Something about the word must...it has an allure. It is an absolute certainty that I should add it to my list of funny words (amongst others, such as duty, muffin, pewter, etc.).
I came to Jordan without many thoughts on what I "must do", but have heard reports from others. You must visit Petra. You must go to the Dead Sea. You must try the magloubeh (which I did, and it definitely isn't a must). You must call your parents (admittedly, I don't do this often enough). You must be homesick. You must get exhausted and tired of the monotony of your job. You must experience culture shock. The list would be excruciatingly long...
There are some good things in that list. All of it is good, actually, either by merit or by the humor it provides me. Months have zipped by, all too quickly, and I still have many more to go, and a lot of the "musts" will probably be lost along the way. With this in mind, I am already picking and choosing which ones will make the "MUST must" list. I think I'll stick with...call parents. Petra will likely make be retained as well. Dead Sea...been there, done that. And I hate to be so exclusive, because homesickness and culture shock could surely play a valuable role. I really do strive to get the complete "SALT experience". And I try to advocate equality without judgment, which makes it all the more painful to be so exclusive. Regrettably, that's the way it is. Hayk, in Arabic.
Still, this is my maintained reality. I intend to make, above other things, vitality a must. A sort of unquenchable passion, an energy that my life exudes. That is a must. And it is, in a way, much easier to do with the specifics of my job. I am at the school for around 12 hours each day. If there is chapel, it can stretch upwards of 14 hours. I don't get a lot of free time, nor do I need it. I wake up each day and work, then have time at home in the evening to unwind. Watch a movie, color a picture, read a book, eat some falafel, listen to music, exercise, maybe even study if I am feeling especially productive. I might be confused, but am I supposed to want something else? Am I supposed to wish that my circumstances fit ideally into an image of perfection? I think the crux, the intrinsic juxtaposition here lies only in the application of perfection. A perfect dream is much different than a perfect perspective. The dream relates to something fantastical, while the perspective is applicable to reality. I like the perspective, as a perfect perspective transforms a marred reality into something more beautiful than a dream can create. Just yesterday, I was painting, and I accidently leaned against the railing, leaving a line of wet paint on my white shirt. I looked down, and in that diagonal line, I saw an incomplete heart. So, I finished the figure, albeit a lopsided depiction. There is grace in turning a wrongly perceived mistake into a beautiful form worth rejoicing over. But perspective is key.
Living intentionally (as opposed to wandering, as if by accident) deprives the cruelties of circumstance from defining your reality. Intentions allow you to create your own reality.
You just have to intend to break that list of "musts" sometimes. Peace.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Teacher Initiation
A couple days ago, the unyielding thrills of my job were suddenly increased, a veritable "ante up" of excitement. It initially appeared to be just like any other Thursday, with the students in the deaf-blind unit being prepared to go home and well aware that being menaces would go without punishment on this day. Little did I know, this was apparently "Teacher Initiation Day"...
It started with an attempt at deviation from the mundane (I say mundane only because it seems boring for Muhammed, not becuase it is a shot at the curriculum) lesson plan, and the intention of teaching Muhammed to count on his fingers. I knew it would be difficult, but I decided to work on the number 2, and spent all of 45 minutes just trying to train Muhammed to move his fingers independently of one another. If I may, I will attempt to illustrate the exceptional level of complication which Muhammed might have been experiencing. Hold your hand out in front of you and attempt to bend your pinky to the palm of your hand, without bending your thumb or any of your other fingers. It is impossible. An exercise in futility. But for Muhammed, I think it is essential for him to spend hours, days, weeks, even months just learning how to manipulate his hands, as it will allow him to progress in his sign language much farther than where he is now. Otherwise, the signs are always muddled by the lack of specificity that comes with the orientation of his fingers. I am fine with failing in my attempt, but I will keep trying, as I have patience in abundance.
The next occurrence was with Haazim, the instigator of all tantrums, and to whom I am now the officially designated diffuser. Haazim knows me because, at my own risk, whenever I come in to restrain him, my first action is to force his hand to run through my hair, identifying what I like to call "getting down to business". Haazim seems to be most calm when in my presence, either out of fear or a higher level of comfort with me, but when I am intervening he is not very fond of me. Usually, it is an expression of frustration, but on this day, his malice was sharp and frustration quickly evolved into downright loathing of my existence. I am considerably stronger than this young boy, but he shows surprising power when he wishes to inflict pain on the unknown forces that so enrage him. As I have no training, my best option is to put him in a position where he has limited mobility, preferably on my lap to prevent his feet from gaining any leverage. I am then, of course, vulnerable to kicking and possibly a reverse head-butt (which, fortunately, Haazim doesn't seem to be aware of). He is also cunning, and will slouch and squirm, forcing me to adjust the position of his arms to prevent him from either biting me or himself. But he is too smart, and at the precise moment he feels me adjust, he goes in for blood. Though he managed to get his teeth on my arm, he thankfully never landed a successful bite. At my own disappointment, though, he scares me enough to slip out of my grasp, and bites himself. Overall, I spent at least a half an hour grappling with him before he finally calmed down a bit...so exhausting.
Lastly, I was quite drained after those ordeals, and gladly sat down for a calm dinner. But there was more still on the way, in the form of a innocent (innocent-looking) young girl of maybe 6 years-old. She was, at the least mischievous, and knew how to manipulate the cuteness-factor. I didn't really mind, and then I saw her making the sign for "Christian". I nodded a "yes" in response, and what ensued was a series of signs to signify her apparent loyalty to Islam and an apparent opinion that Christians are detestable, poignantly concluded with an emphatic slap to my face. I was a bit shocked, but as a volunteer, this was an opportunity to establish a bit of authority. While I am not one to get mad often, I plastered an expression of rage upon my face and leaned in towards her. She smiled, even giggled a bit, but after about 15-seconds she realized that something was wrong here. As discomfort overtook her, I simply pointed to myself and gave her the sign for "teacher", followed by forcefully grabbing her hand and re-enacting the slap, the signing "never". She was terrified. I ended with a simple question, signing "What do you say?". Ashamed and apologetic, she signed "Sorry." I broke character, smiled, and let her know it was okay. Discipline, complete.
Today is a day off, and I hope to save some of the excitement for next week. I don't want it to run out, after all. Peace.
It started with an attempt at deviation from the mundane (I say mundane only because it seems boring for Muhammed, not becuase it is a shot at the curriculum) lesson plan, and the intention of teaching Muhammed to count on his fingers. I knew it would be difficult, but I decided to work on the number 2, and spent all of 45 minutes just trying to train Muhammed to move his fingers independently of one another. If I may, I will attempt to illustrate the exceptional level of complication which Muhammed might have been experiencing. Hold your hand out in front of you and attempt to bend your pinky to the palm of your hand, without bending your thumb or any of your other fingers. It is impossible. An exercise in futility. But for Muhammed, I think it is essential for him to spend hours, days, weeks, even months just learning how to manipulate his hands, as it will allow him to progress in his sign language much farther than where he is now. Otherwise, the signs are always muddled by the lack of specificity that comes with the orientation of his fingers. I am fine with failing in my attempt, but I will keep trying, as I have patience in abundance.
The next occurrence was with Haazim, the instigator of all tantrums, and to whom I am now the officially designated diffuser. Haazim knows me because, at my own risk, whenever I come in to restrain him, my first action is to force his hand to run through my hair, identifying what I like to call "getting down to business". Haazim seems to be most calm when in my presence, either out of fear or a higher level of comfort with me, but when I am intervening he is not very fond of me. Usually, it is an expression of frustration, but on this day, his malice was sharp and frustration quickly evolved into downright loathing of my existence. I am considerably stronger than this young boy, but he shows surprising power when he wishes to inflict pain on the unknown forces that so enrage him. As I have no training, my best option is to put him in a position where he has limited mobility, preferably on my lap to prevent his feet from gaining any leverage. I am then, of course, vulnerable to kicking and possibly a reverse head-butt (which, fortunately, Haazim doesn't seem to be aware of). He is also cunning, and will slouch and squirm, forcing me to adjust the position of his arms to prevent him from either biting me or himself. But he is too smart, and at the precise moment he feels me adjust, he goes in for blood. Though he managed to get his teeth on my arm, he thankfully never landed a successful bite. At my own disappointment, though, he scares me enough to slip out of my grasp, and bites himself. Overall, I spent at least a half an hour grappling with him before he finally calmed down a bit...so exhausting.
Lastly, I was quite drained after those ordeals, and gladly sat down for a calm dinner. But there was more still on the way, in the form of a innocent (innocent-looking) young girl of maybe 6 years-old. She was, at the least mischievous, and knew how to manipulate the cuteness-factor. I didn't really mind, and then I saw her making the sign for "Christian". I nodded a "yes" in response, and what ensued was a series of signs to signify her apparent loyalty to Islam and an apparent opinion that Christians are detestable, poignantly concluded with an emphatic slap to my face. I was a bit shocked, but as a volunteer, this was an opportunity to establish a bit of authority. While I am not one to get mad often, I plastered an expression of rage upon my face and leaned in towards her. She smiled, even giggled a bit, but after about 15-seconds she realized that something was wrong here. As discomfort overtook her, I simply pointed to myself and gave her the sign for "teacher", followed by forcefully grabbing her hand and re-enacting the slap, the signing "never". She was terrified. I ended with a simple question, signing "What do you say?". Ashamed and apologetic, she signed "Sorry." I broke character, smiled, and let her know it was okay. Discipline, complete.
Today is a day off, and I hope to save some of the excitement for next week. I don't want it to run out, after all. Peace.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Some Firsts
Although each day brings new experiences, the past week has had some "firsts" that made for a great week.
The first...first is a funny word. Sounds funny when I say it. Say it out loud, right now. I am starting to doubt if it really is a word. First. I'll just use the Arabic word, since this is distracting.
Awwal ishshi: It finally rained this week. I woke up and saw ominous clouds, lounging overhead. I anticipated these wisps would dissipate within the hour, but they stuck around. As I sat down for lunch, I was doubting that rain would come. Within minutes, there were drops on the windows, and I had to contain my fits of giddyness to prevent my coworkers from the revelation of my childishness. It transitioned into complete torrential downpour. Using the "need to go to the office" as a guise, I daintily jaunted through the falling waves of water. I enjoy rain.
Next, this week there was an incident with a student. It wasn't anything dangerous, just the result of frustration and confusion communicated in surprising ways. One of the students is of relatively big stature, not enough that he can manipulate an adult, but more than enough to inflict pain if you are caught unaware. Well, he occasionally communicates by biting your hand, and he tried to do so with one of the teachers. She reacted, and the situation was immediately exacerbated by his perception of excitement. The attempts to calm him down yielded a successful bite for the student, followed by a frustrated headbutt into the wall. I was called in to be the one to calm him down. This, realistically, only entailed me sitting next to him and making sure I didn't fall victim to the vampirical onslaught. It makes the kid sound unruly, and terrifying. This isn't the case. He lacks the utilities to interpret the world around him in a meaningful way, and it makes sense that he would get frustrated at times.
Today, I sat in on a sign language class for the female teachers I work with. All the words were written in Arabic, and I was able to read them, verbalize them, and even knew the signs for most of them. It is encouraging to feel like some of my Arabic is coming together, and even better to have it happen in conjunction with learning sign language. That was a first.
Lastly, I was forced into playing football (soccer) today. The closest I have ever been to being considered a soccer player was during my tenure on the best soccer ball boy squad in the KCAC. It was quite enjoyable, and although I didn't score a goal, I surprised some of the youngsters with footwork I wasn't even aware I had. It was fun to just relax, play football (any sport would be good, really...), and enjoy time with the students.
I have officially been away from "home" for over two months now. Without meaning offense, though, I am actually at home. I could probably be happier (though not much more), but I don't think I could be any more content, and that is what chiefly matters. Peace.
The first...first is a funny word. Sounds funny when I say it. Say it out loud, right now. I am starting to doubt if it really is a word. First. I'll just use the Arabic word, since this is distracting.
Awwal ishshi: It finally rained this week. I woke up and saw ominous clouds, lounging overhead. I anticipated these wisps would dissipate within the hour, but they stuck around. As I sat down for lunch, I was doubting that rain would come. Within minutes, there were drops on the windows, and I had to contain my fits of giddyness to prevent my coworkers from the revelation of my childishness. It transitioned into complete torrential downpour. Using the "need to go to the office" as a guise, I daintily jaunted through the falling waves of water. I enjoy rain.
Next, this week there was an incident with a student. It wasn't anything dangerous, just the result of frustration and confusion communicated in surprising ways. One of the students is of relatively big stature, not enough that he can manipulate an adult, but more than enough to inflict pain if you are caught unaware. Well, he occasionally communicates by biting your hand, and he tried to do so with one of the teachers. She reacted, and the situation was immediately exacerbated by his perception of excitement. The attempts to calm him down yielded a successful bite for the student, followed by a frustrated headbutt into the wall. I was called in to be the one to calm him down. This, realistically, only entailed me sitting next to him and making sure I didn't fall victim to the vampirical onslaught. It makes the kid sound unruly, and terrifying. This isn't the case. He lacks the utilities to interpret the world around him in a meaningful way, and it makes sense that he would get frustrated at times.
Today, I sat in on a sign language class for the female teachers I work with. All the words were written in Arabic, and I was able to read them, verbalize them, and even knew the signs for most of them. It is encouraging to feel like some of my Arabic is coming together, and even better to have it happen in conjunction with learning sign language. That was a first.
Lastly, I was forced into playing football (soccer) today. The closest I have ever been to being considered a soccer player was during my tenure on the best soccer ball boy squad in the KCAC. It was quite enjoyable, and although I didn't score a goal, I surprised some of the youngsters with footwork I wasn't even aware I had. It was fun to just relax, play football (any sport would be good, really...), and enjoy time with the students.
I have officially been away from "home" for over two months now. Without meaning offense, though, I am actually at home. I could probably be happier (though not much more), but I don't think I could be any more content, and that is what chiefly matters. Peace.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Still No Rain, Much the Same
After only a week of school, followed by a week of vacation, I went to an MCC retreat to give me a much needed break from my grueling relaxation time. The retreat was good, meeting new people, hugging red-haired lumberjacks, seeing a Bugatti, and spending time at the children's museum (where I donned a Superman cape and cowboy hat, thus making me appear so conspicuous that I somehow blended in). It was a fantastic time, especially winning the wheelchair race at the museum.
And then it was back to a week at school, which was quite successful. I had to opportunity to work with Mohammed individually, as the unit was short a staff member a couple days. I am still working out the whole "competency" thing, but I am making progress. Mohammed still knows that I am a softie, so he likes to be intentionally difficult, if only to make his day more interesting. I do, however, have enough authority to keep him in line. Admittedly, though, I also lack the sternness to be as effective as I should be. As I said, a work in progress...
On Friday, I was set for a wonderful day of relaxation, and had put a lot of thought into my day. It was set up as follows: Eat breakfast, study Arabic and some sign language by myself, maybe watch an episode of Arrested Development, eat lunch, maybe take a nap, work out, probably go to some of the shops to continue expanding the array of Arabic snacks I have consumed, eat dinner, and watch a movie. I know what you are thinking...that sounds delightful, especially after a tiring week of work (not because of the kids, but because quality sleep is hard to come by when the neighbor's rooster has a penchant for crowing in the middle of the night). And it would have been delightful, had it played out in such a manner. It may have even become infamous, the perfect day, because with all that free time I may have expanded my plans and done great things. Maybe there was a child's life in danger, and I could have been the one to, at my own peril, avert a crisis of magnificent proportions (I hope someone else stepped in, in my absence). I digress...I ended up painting the fence. You know, with the green paint. I wrote about it previously. Apparently, the powers that be were not aware of my fantastic plans, and switched my day off to Saturday. Good enough. I won't dwell on the fact that Friday may well have aligned itself with the description of "perfect day", had I not been working. I still had a good day, listening to music, painting a fence, just loving it.
As each week passes, I am supposedly slipping down a slope towards "culture shock". It looms on the horizon, but I am hoping that it waits to show up, at least until after the rain comes...
For now, I am experiencing new things, but life is the same. Blessing innumerable, joys given to me from too many sources to discern. Hope you are feeling the same. Peace.
And then it was back to a week at school, which was quite successful. I had to opportunity to work with Mohammed individually, as the unit was short a staff member a couple days. I am still working out the whole "competency" thing, but I am making progress. Mohammed still knows that I am a softie, so he likes to be intentionally difficult, if only to make his day more interesting. I do, however, have enough authority to keep him in line. Admittedly, though, I also lack the sternness to be as effective as I should be. As I said, a work in progress...
On Friday, I was set for a wonderful day of relaxation, and had put a lot of thought into my day. It was set up as follows: Eat breakfast, study Arabic and some sign language by myself, maybe watch an episode of Arrested Development, eat lunch, maybe take a nap, work out, probably go to some of the shops to continue expanding the array of Arabic snacks I have consumed, eat dinner, and watch a movie. I know what you are thinking...that sounds delightful, especially after a tiring week of work (not because of the kids, but because quality sleep is hard to come by when the neighbor's rooster has a penchant for crowing in the middle of the night). And it would have been delightful, had it played out in such a manner. It may have even become infamous, the perfect day, because with all that free time I may have expanded my plans and done great things. Maybe there was a child's life in danger, and I could have been the one to, at my own peril, avert a crisis of magnificent proportions (I hope someone else stepped in, in my absence). I digress...I ended up painting the fence. You know, with the green paint. I wrote about it previously. Apparently, the powers that be were not aware of my fantastic plans, and switched my day off to Saturday. Good enough. I won't dwell on the fact that Friday may well have aligned itself with the description of "perfect day", had I not been working. I still had a good day, listening to music, painting a fence, just loving it.
As each week passes, I am supposedly slipping down a slope towards "culture shock". It looms on the horizon, but I am hoping that it waits to show up, at least until after the rain comes...
For now, I am experiencing new things, but life is the same. Blessing innumerable, joys given to me from too many sources to discern. Hope you are feeling the same. Peace.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)