Still malaria, hepatitis, and AIDS-free

A slightly belated post on Michelle's behalf:

It's Thursday, around 7:30PM in Cape Town right now. The weather hasn't been so great - rainy and a little chilly. It just started being rainy yesterday though, and the weather is supposed to get better tomorrow.

We were supposed to go to Robben Island today; it's famous for its prison, since political prisoners were held here. Nelson Mandela was held there 17 years out of his 28-year long imprisonment. Tours are given by former prisoners, and you can also see a lot of penguins there since it's a good place for them to nest. It was too rainy today though, so the trip was canceled b/c the boat ride would've been rough from the increased water level and resulting swells. We're going on Monday instead.

Since the trip was canceled, Amar, his sister, and I went to the District 6 museum. District 6 was an area where a lot of blacks and coloreds lived; during apartheid, the gov't declared it a whites-only zone, evicted everyone, and demolished their homes. Now they're attempting to return some of the land to the original residents. It's famous as one of the great tragedies of apartheid; we were going to take a picture of ourselves on a bench that was labeled "Europeans only", but we forgot due to our next misadventure, which I will describe below.

We had a scare in the museum that's funny in retrospect; I saw this guy lingering around us and thought he was weird, so I was a bit wary of him for a while. Later, Amar wanted to take a picture of something so I took out my camera. Amar saw the guy looking at the camera intently, then he disappeared. Given the high likelihood of muggings here, we thought he was waiting outside to steal our camera! After plotting ways to NOT get mugged (ideas included switching clothes, hiding the camera in Ami's pocket, and running across the street to the police station), we made a break for it and got safely back to the car. There, we proceeded to reinstall the CD player in the car (Amar had put it in his pocket so that the car wouldn't be broken into, haha...the rental car company suggested it). We drove back to the hostel in a very fogged up car with poor defogging capabilities. Lots of wiping windows with hands, cranking down the windows, and relying on backseat drivers to check blind spots ensued.

Oh yeah, and in the museum, some girl asked if I went to TJ. I didn't recognize her, so after checking myself for TJ paraphenalia (there was none), I asked if she went there. Apparently she was the grade below us and recognized me? I wasn't a complete loser in high school after all! Haha.

Later in the afternoon, we went to explore a chocolate house we had heard of. It was...amazing. We walked in and were immediately greeted by a nice elderly woman who opened up every single case of chocolate for us. We were awestruck; it was like we had won golden tickets to Willy Wonka's factory. After seeing the stunned looks on our faces, the woman just gave us paper bags and tongs and told us to take whatever we wanted (she neglected to mention prices at first, but it was worth it). We got chili truffles, champagne truffles, chocolates with fresh cream, marzipan...pretty amazing. She told us to sit and eat for a while, and ended up telling us a story about how Sheik Abdullah from Saudi Arabia had called once after tasting the chocolate (Swiss Slices, specifically...I had them and they were excellent). Basically, he wanted the chocolatier to move to Saudi and make chocolate for him! I have to admit though, if I were an oil tycoon, I would try that too. Amar ate his whole bag sitting there. I'll try to bring some home!

So last night, Amar and I went on a fish adventure. We were going to attempt to cook dinner with some girls in the hostel. Specifically, we were determined to find snoek, a local fish. After some hijinks involving the purchase of kingklip (a local fish that is sort of expensive and therefore is NOT snoek) we found some braai snoek (snoek for barbecuing) for 20 Rand a kilo! That's like...$2.25 a kilo! For fresh fish! We triumphantly brought it back to the hostel, fried it and ate it with rice and veggies. Actually we first showed it to Mama Fefe, who works here, and informed her of our plans. She looked...skeptical. After staring at the unskinned fish chunks in the kitchen, we ran to her for help and she sent us fish spices, flour, and instructions. We're meeting interesting people at the hostel, they're all very nice and social.

Tomorrow, Ami's going back to Namibia, and Amar and I plan to drive around the winelands (mostly Stellenbosch) and get drunk. No, really - South African wine is supposed to be stronger since the tropical weather makes the grapes sweeter. We'll be joined by a couple we met at the hostel, so it should be a good time. What will we be eating? Kingklip, of course - seriously, we paid too much for that fish to let it go to waste. We'll cook it tonight and bring it along tomorrow. The plan is, during wine tastings we'll ask the proprietors for wine that they think pairs well with kingklip...haha.

One last thing about Cape Town in general - it's a very beautiful and diverse city. So far, I find myself thinking that it reminds me of so many different places. Some smells from bakeries remind me of Taiwan, the winding roads around hills remind me of San Diego, and the way it's tucked into a mountain reminds me of Puerto Vallarta. The sloped streets are like San Francisco's, and of course the Afrikaans is a lot like Dutch. Still though, it's very different from anything I've seen or anything I expected, and I think that's partially because I came here knowing next to nothing about the place. But I'll learn more and continue to write profusely later!

Oh, she's just being Miley...

I win the award for posting too much, but this just had to be shared. I chaperoned the 6th-7th grade dance on Friday night, which I now believe is an experience that every one of you should have, at least once. Hilarious. Awkward. Old. These are all the things it made me feel. But in particularly I wanted you all (ok, really mostly Le-Anh) to know that when Miley Cyrus came on...it cleared the dance floor. Well, almost. It cleared the dance floor of students, leaving myself, the 7th grade math teacher, and the principal screaming and dancing in the middle, until we realized that we were the only ones singing and dancing, and we had always assumed this was a middle school song. Turns out they were much more excited by Rihanna and any merengue song the DJ could find (not to mention they were all better dancers than us). As an aside, I renew my argument that over-sexualized rap music is just plain wrong. I'm not advocating taking away anyone's free speech (I promise Amar), but in a perfect world, I would not see precious children who are still young enough to get excited about getting a sticker on their report card shouting out some of those words. I don't know what the solution is, because we don't live in a perfect world, but seriously, something's gotta give.

And they played Journey at the end, and the kids didn't know what it was. They thought it was a slow dance song. Sigh. I am old!

Teacher Moments

Ok y'all, I know I just posted, but I needed to process all of this in writing and I have a couple of "teacher moments" to share from today:

First, I have been amazed over the past few weeks that I have not yet had what I considered the quintessential first-year teacher moment: the feeling of being totally, completely out of control in the classroom. In fact, I was beginning to congratulate myself on not having reached that moment, and believing that I must be pretty amazing. Turns out that instead, I've just been fortunate--until today. Today I gave numerous students after-school "homework club"--basically a detention where you have to do your homework--even though we do not normally give this to 8th graders. I figured this would make them take me (and their dwindling math homework grades) seriously. Instead, it made them declare war against me. First, I had not totally calculated in my head how many students were receiving this consequence until I got to the classroom, where there were more students than desks, making me outnumbered in just about every sense of the word. This lack of desks caused the first bout of chaos; something about not sitting at a proper desk makes a child imagine he does not need to be a proper student. So once I had finally created enough makeshift desks, the whining began. Shockingly, despite the fact that I had clearly explained yesterday the consequences of not bringing in homework today, they all felt that I was just horribly unfair. And the more complaints I heard, the more bold other people became to complain: hearing other people whine about how unfair I was made them feel more confident to voice their complaints at the horrible injustice of staying 30 minutes after school to complete their math homework. (As one student told me, she had "so many more important things to do." I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that I did, too.) Then, the hands started shooting up. Those students who had finally decided to give in and do their homework now had questions about that homework--but as soon as I could move to a student to answer a question, another student would begin whispering across the room and I would need to leave to deal with that discipline problem. Then more hands would shoot up with more questions, and soon even my behaving children were very disgruntled customers--the service was just not quick enough. In the middle of all the chaos the bell finally rang; before I let them go, I gave them a talk about how disappointed I was in them--a desperate grasp to make it seem like I had control over the situation the entire time, but was choosing not to respond until this moment. I don't think they bought it, considering that one student, as she exited, informed me that there would never have been an episode like this with their normal math teacher.

The good news out of all of this is that 1) I felt totally justified in buying a chocolate cupcake for myself after work; 2) I had a chance to see some areas where I struggle and need to improve; and 3) I had some great conversations with teachers in my office about their first years teaching, which were encouraging, insightful, helpful, and community-building. Still, as I left work today, I felt much less like the confident, bold new teacher I was last week, and more like a kid in dress-up clothes.

But on the funnier side of today, there was another moment that made me feel very much like an actual teacher--and a smart one at that. My students were required to make up their own study guides for their exams, listing at least 5 concepts that they need to review and 2-3 questions for each concept. In order to save time, I have been in the habit of simply scanning homework for completion, which may have prompted today's episode. But as I was (more carefully) grading homework today, I noticed that one student had written on his study guide the following:

#4) Using properties
--What is the Commutative Property of Addition?
--What is the Zero Product Property?
--What is the Multiplicative Identity Property?

#5) Anything that comes
--More things
--Will come up
--During class.

It was the dashes that really made me laugh, because they demonstrated to me that this was not a sincere attempt at concept #5, but rather a hopeful assumption that I would not be looking too closely at anything besides format. After laughing about it at my desk for several minutes, I handed back his paper and in a stern voice asked him if he really thought he was going to trick me into thinking he completed the assignment. He looked pretty sheepish and did not argue, but took the incomplete homework grade. It was a funny moment because I remember being on the other side of those interactions--wondering if I (or, usually, my more gutsy classmates) would get caught riding the line, wondering how the teacher always found out, wondering why she didn't think it was as funny as we did. Turns out, she probably did, but she also probably thought it was more funny that we assumed we wouldn't get caught.

So, very low lows and some moderate highs all in one twelve-hour period that we call a "school day." A few more hours and it starts all over again!

Caseload: Kelo

Three years ago the Supreme Court ruled in the Kelo case that government could take your property and give it to private developers. Since then, eminent domain suddenly became a household phrase. The firm that I work for represented Kelo in that case, and even though we lost, it finally started getting people talking.



I know nobody that reads this will donate, but since part of this is to keep tabs on the work everyone's doing, I thought this was representative.

-M.

STOP. hammertime.

Aussies and Roos, Part 3: The Great Ocean Road, Adelaide, and The South Pacific's Biggest Tourist Trap this side of Bangkok (AKA Cairns)

I would like to begin by noting what may in fact be a tautological consequence, like your mother (for those of you in on that particular joke): the Great Ocean Road is great...for which quality I imagine it is so named. It is rather long, and the weather truly does not know what it is about, but on those moments when it chooses to be sunny and not rainy, it is one of the most phenomenally beautiful places I have seen. I qualify sunny "and not rainy," by the way, because on several occasions it chose to be both sunny and rainy, which generally defies the imagination. This was good and bad: good because we saw at least two dozen rainbows, some of which were very large, and bad because I never had any CLUE what to wear. It was so strange. But I digress. The sights were incredible, from massive limestone stacks and cliffs (the 12 Apostles -- wikipedia it!) to clear water, quaint little towns along the way and gorgeous sunsets. As horrifyingly bad as I am at describing natural beauty, I will say that what set it apart from a million other places of its kind must be the bold colors everywhere. Whoever painted the landscape here truly did not do so in half-measures: the sea and sky are beautiful blues, the cliff faces earthy browns, the surf brilliant white. The colors people ascribe to such things might have been INVENTED here. That is what it seems to me.

To be fair, The Great Ocean Road would not have had nearly the charm had our tour group not been an excellent set of personages spanning the globe. Suffice to say that at every stop along the way, we would inevitably collect a case or three of beer, a few bottles of wine, etc., and then throw a small party at each night's destination. One of those included the resident Dutch girls screaming at 4:45 in the morning as France's soccer team experienced outright catastrophe at the hands of Holland. The French among us were not so pleased. There were a couple of Brits along for the ride, with whom we got on quite well, in addition to a smattering of other folks. Sam even had to bust out the Korean to talk to a single Korean fellow who spoke almost no English, yet managed to beat James the Englishman (this I dub him hereafter) at a very English-language-oriented game called Yee Haw. Yee Haw requires a personal explanation; seek me out and we will try it, over beer. I promise you will be entertained.

In any case, this, in addition to a trip through (and in one case atop one of) the Grampians, was a great deal of fun. Partly this was due to the natural scenery, as I already mentioned. In some respects it was also due to the activities, for more than one reason: an excellent hike/rock climb resulted in losing our American friend Jenny, who somehow managed to fall behind and then GET LOST on a very simple, straightforward trail. A trailblazed trail. With arrows. Bright yellow arrows. Even the rather heavyset French chef and hotel manager who SPLIT HIS PANTS and sweated every step of the way managed to keep up with us like a trooper. Not so Jenny, but alas, we can't all be perfect. Anyway, the tearing of the pants was another reason why this was excellent. Either Sam or I could have jumped through the hole in that poor fellow's jeans.

So I have enumerated two reasons. There are two more. First, WE SAW FLIPPING KANGAROOS! It was so good! We took pictures! They are really, really, really WEIRD creatures that defy rational explanation, except to say that they are cute when they stand up (though not as cute as sleeping koalas, which we also saw), utterly ungainly when they hop, and are about as common as your average squirrel. One hopes they don't throw acorns because they are in sufficient number to truly bury you in such small, forest-spawned projectiles. Finally, last, but not least, were the road signs. We now have pictures of ourselves draped over koala signs, emu signs, and of course, kangaroo signs. More importantly, on our way down from a brief stop at a waterfall, we came across an unusual stop sign. This stop sign was in many ways ordinary, but in one, it was not. Some excellent bloke decided to adorn this particular stop sign with HAMMERTIME in huge letters written beneath it.

Needless to say, I scrambled out of the bus as fast as my legs would carry me and took about twelve pictures. Such opportunities do not come your way often.

So. The Great Ocean Road, and the Grampians. My last note is that we have eaten kangaroo and it is tasty, and with that, I leave this matter entirely. We then stayed in Adelaide, where we had some very cheap and slightly icky (yet satisfying) Chinese food, drank a bit, walked around a good bit, and found the National Wine Centre, which was the most unutterably boring wine-related endeavor I have ever laid eyes upon. This deeply unsettled me, and I shall not mention it again. We then found yet more Chinese food -- I will be fat if I continue to eat dumplings at my current rate -- and went to a small pub called Grace Emily, which was a rather excellent establishment but for one thing. Uppity barkeeper. There is nothing in the world of bars that I hate more than a really uppity barkeep, and this woman had it down pat. I think she just didn't like foreigners, but she was the type where if you order a drink, she rephrases it and emphasizes "PLEEEEEASE" as if we weren't polite enough when we asked. I guess "I CAN HAZ BEER?" wasn't good enough for her. Pah. Do not want.

Alas. The several British and one American from our hostel that came to join us there all got the same treatment, more or less, so we banded together and had a good time anyway. Had a good long chat with one English guy in particular, in fact, whose name I fear I never learned -- he said it, but in that most undiscernable of ways, which is to say "quietly with a thick English accent in the middle of a crowded, loud bar having an open mic night," and I didn't get a chance to ask him again -- but who was excellent. He might facebook me. Then I will know who he is. In any case, we talked about exchange rates and cheap places to travel the world, and then took our leave to rest for our 8:30 flight this morning to Cairns. And now I speak with you.

So again, I fear this is jumbled and difficult to understand, and it is truly only the most superficial of coverage of our Australian journey. I assure you if I had the time to proofread it better -- or write it better in the first place -- I would. Unfortunately, with internet cost being what it is, and with the level of abject destitution (or in my case, sheer unbridled debt to my parents) in which we find ourselves, you're going to have to untangle it as best you can and just ask us questions when we arrive home.

When not dodging wallabies and trying not to fall off cliffs, I assure you that we do spend time missing all of you, more or less. Well, I don't miss Steve. He makes me change my font from orange to black. But I assure you that we are still your friends! See you when we get back -- and tune in next time! Same bat time, same bat channel.

(And by the way, that's pertinent: Batman founded Melbourne.)

Tough Love

3 words describe me right now: I am exhausted. This is not the result of a crazy Saturday night (I stayed in, ate ice cream, and watched "The American President), but rather it seems to be my new semi-permanent state of being, at least for the last three weeks. I honestly cannot remember being this tired, this consistently in all four years of college. My roommate Kate, who is about to complete her first year of teaching in two weeks (yay!), tells me that this is how she felt for the first four months teaching, and then either your body adjusts and the exhaustion passes, or you just forget what it felt like to not be tired all the time. I'm not sure whether to be encouraged, but I'm choosing to believe that is hopeful news. :) In the meantime, I offer that as an apology if any of this sounds too incoherent.

I am now three weeks into teaching, and one week into teaching eighth grade math, specifically. Who would have thought this is where I'd be a month after college, or anytime after college for that matter? I ran into my high school calculus teacher this weekend, who still remembers me as the student who morally objected to finding the surface area of revolution because the only possible real-world application of that equation is how much paint to put on a cooking wok. I simply wrote at the top of my classwork papers, "I promise never to go into the wok-making industry" and turned them in blank. He did a decent job hiding his surprise when I told him my new occupation, but he still was pretty close to laughing. (He also, I found out, has since ceased teaching his students how to find the surface area of revolution.)

While math is certainly challenging, so far I remain about one step ahead of my students; at least I have solved quadratic equations before, even if higher-level calculus was never my thing. My bigger challenge these past few weeks has been not the material itself, but the students, and specifically how to manage the behavior in my classroom while I teach the material. I hear this is extremely normal for first-time (and even veteran) teachers, which gives me hope. And my school is possibly the best place to be learning, because there are already many sound structures in place for me to use to promote classroom discipline. For instance, demerits: each day, I receive a sheet with each student's name on it, next to several boxes where I can record merits and demerits based on their behavior during the day. At the bottom of the sheet is a key with a number code for (I kid you not) about 39 demerits and 15 merits. There is a demerit for not tracking the teacher with your eyes; for not having proper posture; for not having all the necessary materials at your desk; for speaking out of turn; for being in improper uniform. If you disrespect a teacher or a peer, that is an automatic detention, as is an inappropriate response to a consequence (i.e. "No I was not!" as opposed to, "Miss, I respectfully disagree.") I had to try to figure out this week what response was appropriate to a student coloring on his uniform -- there is not, shockingly, a numerical code for that one -- so I made it an "other unprofessional" demerit and pretended like I knew what I was doing.

As my brother pointed out when I described this system to me, it sounds not only strict but downright cruel when you only hear about it and can't see it in practice. In reality, the system is probably a lot less cruel than many school discipline systems. It is clear and consistent; the students know the rules, and every teacher has the same merit/demerit sheet. It does not require yelling or anger to control; I can remain very calm while redirecting my students with a quick and clear consequence. It allows for positive reinforcement as well--I've given out many merits for "excellent posture," which I find much more productive than giving out demerits for poor posture (since my students all immediately sit up straight, mistakenly thinking that I will be giving them all merits, too).

Nevertheless, while I agree with the merits (no pun intended) of this system, and can't even begin to imagine how chaotic my classroom would be without it, I have to agree with my brother in my gut reaction to it. I feel cruel standing in front of a classroom, regularly handing out consequences because a pencil has not been sharpened, an eye goes astray, a rude remark slips out. I feel badly because I know that I easily have made (and continue to make) the same mistakes. I want to give my students warnings; I want to prevent them from making the mistake that requires the consequence; I want to save them from having to take such regular and immediate responsibility for their actions.

But then as I type this this, I have to stop myself. I know that this is what I want in the short-term; it seems more sympathetic, more gracious, more how I think I want to be treated. But in the long-term, is it actually the most loving? Is it loving for me to teach my students that it is acceptable to roll their eyes at me now, if the reinforcing of such behavior is going to get them fired from their first job in a few years? Or is it more loving for me to make them face a small consequence (30 minutes after school) now, in order to teach them the importance of respect and give them the best possible advantage in a job market which is already going to be unfairly predisposed against them because of race, socioeconomic status, English-language capabilities, etc.? Is it loving for me to allow them to sleep in class, if such a habit will cause their grades to drop? Or is it more loving for me to administer a small consequence (a demerit and a call home), which may cause them to get in the habit of sleeping more and thus being better prepared to perform at the level they will need to in order to get not only admission but scholarships to great high schools and colleges?

These are only a few examples. They point to a larger reality though, which is that my love for my students cannot only be sympathy and excusing their behavior. It needs to be tough, because the world is tough. Their world, in particular, is tougher than what I have had to face. The challenges they will come up against are large, and in many cases are the results of injustices that can and should be amended. But the fact that they shouldn't exist does not mean that I can afford to ignore them, because my students cannot ignore them. In reality, I've realized, when I want to love them by sympathetically excusing problem behavior, I really am not loving them. I'm loving myself. I'm protecting myself from their anger; their frustration; their dislike of me. I'm protecting myself from having to be the adult in the room who cares for them enough to teach them hard lessons, even at the expense of my own popularity. This kind of "love" is easy, because it is my natural response. Real love is more difficult--it is tough, not just for them, but for me to give. It doesn't feel loving, because I, like my students, don't enjoy receiving consequences. But when I think of where this tough love leaves them--and me--I know that both of us are better off with it than with the watered-down versions I am tempted to give.

There is some hope at the end of week one. My first day, I had to give three demerits to the same child in one class period--a pretty big deal. Later that week he landed himself in in-school-suspension, where I had to meet with him in order to get him caught up on his math homework. He seemed a little more timid in the ISS room, so we actually had a very good session and by the end of it I could tell that he was actually understanding the concepts that he had struggled with earlier in the week. After completing one particularly difficult stretch of problems, I bent down and looked him in the eye and told him, "I can tell you are smart, and that means you are smart enough to not only do your math homework but to stay out of this room for the rest of the year. I do not want to see you in here again. Do you understand me?" He actually smiled at me and nodded vigorously. That smile was not one of nervousness or an attempt to please me; I realized that because of my stern demeanor, he understood that I cared for him. He later found me to turn in his previously-failed quiz--corrections completed, all perfect. Granted, a small victory at the end of many consequences, but a hope. I hope that not only he continues to succeed in math, but that he can continue to see the love behind tough love, and to grow because of that rather than shy away from it. And I hope I can grow to have the courage to love in a way that may be costly for me, because the cost of not loving in this way is so, so much greater.

Friends and loneliness: or, An emo post

Though I haven't gone on any trips or started a job since graduation, I thought I'd write about my state of mind right now.  Jed's post about being lonely in Charlottesville really struck a chord with me, so I'll be a little self-indulgent here.  

The DC suburbs can be just as lonely as Charlottesville.  My parents are in Shanghai again, and my sister works full-time.  It's just my dog and I home alone every day.  I never could handle idleness well - sometimes, when I have too much time on my hands, I feel a little lost and adrift.  It's not a novel feeling, but I think these days the effect is amplified because of all the changes happening around me.

Right now I'm sitting in my room with nearly all of my worldly possessions spread out around me; I need to sort through them all and decide what to take to New York.  I've been putting it off because a) I hate packing more than any other chore and b) though I am excited to be working in New York, I'm just a little overwhelmed right now by the thought of everything I'm leaving behind.  Wow, am I being dramatic!  I think that's accurate though.

Some of the loneliness I feel now is temporary - after all, I'm meeting Amar in Africa in a few days!  However, the deeper part of it is that I'm still kind of scared that our friendships might fade with time or distance; it's a little of that sentiment/insecurity that makes me urge you all to write in this blog.  Anyway though, a lot was done to alleviate those fears yesterday, so I just wanted to acknowledge it.

Last night, Le-Anh, Bryan, and I did Tanked Tuesday (yes, I know it was Wednesday) in their new apartment.  Long story short though, I haven't had an easy time of things lately and ended up being sort of a party pooper.  Le-Anh and I have never, ever been the hugging types; we hug other people, but never each other.  I think we just decided long ago that for us, it's awkward.  But after knowing each other for ten years and not hugging the whole time, she broke the rule yesterday when I needed it the most.  That's when I knew that regardless of time, distance, or overly sentimental gushing, our friendship would be okay.

Enough.  My next post will be cheerier - after all, the next time I write, I'll be in Africa!