Welcome to the Congo

It's been almost two months and I don't think I've really said much at all about the Congo. I'll try to give a taste under some categories that are prominent my life.

FOOD: Like in most of Africa, the Congolese have a starchy staple in the form of a bowling-ball dense lump of doughy matter. In Malawi it's nsima, in Lesotho it's papa, in east Africa, ugali. Sometimes it's maize, sometimes cassava, sometimes yucca. Here it's fufu (also called fufu in Ghana) and it is made from cassava flour. I can eat it without gagging but it's tasteless and not nutritious. It's best quality is that it fills you up, but since I'm not starving, that is not a selling point. There are countless types of fish from the river and I've sampled a few. Rice and beans are another staple. There are several types of greens that are specific to the region as well as all the typical vegetables that grow in the great garden state. Plantains, bananas, pineapple, papaya, starfruit and mango grow in abundance. Plus there are an array of fruits I have never seen before. You can drink the tap water if you want hepatitis.

ROADS: Just awful. The only paved ones are simply not wide enough to accommodate all the cars. The rest are dirt and potholes. Instead of traffic lights a police officer on a step stool directs cars. There are apparently laws of the road, but they change on a seemingly daily basis based on the opposite of whatever a police officer thirsty for a coke notices you doing.

CRITTERS:
1. Bonobos, human's closest relatives are only found in the Congo.
2. Radioactive-size cockroaches routinely emerge from my walls, stagger to the middle of the floor and die.
3. Orange and blue lizards that do push ups (the elementary school mascot). Little tiny lizards that run across my feet in my house. Little tiny lizards in my classroom. The first time I found one, I showed the janitor to share in my delight. He misunderstood my wide eyes and proceeded to spray it with what he probably thought was bug spray, but which was actually air freshener. I didn't know enough French to say, "That won't kill it, it will just make it smell nice."
4. Snakes. I am usually lucky enough not to cross paths with them but one very long one that used to live near my classroom. I didn't have the patience to investigate it's poisonous status so I just asked a janitor to kindly smash it's skull with a stick.
5. Mosquitos. Because of malaria, they are far more dangerous than snakes, but they just don't strike up the same fear in my heart.
6. Mango worms. The reason to iron your underwear. They burrow into wet clothes, and when you put them on, lay eggs in your flesh. They can be avoided by machine drying or ironing. I line-dry no more.

STUFF I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO DO
1. ride public transportation
2. take photos anywhere in the capital
3. let on that I understand police officers when they speak to me in French
4. speak to police in French
5. walk around in the dark

SHOPPING: The best part is that instead of price stickers on the food, they put random letters and numbers. You then have to look up the code associated with the price in another part of the store. If you're gonna put a sticker, it might as well be the price sticker, right? I accidentally bought a $9 chocolate bar in the confusion. It was delicious. But it was also $9.

HELP AROUND THE HOUSE: I am the sheepish employer of a gardener. One day a random man started talking to me. His French was good but fast and I wasn't getting anywhere, so I just nodded and nodded and nodded until I realized that I had given him a job. He did plant vegetables though. Not the ones I thought I asked for, but I'll just learn to like zucchini I guess. I guess I'll learn to speak French better too. I am an even more sheepish employer of a cleaner. It is the standard procedure for teachers to have someone clean and another person garden one day a week. I nearly created history and gave myself a big headache in the process of insisting that I didn't want someone to clean. I based this on the fact that I thought I knew how to clean and that I had time to do it. Well as it turns out I live on a giant pile of brown dust. Actually, as it turns out, all of Congo is a giant pile of brown dust, until the rainy season when it becomes a mud pit. So as it turns out I do not have time to undo what it does to my house and my stuff on a regular basis. After a month and a half of trodding on filth, I found someone who can do battle with dust and cook a mean pot of kidney beans.

Stay tuned for... metallic upholstery, my godawful French, running in the bush and what the heck we do all day

kinderfolk

I learned a lot in my first two years in international education. I can say pee pee in Amharic, poo poo in Portuguese and cuddle in Dutch. I can sing about "All My Little Ducklings" in German and the Sesotho version of Head, Shoulders Knees and Toes (roughly translated to "Oh, child, your mother is suffering, burning in her body parts. Head, shoulders, nose, mouth, chest, waist, knees and toes.") I taught a child with the last name Mofo and a Buddhist named Tyranny (phonetical spelling). I ate a lot of international food in the name of research- thumbs up for spuculaas.

I am now in my 3rd year of international teaching (6th year in Early Childhood Education) and am faced with a new school, new country and new grade.

Meet the Kinderfolk (well, most of them)...

The Bride: She's not happy unless she's getting married in the dress-up corner or talking while I'm talking.

The UN Interpreter: She's only 4, but her stellar translation skills (English, German, French) prevent many a misunderstanding in my class.


Frick and Frack stumble confusedly around my class causing an annoying but quiet stream of chaos.


The Cowboy: Known as such for his favorite hat, during a discussion of words we agree not to say in Kindergarten (stupid, shut up, go away, you're not my friend) The Cowboy suggested adding "fuck it" to the list. Great Idea.

Precocious: She has a tendency to sprinkle words like "massive" in conversation (keep in mind she's only five). And being half Scottish, she taught me what the word "titchy" means.

Fidget: His name says it all. In fact, I suspect he's a little autistic. Then again, he could just have a touch of inherited weirdness (a parent told me he is not allowed to have rice and beans in the cafeteria because of his ears).

Pear Blossom: I learned in the elementary school library that this is the name of the Korean Cinderella. This child is spends the majority of her free time twirling with a piece of fabric trailing behind her.

Baby Gap: This child belongs on a baby gap ad. With a Polish mother and Congolese father he is one of the half of my class who have one African parent and one European or American parent. My class is full of tan, curly haired, multi-lingual babies.

Rattinger: He got his blog alias because he told me this was his name on the first day of school. His name is nothing even close to this.

Saying Goodbye to a Mosotho Hero

It was a sad weekend for Lesotho and for the American expat community in particular. In addition to the widely mourned and publicized murder of a Peace Corps volunteer on Friday, we lost a second victim to gunshot wounds the following night in an attempted hijacking.

Ntate Pohleili was one of the superstar dads at the American school. This was obvious to anyone who knows his two incredible children. But he became a true hero my class when he allowed us to visit his bread factory during our study of baking. It might not seem like much but a viewing of trucks unloading massive sacks of flour, a perilous walk through a maze of conveyer belts and a peek through a gargantuan room-sized oven can be unforgettable to a four-year-old.

For me that trip marked the end of a string of ridiculous, hilarious, often disastrous field trips in my two years teaching there. It was certainly the most dangerous. Ntate Pohleili was extremely wary about 21 3 and 4 year olds touring all manner of hot, sharp and limb stealing machinery but we arranged to go with his 5th grade daughter's class and we assigned each big kid a little guy. Those 5th graders took their jobs seriously, not simply holding their buddy's hand, but holding both. Nonetheless, I remember thinking that this would never be allowed back home, probably for good reason, and only weeks before my departure, it made me sad about leaving.

Sending love and thoughts from the Congo to Lesotho to the Peace Corps Community, the American school and the Pohleili family.

And Now I'm A Better Teacher

I just finished the experience I like to refer to as the most torturous $800 ever spent. And for those of you who haven't run into my text-book wielding, frantic self complete with bugged out eyes in the past 5 weeks, we can also call that, "Statistics." Specifically On-Line Intro to Statistics at Union County College. Why would I spend such a hefty fee on such an unpleasant experience? Well the New York State Department of Education, and by extension, the institution that will recommend me to receive my teaching license, requires that I have certain pre-requisites as an Early Childhood Educator. I took some of the courses in college and tested out of others, but a looming math course remained. 

And while UCC isn't the most challenging of institutions (indeed, in one assignment to post a project proposal including abstract, outline and reference list, a classmate posted only this, "Statistics in genetics. The statistics you need in genetics is so hard even the best mathematician would go crazy"), I was nonetheless taking a standard semester-long college level math course crammed into five weeks. As an online course, this meant that I read the text book and quizzed myself using the the text book website with no educational guidance or instruction while my faceless, voiceless professor kicked back in her bathrobe and laughed at our misfortune. 

And this $800 worth of mind numbing numbers is supposed to make me a better teacher? Ha! (And if I had grasped the content a bit better I would statistically prove the legitimacy of that sarcastic laugh). Yes, teachers should be proficient in basic skills. And New York State tests for these skills in not one, but two different exams, both of which are required for licensure. And the most ridiculous part is New York State has absolutely no requirement for course work in math pedagogy, which would actually be useful.

Actually, the most ridiculous part is I can't resell my $165 text book because it comes with the online computer code that has a one-time use only.

Make Love Not War

These are bonobos, one of the four great apes (quick: name the other three!)* and our closest genetic relations. Found exclusively in the Congo, they are very in danger of extinction. Bonobos are sold in the local markets as pets and the folks at this reserve buy them and bring them to their new home. All 50 adults were acquired this way, and 12 babies have been born on the reserve.

In this matriarchal society, conflict is solved through sex, and the bonobo range of sexual activity includes kissing, oral sex, masturbation... really you should just google bonobo and sexual behavior for the complete scoop.

This posting does not contain any ape porn, but I hope you like the remarkably human expressions.

*orangutang, gorilla, chimpanzee

DRC Packing List

Yes, that is a gallon of sunscreen.

A Bit Random...

(One of) the reason(s) it takes me so long to pack is that I stumble across papers. And I have to read them. Boring forms. Letters and postcards. Drawings from my students. And what I spend most time pondering and trying to remember, little scraps of things that I jotted something down on.

One such piece of paper, splashed with yellow paint stains says, "mataramputana." This is Sesotho for scribble. I love this word. It's long, it bounces. It sounds exactly as a word for scribble should sound. (Although I think "scribble" is also a pretty good word for scribble).

One of the assistant teachers (Zambian by birth, Mosotho by marriage, with a little piece of her adolescent heart still somewhere in Malawi) wrote it down for me. I made some comment about the word which I can't remember now. She replied, in Zambia, we say "mwandakandandgyankapo."

It means the act of spreading peanuts on a straw mat for drying. I found this out awhile later when we realized that I thought we were having a conversation about words that mean "scribble" and she thought we were having a conversation about words that are long.

Another funny thing I found, copied down from a hilarious text I received from a taxi driver two years ago: "Hi dear, zambia is moaning for 21 days. Only after,can i send u da touch bcoz offices wil remain closed. Ope u under wit me."

Lost in translation? Let me help you out. "Hi Dear, Zamiba is mouring for 21 day. Only after, can I send you the torch because offices will remain closed. Hope you understand."

(I left my head torch in his taxi when he dropped me off at the airport. He discovered it when he got back to town and drove all the way back to the airport but I had already boarded the plane. The president died that weekend and he promised to mail it when the post office opened again).