New School Sport: Cobra Launching

Every day here is a mini-adventure. One minute I am rooted down by reality and then my next blink transports me to a world where I am living within the pages of a storybook crawling with various creatures. 

Today as I was descending the steps in my hostel to go to school I noticed a group of security officers, teachers, and students gathered around the garden that lies between the student dorms. My initial thought was that they were having some kind of traditional dance practice with all of the hopping and lunging that was happening . . . but then I noticed the 6-foot cobra slithering in the grass! The young children wrinkled with fear and uttered short cries from a far distance; the curious minds inched closer to the battlefield and gasped on cue;  the Big Voice leaders jumped onto the garden's stone ledge and shouted strategic movements; and the chauvinistic male teachers knighted one another and charged into battle. Armed with shields of bravery and long sticks, the men - in their flip-flops - slowly danced around the slithering beast. Our knights slid their sticks under the snake and simultaneously lifted the monster, hurling it over the boundary wall of the school into the nearby field. A chaotic flurry of joyous shouts and applause burst throughout the garden.

The storybook closed. I blinked my eyes and the garden was empty - the young children, curious minds, Big Voice leaders, and Knights continued on with their normal day, scattering to different destinations . . . But perhaps I will blink and see these characters again very soon . . .

My Home Away From Home

The view from my balcony :)

After All, Princes are People

It is not very often that I am in possession of bragging rights – the lines are rather long to purchase this type of permit – but I believe that yesterday I have acquired a Sanction of Swank, certified by the royal family of India’s Gujarat state :D.  Sohini is friends with a prince of Gujarat, Yogi, and invited me to spend the afternoon with them, sightseeing the city of Vadodara in royal style.

            As this was my first day in the presence of a prince, I naturally had to compare his demeanor to the common peasants that I usually surrounded me (no offense! lol) and I have concluded that princes are simply people and do the same things that us “regular folk” do:

Princes invite you to visit their home – Now granted, his residence is the Laxmi Vilas Palace that was built in the 1800s by a famous French architect, but hospitality can be a key similarity between both houses of rags and riches. 

While Yogi did some royal business in the residential palace, Sohini and I were given audio guides that recited elaborate descriptions of the palace’s history and architecture as you walk around the various rooms. There were 11 numbered signs that corresponded to the mp3 tracks on our audio guide and also navigated the walking tour; the first three signs were in the front lawn of the palace to give an overview of the architectural design. But at the second sign outside on the front lawn, Sohini and I got lost and could not find sign #3 of the walking/audio tour. We started meandering aimlessly onto private property, and were furiously hailed by a guard across the lawn LOL. It became an inside joke for the remainder of our audio tour that whenever Sohini and I would find the next sign, we would smile at each other and say, “Oh, here’s the sign!” :D. It also became a joke that statue butts kept sneaking into the shots of my pictures. See what I mean:

Princes have weird quirks – After Sohini and I were mooned by enough marble butts for one day, Yogi drove us to the Maharaja Fateh Singh Museum, which showcased the majority of the palace’s paintings and statues.  In several of the rooms Yogi pointed out that there are some paintings that he discovered over the years that trick the eye: no matter what point of the room you’re standing in, the painting looks the same OR the path in the painting gets wider or narrower, depending on your point of view. He was thoroughly entertained by my numerous “no way!” moments.

Princes have interests and hobbies – Yogi enjoys candlelight dinners and long walks on the beach . . . LOL Maybe that’s true, but what I know for sure is that he works in the film industry in Mumbai and has taken up an interest in photography as well. He also exercises in the empty gym on the palace grounds every evening, preferring to work out alone rather than in the gym facilities in the city, which he deems as a more of a “fashion parade.”

Princes listen to great tune-age – I had to giggle when music by Ke$ha was being played in the car as we drove to the various locations of the afternoon. I told Yogi that it was almost like being back in America and he smiled through the rearview mirror . . . I completely lost it, though, when I heard the shrill voice of Miley Cyrus, bursting into a contagious fit of laughter at the fact that Hannah Montana was traveling with Hannah India.

Princes have a sweet tooth – To end our afternoon together, Yogi took us to a Chinese restaurant for lunch and we shared an excellent meal of crispy, honey glazed chicken, General Tso’s chicken, and spicy prawns with vegetable fried rice. And even though Sohini and I were completely stuffed, Yogi insisted that we all try the Litchi ice cream, which consisted of vanilla ice cream with pieces of the exotic litchi fruit on top. Plus, he was an absolute gentleman and paid for our meal.

But don’t get any ideas . . . Just because princes have characteristics like us commoners, I still have some MAJOR bragging rights for hanging out with a Gujarati prince in India :) 

Three Little Chatterboxes Sitting on a Bed

Events of Friday, March 23, 2012

Tonight for dessert I was handed the sweet dish of acceptance covered with multi-colored sprinkles of admiration.  After dinner, a cluster of middle school students struggled to match the long strides of Sohini and I as we walked from the mess hall to the hostels; their mouths marched with their feet as the students boisterously chatted with me about the animated events of their day.  As we approached the fork in the road that severs the path to the Teacher’s Residence and student hostels, I was begged by the students to visit the hostels and talk with them more instead of sulking back to my room.  I happily obliged their wide-eyed pleas and informed them that tonight they shall have a “Hannah Mam” escort back to their dorms.  They led me down the dimly lit stone path to their hostels, chatting nonsensically about hilarious YouTube videos they watched recently about killer bugs and the deadly effects of chameleon bites – important tales to the fascinated lives of twelve and thirteen year old storytellers.

            First I escorted Karan Patel to the large green doors of the Boy’s Hostel and my sincere wishes of “goodnight” were met with inquiries of my presence the next day – was I going to attend the teachers versus students cricket match tomorrow morning? Was I going to be in the IT lab in the afternoon? Was I going to watch the movie in the auditorium in the evening?  His interest in my daily itinerary is innocent and heartfelt; Karan appears to be taking on the roles of school coordinator and tour guide in addition to his responsibilities as a student for the quiet, desperate hope to make an adult teacher his adult friend as well.

            Through the darkness I then crept over to the Girl’s Hostel, where three anticipating faces were waiting in the lobby for my promised arrival. With pride surging through their voices, the girls asked me to come see their rooms and all of the decorations they put up around their own personal space. For the next hour I sat on the edge of a bed and watched the three girls bud and bloom like tropical flowers – unique and vibrant. They pushed back petal after petal, layer after layer of their lives, sharing stories of their childhood, friendships, interests, hobbies, dreams, and hopes.  Prachi told an elaborate tale about Disney world in Hong Kong and her deepest desire for the Cinderella ball gown, while another girl consistently interrupted Prachi by exclaiming her own love for the character, Belle. I was also given a 20- minute account of the scariest haunted house ride that she has ever been on with sound effects and vivid imagery. A seventh grade student who shares the same room, Megha (pronounced MAY-GAH), simply sat on her separate bed and shyly giggled at the energetic stories that were being told across the room. Without fear, without prudence, without embarrassment, these three girls invited me into their world, and it made me have Two Thoughts:

The first thought was that I saw a lot of myself as a teen in these three girls and I had to smile in fond remembrance of the days of long, dark, unruly hair, braided friendship bracelets, and transforming your small voice into a Big voice with the shape of a grand story.

And my second thought was to erase the notion that I was somehow missing out on my experiences in India because I do not have spare time to sightsee and travel to other states, but will remain in this school and surrounding city until I board my return flight. But I am abandoning the thought of “missing out,” because tonight I saw that the richness of India lies not in the Taj Mahal or riding elephants, but is found in the tiny bedroom of a Girl’s Hostel where stories drip from the ceiling and the walls crack with smiles. For me, international travel is not about the famous sights captured within the lens of a camera, but the people I meet and capture in my heart.

Sohini and the Rickshaw

            I will confess that without purpose or consciousness, I have been comparing my new experiences in India to my last international journey to Ghana. While I was studying at the University of Ghana-Legon my days and nights whirled with a plethora of new faces and friends; life was centered on the axis of conversation as fresh relationships were constructed every single day. The atmosphere of the Teacher’s Residence at Navrachana International School is vastly different: only a handful of teachers reside on campus, so instead of the echoes of laughter from other international students, my room is barren of elated emotions. My soul is made of empty shelves and bare cupboards; midnight banter and playful dialogues are out of stock.

I began to dread the evening hours because night smothered my heart with a dark shroud of loneliness and isolation. But then my path intertwined with the journey of a one-minute stranger – we only experienced the awkward introduction of strangers for approximately one minute and then quickly emerged as comfortable confidants from that moment onward.  

And after this chance meeting, I slowly began to shed the layers of sadness that brought on the early night . . .

            Her dark chocolate eyes reflect a world of simplicity and serenity. Sohini is a beautiful individual with a shy smile and kind spirit. She speaks in hushed tones, but her ideas are passionate and vibrant.  Like two souls that were destined to meet, fate quickly forged our friendship based on similar feelings of isolation; we were both visited by Loneliness, the unwelcomed guest that hovers over your shoulder as you unpack your personality for new acquaintances. Sohini is also fairly new to the school, working as the Junior Librarian at NISV for only a few short months, so we simultaneously exhaled a sigh of relief when the vacancy sign flickered in both of our hearts.

            This past Tuesday and Wednesday nights, Sohini and I left the school campus in a mustard cloud of dust and ventured to the city within the claustrophobic dome of a yellow and green rickshaw.  The two-wheeled, hooded vehicle dashed in between the chaotic fury of varied paces on the road: the slow steps of women weighed down with heavy loads stacked on their heads; the confused stumble of stray cows; the steady stroll of spinning bicycles; the blaze of accelerating cars; and the menacing rage of zigzagging motorcycles.

 Once we survived the city’s suffocated streets, I swallowed my stomach, which was lodged in my throat, and followed my friendly guide to a shopping center to buy small, miscellaneous supplies.

With sequin tote bags bulging with purchases, we crawled into the backseat of another rickshaw, swallowed our stomachs, and continued on to breathe in another adventure in the city. Sohini took me to one of her favorite places in Vadodara: Sayaji Bagh Gardens, which houses a zoo, planetarium, the Vadodara Museum and Picture Gallery, and botanical walking paths. The day was winding down so the various buildings were closed, but Sohini and I meandered down the walking paths with the light scent of blossoming dusk and sounds of sitar melodies swirling around the garden air. The sweet perfume of love also wafted through the crowd as the lush lawn was sprinkled with picnicking families, sharing traditional dishes and stories of their day, and romantic couples tied each other in intimate knots behind flower bushes.

Sohini and I walked and talked through the garden until the sun closed its blinds. With the darkness a frenzied crowd of mosquito paparazzi bustled to the event, trying to snap the perfect shot of the new friends. They know that there feeding deadlines can be fulfilled, because the friendship between Sohini and I will continue to ripen, and we will often share the last strands of daylight together in the future. 

Today I received my first hug in India.

It was startling.
It was brief.
It was lopsided.

But it was from Sandhya Mam,

full of warmth.
Full of intimacy.
Full of promise.

She wrapped my spirit in a sari embroidered with friendship

And family.

And the burning aches of my heart began to cool.

Obtaining Visas to Foodapest and La La Land

The students at Navrachana International School are yearning balls of light – curious minds that illuminate the dark shadows of ignorance that are cast on every society around the world. The moment I cross the threshold into their classroom, the students share such radiance with me, asking questions about the United States and its culture. How can America, with its vast array of flavors, be compiled into a few introductory phrases? Furthermore, how can I solely (and accurately) represent “The Melting Pot”? So I speak about what I know – the U.S. destinations that were stamped not in a passport, but the crisp pages of my memories: the electric pulse of colors that surge through one’s entire body in New York City’s Time Square; the tiny windows at the top of the St. Louis arch that collect the entire metropolis within their frame;  the steaming plate of grits and friend chicken eaten in Mississippi, served with a side of “Southern hospitality”; the majestic presence of the violet Rocky Mountains; the flares of yellow and red dragons that fly around Washington DC’s China Town; and most importantly, the rolling hills of Wisconsin farmland, sprinkled with roaming dairy cows and fanatic Packer fans.  The Indian students opened up their own mind passports and traveled around America with me.

After my brief introduction to America, we stowed the passports back into our deep cerebrum pocket.  The eighth grade English teacher, Sandhya Mam, then asked if I would give the class a prompt for oral discussion and evaluation. Due to their great interest in foreign countries, I asked the class to respond to the following questions:

 If you were the ruler of an imaginary country of your own creation, what would your country’s name be and what would the place look like? What infrastructures would you set in place?

The students were shy at first, but after a few minutes of individual deliberation their imaginations began to spark.  The students created the following countries, some of which I would like to obtain a visa to visit on my next great trip:

·      Foodapest

o   Things to know about this country: Visitors can only enter the country with some kind of food in their mouth

o   Tourist Attractions: There are several large marketplaces where every kind of food from around the world is available to buy

·      Science Country

o   Infrastructure of the country: This country has three states: Biology, Chemistry and Physics; the houses in the state of Biology are made out of organic material and the citizens that live in the state of Chemistry live in apartments in the shape of test tubes

o   Things to know about this country: only great scientists are permitted to reside in Science Country

·      Laugh Out Loud

o   Things to know about this country: visitors must be smiling and laughing when entering the country because Laugh Out Loud does not allow any sadness throughout the land

o   Tourist Attractions: There are many festivals and dances to celebrate happiness throughout the year; the sky is green and the trees are pink; the country’s flag is very colorful, like the citizens who live here

·      Republic of Change

o   Government decrees: All aspects of the nation will continuously be adapting and changing so that the country will not stay monotonous. If citizens have many talents and strengths, they can change their occupation often

·      La La Land

o   Things to know about this country: During the day citizens fight for peace like American hippies during the ‘70s.

o   Government decree: No one will act angry or upset in front of the ruler or they must pay a fine

After my mind meandered through the hidden crevices of the Earth where imagination thrives, I said goodbye to the eighth grade rulers and went to observe the learning experiences of grade 11. These juniors were discussing the title of the novel, The God of Small Things, and dissecting the perceptions and associations of the words, “God” and “small”. Their teacher, Subhalaxmi Mam, asked excellent probing questions to help the students further develop their concepts and create a deeper exploration of the text. It appears that no matter where one lives, a system of beliefs is a strong center of society, either based in religious principles or moral righteousness.  The questions that were asked in regards to Arundhati Roy’s novel in this class can also be applied to the mysteries of the universe and meaning of everyday life; so often these same questions have passed through the corridors of my most intimate thoughts and will hang on the walls of my heart until it ceases to beat:

Why do we need a God?

What are the “small” things versus “big” things?

When does a small thing transform into a big thing?

“The test of a good teacher is not how many good questions he can ask his pupils that they will answer readily, but how many questions he inspires them to ask, which he finds it hard to answer.”

-       Alice Wellington Rollins

Travel [trav-uhl] verb,

The word originates from 14^th century Scots, who adopted the meaning of the word “travel” from the Anglo-French word travail, which was defined as:

1a: work, especially of a painful or laborious nature: TOIL

b: a physical or mental exertion or piece of work: TASK, EFFORT

c: AGONY, TORMENT

2: LABOR, PARTURITION

Synonyms see WORK

*Courtesy of the Oxford English Dictionary 

Supposedly over 700 years ago the act of traveling was viewed as a method of punishment; sinners were plunged into the same purgatory being hung, drawn, and quartered, as the hell that enflamed one’s blistering heels with a journey of rocky miles.  My physical expedition to India was smooth and effortless, but now my emotions are embarking on a journey that reveals the laborious origins of this word.  Once again, the lack of communication between the various spheres of this experience has pushed a great weight upon my shoulders; I am the center point in a broken web of confusion and must tie all the pieces together so that everyone at this school has a clear understanding of my roles and responsibilities as an intern teacher.

In order to be certified as a Secondary Education teacher in Wisconsin I need to fulfill the requirements of a student teaching placement in a middle school AND high school. My first placement at Denmark Middle School worked with eighth grade students and fulfilled my requirements for that age group; therefore, UWEC’s field coordinator informed me that since I was placed again at the middle levels at Navrachana International School, my job search after graduation would be limited. This morning I had a meeting with the school principal, Mr. Theo D’souza, the IB curriculum coordinator, Usha Singh, the 7th/8th grade English teacher, Sandhya, and the 9^th/11^th grade English teacher, Subhalaxmi, to clarify the expectations and requirements of my placement. I informed the group about the need to have some experience with higher grade levels and they are accommodating this request: I will continue to observe 7th and 8th grade classes, but will also be building a curriculum for 9th and 11th grade English classes. The issue arises with the fact that there are only two more weeks of instruction and then on April 15 the students begin two weeks of examinations, so right now the teachers are reviewing the material for the exams instead of teaching new curricula. However, after the examination period is over I have been asked to lead a theatre workshop for 8th and 9th grade students for ten days and will develop a curriculum for this period as well. I am going to miss the little munchkins in 6th grade that I had been teaching lol, but my heart is consoled with prospects of a wide array of job possibilities when I return home.

There is a period of adjustment and effort that must be applied to new situations when treading of foreign soil. I have said this is the past and it still holds truth: There is much to learn from other cultures and one’s own experiences abroad so that when I step off the plane on my return flight, I will have intellectually, spiritually, and emotionally transformed, shaping my values and beliefs. The impact of international travel is profound in my life, because it is when one just jumps into something completely foreign and lets go of familiar surroundings that we first begin to learn.

Professional Development Surprise!

Events of Saturday, March 17:

A teacher’s work is never done. At Navrachana International School, the first and third Saturdays of the month are “working Saturdays” and classes are taught throughout the morning hours.  I woke up with a light heart, but my eyelids battled the heavy hand of sleep as I dragged myself to the academic building on a weekend. Fortunately I was not asked to teach any classes but had the opportunity to watch my cooperating-teacher, Sandhya (pronounced SUND-YAH), lecture to the sixth grade class about the Democratic government in India. The small classroom was crammed tight with about fifty attentive pupils; their inquisitive minds poured insightful comments and questions into the space, filling every nook and cranky of the room with learning. The teacher conducted an informative lecture where students did not take notes but were only required to listen so that they have some background knowledge when they read more on this topic in their textbooks. However, Sandhya frontloaded meaning at the beginning of the class period, explicitly speaking about the importance of her lesson, because it will help the students become more aware citizens; from my point of view, the students were already fairly knowledgeable about their system of government, reciting in unison that democracy was “for the people, of the people, by the people.” The students supported their ideas with examples of various leaders of government and previous elections and what information they did not understand they did not hesitate to ask questions. I discovered a poster on the wall that reflected the atmosphere that was created in this classroom and what values I also cherish as a future educator; the poster was entitled, “Acrostic Poem on Literature,” and went as follows:

L – Life-Long Learning

I – Intuitive Insight

T – Theatre of Life

E – Enriching Education

R – Radical Richness

A – Artistry of Language

T – Truth in the Telling

U – Undeniably Pleasurable

R – Rapturous Appreciation

E – Epiphany in Experience

My passion for teaching was rejuvenated as I sat and witnessed the proactive approach to learning as students investigated their own understanding and made it relevant and meaningful to their individual lives.

            One of the reasons that I admire the profession of education is the ability for teachers to not only enrich their student’s lives with ideas that provoke exploration and knowledge, but the opportunity for educators to get to know their students and learn from them as well.  While visiting the seventh grade English classroom I was able to spend quality time getting to know some of the students; they were more than willing to give me rich details about their lives and there was a wistful glimmer in their eyes as they spoke, which revealed their hope to form an intimate bond with the new, foreign teacher. Such a desire was also imprinted on my heart and was fulfilled as the student’s stories unfolded before me. In the front row sat two girls, Bethany and Ami (pronounced AH-ME) – best friends – with equally intriguing tales, interests, and goals. Bethany lived in Dallas, Texas for the past five years and has recently returned to India because her parents were called to the life of Christian missionaries. Her mother and father have a nondenominational church in Vadodara and although she is adjusting to life in India again, Bethany desperately misses the Whopper :D (especially because cows are sacred, according to the Hindu faith, and beef is not eaten). Bethany’s favorite band is SuperChic, a Christian rock band, and is learning to play the guitar herself and enjoys writing her own lyrics to the music she creates. Ami, like Bethany, is also a vibrant and friendly young girl and freely shared her stories of her family history. She schooled in Kenya for six years and said that the education program at that school ran from 6:00 am to 6:00 pm and the Kenyan students were extremely studious. Ami’s parents are currently living in Kenya again with her four-year-old brother, Jay, so Ami is living with her grandparents in Gujarat. This young pupil appears to be a big dreamer, wanting to become an architect or engineer or fashion designer when she graduates.  I have to admire the open arms and hearts of the students as they invited me, a foreigner, into their professional and personal lives.

The end of the class period was spent getting to know the competitive side of the students as we played a game that does not have an official name, but what I like to think of as Indian Checkers. The board was created from a sheet of paper and the students drew a pattern on the page that was a large rectangle with a "X" filling the entire box and a vertical line in the center of the rectangle, connecting the top and bottom of the shape.Miscellaneous objects, like erasers and stacks of staples, are placed as pawns on each side of the board. The player will move one pawn one space at his/her turn with the goal of the game being a player to align all of their three objects in a row, either horizontally or at an angle. I watched the students play a few games and then was invited to play the game against the continuous winner, Sheel Patal, who was previously living in Houston, Texas and is passionate about swimming.  About seven other students were gathered around to watch the game and were coaching me about which pawns to move. Despite the student’s help, Sheel was unbeatable; the game appears simple at first but it does require a lot of strategy and prior planning! I guess I should not have turned down so many games of Sequence with my mom back home lol :).

The school closed at 1:00 pm and all of the teachers were required to gather for a Professional Development Seminar. Throughout my first few days at the school I have been meeting teachers individually, but it was interesting to see almost one hundred teachers get together for roll-call amidst the sea of colorful saris and vibrant personalities. The small auditorium echoed with laughter and friendly greetings were said to me from all areas of the room. Instead of having a guest speaker talk to the group about educational topics, principal Theo D’souza surprised the teachers and asked everyone to board the buses to a secret location for a mysterious event. We were taken into the city of Vadodara to a plush hotel where we all were served lunch in the Lilac room and given the opportunity to mingle more with one another. My mom has requested that I talk about Indian food and the reason that I haven’t touched on this topic yet is because I do not know the names of the various dishes and like to give as much information as I can when describing new experiences. However, I will try to describe the food that I ate at this hotel. White rice is a staple of Indian cuisine (good thing I’m not allergic to it lol) and it is smothered with various kinds of sauces that have a blend of spices, like cumin and ginger. Many of the teachers were concerned that the meal would be too spicy for my American palate, but I assured them that I was accustomed to the spices since my boyfriend is from West Africa and likes to infuse our meals with similar tastes; they were extremely pleased to hear that I could enjoy the meal with them. I also had a cup of corn soup, which tasted exactly like the liquid that comes in a can of creamed corn at home – brought back memories of when I was a kid and had that sweet vegetable as a side for dinner. As the teachers slowly began to finish their meal, the Indian music was turned up and a few of the coordinators began dancing and encouraging others to join them in their impromptu fun. As the NISV staff began to let the rhythms vibrate within themselves and express their sheer joy through movement, their personalities were more clearly revealed. Usha (pronounced OO-SHA), the IB Curriculum coordinator, was the first one to shuffle around the dance floor and revealed her energetic, comedic persona. The entertaining spectacle of the spontaneous teacher dance-off caused my first big laugh in India. I was silently grateful to this random event because I was able to share the smiles and clapping of those who surrounded me and felt officially initiated into the Navrachana family of teachers. 

From the hotel luncheon, we all crammed back on the bus and were transported to the Chandan Multiplex movie theatre. Whenever I travel to another country I find that I am in the position where I will probably pee on myself lol – seriously! To my surprise, the bathroom in the movie theatre did not have a toilet but consisted of a tiny basin/drain on the floor of the stall. Despite the fact that I improved my “pop-a-squat” skills in Ghana, I did not want to risk smelling like pee throughout the entire movie surrounded by one hundred of my colleagues, so let’s just say that I got creative and took my pants completely off LOL. This may be TMI (too much information) for many readers, but know that going to the bathroom in another country with their different kinds of “toilets” can be an extremely interesting (not to mention, awkward) experience :D.  I really should get a T-Shirt like they have at amusement parks that says, “My bladder survived India.” LOL.  I was able to enjoy my first Indian movie without smelling like urine and it truly was a magnificent film! The entire movie was spoken in Hindi so I did not comprehend the dialogue and narration, but I was able to follow the plot through the emotions and actions of the actors.

Kahaani is a suspense thriller that opens with a scene where a terrorist group attacks a metro station with a gas bomb and all passengers are found dead. The story then jumps to two years later when a pregnant woman travels to an Indian police station from London, trying to find her missing husband who worked for a government organization. The plot unfolds as the woman and a police officer try to uncover the mystery of her husband’s disappearance amidst evidence hidden by the FBI and assassins hired to kill those with information.  Spoiler Alert! The ending is very dramatic and has a powerful twist where the woman finds her husband but he seems to not recognize her and turns away; she grabs his shoulder to turn him back around and the man proceeds to kick her in her pregnant stomach! The woman collapses to the floor with a grimace, but then she takes one hand under her sari and pulls out her fake pregnant stomach while her other hand reaches for her gun and she shoots her “husband” dead. WHAT?!?! It is then revealed that the woman’s real husband died on the metro that was attacked and so she set out to find the terrorists and murder them for the crimes against her family. Very intriguing plot line! The house lights came up again in the theatre and all teachers filed back onto the bus to return to Navrachana International School after a pleasant afternoon of full stomachs and full hearts.

Sleep is a shape shifter that transforms his body into several forms throughout the day. At times he is an angelic spirit that caresses your brow and kisses your eyelashes with blissful dreams; but yesterday Sleep was a brutish monster that reared its ugly head and one must viciously fight the beast in order to survive one more hour awake. Near the end of this eventful day, however, I could not conjure such strength to wield my sword and fend off Sleep.  At 6:30 pm I got off the Navrachana school bus and staggered back to my apartment; I immediately wrapped myself in the lingering shadows of dusk and gently rested my head against the monster’s chest ‘til morning. 

Spontaneous Combustion

First Day in India

I discovered this morning that my apartment has a stowaway; a pale-yellow lizard has been enjoying the splendors of my living room without paying rent. We made an agreement that he can stay as long as he has the decency not to explore my room; he is a polite lizard and kindly agreed to these terms. His name is yet to be officially decided, but I am strongly considering “Sefah” so that every day I can wake up in the morning and say, “Good morning, Sefah,” and head to bed with a “Goodnight, Sefah,” like I did at home. I never would have thought that I could alleviate some homesickness from the sudden emergence of an amphibian J.

Another surprise that I had this morning is that I am not feeling jet-lagged (cross my fingers – knock on wood). I have come up with a theory that I would like to call “The Two-Days Awake Phenomena,” in which a traveler who has a long journey cannot sleep on airplanes and therefore adjusts more quickly to the time change because they have not gone to bed at their usual time. It’s a working theory, but hey, I could not sleep on the flight to Ghana either and I did not have jet-lag effects at that time too. I woke up at around 7 am (in India; around 6:30 pm in good ol’ Denmark, Wisconsin) and did a bit more unpacking and organizing. At 7:50 am, my doorbell rang and Anju, the RA at the girl’s dorm, escorted me to the mess hall to eat breakfast.

In the mid-morning I was introduced to various faculty members and the vast majority of my future colleagues commented on how nice my nose ring looked and their surprise that I had this piercing since it is an old Indian tradition. I was also taken into some classrooms where the students all stood upon my entrance and said, “Good morning, Mam” in unison with wide, curious eyes and sweet smiles. The two colleagues that I will be working with most closely will be Lily, the director of the Education Studies department, and Snehlata Sharma, my cooperating teacher who teaches sixth and seventh grade English. There are two sections of sixth grade and Snehlata only sees one group of students, while the second section has a different class teacher; however, the teacher of 6B had to take a month leave of absence so today, on my first day in India, I was shown this teacher’s classroom and left alone to acquaint myself with the students and conduct a lesson. Through my experience in the education field thus far I have learned that this profession requires one to think fast on your feet, but dear lord! I was psychologically tossed into that classroom so fast that my skirt was blown over my brain. Ahhh . . . Umm . . . “Good morning class” . . . Twenty sets of inquisitive eyes were all peering at me . . . I gave a brief introduction of myself and then took the time to ask the students what they have been learning about, discovering that they have just finished reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and also have been learning various devices like figurative language, oxymoron, hyperbole, and puns. Just in this short conversation I noticed the genuine enthusiasm for education that oozes out of them, which compliments their general respect and polite behaviors in the classroom.  Like most sixth graders around the world, this group of students was full of energy and excited to participate in the class activities and to ask me questions, like famous places in America and why I chose to travel to India. My mind is also curious about their interests so I asked the students to each say one thing that was a “fun fact” about themselves and I learned that many of the students are interested in tennis, swimming, math and science, and a couple students are residents of the UK or U.S.  The remainder of class was spent reading aloud Oscar Wilde’s short story, “The Happy Prince”.

Every Friday there is some kind of house activity, which may include a competition between the different grades or a presentation, etc, and today in celebration of International Women’s Day the students were delivering written speeches covering a topic about women. Grades 6-8 spoke about the most inspiring woman in their life; one student, Aukit, talked about Oprah Winfrey and that he was inspired by her personal rise from poverty, and another sixth grade student, Kimberly, was enthusiastic about the struggles and triumphs of Helen Keller. Kimberly stated that the lesson learned from this famous woman is to “always be grateful for the miracle of our lives.” A profound thought for a girl of twelve years. The topic that grades 9-11 researched and wrote their speeches on is, “The most prosperous states of India have a skewed sex ratio.” Many students cited statistics about the decline in female births due to abortion and the mistreatment of girls in some states in India. With my background in theatre, I was asked once again to act spontaneously and be a judge for this competition, evaluating the speakers on the following: content, delivery, pronunciation. Lily was the other judge and she was terribly disappointed that several of the student speakers were reading their speech directly off of the paper and called for them to be disqualified from the competition. After all students were finished presenting she exclaimed her praise and critiques to the entire student body of grades 6-11. I was then . . . spontaneously . . . asked to give my own short speech about International Women’s Day for the sea of students; my knowledge of the struggle for women’s rights in India is limited so I chose to say a few words of inspiration for the female students in the audience. The words I spoke touched on the importance of knowing one’s own strengths and finding the core of your existence because at the end of the day it is your own opinion that matters because such confidence will make a dent on the world. I am living proof that that statement holds truth; my calm, friendly composure throughout today’s spontaneous situations has made an impact on the lives of students here at Navrachana International School and has given me an opportunity to reflect on my own strengths as an individual and educator.  

So the sun has set on my first day in India and it has been quite a successful day: I have been introduced to my new family of teachers, taught a spontaneous English class, judged a speech competition, gave an impromptu speech about women’s equality, and made friends with a stowaway. “Goodnight, Sefah.”

The Great Seat Exchange

The Commute: Traveling March 14 & 15, 2012

Airports and plane rides create a sort of magical connection between people. The journey of traveling in itself is a memorable experience if one only opens themselves up to breathing in the lives of those who surround them, even if the chance meeting is only a fleeting moment on the great time line of life. The vast array of colors, shapes, and sizes of travelers grants the opportunity for a multitude of different stories to be told; no matter how far away their destination is from your own, for a brief moment in a terminal or seat on an air plane a common thread is woven between strangers.

 I met several interesting individuals on my journey to India, including an obese Indian couple that could not speak English, an aggressive Indian woman who definitely could speak English, especially the phrase, “You’re in my seat,” and a young male flight attendant with friendly questions and googley eyes. And yes, these individuals all entered my life within the first 10 minutes of my journey through the event that I have deemed, “The Great Seat Exchange”. My original seat on the oh so glorious 14-hour flight from Chicago to New Delhi was an aisle seat in the middle row of the airplane and shortly after I was seated there the infamous “obese Indian couple that could not speak English” entered the scene. The woman of the pair stared at me, tried to communicate in Hindi, and then when it was obvious that I had no idea what she was saying, she proceeded to make shooing gestures with her hand in addition to pointing at the vacant seats across the aisle. Honestly, my first thought was that she did not want to be seated next to an American, especially some girl in a cute, red knit hat J, but after the couple began to squeeze their way into the seats next to me, that thought was squashed – literally. I was more than happy to oblige and asked the flight attendant (who had been smiling at me constantly and asking me questions about my plans in India with a twinkle in his eye) if I could move into a vacant seat. Yet, The Great Seat Exchange, underwent because the “vacant” seat I hauled all of my crap to was only temporarily open. About four minutes after I got settled in and stowed my laptop, bag of dried peaches, bag of carrots, water bottle, and novel, a hostile woman was suddenly hovering over my seat, claiming it as her own. Supposedly she and her husband made a point to book one seat at the window and one aisle seat. So I gathered up my laptop, bag of dried peaches, bag of carrots, water bottle and novel and trekked back to my original seat next to the overbearing couple (pun intended lol).  The friendly flight attendant, however, found another empty aisle seat a few rows up and I lugged all of my belongs there by a kind businessman with a thick mustache. The rest of the flight was uneventful; I watched a few “classic English movies”, including Sherlock Holmes, Hello, Dolly!, and Oceans 13, and constantly checked the virtual map of the flight to see the little plane creep over the Atlantic Ocean.

The air in New Delhi smelled like hot chocolate powder. As I was waiting outside to board the Air India plane to Vadodara, the aroma wafted around me and sprinkled my senses with spices.  My other senses were put to the test though when I rode from the airport to Navrachana International School with my supervisor, Sujata Srivastava; the Vadodara roads swarmed with motorcycles, violently swerving in between cars and trailing colorful saris in every hue.  Despite my adventurous spirit, the sudden jilts from hard braking unsettled me as our car blended into the chaotic whirl of Indian travelers’ rowdy honking and oncoming headlights.   Amidst the surges of fear, I had to smile at a fond remembrance of Ghana because India has some of the same infrastructure; food vendors in their small stands line the sides of the road and the two story strip-malls hold the same combination of stores: clothing, bank, food, and pharmacy.  Seeing these small connections between cultures is one of the reasons why I believe it is vital that individuals travel abroad: there is an opportunity to see that countries may have different designs, but we are all woven from the same cloth.

The Navrachana International School campus is located on the outskirts of the city of Vadodara, nestled between a small village area and a lush field of trees. I am living in a studio apartment in the Teacher’s Residence Hostel on campus, directly across from the cafeteria and academic buildings. The apartment is fully furnished, very clean, and my favorite features are the air conditioning in my bedroom and my own bathroom J; I’ve had enough “sweat-dripping” days in Ghana and “toting-shower-supplies” days when living on campus in college.  Once my bags were stored in my room, Sujata and I went down one floor to visit the principal of the school, Theo D’souza, and his wife and two daughters. The room was flooded with hospitality as I was warmly greeted with smiles and a sweet fruit drink. We all sat and chatted a bit in the living room where once again I was surrounded by artifacts from Africa; the D’souza family lived in Tanzania and other eastern African countries for numerous years and the walls were decorated with traditional masks, vibrant paintings, and three-foot giraffe wooden carvings. It seems like Africa truly is the center of the world; it definitely is for me (I love you, Sefah!). After many pleasantries, I said goodnight to Theo and his family and went to wash the tired day off my skin.