Eating weeds

I watched with curiosity as three women wandered through the low brush, gathering what appeared to be weeds  near the ditch.  A couple disappeared behind the stack of split logs, squatting to pull the greenery from the root, then standing again to look for more.  The round, green leaves were lush, and I could see some yellow flowers sticking out between the clutches of shrubs.  I wondered if they were simply pulling weeds, but they were too selective over which was picked and which stayed planted, gathering handfuls into their shirt fronts.

After they had picked all they could find in the area, they carried their findings inside.  When I finally wandered inside, I discovered what all the greenery was for:  dinner.  And this isn't the first time this has happened.  I have watched the children do the exact same thing – scatter around the yard, going as far as the fence, looking for edible greens.  What looks little more than overgrown weeds is turned into nourishment to supplement nearly every meal.  I didn't realize that much of the greens we ate at nearly every meal came from simply going out into the yard and picking them as they grew wild.  Much of the greens also come from the market in town, but whenever we needed more, a quick jaunt outside proved successful and delicious.

  They've even gone into the nearby field to pick Morning Glories – just the flower heads to turn into tea when boiled in water and strained.  A week ago, one of the girls had come running up to me, "P'Lissa! P'Lissa! Take to kitchen please," she said as she shoved a clear plastic bag into my hands.
"Why?  What is this for?" I asked confused.
"The kitchen. The kitchen.  To eat."
"You are going to eat this?"
"No. Drink.  Make into tea.  Very good."  She told me as she caught her breath.
It had taken me some time to figure out her pronunciation of "kitchen" but once I realized what she wanted, I took the full bag to the kitchen with me. They were beautiful flowers, and part of me wanted to put them in a vase if it weren't for the fact that the heads were plucked clean off without the slightest stem.  An hour later I wandered back into the kitchen and out onto the patio where the flowers had been shredded into individual pedals, cleaned, and left to dry in two large, shallow, rattan trays.  I never tried the tea, but the pedals were gone by dinner.  And never seen again…

Thai School experience

It's a wake up call.  I'm currently in the middle of my second day in a small country Thai school and I definitely don't fit in.  Yesterday was probably the longest day in school and I was only there from 10am-4pm.  Let's back up to yesterday for some explanations...(June 11 -- I started writing this, then forgot. Oops.)

While staying at Ban San Faan children's home just east of Chiang Mai (I'll talk more about BSF later), one of my duties is assisting another volunteer at the school right up the road.  We teach two classes of kindergarten in the morning at the children's home, then head over to the school just down the road to teach 1st-3rd grade.  Since English is the foreign language, these children know startlingly little.  Third grade was full of children ages 5-16 -- THIRD GRADE.  I couldn't believe the age differences!  I wanted to pull the students aside and ask them why they are in 3rd grade.  I wanted to pull the Thai office staff aside and ask if they were put in the wrong class by mistake.  Surely in a school this small (77 students, 1st-6th grade), they can rearrange the students according to age so boys with mustaches aren't sitting next to 7-year-old girls in pig-tails.  Most of all, I wanted to ask someone "What are you thinking?" and get a response that makes sense to me.  But then I had to remind myself that this is Thailand, and things rarely make sense to my Westernized brain.

Because of the huge differences in age and English knowledge, the students were majorly distracted and weren't paying attention to anything we were trying to teach.  It didn't matter how many times we read the same instructions ("Color four leaves green"), only about five of the 16 students would be paying attention, and then only one would actually pick up a green colored pencil.

Well this morning, I was asked to come in early to be formally introduced to the student body during flag raising/prayer/announcement time.  Everything was said and done in Thai.  I couldn't understand a word of it.  Okay, maybe a word or two....but I digress.  When asked if I wanted to say anything after I was introduced, I fumbled around lamely and only said my name and that I was looking forward to working with 1st-3rd grade.  I understood the rest of my introduction:  volunteering at BSF...teacher from Bangkok...here to help Teacher Randi.  What more needed to be voiced?

But during announcement time the students were given a tongue-lashing such as I've never heard before.  And to make it most effective, it was all done in Thai.  You see, after Monday's kerfuffle with the 3rd graders, we went back to the home and explained (okay yes, complained) that the students were misbehaving so badly and didn't listen to a word we said; stating that it was extremely difficult to teach them anything when they weren't paying attention.  So announcement time was spent berating the students on behaving badly and not respecting teachers like they know they are supposed to -- especially the foreign teachers who are volunteering to teach them English.  I wanted to disappear.  I wanted to run away.  I wanted to apologize to the students for ratting on them.  I felt sorry for the kids.  But I mostly felt sorry for me; standing there in the middle of the open hallway with the students lined up on either side listening to a Thai scolding of a lifetime.  They knew who tattled -- it was my direct supervisor (the manager of the home) who was telling them not to be naughty little students.  I tried not to think about what she was actually saying to the students, but I caught a word here and there as they fired out of her mouth.  Students...bad...teacher...try to help...know how to be good to Thai teacher...learn English.  And then after ten excruciating minutes of feeling unbelievably exposed, the 'announcement' time was over, students were wai-ing, and I was excused to go back to the home to teach the Kindergarten classes.  During the short walk back to the home, I vowed never to tattle on my students again.  I would handle discipline in my own way within the confines of the classroom.

The life of a teacher is never dull

From a few months ago...

In the past I've posted about the hilarious things my students have said in class.  Often though, the things they say are rude and ill-thought out.  Today, for instance, after telling my students I wasn't feeling well and they would have a substitute for the second half of the day, there was a chorus of "Yesss!" with a smattering of "Why, Miss Lissa?" or "Why are you going home? What are you going to do?"  To that I replied, "I'm going home to throw up."  A subdued, "Oh," is answered and I left the students to their substitute (my principal), and gave them strict orders to be on their best behavior as I left the confines of the classroom.

These types of responses are typical here, and I've grown accustom to answering with sarcasm or wit.  I no longer care that my replies are less than professional, and having my principal in the classroom didn't deter me from telling my entire class that I was going to throw up.  I did hold back from saying that they were making me sick, though.  You can only kid so far with them..

On Pomp and Circumstance

Graduation was this afternoon.  Watching the seniors walk across the stage one by one in their black robes, square hats, and wavering smiles always causes me to reflect over my choice to become a teacher.
I commented to a fellow teacher after the ceremony that hanging out with these seniors makes me want to be friends with them.  Real friends -- not teacher-friends.  "Does that reflect on my level of immaturity? Why am I looking for friendships in kids ten years my junior instead of people my age?" I asked.
"I think it shows just how right you are for teaching older kids -- I mean, you actually want to hang out with them.  For the same reason I do better with the little kids.  I never know what to say around high schoolers."

Needless to say, hearing her say that brought me no small sense of relief since I'll be moving up to high school next year.  What's special about next year is that I'll be teaching the same students I had my very first year here.  As exciting as it is to teach my first batch of 8th graders again, I have to admit feeling apprehensive about moving up to 11th grade.  You see, being around 8th graders for three years has caused me to develop an air of silliness.  I do wonder if I've become too immature to interact with high school kids as an adult.
This silliness has shown me how much I truly enjoy middle school kids.  I never thought I would like the middle grades (granted I have 8th graders).  In fact, I specifically said -- years before I entered the education program -- that I would be willing to teach elementary or high school, but I will not teach middle school.  Talk about the devil's playground.  Oh yes....the Lord has a wonderful sense of humor sending me to Thailand to teach middle school.  His plans certainly prospered me and gave me a hope and a future like He promised in Jeremiah 29:11.  I have been truly blessed by these last three years in the middle school, and I wouldn't trade them for the world.
All this to say...I'm going to miss the middle school.  I'm going to miss the petty behavior issues, the repetitive questions, the gullibility, the unabashed childishness, and most of all their eagerness for all life has to offer without fear of consequences.

I'll try not to be sentimental, but I am treasuring every final moment I have with my middle schoolers before 8th grade graduation in a week and a half.  High school graduation got the ball rolling and my mind reflecting; middle school graduation will just solidify the reality of next school year.

These graduating seniors are special to me in so many ways.  It has been an absolute pleasure getting to know many of them, and an even better thrill becoming friends with them on a personal level.  In a way, I am glad I never taught them, and thus had to tackle a teacher-student relationship before developing a friendship.  For a few of us, we were able to cut straight to being unassuming friends. 
These seniors are ten years younger than me.  While I'm obviously not old enough to be their mom (in fact, they seem more like my younger siblings), watching them walk across the stage felt like watching my own children graduate.  And in a sense they are mine -- they may be the only ones I'll ever have.  And like any good parent, I want so desperately for them to succeed in life.  I want that for all the students -- from my impressionable 8th graders, to the graduating seniors.  Watching them grow and mature reminds me everyday why I chose to be a teacher and why I love my students so much.