Ever since I can remember...ever since before I could read...I told myself I wanted to teach people in some way. Sitting in my bedroom I made up stories to the pictures in my Franklin the Turtle books, and soon after I was reading to an imaginary class, calling on students who were talking over me, and making up discussion questions at the ripe age of six. At eight, I bought a teacher's planning book, complete with an attendance record. Everything was perfect. I saved papers from each grade that I thought I could one day use in my classroom, whatever subject I ended up teaching. I'm sure I still have most of that stuff somewhere. I certainly still have all of my French papers starting from the ninth grade, up 'til now.
I'm twenty-one years old, teaching English in Vietnam. Instead of having a wire-bound planning book, I have a photo-copied lesson guide that was bound at a Vietnamese Kinko's. There are no dry-erase boards, and the erasers have to be clapped on a peeling wall every few minutes. The fans don't work, and the windows don't all close properly. But the kids are interested. They're everything I've ever imagined and hoped for. They're brilliant, yet annoying, individual yet somehow all the same. I wish they asked more questions when they're confused, but the few questions I have heard are incredibly insightful and relevant to what I have said...not just the typical question a student poses when they haven't been paying attention.
Everything has been wonderful up to this point. I can get over the heat and I can get past the language barriers, but what took the wind out of me today was when a little boy on Yellow Team, Thuong, asked me how to form a sentence from the verb "to be" because he just started learning English at this camp. We have already moved past the ABC's, numbers,and introductions...and now we're on forming linked sentences with varied pronouns. It broke my heart. Just last night, Sophia and I were talking about how ridiculous the curriculum is for a camp filled with high-risk children for dropping out of school, yet we try to teach them a bundle of information all at one time, and expect them to retain it all for not just an end-of-the-week exam, but a final exam as well.
I wanted to bite my tongue, but I had to tell the boy that if he just memorized the boxes we filled out together in class, he would be able to answer the questions on the exam, even if he didn't understand the material. I can't believe I don't even have my degree yet and I'm already "teaching the test". But we have to here. I understand that not everyone here is waiting for the day they get to run their own classroom, but I look forward to the first day of school. One of my favorite stores is Office Depot. And no, I don't love the first day of school because it means the return of homework and mid-terms, I love the first day of school because it means another year has come for me to observe the way my teacher's work, and to hopefully improve my own methods of teaching. The sick feeling didn't leave my mouth all day, and I can't figure out how to make this a better situation.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
Week 2, Day 1...Oh Lordy.
Camp started off crazy first thing in the morning...of course. The American Coaches were exhausted from travelling all weekend,and the Vietnamese were exhausted from the heat of the early sun. But the kids were far from it. I walked into English class and the normally quiet Yellow Team stood up and screamed out their greeting: "GOOD MARNING TEECHUH!" Whoa. But they listened through the lesson, so I suppose that one turned around pretty nicely. Sophia and I were only able to teach about two-thirds of what the lesson called for because the classes last forty-five minutes, and half of that time is used for translating and getting the information written on the board into their notebooks. But somehow, Sophia and I were meant to teach the students how to sound out the beginning of English words so they could identify the starting letters.
Example: What does 'Basketball' start with? And then the students would yell out B and we wrote it on the board next to the letter B. And the lesson called for each letter to be filled in. But, being the bright students we are, added into the fact that the English test from last week had questions from material we couldn't get to, Sophia and I looked ahead to this week's exam and figured out what exactly needed to be highlighted. So we put a star next to the letters that are physically on the test, and then added in a few letters of our own to cover the basic sports names.
B- Basketball
D- Dribble
S- Soccer
T- Tennis
V- Volleyball
Then we had to move on to personal pronouns. Not only did we have to teach what a noun was, we had to teach personal pronoun, and then specify the difference between a subject pronoun and an object pronoun....in ADDITION to teaching them how to use them properly in a sentence. Note: some of these kids hardly knew their ABC's. And yes, I did in fact re-learn English grammar planning this lesson, in case ya'll need any help in the future. The kids wrote down our simple sentences and cirlced the placement of the verb in regards to the location of the noun. Are you lost yet? Because I'm sure they were by this point.
And as if that wasn't enough, we had to teach linking verbs, aka, "to be". There are five forms of the verb in case you didn't know: is, are, am, was, were. We only decided to teach the three present tense forms. And the kids did alright with that...until we had to add in Nominative Predicates and Predicate Adjectives. The Vietnamese coach had to look up the Vietnamese word for the two in the manual...yeah. Fun stuff for an eleven year old at 9 o'clock in the morning. So far, Yellow Team was able to get through about two-thirds, stopping just before the predicates. Red Team was rambunctious all morning but was able to finish the lesson and get everything written down in time for sports.
I think I practiced my teacher-voice with the Red Team today. They have two of the prettiest girls in the camp, two of the most talented boys in sports, and then all of them just seem to be intelligent and well-spoken. Except for one. So of course, when I had the slower boy stand up to answer a question, the rest of the class was ooh-ing and waving their hands through the air. And even better, they started yelling the answer out. Oh to be smart and eleven again. But now that I'm on the other side of the picture, it's funny to watch. Yet I find myself feeling bad for the strugglers, instead of dying to tell them the correct answer too.
So yes, I did have to tell them to stop talking. Then I said be quiet. And then I said, why would you talk while he's trying to talk? I forgot to mention that I said it so quickly that the translator couldn't keep up...so it was immediately lost in the language barrier. Fail. At least they got to run around after class with Sophia at their basketball lesson.
For our third volleyball lesson, we're reviewing bumps, sets, and serves. Our warm-up/practice consisted of standing in a great big circle, which they had to form by holding hands, and teaching them to call for the ball when it came their way. "Buong!" is what
you shout out before bumping, but half the time I still say "Got it!" and it does the job. This was the first time I really saw all of the kids enjoy the sport. They ran from their spot into the center of the circle, called out their hit, and then did everything in their power to get it to the next person. We still have a few control issues with direction and power, but that is to be expected on the third lesson. After we bumped and setted for about fifteen minutes, we switched and let them try out serving once more. And this time, we had a few more successes! And if the ball didn't make it over, it at least went forwrard every single time! Yay for good coaching.
The highlight of the lesson was when I realized there was no pig being slaughtered in the backyard of the camp! No squealing cries, and no pig being wheel-barrowed up and over the bridge. Yes, that did happen last week. And yes, I did cry.
The final part of the lesson the coaches stood on one side of the net, while the kids spread out into various positions. organ set the ball over the net to them to get it back to us in three hits. It usually happened in one, but most of the time the ball was immediately bumped out of bounds. So I pointed to the ball and yelled, "Chai Lom!" (Run, ball!) to get them to understand that they are responsible for the ball as a team. The day ended with a minor English lesson... we asked each coach to teach important parts of their sport in English. So we taught: bump, serve, set, net, and ball. And they picked it up right away! Maybe Sophia and I should start teaching outside or something...
It is a blistering hot day out-- I'm definitely getting my tan on. I miss Can Tho City, it was a weekend filled with drinking, bargaining at the markets, buying things for next to nothing, and lots of good and not-so-good food. Oh, did I mention I did in fact get to go to a rave? Pictures will be posted. Preview: I spent a total of eighty American dollars this weekend and you won't believe everything that that got me.
Update on the Race for First Place after Week 1 Exams/Competition: Orange Team AM is currently in 2nd place overall, with the highest Lifeskills score out of everyone! So I guess Amy, Ricky, Jenny and I must be doing something right!
Peace, love, and Vietnamese KFC,
Lauren
Example: What does 'Basketball' start with? And then the students would yell out B and we wrote it on the board next to the letter B. And the lesson called for each letter to be filled in. But, being the bright students we are, added into the fact that the English test from last week had questions from material we couldn't get to, Sophia and I looked ahead to this week's exam and figured out what exactly needed to be highlighted. So we put a star next to the letters that are physically on the test, and then added in a few letters of our own to cover the basic sports names.
B- Basketball
D- Dribble
S- Soccer
T- Tennis
V- Volleyball
Then we had to move on to personal pronouns. Not only did we have to teach what a noun was, we had to teach personal pronoun, and then specify the difference between a subject pronoun and an object pronoun....in ADDITION to teaching them how to use them properly in a sentence. Note: some of these kids hardly knew their ABC's. And yes, I did in fact re-learn English grammar planning this lesson, in case ya'll need any help in the future. The kids wrote down our simple sentences and cirlced the placement of the verb in regards to the location of the noun. Are you lost yet? Because I'm sure they were by this point.
And as if that wasn't enough, we had to teach linking verbs, aka, "to be". There are five forms of the verb in case you didn't know: is, are, am, was, were. We only decided to teach the three present tense forms. And the kids did alright with that...until we had to add in Nominative Predicates and Predicate Adjectives. The Vietnamese coach had to look up the Vietnamese word for the two in the manual...yeah. Fun stuff for an eleven year old at 9 o'clock in the morning. So far, Yellow Team was able to get through about two-thirds, stopping just before the predicates. Red Team was rambunctious all morning but was able to finish the lesson and get everything written down in time for sports.
I think I practiced my teacher-voice with the Red Team today. They have two of the prettiest girls in the camp, two of the most talented boys in sports, and then all of them just seem to be intelligent and well-spoken. Except for one. So of course, when I had the slower boy stand up to answer a question, the rest of the class was ooh-ing and waving their hands through the air. And even better, they started yelling the answer out. Oh to be smart and eleven again. But now that I'm on the other side of the picture, it's funny to watch. Yet I find myself feeling bad for the strugglers, instead of dying to tell them the correct answer too.
So yes, I did have to tell them to stop talking. Then I said be quiet. And then I said, why would you talk while he's trying to talk? I forgot to mention that I said it so quickly that the translator couldn't keep up...so it was immediately lost in the language barrier. Fail. At least they got to run around after class with Sophia at their basketball lesson.
For our third volleyball lesson, we're reviewing bumps, sets, and serves. Our warm-up/practice consisted of standing in a great big circle, which they had to form by holding hands, and teaching them to call for the ball when it came their way. "Buong!" is what
you shout out before bumping, but half the time I still say "Got it!" and it does the job. This was the first time I really saw all of the kids enjoy the sport. They ran from their spot into the center of the circle, called out their hit, and then did everything in their power to get it to the next person. We still have a few control issues with direction and power, but that is to be expected on the third lesson. After we bumped and setted for about fifteen minutes, we switched and let them try out serving once more. And this time, we had a few more successes! And if the ball didn't make it over, it at least went forwrard every single time! Yay for good coaching.
The highlight of the lesson was when I realized there was no pig being slaughtered in the backyard of the camp! No squealing cries, and no pig being wheel-barrowed up and over the bridge. Yes, that did happen last week. And yes, I did cry.
The final part of the lesson the coaches stood on one side of the net, while the kids spread out into various positions. organ set the ball over the net to them to get it back to us in three hits. It usually happened in one, but most of the time the ball was immediately bumped out of bounds. So I pointed to the ball and yelled, "Chai Lom!" (Run, ball!) to get them to understand that they are responsible for the ball as a team. The day ended with a minor English lesson... we asked each coach to teach important parts of their sport in English. So we taught: bump, serve, set, net, and ball. And they picked it up right away! Maybe Sophia and I should start teaching outside or something...
It is a blistering hot day out-- I'm definitely getting my tan on. I miss Can Tho City, it was a weekend filled with drinking, bargaining at the markets, buying things for next to nothing, and lots of good and not-so-good food. Oh, did I mention I did in fact get to go to a rave? Pictures will be posted. Preview: I spent a total of eighty American dollars this weekend and you won't believe everything that that got me.
Update on the Race for First Place after Week 1 Exams/Competition: Orange Team AM is currently in 2nd place overall, with the highest Lifeskills score out of everyone! So I guess Amy, Ricky, Jenny and I must be doing something right!
Peace, love, and Vietnamese KFC,
Lauren
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
My job, my passion.
Camp- Day 1
The air is cool with a thick layer of humidity. And when I say cool, I mean around eighty...but it's still better than Miami by this hour of the day. We leave our campsite at 7:00 am and head to the Hoa An (Huh-way Ahn) Center about five minutes down the road. The road is a single lane, with mostly mo-peds going to and fro. The occasional truck will blast its horn, each driver has perfected their own tune. Our driver goes with a louder start and a consecutive beep that lowers in volume over time. The blast usually lasts about eight sounds. Definitely a nice change from the blaring horn of the Hummers in Miami.
We pass by a marketplace before turning down a gravel road. People are standing outside preparing for the day. Some are throwing fresh fish into a bucket of shallow water. A woman sits beside a bucket, takes a fish out and lays it on the ground. Then she takes a wooden paddle and smacks its head, killing it instantly. To her left, a girl is selling chom-choms. Across the street, a fruit salesman is lining up his watermelon and mango while a woman slices it into halves and quarters. On the other corner, women are selling fish nets alongside hats and trinkets. We beg the Directors to let us walk to school one day
so we can stop by this place, but a quick 'No' tells us it won't happen. Anna, our American Director, quietly tells us that last year a visitor was robbed on these roads and now the policemen doesn't want us in this area. So that means we may not be able to visit our students homes towards the end of camp.
Arriving at camp, we cross a bridge and enter the gate. The building matches the gate, a pale yellow, the color of my favorite daffodils. Scraps of trash blow across the blacktop and on one side of the buildings I see a pack of bicycles parked under a covering. In the center of the school, a group of older kids are playing a pick-up game of soccer while a few others play basketball. A young boy in a red tshirt runs up to our pack and jumps on Anna to say hello. Clearly one of her own from last year...I can't wait to have that happen, I think to myself. Wait, did I just say that? It's day one and I'm already thinking
of a next year? A few boys I met at our campsite came up and said hello.
One boy, named Lihn, we call him the naughty one, or the trouble-maker, and an older boy named Phar (not sure on the spelling, I just make a sound to get his attention!), and then one of my own from Sunday's orientation, come up to say hello to me. Law-Wren. Hell-oh Law-Wren, is what I hear. So I say hi back and ask how they are and what's up. Their response is always, 'Fine thanks,' or, 'Not much,' guaranteed. The Directors hand us our team boxes, a plain white sliding door drawer with some tape, paper, chalk and string inside.
I head up the winding stairs, first twelve steps, turn left, then eleven more, and wander down the outdoor hallway until I find the door that has an orange piece of paper hanging on the window. Turning inside, I see my AM kids, bright-eyed and smiling. 'Gud Mare-ning!!' they shout, and I can't help but giggle and say, "Good morning!" back. Ricky-Bobby, Jenny, and Amy all join me. Can you guess which one is the American coach?
Here's a hint...none of them are American. Ricky-Bobby and Jenny are Vietnamese. Ricky-Bobby is really just Ricky, but I already nick-named him. Jenny's Vietnamese name is Huong, but she's so adorable that either one works. She is studying to be an English teacher and Ricky is studying biomechanical engineering. Both attend Can Tho University. Amy is from England, and plays tennis at FSU while studying sports management and psychology. The four of us make up the Orange Team Coaches.
After attendance has been taken and orange shirts are given out, we come up with a team name and cheer. The kids decide on the Orange Tigers and our cheer is, "ORANGE! TIGERS! RRRRRR." And we make claws and grit our teeth while growling. And then we taught them to come together in a circle, put their hand in, and yell "GRRRRR!" on three. The first life skills lesson involved discussing what a team is, and what all the important parts of a team are. The kids really listened to what we were saying, and even when they didn't have a response when we asked a question, they gave an effort in the discussion.
I immediately noticed a little boy in the front who paid attention to every detail, even when it didn't make sense as easily to him as it did to the other students. Newly registered for the camp, Dat joined our team a little late. A very small boy of eleven years old, his smile lights up the room and his eyes sparkles every time he speaks. I'm not exactly sure what it is, but I can tell there's a spark about him. He's energetic and attentive, and really tries hard to learn what the Americans are saying, instead of just relying on the translations from Jenny and Ricky-Bobby.
After lifeskills, I headed to Yellow Team for English & Sports. I teach English with Jenny, Truong, and Sophia. Truong is attending Can Tho University as well. Sophia goes to Duke and is a 400 meter hurdler from Asheville, NC. She is studying cultural anthropology. Together, we all have an amazing chemistry. The lesson started off with greetings and introductions.
Sophia explained how to say, 'Hello. My name is _____.'and 'I am __________.' Then she taught, 'What is your name?' The translations were perfect and the children knew exactly when to repeat what we said. Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, and goodbye were also taught. We went over pronunciation, and that's where the fun began.
"Good..."
"Gud..."
"More..."
"Mare..."
"More..."
"Moare..."
"Ning..."
"Neen..."
"Ning..."
"Neeng..."
"Good morning."
"Guud more-neeng."
::clap clap clap clap:: "Good job!!"
And that was the pattern of pronunciation. Harsh 'or' and 't' is a very hard sound for them to make. The 'th' sound is also pretty impossible. I think most of their sounds don't involve the tongue, so having to press their tongue against their teeth is very difficult. So, being the badass woman I am, I taught them to stick their tongue out when they were learning how to say, "I am thirsty". Saying 'turr-tee' at first, I managed a few giggles and even fewer actual stuck out tongues. But there was that golden moment when one of the kids actually stuck their tongue out and made the 'th-sound', and an even more golden moment when an 's' snake sound was made for the 'sty' part of the word. But we had a few good laughs on the way.
My role came mostly with numbers. I had the kids count to ten, if they were able. And then I went over pronunciation. One and two, elementary. Three, we played with our tongues some more. Four, I showed them how to make an O with their mouths. Five, I emphasized the ending more than the beginning, and really slowed down the word so they could see how the mouth works. Kids really are incredible beings. They interpret a lot more than adults even consider, so I made sure that the visual cues were more than enough for them to follow. Six, piece of cake. Seven, a slight struggle. Seh-ven. Over and over again. Eight, hard 't' gave them a run for their money. Nine, money. Ten, golden.
Then, I asked if anyone could count from eleven to twenty. Fewer said yes, and those that did, struggled past twelve. So that's where the fun really began. All of the numbers were written out on the board, with the English words next to them.
11- eleven [ee-leh-ven]
12- twelve [tuh-wel-ve]
13- thirteen [thir-teen]
14- fourteen [for-teen]
15- fifteen [fi-ff-teen]
16- sixteen [six-teen]
17- seventeen [seh-ven-teen]
18- eighteen [ay-teen]
19- nineteen [nihne-teen]
20- twenty [tuh-wen-tee]
Eleven starts off as uhlebben, and then became mostly eleven. Thirteen was fun, mostly because they kept looking to the Vietnamese Coaches to see if it really was okay to stick their tongues out, or if the American girl was just oober-American and'ding-ding com-com' (double crazy). It wasn't until twenty that I had to really over-enunciate my lips. I showed them my teeth with my tongue right up against it, and then for the "wen", I literally grabbed my lips and showed them how to widen them. They played along a lot, but didn't pick it up much. Too Western for the day, I supposed. They smiled a lot though,
so I'm calling it a success.
My first volleyball lesson was with the Red Dragon Team. I teach Volleyball with Morgan, a swimmer from Virginia Tech, who studied Elementary Education. I also teach with Blue, a volleyball player from Can Tho University, and Dui, another boy from Can Tho. We lined the kids up for a quick warmup of arm swings, straight-legged stretches, and jumping jacks. Then we explained the first volleyball hit, the bump. We had them make a fist, wrap their other hand around the fist, and line up their thumbs. Bending their knees, they moved their arms upward, and bumped for the first time. Then we handed them a ball and walked over
to the building walls. We had them toss the ball up, bump it to the wall, and catch it. Rinse and repeat. After a few minutes, and a little bit of translated instruction, we went back over to the court to try some partner bumps. (No, that's not what she said...) They tossed the ball to one another, bumped it back, and then switched roles. Once they mastered that part, they began to bump back and forth to each other.
Van, another boy with an award winning smile at the ripe age of twelve, is a stud at volleyball. he picked up bumps right away and even moved on to sets and digs within the first ten minutes. He's got swag too, which is suprisingly hard to find in Vietnam. The first lesson went by pretty slowly because so many of the students did not want to bump the ball after about ten minutes. The red marks on their arms were insane, but Blue, being the collegiate volleyball player she is, told them all to suck it up and get used to it. Very nice...
The rotation continued one more time through...so I taught another English lesson and another volleyball lesson and then at the end of morning camp we had "Coach/Team Relationship" time...which is supposed to be used for getting to know the kids in
your group even better. We asked them each to write down a goal for school and sports...and they are to look at the goal every week to make sure they are keeping on track with their progress.
We got back on the bus and headed back to camp for lunch; rice, vegetables, pork soup with winter melon, a whole fried fish, and fried bananas. I of course, had a 7-Up, and a ton of rice...smothered in plumb chile sauce. And I ate a lot of vegetables. But unfortunately I did not have any fish. And still haven't. Nap time soon followed and we were up by 1:15 to head to afternoon camp from 1:30-5:30. Orange team, English, Volleyball, English, Volleyball, Coach/Team Relationship. With a brand new bunch of smilling kids ready to learn and play.
**Afternote: Not going to lie, the first day was probably the longest day of my life, and the thought of having to teach the same lesson four times was only made worse when I realized that we had to teach the same lesson eight times because we only see
two team colors per day...But now we just finished day three and I already feel like the hours are flying by. The children are adorable and are starting to learn my name better and better. I've even picked up a few more phrases!! I will now be able to call you all crazy when I get home, and then if you try to call me crazy back, I can tell you that you have no sense. So boo-yah, I'm basically Vietnamese now.
I also learned a Vietnamese game today...it's called 'Kickin' Chicken'. You stand inside of a square with someone else. You hold one leg behind your back and the same arm up to your ear and then hop at each other until one person falls out of the square...and then they lose. So kind of like tsumo wrestling, but not in Japan?
Until next time...peace, love, and little smiling kids. (And yes, I will probably throw away all my clothing so I can fit one, slash two, Vietnamese children home with me)
PS: Tomorrow we're apparently going to be dropped off at the corner marketplace and if we are stopped by anyone, we are to say that our "bus broke down and had to be pushed away so we're waiting for another one..." So please expect a blog entry about the Vietnamese marketplace full of our wild camp children chopping fish in half. =)
The air is cool with a thick layer of humidity. And when I say cool, I mean around eighty...but it's still better than Miami by this hour of the day. We leave our campsite at 7:00 am and head to the Hoa An (Huh-way Ahn) Center about five minutes down the road. The road is a single lane, with mostly mo-peds going to and fro. The occasional truck will blast its horn, each driver has perfected their own tune. Our driver goes with a louder start and a consecutive beep that lowers in volume over time. The blast usually lasts about eight sounds. Definitely a nice change from the blaring horn of the Hummers in Miami.
We pass by a marketplace before turning down a gravel road. People are standing outside preparing for the day. Some are throwing fresh fish into a bucket of shallow water. A woman sits beside a bucket, takes a fish out and lays it on the ground. Then she takes a wooden paddle and smacks its head, killing it instantly. To her left, a girl is selling chom-choms. Across the street, a fruit salesman is lining up his watermelon and mango while a woman slices it into halves and quarters. On the other corner, women are selling fish nets alongside hats and trinkets. We beg the Directors to let us walk to school one day
so we can stop by this place, but a quick 'No' tells us it won't happen. Anna, our American Director, quietly tells us that last year a visitor was robbed on these roads and now the policemen doesn't want us in this area. So that means we may not be able to visit our students homes towards the end of camp.
Arriving at camp, we cross a bridge and enter the gate. The building matches the gate, a pale yellow, the color of my favorite daffodils. Scraps of trash blow across the blacktop and on one side of the buildings I see a pack of bicycles parked under a covering. In the center of the school, a group of older kids are playing a pick-up game of soccer while a few others play basketball. A young boy in a red tshirt runs up to our pack and jumps on Anna to say hello. Clearly one of her own from last year...I can't wait to have that happen, I think to myself. Wait, did I just say that? It's day one and I'm already thinking
of a next year? A few boys I met at our campsite came up and said hello.
One boy, named Lihn, we call him the naughty one, or the trouble-maker, and an older boy named Phar (not sure on the spelling, I just make a sound to get his attention!), and then one of my own from Sunday's orientation, come up to say hello to me. Law-Wren. Hell-oh Law-Wren, is what I hear. So I say hi back and ask how they are and what's up. Their response is always, 'Fine thanks,' or, 'Not much,' guaranteed. The Directors hand us our team boxes, a plain white sliding door drawer with some tape, paper, chalk and string inside.
I head up the winding stairs, first twelve steps, turn left, then eleven more, and wander down the outdoor hallway until I find the door that has an orange piece of paper hanging on the window. Turning inside, I see my AM kids, bright-eyed and smiling. 'Gud Mare-ning!!' they shout, and I can't help but giggle and say, "Good morning!" back. Ricky-Bobby, Jenny, and Amy all join me. Can you guess which one is the American coach?
Here's a hint...none of them are American. Ricky-Bobby and Jenny are Vietnamese. Ricky-Bobby is really just Ricky, but I already nick-named him. Jenny's Vietnamese name is Huong, but she's so adorable that either one works. She is studying to be an English teacher and Ricky is studying biomechanical engineering. Both attend Can Tho University. Amy is from England, and plays tennis at FSU while studying sports management and psychology. The four of us make up the Orange Team Coaches.
After attendance has been taken and orange shirts are given out, we come up with a team name and cheer. The kids decide on the Orange Tigers and our cheer is, "ORANGE! TIGERS! RRRRRR." And we make claws and grit our teeth while growling. And then we taught them to come together in a circle, put their hand in, and yell "GRRRRR!" on three. The first life skills lesson involved discussing what a team is, and what all the important parts of a team are. The kids really listened to what we were saying, and even when they didn't have a response when we asked a question, they gave an effort in the discussion.
I immediately noticed a little boy in the front who paid attention to every detail, even when it didn't make sense as easily to him as it did to the other students. Newly registered for the camp, Dat joined our team a little late. A very small boy of eleven years old, his smile lights up the room and his eyes sparkles every time he speaks. I'm not exactly sure what it is, but I can tell there's a spark about him. He's energetic and attentive, and really tries hard to learn what the Americans are saying, instead of just relying on the translations from Jenny and Ricky-Bobby.
After lifeskills, I headed to Yellow Team for English & Sports. I teach English with Jenny, Truong, and Sophia. Truong is attending Can Tho University as well. Sophia goes to Duke and is a 400 meter hurdler from Asheville, NC. She is studying cultural anthropology. Together, we all have an amazing chemistry. The lesson started off with greetings and introductions.
Sophia explained how to say, 'Hello. My name is _____.'and 'I am __________.' Then she taught, 'What is your name?' The translations were perfect and the children knew exactly when to repeat what we said. Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, and goodbye were also taught. We went over pronunciation, and that's where the fun began.
"Good..."
"Gud..."
"More..."
"Mare..."
"More..."
"Moare..."
"Ning..."
"Neen..."
"Ning..."
"Neeng..."
"Good morning."
"Guud more-neeng."
::clap clap clap clap:: "Good job!!"
And that was the pattern of pronunciation. Harsh 'or' and 't' is a very hard sound for them to make. The 'th' sound is also pretty impossible. I think most of their sounds don't involve the tongue, so having to press their tongue against their teeth is very difficult. So, being the badass woman I am, I taught them to stick their tongue out when they were learning how to say, "I am thirsty". Saying 'turr-tee' at first, I managed a few giggles and even fewer actual stuck out tongues. But there was that golden moment when one of the kids actually stuck their tongue out and made the 'th-sound', and an even more golden moment when an 's' snake sound was made for the 'sty' part of the word. But we had a few good laughs on the way.
My role came mostly with numbers. I had the kids count to ten, if they were able. And then I went over pronunciation. One and two, elementary. Three, we played with our tongues some more. Four, I showed them how to make an O with their mouths. Five, I emphasized the ending more than the beginning, and really slowed down the word so they could see how the mouth works. Kids really are incredible beings. They interpret a lot more than adults even consider, so I made sure that the visual cues were more than enough for them to follow. Six, piece of cake. Seven, a slight struggle. Seh-ven. Over and over again. Eight, hard 't' gave them a run for their money. Nine, money. Ten, golden.
Then, I asked if anyone could count from eleven to twenty. Fewer said yes, and those that did, struggled past twelve. So that's where the fun really began. All of the numbers were written out on the board, with the English words next to them.
11- eleven [ee-leh-ven]
12- twelve [tuh-wel-ve]
13- thirteen [thir-teen]
14- fourteen [for-teen]
15- fifteen [fi-ff-teen]
16- sixteen [six-teen]
17- seventeen [seh-ven-teen]
18- eighteen [ay-teen]
19- nineteen [nihne-teen]
20- twenty [tuh-wen-tee]
Eleven starts off as uhlebben, and then became mostly eleven. Thirteen was fun, mostly because they kept looking to the Vietnamese Coaches to see if it really was okay to stick their tongues out, or if the American girl was just oober-American and'ding-ding com-com' (double crazy). It wasn't until twenty that I had to really over-enunciate my lips. I showed them my teeth with my tongue right up against it, and then for the "wen", I literally grabbed my lips and showed them how to widen them. They played along a lot, but didn't pick it up much. Too Western for the day, I supposed. They smiled a lot though,
so I'm calling it a success.
My first volleyball lesson was with the Red Dragon Team. I teach Volleyball with Morgan, a swimmer from Virginia Tech, who studied Elementary Education. I also teach with Blue, a volleyball player from Can Tho University, and Dui, another boy from Can Tho. We lined the kids up for a quick warmup of arm swings, straight-legged stretches, and jumping jacks. Then we explained the first volleyball hit, the bump. We had them make a fist, wrap their other hand around the fist, and line up their thumbs. Bending their knees, they moved their arms upward, and bumped for the first time. Then we handed them a ball and walked over
to the building walls. We had them toss the ball up, bump it to the wall, and catch it. Rinse and repeat. After a few minutes, and a little bit of translated instruction, we went back over to the court to try some partner bumps. (No, that's not what she said...) They tossed the ball to one another, bumped it back, and then switched roles. Once they mastered that part, they began to bump back and forth to each other.
Van, another boy with an award winning smile at the ripe age of twelve, is a stud at volleyball. he picked up bumps right away and even moved on to sets and digs within the first ten minutes. He's got swag too, which is suprisingly hard to find in Vietnam. The first lesson went by pretty slowly because so many of the students did not want to bump the ball after about ten minutes. The red marks on their arms were insane, but Blue, being the collegiate volleyball player she is, told them all to suck it up and get used to it. Very nice...
The rotation continued one more time through...so I taught another English lesson and another volleyball lesson and then at the end of morning camp we had "Coach/Team Relationship" time...which is supposed to be used for getting to know the kids in
your group even better. We asked them each to write down a goal for school and sports...and they are to look at the goal every week to make sure they are keeping on track with their progress.
We got back on the bus and headed back to camp for lunch; rice, vegetables, pork soup with winter melon, a whole fried fish, and fried bananas. I of course, had a 7-Up, and a ton of rice...smothered in plumb chile sauce. And I ate a lot of vegetables. But unfortunately I did not have any fish. And still haven't. Nap time soon followed and we were up by 1:15 to head to afternoon camp from 1:30-5:30. Orange team, English, Volleyball, English, Volleyball, Coach/Team Relationship. With a brand new bunch of smilling kids ready to learn and play.
**Afternote: Not going to lie, the first day was probably the longest day of my life, and the thought of having to teach the same lesson four times was only made worse when I realized that we had to teach the same lesson eight times because we only see
two team colors per day...But now we just finished day three and I already feel like the hours are flying by. The children are adorable and are starting to learn my name better and better. I've even picked up a few more phrases!! I will now be able to call you all crazy when I get home, and then if you try to call me crazy back, I can tell you that you have no sense. So boo-yah, I'm basically Vietnamese now.
I also learned a Vietnamese game today...it's called 'Kickin' Chicken'. You stand inside of a square with someone else. You hold one leg behind your back and the same arm up to your ear and then hop at each other until one person falls out of the square...and then they lose. So kind of like tsumo wrestling, but not in Japan?
Until next time...peace, love, and little smiling kids. (And yes, I will probably throw away all my clothing so I can fit one, slash two, Vietnamese children home with me)
PS: Tomorrow we're apparently going to be dropped off at the corner marketplace and if we are stopped by anyone, we are to say that our "bus broke down and had to be pushed away so we're waiting for another one..." So please expect a blog entry about the Vietnamese marketplace full of our wild camp children chopping fish in half. =)
Monday, July 25, 2011
Good morning, Vietnam.
Sunday evening, six girls ventured out on a "trail run". Anne, the Vietnamese head director showed us a path and told us to weave around for a few kilometers and then to come back because it wasn't a long loop. I led the pack at a comfortable pace and told them we'd go for fifteen minutes out and then just turn around and head back to camp. The first part of the run was thin...we could only run single-file. But about ninety seconds into the run, we were basically doing a high knee drill because the grasses were so tall around the path that we couldn't run normally.
And then there was the tree branch. I yelled out to the other girls to hurdle over the obstacle but soon heard their shock when they found themselves face-to-face with the branch. We lost two girls to the jungle run. Yes, it was a jungle run.
Continuing down the path, Sophia and I saw a man in the distance. Realizing we were still five on one, we decided to keep up the pace and pass him by with a friendly "Sin jow!". He replied and off we went, unknown brush still sweeping over our legs.
But suddenly the path opened up and we were able to run about three people side-by-side...for a hundred meters. And then the brush took over the path completely. We were lucky to have steered away from snakes, but when the path was completely hidden we opted for running alongside a large field on a matted down area.
And this is the conversation that followed:
Lauren: I feel like we're on someone's property.
Sophia: I feel like this might have been some kind of war battlefield.
::STOP DEAD IN OUR TRACKS::
Both: LANDMINES!!!
Needless to say, we turned the hell around after only running for nine minutes and booked it back to camp. I'm sure they wouldn't have sent us out on a path that potentially had landmines still, but we weren't risking anything...especially since we were on a new piece of the trail.
The pace picked up on the way back and I could feel the earth crumble under me. The run felt like a rescue mission. I was covered in some kind of mud and had a bead of sweat running from the corner of my forehead, down alongside my temple. My breath was steady, focused. Yet I wore a smile. I finally realized I was in Vietnam...not when I ate fish on a stick or showered in river water, but when I went on a jungle run with my new friends and month-long family.
*******************
For some reason, we were dumb enough to wake up this morning, Monday, and workout at 5 am. (Hence the title.) Sophia, Ania, Amy, Keara, Lindsay, and myself all rolled out of bed to the rooster cackling, threw on our still-sweaty shorts and stepped out on the porch to go through a circuit. Thank goodness we're all athletes, otherwise we'd just sit around eating Vietnamese peanut butter all morning.
Lunges, squats, burpies, pushups, and leg extensions flew by. We joked around during our sets of twenty, even talked about how gruesome our track circuits are during the year and winter breaks. Swapping stories worked perfectly until the final move...the plank hold. Dripping in sweat, bug spray, and day-old sunscreen, we attempted to hold ourselves up on the tile flooring while mosquitoes picked us off three at a time. With my head down, the only communication I could understand was the rapid blowing sound coming out of the girls' mouths when they noticed a mosquito closing in on their skin.
The sun rose as we started our second set, and we heard the village start its day. Trucks and mo-peds roared by as we lifted our knees for fifteen seconds and slipped all over the tile for twelve tricep pushups. A lovely way to start the ten hour work-day, in Vietnam.
And I think tomorrow we're going to try for another run...hopefully one that involves an actual road...or maybe we'll just bring along a flashlight for the woods.
I promise to write about school soon. Day one was fantastic and I already called dibs on two Vietnamese boys that I plan on taking home with me. They are quite possibly the most adorable eleven year olds I have ever seen. And yes, I am having a BLAST teaching English to them. Not only are they energetic but they are respectful and really try to pronounce each word correctly. Amazing effort, even better results.
Peace, love, and early workouts!
And then there was the tree branch. I yelled out to the other girls to hurdle over the obstacle but soon heard their shock when they found themselves face-to-face with the branch. We lost two girls to the jungle run. Yes, it was a jungle run.
Continuing down the path, Sophia and I saw a man in the distance. Realizing we were still five on one, we decided to keep up the pace and pass him by with a friendly "Sin jow!". He replied and off we went, unknown brush still sweeping over our legs.
But suddenly the path opened up and we were able to run about three people side-by-side...for a hundred meters. And then the brush took over the path completely. We were lucky to have steered away from snakes, but when the path was completely hidden we opted for running alongside a large field on a matted down area.
And this is the conversation that followed:
Lauren: I feel like we're on someone's property.
Sophia: I feel like this might have been some kind of war battlefield.
::STOP DEAD IN OUR TRACKS::
Both: LANDMINES!!!
Needless to say, we turned the hell around after only running for nine minutes and booked it back to camp. I'm sure they wouldn't have sent us out on a path that potentially had landmines still, but we weren't risking anything...especially since we were on a new piece of the trail.
The pace picked up on the way back and I could feel the earth crumble under me. The run felt like a rescue mission. I was covered in some kind of mud and had a bead of sweat running from the corner of my forehead, down alongside my temple. My breath was steady, focused. Yet I wore a smile. I finally realized I was in Vietnam...not when I ate fish on a stick or showered in river water, but when I went on a jungle run with my new friends and month-long family.
*******************
For some reason, we were dumb enough to wake up this morning, Monday, and workout at 5 am. (Hence the title.) Sophia, Ania, Amy, Keara, Lindsay, and myself all rolled out of bed to the rooster cackling, threw on our still-sweaty shorts and stepped out on the porch to go through a circuit. Thank goodness we're all athletes, otherwise we'd just sit around eating Vietnamese peanut butter all morning.
Lunges, squats, burpies, pushups, and leg extensions flew by. We joked around during our sets of twenty, even talked about how gruesome our track circuits are during the year and winter breaks. Swapping stories worked perfectly until the final move...the plank hold. Dripping in sweat, bug spray, and day-old sunscreen, we attempted to hold ourselves up on the tile flooring while mosquitoes picked us off three at a time. With my head down, the only communication I could understand was the rapid blowing sound coming out of the girls' mouths when they noticed a mosquito closing in on their skin.
The sun rose as we started our second set, and we heard the village start its day. Trucks and mo-peds roared by as we lifted our knees for fifteen seconds and slipped all over the tile for twelve tricep pushups. A lovely way to start the ten hour work-day, in Vietnam.
And I think tomorrow we're going to try for another run...hopefully one that involves an actual road...or maybe we'll just bring along a flashlight for the woods.
I promise to write about school soon. Day one was fantastic and I already called dibs on two Vietnamese boys that I plan on taking home with me. They are quite possibly the most adorable eleven year olds I have ever seen. And yes, I am having a BLAST teaching English to them. Not only are they energetic but they are respectful and really try to pronounce each word correctly. Amazing effort, even better results.
Peace, love, and early workouts!
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Never have I ever...
Ever played this game before? I can honestly say I have not. So maybe that should be my first "Never have I ever...", too bad I don't have a beer to drink alongside this game we're about to play. See how many of these you have experienced?
1. seen a mother roll up a magazine and use it on her child.
That was my welcome into Narita/Tokyo airport. A screaming child, being dragged across the floor while his mother yelled at him and smacked him across the face. Thomas, a coach from another camp, and I just watched as we stepped onto their version of the air-train. Nobody else even seemed to notice. What shocked me more than the loud display of histerics was when the mother gave in and pulled out a magazine from her bag. She then rolled it up and smacked the boy with it...like a dog. I'm not exactly sure what the boy did to deserve such a punishment but everyone seemed to ignore it all together. From that point on though, all I saw were smiling faces and bowing heads as I made my way through the airport.
2. seen five people on a mo-ped...
My first five minutes into Ho Chi Minh City I felt like were straight out of the first five minutes of the India scene in "Eat, Pray, Love". How cliche, I know. But honestly that's what it felt like. The taxi driver honked at every driver and people were flying by in mo-peds. Not really any cars were on the road,aside from taxis and work trucks, but there were hundreds of mo-peds swerving in and out on the lanes. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw not two people on a mo-ped, nor three or four, but five people on this thing. A man was driving, two small children were wedged behind, a seemingly mother-like character completed the sandwich, with a little on holding on for dear life behind the rest. It was one of the strangest things I have ever seen. To be honest, I'm not sure why there were lane-lines painted on the road either. And forget about installing a new blinker when the old one goes out, nobody uses them anyway.
3. woken up to a rooster...
I find it strange that I grew up in the Midwest, but have never heard a rooster sound at dawn. My first night in Ho Chi Minh City, I shared a bed with my new friend, Sophia. Later the next day, I would call it snuggle time-- even without hardly knowing a thing about her. Beside the point though. We set our alarm for 6:30 am so we could shower and repack a little before breakfast and the 8 am departure. However, I woke up to the sound of a rooster, a very stereotypically sounding rooster, and the sun shining in my face. I was terrified we had missed our alarms and it was already 7:30 or so. But, living in Miami for so long has clearly done me wrong...because everywhere else in the world the sun rises before 7 am. Checking my watch, I see that it is 5:12 am. And the sun was already rising. Clouds of reds and soft orange painted the sky and the rising sun glowed peacefully as the rooster cackled away.
4. eaten a loaf of bread for breakfast...
Madame Cuc Hotel offered a lovely breakfast of margarine, homemade raspberry jam, green tea, coffee, juice, and a loaf of bread. It was pretty hollow inside, but warm. We also feasted on bananas. I have eaten toast plenty of times, but never a piece of bread that looks like the five-dollar footlong bread. Tasty, but different. And apparently that will be our breakfast each day in Hoa An. The carb-lover can live on!!
5. had tea at three different times throughout the day...
Tea for breakfast, green. Tea on our boat tour, jasmine. With Vietnamese candies of course. It was a toursit tea-party. Seasame candies, peanut brittle, banana chips, ginger candy, and tapioca poppers. And then there was the jasmine tea...which I bought an entire canister of for $2. Yes, I said two dollars. Eat your heart out, Whole Foods. Our third tea-time was just before lunch with a huge serving of chom-choms (I like to call them fuzzy berries that look like alien babies inside), watermelon with chile powder and salt, jackfruit, and super-sweet lychees. So yes, tea three times before lunch.
6. drank snake wine...
If you think it's sexy when a girl can shoot whiskey, you should throw her a shot of snake wine...or seven. It starts out as rice, becomes rice wine after a fermenting and cooking process, and then for six long months King Cobras soak in the juices, making their own flavored wine. If you're not quite ready to take on something potentially poisonous and stronger than an Jack concoction you have had, then banana wine or plain rice wine might be up your alley. But of course, being the brave Americans we are, we all wanted to taste the snake wine. And my-oh-my, that was some strong liquor. My hat's off to you, Vietnam.
7. drank straight from a coconut...
Don't worry, the allergic reaction was only a few minutes long!! We stepped back onto our boat tour and we're all handed a fresh coconut with a straw sticking out. Then we found out it was real coconut water...and by that, I mean coconut milk with river water mixed inside. Nom-nom? Actually, it wasn't bad. Though one of the girls did compare it to something that tastes like B.O. water. After that, I wasn't as enthused to drink it down. Not to mention, my tongue was swelling at an insaenely fast pace. Needless to say, I tossed the liquid and the coconut over the side of the boat and watched it bob arounding the Mekong River.
8. eaten a fish that still looks like a fish.
I told myself I would eat fsh that still looks like a fish before I eat dog on this trip. Little did I know, that would happen on the very first day. My first real meal in Vietnam was an elephant ear fish wrapped in rice pape with cucumber and pineapple. I took two bites. Baby steps. Alongside the fish wrap I had a veggie wrap and a prawn. Yes, the waitress ripped the heads off on my corner of the table. Eesh. But then they brought out some rice (thank the Heavens! 'An com...') and a soup with noodles, veggies, and some kind of meatball. Which I later found out were fish balls. Joy. The platter that saved the day was the pork. Go figure. We devoured that dish, as well as most of the rice platter. But I can now say that I have eaten fish on a stick.
9. been so happy to drink 7-Up...
At our first dinner in Hoa An, we were served fried egg, rice, grilled pork, and tofu. But we had a choic of what we drank. And I had 7-Up. Forget that I haven't really had soda in months, but it was quite literally the best thing I've digested in two days. Maybe it's just because it felt comfortable, American. I'm sure that's what it was. All the food I've had has been so fresh, and incredible. But it doesn't feel like home. I guess that's the point of it all, right? Right.
10. taken such a cold shower...
Outdoor shower paired with the toilet. One shower head, and freezing cold water. Check, and check. Refreshing as hell, but shocking to start the day with. Peaceful, minus the spider webs hanging over my head. I used to hate Steve Erwin, but lately I find myself wishing I had paid more attention to his shows.
It's 7 am here, about to head out for another bread breakfast. Hair is wet, and bug spray has been applied. Orientation is today, so bring on the kiddies and barefoot soccer play. Until next tie, peace and love to ya'll.
1. seen a mother roll up a magazine and use it on her child.
That was my welcome into Narita/Tokyo airport. A screaming child, being dragged across the floor while his mother yelled at him and smacked him across the face. Thomas, a coach from another camp, and I just watched as we stepped onto their version of the air-train. Nobody else even seemed to notice. What shocked me more than the loud display of histerics was when the mother gave in and pulled out a magazine from her bag. She then rolled it up and smacked the boy with it...like a dog. I'm not exactly sure what the boy did to deserve such a punishment but everyone seemed to ignore it all together. From that point on though, all I saw were smiling faces and bowing heads as I made my way through the airport.
2. seen five people on a mo-ped...
My first five minutes into Ho Chi Minh City I felt like were straight out of the first five minutes of the India scene in "Eat, Pray, Love". How cliche, I know. But honestly that's what it felt like. The taxi driver honked at every driver and people were flying by in mo-peds. Not really any cars were on the road,aside from taxis and work trucks, but there were hundreds of mo-peds swerving in and out on the lanes. And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw not two people on a mo-ped, nor three or four, but five people on this thing. A man was driving, two small children were wedged behind, a seemingly mother-like character completed the sandwich, with a little on holding on for dear life behind the rest. It was one of the strangest things I have ever seen. To be honest, I'm not sure why there were lane-lines painted on the road either. And forget about installing a new blinker when the old one goes out, nobody uses them anyway.
3. woken up to a rooster...
I find it strange that I grew up in the Midwest, but have never heard a rooster sound at dawn. My first night in Ho Chi Minh City, I shared a bed with my new friend, Sophia. Later the next day, I would call it snuggle time-- even without hardly knowing a thing about her. Beside the point though. We set our alarm for 6:30 am so we could shower and repack a little before breakfast and the 8 am departure. However, I woke up to the sound of a rooster, a very stereotypically sounding rooster, and the sun shining in my face. I was terrified we had missed our alarms and it was already 7:30 or so. But, living in Miami for so long has clearly done me wrong...because everywhere else in the world the sun rises before 7 am. Checking my watch, I see that it is 5:12 am. And the sun was already rising. Clouds of reds and soft orange painted the sky and the rising sun glowed peacefully as the rooster cackled away.
4. eaten a loaf of bread for breakfast...
Madame Cuc Hotel offered a lovely breakfast of margarine, homemade raspberry jam, green tea, coffee, juice, and a loaf of bread. It was pretty hollow inside, but warm. We also feasted on bananas. I have eaten toast plenty of times, but never a piece of bread that looks like the five-dollar footlong bread. Tasty, but different. And apparently that will be our breakfast each day in Hoa An. The carb-lover can live on!!
5. had tea at three different times throughout the day...
Tea for breakfast, green. Tea on our boat tour, jasmine. With Vietnamese candies of course. It was a toursit tea-party. Seasame candies, peanut brittle, banana chips, ginger candy, and tapioca poppers. And then there was the jasmine tea...which I bought an entire canister of for $2. Yes, I said two dollars. Eat your heart out, Whole Foods. Our third tea-time was just before lunch with a huge serving of chom-choms (I like to call them fuzzy berries that look like alien babies inside), watermelon with chile powder and salt, jackfruit, and super-sweet lychees. So yes, tea three times before lunch.
6. drank snake wine...
If you think it's sexy when a girl can shoot whiskey, you should throw her a shot of snake wine...or seven. It starts out as rice, becomes rice wine after a fermenting and cooking process, and then for six long months King Cobras soak in the juices, making their own flavored wine. If you're not quite ready to take on something potentially poisonous and stronger than an Jack concoction you have had, then banana wine or plain rice wine might be up your alley. But of course, being the brave Americans we are, we all wanted to taste the snake wine. And my-oh-my, that was some strong liquor. My hat's off to you, Vietnam.
7. drank straight from a coconut...
Don't worry, the allergic reaction was only a few minutes long!! We stepped back onto our boat tour and we're all handed a fresh coconut with a straw sticking out. Then we found out it was real coconut water...and by that, I mean coconut milk with river water mixed inside. Nom-nom? Actually, it wasn't bad. Though one of the girls did compare it to something that tastes like B.O. water. After that, I wasn't as enthused to drink it down. Not to mention, my tongue was swelling at an insaenely fast pace. Needless to say, I tossed the liquid and the coconut over the side of the boat and watched it bob arounding the Mekong River.
8. eaten a fish that still looks like a fish.
I told myself I would eat fsh that still looks like a fish before I eat dog on this trip. Little did I know, that would happen on the very first day. My first real meal in Vietnam was an elephant ear fish wrapped in rice pape with cucumber and pineapple. I took two bites. Baby steps. Alongside the fish wrap I had a veggie wrap and a prawn. Yes, the waitress ripped the heads off on my corner of the table. Eesh. But then they brought out some rice (thank the Heavens! 'An com...') and a soup with noodles, veggies, and some kind of meatball. Which I later found out were fish balls. Joy. The platter that saved the day was the pork. Go figure. We devoured that dish, as well as most of the rice platter. But I can now say that I have eaten fish on a stick.
9. been so happy to drink 7-Up...
At our first dinner in Hoa An, we were served fried egg, rice, grilled pork, and tofu. But we had a choic of what we drank. And I had 7-Up. Forget that I haven't really had soda in months, but it was quite literally the best thing I've digested in two days. Maybe it's just because it felt comfortable, American. I'm sure that's what it was. All the food I've had has been so fresh, and incredible. But it doesn't feel like home. I guess that's the point of it all, right? Right.
10. taken such a cold shower...
Outdoor shower paired with the toilet. One shower head, and freezing cold water. Check, and check. Refreshing as hell, but shocking to start the day with. Peaceful, minus the spider webs hanging over my head. I used to hate Steve Erwin, but lately I find myself wishing I had paid more attention to his shows.
It's 7 am here, about to head out for another bread breakfast. Hair is wet, and bug spray has been applied. Orientation is today, so bring on the kiddies and barefoot soccer play. Until next tie, peace and love to ya'll.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
"Community is where humility and glory touch."
Henri Nouwen said that quote. I'm not entirely sure what his impact on the world was outside of writing and the Catholic Church, but this quote rings in my ears as I pack for Vietnam. Stuffing every last possibly supply into my bag, I have to stop and wonder what my intentions for this trip are. Of course I want to work with children and to begin my journey as a coach and teacher. But what experiences do I intend to have? And am I really leaving the States behind and going to a third-world country while carrying along an electrical converter and bottles of bug-spray? I can't help but stop and ask myself if I will truly be able to immerse myself into this culture. Last summer was easy....I speak French. So naturally, while there I spoke French. And it worked out fine. I made a few cultural faux-pas along the way, but in the end I could honestly say I wanted to move to France. Will this summer be the same? Or will I only be an outsider stepping in to help out for a few short weeks, only to move on to bigger and better things back in the Western World? At one point am I no longer helping them, but only helping myself?
I have carpet. I have an alarm system. I even have a washing machine. I may find it exciting and eye-opening to wash my clothes in a sink full of river water for three weeks. I may even find it exciting to try snake wine, or eel noodle soup...but what am I really giving back to them? If I am to become a part of their community, I have to step out of my comfort zone and into the wild (no put-down intended). There will be spiders as big as my palm living in my dorm room. There may or may not be bits of animals I've sworn to never eat in my soup. But what I'm really going to try to experience is much more than third-world living and Asian cuisine. What I'm going to try to experience is a unique perspective from the people themselves. I tried to learn a few words of Vietnamese, but have yet to really memorize anything solid. It's not just the language I am working towards understanding, but the everyday living of the people themselves. And I supposed one goal of mine is to somehow improve their daily living in the smallest way, whether that be through an activity the whole family can do at the end of a meal, or even to inspire just one child to continue going to school or continue playing sports. My goal isn't to change who I am, though I'm sure I've been pretending that is it. My goal is to change the lives of people who truly need it.
One more question I must ask...I already know it's going to rain cats and dogs the whole time I'm there, but do I really need a camping towel?
I have carpet. I have an alarm system. I even have a washing machine. I may find it exciting and eye-opening to wash my clothes in a sink full of river water for three weeks. I may even find it exciting to try snake wine, or eel noodle soup...but what am I really giving back to them? If I am to become a part of their community, I have to step out of my comfort zone and into the wild (no put-down intended). There will be spiders as big as my palm living in my dorm room. There may or may not be bits of animals I've sworn to never eat in my soup. But what I'm really going to try to experience is much more than third-world living and Asian cuisine. What I'm going to try to experience is a unique perspective from the people themselves. I tried to learn a few words of Vietnamese, but have yet to really memorize anything solid. It's not just the language I am working towards understanding, but the everyday living of the people themselves. And I supposed one goal of mine is to somehow improve their daily living in the smallest way, whether that be through an activity the whole family can do at the end of a meal, or even to inspire just one child to continue going to school or continue playing sports. My goal isn't to change who I am, though I'm sure I've been pretending that is it. My goal is to change the lives of people who truly need it.
One more question I must ask...I already know it's going to rain cats and dogs the whole time I'm there, but do I really need a camping towel?
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
from instant pudding to homemade requests.
People ask me almost everyday where I learned to bake, or rather, why I seem to be so passionate about baking. The response I usually give is short and sweet, in a classic drawn-out kind of way. It sounds something like, "Well, from a very young age, both my grandmothers taught me how to bake. And it kind of stuck with me." And it's all true, just not complete.
After my parents split up, I found myself spending afternoons with my maternal grandmother. Everyday after school I would ride the bus to her house and wait for my mother to pick up my sister and I after she got off work. Sometimes we had a knitting lesson, learning to make washcloths or potholders (basically anything Grandma needed to replace around the house), but more often than not, I had a baking lesson. It started off simple, learning how to make peanut-butter crackers. I know what you're thinking, 'Peanut butter crackers are easy to make, who needs a lesson in that?' I didn't need a lesson,, per se, but my Grandma was determined to teach me how to become more independent, as I'm sure my daily water works when my mom left in her car were starting to grow old. So we started simple. Learning how to spread peanut butter. And soon after that we moved onto instant Jello Pudding from a package. And man oh man I thought that was just Top Chef material.
Every few days I would climb up on the counter and sit down next to the sink and dump this huge package of brown powder into a gigantic bowl. Then I would get to carefully pour milk into a cup (over a larger cup to catch my inevitable spillage) and then we'd set a timer and I'd whisk away for five minutes straight. I'm sure my whisking skills were comparable to every other five year old at the time-- uneven and messy. Maybe that's why we always baked by the sink?
Probably what I loved most about the pudding mix was getting to pour the batter into these delicate little glasses my Grandma only used for our afternoons together. We would separate the pudding into fours and then place the china into the fridge to let it set. And I could never wait for the pudding to get cold, we'd always eat one right away. Everyday after that I'd check back to see if we needed to make more pudding, hoping I'd get to use the big whisk.
At Christmas time, my Grandma would have my sister and I over for a baking session. We'd get out our cutest little aprons to protect our Christmas dresses, and she would let us destroy her kitchen for the entire afternoon. The scent of the cookies would overtake the house and even lure my grandfather from his den every once in a while. We made sugar cookies, cutout cookies, chocolate chip, butterscotch crunchies, almond cookies, and everything in between. The day was not over until every tin was filled. At the time, my sister was old enough to handle the mixer and the smaller measurements, so I was in charge of measuring everything light and easy to see.
I will never forget my very first lesson in measuring flour. I was handed a giant spoon, and a one cup measure. Next to me sat the big ceramic container of flour. My grandma took my hand and told me to scoop the flour into the cup. So I did what any child would do, I scooped until it was full and then started smashing it down with the back of the spoon to make room for more. Oh no, precious, don't pack the flour down. That will make the batter too dense. Flour has to be handled gently, explained my grandma. She took my hands in hers and showed me the proper way.
1. Scoop flour into the cup
2. Take a knife and chop the top lightly.
3. Use the knife (back side, not serrated!) to slide off the excess flour
And from that moment on, I knew my baking had to be precise. But my grandmother being the amazing woman she is, made baking look effortless. Actually, both my grandmothers make cooking and baking look flawless. But who wouldn't be able to when you're this beautiful?
Maternal Grandmother Sexton
Paternal Grandmother Phipps
I give them full-credit for my tree-climbing abilities and somewhat frequent public displays of half-nudity.
Anyhow, my paternal Grandmother has been an inspiration when it comes to baking as well. Her kitchen was constantly going when I was younger, and to this day it mostly still is. She either had hot dogs boiling for kids, or a pork tenderloin tenderizing in the oven. When it came to our afternoon visits, we always had apple slices and popcorn waiting for our movie, and when it ended, it was time to bake cupcakes to take home to my Mom. I still don't know how she got her icing to be so fluffy and light, even after having the recipe for a few years, but I was always impressed with her ability to make light and fluffy cupcakes and cookies with very little effort. She didn't wear an apron. She usually had on a blouse, her gold egg-shaped jewelry (rings, earrings and necklace) along with her perfectly polished nails and Chanel Number Five perfume sprayed on lightly. I couldn't leave her house without at least two lipstick prints on my face, a Bounce sheet in my pants pocket to ward off mosquitoes, and a container filled with her baked goods....and of course the occasional Coca-Cola for the road.
Her cookies were loaded with butter, rich sweet cream butter, and they just broke off and melted in your mouth. Snack time soon became a two or three times per day affair, and left us always wondering what would be on the menu later that day. My grandma could also make a semi-homemade dessert look and taste fully homemade. One of my favorite creations that she made was my Dad's Boston Cream Birthday Pie, and I believe about half of it was typically from store-bought materials. But she didn't look up how to make it home-made, she just created. She understood the consistency of every ingredient involved and knew what the final would need to be like, and from that point on she just dove right in.
Many afternoons were spent with my Grandparents, and that alone makes me one of the luckiest people in the world. Not only did I have the opportunity to live in the same city as both sets of grandparents, but I had ample opportunity of spending time with them and learning about their lives, while they shaped mine. I've probably adopted my maternal grandmother's perception and understanding of baking, but I adopted my paternal grandmother's ability to take this science to a new level. My passion for baking didn't just come from my Grandmothers, it came from some internal feeling I've learned to love about baking. Some days I bake because I'm sad. I bake because my world is crumbling around me, with no sense of direction, and all I want is for something to make sense. And baking makes sense. Plus, it's a great way to sort things out in my head, especially when there's no chance to go out for an hour long run!
I also bake because I like to make people happy. The first time they bite into something incredible, their face lights up. And that face is simply priceless. It's like watching a child open their first gift on Christmas morning. Nothing can compare. I may have moved on from boxed pudding and mis-measuring ingredients, but I cherish every step I've taken along the way. And now I find myself dreaming about new recipes, creating them while I'm at work without a task to complete. I even dream of opening my own bakery one day, maybe a non-profit organization designed to give back to the community in one way or another. Bring on the smiles. And the butter too, of course.
So there you have it...my story, in a very expanded nutshell. And yes, I do take baking requests.
After my parents split up, I found myself spending afternoons with my maternal grandmother. Everyday after school I would ride the bus to her house and wait for my mother to pick up my sister and I after she got off work. Sometimes we had a knitting lesson, learning to make washcloths or potholders (basically anything Grandma needed to replace around the house), but more often than not, I had a baking lesson. It started off simple, learning how to make peanut-butter crackers. I know what you're thinking, 'Peanut butter crackers are easy to make, who needs a lesson in that?' I didn't need a lesson,, per se, but my Grandma was determined to teach me how to become more independent, as I'm sure my daily water works when my mom left in her car were starting to grow old. So we started simple. Learning how to spread peanut butter. And soon after that we moved onto instant Jello Pudding from a package. And man oh man I thought that was just Top Chef material.
Every few days I would climb up on the counter and sit down next to the sink and dump this huge package of brown powder into a gigantic bowl. Then I would get to carefully pour milk into a cup (over a larger cup to catch my inevitable spillage) and then we'd set a timer and I'd whisk away for five minutes straight. I'm sure my whisking skills were comparable to every other five year old at the time-- uneven and messy. Maybe that's why we always baked by the sink?
Probably what I loved most about the pudding mix was getting to pour the batter into these delicate little glasses my Grandma only used for our afternoons together. We would separate the pudding into fours and then place the china into the fridge to let it set. And I could never wait for the pudding to get cold, we'd always eat one right away. Everyday after that I'd check back to see if we needed to make more pudding, hoping I'd get to use the big whisk.
At Christmas time, my Grandma would have my sister and I over for a baking session. We'd get out our cutest little aprons to protect our Christmas dresses, and she would let us destroy her kitchen for the entire afternoon. The scent of the cookies would overtake the house and even lure my grandfather from his den every once in a while. We made sugar cookies, cutout cookies, chocolate chip, butterscotch crunchies, almond cookies, and everything in between. The day was not over until every tin was filled. At the time, my sister was old enough to handle the mixer and the smaller measurements, so I was in charge of measuring everything light and easy to see.
I will never forget my very first lesson in measuring flour. I was handed a giant spoon, and a one cup measure. Next to me sat the big ceramic container of flour. My grandma took my hand and told me to scoop the flour into the cup. So I did what any child would do, I scooped until it was full and then started smashing it down with the back of the spoon to make room for more. Oh no, precious, don't pack the flour down. That will make the batter too dense. Flour has to be handled gently, explained my grandma. She took my hands in hers and showed me the proper way.
1. Scoop flour into the cup
2. Take a knife and chop the top lightly.
3. Use the knife (back side, not serrated!) to slide off the excess flour
And from that moment on, I knew my baking had to be precise. But my grandmother being the amazing woman she is, made baking look effortless. Actually, both my grandmothers make cooking and baking look flawless. But who wouldn't be able to when you're this beautiful?
Maternal Grandmother Sexton
Paternal Grandmother Phipps
I give them full-credit for my tree-climbing abilities and somewhat frequent public displays of half-nudity.
Anyhow, my paternal Grandmother has been an inspiration when it comes to baking as well. Her kitchen was constantly going when I was younger, and to this day it mostly still is. She either had hot dogs boiling for kids, or a pork tenderloin tenderizing in the oven. When it came to our afternoon visits, we always had apple slices and popcorn waiting for our movie, and when it ended, it was time to bake cupcakes to take home to my Mom. I still don't know how she got her icing to be so fluffy and light, even after having the recipe for a few years, but I was always impressed with her ability to make light and fluffy cupcakes and cookies with very little effort. She didn't wear an apron. She usually had on a blouse, her gold egg-shaped jewelry (rings, earrings and necklace) along with her perfectly polished nails and Chanel Number Five perfume sprayed on lightly. I couldn't leave her house without at least two lipstick prints on my face, a Bounce sheet in my pants pocket to ward off mosquitoes, and a container filled with her baked goods....and of course the occasional Coca-Cola for the road.
Her cookies were loaded with butter, rich sweet cream butter, and they just broke off and melted in your mouth. Snack time soon became a two or three times per day affair, and left us always wondering what would be on the menu later that day. My grandma could also make a semi-homemade dessert look and taste fully homemade. One of my favorite creations that she made was my Dad's Boston Cream Birthday Pie, and I believe about half of it was typically from store-bought materials. But she didn't look up how to make it home-made, she just created. She understood the consistency of every ingredient involved and knew what the final would need to be like, and from that point on she just dove right in.
Many afternoons were spent with my Grandparents, and that alone makes me one of the luckiest people in the world. Not only did I have the opportunity to live in the same city as both sets of grandparents, but I had ample opportunity of spending time with them and learning about their lives, while they shaped mine. I've probably adopted my maternal grandmother's perception and understanding of baking, but I adopted my paternal grandmother's ability to take this science to a new level. My passion for baking didn't just come from my Grandmothers, it came from some internal feeling I've learned to love about baking. Some days I bake because I'm sad. I bake because my world is crumbling around me, with no sense of direction, and all I want is for something to make sense. And baking makes sense. Plus, it's a great way to sort things out in my head, especially when there's no chance to go out for an hour long run!
I also bake because I like to make people happy. The first time they bite into something incredible, their face lights up. And that face is simply priceless. It's like watching a child open their first gift on Christmas morning. Nothing can compare. I may have moved on from boxed pudding and mis-measuring ingredients, but I cherish every step I've taken along the way. And now I find myself dreaming about new recipes, creating them while I'm at work without a task to complete. I even dream of opening my own bakery one day, maybe a non-profit organization designed to give back to the community in one way or another. Bring on the smiles. And the butter too, of course.
So there you have it...my story, in a very expanded nutshell. And yes, I do take baking requests.
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