An earlier entry that never got posted....

I finally got to attend a community event: the funeral of a Ministry of Education higher-up who used to teach at Laura High School. We had a half-day because all the teachers had to go to the funeral. We took a yellow school bus meant for kindergartners (couldn’t fit into the seats!) to a house near the U.S. Embassy and sat outside for hours in white plastic chairs waiting for things to start. Finally we all filed into the house where an open casket sat in the corner of the bare living room, surrounded by photos, flowers, and we mourners. I’ve never seen a dead body before, and I’ve certainly never seen someone sitting next to a dead body waving flies away- a necessity in this climate.

We sat on the floor for what seemed like forever, listening to long speeches in Marshallese and trying to understand a few words here and there. I don’t know how those older Marshallese ladies could sit for so long on a hard floor without their legs falling asleep- I certainly couldn’t do it. After the speeches we filed past the body and out the door, hugging mourners and putting a dollar into the collection basket, the standard donation for funerals and kemem (first-birthday celebrations). Outside we were presented with a container of chicken and rice and a ziploc baggie containing cookies, donuts, and crackers. I expected there to be food, but it was sort of strange to be given a prepared container just like our students buy at school. And I can’t even imagine how much work the family must put in to cooking all the food and boxing it up for everyone who comes to the funeral. As we left we saw the next batch, sitting in the chairs awaiting their turn to go inside. Marshallese funerals can last for days.
Last night my students came to the house to pick me up for another beat practice. I’m beginning to understand why so many of my students can’t stay awake in class in November and December. The practices supposedly start at 6 or 7, but really everyone hangs around playing volleyball and chatting until about 9:30 and then practices until at least 11, sometimes going until midnight or 1 am on a school night. The inexplicable delay might have bothered me a few months ago, but this country is teaching me patience.

And really, the waiting time can be more fun than the practice itself. I’m too terrible at volleyball to play in front of swarms of children who have been playing since they could walk, but I love to hang around and meet everybody and chat with my students. Wella, the one who told her mother I’m her new best friend, introduced me to her parents and her grandfather and started teaching me to play ukulele. When I asked her what songs she could play, she giggled and told me “Marshallese love songs,” but she was too embarrassed to play them in front of everybody so we found an isolated corner of the volleyball/basketball court (both games going at once, of course) and sat down to play. She played me a few songs, and then I practiced the three chords I’d learned and she ran off to play volleyball. It was so much fun to sit there and play while everyone ran around and kids would come join me to see the ribelle play ukulele and introduce themselves.

It’s times like these, outside the classroom, that I can finally really connect with some of my students. Last night at the beat practice I got to talk to Lomina, one of the strongest students in my 9C class (the lowest level of 9th-graders). I’ve had a lot of trouble with that class. Behavior management is super difficult, with kids constantly getting out of their seats (sometimes even going to lie down in the back of the classroom or start fights in the middle of class) and seemingly incapable of focusing on what I’m saying for more than thirty seconds. Many students cut the class on a regular basis, often walking out in the middle of class. Lomina told me “all the teachers hate 9C. We’re really bad.” We also discussed her classmate Jakira, who is extremely difficult (disruptive, talks back, needs to leave class every day because she has an "emergency," asks me weird questions about my makeup, asks to look at my cellphone and borrow my sneakers...). Lomina told me "that girl's crazy," and it made me feel much better about not being able to deal with her. Even her classmates think she's nuts.