Just one of those mornings

I try to be patient.  I really do.  But sometimes...sometimes...it's hard.  I woke up to just one of those mornings, where try as I might, things just didn't seem to go the way I wanted them to.

For starters, I didn't hear my alarm clock, so woke up half an hour late.  In my hurry, I spilled the pot of water that I was going to boil for the day all over the floor and my sandals.  I opened up the fridge to take out what I thought was an humita from the night before to heat up for breakfast, but was thoroughly disappointed when I unwrapped the corn husks to discover that it was a tamal that I was placing in the skillet.  Oh well, no time for fussiness.

As I was heading out the door, I just about locked my keys inside (but fortunately remembered at the last moment).  A few more steps just beyond our gate to the landing and I placed my clean black shoes write in a puddle of my sister-in-law's dog's pee.  Back to the apartment I hopped on one foot to wrinse off my shoe.  Another try and I just barely missed the doggie dung at the bottom of the stairs, only to have the dog jump on me and leave his footprints on my suit pants and jacket just before pulling the door shut.

Scampering across the Pan-American highway, I'd likely just missed a partially empty combi and was left to wait for several minutes while all the vehicles passed by full.  All went well at the university and then I headed home.  I tried to text a private student, but the message wouldn't go through.  Wasting my last minutes of call time, I rang him and told him if he wasn't feeling better, we could reschedule for another time.  I didn't want a sick person in my apartment (and he'd been sicker than a dog leaving his germs all over my things the day before).  He assured me he was better, but I knew better when he arrived.  For some reason, this student (who lives four block away and had just come from home) decided to bring his toothpaste and entered our bathroom as if it was his own and begin to spit all over the sink.  His sneezing and coughing without covering his mouth continued until the end of the lesson, leaving me with a queezy stomach.

Then a knock at my door requesting to use the last of the salt in my house and the morning concluded.  What a morning!  Some days must just be meant for an exercise in patience to make sure we haven't forgotten.

The Interview

Just when I think I understand Peru and her culture, I'm thrown for a loop.  Earlier this week, I received a phone call asking me to go to a private university for an interview for a position about their private high school and grade school-- in a half hour!  In the first place, I hadn't applied for the position.  And second of all, I didn't even know they were affiliated with a school.  Finally, there was no way I was willing to ready myself for an interview and go flying out the door within the next five minutes to assure that I would arrive on time.  I requested that they schedule me for the following day.

At my desk, I took a seat, opened up my laptop and began to research about a school associated with that university.  No such luck!  "What a bizarre phone call!" I thought, but I decided I'd go to the interview and find out more about the possible job opening.  I had no reason to be nervous.  I hadn't applied and they'd supposed just received some good references about me and my résumé (in English) had fallen into their hands.  

At a few minutes before five o'clock the following afternoon, I passed the security guards and made my way to the second floor of the university language center.  At the top of the stair all was a bit dark, although sunlight streamed in from the open ends of the hallways.  I passed a few empty bathrooms and classrooms and could hear the dulled laughter and chatter of a few people.  Arriving near the end of the hallway, I peeked into the room from which the voiced came and saw five people, a few of whom jumped to their feet and exclaimed, "¡La profesora ha llegado!"  "Thanks for announcing my arrival as if I've been missing for ages," I thought to myself sarcastically.

After kissing the three women and two men, I was invited into the room to sit down and talk with them.  The fervently expressed their joy at my arrival and welcomed me to their school telling me how they were so pleased to have me as their high school math and natural sciences teacher.  A mask of utter confusion must have at least briefly danced across my face, but they showed no sign of having noticed. 

Like a duck paddling frantically beneath the surface, I calmly asked the teacher who was in charge of the interview to explain to me a little about the school.  After listening to another account of how happy they were to have me, I decided to take another approach asking specific questions.  Was the school new?  How many students would be in a class?  What was the salary for a teacher?  What were the class hours?  I gained a bit of important information that steered me away from the position for which I didn’t feel qualified.  I proceeded to tell thank them for their consideration, but to tell them that science was especially not my forte and that although I can do the work of high school math, I wasn’t sure that explaining it was suited to me either. 

   “What is your profession?” they then asked. 

   I replied, “I’m a foreign language teacher for English, Spanish and German.”     

   “Excellent!” they exclaimed, “You’ll do wonderfully teaching math and the sciences in the English language to our students!” 

   “Like chemistry and physics?” I asked. 

   “Of course!  Oh we’re so happy to have you!  You aren’t illegally in the country are you?!” 

   “No,” I replied and presented my documents. 

   “Then you’re part of our staff!”

   “Thank you for the consideration.  May I have tonight to think it over and give you an answer tomorrow?” I responded, knowing in my heart what the answer was, but not knowing how to tread the Peruvian waters and thinking it best to seek advice at home first.

   “If you must.  But oh, how we hope it will be a positive response!” they conceded. 

Back at home, Igor and Carlos (my father-in-law) gave me advice about how to tell them that I would be unable to accept the job, despite my great desire to.  After coaching me through some apparently politically correct flowery job declining lingo, I felt ready for the next day.

If only my high school and college science teachers could have heard that offer or my last college roommate—now a high school science teacher!  They’d be baffled just as I was. 

So how is a person to react when her skills are overestimated? 

A)   Be flattered? 

B)   Be shocked? 

C)   Be confused?

D)   All of the above

They didn’t even hear me speak a word of English!  so it is.  Just when I think I can navigate the Peruvian currents, something bizarre catches me as if threatening to drown me if I don’t wriggle myself free in just the right way.  

wake up and smell the roses

Something I like to do ... enjoying the flowers that are blooming in our apartment.

Magic

For those who know me well, to say that I'm not exactly into magical and fantasy stories would be quite the understatement.  Nevertheless, I've been assigned to teach an entire month-long course on "Merlin: Arthur and the Unicorn" an adaptation from the British television series Merlin. 

It's been a challenge to feign excitement about the topic, excitement for wizards and unicorns, dragons and potions, but I've learned a few things from the experience.  Firstly, I learned a few things about the legends of King Arthur, about the television series of the young Arthur and young Merlin, and of other magical creatures.  I also became very creative to come up with a variety of activities on the theme besides for the reading of the elementary level reader.  Despite my students' panic every time I ask them to do something out of the ordinary and tell them I want them to use their creativity, a few of the projects have turned out to have nice results.

The project I feel best about was asking them to work as a large team (all 24 students) to create a magazine for the land of Camelot during a 1.5 hour-long class period.  (The students are in their tenth month of English classes).  The final result, after a fair amount of brainstorming, voting on ideas, and guiding them through the process, was quite pleasing.  It was also evident that the students were proud of themselves, which was a nice thing to see.  Most of them don't want to learn English and think they can use Google Translate for everything, but this project helped them discover that they do know a fair amount and that the internet doesn't always do a very good job of translating for them.  They can sometimes do better.  Below are a few images of their magazine called Magical Land.

The arrival of the wise men

While Epiphany may be celebrated in churches in the United States on the 6th of January, it is celebrated with stronger traditions in other parts of the world.  In 2012 and 2008 I had the opportunity to celebrate the day in Emsland, Germany where small (and sometimes large) nativity scenes are built be it of wood or colorful paper cut with frills.  The small nativity scenes, known as Tunscheere, are dropped off on doorsteps of friends and family while ringing the doorbell and running away.  In that sense resembling the May Day tradition in the US.

Here I was treated to my first Peruvian Epiphany.  The city is filled with parades of shepherds and wise men (aka the "wizard kings" if one is to translate their name literally).  The participants play drums, tambourines, trumpets and clarinets to Christmas tunes to share their joy that Christ has been revealed to the world.  Even horses are present in the ever mismatched backdrop this city displays.  "Feliz Navidad" rang out for all to hear!

Interestingly enough, Peru's capital city, Lima, was first called "Ciudad de los Reyes" (City of the Kings) by Francisco Pizarro when he and two others found the ideal location for a Spanish city on the 6th of January.  

A new year…

It’s easy to get caught up in our own lives, to make plans, to never think of the impossible.  On the night of the 31^st of December, our household, as well as all the neighbors, were celebrating.  There were fireworks and hugs and greetings all around.  Even a few effigies were burned.  And we brought in the new year. 

From our apartment windows, I can see the Pan-American Highway.  It provides a pathway for a variety of people and means of transportation.  In any given 5 minute interval, one can see people crossing the world’s longest street, people alighting and boarding combis, collectivos and taxis, see someone peddling a cart full of goods, hear a bus or truck rumble by, the honking of horns, the screeching of breaks, the calls of neighbors, and smell exhaust. 

Yesterday afternoon, I sat reading on our sofa while Igor was busy at the hospital.  Suddenly, the volume of noise outside grew and I looked out to see a swarm of perhaps 40 or 50 people gathered near the highway near our corner.  “What is going on?” I asked myself.  I was soon to discover that a young boy (perhaps 8 or 9 years old) from our block had been playing with water balloons and had stepped onto the highway, been hit by a vehicle that had done its best to slam on its breaks, but the boy went flying and lost his life.  Two women wailed uncontrollably, trying to rush out onto the street.  Men held them back.  Other curious onlookers and gossipers gathered round.  Traffic piled up.  And then, less than a half an hour later, as quickly as the commotion had begun, it vanished as though nothing had happened. 

I’ve seen other accidents nearby.  I witnessed one moto-taxi driver go flying to his death.  Fortunately, I didn’t see the accident occur yesterday.  But moments like this come like interruptions to our dreams, calling us back down to earth, reminding us that nothing in permanent. “Wasn’t that one of the little boys giggling and lighting fireworks down the street last night?” Igor asked me when he got home.  “It may well have been,” I replied.  While some blame his mother for not having been watching him at that moment and having prevented that accident, I pity that young mother that I do not know.  No one can pay attention to their children 100% of the time.  Miracles happen every day.  We take risks and we survive.  But every once in a while, someone is unfortunate and lives are changed. 

What was celebrated with high hopes of being a great year, has turned into tragedy for some.  The police came today to take pictures and write up a report and the same nosy neighbors turned up to watch.  And the lesson to be gained from all of this… It can happen to anyone.  Life is a gift.  Dance every day and appreciate the little miracles of life.