Warning: I toot my own horn a few times in this entry. It's not serious, well, not totally.
I'm not quite sure where June is escaping to, but the countdown on my wall (yes I made a countdown. So did Jacque, don't judge us.) is about to be flipped over to 22. As in 22 months left. As in still quite a significant chunk of time, but one that is continuing to roll by. The new group of trainees arrives on August 5th, and my group will be known as "the six month group". I would love to be there when they get off the plane and see exactly how far I've come since I've been here. It tickles me when they get in touch with us via facebook or email asking for advice, as if I know what I'm doing over here yet. Ha. I was wondering the other day if I've changed enough to where it would be noticeable if I went home now. Bernadette said she had trouble remembering how to drive when she visited, and while that sounds funny, sitting on the left side of the car and passing on the right doesn't seem so terrifying anymore. Nor does leaving food out overnight and enjoying it for lunch the next day. I will certainly never take things like fountain soda, sinks, or vacuums with hose attachments for granted again. Not the things I'd initially thought I'd miss, but I do. Like whoa.
In actual Peace-Corps-what-I've-been-up-to news, not a whole lot. I taught for a couple of weeks, lessons here and there as the timetable got ironed out and beginning of term whatnots got completed. Then my school closed. All of the schools actually, all the PTCs in Uganda, due to budget issues and lack of funds to keep them open. According to my principal and the ministry the money will be found shortly and we'll reopen in a week or so. I'm headed over to the primary school tomorrow to see if they need any extra hands or help with clubs. The feelings of not knowing what's going on, like I'm not doing anything useful, and like there is an incredibly large amount of waiting for little things to happen have all gotten way more familiar, though not altogether less frustrating. I traveled down past the equator with a bunch of other PCVs to teach life skills and paint murals at a school. I helped out with a lecture on HIV/AIDS and was honestly surprised at how much of my own knowledge I'd taken for granted. We received all sorts of questions related to the transmission of the disease, what actually constitutes losing one's virginity, rape, and even some about homosexuality. Given this culture, that last one surprised me, but I was proud that someone had the courage to ask, so I mustered up the courage to answer it publicly and honestly.
I was posted to my school to teach mathematics, I think because in training that's the only subject in which I was observed teaching. According to the timetable (when the school is open) I teach four classes of math a week - two to year one and two to year two. The head of the English department asked if I'd take over some of the English classes and I said sure, after which she thanked me and said "We have a problem in Uganda, our problem is English." I thought about this for a while and then had a little epiphany, as only a girl who is as bright and learned as I could have; Uganda is not a reading culture. People here do not read before they go to bed, when they are on transport, when they are done working on a test in school. Parents don't read to their kids before putting them to bed, nor to themselves afterwards. No one ever references something they read in a book when speaking to others. I have only seen one Ugandan one time reading for pleasure. The culture here is more geared towards oral traditions - storytelling, singing, talking to one another (and usually not in English). It's all about togetherness, and I've actually been told "You must be so lonely just reading by yourself like that!" Yet, English is the language they teach in after P3, it is the language business is conducted in, and it is the language everyone is expected to master. In the states, being "well read" is assumed of anyone who has a good vocabulary or is a decent writer, there is an entire program in schools called Drop Everything And Read. I have just found the missing link in Uganda's education system (applause, applause, thank you, little bow.) *That was me being facetious.
I have no idea how accurate my ideas about this are, but it makes sense, doesn't it? That in order to be good at something, one should possibly be exposed to decent, even great examples of it, in different contexts, repeatedly? And then be required to think and produce their own examples of it? I haven't seen the whole curriculum for English yet, but I know that in the PTC I'm teaching parts of sentences. To adults. Who completed primary and the first half of secondary school. I would bet my whole next paycheck (don't get too excited, it's not that big) that literary devices and elements of style are never even introduced, let alone explored to any sort of depth. I would also venture to guess that resume, report, and grant writing are never touched either. I poked around in the library on Wednesday, just to see what they had in terms of novels or anything other than textbooks and was pleasantly surprised to see four whole shelves of titles such as The Republic, Madame Bovary, Crime and Punishment... wait, what?? There were some serious novels on those shelves, ones that I have never even gotten through, and I'm wicked smart. I really want to explore this, getting students to read more than just their notes that are copied from the board, but there's no way that Dostoyevsky is the place to start. As I'm obviously an amazing teacher, I know that books that relate to students lives are the ones that will capture their attention - seeing themselves in the story makes reading relevant. How the eff is European/Russian/Greek literature relevant to Ugandan students who lived their first half of their lives in war camps. Maybe some day if they go for a masters or something in literature, but not now, not when they don't even read to begin with. On the one hand I'm kind of stoked that I've identified something to start working on other than just the classes I've been assigned to teach, but on the other it's something I know is totally huge and possibly unattainable for one volunteer to do during her time here.
I'm done thinking about this for today, I'm off to reread the first Harry Potter (not even kidding) and maybe eat a Luna bar or some oatmeal for dinner.
<3
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Friday, June 3, 2011
Grilled Cheesus. Or, Bacon is God's way of saying "I love you, Liz"
I don't really have anything specific to talk about, but I'm sitting in Sankofa Cafe with Jacque & Rachel using fast internet (hi Rachel's mom!), so I feel like I should take advantage of it and post something. Maybe even a picture or two. I just ordered a grilled cheese sandwich with bacon and tomatoes, and received my large chocolate milkshake that is made from real ice cream. Two little pieces of heaven. It's easy to forget where I am in the world when I'm here; it's our once or twice a month sanctuary. We're currently discussing supermarkets. Mmmmm Publix.
The mouse came back last night. I was sitting on my couch with my feet propped up looking through pictures of Florida on my computer when a mouse ran through my living room like it belonged there. It scurried under my desk/kitchen counter and squeaked good evening to me. I sat there, dumbfounded, for a second or two before deciding there was no way I'd be getting off my couch any time soon. Except I live in Africa and I have to be brave about things like mice and bugs and the occasional bat, so I mustered up some courage and was about to get up to throw a shoe or yell at it, or something else brave... when the power went out and I was plunged into darkness. The glow of my computer screen attracted all the flying things that had been fluttering around my lightbulb, and a moth smacked into my face three times before I screamed and decided to call it quits for the night. I closed everything up and stumbled into my room, under the safety of my mosquito net and called my mom, because I thought she'd find my tale amusing. Mouse: 2, Liz: 0.
I've taught a handful of times now, always to a crowd of faces more than 150 in number. I know I wrote about this already, but I find it unbelievably interesting (read: frustrating) that while the students know what constitutes good teaching methods, they refuse to participate in them when I, as the teacher, try to have them work in groups, share ideas, or anything else that would deviate from straight lecture. Actions speak louder than words, people.
The three other women I work with are becoming more and more like surrogate aunts or something who look out for me and I love it. They always ask about my house, say they need to come check it out to make sure it's up to their standards, tell me to call them if anyone is bothering me, and have recently decided that I'm to marry one of their sons and stay forever. (Wait, maybe I don't love that last part.) I tell them that I will miss my family too much, my dog, my friends. They just laugh and say I can have them all visit. True, but no, sorry ladies.
So no pictures, internet wasn't as fast as I thought, but the grilled cheese and the milkshake were delicious. Love & miss you.
The mouse came back last night. I was sitting on my couch with my feet propped up looking through pictures of Florida on my computer when a mouse ran through my living room like it belonged there. It scurried under my desk/kitchen counter and squeaked good evening to me. I sat there, dumbfounded, for a second or two before deciding there was no way I'd be getting off my couch any time soon. Except I live in Africa and I have to be brave about things like mice and bugs and the occasional bat, so I mustered up some courage and was about to get up to throw a shoe or yell at it, or something else brave... when the power went out and I was plunged into darkness. The glow of my computer screen attracted all the flying things that had been fluttering around my lightbulb, and a moth smacked into my face three times before I screamed and decided to call it quits for the night. I closed everything up and stumbled into my room, under the safety of my mosquito net and called my mom, because I thought she'd find my tale amusing. Mouse: 2, Liz: 0.
I've taught a handful of times now, always to a crowd of faces more than 150 in number. I know I wrote about this already, but I find it unbelievably interesting (read: frustrating) that while the students know what constitutes good teaching methods, they refuse to participate in them when I, as the teacher, try to have them work in groups, share ideas, or anything else that would deviate from straight lecture. Actions speak louder than words, people.
The three other women I work with are becoming more and more like surrogate aunts or something who look out for me and I love it. They always ask about my house, say they need to come check it out to make sure it's up to their standards, tell me to call them if anyone is bothering me, and have recently decided that I'm to marry one of their sons and stay forever. (Wait, maybe I don't love that last part.) I tell them that I will miss my family too much, my dog, my friends. They just laugh and say I can have them all visit. True, but no, sorry ladies.
So no pictures, internet wasn't as fast as I thought, but the grilled cheese and the milkshake were delicious. Love & miss you.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
short story
Once upon a time, a girl who lived in Africa was talking on the phone with her friend when a huge storm blew in. She got up off the couch to shut her windows when she spotted a mouse shivering in the corner by the door. The mouse was tiny and would have, under any other circumstances, been considered adorable by the girl, who loved most animals. She shrieked and jumped up on the sofa and started laughing, scaring both the mouse and her friend on the phone. The mouse realized that shit was going down, so it ran back out under a crack in the door, in through which it had come, but it soon remembered that it was raining outside and had come into the house looking for a place to stay dry, and so it ran back in. The girl and mouse both freaked out for about 3 minutes, jumping and running around like idiots. Finally, the girl believed and hoped, the mouse left to find a quieter place to wait out the storm. "Out of sight, out of mind," she said to herself. Miraculously, even though she was on mefloquine, she had no scary dreams of mice running up and down her bed that night.
The next day she woke up and lazed around her house, and was just sitting down to eat breakfast when a bee flew in the open door, landed on her sofa next to her, and smushed itself down between the sofa cushions. "What the EFF," she exclaimed, and then proceeded to rip her sofa apart looking for the bee. It was not to be found and the girl was stymied. Later that morning, three women, who the girl had not seen before, showed up at her door and started requesting (in very broken English and very fast Lango) tea, food for eating, water and soap for bathing, a camera, and red puffy thing that she had hanging in her bathing room. This clued the girl into the fact that her privacy had been very much invaded and the strange foot prints on her bathing room floor did indeed mean that someone other than herself was using it. She made a mental note to keep it locked from then on, generously gave the women some of her collected rain water to wash their feet, but declined their requests for tea, food, and a camera.
The End.
The next day she woke up and lazed around her house, and was just sitting down to eat breakfast when a bee flew in the open door, landed on her sofa next to her, and smushed itself down between the sofa cushions. "What the EFF," she exclaimed, and then proceeded to rip her sofa apart looking for the bee. It was not to be found and the girl was stymied. Later that morning, three women, who the girl had not seen before, showed up at her door and started requesting (in very broken English and very fast Lango) tea, food for eating, water and soap for bathing, a camera, and red puffy thing that she had hanging in her bathing room. This clued the girl into the fact that her privacy had been very much invaded and the strange foot prints on her bathing room floor did indeed mean that someone other than herself was using it. She made a mental note to keep it locked from then on, generously gave the women some of her collected rain water to wash their feet, but declined their requests for tea, food, and a camera.
The End.
Friday, May 27, 2011
gd kids
Friday evening has finally rolled around to close what was my first week as a tutor in a Ugandan college. Holy crap. I think I heard more excuses this week than I have in my entire life.
Monday was supposed to be registration. I asked what time things went down and what I needed to do, where I was needed to help out, etc. It was determined that only the tutors on duty would be registering the students, and they'd all show up sometime around "the afternoon." I showed up at 11. Only one TOD was registering, so I went and sat with her and made myself useful. The first years were supposed to bring 10,000/=, a hoe, a brush broom, and a ream of photocopy paper, the second years, 10,000/=, two brooms, a slasher (machete for cutting grass), six rolls of toilet paper, and a ream of lined paper. Most of them only came with one or two items so I couldn't "clear" them. The threat was that they wouldn't get their meal cards, but apparently those meal cards hadn't been printed and filled out yet, so they could eat for now. Tuesday, I was told, there would be a short staff meeting at 9, to discuss the schedule for the week. The students were all supposed to be in lessons and marking exams during that hour, but I was assured, "Oh it's ok, it will be short, 15 minutes at the most." (Can you hear me laughing?) Tuesday morning rolls around, I show up at 7:30 for an assembly and am one of two tutors there. More students come register, meal cards still aren't around so the threat of no food is still an empty one. The staff meeting begins at 11, which is after break tea, and at the start of the the next session of lessons/marking. It goes for an hour and a half. I have my first moment of interjecting my opinion, trying to conceal my frustration with what I see as a less than professional way of doing things. The question is what should be done about all the students who have not shown up yet (more than half) - should those exams be graded? Should the students who did show up for the term be given two or three, in some cases, exams to go through and grade? I give the opinion that students should not be given more than one paper to mark - that a) those who have not shown up shouldn't have their work done for them if they can't show up on time, and 2) it's not the students' responsibility to do OUR jobs and mark the exams in the first place, so why give extra work to the ones who showed up on time? Eventually it's decided that students will mark as many exams as they need to so that they all get done, because TIA and people are poor and probably couldn't afford transport to school. My counterpart spoke up after I did and agreed with me that it's our job, not the students', so that made me feel like I'd been heard, even if the decision taken was opposite what I'd said.
The rest of the day, as well as Wednesday, was spent sitting registering students who showed up late, or who had been too "stubborn" to come turn their materials in. I can't count the number of people who claimed not to have the money until I said they wouldn't eat without being cleared (the meal cards had shown up by then and were filled out by yours truly) and then miraculously produced a wad of bills from a pocket or purse. Thursday I registered in the morning and then at 11 went with the other math teachers to monitor the grading of exams. Students switched around papers and took out their red pens. The purpose of this was to teach them how to grade papers uniformly... The other tutors went through and actually taught how to do each of the 24 questions instead of just giving the answers (it took four hours). I realized, going through the test, how much of what I will be teaching is upper primary math - only one question dealt with methodology. Points were given for method and accuracy. If the method used was wrong or something was left out, no points were awarded at all, even if the answer was correct. There was a question about a number pattern, where each number is increased by the next even number (+2, +4, +6, +8, etc). A student raised her hand and asked what to do if the test-taker hadn't put the + sign next to the 2, 4, 6, 8, etc. Many people said that it should be marked wrong until someone brought up that a number by itself was usually assumed to be a positive number, so they agreed to mark it correct. Uniformity and accuracy was stressed about 5 times. I wanted to cry.
I taught finally this morning. Lecture hall with a dirt floor, no power, and 245 students aged 19-23 staring at me. I talked about myself, why I'm here, and a little about Peace Corps. I gave my expectations for them as students, and then asked for them to work in small groups to discuss their expectations of both me and our classes. They said they wanted passports and American contacts. Oh jeez. Then I introduced pre-math activities, identified by the 30 year old text book as describing, identifying, and sorting. No one had anything to add (though they can all tell you exactly what a learner centered classroom is, and why discussion and participation are good things...) I called a girl up to stand with me and talked about engaging students in discussing similarities and differences when describing things and people. A few hands were raised and noted that one similarity between the girl and I were that we both have breasts. Um, ok? A difference that was noted was that I'm fatter than she is. Thanks, you can sit down now. This is going to be interesting.
PS. OOOOOOHHHHH and my package from Molly finally arrived with the Kindle in it that my mom bought :D Totally made my entire month. I gorged myself on internet that night reloading all my books. LIG.
Monday was supposed to be registration. I asked what time things went down and what I needed to do, where I was needed to help out, etc. It was determined that only the tutors on duty would be registering the students, and they'd all show up sometime around "the afternoon." I showed up at 11. Only one TOD was registering, so I went and sat with her and made myself useful. The first years were supposed to bring 10,000/=, a hoe, a brush broom, and a ream of photocopy paper, the second years, 10,000/=, two brooms, a slasher (machete for cutting grass), six rolls of toilet paper, and a ream of lined paper. Most of them only came with one or two items so I couldn't "clear" them. The threat was that they wouldn't get their meal cards, but apparently those meal cards hadn't been printed and filled out yet, so they could eat for now. Tuesday, I was told, there would be a short staff meeting at 9, to discuss the schedule for the week. The students were all supposed to be in lessons and marking exams during that hour, but I was assured, "Oh it's ok, it will be short, 15 minutes at the most." (Can you hear me laughing?) Tuesday morning rolls around, I show up at 7:30 for an assembly and am one of two tutors there. More students come register, meal cards still aren't around so the threat of no food is still an empty one. The staff meeting begins at 11, which is after break tea, and at the start of the the next session of lessons/marking. It goes for an hour and a half. I have my first moment of interjecting my opinion, trying to conceal my frustration with what I see as a less than professional way of doing things. The question is what should be done about all the students who have not shown up yet (more than half) - should those exams be graded? Should the students who did show up for the term be given two or three, in some cases, exams to go through and grade? I give the opinion that students should not be given more than one paper to mark - that a) those who have not shown up shouldn't have their work done for them if they can't show up on time, and 2) it's not the students' responsibility to do OUR jobs and mark the exams in the first place, so why give extra work to the ones who showed up on time? Eventually it's decided that students will mark as many exams as they need to so that they all get done, because TIA and people are poor and probably couldn't afford transport to school. My counterpart spoke up after I did and agreed with me that it's our job, not the students', so that made me feel like I'd been heard, even if the decision taken was opposite what I'd said.
The rest of the day, as well as Wednesday, was spent sitting registering students who showed up late, or who had been too "stubborn" to come turn their materials in. I can't count the number of people who claimed not to have the money until I said they wouldn't eat without being cleared (the meal cards had shown up by then and were filled out by yours truly) and then miraculously produced a wad of bills from a pocket or purse. Thursday I registered in the morning and then at 11 went with the other math teachers to monitor the grading of exams. Students switched around papers and took out their red pens. The purpose of this was to teach them how to grade papers uniformly... The other tutors went through and actually taught how to do each of the 24 questions instead of just giving the answers (it took four hours). I realized, going through the test, how much of what I will be teaching is upper primary math - only one question dealt with methodology. Points were given for method and accuracy. If the method used was wrong or something was left out, no points were awarded at all, even if the answer was correct. There was a question about a number pattern, where each number is increased by the next even number (+2, +4, +6, +8, etc). A student raised her hand and asked what to do if the test-taker hadn't put the + sign next to the 2, 4, 6, 8, etc. Many people said that it should be marked wrong until someone brought up that a number by itself was usually assumed to be a positive number, so they agreed to mark it correct. Uniformity and accuracy was stressed about 5 times. I wanted to cry.
I taught finally this morning. Lecture hall with a dirt floor, no power, and 245 students aged 19-23 staring at me. I talked about myself, why I'm here, and a little about Peace Corps. I gave my expectations for them as students, and then asked for them to work in small groups to discuss their expectations of both me and our classes. They said they wanted passports and American contacts. Oh jeez. Then I introduced pre-math activities, identified by the 30 year old text book as describing, identifying, and sorting. No one had anything to add (though they can all tell you exactly what a learner centered classroom is, and why discussion and participation are good things...) I called a girl up to stand with me and talked about engaging students in discussing similarities and differences when describing things and people. A few hands were raised and noted that one similarity between the girl and I were that we both have breasts. Um, ok? A difference that was noted was that I'm fatter than she is. Thanks, you can sit down now. This is going to be interesting.
PS. OOOOOOHHHHH and my package from Molly finally arrived with the Kindle in it that my mom bought :D Totally made my entire month. I gorged myself on internet that night reloading all my books. LIG.
Fact: none of these things were actually in the package.
Happy girl!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Glad the world didn't end yesterday (no for real, i am)
Holy boring day. I'm trying to remember that school technically starts tomorrow and that today might be my last "slow" day for a while (but really, who am I kidding?). The market was closed today, and I think most of the dukas (small shops) were too, so I stayed home and hung out with myself. I am kind of out of food, so I ended up skipping breakfast and then making beans and rice with marinara sauce for lunch. I was super excited about it until I ate too much and realized that it wasn't that great after all (I don't have any Mexican spices, just Italian ones, so all the food I make is either bland or Italian flavored). Then I did dishes, watched the brood of chickens meander around the yard, and watched a movie. My neighbors must have gotten some more white ants last night because they were drying them in the yard today and the chickens found them. They gorged themselves for about five minutes before anyone but me noticed. I took a picture. Sorry.
I had to laugh at myself this morning as I was picking through my "compost" pile looking for a rotten tomato and found a bean garden. Let me back up: I have fruit flies in my house. I keep my house pretty clean, as anyone who has lived with me can attest to, so I'm not sure where they are coming from. In America I'd automatically start looking for a bag of forgotten potatoes in the pantry, but as I have neither pantry nor potatoes here I'm stymied. Anyway, I googled "how to get rid of fruit flies" and found a design for a nifty looking contraption that consisted of a tall glass or something and a funnel. One puts some slightly overripe fruit or veggies in the glass, and the funnel on top. The flies fly down the funnel to the food, but are then too stupid to find their way back out. It worked wonders. I caught about a bajillion flies at my house and then twice that at Nikki's because we made two for her. I was fly free for about three days until they all came back yesterday. No clue why, still no potatoes hiding out. I remade the fly-catcher, and was in the process of finding some rotten food outside where I toss all my veggie peelings and such when I noticed that I have a veritable garden already started amongst my egg shells and avocado skins that I've tossed over the last month. I have no idea what else has started, as I can't recognize seedlings to save my life, but I know that some are beans. (Any kindergarten teacher will be able to recognize seedling beans) I glanced over at my cut water bottle "nursery" and laughed that I've been paying so much attention to them while my daily habit of tossing crap in the yard is putting my efforts to shame. The chickens that come around every day and nibble on things and undoubtedly shit while they do so are probably helping the matter. I guess I'll just see what happens. I'm not giving up my water bottle nursery though, it gives me something to do.
Drying white ants (giant ground termites) They're fried and eaten whole, ground into powder and made into bread, or the powder is mixed with water or oil to use as a sauce.
My plate of dried white ants. I didn't like the legs getting stuck in my teeth...
Chickens gorging themselves
I had to laugh at myself this morning as I was picking through my "compost" pile looking for a rotten tomato and found a bean garden. Let me back up: I have fruit flies in my house. I keep my house pretty clean, as anyone who has lived with me can attest to, so I'm not sure where they are coming from. In America I'd automatically start looking for a bag of forgotten potatoes in the pantry, but as I have neither pantry nor potatoes here I'm stymied. Anyway, I googled "how to get rid of fruit flies" and found a design for a nifty looking contraption that consisted of a tall glass or something and a funnel. One puts some slightly overripe fruit or veggies in the glass, and the funnel on top. The flies fly down the funnel to the food, but are then too stupid to find their way back out. It worked wonders. I caught about a bajillion flies at my house and then twice that at Nikki's because we made two for her. I was fly free for about three days until they all came back yesterday. No clue why, still no potatoes hiding out. I remade the fly-catcher, and was in the process of finding some rotten food outside where I toss all my veggie peelings and such when I noticed that I have a veritable garden already started amongst my egg shells and avocado skins that I've tossed over the last month. I have no idea what else has started, as I can't recognize seedlings to save my life, but I know that some are beans. (Any kindergarten teacher will be able to recognize seedling beans) I glanced over at my cut water bottle "nursery" and laughed that I've been paying so much attention to them while my daily habit of tossing crap in the yard is putting my efforts to shame. The chickens that come around every day and nibble on things and undoubtedly shit while they do so are probably helping the matter. I guess I'll just see what happens. I'm not giving up my water bottle nursery though, it gives me something to do.
Beans in my compost area
magical fruit fly catcher!
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