Chicago

Paying Attention

Story

I didn’t ask Lucas for his story. But, he told me.

Walking through the city, I have a habit of making eye contact with strangers. Sometimes it’s people watching, but most times it’s for safety. It’s a trick that an embassy security officer taught me. Most people considering robbing someone on the street target individuals who aren’t paying attention. Thus, passively and unthreateningly making eye contact shows someone that I see them; and I see that they see me–pick on someone less prepared, pal.

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They Just Don’t Understand!

Story

Just over a year ago, I was asked to visit a kindergarten classroom on the Northwest side of Chicago. The purpose of my visit was to join the class and to pay extra attention to two twin sisters from Burundi. The girls were a source of constant stress for their compassionate teacher, Miss Chavez, who suspected that they were utterly lost during instruction. She reached out to the community center where I worked, who sent out a call for anyone who could talk to the twins in Swahili or Rundi–the languages spoken by their family at home–and assess how much they understood.

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My Poor Skin

Story

There is a someone–or rather, a something–that has accompanied me on every journey. Yet, I have neglected to share that something’s story. I regret this, and I feel that it is time I acknowledged my poor skin. It’s been patiently waiting for its story to be shared.

My skin has strayed only a few times from the Rust Belt of the United States; that strip of land between lake and river sacrificed for American industry–for automobiles, airplanes, and railways. It knew different versions of this old place: Michiana, the Allegheny side of Appalachia, Green Mountains, and a Windy City; but versions hold similarities. My eyes are used to farms atop filled-in coal mines and the rusted mills where that coal was sent. My ears have always heard gun shots, demolition derbies, and the slow hum of tractors. My nose is accustomed to bonfires and summer sweet corn. My tongue knew goulash, halupki, pierogis, pepperoni rolls, and homemade maple syrup. But, my skin–my skin has felt many sensations.

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“Goofy Stuff”

Story

Soon, I am going to travel to Zanzibar and a few months after, Namibia. As a born-and-raised American, I had to update some vaccines so my body doesn’t freak out (as severely) when I eat unwashed fruit. C’mon, body, pick your battles. Anyway, in this day and age I did this by asking Google Maps where the closest travel clinic was…and there, I went.

I made an appointment with my Google-recommended destination, and got some preliminary blood work done back in early April. I was grateful for the doctor who usually works about an hour away. He stopped by the Loop office just for my one appointment. Don’t get me wrong, my gratitude lives on. However, my respect for the doctor quickly died.

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A Man Named Paulo

Story

My agreement with two Tanzanian friends to help them sell their art in America has taught me all that the business course I never took in college might have. I have learned the basics like timing and advertising. I also learned that Ebay is efficient, and Etsy is not. I have learned that face-to-face business transactions are always better. And, now thanks to some connections in Chicago, I have learned about a piece of history.

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64 and ْStill Swinging

Story

Today was my last day of teaching, as well as Salma’s 64th birthday. We celebrated with curry, pakora, homemade yogurt, and cake. I also want to share that yesterday Salma told me that sometimes she goes to the park after midnight to swing on the swing set. I very much hope this wasn’t something lost in translation, and she really does. What a fantastic human. ! عيد ميلادها سعيد

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“Very Miss You” and Offensive Numbers

Story

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Apart from subbing, I was only able to teach one term of ESL at the community center. My creative take on grad school and brief return to Zanzibar means that I won’t be around enough to commit to teaching the Spring or Summer terms. This is bittersweet, because I’m excited for what is to come, but truly sad to leave my students.

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