Quote of the Week #1

If you've been tracking my blog at all, you know that my students are Colombian and English is their second language. This means that they often make mistakes using the language. A lot of times it takes everything in me not to laugh. I would like to share these blunders though, so I've decided to start a quote for the week. Fridays will be my day to post and my hope is that you'll at least crack a smile when you read them.


This is the first period after our 25 minutes break.

Student walks up to me and taps my shoulder: Miss (mease) I need to go to the bathroom.
Me: Not right now - go take a seat. 
Student in the most whiny voice possible: Meeeeeease. Please mease.
Me: We just got off of break, you had 25 minutes to take care of it then, go take a seat.
Student more whining : But mease, I reeeeeeally need to make pee. Just let me go make pee.

...I let him go. I know I shouldn't have, but I was afraid I might lose it laughing. "I really need to make pee." Priceless.

New Teacher 101: Riding the School Bus

School has finished for the day, and yet I am sitting here on a hot school bus and will be for the next 10 minutes. This is not quite by choice, I must add, but because this lovely thing will take me home. I happen to have my laptop with me so what better way to narrate a story than as I am experiencing it. I get a headache every time anyways, so why not accelerate the process by staring at a bouncing screen. Here I give my best recollection of the bus ride that I encounter each day.

Before starting my description, I must ask you a favor: take every mental schema of a “school bus” and throw it out the window.  You won’t need it. I know if you try and fit my portrayal into your preconceived notions you won’t get the correct picture. Throughout the city I’ve never seen the standard “wheels-on-the-bus-go-round-and-round” yellow giant that we see everywhere in the states. So again, toss it.

Now that you’ve erased “school bus” from your mind, I can proceed. Let’s start with what these buses look like. First of all, they are all charter-bus style with 2-3 vinyl seats on one side of the aisle and 2-3 vinyl seats on the other side. I say “charter-bus style”  not because they are particularly nice, but rather the seating plan is the same and there are giant windows that take up each side of the bus (like you see on charter buses). They come in a variety of colors (mine happens to be green and white) with a variety of different logos on them. They lack air conditioning, but at least the windows open so when we are moving there is air flow.

 So, how in the world do we identify our school busses? They all have 3 unifying features: (1) Somewhere painted on each bus is the word “escolar” (school) and the name of our school (2) there is a bus driver and an attendant (both in uniform) and (3) There are little Colombians packed inside

I am a teacher, so you may be confused as to why I’m taking the school bus. Well, I don’t have a car and also don’t care to jog the 20 km through the mountains to and from school each day. Therefore, my option lies in taking the bus or a taxi. The bus is a free service provided by our school (which most teachers take anyways) so it is my best choice. In the morning we have a “teacher-only” bus, but then in the afternoon we join the students. 

If you take away the nausea, fumes, and headache, the morning bus ride is quite tranquil. I walk a few blocks from my house (uphill mind you) to my bus stop where several other teachers congregate to wait for the bus.  The bus arrives between 6:35 and 6:45, there is plenty of space for all teachers, and apart from the droning engine and general traffic noise it is silent. No one really talks and we’re all okay with it. I’d like to imagine the majority of the teachers are mentally preparing for the day ahead? Ha! As for me, all the dips and tucks throughout town, looking at all the shops and the constant fear of throwing up demand all of my attention. Anyways, we arrive to school around 7:15 and rush off the bus to sign in and make it to our classrooms before the first bell at 7:25. In the states I’d arrive to school 45 minutes early, this 10 minutes (on a good day) is sometimes stressful…but I’m thankful for the ride.

Now for the afternoon bus ride: The school bell rings at 3:00 and everyone rushes to the bus; students and teachers alike. Initially I participated in this, but recently I’ve stopped hurrying due to the stuffy heat that ensues upon taking a seat. Despite what time you get on the bus, it still leaves at 3:15. That means the earlier you get on, the longer you sit on a cramped bus, with no airflow and the sun beating down you on. Not exactly the most pleasant experience. Eventually the bus leaves, the air starts flowing, and before I know it we’ve dropped off a bunch of little ones, it’s 4:15 and I’m finally at my apartment.

Now all this might not sound too bad, but I must tell you first about the fumes. The windows are open and in comes exhaust, before I know it I’m high. Not only am I high, but I also get a wicked head ache. Second I must talk about the terrain. Pereira is situated in the mountains. Whoever made the roads could not escape the mountains or flatten them, so almost all streets have some sort of incline. Some are a gradual slope while others are approaching a 75 degree angle. You think I’m joking, I’m not.  So I’m high, I’ve got a headache and the bus is lurching up and down these massive inclines. Third, the bus drivers are fantastic, but the roads are tight and bumpy, there are a million stop lights/signs, we make a ton of stops to pick up/drop off people, and shifting is not always the smoothest. We thrust forward and then plunge to a stop. This motion continues throughout the entire ride. Why don’t we just add continual nausea on my list of ailments? By the end of the ride I’m ready to be done.

So there you have it: my bus ride in a nut shell. Initially it was horrible, but to be honest I’m getting used to it and I’m thankful to have transportation provided for me. Some of the other teachers who have taught at international schools around the world assure me that they’ve had it much worse! I’ll take my cards, head home, and pop some ibuprofen to get me through the night.

A Triumphal Return

I’m going to let you all in on a little secret: I typically don’t title my blog posts until after I’ve written them. It goes like this, I write until my brain stops working, I scan  over my work, and then as I’m scanning I just try and settle in on a few words to put in the title.  No big deal, it’s a pretty easy process. Today I’m doing it backwards. I’ve written a title before even deciding what to write. My hope is that it will be a foretelling of what is to come: this return is going to be triumphal! The plane will have no problems, I will make all my connecting flights, I will promptly pass out into a deep slumber on every leg of flying, I will return to Pereira without the slightest hiccup along the way, Starbucks will give me a free coffee (hey – dream big or go home…right?) and American Airlines will not succeed in making me cry this time! High hopes, yes. Worth the positive attitude, every time!

Well I’m in the airport now in Marquette. Chilling on the right side of security and waiting to start boarding. So far, things have been good. Security thinks I’m dangerous and a potential threat, but they’ve just got to understand the needs of a biology teacher in a foreign country. One of my carryon bags contains 3 teachers’ edition science books (picture the biggest, most awful/heavy, hard cover text book you can) and a 10 pound box of Borax. Then stuffed in all the crevices are random clothes articles and 3 packs of scone mix.  As it rolled through the scanner all it showed was solid black contents. I overheard the security guy saying, “um…I can see nothing…this one’s gotta be opened up and tested for hazardous chemicals.” Ha! I was on the verge of giggling as another security man opened up my bag. I wasn’t going to say a word to justify the awkward contents, but since he speaks English I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. Once I’m Colombia-side again, the intimidation of Spanish returns and I’ll turn down the option every time, so I figured now is as good of time as ever to speak in a language I’m comfortable with. I briefly mentioned that moving to another country makes you appreciate books and simple chemicals you can only get here. His response, “well are you at least living someplace fun?”  Sure, I responded, Colombia is great. After grabbing my stuff and sitting down another lady went through and had to be checked. The security man I talked with pulled the same line, “well are you at least going someplace fun?” I smiled as I decided it’d be great  to count how many times a day he says that. I’ll admit, it’s a pretty good line.

The Invincible Colombian

The backdrop of this story comes from spending 5 years of my life in Big Rapids, MI attending Ferris State University. I learned an awful lot while there, but in my top 10 is the fact that it is illegal to jaywalk. A police officer gave me a warning once as a sophomore and explained to me the rules: when crossing the street you must (1) cross in the cross walk (2) cross within the white lines (3) cross when the light-up man is on "walk" and (4) if the hand starts flashing while you are crossing you may proceed, but if you haven't entered the crosswalk prior to the flashing hand you must wait for it to stop, then through the 2 minute light, and finally you may enter the road. 5 years of this pounded into my brain. 7 AM on a sprint to class I still observed the rules because you never knew when a police officer would jump out of the bushes and give you a ticket.

But this is Colombia now...ha! Let's talk about jaywalking here.

Jaywalking is just about the only manner in which one can cross the street. Forget finding the nearest light, forget waiting until the road is clear, and forget all pretense of Michigan pedestrian rules.

I was trying to cross the main street to get home the other day and I was being a good pedestrian. I didn't enter the street and was patiently waiting for the cars to clear. Patiently waiting for 5 minutes. Not joking. 5 minutes. Soon the patiently waiting turned to an impatient desire to be home, and so I did what any Colombian would do and just barged into the street. If you can make it half way across, perfect! Stand in the middle on the line, wait for traffic to clear, and then finish the trek across. Meanwhile taxis are streaming by, buses are at their usual stop and go, motorcycles are always nuts, and regular drivers just dodge everything. Well, I made it across the street, didn't get a ticket, and decided Michigan rules aren't that bad.

Friday night is another story. The main street close to me is PACKED with cars. I mean stop/go traffic getting to all the clubs/bars near by. The street basically becomes an obstacle course and I feel like I'm on WipeOut as I maneuver through everything. It's quite intimidating at first, but then you realize it's the only way to cross and everyone else is doing it. I typically cling to Stephen or Kevin as they trace the path of least resistance. I suppose they're more willing to take a hit for the team than I am!

So yeah, crossing the street is always interesting and watching Colombians cross the street is even more exciting. One day I'm certain I'll see someone get hit. They just don't seem to care...or maybe the truth is, their invincible!

I want a kay-suh-dil-uh (quesadilla)

So while I'm in Colombia I really want to master the Spanish language. I think a noble goal is to speak Spanish with a minimal accent and sound as non-gringa as possible. Most of the time when I'm speaking with natives, I am very conscious of my pronunciation and really focus on the sounds coming out correctly. I say most of the time, because there is a particular instance when letting my American accent dominate my Spanish is quite helpful: when people on the street try and sell me things.

Today, I realized how awesome it is to use my handicap with Spanish to my advantage. A man walked up to me trying to sell me a bracelet made of pink and purple yarn and knotted in the middle. I was not impressed. Neither was I in a hurry though so I made eye contact and he started talking. I stopped him within the first few seconds and explained to him that I don't speak Spanish. The problem is, that I have used this sentence so much that it's second nature and I can say it in nearly perfect Spanish. So the man pauses, gives me a confused look, and just keeps rattling on his speil. Obviously he wasn't buying my story of ignorance. Let me try again.  I stop him and decide it's time to sound as non-spanish-speaking as possible. Very slowly and painstakingly I tell him, "No en-tee-en-doe.:" (I don't understand.) So really I did understand what he was saying. He was telling me something about he is raising money to support gay people or something like that, but I just wanted him to leave me alone. Mind you, as he is telling me all this, he is tying the "bracelet" (if you can call it that) on my wrist. "Solo mil pesos" (only 1,000 pesos). Okay, $.50 to get this guy to leave me alone. Deal. I start to get my wallet and I asked him (again, very slowly), "Mil pesos?, okay, como no." (1,000 pesos? okay, why not). The he looks at me, and changes his mind, "no no, dos mil, dos mil." (No, 2 thousand 2 thousand.) Alright buddy, I don't want the stupid bracelet but I'm giving you $1,000 pesos to leave me alone and now you're trying to scam me. Awesome. lol. I pretended not to understand, gave him the $1,000 pesos and walked away with a bracelet already tied on my wrist. 5 strides later I had it off and in my pocket.

From now on, when people approach me to sell me stuff my goal is to sound as non-latin as possible. Saying you don't speak Spanish in perfect Spanish just won't cut it anymore!

The Kiddos

I had the weirdest epiphany while cleaning my white board last week before heading home. There I was, standing there wiping off notes on the "web of life" and this quiet voice peeped up breaking my trance, "Oh Hi Leanne, You know, you could do this teaching thing". I stopped erasing for a moment and there the voice was again, a little stronger, "Yeah, you could be a teacher Leanne, you even like this." Wow. Ever since graduation I've been contemplating whether or not teaching is for me. I haven't been certain I want to make a career of it, and quite frankly I still haven't decided, but that small voice was so encouraging as I was in the midst of my first full week teaching my own class. That reassurance that this is where I'm supposed to be right now. You want to know why? My kiddos. It always comes back to them. Maybe I'm not crazy about teaching biology, but I'll tell you what, I'm crazy about my students. Sometimes they make me crazy but at the end of the day they're just teenagers that want to be loved and accepted and when I boil everything down at the end of my day I just want to love someone and make them feel important. I'd say it works about pretty well.

Alright, enough sap and onto the topic of the blog: the Colombian Student. I've only spent 8 days with my kiddos, but I've observed enough to fill pages of information. For your sake I'll try and

 First and foremost they like to talk in Spanish. I will draw your attention to 2 parts of the statement: #1 “THEY LIKE TO TALK” and then the later #2 “in Spanish.” Before I had arrived at my school I was told that Colombian students like to talk, but I really didn’t take it seriously. Now I understand.  I’ll be talking and there will be about 10 side conversations. In American culture, this is rude. In Colombian culture, this is normal. You can even see it in adults. At our staff meetings there will be several side conversations happening while someone is in the front talking. It’s awfully inefficient because the same things have to be repeated a hundred times, but it’s expected. I can’t handle this for 2 reasons: #1 I hate repeating myself a hundred times and #2 I already speak quietly and don’t like to raise my voice when I teach so then the students who do want to listen can barely hear me. I call students out all the time; they get a little embarrassed, and are less likely to do it again. Less like = they will still talk, but do more multi-listening.  

The second part of that statement was “in Spanish”. Spanish is their first language, so they like to talk to each other in Spanish. I probably say “English please” over 20 times a class period. Most of my kids don’t know I speak Spanish though and it’s quite comical at times. Earlier this week when we were taking notes some girls were talking in Spanish and said, “ah, this class is so boring right now.” One day I’ll drop the bomb and just start talking to them in Spanish. They will be shocked.  I’m trying to come up with a way to keep them speaking in English. I think I’ll have a competition between the classes to see which class can go the longest without using Spanish once in class. I bet my longest class lasts 3 minutes.

I’m sitting here grinning as I’m thinking about this next topic: their English capabilities. Some of them have decent English and some of them have awful English. Sometimes I can’t even understand what they are saying. Last week one girl was trying to tell me about a “bear” and all I could here was “eagle”. I’m not joking. Those words don’t even sound alike! It was so awful. After about 20 seconds of back and forth trying to figure out the word, another student chimed in: “BARE”. Oh….wow. This happens frequently. Some of them know they can’t speak well and are kind of shy about it. Some of them think they can speak well and rattle something off really quickly and I can’t pick out one word. I think most of the time it would be easier for me to just switch to Spanish. That doesn’t help them with their English though, so we will continue struggling. Speaking may be challenging for them, but at least they can understand me.  Most of them have great listening comprehension, so at least they have that going for them.

Another area of speaking that is difficult is my name. Leanne is not common in the Spanish-speaking world. Therefore I have a new name: Leeen. They see my name on the board and it looks like the “e” should be a long sound, so that’s what they say. On Friday I wrote under my name “Li-an”. Finally, one student called me over and said my name right! Score!  Another name they like is just “miss”. Except it’s more like “meeese” (rhymes with geese). We wrote paragraphs on science articles last week and about every 3 seconds someone would whine, “meeese I need help, meeese. Meeese” Ah! Enough to make me crazy. They sound like little mice squeaking at me. I just chuckle to myself. Next week we are going to practice saying both my name and miss. Practice makes perfect? We’ll see.

Something that really impresses me about these students is their attention to detail and how things look. They love to color-code things when they take notes and they make everything look perfect. We had a warm up where they had to draw a globe and label the North Pole and the Magnetic north. I just wanted them to draw a circle, put 2 lines through it, and label each. Well, what I got were students tracing circles so they were perfect, drawing in the continents, coloring the water blue and the land green, getting their rulers out to make perfect lines through the globe and then labeling it. Yeah it looks nice, but it takes about 10 times as long! Alright people, let’s go. Quickly. I don’t think they understand that word. I will teach them.

This happens with boys and girls alike. Last week one of my boys asked me for a blue pen. I though he forgot something to write with so I grabbed a pen and told him it was black. He showed me he already had a black pen but wanted a different color so his notes would look nice. Really? Lol. It just makes me laugh.

Okay, the last thing I’ll share today is their notebooks. This just shocks me. We were warned about this in advance, and I’m very thankful. I would have thought it was really inappropriate, but like the talking thing, this is culturally normal.  Here it is: several of the boys have notebooks with women in bikinis/sexy outfits. Ya know, the kinds you see on posters? Yeah. Again, not joking. I walk around my room and probably 1 of 5 notebooks has some sexy girl on it. These kids are like 13. Really weird for me to see, but I’m told it’s not really a big deal here. I don’t think I’ll get used to that and I don’t like it much. Our director is trying to make policy to make these types of notebooks inappropriate. I think that would be good.  One of the other teachers told his boys to, “take that back to your bedroom where it belongs and please don’t bring it back.”  It’s just strange.

Whew, I’m reaching the end of what I wanted to comment on today. I want to leave with one thought: my students are really pretty wonderful. It’s only been 2 weeks of school, so I’m sure they will get more testy as time progresses,  but really I’m pleased with what I’ve seen so far!

Exito

I just got back from my petit four trip to the “supermarket” and realized I have yet to explain this fiasco on my blog, so here goes! (yes, I realized “petit fours” are little cake things thanks to my mom – but here is my explanation of use: I typically take 4 mini runs to the store a week and I couldn’t figure out a word for “4 times a week” so I stuck with something I knew, no matter how wrong of a use it might be, forgive me)

However, before I go on I must comment on an interesting fruit I accidently bought today. I eat yogurt with oatmeal every day for breakfast so I saw these “raspberries” in the fruit section and decided they would be a delightful addition to my relatively bland breakfast. These “raspberries” were even on sale, so like any smart shopper I put them in my cart and bought them. When I got home, I decided a few “raspberries” would make an excellent appetizer before dinner so I popped one in my mouth. Wow. Explosion of wine+seeds in my mouth. Raspberries do not taste like wine in solid form. After looking at the package more closely I have found that they are indeed not raspberries but rather moraberries. I’m not certain I shall eat them for breakfast (as wine is a little much on the palate at 6:20 AM), but as a late night snack they’ll have to do!

Exito. That is the name of the store where I recognize most of the cashiers and the cute little security man on the way out. It also happens to be my choice supermarket. I should really say “only-choice” supermarket because if I want to go somewhere else I have to hail a cab, give him a location, shop, hail another cab, and tell him my address to get home.Instead, I’ll walk the 5 blocks uphill, into the mall, down the escalators, all the way to the back, and arrive at my only-choice stop. It’s about a 10 minute walk and there is an ice cream place on the way, so I will in no way complain.

So Exito is like a mini-walmart in the sense that it’s a one-stop-shop, things are randomly placed everywhere, you can waste an hour there, they have their own knock-off-cheaper-brand and there are workers scattered everywhere. After those basic similarities we start to diverge.

Let’s start with the workers. Every single one I’ve asked has been incredible helpful and quite nice. Maybe because I’m a gringa and I typically make a fool of myself when I ask them questions or try and make small talk, but I’m banking on that it’s just because they’re that nice. I also see several around the store and they are always doing something. It’s not like they’re working at “wasting time” – they are actually doing stuff. It’s strange to see this.

Now for the food selection: It is quite large. Which, sounds like it would be a good thing, but instead it just adds to the confusion. Every time I go I walk up and down every aisle looking for something to catch my eye. Then I compare all the different brands, read the nutrition labels, decide I don’t want it, and put it back. Seriously, this is how 1 hour can fly by in no time.

I have found that some things are REALLY expensive here. Peanut butter, of course, is way too expensive for me to indulge with. In the states I eat at least a serving a day, but here at $7 a container I just can’t justify it. I guess when I go home it will make it that much more phenomenal! Another thing that’s priced super high is icecream by the container. Today I looked at a container about the size of 2 pints and it was nearly $20,000 pesos. That’s about $10 US. No. Way. José. (Hoe-zay) ha! You know those icebreaker sugar free candies? Those are outrageous too: $5.00 US. That’s a price increase of about 500%. Those silly import taxes I bet. Beauty supplies such as face lotion, nail polish remover, contact solution and makeup are also really expensive. Bummer. Guess what I’m stocking up on when I come home…

Now there are also things that are really cheap. Tropical fruits (mangos, pineapples, coconuts, etc.) are really inexpensive. This makes me really happy. I go through mangos like it’s my job. They also have all these crazy fruits that I haven’t been brave enough to try. I think I’ll start buying one a week and asking my portero (man that guards my apartment door) how to cut/eat them. That might be my safest bet! I can’t wait.

So after I’ve searched all the aisles and found 3 things I want, I go to check out. There are three standard questions I have learned to expect from the cashier. (Superwoman told us these and it makes me feel a little less like a gringa.) #1 Do you have a “tarjeta de puntos”? My answer is yes, and I slide it over to the cashier. I signed up for one the first day I went. I have NO IDEA what these “puntos” do, but at least I have the card to keep track of them? I’ll figure the rest out later. #2 They will ask you if you want things bagged together. The first time I was asked this I didn’t catch it, but now I know. And finally #3 They ask if you want to donate $1000 pesos to help starving children. I have yet to actually understand what they are saying, but I can tell because they always hold up this little card shaped like a vegetable/fruit and Luiza told us they’ll ask us that. I always say “Si, como no” o “siempre”. It’s an extra $.50 on my bill, why not?

The last thing (which is probably the strangest) is as you walk out the door there is a security man. You have to hand him your receipt, he scans it, and then you can leave. I’m not certain the point of this because it’s not like he looks in your bag or anything, but he’s there waiting for you. This is common in a lot of other stores as well. Theft protection maybe? I’m not sure. One of the security guys is super nice. He’s an older gentleman and I when I ask him “como estas?” he always replies in the jolliest voice with a lot of intonation “excelente”. That man alone is enough to make a sour day sweet. Next time I go there I think I’ll ask him his name. Everyone deserves to be called by name.

So, as I wrap this up I’m thinking I’ll go have a few more moraberries to aid in my late night school planning! Look for these in the states and if you find them, don’t buy them but just let me know!

A $2,900 Peso Ice cream, Yes please!

Let’s talk money here for a bit. Colombia has beautiful money. Each bill is a different color and some bills are even different sizes than the other. The idea is to make distinguishing between the bills simple. In theory it’s great, but through my experience it helps me in no way. None.  Rather, as I fumble through the bills some stick out to far while others are lost in my wad of cash. All of this as the cashier just stares at my jumbled mess.

Something else to keep in mind is $1 US is equal to $1,804.40 Yes, I just looked that up. So, in my wallet (brace yourself) I have like 4 $50,000 peso bills. Yes. That is correct. Then the bills decrease as follows: $20,000 peso bill, $10,000 peso bill, $5,000 peso bill, $2,000 peso bill, and finally the $1,000 peso bill. Then we have coins. I don’t like to use them because they confuse me. So far I’ve seen 50, 100, 200, and 500. I heard they go all the way down to 5 peso though. What’s the point? That’s like .003 US dollars. Anyways, so as I go to pay, I’m trying to do math in my mind about which bill-coin combo I should give. It’s like I’m back in 3^rd grade money math (or if you went to Gwinn and took Mrs.Soyring as a senior Ha! Math credit).  Anyways, all this thinking and the cashier is still starting at me.

To continue in the madness of money and the exchange rate, let me explain my difficulties in Spanish. When you learn numbers in a language class, you typically go up to 100, practice that a million times. Then in 1 day learn how to say 100, 200, 300, etc. The teacher briefly tells you to just add numbers on the end. Then we spend 15 minutes one class on the thousands and maybe 10 seconds one day on anything above that. So, when the cashier tells me, "cuarenta y dos mil seteciento cincuenta y tres con veinti dos", I’ve got nothing but a blank stare. I am not prepared for this.  Ha! If I happen to catch what she says, I still have to process it all. And we’re back to the scenario where the cashier is still staring at me.

You may ask, why not just look at the cash register? Well, let me tell you some more. When we write numbers in English (for example two thousand and twenty dollars and fifty cents) we would write $2,020.50. In Spanish they flip the periods and the commas. So instead, that number looks like so: $2.020,50. You may not think this is a big difference but when you’re jumbling through money, trying to do large math in your head, concentrating deeply on listening comprehension, this is the last thing you want to worry about. AND the cashier is still staring at me.

Next time I order my $2.900 peso ice cream….credit card please! ...oh yeah, they don't accept it there. Ha :)

We eat our chicken with guantes

I was talking with my sister the other day and she declared that compared to my life in Colombia her's is pretty mundane with no exciting stories. Well I've got some advice for all of you who think that: live today looking for excitement; looking for something noteworthy. I bet you can find something. Maybe it's a bit easier for me at this point, but I'm sure the longer I'm here the less I'll have to comment on. But for now, I feel overwhelmed with the amount I could write on. Maybe I'll write a book. Memoirs of a gringa? Yeah..I like that.

Alright. Today is Sunday. Debbie and I met up and went to a new church. It was wonderful. There is an interesting trend I'm picking up on though. At the 2 churches I've visited in Colombia the same thing has happened: the pastor asks for new people to raise their hands (no big deal), then they ask that you stand up (now I'm feeling uncomfortable), then they direct you to a room where you repeat the sinners prayer. By now I'm wishing I never stood up. I look to my left, my eyes meet Debbie's and we decide to sit down. Yes, I am the silly gringa yet again. I feel questioning eyes all around me, but hey people, I love Jesus already. Let's be real, me going into a room with you will not save my soul. They do not know this though and I feel so awkward. Ha!Oh well. God sees my heart and can speak my language. lol Maybe next time I'll just go into the room and see what it's like to hear the gospel Colombian style.  I'm sure, if anything, it would be an incredible blog post....we'll see how bold I'm feeling next week!

After church Debbie and I went to lunch with her sister-in-law (I think that's the relation) Noemi who is about 65, Noemi's daughter Claudia, and Claudia's 2 boys David and C. (I don't remember his name. oops. lol). We went to this chicken place called Frissby. It is pretty much Colombian style KFC. One great difference, instead of mashed potatoes and biscuits on the side, you get beans and rice. I told you, these people love their rice. Unfortunately I didn't get fried chicken, BUT I learned an incredible cultural fact: they eat their chicken with plastic gloves. Where you'd find ketchup packets at our fast food places in the United States, they have these little glove packets. Ha! It was awesome. I saw these little things on our tray with pictures of hands on them. I asked Claudia what it was and she said "guantes". I figured they were little moist owlets to wash my hands, but then I realized my translation issue as I watched her take them out. The boys, Noemi and Debbie all followed suit. Our little family with plastic gloves all eating chicken....and this is normal. I'm excited to hang out with them again.

Ruler shock

Ah…pause…smile…ah! I survived my first half week of teaching and this morning I get a few moments to just sit here and take it all in. I’ve got a wonderful cup of Colombian coffee, the windows are open, and I can hear the sounds of Pereira. (okay…so I may have led you stray on that last line…yes I’m drinking “Colombian coffee” since I bought it here, but really it is instant Nescafe…also, the “sounds of Pereira” refer to the constant traffic and construction sounds of the city…but yes, I’m still smiling!) Ha!

                                                                                                                                                                                              

So Friday was an absolute joy teaching. No, all the boys didn’t chop off their mullets, BUT I am started to learn names of my kiddos and they are mostly wonderful. I’m being careful to remain extra firm, however, so they don’t walk all over me after the “honey moon” period at the beginning of the year wears off. They definitely have shown me how chatty/un willing to work they can be – so I can see how things could get challenging really quickly.

I have an image stuck in my head from Friday at school that I have to share. In my 9^th grade science classes we reviewed the scientific method using a quick and easy lab on thumb wars. Before I let them start we went through the steps of the scientific method and how they related to the “experiment” we were going to conduct. We got to the step of “collecting data” and I asked them to draw a chart with 4 columns and 4 rows. I hastily drew mine on the board as an example of what I wanted theirs to look like. Within seconds, every student pulled out a ruler and made perfectly straight lines for their chart. Yes, you read that right, they ALL used rulers and no I didn't ask them to. What? Lol.  As they drew up their charts I just stood at the front of the room with my head tilted and eyebrows scrunched in confusion. If you don’t know the nature of 9^th graders, they typically aren’t the ones most concerned with neatness. Yet, there were my 9^th graders drawing away. I chuckled as I looked at my chart on the board…ha! Maybe I should take some tips from them!

Lunch time is always interesting at my school. First let me explain the procedure. 7-12 grade is released into the cafeteria area and it gets incredibly loud and awfully crazy. As I watch them I noticed how quickly they manage to get their set tray of food (there are no choices) hit up the salad bar and then sit down. Easy as pie? Well, kind of. In order to do this they are also dodging other trays, sliding by students pushing in line, and managing to hold a full out conversation with the person next to them. It is unbelievable really. A choreographed dance? Naw...but it's pretty cool.

 Also, teachers eat at the same time in the cafeteria with the kids. We get our meals in a separate line though which is really nice. We waltz right to the front, grab our trays and sit down. Now these meals are ENORMOUS. Let me tell you a sample meal we had last week: large bowl of soup, some sort of salad, fried plantains, grilled chicken, grapes, avocado pieces, watermelon, a piece of chocolate, fresh fruit juice and there is ALWAYS rice. These people can’t have a meal without rice. Okay – how the heck am I supposed to eat that all? Yes it is really yummy, but no my stomach just can't fit it all. At first I just got in the habit of telling the lunch ladies to give me really small portions (solo un poquito por favor...no no no..mas poquito....gracias", but then I had a brilliant idea: Why not bring a Tupperware container to school for my left over’s and I’ll just eat them for dinner? So that’s what I do now, I take half my lunch home and eat it for dinner. These meals are WAY better than my standard tuna on crackers or hard-boiled egg salad that I’d been living on.  Score! …oh yeah, and this is all for less than $40 a month. Sweet!

Now here is another incredible part about the lunch process. When anyone (both students and staff) is done eating, they file up to another window at the cafeteria, dump their paper garbage in a trash can, put any food they didn’t eat in a different one, place the silverware in the correct bin and then slide one of the lunch workers the tray and dishes. We have all metal trays, plates, and silverware that gets reused every day. When we take care of emptying our trays it immensely helps the cafeteria staff. It is surprising how well trained the kids are to do this. I try to picture cafeterias at other schools and I’m not certain the kids would do this. Yes, my school has great students. (Disclosure: Next week I may be saying the exact opposite. But we’ll have to wait and see.)

The sorrows of drinking water from the faucet

This is going to be a tough one to explain. I'll try and keep graphic descriptions down, but it's kind of an iffy subject to start with. Well, prior to coming to Colombia I was exposed to what water from another country can do to one's digestive system. In Nicaragua, for example, I ALWAYS drank purified bottled water. ALWAYS...well at least  until one night at a pizza joint I asked for a glass of water with ice. Warning. Warning. Warning. I knew I shouldn't drink it, but I was thirsty, so I did. And boy did I ever pay. I couldn't wander far from the bathroom because everything just went straight through me. Exploding diarrhea. Not fun.

I expected this sort of thing to happen when I moved to Colombia. But this time I was ready for it. I know that these symptoms usually persist for about 2 weeks and then our bodies get used to it and there is no need to be tethered to the bathroom anymore. My goal was to get my body acclimated to the little critters in the water. By getting them in me as soon as possible, I would (in theory) have had my run of travelers diarrhea before the first day of school. That first morning here I turned on my faucet, filled up a glass and slammed it. I half expected to get sick on contact...but of course, I didn't. I wasn't even sick by the end of the day. What about day 2? Nope. Day 3? Nope. Day 4,5,6,7,8....No. No. No. I have yet to have diarrhea and I have yet to feel sick. And you ask why this is sorrowful? You see, my sister's wedding is in 2 weeks and I have a dress to fit in. I was counting on traveler's diarrhea as my 2-week countdown diet plan. Nope. I guess it's back to square one with eating healthy and exercising. Isn't this weight loss thing supposed to be easier? Ha!

On second that, with my luck, the diarrhea won't hit me until the plane ride back from her wedding! Ha. That'd surely give me something to shed a tear about.


...you may have expected a post on  day 2 teaching, but I found this much more important tonight. There is always tomorrow.

Attack of the mullet and an evil bus lady

I think it’s safe to say that first days of school are intimidating for the majority of us. Whether you’re a teacher or a student, no one is safe. Now, imagine you’re teaching at a new school in a new country for the first time. Your stomach is in a knot as you glance down the hallway. Squinting into the light bouncing off the floor, you see them: All 400 high school students coming your way. It’s not so bad, until you notice the mullets. Yes. I mean business in the front, party in the back. That’s when it hits you and you realize you’re in over your head….okay, come back to the reality of reading my blog. Luckily for you, the mullets have disappeared. For me, however, I get to go back and face them again tomorrow! Seriously, I’d say over half of the boys have mullets. So that’s the first shocker of the day.

The next observation I make is that everyone has dark hair /dark features. Its strange looking into a sea of faces and realizing that most of them look like each other. Not only are their physical characteristics similar, they are all in a school uniforms. Khaki pants with a white shirt. Both have the Liceo Ingles logo on them and look extremely comfy. I’m going to try and get my hands on some. Anyways, this makes name memorization quite challenging. Its not like, “Oh yeah, Juan Pablo likes to wear black.” Or “Alejandra always has the cutest necklaces”. Nope. Good ‘ol face recognition. Then we throw in Spanish names. Ha! Reading off roll is nearly impossible. After first period, I quit and had them say their names. Like that was much easier…”ad;lsajs;dfljkooo jfas;lkfj;sez.” Excellent, I’ll mark that you were here. Ha!

On to the evil bus attendant. So in the afternoon we ride home on a bus with the students. Not only the students, I shall add, but a bus attendant. Some veteran North American teachers from my school told me she is evil. She treats the kids like angels but all other staff like garbage. One time she made one of the teachers give up their seat because they were sitting in, “the seat the student usually sits in.” Come on lady, there is no such thing as assigned seating on the bus and we are teachers. She has very little respect for us. Thankfully she’s wonderful with the kids though; that alone covers up all iniquities. I’m lucky I haven’t had a run-in with her yet. After a long day of school, she might just make me cry. Ha! You probably think I’m joking.

Overall I’d say the day was a success. Yeah they probably think I’m crazy and want to test the new teacher – but that’s okay. They are stuck with me for the next 2 years as I honor my commitment…that is unless something utterly awful happens (mullets do not justify this…although I considered it)

More on teaching tomorrow…I’m wiped out and need rest for the circus tomorrow!

Blood Volleyball Debbie Mani/Pedi Bliss

Alright folks. I've been neglecting this lovely place to decompress all my thoughts. So tonight, I shall disclose important events of the last few days:

1. I donated blood in Colombia. The red-cross type organization came to our school, so I figured heck, why not. The United States won't take my blood because I've traveled in Latin America, so Latin America can have some of it. The process was clean and smooth and I even got my own little card that told me my blood type...still A+

2. I stayed after school on Friday to play volleyball. It was legit. These people really can plan and it's really a lot of fun. Some guy we played with is also on the Colombian version of survivor. He's basically a reality tv star here and I didn't even know until women kept interrupting our game to get a picture with him. He is also unstoppable on the vball court and the only Colombian I've seen over 6'. Also,  I guess the staff gets a team together and goes to a tournament in October. It's in Baranquilla this year and I can hardly wait to go. Cute little beach town to play in a volleyball tournament - bring it on! Can life get any sweeter...oh yes it can!

Hear is my new vball friend who is famous: http://lafiscalia.com/wp-content/uploads/Desafio_JHON-ALEXANDER-JIM%C3%89NEZ-2.jpg

3. Met Debbie - an incredible woman who lives in Pereira 1/2 the year and the USA 1/2 the year. I stumbled upon her blog and we got coffee together one night and went to church on Sunday. It was so encouraging and just lovely to get her insight on everything. She also showed me some great spots around the city!

4. Got my first manicure and pedicure...for $8.50. Wowza that was fun =) If any of you ladies come and visit me, we should probably go.  It's a 5 minute walk from my house.

5.  Work...Work...Work...my kiddos come in 2 days...so again...work...work...work

Well that's all for now! I'll be back to enlighten you with an adventure soon!

Big Man With Machete

It was a dark stormy night…oh wait…it wasn’t stormy, but it was dark. It seemed appropriate to start my horror story there, but my integrity won’t allow me to mess with the details. So let’s start over, last night it was really dark. Ha! That sounds lame, but you get the picture. Anyways, the point that it gets dark at night isn’t quite the focal point of my story. You could have guessed that from the title.

I’ll rewind a little bit so you can get the full picture. Like in any city, there are more dangers when it gets dark. Not only are there more dangers, but I get more scared. Because of this, I’ve made sure to be home long before dark so I didn’t have to worry about it. The past few days, however, I’ve been assured over and over again by both Colombians and North Americans that my area of town is very safe and as long as I walk straight home I should have no reason to fear.  So, last night I took the risk.  A group of us teachers met up for dinner and by the time I mosied home it was well after dark. As I parted ways from the group, they yet again gave confidence to my shaking knees and told me that I’d be fine. Whelp - off I went to face the dark and whatever may lie within it.

Turning off the main drag where we ate, the street gradually darkened.  About 100 paces I noticed on the next street corner (the street I had to turn down) was a man in a dark suit clinking around a garbage can. My pulse started picking up. Keeping my cool I warily/cautiously proceeded. I knew walking in the dark was bad. But then it got worse. My eyes drifted down (don't make eye contact with the enemy) and just then I caught the glint of a giant machete hanging from his leg. I mean this thing could chop through the oak logs (that take me 19 swings with an ax to split) back home in a gentle swooping motion.

I peeked behind me and decided running back seemed more ominous than continuing home. I had no cash to hail a cab, no way to contact my teacher friends, and this was the only way home. I also knew that as soon as I turned the street corner this man was on, there would be a security guard on duty (my friends gave me that detail). My fight or flight response kicked in and I knew there was no way I was staying to fight. The score would settle at Big Man With Machete: 1 / Leanne: 0 The other option was flight. My little feet kicked it in high gear as I zoomed by him trying not to let him smell my fear. He didn’t even look up and before I knew it I saw the welcoming smile of my portero. I narrowly escaped death, but death I did indeed escape.

This, however is not the end of the tale. In the morning I told all my teacher friends the unfortunate turn of events after I had left them. A calmly as ever a Canadian (who’s been here over a year and knows my neighborhood well) listened empathetically, then responded, “Sweetheart, that man with the machete is the security guard we’ve been telling you about.”

 Wow Leanne…wow…

The big reveal: my teaching schedule

Tonight I'm making this quick because quite frankly I'm just burnt out. This was my day: 6:45 pick up, meetings all day conversing with the entire staff (some in Spanish, some in English), home by 4:30 for an hour, dinner with teachers until 8:30, walked home, bible time, and now it's 9:15 and I desire sleep more than staying awake. The thought of being picked up at 6:42 (yes, that is the time they told me) strongly prompts this desire as well.

However, before I hit the sack, I must resolve the cliff hanger of yesterday! I'm sure the majority of you have checked back several times waiting to hear about my schedule (maybe evening forfeiting sleep), but for those of you who have no clue what I'm talking about, here is my promise from yesterday, "Now that I think of it, I did get my schedule which is INCREDIBLY note worthy, but you'll have to wait for tomorrow."  ...Today is yesterday's tomorrow so I must fulfill my word and explain.

I received my schedule. I will be teaching 9th grade science and 10th grade biology! WOO HOO! I'm sure you're all thinking, "wow. that was incredibly note worthy...pause...not" (ha! do your best Borat voice in your mind). Let me divulge more. So at my school there are 7 periods in a day. Each day I have 2 sections of 9th grade science and 2 sections of 10th grade biology. Stop for a moment and do the math (or just peak ahead one sentence and I've done it for you). This means I only teach 4 periods a day and have "off" (off implies I'll really be grading/planning my life away and still have work to bring home) 3 periods. To those of you who are versed in how high schools in the states function, this is just unheard of. Of course there are curriculum meetings, content meetings and lunch duty thrown into those time slots. But you know what there no room for? Complaining on my part.

Another note worthy tid bit is that my schedule changes every day. For example, on Monday my first class is ScienceA during second period but then Tuesday I see my ScienceA group during eighth period (well, actually, as I mentioned earlier, my we only have 7 periods...just trying to keep you on your toesies and your brain in good condition)...but the point is, I see all my classes during different periods every day during the week. Kinda weird. I like routine.

Well I hope you're as satisfied with the big reveal of my schedule as I was when Monica showed me :) And now I bid thee fair night!