Change

I hate change. A lot. I'm totally miserable in every new place I go for about the first, hm, two years. Okay, not totally miserable but pretty close. It takes me a long time to adjust to new things. I like to think of myself as flexible and adaptable. And I do adapt. But only eventually.

My brother has just got engaged. (I'm not sure its okay to say that on here but given that he is the least faithful family reader of this blog, I think I'm safe for a little while - no telling, Rach and Jed). Of course, we were, and are, all thrilled. He proposed here in Zim, on a mountain at a game park during sunset. We went on a family holiday right after with him and his fiancee (who we all love and are so excited to have in the family). But... I hate change. The week after they both arrived and I saw my little brother with this girl, cosying up on the couch, whispering sweetly and exchanging loving glances, I freaked out a little.

"Josh is gone!" I wailed to my mother, "We've lost him!"

A bit dramatic but, remember, I hate change. My best friend is about to get married as well (they have both timed their weddings in overseas places remarkably conveniently). She's gone and lost, too.

However, the fact that I am able to blog about this means that I have got through the dramatic, oh-woe-is-me stage. It's hard to lose people whether it's to college, to new lives in other countries, to different stages of life, or to other people. But the difficulty of losing them and saying goodbye is rich. So say my wise parents.

I texted my Mum after saying goodbye to Jed on Wednesday: "Why didn't you just stop having kids after me? Imagine how happy we'd be."
"Haha," she replied, "Read CS Lewis, no joy without pain"

Around the same time I proposed a new family rule: no praying out loud before people get on planes.
We have this horrible tradition of sending off the Leaver with a prayer. We all huddle around in a circle (bags in the middle so no one steals them while our eyes are closed). Those who can, pray. The rest of us cry. Then Dad says the blessing and we're all a mess. And of course, someone has a camera and wants to remember this awful moment, eyes and noses red and streaming, miserable and pathetic. Great memories. My proposition was denied. Dad said that the moments of deep sadness are what makes life rich and meaningful.

And I'm sorely tempted to choose to have a slightly less rich life. It's tempting to want to protect my poor heart from all this horribly insensitive change around me. To resent people. To deny sadness. To live detached. But, unfortunately, I think my parents are right. Those moments of sadness and sorrow are rich because of what is behind them, because of what they represent. Friendship, love, joy, companionship, memories, moments, life.

And so, while I hate it, I'll accept it. And ask for lots of help and tissue to get through the adapting part.

What could be worse than leaving?

Remember when I said that the people who make me truly me where gathering in the place that makes me truly me? Well, those people, the ones I love most, are leaving and it’s awful.

For four years I was a Leaver. Every year I would return home in June, like a confused migratory bird moving from the finally-warming North American continent to the cooling-for-winter African one (fortunately much easier to stomach than its Northern counterparts) and every August I would pack up, cry on and off for the last week, drive to the airport with my family, have a tearful farewell that included the Bell family traditional send off where you wave to the Leaver as they go through customs and security every minute or so when they look back with raised arm until they step around the last corner you can see in the distance. Then I would sit at the boarding gate, maybe journal about leaving home and Zimbabwe, board my flight, cry a bit as I watched the Zimbabwean landscape disappear below me, turn on my in-flight entertainment and order a drink. In the following weeks (and months!), I would be homesick, call home frequently, write when I could, enjoy every phone call but feel sometimes feel even worse after them when I couldn’t be there for the sounds of home I could hear in the background or when the conversation could only go so far because they didn’t really know the world I was in. Leaving was painful. The most painful thing I’d experienced in my privileged life. And then, last year, for the first time, I was left.

I watched as siblings--including a youngest brother off to college for the first time--packed and prepared, as they got sad but also excited. I watched and remembered my own times of leaving and saying goodbye to places and people. And on the final day, we all drove to the airport and this time I stood on the other side of the barrier. I watched as the leavers walked away and turned for the traditional farewell, arm raised, again and again, until they stepped around that last corner and were gone. And we got into the car and drove home. And there was no in-flight entertainment to distract, no fancy drink to sip, no exciting new place to move into, no strange new people to meet. There was just home. And us. And a space where there should have been another person, with nothing to distract from the normality and routine that hurt because of that space.

Leaving the place and the people you love is hard and painful. But there is something worse.

A Raw Week

This blog was started on July 7, just so you know.

Today is the last day of a raw food week my sister convinced me to join her on. It didn’t take much convincing: it sounded like a great idea – eat super healthy for a week, just cut out cooking and a few precooked things (bread, chips).Not a big deal. You’ll feel great, said the articles, lose weight, be extra healthy. Basically, your life will change. Well, they got that right. I am never doing something this ridiculous again.

Here’s how it went:

Day one: feeling optimistic and excited; enjoying guacamole with carrot sticks and cucumber. A few unpleasant stomach side effects beginning. A headache (could be unrelated). Started a list on my kitchen cupboard of every item eaten – feel proud of all the healthy things on the list and excited to add to it.

Day two: positive beginning, guacamole still tasty. By afternoon stomach definitely not happy (and firmly letting me know). Lettuce wraps with raw hummous for supper. Afterwards nauseous at the thought of carrots. Don’t finish adding to the list. Go to sleep thinking murderous thoughts towards Rach.

Day three: Feeling good! Anything is better than day two. Enjoyed fruit and yoghurt smoothy for lunch. Rach comes to stay – she is going through my day two symptoms. I express sympathy but feel slightly superior that I am through the rough patch. (God laughs at my superiority: He knows day four to six holds). Eat lettuce wraps for lunch – much better today and my work colleagues look impressed by my wraps.

Day four: Not as good as day three. Broccoli salad for lunch – raw broccoli is not wonderful. Decide to try making a cold carrot ginger soup recipe I found on a raw food website. Waste a perfectly good avocado in carrot ginger soup. Force a bowl of carrot ginger soup down, heavily diluted with yogurt. Save the rest for Rach later who is on the can’t-look-at-vegetables-even-if-they-look-like-baby-food stage and is eating muesli.

Day five: The day is fine (but closer to day two feeling than day three) until around five. Then craving for bread/crackers/chips/fried anything sets in. AND horror of horrors: guacamole beginning to taste… plain and not enjoyable! Things have become serious. Depressed. Want real food. Rach and I decide that six days is basically a week and since I’m leaving for a school trip on day seven we may as well end on day six and enjoy a celebratory supper.

Day six: It’s a Saturday but we are marking entrance exams at school. People have brought muffins and cake and biscuits (and 2 apples for me, how sweet). Rach and I both not feeling so bad, but think it is probably psychological since we are at the end. We are kind of disappointed that we do not feel physically different, i.e. better – the articles lied. What was the point? I buy a spring roll for my celebratory supper… am disappointed – think I had built it up too much in my head all week, no spring roll could live up to that. But am happy. Afterwards I eat chips. Life is good.

Overall: I believe, just like we should wear glasses if we need them, we need to accept the progress humankind has made over the centuries as a gift from God. We may have started eating raw, but my goodness, we have evolved and moved on! If anyone is ever tempted: don’t do it. It’s really not worth day two, four, five and six. Trust me.

The place and people who make me truly me

After weeks of not thinking about it in order not to drag it out or get too excited too soon, all my siblings are here!

It is hard to describe how important they are to me and who I am. I realise that, like when I am in Zimbabwe, I am more truly me when I with them.  It doesn’t hit me until we are together again and I can say something and be understood and replied to in a way that is obvious that my surface and deeper meaning were heard and understood that I am really only truly me in the place I love and with the people I love. And that is a beautiful thing.

I grew to love Calvin college; I grew to love many people there; I even grew to appreciate (love is a little strong) the United States. But, I was never fully me there. I’m not sure I ever could be. We are so mysteriously connected to, formed and given existence by the place and people we are most intimately surrounded by.

For me, that place is Zim. There are many aspects of it that drive me crazy, and many days I grapple with unbelonging doubts but even within those aspects and doubts, I am comfortable here and me here in a way I never have been elsewhere. This place makes me. It allows me to be. And when the people I love most in the world meet me in this place, I am almost whole.

Bad days don't usually start with dog walks

I'm feeling a little grumpy. Read on with caution.

It had been a lovely, quiet weekend at home until this morning. I arrived home for the weekend late Friday night after a school function, greeted by... oh yah, no one. Even the dogs hardly acknowledged my existence - and that is a very bad sign. Maybe my bad weekend started there.

But Saturday was lovely. Ange was at hockey all day, Ben (the house-sitter during the week) was out, Mike was in Bulawayo playing hockey and I had the house to myself. I woke up early (for a Saturday at least) and took the dogs for a walk on the golf course. They've been in withdrawal because Mum and Dad are gallivanting in North America and they are sorely pining for their morning walks with Mum. On the weekends that I am able to come home, I take them. The mornings right now are crisp and fresh and the nip in the air has attitude but hasn't yet become mean. The golf course is quiet before 8am and after walking around for about half an hour as the birds' voices begin to thaw out and the sun starts to creep onto the fairways and the glistening dew slyly winks at you, you feel grateful to be alive and positively happy. This morning half an hour after arriving at the golf course I felt there was nothing positive about being alive and mad. Okay, slight exaggeration (not the mad part) but I'm grumpy remember? It lends itself to exaggeration.

The walk started okay. I had to leave earlier and hurry because church is at 8. Pre-walk prep is never fun. It's cold out and as soon as you make a sound in the kitchen the dogs are alerted. Saku (huge Boerboel cross) races to the kitchen window and begins bouncing half a metre into the air every 40 seconds or so. Cute. No. Now you have to go outside and the bouncing continues except there is now no window between you and it. Then you have to find your crocs which, if you didn't put them up last night (which you probably didn't) have been relocated by Bingley (tiny animal-shelter toy-pom)... somewhere. Then you have to pick up the old blankets which you hung out to air yesterday but forgot to bring in over night and are now damp. Carrying blankets, dodging bounce and excited pom you need to get to the car (you've probably forgotten the car keys inside). After letting yourself in (and closing bounce and pom out) you try to lay the blankets over the seats with the doors closed. Things get easier from this point on. There is only one more stretch to get through bounce and pom to the back door. Once open, the dogs jump in and all movement dies as they sit staring, waiting, sometimes salivating, in anticipation.

At the golf course things started well. I let the dogs off the lead a little way in and they went crazy because it was even earlier than usual and the smells were so much more exciting. I saw the stray pack of dogs that roams the area in the distance and we did a wide circle in the opposite direction.

On the way back I noticed a jogger coming up behind us. He stopped running when he saw us (Saku is very large). I waved to him and called the dogs to the far side, opposite him. Fine and dandy. He continued jogging, but quite slowly and the dogs were ahead. So for his comfort I called them back and gave them some attention while he passed us towards the gate. But when I looked up from my attention-giving task, lo and behold, he was running towards us. Yes, towards me and the dogs. And when he saw me look up he said, "So what do we do now?" Well, the dogs knew the answer to that question. Here was something even more interesting that attention-giving hands: a stranger, running and speaking! So, naturally, they went to investigate. We aren't entirely sure how Saku reacts to strangers; we try to keep the two parties separate. But we do know he's a bit of a coward and when feeling threatened he gets aggressive. And strangers, well, we know how they react. This one was holding a golf stick (not sure if he was a golfer who liked to run between shots, or a runner who needed protection) and suddenly looked panicked.

In the approximately 45 seconds that passed there ensued many commands from me as I walked as fast as I could without alarming man or dog:

"Saku, wait. Stop."

"No, don't run. Just stay still"

"Bingley, come. Saku, no. No!"

"The little one's fine, just stay still"

"Saku, stop, wait. Saku."

"Just ignore him, it will be fine."

"Saku! Bingley! Come!"

"It's okay. Don't worry."

"Saku!"

I will say for the jogger, he was very brave. He didn't run. I caught up to them eventually and grabbed Saku who, while not stopping, waiting or coming at least had not done anything else. I got the dogs on the lead, the jogger went back the way he had come (I hope having learnt a lesson on what not to do when meeting strange dogs) and we got into the car, me breathing fury born of relief, the dogs... positively happy.

Opening eyes: a beginning

This year, as you may have noticed if you have read any of my blogs since January, has been a bit difficult. It has been wonderful in many ways too, but with a particularly snooty, prejudiced L6 Language class and a crazy schedule that leaves little time to be creative I've wondered, again, why I'm here at this time. Here I should insert that I am so grateful for this job. It is teaching me a great deal about teaching and people and myself, and it is a privilege to have such a good job in a country where 70-80% of the population is out of work. I am grateful. But I find myself increasing frustrated at the attitudes of many of my students towards those outside their circle - generally a wealthy, upper-class circle. And I wonder why I'm here in this privileged place with a privileged job. At the beginning of my time at this school, I decided that one of the reasons was to try to open the eyes of some of the students in my class to the world of the other around them.


This holidays I got in touch with Rafiki Girls Centre, an organisation that meets in our church and provides practical skills education to 16-18 year old girls who have, for various reasons--financial, ability--not been able to pass or write their O-Level exams. Acting as the equivalent of a high school diploma, this exam decides the future employment, training or education opportunities for students in Zimbabwe. The Centre takes in 2 intakes of about 15 girls every year and they each choose a practical course to follow: catering and hospitality, cosmetics, cutting and design, hairdressing, and others. Most of the girls have lost at least one of their parents and many look after younger siblings. I spent the holidays thinking and planning how I could create a lesson that would open the eyes of my L6 Language students (the same age as the Rafiki Girls) even just a little to the lives of other young women who, due to no fault or action of their own, are in very different circumstances. Rafiki very kindly agreed to allow my students to come and interview their girls. After a couple weeks of writing good interview questions and preparing them to ask and listen well, and giving them a few hard talks about leaving their superior attitudes in the bus and going with open minds and ears, we went to Rafiki on Wednesday.


My girls were nervous but excited. I was just nervous. Although I had tried hard to prepare them well, I was terrified that my girls would not take this seriously and that the impact of it would fall flat. I knew they would be outwardly polite, but I was concerned that inwardly nothing would change or be moved. I was (am) under no false illusions that this one conversation would lead to radically changed attitudes and worldviews and that their superiority and prejudice would just magically fall from their hearts and minds as they listened. But I hoped that it might be a beginning. That they would be challenged. That they would meet, talk and listen to a real person who belonged to the group they had such strong opinions about. It is a lot harder to hold to certain beliefs and attitudes about yourself and an other when the other tells you her story. Stories are hard to argue with. There was a lot at stake. But I was not in control. And oh how I love to be in control. So, I was praying hard.


And it went so well.


I cannot see into hearts (thank goodness) but as I stood watching discreetly in the doorway of the large hall where pairs of girls sat, talking, listening, and laughing together, pairs who would never have exchanged greetings, never mind life stories in our segregated world, I felt so grateful, and so hopeful.

The actual writing assignment part of the lesson hasn't even happened yet (and that could still flop), but in my eyes, that part is of minor importance.

My most sit-at-the-back, homework-skipping, uncaring student (who had just given a presentation the lesson before where I cringed at some of the stereotypical language callously coming out her mouth) came up to me afterwards,
"Miss Bell, can we do this again? It was SO fun!"
Another said she was "humbled".
I eavesdropped on two of my students in the bus on the way home and heard them exchange stories.
My deputy head had some of my students for a lesson after we got back and wrote me an email, "Congratulations and thank you for opening the girls eyes as well as inspiring them. You have made such a great impact on them and have changed the way some of them view the world."

Any good that came/comes wasn't me. Only God changes hearts and minds, and hopefully this is a small beginning towards mind/heart change.

Words are powerful; you can't argue with someone's story.

First week of term: boards, wikis, and carpets

One week late... again. This whole "one blog a week" deal is not going so well...

Second term started on Tuesday and we are in the full swing of school already. Just this week:

1. We started cataloguing books for a book drive we did last term for a primary school in Mbare, a high density area of Harare. We had some fantastic student volunteers ('tis the season of recommendations and volunteering looks oh so good on a college application) but we underestimated the amount of books we had collected and how long it would take to "catalogue", even with our basic (and flawed, as we discovered) system.

2. I've marked 2 Language papers of Form 4 homework - only 2 Upper 6 essays, 2 more Form 4 papers, a L6 project and a Form 3 project to go. Yay. Why do I give holiday homework again?

3. Our headmaster has left (he's South African and his work permit was not renewed) - I have not had  a single term at this school yet that hasn't been marked by some major staff change or drama. The day after his last day, the first day of term, we had an emergency staff meeting where the chairman of the school board sternly told us who would be coming to fill in while they look for another head and informed us the two deputies would be leading the school until then and they had full powers to exercise "Disciplinary Sanctions" against any - wait for it - staff member who did not comply with their authority. "Disciplinary Sanctions"?! First of all, what the heck are "Disciplinary Sanctions"? I'm tempted to be non-compliant just to find out!  And secondly, who does he think we are that he feels the need threaten us with "Disciplinary Sanctions"? Why do we have boards again?

4. I introduced two of my classes to wikis. Over the holidays I spent some serious time working on a couple for two of my exam classes (a wiki is a website that can be edited collectively by a group of people, the largest example of which is Wikipedia). I had used a wiki with my student teaching class in Michigan and it was very successful - students were able to discuss with each other online and post comments and questions about the book leading to, I think, a greater depth of understanding and enjoyment of the text. I had removed all thoughts of online/internet/computer teaching from my planning when I came back to Zimbabwe - you cannot count on every person having access to internet, but this holiday (after being inspired by some English Journal reading) I decided that we can make it work. We have a computer lab, so surely the boarders can have access to internet there, and this is a wealthy school - almost every student will have internet at home (or, even more likely, a smart phone with access to it) and they are all on facebook all day long so 15 minutes of wiki conversation shouldn't be arduous. I spent a lot of time on the wikis making the home page attractive, creating pages for notes on characters and discussion questions. And, on Tuesday morning when I showed my classes, did the faces of my students glow with anticipation and awe as I revealed our new private wiki? Did the room start to buzz with comments as they turned to each other in glee? Did they call out in a grateful chorus, "Oh Miss Bell, thank you for all that hard work and time you put into that wiki and giving us space to take ownership of our learning, to interact with each other and our texts in a richer, different way leading to a greater depth of understanding and enjoyment of this play"? No. There was no glow, buzz or chorus. Why do I think up new, creative ways to teach again? Don't worry, my students are going to use these darn wikis and they're going to enjoy it, whether they like it or not.

5. The new carpets that the matron and I ordered for the hostel were installed while I was teaching and now I have to tell the matron that the carpet that she oversaw being installed into the front hall of our hostel was not meant to go there but in the common room and so, no, she cannot ask the Head of Boarding if she can have the old front hall one for her room because the old front hall one is not old and needs to go back in the front hall. I'm doing role plays for that conversation in my head.


However, three highlights:

1. Yesterday one of my Form 1 boarders came to show me her new guitar... just because.

2. I saw one of my L6 Language students in another class before our first language lesson and she said to me  excitedly, "I can't wait for Language!" I almost fell over (they are a class that has been very difficult to draw any kind of emotion from, let alone excitement) and then I asked, "Why?" and she said, and I quote, scout's honour, "Because we had such a cool holiday project!"

3. When I walked into my Upper 6 lesson (a class which has been easy to connect with and which, if teacher's were allowed to have favourites...) they just grinned at me. They were happy to see me, so they say--I personally think it more likely to be a combination of first week excitement, second term stress getting to them early, the joke L had just told and the chaplain's sermon that morning that told them that if they weren't happy they would fail--but I'm going to go with they were happy to see me.