This blasted siesta has my sleeping routine in upheaval! I often find myself staring at the ceiling as I try to wrestle back to sleep or am up at dawn and off to ponder the world while dreamily gazing into the blue green sea that is my temporary home. These mornings are enchanting as they carry the illusion of somewhat livable temperatures - too early for the humidity to have yet soaked in as the sun sleepily climbs higher and higher into the desert sky.
The swampish algae has disappeared, leaving the beach free to splash about in, creating an all too cruel temptation as I'm really not allowed to swim out in the open like this - so I wade in the blue waters until I spot a plastic bag floating next to me and I am instantly sidetracked by picking up the beach - Milk boxes, crumbled bags of chips, bottle caps...
On mornings not spent on the beach, I slowly enjoy breakfast and scalding hot coffee while catching up with all the world happenings on Aljezzera. I now have the company car so I gather my computer, lessons and drive into work - down the eroding road, past bridge workers digging holes, goats eating trash and many gazers - who gawk intently at the foreign woman as she confidently drives around the city, iPod pumping out Gypsy Punk mayhem and sporting big, bug eyed shades and shinny lip gloss (a far cry from the black abaya clad women of Sur).
9:00 the little ones begin to arrive - one, two , four, six... seven little scampering children pulling on my skirt and shouting how they want to play this or that game - sing the 'short shorts' song or whatever tantalizing activity I probably wasn't planning on doing. Teaching children is by far the most challenging age group... hands down the most exhausting yet can definitely be loads of fun and most certainly requires a massive dose of caffeine.
11:10 the teenagers saunter in and take their respectable seats - white dishdasha wearing boys on one side, black abayad girls on the other. Kind of like teaching two different classes at the same time and sweet Jesus are they well behaved - they raise their hands, the don't speak out of turn - kind of freaky actually, but I think they are my favorite class. Something about them that I am drawn to - being raised in such a foreign world from the one I come from, yet teenagers none the less. Can't imagine what it would be like to have all those hormones frantically running about and have no outlet for it, (well, there is, but that's a matter to be discussed... at a later point in time).
1:30 and I am home for lunch, two hour siesta (this is where my sleep gets torn asunder), lesson plan, drink tea and read a bit about Stalin's youth and then back to work.
I usually have just enough time to check my email, write retarded blog entries, drink copious amounts of afternoon coffee and catch up on the local Sur gossip - thanks to the lovely ladies of the office. 6:30 and my evening class of adults begins. Two and a half hours of grammar banter and me trying to pry information out of them making me feel like a Soviet era intelligence operative. No, for the most part, the students are great, motivated and excited to be in class, so, so far, so good.
9:00 and I am on my way home - malt soy milk to replace my glass of chardonnay and a bit of a bad movie (I actually sat through about one and a half hours of Two by Sea the other night... seriously bad movie), some reading and I'm back to staring at the ceiling... ah, sleep is grand.
Oh, Emily -- I can see all this printed in a magazine article -- it is so sweet to read your writings.
ReplyDelete