With Our Eyes Wide Open We

 I had half a post written about the impact of Ebola on the academic calendar and the not-insignificant confusion and frustration that has caused, but I realized that what I really want to share is how I spent an afternoon with my students today. So here is a small story that really embodies why I love my work and life here so much.

I have only one section of students right now, a group that went through most of the semester with no math teacher and therefore were not going to be promoted with their fellow tenth graders at the end of July. But the VPI (vice principal of instruction) sat down with me when I arrived and asked me to work with them this month and bring them up to speed so they could move on. I agreed, so I now have two hours of geometry five days a week with forty students. This is vastly different from the two hours of algebra per week with four hundred students that I had last year.

Since I have so much to cover, my lessons (all two days so far) have been very notes-heavy and I was struggling to find ways to incorporate critical thinking into an introduction of basic geometric figures and symbols. Students here are very skilled at copying and memorizing notes, but one thing they don't practice much is applying the material they're presented with. One of my goals for my second year of teaching is to build more excited critical thinking into my lessons and assessments. A late-night lesson planning/Skype conversation with my best friend yielded an idea that I put into practice today.

I greeted my students ("Good afternoon, 10E" "Good afternoon, Ms. L"), put the warm-up in the board, and floated around the room listening to discussion and debate about the difference between complementary and supplementary angles. We examined the definitions of convex vs concave polygons, named polygons by number of sides, and explored special types of triangles. And then I introduced their assignment: explore campus and find examples of three different geometric figures or ideas from their notes, classify them, and illustrate their findings. I walked them through two examples (a convex hexagon shape formed by classroom windo bricks, the parallel wood slats on the back of a chair) then turned them loose for 15 minutes.

When I called them back in they were excited about how much fun it had been to have class outside and amazed that things like equilateral triangles and right angles were so plentiful outside their copy books. I was excited about how engaged they all were in the lesson after two hours of notes and amazed that they were so insightful and observant.

I usually leave class feeling accomplished enough just having presented material and kept order, but today was something special. I felt like I really taught, connected, shared small the reason I love math so much. 

Barbershop Quartet

 The fact Fresh starts come at all speeds. Today's was a slow, steady settling. I put away the books and cooking supplies I brought from America and sorted my clothes while Favor sat on the cool tile at my feet flipping through Mufaro's Beatiful Daughters. I erased the July and August calendar drawn on the chalk board on the living room wall that showed all the plans Heather and I had for last summer before the evacuation and drew a new board with some new plans for a new start. I hung out with the neighbors and beat Fatu at a game called Ludo, which is like Sorry! but with tiny dice, a board decorated with pictures of Jesus, and intensely cutthroat rules about stealing oponents' rolls. I took a long meandering Sunday afternoon walk halfway across town to reclaim it and explore the newest evolutions. And after my evening meal and cool bucket bath I sat with the neighbors in the falling light while the ladies braided each other's hair and one of the guys delivered super fly buzz cuts to his brothers and treated the rest of us to scathing analysis and commentary on the recent student council elections at Lango Lippaye. I ended my perfect day with conversation about community strength with Ben and another neighbor whose Unicef-sponsored t-shirt read "A friend who survived Ebola is still a friend." I have plans for a big market run and some meetings on campus tomorrow, and the makings of a tasy cucumber sandwich. And Ma Fata's new dog Lassie is warming up to me. 

My Kingdom Awaits

I lay in bed under my new white mosquito net watching heat lightning flash out my open window, waiting for the rain. I could feel in the air, smell it on the wind; every part of me was caught in expectation. It was coming. And then, like every biblical miracle, it broke over the house, singing on the tin roof and washing everything clean. I fell asleep to the lullaby of the Liberian rainy season for the first time in 10 months, and I had such sweet dreams.

I dreamed that when I came down the hill to my yard, Favor and Martin and all the other children came running up to greet me, taking my bags and hanging off my arms, chanting and beaming and so blessedly alive.

I dreamed that when I saw Fatu and Lydia and Maryline again they threw themselves into my arms and cried about sisters reunited.

I dreamed that 400 students left their classrooms to "bust" (fist-bump) me, exclaim in joy at my return, and ask where Ms. C was. I was not prepared for how incredibly happy I was to see Martin's face again.

I dreamed that the miracle of my return and the hard work of willing friends swept the dust and cobwebs from a home left housing only hope and ghosts for a year. And that small hands flipped through bright picture books while little voices chattered to one another about the strange things they were looking at.

I dreamed that humble gifts of cinnamon and vanilla were received like frankincense and myrrh.

I dreamed that Abel came and sat small to lecture with me, and broke my heart with stories of staying locked in the house all day to keep from getting Ebola, of families collecting the ashes of their burned loved ones to bury to mark their passing, of hunger and uncertainty and overwhelming fear. And that we laughed over how tall Mustafa has grown, and celebrated the possibility of these two bright boys getting scholarships to the vocational high school when they reach tenth grade.

I dreamed that Sunday morning brought an early wake-up call and a walk through rain-damp grass to a little church down the hilll, of singing and chanting, seeing Annie again, holding a baby girl and being in the beating, stomping, rejoicing heart of a community again.

I dreamed that we all came together for a meal of spicy potato greens and fish over rice, rewriting the memory of another, more sorrowful meal.

I dreamed that I walked through the market again, that everyone I met welcomed me back, that even on Sunday the market was full of life, rebuilding from a time of the exact opposite.

I dreamed that I was home.

And I awoke to find that it was not a dream.

I am home. And though time and suffering have changed this place, it still has room for me, and open arms to bring me in. I am home.

I'm coming home
I'm coming home
tell the world I'm coming home
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits and they've forgiven my mistakes
I'm coming home, I'm coming home
tell the world I'm coming home