First term at the new job is wrapping up: I’ve finished the requisite chapters in the book I’ve been teaching from in each class, and that gives me leave to “play” a little in the last classes. We’re still doing the boring-as-water-boiling review session (and they’ve got final presentations), but I do want to pause a moment from my earlier frustrations and give you a peek into the classroom.
For mid-term presentations, the students had to present on either their most difficult day or an emergency (that’s what the book says, boss). I’ve really been digging this autopilot thing, it’s quite nice, even though we often go off on tangents as I try to update the colloquial sections and inform them of new idioms. Anyhow, presentations:
Wael, a man of about fifty, presented on how a man high on hash T-boned the taxi that he, his pregnant wife, and his daughter were in somewhere outside of Green Plaza Mall, and how he couldn’t tell his wife that their daughter needed an 80 grand-surgery to fix her hips.
Mohamad Hafiz, who works for Al-Salaama Hospital in Azarita, told us how, when he was living in the middle of nowhere in Saudi Arabia with his parents at the tender, impressionable age of 10, saw a family of ghosts living downstairs and couldn’t sleep or eat for two weeks. Apparently, while watching television late one night, Mr. Hafiz saw one of the doors open and the lights flick on; in drifted a man in a white galabiyya and his children. They stood their and watched him watching TV. Then, they drifted out, the doors closed behind them, and the lights shut off. Years later, he said, his father and mother said they had a similar encounter. Spooky.
Hassan told us how, when he was sixteen, he got drunk and flipped his motorcycle over a car when he was riding with his gang — his MOTORCYCLE GANG. On the Corniche. His friend riding behind him apparently had to get a metal plate in his head.
Reem, who has three children (and looks fantastic, I might add), told us of how her last son was born prematurely due to her pregnancy too soon after her caesarean section, and had a kind of birth defect that shut off oxygen to his brain when he was breastfed. A month of struggles in the hospital, and he was okay afterwards. She said it was one of the happiest days of her life when she could take him home.
Mina apparently has a kind of nasal polyp fungus in her lungs that has prevented her from breathing properly as a child. When she underwent surgery, the doctor discovered it was much more widespread than initially anticipated, and that she might have to undergo a disfiguring surgery to remove more polyps from her sinus passages. He closed her up and prayed. When he had finished praying, he brought her out of anesthesia and sent to a specialist in Cairo, where she underwent fiber-optic surgery instead. No disfigurement — but gosh, the girl kept me on the edge of my seat the entire time she was telling the story.
At the end of the class, I was drained. So many stories. And the entire time, everyone was laughing! It was as if the dragon had been defeated (it had), and that the valley had been cross (it was), and there was nothing more to fear from the story itself. And while I my heart was breaking for them, they kept saying, “Why are you saying you are sorry? You didn’t do anything!” I suppose it is an odd expression.
Last night, same class: I decided (since so many of them are asking me anyway) to give them a musical education. I played them a sample of country music, punk, some jazz, some metal…and let them assess the state of Western music beyond Celine Dion.
The biggest hit? Andrew Bird.
No, I’m not kidding. Half the class was begging me, “What is this? This is beautiful! What is the song called? Do you know the lyrics? Who is he?”
I nearly cried with joy.
SON OF A DUCK / إبن بطوطة الجديد 