There are a few random updates, endings to stories once began and long ago noticed. There is a certain clarity and satisfaction that comes from random updates, from being able to look upon someone's experience as a series of events, each piece providing a bigger piece to the puzzle and illuminating a sense of logic and purpose to what, at the time, may feel random and disjointed.
The trick, of course, is maintaining patience and perseverance when regarding our own lives. It's so much easier to see a plan as someone else's life unfolds. So here is what I have witnessed:
Remember this guy, who travelled all the way to our quaint little CIAD in search of true love only to be shunned by his desired and taken in by some random family in the neighborhood? It wasn't too long ago that I caught a glimpse of him, straight from a Grimm's fairy tale of friendly ogres and gentle giants. It was a silhouette I saw of him walking down the dirt road, hoisting a propane tank (those cursed propane tanks!) over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes walking alongside a woman who barely reached his shoulders. There was a sense of chivalry to the image. A gentleness and sweet exchange hovered in the air above them. Apparently he'd persevered and found someone who appreciated his spirit. I guess he has settled in with her and the two make a delightful pair. I still don't know what he "does," as in what permits him to fly off in search of a new life and make his home in a quiet little village just north of Abidjan center, but he has found a bit of paradise for the moment it seems.
There is the story of the towel people and somewhere along the way we've become acquainted. This is in the broadest sense of the word. I don't know his name or anything about him, nor he of me. But we've become accustomed to greeting each other with a neighbourly good morning- or good evening- and a sincere wish for a 'bonne journey.' I can't be sure how it happened, a meeting of the eyes I suppose, as most human contact can be reduced to this. What is the underlying connection that causes it to expand? At times, even if he is sitting at the hair salon just out of sight, he will call out to me and wish me a good evening, or a welcome home. I wonder often at what causes two humans to progress through the stages of noticing each other, to making a connection and then to committing- even if it is as simple as saying hello. On other mornings, I wonder even more. Now that school is back in session and I am leaving hom earlier, I see him outside sweeping- honestly a bit of a rarity among African men. The morning sweeping routine is often reserved for women unless it is in front of a shop or cabine- and I am overcome for a moment wanting to find out the details. Yes, I want an interview. I imagine all the questions I would pose, an amateur anthropologist studying the human quirks in my neighborhood. Does he live alone (I know he does not as I have occasionally witnessed the towel woman) and is he an early riser? Obviously, but what is it that propels him outside to in the wee hours to perfom this chore? These questions are still a mystery even as we have taken a step or two across the bridge of complete strangerhood.
There is another neighborhood acquaintance whose mystery has been unravelled. I still see him occasionally, a Frenchman who lives in the neighborhood. We most often cross paths as I am returning home and he as well, though from within the cartier. I remember wondering where he could be going- or coming from- deep within the neighborhood. A recent visit from a friend seems to have unveilled the mystery. Just a short walk away is the ferry to Marcory. I had thought this ferry was only available from M'Pouto by the Sol Beni side of the lagoon. Turns out there is a hidden little port right here in our neighborhood. I have yet to take this voyage but my friend, and friends of hers, took it several times. I imagine this is where the Frenchman is off to every morning and where he returns from in the evening. He must work somewhere in Marcory or Zone 4 and travels back forth avoiding high traffic by way of the lagoon. It seems like an enchanting commute.
The stories of my African neighborhood....not so different from yours, hey?
.
19.9.16
18.9.16
the search continues
My search for dance continues, the Company Mouyae having turned out to be more of a foster family than an adoptive family. I am not sure what happened there, though it definitely seems to be a theme in Abidjan. Just as something gets started, begins to feel like it might be a real possibility, it fades away, often inexplicably.
I finally went to the Village Kiyi, a place that's been on my periphery for the last year or so, but I'd never made it there. I was in search of an artist I'd seen a few times but never gotten direct contact info from. This whole dance thing is like a full time job. A serious hunt. The Village is a bona-fide school of dance dripping with culture. The walls are covered with paintings both on canvas and geometric mural designs directly on the walls.
There are several stage areas including an outdoor amphitheater and a more traditional indoor space. The stage is black wood, the walls are covered with large canvas paintings of city scenes and there is a refreshing cross breeze through the open doorways. I am enveloped in a serious spirit of creativity and history.
The emcee comes on (to keep me entertained during my wait, I've been whisked into the culminating performance of the kids summer program) and gives an impressive introduction to the recital we are about to witness. One of the students will begin by introducing the show in English. She is to be followed by another student with the French version. The emcee suggests even more languages in coming years. "Pourqoui pas Arabic or Chinese?" he asks, stating at the Village, they have their ' head in the future and their feet in their culture.' A synthesis of the spirit of Abidjan, where all cultures and languages seem to collide, combine and morph into something new entirely.
Unfortunately, as with most places I am learning, there are a million opportunities for children but few for adults. I leave my number and receive assurances of a phone call to come once they get their adult classes started. I've been down this road so many times I'm not anticipating anything. The search continues.
I finally went to the Village Kiyi, a place that's been on my periphery for the last year or so, but I'd never made it there. I was in search of an artist I'd seen a few times but never gotten direct contact info from. This whole dance thing is like a full time job. A serious hunt. The Village is a bona-fide school of dance dripping with culture. The walls are covered with paintings both on canvas and geometric mural designs directly on the walls.
There are several stage areas including an outdoor amphitheater and a more traditional indoor space. The stage is black wood, the walls are covered with large canvas paintings of city scenes and there is a refreshing cross breeze through the open doorways. I am enveloped in a serious spirit of creativity and history.
The emcee comes on (to keep me entertained during my wait, I've been whisked into the culminating performance of the kids summer program) and gives an impressive introduction to the recital we are about to witness. One of the students will begin by introducing the show in English. She is to be followed by another student with the French version. The emcee suggests even more languages in coming years. "Pourqoui pas Arabic or Chinese?" he asks, stating at the Village, they have their ' head in the future and their feet in their culture.' A synthesis of the spirit of Abidjan, where all cultures and languages seem to collide, combine and morph into something new entirely.
Unfortunately, as with most places I am learning, there are a million opportunities for children but few for adults. I leave my number and receive assurances of a phone call to come once they get their adult classes started. I've been down this road so many times I'm not anticipating anything. The search continues.
 |
| Beautiful archway. The space behind the stairs appears unfinished, half lived in and completely alluring |
4.9.16
No such thing as a 5 alarm fire
The sky was on fire. As we got closer to the main road we could see a billowing cloud of black smoke. The roadway was crowded with onlookers and many of them began to turn and run in our direction. A whole neighborhood was burning. Propane tanks were exploding. There was one lone firetruck and it didn't appear to be the kind holding water.
Basically everyone was just waiting for the fire to burn itself out. The neighborhood was one of wooden shacks, built close together and highly flammable. The story? Someone put their dinner on and then ran out to the market, forgetting all about it. The result? Beyond homelessness, most people lost everything they had. The lesson? There's more to development than new roads and tall buildings. Basic community services are a necessity for true progress.
There's no such thing as a 5 alarm fire. The big trucks weren't rolling out. There wasn't an ambulance on scene. There were no police and no social service agencies to help residents pick up the pieces of their now shattered lives. My house burned (partially) down and all of these services were there, waiting for me when I rounded the corner and was surprised by the event. One house. This was an entire neighborhood.
Some people had gone off to work early in the morning and came home to discover the news in the nighttime, long after the lone firetruck had packed up and gone away. They found only their neighbors sorting through rubble, hoping to salvage any bits and pieces that remained.
Basically everyone was just waiting for the fire to burn itself out. The neighborhood was one of wooden shacks, built close together and highly flammable. The story? Someone put their dinner on and then ran out to the market, forgetting all about it. The result? Beyond homelessness, most people lost everything they had. The lesson? There's more to development than new roads and tall buildings. Basic community services are a necessity for true progress.
There's no such thing as a 5 alarm fire. The big trucks weren't rolling out. There wasn't an ambulance on scene. There were no police and no social service agencies to help residents pick up the pieces of their now shattered lives. My house burned (partially) down and all of these services were there, waiting for me when I rounded the corner and was surprised by the event. One house. This was an entire neighborhood.
Some people had gone off to work early in the morning and came home to discover the news in the nighttime, long after the lone firetruck had packed up and gone away. They found only their neighbors sorting through rubble, hoping to salvage any bits and pieces that remained.
3.9.16
The way of art
Happily beginning this year as the lower school art teacher. Full time. Dream come true. You can read all about it here. It means a new year, a new position and the never ending game of curriculum development.
I do love this part of teaching. Designing a path to guide students along, developing investigative questions, bookmarking resources, and imagining experiences is a huge part of what makes my work satisying. There is nothing easy or short about curriculum writing. It is bread made from scratch, fresh pasta rolling through the machine, pastels carefully flattened, lovingly stuffed and tenderly fried. Creating curriculum is a homemade Thanksgiving meal all the way to picking fresh cranberries from the backyard.
I have all the ingredients spread out on my desktop. Tabs are open to grade level documents, science and social studies year long overviews, national art standards, AREO art standards, my own visual art curriculum (a place for storing images and links to resources) and, finally, the Pre-K-5 yearlong art curriculum overview.
I switch back and forth between documents along with web resources such as art blogs, pintrest, educational journals and google images. I bookmark relevant artists, living and dead, local and international, well known and obscure. I'm looking to make art come alive by exposing students to ALL the possibilities in art. We're not all Rembrants and vanGoghs.
So what role does art have for us? This is just one of many questions that my students will spend the year exploring. What is the role of art in society? What is the responsibility of governments in safeguarding art and making it accesible to all? What role does art play in documenting and resolving conflict? How can art record history and uncover complexities in international and national relations? How does art contribute to unity and reconciliation?
More importantly, at this age, how does art play a role in my personal life? These are big questions and we only have 40 min. once a week to figure it all out. In addition, or concurrently, there is the teaching of technique- yes, art is a skill like reading or writing or mathematics and it can be learned and improved. It needs to be practised.
There is also exposure to historic works of art, artists and movements. On my physical desktop, I have lists of movements, illustrative works, and the must-haves in the art world. There are painters, sculptures, and illustrators. There is art history and contemporary art.
Aside from the planning of units and lessons, there is the learning of names. 214 + or -. When I might have had 2 Aishas, there are now 4. There are at least 7 Mariame, Mariama or Mariannes. And a whole host of names I can't even pronounce. I make phonetic notations but some 50 kids later, I've forgotten what my shorthand means. When the child (or the whole class) corrects me, I look at my notes and nod my head. Yup, that's exactly how I've written it and it still didn't make sense. I spend my class periods calling everyone by their name everytime I talk to them and sometimes I just walk around randomly telling them who they are. Because nothing is worse than seeing them on the playground shouting out, "Hi Ms. Soumah!" and I can't say their name back.
I spend my lunch duty walking around talking to kids about their meals, their names and any other random conversation starters in an attempt to remember. I know it will come, and it is by far easier to remember in the confines of the art room- it's just generalizing to the wider school context that presents a challenge.
I know from perusing art teacher blogs that many have it worse. They write of no sinks, no classrooms (I did do a stint of art on a cart way back when...)They have 1,000+ students (?!!) and 3 schools to shuffle between. The most incomprehensible-- 20 min. classes.
I don't even consider making art, personally, if I only have 20 minutes (maybe something to consider if I had a table and a studio space to just pop in and out of.) But art, and learning, is about getting into that zone- "the flow"- where time is lost and it's just you and the medium.
I wish I had time to help my students experience this at every art class. Time to look at art thoughtfully and learn the words to respond to elements that are striking and the time to discover what they like and don't like. We can't do it at every class, but I am realizing it is something I can build in consistently.
It is a journey. When we discussed "what is art?" during our first class session, I was delighted to see many kids were already reading the room. "Well, it says art is not a thing," they pointed to the quote on the wall. "Art is a way."
I do love this part of teaching. Designing a path to guide students along, developing investigative questions, bookmarking resources, and imagining experiences is a huge part of what makes my work satisying. There is nothing easy or short about curriculum writing. It is bread made from scratch, fresh pasta rolling through the machine, pastels carefully flattened, lovingly stuffed and tenderly fried. Creating curriculum is a homemade Thanksgiving meal all the way to picking fresh cranberries from the backyard.
I have all the ingredients spread out on my desktop. Tabs are open to grade level documents, science and social studies year long overviews, national art standards, AREO art standards, my own visual art curriculum (a place for storing images and links to resources) and, finally, the Pre-K-5 yearlong art curriculum overview.
I switch back and forth between documents along with web resources such as art blogs, pintrest, educational journals and google images. I bookmark relevant artists, living and dead, local and international, well known and obscure. I'm looking to make art come alive by exposing students to ALL the possibilities in art. We're not all Rembrants and vanGoghs.
So what role does art have for us? This is just one of many questions that my students will spend the year exploring. What is the role of art in society? What is the responsibility of governments in safeguarding art and making it accesible to all? What role does art play in documenting and resolving conflict? How can art record history and uncover complexities in international and national relations? How does art contribute to unity and reconciliation?
More importantly, at this age, how does art play a role in my personal life? These are big questions and we only have 40 min. once a week to figure it all out. In addition, or concurrently, there is the teaching of technique- yes, art is a skill like reading or writing or mathematics and it can be learned and improved. It needs to be practised.
There is also exposure to historic works of art, artists and movements. On my physical desktop, I have lists of movements, illustrative works, and the must-haves in the art world. There are painters, sculptures, and illustrators. There is art history and contemporary art.
Aside from the planning of units and lessons, there is the learning of names. 214 + or -. When I might have had 2 Aishas, there are now 4. There are at least 7 Mariame, Mariama or Mariannes. And a whole host of names I can't even pronounce. I make phonetic notations but some 50 kids later, I've forgotten what my shorthand means. When the child (or the whole class) corrects me, I look at my notes and nod my head. Yup, that's exactly how I've written it and it still didn't make sense. I spend my class periods calling everyone by their name everytime I talk to them and sometimes I just walk around randomly telling them who they are. Because nothing is worse than seeing them on the playground shouting out, "Hi Ms. Soumah!" and I can't say their name back.
I spend my lunch duty walking around talking to kids about their meals, their names and any other random conversation starters in an attempt to remember. I know it will come, and it is by far easier to remember in the confines of the art room- it's just generalizing to the wider school context that presents a challenge.
I know from perusing art teacher blogs that many have it worse. They write of no sinks, no classrooms (I did do a stint of art on a cart way back when...)They have 1,000+ students (?!!) and 3 schools to shuffle between. The most incomprehensible-- 20 min. classes.
I don't even consider making art, personally, if I only have 20 minutes (maybe something to consider if I had a table and a studio space to just pop in and out of.) But art, and learning, is about getting into that zone- "the flow"- where time is lost and it's just you and the medium.
I wish I had time to help my students experience this at every art class. Time to look at art thoughtfully and learn the words to respond to elements that are striking and the time to discover what they like and don't like. We can't do it at every class, but I am realizing it is something I can build in consistently.
It is a journey. When we discussed "what is art?" during our first class session, I was delighted to see many kids were already reading the room. "Well, it says art is not a thing," they pointed to the quote on the wall. "Art is a way."
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