teaching: week 1

Tomorrow will mark one week since the school year began. I can already tell that time is going to fly, and in about two seconds I'll be saying, "Have a good October Break!"

[Yeah, that's right fellow Canadians ... we get a week off in October and a Spring Break -- keep in mind school started on August 15!]

My first week as a real teacher ... In the calm before the storm, I carefully tried to decorate my classroom and organize myself. Greeting parents and students, introducing myself as "Mrs. Shelley," on that first day felt very strange. Almost an out-of-body experience. A part of me felt like I could better relate to the nervous, skinny middle school student in the desk than to the seasoned teachers in the staff room.

Since then, I've allowed the whirlwind that is made up of three middle school grades rip through my carefully set up classroom. In only a week, they've broken it in and made it feel like a proper classroom -- a mixture of organization and chaos.

I teach the following four classes: grade 6 Language Arts, grade 7 Language Arts, grade 8 Language Arts and grade 7 World Geography. I also have the grade 7 class for morning devotions and advisory (a study hall period at the end of the day). They are the group I spend the most time with; they are fun, they are loud, they are antsy and there are more boys than girls. I'm already rearranging lessons and units to make them more hands-on! (Salt dough maps, here we come!)

So, who are the students that sit in front me every day?

I am amazed at how truly international this school is. During teacher orientation I was already impressed: my colleagues come from the States (Alaska to Florida!), Canada, the Netherlands, Congo, Uganda, Sudan, and the UK. I have students from literally all over the world -- the Philippines, India, Korea, Canada, America, Europe, Australia, Ethiopia, South Africa, Colombia, South Sudan, and Nigeria.

My students speak French, Spanish, Danish, Arabic, Korean, Luganda, Swahili and a host of African languages I had not even heard of. (When I asked the question: "What languages do you speak or understand?" some of them had to stop and count on their hands to keep track!)

Besides where they are from, my students have been all over the world. I asked them to write down the places they've lived, not just visited, and I couldn't believe how many countries some of them have experienced at such a young age. Their social backgrounds and reasons for being here are very different. Some are here for the Christian foundation, others are here for the academics. Many come from missionary families, while others are from prominent Ugandan families.

Some of my students' parents work for NGOs, while others work for international companies. In one class two boys (who had some of the longest lists of "places lived" -- including hotspots like Kosovo, Rwanda, Sudan, Somalia) shared that both of their fathers work for the UN.

[Yay -- I get to teach them World Geography!]

My students also come from different academic backgrounds. Many of the missionary kids have been at least partially homeschooled, and the children from around the world all come from different academic systems. I've had one student tell me he read Macbeth in grade 7, while other students -- refugees from neighbouring African countries -- have had little formal schooling.

Wherever they are from, all of my students are, above all, middle schoolers. They are awkward, funny, emotional and goofy. They are stressed about their homework and obsessed with what their peers think. They are pressured by parents, pushed around by older siblings, and have power over younger siblings. When asked to anonymously write down topics or questions they would like addressed in devotions, the boys snicker and giggle and hint at a "certain three-letter topic."

...They also stink after gym class.

Yup, at the end of the day they're all just middle schoolers.

that time all the teachers got sick

Well, it's hit. That moment that Uganda stops shaking your hand and gives you a punch in the stomach. Literally.

We all knew it was coming, and that it would probably be within the first month. Our bodies have bravely faced all the new germs and the different climate, water and food. Besides a bit of adjusting, over the past two weeks we have remained medically stable.

But our bodies just realized we're not on a two-week missions trip. Our bodies seem to have declared a mutiny.

Over the past four days teachers have been dropping like flies. My turn came on Friday evening. I felt fine after the first two days of school and a group of us were heading out to a local restaurant to celebrate the end of our first "week." As we began walking, I felt occasional twirls in my stomach but there was no major discomfort until after we had eaten.

By the time we got back, let's just say I was in a hurry to get home. My upset stomach persisted through the night, and I was up at least three or four times. While I wasn't surprised by an upset stomach, I was troubled by the sharp spasms of pain I was having in my middle and upper abdomen. They would only last a few seconds, but they would take my breath away. On Saturday morning, as it wasn't getting any better, I mentioned it to Terri, the school's go-to woman for any teacher troubles. (She's fantastic!)

Terri arranged a drive for me right away to get me to the Surgery. What is the Surgery, you ask? Good question. One of the first days we were here, Isaac and I were shocked to hear Terri say: "And if you get sick, we'll take you straight to the Surgery." A little drastic, we thought. I guess it's a British thing to call it "the Surgery" -- it's simply the name of the medical clinic in the area.

[Warning: next paragraph may be considered oversharing.]

Long story short ... I went to the Surgery, I was told I had to produce a stool sample, I couldn't bring myself to produce a stool sample (despite all my problems in the previous 24 hours, and despite the squats Isaac suggested that I do), I went back the next day with a sample ... Turns out there was a bacterial infection in my guts. When your immune system is depressed, due to stress or jet lag or being overwork, the natural balance of yeast in your intestines can get out of whack. So ... problem identified, problem solved (or so it seems at this point).

Today at school (Monday) I felt fine but a total of six teachers were out. Several of them had almost the exact same experience that I did. Although Heritage has a substitute system (and a very flexible principal who can jump into almost any class), because people were dropping during the day things got a little out of hand.

At one point I was sitting in my room about to enjoy my prep period when a fellow teacher poked her head in on the way to her class: "Hey, do you have a class now?"

"No, why?"

"Uh... the grade eights are sitting in the science lab without a teacher. Do you know who's subbing?"

"No, but I'll go look."

I went and looked. No one to be found. So I taught science :) Good times. One of my high school teachers must have done something right, since so much came back to me. DDT, concentration up the food chain, acid rain ... oh yeah, I was in the zone. (not).

At the end of class one of the students thanked me for the wonderful lesson. (Okay, I have to tell the whole truth --  he's a new student and apparently he thanked all of his teachers after every lesson.) Another student told me I'm a good science teacher. I told her not to tell anyone else that!

Here's hoping that everyone else is on the mend.

good question

Last week we went to Calvary Chapel in Kampala, along with fellow teachers from Heritage who attend there.

The music was amazing, the service was good. A little long, a little hot ... I won't lie to you! I'm also not sure that navigating public transit downtown on Sunday really preserves it as a day of rest. Since we have such a strong Christian community in Heritage, we think we might church-hop a bit to check out the scene here in Uganda. Next week: Watoto!

The pastor at Calvary Chapel posed a good question, though, which continues to return to my mind:

"Does your life make anyone hungrier to know the Lord Jesus?" 

Hm ...

videoclip: walking the pipeline

The shortcut to the Super-Super market -- walk across the swamp via the pipeline! I admit, the walk doesn't look that scary ... a nice thick pipe, not too far up ... what's the worst that could happen?

Well, perhaps the photos below will help you understand why I'm a little nervous about falling off the pipe and into the swamp: Here's a shot of Wayne, the science teacher, holding up something he found in his science room: a black mamba snake preserved in a water container. Although this one's dead, apparently live ones -- along with their friends green mambas and even cobras -- have been found on school grounds, staff compounds, and especially the swamp.

communal justice

Odd little experience that we had the other day ...

We drove into town with one of the Heritage teachers. He is one of the few brave enough to own a vehicle and drive himself around Kampala roads.

We were in a typical traffic situation, with cars tightly lined up and bodas weaving in and out of traffic. We were at a full stop at one point, and our friend had to reverse. He didn't realize there was a boda driver right behind him (he was probably almost touching the vehicle to begin with!), and when he reversed he bumped the boda. He really only bumped the tire and no damage was done.

The boda driver drove right up beside the driver's window.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry about that," our friend apologized, leaning out of the window.

"Do not say you're sorry!" the boda driver shouted. "Do not say you are sorry! You hit me! You hit me!"

He may have thought it was his lucky day -- being hit by a muzungu!

And this is where the communal justice steps in ...

Other boda drivers who had been idling by, waiting for passengers, had seen the entire situation unfold. Nearby shopkeepers had also been watching. Pedestrians, shopkeepers, boda drivers ... they all weighed in.

"No, no, you are fine. No damage was done," they all said.

The boda driver who had been hit tried again. He wheeled in front of our vehicle and stopped there, trying to force us to stay put so he could have a chance to prove any damage.

"No, no, no." The self-appointed jury would not have it. "No, there is no damage." They waved, dismissing the boda driver's frantic attempts to prove his case. Frustrated, the  boda driver realized his case was closed and drove away. The spectators turned back to our vehicle and declared, "You can go."

And so we went, back en route to the supermarket.

gift

On Monday night we had a lovely barbecue at Heritage House with all of the new teachers and returning teachers who have already arrived.

At the barbecue I met a small four-year old boy named Gift, who is deaf and has cerebral palsy. He is from the babies' home close by, where one of the teachers (Cheryl Lynn) is very involved. Previously, the thirty to forty children (aged 0-5) at the babies' home never went outside the compound walls. As a result, they were terrified of their surroundings and didn't know how to function in the city. This also meant that the workers never got a break.

Cheryl Lynn pushed for this to change, and now each worker takes two children home to their village for a month or so. Last year over Christmas, Gift was one of the children left over because no worker wanted to take him home with them due to his special needs. Cheryl Lynn offered to have him stay with her family (she has seven children of her own!) over the holidays. Over that time, Cheryl Lynn's house help, a Ugandan woman, decided she wanted to adopt Gift. While this woman goes through the adoption process and Cheryl Lynn helps her get set up to care for Gift, he is staying with Cheryl Lynn's family. This is how Gift ended up at the staff barbecue.

Gift's story shows another layer of our experience here. It is hard to grapple with the desperate poverty that surrounds us here. When we go into town we are told to ignore beggars -- giving money is not sustainable and will only cause mayhem. When I watched commercials in Canada about "the hungry children of Africa" did I think I would sidestep a young boy holding out his hand for money? Did I think I would fix my eyes ahead of me when women holding babies try to beg through the bus window? I'm told some of the women actually borrow babies to beg with, but even that sad fact points to real desperation.

While I know that my first year of teaching will consume most of my time, and that by teaching at Heritage I am helping missionaries be able to stay in Uganda, I would like to volunteer in some capacity, to feel that I am helping in a meaningful, concrete way. One of the teachers visits the slums every Saturday and helps with a Bible lesson and feeding program, while Cheryl Lynn has offered to bring me to the babies' home.

I keep referring back to my experience in Ghana (I'm sure Isaac is getting sick of me mentioning it!). While there are many similarities, there are a lot of differences as well. In Ghana, I was in a small town. Here, we are on the outskirts of Kampala. This means we have access to things I didn't have in Ghana (like this Internet at home!), but, like any city, it also means that we can't possibly get to know everyone and, as a result, it feels more dangerous. 

From my immediate experience it also seems that the poverty here is much more desperate. I don't remember seeing so many people openly begging, even in Accra. I don't know if this is true, because my experience in Ghana is limited and I've only been here for five days! Just my own thoughts ... We've been so preoccupied with getting ourselves comfortable here, that meeting Gift was a sharp reminder of the greater needs that surround us. 

the sun comes up

I feel that I should write another blogpost as an update on my last one. The last blog post, written during a dip in the roller coaster of emotions, is not the entire story of how we are doing here. It's amazing how much has changed in less than a week. A week ago, we were in Hamilton packing up those last few things -- crazy!

When we arrived, we felt like fish out of water. We were afraid of so many worst-case scenarios. Everyday parts of life here -- like having a wall around your house, a night guard, having to watch your phones and purses -- made us very fearful. Now here I sit looking out the door at the barbed-wire topped gate and I realize that it has stopped giving me a gut reaction of anxiety.

Isaac walking with our goods from the market -- sugar cane and a fan! 

In one week, we've gone from total culture shock to things somehow becoming familiar. Today while I was working at the school Isaac did some shopping on his own and has gotten to know the local market ladies! We've been amazed at how trying to greet someone in Lugandan (even when we butcher the pronunciation) totally changes the dynamic. Solemn faces break into big smiles, and suddenly impoverished African children can laugh at an adult foreigner who is able to laugh at themselves.

On a practical note, greeting someone in Lugandan also sends a message that you are not merely a tourist, that you know what you're doing (yeah right!) and that you won't be easily taken advantage of. It's become a habit now to ask shopkeepers and boda drivers if we are being given the "best price" or the muzungu (white person) price. That usually gets a laugh -- because they know it's true!

The orientation for new Heritage teachers started this past Monday. It's been great to have a routine to fall into. When I asked if Isaac could tag along to some of the sessions (most of them dealing with how to navigate life in Uganda), the director enthusiastically told me he was invited to every session he wanted to attend, including all the meals! On Monday and Tuesday we were taken into town and treated to lunch, and they refused to allow us to pay for Isaac's meal. He has been welcomed into the Heritage community with open arms.

In addition to feeling more comfortable with Ugandans, we are becoming very close with other teachers here. Today the family arrived who will be living on the other side of our duplex, a young couple who taught here last year, along with their eight month old son.  We continue to fall in love with the family that lives in the compound next door. While I expected most of the teachers here to be retired, most of them are very young. There are several who are in their first year of teaching (like me!) and the "oldest" among us have elementary school-aged children! There are two houses (about twenty minutes' walk from here) where the single young female teachers live. The little pockets of teachers' compounds and houses, all within walking distance of the school, creates a very close community.

Today in our session about transitions and culture shock we were given some tips on coping strategies (also to keep in mind for missionary kids or other international kids who may end up in our classrooms):

- exercise regularly
- be kind to yourself; the occasional treat will help ease the transition!
- acknowledge your feelings and the feelings of others; don't bury them
- be realistic; don't tell yourself (or someone else) it will be all better tomorrow!
- when you feel self-pity, do something for someone else

Above all, do not isolate yourself -- something you may want to do in a moment of depression. It is crucial to reach out to others, to bind yourself to a community, and to find others you can share your experience with. The Heritage staff have become this for us, and we are so grateful that God has been some of these new friends in our path!

Getting used to the boda-bodas ... evening enjoying them! 

jet lagged -- 1:30am

Well, day 2 in Africa has come to an end. 

So far, our days have been great. Yesterday we were greeted at the airport by two Heritage teachers, ready with bright smiles and warm hugs. Although we were exhausted from two overnight flights and a day layover in London, we were both wide-eyed and excited on the drive to our apartment, taking in all the new sights. We got home, we unpacked, we slept (finally!), we visited the school (found wifi!) and in the evening we ate dinner with other Heritage staff. Terri, one of the school leaders, had even brought two Costco bags of chocolate chips back from Vancouver with her so she could serve chocolate chip cookies with ice cream. (Apparently chocolate chips are one of those things that are almost impossible to get here.)

Over dinner we met several more teachers, most of them single girls in their twenties and early thirties. I was relieved to find that they were “normal” – interesting and honest, making me hope we’ll become fast friends. We went around the table sharing our stories of how we ended up here in Uganda – from Holland, Tennessee, Texas, Vancouver and Britain.

At the end of the night, Terri called a boda driver for us. A boda-boda is a little motorcycle that is a popular mode of public transit here in Uganda. Boda-bodas veer in between traffic, sit at street corners waiting for passengers, and I have already seen somebody holding a metal bedframe sideways while riding one (?). Kembe, one of the drivers Terri knows in the area, picked us up since it is not safe to walk home at night. I took Terri up on her offer of a helmet and Isaac and I climbed on the back behind Kembe. Even though it was only a few minutes through the neighbourhood, and even though Kembe drove slowly, I have to admit my knuckles were white hanging on to Isaac and the back of the boda for dear life.

[Don’t worry – while Isaac and I will probably use bodas around the neighbourhood, we’ll avoid using them on any busy road!)

Today we slept in till 9:30, enjoyed tea on the porch, and completed our unpacking. We walked to the school campus (only about ten minutes) to meet up with Bill and Sharon, a couple who had invited us to their place for lunch. Bill and Sharon will both be working at Heritage and their three children will be attending as students. We had a delicious lunch of rice, beef and fresh mango and pineapple for dessert (deeelicious).

Bill informed us that he had set aside his afternoon to show us around if we were interested – we were! He would also be guiding our neighbours, a family newly arrived from Tennessee. The group of us trekked around town with Bill as our guide. He showed us how to take the mantatu buses, how to negotiate boda-boda fares, how to greet people in Lugandan, and where to go to get what we needed. Isaac and I feel so much more oriented now, and we really enjoyed getting to know our new neighbours. (I’ll have to describe them another day – what a clan!)

By the time we got back from wandering around the market and shops on Ggaba Road, we were exhausted. We unpacked our groceries and supplies, showered and relaxed for the rest of the evening.

Which brings us to … our nights.

Our days (all two of them!) have been great, but our nights have not. Something seems to settle in on us at night – homesickness, fear, uncertainty. The fact that we have a night guard, and are cautioned not to go beyond our compound walls after dark brings home the reality of risk in Uganda. The jet lag also has us wide awake in the middle of the night, listening to the strange sounds coming in through the window. Last night we fell asleep quickly at 10pm, only to wake up at 11! We finally gave up tossing and turning and watched a movie together. We didn’t fall back asleep until 3am.

Tonight, Isaac has finally fallen to sleep but I haven’t slept yet (it’s around 1:30am, and I am not a night owl!). When night started to fall, we both started to wonder why we’re here. All the preparation, all the mental energy of culture shock, all the homesickness … remind me why we’re here? Our feelings have gone up and down so much in the past 24 hours alone – from “Yup, this’ll be good as a one-year thing” to “I could see us staying for longer” to “I want to go home.”

It seems a little ridiculous to have homesickness set in so soon, but I think it’s a different mindset when you know that you’re here for ten months. It’s daunting, having all of that time ahead of you. I think the hardest part will be this first bit, before we become familiar with people and places, and before we fall into a routine.

I’m thankful that we have each other, and that we already have people around us who can relate and who are honest enough to share their own struggles with culture shock. I’m thankful that we can pray about it – the only place where I can bring gnawing anxiety and get a measure of peace.

Now you might be thinking, “What are you complaining about? Playing the martyr, acting like some tragedy has been put on you? You went there, you agreed, you pursued. Boo-hoo – you’re a teacher in Africa! Only your dream come true!”

Okay, maybe you weren’t thinking that. Maybe that’s my inner voice scolding me.

[sigh]

I’m getting tired now, I can’t let this opportunity to sleep pass me by.

three hours in london

Well, we're off. For Isaac and I, our "year abroad" begins today. If you're wondering what the heck I'm talking about  or if you don't know why we're going to Uganda (AND if you actually care to find out) you can check out my previous post about the details here. 

I didn't post much about our two months at home in Ontario (we were busy!). The short version: we had a great time with friends and family and I've cried a lot the past few days saying good-bye to my people.

Now we are en route to Uganda --- looking forward to the next adventure, allowing ourselves to get excited, but also taking Gravol to force us to sleep on the flights.

We had a long layover today in London at Heathrow airport, so we planned to take advantage of the opportunity to explore the city. Our flight was delayed this morning, so instead of arriving at 8:30 am we finally got off the plane close to 11am. Despite the delay, we were still determined to "do London."

We took the underground into the city centre (17 pounds for both of us to buy a day travel pass) and spent some time walking around. When we first arrived, we were thrilled to be there and quite sure that the hour-long subway ride was worth it. We got off at Picadilly Circus, and were amazed by the double-decker buses, gorgeous white stone buildings, statues and red telephone booths.

However ... after about two hours we both hit a wall. It's 34 degrees in London today, and while we were thankful for the sunshine the heat did not help our sleep deprived bodies, nor our jittery stomachs. We both just kind of ... wilted. Literally. On the sidewalk. We draped our stuff and ourselves on stone steps and shared a Sprite.

While we both thought London was a great city, we figured, "What's the point of pushing ourselves if we feel like garbage?" So we took a few more pictures, skipped Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey (even though we were SO close!), and hopped back on the subway to head back to the airport. All in all, we still think the short visit was worth it. But dragging ourselves around for a few more hours just because we're "here" and risking throwing up in public? It would not have been worth it.

After cooling off, changing and getting a Starbucks we're feeling much better relaxing here at the airport. We love you, London, but we'll have to enjoy you another time!

And the thought that haunts us now: We are going to melt in Uganda.

(Note: photo documentation of our three hours in London to follow in a future post -- having trouble with it now)