Non-Rooster-Related Reason For Getting Out Of Bed In The Morning #2

The chance to be INCREDIBLY productive at the Cyber...

And The Indoctrination Begins...

Over half the class got the bonus question right. But my plot somewhat backfired when one student wrote "Chicago." I wanted to shoot myself. Literally debated taking points off for that little miscue...

Great Conversations in (My) Congolese History #1

(At the end of class)

Elève 1: Teacher, what is a "pimp?"

Me: Well, um, do you know what a prostitute is?

Elève 1: (Smirking) Yes.

Me: Well, a pimp is a man who sells his prostitutes. (Seeing a look of confusion on their faces) But it's not "selling" like slavery. He sells them for, um, an amount of time.

Elève 2: Oh, so it's like my phone, when I give it to someone, and then he pays me for the minutes he used.

Me: Um, sure...

Non-Rooster-Related Reason For Getting Out Of Bed In The Morning #1

My brilliant students...

The S.S. Institute of Awesome

Sitting in their tiny chairs, the new students looked on with intrigue at their instructor. Sporting sneakers, khakis, a ruffled-up shirt, and a cap worn backwards to hide his curly locks of hair, the man was a walking stereotype. “Muzungu,” his pupils thought with content. And simultaneously staring back, exams in one hand and sweat mercilessly dripping down his face, the newly enshrined teacher gazed out at his project and pondered, “What the fuck have I gotten myself into this time…”

It has been about a month since the S.S. Institute of Awesome (more commonly known as the F.M.A. English Centre) opened its doors. The brainchild of Sœur Noella, myself, and my co-director Monsieur Jack, the Centre has been a rollercoaster ride since its inception. M. Jack and I began classes in mid-July at a nearby preschool with only about 15 students on our inscription list. Fast-forward to the present and we’ve relocated to Lycée Technique Hodari where we proudly host 100 learners, making us the largest English center in Ruashi. To put this figure into perspective, we share the building with another English center that is run by the US Embassy. They have textbooks and no tuition fees, yet only 20 students. Our operation, on the other hand, has expanded to the extent that we now offer two sessions for the beginner’s class alone. We instruct high schoolers, college students, teachers, engineers, and even doctors. On any given day, I’m usually one of the youngest people in my classroom. Luckily, I have a beard.

Within the institution, I serve as the co-director, CFO, and 2^nd level instructor. In other words, I do the paperwork, handle the finances, and, oh yeah, teach. To say the least, that last aspect has become a constantly evolving escapade. At our information session, I struck a conversation with a young man interested in my class. In talking with him, I could tell that his English was relatively advanced and immediately began fretting that I wouldn’t be able to sufficiently instruct him. WRONG. I gave an assessment exam on the first day of classes, and, well, the results were astonishing. The BEST score (which, by the way, wasn’t his) was a 58%, with a class average of 40%. Oh fun. Since then, I’ve slowly been working from the ground up, beginning with the parts of speech and stressing areas such as dictation and conversation. The immense amount of power I have in shaping these students’ English education has not been taken lightly.  Topics I find interesting (i.e. international politics, intellectual property, cats) become assignments, while those that I despise are banned from classroom discussion (I blacked out the word “Boston” in the last article we read. This is, after all, an Institute of Awesome…). Plus, I take the liberty of adding people from my life in all my exams (To my friends with non-traditional English names: I have a personal rule of using only one “unique” name per test so as not to confuse my students. You have no idea how hard it is to explain what a “Miggy” is in French…). But despite my Chairman Mao-like stranglehold on the curriculum, I constantly find myself in difficult situations, whether it’s awkward conversation sessions (Note to self: Never use “What did you do over the weekend?” as a conversation prompt. Nearly everyone will reply that they went to Mass and the one or two that didn’t will subsequently get drilled by their peers -> Are you a Christian?) or student questions that have nothing to do with what we’re talking about, and thus were not included in my lesson plan, and thus are not able to be answered by me, thus making me look like a moron.

Yet, my newfangled adventure has had its positive effects as well. You’d be amazed how much teaching English in French has increased my fluency. As part of my lesson prep, I make sure to know the French translation to EVERY English word I plan on using. Plus, the BS skills I developed in high school and later honed in college have come in quite handy here. As alluded to earlier, I have no textbook at my disposal. All lesson plans are formed out of an intricate collaboration between my mind and Wikipedia. Unfortunately, the constant blackouts here usually turn this promising partnership into a one-man show. Literally. There have been times when I’d walk into class without a clue in the world about what we’re going to do. Funny, those end up being the most productive days.

In close, this English center has been a whirlwind experience for me. Every week, I arrive at my classroom thinking, “I am not qualified to be doing this.” And every week, I turn off the lights, lock up, and think, “Yeah, there is no way I am qualified to be doing this. Awesome…”

African Afterthoughts:

-      With all the grammar that I’ve been reviewing lately, I have even more respect for my old grammar teacher, Mrs. Khokhar. One of these days, I need to exclaim that “Billy’s on the ball today…”

-      You are where you are where you are. The other day one of my students got up and tried to sell French-English dictionaries at the end of class. “On sale for the great price of $25!” he yelled. After class, I had a look at one these “bargain” deals. The listed price on the back cover was £ 5.99. Oh Congo…

-      On the subject of dictionaries, you wouldn’t believe how many kids have told me they want to learn English so that they can read the dictionary.  Man, they would have of loved Interdisc II…

-      There seems to be a budding relationship in my classroom. I can’t wait to intercept a note and make them translate it in front of the class…

-      Our unit on l’hockey sur la glace will be EPIC. Mark my words, I will have 30 Canucks fans by finals week…

-      Oh, I recently got roped into teaching Adobe Photoshop at the Cyber. Sure, that’s not problematic, considering that I haven’t used the program since middle school, am practically retarded when it comes to PCs, and still haven’t figured out the French keyboard. Ugh, I’ve never prayed so hard for a blackout in my life…

-       On a recent composition day (read: I didn't have time to prepare a lesson), I received the following essay: An day someone person came, at my home, in the group my girlfriend and the sister of my sweetlove. But my sweet tall me, please baby: «do me». I speak your fullish but you coming and your sister, next you tall me «do me?» Go! Me and you It finish. Thank you!

-      Reason I AM Andy Reich: I’ve had girls in my class hit on me…

-      Reason I am NOT Andy Reich: I don’t take them to Chili’s the next day.

A look inside my first classroom at Ecole Maternelle Bengalis

That's Highway Robbery: A Defense of Roberto Luongo and the City Behind Him

Last week, my buddy, “le docteur,” and I decided to play a pickup game of soccer with some local kids. Midway through the match, we got tangled up while fighting for a loose ball and I ended up on the ground, with blood immediately streaming from my leg. Of course I finished the game, but that tussle has since left a significant scar on my knee. Ever since then, the guys and I have referred to our good-natured friend as “le méchant docteur.”

Although that story is just laughable, I believe that it also sheds light on an attitude inherent in most of us: that when left hurt, shocked, or in despair, we’ll latch on to those things that have scarred us. This tendency has found greater meaning for me in the aftermath of that treacherous night of June 17^th (oh, I’ll never forget…), as there’ve been more than a couple naysayers pointing the finger of shame at Roberto Luongo and those “classless” Vancouver hockey fans. Yet, in pointing to the scars of the moment, these people have completely overlooked entire bodies of work that tell very different tales.

With Roberto Luongo, you have one of the best goaltenders in the entire world. Think I’m exaggerating? A Jennings Trophy, 4 All-Star Appearances, and Olympic gold don’t lie. Sure, some will claim that Lou was just the goalie brought along for the ride on a stacked Canadian team. But if that’s the case, why wasn’t Martin Brodeur, the original starter and arguably the greatest goaltender ever (no disrespect to Patrick Roy), good enough? The fact is, the mere presence of Luongo between the pipes elevates his teams to higher levels. As a longtime Canucks fan, I’ve suffered watching extremely talented Vancouver teams (West Coast Express, anyone?) falter down the stretch. Why? Because Dan Cloutier and Alex Auld just weren’t good enough. Luongo’s NHL career has been nothing short of phenomenal. He’s been nominated for the Vezina (best goaltender) 3 times, the Pearson (top player as voted by the players) twice, and the Hart (MVP), once. He’s currently 21^st on the all-time wins list despite having played significantly fewer games than his peers. And this past season he posted 38 wins (1^st), 2.11 GAA (2^nd), .928 Save % (5^th), and 4 SO (14^th) in leading the Canucks to the least goals allowed in the league. What makes these numbers even more remarkable is that the Canucks blueline did not reach full-strength until the playoffs started! But once they did start, good ‘ol Bobby Lou was at it again, posting 4 shutout wins and playing spectacularly in elimination games versus Chicago and San Jose. Yeah, he’s had his bad games, but EVERY goalie does. Tim Thomas let in 5 goals four times in the Tampa Bay series ALONE (ps, that only happened 3 times to Luongo during the entire postseason)! Those rushing to name Corey Schneider the heir apparent forget that in his one playoff start, he directly caused the first 2 goals scored on him by passing it to Blackhawks players. And although I like Schneider, one good season doesn’t make you a franchise goalie (what ever happened to Pascal LeClaire?).

The sad truth (and one that’s still difficult for me to swallow) is that an injury-ridden Canucks team ran into a hot goaltender, and not even the great Roberto Luongo could save them this time. What does that mean exactly? Well, with our top two lines’ inability to score, Luongo single-handedly willed the Canucks to two (and arguably three) wins in the Finals. And if he would have somehow found a way to steal Game 7, what with a slew of injured stars and sans the services of Dan Hamhuis, Aaron Rome, Mason Raymond, & Mikael Samuelsson, it would have gone down as one of the greatest performances in NHL history. After leading the league in scoring, my ‘Nucks unfortunately only scored 8 goals in 7 games and held the lead for a grand total of 32 minutes. In fact, had the Canucks won, they would have become the first team to win the Cup while still being outscored by their opponent. I’m not going say Luongo was without fault, but to make a scapegoat out of him because of boxscores and not the story behind them takes away from the phenomenal season, post-season, and overall career that he’s had.

Bingo, Bango, Bongo. The Save is Roberto Luongo!

Interestingly enough, the same can be said of my dear city, Vancouver.  While still trying to deal with the pain of defeat, my heart sunk even deeper when I read all the reports coming in about riots. Although the videos of rioters smashing the once-elegant windows on Robson Street and the photos of smoke billowing through my fair city were tough to stomach, the worst has been all the negative articles I’ve read, both domestically and internationally, depicting Vancouver more like a Mexican border town than a city the Economist has named the most livable in the world for an unprecedented 5 years running. As a result, let’s clarify a couple things. First of all, the brutality of the riot has been greatly played up. Yes, there are millions of dollars in damages and hundreds were injured. But no one died, as is often the case at the many soccer-related riots that occur all over the world. Even in North America, a Boston riot after the Red Sox finally beat the Yankees led to the death of one girl while the crowd trying to burn down Kenmore Square. This actually leads to my second point: if it really was a fan-induced event (I’ll argue later on that it wasn’t), why is it so despicable that Canucks fans riot after losing a hard-fought series but not when Lakers, Canadiens, Broncos, and Red Sox fans do the same after they WIN? That doesn’t even make sense. Are you more likely to break shit when the hot girl at the bar gives you her number or when she dumps your ass? Same thing. Why people would cause mass damage when they are elated is beyond me. Third, just because this has happened before does not make it a pattern. Of course I’m aware that there was a riot the last time we lost in the Stanley Cup finals. But that was a completely different scenario, as many have reported that the brunt of the riot began as a response to police provocation. In the latest edition, you have almost the complete opposite situation, where the police arguably weren’t proactive enough. This leads me to my final point: the instigators were not the real fans or real Vancouverites for that matter. I’m not here to argue that Canucks fans did not take part in the riot. The video footage is there to prove that point moot. But watching the videos, you can’t help but notice that the majority of the troublemakers weren’t even wearing Canucks paraphernalia. Apparently, recent police reports back such claims, since those who started the mayhem, who actually brought gasoline and tools into the viewing areas (cause you need those things to watch a hockey game?), were the same people who tried to start a riot during the Olympics. You probably didn’t know about that because they failed miserably, but apparently they learned from their mistakes. With Game 7, you had the perfect situation: a highly-emotional crowd who had been waiting 40 years for the Stanley Cup, gathered in numbers that greatly exceeded the police forces present. Watch a video of the beginning of the riot and you’ll see that all it takes is a couple little fires and a car being overturned for the mayhem to spread. Vancouver fans may have taken part, but this riot began by those who wanted a riot and nothing else.

But once all the smoke had clear out, the character of a true Vancouverite finally came out. News reports would say that thousands showed up the next morning, armed with brooms and garbage bags, in a spontaneous show of support for their city. Some were there because it depressed them to see their city in ruins, while others showed up because they were embarrassed for taking part in the debauchery. And so I ask, how often do you see citizenry take off work to clean up a mess that largely wasn’t theirs? This wasn’t a natural disaster that needed to be cleaned up. It was a smudge on a previously spotless record that troubled them enough to take action. It’s activities like this that show why Vancouver has always been considered one of the most hospitable and friendly cities in the world. Such was certainly the case a little over a year ago, when Vancouver hosted one of the most successful Winter Olympics of the modern era, “[embracing] the Olympic Games like no other city in the world before,” as IOC head Jacques Rogge would say. There were no riots, no windows broken, no cars overturned. And when Roberto Luongo and the rest of Team Canada won the country’s 14^th gold medal, we didn’t become a frenzied mess like sports fans from other cities. No, we stayed true to our colors, the red and the white, and did like any Canadian would, and partied the night away on the streets, all 150,000+ of us. That’s the real Vancouver, my friends.

Vancouver 2010: Now this is how you celebrate a victory...

So while the sting of June 17^th still lives on, let’s not be too quick to judge those involved.  Roberto Luongo will not be traded and the book certainly hasn’t been written about him yet (nudge nudge, SI), unless it includes the subtitle “Incredible Goaltender.” And let’s not completely demote Vancouver over one mishap (I'm talking to you, The Guardian) or deem it unsuitable for travel (*cough* USA Today *cough*). Both Bobby Lou and his harbor town will be at it again next year in what will hopefully be another long Cup run. There is no doubt in my mind that the scars will have healed by then.

As for me and le docteur? I really could give two shits about my new soccer scar. But I do hope that there’ll be a real doctor available the next time we play, cause playback’s gonna be a bitch…