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Results For "Month: September 1996"

Hours and Worries

More rain–two days of good weather are history. This morning I saw the grey sky and thought, “Good, back to normal.” After all, who wants sun? Who needs a bright day? This is just another new things I must get used to, I guess.

I had a word with the headmistress of the primary school. I went in with the intention of dropping my hours in classes V and VI. As might be expected, things got a little more grey than I was hoping for. Here is the situation: The Minister of Education requires eight hours of English in classes V-VIII. Because of the current situation, the Ministry has said that only four will do for now. I took those hours but now am having second thoughts, particularly about V and VI (see 16 September entry). So I talked to Pani Dyrektor about this and here is a summary of the outcome:

Those two hours (V & VI) would have to be picked up by someone, namely Danuta. It is not acceptable for VII and VIII to have English and V and VI not to have it. So if I drop those hours and Danuta doesn’t pick them up, the whole English program would have to be dropped and replaced with Russian. Never mind that there is no one here to teach Russian; rules are rules.

Now Danuta cannot possibly pick up those hours: She’s already teaching five more than she agreed to. With her studies it is impossible. Danuta assures me, though, that Frank will insist that she take those two hours. And if she refuses she could be fired.

That would make for an interesting situation. Instead of needing one teacher they would need two; instead of lacking two hours, they would lack twenty-five. Additionally, if Danuta left I would have to change sites because I must have a counterpart teacher–Dierdre already had to change sites because of a similar problem. So they would have to find three English teachers and they would lack forty-seven hours of English.

I made the decision to continue on the current plan until December. I didn’t want to drop this whole load on them at once, so I’m giving them time to intensify their search for a teacher. (Considering that my light still isn’t fixed, I doubt they’ll meet with much success.)

I hate the way this is turning into a power struggle. If I unload the preceding bomb (and that’s really what it is) on Frank, I risk angering him, for it has the feel of (maybe genuinely is) a power play. I don’t want to anger him so early–I need all the friends I can get at this point.

What I am afraid of is that once these four hours (only two really–I’ll continue with VII and VIII) are covered, the hunt for a teacher will not be as much of a priority. This is only a temporary fix; those lacking two hours should serve to stoke their efforts, to increase the sense of urgency. “Well, we do have Gary and ____ covering those four hours now . . .”

This whole thing is turning into a nightmare. I fear that once I drop these two hours Danuta will be pressured to take these to hours, and she will cave to the demands. “Can’t you live with this? Can’t you solve this problem instead of running away from it? Isn’t that part of the reason I joined PC to begin with?” I don’t know what I’ll do. I’ll survive–we’ll survive. It’s just the method of survival seems so vague–cloudy, like the typical sky here.

Going Out?

The workers who have been doing mysterious things to our building have now made it to the front. This means one can stand on the scaffolding and look into my bathroom. It is a disconcerting thing to say the very least. I’ve hung my two towels on the clothes line in the hopes of providing some privacy.

I am scheduled to go out for a beer with Roy tonight. I kind of doubt anything will come of it, but we’ll see. If he doesn’t come, will I manage to go by myself? Or am I too big a coward?

Here and There Friday

I rode my bike for a couple of hours today. I went up to Kiczory first–road to the end of the road, to the point where the road became someone’s private drive. Babia loomed in the clear sky; her peak was visible for the first time in weeks: it was covered with snow. After that I rode out toward Lipnica Mała. I thought about going on to see LM, but I decided to save that for another day.

All over this area people are out in the fields today. Either taking up the rotting wealth or the water-logged potatoes, people filled the fields. Some were working with horses, others with tractors of various ages and conditions. At some (rather, many, even most) places whole families were working: grandparents, children, grandchildren. I felt a little strange riding around sight-seeing while everyone else struggled to get the crops in — a matter of survival in some sense, I’m sure.

I talked to Roy for a little bit today: I asked him how one goes about meeting people around here. “You don’t,” he laughed. “Besides, most people our age [ what is “our age” anyway?] are already married with kids.” He has a point — but it does seem possible that I could meet some folks, someone I could spend time with, do something — anything.

As I rode around today I encountered several students — my students. It was a nice experience.

Good Place to Be

Glorious weather today! It started gray, as usual, but by the time I was in IA the sun was shining. I literally couldn’t believe it.

This evening I took a walk in the hillside fields behind the school. I only walked half way up–I felt a little conspicuous in my red jacket. Ego again, I guess. I kept looking back at my little part of LW, snapping shots every now and again.

I stood for a moment, just absorbing. “Will this be one of those moments I remember years from now?” I tried to notice everything: The bubbling of the water running down the hill was faint, overpowered by the bellowing of cows (call and answer with one another) and the barking dogs Babia Góra rose in the misty distance, her top obscured by clouds. The steeple of the parish church rose between the crowded graveyard in the foreground and Babia lumbering in the distance. An occasional bleating goat mixed with children’s faint laughter and the ping, bright and clear, of a hammer from an indeterminate direction. My apartment building looked so much smaller. I could see Lipnica winding to my left and right. And as might be expected, I forgot about my anguish of the other night; I forgot that I hate this place (or so I told myself a couple of nights ago), and I thought, “This is a good place to be.”

Field Trip Invitation

I’ve been asked to accompany the school (liceum only) on a trip to the north of Poland, near Gdańsk, I think. I’ve mixed feelings about this: I would like to go, for it would give me an opportunity to get to know my fellow teachers better, as well as my students. My Polish should certainly improve. Yet it is that very thing which worries me. I can just see me with a group of teachers as they chatter away in Polish–I look away at some point, bored out of my senses and exhausted from any attempt to understand them. Plus there is the very real possibility that the folks and C might try to call this weekend. I would hate to miss their call. Yet if I decline I might do something to damage a potentially fragile relationship. Of course, I can’t go around trying to please everyone.

The editor of the local paper asked me to write an article about how I got here, what I think of Lipnica, etc. I wrote it tonight by long-hand–I miss y computer–and I am eager to see what the reaction will be. Perhaps nothing . . .

I Hate This

I hate this. I hate almost everything about this place. I hate the rude shop keeper who is always impatient with me; I hate the apathy of IIB; I hate the rain; I hate my noisy water heater; I hate the mud pit which serves as my front yard; I hate buying food everyday; I hate Polish; I hate the chair I sit in for endless hours at night and on weekends; I hate being lonely; I hate being away from C. I wish I had never been accepted into the Peace Corps. Then I would be going about my merry way, at grad school or teaching in America (of course the apathy would be there, too).

I am becoming more and more reclusive. I teach, then I come straight home. I know no one–I can’t talk to anyone because I can’t understand a word of Polish. I feel so lost, isolated, and helpless. And so lazy.

I could never ET–my pride couldn’t handle it, wouldn’t allow it. I have to stick it out, and that makes me shudder: two years of more of the same of the last three weeks is the most horrible thing I can imagine.

I hate this all–everything.

More Frustrations

I don’t what to do about IIB. They are all chronically uninspired. “To say they are apathetic is to ascribe to them an enthusiasm that is not there,” as I told Chhavi. They are totally unresponsive. I think some of it is attributable to the language barrier, but certainly not all of it. I don’t know what to do about it. IIA is usually pretty bad at the beginning of lessons, but they usually give it some effort later in the lesson: I can live with that. But IIB–words do not describe my level of frustration with them. The group of disruptive guys in the back makes things a little worse, if that’s possible.

One thing that is really bothering me is the difficulty I’m having with names. They’re so, well, foreign. It takes me such a long time. I doubt I will ever learn the names of the kids in 5-8.

Speaking of my primary hours, I had a brief discussion with Danuta about the problems I have there. First of all, one hour a week is practically useless. I will not be able to do anything other than teach them to parrot a few things. Second, the language barrier further impedes the learning process. I have no way of making sure they really understand what I’m talking about. (I think in this case Polish is not only acceptable; it is down-right necessary.) This also makes it difficult to test them, and therefore hard to give grades. Last, and most significant in some ways, the classes are too big. Thirty twelve-year-olds–it’s impossible to keep them under control (i.e. language barrier), even if I could speak Polish like a native. So I have thirty wild kids with only two or three listening to me, probably understanding less than half of all I say. It is a waste of everyone’s time, I fear. I will give it a few weeks, then talk to the headmistress about my thoughts, my fears. Of course Danuta was right when she said that eventually I’ll be asked to teach the additional four hours the Ministry of Education requires. I will flatly refuse. I will patiently wait and see what happens . . .

Sunday Thoughts

Another day spent in the confines of my protective apartment. As it rained all day (surprise!) and I had no one to visit (another shocker!), I stayed in. I did my planning for tomorrow; finished The Reivers; finished a couple of letters. Fairly uneventful day . . .

I am remembering Pensacola—all the times I was there (three was it? or four?). That is a lovely town, especially during the fall when it’s not so crowded and it’s not so hot. That feast (when I bought Automatic for the People, to which I am of course listening) was the last time Heather and I were really all that close. And of course there was that silly flingh with Joanna. (Driving back with Heather, listening to Automatic for the first time—that was a nice day and an equally nice evening. Dinner at Olive Garden—chatting like “old times.” The air was brisk but not cold that night; the sky was very clear. The promise of intimacy with Joanna; the air blowing through the open van windows—it was a good time.)

I am doing this entirely too often. I keep saying, “I must get out and meet people,” but I never do anything about it. “It’s these little things, they can pull you under . . .” Memories are not “little things” for me though—they really take up too much time, more time than is healthy, anyway. Maybe that’s why i keep a journal. Maybe that’s why I’m not keeping one is one of the most horrible things I can imagine. It’s just a way of wandering through memories—is that all it is?

How much time do I spend in this damn chair, remembering? I feel so helpless to do anything else. How do I meet people here? Go to the bar? To church? What!? I’ll talk to Roy about it . . .

Sebastian

12:17 p.m.

An interesting thing happened in the store today. As I was paying for my stuff I set down my shopping list–in English, of course–and the shop keeper (I’ve no idea what her name is) took an interest in it. “Aggs?” she said. “Eggs,” I replied with a smile, followed by the Polish. She read the whole list–I translated what she didn’t know. It was good–I’m not quite sure how to explain it. It’s just that I’ve often felt an impatient tension when I go in there. This helped dissolve it to some degree, I think.

I think much of these kinds of problems come from the fact that: a) I don’t know what is expected of me in many social settings; and, b) I don’t have the linguistic tools necessary to fulfill those expectations. I fear that people think I am being rude when it’s simply a matter of ignorance. “Stranger in a strange land . . .”

9:35 p.m.

I just returned from Mountain Haven–what a wonderful experience! I’ve no idea how to describe my reaction. I can only record my impressions and what I did.

I first met a group of girls–the only name I remember is Sarah. They were about nine or ten, if that old. They kept asking me for a souvenir–I had nothing to give them. I was with them for a few minutes. Then I met Sebastian . . .

With his snaggle-tooth grin and excitement, Sebastian made an immediate impression on me. He is one of the most affectionate children I’ve ever met. Seven years old, he was a strong boy for his age. When he hugged me and shoved a loving kiss on my cheek, I realized why everyone had told him, “Gently!” I spent a while playing “basketball” with him. “I am a good basketball player,” I taught him to say. I also played soccer, baseball, volleyball, and tennis with him. He was a big energy producer. I was exhausted after a few minutes of trying to keep up with him.

I wonder what the future holds for little, loving Sebastian. His father killed his mother–he’ll probably end up in an orphanage. Who knows what will become of him then? It’s an awful thing to say, but given his present conditions the future doesn’t look bright for him. Yet he is so very bright–maybe he’ll break out and become successful (and more importantly) happy.

How many Sebastians are there in the world? I know that millions of children are worse off than he is, but still, the cards are really stacked against him. The children are always the ones that get the worst of the shit in the world.

It takes a special kind of person to work at Mountain Haven. To se all those kids passing through would kill me. Just tonight I felt so strongly for Sebastian–think if I was with him daily, then suddenly his two weeks are over and he is gone. Yet I want to spend more time there. I guess the risk of attachment is one of that is inevitable. Maybe that’s where the real giving comes from. Yet all my life I will think of Sebastian . . .

Coming back could have been a real nightmare. As I left MH I realized it was terribly dark. I went back to see if I could borrow a flashlight, but they only had one. I began and soon realized that I could only continue on foot: I couldn’t see my hand three inches from my face. After a few minutes one of the MH staff members appeared with a car. He drove behind me with the lights on bright so I could see where I was going.

It rained all day again today–it’s unreal how much rain can fall in a two-week period. It aade me so mad as I struggled up to MH. It does no good, for the weather is certainly out of my control. I realize this fully. Still, I’ve really had quite enough rain . . . So has everyone else, I’m sure. The hay in the fields is rotting; any unharvested corn is likewise rotting on the stalk. At least I’m not taking a monetary loss . . .