My mom recently asked me why blogging has slowed, and I said that nothing new is really happening, so sometimes I'm out of ideas. She rightly pointed out what a funny statement that is- I'm in the middle of Kenya and there's honestly nothing new? But really, things just have been going normally. I've settled into a routine. Today marks exactly one month until I return home.
For 10 days or so, Eric will be around town as well. He's the brains of the outfit, at least from the Canadian side. He connected me with the people here, and my thoughts for creating a more official program for other people to get out here encouraging math and science would take place I guess as a sub-division of the program he created and runs. I'm kind of suprised by how much I've enjoyed just talking about the western world with him. We can go back and forth talking about food we miss, for example. And when I say that I could drink some Swiss Chalet gravy, he knows what I mean. Or we can make Flight of the Concord references. Or reflect briefly on Michael Jackson. Even it's been nice just to sort of have an ally of sorts in feeling awkward in certain situations, you know? I think it would have been much easier to have come here with another person. Well, Winnie turned out to be great... But in a Winnie-less circumstance, certainly another Canadiad would have been needed. If I get a program going, I'll send people in twos.
What else, what else. I got some pretty sweet care packages lately. Thanks mom/dad and aunt sandy! I now have a whole slew of books to keep me company and fill the days. The girls write midterms on Monday and Tuesday, and then they get a few days break; school resumes the following Tuesday. I'll be with Eric, who has got a pretty packed schedule, so I'll probably get some interesting experiences then. And after that, just three weeks left! Crazy, right? Well, I'm going to hit the hay. Long day today!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Winnie's house part 2
(continued from previous post)
Then they plucked all the feathers out. Some left little feather stubble that the boy helper began to pick out with the aid of his teeth. I almost fainted. Then the mom came over with a knife and sliced the bird open. Crack went the rib cage and 'oh no' went my gag reflex. Here's the lungs. Here's the heart. Here's the liver. Here are the intestines, but they aren't for humans, so we give them to the dog. After this, I asked, "oh, is that for the dog, or for humans?" at the appearance of every new organ with what I hope was not a too hopeful tone. The crop. Dogs. The feet. Dogs. The gullet. Humans.
Okay, right now, go look at pictures of a chicken gullet. Find one whole, then one split open with food in it, then one split open and cleaned. Now imagine how you would feel if the mother announced that the guest gets the gullet. It's considered the best part, and it would be really rude not to give it to the guest. I immediately tried the humility (oh, there's no need for that. I really couldn't) card, but she insisted that she wanted me to have it. With a tad more vehemence, I changed my game plan to the old, "if I may be so bold, do you mind if I request the breast meat? It's actually my favourite, and I miss it" approach, which went over well, and Winnie ended up with the gullet, which she loves. I mean, I'm not not a picky eater to start with, so there was no way on earth I could have eaten the gullet. I knew I was being rude, but you guys honestly, I just could. not.
The chipati was great though, and after lunch we went out to a beautiful rock looking over the hilly farm. Oh, excuse me, shamba. For some reason, nobody uses the English word, and often they'll even correct me if I say farm. I picked an orange right off the tree and we ate that and some sugar cane. I tried to slice the skin off but I was so afraid of the giant knife and cutting my fingers off that I mostly just whacked the air near the cane that I was holding, giving the skin more of a chance of being removed by wind erosion than anything else. So good ol Winnie took over. Oh also, the boy followed me around most places all day. I guess I was shocked my lots of many things that he considers pedestrian, so he would catch my eye and do every thing with a flourish. So then I felt like I should exaggerate my alarm to reward him for his efforts. When he reached into the chicken cage, head first, to fill their food bucket, for example, I did a giant OH MY! face that he loved. But then he would also do this like peel a banana, or water a plant, and I'd still have to keep up the act of being intrigued and amazed at everything he did. I didn't want to let him down, you know? So now he'll go to school and be like, "okay, so not but muzungos eat rice every day, but some of them have never seen water come out of a tap and they don't know what cows are." Speaking of cows, they had 4 but only one had a name, so chose the most bovine names I could think of: two girls and one boy, so Justin, Mya, and Chantal. Oh and speaking of things that are actually alarming, the boy's mom came to get him, and her hands were full, so she carried machete with her ear and shoulder, tucked into her neck, and if she were using it to make a phone call. It was terrifying to me.
We were sent home with left over chipati and lots of vegetables. We've had arrow root for breakfast every day this week! The best!
Then they plucked all the feathers out. Some left little feather stubble that the boy helper began to pick out with the aid of his teeth. I almost fainted. Then the mom came over with a knife and sliced the bird open. Crack went the rib cage and 'oh no' went my gag reflex. Here's the lungs. Here's the heart. Here's the liver. Here are the intestines, but they aren't for humans, so we give them to the dog. After this, I asked, "oh, is that for the dog, or for humans?" at the appearance of every new organ with what I hope was not a too hopeful tone. The crop. Dogs. The feet. Dogs. The gullet. Humans.
Okay, right now, go look at pictures of a chicken gullet. Find one whole, then one split open with food in it, then one split open and cleaned. Now imagine how you would feel if the mother announced that the guest gets the gullet. It's considered the best part, and it would be really rude not to give it to the guest. I immediately tried the humility (oh, there's no need for that. I really couldn't) card, but she insisted that she wanted me to have it. With a tad more vehemence, I changed my game plan to the old, "if I may be so bold, do you mind if I request the breast meat? It's actually my favourite, and I miss it" approach, which went over well, and Winnie ended up with the gullet, which she loves. I mean, I'm not not a picky eater to start with, so there was no way on earth I could have eaten the gullet. I knew I was being rude, but you guys honestly, I just could. not.
The chipati was great though, and after lunch we went out to a beautiful rock looking over the hilly farm. Oh, excuse me, shamba. For some reason, nobody uses the English word, and often they'll even correct me if I say farm. I picked an orange right off the tree and we ate that and some sugar cane. I tried to slice the skin off but I was so afraid of the giant knife and cutting my fingers off that I mostly just whacked the air near the cane that I was holding, giving the skin more of a chance of being removed by wind erosion than anything else. So good ol Winnie took over. Oh also, the boy followed me around most places all day. I guess I was shocked my lots of many things that he considers pedestrian, so he would catch my eye and do every thing with a flourish. So then I felt like I should exaggerate my alarm to reward him for his efforts. When he reached into the chicken cage, head first, to fill their food bucket, for example, I did a giant OH MY! face that he loved. But then he would also do this like peel a banana, or water a plant, and I'd still have to keep up the act of being intrigued and amazed at everything he did. I didn't want to let him down, you know? So now he'll go to school and be like, "okay, so not but muzungos eat rice every day, but some of them have never seen water come out of a tap and they don't know what cows are." Speaking of cows, they had 4 but only one had a name, so chose the most bovine names I could think of: two girls and one boy, so Justin, Mya, and Chantal. Oh and speaking of things that are actually alarming, the boy's mom came to get him, and her hands were full, so she carried machete with her ear and shoulder, tucked into her neck, and if she were using it to make a phone call. It was terrifying to me.
We were sent home with left over chipati and lots of vegetables. We've had arrow root for breakfast every day this week! The best!
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Winnie's house
On the weekend, I went to Winnie's house. It's about a 40 minute walk from the school with terrain so treacherous that I literally had to use my hands to help of scale some inclines. Before moving in with me, she used to make this trek twice a day!
On the way we passed a giant transformer that Winnie said had been out of working order since about March, and the power people keep saying they'll do it any day, but they obviously haven't yet. Can you imagine? We got to her home and it was very nice. She was obviously very proud of it. Her mom and dad weren't home yet, but two young boys who I guess just help out on their farm were. We walked around the hilly farm, and then Winnie shouted at the boys to bring us some sugar cane. Man, that stuff is delicious, even though I haven't figured out a way to avoid tongue splinters. Also, you use a giant knife to peel it. I was certain that the a finger was going to be lost by somebody, and the one boy seemed to enjoy making me cringe.
Then her parents came home and they were super nice and welcoming. Dinner was this casserole type dish called Kenyiji made of beans, arrow root, bananas, and corn. I loved it so much, but apparently it takes a lot of time/effort/cooking tools that Winnie and I don't have at home. They said such a dish would fetch an unreasonably high price at a tourist place, because foreigners pay big bucks to have the traditional dishes. It's funny that they recognised this, but even funnier that it's probably true.
They really were just embarrassinly welcoming though. Mom and dad, you both are warmly invited over any time. We hit the hay around 9, and I got Winnie's bed. When I woke up at 7, they made me in back to bed because guests are supposed to relax. Kind of awkward but also so nice.
Before bed on Saturday, we looked through photo albums. They own a camera, so lots of stuff was documented. Various graduations, first day of schools, etc, but also pictures of other visitors they've had. One was a clearly caucasian guy named Ian that they said was from China. I asked if they were sure we wasn't American or European or something, but no no, they insisted China, or maybe Japan. Then there was later a bunch of photos of a girl who lived nearby for two years, named Chiko. This time she was legit from Japan. I guess because she was here for so long, she implanted the connotation that muzungo=from Japan. I guess that makes a lot of sense, since many many many people have told of things like the staple food in my country is rice, that English isn't my mother tongue, and that I know karate. Not that I'm saying all Japanese people eat rice and know karate, but just that in my experience, as a stereotype, it's more common to assume those things about an east Asian than a North American. But really, I've had some conversations where people are like, at home, you eat rice every day. Then I'm like, no, we really don't. They insist. I concede that perhaps some people do, but it's certainly not the norm. They say that every body eats it every day. This goes on for a long time. Darn you, Chiko.
In the morning her dad had left, and I wasn't allowed to help make breakfast, so I sat in the sitting room reading a week's worth of newspapers. The opinion section made of wild. There was one really well written article on why foreign aid is bad, and one woman who wrote progressively on reform of domestic abuse laws, but other than that there was a lot of misogynistic vitrol, not unlike what you might read in the comments section of many a blog in any geography, but those are usually anonymous. To see a national newspaper publish it, and to have people write with their name as if their opinion doesn't warrant shame... just, I don't know. Okay an example actually, in the cool young person section: one article on Britney dating her manager, them something about this Nigerian pop duo P Square getting in a fight with their landlord, then a post wondering if old white men coming and marrying young Kenyans constitutes prostitution and sex trafficking, or should we just consider it a boost in the economy, since she'll probably send money home. No lie, this question was posed without satire or sarcasm. Right? I don't know why I didn't stop reading.
Breakfast was arrow root and sweet potatoes, then Winnie had told her mom that I love chipati, so that was on the lunch menu. Also on the menu? Chicken. Where would it come from? Right outside. Yes, they were going to slaughter a chicken. Oh man. The same boy from the previous day, who was fascinated by how fascinated I was, was the one doing the neck cutting. I watched from a distance, trying to hold in my anguish and alarm, but emitting the odd oh! Ah! Ooh! And at one point I may or may not have said eek! I do know that I was burping for a good ten minutes afterwards on account of all my gasping. However, it was much less bloody that I had imagined.
Out of space; to be continued tomorrow.
On the way we passed a giant transformer that Winnie said had been out of working order since about March, and the power people keep saying they'll do it any day, but they obviously haven't yet. Can you imagine? We got to her home and it was very nice. She was obviously very proud of it. Her mom and dad weren't home yet, but two young boys who I guess just help out on their farm were. We walked around the hilly farm, and then Winnie shouted at the boys to bring us some sugar cane. Man, that stuff is delicious, even though I haven't figured out a way to avoid tongue splinters. Also, you use a giant knife to peel it. I was certain that the a finger was going to be lost by somebody, and the one boy seemed to enjoy making me cringe.
Then her parents came home and they were super nice and welcoming. Dinner was this casserole type dish called Kenyiji made of beans, arrow root, bananas, and corn. I loved it so much, but apparently it takes a lot of time/effort/cooking tools that Winnie and I don't have at home. They said such a dish would fetch an unreasonably high price at a tourist place, because foreigners pay big bucks to have the traditional dishes. It's funny that they recognised this, but even funnier that it's probably true.
They really were just embarrassinly welcoming though. Mom and dad, you both are warmly invited over any time. We hit the hay around 9, and I got Winnie's bed. When I woke up at 7, they made me in back to bed because guests are supposed to relax. Kind of awkward but also so nice.
Before bed on Saturday, we looked through photo albums. They own a camera, so lots of stuff was documented. Various graduations, first day of schools, etc, but also pictures of other visitors they've had. One was a clearly caucasian guy named Ian that they said was from China. I asked if they were sure we wasn't American or European or something, but no no, they insisted China, or maybe Japan. Then there was later a bunch of photos of a girl who lived nearby for two years, named Chiko. This time she was legit from Japan. I guess because she was here for so long, she implanted the connotation that muzungo=from Japan. I guess that makes a lot of sense, since many many many people have told of things like the staple food in my country is rice, that English isn't my mother tongue, and that I know karate. Not that I'm saying all Japanese people eat rice and know karate, but just that in my experience, as a stereotype, it's more common to assume those things about an east Asian than a North American. But really, I've had some conversations where people are like, at home, you eat rice every day. Then I'm like, no, we really don't. They insist. I concede that perhaps some people do, but it's certainly not the norm. They say that every body eats it every day. This goes on for a long time. Darn you, Chiko.
In the morning her dad had left, and I wasn't allowed to help make breakfast, so I sat in the sitting room reading a week's worth of newspapers. The opinion section made of wild. There was one really well written article on why foreign aid is bad, and one woman who wrote progressively on reform of domestic abuse laws, but other than that there was a lot of misogynistic vitrol, not unlike what you might read in the comments section of many a blog in any geography, but those are usually anonymous. To see a national newspaper publish it, and to have people write with their name as if their opinion doesn't warrant shame... just, I don't know. Okay an example actually, in the cool young person section: one article on Britney dating her manager, them something about this Nigerian pop duo P Square getting in a fight with their landlord, then a post wondering if old white men coming and marrying young Kenyans constitutes prostitution and sex trafficking, or should we just consider it a boost in the economy, since she'll probably send money home. No lie, this question was posed without satire or sarcasm. Right? I don't know why I didn't stop reading.
Breakfast was arrow root and sweet potatoes, then Winnie had told her mom that I love chipati, so that was on the lunch menu. Also on the menu? Chicken. Where would it come from? Right outside. Yes, they were going to slaughter a chicken. Oh man. The same boy from the previous day, who was fascinated by how fascinated I was, was the one doing the neck cutting. I watched from a distance, trying to hold in my anguish and alarm, but emitting the odd oh! Ah! Ooh! And at one point I may or may not have said eek! I do know that I was burping for a good ten minutes afterwards on account of all my gasping. However, it was much less bloody that I had imagined.
Out of space; to be continued tomorrow.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Pi
I was at Winnie's house on the weekend and lots of funny things happened, but I regret to inform you that that blog post is going to have to wait because something far more urgent has come up.
Let me write you a direct quote from the math book from which I teach. "The exact value of pi is 22/7." I obviously threw a fit. I mean, they could have said, "you know what, don't worry about what it really is because you don't have calculators, but we'll ball park it at 22/7" or even, "pi is almost 22/7." But no, they had to go out there and drop the e-bomb. Exact.
Now, I get it. They don't have calculators and its easier to give them fractions. I didn't say anything when they looked up square roots to two decimal places in a table. I shed not a tear when the physics text book depicted wave graphs as little rounded cones, because they hadn't learned the sine graph yet. But this. This is too much for anyone.
In class today I called that line in the textbook wrong, absurd, evil, perplexing, silly, imaginative, and untrue. I encouraged them to scratch out the word exact. Then at five minute intervals I could interrupt my own lesson to say, "who knows the exact value of pi?" and they would shout out, "NOBODY!" and then we would carry on. I think I will have to write a strongly worded letter to the authors and publishers of this textbook.
Let me write you a direct quote from the math book from which I teach. "The exact value of pi is 22/7." I obviously threw a fit. I mean, they could have said, "you know what, don't worry about what it really is because you don't have calculators, but we'll ball park it at 22/7" or even, "pi is almost 22/7." But no, they had to go out there and drop the e-bomb. Exact.
Now, I get it. They don't have calculators and its easier to give them fractions. I didn't say anything when they looked up square roots to two decimal places in a table. I shed not a tear when the physics text book depicted wave graphs as little rounded cones, because they hadn't learned the sine graph yet. But this. This is too much for anyone.
In class today I called that line in the textbook wrong, absurd, evil, perplexing, silly, imaginative, and untrue. I encouraged them to scratch out the word exact. Then at five minute intervals I could interrupt my own lesson to say, "who knows the exact value of pi?" and they would shout out, "NOBODY!" and then we would carry on. I think I will have to write a strongly worded letter to the authors and publishers of this textbook.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Winnie and the market
Yesterday I went to the market with Winnie. I usually pick up the things I need when I go to the farm on weekends, but this weekend I'm at school to help the girls review for their upcoming midterms. I'm going to Winnie's house for dinner on Saturday, too!
Anyway so we made a shopping list and hopped onto a matatu heading into town. Winnie brought a shawl to wrap around her head during the ride. She was appalled that I hadn't brought one. "But you hair will get so dusty!" Though hair is an evening discussing topic about once a week, she still can't get over that I shampoo a few times a week, and I can't get over that her head only gets wet every other month, when she takes her weave out. I must say, my knowledge of weaves, previously only sourced from America's Next Top Model, has grown quite a lot while here.
Oh, okay, so I was going to bring my back pack to carry stuff in, primarily because blah blah, let's reduce the number of plastic bags we use to save the rain forest or whatever, but also because plastic bags cost 20 cents. That's a hefty fee by any standard, but particularly when you consider that a giant cabbage is only 50 cents. But Winnie really didn't want me too, because she though people would stare. I told her they are going to stare at of regardless, but she really really didn't want me to bring a back pack. She did impressions of how people would look at me. It was pretty hilarious. Fine, but we're bringing plastic bags with us then. Oh yeah, people here call them paper bags. It kills me. This is very clearly not paper. I never say anything to anybody but Winnie though, because she's used to my lip. "What's that? You want me to pass you a paper bag? Hm, I don't see any of those around, but might this plastic bag render itself serviceable?" She just polls her eyes and remains firm on her nomenclature choice. I like her.
Usually while at the grocery store in town, I'm in a bit of a rush it seems, or at least not at leisure to browse around. Winnie and I were in no rush though, so yesterday I discovered a cookie aisle! Pardon me, a biscuit aisle. I picked up a small, 25 cent pack of these coconut numbers. When we had paid and were back outside, I reached into my bag to crack open the cookies. YOU'RE GOING TO EAT THEM NOW? Yeah. HERE? Um, yes. IN FRONT OF PEOPLE? Yes? WHILE WALKING!!? That was the plan...? Apparently, eating while walking is the most hilarious and most most embarrassing thing Winnie could think of. She tried to talk me out of it, again doing impressions of what people would say if they saw me. She already convinced me to leave my back pack at home, so no, I was going to win this battle. And they were delicious. I tried to get her to eat one, but she wouldn't hear of it. I do not understand at all.
Anyway, after all our travelling we treated ourselves to chipati to in with the beans we were going to cook for dinner. We don't have the cookware required for making chipati at home, and I think the fact that I recently discovered that a store nearby sells them fresh for only 20 cents is going to mean a pretty sharp increase in the number of chipatis I eat. They are so good.
Anyway so we made a shopping list and hopped onto a matatu heading into town. Winnie brought a shawl to wrap around her head during the ride. She was appalled that I hadn't brought one. "But you hair will get so dusty!" Though hair is an evening discussing topic about once a week, she still can't get over that I shampoo a few times a week, and I can't get over that her head only gets wet every other month, when she takes her weave out. I must say, my knowledge of weaves, previously only sourced from America's Next Top Model, has grown quite a lot while here.
Oh, okay, so I was going to bring my back pack to carry stuff in, primarily because blah blah, let's reduce the number of plastic bags we use to save the rain forest or whatever, but also because plastic bags cost 20 cents. That's a hefty fee by any standard, but particularly when you consider that a giant cabbage is only 50 cents. But Winnie really didn't want me too, because she though people would stare. I told her they are going to stare at of regardless, but she really really didn't want me to bring a back pack. She did impressions of how people would look at me. It was pretty hilarious. Fine, but we're bringing plastic bags with us then. Oh yeah, people here call them paper bags. It kills me. This is very clearly not paper. I never say anything to anybody but Winnie though, because she's used to my lip. "What's that? You want me to pass you a paper bag? Hm, I don't see any of those around, but might this plastic bag render itself serviceable?" She just polls her eyes and remains firm on her nomenclature choice. I like her.
Usually while at the grocery store in town, I'm in a bit of a rush it seems, or at least not at leisure to browse around. Winnie and I were in no rush though, so yesterday I discovered a cookie aisle! Pardon me, a biscuit aisle. I picked up a small, 25 cent pack of these coconut numbers. When we had paid and were back outside, I reached into my bag to crack open the cookies. YOU'RE GOING TO EAT THEM NOW? Yeah. HERE? Um, yes. IN FRONT OF PEOPLE? Yes? WHILE WALKING!!? That was the plan...? Apparently, eating while walking is the most hilarious and most most embarrassing thing Winnie could think of. She tried to talk me out of it, again doing impressions of what people would say if they saw me. She already convinced me to leave my back pack at home, so no, I was going to win this battle. And they were delicious. I tried to get her to eat one, but she wouldn't hear of it. I do not understand at all.
Anyway, after all our travelling we treated ourselves to chipati to in with the beans we were going to cook for dinner. We don't have the cookware required for making chipati at home, and I think the fact that I recently discovered that a store nearby sells them fresh for only 20 cents is going to mean a pretty sharp increase in the number of chipatis I eat. They are so good.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Chiggo
Winnie lives in fear that our gas cooker might one day run out in the middle of cooking dinner, and THEN WHAT? Like, she is literally (fine, not literally) petrified at the thought. She mentions often that she has a chiggo at her house, and eventually I asked how much such an item costs. The answer was the equivalent of 3 canadian dollars, so we sent matron with money on Monday, market day, to buy us one.
I guess the first thing you need to know about chiggos is that they mightn't be called chiggos at all. Maybe jiggos or jickos or any other combinations of similar phonetics. The other important details are that it's just a little charcoal stand, and that you can't use it in an enclosed room because of the carbon monoxide. Oh, okay. Wait, what? You mean dioxide, right? No? Mon? Like the kind that kills you or causes brain damage? Apparently yes. It's certainly a bit smokey, and what with breathing this in and all the high notes hiding in every song I can think to teach in music class, I've kind of got a bit of a perma-sore throat.
The other change brought about by our new kitchen appliance is that two things can be cooked at once. While this may sound like a blessing, let me assure you that it's turning out to be a bit of a curse.
My schedule is pretty regular, and not at all constricted by time. As I've mentioned, I do a tremendous amount of reading, and listening to music, and reading of the blogs. I already sleep for at least 9 hours a night. Having a second cooking method means freeing up half an hour, and I just don't know what to do with it.
Wait, I should first explain what I actually mean in the previous sentence, when I sort of imply that I do the cooking. You know when you're little and you mom lets you help bake? And mostly you job is to watch then lick the spoon, but when small tasks arise that you are capable of completing then it's like, I CAN CRACK THE EGGS! Or, HEY, I'M PRETTY GREAT AT POURING CHOCOLATE CHIPS INTO A BOWL! The same is cooking dinner with Winnie. Despite the fact that I do almost nothing, I feel like it would be rude to go read while she cooks, so I hang out in the kitchen with her, occasionally being like, OH, LET ME WASH THE TOMATOES! Also, I make pasta on nights that feature a kale/plain spaghetti menu. Only I break the long noodles because that's how Winnie likes it.
(sorry, dad). Sometimes she lets me mash the beans up until she gets so frustrated with my method that she has to take over. I swear to you that out methods are identical, and that maybe she is only a little faster, however I let it go because my arm is usually getting tired.
Anyway, like I was saying. In addition to the carbon monoxide threat, having half an hour extra in my day is most taxing. Maybe I'll start showering with hot water. I'm continually talking about starting to in running again; maybe that should finally happen. Ugh, chiggo.
I guess the first thing you need to know about chiggos is that they mightn't be called chiggos at all. Maybe jiggos or jickos or any other combinations of similar phonetics. The other important details are that it's just a little charcoal stand, and that you can't use it in an enclosed room because of the carbon monoxide. Oh, okay. Wait, what? You mean dioxide, right? No? Mon? Like the kind that kills you or causes brain damage? Apparently yes. It's certainly a bit smokey, and what with breathing this in and all the high notes hiding in every song I can think to teach in music class, I've kind of got a bit of a perma-sore throat.
The other change brought about by our new kitchen appliance is that two things can be cooked at once. While this may sound like a blessing, let me assure you that it's turning out to be a bit of a curse.
My schedule is pretty regular, and not at all constricted by time. As I've mentioned, I do a tremendous amount of reading, and listening to music, and reading of the blogs. I already sleep for at least 9 hours a night. Having a second cooking method means freeing up half an hour, and I just don't know what to do with it.
Wait, I should first explain what I actually mean in the previous sentence, when I sort of imply that I do the cooking. You know when you're little and you mom lets you help bake? And mostly you job is to watch then lick the spoon, but when small tasks arise that you are capable of completing then it's like, I CAN CRACK THE EGGS! Or, HEY, I'M PRETTY GREAT AT POURING CHOCOLATE CHIPS INTO A BOWL! The same is cooking dinner with Winnie. Despite the fact that I do almost nothing, I feel like it would be rude to go read while she cooks, so I hang out in the kitchen with her, occasionally being like, OH, LET ME WASH THE TOMATOES! Also, I make pasta on nights that feature a kale/plain spaghetti menu. Only I break the long noodles because that's how Winnie likes it.
(sorry, dad). Sometimes she lets me mash the beans up until she gets so frustrated with my method that she has to take over. I swear to you that out methods are identical, and that maybe she is only a little faster, however I let it go because my arm is usually getting tired.
Anyway, like I was saying. In addition to the carbon monoxide threat, having half an hour extra in my day is most taxing. Maybe I'll start showering with hot water. I'm continually talking about starting to in running again; maybe that should finally happen. Ugh, chiggo.
Half way
Yesterday was the midpoint between when I arrived and when I leave. 42 days left! Simultaneously I feel like ALREADY? and STILL HALF LEFT?
I kind of wanted to celebrate the date, so I was going to buy some cokes for all the teachers, but them thought that might be too, ooh, celebrate me, so I just got them all mandazis instead. They're like 8 cents each, and delicious. It's basically just deep dried flour and water, I guess, but so good. The first time I tried one was a few weeks ago, when Jessica bought me one. Now Winnie and I get one every now and then for breakfast. I put peanut butter on mine. The best!
Anyway, half way!
I kind of wanted to celebrate the date, so I was going to buy some cokes for all the teachers, but them thought that might be too, ooh, celebrate me, so I just got them all mandazis instead. They're like 8 cents each, and delicious. It's basically just deep dried flour and water, I guess, but so good. The first time I tried one was a few weeks ago, when Jessica bought me one. Now Winnie and I get one every now and then for breakfast. I put peanut butter on mine. The best!
Anyway, half way!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
Garbage
A few weeks ago, Winnie took all the garbage out, and that's all I know about that. Then, today, the garbage was full again, so Winnie showed me where it goes.
A pit, out back. You bring some matches and find a good poking stick and then you burn it. First of all... it's kind of awk to burn your garbage with somebody. There is no need for the details to get detailed, here, but let's just say that feminine hygiene products do not burn very quickly. Also, all my wrappers from Clif bars and Crystal Light didn't burn at all, so they're just hanging out with the banana peals and tin cans that have accumulated over the years.
My hair and clothes smell like melted plastic and my eyes still sting a little. However, if I am to bring only a singular lesson home with me, it will be related to reducing the amount of things I throw out. I'd like to think I'm pretty good about garbage. I even sometimes take care to recycle post-it notes, with an emphasis on sometimes. Once you put garbage in the dumpster, or on the curb for the truck, you don't really think about it again, you know? You know about landfills and how plastic bottles don't disintegrate for a whatever-illion years, but actually dealing with it makes you realise how dumb garbage is. Like all that extra packaging that comes on everything- if you had to melt that in you back yard, you'd start thinking more about how wasteful it is. I mean, what else are you going to think about as you poke it with a burning stick? Anyway, what I'm saying is that I may or may not, upon my return to Canada, become somebody who has a composter in her kitchen, and writes angry letters to companies who use excessive packaging. For now, I'm just going to make sure that next time I put some flammable tinder in with the rest of my garbage.
A pit, out back. You bring some matches and find a good poking stick and then you burn it. First of all... it's kind of awk to burn your garbage with somebody. There is no need for the details to get detailed, here, but let's just say that feminine hygiene products do not burn very quickly. Also, all my wrappers from Clif bars and Crystal Light didn't burn at all, so they're just hanging out with the banana peals and tin cans that have accumulated over the years.
My hair and clothes smell like melted plastic and my eyes still sting a little. However, if I am to bring only a singular lesson home with me, it will be related to reducing the amount of things I throw out. I'd like to think I'm pretty good about garbage. I even sometimes take care to recycle post-it notes, with an emphasis on sometimes. Once you put garbage in the dumpster, or on the curb for the truck, you don't really think about it again, you know? You know about landfills and how plastic bottles don't disintegrate for a whatever-illion years, but actually dealing with it makes you realise how dumb garbage is. Like all that extra packaging that comes on everything- if you had to melt that in you back yard, you'd start thinking more about how wasteful it is. I mean, what else are you going to think about as you poke it with a burning stick? Anyway, what I'm saying is that I may or may not, upon my return to Canada, become somebody who has a composter in her kitchen, and writes angry letters to companies who use excessive packaging. For now, I'm just going to make sure that next time I put some flammable tinder in with the rest of my garbage.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Different kind of homesickness
When the amount of entertainment media one has, measured in number of novels and gigabytes of audio files, is finite, care must be taken to both ration and savour new material.
I brought 10 books. The complete novels of Jane Austen, that's 7, Great Expectations, The Power of One, and Wuthering Heights. In any other three month period, 10 would seem excessive, but in less than half my stay here, I've already finished 6. Of the four remaining, I've already read two, but a while ago so I'm hoping they're fresh. I read Sense and Sensibility a few weeks ago; the last time I read it was probably around 2006. I read as slowly as possible and the book was even more hilarious than I remember. My Aunt Sandy is mailing me a book, so I feel like if I work hard at stretching each one, and maybe give Great Expectations a second hurrah, them I think I'll make it, and only jog, rather than sprint, to the airport bookstore during my stop over to peruse every gossip rag in the joint. Charles Dickens vs Us Weekly. IT'S A TIE. I've also added some feeds to this RSS thing I found on my phone, and I now treat myself every now and again to the bandwidth required to load up some of my favourite blogs.
Music is another question. I have a four gb ipod with me, holding about 800 audio files. I debated for weeks, no joke, about music vs podcasts, and in the end brought 6 This American Life episods. Sometimes I kick myself for bringing so few, and at other times repeat the action for bringing so many. On one hand, it's obviously the best podcast ever, right? And it's such a nice hour of thinking about ways in which humans are humans, bless them. And it's so North American that it cures bouts of homesickness. I've listened to Return to The Scene, from early May, three times now. TAL fans, if that one somehow slipped through your listening, go have a hear now. On the other hand, a whole hour is like 20 songs, and while I'm a huge advocate of listening to good songs on repeat, I'm also getting a little ear-restless for some new tunage, you know? I don't really miss tv, though I am a bit curious as to whether Dollhouse pleased it's fans over the second half of the season. Rob/Jake/Greg... did it? But I really can't wait for some new music. Lisa, I expect you to write me a syllabus of things I need to catch up on that came out over the summer.
I would also like to say that long car rides are no longer the best time to listen to This American Life, and that lying under your mosquito net on you bed, after a long day of teaching and often not understanding/being understood, now takes the pole position. Also, to my cousin Britt, I feel like you would really like that podcast, and its free on itunes.
I guess I'm going through a bit of homesickness, but not in the usual PEOPLE! COMFORT FOOD! FAVOURITE BATHROOM! Kind of way. (And don't tell me you don't miss your favourite toilet while travelling) but rather in a culture way. I really can't even what I would do without internet and emails from friends and blogging and etc. Cannot imagine.
I also have a rule that I can't indulge in more than one form of entertainment at once. "Listening to music while blogging? You sybarite*!" Last week, in a show of utter decadence, I listened to TWO unlistende to This American Lifes, and felt a little guilty all weekend. This means that when I listen to music, I really LISTEN to it, you know? I also don't think I'd have enjoyed some of these books nearly as much if I didn't self-mandate the savouring of every word. I'd like to say that when I return home, I'll have a newfound appreciation for songza.com, or the local public library, but let's just face that that's probably not true.
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* I also brought a pack of flashcards and have been writing vocab on them. And so yes, sybarite is one of my new words. Thanks dictionary.com word of the day! (I think)
I brought 10 books. The complete novels of Jane Austen, that's 7, Great Expectations, The Power of One, and Wuthering Heights. In any other three month period, 10 would seem excessive, but in less than half my stay here, I've already finished 6. Of the four remaining, I've already read two, but a while ago so I'm hoping they're fresh. I read Sense and Sensibility a few weeks ago; the last time I read it was probably around 2006. I read as slowly as possible and the book was even more hilarious than I remember. My Aunt Sandy is mailing me a book, so I feel like if I work hard at stretching each one, and maybe give Great Expectations a second hurrah, them I think I'll make it, and only jog, rather than sprint, to the airport bookstore during my stop over to peruse every gossip rag in the joint. Charles Dickens vs Us Weekly. IT'S A TIE. I've also added some feeds to this RSS thing I found on my phone, and I now treat myself every now and again to the bandwidth required to load up some of my favourite blogs.
Music is another question. I have a four gb ipod with me, holding about 800 audio files. I debated for weeks, no joke, about music vs podcasts, and in the end brought 6 This American Life episods. Sometimes I kick myself for bringing so few, and at other times repeat the action for bringing so many. On one hand, it's obviously the best podcast ever, right? And it's such a nice hour of thinking about ways in which humans are humans, bless them. And it's so North American that it cures bouts of homesickness. I've listened to Return to The Scene, from early May, three times now. TAL fans, if that one somehow slipped through your listening, go have a hear now. On the other hand, a whole hour is like 20 songs, and while I'm a huge advocate of listening to good songs on repeat, I'm also getting a little ear-restless for some new tunage, you know? I don't really miss tv, though I am a bit curious as to whether Dollhouse pleased it's fans over the second half of the season. Rob/Jake/Greg... did it? But I really can't wait for some new music. Lisa, I expect you to write me a syllabus of things I need to catch up on that came out over the summer.
I would also like to say that long car rides are no longer the best time to listen to This American Life, and that lying under your mosquito net on you bed, after a long day of teaching and often not understanding/being understood, now takes the pole position. Also, to my cousin Britt, I feel like you would really like that podcast, and its free on itunes.
I guess I'm going through a bit of homesickness, but not in the usual PEOPLE! COMFORT FOOD! FAVOURITE BATHROOM! Kind of way. (And don't tell me you don't miss your favourite toilet while travelling) but rather in a culture way. I really can't even what I would do without internet and emails from friends and blogging and etc. Cannot imagine.
I also have a rule that I can't indulge in more than one form of entertainment at once. "Listening to music while blogging? You sybarite*!" Last week, in a show of utter decadence, I listened to TWO unlistende to This American Lifes, and felt a little guilty all weekend. This means that when I listen to music, I really LISTEN to it, you know? I also don't think I'd have enjoyed some of these books nearly as much if I didn't self-mandate the savouring of every word. I'd like to say that when I return home, I'll have a newfound appreciation for songza.com, or the local public library, but let's just face that that's probably not true.
-----
* I also brought a pack of flashcards and have been writing vocab on them. And so yes, sybarite is one of my new words. Thanks dictionary.com word of the day! (I think)
Friday, June 12, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Copying and Consequences part two
Read previous post first, please.
Winnie told me that most parents really struggle to say school fees. In fact, over the weekend everybody who had outstanding fees got sent home, which is about a third of the student body. That's frustrating because now I'll just have to reteach everything once they return. Anyway, but it's painful to think of parents making sacrifices to send their daughters to school and then the girls can't be bothered to even take notes in class.
We got a new girl last week. She had grade 8 test scores high enough to go to any school, but she couldn't even afford the cheapest regional school. She finally found a sponsor who agreed to pay for her to come to my school. In term 1 the math teacher covered seven chapters, and so far I've done three more. I thought I'd be dooming her if i didn't help her catch up, so I wrote up some notes for chapter one and gave her some homework, saying take your time, thinking it'd take her about a week. She handed it back to me the next morning, all questions perfect. Now, less than a week later, we are already on chapter six. She is so smart and hard working. She got 12 points on the quiz and she missed most of the chapter. I badly want to just brush away the ones who copy homework and spend all day doing really fun and hard questions with her.
On Monday mornings we have assembly and the principal usually rips into them pretty hard on things I think are pretty small. Like after church, apparently some of them gave some kids some money to go buy donuts for them, and lately they've been speaking to each other in their mother tongue DURING SCHOOL HOURS! I don't see the harm in a donut now and again but I do see the harm in not knowing how to multiply when you are 15 years old. I'm thinking of taking the law into my own hands (what's the word I'm looking for?) and creating some sort of demerit system that takes away privileges... fortunately the only privileges they have are the ones I'm about to bestow (that is, the electives) so I don't see any of the other teachers taking beef with that. But ugh, so much to organise, and so many guns to stick to, you know? With some lovely lovely exceptions, they really are a frustrating bunch sometimes. Maybe tomorrow or soon I'll blog about the ones I love because there really are some sweet ones, too.
Winnie told me that most parents really struggle to say school fees. In fact, over the weekend everybody who had outstanding fees got sent home, which is about a third of the student body. That's frustrating because now I'll just have to reteach everything once they return. Anyway, but it's painful to think of parents making sacrifices to send their daughters to school and then the girls can't be bothered to even take notes in class.
We got a new girl last week. She had grade 8 test scores high enough to go to any school, but she couldn't even afford the cheapest regional school. She finally found a sponsor who agreed to pay for her to come to my school. In term 1 the math teacher covered seven chapters, and so far I've done three more. I thought I'd be dooming her if i didn't help her catch up, so I wrote up some notes for chapter one and gave her some homework, saying take your time, thinking it'd take her about a week. She handed it back to me the next morning, all questions perfect. Now, less than a week later, we are already on chapter six. She is so smart and hard working. She got 12 points on the quiz and she missed most of the chapter. I badly want to just brush away the ones who copy homework and spend all day doing really fun and hard questions with her.
On Monday mornings we have assembly and the principal usually rips into them pretty hard on things I think are pretty small. Like after church, apparently some of them gave some kids some money to go buy donuts for them, and lately they've been speaking to each other in their mother tongue DURING SCHOOL HOURS! I don't see the harm in a donut now and again but I do see the harm in not knowing how to multiply when you are 15 years old. I'm thinking of taking the law into my own hands (what's the word I'm looking for?) and creating some sort of demerit system that takes away privileges... fortunately the only privileges they have are the ones I'm about to bestow (that is, the electives) so I don't see any of the other teachers taking beef with that. But ugh, so much to organise, and so many guns to stick to, you know? With some lovely lovely exceptions, they really are a frustrating bunch sometimes. Maybe tomorrow or soon I'll blog about the ones I love because there really are some sweet ones, too.
Copying an Consequences
Today was pretty frustrating. Each day at lunch, I spend an hour with four or five of my grade nine math students. We practice different problems on the board, all four working independantly, and then after they give me their note books and I make up some extra problems to help them practice in the areas with which they are struggling. They then hand it in the next morning, and I mark it. If I'm not satisfied, then I write up more notes and examples and problems and they hand it in the next day. It's a lot of work but I feel that giving them that extra individual attention MUST help, right?
Yesterday we had a quiz that I didn't mark until today because I had about 15 notebooks full of weekend work. The quiz results were dismal. Out of 25, half the class got under five points. I had a few of my favourites score 19 and 20, and a bunch of students got 12 or 13. But come on. What is going on? Other than the issues with integers (I think some teacher somewhere must have skipped that chapter, because many of them have issues with the number line) this is mostly new stuff. It's not reliant on past knowledge. The only teacher to blame for the low scores is me.
I had two girls who, on last Wednesday, as we approached the end of the chapter, hadn't done a lick of chapter 10 homework. I gave them until today to hand in all assignments. They both did- every question, every section. But they both scored below 5 on the quiz. Something fishy. I took another look at their books... It seemed like messy, quick writing. There were no scribbles or eraser marks. I wrote down a few fairly easy questions from the homework that they had gotten correct and brought them to the two girls. Neither of them came anywhere close to the correct answer. After letting them hem and haw for a good long while, I was like, well, these SHOULD be familiar, since you did them in the homework. And then I asked them if they did the homework or if they copied, and one girl started to cry. She admitted to copying but the other was being all snickery and kept turning away. I gave them both lunch detention (and I will make them sit silently and do every single question in the chapter, coming during every lunch break from now until they finish). It's so frustrating. Nobody likes being lied to. And then I gave the class quite the lecture on copying and cheating. It was quite angry, and then I went home and cried for a bit.
This was all before school even started, so I headed back to in teach the class. Luckily my grade ten physics girls were in hilarious spirits. We're doing ray diagrams and they're all really into it. We've started a new thing where we applaud everybody who comes up to the board to draw a ray. But then I went next to the grade nines for math. I'm slowing the lessons down (even though I may or may not be screwing over the next term's teacher by leaving her more that a third of the material to cover) so that every time I do an example on the board, I walk around and give everybody some time to try it. So today I discovered that many girls haven't ever copied down a single note that I've written on the board. They're just totally resigned to failing math forever that the just sit quietly in class and don't even listen. I stood over a girl's shoulder to make her attempt one of the examples, and discovered that she doesn't know how to multiply. She had to look up five time seven in a little book she carries around. COME ON. This is the same girl who, during her lunch time learning session, kept asking to go to the bathroom. Listen, we all have had those days, you know? I though I was being the chillest teacher ever by lettin her in without making her feel awkward about it, until I saw that she had just been writing questions on her hand and getting help from the people outside. I felt so used. I cried after that as well. My first though is to be like, FINE, SUCKER! Never learn math and see if I care when you can never get a job because all employers look at high school transcripts and particularly at math even in non-math related fields. It's your own funeral! I guess if I were a good teacher, I'd want her to learn for the sake of learning. But I'm a spiteful person I guess... that girl is going to learn the heck out of chapter 10, because she's also going to learn that you do not lie to me, and you do not cheat. I wish there were a math equivalent of making somebody run laps. A punishment to make them think about what they've done, you know? "Drop and give me 50 push ups, and then factor this!" I guess I could make her write out times tables again and again, or, like the other two copying girls, just sit in silence for every single lunch period doing every question in the chapter. It's so much work.
My phone only lets of type a certain number of characters per text box and its hilarious that I've reached it. I'll have to start a new post.
Yesterday we had a quiz that I didn't mark until today because I had about 15 notebooks full of weekend work. The quiz results were dismal. Out of 25, half the class got under five points. I had a few of my favourites score 19 and 20, and a bunch of students got 12 or 13. But come on. What is going on? Other than the issues with integers (I think some teacher somewhere must have skipped that chapter, because many of them have issues with the number line) this is mostly new stuff. It's not reliant on past knowledge. The only teacher to blame for the low scores is me.
I had two girls who, on last Wednesday, as we approached the end of the chapter, hadn't done a lick of chapter 10 homework. I gave them until today to hand in all assignments. They both did- every question, every section. But they both scored below 5 on the quiz. Something fishy. I took another look at their books... It seemed like messy, quick writing. There were no scribbles or eraser marks. I wrote down a few fairly easy questions from the homework that they had gotten correct and brought them to the two girls. Neither of them came anywhere close to the correct answer. After letting them hem and haw for a good long while, I was like, well, these SHOULD be familiar, since you did them in the homework. And then I asked them if they did the homework or if they copied, and one girl started to cry. She admitted to copying but the other was being all snickery and kept turning away. I gave them both lunch detention (and I will make them sit silently and do every single question in the chapter, coming during every lunch break from now until they finish). It's so frustrating. Nobody likes being lied to. And then I gave the class quite the lecture on copying and cheating. It was quite angry, and then I went home and cried for a bit.
This was all before school even started, so I headed back to in teach the class. Luckily my grade ten physics girls were in hilarious spirits. We're doing ray diagrams and they're all really into it. We've started a new thing where we applaud everybody who comes up to the board to draw a ray. But then I went next to the grade nines for math. I'm slowing the lessons down (even though I may or may not be screwing over the next term's teacher by leaving her more that a third of the material to cover) so that every time I do an example on the board, I walk around and give everybody some time to try it. So today I discovered that many girls haven't ever copied down a single note that I've written on the board. They're just totally resigned to failing math forever that the just sit quietly in class and don't even listen. I stood over a girl's shoulder to make her attempt one of the examples, and discovered that she doesn't know how to multiply. She had to look up five time seven in a little book she carries around. COME ON. This is the same girl who, during her lunch time learning session, kept asking to go to the bathroom. Listen, we all have had those days, you know? I though I was being the chillest teacher ever by lettin her in without making her feel awkward about it, until I saw that she had just been writing questions on her hand and getting help from the people outside. I felt so used. I cried after that as well. My first though is to be like, FINE, SUCKER! Never learn math and see if I care when you can never get a job because all employers look at high school transcripts and particularly at math even in non-math related fields. It's your own funeral! I guess if I were a good teacher, I'd want her to learn for the sake of learning. But I'm a spiteful person I guess... that girl is going to learn the heck out of chapter 10, because she's also going to learn that you do not lie to me, and you do not cheat. I wish there were a math equivalent of making somebody run laps. A punishment to make them think about what they've done, you know? "Drop and give me 50 push ups, and then factor this!" I guess I could make her write out times tables again and again, or, like the other two copying girls, just sit in silence for every single lunch period doing every question in the chapter. It's so much work.
My phone only lets of type a certain number of characters per text box and its hilarious that I've reached it. I'll have to start a new post.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Electives
Yesterday while sitting on the matatu with the principal, I mentioned that I was thinking about starting some clubs, like drama or photography, that would run after school and be totally optional. She gave me full approval on whatever I wanted to do, and even told me to ask her for anything I might need. I've been trying to think of knowledge I have that might be useful or fun for the girls. There are no arts in their curriculum, and despite the fact that the only arts course I took in high school was grade ten drama, and I only took it because we needed an arts credit to graduate, I most certainly beleive in the merits of the arts. Like, they're so busy being well behaved reluctant to speak that when you give them a chance to let loose they don't know what to do. When we played the wavi game I had to bribe them with extra points to make them cheer.
So my main goal with the electives is to give them a place to learn without being tested. Like, just to express themselves and be creative. That sounds so trite. My secondary goal is just to take full advantage of the fact that I have a different teaching skill set and knowledge base than the other teachers. So in addition to the creative electives like photography and drama, maybe things like first aid/cpr, North American culture, and colloquial English.
During computers today (which doesn't take place in the school house, and therefore the girls are way less taciturn) I asked them what sorts of things they would like to learn. They want to sing American song. Oh man. I said okay, which is hilarious since my singing voice has been described as both shrill and lugubrious. Oh man.
So I'm now trying to put together a little curriculum for each elective. Do you think its fair to say that only students who get above 80 on the next big upcoming midterm are allowed to partake in photography? I'd rather limit the number of people who can learn it because I don't want my camera to get ruined, plus maybe that will be incentive to study? I'm thinking we could do a lesson on working a digital camera, then a lesson on what makes a good picture (its a long story, but one time I snuck into a high school and ended up in a photography class pretending to be a new transfer student. It's a long story, but I know a bit about rule of thirds and stuff. Listen, it's a long story.) Then the rest of the sessions could be taking pictures, and I could print and mail back a few.
Drama...man, I don't know. Where does one being to start there? I guess I could teach improv? Does anybody know of good resources for scripts? Like, three to six characters, no longer than five minutes? I don't know where to start.
For North American culture, I could have a theme each week. Like geography, politics, fashion, media, rights and freedoms, food and cooking, the justice system, ceremonies like weddings or whatever, etc? I think each week it would be easy enough to think of something.
Singing/music. It'll be stupid expensive to stream a song, but it would be nice to let them actually hear the real version of a song while learning to sing in, which would limit me to the things on my ipod... so I guess I'll start by looking through what I've got. I think I'll have to extend my search though. Probably some good Beatles songs will be easy and appropriate, or some show tunes like Any Dream Will Do, or Do You Hear The People Sing? Yeah, do you think? There's a piano in the church that we can access, but none of them play. I bet I could pull it together and play some simple accompanyment, but I'd rather choose songs that can be sung without the need for an instrument. I'm trying to think up good acoustic type sing alongs like Jack Johnson? Dashboard? Even The Mountain Goats? Or some more cheery twee like any Tilly and the Wall? Slow Club? I don't know. Please comment with any song that you can think would be enjoyable for 15 year olds to sing, and not too hard for me to teach. Like harmonies are probably over my head. Also, do you think its important to choose songs with a bit of cultural significance, or just any song that is fun to sing? Also also, comment any ideas for elective classes that you can think of.
So my main goal with the electives is to give them a place to learn without being tested. Like, just to express themselves and be creative. That sounds so trite. My secondary goal is just to take full advantage of the fact that I have a different teaching skill set and knowledge base than the other teachers. So in addition to the creative electives like photography and drama, maybe things like first aid/cpr, North American culture, and colloquial English.
During computers today (which doesn't take place in the school house, and therefore the girls are way less taciturn) I asked them what sorts of things they would like to learn. They want to sing American song. Oh man. I said okay, which is hilarious since my singing voice has been described as both shrill and lugubrious. Oh man.
So I'm now trying to put together a little curriculum for each elective. Do you think its fair to say that only students who get above 80 on the next big upcoming midterm are allowed to partake in photography? I'd rather limit the number of people who can learn it because I don't want my camera to get ruined, plus maybe that will be incentive to study? I'm thinking we could do a lesson on working a digital camera, then a lesson on what makes a good picture (its a long story, but one time I snuck into a high school and ended up in a photography class pretending to be a new transfer student. It's a long story, but I know a bit about rule of thirds and stuff. Listen, it's a long story.) Then the rest of the sessions could be taking pictures, and I could print and mail back a few.
Drama...man, I don't know. Where does one being to start there? I guess I could teach improv? Does anybody know of good resources for scripts? Like, three to six characters, no longer than five minutes? I don't know where to start.
For North American culture, I could have a theme each week. Like geography, politics, fashion, media, rights and freedoms, food and cooking, the justice system, ceremonies like weddings or whatever, etc? I think each week it would be easy enough to think of something.
Singing/music. It'll be stupid expensive to stream a song, but it would be nice to let them actually hear the real version of a song while learning to sing in, which would limit me to the things on my ipod... so I guess I'll start by looking through what I've got. I think I'll have to extend my search though. Probably some good Beatles songs will be easy and appropriate, or some show tunes like Any Dream Will Do, or Do You Hear The People Sing? Yeah, do you think? There's a piano in the church that we can access, but none of them play. I bet I could pull it together and play some simple accompanyment, but I'd rather choose songs that can be sung without the need for an instrument. I'm trying to think up good acoustic type sing alongs like Jack Johnson? Dashboard? Even The Mountain Goats? Or some more cheery twee like any Tilly and the Wall? Slow Club? I don't know. Please comment with any song that you can think would be enjoyable for 15 year olds to sing, and not too hard for me to teach. Like harmonies are probably over my head. Also, do you think its important to choose songs with a bit of cultural significance, or just any song that is fun to sing? Also also, comment any ideas for elective classes that you can think of.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The children's home
I spent all day Saturday with the kids from the children's home. We went on a walk that was two hours long. I was getting pretty tired, but if shoeless seven year olds could manage, then so could I! That said, I carried Baraka home most of the way but that's only because he's adorable, and he didn't murmur a word of complaint but was so tired that his shoes were dragging and his eye lids were drooping.
Let's take a second to describe some of the kids. There are 22, I think, so I'll summarize most by saying they are well behaved, and like touching my hair and holding my hand. Baraka is the youngest and he really likes stroking my face and arm hair. They don't have arm hair, I guess. It's an interesting feeling, since he has no fingers on one hand. His countenance sometimes toggles between suprised and concerned, but most often pauses at the midpoint of the two emotions. Alarmed, I guess. He wants to be an engineer. He's pretty much my favourite, I think. They gave me a good bye postcard, and he signed his name and wrote I love you. Don't tell Jack; he'll get jealous.
Actually I have two favourites. Mumina is also the best. They all have shaved heads, and here some of the girls wear pants, so on the first day I thought he was a girl. He's the best at all the hand clapping and skipping games, and his name ends in a, and he wears a lot of pink. He told me his English names is Joseph, which probably should have set me straight, but it wasn't until the next day when I was given a tour that he showed me his bed- in the boys room- that I realized. I say 'his bed' but they all share beds. Mumina has this sparkle in his eye like he's trying to bring your attention to somebody about to sit on a whoopie cushion. I tried to capture his impishness in a picture, but whenever the camera came out he stood at attention with a face like you just told him the saddest news in the world. His English is better than any of the girls in my school, or at least more confident. He keeps his clothes in a shopping bag, and when I told him once that his jacket was smart (for several weeks I thought my students were calling me intelligent, but it turns out they just like how I look) he brought me to his room and showed me all his clothes. Every time he pulled out another article, he'd say, "and another!" as if he was still having difficulty believing his luck in owning so many. Which maybe he was. Church clothes, chool uniform, shorts, a jacket, a sweater, and two pairs of socks. He would then fold each item gingerly. Once when folding, he said, "my father is very very dead." and then with the same eagerness as before, pulled not another thing to show me. Mumina likes to march places and when all the kids got in a line and were told to introduce themselves, he started his introduction with a salute and a wink. When I left today he cried. I promised I'd come back and I definitely will.
All weekend the food was so delicious. Cabbage AND chipati for dinner yesterday! And then for breakfast first were peanut butter, bread, and chipati, but then out came mango! Excuse me, but let's all go live there forever. Instead of tea, we had a lot of coffee, which it turns out I like with enough sugar.
When back in Machakos today to catch a matatu back home, we ran into the principal, so I just went home with her instead of needing to be accompanied by Elijah. I like her a lot, now that I've gotten over this one way she sometimes looks at you out of the corner of her eye, that, even though you've done nothing wrong, makes you feel guilty, them really nervous about getting caught. It's kind of cool that we have a female principal, you know? Anyway, this was a giant mat, with a legal capacity of 33 so of course we had about 50 passengers. We were sitting very close and the road was bumpy. It was kind of awk, but we had some good time to talk about some ideas I have. She gave me a really open ended green light, so I've got some planning to do. I'll blog about it tomorrow.
Then about halfway home they stopped in a town, and after half an hour told up that we wouldn't be moving for another hour. Something about waiting for another matatu. I don't know. I got out to get up cokes, and the fare collector followed me and said, "muzungo, buy me a soda." Not even as a question but as a demand! I said no so firmly and rudely that I was about to start feeling like maybe my tone was too mean, but he put a stop to that feeling by saying, "why not?" I told him to buy one himself and then just ignored him. But he kept on being like, "muzungo, buy me a soda!" that in the commotion a teacher from my school who happened to be there getting cokes with his son noticed me and came to my rescue. Then he gave us a ride home! So handy! And now I'm home and about to head to bed. Oh- a lot of you asked what a billybillyhoho is. Come on. I mentioned it a few posts ago. It's a green pepper.
Let's take a second to describe some of the kids. There are 22, I think, so I'll summarize most by saying they are well behaved, and like touching my hair and holding my hand. Baraka is the youngest and he really likes stroking my face and arm hair. They don't have arm hair, I guess. It's an interesting feeling, since he has no fingers on one hand. His countenance sometimes toggles between suprised and concerned, but most often pauses at the midpoint of the two emotions. Alarmed, I guess. He wants to be an engineer. He's pretty much my favourite, I think. They gave me a good bye postcard, and he signed his name and wrote I love you. Don't tell Jack; he'll get jealous.
Actually I have two favourites. Mumina is also the best. They all have shaved heads, and here some of the girls wear pants, so on the first day I thought he was a girl. He's the best at all the hand clapping and skipping games, and his name ends in a, and he wears a lot of pink. He told me his English names is Joseph, which probably should have set me straight, but it wasn't until the next day when I was given a tour that he showed me his bed- in the boys room- that I realized. I say 'his bed' but they all share beds. Mumina has this sparkle in his eye like he's trying to bring your attention to somebody about to sit on a whoopie cushion. I tried to capture his impishness in a picture, but whenever the camera came out he stood at attention with a face like you just told him the saddest news in the world. His English is better than any of the girls in my school, or at least more confident. He keeps his clothes in a shopping bag, and when I told him once that his jacket was smart (for several weeks I thought my students were calling me intelligent, but it turns out they just like how I look) he brought me to his room and showed me all his clothes. Every time he pulled out another article, he'd say, "and another!" as if he was still having difficulty believing his luck in owning so many. Which maybe he was. Church clothes, chool uniform, shorts, a jacket, a sweater, and two pairs of socks. He would then fold each item gingerly. Once when folding, he said, "my father is very very dead." and then with the same eagerness as before, pulled not another thing to show me. Mumina likes to march places and when all the kids got in a line and were told to introduce themselves, he started his introduction with a salute and a wink. When I left today he cried. I promised I'd come back and I definitely will.
All weekend the food was so delicious. Cabbage AND chipati for dinner yesterday! And then for breakfast first were peanut butter, bread, and chipati, but then out came mango! Excuse me, but let's all go live there forever. Instead of tea, we had a lot of coffee, which it turns out I like with enough sugar.
When back in Machakos today to catch a matatu back home, we ran into the principal, so I just went home with her instead of needing to be accompanied by Elijah. I like her a lot, now that I've gotten over this one way she sometimes looks at you out of the corner of her eye, that, even though you've done nothing wrong, makes you feel guilty, them really nervous about getting caught. It's kind of cool that we have a female principal, you know? Anyway, this was a giant mat, with a legal capacity of 33 so of course we had about 50 passengers. We were sitting very close and the road was bumpy. It was kind of awk, but we had some good time to talk about some ideas I have. She gave me a really open ended green light, so I've got some planning to do. I'll blog about it tomorrow.
Then about halfway home they stopped in a town, and after half an hour told up that we wouldn't be moving for another hour. Something about waiting for another matatu. I don't know. I got out to get up cokes, and the fare collector followed me and said, "muzungo, buy me a soda." Not even as a question but as a demand! I said no so firmly and rudely that I was about to start feeling like maybe my tone was too mean, but he put a stop to that feeling by saying, "why not?" I told him to buy one himself and then just ignored him. But he kept on being like, "muzungo, buy me a soda!" that in the commotion a teacher from my school who happened to be there getting cokes with his son noticed me and came to my rescue. Then he gave us a ride home! So handy! And now I'm home and about to head to bed. Oh- a lot of you asked what a billybillyhoho is. Come on. I mentioned it a few posts ago. It's a green pepper.
The children's home
I spent all day Saturday with the kids from the children's home. We went on a walk that was two hours long. I was getting pretty tired, but if shoeless seven year olds could manage, then so could I! That said, I carried Baraka home most of the way but that's only because he's adorable, and he didn't murmur a word of complaint but was so tired that his shoes were dragging and his eye lids were drooping.
Let's take a second to describe some of the kids. There are 22, I think, so I'll summarize most by saying they are well behaved, and like touching my hair and holding my hand. Baraka is the youngest and he really likes stroking my face and arm hair. They don't have arm hair, I guess. It's an interesting feeling, since he has no fingers on one hand. His countenance sometimes toggles between suprised and concerned, but most often pauses at the midpoint of the two emotions. Alarmed, I guess. He wants to be an engineer. He's pretty much my favourite, I think. They gave me a good bye postcard, and he signed his name and wrote I love you. Don't tell Jack; he'll get jealous.
Actually I have two favourites. Mumina is also the best. They all have shaved heads, and here some of the girls wear pants, so on the first day I thought he was a girl. He's the best at all the hand clapping and skipping games, and his name ends in a, and he wears a lot of pink. He told me his English names is Joseph, which probably should have set me straight, but it wasn't until the next day when I was given a tour that he showed me his bed- in the boys room- that I realized. I say 'his bed' but they all share beds. Mumina has this sparkle in his eye like he's trying to bring your attention to somebody about to sit on a whoopie cushion. I tried to capture his impishness in a picture, but whenever the camera came out he stood at attention with a face like you just told him the saddest news in the world. His English is better than any of the girls in my school, or at least more confident. He keeps his clothes in a shopping bag, and when I told him once that his jacket was smart (for several weeks I thought my students were calling me intelligent, but it turns out they just like how I look) he brought me to his room and showed me all his clothes. Every time he pulled out another article, he'd say, "and another!" as if he was still having difficulty believing his luck in owning so many. Which maybe he was. Church clothes, chool uniform, shorts, a jacket, a sweater, and two pairs of socks. He would then fold each item gingerly. Once when folding, he said, "my father is very very dead." and then with the same eagerness as before, pulled not another thing to show me. Mumina likes to march places and when all the kids got in a line and were told to introduce themselves, he started his introduction with a salute and a wink. When I left today he cried. I promised I'd come back and I definitely will.
All weekend the food was so delicious. Cabbage AND chipati for dinner yesterday! And then for breakfast first were peanut butter, bread, and chipati, but then out came mango! Excuse me, but let's all go live there forever. Instead of tea, we had a lot of coffee, which it turns out I like with enough sugar.
When back in Machakos today to catch a matatu back home, we ran into the principal, so I just went home with her instead of needing to be accompanied by Elijah. I like her a lot, now that I've gotten over this one way she sometimes looks at you out of the corner of her eye, that, even though you've done nothing wrong, makes you feel guilty, them really nervous about getting caught. It's kind of cool that we have a female principal, you know? Anyway, this was a giant mat, with a legal capacity of 33 so of course we had about 50 passengers. We were sitting very close and the road was bumpy. It was kind of awk, but we had some good time to talk about some ideas I have. She gave me a really open ended green light, so I've got some planning to do. I'll blog about it tomorrow.
Then about halfway home they stopped in a town, and after half an hour told up that we wouldn't be moving for another hour. Something about waiting for another matatu. I don't know. I got out to get up cokes, and the fare collector followed me and said, "muzungo, buy me a soda." Not even as a question but as a demand! I said no so firmly and rudely that I was about to start feeling like maybe my tone was too mean, but he put a stop to that feeling by saying, "why not?" I told him to buy one himself and then just ignored him. But he kept on being like, "muzungo, buy me a soda!" that in the commotion a teacher from my school who happened to be there getting cokes with his son noticed me and came to my rescue. Then he gave us a ride home! So handy! And now I'm home and about to head to bed. Oh- a lot of you asked what a billybillyhoho is. Come on. I mentioned it a few posts ago. It's a green pepper.
Let's take a second to describe some of the kids. There are 22, I think, so I'll summarize most by saying they are well behaved, and like touching my hair and holding my hand. Baraka is the youngest and he really likes stroking my face and arm hair. They don't have arm hair, I guess. It's an interesting feeling, since he has no fingers on one hand. His countenance sometimes toggles between suprised and concerned, but most often pauses at the midpoint of the two emotions. Alarmed, I guess. He wants to be an engineer. He's pretty much my favourite, I think. They gave me a good bye postcard, and he signed his name and wrote I love you. Don't tell Jack; he'll get jealous.
Actually I have two favourites. Mumina is also the best. They all have shaved heads, and here some of the girls wear pants, so on the first day I thought he was a girl. He's the best at all the hand clapping and skipping games, and his name ends in a, and he wears a lot of pink. He told me his English names is Joseph, which probably should have set me straight, but it wasn't until the next day when I was given a tour that he showed me his bed- in the boys room- that I realized. I say 'his bed' but they all share beds. Mumina has this sparkle in his eye like he's trying to bring your attention to somebody about to sit on a whoopie cushion. I tried to capture his impishness in a picture, but whenever the camera came out he stood at attention with a face like you just told him the saddest news in the world. His English is better than any of the girls in my school, or at least more confident. He keeps his clothes in a shopping bag, and when I told him once that his jacket was smart (for several weeks I thought my students were calling me intelligent, but it turns out they just like how I look) he brought me to his room and showed me all his clothes. Every time he pulled out another article, he'd say, "and another!" as if he was still having difficulty believing his luck in owning so many. Which maybe he was. Church clothes, chool uniform, shorts, a jacket, a sweater, and two pairs of socks. He would then fold each item gingerly. Once when folding, he said, "my father is very very dead." and then with the same eagerness as before, pulled not another thing to show me. Mumina likes to march places and when all the kids got in a line and were told to introduce themselves, he started his introduction with a salute and a wink. When I left today he cried. I promised I'd come back and I definitely will.
All weekend the food was so delicious. Cabbage AND chipati for dinner yesterday! And then for breakfast first were peanut butter, bread, and chipati, but then out came mango! Excuse me, but let's all go live there forever. Instead of tea, we had a lot of coffee, which it turns out I like with enough sugar.
When back in Machakos today to catch a matatu back home, we ran into the principal, so I just went home with her instead of needing to be accompanied by Elijah. I like her a lot, now that I've gotten over this one way she sometimes looks at you out of the corner of her eye, that, even though you've done nothing wrong, makes you feel guilty, them really nervous about getting caught. It's kind of cool that we have a female principal, you know? Anyway, this was a giant mat, with a legal capacity of 33 so of course we had about 50 passengers. We were sitting very close and the road was bumpy. It was kind of awk, but we had some good time to talk about some ideas I have. She gave me a really open ended green light, so I've got some planning to do. I'll blog about it tomorrow.
Then about halfway home they stopped in a town, and after half an hour told up that we wouldn't be moving for another hour. Something about waiting for another matatu. I don't know. I got out to get up cokes, and the fare collector followed me and said, "muzungo, buy me a soda." Not even as a question but as a demand! I said no so firmly and rudely that I was about to start feeling like maybe my tone was too mean, but he put a stop to that feeling by saying, "why not?" I told him to buy one himself and then just ignored him. But he kept on being like, "muzungo, buy me a soda!" that in the commotion a teacher from my school who happened to be there getting cokes with his son noticed me and came to my rescue. Then he gave us a ride home! So handy! And now I'm home and about to head to bed. Oh- a lot of you asked what a billybillyhoho is. Come on. I mentioned it a few posts ago. It's a green pepper.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Friday, June 5, 2009
Travelling
Today was one of my best days yet. First I got two whole extra classes, one for each grade. The grade tens had p.e. and the game I chose (big booty renamed to big money, because I don't know if booties are acceptable around these parts) was a hit. Sometimes it's hard to be a hit with the grade tens, and I have to resort to letting them pat my head, so that was a nice way to end the teaching part of my week.
I'm spending the weekend at Elijah's children's home. Jessica and he picked me up after school, with a girl with an incredibly soft voice who puts the sweet into being 16. Today she was moving into his home (so he now introduces her as his daughter) but first we had a few other kids to check up on. The kids are either being sponsored or looking for sponsors or about to start being sponsored... I'm not sure since much of the day was conducted in mother tongue. Pictures need to be taken of everything, which I get. I was asked to be in many of the pictures, which I don't get. Also it was drizzle-raining, so my hair was a frizzy mess, so I apologise for ruining the pictures. We visited a little house made of mud, which I thought was bad, but then we visited a little nook by the river bank where one orphaned boy had been sleeping for a few weeks. Elijah organised for him to stay tonight with a teacher from his school, with plans to find something more permanent tomorrow.
Then we got dropped in Masu town or something, to catch a matatu. It took a while and I was getting super starving, so we bought some bananas from a road side vendor. Imagine if all road side vendors sold only fruit? The best. Finally a mat (please, I don't need to say the whole word) came and the toll collector tried to pull me to sit in the front, but I dodged and got in a row with the other 3. I'm pretty sure the guy behind me was trying to initiate footsies, because in my experience, chair legs don't follow when you move away. Oh well though, I just ate another banana and looked at all the bright stars the Kenyan sky has to offer. Then we got pulled over by some police who were making sure that all mats were in good condition, and not over the passenger limit. As our driver paid the bribe, I just ate another banana.
Finally we arrived in Machakos. We picked up a few things for the weekend from a huge huge grocery store. My feelings in this store are akin to the first time I visited Dylan's Candy Bar in New York. Salt and vinegar chips! Butter nut squash! (does anybody know how to cook it with no oven or microwave?) Much cheaper brands of peanut butter! We will visit again on my way back to school on Sunday and I'm going to buy so many great things. I'm so excited.
Then we finally got to the orphanage. The kids had been waiting up and as soon as our car pulled in, my door was opened, a tiny boy carried my bag, several sticky hands holding little candies were thrust into my face accompanied by adorable voices asking me if I would like a sweet, and a chorus of welcomes rang out. These kids are all such sweethearts.
It's about 5 hours past my regular bedtime, so I'll save describing my favourite kids for another day, but let me tell you about dinner when we arrived. Oh man. A giant bowl of rice then a giant bowl of soup. In the soup was beans, carrots, billybillyhohos, tomatoes, garlic, and cilantro. It was SO SO SO good. Like I had to stop saying how good it was in case they might think I was over doing it. So delicious. Then there was games and singing and feet washing, that I will maybe give further details about another day but right now I am having trouble keeping my eyes open. More tomorrow.
I'm spending the weekend at Elijah's children's home. Jessica and he picked me up after school, with a girl with an incredibly soft voice who puts the sweet into being 16. Today she was moving into his home (so he now introduces her as his daughter) but first we had a few other kids to check up on. The kids are either being sponsored or looking for sponsors or about to start being sponsored... I'm not sure since much of the day was conducted in mother tongue. Pictures need to be taken of everything, which I get. I was asked to be in many of the pictures, which I don't get. Also it was drizzle-raining, so my hair was a frizzy mess, so I apologise for ruining the pictures. We visited a little house made of mud, which I thought was bad, but then we visited a little nook by the river bank where one orphaned boy had been sleeping for a few weeks. Elijah organised for him to stay tonight with a teacher from his school, with plans to find something more permanent tomorrow.
Then we got dropped in Masu town or something, to catch a matatu. It took a while and I was getting super starving, so we bought some bananas from a road side vendor. Imagine if all road side vendors sold only fruit? The best. Finally a mat (please, I don't need to say the whole word) came and the toll collector tried to pull me to sit in the front, but I dodged and got in a row with the other 3. I'm pretty sure the guy behind me was trying to initiate footsies, because in my experience, chair legs don't follow when you move away. Oh well though, I just ate another banana and looked at all the bright stars the Kenyan sky has to offer. Then we got pulled over by some police who were making sure that all mats were in good condition, and not over the passenger limit. As our driver paid the bribe, I just ate another banana.
Finally we arrived in Machakos. We picked up a few things for the weekend from a huge huge grocery store. My feelings in this store are akin to the first time I visited Dylan's Candy Bar in New York. Salt and vinegar chips! Butter nut squash! (does anybody know how to cook it with no oven or microwave?) Much cheaper brands of peanut butter! We will visit again on my way back to school on Sunday and I'm going to buy so many great things. I'm so excited.
Then we finally got to the orphanage. The kids had been waiting up and as soon as our car pulled in, my door was opened, a tiny boy carried my bag, several sticky hands holding little candies were thrust into my face accompanied by adorable voices asking me if I would like a sweet, and a chorus of welcomes rang out. These kids are all such sweethearts.
It's about 5 hours past my regular bedtime, so I'll save describing my favourite kids for another day, but let me tell you about dinner when we arrived. Oh man. A giant bowl of rice then a giant bowl of soup. In the soup was beans, carrots, billybillyhohos, tomatoes, garlic, and cilantro. It was SO SO SO good. Like I had to stop saying how good it was in case they might think I was over doing it. So delicious. Then there was games and singing and feet washing, that I will maybe give further details about another day but right now I am having trouble keeping my eyes open. More tomorrow.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Malaria and Machakos
Today during first period, the business teacher for form one wasn't around so I greedily swooped in on his class time. I say greedily but I mean calmly, since the other teachers think I'm crazy to want extra time with them. It was nice to just have a whole period of doing examples, and calling people up to the board, and having factoring races. Seriously, you add a racing component to anything and these girls are all over it. As I left the class I did a little two-handed-clasp-shake-over-each-shoulder (that is a hard motion to describe) in victory of the business teacher being away. Then it turns out he also has malaria and now I feel terrible, but not so much so as to regret the fun of the expand-and-collect-like-terms race. Because it was the best. Plus, he was back in the afternoon, because he just had a mild, easily treatable case.
In other news, I am going to Machakos tomorrow- a city so big that google maps has heard of it! Tonight I will dream of the variety of fruits and vegetables I am sure to find. Fingers crossed on apples!
In other news, I am going to Machakos tomorrow- a city so big that google maps has heard of it! Tonight I will dream of the variety of fruits and vegetables I am sure to find. Fingers crossed on apples!
Malaria and Machakos
Today during first period, the business teacher for form one wasn't around so I greedily swooped in on his class time. I say greedily but I mean calmly, since the other teachers think I'm crazy to want extra time with them. It was nice to just have a whole period of doing examples, and calling people up to the board, and having factoring races. Seriously, you add a racing component to anything and these girls are all over it. As I left the class I did a little two-handed-clasp-shake-over-each-shoulder (that is a hard motion to describe) in victory of the business teacher being away. Then it turns out he also has malaria and now I feel terrible, but not so much so as to regret the fun of the expand-and-collect-like-terms race. Because it was the best. Plus, he was back in the afternoon, because he just had a mild, easily treatable case.
In other news, I am going to Machakos tomorrow- a city so big that google maps has heard of it! Tonight I will dream of the variety of fruits and vegetables I am sure to find. Fingers crossed on apples!
In other news, I am going to Machakos tomorrow- a city so big that google maps has heard of it! Tonight I will dream of the variety of fruits and vegetables I am sure to find. Fingers crossed on apples!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Frightening news
1. The spiders are back after a week-long absence. I guess they like the stillness that came when Winnie and I went away for the long weekend.
2. Janet, the secretary, is hospitalised with malaria. Everybody says that there aren't any mosquitos at this elevation but the bite marks on my legs, though greatly reduced in number since getting a bug net for my bed, beg to differ. And apparently they are the malaria kind. I'm glad I've been taking my daily Malarone. (By the way, taking the pill in the morning DID alleviate the insomnia. You guys leave helpful comments.)
2. Janet, the secretary, is hospitalised with malaria. Everybody says that there aren't any mosquitos at this elevation but the bite marks on my legs, though greatly reduced in number since getting a bug net for my bed, beg to differ. And apparently they are the malaria kind. I'm glad I've been taking my daily Malarone. (By the way, taking the pill in the morning DID alleviate the insomnia. You guys leave helpful comments.)
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
This morning in the staff room I was preparing what I was going to say to the girls about their dismal scores, when I saw some of the other teachers marking. They all had many completly blank papers, where a student really just wrote her name, maybe just guessed something for the first question, then waited for time to be up. All the teacher were like, these girls are absurd! However, I realised that not a single girl in either of my classes handed in a blank paper. And suddenly I realised that even that girl who got 11% was at least putting some effort. The wind was taken from my angry-speech-sails. Some teachers had zero students scoring above 70, and in grade 9 math, over a third did. I figured that a "I can tell you're not trying!" speech was no longer relevant.
Instead I made a game time decision and spent the class on goal setting. They were told to write their goal for their upcoming end of June test, their goal for their end of term exam, and their goal for the year long course. For the math class, they had to write their goal for grade 10, 11, and 12 but since physics is optional after 10, they had to say if they were going to take it, and if not, what they were going to take instead. Then they had to list steps to achieve their goals, and make three specific promises. Next they wrote what they needed from me, and then we both signed the paper as a pledge. I realise that if my high school teacher made me write goals, I'd never stop rolling my eyes. But I've also come to realise that maybe the point of a teacher isn't to cater to the kids already getting 90s.
I got some pretty hilarious answers. My favourite were, "I promise to pull up my socks" and "I promise to subtract my jokes and multiply my seriousness." For the what they need of me question, most said things like, "answer my questions when I ask" or simply, "help me" but some were goodies like, "we need to obey each other." They answered with such earnestness. Overall, I've never loved them more.
The girls get an hour for lunch. For the next two weeks, I've scheduled four of my math students to come in and we just work on problems on the board and an individual pace. Working in a small group like that helps me see what they need to work on personally, and them see trends that the whole class should brush up on. Then I write them some individual extra homework, that they must hand in to me the next morning. After the two weeks are up, I think I'll just have a daily open extra help session every lunch. I like that it would be completely optional, but the principal is always like, "these girls are lazy. Who needs and hour break for lunch? They just dawdle. Let's make them all go to extra math every day!"
I like that they have an hour break because it gives me something to take away, as leverage, you know? A bunch of physics girls didn't finish some homework, so I gave them detention I guess, and made them sit in the back doing extra problems while I worked with my four grade nine math girls. Study time is never optional- from 7 to 5 they must be accounted for in the class other than that lunch break. They don't have class the whole time, but they have to be studying in silence. Then the day students in home, and the boarders again must be in the classroom from 7 till 10. Hard life, right? Anyway, my goal for June tests are: in math, to have a class average of 70, and in physics, to have no more than 5 people get below 50. I've got my work cut out for me.
Instead I made a game time decision and spent the class on goal setting. They were told to write their goal for their upcoming end of June test, their goal for their end of term exam, and their goal for the year long course. For the math class, they had to write their goal for grade 10, 11, and 12 but since physics is optional after 10, they had to say if they were going to take it, and if not, what they were going to take instead. Then they had to list steps to achieve their goals, and make three specific promises. Next they wrote what they needed from me, and then we both signed the paper as a pledge. I realise that if my high school teacher made me write goals, I'd never stop rolling my eyes. But I've also come to realise that maybe the point of a teacher isn't to cater to the kids already getting 90s.
I got some pretty hilarious answers. My favourite were, "I promise to pull up my socks" and "I promise to subtract my jokes and multiply my seriousness." For the what they need of me question, most said things like, "answer my questions when I ask" or simply, "help me" but some were goodies like, "we need to obey each other." They answered with such earnestness. Overall, I've never loved them more.
The girls get an hour for lunch. For the next two weeks, I've scheduled four of my math students to come in and we just work on problems on the board and an individual pace. Working in a small group like that helps me see what they need to work on personally, and them see trends that the whole class should brush up on. Then I write them some individual extra homework, that they must hand in to me the next morning. After the two weeks are up, I think I'll just have a daily open extra help session every lunch. I like that it would be completely optional, but the principal is always like, "these girls are lazy. Who needs and hour break for lunch? They just dawdle. Let's make them all go to extra math every day!"
I like that they have an hour break because it gives me something to take away, as leverage, you know? A bunch of physics girls didn't finish some homework, so I gave them detention I guess, and made them sit in the back doing extra problems while I worked with my four grade nine math girls. Study time is never optional- from 7 to 5 they must be accounted for in the class other than that lunch break. They don't have class the whole time, but they have to be studying in silence. Then the day students in home, and the boarders again must be in the classroom from 7 till 10. Hard life, right? Anyway, my goal for June tests are: in math, to have a class average of 70, and in physics, to have no more than 5 people get below 50. I've got my work cut out for me.
Monday, June 1, 2009
National holiday
Today was Madarakas day, or something like that. The day when Kenya got independance from Britain. I spent the day with Jessica and Elijah in the market area, where a celebration was taking place. Some government officials were in attendance, and each secondary school sang a song for them. Obvi my girls were the best.
There were also older women doing traditional dances that just wouldn't stop. The mc would be like, uh, okay, thanks guys and they wouldn't leave until their mics were turned off. The most hilarious part of my day was when I took a picture of a guy in a military uniform, and them he took out his camera and took a picture of me. Then we nodded at each other.
Today marks four weeks since I left home. Jessica, Elijah, and I went out for lunch after the ceremony, and them treated ourselves to a soda. I've had six cokes since arriving in Kenya: one when we went out on my first night here, one from the principal when I moved into the school, one at the funeral, one the first time I went to the market, and two at parent's day. I love having a Coke, because even though it tastes different from home, it's still kind of comforting, you know? There are other pop flavour available, but Coke is like a hug from an old friend. Today though, maybe to mark the completion of four weeks here, I got a black current Fanta instead. Oh Holy Moly, you guys. The best. Like a blue freezie but in carbonated form. I want a million more please. They don't sell this beveridge in Canada... so mark this down as number one on the Things I'm Going To Miss When I Leave Kenya list.
There were also older women doing traditional dances that just wouldn't stop. The mc would be like, uh, okay, thanks guys and they wouldn't leave until their mics were turned off. The most hilarious part of my day was when I took a picture of a guy in a military uniform, and them he took out his camera and took a picture of me. Then we nodded at each other.
Today marks four weeks since I left home. Jessica, Elijah, and I went out for lunch after the ceremony, and them treated ourselves to a soda. I've had six cokes since arriving in Kenya: one when we went out on my first night here, one from the principal when I moved into the school, one at the funeral, one the first time I went to the market, and two at parent's day. I love having a Coke, because even though it tastes different from home, it's still kind of comforting, you know? There are other pop flavour available, but Coke is like a hug from an old friend. Today though, maybe to mark the completion of four weeks here, I got a black current Fanta instead. Oh Holy Moly, you guys. The best. Like a blue freezie but in carbonated form. I want a million more please. They don't sell this beveridge in Canada... so mark this down as number one on the Things I'm Going To Miss When I Leave Kenya list.
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