I have no idea where November has gone. It came and went, and it never even said hello. Did I say time was flying before? Well, someone just hit the turbo button, because in two days it will be December, and in a month, we'll be celebrating Christmas and New Year's Day.
Speaking of holidays – many of you have asked timidly what Thanksgiving (a word we tried to translate into "rahn kalahngan-kihdo" and were laughed at... and rightfully so) in Pohnpei “looked like” for us this year. I smile to myself when I hear this, because, as I have so often since I arrived on Pohnpei, can hear all of your unasked questions jam-packed into this one simple, innocent question. I can hear so clearly the things we really want to ask the girl who’s living on an island in the South Pacific: “What did you eat – raw fish and bananas? How were the people dressed – in loincloths? Have they ever even HEARD of turkey?” Well, the raw truth be told (brace yourselves)… we sat just outside of our house with our landlords Eugene and Lynn and their families. On chairs. We ate turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, and apple pie. We sat around well into the night, watched kids run circles around us, laughed, and enjoyed reminiscent conversation about our families. Surprised? So were we, to be honest. But, we are coming to realize, very quickly, that Pohnpei is simply… not so different. Truly, the only parts of the evening that felt "Pohnpeian" were indulging in sakau after dinner and listening to the beautiful Pohnpeian language being spoken all around us.
I have never loved a language the way I love Pohnpeian. Sometimes it sounds so strange, I burst out laughing. But most of the time when I hear it, a huge smile spreads across my face and I am enamored, as though a newborn was just placed in my arms. I try to pick up as much as I can, but it has proved difficult, especially in Kolonia, where most people speak decent English and half of them don't know any Pohnpeian (they are from Yap, Chuuk, the Phillipines, or outer islands). But when I do hear snippets of it, that same smile creeps onto my face as I listen intently, trying to pick out any phrases or words that I know.
There has come to be no better cure for a difficult day than to be met with the warmth, humor, respect, and kindness that comes with every word of the language. Every day, one or all of the following encounters with this gorgeous language bring that same big smile to my face, no matter how tired, homesick, or down I may be.
As soon as we step out of our front door in the morning, the man who lives across the street might be perched on the hood of his car, ready to greet us with a cheerful "pwong mwahu!" (which means 'good night' - he's gently making fun of Philip, who, during our first week here, groggily greeted him in Pohnpeian one morning with ‘good night’ instead of ‘good morning’ – and he won’t let Philip live it down).
I’ll walk a little further down the street to see my favorite kids on island, who run as fast as their little legs can carry them until they reach our arms. I pick up the littlest one and give her a kiss, and as soon as I set her down, the next is ready for a hug, and the next, and the next. One usually scrunches her face in the general direction toward our school (the Pohnpeian method for gesturing direction) and asks, “Ke pahn kohla doadoahk?” (‘You are going to work?’), to which I raise my eyebrows, meaning 'yes', and they all excitedly respond, “SEE YOU LATER!” (which I think Philip and I might have taught them).
Further along my way to work will be my neighbors - men, women, and children perched on their porches and windowsills, mending a shirt, sweeping a threshold, or trying to convince their little brothers and sisters, daughters and sons to get dressed for school. All, it seems, are just waiting for me to walk by so we can exchange the morning greeting of “menseng mwahu,” which rolls off our tongues and ends on a mysterious note, as if we and only we know a very special secret. Even if nothing is said, we do a little dance number that is understood to mean, 'hello' - exchange a warm smile, raise our eyebrows, and dip our heads ever so slightly. The smiles I receive here are so unlike the quick, pursed-lips, let’s-just-get-this-out-of-the-way-and-go-our-separate-ways smiles of the States to which I am so accustomed. Not these smiles. These smiles are warm, soft, lingering, and intentional. They seem to say, “it is genuinely a pleasure to see you.”
At school, I often hear my students slip Pohnpeian words into what is supposed to be an environment of only English language. In fact, I can predict their use of Pohnpeian words fairly accurately – all I need to do is announce the homework assignment for the night, and I’m guaranteed to be met with a handful of exclamations: an exasperated “Ohsa!”, a tired “Ohtier…”, or a snippy “Ohiei.” The first is an expression of general disgust, the second is an expression of exhaustion, and the third is an expression of annoyance. I am honored to disgust, exhaust, and annoy my students all at once.
It's lunchtime, and all of the teachers take out whatever we have brought – rice, canned tuna, soup, fruits, sandwiches, packaged snacks – lay it all out on the floor to share, and chat with one another. Everyone begins in English for the benefit of Luke and me, but gradually, the English melds into Pohnpeian, and Luke and I just sit back and soak it in. I’ve never felt left out, but rather privileged to be in the presence of the great laughter and camaraderie of my coworkers.
At the end of the day, I make my journey home, and it looks strikingly similar to my journey to school, except backwards. I exchange greetings with my neighbors all along my short route – usually “Lehlie” (‘Hi’) in which the ‘e’ has a ‘eh’ sound and the first syllable is drawn out, again making it linger, warmly and intentionally. I reach the house of my favorite kids, and the very same process will repeat itself, except this time they will ask, “Ke kohsang doadoahk?” (‘You are coming from work?’), to which I will again raise my eyebrows, and they will grin and yell, “SEE YOU!” Every once in a while they’ll rope me into a game of tag, racing, or hide and seek, but usually they can see that I’m tired. The man on the hood of his car will switch up his game, greeting me with a “menseng mwahu”, though he can plainly see it is evening, and I’ll arrive at our gate, where Princess and Shark, our dogs, anxiously await the arrival of just about anyone.
Holding true to the nature of their warm language, I have found myself with a number of ‘moms and grandmas away from home’ – kind, smiling women who always greet me with a tasty treat or a genuine interest in how I am doing. One woman is the caretaker of Eugene and Lynn’s granddaughter, and another is the housekeeper and cook at the Jesuit House, Nihni.
One day a while ago, I was particularly down - missing home, hard times at school, not feeling well - and I walked over to the Jesuit House in the middle of the day to refill my water bottle. I walked in, and Nihni, who always has a cookie, recipe, or piece of banana bread for me, saw that I was down. She asked suspiciously, "Samantha, ia iromw?" (How are you?). I was armed with a pleasant lie of 'fine, thank you, how are you?', but to the surprise of us both, the same thing happened that happens whenever my mom asks me that simple question on a hard day - my pleasant lie got caught in my throat and my eyes filled with tears, my body ready to take all of my emotional stress, turn it into liquid, and let it flow out of me. Embarassed, I wiped my eyes and responded truthfully, "Soh mwahu, Nihni. I uhdahn pwang." (Not good, Nihni. I'm very tired/worn-down.)
Nihni shook her head, and told me that in Pohnpeian, when someone is asked how they are doing, they never respond with "not good" or "bad". Sometimes they will say, "I mwahu" (I'm good), but more often, they say, "I kehlail" (I'm strong). I had heard people say this many times, but I thought it was just another way to say, "I'm doing well." But Ninhi told me that they are different: (I'm paraphrasing, of course) "Sometimes we are mwahu (good) and sometimes we are not, but no matter what, it is important that we are always kehlail (strong)."
Few passing comments ring in my ears and imprint my heart like Nihni's did that day, but now, when I am asked "Samantha, how are you?" and am tempted to unload my terrible day or mood on some poor inquiring soul, I sigh, smile, and try to respond, "I am strong."
Happy Thanksgiving to my wonderful friends and family -- stay strong :)
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
The Queen of Jinx, Nature's Stairmaster, and The Sociologist's Curse
Kaselehlie from halfway across the world! I'm happy to report that, for today at least, I am healthy. In fact, after Jo's battle with the same flu bug Luke and I had, we're a happy, healthy little JV house. Of course, now that I wrote that, I have undoubtedly jinxed our house, and we will all be deathly ill tomorrow. In the past three months, nearly everything I have said in reference to potentially bad things happening (health, weather, my favorite dog being given away) has come true. When I say, "I sure hope it doesn't rain," it starts raining. If I say, "Well, Jo, at least you haven't gotten sick yet," Jo gets sick. Now, if I say anything of that nature, everyone groans and exlaims, "Why would you say that?!" It's like the man who touched things and they turned to gold, except the opposite; I talk about things, and they are doomed.
So when we hiked / rock climbed to the top of Sokeh's Rock (a ~700 foot peak) on Thursday evening, I kept my mouth shut. Though I was thinking these things, I said none of them: "I can't believe I haven't wiped out on these slippery rocks yet; Do you think it's going to rain tonight?; I'm glad no one has gotten pegged in the head by a rock; Wouldn't it be terrible if this tree limb I'm putting all my weight on snapped right now?" I said none of it, and most of it didn't happen - we all had only minor slips on the way down, it rained for only about 20 minutes that night, and there were no major injuries caused by rocks and trees. We started the hike around 4:30pm, scrambling desperately to the top to try to catch the sunset. We made it up there around 6:00 (record time, if you ask me), hiking up a pretty steep and slippery slope 3/4 of the way, and climbing up the almost completely vertical side of the rock the rest of the way. Our only real safety net was a rusted out old PVC pipe that was, rather pathetically, trying to cover the electrical wires running to the blinking red light atop the rock that serves as a warning for incoming planes. We made it to the top just in time to see... a bunch of cloud cover. No sunset. We longed for a machete as we made our way through the mangroves have grown over much of the top of the Rock, and arrived eventually at the clearing that would be our bed for the night.
Despite the lack of sunset, our breath was taken away regardless - partially by exhaustion, but also by the view that extended for miles in all directions. We saw the entirety of Kolonia, our town, a number of atolls, the reef, miles of ocean water, the entire airport strip, and much more. We sat in silence and watched the nighttime settle upon the island. Soon, all we could see were the twinkling lights of Kolonia and the airport, and the dark mass of the rest of the island. We tried to find a comfortable spot but realized it was impossible, so we stretched out, used our ponchos as blankets, and and slipped seamlessly in and out of conversation and sleep. The wind picked up, and I felt genuinely cold for the first time since arriving in Pohnpei.
When the sun finally came up, we all took different spots atop the rock and settled in. I climed down a few feet onto a rocky ledge that jutted out over Sokeh's Island. I swallowed my slight fear of heights and peered over the edge, and saw only the houses and Sokeh's Bay below me. No rock face, no mangroves, nothing. I leaned back against a rock, closed my eyes, and let the sun wash over me (maybe a little too much - my shoulders and chest are a little burnt!) for a long while. I took the opportunity to thank God for this opportunity and for the beauty that surrounded me, did some yoga, then climbed off of my perch to find Jo and Philip. We had a light breakfast of bread, peanut butter, and Kosraean limes (they taste like oranges), and packed up to head back down. Heading down was immensely more difficult on my legs than heading up. My thighs and hamstrings were pretty sore the next day. We also went slower, recognizing that it had rained a bit the night before and the rocks were very slippery. We ran into some locals who partially owned the land, and explained that we had gotten permission from another co-owner to climb the Rock. It's still such a foreign concept for me - the fact that there's really no public land here.
Climbing the Rock has really been our only taste of adventure as of late. On the weekends this month, we've had the opportunity to plan the masses for the international community (Chuukese, Yapese, Filipino, Australian, American, Samoan), and we continue to teach Catechism classes. I didn't realize how closely connected I would be to the Catholic Church here. Besides the connections with international mass, Catechism classes, and my own Catholic school, there is the time we spend with the Jesuit community, who are from the New York province, complete with New York/New Jersey dialect and attitude; they're a riot. They're also immensely supportive, which I am thankful for. I've talked quite seriously with a couple of them about (finally) becoming confirmed into the Catholic Church. After four years of seriously thinking about and wrestling with it, it just feels right, for reasons I won't necessarily delve into. So that takes up some of my time - reading, thinking, and praying about it.
During the week, we've settled into the daily grind of 9+ hours of teaching, lesson planning, grading, classroom managing, and other projects, each day. I found out I'll be working on the OLM curriculum for the next few years as we settle into our new identity as an academically-based Catholic High School. Finishing up our first quarter was a big relief. I'm taking this opportunity to breathe, reorganize, and make sure I'm fully ready for the second quarter. I see huge improvements in my abilities in teaching and especially classroom management. First quarter finals were a mix of disappointment and a flush of pride. Pride - because (I like to think) my many pep-talks, both in class and one-on-one, have prompted some of my students to really make the effort and bring up their grades. One student who had a 36% in math at mid-quarter will get an 82% on her report card. In class, I can see her eyes geniunely light up when she knows an answer. Additionally, she and I have made a great connection both in and outside of class. I like to think there's a connection there. Disappointment - because, despite my pep talks, urgings to be seirous students, and promptings to see education as an immense blessing in their lives, some of my students just do not care. I'm learning not to internalize this and see it as my own failing as a teacher, but to understand that the culture here puts a different spin on education for my students than it meant for me as a high schooler. Three students are already out of school at the end of the first quarter - one is married, one is working, and one just didn't want to be here.
The amateur sociologist in me is just bursting with theories, analyses, and topics of discussion for my conversations with my professors when I return to John Carroll. It's especially interesting at OLM to see the distinctions between the vocational trade-based female students (sophomores, juniors, seniors) and the first co-ed, academically-based class (freshmen). The differences in commitment to learning and being in school, comprehension of English and complex concepts, and even attitude, in my opinion, are staggering. The 'social problems' of Pohnpei seem often unique, and sometimes very familiar. Substance use and abuse (alcohol [sakau en mwein wei], kava [sakau en Pohnpei], and betelnut); unhealthy diets that leads to health problems like diabetes and obesity (choices of high-sugar, high-sodium foods [Kool-aid, ramen, canned meat, white rice] over local food [bananas, taro, breadfruit]); and the lack of opportunities for employment ("unemployment" is difficult to define here) are all similar to problems we face in the States, but there's a different spin on each of them. I have trouble remembering simply to observe and not to judge - to be especially conscious of my white American perspective, impact, and power. It has been difficult, but also very exciting - to become deeply and personally invested in and intertwined with this new culture and its customs, language, ideas, daily life, and people. Pohnpei is beautiful but troubled - as are Pohnpeians. As are we... as am I. We are so different, but so much the same. One thing is for certain - I am learning as much about myself as I am about Pohnpei.
So when we hiked / rock climbed to the top of Sokeh's Rock (a ~700 foot peak) on Thursday evening, I kept my mouth shut. Though I was thinking these things, I said none of them: "I can't believe I haven't wiped out on these slippery rocks yet; Do you think it's going to rain tonight?; I'm glad no one has gotten pegged in the head by a rock; Wouldn't it be terrible if this tree limb I'm putting all my weight on snapped right now?" I said none of it, and most of it didn't happen - we all had only minor slips on the way down, it rained for only about 20 minutes that night, and there were no major injuries caused by rocks and trees. We started the hike around 4:30pm, scrambling desperately to the top to try to catch the sunset. We made it up there around 6:00 (record time, if you ask me), hiking up a pretty steep and slippery slope 3/4 of the way, and climbing up the almost completely vertical side of the rock the rest of the way. Our only real safety net was a rusted out old PVC pipe that was, rather pathetically, trying to cover the electrical wires running to the blinking red light atop the rock that serves as a warning for incoming planes. We made it to the top just in time to see... a bunch of cloud cover. No sunset. We longed for a machete as we made our way through the mangroves have grown over much of the top of the Rock, and arrived eventually at the clearing that would be our bed for the night.
Huddling together for warmth... on a tropical island!
Despite the lack of sunset, our breath was taken away regardless - partially by exhaustion, but also by the view that extended for miles in all directions. We saw the entirety of Kolonia, our town, a number of atolls, the reef, miles of ocean water, the entire airport strip, and much more. We sat in silence and watched the nighttime settle upon the island. Soon, all we could see were the twinkling lights of Kolonia and the airport, and the dark mass of the rest of the island. We tried to find a comfortable spot but realized it was impossible, so we stretched out, used our ponchos as blankets, and and slipped seamlessly in and out of conversation and sleep. The wind picked up, and I felt genuinely cold for the first time since arriving in Pohnpei.
When the sun finally came up, we all took different spots atop the rock and settled in. I climed down a few feet onto a rocky ledge that jutted out over Sokeh's Island. I swallowed my slight fear of heights and peered over the edge, and saw only the houses and Sokeh's Bay below me. No rock face, no mangroves, nothing. I leaned back against a rock, closed my eyes, and let the sun wash over me (maybe a little too much - my shoulders and chest are a little burnt!) for a long while. I took the opportunity to thank God for this opportunity and for the beauty that surrounded me, did some yoga, then climbed off of my perch to find Jo and Philip. We had a light breakfast of bread, peanut butter, and Kosraean limes (they taste like oranges), and packed up to head back down. Heading down was immensely more difficult on my legs than heading up. My thighs and hamstrings were pretty sore the next day. We also went slower, recognizing that it had rained a bit the night before and the rocks were very slippery. We ran into some locals who partially owned the land, and explained that we had gotten permission from another co-owner to climb the Rock. It's still such a foreign concept for me - the fact that there's really no public land here.
Two photos of the climb - one on the way up, and one coming down.
Climbing the Rock has really been our only taste of adventure as of late. On the weekends this month, we've had the opportunity to plan the masses for the international community (Chuukese, Yapese, Filipino, Australian, American, Samoan), and we continue to teach Catechism classes. I didn't realize how closely connected I would be to the Catholic Church here. Besides the connections with international mass, Catechism classes, and my own Catholic school, there is the time we spend with the Jesuit community, who are from the New York province, complete with New York/New Jersey dialect and attitude; they're a riot. They're also immensely supportive, which I am thankful for. I've talked quite seriously with a couple of them about (finally) becoming confirmed into the Catholic Church. After four years of seriously thinking about and wrestling with it, it just feels right, for reasons I won't necessarily delve into. So that takes up some of my time - reading, thinking, and praying about it.
During the week, we've settled into the daily grind of 9+ hours of teaching, lesson planning, grading, classroom managing, and other projects, each day. I found out I'll be working on the OLM curriculum for the next few years as we settle into our new identity as an academically-based Catholic High School. Finishing up our first quarter was a big relief. I'm taking this opportunity to breathe, reorganize, and make sure I'm fully ready for the second quarter. I see huge improvements in my abilities in teaching and especially classroom management. First quarter finals were a mix of disappointment and a flush of pride. Pride - because (I like to think) my many pep-talks, both in class and one-on-one, have prompted some of my students to really make the effort and bring up their grades. One student who had a 36% in math at mid-quarter will get an 82% on her report card. In class, I can see her eyes geniunely light up when she knows an answer. Additionally, she and I have made a great connection both in and outside of class. I like to think there's a connection there. Disappointment - because, despite my pep talks, urgings to be seirous students, and promptings to see education as an immense blessing in their lives, some of my students just do not care. I'm learning not to internalize this and see it as my own failing as a teacher, but to understand that the culture here puts a different spin on education for my students than it meant for me as a high schooler. Three students are already out of school at the end of the first quarter - one is married, one is working, and one just didn't want to be here.
The amateur sociologist in me is just bursting with theories, analyses, and topics of discussion for my conversations with my professors when I return to John Carroll. It's especially interesting at OLM to see the distinctions between the vocational trade-based female students (sophomores, juniors, seniors) and the first co-ed, academically-based class (freshmen). The differences in commitment to learning and being in school, comprehension of English and complex concepts, and even attitude, in my opinion, are staggering. The 'social problems' of Pohnpei seem often unique, and sometimes very familiar. Substance use and abuse (alcohol [sakau en mwein wei], kava [sakau en Pohnpei], and betelnut); unhealthy diets that leads to health problems like diabetes and obesity (choices of high-sugar, high-sodium foods [Kool-aid, ramen, canned meat, white rice] over local food [bananas, taro, breadfruit]); and the lack of opportunities for employment ("unemployment" is difficult to define here) are all similar to problems we face in the States, but there's a different spin on each of them. I have trouble remembering simply to observe and not to judge - to be especially conscious of my white American perspective, impact, and power. It has been difficult, but also very exciting - to become deeply and personally invested in and intertwined with this new culture and its customs, language, ideas, daily life, and people. Pohnpei is beautiful but troubled - as are Pohnpeians. As are we... as am I. We are so different, but so much the same. One thing is for certain - I am learning as much about myself as I am about Pohnpei.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Photos and JVI Pohnpei: The Soundtrack
I'm too lazy today to write anything original, but here's a couple more photos (from the hike to Sokeh's - all taken by Philip and his amazing waterproof camera) and something our community put together as a summary of the past two months. Thought you might enjoy!
Another gun.. I have to say, I felt a little intimidated by these things! I'm glad they don't work anymore!
"JVI Pohnpei" - The Soundtrack
Disc One - The Beginnings
1. "Boys of Summer" - Don Henley
[ Luke's summer with Matt <3 ]
2. "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" - Cyndi Lauper
[ When the boy is away, the girls will play (Jo's summer with Megan Bell) ]
3. "Leaving On a Jet Plane" - John Denver
[ Phil and Sam leave on a jet plane to Pohnpei; however, they DO know when they'll be back again: June 2011 ]
Disc Two - Adventures During Phase 2
4. "Gonna Fly Now (Theme from Rocky I) - Bill Conti
[ When we reached the top of Sokeh's Ridge - a 2 hour hike - and overlooked the island from 900 feet ]
5. "Bridge Over Troubled Water" - Simon & Garfunkel
[ Exploring the ancient ruins of Nan Madol and finding a bridge to perch on to snap a photo - inspired by Philip's half-cheesy, half-awesome comment: "Hey! WE'RE the bridge over troubled waters!" ]
6. "Gone Fishin'" - Bing Crosby & Louis Armstrong
[ On Philip's homestay, he was taken out to a picnic island for troll fishing - and eating some SERIOUS sashimi ]
7. "How Great Thou Art"
[ The general sense of wonder and awe we feel most days when we catch a great sunset, a vivid rainbow, or a sight of the foggy peaks, and are reminded of "the works thy hand has made" ]
8. "Welcome to the Jungle" - Guns 'n' Roses
[ On our seven-waterfall hike, we learned a new meaning of the word "jungle" ]
Disc Three - Everyday Life
9. "The Wall (We Don't Need No Education)" - Phish
[ What our students would like to express to us ]
10. "Teach Your Children" - Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young
[ The mentality we're working off of every day as we try to educate young minds - sometimes fail, sometimes succeed ]
11. "The Joker" - Steve Miller Band
[ We like to laugh a lot ]
12. "Closing Time" - Semisonic
[ We end up pulling a lot of late nights - grading, writing home, having conversations where sometimes we share a little too much... ]
13. "Our House" - Madness
[ Our house... is in the middle of the street. Everyday, we're met with the laughter, games, jumproping, tag, baseball, cops & robbers, or homework help from the kids that live in the other houses on our street - it brightens our days. ]
14. "Tangled Up in You" - Staind
[ We're always getting tangled up in each other in our tiny house, where you can't get out of the bathroom if the refrigerator door is open ]
15. "Down with the Sickness" - Disturbed
[ 11 boils, 2 flus, 2 hacking coughs, and 3 infections later - the sickness has brought us down ]
16. "Livin' on a Prayer" - Bon Jovi
[ Spirituality nights with the Jesuits, and the drinks, dinners, and conversations that follow, are one of the highlights of our weeks ]
17. And finally, as we advance into the fall season.. "It's
Beginning to Look a Lot Like... Summer... Just Like
Always" (Sung to the tune of "It's Beginning to
Look a Lot Like Christmas")
[ No explanation necessary! ]
At the top of Sokeh's Ridge. Note: The look of annoyance on my face is due to the brightness of the sun - I was actually quite content and peaceful at this 900 ft peak!
Sitting on top of one of the massive Japanese AA guns hidden in the mangroves at the top of Sokeh's. Seeing them was an absolutely majestic feeling of being in a different time and place..
"JVI Pohnpei" - The Soundtrack
Disc One - The Beginnings
1. "Boys of Summer" - Don Henley
[ Luke's summer with Matt <3 ]
2. "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" - Cyndi Lauper
[ When the boy is away, the girls will play (Jo's summer with Megan Bell) ]
3. "Leaving On a Jet Plane" - John Denver
[ Phil and Sam leave on a jet plane to Pohnpei; however, they DO know when they'll be back again: June 2011 ]
Disc Two - Adventures During Phase 2
4. "Gonna Fly Now (Theme from Rocky I) - Bill Conti
[ When we reached the top of Sokeh's Ridge - a 2 hour hike - and overlooked the island from 900 feet ]
5. "Bridge Over Troubled Water" - Simon & Garfunkel
[ Exploring the ancient ruins of Nan Madol and finding a bridge to perch on to snap a photo - inspired by Philip's half-cheesy, half-awesome comment: "Hey! WE'RE the bridge over troubled waters!" ]
6. "Gone Fishin'" - Bing Crosby & Louis Armstrong
[ On Philip's homestay, he was taken out to a picnic island for troll fishing - and eating some SERIOUS sashimi ]
7. "How Great Thou Art"
[ The general sense of wonder and awe we feel most days when we catch a great sunset, a vivid rainbow, or a sight of the foggy peaks, and are reminded of "the works thy hand has made" ]
8. "Welcome to the Jungle" - Guns 'n' Roses
[ On our seven-waterfall hike, we learned a new meaning of the word "jungle" ]
Disc Three - Everyday Life
9. "The Wall (We Don't Need No Education)" - Phish
[ What our students would like to express to us ]
10. "Teach Your Children" - Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young
[ The mentality we're working off of every day as we try to educate young minds - sometimes fail, sometimes succeed ]
11. "The Joker" - Steve Miller Band
[ We like to laugh a lot ]
12. "Closing Time" - Semisonic
[ We end up pulling a lot of late nights - grading, writing home, having conversations where sometimes we share a little too much... ]
13. "Our House" - Madness
[ Our house... is in the middle of the street. Everyday, we're met with the laughter, games, jumproping, tag, baseball, cops & robbers, or homework help from the kids that live in the other houses on our street - it brightens our days. ]
14. "Tangled Up in You" - Staind
[ We're always getting tangled up in each other in our tiny house, where you can't get out of the bathroom if the refrigerator door is open ]
15. "Down with the Sickness" - Disturbed
[ 11 boils, 2 flus, 2 hacking coughs, and 3 infections later - the sickness has brought us down ]
16. "Livin' on a Prayer" - Bon Jovi
[ Spirituality nights with the Jesuits, and the drinks, dinners, and conversations that follow, are one of the highlights of our weeks ]
17. And finally, as we advance into the fall season.. "It's
Beginning to Look a Lot Like... Summer... Just Like
Always" (Sung to the tune of "It's Beginning to
Look a Lot Like Christmas")
[ No explanation necessary! ]
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Boilin'
To all of the family and friends who were concerned about the work load I have here, who, when they expressed this concern, were assured by me that things would slow down: that was a bold-faced lie. I knew things wouldn't slow down, but I lied to comfort you. Life has decided to punish me for my lie with the harsh reality that things have actually sped up -- exponentially, in fact (we're working on properties of exponents in senior math this week). Times flies by so fast for me that by the time Friday arrives, I'm caught completely off-guard. We're two days away from the mark of having been here for two months already, and our first-quarter exams are rapidly approaching. Whoever said time moves more slowly in non-Western countries was certainly not an American volunteer who is expected to do more, do more, do more, not only by our employers but by ourselves, as products of our American culture.
That said - I absolutely love everything I'm doing. The subjects I teach are coming alive for me more and more every day, creating an inverse relationship with how much my students care about them (we worked on inverse relationships in junior math last week). The more excited I get about what I'm teaching, the more blank stares I get. Some of my students just absolutely refuse to humor me. One student falls asleep in class almost every day; as the teacher, you would think I would be angry, but it's actually one of the funniest things I've ever seen. She tries so hard to keep her head up, but her neck turns into Jell-O; her face becomes long and drawn, like her cheeks and jaw are weighted down by bags of sand; the space where her eyes used to be turn into thin black slits of closed eyelids; and one day, her mouth was even hanging wide open. I've thought quite seriously about seeing if I could throw my chalk in there.
But not me - my excitement for teaching skyrocketed about two weeks ago. If I had to graph my excitement on a coordinate plane, I would say the linear equation that represents my excitement is a strong positive, close to y = 50x (we're working on linear equations in sophomore math this week). I would even venture to say that I have come to love math.
I take that back -- I like math. We're friends. I do love world history! I'm enthralled by history and wish I would have given it more of a chance in high school. Budgeting has a special place in my heart due to the hours I spent last week typing, copying, cutting, and stapling together pages of seven checkbooks and check registers and dozens of deposit slips that I made for my seven junior girls. No resources? No problem! I gave our copy machine a run for its money and made everything from scratch. I typed up a bunch of tests for this past week, did all of my lesson planning for the next two weeks, graded everything I could, and had short tutoring sessions with some struggling students. By the end of last week, I was high on the adrenaline of a feeling that sounded something like, "I just got a ton of stuff done! I rock!"
My immeasurable energy turned out to be an even greater blessing than I realized once this week began. By Tuesday, I realized that the mosquito bite on the back of my right ankle, though I had been doing my best not to scratch it, was rapidly on its way to becoming my first boil. I wasn't that worried, though -- Luke had some boils when Philip and I first arrived, and Philip had had a couple already, so they couldn't be that unbearable. Wednesday morning when I woke up, I was singing a different song. It was a song of tears, pain, and a repeating chorus that was sung all in one sharp breath -- "ohmygodthathurtssobad" -- with every step I took. My ankle had swollen to the size of a grapefruit, and the boil showed no sign of opening to let out the infection anytime soon. I went to my first two classes and was in so much pain, I decided to go to the doctor. Immanuel, who does the grounds/maintenance for Our Lady of Mercy, had noticed the pain I was in and gave me a ride there.
The doctor inspected my ankle, didn't seem too concerned, and noted that the back of the ankle is one of the worst places to get an infection on island, because of all the dirt our zorries kick up on the back of our legs. Additionally, it is right in the middle of an existing scar from this summer -- the scar from the hot exhaust pipe of Chuck's motorcycle, which might have been ugly but at least led into a cool story -- and scar tissue, she explained, holds infections in and thus it is more difficult to treat them. She casually gave me a prescription for an antibiotic and the advice of elevation and warm compresses, and sent me on my way. I took a cab back to school ($1 per ride anywhere on the island - not bad compared to the $30 I paid to get to downtown Cleveland one time) and finished out my classes. To my surprise, a fever swept over me very suddenly, and I was feeling very lightheaded by my post-lunch math class. I had to stop teaching and told the girls just to work on their homework. Just then, Immanuel appeared in the doorway of my classroom like some kind of superhero, and motioned for me to come with him -- he would take me home. I was relieved, grabbed my things, and got in his car. On the way home, he lectured me. "I told you not to go to the doctor," he said. It's true, he did say that. "Now you have a fever." I hope I don't pass out in his car. "You should have told me about this infection yesterday. Didn't you see how I gave Luke local medicine for his boil and it healed?" he asked. Yes, I guess I did witness that. "I'll give you medicine, too." Okay. He also told me about how his grandfather taught him local medicine, and he has never been to the doctor.
When we got to our house, he came inside with me and I perched on the edge of our couch with my leg on the coffee table. "We have to open up the infection to let it come out," he said. I braced myself -- that sounded painful, like it involved needles, or potentially a machete. But then I felt the gentle rubbing of what smelled like pure coconut oil on the boil, and he placed a small leaf that smelled a bit like mint on top. "There," he said, and laughed a hearty laugh when he saw me wincing in pain. "See you tomorrow!" he said cheerfully, and my rode off on his white horse, which, on any other day, may look peculiarly a bit like a dark grey sedan.
Confused and still a little feverish, I got up and went to my bed. I fell into a deep sleep, and woke up covered in sweat at 6:30 when Luke came into my room asking if I wanted some soup. I said no, but I must have said it with an air of delirium, because he demanded that I take my temperature. It was normal -- the fever had finally broken -- but all I could think about was the dream I had just had, about my leg being amputated. I went back to sleep, hoping the dream wouldn't continue.
Thursday morning, I woke up, still swollen and in a lot of pain when I tried to walk, but -- alas! -- that tiny leaf and coconut oil had caused the skin to break, and when I removed the leaf, whitish-yellow pus mixed with blood started to slowly leak out. Everyone assured me that was a good thing -- the pressure would be relieved and the pain would lessen. I went to school and mostly sat through my classes, having my students take turns writing on the board. They complied -- most of them showed great concern for me, which I thought was really nice, and tells me I must be doing something right as a teacher. Walking continued to give me great pain, but when I sat with my foot elevated, the pain lessened. I thought I could get by all day on that reality, but after my last class, the pain brought on by each step made my breath inhale so sharply, I thought I might pass out. I had no other choice but to go home and lay down. This time, Immanuel gave me the same local medicine he had given Luke a few weeks ago, which is, quite literally, a mixture of rotten bananas and coconut oil. "It's good," he said. "By Monday, the infection will be all gone." So I went home, wrapped the wet black clump in an old t-shirt around my leg, realized how much it was going to leak through, wrapped my foot and ankle in a plastic bag, realized there was a hole in that plastic bag, and then wrapped it in another plastic bag. As strange as it sounds, it felt immediately a bit better. Immanuel had explained that when the skin and underlying infection become hardened and won't let any fluid out, it becomes painful, so I needed to keep it soft. It made sense.
I got through Thursday night with flying colors, each step bringing pain but not debilitating pain like earlier that day. I slept with this concoction wrapped around my leg, and woke Friday (yesterday) morning and removed it, only to be met with the worst smell I have ever laid nose upon (I made up that phrase right now, but I think it works) coming directly from my right ankle/foot region. It looked about as terrible as it smelled -- my foot was covered in runny brown liquid and stains, and skin surrounding the boil looked like a rotting prune -- light and dark purple and wrinkled. Soon after I removed it and washed up, more blood and infection started coming out. I wrapped it loosely, but blood and fluid seeped right through anything I wrapped it in. Immanuel saw it and said, "this is good," but my students were somewhat concerned and mostly disgusted. "Teacher.. some of your blood is on the floor right there." "Teacher.. could you cover that?" A couple of my freshmen, however, who were taking a test but not so quietly, weren't feeling so concerned and were instead taking advantage of the fact that I had to sit with my leg propped up while they took their tests. I lost my patience at one point, stuck my leg up in the air, and practically yelled, "Does everyone see the blood gushing out of my leg this morning? There is blood GUSHING out of my LEG! For this reason, I have to sit and cannot walk around in between your desks and make sure you are not talking! But what I can still do is write a biiiiig ZERO on top of your paper if I see you talking before the bell rings. Okay?!" There was no more talking after that. I think they might have been scared I was going to wipe my blood on them.
The swelling was so bad by early afternoon that I decided to pay another visit to the doctor. She removed the wrapping, saw the dead, black tissue and fluids spurting out, and nodded in a way that said, this looks good. "What we need to do now," she said, "is get that infection out of there." I laid back and put my foot up. That's essentially what the local medicines had been doing -- sucking out the infection. I figured she would give me some sort of special bandage, like one that my aunt gave me when I was twelve and wiped out on my bike. I remember we just placed it over my ripped-up knee, and overnight, it had sucked all of the gravel bits out of my leg. It sounded good to me! What didn't sound so good was the sound of metal surgical tools clinking together as she searched for what emerged looking like a pair of tiny salad tongs; the sound of her flicking a needle; and the sound of her asking if I had ever had a bad reaction to Novocaine. "No," I said, uneasily. I tried to ask questions about what she was about to do, but then all of a sudden, the needle was in my ankle. I inhaled sharply and grabbed the sides of the chair. "The Novocaine isn't as painful as the medicine will be," I heard her say. What medicine? I felt lightheaded, but then the sharp pain of the needle was gone. I looked down towards my ankle just in time to see her inserting another, larger needle directly into the middle of the boil, the pain accompanying it that much sharper. Oh, that medicine. I inhaled again, more sharply, and suddenly everything was black.
I woke up a few seconds later to her standing over me. "You can't hold your breath like that, or you'll pass out," she advised, a few moments too late, if you ask me. In retrospect, I think the compassion was lost in lingual and cultural translation, but in the moment, I wasn't sure how to feel. I still felt woozy when she asked, "can you feel this?" Feel what? I looked down and realized her finger was on top of my boil. Confused, I told her I felt nothing, and she nodded and picked up the salad tongs that belonged to an elf family. I considered getting up and running away, but realized my lower leg was numb and I wouldn't get too far. I watched as she inserted the tongs into the middle of my boil and began pulling out clumps of dead, black tissue and the whitish-yellow infection. Still lightheaded, I began to feel sick, but I couldn't look away. When she finished, it looked like a bullet wound. The hole was at least big enough to fit a kernel of corn comfortably. She wrapped my leg with gauze and patted my other leg distantly. "You're good to go!" She told me she would put me on a stronger antibiotic in addition to the one I was already on, and told me to wait in the waiting room for the prescription. I felt dazed and did as she said, and called a cab to go back to school.
I'm still feeling a little nauseous and lightheaded when I look down at my leg and see the hole, but the good news is that last night and continuing into today, the pain completely ceased. It was mostly gone earlier yesterday, but now it's really gone -- the only thing that still remains is the swelling, which I assume will continue to go down as fluid continues to leak out of my leg, which it has been all day. So it's mostly over, this boil situation. I think the local medicine was a good idea, so as far as I'm concerned, I'm a believer. We discussed this a lot at JVI orientation -- the idea of local v. Western medicine -- and I didn't process it too much, naively believing I wouldn't need to worry about it. But here I am, two months in, with my first major infection. This boil is definitely in the running for some of the worst pain I have had in a while -- maybe not the boil itself as much as the swelling that was causing sharp shooting pains up my leg and into my spine.
If nothing else, anyone who knows me knows that I love scars and the stories behind them. So, cool story, right? A little long. I'll have to work on shortening it. At the very least, it has me singing, "Oh come, oh come, Immanuel.. heal this infection on my right ankle (emphasis on the -kle)." ...too much?
That said - I absolutely love everything I'm doing. The subjects I teach are coming alive for me more and more every day, creating an inverse relationship with how much my students care about them (we worked on inverse relationships in junior math last week). The more excited I get about what I'm teaching, the more blank stares I get. Some of my students just absolutely refuse to humor me. One student falls asleep in class almost every day; as the teacher, you would think I would be angry, but it's actually one of the funniest things I've ever seen. She tries so hard to keep her head up, but her neck turns into Jell-O; her face becomes long and drawn, like her cheeks and jaw are weighted down by bags of sand; the space where her eyes used to be turn into thin black slits of closed eyelids; and one day, her mouth was even hanging wide open. I've thought quite seriously about seeing if I could throw my chalk in there.
But not me - my excitement for teaching skyrocketed about two weeks ago. If I had to graph my excitement on a coordinate plane, I would say the linear equation that represents my excitement is a strong positive, close to y = 50x (we're working on linear equations in sophomore math this week). I would even venture to say that I have come to love math.
I take that back -- I like math. We're friends. I do love world history! I'm enthralled by history and wish I would have given it more of a chance in high school. Budgeting has a special place in my heart due to the hours I spent last week typing, copying, cutting, and stapling together pages of seven checkbooks and check registers and dozens of deposit slips that I made for my seven junior girls. No resources? No problem! I gave our copy machine a run for its money and made everything from scratch. I typed up a bunch of tests for this past week, did all of my lesson planning for the next two weeks, graded everything I could, and had short tutoring sessions with some struggling students. By the end of last week, I was high on the adrenaline of a feeling that sounded something like, "I just got a ton of stuff done! I rock!"
My immeasurable energy turned out to be an even greater blessing than I realized once this week began. By Tuesday, I realized that the mosquito bite on the back of my right ankle, though I had been doing my best not to scratch it, was rapidly on its way to becoming my first boil. I wasn't that worried, though -- Luke had some boils when Philip and I first arrived, and Philip had had a couple already, so they couldn't be that unbearable. Wednesday morning when I woke up, I was singing a different song. It was a song of tears, pain, and a repeating chorus that was sung all in one sharp breath -- "ohmygodthathurtssobad" -- with every step I took. My ankle had swollen to the size of a grapefruit, and the boil showed no sign of opening to let out the infection anytime soon. I went to my first two classes and was in so much pain, I decided to go to the doctor. Immanuel, who does the grounds/maintenance for Our Lady of Mercy, had noticed the pain I was in and gave me a ride there.
The doctor inspected my ankle, didn't seem too concerned, and noted that the back of the ankle is one of the worst places to get an infection on island, because of all the dirt our zorries kick up on the back of our legs. Additionally, it is right in the middle of an existing scar from this summer -- the scar from the hot exhaust pipe of Chuck's motorcycle, which might have been ugly but at least led into a cool story -- and scar tissue, she explained, holds infections in and thus it is more difficult to treat them. She casually gave me a prescription for an antibiotic and the advice of elevation and warm compresses, and sent me on my way. I took a cab back to school ($1 per ride anywhere on the island - not bad compared to the $30 I paid to get to downtown Cleveland one time) and finished out my classes. To my surprise, a fever swept over me very suddenly, and I was feeling very lightheaded by my post-lunch math class. I had to stop teaching and told the girls just to work on their homework. Just then, Immanuel appeared in the doorway of my classroom like some kind of superhero, and motioned for me to come with him -- he would take me home. I was relieved, grabbed my things, and got in his car. On the way home, he lectured me. "I told you not to go to the doctor," he said. It's true, he did say that. "Now you have a fever." I hope I don't pass out in his car. "You should have told me about this infection yesterday. Didn't you see how I gave Luke local medicine for his boil and it healed?" he asked. Yes, I guess I did witness that. "I'll give you medicine, too." Okay. He also told me about how his grandfather taught him local medicine, and he has never been to the doctor.
When we got to our house, he came inside with me and I perched on the edge of our couch with my leg on the coffee table. "We have to open up the infection to let it come out," he said. I braced myself -- that sounded painful, like it involved needles, or potentially a machete. But then I felt the gentle rubbing of what smelled like pure coconut oil on the boil, and he placed a small leaf that smelled a bit like mint on top. "There," he said, and laughed a hearty laugh when he saw me wincing in pain. "See you tomorrow!" he said cheerfully, and my rode off on his white horse, which, on any other day, may look peculiarly a bit like a dark grey sedan.
Confused and still a little feverish, I got up and went to my bed. I fell into a deep sleep, and woke up covered in sweat at 6:30 when Luke came into my room asking if I wanted some soup. I said no, but I must have said it with an air of delirium, because he demanded that I take my temperature. It was normal -- the fever had finally broken -- but all I could think about was the dream I had just had, about my leg being amputated. I went back to sleep, hoping the dream wouldn't continue.
Thursday morning, I woke up, still swollen and in a lot of pain when I tried to walk, but -- alas! -- that tiny leaf and coconut oil had caused the skin to break, and when I removed the leaf, whitish-yellow pus mixed with blood started to slowly leak out. Everyone assured me that was a good thing -- the pressure would be relieved and the pain would lessen. I went to school and mostly sat through my classes, having my students take turns writing on the board. They complied -- most of them showed great concern for me, which I thought was really nice, and tells me I must be doing something right as a teacher. Walking continued to give me great pain, but when I sat with my foot elevated, the pain lessened. I thought I could get by all day on that reality, but after my last class, the pain brought on by each step made my breath inhale so sharply, I thought I might pass out. I had no other choice but to go home and lay down. This time, Immanuel gave me the same local medicine he had given Luke a few weeks ago, which is, quite literally, a mixture of rotten bananas and coconut oil. "It's good," he said. "By Monday, the infection will be all gone." So I went home, wrapped the wet black clump in an old t-shirt around my leg, realized how much it was going to leak through, wrapped my foot and ankle in a plastic bag, realized there was a hole in that plastic bag, and then wrapped it in another plastic bag. As strange as it sounds, it felt immediately a bit better. Immanuel had explained that when the skin and underlying infection become hardened and won't let any fluid out, it becomes painful, so I needed to keep it soft. It made sense.
I got through Thursday night with flying colors, each step bringing pain but not debilitating pain like earlier that day. I slept with this concoction wrapped around my leg, and woke Friday (yesterday) morning and removed it, only to be met with the worst smell I have ever laid nose upon (I made up that phrase right now, but I think it works) coming directly from my right ankle/foot region. It looked about as terrible as it smelled -- my foot was covered in runny brown liquid and stains, and skin surrounding the boil looked like a rotting prune -- light and dark purple and wrinkled. Soon after I removed it and washed up, more blood and infection started coming out. I wrapped it loosely, but blood and fluid seeped right through anything I wrapped it in. Immanuel saw it and said, "this is good," but my students were somewhat concerned and mostly disgusted. "Teacher.. some of your blood is on the floor right there." "Teacher.. could you cover that?" A couple of my freshmen, however, who were taking a test but not so quietly, weren't feeling so concerned and were instead taking advantage of the fact that I had to sit with my leg propped up while they took their tests. I lost my patience at one point, stuck my leg up in the air, and practically yelled, "Does everyone see the blood gushing out of my leg this morning? There is blood GUSHING out of my LEG! For this reason, I have to sit and cannot walk around in between your desks and make sure you are not talking! But what I can still do is write a biiiiig ZERO on top of your paper if I see you talking before the bell rings. Okay?!" There was no more talking after that. I think they might have been scared I was going to wipe my blood on them.
The swelling was so bad by early afternoon that I decided to pay another visit to the doctor. She removed the wrapping, saw the dead, black tissue and fluids spurting out, and nodded in a way that said, this looks good. "What we need to do now," she said, "is get that infection out of there." I laid back and put my foot up. That's essentially what the local medicines had been doing -- sucking out the infection. I figured she would give me some sort of special bandage, like one that my aunt gave me when I was twelve and wiped out on my bike. I remember we just placed it over my ripped-up knee, and overnight, it had sucked all of the gravel bits out of my leg. It sounded good to me! What didn't sound so good was the sound of metal surgical tools clinking together as she searched for what emerged looking like a pair of tiny salad tongs; the sound of her flicking a needle; and the sound of her asking if I had ever had a bad reaction to Novocaine. "No," I said, uneasily. I tried to ask questions about what she was about to do, but then all of a sudden, the needle was in my ankle. I inhaled sharply and grabbed the sides of the chair. "The Novocaine isn't as painful as the medicine will be," I heard her say. What medicine? I felt lightheaded, but then the sharp pain of the needle was gone. I looked down towards my ankle just in time to see her inserting another, larger needle directly into the middle of the boil, the pain accompanying it that much sharper. Oh, that medicine. I inhaled again, more sharply, and suddenly everything was black.
I woke up a few seconds later to her standing over me. "You can't hold your breath like that, or you'll pass out," she advised, a few moments too late, if you ask me. In retrospect, I think the compassion was lost in lingual and cultural translation, but in the moment, I wasn't sure how to feel. I still felt woozy when she asked, "can you feel this?" Feel what? I looked down and realized her finger was on top of my boil. Confused, I told her I felt nothing, and she nodded and picked up the salad tongs that belonged to an elf family. I considered getting up and running away, but realized my lower leg was numb and I wouldn't get too far. I watched as she inserted the tongs into the middle of my boil and began pulling out clumps of dead, black tissue and the whitish-yellow infection. Still lightheaded, I began to feel sick, but I couldn't look away. When she finished, it looked like a bullet wound. The hole was at least big enough to fit a kernel of corn comfortably. She wrapped my leg with gauze and patted my other leg distantly. "You're good to go!" She told me she would put me on a stronger antibiotic in addition to the one I was already on, and told me to wait in the waiting room for the prescription. I felt dazed and did as she said, and called a cab to go back to school.
I'm still feeling a little nauseous and lightheaded when I look down at my leg and see the hole, but the good news is that last night and continuing into today, the pain completely ceased. It was mostly gone earlier yesterday, but now it's really gone -- the only thing that still remains is the swelling, which I assume will continue to go down as fluid continues to leak out of my leg, which it has been all day. So it's mostly over, this boil situation. I think the local medicine was a good idea, so as far as I'm concerned, I'm a believer. We discussed this a lot at JVI orientation -- the idea of local v. Western medicine -- and I didn't process it too much, naively believing I wouldn't need to worry about it. But here I am, two months in, with my first major infection. This boil is definitely in the running for some of the worst pain I have had in a while -- maybe not the boil itself as much as the swelling that was causing sharp shooting pains up my leg and into my spine.
If nothing else, anyone who knows me knows that I love scars and the stories behind them. So, cool story, right? A little long. I'll have to work on shortening it. At the very least, it has me singing, "Oh come, oh come, Immanuel.. heal this infection on my right ankle (emphasis on the -kle)." ...too much?
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Photos
Philip and me at the airport arriving in Pohnpei. Helloooo Micronesia!
Two pictures of the falls. The first is our guide helping us across a particularly treacherous and slippery part of the stream, with one of the seven falls in the background. The second is from Kepirohi Falls, near Nan Madol. I was playing "Where's Samantha?" and disguising myself in my surroundings.. see if you can find me...
Our Pohnpei community at Nan Madol.
From left, Philip, Luke, me, and Jo.
More to come!
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Ms. Cocco, Math Teacher
It's wonderful to climb the liquid mountains of the sky.
Behind me is God and before me is God, and I have no fears.
Helen Keller
I'm exhausted today, but for a very, very good reason. Yesterday, the four of us, our friend Kevin from Micronesian Seminar, and eleven volunteers from World Teach, went on a seven-waterfall hike. Did I say Kepirohi Falls was amazing? Multiply that by seven... then, add the wonder of jumping off of each fall and swimming in the pools at the bottom, subtract the feeling of being clean, and divide by two tennis shoes soaked in mud. (Don't forget to use the order of operations! Can you tell I've already taught 14 math classes this week?) The result is one amazing day, plenty scrapes and gashes, and the feeling of being totally wiped out. From when we started at 9am, until we finished around 5pm, it was a great day. I never realized how much I love hiking until I had been here. It'll be hard to match this back home!
It was a great way to wrap up this week, too - my first week as Ms. Cocco, the math / world history / budgeting teacher of Our Lady of Mercy Catholic High School. Yes, I did say that I would be teaching theology in my last entry.. but that changed a couple of days before classes began, and I'm now teaching world history. Luckily, it is the one class I feel like I have a pretty decent book for. In it are quite a few teaching tips, activities, discussion points, etc. We might just have a good time with it! Budgeting is okay.. it's all sort of a big foreign concept to my students, though, since none of them have part time jobs and many of their parents don't see regular incomes, much less paychecks, checkbooks, bank accounts, etc. But I only have six juniors that I'm teaching it to, so we make it work. Small class sizes are a blessing.
Math is a different story.. I'm teaching four classes (one to each grade) out of two separate textbooks, neither of which include any of the resources that would be immensely helpful. It's hard to make math interesting - actually, I'm finding myself pretty boring. So basically, class has been consisting of me writing on the board, begging for volunteers (I forgot how reluctant high school students can be to act like they like learning - and/or their teachers!) to answer questions, then asking desperately, "Does this make any sense at all?!" only to be met by blank stares. Next week, I am going to start issuing official apology letters to every teacher or professor I have ever had for the blank stares that graced my face, I'm sure, a number of times. There is nothing worse as a teacher, I've discovered so far, to have no idea what your students are thinking. They could just be bored, or they could be plotting where and how to murder me after school. I haven't a clue.
That said, they have all discovered how young I am (especially the girls), and seem to think it's pretty great to have a teacher who's only a few years older than them. I've already had a lot of 'big sister' moments with the vocational girls (sophomores, juniors, and seniors), and even a couple with the Catholic high school girls/guys (freshmen). I've been complimented on my outfits, asked if I would let someone do my hair, etc. I'm doing everything I can to stay on their good side - hopefully that won't backfire - by smiling, trying to crack jokes that no one laughs at, not overloading with homework, etc. I did have some success the other day with my freshmen - I was telling them how to remember the order of operations (PEMDAS) with the old 'Please excuse my dear Aunt Sally" neumonic device, but of course, was met with blank stares that seemed to say, "I don't have an Aunt Sally. I don't even know anyone named Sally. What are you talking about?" so instead, I made one up on the spot, hoping it would get a laugh. I told them about where we live, and about the pigs that live outside my bedroom window. PEMDAS, I told them, for me, means Pigs Exude (the) Most Disgusting, Awful Sounds. Since some of them also have pigs on their property, I got some smiles and even a couple of laughs. And then were ELATED when I told them they would be eligible for one bonus point if they came up with a creative PEMDAS of their own. I hope nothing too offensive pops up..
I feel much better about teaching now that I've actually started. Not that that means lesson planning has been easy at ALL. Actually, I find it to be the most difficult part. Mostly, because I don't want to do it. It feels like homework, and I do not like homework. The other teachers have been amazingly helpful, though. We all get along great and have so much fun each day making language mistakes (we are American, Filipino, Spanish, Chuukese, and Pohnpeian - and there are only 9 of us!), teasing one another, sharing food at lunch. It has been a lot of fun.
By the way, here's a recent picture of me - I may look a little different, but don't be alarmed..
Cocco Tuna, sometimes shorted to Tuna and then elongated to Big Tuna, is the nickname I've earned while here - courtesy of my community mate Luke and the makers of Coco Tuna, a brand they have on the island. I act like it annoys me, but deep down, I think it's hilarious. Our community as a whole is great - I really look forward to coming home to them each day. It's nice to know the World Teach volunteers now, too, although they're more spread out across the island, and it'll be great to meet the Peace Corps volunteers when they get here, too
Other than teaching and the hike this weekend, things have been pretty relaxed. I stayed at a home in the south part of the island last weekend, with a Catholic deacon and his family. It was interesting to get another new perspective on how Pohnpeians live. Things were different in terms of what they have and we (the JVI community) have, and it was interesting to think about priorities, and how my American perspective makes these things look very different. One activity I found really interesting was washing clothes / bathing in the river. Many people were at the river to wash clothes, or swim in the nearby natural pool. The oldest girl of my homestay family washed most of the clothes for her family, on a flat rock, beating them with a wooden paddle. After washing clothes, it was time to bathe. Wearing only our skirts pulled up so they covered our chests as well, we washed our hair and bodies - about ten of us - while people were swimming maybe 20 feet away. No one really noticed since it is natural for them, but I felt pretty self conscious. It felt to me like the Garden of Eden -- women letting down their hair and bathing all together. It was a really beautiful experience. We put on dry skirts and hung out in them for the rest of the night - worn kind of like a strapless dress. Mass the next morning was great -- I absolutely love Pohnpeian singing. It is usually acapella, and everyone sings with, it seems, all of their lung power.
The other exciting piece of news I have is that we may be starting up some Pohnpei Fair Trade! A village close to our home, Kapinga, has some really wonderful artisans who make jewelry, carvings, and weavings, and I've been talking with someone who may be interested in getting this off of the ground. Talk about putting my skill set to work! I've been thinking nonstop about it - applying with Fair Trade Federation, talking to Revive or Ten Thousand Villages, maybe World Next Door shop, to see if we can get some of their beautiful products in stores around Cleveland. We'll see how it goes.
I was hoping to get some real pictures up today, but I'm sort of - well, completely - relying on Philip since he's the one with the sicktight, waterproof, hi-def, and a bunch of other words I don't really know, camera that takes awesome pictures. So I'm patiently waiting.. but I will definitely get some up of myself and my community soon, hopefully on Facebook, too. Get ready to see pictures of absolute beauty! - oh, and some great pictures of Pohnpei, too. :)
Thank you to all who have been so supportive in the past four weeks! I have been almost overwhelmed with letters, emails, and even a couple of care packages (thank you, Anne and Aunt Laura! :) with words of wisdom, support, prayer, and love. Being away from home, especially right now, has been really hard, but those things help immensely. Thank you, thank you. I love and miss all of you. Love to Punta Gorda, Belize City, and Chuuk, too! And Tanzania, Nicaragua, Peru, and Chile! I miss all of you!
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Helloooo Micronesia!
We've hit a lot of the great sites on the island -- Sokeh's Ridge (> 800 ft peak that overlooks the north part of the island -- you can see for miles and miles), Nan Madol (ancient ruins in the southern part of the island -- such a sacred feeling to be there), Kepirohi Falls (really beautiful waterfalls near Nan Madol), PATS (Pohnpei Agricultural Trade School, which is now closed, but the campus is absolutely gorgeous). The island is just beautiful. For a visual, think of Jurassic Park mixed with the Secret Garden every now and then. And maybe the end of Finding Neverland. I keep looking around for fairies or dinosaur footprints. The beauty is just breathtaking, especially in the southern part of the island, but even in Kolonia. Kolonia, where we live, actually has a main strip called Kaselehlie St. with the post office, fabric stores, and places to buy food. We live just off of Kaselehlie, within walking distance from our schools (Our Lady of Mercy Catholic High School for Luke and me and Pohnpei Catholic School for Jo and Phil), the Jesuit residence, the sisters (Mercedarian Missionaries of Berriz) residence, and Micronesian Seminar.
Our Lady of Mercy starts on August 24th, so Luke and I have been there this week while Jo and Phil are at PCS, getting our classrooms ready and starting on lesson plans. I can definitely see how I might get so caught up in lesson plans and teaching that I forget all the other aspects of being a JV. My work load seemed a bit overwhelming at first, but I feel better about it now that I've gotten into the books and started planning. I'm teaching Math to all four grades, Theology to first years, and Budgeting (anyone who knows me well knows that I'm the LAST person that should be teaching that subject!) to juniors. So, six subjects in all. I'm so excited to start teaching.
Adjusting to the new climate has been okay. Philip and I are sweating a lot.. a lot, a lot, a lot. If I've lost any weight, which I think I definitely have, it's been all water. No matter how much water I drink, I don't think it has been enough. I don't think I've been eating enough either.. I'm often pretty hungry in between meals. So I'll have to figure out how to balance all of that. But we're getting used to it.
Other than the heat and humidity, I've been very comfortable. Our house is great. We rent on the property of the Pangelinens (hope I spelled that right!), who are very kind to us, and have met many of our neighbors. Everyone has such beautiful spirits. We're met with 'mensung mwah' every morning, 'soutik mwah' every afternoon, and 'pwong mwah' every night as we walk around, and are greeted with lots of smiles and kind eyes. It feels very much like a home I could get used to.. I guess I have no choice! But I'm so glad to be here. I'm so excited for what's to come.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Just read an email from my community mate, Jo, with responses to an annoying amount of questions I asked about what to bring and other necessities. The fact that I'm leaving soon (six weeks from today!) is becoming very, very real. I'm starting to feel the nervousness deep in my stomach when someone asks, 'So, when do you ship off?' and I have to answer honestly with such a small number of weeks left. At the same time, it has been wonderful that so many people are so excited for me, want to be kept on an email list, want to take me out for one last meal, want to offer their blessings, etc. I am so lucky to have such a large group of people who care about me -- and preparing for this experience has helped me to truly recognize and cherish that. I'll revisit as my ETD draws closer...
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