Back at the Blackboard

The last few days have blessed us with deliciously cool evenings. Now in full-blown Haitian "winter" I'm enjoying relatively sweat-free days and cool night air. Granted, when I say cool I'm talking high 70's. I recognize that most of you reading this are trying to rub circulation back into to your stiffly frozen toes, so I'll try not perseverate on this tropical cool-spell.

Tonight I sit beside a 9 year old girl who just met her adoptive parents this morning. I haven't heard her speak yet, but she smiles often and seems trusting and easy going. Tonigh she wandered into our room following Christanor who was in search of a little music to dance to (he heads strait to our laptop demanding MISIK!!). In order to finish a few e-mails, I distracted the kids with paper and markers. Christanor's humming-bird attention span, appropriate for his age of 3, took him running off to tackle Patrick on the yoga mat. But this little girl's grin got wider, and now she joins me at one of the conference room tables. As I write, she's been shelling out one beautifully intricate, multicolored masterpiece after another. I'm enjoying watching her work, drawing houses, people with brown faces, bunnie, stars, rainbows and flowers. When she finds and extra bright marker, her smile grows even wider. Now her brow is furrowed in concentration as she works on the details of a face. She is a peaceful presence, this little girl. I wonder what must be going on in her mind. Soon, she'll be taking off on her first plane ride, and traveling across the sea to France where her life will look in every way different from the one she's had thus far. But she seems to be taking it all in stride, adapting to her environment with an easy smile and a quiet concentration.

Today was my first day at the blackboard. I have to admit, I wasn't looking forward to it at all. The last time I stood in front of a class as "teacher" here I was sweating profusely, sending bits of chalk flying through the air, covering myself with white dust, panicking and throwing my body into convulsive imitations of English verbs much to the amusement of teenagers. So you can imagine my PTSD at the thought of standing up in front of another class ever again. I certainly didn't get the Super Teacher genes passed down from my mother that my brother inherited. But today I had Frenauld as an interpreter, and had two lessons prepared for the nursing classes: one an introduction to Pharmacology, the other an Introduction to Pediatrics.

The class went better than I thought it would--granted my expectations had been set below sea-level. I don't have the ease and smoothness inspires confidence, but I'm hoping my genuine interest in helping the students learn will shine through my nerves. All seemed patient and relatively attentive. A few women were nodding off during class, but managed to answer questions and give appropriate feedback through closed eye-lids, so I'm certainly not judging. One woman, had her finger buried in the depths of her nose for half of the first lecture, an event I tried hard not to stare at, prompted a nice segway on the subject of hygiene. Unlike with the teenagers, I was able to feel out with this more mature class the concepts they were already familiar with, and those they needed introduction to. And eventually my heart stopped racing, the sweat beads dried up, and I managed to relax and muttle through the lectures without too much flailing about. And when I waved goodbye, I took joy in the smiles some of the students offered... maybe they were smiles of pitty of relief, but they did my heart good.

Although I hadn't been excited about teaching, today I was overcome by an intense desire to give as much information to my new students as I possibly can in order to equip them to go out into their communities and advocate for health. Until we beef up our library, I currently stand as the link to the texts and therefore feel commissioned to give as many details as clearly as possible, to work hard for understanding. I pray that my efforts will help contribute and equip them to be confident, intelligent self-possessed nurses who can take their work into the streets, into the countryside, into the lives of the people of this country. Education is where it all begins. I just hope I can be the teacher that is needed.