A Moment Incredible

I love it when another teacher encourages you. They overhear students talking and pass on the message. The quote of today is, "I heard one student say, 'Life is never the same after Aunt Cindy enters it.'"

I confess I struggle with so much of teaching. To go into detail would only be whining, and some parents might pull their kid out of my class if they only knew what a tornado they sent their kids into each day. However, this job, in this place, with these kids is turning me into a lover of the trade. It's not always perfect, but I'm learning how to deal with various parts of the imperfections. I'm learning that my gift is helping people, if I would only use it responsibly. Now to work on time management so I can be the best English teacher God has created me to be.

We don't have carpet on the floor. We don't even have a white board! In fact, the chalkboard isn't even nice slate—it's a bumpy, chalk-eating, black one. Our class is really too big for the room, and 19 sweaty bodies at 1:30 in the afternoon when temps reach 120 outside make for a unique aromatic experience. Mr. Wyckoff habitually steals our podium so we constantly send a stealthy boy to Room 3 to snatch it back. The teacher's desk chair is broken; the arm rests keep falling off. Electricity is not dependable, and we can't run the A/C when the generator is on. We interrupted class last week to catch a wandering lizard and throw him back outside.

Niger is not an easy place. I deal with things here I never dreamed to discuss with my professors in college. But I get to read beautiful poetry cleverly disguised as glaring mistakes in research papers written by an ELL student. I sit back and smile while the boys in my class side with Mr. Darcy and attempt to convince the girls that Elizabeth Bennett is a jerk. Nineteen faces light up as they watch a half-crazed South Dakota farm girl introduce poetry with beautiful words from the acclaimed poet Paul Simon. I watch my students begin to trust each other as a poet leads us to discuss dreams, wishes and hurts.

All of us are a million miles from the homes our passports say we have, but here, in this room of fun and suffering, we find community.