What exactly is "work"?

The more I spend time in Uganda, the more my definition of “work” has changed.  Before I came here I would say I defined work as productivity (which implies in my mind that you are getting something tangible from it, i.e. money, muscles, etc.).  But here, if you define work as such then you will not only never be “working”, but you will also feel terrible about yourself because of this fact.  I have realized that in America we have to see results to feel like we have done something. In Uganda most of the work people do consists of building relationships.  This is both positive and negative, but I would say it is more positive than anything.  As I begin to judge myself on whether or not I have “done anything” since I got here I have to carefully decide which scale to weigh myself on.  If I weigh myself on the American scale I have failed: I have nothing to show for my work, I have not recorded any grades, I have not started any clubs, I have not run any meetings, I have not personally conducted professional development, I have not built any wells, I have not started any loans associations, I have not created any income generating activities.  And there are times when I decide to weigh myself on this scale and become severely disenchanted with my time here.  But then I remember that that scale is one for a society that puts more emphasis on its things than its people, more emphasis on its time than its love, and more emphasis on its productivity than its relationships. 

It’s usually at this point that I begin to weigh myself on the Ugandan scale.  With this scale (which is based solely on the relationships one forms) I have thoroughly succeeded: I have had tea with the local chairman, I meet twice weekly with my language tutor (while I coddle her baby), I have planted flowers with my students, I have chatted in depth about Uganda’s education problems with the teachers at my school, I have befriended Carol, I have argued with the DPP, I have loved on children, I have started learning sign language from the students at the deaf school about 10 meters from my house, I have talked to agriculture co-ops, I have watched 1^st grade teachers teaching, I have taught kids how to play Frisbee, I have eaten matooke with the staff at my school, I have attended a wedding, I have cooked for Moses.  And now I look back at the first list of “failures” and almost laugh.  Isn’t it funny how we judge ourselves on what we should and shouldn’t be doing?  But when you look at it like this it makes perfect sense which scale we should be weighing ourselves upon.  Who care how many meetings you held.  What does it matter how much money your company made?  Your productivity is irrelevant in the game of life.  Your car doesn’t matter.  Your nightly shows don’t matter.  Your favorite restaurant doesn’t matter.  Your crap, your clothes, your house, your phone…. None of it matters.  And you are no better for having earned it.  Who did you love on today?  How many people did you call and say, “I care about you.” How many times did you smile at a stranger?  When did you slow down and talk to your kids?  Did you give that extra hug?  Did you tell your spouse that you love them?  Did you learn something new from someone new?  Did you greet your neighbor?  Have you taught someone something?  Have you talked to your parents about important things in your life?  Have you written letters to friends?  These are the things you should be judging yourself on, simply because these are the things that matter.  Now I am not saying I have perfected this, but I am working on it.  And I firmly believe that if more people in the States judged themselves from a Ugandan standpoint as opposed to the American one (and made changes accordingly), we would have less broken families, far less abused children, better friendships, and an overall increase in our quality of life.

So take a step back and ask yourself these questions.  Then respond truthfully.  Now, do something about it.

So I spent 5 days last week in Kampala at an All Volunteer Conference put on by Peace Corps.  We stayed at an amazing hotel with a pool, gym, hot running water, etc.  it was heavenly.  They even had TV and I spent a decent amount of time watching the BBC, in which I learned that Michael Jackson died! Ha.  It was interesting to watch TV and I was excited to get to see the temperatures around Uganda, but when the weather came on it first flashed Europe, then Souteast Asia and finally the USA.  It was crazy to be half way across the world and see the temperature for Kansas City flash up on the screen!!  It was 98 degrees and I just about flipped.  But after about 3 minutes the weather was finished and they had not even shown us the weather in Africa!  I was kind of mad that I could find out the forecast for some place 5000 miles away, but not for here! Ha.  While we were watching the weather, Celeste and I discussed how I should write about it on my blog.  I thought it was a good idea and she also mentioned that she thought I should do a “spotlight” on her on my blog while I was at it.  So I have taken it upon myself to do so:

Celeste Arista (aka: Chester, Celestee, Lestee, Chesty) is an adult who is currently serving in Peace Corps Uganda.  Some of you may be saying, “Wait, are you sure she is an adult and not a youth?”  I can assure you that she no longer qualifies as a youth in accordance with the definition of Youth given at our grant writing workshop as “Anyone under the age of 25”.  Clearly, Chester is 25 and therefore no longer a youth. Bambi. Celeste has decided to step out of her bubble by coming to Uganda and also by making friends with me.  She has a strict rule in the States that she can only associate with what she refers to as “ethnic people” (she herself being of Mexican decent).  Here in Uganda I am considered to be ethnic enough by her standards and therefore she has befriended me.  When asked to describe herself Celeste would probably say: Patient, Flexible, Kind.  Which makes the perfect puzzle piece companion for myself considering the fact that I possess none of the first two mentioned qualities.  When asked why she is my friend she would probably respond by saying that she is trying to learn how to be a bit more assertive/aggressive.  I think I am teaching her well.  She is my best friend in Peace Corps and now you know a little bit more about her!

So now back to the workshop… Truthfully, it was a little overwhelming being around all of those Americans so many days in a row and I actually found myself skipping out on tea to read my book BY MYSELF!  After so many weeks of being alone I found it incredibly difficult to socialize (I know I am going to be so weird when I get back to the States)!!  But the conference in general was amazing!  I got to meet all 135 volunteers in country and also got to hear about all of their endeavors.  It was nice to bounce ideas off of them and to be able to hear what worked and what didn’t.  After the week was over I felt like I had a much better idea of the path I am on and where to put my time and energy… which leads me to my next point. 

As we all know, I am a fiend about reading.  And it has really increased since I got to Uganda and have excessive amounts of free time on my hand.  Not only do I love reading, but I love seeing other people reading.  I am a firm believer that people who read books in their spare time are smarter than those who don’t (sorry if you don’t. ha).  I think those who read are more eloquent, more knowledgeable, and have a larger vocabulary.  It kills me that most of the children in this country have NEVER even held a book, let alone read one.  This fact, along with the fact that the government is set on cultivating a culture of reading has led me to what I believe will be an amazing project.  I want to start a library at Ssaza Primary School.  It is in the very basic stage of seeing if it is even feasible, but I do know that the Peace Corps is able to give grants to people who are interested in creating capacity and I can’t think of anything that would create more capacity in this country than getting books into the hands of children.  So I thought I would put the idea out there and see if anyone who is reading this would be interested in donating children’s books to the adorable children of Uganda.  I don’t anticipate the books being expensive (because they can be second hand of course) but I do know that shipping costs are fairly high (but much lower than if I purchased all of the books brand new from Uganda).  I am not going to elaborate on it too much, because I don’t want to look back if this falls through and regret posting this on my blog.  But if you are interested in inspiring children to learn by providing them with the first book they have ever read, then please e mail me at ambercommer@gmail.com and let me know how you would like to help. J

Bubble Gum Lovin'

Ugandans are incredibly vague people.  They tend to walk around the subject of the conversation for about 10 minutes before getting to the point, and when the point is finally reached you have either forgotten what you were talking about in the first place or you are thoroughly confused because their point didn’t make any sense to you.  I know this sounds cynical but let me assure you that I am telling the truth.  And after speaking to people who practically talk in codes, I find myself using the most vague expressions in my daily life.  In saying all this I know that I am being vague myself, so let me give you some concrete examples.

Me: “How is your day going?”

Ugandan: “It’s going.”

Me: “Okay, well how are the people?”

U: “They are there. How are your people.”

Me: “They are going. Hmm… well, was your weekend good?”

U: “Somehow. Yours?”

Me: “Even me, somehow. Well, Thank you for your work.” (What work I am referring to I have no clue, but it is assumed here that everyone has done work sometime during the day and therefore it is appropriate that one shows their appreciation for it)

U: “And thank you for your work.”

So this usually lasts about 3 minutes, at which point I give up having not gleaned any information from said person and because I feel like I am talking cave man speak.  This conversation could go down in either English or Lugandan and I would feel equally as strange afterwards.  

Here is one that I have had with my students in computer class:

Me: “And so that is how you bold a word in MS Word. Are you getting me?”

Students: “We are.”

Student 1: “Madam.  How do we do the thing?”

Me: “The thing? Which thing?”

Student 1: “The thing which we have just done.”

Me: “Bolding a word on MS Word?”

Student 1: “No, the other thing, before the first thing.  I mean, how do I start the thing?”

Me: “Start MS Word?”

Student 1: “No madam, to start the thing that is sitting on the table.”

(This is the point where I walk over to the students computer in which there are actually 8 students crowded around one computer and realize that someone has managed to turn it off somehow.)

Me: “You push this button and wait for it to boot up.”

Student 1: “Okay, we wait.”

Me: “No, you go.”

Student 1: “Okay, we go.”

(Now I wait patiently for the student to push the button and ten minutes later the computer is re-booted and now we work on re-opening MS Word. Good times!)

            I usually run in the mornings around 7.  I run the same route almost every day and every day it takes me about 40 minutes to run it so I assume it is around 4 miles.  It is very hilly so I am winded by the end of it to say the least.  The students have asked to run with me and today was a public holiday so they did not have to attend their usual morning assembly.  One of the boys ran with me and as I was winded about 90% of the time I listened to him talk the entire time.  He had no problem talking and running and by how much he was talking you would have imagined he was reclining in a lazy boy instead of running at 7 in the morning.  Later in the evening I was walking home from a meeting and saw the boy running again!  After the run he came to me and I asked him where he had run.  He told me that he did the same route, just faster.  So, thinking he had maybe run a bit faster I asked him to figure how fast he had run.  He did the math and replied, “Madam, I ran it in 23 minutes.”  Now, not only had he run in the morning and spent the day digging in the garden but then he continued by running in the evening at faster than a 6 minute mile pace!  After discussing the run he asked me if I wanted to play Frisbee, which of course I did and we played for a good 45 minutes, sprinting up and down the soccer field.  And then he had to go for dinner which consists of posho and beans.  So, if you ever want to know how to get in shape, I suggest following his regement of running in the morning and evening as well as playing Frisbee and then only eating a portion of posho and beans. Dang, Ugandans are in shape.

            So on a very serious note…. The gum in this country tastes like gasoline.  Therefore, I have been desperately asking people to send me gum.  Cousin Jason sent me a bunch and I have been rationing accordingly.  I have only been able to eat one piece per day for the past month, but every Sunday I can have two pieces. Ha. I am currently down to exactly 7 pieces. Anyways, just yesterday I received a package from Chels and Leigh… covered in pictures, newspaper clippings, and a whole lot of love.  So after crying (because I had a rough week to say the least), I opened it up and to a world full of gum!! (and other wonderful things of course)  Anyways, I have time and therefore calculated and they sent me enough gum that I could chew 5 pieces a day and it would still last me longer than 3 months!! God my friends rock.

I know that I have already said how much Ugandans do not regard time as something of importance but lately it has really been keeping me in awe so I thought I should write about it again.  Not only do Ugandans not consider time on a daily basis of any importance but they also have very little concept of years and definitely don’t go out of their way to remember when something (that we would consider exceptionally important in the States) happened. 

Example 1:

I was talking to Moses the other day and asked him how old he was.  He said “35” without any hesitation.  Then I proceeded to ask him how old his wife was and he said “30”.  Then I asked him how long they had been married for and he said 14 years.  I freaked out and said MOSES you married her when she was 16!  He quickly said, no she was 20 when they got married.  You do the math… it doesn’t add up.  And then he thought about things for a second and said, “ I think I am 38.”  Ha. You think?!?  How does one not know how old they are?  The problem isn’t education.  He is one of the most intelligent Ugandans I have met (i.e. he speaks 6 languages fluently).  It is simply that they don’t put emphasis on time of any sort.  So then I said, well just tell me what year you were born and we will solve this problem very quickly.  He looked at me and told me that he had no clue what year he was born in.  I gleaned from this little fact that he probably had no clue what year he was married in and I was right.  Imagine if you didn’t know what year you were married in… how infuriated would your spouse be?  But not here, it just doesn’t matter.

Example 2:

I was talking to my language instructor about is family in Kampala.  I asked him how old his children were and he replied that they were 4 and 9.  We discussed a few things more about his family (like the age of his wife… which he didn’t know) and then the conversation was over.  The next day I asked him what year his daughter (the older one) was in school.  He replied that she was in P1 and was very smart.  P1 is the equivalent to our first grade.  I asked him why she was nine and in P1 and he said that she wasn’t nine but she was 7.  Then I asked how old his son was and he said 2.  When I mentioned that the other day he had told me that they were 4 and 9 he shrugged his shoulders and said that he must have been mistaken and that they were 2 and 7.  Now, how exactly do you make a mistake like that?  In the States I would have considered that a trait of an uninvolved father, but here it isn’t the same.  He said 4 and 9 because he couldn’t remember or because it doesn’t really matter what age his children are.  Either way, he wasn’t ashamed at the fact that he didn’t really know their ages and in the end he reminded me that time is not important in this country.  What a novel idea?!

I want to apologize to those of you who read my blog in case you are thinking that my mind wanders from one subject to the other very quickly.  This is definitely the case, but may I also add that I write different parts of my blog on different days and then upload them all to the internet when I finally get there.  So I mind is not as fluttery as it seems… though it is very fluttery indeed.

Team Bill Gates

I taught the students at my school how to play Ultimate Frisbee.  They were a little hesitant at first and usually just ducked when the Frisbee came within 20 feet of them, but after a little while they seemed to enjoy tossing it around so I decided to turn it into a competition (which I do with most things in my life).  I explained to them the rules of ultimate Frisbee and had one of the boys who had played with another American explain the rules in their native tongue (you’re right, I don’t yet know how to say “You can only pivot on your leg” in Lugandan).  So we picked teams and went on our separate sides.  I decided that for team moral we should come up with a team name.  They were baffled for a good 2 minutes and then someone came up with the name “Bill Gates” and everyone agreed that it was a good name.  And so we were Team Bill Gates. I spent the first 10 minutes of the game laughing at our team name and once I got serious about playing and got the Frisbee in hand I realized that I had no clue which of the boys was on my team because they all have such similar features and were all wearing the same school athletics uniform.  So here I am in the middle of the soccer field screaming, “Team Bill Gates…. Where are you?  Which ones are you Bill Gates??”  That method proved to be fatal because all of the boys put their hands up and I inevitably tossed the Frisbee to the other team.  Drats.  So it was decided that the other team would be shirts and we would be skins, with the exception of myself of course. 45 minutes later we were down by 1 and there were only a few precious minutes of sunlight left so things started getting pretty hard core.  Diving was involved as well as some minor wrestling (What can you expect with a team full of 18 year old boys) but in the end Team Bill Gates was defeated. Sad day, but I guess there is always tomorrow night.

 

 

In case you are wondering, here is a list of things that you can carry on a single bicycle that only has one gear: (And by you I don’t actually mean you nor I, but I mean more specifically Ugandans)

• 45 three-litre jerry cans
• 5 small children (equivalent to 3 grown men)
• Exactly 8 crates full of 30 bottles of soda each
• 4 bushels of matooke weighing about 40 pounds a piece
• 50 pieces of sugar cane (put horizontally only as to impede the movement of anyone else on the road)
• A large piece of plywood with the following items stapled to it for sale: 5 pairs of womens underwear, 20 hats, 15 combs, 10 slips, 7 mirrors, 20 bags of hair ties, 50 handkerchiefs, 30 pairs of earrings, 40 clothes pins, 13 grocery bags, 4 large pieces of fabric, 2 mats, and some type of perishable food.

Also, if you live in Uganda you will unavoidably carry these things on your bike at least four times a week and you will do so up hills that I can barely run up.  Also, you will be moving faster than I am.

 

So, I am always pretty impressed when people have really cool party tricks (i.e. being double jointed, doing a backflip, etc.) and though I have tried desperately my entire life to come up with a really great one, I really don’t have much more than touching my tongue to my nose.  I haven’t introduced this one to Uganda yet and the only thing that I can attribute this to is the fact that I have a much cooler and freakier party trick that I can do here.  Sitting in front of a group of people I can get even more attention than I get for being white if I simply take out my contact.  Yes, taking out my contact is my party trick and I want to thank Moses for enlightening me to it.  I was sitting in my house with him the other day and had something in my eye.  I couldn’t get it out for the life of me so I just casually took out my contact.  (I might add that I am legally blind without my contacts in, which is necessary to know for the next part of the story.) All of the sudden he starts screaming, which provokes me to start screaming because not only is a grown man freaking out, but I can’t see what he is freaking out about.  Thousands of things are running through my mind: a rat just ran into my house, his truck is rolling down the hill, ants are attacking my dinner.  So I start screaming, “What, what, what is is?” And he continues to scream until he calms down and says, “You took part of your eye out!” I bust out laughing and he continues by saying, “Put it back, put it back!” and so I do.  I try to explain what contacts are and that they are not part of my eye but something to help me see better and after about 10 minutes of explanation he seems to understand the concept.  Then he proceeds by saying, “Take it out again.” Which I do, and then he commands me to put it back in, which I do as well.  This goes on until I say that it will hurt my eye if I continue to take my contacts in and out and so he seems content with this fact and the conversation moves on to something new.  The next day I am walking up to teach a class and I see Mose standing outside with some of the hired help from our college.  He calls me over and promptly says, “Take out your contact.”  This is precisely how it has become my party trick.  So I take it out, and all 5 of the people watching step away from me as though I will try and take their eyes out as well if they are standing too closely. I explain the concept of contacts to them as well, but they are confused and so I drop it.  But now I know, if I am ever somewhere where I feel lost or simply without words all I have to do is take out my contact I will have the best party trick in the room.

Smile test

Smile test

 

It has been stated many times before that I stand out like a sore thumb in this country, but I don’t know if I have truly been explicit enough with the details.  The color of my skin is the main discussion of a majority of people that I encounter throughout the day.  When I go to the market, the vendors whisper “Mzungu”.  When I walk through the college I can see the students (grown men and women) point and say mzungu (though I have made it clear that they are to call me Nakimera and not mzungu).  When I meet someone new, they program my name into their phone as “Mzungu”.  As I walk down the street children jump and do a little dance while chanting Mzungu (which is something that I actually enjoy because it makes me laugh).  If I go to a local restaurant people stare for the entire time I am there either perplexed at the fact that I am white, or confused that I would eat their food… not sure which one. Which brings me to the point of staring.  Ugandans can stare.  And stare they do.  Ugandans could be put up against anything in the world in a staring contest and without a doubt would win.  They would win against a lion for gods sake.  I tried for a long time to ignore it, but it is so blatant that it is really not possible.  Then for a while I tried staring back, but they never back down and invariably things get awkward for those of us who know it is improper to stare.  Then I got mad about it and decided to scowl at people who were staring, which I realized was also ineffective because I think they like staring at mad mzungu’s even more than they like looking at happy ones.  So I finally came up with a method that I feel like is working.  Anytime I find someone staring at me (which is approximately 85% of my day) I smile at them.  I felt like a genius when I finally figured this one out.  It’s really fool-proof.  Probably as much, and possibly even more than staring, Ugandans love to smile.  So I smile.  When I am running.  When I am eating.  When I am reading.  When I am walking to town.  In the market.  On the road. In the morning.  At night.  Underneath the blazing sun.  I smile my little life away.  And the Ugandans smile back.  Every time they smile back.  It hasn’t failed me once.

            So I am curious.  Would this work in the states?  If you tried smiling at 100 people per day would all 100 smile back at you?  I think they would… but someone should really try it and let me know the results.  On top of that, when you smile all day you feel happy.  And when people smile at you all day you feel even happier. J  So smile at people for no reason.  And see how happy you are.

            I was walking to church the other day (I know what you’re thinking…. And a Pentecostal Ugandan church of all things, but bear with me here) listening to Joshua Radin and basking in the equatorial sun when something caught the side of my vision.  It was a huge feather floating down out of one of the trees.  The feather danced down and down taking its sweet time to fall through the sky and I watched it for a good minute or so just flutter and twirl until it landed on the ground.  This is how I know that I am slowing down.  I stopped my walk for a feather.  I quit everything I was doing to watch a feather tumble from the sky.  You should try it sometime… stop everything you are doing for something as infinitesimal (or some might say extraordinary) as a feather.

            One other thing that is happening to me here is that I am becoming exceptionally patient.  This was by far one of my weakest points back home. If I had a hair appointment at 5 and the person came at 5:10 I was cussing up a storm. (I know you all are thinking about that time when you were late to your hair appointment and feeling bad about it, but don’t).  If I was supposed to meet someone for dinner at 6 and they showed up at 6:15 I put on a patient face but my blood was boiling (unless of course I had a rum and coke in my hands, in which case I would have just sucked it dry and then smiled).  But now, I really can’t tell the difference between 15 minutes and 2 hours because it is all the same here. 

I went on a trip to the islands in the middle of Lake Victoria called the Ssesse Islands.  It is really only about 60 kilometers from my place so about 40 miles, so if we were in the States we would figure that I would get there in about 40 minutes (in rush hour traffic).  Well… there is no rush hour traffic in Uganda, which one might consider a good thing, but the only problem is that there is no traffic at all and therefore the roads are never repaired.  I got on a matatu at 1:30 ready to leave.  It left at 2:30, who knows what we were waiting for.  It took us 1 ½ hours to ride 30 kilometers (20 miles) which is not uncommon here, and I was pretty sure that I had knocked one of my vertebrae out of place because of the severe amount of bouncing that had occurred.  To give you an idea, it felt like we driving a minivan over a dirt bike course, you know the ones with ramps and whatnot.  On top of this was the fact that I think our matatu had been in a wreck sometime back and had been shoddily repaired because each bump we would hit would end in a screeching noise with the right side of the mini-bus seemingly coming detached from the center (by the way, I was sitting on the right side).  I was pretty sure that if we hit a large enough bump the right side would just split off and I would be sent tumbling (but would probably live because we were only going 12 miles an hour). 

Anyways, we finally reached the ferry to take us to the islands and we got there right on time, imagine that.  Unfortunately for us the ferry itself was not on time so we spent a good hour waiting for it to come.  The ferry ride was nice and it was good to get out of the car and see the lake, but that too took another 1 ½ hours.  When we finally reached the islands I was relieved as Cynthia informed me that it would merely be another hour before we reached out destination.  The matatu was packed full of people and stuff and we hopped back on and headed to Kalangala.  We stopped after 20 minutes to un-load 3 people, 4 matresses, 2 huge bags of flower, and some buckets.  20 minutes later we stopped to unload 3 more people and enough Ugandan liquor to keep the whole island drunk for a week.  We stopped 3 minutes later to pick up more passengers.  We stopped 4 minutes later because we hit one too many potholes and had a flat tire. This took about 20 minutes and the help of some drift wood (don’t ask) and we were on the road again.  We stopped 10 minutes later to pick up more passengers. We stopped 10 minutes later to drop more passengers off. (Are you getting the idea here?)  So by this time I was starving and we wanted to make sure that the place we were going for dinner would actually have food (restaurants run out of food here. Ha) So we called and had them start making out food because we were only “30 minutes away”.  We ordered fish which I was stoked about because it is hard to get here and I don’t get to eat it often. 1 ½ hours later we arrived at the restaurant and sat down.  We recounted the day and realized that we had been traveling for over 7 hours, it was now 8:30 at night!  I was imagining myself 4 months ago in the situation and the number of times I would have complained about how long everything was taking.  7 hours of travel, I could have been in Denver by now.  But instead, I was on the Ssesse Islands in the middle of Lake Victoria and life was good.  And then the lady at the restaurant informed us that she was out of fish and forgot to mention it on the phone.  I just about went up and punched her after the long day I had, and then I smiled and realized maybe not so much has changed. J  Instead, I had about 4 pounds of potatoes and rice for dinner, and thought about how I should be more patient when it comes to people making mistakes.

            I started teaching yesterday.  I was so very excited to teach but of course I had to jump through about 100 hoops to even finally get into the classroom.  At first they weren’t sure what I was to teach, and once they figured that out they couldn’t seem to find the syllabus for the class (still don’t have it).  There is no book for the class, so I am working out of the chapter of another book focusing on education.  I am supposed to be teaching Early Childhood Education (ECE) to first year students at the college.  So I put in a request for my teaching schedule and they agreed.  When I got the final time table there was not one class that I was teaching that I had requested and in fact I couldn’t actually teach some of the classes because they had scheduled me on days that I am doing outreach.  I was flustered to say the least, but finally went into the principal to discuss what could be done and I think that I got my schedule figured out. I taught 3 times today and it was very interesting.  The first class had 53 students which is not an exceptional number but is still a lot, and I think they were excited to finally have me teach.  I let the first 15 minutes be questions that they had for me, which were hilarious from “Are you married?” to “Why do you run every morning?” to “What is your favorite food?” to which I promptly answered “pizza” (of which they know nothing of and is not really my favorite food at all).  Then I tried to explain it to them but they don’t have ovens in this country so it was a bit difficult. Ha.  Anyways, I guess I was just craving pizza.  The class went well, but it is amazing how much rote memorization impacts the students ability to reason, etc.  Whenever I asked them to define education they each did so without hesitation, “Education is something that proceeds from birth to death and is the learning of skills, knowledge, values, and attitudes.”  They could each say this verbatim, which is somewhat of a good thing and a lot of a bad thing.  They are so used to memorizing definitions that their critical thinking skills are slim to none.  That is one thing I am trying to incorporate into my class.  I have them write an opinion paper every week that just gets them thinking a little bit out of the box. This week I asked them to describe their favorite teacher and why.  Next week I am going to compile their answers and have a discussion about it.  So, overall the class went good, except for the fact that I am very hard to understand because of my ‘Merican accent and they laugh at anything I say that has an “r” in it.  We will see how the rest of the semester goes.