UPDATE - 28 February 2013

Hi, all. It’s good to be back from India. I had a great time with the students there. I taught another batch and now I’m home, and they consistently contact me sending me love. I love it!

I then spent a week in Blacksburg visiting my mentee and spending time with one of my dearest, oldest, and most beautiful friends (hey, BF) as she works through her PhD. I stopped in DC on the weekend to surprise Kristine for Valentine’s Day. We were able to do a really cool cruise on the water and I got to see her bruises healing slowly. Unfortunately another tooth cap came loose so that had to be redone but she seems to be in good spirits, in general. Or at least seeing me helped. J

I’m now back and about to head out for another fun-filled two weeks. Then hopefully I’ll be grounded for awhile as I start up some music classes, try to join the North American Actor’s Guild here, and run a Sparks session. Wish me luck because I’m having trouble with all three of those, but I believe it will work out as I continue trying.

I’ve just finished my stint at the homeless shelter I was working at, so I’ll miss a lot of my people there. The funny thing is people ask me for jobs all the time when they find out where you work. It’s just part of working here. Students ask me, people I meet in pubs ask me. Even the woman I see each week at the dry cleaners. I thought she was joking with me and flashing that smile at me because she was interested in me. Turns out she just wanted to work with my company. I should have known after she commented on how tall I was! I didn’t think it would be the exact same thing at the shelter. So at the shelter, I was helping one girl with internships and studies. I was helping another man who was trying to shop a new product idea to my company. He asked me to check with them. I did but of course, they weren’t interested. It was the first time I got job requests even at the shelter. I’m still working on helping one guy out and need to talk to the shelter administration.

Otherwise, things are good. I’m going to go rest now, but hopefully you enjoy the rest of this update. If not, just close the tab on the browser, delete the email, or navigate to another page away from this blog. I’m never offended. Have a great week and weekend.

HE KNOWS MY NAME

I spent my last week in India crying quite a bit. Nothing was really wrong; it’s just that I would stand and teach for 8 hours a day and, afterwards, I would come home, take notes on everything that happened for the last 8 hours, test out the lab for the next day, prepare to teach the lesson the next day, and answer student questions and queries by email. To answer your question, no, it’s not supposed to be like that. When you pilot a course or some training material, it’s better to have one person teach, another keep time (testing your estimated timings), and another to observe and take notes. I had to take notes in my head for 8 hours and then quickly try to remember and write everything down at night. Needless to say, each day I worked two 8-hour shifts. (Don’t worry, I collect all those travel work nights as future holidays.)

For my second 8-hour shift, at home at night, I would work with the TV, my good friend. Because my Hindi, stinks I watched an English channel that would play a new episode of Packed to the Rafters (Australian show), Joey and Molly (US TV), Grey’s Anatomy and Homeland each day. The show that really made me cry was Grey’s Anatomy. Has anyone seen this show? While in India I saw the season during which one doctor gets cancer and another gets in an accident after deciding to become an army medic. They usually showed the episode 4 times a day, so I had ample times to watch. I just kept thinking “how can one hospital have SOO much drama among the doctors (forget about the patients)? It’s unreal!” It was staggered, amazed, appalled, gripped, and sad. I would laugh at myself crying over these fictional characters while preparing to cry over the laughter of real life characters the next day—students laughing in discomfort as they struggled with a topic. J

And they did struggle. The course I had to pilot had 3 prerequisites. A majority of the students were missing at least one of the 3 prerequisites. Many were missing 2. And some were missing all 3. So imagine the task ahead of me each week. I made the decision not to worry about finishing the course but to cover each topic well and finish wherever we finished. I didn’t think anyone cared or noticed, but a few students walked up to me after the second week and thanked me for doing teaching that way, instead of pushing through. Again, it was a moment that took me aback. Students have never thanked me for that before, not explicitly. It was nice.

It was also nice to receive the keys to my room. After a week of people entering my room while I was in the toilet or changing (I think in India the concept of personal space is not as strong as it is in other cultures), a key to my room suddenly appeared! This was great news because it meant that I could have some personal space to scrape off the white film on my skin from the defective soap. Yes, the soap my guesthouse made me purchase finished, so I was back to using their soap which turned my skin white with each shower. Don’t worry, it only added 15 minutes to my morning routine. Luckily no one knew what my normal complexion is, so no one complained. In fact, they thought I had pretty skin. I couldn’t claim credit, though; it was the soap. I only hope I can still have children in the future.

If you haven’t read about my adventures in my guesthouse you should read my first post on it. On the whole, the adventures were fun and made me laugh. After awhile, I even let go and decided to use my towel to dry myself without reservation. Previously I was careful while drying so I could avoid two spots on the towel where someone had blown their nose. Now, I didn’t care. I just dried myself. Sometimes it’s nice to be dry and dirty, than wet and clean. . . No? . . . Maybe it’s just me.

My favourite part of the day was mealtime. I would sit with the guesthouse manager and a staff member of the university or an employee of the guesthouse. And for the most part I would eat silently while they talked. Occasionally I was included in the conversation temporarily and then immediately forgotten. But for that one moment—when I could answer a question with my accent that the guesthouse manager couldn’t understand—for that one moment, I enjoyed being seen, though not understood. Then I would slip back into anonymity. It wasn’t real anonymity but it sometimes felt like it from my different cultural lens. I think speaking your home language in front of a foreigner is not considered rude, here. I had no sense that they felt they were being rude at all. It was just natural for them to speak Hindi and there was no thought of me feeling awkward or marginalised. And so because there was no intent, I didn’t feel awkward or marginalised.

The biggest reason I felt included was because the university staff and guesthouse manager called me by name. They knew my name. One of my favourite gospel artists, Israel Houghton, has a song called “He Knows My Name.” At first I didn’t understand the importance of the concept. But when, again, it was the last day of my last week in India, and the students were hugging me, taking photos with me, and telling me they will miss me, I began to wonder about why they would miss me. Why were they touched so much? The students told me.

“Sir, instructors here don’t know our names. If an instructor knows your name, it’s only after 4 months and many one-on-one interactions. Usually, if you are addressed at all, it is by number.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I can see how that can be hard.”

“Yes, sir. And you learned our names on the first day! That was amazing.”

“Well, yes, it’s important to me to try and do that. I know people like to hear their names.”

“Yes, sir, we do like to hear our names. It makes us feel special. Sir, you must be knowing some Hindi because you seem quite comfortable learning the names and saying some of the pronunciation.”

“Well, I’m new to it, but some of the names I’ve heard before.”

“Well, sir, thank you. Thank you for knowing my name. It is so nice to have a professor and to be able to say ‘He knows my name’. It’s more than feeling special. We’re feeling special, yes. But it’s that we couldn’t hide. You knew us. You called us by name. You saw us. We were visible to you. We had to participate. We could not hide. That is something we have not experienced. Thank you so much.”

The words humbled me. Honestly, I didn’t know most lecturers didn’t know them and that if a lecturer did address them, it was by number. I didn’t know it took 4 months in the few cases when a lecturer did know them. And I didn’t know it was easy to hide and not be seen. If anything I thought being seen in my class would be uncomfortable. And it was, at first, for them. But in the end they were thankful that someone saw them, heard them, and wanted to hear them. In the end, they were thankful that the professor cared enough to screw up their names, to know their beautiful names, to ask where they were yesterday, to ask if they recovered from being sick, to ask how the homework went even if they didn’t do it. And I am thankful for all the many teachers I have had who did the same for me.

Mrs. Bergeron—she knows my name. She said I had a voice to say something.

Ms. Taylor—she knows my name. She first called me an artist.

Mr. Seible—he knows my name. He called me a leader.

Mrs. Williams—she knows my name. She first called me a teacher.

Ms. Young—she knows my name. She first called me creative.

And the list goes on . . .

He knows my name . . .

TO TOUCH YOUR FEET

 Did I tell you, I can usually tell you the average income of a country just by the size or health of the stray dogs on the streets? I also predict the income of the country by the traffic patterns and traffic vehicles. Sometimes I can predict the income by the smells in the air when I land or even visibility-reduced particles in the air. But my latest gauge? My bowels.

Compare India to Italy. In Italy I never had a loose bowel movement; in India, I’ve never had a solid bowel movement. I went to Italy twice this past year, and I’m now on my third trip to India in the same time period. Almost instantly, the moment I landed on this trip, my bowel movements became loose. I don’t know how my bowels do it, but they have been a trusty measure. It’s as if they listen for the pilot to announce the destination and decide to switch to loose mode just to let me know. Unfortunately, I don’t need the help from my bowels: I know I’m in India.

This time I’m staying on a university campus and I have been put up in a guesthouse on campus in a girls’ dormitory (called hostel in Indian English). It’s been a really interesting time from the moment I stepped on the plane up until now. Every time I tell people I have problems with milk, they offer me chai tea, skimmed milk, or paneer. I thought it was a joke, but I flew with an Indian airline company here and their idea of a dairy-free meal was to give me light butter and remove the main dish. . . . well, I ate all of my side fruit and bread. It was good!

When I arrived in my room, my toilet-room had used water all over the floor (there is a water hose serving the same purpose as toilet paper). So that means I have to put on shoes every time I use my toilet. Unfortunately the floor isn't angled well enough for the water to all go away. I make sure to leave the fan on each day to dry the toilet-room floor and the shower-room floor (also doesn’t drain). At least I have a shower, thank goodness. Unfortunately, the soap leaves my skin white. I looked at the ingredients but all I could see as the possible culprit was “talc.” This morning I ran out of soap and needed to take a shower. When I asked the guest house employees for soap, they pointed to student shops and told me to go buy some soap. I couldn’t believe it; not just because I had to buy soap but they don’t speak English. So I went out and bought soap; it took me 30 minutes because I had to find one without the ingredient “talc.”

Whenever I get out of the shower, I have to try to avoid something at the end of my towel (I’m not sure what it is). However, I can see that there’s something growing in the showerhead of my shower. I’m not sure what it is. I just know that when the shower water accidentally enters my mouth it tastes like someone blew her nose in the water. The water looks clear though. I’m not sure if the water causes the smell in my room because it smells like the breath of someone who had slept for 20 years . . . maybe 30 years. So I also run the fan for the smell in the room.

But the people are extremely nice. There is one person who does speak English, the guesthouse manager. Apparently he lives here, works every day, and gets free meals as a part of his job. I was told during one dinner “Indians do not eat to live, we live to eat.” Judging by the sounds the guesthouse manager makes while eating next to me, it’s true. It sounds as if his mouth is open, but if you look closely, it’s closed. At least it drowns out the sound of the television.

The interesting thing about my guesthouse is that it doesn’t have a normal restaurant. There is no menu, you have no choice, and you can’t eat whenever you want. I’m normally in my room when someone knocks on my door. Immediately after knocking before I can answer, the employee opens my door and enters my room. Oh, I forgot to tell you, I don’t have a key to the door to my room. So people come in all the time. When they come and knock I have to eat at that time. I’ve no choice. This was especially true on days when I was the only guest in the guesthouse. On those days, dinner was just for the guesthouse manager and me. The TV was our third companion, but the guesthouse manager’s chewing drowned out the noise.

So it’s been a bit of a funny and crazy time. The funny thing is that the organisers of my visit, a professor and two university staff, ask me all the time, how my stay is. I never know what to say because I can’t tell if what I am experiencing is normal or if it’s not normal. I didn’t have Internet access for the first two days I was here, and I’ve had Internet access problems in the classrooms and labs during the day, too. Do I mention that? I have but there’s never been any resolution. Some of the students have created an ad-hoc network through their phone and then a majority of the class uses that. Or should I mention the mildew in the shower, the stains on the wall of the bedroom or living room, my toilet-room floor? Not sure.

So I just go about my business and focus on teaching and loving the students who are a joy. One day, while we were in the computer lab, I saw a ra—well, I don’t know, let’s just say a—mouse run across the aisle from the desks of some students to the desk of the lab administrator. I freaked out but the students looked at me blankly like “so what?” The only thing I could think was “If there are mice in the lab in this building and my guesthouse building is only a few buildings away . . .” (restless night).

The next day, I was in the lift (elevator) and a man drove a tractor into the elevator. I kept thinking, “No, this guy isn’t going to get on this lift with the two of us in it,” but the staff member with me told the tractor driver “Sure come in.” No lie. I was pinned against the wall. His tractor filled the lift so that the driver couldn’t turn the tractor around in the lift. The scary thing was that the moment the tractor was fully in the lift, the lift dropped down about a foot. I was pretty sure we were past the weight limit of the lift and the cables above us where holding on for dear life. I just held my breath and prayed we would quickly reach the third floor. After about an hour, we reached the 3^rd floor, and I kid you not: when the door opened, as the tractor driver reversed the machine out of the lift the machine warned passers by with a beep-beep-beep-beep. The moment it exited the lift, the lift floor jumped up a foot and matched the floor of the 3^rd level we were to step out onto. Whew!

Through it all, I felt very accepted by these people. I could have stayed in a hotel though it would have been hard going back and forth since the university is not in a central part of town. But they wanted me to stay there. They don’t want me to wander anywhere off-campus alone and want to organize all my trips. And even though I was stood up twice (I was supposed to be taken to visit a temple on Friday night and today, Sunday, to visit the Taj Mahal), it’s kind of them to worry about my security. I’m not even allowed to walk 3 or 4 buildings from my guesthouse to the lecture hall. They send a student or an employee to pick me up and drop me off. It’s ridiculous but also quite honouring.

The students have been best of all. They have put up with a crazy man from a London company with a strange accent teaching them things about the Internet like HTML5, CSS3, and JavaScript. They have tolerated my bad jokes, my analogies that don’t work, and my attempts to do the Indian head nod that means yes. The most amazing thing is that amid all the craziness and funniness of the trip, they have allowed me to push them out of their comfort zone of inactivity during boring straight lectures to an interactive class that demands every person speak. They allowed me to take them through a class where I don’t have all the answers, a class where they debate issues with each other, a space where they must do something in order to learn something, a class where no one is allowed to avoid input, and most importantly, a class where everyone is called by name.

So, on Friday, my last day of my first week, the last day with my first group of students, I was sad to see them go, but I thought they might be happy to get back to normal classes from which I had taken them so they could again relax in lecture and lab. Instead they surprised me. Yes, many students thanked me and were really appreciative of all they learned. And yes, I took picture upon picture with the students (me smiling, the others straight-faced). But what happened next shocked me. A group of students told me that I was an excellent teacher. They asked if I could teach on the faculty of their university. I laughed. I told them I would have to talk with the president about that. Ha ha. Then they asked if I would do a workshop where I would teach all the university professors how to teach. This made me laugh out loud. I said “Thank you, but I don’t know if the professors here would be happy about that.” Then one student stepped forward and floored.

“Sir, in our culture, when we really respect someone for what they have done and who they are, we touch the feet of that person as a sign of great respect for the person. . . .If it is ok, sir, could I be allowed touch your feet.”

I didn’t know what to say at that moment. I was floored and taken aback. I was unfamiliar with the custom but I could tell it meant a lot. It reminded me of foot washing ceremonies that I had done with students in which we washed another person’s feet and spoke about the good we saw in that person. And here these students were affirming me—me, a person who thought he didn’t need affirming. So the first student stepped forward, bent down, touched my feet, and did a cross-like gesture over his chest. Then another student asked and did it. Then another, and another, and another. I don’t know what you’re supposed to do when someone touches your feet, but I accepted it and was honoured by each of them in that moment, thankful for each of them throughout the week, and affirmed by each of them for a lifetime. I will be a life-long friend with many of those students. I know that. Many of them told me that. Ha ha! They felt that I had done so much for them, but the reverse is true. They touched my feet physically, but I was touching their feet emotionally, spiritually.

UPDATE

This was a conversation that happened recently between a southern Texan teacher and a North Indian student.

“Sir?”

“Sir?”

“No, sir—“

“Ok, sir.”

“No, I mean, sir?”

“Sir?”

“No, you sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pardon, sir?”

“Sir?”

“Sir, I have a question.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No, sir, it’s not a yes or no question.”

“No, sir.”

“So I can’t ask a question, sir?”

“Yes, sir?”

“No, you, sir.”

“Please, sir.”

“Sir, I have a---“

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes? Sir?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir, are you talking to me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir?”

“Sir.”

“Never mind sir.”

(Other students in the lab watching and giggling.)

UPDATE

I’m writing this from a cold cell of room in New Delhi. J It’s not that bad, and yet, it is. My toilet came without toilet paper and with “water” all over the floor, so I put a rug in there just to use it. It’s colder inside my room than outside. And someone comes and knocks on my door when food is ready giving me no choice in time or options. Even though I eat the same thing every meal, it is nice to have food. So I’m still quite thankful.

Life in London is grand, though, I’m gone sometimes. In October, I went home (Nigeria) for my cousin’s wedding. Having been gone for over 20-something years, it was good to go back. And I was able to work from my company’s Nigeria office that week and avoid using up vacation days. The wedding was grand, and I really enjoyed it. The bride and groom danced like there was no tomorrow. I think they were both quite thankful as they were probably in the very late 30’s or early 40’s.

I had to go to India in November but was able to fly to the States just in time for Thanksgiving. I stayed for the weekend and we had a surprise 60^th birthday for my father. Boy, was he surprised! It was a big to-do. We had waiters, speeches, catered food, dance performances, a cake cutting ceremony, song performances, decorations, and customized party favours from diaries, notebooks, mugs, and pens. It was a really good time. I sang “Wind Beneath My Wings” not too terribly well. It was well enough for a music producer to come up to me and ask for my information. He was sorely disappointed when he found out I didn’t live in the States. I also participated in a 9-person Azonto dance performance. If you don’t know Azonto, it’s the Ghanaian dance craze that is sweeping the world. Ha ha! I don’t know if it’s that big, but both CNN and BBC have done short reports on it. I like it because it is simple and easy . . . and because you can see my neighbourhood in the popular Azonto video.

I spent Christmas and New Year’s in Niger, an interesting, magical, and quite horrific experience all in one. I’ll tell you more about it later. In general, everything is well, and I should be done here in Delhi in about 2 weeks or so. I may travel this upcoming weekend, and would really like a recommendation from India-knowledgeable friends from whom I haven’t heard. I want to wish you a wonderfully Happy New Year! May you be challenged by big dreams, have the courage to endeavor daring risks, and faithfully enter new beginnings this year of 2013.