Scheme of Work

School started again the 17^th of July, and my new start came with a new term completely different from the last. To be honest, I felt quite useless last semester, not having enough work and not feeling I was doing it so well left me feeling completely unproductive. It was tough to go from over-active university student to underemployed (and unexperienced) teacher in another country. I think I had a little bit of motivation-lack last semester, too, because I wasn't sure how helpful I could be in this country teaching some of the already most educated students. Remembering my “Oprah approach” from university (when the atmosphere was low in our senior year dorm, I'd call for “Oprah” where we could only say positive things – I think Katie O and I appreciated it the most, right KTO?). I started this with myself (failing a lot at first, but it has helped my attitude for sure). How can I best help these young minds, the very ones sitting right in front of me?

This term I began teaching Values/Ethics instead of Study Skills/Speech. This is my chance to really get into their minds and help them think differently, the way my own college experienced changed me completely. This class is an absolute challenge for me, because of my own hopes and goals, and consequently I'm doing ten times more work to design creative lesson plans that not only my students will enjoy, but that I'll enjoy teaching. This is kind of like being back at school for me, researching, taking notes, and preparing presentations – I love it. My empty Mondays now fly by because of all the reading and thinking and planning. I'm exhausted when I go home now, but in a “I've done something today!” kind of way.

Now how do you teach a Values/Ethics class to a group of Tanzanian high schoolers? I'm still asking myself that question, but each class is a trial run for the next so I can fine-tune things. Their school song has set up my scheme of work nicely: the tune includes, “some of the values we are called to cherish are love, compassion, truth, justice, hardworking, and respect for others, kindness, sharing, and honesty.” Bam! There's our syllabus, touching on each value and how we can use these to make better decisions for our own lives and for many social issues happening in our world today. (I'm praying I do justice to this hefty objective).

I'm loving this class though, because as I challenge the students to think about how they are generous or loving people, I find myself asking myself the same questions. It has unintentionally become a sort of personal evaluation of my own life, my life here, and a examination of my conscience. How lucky am I?

We are finally ready to begin our Religion course and I have been trying to plan a general outline for our semester. I have a team of three other teachers (Sean, Victor and Antonie who are scholastics) who will help teach the class to the other streams. This has been interesting all in its own, trying to coordinate with the others and plan useful lessons, considering the class is only one hour every Friday.

Besides the English lessons Sean and I assist with (we pull struggling students from each stream twice a week to work individually with their English), we are trying to revamp our “Advisement” class to become much more intentionally a service learning class, mimicking experiences we've had at our Jesuit universities for better reflection after service at the Cheshire home. From personal experience, it is nearly pointless to do any service if there is not a personal and spiritual reflection coinciding with the work you've done. It is helping the students process things.

So though I still have daily challenges (when lessons flop, or when I feel unappreciated by the students or other teachers), things are definitely getting better. This is where you say, “That's what real life is, Laura. Difficult people never go away.” And this is when I say, “Bring it on.”

A New Start

My first few weeks back in Dodoma were incredibly busy with so many unexpected happenings. I walked into my house to find everything under construction – a complete surprise. The Jesuits decided to turn our unnecessary “reception” room into another bedroom, and add a functioning bathroom to the dormitory that sits next to our house in our compound (I believe it was originally a small chapel for the priest who used to live in this house years ago, but has recently acquired many beds for housing guests). That was a little chaotic because there were always many people walking around (and through) our house, and the house collected gallons of dust from the construction. I'm actually much luckier than Jana and Sean who were living here throughout the whole thing and had to keep up with the cleaning. Yuck!

During this week I got back there was also an international gathering of Jesuit educators taking place at Peter Claver, coordinated by Fr. Marty and Fr. Martin Schreiber. Simultaneously, the remedial English workshop for our struggling English language learners at Peter Claver (that Sean and I planned for) was continuing. So Sean and I spent our mornings with the folks from the States and some East African Jesuit educators at school for half of their seminar, and the afternoons we spent with our students at the Youth Centre.

The seminar was great; we had the chance to reflect on what Jesuit education is supposed to be, and compare successes and struggles in this endeavor. One of the strangest things I realized during our conversations is how different (and challenging) my task is as an American Volunteer teaching in a Tanzanian school. I'm not an East African, who belongs to this culture, this school system, this history, and I'm not an American educator with any kind of education-education, or teaching in a system I'm more familiar with, with students in which I can better understand their personal stories. This realization has made me stop identifying with both crowds and realize that I have to figure out my own way to navigate this teaching experience – a task I am probably more ready for this time around.

Unfortunately I only spent a few days with our ELL learners, because the workshop actually started two weeks prior to my return. But these kids have improved immensely from this extra attention, speaking much more confidently and asking helpful questions. I was so happy, because of all our students at Peter Claver, these ones appreciate their education and want so desperately to do better, to understand English.

I came down with a fever on Thursday morning, and missed the outing with the other teachers and later the time with our students. I stayed in bed praying it wasn't malaria. I was sick for about two days and then felt pretty normal on Saturday. This quick fever thing has happened to me once before (when I thought I had malaria) so I'm assuming it wasn't malaria again, but who knows. I'll probably get tested three years from now and the doctor will find malaria! But I was grateful for the quick recovery.

That weekend after I felt better, I did a serious cleaning of my room to get rid of all the dust and decided to rearrange a little. I moved my desk, my bed, and my bookshelf and put up an inspiration wall of sorts full of cards from home and pictures drawn by my students. A new room was my metaphor for a new start. It felt good.

We soon found out all the remodeling for the dormitory next door was for a group of English high school boys who would be staying there for a few days. The Jesuit primary school here has a partnership with a Jesuit high school in London. This school brings it's students here (and also an incredible donation to the school) for a two-week immersion where the boys stay with families during the week but stay in our dorm on the weekends. It was fun having their group around. They boys were really excited and very polite, and their teachers were fun. They stayed with us two weekends before they went on safari and headed home.

This week also brought a new volunteer to our house – Nelly from Germany. She's a “gap-year” student; in Germany, after high school students have one year (the gap year) before they continue to university. Many students do volunteer work during this time. She'll be staying with us for one year and will work at the primary school and Cheshire home like Jana. Jana only has a little time left here – she'll be returning home in mid-September.

Going home

The term came to a close June 17th, with final exams the following week. My first semester at Peter Claver didn't pan out quite how I expected and I was grateful for the coming retreat and break that could let me escape a little and reestablish priorities and goals for my time here. Sean and I left for Dar on Monday June 20th for our third retreat at the Mbagala spiritual center. We were hoping the retreat center was on the beach in Dar, but unfortunately it was in the middle of the city. However, upon arriving there the place was exotically decorated with beautiful gardens, trees, grass huts for outside reflection, and as always, our own rooms – a paradise in the middle of chaos. It was so peaceful.

As always, we nine volunteers spend the week discussing our lives in Tanzania, our work, our communities, everything that influences us. There always seems to be at least one volunteer experiencing the challenges that I find myself struggling with, and it is completely refreshing to be able to sit with each other in our confusion, pain, hopes, triumphs. The week always speeds by faster than I wish, but I leave retreat with a new sense of direction.

On Friday we took a trip to the beach to relax for the day. The Indian Ocean is breathtaking, the water feels delicious, and the sand between my toes is always a welcomed therapy. The journey to the beach takes a little over two hours from the volunteers house because of the hectic Dar traffic, but there is something normal about it, something familiar about the voyage which makes me feel more at home in this country that hardly resembles home in the US.

The Moshi volunteers headed back on Saturday morning, and Sean and I spent a few days with the Dar folks. On Sunday we attended a communion party for a family who has been friends with the JVs in Dar for years. Sean and I had spent some time with this family over Christmas, so they recognized us and invited us as they invite all family into their home. The celebration was like most Tanzanian celebrations – chairs all facing forward towards the person being celebrated, champagne opening, “cheers”-ing, dancing of the gifts, cake feeding, and finally food and dancing. The day was wonderful, being squeezed into a tiny living room with so many smiling faces, little children to dance with and the laughter that is inevitable from our excitement or our slight embarrassment. And this family is so familiar with white faces that we didn't receive the usual special treatment, much to my relief. It is sometimes nice to be able to sit back and enjoy like everyone else, without always being on display. We returned home late, exhausted but with renewed hearts.

Monday morning, Sean and the Dar folks got up early and started their journey to Zanzibar, the island off the coast of Tanzania for a few days of holiday. I remained behind at the Dar house out of the kindness of Shea, Cat, and Gretchen to wait for Tuesday afternoon to catch my flight back to the States. Monday I enjoyed the quiet of their home, washed some clothes, packed my bag, went out to buy some veggies and cooked myself a nice dinner. (I'm realizing how much I value quiet alone time.)

Tuesday morning I called for my cab to pick me up obnoxiously early just in case of excess traffic getting to the airport. (I left at noon for my 4:30pm flight). I packed myself some snacks, went to the Jesuits to check status on my flight, and headed there with a kind cabdriver who picked me up right at the Jesuits' place. I travelled only with a tiny book bag and a basket – I was only going to be home for about six days so there was no point in bringing a lot. It was exhilarating to travel with so little on a flight so far.

I had a slight scare when I finally got to the airport and found myself waiting to check in (I was too early to even do that!). I was looking at my ticket and saw that my flight was scheduled at 4:30AM, not PM like I had previously thought. I started sweating and almost started crying, and decided to run to the ladies sitting at the Emirates counter. I explained in broken Kiswahili what had happened, and she took my ticket, looked at it thoroughly and remarked it with pen to say PM. I guess when I printed the damn thing, the AM looked more highlighted than AM. My mistake, but the women were so kind and I think a little warmed by my honest effort to communicate (poorly) my distress in Kiswahili. From there she checked me in, picked out some really great seats, and told me to wait another two hours for the official check-in time. Silly me.

When the time finally came, we laughed at each other as I approached her desk once again. I next walked to the “Residents of East Africa” booth where they would check my passport and let me through to the gate. (I felt so cool going to the residents booth when all the other people looked at me like I was confused). At the gate I waited another two hours to be able to officially start my journey home.

So, it's not usual for a volunteer to return home during their service, but I had a pretty rough first few months here realizing I wouldn't be around for Greg and my family during his wedding. If I've learned anything from my big brother, it's that family is a non-negotiable; being present to them and giving time to be with them is so important. Of course, I always believed that but of anyone, I think Greg embodies “family” to me. I was a wreck knowing I'd be absent, and so began the three month-long discernment on what was the “greater good,” staying, supporting from afar, and being in solidarity with the people around me that will never in their lives be able to afford a plane ticket such as the one I was about to obtain, or going and being with Greg, Kate, and my family for one week that I will never experience again in my life. The latter won out, and I'm so glad it did.

Going home was good for me in so many ways that really only three weeks later am I realizing the benefits of seeing my family and feeling their love and support (and hugs, oh how I miss their hugs). The plane rides were actually bliss for me – 28 hours of transport (one way, of course), but it came with the privilege of anonymity and silence. I find myself so often calculating my every move in my life here, where to go next, what to say next, how to act, agonizing about how I think things should be, how I should be, and not feeling alive from this daily life. The plane allowed me guilt free hours of ignoring those thoughts and pretending my life was completely normal. I had an incredible talk with my parents the moment I got home about how I perceive my life here, about how I feel about myself, and about how things have ended up. I think sharing so much with them in my home, my safe space, allowed my mind and heart to sort out so many of my emotions that have been so deeply wrapped up in life here that it was impossible to untangle them without completely ripping myself from their source.

I arrived on Wednesday, the 29th of July and was able to see a few friends before we traveled to Harrisburg area for the wedding weekend on Friday. Friday evening was the rehearsal and dinner with Kate's family. It was awesome to see my siblings and to meet Kate's beautiful family. The wedding was Saturday afternoon and the Heid kids and all of Greg's friends stayed at the bed and breakfast where the wedding took place. That morning we woke up, fixed the whole place up, ate some pizza (yuuumm!) and got ready for the wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony outside, the perfect place for Greg and Kate, and I was so happy to see all my extended family. Sunday morning we all gathered for a nice luncheon at the Dyson's place. What a weekend! I enjoyed every minute with my family, but saying goodbye to Carrie, Dan, Greg, and Kate was maybe harder than the first time, I think because the visit was so short.

Monday and Tuesday at home were well spent with John, Dad, and Mom, and a few visits with my home friends. The inevitable Wednesday finally came and I had to leave for the airport at 4am. I hardly slept that night, finishing packing and just thinking about leaving. Overall the trip home was horribly short, but in all honestly I think if it were any longer I would have gotten too comfortable. So after our last goodbye (and Dad's last picture), I left my parents and took the too familiar lonely walk through security. I bought myself a ridiculous girly magazine to keep myself from realizing what just happened (what I mean is, to keep me from realizing I was at home and already on my way back).

The journey back was again another welcomed escape from real life, a black hole of sorts where I get to disappear into myself, into another world where I can think or not think for an entire day. Arriving in Dar on Thursday, the 7th of July wasn't as strange as I thought it might be. In fact, I felt so familiar back in this world, but as a different person; a more honest, more stable version of the me who left a week before.