Thinking about Mozambique

I've applied to go on a missions trip to Mozambique, a country I had barely heard of a couple of years ago. In any country, the street people are the poorest people there are. In Mozambique, an exceptionally poor country, the street people are even poorer. And the street children are the poorest of the poor.

The orphanage ministers to the street children in Mozambique. In the middle of poverty, the director sees God come through with not only love and presence, but also with miracles. I want to see that myself -- not just the miracles, but the whole mindset of ministering when there is no resource other than God himself.

So I want to go to Mozambique. I hope that this desire is actually a call from God, because if it is not inspired by God it is kind of irrational. It's a remarkably expensive way to be really uncomfortable. I bounce back and forth between really really wanting to go, and having a secret fear that this is just a strange symptom of mid-life crisis.

Anyway, I sent in my application (not to mention the non-refundable $500 deposit), and asked my boss for the time off. She was trying hard to be restrained, but clearly is afraid that lunacy has set in. She's worried about my returning home safely, so in the effort to problem-solve, she suggested that I tell Human Resources where I'm going. I'm not sure what she thinks they will do to help, but it was the only vaguely constructive solution she could think of.

Sometimes all it takes is one word

From the title, you're probably thinking that this post will be about a cool witnessing story, but unfortunately it's nothing so deep. Just another ESL story.

Tuesday night when the class was supposed to start, the teacher wasn't there. So I started teaching, so that the students wouldn't be just sitting around. Half an hour later the teacher showed up, then ran out for something, and by the time she came back it was actually 45 minutes into the class. I turned the class over to her and watched her lead an exercise asking the students to read ingredients in a stew from the textbook. All was fine until the book said to put the food in a saucepan. She started discussing whether a saucepan was really the right equipment for a stew. She was right from a culinary point of view, but from an English point of view it was way to subtle a distinction to bother with, for students at such a low level. The more different words she used, the more confused they became.

I sat there listening to her talk, and realizing that my students in the Food Pantry class had taught me a peculiarly pertinent word. Out of all the words in the world, they taught me how to say 'pot' in Chinese. So when the teacher finally paused, and looked at me for help, I couldn't help it:
guō I intoned tentatively (hoping that I was sounding the 4th tone properly)
The Mandarin speaking students started nodding, and gesturing, and then translated for the other students. Soon the entire class was nodding happily.

The power of one word.

Can you fry an airplane?

I've been volunteering at two ESL (English as a second language) classes.

The first class is part of an Americorps program. Even though they advertised for volunteers, I had to be really pushy to get involved, sending repeated emails and voicemails. I'm assisting a teacher with an advanced beginner class. Unfortunately, her teaching methods are not only quite different from what I learned, they simply don't seem to be very effective. The problem came to a head last week, when only two students showed up due to Chinese New Year.

The teacher was at a loss for what to do with them, and asked me for ideas:
Do you think I should tell them to go home?
No -- they came for class, and we should give them a class.
But what can we do? I don't want the other students to get behind.
Why don't we give them conversation practice?
No, they are already good at conversation.
We could still practice with them.
No, that won't work. Maybe I should just tell them to go.
I think we should teach them something, since they bothered to show up. Why don't we take the same topic that is in the book, but give them different vocabulary?
No.
Why don't we take the same topic but make up different exercises.
No, that's too hard.
I see that the book has a section on ordering in a fast food restaurant. Why don't we give them a few sentences on how to order in a regular restaurant.
No.
How about a dialog for how to make a reservation?
No, that's too hard.
How about a dialog for what you say when you enter a restaurant?
No, that's too hard.

So she ended up just giving them a review of the previous chapter (the same review she'll repeat next week), and dismissing them early. I kept wishing that I was the teacher instead of just the assistant.

Then on Saturday I went into NYC to help at an informal ESL class sponsored by 'The Father Loves You' food pantry. They feed 4-500 people at a time, and offer all sorts of support services, one of which is a free ESL class. Different people show up (or don't show up) every week, so they don't even have a syllabus. The teacher uses 'The Oxford Picture Dictionary' which has pages organized by theme, such as 'transportation', and has a bunch of pictures on each page, with English labels at the bottom. The teacher points to a picture, says the word, has the students repeat it, and then moves on.

Language learning needs much more repetition, and the course that I took taught us to give the students much more practice. But once again, I'm not the teacher, I'm just the assistant. However, this week the teacher didn't show up, so I got to teach by myself, and it was lots of fun! I had 5 Chinese women in the class, one of whom was 77 years old.

This time, I took much more time on each word, and acted it out, and gave them sentences, and other similar words. For example, when we got to the word 'can opener', I acted out how you open a can, and then also explained that a can opener can be electric. Blank faces, so I ran across the room to an electric fan, and lifted up the plug and said 'electric' and all of a sudden they got it. Then I focused on the verb 'open', and ran across the room to the door and shut it and opened it, while saying 'shut' and 'open'. Then I asked them what else you can open, and one of the ladies gestured to her bag on the table, and lifted the flap and said 'open?' -- I was so excited, because I knew she got it. And then she explained to the others in Chinese, to make sure they got it too.

Next came the word colander. I pointed to the picture, and said it was like a bowl with holes, and described how you put vegetables in it, and the water runs through. Vegetables was the magic word. Just as I was about to move on, someone gestured as if she was turning a page and said 'colander?...days?' I suddenly realized she was confusing colander with calendar, so I drew a picture of each, with the word underneath. They stared with interest and asked "same word?" So we drilled the pronunciation together: Colander -- Calendar, colander -- calendar.

Next came the frying pan. I tried to explain it, and then asked them what the would cook in a frying pan. One student suggested 'eggs'. So I found a picture of eggs, to make sure the other students were following too, and I did a whole charades exercise, starting with taking eggs out of the refrigerator (first I OPENED the door), then breaking the eggs into the pan and cooking them, and finally serving the imaginary eggs to the students. I could tell they were all following the mime because they all politely said 'thank you' when I delivered the imaginary eggs on their imaginary plates.

Just when I thought we were home free, the student on my right hazarded a question.
'Fry an airplane?'
I suddenly realized we had the quintessential Chinese exercise in front of us. I drew a picture of an airplane and of a frying pan with an egg, and labeled the pictures "fry an egg" and "fly an airplane", and spoke each sentence clearly while I gestured to the pictures. They nodded with interest, and then I asked them to repeat after me. We were flying eggs and frying airplanes (or airpranes). Finally I actually heard some distinguishable 'R's and 'L's. I was as excited as if I had won the lottery.

After class they all thanked me. Some of them thanked me in both English and Chinese. First in Mandarin, then Cantonese, and then another dialect. I was trying to listen to the Mandarin to learn the word for 'teacher', so Wei Fung considerately wrote it down for me. In Chinese of course.

I'm your dust!

Ash Wednesday was a few days ago. You may recall that ever since I've been working with Hindus, I've felt led to observe Ash Wednesday, as a visible witness (not to mention conversation starter).

This year my office has been temporarily moved downtown, so I suddenly had to scurry around to find a church. I felt pretty uncomfortable about the whole thing. I was under the mistaken impression that the church was Catholic (although it was actually Episcopalian), I was running out during working hours (since I had a meeting during lunch time), and I wondered if I was overemphasizing the symbol, and falling into ritualism.

I entered the church feeling uncomfortable and self-conscious. I decided to take a pew near the front so I could scope it out, and see what the procedure was (in case any weird genuflections were needed). But as long as I was sitting there, I figured I might as well pray. And as long as I was praying, I might as well kneel. And before I knew it, I was experiencing a true wave of penitence -- not for any specific action, but simply knowledge of my innate human sinfulness, and my need for God's continuing grace. Of course, this spiritual moment kept being interrupted by my peeking through my hands to watch the people going up for their ashes.

In any event, I finally decided to go up for the ashes. For some reason, the liturgical term is 'imposition'. Personally, I think it would be a favor if the pope would choose another word, but I digress. The person who imposes the ashes (imposer? impositeur?) solemnly intones:
"Remember that you came from dust, and to dust you shall return."
I returned to my pew, and surprised myself by weeping, weighted down by a sense of sin and mortality. And suddenly the Holy Spirit filled my heart with surprising joy, and my heart responded:
"But I'm not just any dust...I'm YOUR dust!"
And I left, full of joy at the knowledge that I belong to God.

My sublime moment was still with me as I exited the building, and found myself on the sidewalk, sporting my ashes with contentment, but suddenly noticing the competing symbols of our culture. The street was still covered with confetti from the Giants' parade the previous day. In fact, some of the confetti (including whole sheets of paper) was still blowing through the air, which then reminded me of 9/11. And as I looked at the street, where vehicle traffic was restricted, to protect the stock exchange, I realized that I was seeing the celebration of idols of money and celebrity--A true New York moment.

I went back to my desk and immediately encountered a Hindu co-worker, who was clearly distressed to see the big black mark on my forehead, but too polite to say anything. I decided to help her out.
Are you looking at my ashes?
Yes, Ann. [a little tentative]
This is a religious observance. Would you like to know what it symbolizes?
Yes, Ann. [curious]
Today is called Ash Wednesday [blah blah blah]... and then comes Easter, the most joyful day of the Christian year.
Easter? not Christmas! [incredulous]
Easter is the most joyful day, because it is the day that Jesus rose from the dead. It is because he lives, that he can save us, and forgive us our sins.
I did not know that, Ann.