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Here and There Friday

Friday 20 September 1996

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

Thursday 19 September 1996

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

Wednesday 18 September 1996

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

Tuesday 17 September 1996

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

Monday 16 September 1996

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

Sunday 15 September 1996

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

Saturday 14 September 1996

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 . . .

Some General thoughts

Friday 13 September 1996

I just graded the quiz we gave to IA yesterday. It was not a pleasant experience: everyone did well but Magda and Żaneta. I saw them talking during the test. I walked over to them, standing there for a brief moment before taking their papers. I was actually surprised when I did it. I hated to do it, too. I know they weren’t cheating. Still, I had said no talking–I had no choice but to take the papers away. I really like both of them—they (along with several others) show real potential, especially Żaneta—she is so quick that it’s almost frightening (in a very good way). I talked to them afterwards. I told them that I wasn’t going to give them ones, but I told them too that I had no choice but to take their quizzes. It was a crossroads: a time to set a precedent, and I didn’t want a bad one. If I’d done nothing, I’d never live it down.

Yesterday I got paid: 580 złoty for September. I took the opportunity: this afternoon I went to Nowy Targ and bought a portable CD player. It’s nice because I don’t have to worry about batteries or adaptors, and I am not restricted by headphones. It’s nice to have my apartment filled with music. I took a bath with Beethoven’s Sixth and a mug of hot tea . . .

It’s raining again. I had no idea it could rain so much. The creek is rising again. It finally had fallen to its normal level before all this deluge. Am I in Poland or Asia during the monsoon season?

I’ve come to the final conclusion (What other kind is there, though?) that I do not like shopping with Danuta. She shops; I hunt. Age-old difference, I suppose.

Good Morning!

Thursday 12 September 1996

While hurrying to the store across from the church I encountered one of my students, pulling/leading two cows up the road, presumably taking them into the barn for the evening. I waved at him, smiling. He grinned and waved back. As I neared the shop I noticed another student riding toward me on her small bike. I could tell that she was getting ready to greet me. A smile shot across her face and she said, “Good morning!” at 5:55 p.m. “Hello!” I said in response. If these two encounters are indicative of what these two years will be like, then I can only say that I look forward to them with great anticipation.

I had six lessons. I was so very tired when the last one finally rolled by. I think things went rather well, but that didn’t change the fact that I was hardly able to stand at the end of the day. I hope things at least maintain for the next two years. Deterioration of class morale could be quite a blow to me, but I think things will only get better.

General Thoughts

Wednesday 11 September 1996

Once again I am shocked at how much better things went today. It was so radically different from the stressful disasters of yesterday afternoon. I had IIA for two back-to-back periods and established, for the most part, their general level. Iaa was an absolute dream—those kids really want to learn English. IB was great too—they put forth effort, which is all anyone can ask of them. Instead of being frustrated and tired, I am excited and tired. I lok forward to working with them tomorrow.

Danuta and I ate lunch with the priest who teaches at the school. He is a nice guy, eager to laugh. I like him. I wish my Polish was good enough to discuss matters of religion with him.

Yesterday, as VI was rushing from the classroom, they all folded their hands in prayer and, in unison, said a quick prayer to the crucifix hanging above me at the front of the room. it was surreal and a bit sad—more mindless religious automatons. I hope these kids question things at some point, though it seems doubtful, at best.

An interesting observation I had this morning: Religion is like dancing—without the music, it looks stupid. When I look at the average Christian believer, it is like watching people dance from a sound-proof both. It makes no sense, for I have great reservations about the existence of the god to which they are praying.

I wish I was back at King on a full-time basis: I would be much more outspoken about my new ideas. I am sure I would get a chilly reception from most people.

When I look back at my beliefs in the past I am struck by their incredible ambiguity. (“Give me ambiguity or give me something else.”) If I had been quizzed as a teenager, “Do you believe in Christ? Do you believe in the nature of his existence and sacrifice?” I would have not known how to answer beyond the shrug of my shoulders. This is especially true when you consider the Jewish nature of the old WCG. I did not even consider myself an Christian then, not in the broader sense of the word.