The Blue Line

Story

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I get to and from work by CTA each day. That means the train, or the ‘EL’ here in Chicago. It’s called the ‘EL’ as an abbreviation for ‘elevated,’ even though it seems like most of my time on it is spent underground. In those subterranean moments, weird things happen. One time a man got on board with a city-owned trash bin and announced that everyone else should mind their own business. Another time, a guy sang the Battle Hymn of the Republic followed by Iggy Azalea’s ‘Fancy.’ Very few people ever strike up conversation with me, but sometimes it happens.

Church: Part 1

Story

Lately, I have been going to mass at Old St. Pat’s, just west of the Loop in Chicago. The priest tonight talked about “reclaiming humanity,” and it reminded me of another place much warmer than here. One of the most human moments I have ever witnessed happened at a historic church in Zanzibar called Minara Miwili or St. Joseph’s Cathedral. It happened because of a tragedy.

Two years ago in February, when I was living in Zanzibar a priest was shot and killed. His name was Father Evaristo Mushi. The international news media shared the story of his death under headlines about “religious tension,” “brave Catholics,” and “extremists,” without any knowledge of who the shooters were. A small handful of American newspapers shared the story of his life, since he had lived in places like Pittsburgh and St. Petersburg. I attended his funeral mass with a close friend, and I admit that I was nervous. When we arrived, there was a crowd lined up the whole way down the narrow, ancient street. My nerves disappeared when we saw what everyone was wearing. I regret not having a camera at the time, but no one cared about cameras that day. The only people who did bring cameras were journalists who snapped away when the politicians arrived, quickly shook hands next to the casket, and shuffled away from the place immediately. It is incredible to me that no one bothered to photograph the much more meaningful attendees, who were the hundreds of women in matching kanga.

Smiling

Story

Mr. B. (the same from my first post) doesn’t say things; he exclaims them. This man was born with a politician’s voice, and he often interrupts class to give brief presidential speeches. I think he could have been a congressman except that he was busy getting married at 15, and supporting a family before most Americans finish high school. Once he told me that Hyderabad, India, reaches 50 degrees Celsius and I believed him until I went home and did a quick Google search. When I asked him to describe his house, he took the chalk from my hand and drew a blueprint on the board–down to the location of each doorway. There is charisma behind his words.

Therefore, when the class ganged up and set off on a disparaging complaint about one of the other teachers, Mr. B.’s silence was noticeable.

One student explained that “All teachers very good, but she is–she is…eh.”

The others nodded, and another said, “She’s voice very loud.”

Salma said, “She is not smiling. Never smiling…”

Then finally, Mr. B. spoke up and exclaimed, “Smiling is very healthy!”

That settled the matter. We all agreed, and smoothly transitioned to non-count nouns.

“We are staying home”

Story

One of my students is an Iraqi woman who has been in Chicago for a while. Her quirks include shushing the others when they talk too much in languages that aren’t English and bringing candy corn for everyone to share. She is also always the last to leave and she always apologizes for it. Let’s call her Salma.

At the beginning of class, I asked Salma what she did this past weekend, and she told me the usual “going to shopping,” and “walking to the Devon market.” I asked her to use the past tense, and got some impressive went’s and did’s. She also told me that she “watched the T.V. news,” and that there was bad news. She passed me a note:

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She added, “We are scared. We are going home, just, we are staying home.”

Qualifications!?

Story

As an ESL teacher of low-level, beginner students, I follow along with eager anticipation any time my students volunteer to speak. One student in particular, who is a middle-aged and proud grandfather from India, speaks up especially often. In the fourth week of the term, this student–who we’ll call Mr. B.–got my attention toward the end of class, saying, “Excuse, me, sir.”

As usual, I was all ears. That class had been a lively one, and I awaited his question. I expected something about clarifying the difference between courtyard and patio, or maybe a request to convert 30 degrees Celsius to Fahrenheit. But, that isn’t what Mr. B. wanted. Instead, his speech was jumbled from the start and I could tell his ideas were difficult to express. I didn’t interrupt him, but patiently waited with my best calm, and kind, teacher-face. Teacher-face means looking as interested and encouraging as possible without being patronizing.

“You going–you go–went college? Pre-graduate? Teacher for secondary–er–college…I–er…”

Mr. B. laughed and looked flustered, so I suggested, “Did I go to college?”

He shot back with, “No, no…you going to school, work for…”

Then with sudden clarity, he looked me in the eyes and exclaimed, “Qualifications! … What are your qualifications!?”

The best way to describe my reaction might be spooked–not the way horses get spooked (thank goodness), but more the way someone who saw a ghost smiles awkwardly to prove he isn’t nervous. After the flurry of words like ‘college’ and ‘graduate,’ my brain went into job interview mode, and I began to question my very existence as adult ESL instructor. I saw a ghost named self-doubt.

What are my qualifications? Am I qualified? What gives me the authority to teach these people?

After snapping out of it, I told Mr. B. about my time in graduate school receiving my MA in TESOL. I also learned that he just wanted to compare what it took to become a teacher in the United States to India, and he didn’t really care about my personal qualifications as much as what teachers studied in general. But, the question stuck with me. It made me question myself and my career choice. Even more than that, it made me question all teachers. What leads people to decide that they are fit to educate? When does student turn into teacher?

There might be just as many things that motivate students to learn as there are that motivate teachers to teach. It’s a job, so it pays. Many teachers are inspired by family or by incredible teachers they had when they were younger. Depending on where you are, it is a good career for continued learning and networking. I know why I teach, but the question is always worth considering:

What are your qualifications?

What gives you the right to teach me?

Anyway, I digress because this is a blog about sharing stories. So, I will leave it with something I heard Maya Angelou say on television once:

“When you learn, teach. When you get, give.”