Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Memoirs - My Dad's Story

My World Lit classes (grades 11-12) wrote memoirs this month - one reflecting on an adult's influence in their lives, and another based on an interview with that adult. It's my second time assigning this project, and both times I've been fascinated by the stories that have emerged from it.

When I assigned it a few years ago, I did the project alongside my students to give them an example. Revisiting it this month, it brought back some sweet memories, and so I've decided to post it here. Hopefully I can get students' permission to post a few excerpts from theirs as well soon.

Here's my dad's story, based on interviewing him about a topic related to my own story. I wrote in his voice, so "I" actually means my dad.


Feel Free to Invite Us Over

She thought I’d get over it. 

My mom wasn’t crazy about me spending a college summer break in Ecuador.  Wouldn’t it make more sense to pursue an engineering internship like my friends?  With only a year till graduation, it was time to build connections with high-paying companies. 

But my heart lay elsewhere.  My faith had been growing the past few years, and I wanted to act on it by telling others about Christ.  I was also hungry for adventure: I’d never left the country before, and I wanted to see something different. 

You’d think my mom would understand my passion – after all, she’d majored in romance languages and dreamed of working for the UN as a translator.  Still, Ecuador made her nervous.  She hoped this would be enough of a taste to satisfy my curiosity in time to start a “real job” and make decent money.

                On my team of five US college students, I was the only one with no Spanish skills – just a few years’ worth of high school German.  Let me tell you, I spoke a lot of German to those Ecuadorians!  Every night, in a little church in the big city of Guayaquil, I taught the most advanced groups of English students.   Students knew that along with grammar and vocabulary, they were signing up to discuss the gospel message.  In one of my courses, we even used the Bible as our textbook: full of verb tense examples and new vocabulary, but also deep philosophical questions.

                A week into our trip, the director came and made an announcement that Americans would find offensive.  “We want to get to know you,” she told students, “so feel free to invite us over to your homes.”  And they did!  There was a rule that we couldn’t go alone, so I visited many students’ homes with other teammates.  We’d spend hours with them, in English or Spanish depending on their ability, and at some point we’d usually present the gospel. 

Our hosts ranged from working-class to quite wealthy.  Their hospitality varied accordingly, but usually included a sweet snack and Coke.  Boy, did those Ecuadorians love their soft drinks!  Those were safer, though, than the drinks people made us with fresh fruit and local tap water.  So tasty...and yet resulting in so much discomfort.

One time, instead of the usual store-bought cake or cookies, a woman served us something unfamiliar. 

“What’s this?” 

“How you say in Eeen-glees?   Cow een-test-teen.” 

I shouldn’t have asked!  Whatever it was, we always accepted it gratefully and hoped for the best.  Their hospitality was so sincere and sometimes overwhelmingly gracious.   

                I made it work without really knowing much Spanish, and yet it was sometimes pretty frustrating.  At those students’ homes where they couldn’t speak much English, I was basically helpless.  Reading was easier: I could figure out most signs by the time I left.  Sometimes we’d visit churches with big youth groups, and the teens would come and try to talk with us.  I’d ask a teammate to translate for me and a local, but the local would end up just chatting with the teammate, while I was left out.  I enjoyed practicing the language, and I picked up a lot that summer, though not enough to follow their more rapid conversations. 

                On weekends, exotic destinations beckoned, like a river trip to view local wildlife, or a village deep in the Andes Mountains where villagers hand-crafted rocking chairs from leather and carved wood.  I took one back to the US and kept it for the next twenty years! In those mountains, a missionary kid named Philip took us hiking.  He tried to scare us with his wild driving through the Andes, careening around corners and nearly flying off the road.  It didn’t work – we weren’t fazed – but looking back, it’s probably because we were just as dumb as he was.  Those mountain roads were awful, and a few times, he lost control and lurched to a stop in the nick of time. 

                There was plenty to see right in Guayaquil, too.  Iguanas would come up out of the river into our backyard.  I can still hear the egg man coming down the street with his sing-song call: “Huevos!  Hueeee-vos!” Other days, it would be the rattle of the trash collector pushing a barrel on wheels.  He’d separate our heaps into bags: salvageable, food, just plain trash. 

Going across town was an adventure in itself.  Those buses looked pregnant: they’d take an old bus where the middle had rotted out, then build a replacement middle, twice as big, out of wood or metal.  I’d be crammed into the belly of the bus with dozens of others, nervously watching for pickpockets slicing open my pocket so my wallet would fall out.  Good thing my mom couldn’t see me on the bus. I would have been on the next flight home!

                One time, we visited Calle 25, a poor district where homes were on stilts over a swamp.  I was going door-to-door to announce an evangelistic film that night.  I noticed a woman carrying a baby on her back, like a papoose, and struggling to carry a large barrel.  In my broken Spanish, I asked if I could help, and she nodded.  I ended up carrying it a few blocks to where she was going, then used every ounce of my language skills to tell her about the movie.  “Tonight – come to movie – hear about Jesus – please.”  That night, she came and found me there.  Beaming, she touched me on the shoulder and said, “Thank you for what you did.  You helped me and I wanted to come see your movie.”  I was really touched. 

                 I got what I wished for that summer: adventure, a new language, telling people about Jesus.  I’m not sure if my mom got her wish.  On the one hand, I went back and graduated in engineering and got a good job.  On the other hand, I stayed interested in missions and overseas travel long afterward.  Whether it was smuggling Bibles into Communist Hungary a few years later, or attending engineering conferences in Japan and China decades afterward, my desire to dive into new cultures just kept growing.  Though I never went overseas long-term, my summer in Ecuador gave me an addictive glimpse of our amazing world.  

Memoirs - My Story

My World Lit classes (grades 11-12) wrote memoirs this month - one reflecting on an adult's influence in their lives, and another based on an interview with that adult. It's my second time assigning this project, and both times I've been fascinated by the stories that have emerged from it.

When I assigned it a few years ago, I did the project alongside my students to give them an example. Revisiting it this month, it brought back some sweet memories, and so I've decided to post it here. Hopefully I can get students' permission to post a few excerpts from theirs as well soon.

Here's my story about my dad's influence on me:


Cake and Community


“Do some things that surprise you.”  My dad’s words echoed in my brain as I turned from my parents and walked through security to board the plane to Germany.  I was twenty-one years old and on my way to Europe, alone, for the summer.  After 9 years of German courses, I was pretty sure I had the language skills I needed to make it on my own there.  I was less convinced about other skills – hadn’t a major housing problem come up just days earlier? 
My dad gave me the courage to brave this solo trip.  He’s always loved meeting internationals and learning their stories, fearlessly diving into new cultures, experiencing something surprising and different.  I was mortified the time he went up to strangers at IHOP: “Are you Russian?  I could tell by your lime-green shoes.”  (They were indeed – not Russian, but Ukrainian.)  We even lived in Germany for his job when I was a baby, and my parents’ passion for German became mine too as I grew older. 
Though I’m naturally shy and careful, my dad has always pushed me to take risks.  When I was young, he made me call my friends to invite them over myself, even though I was quite self-conscious on the phone.  He once took me and my little sister to an amusement park, where I found one or two safer roller coasters I liked.  He took her on the one that went upside-down and backwards, talking it up until I felt left out and decided to join them.  I loved it! 
In college, he insisted I work as a waitress to gain confidence in handling stress and talking with strangers.  He’s the one who encouraged me to design my own trip in place of the expensive and easy Penn State summer programs, using his and my mom’s European connections so I could immerse myself in German language and culture.  “Don’t stress about planning every detail,” he told me.  “You’ll figure it out.”  Now, here I was over the Atlantic Ocean, hoping he was right. 
                I started with three weeks in idyllic Innsbruck, Austria, where my mom had once spent four years.  It was my second visit there, and I felt instantly at home in the close-knit community of my mom’s old friends and their children, attending church with them and volunteering at a local school.  I longed to stay and pretend I was one of them, and yet I felt called to the unknown that awaited me in Germany. 
Flat, drab, lifeless.  Even the thunderstorms were subdued.  Those were my first impressions in Neufahrn, the tiny suburb of Munich where I was staying and working for the next two months.  I could walk in any direction and hit cornfields within five minutes. 
I was working for my dad’s engineering company, staying in a guesthouse for employees visiting from other branches, and later taking a German course.  But the guest house was 1 hour and a $20 subway ride from downtown, ruining my plan to find exciting cultural activities and Christian community.  I was the only girl and the youngest one at the guest house.  The men there were stressed from long working days and too tired to socialize, so everyone retreated into their rooms immediately upon returning home from work.  At work, assignments were monotonous and sparse. 
Forget community.  Wherever I went – work, home, around town – I felt utterly alone.  How would I learn German if I didn’t even know anyone to talk to?
“Do some things that surprise you.”  I was going crazy in the silence, and I couldn’t give up on my dreams for an amazing summer.  If there was a way to create community in this stiflingly isolated village, I was going to find it. 
The answer began in baking, a favorite passion of mine.  I hunted down the ingredients for yellow cake at the grocery store.  When I couldn’t find a cake pan, I used the frying pan instead, praying the handle wouldn’t melt in the oven.  I hesitantly knocked at my housemates’ rooms: “Would you like some cake?  It’s American, so it might be sweeter than you’re used to.”  One of them, who most intimidated me, nearly fell over in shock.  That one piece of cake broke through his reserve.  He became much warmer toward me, showing me photos of his daughters and initiating more cooking experiments. 
There was a frail white-haired woman across the street on her porch most evenings, who smiled and said hello as I walked or jogged by.  I’d almost given up on meeting her for real, when she noticed my accent one day and asked where I was from.  I found myself sitting in her living room with thick, deep red carpet and flowery chairs, listening to her stories about farm life before World War II and her confidence in God’s goodness even as cancer was consuming her body. 
I’d heard about a Christian student group in Munich, and I made the trek downtown to their meeting, knowing no one in the room but starting conversations anyway.  I remember them commenting, “Wow, you seem so outgoing.”  If only they’d known me ten years earlier, too shy to call and invite my best friend over.  I guess my dad’s effervescent personality had rubbed off on me more than I thought – at least to make me good at faking it!  I found myself agreeing to go on a boating trip with them the next Saturday, though I was terrified of looking like an idiot.  Later I joined them at the movies, a carnival, and a Euro Cup party.
When I got stuck in a useless German class, I wanted to let it go and hope the course improved. But, with my dad’s voice in my ears, I boldly spoke to the teacher about it.  I gained permission to move up a level, where I found both mental stimulation and intriguing, friendly classmates. 
                I didn’t expect to carry the weight of initiating 100% of my friendships in Germany.  It was hard, as the newcomer and the non-native speaker, to make the first move and welcome people into a community of my own making.  But in a sense, my dad had spent years training me for that summer.  Each time he embarrassed me with another international, he was showing me, “Sometimes it’s better to look foolish than to stay isolated.”  Sometimes it pays to break the status quo, to take risks, because they bring a richness to life.  I surprised myself that summer, but looking back, I think it was a natural result of becoming my father’s daughter.

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Cambodian life hacks I might not need next year

Over the past six years in Cambodia, I've acquired certain skills and knowledge that have served me well here. I may never be a "real" Cambodian, but I'm a lot more Cambodian than I used to be! I've found ways around all sorts of dilemmas - sometimes adapting common Cambodian practices, sometimes problem-solving with friends or on my own.

Now, as I contemplate returning to the US this summer for grad school, I'm realizing that some of these brilliant solutions, even the most deeply engrained, might seem a bit less brilliant there. And I don't just mean the driving techniques.

1. The rug wipe.
Why it works here: 
Every local market carries stacks of 50-cent rugs made of cotton scraps. My house has about 20 of them, mostly to cut down on tracking dirt around. They're far from beautiful, but they slide nicely to the nearest spill, dry quickly, and wash well. 
Why it might not transfer: 
I got dirty looks from my mom and my best friend last summer when I suggested using a rug instead of a paper towel. That's a piece of home decor, silly, not a floor rag. (Though "rug" and "rag" are awfully similar words, aren't they? Just sayin'.)

2. The curtain rod ribbon.
Why it works here: 
My curtain rod was screwed into a flimsy plywood frame that has nearly disintegrated, leaving the rod flopping down in January. Unlike the side, where the screw was, the frame's top is still relatively intact, but there's a gap between it and the wall. Instead of borrowing a drill and trying to screw it into the concrete wall, it was easier to tie a ribbon around the rod and frame.
Why it might not transfer: 
As I recall, curtain rods are usually screwed into the drywall in US homes. Hopefully my walls won't be losing chunks, nor would a ribbon do much to help!

3. The purse storage.
When driving my moto, I keep my purse in my backpack or in a plastic bag on the hook by my feet.
Why it works here: 
The best way to guard against would-be purse-snatchers is to keep valuables secure and/or out of sight. They're not tempted to grab my sturdy backpack like they're tempted to yank my purse until the strap rips or I fall off my moto. A plastic bag looks much less valuable and hangs more securely on the hook, preventing thieves from swooping by atop a friend's moto and snatching it away.
Why it might not transfer: 
It seems a little tacky to carry your purse in a plastic bag. Also, it's hard to snatch a purse through a car window.


4. The door wire.
To secure the front door, we use a very classy green-and-yellow wire. 
Why it works here:
Our front door doesn't latch, so our options are to padlock it (if all of us are either in or out) or to leave it ajar. We're on a safe street with a gated courtyard, but if our vicious watchdogs are stretching their legs outside their cage, odds are the ajar door will lead to unwelcome puddles or piles of trash on our floor. The best solution is to tie a wire through the padlock holes so that people can open it from either side.
Why it might not transfer: 
Padlocks aren't very common in the US. Doors that latch - or landlords that fix doors that don't latch - ARE rather common.

5. The 100's ditch.
Always seize opportunities to eliminate hundred bills from your wallet.
Why it works here:
Cambodia is a very cash-based society that uses 2 currencies interchangeably: US dollars and Cambodian riel. $100 USD is a common denomination at ATM's, but not many stores and vendors can change such a large bill. 100 riel is worth 2.5 cents, and much like pennies, they quickly accumulate without adding much value. So I look for chances to use my $100 bills for rent, or to break them at the grocery store or the money-changing stall at the market. 100 riel bills? I pay exact when I can.
Why it might not transfer: 
America has these newfangled things called checkbooks. Oh, what's that, you use cards now? Hmm. I predict my wallet will be sleeker next year. (Plus I'll be broke from grad school.)

6. The water bottle finder.
Why it works here: 
Feel dehydrated while running errands? Just look for a big orange cooler on the sidewalk outside a shop. There should be one within a 1-minute drive, whether you're downtown or in a village. You can choose between the 12-cent bottle, the 25-cent "name brand" bottle, and the 60-cent 1-liter bottle.
Why it might not transfer: 
The US tends to cool things using electricity, not ice coolers, and bottled water is pricier. Also, you can find water fountains more places, and tap water is drinkable everywhere, so you can refill the water bottle you brought from home. As my friend Megan puts it, "Americans flush their TOILETS with drinking water, for crying out loud!" I know some Americans still buy bottled water on a regular basis, but I don't really understand it.

The view from my balcony - I could probably count 100+ today

7. The mango freeze.
Why it works here:
At the peak of mango season, you might be given 20 mangoes in a week, if you don't have your own mango tree (just one can bear hundreds of beautiful mangoes). But even if your taste buds wanted to take on the challenge, your stomach might not be up for it. Nothing is sadder than a perfectly ripened mango turning to mush because you were on the BRAT diet for a few days. (OK, a lot of things are sadder. I think of this as a classic "First World Person in the Third World" problem.) So you cut them up and freeze them. Presto! A tasty, healthy, Hot Season Survival treat.
Why it might not transfer: 
Remember the last time you had an over-abundance of perfectly ripened mangoes? That you'd paid less than 50 cents a pound for? Yeah, that's what I was afraid of. And THAT'S the reason I'm trying to eat enough mangoes this spring to last me the next two years.

8. The ant-proof bowls.
To prevent ants from descending upon anything remotely edible, simply place the feet of your tables and portable cabinets inside bowls filled with water or baking soda.
Why it works here: 
There are a LOT of ants. They are super-speedy and always hungry. The ant bowls can't deter all of them, but they're certainly the first line of defense.
Variation: have a yummy treat that won't be eaten for a few hours? Fill a tray with water, then put a bowl on the tray, and set the treat on top. They can't get to it!
Why it might not transfer: 
The US doesn't usually use portable cabinets, let alone the kind of "ant cabinets" whose doors are also meant to block out tiny intruders. Yet when did you last find critters in your crackers? My Logos friend Emily was incredulous to attend a AP grading conference in a US hotel that left dozens of bowls of unwrapped candy out overnight. Every morning, the candy was untouched. Mind blown.


9. The cereal freeze.
Have ants infested your cereal? Just toss it in the freezer and pick out their carcasses in about 30 minutes.
Why it works here:
You can use the ant bowls, the ant cabinet, the Tupperware container, AND the Ziplock bag, all together. But one day, those ants will find their way in. (I understand the Biblical proverb about 'Go to the ant, you sluggard' so much better since moving here!) Sometimes it's not worth the trouble and you just throw out the nearly-empty bag of sugar. But when you splurged and bought your favorite cereal, or when your family sent you real chocolate chips, or when you don't have time to bake another batch of those muffins, you do whatever it takes to salvage what's left. Or you just freeze it from the get-go, to remove all risks. Freezers hold a lot of funny things here.
Why it might not transfer: 
See #8.

Yes, the women's dressing room is down Aisle 5 and on your right...
10. The portable dressing room.
Why it works here: 
Trying on clothes at the market can be an awkward procedure. They might let you step inside their stall, and it's even possible they can hold up a meter of fabric to guard you from the eyes of passersby. But there's no guarantee. If you're wearing shorts/leggings and a tank top under your outfit, you'll be ready to switch outfits without scandalizing anyone.
Forgot to wear your "dressing room"? See if your vendor can lend you a sarong for a moment.
Why it might not transfer: 
Next time you're standing in line at the Kohl's dressing room and think, "Forget this! I'm wearing spandex and a camisole! I'll just change right here!", let me know how many new friends you make.

11. The mask.
Why it works here:
Thick clouds of fumes. Grains of sand kicked up by passing cars. Wood finish being sprayed over doors and chairs from a side-of-the-road workshop in the direction of traffic. Dust cyclones on dirt roads in dry season. There are many things that one can inhale while en route, and yet the only one you really WANT in your lungs is oxygen. So sometimes you do what you gotta do. 
*Too lazy? Forgot your mask? Or it's still not cutting it? The simplest answer: Just stop breathing! Warning: Use sparingly, for short periods of time... like when that delivery truck in front of you is accelerating.*
Why it might not transfer: 
Two answers...
1. Emissions laws
2. Enclosed vehicles

12. The TV spatula.
Why it works here: 
Outlets tend to be about chest-high here, located with the light switches. (To keep them safe from flooding? Or to save on wires?) They're also loose enough to fit many types of plugs, since unlike nearly every other country, Cambodia doesn't have a standard plug shape. These two factors converge to make it easy for cords to slip out and come unplugged. So sometimes, they need a bit of encouragement.
Why it might not transfer: 
I don't know. Maybe I SHOULD have a spatula devoted to keeping my electronics safely plugged in, just in case.

This whole "moving" thing is going to be not only a learning curve, but also an "un-learning" curve. (If you see me using a life hack that I should've left in Cambodia, feel free to gently suggest an alternative.) But life hacks are fun to learn, and there are plenty of new ones that I might need to try next year.