"I live up? Yours?" Wait, what?

I have a friend from college that I worked with at the Telefund who is living in Quito right now, Jena. She's been here since the end of December, and will be here until around July. We've tried to meet up several times since I've been here, but it hasn't worked out, especially because I live pretty far from where she lives. We FINALLY got the chance to meet up on Sunday. It was really great seeing her, especially because we were both in Badger red. We found a bar downtown that plays the NCAA tournaments, and we sat watching the tournament on Sunday afternoon. Too bad the Badgers were EMBARRASSING and LOST by a ton. The good news is that no one else was watching the game, and that they actually didn't show very much of the game, because it was so bad, and because there were other games going on at the same time. To all of my fellow Badgers - I desperately missed watching the game in Madison, but know that I was thinking of all of you watching it here in Ecuador.

Every day, the students ask me more and more personal questions about my life. At least twice a week I get asked what kind of music I like. When I say Lady Gaga, they all go NUTS. Good answer. I think that on Friday I'm going to introduce them to the song "Telephone", because, much to my dismay, I've only just heard it for the first time a couple of weeks ago (as Taylor said "Sara, that song is OLD."), and it has not yet reached the equator. Well, MY students are in for a treat!!

The students are constantly asking me where I live. I actually live near a couple of pretty well-known landmarks, so my house is easy to locate (I'm never very specific...). Yesterday, one girl in the class, Domenika, was trying to tell me that she lived near me. In Ecuador, you say "arriba" to describe near, but translated, "arriba" means "up". So, Domenika is struggling for words, and she can't seem to find them. From what I gathered, she lives one block up from me (una esquina arriba). She keeps saying "Up, Teacher, UP!" And I looked at her and (as I often do) said, "I have no idea what you're saying." The girls around her are trying to help her and say, "Teacher, she lives up? Yours?" I start laughing. They don't get the joke. "No, Teacher, really, she lives up yours!" No, Angelica, I assure you that Domenika does not live up mine. Any more questions?

In other news, braces are becoming more popular for the youth down here. In one of my classes of 20, a whopping TWO kids have braces. One of them has a mouthful, and I swear he is ALWAYS picking food out of them, and he sits right in the front, and it REALLY grosses me out. His name is David, and he is a trouble-maker. Today, he was goofing off, and making faces and obnoxious things like that, and I was NOT laughing. Until. He somehow made his lips so you could only see his braces, and his face was contorted in this huge cheesy smile. I rolled my eyes.

All of a sudden I'm thinking "Oh, shit, this is going to be bad," because he stops laughing, tears come to his eyes, and his hands fly up to his mouth. His cheeks AND lips got STUCK in his braces, and he COULDN'T get his face out of this contortion. All of the students are laughing, and David is laughing as well, but it's one of those I'm-going-to-laugh-so-I-don't-cry laughs. HOW do you handle a situation like this? Never in my 3.5 years of braces (3.5 of the best years of my life, I might add), did I EVER get stuck THIS BAD. I literally just sat at my desk staring at him, while all of the students made a circle around his desk laughing and pointing.

Finally, Fabricio (David's fellow braces-buddy) goes over to David and does the un-thinkable: he literally RIPPED David's face out of his braces. I CRINGED, and everyone else did the GAAAAAAAAAASP!!! Now David is NOT laughing, but tears are still running down his cheeks. And there was blood. I'm still sitting at my desk in shock. Finally, I get my act together and bring him a Kleenex (I always have Kleenex handy because I have a fear of unexpected nosebleeds. It's happened before, and I haven't been prepared. It's a nightmare.) and send him to the doctor.

About 20 minutes later, David returns. When he came in the door, oh Lord did I TRY to not even SMILE, but I LAUGHED at the poor kid. He had cotton balls wadded up in his poor cheeks, and he couldn't move his face. He looked like a chipmunk. To make matters worse, some of the blood got on his white shirt, so he looked like a battle victim. The other kids start laughing, and I tell them to stop (my laughter was VERY brief), and I let David just basically sit in his desk and feel sorry for himself for the rest of class. I will say this - I don't think that David is going to goof around as much in my class anymore. I'm cringing just thinking about Fabricio yanking David's face out of his braces. Ouchie.

Until next time,
Sara - forever a Badger

PS: Shout-out to Sara Schoenborn. This update is for YOU.

"I have a dog that's, that's like a SAUSAGE!!"

The past few days have been very eventful in my classroom. For the last month, the students have been working on science or social studies projects in groups in Spanish. These projects are a pretty big grade for them. It's the end of their trimester, so this grade counts as a final exam in a couple of classes, including English. For me, what they have to do is present their projects in front of the class in English. The presentations started yesterday and will finish tomorrow. The kids were pretty stressed about it, but I assured them that they would do fine (see, I CAN be nice). The project themes are things like noise pollution in Quito (there is a TON), recycling, deforestation, and the like. They're actually really interesting, and the kids know a lot about their topics.

Yesterday, one group's theme was "Sexual Abstinence in Teenagers". I knew the topic was going to be problematic right away - especially because the class asks the group questions when they are done presenting. I was even more wary about it because the kids in the group are the "cool kids" that goof off all the time, and I did NOT think that they had the maturity level to answer the questions that I KNEW were coming. I was actually really impressed with the presentation and even more impressed with the questions that the class asked. Until.

One girl asked, "What do you think is better, abstinence or preservatives?" Preservatives, preservatives. Oh. Mistranslation. I'll tell you now that the Spanish word for condom is "preservativo". I decided to let the mistake go, but knew that if the students kept repeating the word "preservatives" I would have to correct them. Well, first I'll say that I was really impressed (again!) with the students' response ("It's a personal choice, but in this presentation we are supporting abstinence."). Second, I'll say that they kept saying preservatives. So, I said, "That's not the right word."

Oh no. Because I said that, the students didn't think I knew what they meant. Instead of one student politely telling me, I lost control of the classroom in .57 of a second. The students all started yelling, "CONDOMS!!! CONDOMS!!!" And random brands of condoms, while a couple of boys in the group that was presenting looked and me and said, "Teacher... You know..." And proceeded to make inappropriate hand gestures SHOWING me what they meant. I'm sure you can imagine. I'm dying. "This word is more appropriate," and I wrote "contraceptives" on the board. So then, of course the students are all yelling condoms and contraceptives. I'm PRAYING that no one stops in to check on my class...

"OK!! OK!! ANY MORE QUESTIONS?!?!?" Yes. One student asked what the bad things about abstinence were - the presenter DID say that he was going to talk about the good and the bad, but the bad were never brought up. Once again, I was so pleasantly surprised at the response. "Well, if men are talking to each other about sexual activities, they are emmmmmmm perceived as a hero is they have sexual activities. But, if you are a girl..." Then, Nicolas stopped, because he didn't know the right words in English.

So, Emilio jumped in, "Well, if you are a girl with a lot of sexual activities when you are a teenager, you are perceived as... Teacher? Can I say?" Sure... Why not? I lost control a LONG time ago... All of the students proceed to yell, "A BITCH! A BITCH!" Ummm no. "No, kids, that's not the right word..." So Emilio looks at me again and asks, "Teacher, can I say it?" Sure, Emilio, why not. So he looks down, his cheeks get a little rosy, and he says, "A whore."

"WHAT'S A WHORE?!?!?!" GREAT. I was NOT about to explain what a whore was to these 13 year old kids, and Emilio came to my rescue. "Teacher, can I say it in Spanish?" YES. PLEASE say it in Spanish so that I don't have to explain it in English. Again, Emilio looks down, face redder than before, and says "A whore is a... prostituta." So NOW all of the kids are YELLING (I WISH I was exaggerating) the following words: CONTRACEPTIVES!!!!! CONDOMS!!!!!!! WHORE!!!! PROSTITUTA!!!!!! BITCH!!!!!! Oh.My.God. I'm going to get fired.

In an attempt to regain control of 20 pubescent 13-year-olds, I stand up and start clapping and yelling "GOOD JOB!!!! GREAT PRESENTATION!!! NOW A FEW REMINDERS!!! SIT DOWN!!! NEVER REPEAT THESE WORDS AGAIN!!! DOOOOO NOTTTTTT TELL ANYONE WHO TAUGHT YOU THESE WORDS!!!!!!! PLEASE." After 5 minutes, the kids were quiet enough where I could give them a few reminders about the upcoming week. Finally the hour was over.

And of course, who would teach the same class in the same room right after me, but Teacher George. This is the LAST thing I need right now. As George and I walk past each other, all of the students do their usual OOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOO.

Dear God, please keep the students from sharing with George the new words that I have taught them today.

On another note, today I was bonding with one of my students named Andres. We were talking about pets, and he says excitedly, "Teacher! I have a dog!" WOW ANDRES!!!! WHAT KIND OF DOG????? Because obviously I'm DYING to know. "I have a dog that's, that's like a SAUSAGE!!" Wait, what? So Andres is telling me about his sausage dog. I ask him, "Hey, Andres, is your dog brown? (YES!!) Does it have a long tail? (YOU'RE SO SMART!!) Floppy ears? This tall? This long? (YES TEACHER, WOW YOU ARE SO SMART!! [I know]) Andres, you have a wiener dog." His response? "A wiener dog? I like sausage dog better." Ok, Andres, we can call your dog a sausage dog if you want.

Until next time,
Sara the Sex-Ed teacher

"But Teacher, my vagina is going to explode!!"

I finally obtained baking soda and yesterday afternoon I made banana bread. My host mom had it, and she gave me a few tablespoons full. It didn't rise. It tastes... ok, but I don't think that I'll be baking banana bread here again. Kind of a shame, but I'm over it.

This past week was a hard one at school. My grade is out of control, and the other teachers acknowledge it. I had my first parent-teacher meeting, and I was SCARED. The parents didn't speak English, so I had to utilize my Spanish, which is FINE, but pressure situation? Eh. The kid, one of the class clowns of 9A named Andres, was in the meeting too. This made me a little uncomfortable, but I guess it's good, because he would know that I'm being honest with his parents and not making stuff up.

So, I tell his mom, "Andres NEVER speaks Spanish in my class, and he is always distracting the other students, and he NEVER works unless I'm standing over him saying 'Andres! WORK!'" His mom looked at me and said "He speaks very good English." Well. This is news to me, because he NEVER speaks it in English class! I explained that, and the mom says, "He's always speaking English at home." You know what? That's great. Tell your kid to speak English in my class, and he'll get better grades.

Another boy in another class, Alfredo in 9C - the class clown in THAT class - is the same as Andres, except more obnoxious. Every day last week, Alfredo asked me "Teacher, what does 'What the Hell' mean?" I don't know how to explain this phrase, so I default to my babysitting-5-year-olds technique and say "It's bad, don't say that." For a 5 year old, this generally works. For a 13 year old, it doesn't. He KEPT saying it, until I threatened that I'd give him a detention (which are called time-outs... Really? Maybe I AM dealing with 5 year olds). He stopped. Only to start the next day. Now, I just completely ignore him. This is more effective.

The kids are always asking me to go to the bathroom. My answer is ALWAYS no. Andres, the one whose parents I talked to, is relentless. He asks every other day. I've never let him go. Earlier this week, I almost DIED at what he said. The Spanish word for bladder is "vejiga" (beh-he-guh). Andres, thinking he was smart, thought he would do the I'll-bet-it-sounds-like-that-in-English translation. He YELLS "BUT TEACHER! MY VAGINA IS GOING TO EXPLODE!!!!" I didn't even TRY to hold back my laughter. I was laughing SO hard, and I said "Hey, Andres, you don't HAVE a vagina." Definitely a highlight of my week. What a dumb kid. Although, I will say that Americans can make mistakes like that too. For example, "embarrassed". To much surprise, "embarrassed" is NOT "embarasado". "Embarasado" actually means pregnant. A mistake that can be, in fact, quite embarrassing. Good thing I learned that one in the States.

The kids are still obsessed with the George love affair. At least they talk about it so much that my face doesn't get red anymore. So that's nice. Next week, the students have to give oral presentations, and they have their first unit test (which I have to MAKE). Oh, the kids are also obsessed with telling me jokes. Like. "How do you get an elephant into a refrigerator? ... You open the door, and shove it in!!!" HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. I tell them straight up that their jokes are dumb. I know I'm mean.

Until next time,
Teacher.

Happy Women's Day!

What a wonderful holiday I discovered Ecuador has today - National Women's Day. This morning at work, I got a flower (a rose, and apparently removing the thorns hasn't reached the equator yet) and a little card thing that was shaped in a heart that had "kind" on one side "respect" on the other. So wishing all of the women in the world a Happy Women's Day! Take advantage of it! :)

In the new house that I live in, I've recently discovered that I have a maid. A MAID. I came home from school one day, and all of my dirty laundry had been washed, dried, and was folded neatly on my bed. The next day, all of my dress pants and shirts were hanging ironed in my closet. I LOVE IT. But, yes, MOM, I feel guilty about it. I never felt guilty when my own dear mother did those things for me, but this is different. Because Olga (what a name) is not my mother. She is a short and stout old woman who makes me feel as if God put her on this earth to do things for me. Happy Women's Day, Olga. You make my life so much better! The construction workers are the same way. Everyday when I get home from school, they ask me if there is anything they can do for me.

On Saturday, I decided to TRY to give a little back to them - I would make banana bread or chocolate chip cookies - whichever dessert I could find the ingredients for first. I went to the grocery store near my house. Huh. No Crisco shortening, chocolate chips, or baking soda. So I went to another grocery store. Found the shortening. So I went to another, and another, and ANOTHER. Turns out that NO ONE sells baking soda in this country. They told me it's prohibited. What? Do I have the right translation? Yes, I did. It's this new thing the country is trying, apparently. What doesn't make sense, is that there are bakeries EVERYWHERE. Literally, on almost every corner. How do they bake all of these pastries if they don't use baking soda? This afternoon, I'm going to ask dear Olga is they have any, and then I'll call my host mom, who bakes cakes, and ask her. This is ridiculous.

On Sunday, one of the people who works at my school, Eduardo, took me to the historic downtown. I'm not quite sure what his job is at the school, but everyone calls him "Inspector". Ok... So he asks me if I'm afraid of heights. Ummmm kind of? Are we talking about a free-fall here, or an enclosed building? He tells me that we are going to climb (oh God) to the top of the Basilica, a HUGE gothic church. Great. We get there, and already my stomach is in knots.

When we enter, he asks me if I want to take the stairs of the elevator. Because I'm an IDIOT, I said, "Oh whichever is fine with me!!!!" Stairs it is. We climbed. And climbed. And CLIMBED. And I was dying. We finally get to what I think is the top, and it's a pretty view, and I wasn't scared because all of the climbing we did was up normal stairs that were ENCLOSED. At what I thought was the top, I see a set of narrow green SPIRAL stairs. Up we go! I was SWEATING. And kind of starting to shake.

At the top of THESE stairs, we walk through this hallway thing, and I can't believe what I'm seeing. We're legit in the roof of the Basilica (think Hunchback of Notre Dame), and to get to the VERY tippy-top, I have to cross a - not kidding - WOODEN BRIDGE that HANGS through the roof. There was the rope handle and everything (Think Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, but there were no gaps between the planks). "Eduardo, *nervous laugh* I CAN'T do this". He pushes me onto the bridge. I'm ready to die. All I can think is that there are shooters on the other side that are going to shoot down the bridge. Good thing that I've watched Indiana Jones a million times - I know what to do in this situation.

At the end of the bridge, there is a ladder. I climb up. Is this the top? NO. My face is red, I'm sweating so bad I need a fan for my face, and I am THIRSTY. Oh, and I'm dizzy, nauseous, and am afraid I'll pass out. Before now, all of the climbing was indoors. Well, now we're outside. There is a ladder going straight up (think climbing a silo, but with NO cage around you). Oh my God. OhmyGOD. I can't do this. Icantdothis. I need to sit down. I'm going to die. I look down. I look up. I tell Eduardo, "Hey, I am going to pass out. I can NOT do this." He feels my forehead, sees that I'm in this disgusting cold sweat and says "Yes, I don't want to have to call a doctor. Next time we will go all the way up."

So, I shamefully went all the way back down without seeing the very tippy-top of the Basilica. Do I regret it? Not at all. My GOD, what if something would have happened to me up there? At least I didn't start to cry, like the woman who was behind me. So, I've got that going for me.

We went to a few other places around the city (all with our feet safely planted on the EARTH), and it was overall a good day. Eduardo told me that when I decided that I would go all the way up, we would go again. Will I? I don't know. I get nervous just THINKING about it...

Until next time,
Scare-dy Cat Sara

"Teacher Sara, your face is all red!!"

Teaching English is hard. I am NOT qualified for my job. Every night before I teach, I Google what it is that I should be teaching, because I have to learn it for myself. Great. When the students ask me questions, and I don't know that answer, they get mad, and I tell them "ALRIGHT. PLEASE remember that I went to college for AGRICULTURE, NOT English!" This does not sit well with them. It leads to more questions that I want to answer. I'm learning to deal with it.

Something that I do NOT know how to deal with though, is controlling my blushing. Oh, how I wish I would never blush! And of course the students are mean and always tell me "Teacher Sara! Your face is all red!" Thanks, guys. My latest red-face experience was a real doozy.

Let me give you a little background. First of all, the greeting/departure gesture in Ecuador is not a handshake or a wave. That would make like too easy. It's a kiss on the cheek. Fine. I'm getting used to it, but it still makes me kind of uncomfortable. So, my first few days of school, everyone was kissing me on the cheek - everyone as in the other teachers. Fine. There is a teacher named George (despite his purely American name, he is 100% Ecuadorian) who is a few years older than me, and he teaches science to the 8th graders that I teach English to. George is no exception to the kiss-on-the-cheek gesture. I HAVE noticed however, that I'm the only one that gets the kiss on the cheek. How do I make this stop? Is it because I'm so young? So white? So blonde? Lord only knows.

One day last week, someone asked me to find the classroom that George was teaching in and give him a message. I found him, and he had my class 9B - they're ROWDY. He stepped out into the hallway to talk to me for a sec, and upon my departure, he kissed my cheek. As I'm walking away, I hear all of the students do their "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO". My first thought is oh GOD no. This is going to be bad.

Needless to say, I forgot about the incident. Until yesterday. The students are always writing all over their desks (the desks are pale blue and METAL, which is horrible, and the kids write on them with everything - marker, pencil, pen, white-out, you name it), and there is this ONE desk in the corner that is just graffiti-ed like mad. Most of it is so-and-so + so-and-so = Love. 8th grade stuff. So yesterday, a few of my favorite 9B's come into the classroom and we're chatting, you know, building rapport, and one student, a SUPER shy girl named Ximena (hi [like "him"]-may-nuh) goes "TEACHER SARA! YOUR name is on this desk!" WHAT!?!?! I go over to the desk, and look down in HORROR. Someone wrote "George M. (the science teacher) + Sara" in a heart. I was MORTIFIED.

"WHO WROTE THIS!?!?!?!?!?!!" I yell at these innocent girls whom I KNOW didn't write it. They respond "We don't know! We don't know!!" Sweet little Maria Paula, who always compliments my hair, tells me, "Teacher Sara, everyone thinks that you and Teacher George are.... I don't know how to say in English! You know... together?" I had to sit down. I've been working at this school for a WEEK and already rumors are flying about me! I continue to interrogate Maria Paula. "WHY do people think this? Is it just 9B?!?" I think the poor girl thought that I was going to throw the desk on top of her. And she's little - it would do serious damage and I would be fired for sure, which at THIS point I was ready to QUIT, so it wouldn't have been so bad.

Maria Paula and Ximena continued telling me that (1) "You and Teacher George are always together." This is not true. I actually barely ever see the man. (2) "It's not just 9B! It's our whole GRADE!" MY GOD. HOW do I get myself into these situations??? I didn't even DO anything. I'm almost in tears at this point. (3) "When we asked Teacher George about you his face got all red! Just like yours!!" Ah, here it is. The students must have given George a hard time about kissing me on the cheek. And his face got red. Let me tell you, I was SWEATING when they approached ME about it.

By now, everyone else had come into the classroom and are saying "OOOOOOOO Teacher Sara and Teacher George!!!" And the girls are telling me how wonderful they think Teacher George is and that WHEN (not IF) we get married "I want to be your flower girl!" "Can I be your maid of honor?" "I can play the how do you say? RECORDER! I will play the recorder at your wedding!" NO. Teacher George and Teacher Sara are NOT getting married. There is NOTHING going on with Teacher George and Teacher Sara. Please leave me alone. Yes, I know my face is red. NO I do NOT want you to talk to Teacher George about me. If one more person talks about Teacher George, your name is going to go on the board. I'm not kidding.

Oh, the life of an Ecuadorian teacher. But really, ONE week after I started teaching? This is torture. And I don't know how to resolve the situation. It's not like I can AVOID George - GEEZE, we teach the same kids! All I can do is hope that it is NEVER brought up again - and somehow dispose of this horrible desk.

Until next time,
Scandalous Sara