7:45pm on a Wednesday night. There’s an endless list of things that I could be doing. I could be eating dinner with some friends. I could be watching the stars/planes fly by to Lima. I could be cursing the neighbor’s rooster for being so dumb he’s crowing at night. I could be helping with an emergency at the health post (there’s been a lot of them recently). I could even be writing a literary masterpiece (ok that last bit was a WAY over exaggeration). Oh but the actual action is just so lame, I’m not even sure if I want to write it. Because in me publishing this on the internet my inner dorkiness will take over my outer dorkiness and label me an official dork. And I’m just not sure if I’m willing to go official with my dork status.
OK, before I get carried away and spill the beans let me give some background to explain the action that got me to where I am now. Yes, this is a last ditch effort to save the dork label, so bear with me.
I was reading “I Was Told There’d Be Cake, “by Sloane Crosley (what could be quite possibly my greatest find at the Peace Corps’ Library), it’s a conjunction of semi-non-related essays revealing the author’s rather abnormally-normal life. But one line stuck with me after completing the book in a record time for me (the non-reader) of 1 day (it was really a 4 hour bus ride and a 2 hour hide in my room and read session). “Chastise your inner 12 year old, who is only supposed to rear her head in the face of kittens and swing sets.”
Now, why would I go and do such as thing as chastise my inner 12 year old? However bad my actual life was at 12 years old (I shudder to think, Middle School was NOT good to me) I don’t think that should keep me from digressing to that mind state every-now-and-again. That being said I’m not all for busting out my supply of who knows how many Beany Babies that are in the attic back at the house and playing with them—I am however a-OK for going through and separating the 4 I want to keep from the others and giving those away to the needy. Some 12 year old needs a stuffed animal damnit! Nor am I willing to take out those rollerblades from the garage and start using them, I will admit using them for a Halloween costume my senior year of college, that being said: rollerblades and NC State’s all brick campus on Hillsborough Hike night—not one of our smartest ideas.
But life at 12 was just that much easier. Now I never would have thought I would be in Peru, reading (of all things), and wishing once again to be 12. Ok, not really be 12. I was a klutzy kid with glasses and pimples at 12. But the mindset I could go back to just to visit for a while; back when our greatest worry was the answer to Mr. Lucas’s history homework, or if it would rain and cancel the soccer game that day. Not have to worry about things like money, jobs, laundry (I was a spoiled 12 year old, my mommy did my laundry, you’re jealous I know), relationships (or lack thereof), or if your boss hates you.
That being said, being in the Peace Corps is strangely stressful. You’d think a job volunteering wouldn’t be that bad as far as the stress level’s concerned. I mean I made it through a good 4 years of college and I can honestly say I never resorted to the stress reliving activity that I did tonight. And I was studying Math! That’s a stressful course load. If you don’t believe me track down my study buddies Morgan, Grace, Thomas, and Kenny—just don’t talk to Steamboat, nothing stresses him. Stress and the Peace Corps just go hand in hand, it (in addition to starches, hello a mountain full of rice anyone?) is one of the reasons we all gain the “Peace Corps Pooch” as it’s been called. It’s the volunteer equivalent of the “freshman fifteen.”
But yes, tonight, I resorted to a new low for stress relief. I still can’t quite believe I’m about to say it…well where to start? From the beginning I guess. Well. I lied to my host mom, I told her that I had a headache and didn’t feel like eating dinner. Peace Corps code for “I just really don’t feel like talking Spanish tonight.” Then I locked myself in my room and opened my Rubbermaid-like container that holds all my “gringo food” and got out the beef jerky and chocolate. Now normally that’d be the de-stresser of the night. Beef Jerky and chocolate are 2 of the best things to de-stress. All I was missing was a Mountain Dew (God I sound like way more of a hick than I am…a fatty at that). But seeing as how there was no Mountain Dew inside my box of all things American, I resorted to the next best thing I had…
Are you ready for it? Yes, people. I started watching Looney Tunes. I had brought the DVD set that my mom gave me for Christmas one year (yes, I am an adult I swear) to Peru figuring that it’s just as good dubbed over in Spanish. Turns out, Looney Tunes is not as universal as one might think—the majority of the people I show it here to don’t like it; which brings me back to why I was watching it alone in my room…or so I tell myself. After completing the Bugs Bunny Disc 1 along with a little under a half a bar (big bar) of dark chocolate (thanks again Mrs. Brown!) and 4 big pieces of beef jerky (God I need to start running again) I realized what I had done.
Now feeling like I was an official dork, I realized how freaking tired I was. After I closed the window of the movie I looked at the clock in the bottom corner of my computer screen. Yep, it was only 7:45pm. Yes, not only had I spent who knows how long watching Bugs Bunny and eating junk food, I was also ready for bed at 7:45. My God. I was 12 years old again. At 12 I’m about 85% sure (my memory’s not the best of my Middle School years, like a normal person I try and forget it) that my bedtime was at 9:00pm, 9:30 on a weekend. Wow, so not only was I acting like a 12 year old tonight, I was acting like a 12 year old with the bedtime of a 5 year old, or that of a 75 year old…which ever.
So after feeling the compelling need to write to all of the readers of my blog, however few you might be, and share my moment of shame. My moment of letting the inner dork outshine my outer dork, I guess it’s time to actually go to bed. I figure I didn’t fight the inner 12 year old feeling. I probably shouldn’t try to hold off the tired feeling for too long either. Besides, if I stay awake I might eat more chocolate, and that would not be good for future de-stresser nights. And it’s like 8:30 now. That’s bumped me up to a 10 year old bedtime right?
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Salute Your Shorts
Schwartz. It’s a hard last name to pronounce correctly. I vaguely remember learning in a German class that it is actually spelled and pronounced wrong and should be the German word for black. Who knows. All I know is that for approximately 18 years of my life (Aka all the years I spent in school and college) I’ve been called Jennifer Shorts. I was unaware of how hard it is for the average American to say Schwartz. I don’t remember ever having difficulty with it, but I guess I need to ask my parents to get the real answer for that…because I honestly don’t remember learning my last name. I remember how freaking hard it was for me to remember to spell Elizabeth. Looking back on it I can’t for the life of me see why…but I always wanted to write Elezebeth. Guess I liked the letter e a lot.
I remember there was one classmate of mine, who I hate only for this one act because otherwise she is an amazing person. But she said to me one day “Hey there Jenny Salute your Shorts.” Not sure if anyone remembers that tv program that came on Nick, Salute your Shorts, it was about a summer camp and the kids that lived there. I don’t remember anything else, just the impact of the day that she said that phrase. Since then, I’ve been called “Jenny Salute your Shorts” at least 2,000 times in my life. It’s always irritated me. I never really cared if it’s that much easier to say Shorts than Schwartz. I learned to say all the Jewish, Spanish, Czech, and African last names of some of my friends…why’s mine so hard? Akin, I’ll say yours was especially hard.
But how ever hard it is for an English speaker (a Germanic language) to say my German last name—it is SO much harder for a Spanish speaker to even attempt it. But recently every one of my students has started an unofficial competition to see who can, in fact, say my name correctly. So just try to get the mental image of Spanish speakers trying to say my name.
Eswitz
Esctich
Eswwwwwatz
Eswwwwiwwwthcs
Oh the list just keeps going on, but usually there is a face made with each pronunciation. At first they pause to think, then they build up the courage to start with an S, well really an Es because an S is never alone in Spanish, and then as they try to take over the next syllable inevitably they raise an eyebrow or shut an eye as they round 3rd base and try to take on the final syllable the Z sound. It’s an ordeal that they just try over and over again, each time I repeat it the way it should be and they try once again in vain.
Then finally one day, I did the unthinkable…I can’t to this moment even believe that I did it. I told them to say it Shorts. Not just because it’s like WAY easier to say, but because it’s a word that they actually know. Even in Spanish, Shorts is Shorts. So apparently I have made myself Jenny Shorts once again…and I spent all of college being so happy that I got rid of the Shorts. But it seems to be working. Shorts in Spanish sounds scarily similar to Schwartz with the accent. Go figure.
So call me Jenny Salute you Shorts for a little while longer. It’s just easier.
I remember there was one classmate of mine, who I hate only for this one act because otherwise she is an amazing person. But she said to me one day “Hey there Jenny Salute your Shorts.” Not sure if anyone remembers that tv program that came on Nick, Salute your Shorts, it was about a summer camp and the kids that lived there. I don’t remember anything else, just the impact of the day that she said that phrase. Since then, I’ve been called “Jenny Salute your Shorts” at least 2,000 times in my life. It’s always irritated me. I never really cared if it’s that much easier to say Shorts than Schwartz. I learned to say all the Jewish, Spanish, Czech, and African last names of some of my friends…why’s mine so hard? Akin, I’ll say yours was especially hard.
But how ever hard it is for an English speaker (a Germanic language) to say my German last name—it is SO much harder for a Spanish speaker to even attempt it. But recently every one of my students has started an unofficial competition to see who can, in fact, say my name correctly. So just try to get the mental image of Spanish speakers trying to say my name.
Eswitz
Esctich
Eswwwwwatz
Eswwwwiwwwthcs
Oh the list just keeps going on, but usually there is a face made with each pronunciation. At first they pause to think, then they build up the courage to start with an S, well really an Es because an S is never alone in Spanish, and then as they try to take over the next syllable inevitably they raise an eyebrow or shut an eye as they round 3rd base and try to take on the final syllable the Z sound. It’s an ordeal that they just try over and over again, each time I repeat it the way it should be and they try once again in vain.
Then finally one day, I did the unthinkable…I can’t to this moment even believe that I did it. I told them to say it Shorts. Not just because it’s like WAY easier to say, but because it’s a word that they actually know. Even in Spanish, Shorts is Shorts. So apparently I have made myself Jenny Shorts once again…and I spent all of college being so happy that I got rid of the Shorts. But it seems to be working. Shorts in Spanish sounds scarily similar to Schwartz with the accent. Go figure.
So call me Jenny Salute you Shorts for a little while longer. It’s just easier.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Dear Peru 14 Volunteers
Dear Peru 14 volunteers,
Seeing as how you are all currently in the “holy heck I’m really leaving the country” mindset and trying to decided what in the world should really go into those 2 checked bags that we’re allotted I figured I’d try to help ya’ll out a little. Assuming that you’re all blog stalking like we were before we left the country.
Things I’d have died without:
-My Backpacking hammock—crucial for any excursion to a caserio that winds up lasting WAY longer than intended, also amazing for sticky, hot summer afternoons.
-Laptop—I would not have survived the rainy season (well at least the part that had electricity) without the ability to watch a movie in English.
-External Hard drive—Great for stealing music from your friends…even if you think you won’t listen to it you will. Just wait for the rainy season.
-Rain Jacket and Rain Pants and Gortex boots—yes you see a theme, rain sucks. I was happy I was able to stay dry.
-Hiking Pack—I feel very much like a donkey at times carrying all the stuff we need to give charlas…so the pack just makes that all easier. In addition a Camel Back will make the pack even better.
-Leather Work gloves—I do a lot of shoveling/pick axing/handling metal or animal crud, sometimes it’s just nice to not have to worry about blisters or cutting or burning your hands.
-SUNGLASSES—the sun is just that much stronger here. Even if you didn’t wear them in the States you’ll want them here.
-Chacos—I will have a permanent chaco tan line by the time I’ve completed my Peace Corps service because I wear them 75% of the time, the other 25% it’s either pouring rain and I’m in boots or I’m hiking really far.
-Leatherman—dude, you always need a leatherman.
-Iron Man watch—it’s hard to find a good quality watch here. I’d just bring an extra band…I forgot to do that.
TAMPONS!—They just don’t do tampons here in Peru. I brought a gallon Ziplock full of OB tampons and have still yet to run out (my family also uses them as packing peanuts when they send me stuff). They cost and arm and a leg here.
Things to ignore on that Packing List they gave you:
-I brought WAY more business casual than needed. Really guys, I kid you not, bring one skirt/dress that doesn’t wrinkle very easy, one pair of kakis, and one button up shirt and you are golden. I’ve only worn business casual 3 times, and no one in Peace Corps cares if they always see you in the same shirt. It just makes it easier to remember your name around the office.
-3 Month Supply of stuff—The idea is that we’re short of time to buy that stuff during training…Really if you have enough to get your through a week after Staging in DC you’ll be fine. There is a grocery store (like a real one) a 4 block walk from the training center in Chaclaclayo by the Serpost. You can get anything and everything you need there. It’ll save you some weight on those bags as well.
So basically Peru 14, all I wanted to say was to take a deep breath in. Relax. And enjoy these last few days with friends and family. Enjoy all of your favorite things American because you won’t be seeing any (or much) of them here in Peru. Enjoy JIF Peanut Butter, good cheese, sliced deli meat, solid yogurt, bagels, real ketchup, pork barbeque, thick and good tasting hamburgers, and last but defiantly not least, your family’s cooking. Don’t forget to soak up as much time in your favorite places, the mountains and beaches are beautiful here, but they are still not like home. So enjoy your favorite things, take a lot of pictures to bring with you and share all of those memories with your new Peruvian families.
I’ll probably see ya’ll around the training center at some point. Travel safe, and take care of each other. We’re the only English-speaking family we’re going to have for 2 years.
-Jenny
Seeing as how you are all currently in the “holy heck I’m really leaving the country” mindset and trying to decided what in the world should really go into those 2 checked bags that we’re allotted I figured I’d try to help ya’ll out a little. Assuming that you’re all blog stalking like we were before we left the country.
Things I’d have died without:
-My Backpacking hammock—crucial for any excursion to a caserio that winds up lasting WAY longer than intended, also amazing for sticky, hot summer afternoons.
-Laptop—I would not have survived the rainy season (well at least the part that had electricity) without the ability to watch a movie in English.
-External Hard drive—Great for stealing music from your friends…even if you think you won’t listen to it you will. Just wait for the rainy season.
-Rain Jacket and Rain Pants and Gortex boots—yes you see a theme, rain sucks. I was happy I was able to stay dry.
-Hiking Pack—I feel very much like a donkey at times carrying all the stuff we need to give charlas…so the pack just makes that all easier. In addition a Camel Back will make the pack even better.
-Leather Work gloves—I do a lot of shoveling/pick axing/handling metal or animal crud, sometimes it’s just nice to not have to worry about blisters or cutting or burning your hands.
-SUNGLASSES—the sun is just that much stronger here. Even if you didn’t wear them in the States you’ll want them here.
-Chacos—I will have a permanent chaco tan line by the time I’ve completed my Peace Corps service because I wear them 75% of the time, the other 25% it’s either pouring rain and I’m in boots or I’m hiking really far.
-Leatherman—dude, you always need a leatherman.
-Iron Man watch—it’s hard to find a good quality watch here. I’d just bring an extra band…I forgot to do that.
TAMPONS!—They just don’t do tampons here in Peru. I brought a gallon Ziplock full of OB tampons and have still yet to run out (my family also uses them as packing peanuts when they send me stuff). They cost and arm and a leg here.
Things to ignore on that Packing List they gave you:
-I brought WAY more business casual than needed. Really guys, I kid you not, bring one skirt/dress that doesn’t wrinkle very easy, one pair of kakis, and one button up shirt and you are golden. I’ve only worn business casual 3 times, and no one in Peace Corps cares if they always see you in the same shirt. It just makes it easier to remember your name around the office.
-3 Month Supply of stuff—The idea is that we’re short of time to buy that stuff during training…Really if you have enough to get your through a week after Staging in DC you’ll be fine. There is a grocery store (like a real one) a 4 block walk from the training center in Chaclaclayo by the Serpost. You can get anything and everything you need there. It’ll save you some weight on those bags as well.
So basically Peru 14, all I wanted to say was to take a deep breath in. Relax. And enjoy these last few days with friends and family. Enjoy all of your favorite things American because you won’t be seeing any (or much) of them here in Peru. Enjoy JIF Peanut Butter, good cheese, sliced deli meat, solid yogurt, bagels, real ketchup, pork barbeque, thick and good tasting hamburgers, and last but defiantly not least, your family’s cooking. Don’t forget to soak up as much time in your favorite places, the mountains and beaches are beautiful here, but they are still not like home. So enjoy your favorite things, take a lot of pictures to bring with you and share all of those memories with your new Peruvian families.
I’ll probably see ya’ll around the training center at some point. Travel safe, and take care of each other. We’re the only English-speaking family we’re going to have for 2 years.
-Jenny
English Sucks
Talking with my host dad today over lunch I figured something out. Americans, well all English speaking people, we’re selfish. Ok well not all of us, but our language sure as heck is. Now hear me out before you think that I’ve gone and changed my citizenship to Peruvian (I may have thought about it after this past election…but I’ll stay American for now).
We were talking about my “capacatacion.” It’s a Spanish word that means a capacatation. See, Microsoft Word hates me for even trying to turn that into English. “Capacitar,” Spanish for “to capacitate.” Word doesn’t hate me for that…to capacitate someone, that verb exists, but the noun doesn’t. Now that’s selfish. We’ll take the credit in English for giving the information, to capacitate them, but it just doesn’t have the same significance that it does in Spanish.
I looked it up in my University of Chicago Spanish-English dictionary.
Capacitar: VT to train, to qualify.
That’s the definition…sorta, ok not really. Here in Peru when we talk about capacitating someone it has a deeper meaning than training. Training someone has a different signification. To train someone implies drilling a concept in their head. You can train in a sport, but that usually gives the connotation of a fat old guy yelling at some slim athlete to do the things that he can’t do any more. You can train a dog to sit on command, but that involves a lot of treat giving and yelling and frustration before you reach the goal. Training just doesn’t cut it. It doesn’t paint the right picture.
To capacitate is more than to train. Yes it’s giving someone information, it is informing, but it goes so much further than that in Spanish. Capacatacion. To define it in Spanish is so beautiful. My host dad once said “capacitación es nada mas de brindar a la gente alguna información o técnica para mejorar su concomimiento o su vida.” Yes I will translate that for you all. “Capacatation is nothing more than to volunteer some sort of information or technique to the people.” Brindar is another one of these words that is just so much cooler in Spanish that in English that I won’t get into today, but literally it means to toast (like to give a toast).
So here in Peru to capacitate someone holds such a different meaning than in the states. It’s not just giving them the information, it’s a combination of that, giving information with the person WANTING to receive the knowledge and fully understand and take ownership of that information. See that, they took the instructor out of capacitating the people—now that’s selfless. The actual act of capacitating has next to nothing to do with the person who has the knowledge, and almost everything to do with the person wanting to receive the knowledge. Take that. We can’t even do that in English. It’s all verb, no noun exists. And certainly nothing exists that would take the do-er out of the situation like it does in Spanish.
It’s a common mistake made by most Peace Corps Volunteers when they return to the United States, to say Capacitation. We just get so used to the idea, to the concept, that we forget that our native language doesn’t have that concept, doesn’t have that word. So when we go to interviews and when we are looking for jobs I’m sure that some of the employers or the interviewers think that we’re we’ve forgotten how to speak English. While to an extent we have forgotten to speak English it’s more of English failing to reflect a concept so inherent in the Spanish language and us trying to relay that concept to people who may not speak Spanish and who don’t understand what we want to say.
**Note to Mr. Lang, my 12th grade AP English teacher who can attest to me being the worst student he’s ever had (ok that could be an exaggeration…but probably not) and to my Mother the walking grammar dictionary of my childhood:
I know, I’m probably the last person on Earth who should have tried to explain this concept. And there is a good chance that no one outside of the Peace Corps in a Spanish speaking country will ever understand what we’re trying to say when we say Capacitation. But it was worth a try. Sorry if you all have a headache.
We were talking about my “capacatacion.” It’s a Spanish word that means a capacatation. See, Microsoft Word hates me for even trying to turn that into English. “Capacitar,” Spanish for “to capacitate.” Word doesn’t hate me for that…to capacitate someone, that verb exists, but the noun doesn’t. Now that’s selfish. We’ll take the credit in English for giving the information, to capacitate them, but it just doesn’t have the same significance that it does in Spanish.
I looked it up in my University of Chicago Spanish-English dictionary.
Capacitar: VT to train, to qualify.
That’s the definition…sorta, ok not really. Here in Peru when we talk about capacitating someone it has a deeper meaning than training. Training someone has a different signification. To train someone implies drilling a concept in their head. You can train in a sport, but that usually gives the connotation of a fat old guy yelling at some slim athlete to do the things that he can’t do any more. You can train a dog to sit on command, but that involves a lot of treat giving and yelling and frustration before you reach the goal. Training just doesn’t cut it. It doesn’t paint the right picture.
To capacitate is more than to train. Yes it’s giving someone information, it is informing, but it goes so much further than that in Spanish. Capacatacion. To define it in Spanish is so beautiful. My host dad once said “capacitación es nada mas de brindar a la gente alguna información o técnica para mejorar su concomimiento o su vida.” Yes I will translate that for you all. “Capacatation is nothing more than to volunteer some sort of information or technique to the people.” Brindar is another one of these words that is just so much cooler in Spanish that in English that I won’t get into today, but literally it means to toast (like to give a toast).
So here in Peru to capacitate someone holds such a different meaning than in the states. It’s not just giving them the information, it’s a combination of that, giving information with the person WANTING to receive the knowledge and fully understand and take ownership of that information. See that, they took the instructor out of capacitating the people—now that’s selfless. The actual act of capacitating has next to nothing to do with the person who has the knowledge, and almost everything to do with the person wanting to receive the knowledge. Take that. We can’t even do that in English. It’s all verb, no noun exists. And certainly nothing exists that would take the do-er out of the situation like it does in Spanish.
It’s a common mistake made by most Peace Corps Volunteers when they return to the United States, to say Capacitation. We just get so used to the idea, to the concept, that we forget that our native language doesn’t have that concept, doesn’t have that word. So when we go to interviews and when we are looking for jobs I’m sure that some of the employers or the interviewers think that we’re we’ve forgotten how to speak English. While to an extent we have forgotten to speak English it’s more of English failing to reflect a concept so inherent in the Spanish language and us trying to relay that concept to people who may not speak Spanish and who don’t understand what we want to say.
**Note to Mr. Lang, my 12th grade AP English teacher who can attest to me being the worst student he’s ever had (ok that could be an exaggeration…but probably not) and to my Mother the walking grammar dictionary of my childhood:
I know, I’m probably the last person on Earth who should have tried to explain this concept. And there is a good chance that no one outside of the Peace Corps in a Spanish speaking country will ever understand what we’re trying to say when we say Capacitation. But it was worth a try. Sorry if you all have a headache.
Brush, Brush, Brush Your Teeth
Finally! The Tooth Brushing Campaign has begun! Thanks to the lovely help from Durham, North Carolina’s Riverside High School and their donation of 205 toothbrushes (as mentioned in my earlier blog) I have been able to start the Campaign. We started off strong, literally, by walking a few hours straight up the mountain to visit Palto, one of the further out caserios of Nanchoc and were greeted by 25 students excited to see what I had in my hiking pack for them…well that was after I promised about 500 times that I wasn’t there to give them shots. You see, they live so far away, that the majority of the little kids only see the Health Post workers when it’s time to get a shot. And since a lab technician came with me, their first reaction was to run further up the hill and hide.
So once I was able to convince them that I in fact was there to give them a lesson and to play a game, not stick them in the arm with a needle, the real fun (I mean work…just in case my boss is reading this) began. I had made a “television” out of cardboard and filled it with poster board. Each poster board has a picture on it, and we “show the movie” while their professor read the story of “Monchito el Golosinero” which translates along the lines of “Little Moncho, the Sweet Tooth.” I love the reaction I get from the kids doing this presentation. Their eyes are fixed on the TV screen, mouths gapping open, exclusively watching the movie. It’s amazing. I get such a great high off of that, knowing that the kids actually enjoy something that took me quite literally forever and a half to finish.
After the video I asked a few questions. I figured the movie went over so great, let’s see what they learned. I started off simple, “Why did Monchito get cavities in the story?” I was met with nothing more than 25 blank stares. So I tried again. “In the story, Monchito got cavities after eating too much of what?” Nothing. At this point I was trying extremely hard to not turn bright red and regress back to my entire schooling career and my fear of giving presentations in front of groups of people. Stuttering, oh yes people, I stuttered this part, I asked “Raise your hand if you understand me.” One kid raised his hand. A boy named Lucho who had been in the health post every day this summer to receive treatment for a bug bite that eats the flesh around where it bites—so needless to say he had heard me talk when I couldn’t talk at all, this was an improvement. The entire class turns and gives Lucho the “what the heck did she just say” face and he explains to the class “Jenny wants to know if we understand her.” I received 25 headshakes of “no.”
Damn. Remember that high I was talking about with the presentation…gone. So I took a deep breath and remember something Terry Dash once told me. Terry is an instructor at NCSU for the Outdoor Leadership programs and was my teacher for Backcountry Skills. In that class we had to give presentations on outdoor skills techniques and he told me that I talk unbelievably fast when I give presentations. He didn’t say the why part, but the why part is that I get so nervous giving presentations that I shake and want to get the whole thing over with as fast as possible…so I talk fast. Remembering that I though…hmm speed-talking gringo-Spanish just might be the problem.
I took another deep breath and repeated, at a turtle’s pace, “Raise your hand now if you can understand me.” Thank God. There were at least 22 hands that went up. Ok, I have them back. Then I proceeded to ask the rest of my questions just to make sure they got the story. Success! They all answered (in unison) all the questions correctly and then all participated in a game. It was great.
To use a bad saying for this situation, I then put the sprinkles on top by bringing out the tooth brushes. “Ok guys. Remember how I said that I’m from the United States? Well I have a class over there that wanted to give you guys a present…They sent me toothbrushes from the United States, one for each of you.” You’d have thought I was Santa Clause. They formed a nice and neat line and one by one took a toothbrush from the bag and I noted one huge difference from what I’m used to State-side. There was no looking for their favorite color, rummaging around in the bag trying to find the “best” or the “coolest” looking toothbrush, one by one they all grabbed a toothbrush and stared at it as if it could possibly come to life at any moment. Some boys had pink ones or purple ones, one guy had glitter on his, and unlike in any classroom in the United States they weren’t trying to switch with the girl beside them who had a red or green one. They just stared at their very own tooth brush.
“Look mine’s got a gel handle! IT’S SQUISHY!”
“OOO mines got bumps on the back!”
“Mine’s got the gel too!
“Look! You can see through mine and it makes things bigger!”
They spent about 2 minutes just getting to know the ins and outs of their toothbrushes. Ones from the states are far more advanced than the cheap Peruvian toothbrushes. Forget a tongue cleaner, or gel handles, or funny bristles to get the crud out from your teeth, Peruvian cheap drug store toothbrushes don’t even have that little rubber get-the-crud-out-from-your-teeth nub. This was just mind blowing.
“So who’s ready to practice brushing their teeth??” I asked. A roar of “I AM!!!” told me it was time to pass out the toothpaste. I put a little bit on each brush, I did it to show how little they’d need, and then we began brushing teeth. I figured it’d be best for me to do it with them and explain as we go. Seemed like a great idea. We started out with the brushing up and down on the front teeth, the sides, and then we moved to the sides. Right about the sides I realized the flaw in my plan. It’s hard as heck to talk with a mouth full of toothpaste foam. Choking back the toothpaste I talked them through the other side, the insides, then the tongue and we all ran to the side of the hill to spit off into the grass and wash our toothbrushes with a water bottle I filled with water and put a hole in the top to make a squirter. It went great! The kids loved it! Their parents might be extremely confused as to where the neon blue toothpaste streaks are on their jackets…it seems that a few of the kids had issues with a mouth full of toothpaste as well. But all and all a great trip!
I handed out stickers, we decorated empty Pepsi bottles with their names and drawings to put their toothbrushes in (to keep the dust and dirt off of them) and then signed a contract to brush their teeth every day after snack time and to always leave the toothbrush at the school. Then I said my goodbyes, and started back down the hill to my house with a minty fresh clean feeling.
(PS. pictures will be coming soon. I just forgot my camera this trip. Sorry)
So once I was able to convince them that I in fact was there to give them a lesson and to play a game, not stick them in the arm with a needle, the real fun (I mean work…just in case my boss is reading this) began. I had made a “television” out of cardboard and filled it with poster board. Each poster board has a picture on it, and we “show the movie” while their professor read the story of “Monchito el Golosinero” which translates along the lines of “Little Moncho, the Sweet Tooth.” I love the reaction I get from the kids doing this presentation. Their eyes are fixed on the TV screen, mouths gapping open, exclusively watching the movie. It’s amazing. I get such a great high off of that, knowing that the kids actually enjoy something that took me quite literally forever and a half to finish.
After the video I asked a few questions. I figured the movie went over so great, let’s see what they learned. I started off simple, “Why did Monchito get cavities in the story?” I was met with nothing more than 25 blank stares. So I tried again. “In the story, Monchito got cavities after eating too much of what?” Nothing. At this point I was trying extremely hard to not turn bright red and regress back to my entire schooling career and my fear of giving presentations in front of groups of people. Stuttering, oh yes people, I stuttered this part, I asked “Raise your hand if you understand me.” One kid raised his hand. A boy named Lucho who had been in the health post every day this summer to receive treatment for a bug bite that eats the flesh around where it bites—so needless to say he had heard me talk when I couldn’t talk at all, this was an improvement. The entire class turns and gives Lucho the “what the heck did she just say” face and he explains to the class “Jenny wants to know if we understand her.” I received 25 headshakes of “no.”
Damn. Remember that high I was talking about with the presentation…gone. So I took a deep breath and remember something Terry Dash once told me. Terry is an instructor at NCSU for the Outdoor Leadership programs and was my teacher for Backcountry Skills. In that class we had to give presentations on outdoor skills techniques and he told me that I talk unbelievably fast when I give presentations. He didn’t say the why part, but the why part is that I get so nervous giving presentations that I shake and want to get the whole thing over with as fast as possible…so I talk fast. Remembering that I though…hmm speed-talking gringo-Spanish just might be the problem.
I took another deep breath and repeated, at a turtle’s pace, “Raise your hand now if you can understand me.” Thank God. There were at least 22 hands that went up. Ok, I have them back. Then I proceeded to ask the rest of my questions just to make sure they got the story. Success! They all answered (in unison) all the questions correctly and then all participated in a game. It was great.
To use a bad saying for this situation, I then put the sprinkles on top by bringing out the tooth brushes. “Ok guys. Remember how I said that I’m from the United States? Well I have a class over there that wanted to give you guys a present…They sent me toothbrushes from the United States, one for each of you.” You’d have thought I was Santa Clause. They formed a nice and neat line and one by one took a toothbrush from the bag and I noted one huge difference from what I’m used to State-side. There was no looking for their favorite color, rummaging around in the bag trying to find the “best” or the “coolest” looking toothbrush, one by one they all grabbed a toothbrush and stared at it as if it could possibly come to life at any moment. Some boys had pink ones or purple ones, one guy had glitter on his, and unlike in any classroom in the United States they weren’t trying to switch with the girl beside them who had a red or green one. They just stared at their very own tooth brush.
“Look mine’s got a gel handle! IT’S SQUISHY!”
“OOO mines got bumps on the back!”
“Mine’s got the gel too!
“Look! You can see through mine and it makes things bigger!”
They spent about 2 minutes just getting to know the ins and outs of their toothbrushes. Ones from the states are far more advanced than the cheap Peruvian toothbrushes. Forget a tongue cleaner, or gel handles, or funny bristles to get the crud out from your teeth, Peruvian cheap drug store toothbrushes don’t even have that little rubber get-the-crud-out-from-your-teeth nub. This was just mind blowing.
“So who’s ready to practice brushing their teeth??” I asked. A roar of “I AM!!!” told me it was time to pass out the toothpaste. I put a little bit on each brush, I did it to show how little they’d need, and then we began brushing teeth. I figured it’d be best for me to do it with them and explain as we go. Seemed like a great idea. We started out with the brushing up and down on the front teeth, the sides, and then we moved to the sides. Right about the sides I realized the flaw in my plan. It’s hard as heck to talk with a mouth full of toothpaste foam. Choking back the toothpaste I talked them through the other side, the insides, then the tongue and we all ran to the side of the hill to spit off into the grass and wash our toothbrushes with a water bottle I filled with water and put a hole in the top to make a squirter. It went great! The kids loved it! Their parents might be extremely confused as to where the neon blue toothpaste streaks are on their jackets…it seems that a few of the kids had issues with a mouth full of toothpaste as well. But all and all a great trip!
I handed out stickers, we decorated empty Pepsi bottles with their names and drawings to put their toothbrushes in (to keep the dust and dirt off of them) and then signed a contract to brush their teeth every day after snack time and to always leave the toothbrush at the school. Then I said my goodbyes, and started back down the hill to my house with a minty fresh clean feeling.
(PS. pictures will be coming soon. I just forgot my camera this trip. Sorry)
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