The many (mis)adventures of Miss Lena -- Lena :)

This week has been a rollercoaster ride of emotions for me. Emily and I are really beginning to feel the pinch of our last day’s creeping up on us. We’ve begun the task of preparing our students for our departure. It’s an arduous task, and not one that we enjoy all that much. To see the look of sadness and confusion on their faces is pure torture. What’s even worse, is the question, “Why?” A few weeks back I began telling the students in my English class that they would be getting a new teacher the following year. And each time they are reminded of this fact, I get the same response, “why?” “But you’re our teacher.” “Don’t you want to stay?” How do you answer these questions? You answer them as honestly as you can, and try not to cry when you’re doing it. When asked why I have to leave I said that my time here is over, I was only coming for one school year, and if I didn’t leave then the next volunteers couldn’t come, and I also had to go back home and see my family and friends, and go back to school myself (inshaallah *God willing*). This week Tariq seemed particularly distressed with this news. At the end of class he sat there, with his hand on his head, and brow furrowed, when all of the sudden he snapped, and said, “I’ve got it!” And I dutifully answered, “What is that?” and Tariq said, “Tell your boss that you want to stay.” In his mind, the matter was settled. I reminded him that there were other reasons I needed to leave, and that besides, my visa was going to run out and I couldn’t stay in Jordan. He sighed, furrowed his brow, and then a slow smile spread across his face, “I know! Tell the soldiers you want to stay.”
Now there was no argument, in his mind it was DEFINITELY all settled, if only it were so easy.


Tariq in ceramics









I will miss these students more than I thought possible:

The shy smile from Fadi in the morning.














Squeals and hugs from Willa,















The mischievous glint in Lewai’s eye when he contemplates giving your hand the death squeeze or just a friendly squeeze.















The fervent “Miss Lena!” and giant hug from Nasser.















The hugs and “habibi” from Raed.














And so many more students than I have room or the emotional fortitude to mention.
If only this were the only excitement this week! Alas, this is not the case. I’ve had a rough year when it comes to my health. I’ve had wisdom teeth pulled, various stomach ills, upper respiratory infections, and finally bronchitis. However, I had an adventure this week that I wasn’t banking on. Emily and I have recently taken over the full time aide position for one of our students, Razan. Well Razan suffers from seizures, and if she’s had a particularly difficult evening, she sometimes won’t come to school the next day. Yesterday was one of those days, so we had a little unexpected free time. During lunch the kitchen crew gave us all some mulberries fresh from the tree out back. They were delicious, so I asked if I could pick some to make a pie. They said of course, so out we go. It was me, Emily and our friend Sajedah. Emily and I took turns climbing on a chair and shaking the upper branches to get more mulberries. It happened to be my turn on the chair, and I reached up and grabbed a branch, only to feel a horrible stabbing in my right hand. My first thought, was “OW! I didn’t know mulberries had thorns!” as I grabbed what I thought was a berry sticking in my hand I felt it move. I threw it as far as I could (whatever “it” was), and jumped off the chair holding my hand, and yelling, “I GOT STUNG!!” Emily and Sajedah followed me inside asking me “by what?!” I had no idea, but it hurt like crazy, and that made me mad! The kitchen ladies immediately cut open some garlic cloves and rubbed them on my hand, which didn’t seem to do much good, as the pain raged in my hand and up my arm. (At this point I should mention that I’m allergic to bees. I’m not sure it was a bee that stung me, but it was powerful whatever it was). They walked me to Mohammed’s office to tell him what happened. I was still pretty in control at this point, still in pain, but not panicky or anything. It wasn’t until I was sitting on the couch in Mohammed’s office that I noticed my fingers were turning purple, it was around this time that I started to panic just a little. I burst into tears, having convinced myself I was going to die in Jordan from a bee sting. Sajedah and Mohammed just kept telling me not to cry. After a few minutes the logical side of my brain caught up, and I convinced myself to calm down, and to say a little prayer, knowing God is in control of all things makes everything a little easier to deal with. Emily said she could see the calm come over me, as I talked silently to God about my predicament. The teachers scrambled my stuff together and rushed me outside to take a bus to the nearest medical center. They decided a bus was overkill, so they brought the school pick-up truck. Emily, Mohammed, Sajedah and I all climbed in with the driver. He did a hasty u-turn and sped a block up the road, and came screeching to a halt. Emily and I looked at each other, as if to say, “Why are we stopping?” When everyone starting climbing out. It was then that we realized we were at the medical clinic. I couldn’t help but laugh. First, why on earth had we taken a car to drive a whole block up the road? And secondly, how on earth had I managed to not notice, in 9 months, the medical center a whole block up the road?! Unfortunately it was closed, so we climbed back in the truck and sped off to the next destination. A medical center about 7 minutes away, and miraculously it was open! Mohammed told the doctor the situation in rapid-fire Arabic. I was immediately taken into an exam room where the doctor slathered my (now swollen to double its size) finger in salve, and began opening a package. And that is when I saw it…a GIANT needle. My first instinct was, “Oh great, they’re going to stick a needle in my hand, come on! Wasn’t getting stung bad enough?” And I said as much. Then I thought, “No, they’ll just give me a shot in my arm, no big deal.” Then the doctor did something strange. He handed the needle to the hijab wearing nurse and walked out of the room, and Sajedah began pulling the curtain to the room closed, and that is when it hit me….I was going to be getting a shot in the (yep, you guessed it) derriere. I resigned myself to my fate and bent over. I was released with a tingling arm, a sore rear-end, and a prescription. Other than some tingling in my hand now and then, and some discomfort while I type
We ended the week on a good note, a thank you party for Mohammed, which we’ll tell you all about in another blog.   