home again

2010

2012

A beloved friend sent me a book of poems in a care package.  One of the poems was “America for Me,” by Henry Van Dyke(1852-1933).  In the style of that poet, I leave you with one last post…my own adaptation of his words:

‘Tis fine to see the desert at the far Atlantic shore,
Be bounded by so much “less” and yet acquire all the more,
To twist your tongue in unknown words and sing in strange new song—
But 20 months away from home can feel a bit too long.

So it’s home again, and home again, America for me!
Half my heart was left behind when I flew across the sea.
Return me to familiar lands, to faces forever known—
Where I left once as a child, and come back (a bit more) grown.

 

Of course I’ll miss the quiet of a village in the bush;
And how I’ll long for slower pace with no desire to rush;
It’s fine to walk the dusty road where cattle love to roam;
But when it comes to living, there is no place like home.

I like the pink-tinged sunsets and the sandy riverbeds;
I like the fields of waving grass with nodding sleepy heads;
But, oh, to set off with a friend on a western hiking trail
And talk as many miles we walk while striding hill and vale.

I like the lengthy millipedes whose tracks traverse the dust;
I like the yellow butterflies with spots of gold and rust;
But as days get ever shorter and the night air turns to chill,
Let me hurry home to welcome all the blooming daffodil.

Oh, it’s home again, and home again, America for me!

I want a plane that’s westward bound toward the Land of the Free.

I came with half a heart, it’s true, when I left in 2010,

Yet another half is left behind in this land I may not see again.

farewell song

My 10th grade girls sang this for me on my last Saturday at site.  It says, “Our Sarah…go well….”  Later in the song it says, “You left the school with sadness/pain.”  I first heard this song at a funeral for a special neighbor and staff member at our site.  Perhaps partly due to that, it is hard to hear the song without getting emotional.

farewell party

My colleagues surprised me with a farewell party on my last Saturday at site.  We drove out to a secluded place and shared a meal.  Each person went around the circle and offered me a message.  I cried.  Haha.

Here’s the scenery:

The video cuts off just as a debate was starting about whether it’s okay to drink alcohol.  Half of our staff drinks pretty heavily when they do drink, and the other half abstains completely.  It made for some interesting conversations.  “What did you do for fun if you didn’t drink?”  “We played soccer.”

Here are perhaps the closest friends I had at site:

Herero pride! These are my fellow Otjiherero speakers.

That evening was so typically Namibian.  First we had a prayer & Scripture reflection.  Then we ate two kinds of meat with our hands.  People opened their hearts to me.  A lost calf went wandering by.  Donkeys trotted away in the distance.  The drivers of the pick-up trucks were perfectly fine drinking beer before driving.  We rode back in the open bed of the pick-up truck, ducking branches along the way.  That same glowing planet I see every evening stared unblinkingly at us as the sun went down.  And when we arrived at site there was a big commotion because of a puff adder snake in the garden, which we tried to kill with stones.

It was the perfect way to end my time here.

Protected: for your eyes only

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

a few last photos from site

It felt really strange this year when I was no longer the only light-skinned person at our school.  We received a bunch of students from the coast, and two of them are what are known in Namibia as “coloureds.”  I forget the different heritages that make up the “coloured” distinction:

The girl sitting next to me is hiding her mouth, because just the previous weekend or so she had been in a very bad car accident.  It knocked out her top/front four teeth.  I hate hearing about these scary accidents.  It is not the first time one of our students has been injured in a wreck, but allegedly this one didn’t involve alcohol (unlike the other ones).  The students are never behind the wheel, either–only adults.

All I really need to know in life…

…I learned from being a student, who then became a teacher:

1. Yelling gets you nowhere.
2. If you don’t set boundaries with people, then it’s your fault when you feel upset. (If they walk all over you, it’s your own fault.)
3. No playing favorites. Treat everyone the same. We all want the world to feel “fair,” since it so rarely does!
4. Your enemies can become your friends.
5. Grown-ups are secretly scared, too—like of losing control or looking stupid.
6. Don’t take it personally—people always have their own stuff going on.
7. You never stop learning.

Going back to number 6, which is the gem of wisdom my teacher brother offered at the very beginning…. Here’s a good quote on the subject:

Whatever people do, feel, think, or say, don’t take it personally. If they tell you how wonderful you are, they are not saying that because of you. You know you are wonderful. It is not necessary to believe other people who tell you that you are wonderful. Don’t take anything personally. Even if someone got a gun and shot you in the head, it was nothing personal. Even at that extreme.

p. 53, The Four Agreements, Don Miguel Ruiz

letters

Throughout my Peace Corps service, I saved all the cards and letters I received, right down to the post-it notes my mom stuck in care packages.

People steadily showered me with thoughtful words and gifts these 20 months.  Words can’t express….  I write this ten days before I leave site, and I’m still receiving gifts, including magazines for the learners, and an Alaskan jade necklace (which I’m thrilled didn’t get stolen—it’s gorgeous).  One person who shall remain nameless tallied up the amount of postage she spent on packages for me, and guess what?  It was over $700.  U.S. dollars, for the record.

Could I have made it without the support of people back home?  I never want to take relationships for granted again.  People are what’s important.  People are what matters.  I think it took moving to a new country for me to realize how blessed I am in the things that make life truly meaningful.

From my former boss. These letters averaged ten pages, handwritten. He spent some time in Africa, himself, when he was my age. And he climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro. (Just had to brag on him for a bit.) I appreciated having him as a leader when I was a missionary, and now I appreciate having him as a friend.

From someone who prayed for me daily and mentioned my name at church every week. These cards often came with half a dozen additional pages, so what you see here is a small fraction of the true amount of correspondence that went on. When I see this laid out in front of me, I think of that Scripture phrase “the riches of his grace that he lavished on us” (Ephesians 1:7-8). I see this and think of how God LAVISHES love on us, and how God enables us to lavish love on one another. I see this and think, “How could I ever be sad? How could I ever have a bad day? I am overwhelmingly, constantly, surrounded by love.”

Thank you to everyone who sent me the gift of words these past two years.  I feel the love you have, and I hope I can share that love with others as well as you have shared it with me.

interview Jesus, reprise

Last year I posted an excerpt from a girl’s essay in which she imagined an interview with Jesus.  This year a different girl wanted to ask Him some questions.  I continue to be wowed by the students’ curiosity and yearning for answers:

I would like to ask him how he is able to watch over us all if he only has two eyes.

I would like to ask him if he can understand all the languages.

I would like to know if he is white or black and why.

I would ask him if there is hell.

I would ask him, if we all die, will we all return again.

I would ask him, if we did return, is everything going to be the same.

I would ask him, if we did return, will black people turn to white and white into black.

how to define “success”

At staging (which is where you tie up loose ends in the U.S. before flying to your Peace Corps country), each volunteer receives a workbook. In a time for reflection, the volunteer answers a couple questions about their reasons for joining. As I was packing up my things and getting rid of excess, I came across my notes from 20 months ago:

I have chosen to commit to the Peace Corps at this time in my life because…
I felt the chips falling in place and a sense of direction.
I want to experience newness and openness.
I have a sense of adventure even in the midst of feeling timid.
I think I can serve God and humanity and grow deeper in my spiritual walk.
I should challenge myself.

I will feel successful as a Volunteer when…
I form relationships that are deep and meaningful.
I see God’s Light in others.
I help students do something they never thought they could.
I myself do things I never thought I could.
God surprises me.
I’m in awe.
I grow patience, and contentedness with who I am.

______________

Looking back throughout my time here, I see an arc of hopelessness to hope. I do see a lot of my wishes or prayers coming true. I am grateful to have been a part of something like this. As challenging as it was (and I doubt I could ever do it again)–I wouldn’t trade it.

the word is out

On Tuesday, I gave the announcement that I’m leaving in two weeks. Our school was gathered for an assembly, at which we always have a devotion. It was my job first to offer the devotion, and then to give the news. I read 1 John 4:7-12, then shared this reflection:

If you never remember a lesson taught in class…if you never remember advice that a teacher gave you…if you can remember nothing of your time here—at least remember this: God is love. God loves you. And it is the love of God that helps us love each other.

Coming to Namibia and meeting all of you has helped me feel the love of God in new ways. I feel like I am a different person because of the relationships we have formed with each other. I thank God for that.

Several of you have asked me if I’m going to leave at the end of the month. I’m sorry that there were rumors going around. Yes, I’m going to go home after this term. I wish I didn’t have to, but it’s the best decision for now.

Most of you know that both of my parents are pastors, and that I am also thinking about becoming a pastor. First I must return to university and study for three years. I went to university for four years, but you need another three to be a pastor. That starts in August.

But even before that, I got a job at a church in the United States. So I’ll be working in a church from May until August, when my school will begin.

I feel excited to continue my education—to continue my studies—and to see my family again…but I feel very sad to leave you. You have stolen my heart—mwa vaka omutima wandje. I know even after I’m gone, we will hold each other in our hearts.

Let’s be in a time of prayer.

God, I do thank you for bringing us together, and for all you have taught us here in Otjiperongo. We ask for your grace in reassuring us of your presence. Calm any fears about exams or the future. We are in your hands. Please help us to receive your love for ourselves and share it with each other. I thank you once again for every learner and teacher here today, and who you’ve created them to be. In Jesus’ name…amen.

I love how the camera caught them laughing.

homework

“Angelina…this isn’t finished. You only did half of it.”

Angelina is silent before me. She knows that giving me incomplete homework sabotages her chance at this week’s Behavior Bonus. She doesn’t protest.

I stare down at the page. In my head are the echoes of what I just heard during tea break. In the staff room with the other teachers, I learned Angelina is an orphan. The school tries to accommodate her for late fees or other needs, knowing her orphan status.

Now I know it too. Do I let the homework slide?

I remember the previous period, when a different student gave me half-finished homework. I made him lose his Behavior Bonus. I have to do the same now.

I sigh and move on to the next student’s homework.

*     *     *

Name: ___________________ Date: __________
1. Give me one sentence that is a summary of how you spent Wednesday’s holiday:
I was singing and dancing in the room.
2. Now give me one sentence that provides more details of how you spent Wednesday’s holiday:
I was singing and dancing in the room and I heard that my father pass away then I went home and see my mother crying.

bugging me

I spy with my little eye…six mopane worms. How many do you see?

The worms have returned, and with them their hunters.  People from the north (where these worms are a delicacy) travel down here, camp out in tents, and collect them by the bucket:

I stopped to gaze up at a tree being devoured by these worms.  How to describe the sound of all those tiny jaws making tiny crunches?  It was like the crackle of static electricity.  It was like when you pour milk over a bowl of Rice Krispies.  It was adorable!

Until I had a lot of laundry hanging on my fence to dry, and the worms peed or pooped or puked on my sheets.

I suppose the pictures make it look like no big deal, but seriously—when I discovered the worm waste, I was PISSED.  (Get it?)

Laundry here is not like laundry in the States!!  You can’t just run another load!  You can’t rewash everything by hand and expect the sheet, which has been carefully drying in the sun all day, to get dry again by the time you have to go to sleep!  And guess what—you have no other set of sheets.  So you have to sleep…in caterpillar crap.

Lesson learned: Don’t hang your laundry near any trees.

stickers

"There are two kinds of people I don't trust: people who don't drink and people who collect stickers." --Chelsea Handler

I have used these stickers in praise of high grades, to decorate library passes, and to highlight a homework reminder.  They have enhanced a note to a truant girl asking her what’s wrong and saying we miss her, to a kid in tenth grade on his 21st birthday (ha), to a brave boy who killed two snakes for me, and to an eighth grader who broke his arm playing soccer on the stoop one morning.  I am known for them now, as if they were my signature.

THANK YOU to the women of Homer UMC especially, but also to simply anyone who has sent stickers to use with my students.  A well chosen sticker can make a child feel so special.  It may sound cheesy, but it’s true.  One of my ninth graders did a fantastic hip-hop routine at our school’s beauty pageant this term, and when she scored 100% on a recent quiz, I gave her the sticker that said, “Dance like nobody’s watching.”

creepy critters and itchy feet

Every day on my way to school I walk through an invisible cobweb.  Yesterday morning when it happened, I looked down to see a spider on my chest.  I didn’t care who I woke up as I yelled out my frustration and danced around to get it off.

Bugs have become quite a problem again.  The previous night, I was listening to learners deliver their assigned speeches during evening study, and while trying to concentrate I got bit by bugs I don’t know how to identify—on my foot, leg, and arm.  They aren’t mosquitoes.  They’re just freaking annoying.

And if it’s not one pest, it’s another.  Friday morning I heard a strange scratching sound coming from behind my walls or above the bedroom ceiling.  I later asked my colleagues what they thought it could be.  “It sounds like this.”  I scratched the bulletin board with my fingernails, starting, then stopping…starting, then stopping.

“Oh.  Yeah.  Bats.”

Yes, bats, that’s right.  The same critters that surprised me one morning when I came into my classroom and saw tiny feces on the stack of quizzes I’d planned to distribute.  (Did you know that bat feces can give you rabies?  I didn’t.  I do now.)

(And as you’ll recall, I hate to waste paper, so I was doubly upset about the poop.)

Also on Thursday, I discovered a bug in my hair at two different times.  Once in the afternoon, and once right before bed.  I had removed my headband, and in the glow of my Kindle Fire, I saw a bug crawling on the headband.  You never want to notice a bug on your head just before trying to sleep.

Even now…as I type this…I’m alone in the house and the scratching has resumed.  Am I going crazy?  Will these critters never leave me alone?

The other day I took a blanket off the fence where it had been drying, and already a spider had started to spin its web, so the long line of cobweb got all over my arms and even on the back of my neck.  THAT is the creepiest place to have a spider web touch you, let me tell you.

A couple weeks ago I was startled by a huge spider that darted out from behind a box.  After spraying it to death, I turned a bucket upside down and trapped it there for good measure.  (I’d left my broom at the school and couldn’t sweep it out just yet.)  When I did finally get it outside, I studied it to see if it was poisonous.  The Peace Corps gives volunteers some guide books on poisonous creatures in our region, and the book has pictures.

This bookshelf looks pretty normal. But where are the spider/snake books? Look closer….

I hide the books in this Bible cover because I am afraid of the pictures.

Anyway, there was no picture of the spider I had killed.  I guess it was harmless.

While recounting the spider story to my parents, I wrote, “THAT GIANT BUG/ALIEN MADE ME SAY A BAD WORD!!!”

Dad replied, “Okay, first of all the bug didn’t ‘make you’ say a bad word.  If you failed, just admit it.”

Ohhhhh, get me out of here.  Let me go back to the States and start a new life in North Carolina.  There I can get relief from these pests…and replace them with other mortal enemies of mine: mosquitoes, poison ivy, and humidity.

Happy birthday, Namibia!

Today Namibia is 22 years old.  Yesterday I wanted to surprise our staff with a little recognition of the day:

a makeshift Namibian flag, using four pieces of paper, tape, and four Sharpies

breakfast muffins in patriotic colors!

"Please smile for the photo or the Americans will think you're angry."

It is pretty remarkable that colleagues who went through apartheid, and then independence, were able to welcome me so readily to their staff.  “Black people couldn’t even buy white bread,” one of them told me.  “We could only buy brown.  White bread was for white people.”  So much can change in just two decades.  I am grateful the country is integrated and liberated.  Happy Independence Day!

 

 

breaking up

Well, blog readers, I have a bit of news to share.  Despite my expectations for this year, it looks like I’ll be heading home at the end of next month.

If all goes according to plan, I’ll spend May-August working at a church in rural North Carolina, and then start seminary before August is over.  I’m very excited about the possibilities that await, but it feels strange to say good-bye to these kids half a year earlier than it should have been.

I haven’t told them yet….  My principal advised that we don’t tell them until about two weeks before the term ends.  I do wish there was some way I could have the best of both worlds—could finish reading the chapter books I started with them, could guide them through their exam preparation, could find out their results at the end of the year….  I’ll admit it feels like a betrayal of them in some ways…like I’m choosing money (earning an income, being eligible for a fellowship, etc.) over helping them.

Whatever I read about education—whether it be The First Days of School or the 11/14/11 Time article by Fareed Zakaria—the writer always drills it home that the greatest factor in a child’s success is: their teacher.  Having a teacher who is invested, and who is consistently there, helps them more than anything else.  Their class size doesn’t matter.  Their race or socioeconomic status doesn’t matter.  Even their curriculum doesn’t matter.  It mostly boils down to one factor: their teacher.

I wanted to be a passionate, present teacher—one who showed an interest in the kids’ life and made her first priority be their education.  Through the grace of God I did the best I could, but now I’m prematurely ending my efforts.  I really do regret that I can’t have my cake and eat it too.

It’s a decision full of ups and downs, just like the past two years have been.  I have thoroughly enjoyed the creative outlet of sharing my experiences with you via this blog.  Your comments and interest have helped me in many ways.  I will save more reflections for next month, but at the moment I just wanted to give you the heads-up of how the timeline plays out from here.  In other words…it’s best not to send any more care packages

we whites

                Our students had just run a very close race, and I wasn’t sure who had finished first.  One of the teens on the sidelines had taken a video of it with his fancy phone.  I asked to see it.  Smiling, he got it out.  “Money is attractive to you whites.”

Um.  “What did you just say?”

“Nothing, Miss.”

“You’re not very brave if you can’t repeat what you said.”

He was still smiling as I checked out the footage.  But I couldn’t resist.  “Did you say ‘money is attractive to whites’?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Didn’t you hear me when I said the other teachers make probably six times as much money as I do?  Why would I be a volunteer if I was attracted to money?”

“Because Miss is playing it smart.  You’ll finish out your contract and then you’ll get your fortune.”

I involuntarily laughed.  “Yeah, right.  Do you want me to show you my bank statement so you can see for yourself?”

“Yes, I want to see your billions.”

(In case anyone out there is curious, I make less than $300 USD a month.  The job I held for the two years prior to this one was a little better on the budget—my yearly salary was about $12,000.)

Exasperated, but not showing it as much as I could have, I said, “You can’t think a person is a certain way just because of the color of their skin.  Not everyone has the same traits just because they’re of the same race.”

“But people are saying that money is attractive to whites.”

“’People’ are saying that but it doesn’t make it true.”

I inwardly fumed about that until the athletic competition was finished.  Then I went to my classroom to grade some homework assignments.  I had asked the kids to think of five adjectives they would like to describe their future spouse, and to give examples of each.  The 10^th grader who had just taught me about “my people” wrote this as his adjective/example:

The beterest mistake that I will never do is to married smatter women then me.  becouse she might end up deciding for me in futer

 So.  He goes from insulting my race to insulting my gender.

Yielding to temptation, I mocked him in his notebook: What if most women are smarter than you?  Then you’ll never find a wife. 

(It could’ve been worse.  I could’ve said “all.”)

what is missing in this picture…

I showed this video to American high school students and asked them to name two tools/resources that are missing, and what substitutes are used instead.  See if you can guess the correct answers.  (This is a video of a volleyball practice as our students prepare for an upcoming match):

a song about Jesus & God

I’m sorry that the kids are practically screeching out this song…maybe turn your speakers down before you click “play.”  They were just so excited to get filmed, for one thing, and for another, it was the final day of exams before Christmas break.

“Muhona Mukuru” means Jesus/God, I think, so listen for those words throughout the song:

photos instead of videos

You’re probably all video-ed out by now…sorry ’bout that.  As a little break, here are some pictures to scroll through.

Students sweep the classrooms because students dirty the classrooms.

Not that I have a favorite class, but if I did....

One morning I woke up to the suffocating smell of smoke. One of the hostel staff was burning leaves he'd just raked. Try to sleep in when you have smoke pouring into your house. I guess (to quote my brother about the sound of his newborn's cries): Evolutionarily speaking, we weren't designed to ignore that.

I loved reading Pockets magazines when I was younger. Now my mom sends 'em in care packages for my students to read. It is probably better for their reading level than a lot of other publications I loan them. Pockets is a United Methodist magazine.

Last year we read a book called Chocolate Fever, by Robert Kimmel Smith. In it, the main character loves chocolate so much he breaks out in brown spots that turn out to be a chocolate rash. One day these 9th grade girls surprised me by showing up to school with their own makeshift chocolate fever, courtesy of a brown marker. It made me love them just a little bit more

Sharing a dictionary; borrowing magazines received in a care package; demonstrating that a sense of "personal space" differs greatly from culture to culture.

changing classes

In most schools, there is a buffer between classes.  First bell rings, which means the period is over and you walk to your next class.  There is a 2- to 3-minute window in which to travel.  Second bell rings, which means no more walking, no more talking, you’re in your seat and the next period has begun.

In Namibia, one bell rings and one bell only.  So there’s no way to determine if a student is late.

Worse still, the bell is hand-controlled, so if the secretary is busy or not around, the bell just doesn’t get rung.  That means I could have prepared my lesson and timed it exactly so that it’s finished in 40 minutes…but all of a sudden I have seven extra minutes on my hands and I’m wondering what to do with 35 kids.

Seven unplanned minutes with 35 kids is a lot.

Here is what it looks like for students to meander on to the next class.  I do sorely miss the fastidious schedules of most American schools:

not the best way to spend a Friday night

taken last year at one of the many pageants we hold at our school – but at least that one involved older girls

I loathe basing a woman’s value on her appearance.  Worse still is doing it to a young girl.  Worse still is being an official judge for the beauty pageant known as Miss Newcomer 2012.

Here are these young girls—13, 14, 15—getting leered at by people of all ages.  Countless men were there holding up their cell phones for pictures and videos.  The swimwear competition was actually the girls walking around in their bras, because most of them apparently don’t have swimsuits.  I realize a bra is no more revealing than a bikini top, but it feels so much worse.  I didn’t want to look.

I don’t know what the worst part of the evening was.  Was it how the tickets say it starts at 7, but it didn’t start till 8:45, nor finish till 11:30?  Was it how a performance of this simple, repetitive dance style they all love makes the kids scream as if it’s Elvis’ pelvis…when to me it looks utterly boring?  Was it how some of the catwalks were agonizingly slow and we just wanted to get on with it already?  Was it how the dining hall has wooden floors and every sound echoes, so you can’t hear what the girls answer for the question segment—the only part worthwhile, to me?

No.  I know what the worst part was.

It was our very own “wardrobe malfunction” a la Janet Jackson at that old Super Bowl performance.  I thought I was uncomfortable just watching underage girls in their bras.  Little did I realize how much worse things could be.

(Some of these kids are from the Himba tribe, where women are topless all the time.  Moreover, Namibians have explained to me that shoulders, cleavage, and even breasts are no big deal—but when you show leg it’s really scandalous.  Nevertheless, the audience was mortified.  The poor girl had no idea her strapless dress had sunk too low.  As I was averting my eyes from her, I was watching the reaction of everyone else.  That’s how I could glean that, Himbas or not, this was horrifying.)

The icing on the cake was at the very end, when the same girl with the wardrobe malfunction thought she’d been called as one of the ten finalists.  So she started to come forward before realizing her number had not been called.  And thus her humiliation was complete.

I rushed home as soon as the show was over and wished I could go to sleep and never wake up.  Before I fell asleep, though, I prayed the prayer Jesus warns against:

“God, thank you thank you thank you that that’s not me.”

(Luke 18:11, AP)

panorama of the village

In this 360-degree view, you can see what our students do for fun on free afternoons, the hostel where the kids live, how close our teacher housing is to our principal housing/office building/school blocks, and even some guys doing construction on the pavement near our assembly block.  Just another day in the life….

new year, new hope

sunrise over Otjiperongo, Sunday, January 29

I’ve been back at site for three weeks now.  It’s strange how much changes from one lifestyle to the other.  Now, the advertisements I see online implore me to “Become an American—get a green card” and remind me, “Do not miss your chance to live and work in the USA” as it shows a Statue of Liberty holding up a STOP sign.

Now, I have to stop and think before I say a catchphrase like “The buck stops here.”  I was in a meeting with my principal and wanted to use the term “benchmark,” too, but didn’t know if it would translate.

What a difference from one place to the next.  You’ll recall the passport official in the U.S. airport, who refused to say “hello” back to anyone who greeted him.  Compare that to the passport official in the S.A. airport, who asked me how long I’d be staying and offered me the keys to his place.

Coming back felt like a fuzzy, bad dream in some ways.  I hated being confronted with all those old worries related to food, transportation, and safety.  Big worries—basic parts of life.  …You know how, when someone you love dies, there is that occasional morning where you wake up and forget for a moment–but then you remember?  It was a little like that.

But, I am coming to believe that with God we can have hope.  And there are many blessings to be grateful for about my return here.  We now have a big antennae for better cell phone reception.  I have screens on a couple windows and no mosquitoes.  Chatting and joking with fellow teachers has become easier and easier.  This year I get to teach mostly just 9^th and 10^th graders, which means we have lively classes with quick conversation (as the kids are, after all, about 19 years old).  Our school received even more new equipment, like a giant copy machine that I adore.  Best of all, I’ve done this before.  So I’m not as scared about discipline problems and I somehow have gotten more respect.

As always, your comments on these entries help me carry on.  I’ll keep you posted in the new year!

reuniting with my gal pals

my favorite time of day

After lunch, a quiet settles over the village.  It is baking hot outside, so people take naps inside.  No one is walking around except the goats grazing.  My shirts have dried in the sun and it’s time for me to take them in to fold.  I walk out with my wash basin to gather the warm clothes and pins, and I just stop to bask in the quiet.  All my movements become slow and contemplative.

Although I love early mornings when it’s still dark and I can write or pray, I also love bright afternoons, when the simple life shows its beauty: