A few nights ago, I was visiting the parents of friends (Dita--who lives downstairs from us, and helped us get this apartment), the father--who is from Tetovo (or at least a village nearby) but met, fell in love and married a woman from Croatia (who now speaks Albanian but with a very clean sound--but plot full of dialect. it's really fascinating to listen to her speak because her accent--at least to my 'expert ear' sounds foreign (as if I am one to talk), while the way she speaks is utterly of Tetovo.) Anyhow, he (Dita's father) looked at the both of us (his wife and I) and smiled, saying, 'you two, you are original strangers. While he [indicating is son-in-law Dita's husband who is from Albania], he's a cousin. but you? [followed by a head wag]."
No, Siree, we're no counterfit strangers, but the real deal.
Since Zeko and I started dating, the subtle/gentle/inquisitive/totally baffled/laughing interrogations have only increased because for so many the idea of choosing this community, is, well a sign of clinical insanity. Dita's father also joked that one day, he and his wife and I would have to go to the psychiatrist, so that we (his wife and I) could be checked out (although unfortunately--I really enjoyed their company--they just went back to Croatia, so our trip to the psychiatrist will have to wait).
Especially when the alternative is the States (however hyped and glorified through hours of hollywood/pop culture/endless murmur of televisions). How crazy must I be to want to stay here?
And I know that even having the right to choose (and the right to un-choose) rooting myself here, that knowledge in and of itself, makes me more able, more comfortable with the idea of "investing" in Tetovo--although honestly teaching has been so exhausting that I don't exactly feel like I have a lot to invest in anything. And yes--there are so many ways in which I see (even through the foggy lens of the language barrier, which makes just about everything a little blurry around the edges) problems in this community--but thus far, I've found the support I need (and hopefully provided it as well) to navigate some of these cultural minefields without too much damage to the mind, body or spirit.
And I also love teaching.
I feel a little bad for Zeko--because all (literally) I want to talk about are my students--their mannerisms, their ticks, things I'm planning, problems I'm having: Zeko gets them all--and usually the unfiltered, unprocessed, raw version, the first words that spring from my mouth when I tumble through our apartment door. And he's a champ (not only for this, though). Not only for being the unceasing receptacle, sometimes translator, and constant support (oh so constant)--but genuinely is interested in helping in whatever way he can--from helping translate test questions, to trying to figure out a solution to the scheduling problems we were having at the beginning of the year (he offered we go home and make a grid and then move beans around. at the time (we spent so much time worrying about making the schedule work), it sounded like divine wisdom. and I'm sure would have worked, but we found another solution. But for next year: saved by the beans. Mark my words.)
I'm teaching 11th grade English and Social Studies at a private school here in Tetovo--and we're approaching the end of quarter 1 (strange how time just zoomed ahead, looking neither to the right nor left. and us passengers, hanging onto our purses and umbrellas and stacks of student papers for dear life--which brings to mind a scene of the Professors from Gormenghast. Thanks again Ned, for bringing those books into my life). Of course there are the rocky days--where for whatever reason the dynamic in the classroom is out of whack, students want to test boundaries, or students want to complain (justly and unjustly) about the amount of work they have, or debate their grades. and on those days--especially with 6 hours of class, and with a total of 38 students (there are two groups of 11th grade students, and I teach each section English and Social), days can get long.
But luckily, those days have been few and far between. and usually, time spent teaching--while exhausting physically/mentally, is also replenishing. rejuvenating. inspiring. amusing.
Like today: one of my students (mind you, an eleventh grader) in social studies class--when I started to erase the board, said 'jo, ne(ne)!'--which translates literally as 'no, Mom!' The entire class started to laugh--as did I, eraser posed to start wiping words out (thinking: 'is that really what I just heard?' Although, for the record, I do call them dude). I think E. might have been a little embarrassed--but honestly I was touched. My classes have a wide range of language proficiencies--and especially with the students with whom there is a wider language gap/barrier, I worry (endlessly. Just ask Zeko) about if I'm reaching them, if anything of what I'm saying/we're doing is settling for them, if I'm able to maintain their interest and curiosity (and spark their imaginations! I know, my expectations of schooling/education/teaching/being a teacher are high), and if what I'm asking them to produce for me is adequate to allow them to express their mastery of the content, if they feel comfortable asking questions...the list is never ending.
and being called Mom in class, while perhaps not the best indicator of whether or not manifest destiny (one of our topics for today's social studies class) makes any sense at all, at least, to me, says something about the dynamic I'm building with my students. I'm just not sure what exactly that is, or how to interpret it.
The class where I got called Mom is also my homeroom, who I see for 15 minutes every morning (and then sometimes 4 hours of class later throughout the day), and read announcements. And even though usually those 15 minutes are spent prying students eyes open (and mine, sometimes, I will be honest)--I'm starting to get a feel for their personalities, and I think, they for mine.
And I really enjoy letting myself be surprised by my students--and they surprise me all the time. Today--to celebrate the beautiful fall weather--we went outside for the last part of class and made skits about the short story we're reading. and like any first--taking a group of students outside for the last 30 minutes of the school day was a little bit daunting--and yet. rather than just basking in the sun--or running away (I think my subconscious fear) or revolting now that they had gotten what they wanted (to be outside on a nice day), they brought their books, make their skits, and then performed them. and we laughed. one group even asked me to be in their skit--and yes, to play the Mom (sensing a theme here? hmmm). and then even offered to help me take the books back to the classroom at the end of the lesson.
and watching them take on this small task--and see how their eyes smiled just a little (although some were clearly nervous) to be 'on stage,' taking on a new character, with all our attention focused on them, makes me impatient to do more with these students. to see what other talents they have, that I am thus unaware of. what other surprises they have in store.
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