Happy Halloween

What is my Halloween disguise?  A "blan" in a foreign land.  That's good enough for this year.  I certainly got asked for treats from kids today, but instead of costumes they had dirty clothes and they knocked on our car window asking for money or for my watch.  No scary monster sounds, but pitiful voices asking "1 dollar souple."  I wished I had a bag of candy, or solutions to their street-bound state to offer them.

 

Another big day.  Seems one day has as many new surprises as the next.  We woke sleepily this morning.  There is a church hidden across the street behind the walls that line the road.  We learned about this church when a large cry and hymn rose up in the night around 10pm.  We listened a while outside our room.  A preacher was hollering out phrases and the congregation was answering back in unison, in song.  Sounded like there was a mass of people.  Their voices carried across the thick night air.  We were amazed, however, to hear their voices go on and on and on.  Literally, I think church finally got over at 3am.  Patrick Villier says this is very common in Haiti.  Why the middle of the night, I don't know.  But the voices sung us to sleep.

 

Today we had our own car--a rough-and-tumble, has-been-around-the-block-a-zillion-times rough rider.  It surely will be baptized with a name soon, because if nothing else, the car has character.  For a while, Patrick couldn't get his window down, and his sweating increased 10-fold with the heat locked inside the car.  The driver's door doesn't unlock, so Patrick has to crawl through the car to get to the driver's seat.  We are a comical sight.  No, I haven't yet unleashed the courage to take over the wheel.  I figure Patrick is doing so well, why spoil mojo?

 

We took the crazy drive to the school, slipping around mac trucks, breaking for people weaving across the street, avoiding bicyclists and those on motorcycles, and attempting to miss crater-like pot holes.  The strangest sight we passed was a man carrying two goats tied upside down by the feet.  We pulled into the drive up to the school and slowly moved through a sea of children. Today was the first day we got to the school before classes had started.  Each class was lined up in the yard ready to march in single-file to their rooms.  We received bigger smiles today as our presence surely is becoming more familiar.

 

We had a few moments to put our things away, and then Patrick V. asked us, "Do you want to help teach an English class?"  Sure!  One of the teachers lead us to our separate classrooms.  I walked in, expecting the man to follow so we could commence with our "team teaching," but no.  He handed me a piece of chalk, and walked away.  No debriefing on how much English the students knew, no information on a culturally sensitive class format.  Dive in and learn to swim quick.  Well, I'm not convinced I really learned to swim today.  I stood in front of the class initially dumbfounded, and then panicking as a room full of 35-40 middle school-aged children stared back at me.  I started with a greeting, and they echoed their greeting back in unison.  I told them my name, and each in turn went around the class saying "my name is..." To be honest, the only two I really picked up was "Peter" and "Stefani" since the rest were long and oh so foreign sounding.  --sigh--  I tried a little conversational class style, but was met mostly with silence and confused looks.  So I grabbed my chalk and gave the most schizophrenic class lesson probably ever performed.  Let me remind you that my 12 years of education was in medicine, not language education.  And today it showed.  I'd start with a subject matter i.e. days of the week, and write them on the board.  They'd read them in unison.  I made the mistake of thinking they knew the meaning of these words and then moved on to a new subject: animals, emotions, action verbs.  I know, I know... too much, but I was frantic.   And yes, I acted out all emotions and action verbs.  Laughing maniacally, frowning, grinning, jumping around the room.  I'm sure they thought I was a lunatic, and I'm not sure I wasn't.  I'd look into the sea of faces and see amusement, boredom, interest, patience, and several who had completely tuned out.

 

My chalk was flying---bits literally flinging off behind my head.  I went through no less than 3 chalk sticks trying to figure out what they didn't know.  Eventually I learned that they in fact did not know all the categories I was whizzing them through, they just could read well.   And I sweat.  Sweat profusely.  I haven't sweat so heavily while NOT doing intense aerobic exercise EVER.  The sweat came from stifling heat and from panic.  A little angel in the front row looked at me with pity and handed me a paper napkin.  OH MERCI!!!!  I mopped my brow until the napkin became a dissolving lump that I smooshed in my pocket.  So much for not letting them see you sweat.

 

Mercifully, the real English teacher showed up an hour into my rapid-fire English lesson.  By that time I was a dripping mess, and would have hugged him in relief except he looked so fresh and clean.

 

I'd like to think I could teach a better class.  With a little preparation, a little background information.  And maybe when I teach my next class, things will be better received.  But today it was I that got schooled.

 

I found out that Patrick had a similar experience in his own classroom.  Left at the chalkboard like a baby on the doorstep.  He didn't panic as much as I did--having taught a class before--and moved them eventually through some reasonable lessons.  His only fumble came when he was trying to get a teenager to turn around, sit down, and stop talking to his friend by grabbing his belt loop.  But the belt loop broke.  Oops. Patrick told me he was struck with momentary panic, horrified that he had just torn a child's clothes.  But the student laughed, teased him and rapport was established immediately.  Close one.  So much for the Christ-like missionaries coming in.  One sweats like a human fountain, and the other rips children's clothes.  Neat.

 

So not a stellar day at the blackboard for the Bentrotts.

 

We had a meeting with the head nurses of the nursing school after our teaching.  We discussed what it is that they hope I can do for them.  The laundry list of roles to play and classes to teach and clinics to work in left me instantly feeling overwhelmed.  Our official start date is next week with translators to help us teach, and the clinic will be open for its first patients.  I don't know what is in the drawers of the clinic or how to get diagnostics done or what services can reasonably be provided, but I just have to trust we'll all do the best we can and I'll figure it out as I go.  I came close to to loosing my sense of humor for a moment in the meeting.  But Villiers and Patrick quickly teased me back into perspective.  Thank God for them.  It will be humor that keeps us jumping into overwhelming tasks, chalk flying, sweat pouring and hopefully we'll get a few things done.

 

Tonight we spend the first of the next 3 months in the Walls Guest House in Port Au Prince.  The staff is friendly and accommodating, there is a wireless Internet connection when the power is on, laundry services, and two meals a day.  We feel grateful for the transitional housing that will allow us to focus on our jobs and our language training during these first 3 intense months.

 

Time to go wash off the sticky sweat of the day.  Bonswa and good night.