i take it back

That last post I wrote? About trying to keep it together?
I take it back.

Not only have I NOT kept it together today, but I no longer
feel I NEED to.

A received an encouraging email which included the following:

"You can let yourself feel all those emotions and let them break you, knowing that they are so strong because you have been blessed so abundantly with TWO homes on this earth. You don't have to pick. You can belong to both if you want."

I have been blessed--incredibly--by this year in Africa. I got neck-deep in culture so quickly that this place does have a certain feeling of home to it. I will always feel like I belong here, even if I didn't spend years and years. I forget that God blessed me with a heart big enough to encompass two cultures, and forcing myself to pick one isn't fair to me or to God who made me this way!

So in the name of not keeping it together and not needing to, let me tell you about my un-kept-together evening.

Mrs. O hosted a lovely sendoff party for the 4 of us departing teachers. In ICS's 12 years, never have they sent forth so many teachers at once...not a lot of turnover here.

Every teacher from the whole school gathered for a small program (all events have programs here...complete with an emcee!), good food, gifts, goodbyes, songs, cake and ice cream, and pictures! I thought it would just be fun and laughter, and while we had that, it was also incredibly emotional. Everybody was crying!

I was put on a "hot seat" where people could say things about/to me and share stories, which was incredibly touching. One of the teachers, Mrs. A, described me as a strong, brave, and bold woman, and there was a hearty "mm-hmm" from the others - how affirming! Another teacher commented that I adjusted more in my several months than she did in several years. Still another said I have an important teacher quality - the ability to get down to my students' level and then to bring them up. A few of them remarked that they expected me to marry a Nigerian man (no surprise there!) since I have so embraced the Nigerian culture.

It was so rewarding to hear that my coworkers recognize the efforts I've made to adapt. As we say in Nigeria, "I tried-o," which means that I gave it my best and was met with some degree of success.

Later in the program, they asked the 4 of us to stand together and receive a prayer of blessing by Mr. O, who's on the school's advisory board. He began to pray this incredible faith-filled prayer, sending us forth, blessing us, and empowering us for what God has next. When he began to praise God for his mercy which has gotten us to where we are and will continue to guide us, I totally lost it.

God's undeserved love is really the core of my feelings about this year. It's only by God's grace that I stumbled upon the advertisement. Only by his mercy that I didn't totally suck as a teacher. Only by his mercy that I didn't fall sick with malaria or schistosomiasis or giardia or typhoid. Only by his grace that I fell in love with my students and they with me.

Right, so I'm bawling through the prayer. Not polite little tears rolling down cheeks, either. The really ugly crying with the splotchy swollen face and the snotty nose and mascara-y tears. U-g-l-y. It's been a long time since I've ugly-cried, because it's so unpleasant.

After the prayer came the hugs. I'm a really touchy-feely person, but somewhere in the last 6 months, I've started giving that up (NOT HEALTHY) because I didn't want to get too attached (AGAIN, NOT HEALTHY). Somewhere in The Five Love Languages, I'm sure Gary Chapman explains how detrimental it is for a physically affectionate person to deprive themselves of their primary love language. I refer you there.

So I received all these meaningful hugs tonight--not sideways, not A-frame, not 8-year-old neck-strangling hugs--but real, genuine, tender hugs from women who love me and have watched over me and taught me and guided me. It was more than I could take, honestly. I just cried and cried and cried. I would get it all cried out and and stop the gasping breathing long enough to thank these women for what they've done for me and for just being them, and then another woman who has played an important role in my last 10 months would come up and I would start all over again. Again, it's the ugly cry.

When put in perspective, though, it has to be an ugly cry. This is an ugly goodbye. It's not against my will...I mean, I did sign up for this when I didn't renew my contract...but it doesn't make it easy or cut-and-dried or even professional. My job this year has been incredibly relational and personal, so the goodbyes have to be, too. And considering that I may never see some of these women again, it has to be ugly, too.

Here's to the ugly cry, to the women who have helped make me who I am at this moment in time, and to the place I can finally admit feels like home.

just 3 days.

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.

surprise!

Grade 7 and their homeroom teacher, Mme. Mercy, threw me a surprise going away party today. I was legitimately shocked when they jumped out from behind the cupboards yelling "Surprise!" and "We'll Miss You!"

They were so pleased with their skillful planning - I really had no idea what they were up to! They made signs, gave me gifts and topped it off with great food and music. Better than all the gifts, though, was a handmade farewell card with messages from the whole class. I'll probably frame it, it's so lovely.

The best message was from a student who didn't do well in my class this semester. He wrote: "Thank you for making this quater the [best] for me we will miss you your the best and kindest teacher I ever had. I swear." Besides being flat-out precious, it was reassurance that even when Literature isn't their strength, I'm still getting through to my students somehow.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

worship practice

What an ironic term. Worship is an attitude, a lifestyle. It's not something one practices, it's something one lives. Alas...

I've never been on a worship team before but when I learned this Sunday is a Praise & Worship service/Farewell service for all of us departing (and oh there's a lot of us), I had to join in.

We're singing 13 songs on Sunday, and I'm leading the actions for Pharaoh, Pharaoh (woah, baby, let my people go...). It's going to be a lot of fun.

By the way, if there are any English majors out there interested in teaching in an international context, I know of an opening at this really great school...contact me for more information! They REALLY need a Lit teacher!

semester exams & itchy hands

Who has two thumbs and hates semester exams? This girl.

I gave 4 semester exams today. I started Grade 6 with a growing chorus of, "This is going to be a great test. This Is Going To Be A Great Test! THIS IS GOING TO BE A GREAT TEST!!!!" They thought it was a fun way to kick off a 7:30am exam. :-)

It became apparent that my 3 seniors had studied very little before their exam. Nonetheless, I felt really bad about their passing rate (or lack thereof). Unfortunately for them, I didn't see much effort put forth to actually learn the information, which makes me less inclined to curve it favorably. (Teachers can I get an Amen?) I dropped 3 points from their exam partially because I'm such a softy but really because of the 3 questions on which I actually stumped myself. You know it's bad when...
Lucky them, they're taking another exam on Tuesday. I'll try to make that one passable--because I'm nice like that.

Have I mentioned that my hands have been uncontrollably itchy since I woke up this morning? No rash, no bumps, no redness, no new soaps, creams, or jewelry. Still itchy. On the inside. Oh the strange ailments I get in Africa. Honestly...you'd think I was making this stuff up.

the time i blew it

Failure is supposed to be part of life, right? Failure is supposed to teach us something, right?


Is failure is supposed to make us feel empty, too?


A student who struggles in my class volunteered a very difficult answer today. I was so pleased with his response, I said, "Wow! Did that come from your brain?"

And with that one foolish moment, I crushed him. He put his head down on the desk as the other students began to laugh at him and he cried for the rest of the class period.

Oh, my broken heart, what have I done? I didn't mean it that way. I DIDN'T MEAN IT. Don't cry. Please don't cry. Be quiet, you people. Leave him alone. Let him be. I am so sorry. I shouldn't have said that. You have come so far in the past 9 months. What have I done? People, we have failed in loving our friend today, I have failed in loving our friend today. I am so sorry. I will never make this mistake again. I will never say something which can be construed as anything other than encouragement, than love, than belief in the idea that YOU CAN, YOU DO, and YOU WILL BE. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. I am so sorry.

I made someone else feel like a zero today. It is the worst feeling in the world.

all i have time for

30 items to write in the next couple days: unit tests, semester exams, reviews, crosswords, lesson plans.

I've worked 19 of the last 28 hours.

All I really want is to be with Adam, Preston, and my old Area 56 youth group at their retreat this weekend. Life Church, I miss you.

in which the students become the teachers

Sometimes, I get tired of hearing myself talk. I grow weary of warning students to stay seated. I'm especially over the whole I'm-saying-this-for-the-tenth-time-because-you-weren't-listening-the-previous-nine charade. And I really, really, hate when I waste time quieting kids down instead of accomplishing my lesson objectives.

So I told Grade 8 that I was done being the teacher for a little while. I told them they would be stepping up. One of my more talkative students shot his hand straight up and shouted, "I'll help you teach first!" Okay, step 1 accomplished: Get them excited.

Our selection for the day included 6 poems from authors of different backgrounds (mostly something hyphenated American), all surrounding the theme of dreams. This group of students is especially imaginative, and I hoped they'd attach to the theme since they all have high aspirations in life.

They paired off, picked a poem, and read their poem for meaning. While they discussed, I wrote a smattering of poetic devices on the board, which they were shocked to discover they had learned throughout the course of the year together. For those who aren't poetry junkies like me, poetic devices include things like metaphor, simile, imagery, onomatopoeia, allusion, alliteration, symbolism, theme, mood, tone, rhyme scheme, etc. Step 2 accomplished: Give them the tools for success.

The students worked together to find examples of the above literary terms present in their poems, then presented their ideas to the rest of the class. I sat in a desk in the back with the rest of the students and listened. Step 3 accomplished: Give them the power to express ideas.

To be fair, the poems were not very straightforward. Although it may have been frustrating for them, I piggybacked on their presentation of basic concepts with some insights of my own (or some insights from the Teacher's Edition...hehe). The students listened--for the most part--and when they didn't, the presenters were free to wait for the others' attention. Step 4 accomplished: Give them the freedom to demand respect.

I tried this method not entirely because I'm tired of always being the teacher, but also because I completed my self-evaluation this week, and allowing students to present their own work is something I fell short in. Today's teaching tactic was just a step in empowering my kids towards self-confidence. Because that's the bigger lesson here. I'm not primarily a Literature teacher. I'm a teacher of confidence, of esteem, of dignity, of respect. If my kids learn those life lessons, something tells me everything else will fall into place.

But learning to identify personification and imagery never hurt anyone, either.

nachos, la ropa, and sucking face

Yesterday was Wednesday: Spanish Club. In preparation, I brought improvised nachos. I was overjoyed to find 3 bags of chili-flavored tortilla chips at the supermarket last weekend...I paid N1450 per bag...about $9.50! (Actually, the students will end up paying it, not me.) I was getting so desperate for tortilla chips, I looked into frying my own from Lebanese bread!

I would have preferred to provide a better nacho experience with onion, tomato, shredded lettuce, cilantro, olive, sour cream, guacamole, salsa, etc., but I'm in the middle of Africa...
I do what I can.

While the kids munched on their slacker nachos, I pulled out two bags stuffed full of my clothes. Together, we learned the words for skirt (la falda), shoes (los zapatos), pajamas (las pijamas) and more. I arranged the clothes--la ropa--around the classroom tables, and we played an impromptu version of "musical chairs." When the music stopped, I called on kids to tell me what item of clothing was in front of them. They liked mi vestido--dress--from Forever 21 (hi Ashley!) and rolled their eyes at los calcetines--my [clean] socks.

Things went okay, which is saying a lot compared to the last few Wednesdays. I think the food boosted their spirits, and by the time musical chairs rolled around, they were willing to oblige me. Hey, I'll take what I can get.

Grade 9 and I just wrapped up Romeo & Juliet this week. They took a test on it yesterday and everyone passed. I feel good about their accomplishment. If understanding R+J is the one thing that sticks after I've left, it's enough.

Side note: R+J is very significant to me. I've long claimed it as my favorite Shakespeare play, which all Shakespearean scholars and English teachers know is a copout. But it's true. I read it in Grade 9 with Mrs. Donaldson and the 3 lovely girls who became my best friends. I remember picking up on Juliet's sarcasm in an exchange with the Nurse and thinking, maybe for the first time, that reading not between, but underneath the lines of literature would be my passion. I suppose R+J was the first big step on my road to becoming a Lit teacher.

Back to my current Grade 9: Did we have to pause after every major speech to paraphrase? Yes, we did. Did they sometimes interrupt themselves to ask, "Huh?!" Yes, they did. Did they argue over who got to read the longer speeches? Yep, they did that, too. Did they feel triumphant for having successfully read--and understood--a Shakespeare play? You bet they did. Remember, some of these kids speak English as a second language. Getting through it with some semblance of understanding is all I can ask. I've done my job. Their actually enjoying it makes me deliriously joyful.

In class today I showed 3 scenes from the 1996 Baz Luhrmann version. I chose the meeting scene, the balcony scene, and the last scene, but failed to realize that these scenes contain a substantial amount of face-sucking. There was a lot of "oooooo" and "ugh, again?" from the peanut gallery.

One of my female students sighed dreamily every time Leonardo DiCaprio came onscreen, while the others elbowed her and giggled. I asked her how old she was in 1996, and she replied, "That was the year I was born." (What's that? Miss Maggie feels old? Okay.) The boys especially were confused by the last scene, in which Romeo kisses a "dead" Juliet. "Eww...she's dead!" they kept shouting.

Minus all the making out, I think they appreciated the visual interpretation. I'm glad we read the play first, to get the characters firmly established in their minds, before seeing them rendered onscreen. I've determined that movie adaptations of books are Literature teachers' Enemy Number One. Nothing zaps kids' ability to identify with literature quite like the complaint, "But that's not how it is in the movie!"

Mrs. Donaldson, I think you'd have been proud of me and my kids this week. Thank you for teaching me well so I could teach them.

let me be brief

I sang on the worship team at church this morning...that's a new one. It went just fine...we sang and danced to Days of Elijah!

Also, it's 8:30 and I haven't even made a dent in my lesson plans. Why, yes, I am changing my name to include Procrastinator. Is there such a thing as senior slide for teachers???

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 miss maggie misses

A friend from church asked me last week the 5 things I will miss most about Nigeria.

In no particular order, they are as follows:
- That moment when a student "gets it." It feels like watching knowledge literally light in their eyes.
- That moment I don't feel completely out of place. It happens more frequently these days, but it still strikes me each time I do something right, culturally speaking. I will miss feeling like I fit in around here.
- Making a palpable contribution to society. There is such power and simplicity in replying, "I am a teacher" in response to the question, "What do you do here in Nigeria?" It gets me every time.
- The fruit. Seeded watermelon, pawpaw (papaya), sweetsop, guava, pineapple, and mangoes, mangoes, and more mangoes. I'm in real danger of crying when mango season comes around again and I'm not here to enjoy it.
- The contentment that comes with living a simpler life. I go to work, I come home, I rest, I catch up with family and friends back home. Sometimes I go out with friends, sometimes I go shopping at the market, but mostly I'm at home, working, watching movies, drinking tea, and reflecting on how amazing this life is that I'm living and how fortunate I am to be here, doing something I love. That "something" being learning a new culture and sharing my love for literature with kids who think I'm cool.

Now that I've fulfilled the sentimental quota for the day, I leave you with a humorous story:

I took a dozen 5th-, 6th-, and 7th-graders to a U.N. World Book Day event here in town. We took the school bus and drove down Embassy Row (so cool to see all the different embassies! The American one lived up to its nickname: "The Fortress."). We were one of 5 or 6 area school represented. All the students had read a small biography of Nelson Mandela and the Honorable Minister of Petroleum something-something came to discuss the story with them.
Madam Minister highlighted the story in which Nelson Mandela received his first name from an English-speaking teacher who couldn't pronounce his birth name Rohihlahla. The entire audience clicked their disapproval of the renaming. Madam Minister asked the students if any of them had ever had their name changed by a teacher.

One of my 5th graders stood up. (Skewer me now, please and thank you.)

My student told everyone how his teacher couldn't pronounce his Nigerian name so she called him Chris instead. Madam Minister spoke to him, but was looking at me as she said: "Well, I hope your teacher is here today and I hope she realizes that it's not okay to take someone's name away from them just because you can't pronounce it."

You guys, I just about died.

After the student sat down, I leaned over to him and said, "D---, that didn't happen at ICS, did it?" To which he replied, "No, miss. That was at my old school in the UK." To which I nodded grimly and considered that the damage had already been done. Not that it even needs to be said, but I was the only white woman in the room, and everyone gave me cold looks the rest of the day. Even the kids from other schools looked at me with deep accusing eyes; "Name Changer," they all seemed to say.

Oh, it was awful all right. In a hilarious sort of way.

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.

cheaters never prosper

...unless they're in government.

(Just kidding. Today's political humor brought to you by an American not living in America.)

I assigned essays to four classes over Easter Break. I know, I know, who gives homework before a holiday? But knowing these students, they need the extra time to do the research and writing process. A full week with no class seemed like a good opportunity. Besides, it was only a rough draft due when they returned from break.

Then a student who ordinarily struggles to put together a complete sentence produced a 3-page, single-spaced persuasive essay on the causes and solutions of air pollution.

WARNING DANGER RED ALERT

Hello, plagiarism.

I started typing in words and phrases into a Google search, and up popped the Wikipedia article. Directly copy and pasted. He didn't even bother with an introduction. Or a conclusion, for that matter. He literally stopped at the end of the third page, even though he was in the middle of an argument against gas engines. I took my highlighter to every word that was not his own.

Then I did the same with the next paper. And the next. And the next. 10 essays later, I was disappointed and frustrated. And a little bit stupefied that these kids actually thought they could pull one over on ol' teach here. I mean, two of them copied from each other. How dumb do they think I am?

Then again, that's not a fair rhetorical question. The better question is: how lazy are they? They had 11 days to type a 2-page double-spaced essay with two sources, neither of which could be Wikipedia. (They were astonished by the concept of reliable and unreliable resources.) It wasn't even a final draft! Only a rough draft!

Thus, their copying directly from Wikipedia told me that they were lacking in motivation. And I was determined to give it to them.

The next day, I passed back the 16 essays, 10 of which had yellow highlighter markings. I asked everyone who turned in an essay to stand up. Then I asked everyone who didn't have any highlighter to sit down. They totally bought it. They thought it was a game. While I theoretically cannot condone the shaming of a child, I spoke directly to the standing students and gave them a speech that went something like this:
"You're standing because the words in your essay aren't yours. They are someone else's and you copy-and-pasted them and put your name at the top. If I wanted to read what someone else thinks about these environmental issues, I would have gone out to Wikipedia, or GoogleNews, or CNN or BBC and read their articles. I want to know what YOU think. I care what YOU think. I want to hear YOUR ideas for solutions."

I then cautioned the entire class: anything highlighted must be deleted from the essay. For 5 students, this meant starting completely over. They have the rest of the week and the weekend to produce a final draft. If there's any further plagiarism, they'll receive a zero.

This sort of situation brings up some real issues for me in regards to standards of excellence here in Nigeria. Cheating, excuses, copying, missing work, late work, laziness: some teachers just smile and shake their heads, but I can't do that.

If you ask my Grade 6 for my test-taking mantra, they'll chant for you: "Talking = Cheating = Failing." If you ask my Grade 12 for my late work policy, they will tell you: "No late work. If it's late, it's a zero."

I know I'm the only high school teacher with a late work policy, but I can't compromise. These students can be held to a high standard. I agree I must make reasonable expectations for them, but expecting them to turn in work when it's due is not unreasonable.

Because we're starting the last quarter of the school year, I gave my students the following pledge:
No more zeroes. I will make sure of it. I will push you until you bleed. [The boys grunted their approval.] I will push you until you cry. I will push you until you hate me. [One girl in the back cried out, "We could never hate you, Miss Thomas!"] You will not fail my class this term. Cue the inspirational music...

But so help me, if those final drafts are plagiarized, I'm going to be handing out big fat zeroes, whether I want to or not.

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.

Resignation, Evaluation, and Blooming Where Planted

I've reluctantly accepted that teaching is not my favorite hobby. Unfortunately, my voice is too loud and my fuse too short to be a good combination in a Grade 6 classroom.

Believe me, I'm trying. I'm trying to change my tone of voice. I'm trying to push my level of patience well past limitless. I'm failing quite miserably, to be honest. The amount of times I lost my temper this week is embarrassing and shameful. I'm a grownup; I should have better control.

The truth is I'm tired. I'm frustrated with my kids for being kids, and frustrated with myself for that. I really wish I could love this job AND have the incredible patience for it. In short, I've totally broken my New Year's Resolution. Crap.

Then I had my formal teaching evaluation. The superintendent observed 2 of my classes last week and later gave me the written feedback. You guys, the writeup actually contained the phrase "born teacher." The whole thing was so shiny and positive it could have been a gold star. Can that possibly be true, this week's meltdowns notwithstanding?

If she's wrong, it means my students are the issue. When she's there, they're angels. When she's gone, I burst a blood vessel.
If she's right, however, then teaching is something I may do well, but don't love doing.

Allow me to convey how much this catch-22 sucks. If I stop teaching, it will feel like a waste. I can see my students finally connecting to literature, and to walk away now will feel like abandonment. If I stay, burnout will be a very real issue for me. I don't like the idea of being that teacher who's really good when she's in a good mood, and terribly ineffective when she's mad.

I wish I loved teaching enough to make it enough to stay. I don't.

Edit: Despite my leanings, I have not made a final decision yet.
I'm holding out until the deadline. Bear with me.

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.

These things make me LOVE being a teacher

I got a love letter today. Tiny Asmau, a grade 5 girl, dropped it on my desk while I was out teaching. Letter like this makes everything else about living in Nigeria worthwhile.

Dear Mrs. Thomas
How are you? Hope you are fine. I just wanted to tell you that You are the best teacher that i ever seen in my whole life.

You are so kind and you are so beautiful.

And 1 more thing, Thank you for teaching me kindness.

And, I love you, I love you, I love you.

I wish you a nice day.

Yours faithfully
Asmau M...

My heart just melts.

Prayer / General Update

For those of you keeping up with the, ahem, "prayer concerns" of my life, I have an update.

5-year-old I has been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Her prognosis is upwards of 90%. She begins chemo tomorrow, and will continue treatment for the next 3 years. Thus, our pastor's family will be leaving Nigeria to be together in South Africa for the first part of her treatment. I'm so glad they'll be united as a family, but selfishly, I'm sad to see them leave Abuja Ark. There are many questions (When? How? Who?) that will be resolved in the next few weeks. Pray for I's parents to have divine wisdom, for their 6-year-old twin girls to have understanding beyond their years, and above all else, for healing for little I.

Secondly, please pray for my flatmate Jan. She was widowed a year and a half ago, and she's still walking through the grieving process. She's been particularly down the past few weeks, and I suspect the upcoming holiday season isn't going to help things. Pray specifically that she is able to spend Christmas with her son. (While I'm gone, she'll be alone.) I'm very unsure of what role I'm supposed to take to support her--all I'm doing now is listening and trying to understand, which feels very futile--so prayer for me to know how to comfort her is also welcome.

Lastly, the next two weeks are going to either fly by or creep very slowly. Whichever the case may be, I need grace to make it to December 12th. This Friday is the Christmas program at school, for which I am the emcee (M.C.?). I'm pretty nervous about appearing in front of everyone, just because I am the new kid on the block...I feel like this is my opportunity to prove to the parents that I deserve to be here educating their kids. Not to put too fine a point on it. :) Somewhere in following week, I have to gather all the information for my visa, pack up my stuff, teach a full week of lessons while maintaining patience and sanity, and try to squeeze out 2 more sets of curriculum so that I don't have to bring work home with me. Then I have to jam 30 hours of travel into a 24-hour day, hopping through 6 cities. Weather permitting. (Speaking of which, I have a 7-hour layover at Heathrow...do I have any readers in London who want to help me pass the time?)

I am so thankful for this chance to be reunited with my WHOLE family (both sides of extended family, too!), get my fill of friends, watch movies with my brother, and generally stock up on some American love for the next 6-month push. I also can't wait to know what it feels like to miss Nigeria. In August, I felt a pull towards this mysterious place, and now that I know all the life that it entails, I can't wait to feel a pull towards familiarity.

Thanks in advance for your prayers. Can't wait to see you!