I teach at a (makeshift) school and vocational training center at one of the Palest* camps in the city. I so wish you could be here with me to share in all the crazy experiences. On a nearly daily basis, I just have these moments where I cannot help but laugh to myself and question, “Really?! THIS is my life?!” And then I laugh some more and step back to accept my portion, “Yes, this IS my life.”
The kids (K-8) are out of regular school, but we continue to meet every day for a summer camp and study session. Today the kids got to paint with their hands (we are low funded, so we don’t have brushes – which really isn’t a problem, because it’s more fun for them anyway). These kids aren’t exactly disciplined or behaved. I have tutored after school in the inner city before, but this is a different story! So not surprisingly, paint ended up on kids’ faces, a dot here, a blob here, a line there. OK, cute, that’s fine. Except for Issa (oh, Issa) who had painted his entire face and neck with poster paint. Just wonderful, I thought. We told him to go wash it off, because the paint was going to end up in his eyes. You’d think a 10-year old boy would be able to do this, but man was I wrong. Shame on me.
After several minutes, this other chubby kid I love walked in, came up to me and the other teacher and excitedly told us, “Issa byithamam!” Issa took a bath, he said. Then Issa walked in sopping wet, his hair, face, his clothes, jeans, and shoes, smiling ear to ear. At least the paint was off his face, but he washed himself in the kitchen where he left a huge mess with a thin layer of paint water all over the floor. He came up to me and my co-teacher Mustafa, and we looked at each other not knowing how we were supposed to respond to this, and then stared blankly at Issa. Not a word came out of our mouths. I hardly felt anything at this point. I think Mustafa and I were pretty exhausted by this time and just felt defeated. Issa took a bath. OK then. What else can you do!
