For Others

I was nervous that teaching without a partner in Nepal would be lonely. I feared that there would be no one to get ideas from while planning and if a lesson wasn’t going well in there wouldn’t be anyone in the classroom to save it. I anticipated feeling vulnerable in front of students that would notice and take advantage of the situation.

Thankfully, these feelings were never experienced when I was working with class 8. I felt a sense of belonging and togetherness   doesn’t even exist for me in many situations at home. In a different country, surrounded by people who can only understand about half of the words I speak, doing something I don’t have extensive practice doing, I was home. It wasn’t because my lessons were perfect or because I was so confident in my teaching skills, rather it was because of an energy that exists in the classroom. It is truly impossible to describe this energy; it can only be fully understood by people who have felt it. It makes my hands tingle when a student answers a question correctly and it makes my heart beat a little faster every time the class shouts about wanting to play a game. It reminds me of watching the sun rise and the way it first warms your face and then your whole body. Believing I truly taught these kids something new is accompanied by so much love and endless smiles exchanged. Though, it couldn’t mean this much to me if I didn’t understand how much it meant to them.

The CGA team introduced environmental projects to each class at LISHA School. We asked the students to creatively come up with an idea to heal the environment of Bhaktapur using recycling, composting, or reusing. These students passionately attacked the project and worked intensively for all the class time they received. Not only did they dedicate themselves to the projects at school, they took them home to continue; perfecting the spelling, organization, and content. Each one cares deeply about what they are making and will not quit until it looks the way they had envisioned. These students devote themselves to their education because they lack the privilege to say they don’t care. Instead of being indifferent about their schoolwork, they are inspired by it. They talk about the way their education can help them pull their families out of poverty and help Nepal develop. That idea is why these students are incredibly motivated. They are not only working for themselves, but for everyone around them. Their love for each other and drive to improve their surroundings is what makes them so powerful.

I feel grateful to be even just a small part of this community that works for each other. I have been working to provide them with the information they can use to better themselves and they have been striving to retain all of it to better the lives of their younger siblings and their neighbors and their schools and even the future of their country. It is going to be very difficult to say goodbye to the home I have found in Nepal but I will never forget the feeling of pure joy and full excitement I feel when I am with this family. I know now that the secret to working as diligently and as powerfully as the students in class 8 is understanding the work’s impact on others. I hope to continue finding ways to influence the lives of those around me.

Pride

Each night when I create my lesson plans, I worry that they will be too boring or too simple. I get nervous that class 8 won’t want to listen to me or that they will lack the desire to perform the tasks I assign them. But each day I am proved wrong over and over. The reality that I am presenting them with something new is enough for them to care. The students devote themselves to their work in a way that amazes me day after day, year after year. It seems as though I should have grown to understand and even expect their full engagement by now, yet there has not been a moment where their constant yearning for information has been anything short of incredible. The students take perfect notes, are constantly asking how to pronounce words, and desperately beg me to provide them with new definitions. Their goal is to do their classwork correctly, not completely.

The passion which is felt in the classroom is something which is nearly impossible to describe. On Monday I taught a lesson about modern appliances. It was wonderful to see the students so interested in things they had never seen before and even some things they had never heard of. To help them imagine what one looked like, we made small replicas of washing machines using paper and tape. The next day a boy named Nishan brought me a washing machine replica that he had built at home. Instead of being made from paper, the sides were composed of cardboard which he had painted blue, a cup had been glued into a hole he cut to represent the opening for the clothes, and buttons were pasted on with unbelievable precision. Nishan, a boy who has most likely never had the opportunity to see a washing machine with his own eyes, felt so strongly about something he learned that he took the time to create a perfect prototype without any help. He demonstrated the passion, creativity, and love each student brings to the classroom on a daily basis. They want to know more, to build more, to be more.

It is not only education which the Nepali people devote themselves to. It is their religion as well. The streets and buildings which were destroyed in the earthquakes are still being repaired everywhere you look. Four years have gone by, yet not a single moment has passed without a reminder of the devastation. Reconstruction is happening at all times because the Nepali people are driven to get back what has been taken from them. Their strength to continue and perseverance to recover never seem to waiver. Women walk the streets carrying bags filled with bricks and men work day and night to return those bricks to their original position. The same way the students have pride in their classwork; the citizens have pride in their homes. They want them to be strong and to be beautiful because their name is on it. Because they are responsible for them, they own them. And in Nepal that means something.

I have been inspired to engage in my tasks and work to make sure everything is I do is done to the best of my ability. Because I am Zoe Booth. And I want that to mean something.

To be Remembered

To say goodbye to someone forever feels like the worst kind of loss. You lose their presence in your life, and with that is a loss of a piece of yourself. Whenever I say goodbye to the students I have spent weeks teaching, loving, and working for, I study their faces. I try to memorize each curve, the way their face softens and their eyes light up when they smile. I have to actively work to remember what they look like, because I know it will be impossible to forget the way they make me feel. Once we part, my heart feels heavy and my throat tight. As time progresses, though, the sadness I feel from the loss turns into gratefulness for the time we spent together. I even feel acceptance that our memories together will have to be enough to fill our hearts because we will no longer be able to make more.

I have experience coming to terms with the reality that I will never see the students I love. What I don’t have experience doing is seeing a face I had already accepted saying goodbye to. But on Wednesday when we arrived at LISHA School, I understood the relief and the joy that accompanies seeing the same smile a year later. Gagan was the first to approach me with his softened face. I had so many questions for him about his year, his family, his soccer, and his school work. But before I could ask any of my questions he asked me one: why did it take you so long?

I didn’t know what to say as the question made me react in many different ways. I was already overwhelmed with happiness that Gagan  was in front of me once again, that he was still in school and that the boys continued to crowd around him as if he was their leader, yet he remained uninterested and maybe even oblivious. But his question made me feel a bit of sadness as well. As if he had spent so much time missing the CGA team. The thought of upsetting him, even if it were by leaving, was one that hurt me. His words also left me questioning myself. Why did I take so long? Why do I only devote my time to students like Gagan once per year? Am I using every moment purposefully enough? How can I- but before I could finish my thoughts Gagan pushed my arm playfully and giggled like he knew he was getting to me. His familiar laugh put me at ease and reminded me of all the answering I wanted him to do.

This week I have had this wonderful opportunity of being remembered at LISHA School by students like Gagan who I could never forget. I have always hoped that my time teaching students is truly impactful after I’m gone. That hope was always enough to carry me through. But this is the first trip I’ve been shown that the students cherish our time together as much as I do, if that is possible. They remember my name and talk about the games we played in the classroom and juggling a soccer ball during lunch. The reality that they too remember the lessons and down time we spent together fills me with so much love and pride.

Sharing memories with these students has made LISHA School truly feel like home. These past few days I have felt more comfortable at the front of a classroom teaching about international human values than I have ever felt at the back of the class learning about much less complex ideas like fractions.  I’ve finally witnessed proof that these inspiring students appreciate my presence in their homes, and don’t forget the amazing moments we have spent together.

This realization has made me want to work harder. They remember the activities which accompany my lessons. This makes me feel as if those activities need to be even more fun, even more exciting with each day. I want every lesson to be an unforgettable one. Thank you LISHA School for making me more driven by remembering.