Some call it fun but some may call it classes

Sometimes classes go well, and sometimes they don’t.

But I really don’t stress about it.

Because I’m confident of my place at the school and I’m confident in my ability to guide children and teenagers and I am confident in the importance of not only what I am doing but more importantly the methods with which I am doing it. And whether or not they deserve it I have confidence in my girls’ abilities to accept that some days are harder than others and that things don’t always go well and that it’s not the end of the world.

Part of that comes from being in Burkina Faso, where part of the general attitude that one has is that some days, if not most, ARE hard, and things don’t always go well and often don’t go as planned and it never really is the end of the world. So I’ve adopted this attitude concerning many things through the course of my being here, and I assume that the girls, through the courses of their being here, have it going on, too.

I also play by the innocent until proven guilty playbook, assuming that these older-kids/young-adults will be reasonable and respectful and leaving the burden of upholding this trust to them.

One of the most impressionable moments I had as the assistant director of my summer camp the year before coming out to Burkina was being called in to help handle a unit-wide dispute. Girls being disrespectful, making each other cry, not listening to their exasperated counselors…not a fun way for anyone to spend a week in the woods.

I came in one afternoon after lunch—silly Molly, who’d been a counselor they’d hoped to have in their units for as long as any of them had been coming to camp, whose wacky tacky day apparel couldn’t possibly be wackier, who sings all sorts of camp songs with true conviction and dances at all-camps and plays games at the dinner table and reads bedtime stories and is just so well-loved by everyone. I sat down on a picnic table incredibly seriously, and I looked all twenty of those girls in the eyes and told them that I was not happy with them. Quiet. I told them I was hurt by the hurtful things that they were doing to each other, that I was disappointed in them, and that I did not want to ever have to come into their unit and speak with them like this again. …and they were silent. We’re being so bad that Molly’s mad at us? Shame. And they listened as their counselors took back the reins and helped them come up with plans for solving their disputes.

I didn’t need to do much. I didn’t need to struggle over power. My authority was there when I needed to use it, and was a pretty powerful weapon because I didn’t often wield it.

Teaching at my boarding school in Burkina is not the same as working at my summer camp in the woods of New England, but I find myself assuming the same sort of tactic here. The kids like me and I go with it, and I make them laugh and say silly things and have fun with them during class. And I am the adult in charge, but I don’t feel the need to have to state this directly unless the need arises.

It’s more fun when you’re smiling, dancing and singing along…especially when you get to do it up front.

Lexicon

“Tantie” is what the cuisinaire girls often call me. Tantie, a word most normally used by young children to refer to adult women, often generically at the insistence of their parents (As in, “Shake hands with Tantie,” to the wide-eyed, frightened one-year-old gawking at the scary colorless ghost person hovering above them. Me.) It also a word to describe large women, the sort that look like they could hit diva-esque notes. (As in, “I could barely breathe on that three hour bush taxi ride to Ouahigouya, squished in back between two tanties.”) It also serves as a kind of in-between word in my world up here on the boarding school castle, when students and younger girls want to display respect to women who are not necessarily in strict authority positions, such as the teachers and the nuns are. A very large number of the twelve-, fourteen-, sixteen-year-old students call the cuisinaire girls (many of whom are sixteen-year-olds themselves) Tantie. A casual, familiar respect. A non-familial “auntie”…pretty much exactly what it sounds like.

Marie, my cuisinaire friend who is twenty-two, calls me Tantie, always with a smile twinkling in her wide round eyes. She and the newest addition to the cuisinaire bunch (so recent I’m not even sure of her name yet) had run into me by the gate this evening when I was leaving my final class. It was dark; it had rained for almost an hour an hour before. My silly sandal had broken…the bit that goes between your big toe and all the others (a feeling I have not always been willing to tolerate) had popped out. For the second time. The other one had broken once, too. Both sides had been repaired with some hardcore needle and thread sewn through the plastic. The current broken shoe had also once been repaired through an amateur attempt at melting and welding done by yours truly in a stunning display of fire safety negligence. Every attempt at pushing it back in this time for my rocky walk down the hill and across the muddy path that cuts through the millet field and snakes behind my quartier to my house was thwarted. Rah. So I took off my shoes and was prepared to walk pied nu, like all of the children of this country are accustomed to doing.

But Marie and friend caught me standing on the wet rocks near the gate with sandals in hand. “Tantie! What are you doing? Your feet will hurt! There’s too much mud! Take my shoes! I have another pair. Tomorrow you can give them back to me.” And she bent down to remove her oft-repaired pair of sandals and hand them to me as we stood on the rocky ground. She gave me the shoes off her feet.

How many people would do that?

Not so bad sometimes

Regarding the rough time I’ve been having as of late…my daddio suggested (jokingly?) that maybe me washing my hair would help wash some of the blah away. So I figured, what the heck…filled my bucket up extra full the other day and brought some shampoo sheets (weird travel things found at the Transit House and my only current source of hair wash) into my latrine to scrub down nice and thorough-like. And voilà! All better.

Well, it hasn’t been that easy…but things are looking up.

October 4th update

I’ve been having a rough little while lately. Pretty stressed out, unable always to immediately find good ways to calm down or chill out before getting overwhelmed, though I have been trying. Things have been looking up the past couple of days, fortunately…there’s a light at the end of this particular tunnel, perhaps. Today in fact was quite busy and good. I shall describe it to you.

After celebrating a particularly wonderful Sandwich Day yesterday (which consisted of, among other things, eating three delicious sandwiches as well as a not-terrible bar of chocolate, having a delicious and winding conversation about life and love and plans and ideas, and watching several episodes of 30 Rock), I awoke bright and early for a yummy cup of creamy coffee (instant) and a short bike ride through town (necessary). The air had lingering wisps of nighttime cool in it still, and the town was full of activity as many school aged children on bikes and à pied were convening at the various primary schools, collèges and lycées for (what people say is) the first day of classes (but what really amounts to students showing up to empty rooms and waiting around for a while before going home for the day; rinse and repeat for at least a week).

At the homestead I took a bucket bath to rinse some of the grime off of my bod, then put on clean clothes and went up to my school where I got my revised computer class/exam proctoring schedule for the year. All my classes (5 hours, woop) are on Wednesdays, and I am only scheduled to proctor exams on Monday afternoons. What will I be doing the rest of the time? Well let me tell you.

I’m helping out with baby weighing/vaccinations in my sector’s CSPS (health center) on Monday and Friday mornings. The head of the health center is on board with reaching out to local schools to see what kind of health stuff they could use help with, so after school kicks into some real working gear I’m going to be a little bit aggressive with that. For the moment, I show up around 7:30 or 8:00am and help to hang babies on a scale by putting them in a sort of little thin canvas bag with leg holes (adorable) and drop little drops of polio into their mouths (oral vaccination…bye bye polio!). I then hang around and chat with the nurses or sit in on any formations that are going on. I usually put up with some level of harassment and commentary about me not having a husband, and how I should really have a baby, and wouldn’t I like to go home with a baby as a souvenir of my time in Burkina?, and about how I should cook lunch for all of them because I’m a woman and they’re men, and ha ha ha. But I enjoy my time there for the most part (and often have no trouble figuring out when it’s time for me to leave).

Today several people from my quartier were at the CSPS sick with various things—malaria for two, a wild bumpy rash sore thing for one lil’ child—so I visited for a while as well, which I always think must really tire out the sick folks being visited who sit up with great effort from where they were laying on a mat on the ground to shake hands and exchange greetings, but that’s just the way it goes.

One of the patients I visited was the son of a woman who has proclaimed herself to be my adopted mother (actually, her children claimed it for her). This is a family full of wonderful people—from oldest son to youngest daughter, I enjoy being in the company of each, and often spend my evenings in their courtyard talking about the day and preparing tô.

At around 10:30 I headed home where I immediately set to work washing dishes that I had left sitting in my dish basin for way too long. Bleach was involved. After this, riding high on a wave of productivity, I grabbed my bike and two bidons and headed across my little village to get water from the faucet by the boutique. Obnoxious “helpful” comments and suggestions from a teenage girl along the way about where I should be getting my water and how I should be transporting it didn’t do any permanent damage to my cheery outlook on life as I strapped my faucet- (not well-) filled containers to my bike and walked (not rode, as if in this skirt yeah right brat) it home to do laundry.

Laundry laundry laundry in the shade created on my terrace by my house (no hangar yet), then hung up to dry. Lunch came next, spaghetti and cream sauce (onions, garlic, tomato, milk, vache qui rit, flour, water, spicy peppers) and water with lime, sweated off ten pounds while making/eating that. Rest time. Sprawled out on a pagne on a mat on my floor to close my eyes, reopening them every time children’s voices came in through my door to ask me for water. Yeessssssssssss, I will keep you hydrated. Here you go, now go away I am sleeping. …but I didn’t sleep, just read a bit of book and was startled into complete consciousness by gentle rolls of thunder which I thought might translate into rain but didn’t, anyhow it got me going with some stuff-packing, my laptop and notebook and journal into my backpack to bring up to my school to work a little, write a little, and suggest to my directrice that I come in for study hours tonight to discuss how one studies with the newest class of little angels.

So that’s where I am now, sitting in the teacher’s room of my school, business day done, notes for my evening’s discussion on study skills jotted down in my notebook by my side. I have to plan another class for Wednesday but I’ll do that either later tonight or tomorrow. Right now I’m going to go talk to my cuisinaire ladies to give them an update on our cours de soir (another thing I will be doing this year). I think we’ll meet twice a week, probably Tuesday, and Thursday evenings. On Monday evenings, I’ve been coming up to the school to sit with the students during their study hours. I gave a little pep talk/presentation on study methods to the youngest class the other evening during this time. Add to my schedule the fact that I’ll be typing exams secretary-style to help out from time to time, like last year.

All the stuff I’ve got penciled in weekly along with the stuff that’ll come up here and there feels really good when seen on paper. Here’s to a busy, happy year.

Tom Maresco

A Peace Corps Volunteer in Lesotho named Thomas Maresco was killed on the third of September. He died as a result of a gunshot wound; the situation is being investigated. He was 24 years old. He is the third Peace Corps Volunteer to die since I accepted my invitation to serve almost three years ago.

I often think about Peace Corps service just becoming normal life after a while, and in a lot of ways it does. Novelty wears off and becomes routine. You wake up and do various things before eventually getting back in bed to start over the next day, just like anywhere else. But there are elements of risk present in our lives here, no matter where here may be. We get in accidents because we are adventurous by nature (why else would we have decided to turn down that desk job and move overseas?) …and because we live in countries with, among other things, no seat belts, speed limits, or regulations about nighttime headlight use. We get targeted because we are foreigners and that means, as much as we often pretend otherwise, that even if the money isn’t in our purse at the moment it’s worth a shot to take it anyway because we’ve got it somewhere. We get sick because it’s 100 degrees in our houses and after a morning of working in a field or a health center or a school dehydration can rob you of energy quicker than you realize, or the mosquitoes don’t care that you forgot to take your malaria pill one time a week ago, or you couldn’t in good faith refuse whatever seemingly innocuous food was offered to you by your sweet and caring neighbor earlier in the day.

One of the most important reasons I decided to join the Peace Corps was to represent my country. I wanted to be a positive example of an American for the world to see, especially during a time when our global reputation could use a little touching up. I wanted to spend two years somewhere and leave in my trail people who would say Ahh, America is made up of some pretty great people. There are days when I lead nothing, teach nothing, develop nothing, do nothing except be a good neighbor and share stories with friends and help cut vegetables and just be a good person.

Life is a fragile thing, and tragic accidents rob people of it everywhere in the world. It’s incredibly sad that the world has lost a smart, talented, interesting, thoughtful, creative, giving soul in Tom…I never met him and probably never would have, but I bet my living allowance that I described him accurately, because these are things I’ve found from my experience that all American Peace Corps Volunteers are.

After today, I'll be fiiiiiine!

Today is the last day. The very last day that I can say that I am not, have never been a teacher. Because tomorrow I will be a teacher. I will be standing up in front of a classroom filled with girls, professing knowledge in what I hope is an interesting and creative (but not too ostricizingly and weridly-creative) way. I am prepared but not too prepared. I have a special packet of delicious instant coffee for the morning. Excellent.

This is a picture of a future tree, one of at least five that are now growing in my courtyard. Look out, deforestation!!

years and years

It's nice to see a new place. It's been becoming very easy for me to get stuck in my own head lately. The one year mark has come and gone and I've been thinking so much about the past (reflecting on times before Peace Corps, living the past a little too much) and about the future (totally unsure of where I'll be, what I'll be doing, who I'll be with a year from now) that I've sort of come out of the present. I've always known I was going to go to college after high school, and I figured out pretty quickly that I was going to join the Peace Corps after that...I may have even known that in high school as well. So, next up...a big mysterious turn in the road. I guess they all look big and unique and mysterious from this vantage point though. And I do have a bit of a goldfish memory at times...thinking that this thing or this event is huge and new when maybe it's not. Shock and surprise. There are a lot of challenges up ahead, a lot I've got going on. What's next is what's here, what's now.

But it was nice to see a new place and old familiar people. To maybe talk a little too much about what's on my mind and in my heart with one friend, to put into words why speaking Mooré is so important with another friend, to commiserate about having to deal with tiring and annoying comments and suggestions from men on the street with another one.

Arrive back in Ouaga and see my town's name on a bus and smile because I really like it there.

Next Tuesday is my first day as a teacher. Better get prepared...but I don't really know if anything but my first day will prepare me. Only have a few hours of classes each week. I hope I enjoy them. I think that I will.

Gotta find a way to live more calmly, take the pressure off. I'm feeling so un-Burkinabè. Worried, rushed, no time, stressed out that I'm not doing things right, that if I'm somewhere I should be somewhere else. Gotta chill. Just be. I need to find some ways to do that.

Being here can be hard in ways that are kind of unexpected. And when you sit back and think about them, you realize that it's just life, life is what can be hard in ways that are unexpected.

Bobo Dioulasso

I decided to come down to Bobo Dioulasso for a couple of days. A fellow volunteer's 30th birthday was the excuse...I've never been down here before and don't have a lot going on since school's start is a weekish away.

It's a nice town city. I like the feel.

I just wanted to say hi.

chez qui? chez me!

Dear Mom and Dad,

Do you recognize this place pictured below?

It is the path leading from my school down into the village (where I now live). We took this path on our way to visit Ono. Look at all that green! This has been a good, rainy year for the folks of Burkina Faso. All signs point to the rain continuing through the end of this month, which will be good news for crops as well as for weather. I love me some fresh air!

And if you were to follow that path and turn right and push your way through some close-growing millet you would soon get to my new house!

This is part of my new house, latrine/douche area over to the right there. Three rooms, lots o' space for little me. Let's go in, why dont we? Ah, but upon getting to the doorway, let's look out into my courtyard!

If you look closely you can see a kid in green (camoflauge) getting water from the well. My walls are not very high at the moment!

...and to the right, the entrance to my courtyard, temporary clothesline up above, a little place where I might eventually compost some stuff, the tree that currently provides me with daytime shade...

And inside my house?

I should be embarassed that this huge mess of a room is on the internet for all to see, but I took these pictures right as I was heading out to the internet and...it's really not that bad! Got my bed down there, bookshelf, notorious chairs, scattered things...

...and this is where I cook. On the other side of this room is where I keep my get-myself-clean stuff and my water and things. But yes. Voilà chez moi. I must get off the internet and bike back there right now.

Bye!

Here I am...

Today, for the very first time ever, I French braided my hair into pigtails. Hair, it turns out, can actually start to get long when you stop cutting it.

I've tried to do this before, quite recently actually, but it hasn't been altogether successful.

This task was made interesting by the fact that I haven't washed my hair in quite some time. Those of you who know me might not be too surprised to discover that I decided a while ago to stop washing my hair just for fun. Just because I thought I might like how it feels and looks. Kind of chunky without all of the social and physical aspects of dreadlocks. Kind of cartoon character hair is how I imagined it.

Well, deciding not to wash your hair for an undefined period of time is one thing when you live in a house with running water that flows like wine and from a particularly useful thing called a shower head, but when you live in a house slightly more removed from this luxury the choice aspect of the decision starts to come from a slightly different angle. The whole process included, it takes me about an hour to get ten and a half gallons of water. I take two 20-liter plastic bidons halfway across my quartier to a faucet where I pay a teeny bit per jug to fill 'em up before attaching them to my bike and walking them back to my home. There is a much closer source of water to my house, a well about ten feet from my courtyard that is literally a hundred feet deep with a cement barrier around it that only goes up to just below my knees. Not only is it incredibly difficult to pull buckets of water up from such a profound depth, it is also incredibly slippery and dangerous near this well. I help the ladies with their buckets from time to time in order to get badass cred, but my nun friend pretty much told that if I didn't fall in and die she'd come down and kill me if she found out I was getting my water from there.

Imagine a large jolly lady in a habit laughing after saying this. My nun friend has an interesting way of getting her points across and a fun sense of humor.

So yes...it takes a lot more effort to get water, and it would currently take a lot more water than normal to really wash my hair, so the choice becomes pretty easy nowadays when I fill up my bath bucket and take it to my little shower space outside.

Someday I'll wash my hair again.


I am incredibly happy in my new house, my real house, my house in a community with kids and neighbors and Burkinabè. I am incredibly happy with my flashlight and my dust and my little moringa tree seeds planted in my courtyard. I am so happy to wander over to Claudia's house at night and eat tô with her and her family, and sit and chat and look up at the stars until I am too tired to keep my eyes open and must walk through the millet and corn and bean fields to my house to go to sleep. I am very excited about working with the health center in my quartier and with my school up on the hill.

Year two is lookin' good.

house? house?

House!

Today I moved the large majority of my things into my new house. YES! Still have my kitchen stuff and my bed to go...and I need a way to get and store water (and a finished latrine) before I can actually move there for good.

BUT PROGRESS! Real, sweaty, beautiful progress. Yes folks, it's possible.

More later, when I have a working computer with which to compose blog entries before coming to the post.

I'm going to go out for a little bit now with my new American sitemate and two Japanese volunteers who just moved to my town. We will probably drink a beverage or two and talk about life and stuff and then I will go back to my castle for one final night (I hope) and then life will keep on doing this wild thing it does where it keeps going on like a rollercoaster but usually a pretty good one. Thunderbolt.

and now...it's me time.

A nice thing about having a friend fly over to visit is that it allows you to feel even more connected with your life here. At least this was my very recent experience. Showing someone around, introducing them to people, doing things, doing NEW things even. Sitting back eating yogurt at the round point and realizing that I am comfortable. Having a friend there who knows you and has known you when brings out the part of you that maybe sometimes you feel like you keep hidden a little bit. I felt a little bit more like me, a little less hesitant to let out a ridiculous comment or be a little weird. A little more comfortable hanging out, bringing different friends together because hey, I'm showing my friend around, why don't we all go out and eat chicken tonight? I think it had a lot to do with the timing too. A year is a good amount of time to have been here...there's a bunch to look back on and a bunch to look ahead to.

And don't it feel good

Midservice conference is a time for reflection and planning, for looking behind and looking ahead...and though I thought I knew exactly how everything was going to go, I've got to say I was plesantly surprised. I have a whole lot of new stuff coming up next year and I'm really looking forward to it. I feel encouraged by the process that the GEE program seems to be making, I am blown away by how good a job my fellow stageaires have been doing with the training of the next group of volunteers (the fruits of which are already being made evident to us who are already in the thick of things), and I thought that the whole day was overall pretty short and sweet and great. I'm running off of a high with all of this...our sessions just ended, and after a group photo that reinforced our collective reputation I am feeling very good to be a part of this bunch of people.

I've been at site on and off since the end of the school year, entertaining visitors and traveling and attending formations and such. It's weird to feel so disconnected, but I'm allowing myself to not worry about it because really there's a whole lot of waiting going on back there chez moi and also I'm doing good and important things. Third Goal is being well taken care of, what with my parents' visit last month and my friend's visit currently. All that being said, Ouaga is a sort of taxing place to be after a while, and even though I'm feeling pretty ok about the Peace Corps part of the Peace Corps, I really do prefer to be back at site.

Not too much to update in terms of the things that I'm actually doing. Bet you've gathered that. Not sure if I mentioned it already, but I'm going to be taking on some real responsibilities at my school next year in the form of TEACHING. Yes. That which we as GEE volunteers have in the past been encouraged not to do, I will be doing.

Here's the thing.

When I applied to join the Peace Corps, I very strongly expressed my aversion to being given a teacher assignment for many reasons. Curricula and the standardization of testing, the pressure of coming up with lesson plans, and just the general formal being a teacher parts of being a teacher were things that I was very much not interested. I did not want to go into a community and be put into a position of authority...I wanted to be a community development agent in the more grassroots sense of the term, working with community members to identify problems and solutions.

Turns out, the school where I was placed had already identified their problem: they needed an IT teacher. They already serched out a solution: request one from the Peace Corps. Along the lines communication got screwy and they ended up with me. Oops! They've been happy to have me and as you can tell from most of my posts I am very happy to have been placed where I was...but I haven't had any official place at the school...they're, all in all, doing pretty well.

When the end of the year teacher meeting was held and my counterpart expressed that he could really, really use help in the computer lab, I decided to speak up. I really like my school. I really like my nuns. I really want to be a legitimate part of the community there. It's been a year...and I can do it. So I will.

So...I am embarking on a learning experience, a growing experience. I'm rising to the challenge that has been presented to me. Good things will come from it...I'll have more cred as a teacher. An actual job to do, to identify with, and to build off of. More opportunities to connect with students, to encourage them to succeed, to teach them important things.

And I will live in a house in a neighborhood.

Soon.

Soon.

The norm

Waiting...waiting......
I am so close to being in my new house I can taste it. It's right there...RIGHT THERE! It needs screens on the window and a latrine before I can move in. ...and then after that a slightly higher wall around the (my!) courtyard and a door for said enclosure, a hangar to give me some shade, and a change of lock on the door. My nuns have to negotiate a rent price with the owner (a friend's brother) and then I can move in. Easy, right? That should take no time at all, right?
Neither of those two statements has ever seriously been a thought in my head.
This could take days (it will definitely take days). It could take weeks. It could, but for the sake of my sanity and heart rate I hope to Dieu it does not, take months.
So what do I do in the meantime?
Well...I wait.
I went on a little travel forray at the beginning of the month. That was fun and well timed. It was nice to come back. I like it here. I'll feel a little more relaxed when I have a house.
Ok, I'm pretty single minded these days. I could not fall asleep last night because thoughts of my new house, and what I'll need to get, and how I'll move all my things down there, and how I'll go about establishing routines and getting used to my changed environment and negotiating privacy and shopping...so many things to start living about my new life and I really can't do any of them from up in my castle.
Ok, I have some very important gmail chatting to do, so I will leave this at that. More substantial updates later...once there are substantial updates to give.

years!

There’s just so much to write about, I don’t know where to begin!

My parents’ visit was awesome, filled with fun and relaxation and new experiences and misadventures. We saw so much of my life, spent time with so many of my friends, and stayed in some of the rankest hotels I have ever seen anywhere! Cars broke down in the middle of the night in huge currents of water, tô was eaten twice, tiny little hands were shook, a season of Survivor was watched, meals were cooked and enjoyed together. Really it was great.

I turned 24 on June 13th, a birthday well spent climbing a hill that has been beckoning me since my arrival.

I take back my earlier denouncement of brining sneakers with me to Burkina…it was awesome having good shoes for this little hike, and since it won’t be the last time I venture up and around these hills, I know I’ll be glad to have them again.

Later in the day there was a caramel-icious cheesecake making adventure. …didn’t really work out the way it probably was supposed to (wrong kind of cheese, among other obstacles)…so no pictures to share. Not yet, at least. It will be done.

And now what? The world cup is on in full force and my future site mate and I have been watching thirstily as we wait for the details of our respective new houses to be worked out. I’ve been cranking up the assertiveness in my search a little bit as the house I was supposed to move into actually fell down almost completely during the first rain storm of the year. There’s pretty much nothing left of it. So, I have a second house, less ideally located, in my back pocket kind of. Lots of waiting in this game I tell you.

I’m also waiting for my directrice to sit down with me and talk a little about what kinds of computer class help I can give to the school next year. Yes, I’m giving in, for many good and wise and mature and growth-oriented reasons. I don’t mind waiting on her though, as school pretty much just ended and I don’t think she once stopped working during the academic year. Take your time, Sister François.

In the meantime, I’ve got an idea cookin’ for something I can do to help with one of the things Sister Elisabeth wants to do for the school…vague, huh? If all goes well, I’ll post some details at another time. Don’t want to jinx things.

So yeah. I’ve got a few things to do these days, but a lot more things to think about. I think I’ll feel good when I have a new house though life will certainly unfold a little differently each day, that’s for sure. Less privacy, less ability to write things and do work and mess around on my computer, more visitors and expectations to visit people…a challenge, challenges, but better ones and more fulfilling ones. And I’ll still have up here to come to, especially if I am as connected to the school as it seems like I will be next year. Next year could potentially be ENTIRELY different from this year, a weird juxtaposition of living in a sort of new place where I want to take it easy and villageois my way into things while also having an official teacher-like job doing non-villegeois things. Scheduled and busy as opposed to wide-open and free. Year two as opposed to year one.