Cookin’ with beets and makin’ the borsch.
My teaching was a bit more interactive than the traditional Turkish teachers’. I’d ask students to act out what vocabulary they were learning. Here was a day’s lesson on prepositions. Most of my orta okul (middle school) students were from villages where hearing and speaking another language was as foreign to them as seeing a television (which was not even available in Turkey in 1965).
- Peace Corps Education Volunteer Margaret Miyake
During our pre-service training, I somehow got the idea that my teaching experience would involve eager female students who craved friendship and meaningful connections.
When I was placed at a small vocational school for construction and engineering, my little bubble popped. My students were almost exclusively male, and really they couldn’t give two flying farts about English. Hanging out with their strange, gawky foreign teacher wasn’t really high on their list of priorities.
The one exception to this was the English majors—a group of 25 bright and quirky students taught by my husband. They became my surrogate students last year. There would be days when I felt like a complete failure, unable to connect with my students. I would pour all my energy into my lessons, only to receive dull responses from boys who’d been up all night in internet bars playing League of Legends. It was Jeff’s English majors who came to my parties, who attended our English corner. It was these kids who made me feel like I wasn’t the problem.
In May, the class will graduate. Many are moving on to other cities—Shenzhen, Beijing, Shanghai, where they will translate or do HR work for construction companies. Many students have gotten positions in Africa, since Chinese companies are doing loads of construction work in places like Algeria and Tanzania.
Soon, their close group will scatter…but right now is a magical time when they are all filled with opportunity and dreams. Life is a gigantic possibility, and no limits have been set.
Last night we had a goodbye dinner for the class, since they will spend next semester interning at various locations away from campus. The students cooked up a storm, hammed it up for the camera and went crazy when I brought out my nail polish collection.
Youth is such a gorgeous, infectious thing. This beautiful group of girls have been an amazing part of my time in China, and I will always remember them.
Inspired by the acclaimed film Girl Rising, a Peace Corps Volunteer in Kathmandu, Nepal worked with youth and a women’s group in her Baglung community to create a mural to commemorate International Volunteer Day.
The main part of the mural roughly translates to “Let us make our Baglung beautiful, let us be Volunteers.”
(Thanks to Intern Nikki for the translation!)
I woke up this morning at the normal time to which I allow myself to sleep when I don’t have to teach in the morning, around 8 a.m.
By this time, all the students are already at school, which means, for a few moments, my neighborhood is relatively quiet.
This morning, though, as I was in my kitchen heating up water for tea, I heard people outside my neighbor’s house. She’s a nice lady and makes her living usually by being a tailor. In the past few months, she’s also started selling the local moonshine out of her house. For 100 CFA, men come by, take a shot of sodabe and then ride off on their motorcycles, rarely staying more than 5 minutes. One of my favorite nighttime activities is to sit on my front porch and watch how many of the men who stop by I recognize, either as colleagues or the father of one of my students.
When I came back from vacation three days ago, a small hut with benches and tables had been erected outside her house, I guessed in an effort to expand her business, at least expand it out of her living room. And business has expanded, the area outside my front door becoming less like a front porch and more like the street outside a bar, but besides moto horns and loud voices, there haven’t been any real complaints.
And so, this morning, as I sipped my Harney & Son’s Tower of London tea, I silently toasted the men taking shots of sodabe next door at 8:30 in the morning.
Today my ANAMED Club (Action for Natural Medicine) was interviewed by a radio journalist!
The organization NASFAM (which is something about helping Small Farmers of Malawi) has a branch in our village that has been supporting our club. With their donation of seeds and tubes we’ve planted about 4,000(!) tree seedlings for our school and community. The seedlings pictured are moringa which is an amazingly nutritional plant. So the reporter came and spoke to all the students about what we’re doing and why, and next Saturday we have a 30 min program on radio 1! It was all in Chichewa (hence my strained face trying to scramble up some words) but I could tell my students did an amazing job and I’m so proud of the work this club has done.
Regina Ernst is an UNLV MFA student in Fiction currently pursuing the Peace Corps track, fulfilling the international experience emphasis unique to the UNLV MFA program. She spent two years on campus in Las Vegas, and will spend two years abroad as a Peace Corps Volunteer while completing the writing of her MFA thesis. These are some of her musings from abroad.
I’ve been waiting to write something official about my experience as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Colombia until I felt like I had a better idea about what was going on here. I’ve spent the last five months in cities on the North Atlantic coast, I’ve moved permanently to Cartagena, and I’ve realized I may never know what’s going on here. But I do know some things.
Last week, while visiting Barranquilla for official business, I dropped by my old host-mom’s house to say hi. She’s an energetic woman in her sixties who I’d lived with for just over a month during my training. When she saw me through her open door, Sarita jumped from her seat at the dining room table and shuffled to receive me. She stood before me with her arms open absurdly wide. We hugged and kissed and she led me to the table. She didn’t even ask if I wanted lunch before shoving a feast arroz con pollo with avocado in front of me, which I’d learned never to say no to (and also, why would I?). I stayed to chat for a few hours and when I left, she escorted me to the door, lecturing me about how I was welcome at her house any time any day, the same sermon she gives me every time I visit her.
Las Murallas, the walls that surround the “Old City” with Bocagrande’s modern cityscape in the distance.
You’re not a true Cartagenero/a unless you’re carrying around an authentic mochila.
The other day, when I boarded the bus after grocery shopping, my hands filled with tearing bags, I squeezed through a sea of men to stand among them, swaying with the harsh stop-and-go of the bus and gripping onto any bar or shoulder within reach for balance. Within minutes, a seat opened up. These bus rides are lengthy and hot, and these men were here long before I was. Yet, the man closest to the free seat (and therefore entitled to it) reached out to tap my shoulder, and I crowd-surfed to the back of the bus to claim his spot, my bags supported by the hands of strangers until I made it securely into the seat. An hour later, when we were approaching my location, I stood to yell for the driver to stop. He didn’t hear me, so the chorus of men chanted on my behalf and the bus halted abruptly. All of them squished together to make room for me to exit. One took my hand to guide me down the steps.
One of the many plazas that make the Centro the beautiful but confusing labyrinth that it is, la Plaza de San Pedro Claver.
Servicio Nacional de Aprendizaje (SENA) in Casa de Marques in la Plaza de la Aduana. I work in this vocational college teaching ESL and ESP to Hospitality and Tourism students. Por eso, I’m a lucky duck.
Last night, when I was walking home from an English Conversation Club that I “co-founded,” I bumped into one of the members of my current host-family on the street. It was my host-uncle, Roberto, a man in his fifties who lives with his sister, his niece, his father, and three other miscellaneous people (myself included). We’ve lived in the same large house together for almost three months. We’ve conversed every day. We’ve worked around each other in the kitchen-space. Yet, when I caught up to him on the street that evening and greeted him, he turned to me surprised. His eyes opened large and he smiled so genuinely. Acting as if he hadn’t seen me in years, he put out his hand to take mine and we kissed cheeks in typical Colombian fashion. Then we shared the rest of the walk home, chatting about our days. My young Spanish only permits me to comment on the basics—where I was, what I was doing, who I was with, my plans for the evening—but every response from him was full of interest and sincere curiosity.
My host-sister, Lilia, and I standing on the shores of Playa Blanca on a nearby Caribbean island.
So, this is what it’s like here. I have new stories everyday about my interactions with people during my time here. Despite the big cultural cities, the heavenly beaches, and the numerous beautiful historical landmarks, the people are what make my time in Colombia feel so right.
Thanks, Regina! Las Vegas misses you. (All photos by the writer)
Peace Corps Volunteers Christelle Domercant and Ursula Wright recently practiced our Second Goal by sharing the story of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. with preschool students who are learning English in Costa Rica!