homesick for Nigeria

I'm missing me some Nigerian kids right about now.

final lessons

Back in October, when my students and I were still feeling each other out and testing the boundaries (okay...I guess they still do that!), I assigned my Grade 8 students to write themselves a letter. I told them about my positive experiences having done it at the beginning of high school and the beginning of college and how rewarding it was to reread how my brain worked with several years' perspective.

Today, our last class period of the year, I gave them back their letters. I realize that 8 months doesn't quite have the same effect as 4 years, but I won't be here next year.

They were amazed. They read quietly, quickly, completely captivated. They laughed in spite of themselves. We talked about how we can change so much in 8 months. Someone remarked that the people he disliked in his letter he gets along with now.

I encouraged them that if they had unfinished business with people, now was the time to fix it. I sat back, jaw agape, as they crossed popularity lines, clique lines, and gender lines to hug one another and sort out their differences. It was truly touching. My kids are amazing.

I reminded them that the next time I see them (speaking in faith here) they will be much much different than they are now, but I have so enjoyed seeing them mature this year and can't wait to see the people they grow up to be.

While I managed to make it through the day without crying, the girls did not. I doled out the hugs and they really did cry as they begged me not to go. It was tough stuff.

Moments like these make me want to throw my hands in the air and ask God "Why this? Why now?" I'm sure he's got this all under control, but sometimes I'd really like to be let in on the secret.

One week from right now, I'm going to be on a plane. holy crap.

pretending to know how to play football

It is a favorite ICS tradition to host a friendly soccer (football) competition between staff and students. I was recruited for the female staff game, but declined out of fear: I have never played soccer before. Honestly, I have not.
I only know you're not supposed to touch the ball with your hands. Which seems so ridiculous to me...as in, if the ball is coming for my face, I'm supposed to hit it back with my forehead...yeah, that makes perfect sense. I suppose I'm too conditioned for American football!

In the course of the evening, though, I changed my mind. Partially because this is my only chance to do this and I want to milk these last 3 weeks for all they're worth. Also because I don't get much physical exercise these days: my sense of safety precludes my running around the neighborhood, and I don't get to the pool very often. Soccer seemed tame enough.

Right, so I changed my mind and showed up for the game in shorts and tennies...blissfully unaware that the rainy season has converted our pitch (field) to a mudfest. My students were talking smack from the moment they stepped out. As if it was difficult to guess, I'm not very good at smack talk, so I think I scraped the following together:
"Oh, yeah? Well...I know American football and I'm going to body block you. Yeah. So there....Oh, and I control your grades, so be careful." I know, right? Real smooth, Miss Maggie.

A couple of the boys gave me a quick tutorial on how to kick using the top bit of your foot and not the actual ends of the toes (who knew?!) and how to pass using the inside of your foot. I practiced passing back and forth then took a shot at the untended goal. It went in and all the younger kids (Grades 2-5) that had gathered for the game cheered for me. It was cute, but the real work was just starting.

I wish I had a good memory and could recount all the times I slipped on the mud, or watched a ball sail right past me, or struggled to catch up with my students as they chased all over the field. It was humbling to be sure. I got a couple good passes and discovered that if I scream at the person with the ball as they're getting ready to kick, they get flustered. I don't know if they do that here in Nigeria, but I put my American-football-cheering lungs to good use. It worked a couple of times.

Bottom line: I got my butt kicked by my students. It doesn't bother me, though, because it was actually fun. The ladies on my team were hilarious and encouraging and some of them were REALLY INTO IT. I smashed into a few of my students, got stepped on many times, and took a direct shot to my right kidney (that was fun). The best part was when one of my students baited me into charging her, and at the last second, stepped out of the way for a MALE student waiting on the sideline to completely sideswipe me. I'm going to have a killer bruise on my shin...can't wait for the battle scars to show up in time for graduation!

In the end, we lost 2-1, with the students' winning goal scored in the last 10 seconds. We celebrated with them, had a good laugh, and headed back to class.

Side note: When a very white girl exerts a very large amount of energy in a country very close to the equator with a very high level of humidity, her face becomes very red. I'm pretty self-conscious of my athletic abilities as it is, but imagine my horror at all the small children (and there were SO many) gathered around me after the game, pointing and giggling: "Miss Maggie what's wrong with your face?" "Miss Maggie you look like a lobster." "Miss Maggie, will your face stay like that?!" (and my personal favorite: "Miss Thomas, you were terrrrrrible!") I assured them my face was just part of being as white as I am, and while they believed me, they still stared at me like an exhibit in the zoo.

It was a fantastic afternoon, and while I may or may not be able to get out of bed in the morning, it was so so so worth it.

beehives & cateyes

It's Spirit Week at ICS. I forgot about Monday's Color Riot (clashing colors), but I was really ready for today's 60s/Nerdy Day.

I did some research on 1960s hairstyles and makeup, raided my closet (which is now a pile on the floor of my room) and stayed up until 11:30pm getting it just right.

Truthfully, my beehive hairdo and cateye makeup looked pretty legit! My outfit was rather haphazard, but what are you gonna do...my options were pretty limited. At least I rocked the boatneck and the earrings. Everybody loved it...not many of the teachers dressed up, so the kids thought it was great.

I'm working on pictures, but unfortunately, my connection is really bad today. I managed to get a new pic up on Facebook, however, so check there.

remember this day

President Umar Musa Yar'Adua passed away last night. He was 58, and had struggled for several years with kidney problems and, more recently, pericarditis, for which he was treated in Saudi Arabia last November. (Is this reading like a BBC report to you?)

On some levels, this has been expected. On some levels, this was hoped for. As Yar'Adua was failing physically, Nigeria was stagnating. According to a few local sources, he refused to relinquish the presidential duties to his vice president, Goodluck Jonathan, until the Congress voted him Acting President.

That was back in February. It's now May, and while President Yar'Adua has been alive since then, it feels as though Goodluck Jonathan has been the (I almost wrote "our"...weird) president the entire time. I anticipate a smooth transition as former President Yar'Adua is buried in Katsina State today and as Goodluck Jonathan is officially sworn in.

Nigeria will continue with its regularly scheduled presidential elections next spring and President Jonathan will finish out the term until that time. (Phasing out of reporter mode in 3, 2, 1...)

I hope that together, Jonathan, his new deputy, and the next President can move Nigeria forward, in every sense. This is a beautiful nation, with 150 million natural assets, and by working together, I truly believe Nigeria can become a true force.

As a result of this news, school was canceled today. We did our market shopping and are off to dinner and movie with some fellow school staff members.

To end on a cuter note, here's a written apology I received Tuesday from a student who, together with another boy, was so disruptive during my class, I walked them both to the principal's office. The second boy was suspended, and I received this note from the first:

4/5/10 Sorry Miss Thomas

Sorry Miss Thomas for makeing noise in your class time. I will never make noise angin. If i do i will be going out of the school. I am very sorry plezz plaese please please forgive me.

Of course, he did make noise the very next day, but I went a little easier on him.

in which the teacher struggles

As a brand-new teacher, I'd like to think that a small part of my educational philosophy goes something like this: "To encourage young minds in the skills of critical thinking, analysis, and persuasion." I truly do want to see my students think on their feet and defend their own positions on topics as varied as they are.

I just cannot, for the life of me, figure out how to grade essays in which the argument is based on flawed logic.

I have a particular student in mind: one of those pensive, quiet thinkers who doesn't say much until questioned and then you realize they've absorbed every word you've said. He's a sensitive young teenager with an uncommon sense of right and wrong. This kid is so black-and-white, I feel like 8 shades of gray, pale next to his resoluteness.

He wrote an essay this week on the topic of homosexuality and gay marriage. He fulfilled all the requirements of the essay: length, format, proper sources; he took a position and he argued it, which is exactly what I asked for. God love him, that's a tough topic for most, not least of all, such a young student. I truly admire his pluck.

It's just that the majority of the argument was ineffective; based on assumption, not fact. His suggested solutions were improbable. While I respect him and the topic he's trying to tackle, I have to strike a balance of feedback somewhere between "That's absurd" and "Good for you for making the attempt."

[In a brief but requisite disclaimer: this has nothing to do with his views on the topic, and everything to do with the logic he uses to argue his position.]

CALLING ALL TEACHERS: How do I continue to fulfill my educational philosophy and support this student with enormous potential while, at the same time, pushing him towards a higher level of analysis? How do I encourage him truthfully without crushing his spirit? (because crush I most certainly could.)

At Wheaton, my English profs would have written me a brief but gut-punching marginal comment and I would have reworked my argument by returning to commentaries by accomplished scholars, borrowing logic, and developing a critical but compelling argument of my own. But this is high school. He's 14.

I'm in over my head here. Help.

Gonna Be a Bright, Bright, Sunshiny Day

The week has finished. I'm still standing. It's a miracle.

Accomplished:
Wrote 3 tests and corresponding review sheets
Conducted 3 review sessions
Proctored 3 tests
Dragged myself Spanish Club
Completely winged it...excelente
Avoided minor disaster on playground monkey bars
Planned a Poetry Cafe
Rehearsed for Poetry Cafe
Decorated for Poetry Cafe
Emcee'd Poetry Cafe
Cleaned up Poetry Cafe
Survived Friday

Thursday was probably the longest day of work ever (7:00am-8:30pm) but one of the most fulfilling, too.

Thursday morning I worked with my ESL students. We laughed together while playing word games. They finally trust each other. It's been an issue since January, when we added a pair of Portuguese-and-Russian-speaking brothers to our group. On Thursday, they translated for each other, Spanish to Portuguese to English and back again. Victor has found enough confidence to speak up, even though he still forgets to say "and" in English. Philip turned 14. Gabriel's favorite subject is now English Grammar. And sweet-spirited Issel tells me every day that I'm her favorite teacher, even though it sounds a lot like I'm her favorite t-shirt.

The rest of the day was devoted to Poetry Cafe-related preparation. The actual event started at 7 pm, in the dusky heat.
Can I describe for you the beauty of 30 students in Grades 6-12 finding not only their inner source of poetic expression but also the guts to stand up in front of 100 people and share that poem? How about the determination of an additional 30 student servers, bringing tea, coffee, and snacks to 100 guests?
Which is to speak nothing of the students who worked behind the scenes, listening patiently and giving constructive feedback to poets, writing menus, designing posters, lighting candles, preparing server badges. I literally burst with pride for my students...no for real, the seam on the sleeve of my dress split when I bent to pick up something!

Our Poetry Cafe was so beautiful. It didn't have the white tablecloths, tea lights, and paper lanterns that I pictured, but it was beautiful in its own way...checked tablecloths, plastic chairs, and powdered cappuccino mixes notwithstanding.
I'm not usually good at delegating to my students, but they totally took ownership and the result was fantastic. It was truly their night. I still put in a ton of work, but it was so worth it to see them shine.

I feel like I've been unintentionally depriving myself of good days, like I'm allowing my stay/go decision to hang a black cloud over my head. Thursday blew that cloud away. It was like God whispered, "For one day, forget the decision. Go ahead, remember why you love living here. And be thankful." And I was. For the day itself, for my students who surprise and amaze me, for this place that brings me joy.

Today

...was a great day!

February is Reading Emphasis month at ICS, and grades K-12 are participating in D.E.A.R. (Drop Everything And Read), in which students drop whatever they're doing and read a book they've chosen (one appropriate to their own reading level). Grade 6 is my most out-of-control class, but today the kids settled right down with their DEAR books and it was silent--completely!--for 20 minutes. I was so shocked I honestly left the class to get my camera. When I came back--still silent! When I took a picture and a video--still silent! I could have cried for happiness.

Next was Grade 12. I've been struggling with this Brit Lit class,--blamed on a lack of interest and respect--but I put on a brave face today, determined not to let their antics ruffle me. A student affected this fake accent just to mess with me, so I mirrored his speech so he could hear how ridiculous he sounded. He gave up. Miss Maggie: 1, Grade 12: 0.

The rest of the morning was spent out of class for Sports Day Practice. I get a little intense about competition (a massive understatement) and my throat is scratchy after cheering on the Red Draco team this morning! We're number 1, not 2, not 3, not 4. We're gonna win, not lose, not tie the score...

The entire morning was punctuated by clobbering hugs from Grade 2 students. Niyi jumped me about 5 times. Feyi, Ugonna, and Seun fought over who got the frontal full-body hug. Getting loved on by 8-year-olds has to be one of the greatest feelings in the world.

As the morning practice wrapped up, one of the kindergarteners tripped and fell. She burst into these choking little sobs and I picked her up to examine her hand. The palm was intact - not even a grass stain - but I kissed it anyway. It totally worked. I'm not even a Mom yet and I'm kissing owies to make it all better. Oh man I love my life.

I can't wait to see tomorrow, because I loved today.

Follow-up and Chipmunks

I don't suppose that was very wise of me--posting about sketchy security-related events without providing any further news. Allow me to rectify the situation.

I'm fine. Abuja is fine. Everything is secure. In fact, roads were clear and safe by the time I left school yesterday. Nothing to see here; move along. I apologize that I gave any cause for concern.

I went to the movies today. Silverbird is a brand-new complex in the heart of Abuja, and it boasts movie theaters on the top floor, restaurants, shops, even a little bowling alley (which looks more like skee-ball at an arcade, if you ask me). Most of the store spaces are still empty, that's how new it is. Construction is still ongoing; there are cranes in the parking lot, and the access roads are not yet paved. Nigerians are impatient when it comes to these things (and this is the closest thing we have to a mall), so it's been in operation for the past few months.

Anyways, I went to the movies with a Nigerian friend. Said friend fits multiple categories: friend, little sister, neighbor, boss's daughter, 10th grade student, etc. Today, going to the movies, she was my friend. She chose Alvin and the Chipmunks. As a testament to my otherwise finite patience, I went anyways. (The last time I went to a kids' movie was 5 years ago and I was nannying 4 children under the age of 12.) Needless to say, it wasn't what I would have chosen, but that's okay.

So we're 2 of 4 people in the whole theater. Which was cool, until a massive group of youngsters came streaming screaming in. I rolled my eyes and hoped none of them would sit behind me and kick my seat. As they chose seats all around us, I thought I recognized a face or two. Don't be stupid, Maggie, I thought, and don't assume you'll recognize every black kid that lives in Abuja.

Then I realized I did know them. All of them. Even their names. Turns out my entire 6th grade class decided to meet up at the cinema today. And what's more, they all thought it was really cool that Miss Thomas was there, too. Score one for Miss Thomas. Hugs all around.

I wonder how fast this is going to spread through school: that Miss Maggie was at Alvin and the Chipmunks (which is pretty cute for a kids' movie, I guess) or that she was in jeans and a T-shirt, or that she was with a student. I'll tally how many comments I get on Monday and let you know.

Snapshots from Today

"Miss Maggie, you a fresh-lookin' girl. [About 5 minutes later:] You know you're my favorite teacher, right?"
That's from one of my 6th-grade students. A male. Obviously.

"Miss Thomas, today is the last time you will see me. I'm moving back to South Africa tomorrow. Thank you, Miss Thomas."
A different 6th grade student. Energetic and full of life, his absence will definitely send shockwaves through our classroom.

"Everybody shout big hawewuyah."
This is from the 2-year-old son of a colleague, whose father, not surprisingly, is a pastor.

And finally, this memo, received just minutes before our early release (11am):

"To: All Staff
From: Mrs. O
Re: Security Alert

Don't read this loud of leave it where students will see. Also don't show signs of panic.

Today is Armed Forces Remembrance Day and there is a big gathering at Eagle Square. Roads to that venue blocked from all directions. Also some unrest over the political situation. Also avoid going near the central Mosque, mosque at Maitama & the one near Banex. Some protesters are there.

Lastly, be extra alert in case we need to do lock down or safe haven, and be sure all students are picked from their classrooms at 11:00 a.m. None are to be found in the hallways. Thanks."

It should be noted that I am safe here in the school, working on lesson plans. All my students have left securely with their drivers, and the one who takes a taxi to and from school has a safe route to her house. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened here, and yet it's the first time the Nigerian-ness of Nigeria has intruded on my everyday life. It's a weird feeling, but I'm thankful for my continued safety.

Crazy Hazy Days

The weather is definitely changing in Abuja. Firstly, the rains have stopped. As a result, things are dusty and dry. Secondly, I can't see the rocks anymore. Every morning on my way to work, we cross a bridge and looking east, I can see Aso Rock in the distance. The view is magnificent, and really starts my day off on the right foot. Lately, though, I haven't been able to see it at all because the mists hang so heavy in the air. "Mist" is just a euphemism for dust, but it does remind me of fog.

My weekend has been full of school, as usual. As you all know from my previous complaints, Friday was a working holiday at ICS. The kids didn't come in, but we had a day-long meeting and got home only slightly earlier than usual. Then this afternoon, the PTA put on a Family Day Out at the local Palmetium (park/plant nursery). They sold food and had a jumpy castle (I don't know what else to call it!) for the kids. It was even nice to see my students outside the classroom in a more relaxed setting.

On that note, it's still strange to me to be on the flip side of the teacher-student relationship. When I was a student (pre-college), I rarely saw my teachers outside of school. The proverbial "seeing your teacher in the grocery store" scenario never happened to me, but I think it would have been weird. I try to keep that in mind as I interact with my students...how many of them were weirded out by seeing me in jeans today?

This upcoming week is another Muslim holiday, so we won't have school on Thursday or Friday. I'm giving 5 tests on Monday, too, so I really only have to plan lessons for 2 days this week. It might not seem like a big deal, but trust me, these are the simple joys in my life these days.

I'm keenly aware that Thursday is also a holiday back home, albeit for different reasons. If memory serves me, this will be the very first Thanksgiving holiday I have spent without my family, and I'll be missing the fellowship of Mom's kitchen on that day. I'm going to make the best of it, however: Jan and I have decided to host our own Thanksgiving dinner at our flat and invite some of our neighbors.

Planning a holiday meal in a country which does not recognize said holiday poses some challenges, but we're making do. Turkey is almost impossible to come by, but some church friends have access to the U.S. Embassy's recent shipment of holiday turkeys (yep, all the way from the USA!), and we should be getting ours tomorrow. I don't know how big it is, but we're paying $56 USD for it, so I hope it's a good size bird!
Our menu so far includes: mashed potatoes, corn (out of a can; the Minnesotan girl in me just died a little), vegetables, dinner rolls, Jan's homemade stuffing, and an apple pie (we couldn't find pumpkin, but there's nothing as American as...). Mrs. O volunteered to bring Nigerian cranberries and ice cream to go with our pie. If I can track down a can of cream of mushroom soup, I might try a green bean casserole, too. We're also going to pay through the nose for real butter, but I'll be darned if I'm going to make mashed potatoes with anhydrous milk fat and emulsifier!

It may very well feel like going through the motions, because what is Thanksgiving without my family and American football?, but it is still a good practice; I have much to be thankful for this year. God has blessed me with comfortable surroundings, a solid job, Christian community, and the ability to communicate with people back home. Nigeria is definitely at the top of my list. Not getting malaria is a close second, however.

Prayer Request: My work permit/re-entry visa has not arrived yet. I've been told I'm at the whim of the Nigerian government, which doesn't make me very comfortable. Please pray that I will hear back from the consulate this week in regards to my visa. I really would like to go home for Christmas.



3 weeks from right now, I'll be on a plane. But who's counting?

Dead Poet's Society

Today I walked into my 7th grade Literature class as Emily Dickinson.

What a riot.

I don't have access to any outrageous 19th-century costumes, but I wore all white and took off all my jewelry. I even swept up my hair in a classic cover-the-ears bun (what my dad would call the "schoolmarm look").

I did not answer any of their greetings--a risky move considering the nature of this culture--and instead wrote "My name is Emily Dickinson" on the board and sat down in the front of the classroom. Just like that, nervous laughter started bubbling up from my students.

We've been studying a poem of Dickinson's for the past week, and yesterday I asked them to come up with questions to ask her if she were to suddenly appear in the classroom. When I gave them the assignment, I didn't even know I was going to dress up and pretend to be her. It just sort of happened. But in my limited teaching experience, it's the changes you make to the lesson plans you already prepared that get the best reactions.

So there I was, trying hard not laugh, feigning a weird accent so they would hear the difference between my own speech and this character's. I began to take questions from them, introducing myself to each student as if I'd never met them before.

It was really cool for about 30 minutes. Then one student started talking nonstop, and another complained that he was bored now. But for the most part, once they got over their initial disbelief ("Miss Thomas, you're really freaking me out, o!") they asked me all their questions and I had a grand time pretending to be my favorite poet.

When I exhausted their questions, I excused myself, went to the library, put on a scarf and all my jewelry, and returned to the classroom, where I pretended like I knew nothing of Emily's visit. I ignored all of their comments: "But it was you! You had the same clothes!"

I love days like today, when I can look into my students' eyes and see curiosity, discovery, and an interest in poetry. These days are rare, but when they happen, it reminds me that I do, in fact, love teaching Literature.

First Quarter and Answered Prayer

The past 8 weeks have been baptism by fire, for sure. As of today, I've survived the 1st Quarter marking period and lived to talk about it. This is a specific answer to the prayer that God would equip me for this career.

I had some tough spots this week, including:
- Grading 26 Rough Drafts and Final Drafts (that's a total of 52 essays graded in the past 3 days!)
- Reading Devouring Redeeming Love in 2 days (making said grading very procrastinated difficult)
- Really sporadic electricity (resulting in a candlelight grading session on Sunday night)
- Adding a second ESL student (G's older sister, I)
- Giving a student an F in my class (It really was harder for me than for him, I think)
- Coming down with a nasty cold, complete with cough and congestion

On Sunday night, I prayed a very impassioned prayer, pleading with God to heal me of this cold. I know it's just a cold, but it arrived at the worst possible time of the Quarter. I prayed James 5:15 over and over ("And the prayer offered up in faith will make the sick person well"), believing that God would heal me. I even promised that when He did heal me, I would tell all my students about it. (Some people call this tactic "bargaining.")

I've had the cold for 5 days now. No healing.

My energy is nonexistant. My appetite is gone. Cramming in all these grades resulted in a string of late late nights - I slept 4 hours yesterday. I fell asleep at my desk during recess today.

But HOLY TESTIMONY, BATMAN! It's almost Friday, I've computed all my grades (59 students!), graded all the catch-up work from the past 8 weeks (by candle, no less!), and I didn't have to miss any school! I wasn't healed of this cold, but I have proof of Philippians 4:13: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me"!

Sometimes the answer to prayer isn't the Sunday School refrain of "Yes," "No," or "Wait." Sometimes the answer is: "I will strengthen you."

And for THAT, God deserves the glory.

Today, while struggling to make it through my 6th grade class, a student raised his hand and said with concern, "Miss Thomas, can you please sit down?" God love him, a 12-year-old boy cares more about my health than I do.

Lord, thank you for answered prayer.

A REAL Update

Since the last two blogs were about chocolate and a hairdryer, and the 3rd contained the phrase "public urination," I think it's time for a more legitimate update.

Teaching is going okay. Teaching ESL is going really really well. My student, G, is 9 years old, as dark as his Nigerian counterparts, drops his s's when speaking Spanish, and hasn't quite grown into his adult teeth yet. The look on his face when he grasps a concept is something I will carry with me forever. Basically, he's a joy to work with and his parents are SO supportive of his learning English.
I learned this week that they are not only making him read in English every night, but they've begun speaking to him in English at home. From a cultural standpoint, I don't know how I feel about this loss of mother tongue, but from a teacher's perspective, he'll learn English a lot faster if it's all he's speaking and reading.
We've discovered that G can read English very well, but he often doesn't understand what he's saying. So today, we did a lot of sound recognition; instead of showing him a picture of an object and asking him to identify it, I read aloud a word and asked him to verify the Spanish translation.
He's learning school-applicable things: the question words (who, what, where, etc.), days of the week and months of the year, colors, shapes, ordinary objects, and simple phrases (how are you, please, thank you, you're welcome). We also study words united by sounds (cat, bat, fat, mat; an, man, fan, pan). We ended the day by walking around the library, pointing at colors and saying them in English and in Spanish.
To be honest, I'm totally making this up as I go along. I have no idea if this is the best way to teach him. I don't know how to teach a child another language. I don't know if I'm helping or hurting his learning with my methods or approaches. But G was happy today. He was smiling and laughing and told me he likes our lessons. And that's a good sign. I'm just trying to focus on G and not worry about compare myself to dwell on my incredible college roommate who is teaching an ESL class of 30 adults back in Chicago and contemplating a future in that line of work. She could teach him more effectively, I'm sure, but I'm doing my best and that's got to count for something.

Another facet to G's arrival at school is that I've adopted yet another set of cultural expectations. Greetings in Latino culture are completely different from American and Nigerian. I've gotten used to the extensive verbal greetings here in Nigeria, but when I saw G's father after school yesterday, he kissed me on the cheek - a perfectly acceptable greeting in Cuba, but unfamiliar in Nigeria! There were Nigerians around us and I think they were a little perplexed!

In other news, homesickness hit like a wall last weekend. I wasn't feeling well--my body has begun resisting spicy food, which is most inconvenient--and for the first time I allowed myself to dwell on how far I've come, literally. It is disheartening to consider the seven-almost-eight weeks I've been here in light of the 58 days ahead of me.
I remember similar feelings during my first semester of college. When we arrived and moved into the dorm, it felt like summer camp; it took a couple months to realize we weren't going home at the end of the summer. It's the same thing here: I've hit the wall, saying, "Okay, I've had my fun, I've learned about the culture, let's go home now." But I can't go home, and this isn't summer camp, and I'm in this for the long haul. God's not finished with me here yet.
So Saturday I just kind of moped around the flat, looking at photos online, letting myself be miserable. Monday night, however, the other ladies in our compound (Mrs. O and Rachel) came over for a visit and asked me to show them all my pictures. It was therapeutic to tell them about my family members and loved ones.
God is so faithful to have built a support system around me whose prayers reach all the way across the ocean. (By the way, you're a part of that system, too! Your comments and feedback on the blog make me feel connected.)

1 Timothy 4:10 "For to this end we toil and strive, because we have our hope set on the living God, who is the Savior of all people, especially of those who believe."

Nigeria Day Celebrations

Since today is Nigerian Independence Day, ICS celebrated yesterday with a morning program for the parents. The whole day was a big to-do, and everyone dressed up in traditional Nigerian dress -- even expatriates, including me! It was truly one of the best days I've had since arriving 6 weeks ago. Below are just a few highlights from the day.

Everyone, meet my 11th grade homeroom class. These 4 students (yep, just 4) are known as "the angels" by the rest of the staff and it didn't take me long to agree with them. After my first week of school, the students presented me with cloth they'd purchased in the market; I had it made into the skirt and blouse you see in the picture. These students are some of the most hard-working and studious kids I've ever met; I'm routinely the first to leave the classroom at the end of the day - they love school so much they just stay. (Add that to the list of differences between America and Nigeria!) Also, let's just acknowledge now that I look about as old as they do. I know, I know.
And yes, that's me with my hair in plaits. I don't think it's the right style for me, but it definitely made me feel a bit more Nigerian! I also wore a traditional head tie during the morning celebration, but as the day wore on it became Nigeria-hot, and for the love of all things good and sacred, I had to sacrifice the head tie. Seriously. The Hot Season is headed my way and I'm already melting.

These precious faces belong to the two youngest girls in Drama Club, which I help lead. Our club performed a dramatic reading of a poem about Nigeria at the morning program, which I helped choreograph and direct. The young ones at our school are collectively known as "babies," not out of condescension but out of love and affection. These girls, my Drama Babies, give me hugs every time I see them. They light up my day.


These are my new friends Leke and Henry. Leke is doing his I.T. with us (it's like student teaching) while he completes his university studies, and Henry works in the Print Office at school (someone told me he's also a tribal Chief). The 3 of us are probably closer in age than anyone else in the school, and they're really easy to get along with. (Also, note my head tie.)

On Being Miss Thomas

When I consider my girlhood aspirations, which included being a ballerina/singer and owning a pony, becoming a teacher was not among them. Indeed, I spent 5 years of my life ensuring everyone that while I majored in English, I had no intention of teaching. It is laughable how mistaken I have proved myself to be.

Now that I find myself in the throes of lesson planning, classroom management, and grading, I have developed a deep appreciation and respect for my teachers from elementary school to college. It is a hard job. It's hard to stand in front of a classroom of--count them--24 6th-graders and command their attention. It's hard to force a discussion on Navajo Origin Myths with 4 11th-graders. It's hard to know what to do when the Nigerian 7th-graders turn against the American and British 7th-graders.

The toughest part of my job isn't actually interacting with my students. It's grading them. I knew coming into this that some of my students would have a better command of English than others. I just didn't expect there to be such a disparity between the ones that do and the ones that don't. In one class, I have a Nigerian child who can't spell "doesn't," another who began learning English in 2008, and another who daydreams in class because he can't follow along in the textbook when we read aloud.

At ICS, we practice differentiation, which basically means that we grade subjectively based on a child's English proficiency. As the English Literature teacher, I feel this pressure most profoundly. Differentiation doesn't mean playing favorites; it means grading a student based on what they know, and depending on the class, up to half of the students are differentiated in my gradebook. Out of 59 students in my 5 classes, up to 30 of them are graded on an individual basis. That's a lot of extra work, but mostly, just extra thought.

I so badly want to see my students succeed. I want to be Miss Thompson from that story "3 Letters from Teddy" in Chicken Soup for the Soul. I want to believe in my students until they believe in themselves. I want to champion in them a love of literature.

But the grades are in on the first round of tests, and it's not looking good. I won't curve and I won't give pluses or minuses. My grading is straightforward, but apparently my test questions are not. After reviewing a particular question on the 10th grade test, I decided to throw it out. Doing so, I learned afterwards, made the difference between a D and C for one of my students. I cannot express the delirious relief I felt when I changed his grade.

I know I'm a new teacher, but in the reading and research I've done, I've come to see that the responsibility for learning rests 100% on me as a teacher (and 100% on them as students, but that's another topic for another time). Based on that principle, a test is a reflection of me, the teacher, and my ability to make my students learn, so I feel the pinch and pain of every D.

I want to make sure my students see that literature can be fun. I'm contemplating a partial overhaul of some parts of my curriculum to allow for a week of supervised fun reading culminating in a book report. I want my kids to love reading as much as I did when I was a kid. Now that I'm teaching, I realize just how much I really do love literature. After 17 years of education and forced reading and college classes and the English major, I'd forgotten. Literature is my passion. I can't imagine teaching anything else.