March 19, 2009
Here are a few more months from a quiz I gave the same Iraqi couple today. Unfortunately, this was after reviewing and practicing months for about half of today’s class.
nofmper
nofrne
aokeast
jely
jali
jeen
joimer
aktupr
fabgr
Well, I’ve never claimed to have my teaching methods perfected, and this creative spelling problem calls for a little creativity of my own. Your ideas are welcome!
March 18, 2009
The sudden and long-anticipated onset of spring has awoken a long-dormant desire to walk outside every chance I have, and I indulged the urge again this evening and drove to a nearby forest preserve with a nice walking path.
I fell in love with this little piece of nature the very first time I found it, between afternoon and night classes last year, with a couple chicken tacos from Jalisco’s. It has the largest, steepest hill I have ever seen in the midwest, which isn’t spoiled even by the fact that I’m sure it’s just the pile of dirt they dug up to make the lake it accompanies. There is one lone, perfectly proportioned tree atop the wonderful mound, and at the foot of the tree, a rock large enough to give you a feeling of satisfaction when you’ve managed to climb onto it. If you sit on this rock, you are plainly visible from nearly any point along the gravel path that encircles the lake–I know because the whole time I was walking, my eyes continued to wander back to that mystical rock beneath the lone tree atop the marvelous hill.
The sun had just sunk below the horizon, turning the sky, the lake, and the light falling on everything a golden pink. The thistles, milkweed and pampass grasses along the shore were each strikingly outlined against the backdrop of the quiet water. Ducks floated in couples, making an occasional quack that echoed in the stillness and geese glided indifferently along close by.
I walked through a grove of trees where a flock of a thousand or so starlings were singing at the top of their lungs, and then a marsh where not quite as many frogs were doing their best to compete.
The walking path ended in several feet of water, so I turned around in time to see a dark, furry body waddling hurriedly toward the lake. As he slipped into the water and swam away, I saw his heavy, flat tail that gave away his identity.
“Aha! So it’s Mr. Beaver!” I said aloud in delight. The fact that a beaver sighting evoked such gleeful emotions did not strike me as dorky until just now as I write this.
As I followed the path winding back toward the tree-topped hill, the colors around me gradually becoming more dusky and muted, I felt like I was walking along inside a painting– part of a breathtaking work of art. I then realized how starved my soul must have been for a little time alone, soaking in the beauty of God’s creation. It’s been quite awhile. My senses couldn’t contain the depth of feeling awakened by this simple walk along a gravel path beside a man made lake.
I guess this means I’ll be making more time for important things like lakes and hills and trees and rocks and ducks and beavers and walks at sunset.
March 17, 2009
I should be sleeping because it’s nine minutes til midnight, but instead I’m looking over students’ dictations from today seeing who knows how to spell months of the year and who doesn’t.
The funny thing is, at least 50% of the papers have No Cheating followed by three exclamation points printed neatly at the top of the page with their name. That would be because I get so tired of telling them every time and no one paying any attention, that I decided to write it on the board for extra emphasis. My attempt to impress upon them the importance of honesty didn’t work, since one student copied his classmate’s paper, name and all.
Here are some creative renditions of the spelling of the months from my newest students, a very sweet Iraqi couple. At least I know they didn’t cheat. I’ll let you figure out the translations, it’s great fun.
Dcampr
Maerj
Ockst
Faprwery
Sbtnper
Here’s to a job that never lacks its own entertainment. . . .
February 28, 2009
Let me tell you how much fun it is to teach refugees how to drive when you’re not too concerned about getting your car scratched up a little bit. I was a little concerned about innocent pedestrians, and about impatient drivers behind us as my car inched forward at a speed that would barely allow one car to get through the green light, and I was amazed thinking that pretty much anyone can learn how to drive, given enough practice.
One of my students commented to me on Wednesday after class that she needed more driving practice so she could get her license, and without a second thought, I said, “Why don’t we drive around a little bit tomorrow? I can help you.” Her eyes sparkled, and she said, “Really?! Yes!” The word quickly circulated, and soon I had a carload of students signed up for the driving lesson the following afternoon after class.
Thursday afternoon produced a lovely spring thunderstorm, and after valiently eating my way (nearly) through an enormous mound of rice with delicious Nepali toppings at one student’s apartment, we all ran through the pouring rain to my car.
The first girl to drive had already driven enough to acquire an inflated and unmerited confidence in her abilities. She insisted on using both feet, left on the brake and right on the gas, and no matter how much I told her that you can’t drive that way, she assured me that it was the way that she liked best. She drove fairly well, except for her habit of gaining on cars ahead of her with an alarming (to me) lack of concern.
The second girl to take the wheel had just gotten her permit that very morning, and it was the first time she had ever driven. I should have been much more afraid than I was. We were in a fairly empty part of the Wal-Mart parking lot, which I mistakenly thought wouldn’t be too difficult for her to navigate. I forgot how cars and people always come out of nowhere in parking lots. I spent most of her turn grabbing the wheel and turning us out of danger and saying “Slowly, Slowly. STOP! STOP! Ok, go. Go. GO! Now stop. STOP!” At one point, the car was making a strange noise and I saw that she was applying the gas and brake at the same time, one with each foot. I put the car in park and gave a long and detailed lesson, acting out how to brake and accelerate with THE RIGHT FOOT ONLY.
When my nerves couldn’t take any more, I said, “Okay! Great job! That’s enough for today!” Then the last student took over, whose only driving experience consisted of driving a forklift. Thankfully, a forklift isn’t that different from a car. He drove like a pro, and even parallel parked the car perfectly on the first try. The first driver then wanted to practice parallel parking, too.
At this point, the rain was pouring down and all the windows were all fogged over, and the only place we had found to parallel park happened to be a street with steady traffic, two spots ahead of a parked police car. It took her about four tries, but we all breathed a collective sigh of happy relief when she finally got the car backed into the spot and we headed back to their apartment building.
I gratefully got back into the driver’s seat and drove home after saying goodbye and promising to take them out for another driving lesson next week. Despite the fresh memory of fried nerves and tense muscles, I’m already anticipating that next driving lesson!
January 31, 2009
The light was perfect this afternoon at about 4:00 and I drove around town taking pictures of some of the buildings I want to photograph every time I see them (especially the Skirts of Israel Church!) Check them out here. . .
January 31, 2009
snow sculpture, originally uploaded by mi.ventana.
January 23, 2009
stop, originally uploaded by mi.ventana.
I’ve discovered the exciting new pastime of “photography while driving” and this is one of the happy results. Take a picture of a stop sign and it has no artistic appeal, but take a picture from the dirty side of your winshield while you’re stopped at this stop sign, and, voila! It also makes the activity of taking pictures much more exciting as you have to look around for your subject as you’re driving, and set up the photo and capture it before another car gets in your way, or someone gets mad at you for driving slow. Try it!
(Disclaimer: The author takes no responsibility for accidents or tickets which may occur as a result of abuse of this hobby, or inability of driver/photographer to safely multitask.)
January 22, 2009
Putting the little ones to bed tonight the following conversation ensued:
“Miss Lee, I feel cold.”
“Okay, here, let me put your other blanket on, and then you’ll be toasty warm.” Saraina giggles.
“Miss Lee, you said toast?”
“Yes, you’ll be warm as a piece of toast that just popped out of the toaster.”
“I’m toast girl?”
“Yes, you’re Toast Girl, and Joshua is Toast Boy.”
Joshua laughs.
“Miss Lee, that is silly! Now I feel like toast!”
January 21, 2009
It was one of the most heart-wrenching classes in my history of teaching.
We had arranged a special meeting in Job Class with some of the World Relief Aurora office staff, and our attendance was at a record high with 38 students. These are the students who haven’t gotten jobs yet, or else had a job and lost it. We have never had such a large group of unemployed refugees before, nor have we seen them unemployed for such a long period of time, and we see tension and anxiety mounting daily.
As the case managers and employment counselor spoke, the message that came across loud and clear was, “Things are bad. We’re doing everything we possibly can, but we can’t work miracles.”
I began to slip into discouragement along with my students as I listened to the prognosis: according to the contract between World Relief and each refugee, they are responsible for paying their bills on their own starting a few months after arrival. Many of these students have already reached this cutoff point or will very soon, but they are still without a source of income.
I saw worry and even hopelessness on many faces as they listened. During the Q & A time at the end (mostly desperate Qs with a glaring lack of satisfactory As), one student rose to speak on behalf of the Chin Burmese community.
Please understand that we cannot eat and we cannot sleep because we are so worried about our future. We are dying of worry. Men are crying because they don’t know what to do. What can we do if we don’t find work soon? We don’t know how we will pay our rent. Please, we beg you to try to understand our situation.
I just wanted to cry after that, but instead I started praying. As soon as I got in my car after class, I began asking God to intervene on behalf of these wonderful people whose greatest hope right now is to find a job.
Now I’m trying to think how I might find some job leads for them. It’s so difficult because no one is hiring, but looking for leads would be infinitely better than standing around watching Job Class grow larger and larger. I know that World Relief is doing everything it possibly can with its limited resources, and now it’s going to take a few more people (like me) jumping into the work at hand to find some hope for a few of our refugees to grab hold of.
January 15, 2009
It finally happened. Today was a snow day! Well, actually it was a “cold day,” and it didn’t involve any sleeping in under warm covers.
After my boss called to tell me the incredible news, I started calling my students. As I was trying to reach them all, they were all trying to reach me, until the tangled web of cell phone communication finally unraveled and I had good reason to think that everyone had been duly notified.
I went over to our teaching site to put a sign up just in case, and it was a good thing I did because as soon as I had explained to one lone arrival, the next person straggled in, until a group of ten nearly-frozen refugees tumbled in the door.
Of course I couldn’t just turn them back out into the cold to walk another 15 minutes to the bus station, so I told them I would give them a ride by turns. A group of three, then of four, then another car load of three piled into my Mazda. They were smiling and grateful as I let them off at the station and warned them to stay inside while they waited for the bus!
The last group of three started laughing and joking with me as soon as they climbed in the car;
“Oh, teacher! We are the last ones! That means you can take us home!”
“Ha, ha.” I laughed. “I should have taken the women with babies if I was going to take anyone, not three strong young men like you!”
“But teacher, look, my bus pass is finished! I don’t have another punch to get back to school again.”
“Hm! You should have thought of that while we were back there!”
And so it continued, until we had almost reached the bus station until I finally cracked:
“Where do you live?”
“Oh, very close, teacher! We will show you!”
They cheered and high-fived each other, then ducked down so their classmates at the bus station wouldn’t see them.
It wasn’t so very close, but what else was I going to do with my free day? As I reached the last house, H.S. invited me up for coffee with his housemates, also my students (who had more wisely opted to stay home.)
As I sipped instant coffee and ate a small sliced apple, they told me about fleeing Myanmar, life in Malaysia (one was a plasterer, the other was a seminary student) and the disappointing reality of their life in the U.S. in contrast to what they had expected.
Along with a growing number of our refugee students, they are waiting and hoping to be placed in a job, but the months are dragging on with no sign of work to be found. They laughed when they described what they thought America would be like before they came here: heaven on earth, with dollars for the picking on every tree. Now many refugees are sinking into discouragement and even depression, not seeing any hope for the work they desperately need. H.S. told me that one of my former students, a determined man of sixty with a wonderful sense of humor, had broken down in tears as he confessed his fear of not being able to pay his bills after being laid off.
I listened, wanting to empathize, but not really being able to. I have a job. I can pay my bills, as tight as it may be sometimes.
The conversation moved to lighter topics–the cause of the recession (you should have heard me try my best to explain the housing crisis!), Obama (as people from an ethnic minority group, in an extremely racist society, they’re enthralled by the heights our country has reached to elect an African-American president), their families and mine.
When I told them that my dad was a teacher, H.S. explained a little about the roots of the high regard the Burmese have for teachers.
“In our language, the word for teacher comes from a Nepali word for umbrella. An umbrella protects people from the sun and the rain, and we feel that a teacher also protects their students in a similar way.”
It’s difficult for me to grasp this concept of teachers as protectors, but it was interesting to hear this completely different perspective.
Before I left, they asked if I would pray with them. I did, all of us kneeling on the floor around a small, square table. I prayed for God to show them that He is in control, even in these difficult circumstances, and for them to be able to put their trust completely in Him as their Provider.
I left exhilerated and feeling more alive than usual, as in fact I always feel after being in one of my refugee students’ homes, eating their food and sharing a little piece of their life.
