Hiking at Nkhoma, or, the grandeur of God

Saturday last, a fantastic campus family invited some of the singles to go for a hike at a place called Nkhoma. My friend Molly and I jumped at the chance, so bright and early we packed up some food, water, and sunscreen and headed off. 

If you love hiking, you would have loved this hike. If you're remotely interested in anything beautiful, you would have loved this hike. I can't explain it...

For lo, he that formeth the mountains, and createth the wind, and declareth unto man what is his thought, that maketh the morning darkness, and treadeth upon the high places of the earth, the Lord, The God of hosts, is his name. {amos 4.13}

The family that invited us has two sweet little guys who bravely trekked right along with us. 

They had some great family teamwork involved in order to make it to the top. 

We had lunch on a ledge overlooking more fantastic hills and fields and dust and scrubby trees.

I do want my family/friends/casual acquaintances back home to have some faces for names. So above I'm chilling (catching my breath. ha.) with Molly and the two kiddos. Below are Becca, Kellen, and their boys.

This was when Yami first got on my back. Notice how confident and comfortable I look.

This is one of the 732 breaks I took on the bit of trail I carried him for. Notice how red-faced and heavy laden I look. Notice how relaxed he looks.

When we got to the top, we forgot about the brief season of strain. We marveled.

For the beauty of the earth, for the glory of the sky, for the love which from our birth over and around us lies, Lord, our God, to Thee we raise our song of grateful praise. {folliot s. pierpoint}

The beauty here makes the heart sing praises, joining in with the voices lifted in song from the prayer meeting on another part of the mountain. Sorry for all those prepositions. What is it about climbing rocks, holding children, seeing dozens of mud huts from hundreds of meters upward that is so mind boggling? It could be that the grandeur of God is so carefully reflected in each one, if one but looks for it.

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
   It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
   It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
   And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
   And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.  

And for all this, nature is never spent;
   There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
   Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs--
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
   World broods with warm breast and ah! bright wings. {gerard manley hopkins}

I know I want to end on something wonderful to leave you with. After reading this post script, please re-read Hopkins so he's what stays with you. Anyway, I want to thank each of you for reading! I love to receive your emails and comments. I love to know you're interested in my life and that you want to remain a part of it. I thank God for each of you.

Last thing! Praying friends, please pray that I would remain faithful, committed, and enthusiastic in my role as a teacher. By "remain," I mean "stay this way!" I still love what I do each day, but I fear that as other factors begin to take their toll on my physical and emotional energy, some of my stamina will wane. Pray that God would continue to keep me strong, so I can walk worthy of the calling I've been given.

Now go back and read some great poetry and remember, "The world is charged with the grandeur of God."

What Every Teacher Should Know, or, "Feel Free."

Over the course of my first six weeks as a missionary/teacher/resident of Malawi/member of this particular community/mostly teacher, I have compiled a list of rules every teacher should know, called "What Every Teacher Should Know." It looks like this:

1. Always erase the white board before leaving the classroom you were teaching in. (Teachers, please read that three more times to yourself.)
2. Keep cool; don't freeze. (If white boards did not exist, this would be item 1.)
3. Learn how to skillfully throw the lesson plan out of the window.
4. Don't ever forget anything, ever.
5. Bring coffee, water, and gum to school every day.
6. Wear the matching shirt on Friday.
7. Use your prep to get your work done.
8. Pretend you know more than your students. Don't be arrogant about it, just play like you know more.
9. Don't get nervous when other adults are within earshot of your classroom, no matter how intimidating they may be. See item 2.
10. Give essay tests.
11. Don't play music for students unless you really love the music or the music in question was composed by Mozart.
12. Talk about God every day. (This would be item 1 if I didn't know that the last thing people read is what stays with them the most strongly.)

Some of this is minor and silly. Some are very serious, because following these rules contributes to smooth, happy days.
You see, it's not all sunshine and rainbows.

Once I found myself with a fake smile on my face asking a student why s/he thought it was ok to ask to go to the restroom, leave my class, and return changed into her/his P.E. clothes. I asked and waited for an answer. I'm a fan of having the student speak, especially when I am about to blow my top.

There are a few F's in my grade book.

Most of my Expo markers are quite dry.

The eighth seventh grader asks me for the sixth time in five minutes, "Miss V, what page?"

The power goes out just as my Journalism students are finalizing the draft of the student newspaper.

Little hang-ups. They should shrink when I put them in perspective. They grow if I look at them too closely. Guess which one happens more often.

When I fail to take a step back, my attitude sours. I start to wonder if someone wrote on the white board behind me, "Feel free to think class is a joke. Feel free to ignore Miss V. the first four times she says something. Feel free to leave all your textbooks in your homeroom class. Feel free to leave your homework at home."

But doesn't the teacher have to move on, take in her troubles, without studying them too closely? And should she not strive to change the vibe of the classroom to instead reflect other invitations: "Feel free to ask what an unfamiliar word means. Feel free to offer a different opinion. Feel free to come by at lunch for extra help or a chat. Feel free to make your essay one paragraph longer than the minimum"?

These students say, "Thank you, Miss V" at the end of each class. These students want to know if I like living in Malawi or not. These students enjoy my Jersey accent. These students are lovely. I just have to remember that fact when I say, "Number 4, page 120" yet again.

I have to remember that I too need grace in abundant quantities, from the same Lord that governs each life affected by my classroom. I have to remember that what I deserve and what I receive are greatly discrepant.

And so I resolve to talk about God every day.

"Teaching Is an Easy Job" and Other Lies I've Told

At the end of a school day, no matter how stress-free and blissfully content I may be, no matter how well my students discussed themes or wrote poems or played Comma Rule Jeopardy or produced a completed student newspaper, I cannot say (as I admittedly have said in the past), "Teaching is an easy job." It's a lie. And I can prove it.

Good teaching takes soul. Or heart. Or spiritual stamina. However you put it, teaching takes it. It requires the outpouring of one's personal human essence into a group of much younger people. It looks, therefore, like a little bit of preaching, a little bit of questioning, a little bit of listening, a little bit of wisdom, a little bit of theatrics (didn't you know we're all actors?), a little bit of exhortation, and a little bit of love. By "a little bit," I mean "a lot." It's not easy. It's not impossible, and honestly, it's not necessarily stressful, not in my case anyway. And it is very, very far from unpleasant. 

"Good teachers don't repeat themselves" is another lie spoken by yours truly, though in my defense I was parroting what I thought was true. I am very close to being convinced that it is not true (because if it is true, I am a terrible awful bad no-good teacher). I still dislike repeating myself, but I'm replacing that lie with the positive philosophy that "Good teachers find ways to avoid repeating themselves too often." I'm getting very fond of "Ask your classmate" or "Check the board." Here's hoping to saying "Page 165" twelve times in a minute.

Teaching and living here have shown me some interesting things about myself. By interesting, of course, I mean shocking. "I've got this" is a lie I have told myself quite often. Multiple times a day, I have to admit, sometimes to myself and sometimes to someone nearby, that I have no idea what I'm doing. I have to go food shopping. I don't know how to get there. I coach soccer. I don't know what to say (or scream) to my players. I teach English. I don't know how to teach struggling students where the commas go. I greet a member of the maintenance staff at school. I don't know what she said to me, because I am terrible at understanding her accent. I assign my students poetry. I don't know how I should fairly grade their submissions. Yeah. Convinced? So am I. I'm not telling myself "I've got this" ever again.

"I'm not that selfish" is a lie to which I cringe to admit. However, should my reader scan the paragraph above, the discerning eye would notice that the word "I" appears often. Very often. This girl has lots of time to think, which is a wonderful luxury, but too often her thoughts wander to selfishness. What do I want, what am I interested in, how can I be happy today--these and other utterly useless questions knock around in my brain far too often.

Well. Glad we had this talk. Here's to the mortification of lying and putting on of truth-telling.

Teaching is the best job in the world. But it isn't easy. 

Hi, I'm Africa, nice to meet you.

When it was known that a Jersey girl was going to teach in Lilongwe, a few dozen more people in the American Northeast discovered the geographical location (and existence) of a squiggly little country named Malawi for the first time.

I didn't know Malawi, much less Africa. I knew that the roads are red dirt and that I have no rooms to let and that women carry heavy loads on their heads. I knew there is poverty and mud and thatch and epidemics of horrible diseases. I knew there are tribes and villages and millionaires and big cities.

Now I have been here for three days short of seven weeks.

I still don't know Africa.

I don't know Africa, but I know Sarai (no, that's not her name, because yes, I have serious concerns about sharing names and faces on the internet), who is raising two little girls in a village hut while caring for her mother. I know her husband lives on the other side of town with a different woman. I know she hears questions like, "Mom, why don't I have a Dad to buy me treats, like my friends do?"

I don't know Africa, but I know how to eat nsima without getting it all over the place. (That adverbial might be false.)

I don't know Africa, but I know people who have dedicated their lives to investing in its citizens. These people pour their heart and soul into their work, whether its spiritual, educational, medical, entrepreneurial, or material (what's the adjective to describe work that involves the building of houses, wells, schools, fences, irrigation systems, and churches?).

I don't know Africa, but I know how to greet a stranger in Chichewa. I also know how to respond when that stranger takes the greeting as an invitation to start an entire conversation in Chichewa. I also know how to respond when that stranger, along with all and any bystanders, decides to laugh hysterically at me for not knowing any Chichewa beyond my scripted greeting.

I don't know Africa, but I know how it is to be stared at. And laughed at. And stared at after being laughed at.

I don't know Africa, but I know that the sky here is marvelous. The red sun sinks below a haze of dry-season smog, softening to pink before slipping behind a craggy hill. Orion stands beside a crescent moon at 05:00, as reassuring in this hemisphere as he was in the one I quitted three days short of seven weeks ago. Morning light glimmers over Lake Malawi, calling attention to the contrast of the blue of the water with the blue of the sky, harmonious in their different hues.

I don't know Africa, but I know how wonderful it feels to have coffee on a sand dune watching those two blues.

I don't know Africa, but I know the hospitality of its people, whether they be citizens of a village or of a Christian college campus.

I don't know Africa, but I know that I want to be here, teaching students who have the potential to become the next leaders within this area, or this city, or this country.

I don't know Africa, but I think I can get to know it, or at least the squiggle of it that I currently call home.

I don't know Africa, but I want to, by the sustaining grace of the God who brought me here.

I don't know Africa, but I know that Palibe wofana nye Yesu. There's no one like Jesus.

Welcoming Wednesdays, or, How Can I Have a Great Day Every Day?

In the classroom here, sometimes I feel ridiculous. I have walked my MacBook around the room so every student can see the image that I would have projected on the board if I had a projector. I have written entire grammar exercises on the white board so students can come up and add in the punctuation--again, oh for a projector! I try to follow the school's paper-light policy, and ergo give a lot of information verbally that I would rather make a packet of handouts for. The students are cooperative, attentive, and generally pretty stinking smart, so this doesn't necessarily adversely affect their learning.

Daily challenges are no reason to have a negative outlook on teaching. Wednesdays have the connotation of "stuck in the middle of the week." I can't say that I feel that way. Wednesdays mean I have two days under my belt and two days ahead to somehow juggle my lesson plans to make everything happen before the end of the day on Friday.

I love Wednesdays. I love every day. I don't love my habit of bumping my lesson plans around, but I love making the classes flow into each other. I love hearing my students discuss things before I even have to prompt them with questions. I love the puzzle of challenging my students that are ahead of the game (e.g. those who finished the entire the book when I assigned Ch. 1-2). What I really love is throwing in random opportunities for my students to earn bonus points (called Q-points up there in Room B). While doing a vocabulary exercise, for instance, fourteen pairs glazed eyes pleaded for mercy. When we came to a question asking for a definition of "aghast," I asked the young'uns to make a face as if they were aghast about something. Have you ever had fourteen pairs of eyes, open as wide as possible, suddenly fix themselves on you, accompanied by open mouths and shrill gasps? How could I not laugh for a solid three minutes? They all earned the Q-point, let me tell you. Teachers everywhere, have a reward system. Have a magic word. It brings light and joy into the classroom that will turn your world around. Hands that erstwhile held up heavy heads shoot into the air and wave wildly, begging to be called on. Feet that were tapping to a nonsensical beat cease movement as brains click on and responses fly into the air like so many starlings driven by ambition and instinct.

In case you are curious about what's going on my classes, here's a summary of my current classroom to-do list:
-Post student work on the bulletin boards (I may post pictures if it looks as phenomenal as I am hoping).
-Compile, print, and distribute the first student-written newspaper (I'm teaching the Journalism elective).
-Finish reading The Scarlet Letter, Peace Child, and Rascal (Ok, I have finished some of this reading; I do need to continuously review each class's homework assignment; my new dream superpower is the ability to predict student questions regarding novels before hearing the questions in the middle of class).
-Grade AmLit's Puritan-imitation poetry (Yeah, weird assignment. I'm a fan of weird assignments).
-Organize extra help groups.
-Write up the next set of lesson plans! This to-do list item never, ever moves! It's the greatest consistency and comfort of my life as a teacher! If all else fails, I can always write lesson plans!

Was that boring? I hope not. I'm not sure how interested my audience is in the teaching side of my life here. So there it is--short and sweet summary, I hope.

To give the short answer to the titular question, I can have a great day every day because I'm a teacher in Lilongwe.

Did that sound overly simplified, idealistic, and optimistic? It should have.

Here's my classroom. All my students love the chair arrangement. I didn't know it would be such a novelty. It's simple, but it's a keeper.

I'm not going to lie, I'd love to be able to share shots of my students. They make the room so much more interesting, trust me. 

Life in Lilongwe, or, Two Posts in One Day

Today I walked down the street outside the walls of campus. I was accompanied, be not alarmed. Maybe, on the other hand, some of you are alarmed that I haven't done this until now. I advise you to look up the rate of traffic-related fatalities in my current nation of residence.

Today I attended an outdoor movie night with free popcorn at a dive down the road. This event sounded pretty American, but when we got there I realized it was much nicer (and sufficiently Maliawan). The setting was so sweet, with easy chairs set up in little semi-circles separated by thin fences. The popcorn was served on plates, not paper bags. The movie was so cute, and the company was great. It was excessively diverting.

The other day I let someone take this picture of me.

Those are mbewa. You can sometimes buy them on the side of the road. You can sometimes find them in your kitchen (I haven't). You can sometimes hear them in your ceiling (I have). 

Life in Lilongwe has somewhat become Life at ABC, but I am making an effort not to let it be so. Today, in my 'umble opinion, I made some progress.

What's New, or, Why I Love Saturday Mornings

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoon, I start off my Journalism class asking my five students "What's New?", to which they are supposed to respond with a current event and some valid commentary on said event. Some of them do a terrific job. Some of them say, "They caught that guy that did that shooting in that school." The students in the latter group get a certain look from yours truly. Then they get on a computer (while I pray that the internet is working) and pull up the article in order to get any kind of credit whatsoever.

Oh. We're talking about Saturday mornings, aren't we? I love Saturday mornings because I can sleep in past 7, make a pot of relatively decent coffee, and drink that coffee slowly while reading my Bible equally slowly. I love a morning off from the rush of heading out the door, from my exercise routine (of walk-jog-walk-walking, nothing extraordinary), and from looking presentable within an hour of waking up. In other words, I love Saturday mornings here for the same reasons I loved them at home.

And that consistency makes me very happy, because it makes this place a bit more like home.

Of course, at home I never had Saturday mornings of packing up and going to Lake Malawi. But that was last week's story.

In other news, we just finished up week 4 of school; I am struggling to follow my lesson plans (which  move way too quickly for my students); I have joined the small band of small group leaders for the youth group of the church I'm attending; my students are more enjoyable every day; I am a co-coach for one of the middle school soccer teams (and yes, I can hear those of you who know me well laughing hysterically at the idea).

I am so thankful for the many blessings that surround me each day here--my wonderful housemate; my dear friends, the Ms; the kindness of the other teachers here on campus; the students that greet me each day; the breezy, sunny weather of this Saturday morning; the small class of Journalism students that tries my patience and stretches my teaching skills and gives me interesting new perspectives on the world. How's that for a full circle?

Musings

Sometimes.

Sometimes when I'm off campus (not often enough, these days), I see shabby, slanted mud houses inhabited by barefoot kids and bent women and I think about how hard it is to see such poverty. Then I realize it's not hard enough. Even though this poverty is just a stone's throw away from my front door, I live as American a life as can be imagined in Malawi--no diseases, thank you, Malarone; normal food, thank you, Chipiku; shoes, clothes, and sunglasses; books, movies, and internet. There are some interesting challenges, but none that inconvenience me to the point of hunger or pain. Yet those are some of the defining aspects of my unknown fellow Lilongwe-residents' days. And I am not shocked or bothered enough by it. I teach my well-dressed students, come home to a well-stocked kitchen, and know that if I listened closely enough, I might hear cheerful campus kids playing somewhere nearby. It's lovely. But it's not representative of this city. It's not all of my life here.

Sometimes I think about how sickened I am by selfishness and callousness. Then I am sickened when I think of how selfish and callous I am, and shame on me, because I'm here, in the tenth poorest nation in the world, typing on my MacBook with chai tea in reach. There is so much I could do. Be not alarmed; I have found some opportunities, and fully plan on finding something that I can participate in while teaching.

Pray for me, praying friends. Pray I wouldn't try to get comfortable here. Pray that I would not be satisfied with only doing my job (as much as I love and value it), but that I would seek to assist and love anyone within reach. There is so much need.

Girl Meets Lake Malawi, or, There and Back Again

Today I was introduced to Lake Malawi, which from henceforth I may refer to as the nonpareil body of water that has brought this country fame, a place of beauty and splendor par excellence.

See? Oh how I wish I were a better blogger, writer, and photographer so I could ensure your understanding of how fantastic this place is. Sigh. Look at that sand. Look at that sky. Look at the water! 

Here are some of the dear friends that brought me along. Yep, we're all in black and pink, except for the young'un. 

That's Lizard Island down yonder. Guess what lives there. 

Here's a shot from the rocks we walked to, climbed up, and nearly slid down. We walked to this place twice. The first time, we spotted a python sunning himself in a crevice; we were dazzled by his designer skin; we were incredibly creeped out by his immense size. The second time, I brought my camera along. 

No more python. But the view up on the rocks was lovely.  

We did wonder where the snake went as we climbed higher and higher.

Here behold a fisherman in a dugout canoe.

Here behold our walk back to our spot on the beach. 

We had lunch at the restaurant at Livingstonia, a beautiful resort right on the lake. At the table beside us, a solitary customer left his place unattended too long. It was overtaken by a non-solitary monkey. 

These guys (see below. not the monkeys.) cracked me up all day. Their laughter is catching. Their compliments are adorable: "Oh, Barb, I like your swim costume." Their antics are endearing. 

After a good long week of being busy, sitting in the sun, feet covered in sand after a swim, reading a great book sans mental lesson planning was probably the only formula to make this day yet another best day ever. 

did that sound overly optimistic and positive? It should have. 

In other news (and now let my tone take a turn for the serious), on our way back today I witnessed the Nyau for the first time. This sub-culture/cult in Malawian village life imprisons people in fear and darkness, the former apparent in the faces of the women I saw running from the freakishly dressed Nyau. These men have secret rituals and initiations, and they cover themselves with odd combinations of rags and animal masks before they dance around the village scaring people. Tradition in the village says that these people are actually spirits and not people at all, which gives them the liberty to do as they please with the villagers. It was disturbing and tragic to see. I thought of the hope prophesied in Isaiah 9:

The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.

There is hope in darkness, because that is precisely where light shines.

Good Reads, or, An Update of Sorts

I highly recommend to anyone interested in missions--and by "interested in missions," I really mean anyone reading my blog--the reading of missionary biographies. I'm currently reading Give Me this Mountain by Helen Roseveare, which was suggested to be by my grandma (thanks Grandma!), and I have been astounded by the story of this woman's conversion and growth in grace. Where I am in the book, she hasn't even gone to Africa yet. In case you don't have access to a copy because you live in a country without bookstores (haha. that is I, not most of you), or have already read it, let me recommend a few others for you:

• If I Perish, by Esther Ahn Kim
• Shadow of the Almighty, by Elisabeth Elliot (prepare to be dazzled)
• Evidence Not Seen, Darlene Diebler Rose
• The Woman with the Book, about Gladys Alyward, by someone whose name escapes me
• Peace Child, by Don Richardson, which I'm currently reading with my ninth graders
• The Savage my Kinsman, again by Elisabeth Elliot
• Beyond Gates of Splendor, by Elisabeth Elliot (if you haven't already, please consider reading everything written by Elisabeth Elliot)

I love reading these books. These are people who spent their lives obeying the Lord, whether that meant missions in a country far from home or going to prison for Jesus' sake. God revealed Himself to them with amazing examples of grace and mercy, supplying their physical and spiritual needs in the most awful circumstances. And the best part is? We serve the same God. Maybe we aren't going to be imprisoned. Maybe we won't spend two years with indigenous Ecuadorians sans electricity, water, and walls. Maybe we're called to something that looks utterly different, like teaching on a safe, comfortable, Christian campus in Malawi (again, that would be I). We are still called to love and serve the same God that performed miracles in places far away. He still reveals Himself with that same grace and mercy to us in the everyday and ordinary.

In other news, this week was marked by my first shopping trip [almost] on my own. Actually, I wasn't on my own at all. I relied very heavily on the sense of direction and driving skills of my housemate, who has lived in Malawi on and off for several months now. At any rate, we had a great morning running to different stores--including a fun farmer's market, where we bought lovely crafts and vegetables. I also finally made something in my kitchen (my housemate also cooks pretty much all the time. I finally made cookies. And Mexican rice.) and gave my classes their first quiz. I went out to the village with some other teachers and had lunch in a very generous Malawian woman's home. Who in America has people over and welcomes and feeds the strangers they tote along with them? There are so many things here that simply aren't done at home, or at least not done very often, or at least not done very often in New Jersey. 

My housemate and I also hosted our first get-together of the teachers on campus. Have I mentioned that my housemate cooks? She fed us all homemade pizza and cookies. I helped too. I grated the cheese and sliced the peppers. I tell you, she's amazing!

Ready for a photo? Here is my KitchenAid and the cookie dough. Oh. You don't see the KitchenAid? That's awkward.

Here we are on our shopping trip. I didn't take photos of the farmer's market because I felt like such a tourist already. But here we are within the confines of the car we use from ABC. Did I tell you we had a great time? I bought a cute chitenge apron. Come over when I'm home for Christmas and I'll wear it while I make you tea and cookies. With a KitchenAid.

Finalmente, I can tell you I currently love teaching here. I know not what challenges lie ahead that may change my current paradigm, but right now, I love getting up in the morning and heading to my classroom. My classes are a great mix of students, some impossible and some incredibly sweet, and many in between. I love seeing them every day and trying to be the best teacher I know how to be for them. That may sound a little, well, airy, idealistic, impractical, sentimental, and overly optimistic, but just now, it's true. Just so you know! 

If you find a great missionary bio that's not on my list, alert me to its existence!