The young and the old (2)

It's easier to write about them than to prepare lessons for them. I am talking about the 17 kids whom I am teaching Maths, Music, Arts and Sport, for a total of two months. All afternoon I tried to figure out how to make them understand the formula for calculation of area; in between I tried to fish some fancy games out of the www for the sport lesson tomorrow. Three hours of thinking and fishing have last but not least generated a half way decent plan for tomorrows' maths and sports lesson. While preparing the lessons, thoughts of who and how these kids are crossed my mind, too.

Over the past years, children didn't play a role at all in my life. My cousins turned into young adults few years ago, at university I was surrounded by a bunch of agemates and slightly older professors, and the social environment in Somaliland and Afghanistan was characterized people from 25 years of age upwards, uniformily behaving like unmarried bachelors. Some of them might have had and have children at home, but as soon as one sets foot onto Afghan, or Somalian soil, those kids tend to evaporate like the rest of those things that remind us of a life elsewhere.

And all of a sudden, I am surrounded by kids a few hours a day. There are moments when I look at them and wonder "who are these little aliens"? There are also moments when I look at them and memories of my own childhood come up again (after all, I learned how to read and write and few other things in the same school about twenty years ago). But more so there are moments when I just smirk over the thousands of questions which they ask every day. Over all these years I have forgotten how much children can ask. Every second sentence which comes out of their mouth tends to start with "teacher, can I ask you something?". If they are polite, they add a quick "Johanna" after "teacher". But usually it's just "teacher". Some questions are easy to answer; others require some thinking; but there are also questions which put me into a moral dilemma. Like recently, when a girl asked me "Teacher, which part of the cigarette is the one that has to be light up; the yellow or the white?" I mean, I don't want them to burn their lips, at the same time I can't really answer the questions as this would probably bring them one step closer to smoking. In this particular case I tried to answer with a "you know, you shouldn't even think about these things.... bad cigarettes!". Another time I was asked by one boy from India about my husband (he knows that I am pregnant). Should I tell him that I am actually not even together with the father of my soon to be child? And yet another time, I was asked whether I had been drunk already in my life. Lying or telling the truth?

Sometimes there are also moments when I am just desperately longing for my previous job, where I could chose to interact only with my computer if I felt moody. And if on moody days, the computer behaved moody as well, I could simply press five seconds on the start buttom, and shut it down. You can't quite do that with kids. They don't seem to have these magic five second buttoms to make them shut up. Instead, the louder I talk, the louder they talk. They don't even have mercy when my voice is already raspy.

But what's the most amazing thing about being surrounded by kids, is that I all of a sudden feel adult. Over all these years, I felt young, and often was younger then the people around me. Being and feeling young was also something like a protection; if something went wrong, I could plead with my age; telling myself I was still in a learning process. Now I am standing in front of children, daily, and they don't see me as somebody young; for them, I am an adult as their parents are, somebody who has to answer their million questions, somebody they can test for how strict she is; somebody whom they can show and explain their Ipods (that's where they go wrong: Ipods aren't just for kids!). But truly, for the first time since many years, I feel that I am not young anymore, but rather somebody who is about to have her own family and be an adult like all the other adults I see around here.

The young and the old

Since my return from Afghanistan, I have had a lot of contact with two groups of people I was not really interacting with much over the past few years: the young and the old.

The old:
Here in Italy I am currently still living in my parent's house, where my 96 year old grandma lives as well. She has been there all along, since I was born, taking me to kindergarten, buying me sweets on good day, taking me with her when collecting the milk from the farmer next by, letting me watch when preparing tyrolian dumplings. As I got older, she continued living in the house of my parents, but since I moved out from there at a rather young age, in search of my own life and identity, I noticed her less and less. Sure, there was a couple of days which I spent at home every few months, but those days were filled with tons of other stuff, leaving little time to take notice of my aging grandma. Somehow, she always seemed the same. Getting up in the morning at eight, putting on a blue skirt and a red pullover, combing her hair back (whereas few strains always stick out, giving her a loose similarity with Homer Simpson), taking a honeybread and milkcoffee for breakfast, then going for a walk, reading the paper, eating lunch, going for a walk again and reading the paper again, and eventually going to bed, staying awake till somebody would put eyedrops into her grey eyes.
It's only now, after over ten years abroad, that I am suddenly spending sufficient time at home to notice the changes that have happened over the years. And one of the most visible changes is that my grandma suddenly got old. There are the same few questions which she is asking me every day, forgetting the answers that I gave the day before and all the other days since my return in November. There is the speed of her walking. Today we went for a walk together, and believe me, a blindfolded snail could run faster. There are the empty stares, out of the window, that turn longer with every day passing by. When she is talking about her age, there is less resonance of fear from an approaching death, and more acceptance of leaving soon. There are hundreds of things that seem to enter her memory and leave it at the same moment again. There are also few moments, when she suddenly seems to have a clear mind again. Like today, when she asked me if people in Afghanistan would eat the same food as people in Italy; or the other day when she commented on how great it is that nowadays, young unmarried women can have children on their own without being excluded from society. But those moments are few. More are the stares. While walking with her today through the village, I wondered whether this aging was a sudden process, or whether it had happened gradually over all those years which I had been away. It's kind of weird, but I am doubting whether travelling around and living in other countries has given me more identity then a life at home would have. When I am looking at her, and at my mother, who is her daughter, I can find my own features in them again. How much of me is what I grabbed during life abroad, and how much is given by those generations with whom I am sharing house now?

Belly updates

After six months of carrying it around with me, it seems that the baby finally decided to show itself a tiny bit. Yet, it's still difficult to imagine that something that's 30 cm and a bit is squeezing itself into my belly. Maybe it's constantly kicking because it feels squeezed?

Life as a teacher

Here I am, once again with a new job.

It's less spectacular than my previous postings, but for sure not less challanging. It's teaching 10 year old kids maths, arts, sports and music. It's closer to home than all my previous postings: it's in the primary school where I myself learned how to read and write some twenty years ago. This morning my dad dropped me on his way to work, and with a little bit of giggling he said "you know, it's not the first time that I have dropped you to this school". Ok, sometimes history repeats itself, but I still try to prevent my parents from becoming too sentimental about the fact that last but not least, I have temporarily found my way home, with a "normal" job and a "normal" life; only what's missing is the "normal" partner. But who knows, maybe if I stick around long enough here in South Tyrol, maybe the "normal" partner turns up, too? ;)

But to be frank, life as a teacher is not even that bad. There is quite a bit of preparation to do, but the good thing is that as soon as I walk through the entrance of the school, there is no space for any thoughts that don't directly concern the teaching. Kids ask a million questions a day. Everything from whether I know what a Humvee is (not sure if I spelled it right, but I told them that I vaguely remember having seen them in Afghanistan...) or what would happen to my baby if I fell on my belly. Or if I know what I will dress up for Carneval. Or if it is possible to buy street children in Africa, as they don't have parents. Um. Or if I have a dog at home (apparently, I had dog hair on my jacket). There are moments when I think "my god, and I will have to answer such questions for the next 15 years", but more so there are moments that simply make me smile, 'cause suddenly reminding me again how funny and fulfilling these little persons can be.

Anyhow, that's my new job.

Dellantonio Clan

There are clans not just in Somaliland; even in my little home town, there is at least one clan :) Missing on this picture are only three: my sis and my cousing who are both somewhere in South America and my uncle is taking the picture. Soon there will be yet another member to the clan...

Are memories the fuel that we burn to stay alive?

Last night I read a book of Murakami, titled "After Dark". It's yet another little master piece from this incredible author. Something you start reading and you can't put away until you have absorbed the very last word of it. And which yet leaves you with so many open questions that even hours later you still wonder.
There was one particular sentence in the book which made me think a lot: "Memories are maybe the fuel that people burn to stay alive. Whether those memories have any actual importance or not, it doesnt matter as far as the maintanance of life is concerned". I always thought of myself as being somebody who lives in the present, with a strong look forward. But yet, this sentence made me reflect a bit on how many times a day I am actually living through some kind of memory. Most of the time, it's recent memories. Sometimes even just a word somebody said few moments ago. But sometimes it's also these completely sudden memories of things that happened a long time back, without any obvious concern for the present. I have often wondered where these sudden memories of seemingly unimportant things are coming from. Giving some credit to Murakamis thesis, they would simply be fuel due to the lack of any other memory fuel.
But on the other hand, memories are remnants of things that happen in the present time. In that sense, the fuel that keeps us alive are not the memories, but more so the things that we do, see and absorb each moment we live. Anyhow. It's late. Maybe I should stop for today to give too much thought to the things I read.

Souvenier

I kind of thought that Afghanistan would not leave lasting external marks on me. Seems I am wrong. Today, while brushing my teeth, a hair as white as snow grinned toward me through the mirror. Though I don't particularly care much about my hair color, I was still shocked about this little souvenier from 13 stessful months. Suddenly, teasing other people about their white hair doesn't seem exciting any longer...

Resolutions for the new year

Not that I believe much in resolutions. But it's still fun to put them down and then see how long it takes to break them all ;)

> Get a proper signature that is readible and at the same time difficult to forge
> Keep the maximum of broken/ lost ATM/ Credit cards below 2
> Check any potential relationship candidates for ex girlfriends/wifes before embarking on anything vaguely serious
> Write blog entries that make people laugh instead of cry
> Be a good teacher (not to my kid, but to the kids I am supposed to teach over the next few months)
> Carry the baby with me on mountain treks (can it really be that difficult to do fun stuff with newborns as people keep on telling me? After all, the little one will not be able to talk and protest at least for one year ;)
> Learn how to change diapers
> Move out of my parental home - ASAP - thus, ensuring family peace
> Travel by train instead of plane, my contribution to climate preservation
> Close my facebook account
> Get a bilingual certificate for Italien/German
> Learn French
> Learn how to read the stars
> Get a better balance of imagination, dreams and reality
> Stop lying in bed each morning for half hour reflecting on the deeper meaning of my dreams

To be continued

Before it's too late - last years' balance

It's already the forth of January, and I haven't gotten around to draw a line under 2008. Actually, I think I am mentally still in 2008. At least when it comes to writing the date. Not that I am required to do that a lot these days, without work, but from time to time I have to do it. For instance when I finally got my new ATM card on the 2nd of January. Guess, four times I had to put down date and signature in order to get this little piece of plastic handed out. Each time I wrote 2008, followed by a signature that could be from a three year old kid. God. My first resolution should be to get over both, the old date and scrawly signature. The second resolution should probably be to avoid any contact between the holy piece of plastic and the magnet strip in my bag.

Fortunately, 2008 was more than a date and a horrible signature (and two screwed ATM cards). I would say at least 50% of total hours of 2008 have been devoted to work. At least it seems so when looking back. Even after having laid down my role as coordinator in Afghanistan, my thoughts still circle in the lines of proposal writing, monitoring, reporting, capacity building of my national colleagues, strangely behaving donors, and most of all, problem solving. Seems that in Afghanistan, you solve one problem only by creating ten new ones. That's the deal I got used to over the last year. One step forward, two steps back. But once you get used to it, it's great, because at the end of the day there is always a step forward as well.

Despite the constant forward-backward, I really enjoyed my work in Afghanistan, and with it my life in Afghanistan. Isn't it funny? In a country as traditional and conservative as Afghanistan, a country that according to many hasn't changed it's social set up for centuries, I never had the feeling that time would stand still. Rather, I felt like a hamster in one of these wheels, that keep turning and turning and turning, that turn faster the faster the hamster attempts to run. Only mid August, time seemed to stand still, for few hours. Or rather, I tried to keep it firm, in order to gain time to memorize each second of the day, each sight, each word. Since I am not a genious, I didn't succeed to memorize the air, the smells, the light that filled that day. But I pretty much remember many of the words and pictures. In my collections of thoughts and images, they are in the top shelf, clearer than anything else I remember of 2008.

But 2008 wasn't just tragedy. More than anything else it was great people, whom I had a chance to meet. Some of them are still in Afghanistan, others have already moved on to new places, few have moved home. All I miss a lot, some terribly. But there is something inside me that tells me that I will meet those who matter the most again. I am already curious to find out who they will be. Don't know if you share this believe, but personally I think that it is often only much later in life that you realize who of the people whom you crossed ways with really mattered. Sometimes it's the ones that you hardly noticed, who only scratched your path for a second, that suddenly matter again. It's this special incertainty that makes life so interesting, isn't it?

And then there is bump. A friend of mine keeps on calling this little thing "bump", and so I got used to call it that way, too. It's five months old by now, tiny but active. Sometimes I wonder whether it is the kung fu genes or some external capoiera influence that makes it dance. It's a funny feeling, incredibly beautiful. The bump already has plenty of self declared aunties and uncles all over the world, so at least I don't have to worry about its cosmopolitan upbringing. It also has a great dad, even though I think that he's sometimes too adventerous. And it has gotten to know somebody else when it was still tiny. And it has travelled half way accross the globe and climbed many mountains. Really, if prenatal talent boosting works, than this kid will be be gifted with quite an interesting mix of talents and interests :)

To come to a conclusion, 2008 was a year of great intensity, some "belly landings" (literally, but also in a translated meaning) amazing people, hilarious moments, sadness, lots of love, and towards the end, incredible changes in my hormones :)

No last year balance, no new year resolutions, but at least some pictures

I haven't made time yet to muse about last years events and make up resolutions for the new year, so all what's there to load up this blog for now (before you might assume that it has started its winter sleep...) are few pictures which I took during a recent walk over the snow covered meadows of the mountains accross the place where I live. Hope that these pictures remind some of you of your vague plans to come over some time in 2009 to visit me and baby (or, if you intend to pass by before May, me and the constantly growing bump!).

Hope you had a great start into 2009 :)