Monday, December 20, 2010
Monday, December 13, 2010
So much is So wrong
Systematic oppression. Institutionalized trauma. Cyclical poverty. These are concepts that swirl through my thoughts regularly. As I watch how the veteran teachers treat students that they have arbitrarily labeled as “hopeless,” “dumb,” “apathetic,” “lazy,” or “disabled.” As I listen to stories of drug abuse, broken homes, despair, hunger, and gang violence. As I see my school get resources half as often as every other school in our district (example: social workers go to all other schools once a week, but come to mine once every two weeks because we’re so far away). As I think of Eduardo Galeano’s quote: “How many times have I been a dictator? How many times an inquisitor, a censor, a jailer? How many times have I forbidden those I most loved freedom and speech? How many people have I felt I owned? How many people have I sentenced because they committed the crime of not being me? Is it not more repugnant to hold people as private property than things? How many people have I used, I who thought myself so marginal to the consumer society? Have I not desired or celebrated, secretly, the defeat of others, I who aloud claimed no interest in success? Who fails to reproduce, within himself, the world that makes him? Who is free from confusing his brother with a rival and the woman he loves with his own shadow?”. As I battle the guilt associated with even contemplating quitting such and underserved population, school, and student. As I question my efficacy of service. As my principal tells me that our school is out of supply funds for the rest of the year. As I have to request that my student not be suspended for kicking me so that we don’t waste the time that he could be using to learn how to control his emotions and develop his academic skills. Making desperate attempts to try to break the perpetuation of dysfunction. I can't help but be dumbstruck and overwhelmed. I can't help but question whether my student's family will follow through on transferring him to a school with better resources. I can't help but wonder if it will actually be an improvement.
The Nobodies written by Eduardo Galeano
Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream
of escaping poverty: that one magical day good luck will
suddenly rain down on them- will rain down in buckets.
But good luck doesn't even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter
how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is
tickling, or if they begin the new day with their right foot, or
start the new year with a change of brooms.
The nobodies: nobody's children, owners of nothing.
The nobodies: the no ones, the nobodied,
running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way.
Who don't speak languages, but dialects.
Who don't have religions, but superstitions.
Who don't create art, but handicrafts.
Who don't have culture, but folklore.
Who are not human beings, but human resources.
Who do not have names, but numbers.
Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the police blotter of the local paper.
The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them
The Nobodies written by Eduardo Galeano
Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream
of escaping poverty: that one magical day good luck will
suddenly rain down on them- will rain down in buckets.
But good luck doesn't even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter
how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is
tickling, or if they begin the new day with their right foot, or
start the new year with a change of brooms.
The nobodies: nobody's children, owners of nothing.
The nobodies: the no ones, the nobodied,
running like rabbits, dying through life, screwed every which way.
Who don't speak languages, but dialects.
Who don't have religions, but superstitions.
Who don't create art, but handicrafts.
Who don't have culture, but folklore.
Who are not human beings, but human resources.
Who do not have names, but numbers.
Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the police blotter of the local paper.
The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them
Monday, November 29, 2010
Rural Roads and Rural Programs
I find it to be odd how so many people drive the speed limit here. Following stereotypes, people in junkers and the elderly drive below the speed limit. But pretty much everyone else follows the speed limit signs. It’s bizarre for three reasons: 1) there typically is hardly any traffic, 2) there is rarely a cop, 3) the cops don’t stop you for speeding (speaking from personal experience). Since I live so far from anywhere, I can’t suppress the temptation to set my cruise control 20 mph higher than the speed limit sign (that I can’t read anyway because it has been tagged by some local punks). Even when I am driving ridiculously over the speed limit, cops have only flashed their lights on to warn me, and then continued on their merry way. And so it continues. My cruise control even helps me out sometimes by occassionally forgetting to cap my speed, and instead continues to increase until I realize I'm going over 100 mph and still accelerating! Then I correct it.
There is one recent advancement in my job situation for which I’m extremely grateful. The Deaf AmeriCorps members have started to provide services. This means that once a week, a recent college graduate, who happens to be Deaf, will be volunteering at my school to work with me, my student, and probably the staff and the student’s family. What an ingenious program! Communities like this one that keep their deaf children in the community typically struggle with effectively interacting with the deaf children, and have no concept of how successful a Deaf individual can be. So, the New Mexico School for the Deaf (NMSD) proposed a program to AmeriCorps, in which they place successful Deaf adults in our rural communities to provide services and be a role model and example for how Deaf does not equal disabled. It has been a huge blessing for my work environment and my psyche to interact with these amazing volunteers.
There is one recent advancement in my job situation for which I’m extremely grateful. The Deaf AmeriCorps members have started to provide services. This means that once a week, a recent college graduate, who happens to be Deaf, will be volunteering at my school to work with me, my student, and probably the staff and the student’s family. What an ingenious program! Communities like this one that keep their deaf children in the community typically struggle with effectively interacting with the deaf children, and have no concept of how successful a Deaf individual can be. So, the New Mexico School for the Deaf (NMSD) proposed a program to AmeriCorps, in which they place successful Deaf adults in our rural communities to provide services and be a role model and example for how Deaf does not equal disabled. It has been a huge blessing for my work environment and my psyche to interact with these amazing volunteers.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Yay-Bih-WHAT?!
Yeibichai. If you google it, you won’t find much information. You won’t find a picture of one (extremely taboo). You might find a drawing or painting, but they’re probably inaccurate (because that’s also highly discouraged). You probably can’t pronounce it properly. Yeibichai: the lead Diné (Navajo) ceremonial dancer. Yeibichai’s are primarily responsible for the 9-day healing ceremonies that take place in the colder months, but they also have a couple of other roles in our community. As far as I can understand, the Yeibichai also leads the ceremony for the changing of seasons from fall into winter (possibly other seasonal changes also, but I haven’t been here that long).
From what I’ve been told, part of the ceremonial responsibility includes the punishment of misbehaving individuals in the community in order to bring them into balance and harmony. How does this unfold, you ask? Whipping. I rolled my eyes at it, too, assuming that even if it happens, it’s rare and discreet. Then two of the students approached my roommate in a huff saying, “It’s your fault I got whipped!” Baffled and assuming that it was going to progress into a sarcastic joke followed by “Nay”, my roomie inquired nonchalantly. They proceeded to explain that because she wrote them up, they were in lunch detention; and because they were in lunch detention, they were there when the Yeibichai came to whip the problematic students.
White mask. Animal pelts. Eagle feathers. I’d be upset, too. If you drive to the Chaco Wash, our Laundromat, you’ll see a sign that points and says Yeibichai. I don’t go that way.
From what I’ve been told, part of the ceremonial responsibility includes the punishment of misbehaving individuals in the community in order to bring them into balance and harmony. How does this unfold, you ask? Whipping. I rolled my eyes at it, too, assuming that even if it happens, it’s rare and discreet. Then two of the students approached my roommate in a huff saying, “It’s your fault I got whipped!” Baffled and assuming that it was going to progress into a sarcastic joke followed by “Nay”, my roomie inquired nonchalantly. They proceeded to explain that because she wrote them up, they were in lunch detention; and because they were in lunch detention, they were there when the Yeibichai came to whip the problematic students.
White mask. Animal pelts. Eagle feathers. I’d be upset, too. If you drive to the Chaco Wash, our Laundromat, you’ll see a sign that points and says Yeibichai. I don’t go that way.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
What's it like to live in the Middle of Everywhere?
Let me quantify just how remote I am for you:
People in the closest towns don’t recognize the name of Pueblo Pintado and ask, “Where’s that at?”
This area of the country is best known for how dark it gets…and subsequently has one of the best observatories in the nation. No light pollution does wonders. However, night driving is can be annoying when headlights seem to just absorb into the blackness rather than illuminating it.
A day of rain requires me to cancel volleyball practice so that people don’t have to deal with the dirt-turned-mud roads.
A couple hours of rain requires low gear, four-wheel drive, and driving at 1-2 mph in order to not slide off the roads.
When I take a student home at night, I know I wouldn’t be able to find their house in the daylight because a)it’s so barren b)there are no signs or landmarks and c)it’s so dark that I couldn’t see landmarks if there happened to be some.
The food stands that are set up on the side of the road double as drive-thrus...for horseback.
I spend my free time catching black widows and terrifyingly large wolf spiders…and then mail them (live) to Rachael Niemi for her science classes.
The kids charge their Ipods in outlets during class…because they don’t have electricity at home.
An exciting excursion to take during the school week? The Chaco Wash Landromat. Not because it’s so exciting, but because I get to leave the High School compound and get clean clothes.Exciting excursion option number 2? The gas station. No. I do not have a grocery store here. Yes, a box of cereal does cost $7 at the gas station.
Sometimes I see little kids, barefoot, playing games around their hogans and houses. And it reminds me of when I went to Mexico and Belize.
People in the closest towns don’t recognize the name of Pueblo Pintado and ask, “Where’s that at?”
This area of the country is best known for how dark it gets…and subsequently has one of the best observatories in the nation. No light pollution does wonders. However, night driving is can be annoying when headlights seem to just absorb into the blackness rather than illuminating it.
A day of rain requires me to cancel volleyball practice so that people don’t have to deal with the dirt-turned-mud roads.
A couple hours of rain requires low gear, four-wheel drive, and driving at 1-2 mph in order to not slide off the roads.
When I take a student home at night, I know I wouldn’t be able to find their house in the daylight because a)it’s so barren b)there are no signs or landmarks and c)it’s so dark that I couldn’t see landmarks if there happened to be some.
The food stands that are set up on the side of the road double as drive-thrus...for horseback.
I spend my free time catching black widows and terrifyingly large wolf spiders…and then mail them (live) to Rachael Niemi for her science classes.
The kids charge their Ipods in outlets during class…because they don’t have electricity at home.
An exciting excursion to take during the school week? The Chaco Wash Landromat. Not because it’s so exciting, but because I get to leave the High School compound and get clean clothes.Exciting excursion option number 2? The gas station. No. I do not have a grocery store here. Yes, a box of cereal does cost $7 at the gas station.
Sometimes I see little kids, barefoot, playing games around their hogans and houses. And it reminds me of when I went to Mexico and Belize.
Don't worry, I leave town everyweekend to go to...town. Seeing friends, going to events, and buying groceries helps maintain my sanity. Here are a few things from the Albuquerque Hot Air Balloon Festival.
Monday, September 27, 2010
An Advance Apology in Case I go Crazy
My job is hard. It’s frustrating. It’s exhausting. It makes me cry. A person can only hear some things so many times a day before the words start to knock things loose upstairs. Oh, I’m weak-minded and pea-brained? Oh, you’re failing because of me and not because of the fact that you pout and waste time and refuse to look at me when I’m signing? Oh, slapping me in the face and swearing at me is “teasing”? Oh, I should think it’s funny when you talk about cutting off my head with gardening shears? Oh, I’m stupid because I don’t want World War 3 to happen and I don’t think the world will end in 2012? Oh, you’re in trouble again because I’m mean and not because your actions need to be followed up by discipline? Okay. Whatever you say.
And then there are the times when my job actually breaks my heart. The education system has failed my student so miserably that he actually believes he earned the “passing” grades that he has been given all of his life. If that was true, he wouldn’t be in 10th grade and reading at a K-1 level and computing math problems on a 2nd grade level. If that was true, he’d have a better understanding of social norms and educational expectations. If that was true, he’d be able to express himself and cope with frustration effectively. He actually thinks that if he continues on the path that he’s been on, he’ll be able to go to college like everyone else. He complains about how lonely it is and how bored he is out here. He’s so bored that he wants to be frozen and preserved until the year 2548 when life will be more exciting. He feels alone because he doesn’t have full access to English and can’t hear while simultaneously not having developed his sign language skills enough to be able to identify with being deaf. He has said that since his language isn’t ASL and it isn’t English, his language is war. Subsequently he’s even more isolated because no one wants to only talk about war and the end of the world with him.
Every day that I’m here on the rez, I experience things that baffle me. The problem is—I’m becoming desensitized to a lot of it. So when I found out that one specific teacher let his kids out of class over ten minutes early so that he could go to lunch, the absurdity of that action almost didn’t register. When I find out that another student 5 students just started coming to school, four and half weeks into the year, I shrug and say, “Welcome to the Rez.” When I found out that the propane tanks that are red tagged…the same tanks that are used for heating, hot water, and cooking for our housing and the school….and that they would not be refilled until the leak was fixed…and that nobody would bother to fix it until November at the earliest…I sighed and thought about how many pairs of long underwear I’ll need to invest in. When we talk about how about 50% of our students don’t have electricity or running water and my friends’ eyes bug-out, I say, “You didn’t know that?”
Life on the rez is fascinating. I’ve started pointing with my lips. I notice myself talking more slowly. Even though most of the TFAers in this region are working predominantly with Navajo students, we get a lot more Navajo-isms out here. It only took me three weeks to realize that “Nay” isn’t just a habitual reaction when something sarcastic is said; it actually means “just kidding.” I’ve started saying “Nay” and am picking up random other Navajo words thanks to my volleyball girls.
P.S. My car will be "all rezzed out" by the time I'm done here.
And then there are the times when my job actually breaks my heart. The education system has failed my student so miserably that he actually believes he earned the “passing” grades that he has been given all of his life. If that was true, he wouldn’t be in 10th grade and reading at a K-1 level and computing math problems on a 2nd grade level. If that was true, he’d have a better understanding of social norms and educational expectations. If that was true, he’d be able to express himself and cope with frustration effectively. He actually thinks that if he continues on the path that he’s been on, he’ll be able to go to college like everyone else. He complains about how lonely it is and how bored he is out here. He’s so bored that he wants to be frozen and preserved until the year 2548 when life will be more exciting. He feels alone because he doesn’t have full access to English and can’t hear while simultaneously not having developed his sign language skills enough to be able to identify with being deaf. He has said that since his language isn’t ASL and it isn’t English, his language is war. Subsequently he’s even more isolated because no one wants to only talk about war and the end of the world with him.
Every day that I’m here on the rez, I experience things that baffle me. The problem is—I’m becoming desensitized to a lot of it. So when I found out that one specific teacher let his kids out of class over ten minutes early so that he could go to lunch, the absurdity of that action almost didn’t register. When I find out that another student 5 students just started coming to school, four and half weeks into the year, I shrug and say, “Welcome to the Rez.” When I found out that the propane tanks that are red tagged…the same tanks that are used for heating, hot water, and cooking for our housing and the school….and that they would not be refilled until the leak was fixed…and that nobody would bother to fix it until November at the earliest…I sighed and thought about how many pairs of long underwear I’ll need to invest in. When we talk about how about 50% of our students don’t have electricity or running water and my friends’ eyes bug-out, I say, “You didn’t know that?”
Life on the rez is fascinating. I’ve started pointing with my lips. I notice myself talking more slowly. Even though most of the TFAers in this region are working predominantly with Navajo students, we get a lot more Navajo-isms out here. It only took me three weeks to realize that “Nay” isn’t just a habitual reaction when something sarcastic is said; it actually means “just kidding.” I’ve started saying “Nay” and am picking up random other Navajo words thanks to my volleyball girls.
P.S. My car will be "all rezzed out" by the time I'm done here.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Some of the little things...
Just to quickly catch you up on my arachnaventures... 1) Douglas, our scorpion, escaped from the glue trap after being stuck in it for eight days. We haven't seen him since. 2) I see a "sun spider" about once every two weeks. They haven't harmed me, so I've stopped smashing them relentlessly. 3) We did have an interesting black widow encounter. Imagine yourself washing desert sand off of your hands and feet underneath your water spigot outside... and then consider the level of terror that would shoot through your body when you realize that your hands are inches beneath the black widow that the water is slowly forcing out from inside of the spigot. Yes friends, its abdomen filled over half of the water spigot. And so...when my roommate noticed the red hourglass lowering towards her, she immediately yelled, "RRROOOOOOOOOOOMMMIIIIIEEEEEEEEE!!!!" I heroicly smashed the spider with some pliers. 4) I smashed the biggest spider that I've seen thus far on Thursday night. I didn't bother to identify it, but i think that venom was bubbling out of its mouthparts when i was analyzing it. The next morning, hundreds of tiny ants were tearing it apart and carrying it away bit by bit.
I realize that I haven't mentioned that I took on the role of head volleyball coach at the beginning of the year. In fact, I'm currently in a hotel in Albuquerque trying to convince the girls to get some rest before the tournament championship game tomorrow. I'll probably threaten them with running if I have to ask them to quiet down again. Even though coaching after school every day and spending extra evenings and weekends at games takes a toll on the amount of time that I can plan lessons and organize my thoughts for teaching, these girls offer me a huge amount of sanity to counterbalance all of the chaos.
It's really the little things out here that make it manageable and even enjoyable. Arachnids. The word arachnid. Volleyball. "Family" dinners with the other Teach for America teachers at my school (we each cook one night a week). The luck of having a wonderful roommate (who serenades me with her piano occasionally). Peanut M&Ms. Momentary breakthroughs with my student (even if it collapses upon me five minutes later). Getting my second paycheck. A great dane named Lola. Having health insurance that covered a decent chunk of the care I needed to get over the infection in my tonsils. Dakota Kid Sunflower Seeds (Thanks mom). Teachers of the Deaf and Interpreters who are always willing to help. And the little thing that is most alluring right now...sleep.
Good night.
I realize that I haven't mentioned that I took on the role of head volleyball coach at the beginning of the year. In fact, I'm currently in a hotel in Albuquerque trying to convince the girls to get some rest before the tournament championship game tomorrow. I'll probably threaten them with running if I have to ask them to quiet down again. Even though coaching after school every day and spending extra evenings and weekends at games takes a toll on the amount of time that I can plan lessons and organize my thoughts for teaching, these girls offer me a huge amount of sanity to counterbalance all of the chaos.
It's really the little things out here that make it manageable and even enjoyable. Arachnids. The word arachnid. Volleyball. "Family" dinners with the other Teach for America teachers at my school (we each cook one night a week). The luck of having a wonderful roommate (who serenades me with her piano occasionally). Peanut M&Ms. Momentary breakthroughs with my student (even if it collapses upon me five minutes later). Getting my second paycheck. A great dane named Lola. Having health insurance that covered a decent chunk of the care I needed to get over the infection in my tonsils. Dakota Kid Sunflower Seeds (Thanks mom). Teachers of the Deaf and Interpreters who are always willing to help. And the little thing that is most alluring right now...sleep.
Good night.
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