I am a teacher!

Hello family and friends! It has been a long time since my last post, and I am sorry for such a delay. I look back on the past three weeks and can’t really believe everything that has changed in my life. I am a TEACHER. The magnitude of that statement continues to surprise me because a short three weeks ago, I had never even imagined the reality of teaching children. I am a teacher; I can say it not necessarily with a lot of confidence or authority yet, but I can say it with a large spoonful of humility. I am already falling in love with my kids. They have produced in me incredible energy and exhaustion; tears and laughter; frustration and patience; sadness and joy. They are incredible. I am learning about their lives, worries, struggles, joys, and loves (believe it or not, Hannah Montana and Justin Beiber make the list of loves for many of my kids).The energy, positivity, and naivety that I encounter everyday at school reminds me of the joys of childhood and the blessing of working with children.

For example, I was surprised on one of my first days of Standard 3 (third grade) science class when I was approached by one of my students in the middle of a lesson. I was fumbling through teaching the class how to clean their “private parts” when this little girl got out of her desk to tell me that her neighbor had stolen her pen (or scribbled in her notebook, or poked her arm, etc.) Pen stealing is the biggest grievance in my classroom that often dominates my 40 min lessons. I usually spend a great deal of time consoling the students lacking pens, while playing detective to try to find the thieves. These worries amuse me GREATLY at my best, and baffle/frustrate me at my worst (and after the tenth student has tried to get out of his/her desk to complain of a stolen pen).

So while I am reminded of this universal innocence of children, I am also astounded by the lives of Tanzanian children outside of the classroom. I teach science for standard 3, English for standard 5, and Religion for standard 4. Most of my students could navigate themselves around the alleys and lanes of Mabibo (the neighborhood/area of Dar that I live in) far better than I could. They could also probably cook a meal better than I could, and they could get their school uniforms cleaner every night by hand-washing than I could. These children are resilient and adept at working hard. They know responsibility in their day-to-day lives in a way that I am trying to “adjust” to. I am still adjusting to hand-washing clothing, bucket showers, and the process of preparing food here. I am adjusting to the almost daily power-cuts and to getting water from a spigot outside and boiling and filtering it before it is drinkable. These kids could teach ME a lot on how to live a life that requires a lot of intentionality and work in the everyday basics. The porridge in the morning and the beans and rice that these kids receive at lunch everyday is, for many, the only food that they will see that week. My kids can spend hours playing with sticks, stones, and make-shift toys from the garbage on the roads. When these toys are lost or destroyed, their acceptance and seeming indifference, without tears or complaints of the loss of their great joy that day, is profound. I both admire it and am saddened by it. Many of my students know the pain of loosing parents or immediate family members very early in life. Many are orphans, and many are living with relatives because parents have passed away.

While these are troubling notes to leave this post on, I think that the most important thing to relay to you is that these children are changing my life and I'm so happy to be able to share their lives with them.

Thank you for reading and I hope that you are doing well wherever you are at!

I miss my friends and family so much, and think of so you all constantly.

Amani na upendo,

Cat