Jingle bells

First I owe an apology for misrepresenting the situation a the instalation of the general secretary last weekend. The acerbic speech was not directed at the ELCA but at the group here in Cameroon that has broken from the EELC to found a second force and the man was articulating the ways that he saw him as cult like.

Have you thought about how difficult it is to get the rhythm of the second time of this marvelously common Christmas tune? "oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh" thunk about that as you read.

It is fascinating to me how my weeks operate in cycles, it is enough to drive one into Vico's New Science as a true believer in the cyclicities of time. Because it has been fabulous. It began Sunday morning with Alfred who had invited me to attend his church, Cross and Crown. This is the only fully English Lutheran church in Ngaoundere, there are other English churches but they are not Lutheran, and it was a great shivering surprise to walk in and see the Green book in all the pews. I was ready to know everything that was going to happen. The service began interestingly with a procession of the women's council dancing their way in and then into a familiar liturgy we launched with an opening hymn. Woooomph, my readiness screeched to a halt faster than a moto behind a stopped banana truck. The speed of the hymns was half time at least and that leaking the rhythm I am so accustomed to what with the occasional screech from an electric keyboard. At least they don't sing the psalm responsively. That is something that bothers me and it would have been even worse here. They have an interesting hymnal here as well that is African American, but the songs they chose we ones that no one knew so there was quite a bit of stuttering and stopping uncertainly,the great sung treat was Alfred's son who gave a beautiful solo, I forgot to note what it was and have since forgotten, but it was a consummate performance and he also performed admirably on the drums. The sermon left a lot to be desired, what with starting a new reading cycle, gospel of Mark, I though the least the pastor could have done was mark this, but he gave a rather phoned in sermon about the importance of waiting. I missed the three part structure of the Fulfulde service here the pastor opens with a local anecdote, connects it to the gospel, and then draws out a larger philosophical or textual reading, but then church was over and energy built. It was the last Sunday of Thanksgiving and people came to the front with their offerings of yams, oranges, pots of this, jars of that and jugs of the other thing. I was used to this from the Sunday out in the country, but what I was not ready for was the switching on of a microphone, his strutting into the crowd with one bared and muscled arm holding aloft a jug of peanut oil and howling "bidding begins at one thousand". I was in the midst of an auction. There is nothing, by the way (a lie, there are lots of things) that get my blood howling more than the inside of an auction house or the open field of a farm auction, but not hunched over an eBay auction. That does nothing for my sanguinary speedometer. I began rolling in the rhythms of the bidding, here we moved by thousands of francs,here by but fifty, but upwards each product leaped well past their worth. I found myself bidding urgently for a closed pot. I had no idea what was in it but when the bidding had reached two thousand after moving up by increments of two and three thousand I sent a clarion call of three thousand through the sanctuary and was met with ululations of approval. And what had I won, a pot of ecrivisse seche. Dried crayfish. Alfred and I hunched down and began munching contentedly and watching the rest of the bidding. It was quite fun. One of the most powerful memories that flooded my senses at that moment was of a christmas many many years past whilst we still dwelt in the gemutlich confines of Roseni. It was a cold evening and we were in the church basement. There was loud bidding, but my ears had little power over my eyes which csreefully lusted sfter a lsrge quilt with snow leopards printed on itl spread here and there were bits of red yarn holding the various squares in place. I was sure I would win, but over every bid of mine came a dear voice, Candy wond. I was defeated. Deveststed I wept myself to sleep for a week. Christmas eve came and I hunkered down beneath the tree to await the coming of Santa Claus, but wouldn't you know it I fell asleep. When I awoke, I was warmer, warmer by far than I should have been being as I was across the room from the radiator and the tree had not started on fire. But then I did not recognize my sleeping bag either, for it had gained a distinct pattern of snow leopards and here and there was dotted with knots of red yarn holding the squars in place. Christmas had come.

Afterward Alfred and I walked through the countryside to his house and set some wonderful corn fou fou that his wife had prepared that morning for us. After a quick cup of shah down the road I was back home and reading. A marvelous difference from the seven days before.

Brief note: I write about drinking shah a lot, and there has been some concern about this, so I want to give a report on it. After the kernels of corn are separated from the ear, they are left in a cool place with a drop of moisture until they begin to germinate. At this point they are ground very finely, boiled, and left in large vats to settle. After a week's settling, they are reboiled and become shah. Slightly sweet, the only product is corn. Thus it is basically a high fiber meal-drink that tastes great. True, it is fermented, but the alcohol content is very very low and even after drinking of it copiously it only brings a certain lethargy, definitely not drunkeness, so have no fear of my becoming the great dipsomaniac of Cameroon.

The week swept by with half days the whole time as the students are preparing for the Christmas concert Saturday night, the reason for the lateness of this post, but there was a surprise on Thursday as I rolled in for my eight twenty class. Who was standing outside my classroom but my favorite, said ironically, mistress of English studies in the great Ngaoundere area. I was under a surprise inspection! I whipped through my mind what to do. I had not played the english game lately, I had planned a fun day of drawing on the board and writing narratives using our new vocabulary of adventure and exploration that I gave (we've been taking lots of hikes along the beach and through the mountains, and climbing many a tree, let me tell you!) as I walked in I sniffed the class out for a hint of what to do, I glanced at Banote and got the secret spy nod. Meteke gave me the hand gesture of complicity, Haoua and Moussa rolled their shoulders to signify their readiness and even Rosalie and Kana winked conspiratorially, I glanced over to Soknan and Woachie to make sure their were on my side and received similar gestures to go ahead from Elisabet, Ali Aouda, and Yepele. Comfortable, I went up to the front and introduced my class to our guest and what followed was...

The Utopia of Mendacity.

...for fifty minutes I pretended that my students are not ill-behaved and they pretended that I am a hugely successful teacher. This was a mission that we had chosen to accept and the message self distrusted after sixty seconds, but by that time we were so comfortably ensconced in our easy chairs of wool-pulling that I was actually a good teacher and they actually knew their material.I began with a dazzlingly review of the difference between "since when" with it's answer of "since" plus the present perfect tense and moment of commencement and "how long" with it's answer of "for" plus a a specific length of time. After that eith the students leaping over one another to answer my questions in complete sentences and to hear my corrections, we moved to a review prepositions with locations and they eagerly tossed them out as easily as tiger woods once putted the little white ball into small holes or Michael Jordan once tossed bigger orange balls into bigger orange netted hoops. And I in the front with my wand of chalk conducted this display. To conclude we showed the inspectress a review of long forgotten conditionals while I introduced the second conditional of "should...would" they soon caught on that this was a hypthetical flavor, a most "peut-êtrement" like quality. I figure I'd play a bit with the French language and adverb creation for our guest. And then the bell rang and my students thanked me before filing out. We were all exhausted from running our utopia and thankful that it had not degenerated into either a dystopia of teacher over student or student over teacher force. And then the inspectress summoned me. No compliments from that circle. First, what had I titled my lesson. I replied that I had no title but simply wrote the schedule of the day along the side of the board before every class. Uff da, that earned me a light scolding. Second, had my goals been met? What! I had no clearly articulated goals for each fifty minute session, another scolding. Why had I not told my students that "should" comes from shall and "would" comes from will. I answered that I want my students to speak and be able to use English not to be linguists and that further would does note carry a definite tense marker as will does and that I teach what is necessary for my students to read. Thus they know what a direct object I'd because it helps them with their pronouns, but I am not going to ever use the word shall with them since they'll never see it in the next three years.well, I was slowly worming my way into the black hole of English teachers of Ngaoundere. I figured I had nothing more to lose, but then she asked I fi used the books. I responded that I tried but I was contemptuous of it. She asked how I could know that and I curtly responded that I had read it. She didn't think much of that answer and I proceeded to enumerate my complaints. It had no index, it lacked even a rudimentary glossary, it was preaching in it's value system, it used phrases and verbal forms that the students were at least a year from encountering and by not having a glossary there was no way they could even begin to figure it out from context. The paucity of grammar exercise much less clearly articulated sensible grammar lessons made for an impossible course to be followed, as I opened my mouth to continue she suggested we move on to the office business she asked my name, date of birth and then cell phone number. When I answered that I had no cell phone she thought to have found firm footing and launched a diatribe about the necessity of having a phone, what if she wanted to get in touch with me? She asked, I responded that I could see no reason for her needing to but if she really wanted me she could contact me through the head of the department and thus follow the correct division of powers. Secondly, she could send me a letter through the college or if she thought it was a necessary part of the job she should suggest the college supply phoned, after all they give me chalk, pens and notebooks to do my job. I am afraid that I was not at my best at this moment and could probably have handled the situation better, but the way she was going about this cell phone business as though it were a failure on my part while I think of it as my year of moral superiority sat poorly in by black bile.

After this I went out for some afternoon shah and fou fou with Alfred and Jeremy so that helped settle me a bit. And then some quick reading and I was back at school. Why? Well for the Christmas practice, of course. I had been told to arrive at five o'clock, when I asked. I would not have even known I had to be there (look at that sentence, what good does it do you to know that would comes from will, huh?) and when I arrived I was the only one there. No one else drifted in until six. I was pretty upset, because I am a volunteer, after all, and I had not even known I was volunteering for this. But then I decided that I needed a better attitude, and began to think what this was like. It struck me that the nearest parallels Could be found in high school teachers that have to volunteer to be activities guards. They always wear their school shirts and take tickets or patrol or carry rulers to dances to ensure the students not become too lascivious! And at once my attitude changed. I was indeed an incorporated teacher. At the same moment I thought this, a group of my students approached with cried greetings of Mr. Christian (a hailing to which I am greatly attached). And I settled into a merry bombardment of questions and answers and general palaver outside of class. Though I did take a moment to emphasize that at this time of day we say good evening or even good night. The rehearsal went well, I was surprised by how well, and I patrolled my area. In a y that I hope my teachers at YHS would be proud of, while simultaneously wishing I had a shirt with rampant buck and gazelle, or whatever the equivalent here would be, probably a bubu of some sort. And the evening was over and there was a retirement to drink shah with my usual crowd of Oliver, Alfred and a snagged up Jeremy, who by the way is the German teacher so we occasionally rock the trilingual conversation.

Friday I decided would be a fun day because the student are exhausted from the long semester and these night practices for the concerts, therefore I though we'd learn jingle bells. Remember how I told you to think about it. I began by writing song on the board. *cheers*. I sang it through, tting the first verde, they begn to stamp their desks in unison and urge me on, I circled round for the chorus and decided to really give them something to cheer. Slowing to a crawl on the last "o what fun it is to ride in a one (held long) horse (held long, rise in pitch) open (huge and breathy and operatic) sleigh(bellowed forth in marvelous three tenor style) benches scraped and table clattered and the students were on their feet roaring and cheering and holding their hands in taut verbrato in the sir slowing my voices resonances to shiver through their bodies. And the I wrote the words on the board and we settled down to learn the song phrase by phrase. I used it to emphase tense, present, and the importance to convey tone (how good a song would it be if the words were "oh what fun it was to ride...over the fields we went..." right, anyway the students were laughing either in agreement with my good sense or the look of mock horror I made to the fact that I made faces while doing so. I think my rather elastic expressions delight them. After class, headed out to the sounds of their reconstructing the sound.

I came back for my second class, and it began the same. Same opening, same slow phrasal progress. But as I went through the song slowly the second time with my back to the class I heard their eagerness, and reaching the end I turned around. The classroom was packed. Normally I have 32 in this class but now there were well over seventy students there ready to learn to sing the jingle bells and sing we did, thundering the entirety of college Protestant. And was repeated a third time as I came in for class with my fourth levels, though by this time they were icing for the jingle bells. And they got them.

And now the concert is over. The famous col pro fete Noel. it was loud, but I am afraid that I can say little that is absolutely positive about the experience since I am, right now, rather embittered by my place. I was posted as a guard in the very corner of a group of adolescent boys. There were supposed to be four of us there, but there were only two and the other professor was too busy grinning to make any attempt at control. And so our section was repeatedly the victim of scoldings from below. And mind this is during the concert. I, embarrassed, did my utmost, I commandeered cell-phones, I urged that the students pay attention and behave, but they echoed out with mocking at my french accent. Then the next moment I turned around and my co-damage controll officr had gone across the hallway of the balcony. I was now alone and fodder for the youth. And they recognized it and bared their teeth and yowled into the night. Well, I am a volunteer here, and it is about as far from my roll as can get to be in that situation, so I left, although in leaving I departed some choice words to various people. Now a confession, when I misbehaved in middle school, and believe me I most certainly did, come the day of a concert or a performance my behavior was perfect and I gave it my all. Because come what may I had pride in my school and in the outcome of the evening. These students, though, as long as they get to make noise, that's what they will do. S the concert was loud and ill managed and still people thought it the greatest thing ever, but I saw only what it could have been if the students were chosen for their desire to be their rather than enforced attendance, if they had actually had full rehearsals so that the students could see the skit that formed the main structure of the shoe, but they had not and so every time they leaped up to get a closer look, or huddled under costs to listen to their cell phone music. And then to cap the evening, the teachers cancelled class the latter half of next week, thus allowing the gut to end on a celebration of missed academics. Bah. Humbug.