A Week in my Life- Tuesday

Hello all! Sorry for the delay, but the electricity was out yesterday, so I was not able to get online. So today, I'm posting Day 3 and 4.  Here is Day 3 of a Week in My Life. Welcome to my TUESDAY!

6:30: a.m.- If you have been reading then you know the drill by now, 6:30 donkey alarm clock, get ready for school and head off to save the world. Today the Bruma seka has dispersed a bit and I can see the ocean as I walk to school for the first time in days!

Some of my 7th graders

7:30 am-1pm – Today is a busy day at school. I teach all of my 7^th and 8^th grade English classes, and as usual the day is full of highs and lows. The lows being the usual behavior problems bound to happen when you pack 35, 45, or even 50 rambunctious, and often hungry, teenagers into one classroom and expect them to sit and learn for six hours straight (they only have 5 minute breaks between each 50 minute class). The students don’t change classrooms for the entire 6 hours, and do to the use of corporal punishment up until 6^th grade, they have a hard time listening to anyone without a stick. Also contributing to the madness that is 7^th and 8^th grade today is the fact that this is the last week before a two week feria (break) for Festa São Filipe, so as you can imagine, focus levels were not at their highest today. The day was not lost however, and in perspective the majority of my students behaved great! I taught food vocabulary and phrases using “how much” to my 8^th graders. Then, using paper food and money we set up a mock market and students took turns selling and buying, using their new vocabulary. Seventh graders learned frequency adverbs (always, usually, sometimes, rarely, never) and modes of transportation.  As students wrote example sentences on the board, I looked up to see, “We usually go by car to school and always love teacher Szasha.” A strange sentence yes, but I appreciated the gesture, however genuine it was.

Tamarind trees on the walk home 

1pm- School’s out! I walk home with my students who are going the same way and we run into some of my 6^th grade students under my favorite tamarind tree. As we all relish in the shade and pick the now drying tambarinas, I find out that the primary school, where I teach 6^th grade English, has started their break a week early. That means that I won’t be teaching again this afternoon. Usually Tuesday is my longest day as I teach from 7:30 am-1pm and then again from 4pm-6pm, but today I’m free for the afternoon!

Freshly picked Tambarinas!

1:30p.m.- I txiga (arrive) at my house and notice that my neighbor is wearing a fancy, black blouse, and I immediately know that she is going to a funeral or to visit the family of someone who has died. As we exchange greetings, she explains to me that a friend of her family from a much greener zone farther up the mountain has passed away today. It turns out that I also know the woman, as I had accompanied my neighbor to her house several times. She was one of the kindest, friendliest, and most adorable old women I have ever met, so I decide to go with my neighbor to the visita.

2pm-5pm – These three hours are spent at the visita. I will do my best to depict the experience for you, but the raw emotion and sadness of the situation is truly indescribable.  After catching a ride in a packed car and driving the 15 minutes or so up the winding mountain road, we arrive at the house. The wails of sadness can be heard as we approach, and as we enter the house, the sorrow is deafening.  Chairs line the wall of the tiny house, all of them full of sobbing mourners who have come to pay their respects. Unlike the American tradition of “a moment of silence”, Cape Verdeans mourn their dead in a highly vocal manner, through sorrowful, haunting wailing. The wailing, a loud exasperated expression of grief, is like a sad, sad, emotionally charged song expressing the mourner’s misery, frustration, and respect for the dead. Its sound is unmistakable and although full of misery and sadness, it is also beautiful.

 As I enter the house, hands reach out for me, I am embraced in tear-filled hugs, and as I move around the room offering my greeting and condolences to each mourner as is expected of me, I see one of my students across the room.  Her grandmother died while she was at school today, and her face is tear-stained and hysterical. I immediately go to her, holding her as she rocks back and forth wailing “Vovo, Vovo, Vovo” (Grandmother, Grandmother, Grandmother).  As I stand up to pay my respects to other mourners, she clings to me, so I stay- holding her while she cries and feeling unstoppable tears stream down my face as well.  At the far end of the packed, tear and sweat filled house, two candles illuminate the women’s body, resting as if sleeping in her bed. Her age-worn, wisdom-filled face is peaceful and it seems like she may wake up at any moment. However, the never ceasing wailing, the wetness of my student’s tears upon my shoulder, and the eeriness of the two flickering candles remind me that, no, this kind women, a friend to so many in my community has passed.   

A constant stream of mourners find their way to the house, as news of the woman’s death has spread quickly throughout the island. The wailing, although never ceasing, continues in waves of quieter sobbing and bursts of fresh mourning as new friends and family members arrive. I am in awe at the sheer emotion present in the house and in the forcefulness of the expression of sorrow and respect I am witnessing. Aside from visitas which last for the week of the death, a funeral service is also conducted and is repeated after one month, after three months, after six months, and yet again after a full year has passed.  Furthermore, the family members of the dead are expected to wear only black clothing for a designated time depending on your relation to the deceased. Siblings or children of the dead will wear only black for six months, and widows will never wear a piece of colored clothing again. Traditionally they even cover their heads in black scarves, a tangible, everyday remembrance of those who have gone.

The view from the visita

5pm- After three hours, we catch a car back down the mountain. I am emotionally drained and in reverence of the sadness and beauty of what I have experienced.  When I get home, I take a cold bucket bath then sit with my neighbors and help shell their beans. I make plans to go with my 11 year old neighbor (and one of my best friends) to see her baby goats tomorrow, and start to cheer up.

6- 7:30pm.-I grade some papers and make dinner. Tonight’s dinner is jegasida  (steamed, coarsely ground corn  which is almost the consistency of cous-cous) with beans, kale and fish. For dessert, I have a slice of fresh papaya my neighbor has given me, and some mango juice.

Dinner 

8-10p.m.-I spend some time reflecting on the day AKA writing this blog, lesson planning, and cleaning up my cooking mess.

10p.m.-I am exhausted and somehow sunburnt as usual, so I head to bed. Durmi Dretu!

Thanks for reading!

Love,

Szasha