April Fools' Day

It’s April Fools come early here in Colombia.  I just couldn’t resist…

Good morning class.  

Good moooooooorniiiiiiiiiing

How is everyone today?

Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

Ok, I need you to please clear off your desks, face front, and separate yourself from your neighbor.  (Initial looks of terror; they know what that means.)  Quickly, we haven’t got all day.  Now don’t worry, this is just a little pop quiz to check how well you’ve been paying attention in class the last few weeks.

Does it count for a grade?????  (slighty frantic)

Yes.  (All eyes immediately shoot to the real professor as if to ask, Are you really letting her do this to us?  The teacher nods in approval).

Please do not flip over your paper until everyone has one.  Everyone ready?  Okay, now turn over your paper, read the directions carefully, and begin.

The directions on the test read:  Read over all the questions and then begin.  You have 10 minutes to complete this quiz.  The last question on the test reads: Flip over your paper.  Do not take the quiz.  It is a joke.  Happy April Fools’ Day.

Pencils scratch feverishly.  The first question is easy.  The second one as well.  The third question not so much.  Students start looking up at me like, I thought you were nice!  And others, I really hate you right now!  Students look back and forth between each other for confirmation of the difficulty and unfairness of the quiz.  Number four is even harder.  Some look ready to cry.  Others giggle in discomfort.   Write a brief paragraph about the current conflict in Libya.  Include 4 phrasal verbs that we studied last week.  OUR ASSISTANT IS THE DEVIL!!!!!!!!

Students start coming to my desk with questions of desperation.  Wait, I have a question.  When did we talk about Libya?  Does it matter what tense the phrasal verbs are in?  I don’t understand number 3.  I don’t think we discussed number 4.  How do you spell Gaddafi? 

Just do your best.  You only have a few more minutes.

I let them struggle for 10 minutes.  It's a long ten minutes.  Pencils down please.  Immediate outbreak of Spanish speaking.  

So how do you think you did? 

Bety bety bad.  (Spanish pronunciation)  They are straight up mad at this point.  Why?  What happened?  No answer.  Common, what was hard about it?  Overflow response: not enough time, crazy questions, we didn’t study that, bla bla bla!

Ok, Diana, would you please read the instructions aloud?  Ok, Santiago, would you please read the last question aloud?

Small screams, sighs of relief, outbreak of Spanish speaking.  Most importantly, smiles, big smiles.  Relief.  I then capture the moment to explain to them what April Fools’ Day is and how we “celebrate” in the U.S.  The next few moments are spent laughing and showing each other what they wrote out of desperation on the quiz.  Everyone fell for it.  I played this same trick on four classes today, and the dialogue above was the same in all four.  Each quiz was tailored to the recent subject matter of that particular class.  Except for the Gaddafi question; that was universal.  Had to make it believable.

I love April Fools’ Day.  The best part is, I get to do this again to all the fresh blood in my classes tomorrow.  I don’t think they’ll forget what April Fools’ Day is.  At least not any time soon.

Homeward Bound

The next chapter of my life will take place back in Chicago, Illinois!

What a weekend!  I flew home and spent three days without even leaving the confines of 912 Lake Street.  I fell in love with my nephew, Will, and had a great time catching up with family and friends.  He liked me!  Some said I even had maternal instincts….not sure I’d go that far, but I didn’t drop him and he seemed pretty calm in my arms.  Then I flew to Washington, D.C. for a final round interview.

Received the job offer yesterday, about 99% sure I’ll accept! 

Having a Fulbright Scholarship is the best; the only bad thing is it has a very fixed end date, so I’m really excited for this new opportunity and it’s a relief to have something nailed down.  That being said, it would be hard for me to just pick up my things and leave Colombia as of today, and I think it will be even harder three months from now.  I feel a mixture of excitement and sadness.   Trying not to think about it just yet.

That’s all for now; thanks to everyone for believing in me. 

Anyone looking for a roommate in Chicago?

For your viewing entertainment...http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qjs-u0VXjxQ

Help

The Beatles put it nicely:

Help! I need somebody,
Help! Not just anybody,
Help! You know I need someone, heeeeeelp.

Simple, to the point.  Easy right? 

In the past month or so I have read two books about help.  One is literally entitled The Help, and tells the story of a young, homely woman who helps black women living in Mississippi, working as hired help for white families in the 1960s, to tell their stories of love and pain.  These black women also help her to find herself and make her dreams of becoming a writer come true.  The title is ambiguous in that it remains unclear which help the author is referring to, either way, help is rendered. 

The second book is called I Know This Much is True and tells the story of twin brothers, one of which is a paranoid schizophrenic who amputates his own hand in a public library to stop the war.  Both need help, equally, it just takes the “normal” brother much longer to let go and accept it.  He’s supposed to be the strong one.

I’ve had this idea of help on my mind a lot lately; I’ve noticed a striking number of inconsistencies.

My English tutoring hours have really filled up this semester compared to last.  Encouraging, except that about 80% of the students who repeatedly visit me are my most advanced students.  Those who most desperately need help don’t ask for it, won’t ask for it.   

I have more students willing to cheat than to ask for help (this is NOT a Colombian phenomenon).

I was offered a raincoat a few days back because I came to work in a fleece North Face and it started to pour just as I had to walk 8 blocks to a bus stop.  I said “no gracias.”  Having trouble admitting that you might not be invincible against the elements Annie?

Why is it so hard, asking for help.  It’s not hard, we just make it so.  Survival of the fittest right?  Don’t we want to survive?  I think there’s some implicit assumption that by asking for help we admit defeat, weakness, inferiority.  That’s not even kind of true, at least I don’t think so.  Just because someone helps you doesn’t mean they carry you, doesn’t mean you can’t, doesn’t make you any less an individual.  Help is helpful, period.  And a little psychology tid-bit, if someone helps you it subconsciously makes that person like you more (to an extent of course).

So how do I convince my students (and professors) that they need my help without crushing their egos, driving them even further away?  Thoughts?  Suggestions?  Now I need your help.  

Stereotype This

It’s Black History Month in case you forgot.   So naturally I have been hosting discussions in my classes about words like prejudice, discrimination, stereotype etc.  In basic levels we just discuss what they mean, advanced levels how they apply to history in the U.S. and Colombia.  The word that urks me the most is stereotype.  It’s a hard word to explain.  It’s also hard to convince people that even though we may say we aren’t racist or exclusive (and we very well may not be), that doesn’t mean that stereotypes don’t still help dictate our daily behavior, thoughts, and judgments.

 

We’re human; we use heuristics and stereotypes to help us make decisions, perceive new circumstances, fill in the gaps.  I don’t see anything per say wrong in that.  The problem is when we demonstrate fixedness in that our early use of a heuristic or stereotype primes the way we see, understand, and predict future circumstances or behavior.  We have a natural tendency to want to be right, and for that reason we notice and remember behavior typical of a stereotype far more frequently and powerfully than anything contradictory.  It happens subconsciously. 

I’ll be the first to admit that stereotypes exist for a reason; they aren’t arbitrary.  The problem is that they are usually extreme, exaggerated.  So I had my Advanced 2 students stereotype themselves.  Make a list of some of their personal information that categorizes them: city of origin, neighborhood, age, activities in which they participate etc.  What stereotypes correspond?  Does that perception match their true self or even their desired self?  In over 90% of students, neither was the case (this was a crap study btws, seeing as n=20).  I stereotyped myself.

From a wealthy suburb à stuck up; naïve about the real world, fixated on money and success

Traveler to “dangerous” places à risk-taker

Like watching and playing sports à butch (excuse the non PC term, just trying to make a point)

Proud member of a sorority à elitist, follower, superficial, girly girl

Likes to study and probably (definitely) cared too much about grades à dork!

Non-religious à no faith, uncaring

Dance team member à sold out ballerina

Domestic fool à poor future husband

The list goes on.  Now obviously there are positive stereotypes that correspond to each of these, and we use those on a daily basis as well.  But looking at that list, is it even possible that I be all those things at once?  I’m far from fixated on money.  Risk-taker?  I can hardly handle betting valueless clay chips in a friendly round of poker.  You get my point.  I guess I just wanted to show my students that even though stereotypes are natural and we shouldn’t beat ourselves up for subconsciously using them every once in awhile, they can still do a lot of damage.  The best thing we can do is be ourselves and overcome our stereotypes, maybe then we’ll learn how not to use them against others. 

Why Zebras Don't Get Ulcers

Ever been stranded on the side of a deserted mountain road in Ecuador?  Alone?  Kicked off the bus by a police officer for not having the proper stamp on your passport even though the numb-nut at Border Security said U.S. Citizens only need the immigration form?  Had everyone on the bus look at you like you were some sort of terrorist as they drove off?  Started walking in the direction from which you came hoping to find some sign of civilization before the sun went down?  Had an indigenous family (no teeth) drive you 2.5 hours to the airport because no one else would? 

In case you haven’t already come to this conclusion, I had some issues getting in and out of Ecuador about 3 weeks ago.  Because I was alone there was no time for panicking, crying, even hesitating.  Somehow, I honestly don’t know how, I remained totally calm.  It felt like some sort of a biological reaction.  My body (and mind) just instinctively kicked into 4-wheel drive.  Solve the problem Annie, you have to, and now.

The closest I came to panicking was when I retold the story to a group of friends once I finally got to Quito and to my parents when I got back to Bogotá.  Understandably they weren’t thrilled. 

Stressful things happen to us every day, but I’ve really come to believe that for the most part those things are only as stressful as me make them.  I learned studying psychology that our bodies are built to be able to cope with a tragedy every once in awhile: death in the family, illness, etc.  That’s not to say these events are taken lightly, but that most people eventually learn to move on, the weight eventually alleviated.  What our bodies are not designed to do is put up with a constant grind of stress and anxiety.  It may be smaller, less notably dramatic, but it does not desist, if we don’t let it.

There’s a book by Robert M. Sapolsky called Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers.  It’s rather scientific, but the high level message is that animals (zebras in this case) use stress related hormones to help them survive and cope, whereas humans secrete these same hormones at higher quantities and for extended periods of time, which can significantly damage our health.  The best thing you can do is learn how to not stress yourself out; it’s not worth it anyways, and will probably only inhibit you from solving the problem at hand.

Save your stress for real misfortune, and then let biology kick in.  When it’s over it’s over, just a story to tell, an event to remember, or to forget.  But you have to let yourself let it end.       

Grow Up

More than anything, after a certain age, life expects us to act as grownups.  Make responsible decisions, look after ourselves and others, abide by moral standards, bla bla bla.  My brother recently had a baby and one of my dearest friends from college just got engaged.  They´re growing up!  The importance, rather, necessity of growing up is tantamount to the continued functioning of not only our individual lives, but of society as a whole.  Regardless, I still see a value in moments of immaturity, childishness, letting loose once in awhile.

Carnaval de Negros y Blancos (a carnival in Pasto, Colombia, which I recently attended) is an example of just that.  It’s a typical carnival: parades, concerts, local food and drink.  Now add thousands of aerosol cans of foam (picture shaving cream), thousands of pounds of flour, and paint of all colors.  Upon entering the streets one enters straight up battle mode.  It’s actually ridiculous.  One literally cannot walk to the corner bakery without having flour thrown in your hair, foam sprayed anywhere and everywhere, paint caked on your face, or some bizarre combination of the three.  Your only defense is a good offense (and a pancho). 

My first thought was, this is awesome.  But then I thought, would this fly in the U.S.?  At a Vandy frat party, sure, but in any old city, not so positive.  It didn’t matter your age or your social status; several senior citizens shot me directly in the face.  Everyone participated.  I was thoroughly impressed with the level of immaturity.  I like to think that I take myself and my life pretty seriously, but sometimes you’ve just gotta buy a spray can of foam and squirt it at someone you don’t even know.

To quote my favorite Disney movie, “If growing up means it would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree, I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up, not me!” 

You`re Welcome

I`ve had a lot to say thank you for as of late, and I`ve found that (as in English) there are many, diverse ways to respond to a simple "thank you."  Some I like more than others.  You`ve got the nonchalant sort: "no prob," "don`t worry about it," "don`t mention it"; the gleeful kind: "sure," "anytime"; and the formal sort: "my pleasure," "you`re very welcome." 

Words are just words; we attribute meaning to them, so it shouldn`t matter how you say it, but I like the latter sort the best.  This way one aknowledges the favor or service provided, accepts the recipient`s gratitude, and expresses one`s willingness to have served.  Rather than casting it aside de nada (it`s nothing/no prob), one recognizes that it was actually something while almost inviting you to feel free to do so again.  It`s rather nice.

Colombians have hospitality figured out; precisely why I end up saying thank you so much.  Upon arrival in Cali, two travel buddies and I were taken in by a friend`s family, provided a bed, breakfast and sometimes lunch, and a place we were told to call home for five whole days.  Geovanny (the friend) ushered us around by car, by bus, and on foot to all the different events of the feria.  We saw parks, markets, malls, bull fights, live concerts, salsa dancing, you name it.  A family I met in Bogotà also had me picked up one night so we could stroll the streets and enjoy a most delicious homemade pasta dinner.  They even tried to buy me some clothes considering I arrived to the hot coast of Cali with only my Chicago luggage (got locked out of my apartment due to forgetting my keys...oops), but I simply couldn`t accept.  And then today a nice family we`ve never before met held umbrellas over our heads and watched our backs for pocket thieves as we watched a parade in Pasto.  They then made a special clearing for us to cross the street and safely accompanied us to our hotel.  Allllll of this was done out of sheer goodness in their hearts.  Sounds cheesy, but really, I never once asked for help or extra service.  It was just offered.

The most hospitable people in the world however are your parents.  The vast majority of their time is spent in providing favors for their kids and the ones they love.  I happen to know of one new set of parents who I`m sure will do the same for their new son, my nephew:  Thomas William Freyman.  He already has a lot to be thankful for as they graciously welcome him into their world.  And again it`s all done in the name of love and goodness, not expecting anything in return, except, maybe, one day, a "thank you."