The Tiny Triumph, My New Calling in Life, and A Fun Monday

As I've promised in this long, drawn out title, I'll tell you about all three of these exciting things that have happened so far this week (...and we haven't even gotten to Friday! --DISCLAIMER: I'm really oddly excited with life right now, so I think there will probably be tons of exclamation marks here, so I apologize in advance!)
However, to start out with, I thought I'd post a picture of my computer screen as it looked this morning.





It's not too easy to read--what with a photograph of the computer screen and all--but essentially, it's an announcement that I won a contest! One of my favorite writers, Gayle Roper, posted an online contest where she asked participants to describe the interior of a cafe that would appear in her next novel. If you won, she would use the design you'd described in your submission, would mention you in the acknowledgements, and would get you a copy of her new book. And what do you know? She chose my design! As I'm sure you can imagine, I was pretty much jumping for joy when I saw that I'd won this. I told everyone I ran into about it. So, watch for Gayle Roper's book Death by the Numbers.

Secondly, I wanted to tell you about a sudden burst of inspiration I've had this week.

An American team came to help us with our literacy classes for a while. They don't really speak much French, but they decided to do a craft with the women instead of having typical classes. (That's always fine with me...) So, the ladies brought along plain canvas bags, ribbons, buttons, tassles, etc., and in place of our literacy classes, we decorated these bags. I had the most fun gluing buttons and ribbons on the canvas (above, you'll see three of the bags I made), and have decided that designing bags is my calling in life. I was strutting around my room, in front of the mirror, saying, "Yes! This is a Katie Fleetwood bag!" and it felt so nice that I thought I'd like to do it forever. Maybe one day, I'll branch out into leather bags or something, but for now, I'm pretty pleased with the new Katie Fleetwood Collection.

And lastly, A Fun Monday.

This Monday, another teacher asked me if I'd like to join her when she went over to one of our students houses for tea. I was quick to agree, because I've heard rumors of this woman's good cooking, and plus, it's so fun visiting other people's houses. You can see their decorating style and meet their families and see their baby pictures and be all-around nosey without seeming out of the ordinary.

Anyway, so I went along...

When we walked in, the woman clapped her henna covered hands together and said to the my friend (who'd just spent the past year in Morocco, learning the language), "Praise Allah! You've gotten fat!" My friend looked at me, and said, "I'm going to believe she's saying that as a compliment."

We all sat down in the sitting room, which really didn't seem like it was in Paris at all. There were these benches lining three walls, all covered in red and gold fabrics. The walls were papered in ivory and red peeling wall-paper that looked like it came straight from Morocco. There were bright red and black rugs on the floor, and one enormous picture of the family's oldest son on the wall above a wooden cupboard.

The woman made Arabic crepes flavored with honey and butter. She placed little bowls of nuts all around the table that she'd set up in her sitting room. We had Moroccan tea and bits of chicken scewered on sticks, loaves of bread and cookies dipped in chocolate. All for a tea! She barely sat, though. She had on her long, brown house dress and her hair tied up in a scarf and was scuttling back and forth between the kitchen and sitting room.

Her daughter-in-law came over to visit after a bit, and I was so impressed with her. First of all, she had really great taste in clothes. She wore these classy black pants underneath a silk knee-length dress covered in lime green, orange, and red flowers. And she spoke three languages, which I find really impressive when I'm still struggling through my second language. Although, humble as she was, she complained that barely anyone nowdays speaks Arabic, so she's forgetting it despite the face that she speaks it daily with her six-year old daughter (whom she'll soon send to Arabic Saturday school), so that the little girl will learn the language too. And besides all this, she's starting up a computer company, all while mothering her two little girls.

So, we sat around and talked for over three hours before we realized how late it was and hurried off to catch our respective metros home. But as I was riding back to Ponto, I just couldn't help smiling, because sometimes I really love the immigrant community in France. Where else could you consecutively be in Paris, France and then Rabat, Morocco?

Well, anyway, this was kind of a rambling, not quite connected hodpodge of thoughts here, but here it is. And I'll leave you with that.

Good night, world.

That Tower of Babel

The Romanians were back today. Or probably more accurately, the Romanians had never left, and I returned to find them still there.
As usual, I got to class early, and when I walked in, I heard voices, fans buzzing, people running around, and in a matter of seconds, complete silence. I didn't think much of it--mostly, because I suspected that they would still be there (homelessness usually isn't a brief problem)--, and I started setting up the downstairs classroom. When I'd finished, I went upstairs to prepare my classroom, and what did I find? Underwear of all shapes and sizes was lying out to dry all over my tables and chairs. I stood there probably a full minute, wondering what to do. I did not want to touch strange underwear. So, for lack of a better idea, I left the underwear, and went into the nursery to find toys that I could set out for the children to play with during class. When I walked into the nursery, there the Romanian family was...all of them, huddled together on two lumpy mattresses. I noticed several of their eyes flutter and then clamp closed suddenly. I whispered an apology and stepped out. I then had no idea what to do. I couldn't set up my classroom because of the underwear. I couldn't get the kids' area ready because of the sleepers. So, I sat down at one of the tables, underwear all around me, lacking inspiration.
About a half hour later, I decided that my best course of action would begin with picking up the underwear. So, I used the thumb and pointer finger approach--barely touching the fabric with just those two fingers--and I piled up their "unmentionables" in another room.
About then, the mother walked in, and started looking around the room with these really panicked eyes.
"Are you looking for your...erm...your underwear?" I asked. No response. I tried again, this time in French. No response.
I started miming the question, "Are you (pointing at the women) looking (hand over eyes, head moving back and forth) for your underwear (this is where it gets tricky: I started stepping into "something" and pulling it up like pants)?"
She started nodding.
I pointed to the other room. "I put them (setting make believe panties on the table) in that room (pointing to the room in question)."
She nodded again, and walked in to get them.
She returned with her things draped over one arm, and pointed down to the floor. "Cours?"
"Cours....yes....there is a French class here today."
She then pointed to her wrist and said something that sounded like "hora?"
"It starts at 2 (holding up two fingers) until 4 (holding up 4 fingers)."
Clearly, this didn't make sense to her. So, I walked out of the classroom and held up one hand as if to say, "Just wait a minute."
I closed the door, opened it, and then entered again, and said "Two", holding out my two fingers. In one hand, I held an imaginary suitcase. I closed the door behind me, and made a huge production of opening the suitcase and placing things arbitrarily around the room. Then, I said, "Four", holding up the four fingers, and walked back around the room, collecting my imaginary objects and placing them inside the imaginary suitcase, which I locked before walking out and closing the door behind me.
"Comprende?" I asked. I have this theory that, whenever someone is speaking a language other than English or French, everything they say and everything I reply somehow morphs into badly pronounced, not quite grammatically correct Spanish. It's hard to say why.
Still, she nodded that she did understand, pointed at her chest and motioned at the door.
"No, No!" I said. "You don't have to leave." I pointed to the nursery where she was staying and said, "No one" (I waving my pointer finger back and forth) is having class in here (indicating the room.) You can stay."
However, she seemed to take this as, "No one should stay in this room. You should go," and rounded her family up and had them out the front door in minutes.
I stood at the door, watching their rapid retreat, and thought, "That wretched Tour of Babel--if it weren't for that, we wouldn't be having these problems."
However, they were back at 4 o'clock, with a new television. (Yeah, that seemed a little weird to me too.) But they were all smiles and graciousness, despite me having touched all their underwear, so I have that to be thankful for.
And we can always look at the bright side: with constant language barriers, life becomes like one big game of Charades.

Back to School

So, it is officially Back to School week. Unfortunately, Back to School week coincides with the last week of Ramadan, so that makes for a very interesting combination.
Interesting. -- That's the word of the week.
Yesterday, I arrived at Asnieres about an hour early to make sure that the tables and chairs were set up and that everything was in order for classes. As I was unlocking the door, I smelled some really strong cologne. When I walked in, I could hear lot of footsteps and several different voices upstairs in my classroom. I was kind of on the fence about being brave, so I just sat downstairs in the corner--not brave enough to go upstairs and see who was there, but not quite sure I wanted to leave either. So, I waited. After about a half hour, a little girl, about six, came downstairs. She wore bright purple leg warmers, a blue mini-skirt, and one of those thin sweatbands around her pigtails. She looked like a mini 80's work-out star. She was immediately followed by a younger boy in overalls. Not sure what to do, I just said, "Bonjour." They both giggled, and ran back upstairs. A few minutes later, a man came downstairs. I started to introduce myself in French, and he said, "English?" So, I continued in English.
He explained that he, his wife, and their five children had fled Romania and had been living on the streets. The pastor of the church (where we hold our classes) gave them permission to live in the church until they could go to the prefecture and see about getting papers. He called his whole family down, and one by one, they all greeted me.
After explaining that about 40 women were on the way for French classes, they agreed to disappear for a few hours.
So, then, I sat down to wait for the women. And one came. Just one. She told me that everyone else was sleeping or preparing for nightfall. Apparently, during Ramandan, the idea is not to swallow anything while the sun is up--this means, obviously, no food or drink, but also no teeth brushing or gum. And then, at nighttime, the party arrives. They eat and drink and make up for the daytime fasting. Because of this, the women are absolutely exhausted during the daytime, and not likely to trek over to French class.
And today, we had classes at St. Denis and ran into more or less the same problem. Two or three women trickled over, but said they couldn't stay as they had to hurry home and prepare the nighttime meal. But thankfully, we have a pretty big group of Sri Lankan women who come to class at St. Denis, so of the 20 women who ended up coming, about half were Sri Lankan. The rest came from Bangladesh, India, and a variety of other (non-Muslim, mostly Hindu) backgrounds. So, even with the few faithful, we started. I'm subbing for another teacher who's at home in South Africa for two more weeks, so I had the chance to lead her converation class where we learned all sorts of helpful phrases like, "I'm so busy!" and "I'm not busy. I'm on vacation." It was so nice to be back in class. I've missed going somewhere.
All summer, I've been writing articles for the newsletters or helping out in the office. However, since the "office" is also my house, walking upstairs doesn't exactly consistitute as "going somewhere."
But anyway, we've now completed Day 1 and Day 2 of the Back to School Extravaganza.
As for tomorrow: Telegraphe, here we come. It'll be the first day ever over there. I'm really excited to see if any of the women we invited in the market place come.
So, anyway, hasta luego for now.

And as a teaser, I can't wait to post a picture and talk about the newest sensation in the Muslim world (or rather, just a restaurant I happened across in St. Denis): Mak D'Hal which is the Hallal version of Mc Do (McDonald's).

My One and Only Chance at Soloist

One part of adapting to France is adapting to an altogether new set of church songs. Sure, some of the songs are translations of our English favorites--The Heart of Worship, Before the Throne, In Christ Alone--, but there are quite a few completely new French praise songs.
This Sunday, I was playing in the worship band. Generally, "worship band" consists of me and a guitarist or pianist. But today, the whole world put in an appearance. We had two flutes, a cello, a violin, a classical guitar, regular guitar, piano, drums, and probably someone else that I'm forgetting. But sadly, despite the good attendance, we could not keep ourselves together had our lives depended on it.
Anyway, we somehow managed to stumble through our first four songs in relative harmony (by that, I mean, we at least managed to be playing the same song at the same time) until it was time to play "Tu n'as pas attendu"-- a song I'd never heard before. I'd practiced at home, worked out some basic harmony on the song, and thought, 'Oh, it'll be fine. I'll just follow everyone else.'
The cello and violin were supposed to be playing the introduction to the song, but the violinist had a sudden bout of something (stage fright? sickness?) and ran out of the church. So, the pianist who was leading our ramshackle band of non-musicians whispered, "Flutes. You've got the introduction."
The flutist next to me said, "I don't know this song. I guess it's a solo for you."
My knees almost buckled.
I couldn't think of a French response fast enough to tell her that, the very fact she was French and I was not ensured that she knew the song better than me. Also, a microphone in front of your face discourages any real argument, so I just raised my flute and started playing something. I had the rhythm completely wrong. I don't know if I even looked at the key signature first, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see people looking around like, "Is she playing Tu n'as pas attendu?"
But somehow it came together, and somehow, when it was over, I managed to pull together whatever dignity I had left and walk to the bus station. And somehow I made it home.
But now, critic that I am, all I can think about is my disappointing one and only appearance as the flute soloist at Noisy le Grand.

Moral or the story: I should have practiced more in high school.

Quick Salute to Victor Hugo

And on a lighter note... I also made a visit to Victor Hugo's house in Place des Vosges. I thought I'd upload a few pictures of his townhouse.

ABC, Easy as 1-2-3

After what seemed like a very long summer, I'm done with the summer campaigns and summer camps and back to work.
Classes officially start September 14th, but these past two weeks, we've been canvassing the neighborhood where we'll be starting our newest group of alphebetization classes. It's been quite an experience.
We're already working in two locations--La Courneuve and Asnieres. La Courneuve is a little (or rather, A LOT) like a walk into Algeria or Morocco. The women walking around tend to be decked out in head scarves and long skirts, if not burkas. The shops all have signs in French and Arabic. Most restaurants and grocery stores boast hallal meats.
But now, we're starting in Telegraphe too, which is right in the heart of Paris--the 20th arrondissement. It's nothing like La Courneuve or even the more Westernized Asnieres. It's plain and simply Paris. So, trying to drum up interest has been challenging.
By canvassing, what I mean is that we're walking through the markets and in the parks and handing out invitations to our classes. We hand them off and say something like, "There'll be a class starting on the 14th where you can learn to read and write in French." And in La Courneuve and Asnieres, that would work. In Telegraphe, it's trickier. Usually the goal is to try and find the North Africans, because often (especially among the older generation) they haven't been to school and they jump at the chance to learn to read and write. But targeting and only walking up to people in head scarves is a little weird too. So, I've adopted the "invite everyone" tactic. I walk up to anyone, hand out an invitation, and say, "I don't know if you know anyone who's in need of literary classes, but we're starting some classes on the 14th." Usually, I get a raised eyebrow and a, "You know, I'm fine" in response. Questioning someone's literacy seems to be an offensive thing.
But despite how difficult this has proven to be, we've still had several people who have been really interested and promised to come.
Yesterday, we ran into a Kabyle woman on a park bench who had moved here with her husband several years ago. A mother of 9, she said she spends nearly all of her days on that park bench. "There's nothing else to do, and I don't want to sit at home and listen to my husband complain all day." She said they barely speak anymore and whatever he does say comes in one ear and goes out the other. In fact, she's become so bored with him that she travels between her 6 living children, staying a few weeks with each of them. In any case, despite how sad I find this situation, she said she'd be really interested in coming to the classes. She speaks French really well, but doesn't yet know how to read or write French.
So less than a week now. I'm ready for fall, I think. As sad as I am to see the summer go, I'm ready to get back to work.