Dangerous Minds

Our school is having a concert to commemorate and celebrate its forty year existence. For the past three months, I've worked to children's clapping, stomping and singing...and my office colleague and I find ourselves singing along to the music, even when we're not in school.
One of the acts is done to Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise". You're probably thinking what a morbid song to have kids perform to, but it is something that more than half of our kids have to deal with in their areas. It also happens to be the theme song of one of my favourite movies.

I think I became a teacher because of Dangerous Minds (for those living under a rock or born post 2000, it is a movie that centers around a new teacher who makes a big difference in the lives of a class of students). I was lying in front of the TV the other day and it was playing on one of the movie channels, and I don't know whether it was just pms or whatever, but I cried at the part where Louanne Johnson's students persuade her to stay at their school because she was their 'light'.

I find myself in a similar situation as Michelle Pfeiffer's character right now, as I have made the decision to leave my school at the end of the year. I haven't been in a classroom for the last year and a half, but I've still managed to foster relationships with the students. So many of them though come from really difficult home situations and live in the ghettos of Cape Town. They're exposed to violence, drugs, abuse...much like the children in Ms Johnson's class (except that these kids are small and it's about more than half of the school).
I'm not going to lie - some of these kids bug the hell out of me, especially the ones with attitudes and no manners. But more often than not, they have this ability to steal my heart.

Through my interactions, I've tried to instill manners and discipline in them (which I feel is very important), but I've also tried to nurture them - whether it was by co-ordinating students to write for the annual school magazine or fortnightly newsletter, playing netball with the senior team to help get them match fit, nursing their scrapes when they come to the office, or stopping to receive their hugs in the corridors.

I have my reasons for leaving. I have to start living my life, and doing things that make me happy. Change is as good as a holiday they say, but it is very scary. I am, however, more confident in my ability to navigate the unknown, and I am very happy to be leaving many of my colleagues behind.

But if I'm honest, I'm not looking forward to the sadness I know I will feel the day I have to say good-bye to my children.

Brave

You can be amazing
You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug
You can be the outcast
Or be the backlash of somebody's lack of love
Or you can start speaking up

Nothing's gonna hurt you the way that words do
When they settle 'neath your skin
Kept on the inside and no sunlight
Sometimes a shadow wins
But I wonder what would happen if you

Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave

Everybody's been there,
Everybody's been stared down by the enemy
Fallen for the fear
And done some disappearing,
Bow down to the mighty
Don't run, just stop holding your tongue

Maybe there's a way out of the cage where you live
Maybe one of these days you can let the light in
Show me how big your brave is

Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

And since your history of silence
Won't do you any good,
Did you think it would?
Let your words be anything but empty
Why don't you tell them the truth?

Say what you wanna say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out
Honestly I wanna see you be brave

I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I just wanna see you
I wanna see you be brave

Tradition

We celebrated Eid in Cape Town four days ago. For you who may not know what Eid is, it is an Islamic religious holiday celebrated twice in the lunar year - the first is celebrated the day after the fasting month is completed (the one we've just celebrated), and the second one is celebrated on the tenth day of the twelfth lunar month, which corresponds with the third day of pilgrimage.
It can be likened to Christmas or Hanukkah - a day for families and friends to get together - but what makes Eid unique is that each one has a specific significance attached to it: the first one is the Eid of charity, and the second the Eid of sacrifice.

Muslims around the globe celebrate this day in many different ways, and along with the specific religious duties and customs that have to be performed, every family has their own unique customs and traditions that surround it. In my family, my mother buys gifts for all of her grandchildren, makes her own corned beef and home-made baked bread (which I have taken over, since she sustained a shoulder injury), makes meat pies and cooks a pot of biryani; My eldest sister-in-law makes her version of fried chicken (which is better than KFC, in my opinion); one of my older sisters makes a roast leg of lamb (or two - we're a big family) with all the trimmings; my baby sis and I bake biscuits and cakes; and the rest of my siblings will see to puddings and desserts. New clothes are bought and homes get a spring cleaning (regardless of the season).

Our home is the central meeting place for all my siblings and their children, and for a few extended family members, and for the last thirty four years, Eid lunch has always been under my mother's roof.

When I was younger (and lazier) I complained a lot - about the amount of people in our home on that day, of all the preparation that we had to do, of nieces, nephews and small cousins invading my personal space, operation clean-up afterward. I argued a lot with my mother and older sister because I didn't understand why things had to be done a certain way and when I became older and 'wiser', I became even more impatient with some of the customs that I felt were unnecessary and extravagant.

This year, due to miscommunication and stubbornness, we were almost forced to break with our thirty year tradition...and it felt like there was a death in the family. My mother was completely distraught at the mere possibility of abandoning the tradition of having all of her children congregate under her roof for Eid.  I kept my opinions to myself and waited to hear what the elders had decided, but overheard my mother say to one of my sisters that she wants us to carry these traditions on if she is no longer with us one day, and that she hopes that we will remember her and continue to pray for her.
We stuck to our usual plan, but because of the conflict of the preceding few days, the day was dampened somewhat.

It was the first time I actually stopped to think about what makes people cling for dear life to their traditions. I can only really answer for myself, and from what I witnessed and felt last week, it boils down to three things: immortality, human connection and the happiness one feels at the remembrance of fond memories.

I have lost some people in my life, but I remember them through the little traditions they were a part of throughout my life. My late uncle and aunt had supper at our house at least once a week, and I can still hear her laugh and I still clean the lids of the sauce bottles like he used to do. Whenever I hear the song, "Pump up the jam" it makes me think of my late brother, and his ridiculous dance moves. Tin Roof ice-cream reminds me of my father's late wife, because she always made sure there was a tub in the freezer whenever I came to visit her.

These people may be gone, but they are very much alive in my heart.

We do not live forever, but every person wants to be remembered after they leave this world, and I suppose traditions are the one thing which helps us to leave our mark in this life.

Photo Blog Challenge: Day 5 - Convention (is overrated)

Weddings can become such a spectacle sometimes.
I become quite disheartened when people stress excessively about the actual wedding day, that they forget about the lifetime of hard work after - who's going to be in the wedding, what are they going to wear, it must all be uniform, blah-blah-blah. Then you get those overbearing aunts and cousins who are under the illusion that they have a say and like contribute their two cents, even though it isn't wanted or needed, and the poor bride capitulates so as not to offend or cause huge rifts in the family. On the flip side, you get brides that don't give a rat's ass about anyone but herself, and alienates people who have been there for her, her whole life.

One thing in particular that really upsets me, particularly with Muslim marriages, is how the brides forget the boundaries of our religion when it comes to their wedding. I was really appalled at one of my cousins when she got married, because her dress was so transparent, she may as well have been naked. You have just bound yourself to one man, and every other male attending your wedding reception is treated to what should be for your husband's eyes only.

My baby sister was married eighteen months ago. She prides herself on being unconventional, and I daresay, certain aspects of her big day were quite so. I was really proud of the decisions she made with regards to her wedding.

The image above was taken in one of our local botanical gardens, and the only specification she gave to the photographer on that day was that she wanted to have 'sneaker' pics.

We are part Indian, and those of you who have attended one will know it can be quite an extravagant affair. The week before the actual wedding day is crammed with smaller functions and get-togethers. She chose to forgo all of that.

Her dress was beautiful - it covered her completely, and instead of having her hair done up with a tiara and veil, she wore it completely covered, simply draping her headscarf in a more formal way. She also said "To hell with fashion, I want to be comfortable" and wore flat satin pumps, instead of six inch heels.

Her bridal party consisted of eight of our family's grandchildren - five of our nieces and three of our nephews. Instead of spending obscene amounts of money on custom made ensembles that they would wear for only one day, she allowed the four bridesmaids (of which three towers over her) to select their own dress, in a colour of their liking, so that they could wear it again, and asked them all to accessorize with silver (scarves, bolero jackets, shoes and jewelry).
She didn't hire a stylist, a make-up artist or fancy cars, and she designed her own wedding dress.

Her unusual wedding was the most relaxed and most enjoyable one our family has experienced in a long time.
Convention is definitely overrated.

Photo Blog Challenge: Day 4 - Turning Point

My job description has changed almost every year since I've been employed at my present school.
In 2010 (the year I started) I was employed to assist the school librarian, to help with remedial mathematics and to assist the two school secretaries with menial things like filing and duplication. Since then I have taught EMS (Economic and Management Sciences), History, Geography and Art, and for the last two and a half years, I've been doing financial administration.

The most difficult thing I've had to do these past five and a half years was teach Art. I don't have an artistic bone in my body. I can't draw for shit, I don't paint really well, I cannot build or construct things. The extent of my artistic talent ends in organising an office space.
I was asked to teach this subject because the usual teacher had taken early retirement, and this woman did not leave a single lesson plan or guideline for me to follow. So, Google became my best friend and I spent that year researching things to do in a Grade 4 Art class.

To my unending surprise, my children responded well to the things I asked them to do. As I had a room specifically designated for me to use, I could display their offerings (as you can see in the middle picture above - that room was my solace and joy). That specific year was a turning point for me as professional.

Since then, I have had to face some weird challenges at work, many times involving things I had no experience of or training for. And thankfully, I have managed to handle myself (and in some cases, managed to avert or overcome catastrophes).

I am on the cusp of leaving my present job in pursuit of a completely different career path. I do not have a 100% solid plan yet, and yes, I am scared of the change. But I'm not scared enough to back out of my decision.

I had always been afraid to make a mistake at work. I had little to no faith in my abilities to fix my mistakes or in my ability to learn from them. It took a fourth grade Art class and two years of psycho-therapy for me to realize that I was holding myself back.

So, I may not know exactly which direction I am going to be turning to. I do know, that which ever way it is, I WILL hit the ground running.

Photo Blog Challenge: Day 3 - Miracle/Blessing/Inspiration

Ten years ago, one of my nephews entered this world with less than a 5% chance of survival. He emerged from his mother's womb and went straight onto an oxygen tank and into an incubator. In addition to not being able to breathe on his own, the doctors discovered a suspended liver, two holes in his diaphragm and a hole in his heart. My brother and his wife were told to expect the worst.

The procedure that he needed to have performed to fix the holes in his diaphragm had a very low success rate. Thankfully, he made it through, but we were told that his heart surgery would have to wait until he was a certain age and weight. I remember the day we fetched him from the hospital to come home for the first time. He was about 4 months old, and I remember my mother telling us that the doctors said he was too stubborn to die.

He had a long and arduous seven years, of doctors' visits, continually deferred theatre dates, stunted physical development and trying to reach the insurmountable mass of 15 kilograms.

In 2012, my brother arranged a trip to Saudi Arabia for his wife and their four sons, as we had finally gotten a solid date for his surgery. My mother and I went along, and it was by far, the best journey I had ever undertaken.

My photo today is of our miracle/blessing/inspiration and his mother, walking on the grounds of the mosque in Medina. We were very worried about how taxing flying would be on the his health, but he amazed us all from the very first day.
All of us got sick at some point. He did not even get as much as a sniffle.
At home, it was a constant struggle to get him to eat. He was the only person who ate every airline meal, and had the appetite of a grown man for the duration of this trip.
One of the rituals of pilgrimage is to walk seven times between two hills - the total distance is approximately 2.1 kilometers. Adults are spent at the end of it. He walked it all by himself, and even 'ran' some of his laps.

As had become normal for him, he breezed through his adversity against some pretty hectic odds, and survived his heart surgery, (hopefully) his last major medical procedure. His health improves daily, and he is a mischievous, humorous, intelligent little boy.

It is human nature to complain and become despondent at all of the things in our lives that go off-script. However terrible his ordeal was for him and for the family, it has taught me not to wallow in failure or disappointment. It has shown me miracles. It has shown me my many blessings.

And he will continue to be my biggest inspiration.

Photo Blog Challenge: Day 2 - Solidarity

I am very bad at keeping up with current events. I have no interest in politics, and my home life is so busy, my family takes up a lot of my head space.
A few days ago though, I came across the following article online: http://www.jpost.com/Diaspora/Extremists-threaten-to-burn-Talmud-rip-apart-Israeli-flag-at-London-march-in-Jewish-neighborhood-406435

In it, the spearhead of this initiative said that this "would mark solidarity with those being oppressed by the illegal state of Israel". I read up some more on this fellow, and the more I read, the more I wanted to scream this statement at him.

If by some chance, he or one of his followers read this, I'd like to say this:

Solidarity means unity or agreement of feeling or action, especially among individuals with a common interest; mutual support within a group. 

I do not support Israel at all. I feel that they are at present the prime human rights abusers, and that the world is letting them get away with serious criminal activity. What do I do to show solidarity? Support organisations who provide aid to those oppressed. Boycott organisations who provide aid to the oppressors.

I am NOT going to paint every other Jew in the world with the same brush. I am NOT going to petition to have them thrown out of their residential areas NOR burn their religious texts.
This is NOT a form of solidarity. All it will do is show that I am as intolerant as they are.

A lesson we can all take from this: do not mask your own agenda behind the (serious) plight of others. God does not sleep and karma is a real thing...

Photo Blog Challenge: Day 1 - Memories

So, two bloggers I follow did the 5 Day Photo Blog Challenge. Pictures are sometimes worth more than a thousand words and I have really been enjoying their offerings.

No one has challenged me to do this, so I decided to challenge myself. I also don't have anyone else to challenge, but if you're reading this and are intrigued, here are the rules:

1) Post a photo each day for 5 consecutive days

2) Attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry or a short paragraph. It’s entirely up to the individual.

3) Nominate another blogger to carry on the challenge. Your nominee is free to accept or decline the invitation.  Just have fun. 

These are birthday cards I have received over the years from one of my sisters. She is the one sister who's gifts always come with a card, and it is always spot on for the recipient. She knows I like to laugh but that I also am quite sentimental (a side people fail to recognise), and so her cards are always a combination of humorous and sweet.

Every now and again, when the mood to spring clean strikes, I take out the box that these are kept in. Many other things have been kept in that box - letters and cards from old friends, love notes from an old boyfriend...many of which I have discarded over the years. I cannot bring myself to discard these, as it is a small reminder that though they may be few, there are people who love and accept me for who I am.

Conquering Everest

On Saturday afternoon past, I came home, showered and prayed, and got into my car and drove (by myself for the first time) to meet my best friend for dessert. The following Monday morning, I drove to work, to therapy after work and then home again (again, by myself).

I sat behind the wheel on both of those occasions and marveled at the fact that I was legally driving myself around. Now, you might read this and think, "Uh, it's driving man. Almost everyone can drive." And you would be right - it is a skill more than 50% of the world's population possesses and not something to really make a song and dance about.

But for me it represents a....it represents new-found courage and gumption. I was one of few in the world who avoided learning to drive for almost fourteen years, and who managed to learn to drive and get a valid driver's licence in just over a year.

Sitting in my car on Monday, I felt like I conquered a personal Everest. I tried something new and succeeded, despite fear of failure and just fear period, and for the first time ever, I felt as though I really could do anything I set my mind to. This is something we often preach to children, but this is the first time ever I can honestly say that I feel this way, and that I believe that I can accomplish so much more than I thought.

Driving today. Who knows what I'll conquer tomorrow...

Extra-ordinarily Ordinary

For a very long time, I've had this nagging feeling, ever-present at the back of my mind (and sometimes so much at the forefront that it drowns out every other thought): nothing about me is extra-ordinary.

People's eyes widen in disbelief when I tell them that I was a quiet child (I have a really big mouth now and I'm not afraid to share my opinion). Not necessarily at home, but at school and in social situations I was sufficiently awkward.
I changed primary schools a lot - never spent more than two years at a school. I had always been an above average student, but I was nothing special or outstanding, never attracted attention, and I envied those children who had countless friends and popularity, and who excelled (whether at academics, sport, arts, or just socially). I found my voice at high school, became more confident but still flew pretty much below the radar and was never asked to represent the school for anything.

While I was never bitter about these things (in fact, I was the leader of the cheer squad for all my peers who took part in competitions and quizzes and sporting fixtures), I can admit to myself now that I was disappointed to be overlooked and excluded. Every child wants to belong and fit in, yet at the same time, they also want to be special or great at something that is uniquely them. And because of the constant changing, I did not have the time to settle into a school, which I feel probably contributed to slowing the development of my confidence and personality, and the discovery of any talents.

I'm happy to say I've grown into 90% of my personality - I say 90% because I believe in leaving room for improvement - but even now, I cannot really say that there is one thing really outstanding about myself.

However, I can do many things well, and am always surprised when I successfully acquire a new skill. While these seemingly ordinary talents may not affect the world at large, I have seen them positively impact on some - well, no, many actually - in my small world.
And that's pretty extra-ordinary to me.