Sitting in front. it has never been a big deal to me. it always seemed like power issue, so i avoided it. but i have found i do like to sit in front of Kombes. being a Volkswagon bus, in front you are right there–practically on top of the bumper. I still brace myself for getting hit when we pull up close to the car in front of us, expecting them to hit our hood. Also, in a Kombe, you (normally) can only squish four people in there, and there is no limit to how many you can squish in the back. the only risk of sitting up front is being stuck next to the driver, with the stick shift between your legs. it is an awkward and difficult process for the both of you to change gears. but this morning i got front, by the window–the best seat of all. and i let my hair dry in the wind.

Deep nights
that hold romantic thoughts
that only wake
at ungodly hours

i have forgotten for a long time
in the memory of sleepy days

but once in awhile
the night becomes magic
and being awake
is suddenly being alive

the spell is cast
and i am caught
and the pen cannot write fast enough

then it fades
and slips into slumber
and i wake up
to go back to sleep again

ze International school, 2009

some of my Kindergarteners. Socraties is the one with his head in the way. he likes pictures. and is in all of them. these guys tire me out. my word. but i am happy to say…they now roar like a tiger, fly like a bird, run like a leopard, climb like a monkey, and eat like a hippo…and we dance every day to “I’m a Believer” and “I Feel Good” and “Twist and Shout.” and they (almost) never cheat when we play memory.

These are my 1st-3rd graders. they are little smarties. We are reading Dr.Seuss. They said i should marry that guy. The next class i have is 4th-7th graders, where i pretend i am mean and i give out demerits if they speak Portugese in class. but i forgot to take their picture. The afternoons i help Mrs.Hood with the Literature workshop, but really what ends up happening is i realize i know nothing about teaching, and am learning from the best. seriously–it is better than my college internship.

Fridays–once Lindsay comes, Fridays will be the only day i teach, and it will be music.
dang. that’s something new i have never done. i try to remember Mr.Rasbach from my children’s choir past life saying “Round tones! sing in round tones!”

It is going really well. first we practice breathing. difficult, i know. then scales. and that takes a long time. i never realized…how difficult it would be to sing do-re-me-fa-so-la-ti-do…all at the same time on the same note. we haven’t gotten that far yet.

it was a good week.

Those who come to the gate and wait for it to open…those who haven’t been there before…will never know all the work that has gone into getting where it is. There are always things we don’t know about that we are recipients of the work of others. And we never even know to say thank you.
I remember the first week of the International School. 2006. we painted one room with Whinny the Pooh and one with Noah’s ark. The toys were in another room, which also served as the library, play room, and at night, classroom for the seminary. I spent half the morning with Lili and Milena. Milena didn’t like me and told her mom i was “chata.” I went to the bathroom and cried. i am not used to kids not liking me. but i had to like her. all semester. Some things took a long time–like washing hands and taking on and off our shoes in the playroom, while circle time went slow, and repeating “Three–not tree” over and over went even slower.we had a song for everything and for everything a song. The second half of the morning was with Kindergarten: Johnny, Carol, Neto, and Felipe. We played a lot of memory–and they had to say the item in English to keep the match. After lunch was the big group (13 kids)–from Amanda–age 4 but looked more like 2–all the way to Joao–11 years old and only happy when he was kicking a soccer ball aimed at my head.  He was a cutie, and i let him aim more often than i should have. we colored and sang and stretched out snack time as long as possible, dancing to “Twist and Shout” and “I’m a Believer.” I remember the Easter egg incident, where i bought eggs to dye and hide, and Heather was a bit scandalized and covered them with felt instead. apparently, they don’t dye and hide eggs here. I also had my first experience writing and directing a play–Goldilocks and the Three Bears–complete with talking tree.
2007 began the all day program–with 30 kids. we got our first playground–with two swings. there was a line every recess, and it was my job to keep track of it, while putting the swings back together again as they slipped off the chain. We had our first field trip–to the orchard. We had kids from preschool to 5th grade, so i had 1-5 grade each morning, and then learning center in the afternoon…when the books came. curriculum distributers don’t seem to understand how to ship things to the middle of Brazil. Most of the grades had around five students, and we had new yellow plastic desks to sit in.
2008 we opened with 60 kids. the first day the kids already knew “This Little Light of Mine” and  “If You’re Happy and You Know It” and sang them loudly, on tune or not. Our teachers were growing as well–30 paid staff–and while our official English curriculum hadn’t arrived, we had accumulated enough books to do special themes–most notably being fairy-tales (we did a killer version of Little Red Riding Hood), Dr.Seuss, and the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (with an attempt to cook Turkish Delight as a class). We started singing Christmas carols in September and by Christmas 60 kids had 9 carols, two verses each, memorized in English. On Fridays, we turned up the air conditioner as high as it would go, drank hot chocolate, and read Charles Dickens in front of the row of homemade stockings.
2009. Almost 80 students with 40 teachers–and full curriculum. I love being able to say “Now class, open your books to page 23…” Johnny, who was in my Kindergarten class just yesterday, is in 4th grade, and considers himself one of the big boys (since the school only goes up to 7th grade). Things go so smoothly with our color coded schedules, and a group of teachers who care about what they are doing. We have teacher meetings and fill out lesson plans. Some teachers don’t know Portuguese, and others, like me, are reprimanded for using Portuguese because it is “Only English in English class.” We have enough kids now that they are divided by ability rather than age for English, and in the afternoons are workshops–taking their subjects in Portuguese and reviewing, expanding, and applying them in English.
It is a beautiful working machine and i am proud to be a part of it. It is a wonderful thing to see something envisioned and birthed and grown up to where it stands on its own two feet and walks. walks away. the proud and sad feeling when it doesn’t need you, or your hand to support it. This year, i am teaching music. in English. we are going to have a live nativity scene this Christmas in the center of town…with lots of songs. I see these kids–who have grown with me–on Fridays. And i will still be the one saying “Don’t run–walk” and “Please don’t jump off the slide” and dish out the beans and rice at lunch time. but now i take the bus home after class. and as i walk back, i pass a group of girls calling me “Tia! vai pra PETI?” and yes, i will…begin a new part of my life…that loves and lives and changes and holds on and lets go.

The first day.
Walking in and wondering if anyone will notice.
Notice i took the time to look nice.
Notice that i don’t look exactly like everyone else.
I haven’t decided if i want them to notice or not. last year i introduced myself to each teacher and explained it was my first time studying in Portuguese. I didn’t know what to expect, and i wanted all the sympathy and leniency on grading that was possible. with some of the teachers it worked. they didn’t call on me to answer questions, and every once in awhile they would stop and ask if i understood…they would talk very slllllowwwwly when they asked. the first time i raised my hand and spoke in class, they all clapped. the teachers always liked to see my test, because i wrote the essays in English and then translated them to Portuguese.
it took me awhile to get used to things. really, i never did. in America, if you don’t care about the class, you tune out. you zone out. in Brasil, if you don’t care about the class, you talk and chatter and giggle. Since my major is Education–there is 32.3 women per man. lots of women. lots of giggling.
When we worked in groups, no one wanted to pick me–who wants the American with grammar skills of a 3rd grader? the semester was half over when Fabia called me over and said “You’re a part of my group now. Anytime you need a partner–you have one.” that made my life easier. no more “last kid picked for kickball” feeling. some of the girls sought me out. one asked me for money–Americans are rich, you know. one asked me to translate a song for her. who was  my favorite singer? what did i think about the war in Iraq? For many of the girls, i became a pet–look at the lil puppy in the window, pat it on the head, and humor it. others simply ignored me. But even them, after sitting together in the same room every night for a semester–even they became something familiar, if not friendly.

My classroom is a cement rectangle with those long florescent lights, hanging down and warped. four fans for when it is hot, iron bars for windows, doors open to keep air moving. a white board is in front, with a quote painted on from the director. i sit in a hard wooden chair that has a half-desk–like you fold out on an airplane. Last year, i found one for lefties (all the rest are on the right side) and would drag it to the front–three desks from the front–close enough to hear, but not to be noticed if i doodled. We don’t have any required books for classes–instead, there is a complex system of xerox copies, where half the class period is spent figuring out who is copying what and where to pay and how much it costs. I sat right behind the scandalous girl (there always is one) because she was interesting and had a cherry tattoo on her neck. she only lasted half the semester, dropping out with 1/3 of the class, making it a little less giggly.

And so i walk into the first class of the second semester. i am in a whole different class with different people. i didn’t realize i missed those giggly girls until i saw them on break…and wished for the familiar. but they are on the 3rd period (Brasil uses block studies) and i am tossed in with the 2nd–with a room twice the size and three times the people. our white board shoes the residue of past classes that can’t erase, and i hear the chatter rising from the back. i found my left-handed wooden desk with a sloping back and drug it up front–third row back (old habits are friendly).
I can pick out the blond scandalous girl and her group, who make a late entrance. one girl tells me she’s never had a friend from the “estates” and so i must become one. This time, i am not introducing myself to the teacher. i want to see if i can do it myself. i wonder if i will find a “Fabia” who will let me into her group. i wonder if this chattering group (with three men instead of one) will be magically turned into something familiar over this semester. i wonder if it will feel like home. The teacher says to divide into groups of ten–and someone is calling my name…