Date trees, condoms and something to do with sustainability

I would like to begin with a story my parents used to tell me… 


Once upon a time, an old man was hard at work planting date trees when a youth approached him and asked how long it would take for the trees to bear fruit. “20 years” said the man. The youth, surprised, asked him why he was going through so much trouble when, because of his old age, he may never live to see the fruit. The old man smiled and explained that the generations before him had selflessly planted date trees for him to enjoy and so now it was his turn to pass on the favour to those who’d come after him. 

Throughout my ICS journey, this story has come to mind time and time again, and as my placement draws to a close I have found myself thinking about the volunteers who will come after us and the legacy we are leaving behind. 


At our pre-departure training in the UK, we were each given a post-it note and asked to identify the things that worried us about engaging in ICS. I remember a number of more obvious concerns, getting sick for example (which by the way - not fun!), but I also remember trying to untangle an impossible knot in my stomach. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity to make a difference in a developing country. But what if I didn’t? What if I came all this way and realized I wasn’t cut out for planting date trees? 


Sustainability is a big deal. It’s the difference between planting a date tree and handing someone a date…  Or, for example, teaching someone about sexual health or giving them a condom. I don't mean to imply that there is anything wrong with giving people condoms, because this is definitely something my team has done a lot of the past 10 weeks. Our teams focus was SRH&R, and I have to say, I never expected to spend my summer surrounded by so many fake penises, which I’m sure my incredibly religious mother would be happy to hear. But in every village we would visit people would ask us questions, we would answer them and they would thank us. Every peer education session started becoming a little less scary and every day in the field a little more rewarding. 


There are still times I contemplate the sustainability of our projects. What if we were to deliver our sessions on the importance of using condoms and getting HIV tested, but after we leave the condoms run out and there are no HTC services available?  We have worked hard, and achieved more than I ever could have imagined in a single summer. It would be incredible to think that all our efforts would have a lasting impact on the people we've reached out to. But over my ICS placement I have begun to understand development as a ‘process’ and from working with Tovwirane and Progressio, I have faith that with time, love and patience (that Malawians have taught me a lot of) the work we have done will serve as a strong foundation for future cycles to build on as they join in the fight against HIV/AIDS.  I am deeply honored to have become a part of this process, and to offer whatever parts of myself I could to the development of our project.


Volunteering has given me so much, including a very special friendship that has grown beyond my wildest expectations...


You see, Malawi and I are no longer mere acquaintances. We don't talk about the weather before awkwardly parting ways, muttering excuses about the 'things' we have to do with our days. Malawi and I have stayed up until 2 in the morning, complaining about the music and preaching blazing from the nearby church. Malawi and I have been flattened against the windows as our minibuses filled way beyond capacity and clung to each other for dear life as we've flown over potholes and ditches. Malawi and I don't nod politely to each other when we make eye contact across a crowded room. We are huggers, and only mildly apologetic to the people we push past in our enthusiasm. Malawi and I have spent ages braiding each others hair and talking about boys. We know each others secrets, and I know they're safe. Although my future is taking me elsewhere, I know Malawi will always be a part of me, and I hope that feeling is mutual. I hope Malawi understands the utmost clarity with which I can say she has changed me, and pushed me to become even more myself than I was before.  


So, that impossible knot in my stomach I mentioned earlier… is it gone?   The short answer is no. But then again, I’ve never been one for shortcuts. 


The long answer is that I have had an incomparable experience in the warm heart of Africa. I have made friends who have become my family and filled my heart with moments and discoveries I wouldn’t change for the world. But with my love for Malawi and my growing understanding of the issues it is facing, also comes an increasing sense of urgency. Our brothers and sisters here are facing struggles every day, such as the spread of HIV, and they require urgent attention.  The last 10 weeks have pushed, challenged and enlightened me on the importance of the work we've been doing, but with our flight home just around the corner I can't seem to shake the sense of unease, as I leave this beautiful country behind me.  But out of the very long list of things I have to be thankful for, I have to say, this unease is by far the most valuable thing I am taking back home with me. 


The truth is, at the end of the day, I never want to go to bed satisfied with how much I have given to the world, as there is always going to be more. There are always going to be more seedlings you can plant and people to connect to. Although my placement with ICS may be over, I stand here before you, as a volunteer on a mission that doesn’t end with a plane ticket home. The fight is far from over, and I have Tovwirane, Progressio, my ICS family and all the people who helped get me here to thank for what they have turned me into; an agent of change and a humble gardener, planting seedlings in a community that has given me so much.

Malawi: Getting Sick on Placement

"Inga-rid?"
"Yes sweetie?"
"In the morning you should go to the hospital."


I groan and roll over as my little (host) sister looks at me with concern. I don't really blame her.. I'm lying on her kitchen floor. My roommate Chrissy and I had been cooking dinner for our host family, but things weren't completely going to plan. The pasta seemed to have melted into some kind of paste, our mushroom sauce was proof that oil and milk aren't supposed to be mixed together and now I was on the floor clutching my belly. Awesome.


Thinking back to our pre-departure training, I can't help but curse the accuracy of our "you'll probably get sick" warning. Now, 2 months later, I'm curled in the foetal position as I half-heartedly cling to an empty bucket and the remnants of my dignity.


I'd been so careful!
All of my water had been bottled or boiled, and I'd been risk assessing my meals more thoroughly than a team leader on a mission.. And yet here I was! Oh well - these things happen.


I will spare you the messy, smelly, alot-less-solid-than-it-should-be details of my condition... And focus instead on my experience of getting sick whilst on placement in a developing country (Malawi).


As a self-diagnosed hypochondriac this had been one of my biggest fears. I don't like hospitals.. Or needles.. Or blood. Very luckily for me, the next 24 involved all these things, along with a considerable number of complaints and wounded puppy noises to keep my roommate entertained... (Sorry Chrissy).


There were a few key differences I picked up on between my hospital visit here and going to a GP in the UK.


Firstly, just because its a hospital, doesn't necessarily make it exempt from charging 'Azungu' (foreigner) rates, as my team leader later informed me she was charged 20kw more the other day when she'd been in with another volunteer.


Secondly, there didn't seem to be any kind of queuing system. Awkward, particularly for polite foreigners. Nevertheless, when thr doctors door opened, a lady stumbled out, and in I went.


It turns out I needed a blood test and a finger prick to check for malaria. As squeamish as I was, I have to admit, everything seemed very hygienic and well maintained. The nurse was patient with me and didn't seem to judge when I asked for a moment and started meditating on the hospital bed. She tied a glove around my upper arm as a substitute tourniquet, waited for my signal then went for it. She also pricked my finger for a Malaria test, which sounded like quite a routine test and took about 15 minutes (similar to the HIV testing the UK volunteers went for to see what its like.)


Anyway, I'm sure you'll all be very pleased to know I tested negative to having malaria, and the doctor prescribed me some antibiotics which seem to be doing their job.


I can't say it was a pleasant experience, getting sick in unfamiliar surroundings, but I feel very lucky to have had a team leader who helped me get medical attention, a roommate who will throw Panadol at me when I wake her up making whimpering noises at 2am and a little host sister who insists on doing my dishes for me when I'm lying on her kitchen floor.


Well... Maybe not as lucky as all the other, healthy volunteers, but at the end of the day what can you do.
Sh*t happens... And, evidentially, not always when you want it to. ;)

Malawi Life: Being an 'Azungu'!

"Azungu! Azungu!"


I instinctively look up to smile and wave at the children who gleefully greet me as I walk past.
I am getting used to being known as 'Azungu', meaning 'white person', and have almost started responding to it as though it were my name. It's a strange phenomenon - almost like being a celebrity!


For obvious reasons, my fellow volunteers and I stick out pretty obviously as foreigners in Malawi. Usually this means people greeting you with curiosity, and coming over to ask questions. This morning I was approached by a few university students as I waited for my bus. They were super friendly and asked many questions about who I was and what brought me to this particular little African neighbourhood.


However, just because you're a bit of celebrity doesn't necessarily mean getting special treatment. For example, you may need to do a bit more haggling when you go to the market. Although some sellers are quite honest, a number of them will raise their prices unapologetically when they notice your strange accent or the color of your skin.


I find the whole experience to be quite surreal. Never in the UK would you hear people excitedly shouting 'foreigner' at strangers and waving to them as they walk down the street.
After all, I am many things.


Back home I'm a Baha'i, sort of nerdy, artsy, goat loving, tree hugging, drama student, who always makes a point of ticking the 'other' box so she can write 'world citizen' on census forms. And here in Africa, I suppose, I still am.


But for the first time in my life, I'm also a minority.
And its written all over my face.


There are so many different ways we categorise each other. By the clothes we wear, the colour of our skin, the way we speak, how much money we have... And I'm realizing how easy it is sometimes to let these things distract us, as they are the first things we see. But at the end of the day we are all human, all unique and all doing our own thing on this planet we call home.


I've always believed this on some level, but to live in a country where my race is such a significant part of how I'm seen and the way I'm treated, my eyes are being opened to a new experience entirely.


I am here now, and as for how my identity has been influenced by life in Malawi, I feel that there are a few things I need to add to my list...


Foreigner, host daughter, team member, sister and friend.

Volunteering in Malawi: Our first day in the field

We are 'Team Tiwale'.
Or in English... 'Let's Shine'.


Yesterday, our team had our first opportunity to live up to this name by visiting a nearby community and shedding some light on important issues pertaining to sexual and reproductive health.


The site was a youth club in Ekwendeni, a small rural neighborhood about 20km away from where we're based in Mzuzu. The community liaisons on our team had negotiated two days this week for us to go in and deliver workshops on HIV/AIDS. Our plan was to split the group into two teams, one for each day, and I was going on day one.


I was excited.
This was big.


After all our study sessions and practice runs, we were finally going to put ourselves to the test and share what we'd learned with the world beyond the Tovwirane office.


It was exactly what we were here for.
So off we went.


In a routine that was becoming all too familiar, we piled ourselves into a minibus (to a capacity that would raise all kinds of eyebrows in the UK) and set off to the site. We arrived to a classroom filled with 46 people, whose ages ranged from about 10 to 25.


They introduced themselves in English and we returned the favor in Chitumbuka, before we all headed outside together to play some energizer games. We then divided into two groups, one for the younger kids, and one for the older youth (I went with the latter).


Overall, the sessions went well. There were many questions, some of which were based on interesting myths I'd never heard of before... (e.g. Can you still get pregnant if you have sex in a swimming pool? Can HIV be avoided with more foreplay? etc.) We answered their questions as clearly as possible, and were happy when they appeared satisfied with our answers (#mythbusters).


After returning to the office we had the opportunity to talk about our day, and highlight some positive moments as well as things we could do better next time.


The day was not without its challenges. Language in particular presented a significant barrier we hadn't anticipated. It was difficult, we found, to keep the delivery of the presentations balanced evenly between the UK volunteers and the Malawian volunteers who were doing the translation.


It's important I think, for future volunteers to understand that working in development is not always planting seedlings and taking selfies with little African children. Sometimes the seedlings don't arrive, the children don't show up, or you could spend a week nailing down the perfect presentation, only to stand before a room full of people where no one can understand a word.


But that's okay.


I know I can't speak Chitumbuka,
But I'm here.
And if I could leave Mzuzu at the end of these 10 weeks having made even the smallest of impacts, I know it all would have been worth it.


Frankly, I'm excited by the prospect of overcoming our first big hurdle. We have a strong team, who are passionate about what we do and uncompromising in our mission.


I know I haven't been here long... Less than three weeks in fact.
But I know already that Malawi has changed me.
Profoundly. For the better.
And I have my heart set on returning the favour.

Volunteering in Malawi: Living vs. Tourism

When travelling the world as a tourist, you see some amazing things.

There’s the wildlife and landscape, local foods and drinks, modes of transport, traditions, clothing… the list goes on and on. It’s an incredibly mind-blowing thing, to step into the unknown with a passport and a money belt, filled with confusing foreign currencies, and experience something completely new.

This is something I’d done before and loved. For me there are few things as exciting as returning home filled with interesting stories and memories of the people I’d met and things I’d seen. However, one week after arriving in Malawi, I have come to discover the unique nature of an ICS placement. Compared to tourism, volunteering is a whole other kettle of fish (which FYI, you can expect a lot of on a trip to the marketplace)! There are two distinguishing factors that stand out for me:

1.       The pursuit of service.
2.       Being part of the community.

There’s something special about coming to a country with the intention to serve it. You are no longer an observer, but an agent of change. You become part of the community, and increasingly aware of the role you are playing in assisting in its development.

​

Living with a host family is another significant aspect for me. Sitting around a dinner table with my Malawian family, talking about my day and clumsily eating nsima with my fingers is something I never thought would be possible. But being surrounded by such warmth and generosity, it’s impossible to not feel at home. As the days go by, showering with a bucket starts feeling more natural, and you realize eating with your hands is actually pretty fun. I for one am so grateful to be living with a family who help me heat my shower water over the fire, or cook me meals filled with love (not to mention generous portions of beans and maize).

These are but two of the many reasons why being a volunteer is a wonderful way to see the world.

I’m not a tourist. I’m a part of a community.

And tonight, I’m not staying in a hostel. I’m going home.

Malawi: Discovering Language and Culture

Stepping into Lilongwe, Malawi, for the first time was simultaneously one of the most exciting and nerve wracking experiences of my life. Our first few days here brought with them a tidal wave of learning, as we immersed ourselves in the culture and began studying the language ‘chitumbuka’.

There were a few moments during this initial process that really stood out to me. While studying chitumbuka, we learned that if someone were to ask you about your country of origin, you would typically respond with, ‘____ is our home’.

Not my home, ‘ours’. I asked our teacher why and she explained that it’s because your country doesn’t belong to just you, but to your brothers, sisters and entire family tree, of which you are a simple leaf.

For me this subtle difference in language cracked open a window of understanding into the way Malawians view the world. Humility is deeply ingrained in their culture, alongside a love for family and community.

But language isn’t the only way we communicate. Little things like how long you shake someone’s hand, and whether or not you make eye contact while doing so (avoiding eye contact while shaking hands in Malawi is a sign of respect), are significantly different between our cultures. During our session, it was explained to us that Malawian handshakes are longer, because they believe ‘we carry the love in our hands’. One can imagine this being confronting to foreigners, who are used to getting their hands back rather quickly. But as we learn and grow together, we find ourselves better able to appreciate their love as they hand it to us.

While speaking to our teacher, she described learning languages as ‘the tip of the communication iceberg’, and with every passing day I understand this a little more clearly. There is only so far our cluttered notebooks and fractured conversations can take us on our ICS journey. After all, in my eyes, pushing ourselves out of our comfort zones so we could better understand and serve our communities, is exactly what ICS is all about.

Let's talk about beauty...

By the time I graduated high school, I still didn't know how to swim.
I'd never learned, not properly, and there was a reason.

To this day I remember my first swimming lesson. My PE teacher's voice was yelling instructions at me as I awkwardly splashed my way through the water.
But only part of my attention was focused on staying afloat, because meanwhile on the sidelines some boys from my class were laughing together. You see, they'd always thought that 'whales were supposed to know how to swim'.

I didn't cry, or make a fuss.
But when I reached the end of that pool, I got out, and didn't get back in again.
Not for a long time.

A lot of us have stories just like this one.
And consequently, we know what it's like to look at the cover of a magazine and feel a pang of innocent determination... that one day, we want to look 'just like that'.

I remember being one of these girls.
I'd always press the 'fat burn' button on the treadmill,
believing that somehow this convenient little setting would live up to its name and get me the body I'd always wanted. (False advertising if you ask me!)
I'd spend years looking down at my annoyingly stubborn scales, which never had anything new to say.
I'd listen attentively to people I trusted, as they'd offer me 'constructive criticism' on how to be more beautiful.

You see, I know what it's like to be afraid of the water.
Of avoiding the deep end at all costs and wanting to hide in the locker room so that nobody would ever have to know how slow, overweight or uncoordinated you are.
But that's not how you learn to swim.
You learn to swim when your fears stop being as important as your desire to become better.

And it was here, at a very simple realization that I found my turning point.
I don't want or need to be skinny to be beautiful.
I needed to be strong.

And the moment I made this decision, that was what I became.
Because the beautiful thing about strength, is that it doesn't begin with a simple gym membership.
It begins with you.
In the world beneath your skin.

I don't like talking about 'imperfections'...
Because it implies that to be 'perfect' is the standard we are striving for.
And I don't believe that this is realistic, or even possible.

I think it's about time we start setting ourselves new standards.
To be whole.
To be happy.
To be strong.

Because beauty is a whole lot more than a pretty face and a winning smile.
Beauty is nonexclusive.. and a gift we all share, at the heart of who we are.
Some may say it is fleeting, but I disagree.
I believe it grows with us, as we move through life...
Along with our capacity to seek it out and find it in each other.
Because isn't that one of the most beautiful things of all?

I've recently committed myself to being a bigger part of this conversation, and the way I see it, there are two ways to do this:
1. When you see beauty in someone, tell them about it.
2. When someone sees beauty in you, believe them.

I'll be the first to admit that this isn't always easy.
Often, something as simple as acknowledging the beauty in ourselves, can take a hell of a lot of strength.
But I hope you can find it.
Because you deserve to understand how beautiful you are.

In many ways, it's easier to shape ourselves from the outside.
We can diet, apply make-up, do our hair... all sorts of things.
But it's a lot scarier, to stop relying on what our eyes are telling us, and to start believing in this ambiguous 'inner' type of beauty, that you can't see in the mirror.
Because you can't SEE it.
And as a result we are left with two options.
To trust in each other,
and to trust in ourselves.

May you always find the courage to climb back into that pool,
and just keep swimming. :)

Peace and love,

Inga. x

The Last Lesson

It was only a few weeks ago that I was walking through school and some girls from my drama class ran up to me.

"This afternoon is our last class with you, isn't it Miss?"

"Yes sweetie, it is."

"We have a surprise for you!"

"Oh God," I thought as they hurried away giggling.

"They're going to prank me again..."

This class in particular had earned themselves quite a track record in this respect.

But they didn't! Not this time.

They bought me a card. 

Adorable, right?

Let us take a brief moment to acknowledge this. A bunch of 13 year olds, who most of the time couldn't remember to bring a pencil with them to class, had actually gone out, found a card, written inside of it and brought it all the way to their last lesson with me.

And okay, this may not sound like the hugest of deals...

But it meant a lot to me. :)

So I had thought that was the surprise, and maybe even they thought it was, but by no means was it the most precious thing they gave to me that day.

I told them that because it was our last lesson, I wanted them to think back over our year together and choose some of their favourite drama games to play!
You know, for the last time.

They were quiet for a moment (which is always suspicious), before one girl put up her hand (also suspicious) and asked me,

"Miss, do you remember the first game we ever played?"

I didn't. So she reminded me.

The game was called Pukanah.

I remember playing it in our very first drama class thinking that all the rowdy Maori chanting, clapping and stamping would get us energised and be a fun way to break the ice!

Instead, what I ended up with was a roomful of nervous 13 year olds, clapping awkwardly and BEGGING me to choose another game.

So we didn't do it again.

I'd just figured it wasn't their thing.

But now they wanted to play!

So that's exactly what we did.

But this time was different!

They stamped,

They chanted,

And they sang!

They sang LOUD!

So much so, that as soon as we'd stopped I gathered them around to tell them all how incredibly proud of them I was. But one of them interrupted me. 

"Miss Johnson! Do you remember what happened the first time we played that game?

We were all so nervous and shy...

And we all just kinda stood around looking awkward!"

Everyone started giggling and nodding at the memory.

"But Miss! Did you see us just now!"

"We're totally confident!"

Then they were all talking...

And telling me things.

Things like much more confident they felt,

How happy they were,

And how much they loved me.

So I listened and I let them,

Because I loved them too.

But here's the thing...

They could tell me all about how much I had taught them,

But by no means were they the only students in the room.

The fact is that for the 7 months I'd been at that school, I didn't always know what I was doing.

And let's be honest, I still don't!

But there are a couple of things I've figured out.

Just one, simply, is that there is one thing you see a lot of when you're a teacher,

And that's beauty.

It doesn't always look the same,

And sometimes you don't understand it until much later.

But it's there, in front of you.

All the time.

Sometimes it looks like a hand in the air,

As the 'quiet one' in the room begins asking questions.

Sometimes it looks like a student copying the notes down twice,

So her friend with a sore finger won't fall behind.

Sometimes it looks like a 'thank-you',

A held door, a smile,

Or an emotional group selfie.

But it's there,

Everywhere.

You just have to look.

And so here's my resolution,

As late as it is!

That no matter how far I wander,

Or where I end up,

And regardless of how time and trials changes me,

I will always remember this lesson.

And I will never stop looking.

Celebrating Christmas

Growing up in a Bahai family means many things, one of them being that I'd inevitably be having a conversation like this with my parents once a year:

Me: Muman, why can't we celebrate Christmas with everyone else?

Mum: Because Ingrid, we're not Christians. We're Baha'is.

Me: But Baha'is believe in Jesus too, right?

Mum: Well yes, but we also believe in Moses, Mohammad, Buddha, Krishna, Zoroaster... And Baha'u'llah! Imagine if we celebrated every single religious festival in the world! We'd be celebrating all the time.

Sorry Mum, but that was probably the wrong argument to give to a 6 year old Ingrid... Because frankly, that sounded AWESOME!

Imagine how much fun it would be to be CELEBRATING all the time..

And not even just out OWN beliefs and traditions, but those that other people believe in as well.

We'd all get to learn together! And dance together! And sing together!

What could possibly be wrong with that?

Now I have an interesting relationship with Christmas.

I don't for one second buy into the whole 'materialism' aspect of it.

Even as a child, it was never the presents I was after...

I've also always been very aware that a great deal of the hype and imagery has very little connection with Christian beliefs.

But I do remember having this deep-seated desire to be a part of something.

And as much as I understand Christmas has evolved into a culture of commercialism, I still believe there are certain aspects to the holiday that are very valuable.

For example, I love the idea of people sitting around with their families to enjoy a nice homemade dinner.

And for the first time this year, I had a Christmas tree!

Which means I finally got to live out my fantasy of sitting down with a friend before Christmas to watch some films, paint baubles and thread popcorn for the tree!

And although Christmas trees may have very little to do with the actual origins of Christmas, as far as random traditions go, I gotta say I'm a fan. :)

Because it's FUN!

We don't do enough things just because they're FUN anymore.

I guess what I'm trying to say, is that I think celebrating things is important.

And no matter what you believe, there seems to be something so incredibly beautiful about people coming together and sharing something that makes them happy.

A Good Lesson

Sorry for the novel guys, but had a very touching lesson yesterday, which I felt like sharing.

I'd been noticing recently in some of my classes, that the language my students used with each other wasn't always nice. This was worrying for me, because I know that habits formed at this age are harder to break later in life and will influence their character in quite a significant way.

So I planned a lesson that made me quite nervous, because there were so many ways it could go wrong. Regardless, when they came in, I told them to sit down in front of an envelope and listen.

I told them the story of my vocal disability, and the time I had spent as a mute.
I told them all about how I had spent months listening to people yelling at each other from car windows or throwing hurtful words back and forth between them, and the devastation I felt for the ways these people were choosing to use their words.
They were wasting them. Completely.
Then I told them about the promise I had made to myself back then, that if I should ever get my voice back, I would never waste another word.
Not a single one.
Because words are power.
They have the power to raise us up, to inspire, to heal, to encourage and to do incredible things to the hearts and minds of those around us... And that's beautiful.
So why would we ever choose to hurt someone with them?

Anyway, I finished my little speech, and explained the next activity. We were going to pass our envelopes around the circle and every time a new persons envelope landed in front of us, we would take a moment to reflect on the things we loved about that person and write them a note saying something kind. Then we would put it in their envelope and pass it on.

It made me so happy, looking around at this room of 13 year olds, as they scribbled furiously with their heads down and smiles on their faces, determined to brighten each other's days in the biggest way possible.

But it doesn't end there. We were nearing the end of the lesson when one of the girls stopped what she was doing and looked over at me with a confused expression on her face.
"Miss, where is your envelope?"
I was so thrown off by that question. I smiled at her and told her that it was okay and I didn't really need one - but what happened next nearly made me cry.

With no hesitation, she jumped up from her desk, strode over to my table and grabbed one of the spare envelopes sitting there. After writing my name on it she stood in front of the class, held the envelope above her head and boldly announced to the room that everyone needed to stop what they were doing for a minute and write Miss Johnson a note (since she had tried to be silly and not include herself in the activity).

Then I watched as one by one my sweet, beautiful kids bounced over to my envelope to slip their notes inside.
I actually love these guys.
So... so much.

Later, when the class was over and each student had gone home with their envelopes filled with kind words, I sat down to read what they'd written to me, and I'm not going to lie, there were tears.

Not one of them had said anything half-hearted or superficial.
They had understood the lesson.

Now, as a lot of you may know, a few months ago I had spoken to my head teacher about leaving my post in that school.
It was a long and expensive commute, I wasn't teaching enough classes to be working towards my full teacher registration and I had been facing a whole bunch of challenges working in that school.
Also, as even fewer of you may know, earlier this week an advertisement went out in the public domain searching for my replacement.

It wasn't until this moment though, that I realized how much working with these kids truly meant to me. We had grown so much together.
We were learning from each other, and suddenly I couldn't imagine ever leaving them behind.

So I said some prayers, ditched my pride and rushed over to the head teachers office to beg for my job back.
I showed her the notes.
I told her everything.
The job is rough, and draining and easily the most difficult thing I've ever done.
But I knew I was the best person to do it.

Unfortunately, it was too late, and I know that now I'm going to have to live with the decision I made.
But wherever I end up, these kids taught me something incredible.
I don't even know how to articulate what it is.
But I know one thing now.
Every moment I spend with them is precious, and fleeting.

And for as long as I'm allowed to stay there, I'm not going to waste a single one of them.
Not one. x

This is not about politics... I promise. ;)

So here we go!

In the lead up to the Scottish Referendum happening on the 18th of September, walking through the streets of Glasgow is an exciting experience filled with flag waving, song singing and large quantities of little blue buttons!

But as exciting as it is, and easy as it may be to get caught up in the political hype,
I think we need to remember a few things.

Note: This blog entry is not about the vote.
I have no intentions of swaying any of my friends one way or another on this particular issue, nor am I yet entirely sure how I shall be voting myself, but there is one thing I believe very strongly when it comes to the Scottish Referendum:

We're all in this together.

Something is going to happen.
The outcome of the impending vote will be one of two things,
It will be yes,
or it will be no.

Considering how divided the nation appears to be on this issue, no matter which way the voting goes, there are going to be an awful lot of people who don't get what they want and at the same time, alot of people who do.

But here's the thing,
We're all in this together.

No matter which way things go, the outcome of this vote is going to reflect a choice that we have made. Regardless of what that is, every single person voting in the referendum will have ticked a box which THEY believed would benefit their country.

And here is where we all stop wanting something different,
and we all start wanting the same.

We want to be happy.

We want Scotland to be happy,
and prosperous,
and safe.
So when the dust settles, this is what I hope lingers in the air.

Not anger,
or hate,
or disappointment,

But the knowledge that a truly great country cannot be defined by the box it ticks on a piece of paper, but by the efforts of its people to come back together and create the society they want.
A society whose happiness is not dependent on politics.
Because it isn't.
It depends on us.

Like I said, this blog isn't about the vote.
It's about us,
because when it comes to the future of this country,
we are so very, very important.

x.

10 things I know to be true

I was re-watching a TED talk by Sarah Kay recently and started feeling quite inspired by it. She speaks about her experiences of inspiring creativity in young people and how she would help them realize that they had their own interesting stories to tell.

In response to this I did the activity with one of my classes, and they came up with some really interesting ideas, which I actually feel helped us understand each other a little better.

It's almost like, you can't really tell what is important to someone until they tell you, and so rarely do they get the opportunity to really dig into their thoughts and feelings to share these things, particularly in school.

So I thought I might make a list of my own.
And here it is. :)
10 things I know to be true...

1. If I hadn't made the (terrifying) decision to take Drama in school, even though none of my friends were taking it, I would be a less happy human. I remember being petrified of walking into each lesson back then, but still I knew it was where I wanted to be. The extent that I have grown through my passion for the arts may never have had the chance to blossom if I hadn't taken that step.

2. Nothing is closer to my heart than my faith as a Baha'i. It has shaped me into the person I am.

3. Teaching has made me appreciate things like sleeping and 'alone time' more than I EVER have before.

4. The world is incredible, all of it, and I want to explore it so badly.

5. Everyone has their own story to tell, and I wish I could hear all of them!

6. I actually love Doctor Who. Yes, I do.

7. I love water fights.. and pillow forts... and fancy dress... and in general I'm pretty much a ridiculous excuse for a grown-up.

8. I bought some wax from a Czech chemist the other day, which could just as easily be bleach or cream (since I can't actually understand Czech). But if I'm completely honest... I'm a wee bit looking forward to being surprised. :p

9. A couple of balloons popped in my face today, and I could just feel my dorm-decorating-enthusiasm running for cover behind the couches.

10. As wonderful as the Indian food from Ceske Budejovice is, tonight I ate too much of it. :p

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my list of truths. :)
So I did that with my class today, which sparked some interesting conversations and insights into their thoughts (as you can imagine).

Then you get moments like this one, which occurred after I asked them to make a list titled '10 Things I Should Have Learned By Now'.

Student: Can I share my list Miss?
Me: Sure! Go for it.
Student: Okay. I wish I knew how to survive in the wilderness, write computer codes, kill someone, cook good food...
Me: What? Stop! Go back?
Student: Kill someone. You know, just in case.

And on that note! :p

Sometimes...

Sometimes I worry that I'll die unexpectedly, and no one will ever have understood the confusing jumble of thoughts inside my head.

Occasionally, I picture the inside of my mind as a teenagers bedroom.
Clothes strewn across the floor...
Piles of open books piled high upon the desk...
and no one ever cleans it.
I find lots of things there...
but so rarely what I'm looking for.
That one thought that escapes me.
Always.
And sometimes, I worry that I'll never find it.
The room will never be cleaned..
and eventually I'll forget.
And that will be it.
That scares me a little.

No one will ever have wandered in the jungle that is my imagination.
That scares me a lot.

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever find my place.
If I will ever wake up one morning with no doubts lying next to me,
that I am where I'm meant to be.
So no matter where I go or what I do.
that place will follow me.
Inside me.
Always.

Sometimes I wonder.
But sometimes I don't.
Because I know I'm still searching,
And with every step forward I know where I am.

I'm getting closer.

Sometimes I think those are the greatest 'sometimes' of all.