me to walk me home, calling me sister when they left. Wherever I go in town, people call out to me, inviting me to play foos ball, drink coffee or just hang out. I’m given a liter of milk, by someone who knows I am sick and need protein. This community is my family.
         Hospitality radiates from people here like heat off concrete. It’s addicting, overwhelming, wonderful. I really have no idea which kids belongs to whom and which ones are siblings as they play and being watched by everyone. They know how to care, look out for each other, and give without asking for anything in return. They welcome me in treating me like a sister, not as a foreign guest.

4. Students are Teachers, Teachers are Students
While recently Facebook skyping with a college friend (where just sound came through so it was more like a glorified free phone call), she asked me “So, tell me about your students?” My mind whirled as it tries to untangle thoughts that resemble a pile of spaghetti. My 210 big brown-eyed students fill my day whether or not I have them in class. They are there in the back of my mind as I am planning lessons, begging to start at the basic for anything and work up. They are there to walk to school with and expecting me to know all their grades off the top of my head at any given time. But most importantly, they are there. Teaching me, reminding me, pushing me to do better than I thought I ever could be.
         This week I realized my cluelessness. I assumed I knew everything. Sure I am morning shift so my first period class is low and by 6th period they are ready to go home and eat. However, walking with students I was reminded how little I do know. One of my top students, while walking with me to school, shared that he lives in Selekleka with his 10th grade brother, but that he misses his parents who live in a village he can only go see (sometimes) on the weekends if he can walk two hours one way to see them. Another student said good-bye to me after we walked the driveway into school with a smile. Moments before he confessed he has 10 kilometers (6.2 miles) to go till home. The next morning he was there before the gates opened. Students show pleasure in getting barely above a 50% (passing score) in something they’ve been expected to get worse in. They call out to me, even if I am with other teachers, to talk to. I’ve been invited to play volleyball with some and coffee with others. They quickly volunteer Tigrigna words when I need clarification and repeat it through smiles when I fail horribly.
         They are teaching me what patience is about and how to set goals despite what others tell them. They teach me how the school system has prepared or failed them and what I need to do to help them. I’ve been told only 25% of secondary students will go to preparatory, yet a higher percentage of my students tell me they are going to go to University.  They teach me to smile and keep coming to learn.  There are students that skip other classes, don’t speak English, but still show up to my class everyday.
         The other day a teacher and I were discussing students skipping classes and what the punishment should be. I asked him: “When you were a student did you skip classes?” he asked me to translate it or to write it down. I went for option #2. Still the grammar structure of the question threw him. Other teachers came over and discussed it. Finally the meaning was comprehended, and our conversation continued with a brief halftime. While walking to our  classes I responded to one of his questions with “Yep.” He laughed and asked what that meant and then if there were other variations of “yes” in the English language.
         While he is not an English teacher, he does have a very high proficiency for the language. He enjoys teaching me new Tigrigna words and phrases, but isn’t shy to speak up when he doesn’t know. He reminds me that teachers are always supposed to be learning too. Not just from their students, but about their own strengths and weaknesses. I love when I asked teachers what topic they are teaching today and they explain their whole lesson to me. While I only enjoyed Biology in high school (mostly because of the teacher and not the subject matter), going through it again has been so interesting and fun (same with history, math, PE, and English). There is so much to learn, why not learn it from people who are passionate about it?
         Teachers laugh at me when I walk home with students instead of paying 2 birr for a ride back to town in a three wheeled bajaj. They don’t realize that that is the time I learn the most. I learn which teachers are liked, what students’ ambitions are, and what a day looks like to them. Students know that I put on a white coat and have the respect of teacher. They don’t come up and talk to me at the staff lounge. They know that I am a teacher.

5. Normal is Relative
What did you see today? What did you do? Where did you go and how did you get there? Who did you interact with? What was the intention of the interaction?
         I saw camels, tan and white speckled sheep and chickens crossing the road. I used a hole in the ground for a toilet. I didn’t use silverware. I taught with a blackboard and used chalk that dried out my hands. I walked through cut teff fields, around corn, and over dried riverbeds to school in my Chaco shoes. I ate yogurt that some consider just to be spoiled milk. I crammed on a bus to get to Axum and then another to get to Adwa where the windows weren’t opened. I shook hands with more people than I know names. I waved and greeted people I see everyday. I ask about families and jobs. I hung out with people just to pass the time. I take malaria medicine. I walk on the left side of the road. I wear a skirt that hasn’t been able to be washed in weeks and I brush strands of hair that are coated in dust and rain water.
         Normal is relative. I am often asked to compare America and Ethiopia. What is better? What is strange? One student this week asked what animals I have eaten, and was shocked when I said that I’ve had rabbit and pig. It’s hard to imagine if all pig products were banned in America. That would take out a staple for many people. Or if dishwashers and washing machines weren’t able to work. Here though, it’s normal.
         As I’ve mentioned in other blogs, differences don’t make one thing better than the other. They are just different. The norms here are good. The norms in America are good. The norms in Singapore are good. I’ve learned not to judge while comparing. Not to jump to conclusions about something without finding out the story behind the custom. To take the time to ask why respectfully and really listen to the answer.

6. Safety Nets
         Have you heard Demi Lovato’s “Gift of a Friend”? Take a reading break, be thankful for your internet connection and youtube this! Don’t think of it as teen pop or anti-whatever-genre-you-like, just listen to the lyrics. “Sometimes you think you’ll be fine by yourself. Cuz a dream is a wish that you make all alone. It’s easy to feel like you don’t need help, but it’s harder to walk on your own.” I came to Peace Corps/Selekleka thinking that I had made this my life dream and I was going to do it on my own. You, whoever and wherever you are, are proving this wrong.
         “Do not be afraid” is written hundreds of times throughout the Bible, probably because people face fears all the time. Maybe not scared of the dark fears, but uncertainty, doubt, self-denial, lack of purpose, waste of time are all troubles that I have faced (and will continue to). While the Bible and God are my help, the letters, packages, facebook messages, random texts, running out of phone birr calls that reminds me I am surrounded by love even when I feel completely alone.
         “Someone who knows when you’re lost and you’re scared. There through the highs and the lows. Someone to count on. Someone who cares besides you where ever you go.” I thought this would apply to only to friends who have known me the longest. Time cannot dictate the depth of friendship. The people I have known for a not quite 9 months are still some of those who know when I am putting on fake “I’m fine” masks. They are there calling me to make sure I am okay, celebrating the highs, supporting me in the lows and everywhere in between. They share water so I can feel clean if for a brief moment.
         And there are those who have known me my whole life that never cease to amaze me with their support and encouragement in the brief Facebook messages and phone calls. There are those who came into my life pre-Peace Corps and remind me that I didn’t just leave their thoughts because I left their country. There are those I have never met in person, but still send me good wishes, and candy to start an international friendship.
         “And when your hope crashes down shattering all around you feel alone…. There’s no signs pointing you home. You’re not alone.” In the Hunger Games, President Snow has a brilliant one-line spark of genius when he states: “Hope is the only thing stronger than fear.” Above all, you give me hope. You remind me why I am doing what I am doing. That I am not alone, forgotten or being thrown out like last year’s fashion as you move on in your lives. You give me hope of tea/coffee dates, slumber parties, devouring delicious food that range from sour gummy worms to lasagna, apartment hunting, co-teaching, visiting, wa-hoo-ing off the end of dock, and so much more. Thank you. 
         It’s my friends and family that get me through every other lesson. They---you, are my safety net, my comfort, my inspiration to be better.  I want to be like you for my students, other friends, strangers to help spread a positive impression of humans (American or otherwise). 


I am a quarter of the way done with my Peace Corps Ethiopia adventure. 1/4 of the way on the journey learning about myself, others, and life. 1/4 through an oath I vowed to keep. 1/4 of what was once unknown. If I keep up the same rate I’ve only met 1/4 of the people I could meet, had 1/4 of the diarrhea, headaches, mosquito bites I will endure through this all and written 1/4 of my blogs that my dear mother posts for me. I don’t know what the next 3/4 much less the next 1/18 of this trip will hold, but I am completely done with my yogurt.

A Princess. Thursday, 19 March 2015


8:37 p.m.

Her head nestles under my chin, scratching ever so affectionately. Her fingers twirl the tattered tulle as the conversation flutters around her. She can’t contain the enormous yawn that causes her head to tip back into my left shoulder and her long lashed eyes to flutter. The rocking starts to become her own rhythm. She’s a princess.

When she entered the one room house by the back door, she was invisible. The older girls were playing games and doing homework. The teachers were talking rapidly in Tigrigna. She caught my eyes as if pleading to find a place to sit in the crowded room. She’d already been rejected to share a stool with a girl playing catch with me. I offered her my lap. She accepted with a smile.

With a scab on her nose from fighting a dragon earlier, her soft laughter crackled like pure happiness. She put her two small hands in two of my fingers to play catch and pass. When the soft, deflating ball bonked her in the head she giggled and looked at me, her eyes saying, “I don’t know what happened, but that was fun.” When the other girl left, she continued to study the ball and wanted to toss it to an invisible partner across the room. When I rubbed the ball on her dust-covered toes, she scrunched up her legs laughing. She stretched for the ball that I kept just out of reach, expectantly even when she had to tip backwards trusting in my arms to support her.

There are gaps in the seams of her faded pink dress. Damp and dirt run down trying to steal her beauty. A lone, surviving silver bedazzle hangs on by threads like the last jewel in a broken, cast-aside tiara. A wooden cross hangs around her neck on a thin black thread. Her heavenly father is a King. She is a princess.

Frances Hodgson Burnett captivates this beautifully in a passage from one of my favorite books. “I am a princess. All girls are. Even if they live in tiny old attics. Even if they dress in rags. Even if they aren’t pretty or smart or young. They’re still princesses. All of us. Didn’t your father ever tell you that? Didn’t he?”

The girl on my lap may never be told that she is a princess. She may never know that she is priceless, beautiful, and worthy of respect. She will probably spend her whole life in a culture that too often under appreciates, disrespects and ignores females of all ages. Her father may wish she was a boy. But that doesn’t change who she is. She is a princess.

I can only whisper encouragement to so many girls for them to grasp the truth of these words. Even if every female told every other female, there is something special and significant about a father, a male, truly respecting and standing up for the princesses. It’s the father putting the daughter on his lap and reading her a story. The boy who stops the jokes from his friends that may prevent him from being “cool” in their eyes, but “way cool” in hers.

Dirt, grim, circumstances may try to blot out the princess’s glory, but nothing can change her heart without her consent. Build that heart up strong and proud. Teach her to dream like Cinderella, Rapunzel and Arial, value character like Jasmine and Belle, make friends like Snow White, and work hard towards goals like Tatiana.


Never let her forget that she is a princess.

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Things I Actually Did Learn in High School

         Freshmen year I had Greek/Latin roots and read and watched Romeo and Juliet. Sophomore year was full of scrapbooking, learning to love my German (exchange student) sister and playing swing for the JV and varsity basketball team. My junior year I took horticulture and joined FFA to compete in seemingly bizarre competitions, I dislocated my knee, and traveled to Europe. Senior year I chose AP English instead math, considered quitting a team for the first time in my life, was accepted into all 3 of the universities I applied to and was asked out (over Facebook) and denied the guy I'd had a crush on for six years. All four years I sat in the hallways at lunchtime with friends, wore toe socks and Crocs and rocked spirit days!

      So what does this have to do with the now? High school started nine school years ago. Since then I've changed attitude, appearance, and thoughts while learning so much more. Most of my high school teachers are no longer at the high school I graduated from. My high school has actually changed into a jr/sr high with 7th and 8th graders roaming the halls (my primary school has closed down, but that is another topic). So, why is it that today (4 years and 7 months after I graduated) lessons I learned in high school are coming to mind?

      Today I had permagarden training. The goal of this project is to assist mothers to provide two meals per day for their children at zero cost and minimum time management. Mekelle, the regional capital of Tigray, gets 1200- 1500 millimeters of rain per year. London gets 700. However, Mekelle gets all of it in two months, so there are also droughts throughout the year, unlike continuous lush, green, gray London. Permagarden is about utilizing the water that does come for the remainder of the year. I could tell you all about the process, but what's needed to know for the relevance of this blog is that today I spent lots of time in compost and soil.

      As my instructor held a clump of soil and added water, I had a major flashback to junior year when I joined FFA, had an entire horticulture class to myself, and did really well in soils' competition. This instructor did what my high school teacher did in a hole out by the t-ball field: squeeze the soil to see if it would stick together in order to determine the structure of the soil. He ground it up just like my friends and I did at the Oregon Gardens to see if it had silt or sand in it. Like horticulture class, we made and learned about compost that the soil needs.

      You know when something happens and you think, "Wow! That's really cool for them, but what about me?" That feeling borders between jealousy and self doubt. Freshmen year it came because my best friend was obviously better than me at English. Sophomore year it revolved around basketball. Others were getting tons of playing time and I was last post. I only got to play varsity if others were hurt or we were ahead by 30. Senior year it was being the only starter not to be mentioned in any newspaper at state for any of the three games. I learned that there is always someone better than me. But that is okay.

      I read about Peace Corps volunteers doing remarkable projects all over the world, yet I struggle to get support. I am compared constantly to my site mates on every topic from weight to language skills. Friends get to go home on travel and I have a job that keeps me grounded at site for the school year. On conversations about pop culture I am completely lost. Despite of the differences, I have to remember to focus on the positive. In high school it was focusing on algebraic skills or the ability to play with teammates of all levels and filling the need for defense even if it didn't make the papers (no one brags about how many block outs you do in a game). Here it is taking joy in the small victories, continuing speaking in Tigrigna, remembering moms thanking me for playing with their kids, being confident in quoting any Disney movie and being thankful for my own uniqueness-es.

      After winning state in basketball and taking the two week break between sports, I started my final season of softball with one other senior, a junior, a handful of sophomores and a mob of freshmen. While my basketball coaches were remarkable (I still admire them today), this softball coach was slightly sub-par. I had battled through the season before with her, but had been under the impression there would be a new coach. Turns out no one else really wanted to coach softball. While she had many "interesting" tactics, one of which was always focusing three years down the road. For this reason she made two freshmen captains, although the other upperclassmen and I had been playing every season our whole lives. For this and other disrespectful situations, I considered quitting softball. It's the second time in my whole life my mom told me I could quit something (first being piano when I chose basketball over piano one summer). I may have quit if not so many of the freshmen were my friends and asked me to stay. I stayed for them.

      Since coming there have been 15 members of my cohort who have quit Peace Corps Ethiopia either on their own accord or for medical reasons. I have dealt with harassment that doesn't happen to me in the states (nothing really bad has happened, but obnoxious harassment is still obnoxious). I've disagreed with site mates. Frustrations are a weekly occurrence with the school year getting shorter with holidays, but the workload is the same as the first semester which didn't have breaks. But I'm not going to quit. I didn't give up when I dislocated my knee junior year. I came back to finish that season okay, and the next season even stronger. I learned to work through differences with a wonderful individual who later became my sister my sophomore year. I didn't give up on softball, but stayed to play the most ridiculous season ever (I shifted positions regularly and we never won) with some fun girls. Days might be rough, but I'm not going to cop out.

      One week before high school ended and two weeks before graduation, I was asked out over Facebook by one of my closest guy friends. We'd both been accepted to Oregon schools, but I was pretty set on going out of state, so, although I'd had that middle school/high school crush thing on him forever, I held off saying yes. That was the one and only time I was asked out.

      I live in a society now where women are required to date and marry young. Most of the time they don't have much say on the matter. They are constantly asked for an escort wherever they go. They are belittled by men, young and old, about their looks and dreams. Many claim to ignore the harassment and irritation they encounter, but the harsh words plant seeds of doubts and change their smiles. A majority of girls don't get to go to secondary school, fewer to preparatory and even fewer to college. They are often seen for their bodies and not their hearts.

      Saying no at the time was hard and something I contemplated trying to reverse for a little while after the time. Although my friend would have treated me differently than the cultural stereotypes I am in now, I am glad that I said no. I saw plenty of high school relationships develop to some of my dearest friends. Some continued on long after and others crumbled. From them and the infamous Romeo and Juliet I learned to keep things all in perspective, have open conversations and not to just jump into a relationship, if a broken heart was probably going to happen.  I taught myself to save my heart, to not give up on my dreams for a guy (even a really great guy), and learn to value being is single. Sure, dating is great and I hope that is in my future, but I love talking to girls about being strong and doing what you want: Dreaming dreams is hard when people doubt, but working hard towards them starts with the dream; Standing up to the men who harass and letting them know it's not right; That there is option of doing more than dropping out of school to be a mom; That their heart doesn't belong to their fathers to dictate who they love, but to themselves to give to whomever they choose.


      I remember the majority of my high school subjects and who taught them. Although I would now probably fail a Mr. Miller AP Writing test on a book I read 5 years ago, and I’d still get completely confused with sine, cosine, and tangent, I would do much better in food prep. I guess there really is more than just subjects and facts taught during high school that aren't accounted for in a g.p.a number on a transcript sent to colleges. Time has passed. Life is not the same as high school, but the lesson learned then can still be applied long after the diploma holder is presented and the hat is tossed.