Parent Teacher Conferences

...are happening as we speak at Kigali International Community School.

I am meeting with parents all day and saying things like "He's an intelligent, courteous young man" and "I think it's more of a motivation problem than anything else."

How old am I?

Christmas Traditions

Every family has its own unique traditions that add to the magic and wonder of the holiday season.

My family is no different. Every year, shortly after Thanksgiving, we'd go to a special farm and purchase a conically shaped tree, around 6 feet tall. We would then place this tree in the corner of our living room. We would untangle a long string of small lights, and then wrap the lights around the tree. After that, we'd pull out a stash of small, colored spheres and hang them from the limbs of the tree.

Beneath the tree, we would place gifts that we bought for one another, wrapped in shiny paper and elaborate bows. On the mantle above the fireplace, we hung cloth receptacles shaped like enormous socks, each labeled with our names. On Christmas morning, these receptacles would be overflowing with the small gifts that were too difficult to wrap.

Christmas Eve was an exciting time. My sister, brother and I would be brimming with anticipation, anxiously tracking of the progress of the clock. As much as we wanted to stay up just a few more minutes, our parents kept reminding us that we needed to go to bed. Why, may you ask? Every Christmas Eve our house got a special visitor. He was said to be a portly man, elderly, sporting white hair and red suit. He allegedly came down through our chimney with a sack full of presents for the three of us, which he would then artfully arrange on our sofa and chairs. We liked to call him "Santa Claus." To thank him for his troubles, we children would always leave a glass of milk and a plate of cookies on the coffee table.

Christmas morning came, and we would be beside ourselves. My parents would always go down ahead of us to check out the spread that ole S.C. had left in his wake. With the three of us at the head of the stairs, my mother would call out, "I think we had a visitor last night!" and we would race down the stairs like they were on fire. We'd round the corner to our living room, and there they were: Santa's gifts. After we had thoroughly exhausted ourselves in opening de-boxing, assembling, and admiring the gifts from Santa, we'd then move on to the gifts under the tree. Furiously, we'd tear apart the wrapping, creating a veritable fortress of crumpled paper.

As noon time rolled around, we'd lie around the on the sofas, buttressed in by our bounty, watching "A Christmas Story" or whatever other Christmas movie happened to be on the television, basking in the afterglow of the morning.

I'll never forget those special Christmas times.

O Magnum Mysterium

Well, friends, it's been awhile. Forgive me. You'll notice I tend to follow a pattern in my blogging life: a month or so of dormancy, followed by a brief storm of creative energy and productivity, and then back to silence. A quick update: since the despondency of my last post, I have traveled to Uganda for Thanksgiving, rafted the Nile, had my very first car accident, become all too familiar with Rwanda's police force and bureaucratic, depressing insurance processes, had my passport stolen (along with all the other contents of my purse), and almost successfully completed my first semester of teaching. That brief outline will have to suffice--for those of you concerned about items 3 and 5, just know that I am fine, all is well, and I lost nothing that can't be replaced.

Anyways. This is a rather cheap return to blog form, but I thought of this song earlier today and had the urge to share it with everyone. It's always been one of my favorite choral songs, and getting the chance to sing it my senior year of college was one of the most transcendent musical experiences I've ever had. The loose translation of the song is this:

O great mystery and admirable [wonderful] sacrament
That animals see the Lord born
Lying in a manger.

Blessed virgin whose viscera [womb]
Were [was] worthy to bear Lord Christ.
Allelujah.

I thought it fitting, considering the season. If you have a beating heart, the minor chord at 2:58 should stop it, momentarily. Hope you enjoy.

Burnout.

I don't want to teach.

I just want to lie in bed, watch movies, and eat my weight in chocolate.

Is that too much to ask, really?

It's a small world after all.

I read this book fall semester of my junior year of college, as part of a young adult literature class. At the end of the semester, after unsuccessfully trying to sell it back to Harding's bookstore, I dropped it in some give-away box with the other undesirables, anxious to lighten my load.

Little did I know, the give-away box was intended for a small start-up school in Africa, desperate for books.

This morning, the headmaster of KICS returned Ghost Boy to its original owner. Barely able to contain himself, he hurried to my class before first period, opened to the inside page, and revealed my name.


I'm taking this as just one more little affirmation from the universe that I really am meant to be here.


(somehow, an ex-boyfriend's old textbook also ended up in my Rwandan classroom. i'm not quite sure what to do with that).

One More

One more party with all the familiar expat faces.

One more new arrival whose name I won't remember, working at some NGO.

One more time: I'm Jess. From the States--Atlanta. I'm a teacher. High school English. KICS, in Gaculiro. Been here about two and half months. Yes, I like it. Live in Kibagabaga--near Kimironko? Will be here at least through the school year in June.

Then on to repeat the litany to someone else, who doesn't care either.


what's the point, really?

Musings for the Void.

In terms of life changes, the year 2008 is going to be pretty hard to beat.

I survived student teaching, and subsequently, I graduated college.

I watched my best friend and sister become a wife.

I said goodbye to my family and friends and moved to Africa.

That last part bears repeating: I moved. to Africa.

Consequently, I have somewhat figured out how to live in Africa (no--I have learned to live in Kigali, Rwanda. I certainly don’t need to further the conceptualization of Africa as a massive, dark shape; I say “I moved to Africa” only to heighten the dramatic effect).

I began teaching. I am now known to 28 high schoolers as "Miss." I’ve conditioned myself to falling asleep before ten and waking up at ungodly hours of the morning, when most rational human beings have at least another two hours left.

I co-purchased a vehicle, and, by God’s good grace, I will soon drive a stick shift.

I’ve learned how to live without paper towels, microwaves, and season 5 of The Office.

I’ve made new friends from all over Africa, the United States, and world.


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So why am I still wondering if things will ever change?