The Beginning of the Conclusion

I haven’t had time to write for several days because my life has been a circus act, juggling various extracurricular commitments at NISV and preparations for my future in the “real world” after my fast-approaching graduation:

Juggling ball #1: Pre-vacation Theatre Workshop

            Originally I designed the curriculum for the theatre workshop to revolve around the issue of bullying since I have noticed that this is a serious problem within this school. However, when I received the class list for the workshop, I noticed that all of the students enrolled in my program are the type of individuals who befriend those being bullied and are more sensitive to the social dynamics of the school. So then I thought about widening my unit to “The Appreciate of Diversity”, but the construction of lessons around this theme seemed forced and contrived. Therefore, I decided to give the students the opportunity to choose an issue that is meaningful and relevant to their lives that they would like to explore through theatre. The six participants, in grades 6, 7, and 9, brainstormed the following issues that they felt affected them as students of NISV and residents of Baroda: bullying, TB, act of littering and use of plastic, polluted lakes, air pollution from burning tar, slums, disaster management, traffic hazards, and smuggling drugs. The general consensus was to focus the workshop on health issues, so we used a variety of theatre devices to prompt discussion and emotions about this topic.

           

My assessment of the workshop also changed during the short six-day period. The original plan was for the students to write and enact their own script and they had been working on a pirate theme with a plot where Captain Hook was throwing garbage and oil into the ocean and causing the death of sea horses. However, two days before the final performance for their parents, the participants stood divided and were struggling to agree on a plot that would generate interest for a wide array of ages.  So I made the executive decision to find a script already written to preserve time that was quickly fleeting; the first text that came to mind around health/environment issues was “The Lorax” so the students and I collaborated on the most important parts of this story and began to cast characters and enact this children’s book. The students truly internalized the characters and plot and as a director I was extremely proud of their dedication and talents that were showcased in their performance.

Juggling ball #2: Boarder’s Concert – Hip Hop Routine and One-Act Play

            When I lived in Ghana and something malfunctioned or went awry, the phrase that was used by Ghanaians was, “This is Africa!” Well similarly, the teachers have used the sarcastic phrase, “Welcome to India,” several times after I have been assigned to additional rehearsals for the Boarder’s Concert. Rehearsal times were originally from 2:15 – 4 pm Monday thru Friday and then Saturday was slowly added to the schedule. Then Sunday rehearsals were also added in addition to daily night practices from 7 – 8 pm before dinner. This concert was a giant vortex that sucked all of the time out of my days, but I appreciate the extra opportunities to interact with the students. To my surprise, the boys involved in the hip-hop routine were extremely enthusiastic about learning the dance and requested that they incorporate some of their own choreography into the piece.

            There was also a surge of participation from male students in my one-act play; the script was actually modified three different times to accommodate the additional actors, which came to a total of 12 boys and one girl.  Most of these participants had never been involved in dramatics previous to this experience, but I was impressed at their genuine interest in the process and production. The rehearsals were filled with both joy and frustration as a director [which I believe is quite normal] because the actors immediately memorized their lines and seemed to be committed to their roles outside of rehearsal, but then when we were actually together in the space, the actors were completely unfocused and played the drums offstage or sat down onstage when they finished their dialogue, etc. It was evident that the actors needed basic lessons about character interaction, cheating-out onstage, voice projection/use of diaphragm to breathe, differentiation of tone, moving with purpose, and using the entire body to express oneself.  Upon reflection, I realized that I should have been giving more support in these aspects of theatre by going beyond my explanations to the provision of more examples, but it is a learning process for all, including myself. The day of the final performance for their parents was a dramatic improvement from previous rehearsals and my heart swelled with pride at their hard work and effort in the production.

Juggling ball #3: Job Applications

Up to date, I have applied for English/Language Arts teaching positions at SEVENTEEN different school districts in Wisconsin: Fort Atkinson, Elmbrook, Franklin, Menasha, McFarland, Twin Lakes, Waunakee, Platteville, West Bend, Howard-Suamico, Kimberly, Lake Geneva, Milton, St. Croix Falls, Stanley-Boyd, Wittenberg-Birnamwood, and Seymour.  I appreciate the fact that there is a plethora of job openings in my chosen field, but this whole process of tailored cover letters, resumes, and extra district questions is getting old . . . fast. However, I have become re-inspired about my profession due to researching a variety of schools and reading that many mission statements include global awareness and appreciate of diversity. My top preferences for school districts are those in the surrounding Green Bay area or around the Milwaukee or Madison area so that Sefah and I can live near a larger city with more nightlife and cultural programs.

It is ironic that my first month in India was weighed down with boredom and now I have so much to accomplish with little time to do it. 

Visit to Jamnagar

The ride to Jamnagar had some conflicts, which resulted in two notions. The first was that despite the nice accommodations of the coach bus, the 8-hour trek could cause serious health risks. Between our 1 pm departure and 9 pm arrival, the bus stopped only once for a short dinner break, which resulted in a sloppy mayo, tomato, and cucumber sandwich and an unsuccessful trip to the washroom.  As I approached the facilities the stench of raw shit crashed into me, causing my entire body to cringe and convulse. I consider myself to be adventurous, but that bathroom went far beyond “adventure” and landed into the dark territory of peril. I promptly changed my course of direction and headed back to the bus with a painful pinch in my abdomen for the remaining two hours of the journey.

            My second notion: I know the thoughts of zoo animals – their “glass-not-thick-enough” thoughts. The secret blush. The frantic search for an unstaring hole in the mass to place their self-consciousness. The bus stopped at a small market to shuffle passengers on and off and men flocked and gathered and peered at me through the large bus windshield. Rickshaw-driving men. Mango-selling men. Bus-waiting men. From inside my Plexiglas cage I heard the sounds of the well-oiled Chauvinist machine: minds turning with a clank; eyes shifting into gear; smiling clicking into place. Thankfully mine is a moving cage and the machine became clogged with dust and exhaust. The zoo has closed and the animals frolic without inhibitions under the greedy gaze of an audience.

            Immediately after exiting the bus I flung myself into the open arms of my friend and we picked up our conversation as if it was never set down – mid thought - on our way to her house. Sohini’s parents are collectively and individually the sweetest people I’ve ever met. I was welcomed as their second daughter and I could see my face magically appear in the family photographs that hung on the robin egg - blue walls. Mom spoke in hesitant, broken English, but her genuine smiles and affectionate hugs completed her sentences. She said I was “soft and sweet” and was grateful that Sohini has me as a friend. As a typical mother, she served her love for me on a large spoon, piling my dinner high and wide across my plate; it is assumed that if a guest truly enjoys the food they will consume enormous portions. This was an easy task considering that my first dinner with my new family was the most delicious meal I’ve had in India: rice sweetened with plump raisins and grilled cashews with chicken marinated in a sweet and tangy sauce. Sohini’s father [whom I call “Uncle”] has a curious mind and avid love for book facts. He had previous knowledge of my relationship with Sefah and noted the special irony that Ghana gained their independence from Great Britain on March 6, 1957 and that is his birthday. Uncle noted that I have a sweet smile and a laugh that widened my heart. One parent is full of heartfelt words, the other full of heart, and both were overflowing with hospitality and warmth.

It was pretty late when I first arrived in Jamnagar on Saturday evening, but I requested a night stroll around the town to stretch my cramped legs. A little third grade girl, the daughter of family friends, accompanied Sohini and I on our walk. The cool sea breeze swirled around three shadows that bobbed and bounced around parked motorcycles and wandering cows to the edge of town and back home again. Jamnagar is a small town with a big heart all packed into the tiny house of the Banerjee family. I squeezed past all the love and collapsed into the King-size bed that Sohini and I shared like sisters. With the Arabian Sea still swirled in my hair, I traveled to a dream world of turquoise waves.

Sunday was a day of water.  By noon the family was rolling towards Marine National Park to explore the exposed coral reef deserted by the morning tide.  For four hours we waded through ridged sand and shallow pools towards the foamy waves that crashed against the distant horizon. The formation of a warm memory fluttered around me and landed its soft legs on my heart. 

 I deeply inhaled the aroma of the water: sun-baked seaweed and swimmer secrets. A scummy, sunny smell. With a purse and water bottle clutched in one hand and my sand-sealed sandals dangling from the other, I followed the tour guide as he scoured the crevices and cracks of the land and water for various creatures to exhibit.  My face seized the sun, my heart captured the sea, and my palms held crabs, coral fish, sea cucumbers, and starfish.

The afternoon wore on above our scavenger hunt until the low rays caught our guide’s attention. He hurried us back to high ground before the tide returned and filled the sea floor beneath our feet. We won the race and watched the gulf become engulfed by land as we drove toward the next sight: the Ranjitsagar Dam. The body of collected water was still except for the shimmer of sunrays pirouetting across the surface, causing vibrations of tranquility to resonate within my spirit. We attempted to capture this feeling within the lens of our cameras and then headed back home (though a herd of sheep crowding the road, I may add. I thought this kind of traffic only happened in movies!)  

Once we returned back to the city, the evening circled Sohini and I as we walked the path around Lakhota Lake in the center of Jamnagar. Every Saturday and Sunday night the citizens hold a sort of weekend celebration around this lake and food vendors sell snacks and small fair rides are assembled for children.  After dusk we sat on a park bench and soaked in the bright lights of the rides, savoring the colorful moments of our time together this weekend.

I didn’t cry when I hugged Sohini goodbye Monday morning when she left for work, because I had this thought tucked deep inside that I would see her again, and I didn’t cry when Uncle flashed a warm smile as he headed out the door behind her. My eyes were dry even when Mom silently put her hand on my knee and I enclosed my hand over hers in the rickshaw to the bus station. But the tearful moment came when I entered the bus with Mom and we began our goodbye dance: she wrapped her arms tightened around me and I kissed one of her cheeks, and she kissed one of mine, and then she held my hand with warm fingers and made me promise to come back to visit again before I flew back home – this was when emotions swelled from my heart to my tear ducts.  I am still lost in bewilderment at the strong familial bond that developed between strangers within the first minutes of introduction. The Banerjees are most definitely my adopted family in India, but will remain family even when I leave this country.