A Teacher's Travels & Search for Math/Science Theorems that aren't Named after White Men |
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A Teacher's Travels & Search for Math/Science Theorems that aren't Named after White Men |
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Greetings from Chicago. I’m back on Michigan Avenue where I live, almost like I never left. I arrived on a sunny day, there are specks of green on trees but most everything is still brown and dreary. My friend said I must’ve brought the sun with me to Chicago because just last week it was snowing. Just last week I was in Kasane, near the Zimbabwe border, which I’ll tell you about now. “You play them like a fiddle!” Mandisa, my friend from Cape Town, came to Gabs Monday morning to join me on my last overnight bus ride to Kasane---what would be my longest bus ride yet. After being asked out for drinks by the taxi driver, but offered no discount, as he needed that money to buy me a drink, Mandisa and I get dropped off at the busy bus rank. We get our seats, after being asked at least 100 times if we wanted to buy phone power banks and settle in. The ride is about 12 hours long, overnight, and the driver has to be cautious because of the animals in the road----domestic ones like cows for the first 10 or so hours, and then wild ones, like elephants. Mandisa and I finally arrived in Kasane at about 6am, we get a taxi and head to our backpackers. On the way we pass people who I know to be Kalanga---they’re bigger, not fat but like more solid, and have beautiful, smooth, dark skin. As we pass them, they wave, and I greet, “dumelani.” Mandisa and I settle in for about an hour before taking arranged transport to Victoria Falls, across the border in Zimbabwe and in Zambia. “Zimbabwe is a multi-currency country.” Mandisa and I go to our Victoria Falls Excursion with another guest at the lodge, Fritz. We spend the day at Victoria Falls not only getting to know the larger than life, mesmerizingly stunning Falls both on the Zambian and Zimbabwean sides, but also getting to know Fritz. We did the cheap option at Vic Falls, which means we just get dropped off at the border. After jokingly accusing me of being CIA, and then again I got asked for drinks, the Zimbabwean border control agent let us in. At this point, another taxi driver takes us to Victoria Falls, another 45 minute drive. We got to know Fritz on the ride. Fritz is an Afrikaans soldier, from Limpopo, so he speaks SiPedi, a language similar to Setswana, and he is able to speak a lot of Afrikaans slang with Mandisa. I could tell early on that the three of us would be a fun trio. Mandisa, Fritz and I learn more about each other in the midst of Zimbabwean men trying to sell us carved figures, jewelry, and even cocaine at one point. Zimbabwe’s economy is in shambles now, so we aren’t annoyed at their hustle. Fritz is exceptional---he knows medicinal purposes of plants, for example, he tells us that the bark of the Marula tree is an antihistamine. He knows how to track animals, about languages and is obsessed with history. He can cook interesting things and brews his own alcohol. We all joke about how absurd it is that people say Livingstone discovered the falls, and throughout the day, we joke around in our best posh British accents, mocking colonial era snobbery and the fallacy of discovery. We also learn that Fritz was an apartheid soldier in the townships. He didn’t have a choice because when he was 16, all white men his age had to serve in the army. This fact is yes, frightening, but Fritz is earnest and genuine. He served as a UN soldier based in the Congo, where he was had to work with black soldiers from Mozambique, South Africa, around the continent. He understands racism and white supremacy. He is passionate about his continent and the autonomy and success of its people. I would love to write a book about Fritz. Anyways, we had a beautiful time at the Falls. Mandisa danced in its abundant rain, and we snacked on its crocodile before heading back to the guest house. The following day, Mandisa and I went on an early morning game drive with a safari vehicle full of young Germans doing a gap year volunteering in Namibia. I thought that this was odd given Germany’s violent, genocidal history in Namibia, but the kids, albeit too rich, were sweet. The game drive was of course, awesome but the highlight was our late afternoon riverboat game drive on the Chobe River. Fritz, Mandisa, and I---the Rainbow Nation’s dream trio---declared the front of the boat ours, as we came prepared with our Castle Lights, gin and tonics and meat pies. I’ll never forget the boat ride. You see, you never get tired of seeing elephants. Tlou. Ndovu. Our small 10 person boat, got so close to these beautiful, intelligent, sweet beings, that you could smell them. We could see them circling around their 10 month old baby, whose eyes were barely opened, who just wanted to play while his older friends were busy trying to eat the lush grass. We watched a herd of about 50 come down to the river in an elegant line to drink some of its cool water. Sometimes we pulled up thru the river’s grasses alongside beautiful yet terrifying crocodiles and monitor lizards. We watched the water buffalo drink, the hippos chomp on grass and the water bucks enjoy their simple yet remarkable lives. We were tipsy, giggly and even loosened up the German teens who came along. I love Batswana. I really do, but I will never ever be able to get behind their anti-elephant sentiments. These animals are so special, and their numbers are huge in Botswana because they are being poached sometimes just for trophy in surrounding countries, mostly by Americans. They are intelligent to know where they can go and be protected, and Botswana, is that sanctuary for them. I hope it remains to be so too. That night, we dined on pizzas, more gin and tonics, exchanged stories with the Germans, Fritz, a Tunisian riding his motorcycle back toward Tunisia, an American currency collector and with Batswana. The next morning, Mandisa and I luckily got a ride back to Gabs with Fritz. We hugged the Backpackers’ staff and new friends goodbye as if we had known them our whole lives. The ride back was a safari in and of itself on the road to Nata, as we saw about 10 more elephants. They wandered next to the road, and around the nearby bush. The Marula trees had knocked down branches, from hungry elephants, who pull down their branches for a tasty bite of its leaves. One elephant, had clearly been recently attacked by a large cat----maybe a lion, and he stood next to the road, looking at us, his ear ripped apart and oozing blood, as if to be pleading, “Help me. I’m hurt.” I learned so much about the world, the ways in which we relate to one another, about war torn places and conflict, on that 10 hour car ride with Fritz. Mandisa graded a stack of college essays in the backseat and all of us sang along to Queen. We passed through Francistown for lunch, Palapye for coffee and I think I can say, I saw every corner of Botswana. “It could be a beach bag!” My final full day in Botswana had some drama, with AirBotswana (for anyone who knows this airline can just assume) and some drama at the tailor (for anyone who has ever been mismeasured can just assume here too). Luckily, the drama ended by 11am, and Mandisa, Rati and Sara and I had a lovely brunch at Sanita’s Tea Garden---an outdoor restaurant located in a garden center. We spent a good amount of time before heading to Molapo crossing, where I got to say goodbye to Keneliwe, another dear friend from my adventures, and Moabi. The first thing Moabi said to me was, “What time is your flight tomorrow? I’m taking you.” I ate my last bites of seswaa and bogobe. That evening Rati, Mandisa and I headed to Main Mall for the last time, and we were excited to pass by a big mamma selling beautiful baskets, dried mopane worms and other Tswana delicacies. Rati kept admiring a large basket, with a strap and a lid, that the woman said could be used for transporting bananas on her head. Rati thought it would make a perfect beach bag, so I bought it and gifted it for her. She screamed with excitement and joy. Mandisa picked out several woven plates she was buying for her home, and asked me to pick one out, and she bought it for me. The woman was so happy to be making a large bit of money at the end of the day, Easter weekend, so she squeezed all of us and gave us huge kisses on our cheeks and then gifted each of us long, wooden spoons, crafted for making porridge. The rest of the night was spent with other friends and bottles of South African wine. Then I said good night to Gaborone for a final time. Moabi did as he said he would, and brought me to the airport the next morning, and luckily, in Johannesburg, I got to spend the day with Mandisa and Fritz, also there on long layovers, before begin my long journey to the only home I thought I had had before these past few months. Thank you. Ke a leboga. Enkosi. Ngiyabonga. Amesegnalehu. My Fulbright is officially over, although I’m still working on my report. I took today off, and luckily it’s beautiful, 75 and sunny. I’m eating chechebsa and drinking coffee in a favorite Ethiopian spot and last minute lesson planning. Tomorrow I go back to work. It’s wild. My students have been following my journey on a teacher Instagram and via emails, and I hope they have learned a bit too----to see Africa differently than they did before, to see themselves as Africans, and as Africans, in a different light than they previously saw before. I’m excited for their questions and hugs tomorrow morning. I’ve prepared a presentation for them, and I’ll prepare one soon for my coworkers, also eager to hear about my experiences. I didn’t have the conferences, invitations to speak at universities, I didn’t even have a particularly helpful advisor like some other Fulbrighters in other placements. But I had so much. I had wonderful teachers---like Sara, Bongani, Thabo, Brian, Mandisa, Moabi, Veronica, Steve, Lloyd, Mr. Kahaka, Tessa, Waterford students, Thebe students, Scencia, Neo, Haime, Dessie, Temesgen, Rati, Mpho, Sandile, Keneliwe, Nadia, Professor Batibo, Professor Gabamotse---and luckily, most of these teachers were my close friends, they are loved ones. I’m forever grateful and blessed that these people, and many others who I have not named, have come into my life. My classrooms were in people’s homes, in shabines, azmari bets, on combi buses and in recess play areas. Part of me was fine with going home but most of me was not ready to leave the African continent. I felt at home. I hope I did everything I was supposed to do. I hope I saw everything I was supposed to see. That I connected with all with whom I was supposed to connect. I hope my teachers respect and love me half as much as I respect and love them. I’ve never felt completely at home in my home culture, although I really love all the places I’ve called home and many people here at home, but these past 4 months affirmed that my home is expansive and global. These past few months opened doors for me, filled my heart with so much love, and in the year that I’ll turn 30, I felt more at home and at peace and filled with joy, than ever before. For those of you, in South Africa, Namibia, Botswana, eSwatini, and Ethiopia, who have made my experience what it has been, I hope I’ve added to your lives in some way too. In addition to teaching me, you’ve made me feel special and seen in ways I had only dreamed of. For those that shed tears with me as I was leaving, we’ll see each other soon, and we’ll always be in touch. I also really, really appreciate everyone who supported me from afar, whether thru check-ins, questions, admiration. My former student/daughter, Mariyah, texted me at least once a week to check in. She’s 13, and I want to send her to all the places I was blessed to see. I honestly didn’t know I had so many people other than my parents who would be interested in what I had to say and in what I was learning. It has been special. I’ve started building the Botho Education Exchange, and I’ll be sharing it with you all very soon. Fate or beautiful witchcraft led me to the region where I ended 2018 and brought in 2019. I couldn’t be more fulfilled. G/ao led me to Tsumkwe, and I’ll be back next time knowing more Ju/Hoansi. Something huge and magical brought me to South Africa and gave me a whole bunch of new loved ones, I know I’ve loved before in some other life and maybe a future home. A pursuit of knowledge and perspective brought me to Botswana and the place will always be special to me. Fikir brought me to Ethiopia, and I’ll see you maybe even sooner and for longer than the other places. eSwatini, you taught me that the brilliance of children is pretty much limitless. Zimbabwe, I love you and am thankful I got to experience your beauty and humility. On the Chobe River boat ride, I stopped to watch a flock of cormorant birds as they flew in and out of formation, effortlessly. Then I couldn’t see them any longer. I felt like a cormorant bird on my Fulbright. I very effortlessly fell into formation in my travels, and just as quickly as I was able to fly in and out, I am now flying out of view and home. I’ll let you readers know how my first week goes, and if I’m able to secure funding for the summer, I’ll let you know where the Botho Education Exchange will take me this summer. Ke a leboga. Yiabonga. Enkosi. Mi wi a. Matabas. Ke go orata. Mi are a. Ewedeshalu.
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Greetings to all who read! Sorry for my absence, and thank you to those who’ve checked in. As you know, I was in Ethiopia---Lalibela, the beautiful village in Amhara known for its rock hewn churches, where I woke up early to cook chechebsa over the fire when we were without electricty, and then I was in Addis Ababa, maybe one of my favorite cities--complicated, vibrant and culturally rich, where I danced to azmari music at Fendika, was cared for by loved ones and where I explored Piassa, and its pastries and antiques with a dear sister of mine. My time in Ethiopia felt more personal and intimate than my other experiences here, for many reasons, so I think I’ll keep most of Ethiopia to myself as I’ve divulged much with all of you. If you’re truly interested, we can share a cup of bunna or a plate of shiro when I’m back in Chicago. I will, however, share with you one short and sweet story: “Auntie, na!” Sunday morning I woke up early and ate a healthy portion of firfir and injera, which I washed down with a hot cup of bunna. I then took a taxi, through congested, yet relatively quiet Addis. I passed the small blue taxis, remnants of the communist era, gifts from the USSR. I passed men and women covered in white scarves and clothing going to and from church. I discussed the political situation in the northern part of the country in broken English and Amharic with my driver. We finally reached our first stop---Bilos Cakes. Dawit, my beautiful friend, had sent me on a mission to a) get fasting cakes and b) deliver them and play with children. This was an easy mission---I love vegan cakes, and y’all know I love the kiddos. Dawit grew up at SOS Children's Village, my final destination, and so this was special to him. I think the SOS model is really lovely---children, who for whatever reason, cannot live with their biological families---grow up in a home with a mother figure and siblings coming from similar situations. In many ways, I relate to this upbringing, and I know firsthand that families are not just biological. Families are groups of people who love each other so much, that no matter where a member is in the world, she can feel the embrace or comforting smile of the others, even when she is miles away. This bond is spiritual and deep, but not always genetic and biological. I picked the prettiest cake Bilos had---a smooth white rectangular cake, with neatly placed dark chocolate shavings and bright red strawberries. Cake in hand, and trying to channel Dawit’s love, I head to SOS, which is adjacent to the beautiful and looming Bisrate Gebriel Church. The guard walks me passed quiet homes, clean and neat, surrounded by greenery and every now and then we run into a smiling child who the guard will high five. As soon as I enter Dawit’s home, I’m greeted warmly by his auntie, and his siblings ranging from age 7 months to age 15. I’m immediately offered eggs and bread, which Le’Elt, maybe 9 years old, and Tame, 6, feed me-- “gursha.” We watched Habesha music videos, as we munched away on our eggs. I'll miss the constant streaming of music videos in living rooms across the African continent---these music videos which don't always objectify women and that don't only depict black life as thug life. Three of the children walked me around their home, their school and showed me their favorite spots of SOS all while skipping, pulling on me and singing---clearly happy children. When we returned home, I was welcomed back into the sitting area, where our auntie was roasting fresh coffee beans over a coal fire and burning frankincense. I sat near her and the magical smells filling the room. The children fought over who could sit next to me, and we danced (my shoulders didn’t move as fast as theirs, no surprise to anyone who has seen me dance). At this point I was full of eggs, coffee and cake, but our auntie assured me that I needed to eat injera---just a little bit. Over the course of the next 30 minutes, I was fed injera with misir wot and gomen. As soon as I would sop up the last bit of berebere spiced misir with my injera, my plate would be quickly taken and re-upped with warm injera, spicy misir wot and fresh, green gomen. This loving woman, raising 9 children, from all over Ethiopia, of all ages, had just met me, fed me piles of food, and then served her 9 children even bigger plates of food. After several hours, the children wrapped themselves in white gabi and began to head to church---of course not before blessing me with kisses, hugs and affectionate, “ewedishalehu”-s. I hopped in a blue taxi and made my way home, with a full belly that would taste nothing else for the day but half a bottle of Habesha Cold Gold. People comment on my ability to make friends and close familial bonds in unfamiliar places. Perhaps it’s because of my expansive understanding of family. I’m back in Botswana, in my last 10 days on this continent for now. Ethiopia, I love you, and I’ll be back, I feel even very soon. እወድሃለሁ. Botswana, I will enjoy my final week here in your slightly cooler temps. For those of you following my journey, thank you. I think one or two chapters remains in this story. May your week be filled with family, seeking more family and feeding those you love. |
AuthorFulbright Distinguished Award in Teaching Archives
April 2019
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