Where Black and White Meets Color

Sometimes grammar can just be too much.  

That’s why this week, we did something a little different for my beginner ESL class at the Indo American Center. After learning the names of various fruits—banana, cherry, pineapple, kiwi— the students and I did a fruits basket coloring page.

Adult coloring boks are kind of a fad right now, one that I so far haven’t really gotten into. But the students really seem to enjoy it, and as I sat coloring with them, I started to see why. 

In a world where problems can seem so nebulous and events so random, the structure of coloring in the lines is refreshing. The only decision you have to make is, should I do this peach first or the pear? Should my grapes be red or green? There is something very satisfying about taking a half hour out of the week and letting your world shrink to the size of a piece of paper, your only task to take something drab and colorless and make it beautiful.

This is especially important for the class I teach because most of the students are refugees.  Not only are they trying to navigate the mammoth task of living in a foreign country where they don’t speak the language or have a strong support system, but many of them are also recovering from the whatever traumatic events forced them to leave home. One student described being tortured in a Burmese prison, pulling down the collar of his shirt to reveal long scars puckering the skin of his chest. He used his hands and face to supplement the few English words he could summon up—no money, pain, hungry— describing men shooting guns, people dying in front of him. For him, coloring provided an opportunity to temporarily escape from problems bigger than I can even conceptualize. 

Of all the students though, Linda enjoyed coloring the most. Linda is from Iraq, a member of one of the Christian minority groups that have been systematically persecuted in that country. Once the avid note-taker and vocal participant, the last two weeks she could hardly make it through a class period without crying. Today, though, she stayed in her seat long after all the other students had gone, determined to finish every last apple leaf and cherry stem. I sat with her and we colored together in silence for nearly twenty minutes. This was the first time I had seen her smile in two weeks.  

That was a really significant moment for me. There’s really so little I can do for Linda.. I can’t even ask her what’s wrong in words that she can understand. But at least I could give her a little bit of space and time away from whatever terrible things make a grown woman come to her English class crying every day. 

I used to have this idea that I needed to do something big and grand to change the world. However, my experience this year is teaching me more and more every day that making the world a better place  really happens in ways so small and mundane they can seem like nothing. 

In other news, this weekend I attended the St. Patrick's Day parade (featuring troupes of bagpipers, Irish dancers, and various marching bands) and witnessed the Chicago River dyed bright green. It seemed like the entire city went nuts for St. Patrick's Day, Irish and non-Irish alike. 

Personal Growth Opportunities

So far in this blog I’ve written a lot about positive things and not a lot about the things that have challenged me and helped me grow. With the kids especially, there are times when situations arise where it’s hard to know how to respond. There’s one in particular that sticks out in my mind that I wish I had handled differently.

All the kids were sitting together at a table coloring. It was Kelile’s 6^th birthday. She always likes to be in the spotlight, but on this afternoon she was positively glowing, reminding us over and over “It’s my birthday!” and demanding special privileges (“I get to sit in the middle because it’s my birthday, right? I don’t have to help clean up because it’s my birthday, right?”). When her best friend Aditi walked in, Kelile burst out, “Aditi you have to come to my birthday party!” To which one of the other girls replied, “Aditi’s grandmother won’t let her come to your birthday party. We are Indians, and Indians never go to black people’s birthday parties.” [Kelile is black, Aditi is Indian].

Of course I should have said something. I remember my mouth involuntarily dropping open. I was so shocked. I already knew this sentiment (lighter is better, darker is worse) existed within the Indian community, hearkening back to the British colonial period and maybe even earlier to the Aryan empire and the advent of the caste system. But I have never heard anything so blatantly prejudiced, especially not from the mouth of a little child.

I knew right away that this was coming from her parents. I didn’t want to embarrass the girl in front of all the other kids by calling her and her family racist. I didn’t want to punish her if she didn’t even know what she was saying. And I never want to put the kids in a position where they have to decide who to believe, me or their parents. So I didn’t say anything. All I did was stand there gaping like a fish before clumsily trying to change the subject.

Kelile didn’t say anything either. She just looked a little bewildered. Normally Kelile has no problem asking a million questions when she doesn’t understand something, but this time she just went back to her coloring without saying a word.

I was reminded of the incident again this week while tutoring at another after-school program where the kids are mostly Hispanic. One of the sixth grade boys came in looking upset. “I really hate that guy,” he said. “Who do you hate?” I asked. “Donald Trump. He hates Mexicans, he wants to kick them out of the country. All my friends are Mexican.” It surprised me to hear a sixth grader talking about politics. It surprised me even more to hear the very genuine hurt in his voice. In my experience, when a sixth grade boy is feeling hurt, he rarely lets on.

But then I really thought about what it must feel like, to be hearing this kind of message demonizing you and your community from a major presidential candidate. That would be bad enough. But even worse, I think, would to hear the American people agreeing with him.

After all the kids had gone home, I found a crumpled piece of notebook paper while I was picking up the classroom. On it someone had drawn a gesticulating Trump in crayon with the caption “We’re building a wall.” It made me so profoundly sad.  I folded it and put it in my pocket. It wasn’t until I got home that I noticed he had drawn around Trump a full stick-person audience, and every one of them was wearing a big, adoring smile.

This made me think again about Kelile’s birthday party incident, and how I didn’t say anything when the Indian girls were talking about refusing to associate with black people. How hurtful it must have been for Kelile to hear that, even if she didn’t fully understand what was going on. And how hurtful it must have been to see me letting it happen, like a smiling stick figure at a Donald Trump rally.

Here at the monastery, the sisters gave me a calendar for Christmas featuring quotes from famous spiritual leaders. The month of February has a quote from Gandhi which reads, “Noncooperation with evil is as much a duty as cooperation with good.” It’s easy to agree with that while I am sitting in my comfy chair in the library writing this blog post, but harder to live it out in the moment, when a tense situation presents itself. I’m glad, though, that I have been exposed to this kind of tense situation, even if I didn’t respond correctly at the time. I believe it is just preparation for my next opportunity to non-cooperate with evil. 

Note: I changed the kids' names in this post to be respectful of them and their privacy. 

A Tropical Vacation: Field Trip to the Conservatory

Last December, Sister Mary, Fabienne and I took our advanced English class to the Baha’i House of Worship for a little field trip. At that time, the concept of ESL field trips was completely new to me. At the Indo American Center, it turns out, they take their students on field trips around the city all the time—to the Shedd Aquarium, the art museum, the public library, and, last week, to the Garfield Park Conservatory.

I think these field trips are really important because they give students access to parts of the city that many of them wouldn’t otherwise have the opportunity to see. Most don’t drive, and for the beginner level students especially, public transportation is hard to navigate with limited English. Many of the students have lived in Chicago for years but never strayed far from Devon Avenue. That’s why field trip days are a big deal. On the day of our field trip, the rented school bus was so jam-packed full of all 55 students (plus 6 kids) that me and the other teachers had to drive separate. I noticed that many of the students had dressed up in their best clothes and make-up for the occasion.. one student's outfit looked more fit for a nightclub than a botanical garden.

The Garfield Park Conservatory is basically like a huge green house with all kinds of tropical trees and ferns and flowers. It’s like a warm, steamy oasis in the middle of a freezing Chicago winter. The students got two hours to wander around with their friends and explore on their own. I was walking next to Ben (a refugee from Iraq) who pointed out many different plants that he recognized from his home country. “Banana tree,” he explained, pointing. “Not yet finish,” indicating the lack of fruit. The students always find creative ways to fill the gaps in their English vocabulary. I was admiring a mini-waterfall when one student, also a refugee from Iraq, approached me. “Teacher teacher! Where this?” she pulled down her shirt to expose a colorful butterfly tattoo on her chest. She went away disappointed after I explained that there was no butterfly exhibit at the conservatory.

I soon found out why everyone had worn their best clothes: they love taking pictures. I got pulled in to photo after photo after photo; it took 20 minutes to extricate myself from people tugging on my arms and yelling “One more, one more!” It must be a cultural thing, but South Asians rarely smile in photographs. There’s so much talking and laughing and chatting and shuffling of purses and children in the lead-up to the photo, and then as soon as the camera is in position, all the faces go as grave as if someone just died.  I’m pretty sure that in all the 10,000 or so pictures taken that day, I am the only one smiling. Believe me, everybody had a good time, though you might not think so from the pictures.

My favorite part of the whole outing might have been lunch. I wandered into the cafeteria room, and found my Iraqi students, who had packed a huge basket full of food. They pulled up a chair for me and insisted that I sit down, and then proceeded to fill my hands with cookies and candies, homemade flatbread and thick beef shawarma sandwiches. They all talk and laugh and tease each other in Arabic just as loud at lunch as they do in my class. I had no idea what was going on the whole time, but I had good food and good company. What more can you ask for?

Posing for pictures at the Conservatory (my face is tired from smiling, can you tell?)

Rohingya beginner students and the kiddos

Ben enjoying the tropical plants

one of the Afghani students posing with a statue (so suave)

Me and Zubeda, one of my advanced level students

lunch with the Iraqi students

Celebrating Superbowl Sunday

Last weekend was Superbowl Sunday and the stakes were high at the monastery. The Denver Broncos were facing off against the Panthers, and several of the sisters (being native Coloradoans) had a vested interest in a Broncos victory. But of all the Broncos fans in the house, Sister Johnette Sawyer was the leader of the pack.

S. Johnette’s excitement knew no bounds in the lead up to the game. She not only arranged an elaborate Superbowl viewing party complete with beer, wine, and snacks she also organized a cheer squad to parade around the monastery with pom poms singing songs and cheering cheers composed by Sister Benita. I was on the cheer squad, of course. Despite the fact that I have never actually watched an entire football game through to the end, nor do I really understand how football works. All of these were overlooked in favor of my willingness to hold a pom pom and yell “GO FIGHT WIN”.

I invited my German friend Fabienne to the Superbowl viewing party, promising her a quintessential American experience. I don’t think she was disappointed. Some of her most pressing questions included:

Why is this ball is shaped like an egg?

Can you touch the ball with your hands?

What is a down?

Why do Americans like this game?

Luckily we were sitting next to Sister Joan, who very patiently answered all of her (and my) questions during commercial breaks.

For me, I would say the Superbowl was a reflection on community life more than anything else.  The Superbowl party was well attended, despite the generally low interest in the game of football. Even one sister whom I had heard describing the game as “glorified war” showed up for the first half. I think Sister Benita, the head of the cheer squad, summed it up well when she said “I don’t like football. I like community.”

Fabienne at the snack table

Watching the game

Sister Joan explains football

the Broncos' cheer squad

Tutor Time

My apologies for the huge gap in blog posts between this and my last one, which was in December (yikes!). I left on Christmas Day for Minnesota and spent two lovely weeks at home with my family before returning to Chicago at the beginning of January. And for the last few weeks, I really haven’t had much to blog about. The centers where I teach English were on winter break like I was—except their breaks ended up being a bit prolonged due to lack of student attendance. It seems that when it’s freezing cold, people are less likely to leave their houses.. especially people whose home countries are much warmer than Chicago, Illinois.

For this reason, most of my time lately has been spent tutoring elementary school kids. I tutor with two different programs: one, at Providencia Family Services with Sister Virginia, one of the sisters from this community, and two, at the Indo American Center where I usually teach English in the mornings. At Providencia I tutor mostly 5^th and 6^th graders (all Hispanic background) that attend the adjacent Catholic elementary school. At the Indo American Center, I tutor kids between the ages of 5 and 9 who are mostly of Indian and Ethiopian background.

My first day as a tutor at the Indo American Center can best be described as utter chaos. I found myself the lone adult in a roomful of kids all clamoring for my attention.. as well as screaming, running around, walking on the tables, and spinning around at high speeds in a swivel chair. As soon as I would lean over to help someone, three or four hands would be tapping me on the back, needing help with their homework. But as soon as I tried to help the next person, the first person would be mad that I had abandoned them mid-math problem. And then a third person would wail that I had promised to read them a book ten whole minutes ago. But by the time I started in on the story, the room was so loud that nobody could hear me read.  I don’t know how classroom teachers do it, I really don’t.

By the end of the first day, I had struck a sort of compromise where I was sitting at a table with children on either side of me and one in front. I would read one page of a book to the child on the left, then help a child on the right with one page of homework, all the while holding out all ten fingers for the third child to count on (I don’t know why, but when the kids are doing their math homework, they like to count on my fingers more than on their own), and then, of course, periodically yelling at the trouble makers who were wreaking havoc when left to their own devices.

Now that I’ve been tutoring a few months, though, I’ve gotten better at channeling the kids’ energies right off the bat instead of letting things get out of control and then frantically trying to reign in the chaos (which is about as easy as putting out a forest fire). Everyone gets helped with homework on a first-come, first-served basis (the order of which I write on the blackboard to prevent squabbling). After finishing their homework, everyone is required to read for 15 minutes. The kids that are too young to read themselves listen to me read a book out loud. There is always a lot of fuss and consternation over who gets to pick the book, who gets to turn the pages, who gets to sit in the middle, etc.

Reading to the kids is actually one of my favorite parts. Growing up, I had two parents who spent hours upon hours reading to me from a very young age. They read me everything from Curious George (really? You want to hear this one again?) to all seven of the Harry Potter books. I credit my love of reading and later, writing, to the hours I spent listening to my parents. Many of the kids in this program have parents who can’t read to them in English, which is why I feel that one of the most important things I can do for the kids is read with them.

After reading time there is an hour or more left over, which is when the kids usually want to play restaurant. Restaurant is a very complex and intricate game played the exact same way every time. The kids divide themselves into different roles: chef, waiter/waitress, manager, customer, etc. One particularly creative boy once styled himself as the restaurant inspector and wrote up elaborate (mostly scathing) reviews in his self-published “newspaper.” I’m usually responsible for drawing all the different food items on paper, which are then colored by the chefs and served by the waiters. The most coveted position of all, though, is the menu writer. The menu writers don’t have a great sense of how much food actually costs, so many of our luxury items are often priced at over $100,000, which the “customers” pay for with their platinum mastercards (made out of paper, of course).

I've noticed the diversity of the kids really comes out in this game too. An average menu at the “Indo Resty” includes chicken biryani, samosas and paratha as well as traditional American foods like pizza and smoothies. The kids always make sure that there will be non-pepperoni pizza options on the menu (Muslims don’t eat pork) while the Hindu children insist on chicken burgers alongside hamburgers. A lot of these kids really end up growing up together, which is so important in a community that is traditionally split along religious and racial lines. The after-school program cultivates tolerance and openness between kids whose parents might normally not allow them to play with each other because of their race or religion. 

                My ESL classes at the Holy Spirit Life Learning Center start up again on February 15, so expect a new post soon!

Two sisters (in white) working on their superhero project

Everyone simultaneously breaking my  most important rule (no screaming)

Superheros the kids designed and decorated, including creations such as "Butterfly Woman" and "Ice Girl"

It’s Beginning to Look (a little) Like Christmas

It's been unseasonably warm in Chicago this winter, with temperatures well into the 50's and not a drop of snow in sight. Even though it doesn't feel like Christmas outside, inside the monastery it seems that every square inch of wall and every horizontal surface has been meticulously decorated, which more than makes up for the lack of snow. 

Advent is my favorite season of the year. During the duration of my college career, though, I was pretty much too busy with work and exams and extracurricular activities to pay much attention to advent, which seems to slip by so much faster now than when I was a kid! That's one of the reasons I feel lucky to be living in a monastery this year-- for once I have the time and energy to fully experience the advent season. 

In preparation for advent, I got to help S. Rita hang the advent wreath by carefully suspending it from fishing wire from the chapel ceiling. For this job I had fun rummaging around in the attic above the altar.

Me in a window above the altar, carefully raising the advent wreath

As one of the taller inhabitants of the monastery, I also got the task of decorating the top branches of the community Christmas tree, which was later blessed by S. Judith Murphy at the annual Christmas tree blessing ceremony. For this occasion, we sang Oh Christmas Tree together, and I got my first taste of eggnog (I was skeptical at first, but ended up really liking it).

S. Judith Murphy, the prioress, blessing the Christmas tree

When one of my ESL students found out I wanted to join in the Christmas spirit but didn't have any decorations of my own, she brought me some from her own home. So now my room is just as Christmas-y as the rest of the house!

My little window, bedazzled with Christmas lights (a gift from my student Olga)

A tiny creche for my windowsill, also a gift from Olga

Yesterday was the annual employee Christmas party, and I spent most of the day running all over the place-- wrapping gifts, serving punch, and distributing presents from under the tree. The elaborate spread of food also included caramel chocolate shortbread bites, baked by myself and S. Belinda (they received excellent reviews, in case you were wondering).

Wrapping Christmas presents with Santa's helpers (S. Johnette and S. Mary)

Guests enjoying treats at the employee Christmas party

Me serving punch at the employee Christmas party in my festive apron

And it’s not just the monastery I’ve been so busy helping to prepare for Christmas.. I decided to prepare myself for Christmas with an extra special treat: a matinee ticket to Handel’s Messiah, my favorite musical piece of all time, performed by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. Needless to say, it was a superb performance. When the entire hall rose to their feet for the Hallelujah Chorus, it actually brought tears to my eyes. 

Me at Orchestra Hall, waiting for Handel's Messiah to begin

Handel's Messiah memorabilia

A view of Orchestra Hall before the performance

Now that I am as fully in the Christmas spirit as possible, all that's left is to celebrate the mass of Christmas night and Christmas day with the sisters here  (I will be singing in the schola) and then I'll be on my way back to Minnesota and my family! I can hardly wait. 

The Bahá'í Temple: Revisiting Peace

A lot has been happening the past few weeks. Everywhere I turn, it seems there is more news of conflict and killing. In today’s newspaper, the front page alone featured follow-up stories to the Paris terror attacks, the shooting death of 9-year-old Tyshawn Lee by gang members in Chicago, and the shooting death of 17-year-old Laquan McDonald by a Chicago police officer (and subsequent protests).

On our field trip, though, these sad events were the furthest thing from my mind.

This past Monday, Sister Mary, Fabienne and I took our ESL class to the Bahá’í House of worship in Evanston, which is only a ten minute drive from where we live. Built in the 1950’s, the Bahá’í Temple is the only one of its kind in North America. Its huge white, dome-shaped structure with nine entrances and vast, lush gardens and ponds reminded me of the Taj Mahal. The inside of the Temple is cavernously beautiful, radiating light and peace.

For the past few weeks, our students (who all happen to be stay-at-home moms from Michoacán, Mexico) have been practicing constructing indirect questions, like “Could you tell me where the bathroom is?” instead of “Where is the bathroom?” The idea behind the field trip was that it would give the students a chance to practice indirect questions with a tour guide or information desk person rather than just their usual teachers.

By a stroke of luck, we were some of the first people to arrive at the Temple, so we had a tour guide all to ourselves. The tour guide also happened to be a Bahá’í from the Chicago area who had spent five years teaching English in China. When he found out that we were an ESL group, he gave his presentation at an even, understandable pace and kept it free of unnecessarily confusing words and constructions.    

He explained the Bahá’í Faith, how Bahá’ís recognize the legitimacy of prophets from all major world religions, including Krishna, Moses, Mohmmed, Jesus, Buddha and Bahá’u’lláh, the founder of the Bahá’í faith. He described the Bahá’í’s belief in the unity of all humankind, and how that is expressed in the beautiful architecture of the building.

A view of the Temple from the outside

Sister Angelica on the Temple steps

The Temple's intricate ceiling; the gold inscription in the center is Arabic script for "Greatest Name" or "Oh thou Glory of Glories"

The Temple windows, opening to a view of Lake Michigan

I know I’ve said this before, but my students continually amaze me. Our guide had hardly finished speaking before Olga jumped in with her first question, perfectly constructed. “Could you tell me,” she asked, “how long you have been here?” When he finished answering, Consuelo asked about which holidays the Bahá’í people celebrate. Everyone had notebooks or scraps of paper on which they had carefully prepared their questions.

I always expect the students to be shy and reserved about speaking English, because that’s the way I am about speaking other languages that I haven’t fully grasped yet. I’m always trying to form a construction in my head before saying it out loud, but by the time I have it perfect, the conversation has already moved on and I never get a chance to say my beautiful, perfect sentence.

Consuelo in particular bypasses this problem by making some kind of interjection into the conversation like “Oh!” or “Hmm” or “Well I think..” when she has an idea she wants to express. Then she takes her time getting the words in the right order while everyone waits politely to hear what she has to say. Sometimes it takes a couple minutes for her to search around for the right words, but she always succeeds in getting the idea across in the end.

I find this to be an incredibly bold thing to do. I think it’s the most terrifying thing in the world to start speaking without knowing exactly what you’re about to say, if you’re going to make mistakes, if people will even understand you. My worst fear is saying something that nobody understands and having to stare at each other awkwardly until somebody figures it out. And even then, they might laugh at you.

If Consuelo is afraid of this too, she does not show it. She has no qualms about bringing the conversation to a halt while she figures out how to say what she needs to say. I think it shows a huge amount of confidence in herself and the value of her own ideas. While language teaching is an important skill, I think language-learning is itself a skill, and one at which my students are experts. I hope to someday be as bold and as fearless in my Bengali / German / Spanish learning as they are in their English learning.

Everyone enjoyed the trip and learned a lot. After all the depressing things that have been happening lately, the Temple trip left me with a feeling of hope.  

All of us enjoying our guided tour

Fabienne listens to the tour guide with Georgina's daughter on her lap while the others take notes

Consuelo in the Temple

Olga taking a selfie with the live orange tree growing inside the Temple

Consuelo, Olga, and Fabienne watch the Temple's introductory film together