It Comes in Waves.
Last year, I went to my first university art show. I had been to museums and had seen some impressive exhibitions, but had never gone to a show where university students presented their projects. At this art show, my friend Melissa introduced me to one of the artists. She had made a textured paper sculpture that she called "It Comes in Waves". This woman had recently gone through a great deal, and I'll spare you the details of her sad story. However, I will say the sculpture touched me. The sculpture looked like turbulent water and a roaring fire at the same time. The "waves" looked very similar, yet a closer look showed that each had its own unique texture and design. At the time I wasn't sure what I was looking at, but lately, I've been experiencing my own "waves".
In August, thirty-odd first year Nunavik teachers were assured by their pedagogical counsellors that things would be very tough at first, but would get better after Christmas. Christmas has come an gone in Kangiqsujuaq, but my students' problems remain. One of my students missed 23 out of 48 days in the second semester. He has a great deal of difficulty concentrating, and lately, it appears that he has given up trying. I hadn't really realised how much time he had missed. Part of the porblem is that he is such a nuisance to the other students and I that I have found myself enjoying every minute that passes without him in the school. I am not the only one. This negect from the school cannot last. The boy is on a terrible trajectory, and is in need of help. His mother did not show up to parent-teacher interviews, even after we called her personally.
More generally, the students are loath to work on anything that lasts more than a few minutes, and thus doing any project-based learning with them requires a great deal more effort on my part than I have to give, and indeed, seemingly more than it is worth. It truly is survival mode in my classroom. I have realised that I have been simply coping with the problems in my class, and not actively trying to solve them. Coping was what forced one teacher who taught half of them to take eighteen sick days, and sent the teacher who taught the other half South, for good. I feel it getting to me as well. I find myself becoming loud and almost agressive in the classroom. My negative energy just feeds the fire, and the kids get a kick out of frustrating their teacher. It excites them.
So passed the first wave after Christmas. I wrote the preceeding paragraphs more than a week ago, but decided not to publish such a dire and bleak perspective on my situation. I've tried a few things in the class since then, and we've had some small successes. As I told the principal in a one-on-one meeting last week, I have a completely different definition of success since moving up here. Oh well, at least I don't feel so bad about it anymore.
The forces driving this new wave of optimism are diverse. Sophie and I just spent a wonderful weekend doing little but enjoying the outdoors. Yesterday was the first truly beautiful day of winter. We went cross-country skiing and hiked up a mountain. The sunset brought with it a strong relentless North wind that carried all of the fluffy accumulated snow far away, and I awoke this morning with no chance of getting a pre-school ski in.
A couple of weeks ago, Sophie went to Kuujjuaq for a sonogram. The baby has two arms, two legs, and a strong heartbeat. I promise to scan and publish these photos in the coming days. Unfortunately, the nurses in Kuujjuaq are under strict instructions to not divulge the sex of the baby to the mother. Apparently, this knowledge influences a signinfcant number of women into deciding to give their babies up for adoption. So, we will have to wait and find out the old-fashioned way. Oh well, it is perhaps more exciting this way.
There have been some exciting things happening here in town. I've started to play broomball on Saturdays, which has turned out to be a great deal of fun. We are thinking about hosting a tournament for us and a few other villages. We had our first real blizzard the weekend before last. I now believe in (although I have yet to see) weather so bad that we cannot see the neighbours' house.
Last Friday, three polar bears roamed into town and were promptly shot. Unlike the bears in Churchill, Manitoba, the bears rarely come to Kangiqsujuaq. Thus, the people have no facilities, other than rifles, with which to deal with them. I can check polar bear off of the list of animals that I want to eat. Mamaktuk!
Finally, my parents have decided to come up to Wakeham Bay at Easter. That should be a fun time. I'm sure my father will be right in his element with the skidoos and the ice fishing. Although hosting family can be a stressful situation, my parents are pretty relaxed, and it will be nice to have some familiar faces around. Moreover, it will be exciting for Sophie and my parents to meet each other, and get to know each other a little better before the baby comes.
With all of the excitement, I have not been able to catch a good night's sleep. Last night, I wandered downstairs, got fully dressed in skiing gear, went to reach for my boots, and thought, "It sure is dark outside for seven o'clock." Sure enough, when I looked at the clock in the kitchen, I gained full consciousness, and realised that it was 2:45. Anyone who has lived with me knows all too well that I walk in my sleep. It's too bad I didn't actually get outside before I woke up. Now that would have been blogworthy.
J.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Sophie.
After the last post, a number of people have asked me to say a few more words about Sophie. Sophie herself read my blog from beginning to end a few days ago and asked me to read it too. Upon doing so, I realise that it must seem a little weird that I'm having a child with someone about whom I have written only a few sentences. My blog reads something like this, "I met a cool woman from Montreal... ... Things are progressing quickly in our relationship... ... I'm going to be a dad!" You people must think I'm nuts. Here is my first attempt to properly introduce Sophie.
Sophie is thirty. She was born in Montreal and spent her childhood living on the plateau. She is five-foot-eight and three-quarters inches tall, and has long, thick, beautiful red hair. Like me, she is a teacher at Arsaniq school in Kangirsujuaq, QC.
We have a lot in common. We both love hiking. Since we met, we have hiked the mountains surrounding the village numerous times, and will undoubtedly continue to do so until Sophie is ready to burst. We also enjoy many of the same outdoor acitivities, such as walking the dog and cross-country skiing.
Sophie and I share the same dreams. We both love to travel. Our common penchant to move around was doubtless a huge factor in our individual decisions to come to Wakeham Bay. Ultimately, we both like to use teaching as a vehicle for travel, and will continue to do so in the years to come. She has been to many places, some of them for extended periods of time. Her diverse linguistic abilities give insight into her travelling history. She speaks English, French, Spanish, and Italian fluently, and also speaks some German and bits of other languages. When she was in her teens, she spent a year in Sicily, and in her twenties, she spent several months working in Germany and Bolivia, teaching in Japan, and has passed a great deal of time in Mexico, Peru, Thailand and Paraguay.
So, we both like to travel, but what made me want to have a baby with this woman? When we met in August, I felt immediately comfortable in Sophie's presence. From the first time we had supper together, I felt a strong attraction to Sophie. Over the next few weeks, we had many long conversations about travel, teaching, teaching Inuit kids, cultural imperialism, books, movies, Montreal, mountains, and many other things. Before long, I realised that the connection we had was truly something special.
One thing that I have mentioned about Sophie is that she helped me with my classroom. She made me see that my kids were not unmanageable, but rather that they just needed a great deal of structure, and that I had all of the tools I needed to give it to them. She also pointed out to me, and graciously continues to remind me, that we are insignificant little creatures that are not responsible for changing world events, nor are we responsible for "saving" these kids by giving them an education. Her ability to help me cope with and discard much of the stress of my job has transformed me. I used to think I thrived on stress. To me it was like water; my fuel. Now I see that I lived in spite of the stress, and ultimately I feel better and am more productive sincce I've learned to let things go.
I remember travelling in Colombia in 1999/2000 when I met a British couple named Wayne and Marie-Rose. They had a young son, Jerome, who must have been two years old. It seemed like the coolest way to travel. This family had done a lot together, and Wayne and Marie-Rose had given to Jerome what seemed to me to be an opportunity that few others are lucky enough to enjoy. Jerome was very adept at picking up Spanish, he was asking his parents to "damelo" (give me that) when he wanted one of his toys. His parents were confused at first and then awestruck. They beamed with pride. I've carried this memory ever since, and can hardly wait to share similar experiences with our kid(s).
After telling my family and friends about Sophie's pregnancy, I have realised just how much my life has changed over the past few months. It seems fast and it seems crazy. Nonetheless, it feels comfortable and it feels wonderful.
After the last post, a number of people have asked me to say a few more words about Sophie. Sophie herself read my blog from beginning to end a few days ago and asked me to read it too. Upon doing so, I realise that it must seem a little weird that I'm having a child with someone about whom I have written only a few sentences. My blog reads something like this, "I met a cool woman from Montreal... ... Things are progressing quickly in our relationship... ... I'm going to be a dad!" You people must think I'm nuts. Here is my first attempt to properly introduce Sophie.
Sophie is thirty. She was born in Montreal and spent her childhood living on the plateau. She is five-foot-eight and three-quarters inches tall, and has long, thick, beautiful red hair. Like me, she is a teacher at Arsaniq school in Kangirsujuaq, QC.
We have a lot in common. We both love hiking. Since we met, we have hiked the mountains surrounding the village numerous times, and will undoubtedly continue to do so until Sophie is ready to burst. We also enjoy many of the same outdoor acitivities, such as walking the dog and cross-country skiing.
Sophie and I share the same dreams. We both love to travel. Our common penchant to move around was doubtless a huge factor in our individual decisions to come to Wakeham Bay. Ultimately, we both like to use teaching as a vehicle for travel, and will continue to do so in the years to come. She has been to many places, some of them for extended periods of time. Her diverse linguistic abilities give insight into her travelling history. She speaks English, French, Spanish, and Italian fluently, and also speaks some German and bits of other languages. When she was in her teens, she spent a year in Sicily, and in her twenties, she spent several months working in Germany and Bolivia, teaching in Japan, and has passed a great deal of time in Mexico, Peru, Thailand and Paraguay.
So, we both like to travel, but what made me want to have a baby with this woman? When we met in August, I felt immediately comfortable in Sophie's presence. From the first time we had supper together, I felt a strong attraction to Sophie. Over the next few weeks, we had many long conversations about travel, teaching, teaching Inuit kids, cultural imperialism, books, movies, Montreal, mountains, and many other things. Before long, I realised that the connection we had was truly something special.
One thing that I have mentioned about Sophie is that she helped me with my classroom. She made me see that my kids were not unmanageable, but rather that they just needed a great deal of structure, and that I had all of the tools I needed to give it to them. She also pointed out to me, and graciously continues to remind me, that we are insignificant little creatures that are not responsible for changing world events, nor are we responsible for "saving" these kids by giving them an education. Her ability to help me cope with and discard much of the stress of my job has transformed me. I used to think I thrived on stress. To me it was like water; my fuel. Now I see that I lived in spite of the stress, and ultimately I feel better and am more productive sincce I've learned to let things go.
I remember travelling in Colombia in 1999/2000 when I met a British couple named Wayne and Marie-Rose. They had a young son, Jerome, who must have been two years old. It seemed like the coolest way to travel. This family had done a lot together, and Wayne and Marie-Rose had given to Jerome what seemed to me to be an opportunity that few others are lucky enough to enjoy. Jerome was very adept at picking up Spanish, he was asking his parents to "damelo" (give me that) when he wanted one of his toys. His parents were confused at first and then awestruck. They beamed with pride. I've carried this memory ever since, and can hardly wait to share similar experiences with our kid(s).
After telling my family and friends about Sophie's pregnancy, I have realised just how much my life has changed over the past few months. It seems fast and it seems crazy. Nonetheless, it feels comfortable and it feels wonderful.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Happy New Year!
It's been a long time since I've blogged, and a great deal has happened since then. In the school, my class has calmed down considerably since the Christmas break. Outside the school, my Christmas holidays were a blur. All in all life has been very good to me. By the end of the post, I think you'll understand why.
I hope that you all have gathered from my earlier posts that teaching up here is not exactly the easiest gig. Before Christmas, our school was in shambles, where students did what they wanted without consequence. Things, at least in my class, seem to have changed since the break. On Monday morning, I had a student steal a DVD from my desk and then lie to me about it. Another student shot elastic bands at my face, and then lied to the Centre Director about it. By 10:00 a.m., day one, two of my eleven students had been suspended for disrespecting me. At our orientation in August, all of the pedagogical counsellors, without exception, told us that things would be considerably better after the Christmas break. Just when I thought that my class was going to prove them wrong (as they seem to be the exception to almost every rule), things improved. Since Monday, things have gone extremely well in my class.
My holidays were a blur. I flew down to Montreal on the 20th, to Edmonton on the 21st, drove 400km North to High Prairie on the 23rd, 950km South to my sister's house on the 28th, 550km North to Edmonton on the 30th, flew back to Montreal on the 31st, and finally back up here on the 5th of January. However, throughout this mad rush to go everywhere on God's green earth, I managed to get very little accomplished. I spent most of my time sleeping and reading books and magazines on couches, and walking my dog after returning to Montreal. It was only after I returned to Kangirsujuaq that I realised that I had forgotten to buy a new hockey helmet, winter boots, coffee, get my camera fixed, replace my drivers' licence, get a passport, a haircut, and too many other things to mention. Going South at a hectic time like Christmas after seeing the exact same 572 people for months on end can be stressful. There was no need to add to the stress by trying to accomplish stuff during my holidays.
I did manage to accomplish one thing. While up in High Prairie, I made my annual pilgrimage to midnight mass with my mother, father, and twenty or so extended family members. When my dad and I arrived, we sat down in one of the middle pews, and I saw my mother sitting in the front, waiting for the rest of the choir to arrive. I thought, "now is the perfect time, even if they don't like what I tell them, we're in Church, so they'll have to forgive me." I dragged my dad up to the front pew, sat down between my parents and said, "You are going to be grandparents."
I'm going to be a father! Not long after Sophie and I began our relationship, we decided to have a child. As I've said before, things seem to happen very quickly up North. The baby is due on June 21st. I cannot wait for the biggest day of my life since my own birth. It's going to be a trip.
It's been a long time since I've blogged, and a great deal has happened since then. In the school, my class has calmed down considerably since the Christmas break. Outside the school, my Christmas holidays were a blur. All in all life has been very good to me. By the end of the post, I think you'll understand why.
I hope that you all have gathered from my earlier posts that teaching up here is not exactly the easiest gig. Before Christmas, our school was in shambles, where students did what they wanted without consequence. Things, at least in my class, seem to have changed since the break. On Monday morning, I had a student steal a DVD from my desk and then lie to me about it. Another student shot elastic bands at my face, and then lied to the Centre Director about it. By 10:00 a.m., day one, two of my eleven students had been suspended for disrespecting me. At our orientation in August, all of the pedagogical counsellors, without exception, told us that things would be considerably better after the Christmas break. Just when I thought that my class was going to prove them wrong (as they seem to be the exception to almost every rule), things improved. Since Monday, things have gone extremely well in my class.
My holidays were a blur. I flew down to Montreal on the 20th, to Edmonton on the 21st, drove 400km North to High Prairie on the 23rd, 950km South to my sister's house on the 28th, 550km North to Edmonton on the 30th, flew back to Montreal on the 31st, and finally back up here on the 5th of January. However, throughout this mad rush to go everywhere on God's green earth, I managed to get very little accomplished. I spent most of my time sleeping and reading books and magazines on couches, and walking my dog after returning to Montreal. It was only after I returned to Kangirsujuaq that I realised that I had forgotten to buy a new hockey helmet, winter boots, coffee, get my camera fixed, replace my drivers' licence, get a passport, a haircut, and too many other things to mention. Going South at a hectic time like Christmas after seeing the exact same 572 people for months on end can be stressful. There was no need to add to the stress by trying to accomplish stuff during my holidays.
I did manage to accomplish one thing. While up in High Prairie, I made my annual pilgrimage to midnight mass with my mother, father, and twenty or so extended family members. When my dad and I arrived, we sat down in one of the middle pews, and I saw my mother sitting in the front, waiting for the rest of the choir to arrive. I thought, "now is the perfect time, even if they don't like what I tell them, we're in Church, so they'll have to forgive me." I dragged my dad up to the front pew, sat down between my parents and said, "You are going to be grandparents."
I'm going to be a father! Not long after Sophie and I began our relationship, we decided to have a child. As I've said before, things seem to happen very quickly up North. The baby is due on June 21st. I cannot wait for the biggest day of my life since my own birth. It's going to be a trip.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
I ate seal last week. It tastes almost exactly like it smells. Mamartuk
And I finally tracked down some photos of this beautiful place. What follows is a brief photo essay of what it's like to live up here. I haven't included any photos of my students, but promise to after Christmas.
When you fly into Kangirsujuaq, you get to see a magnificent fjord surrounding Wakeham Bay's deep blue waters.
The village itself is surrounded by small mountains, upon which grow beautiful flora and whose peaks people have built impressive inukshuks.
Some views from the surrounding mountains.
When the sun shows it's face, which seems to be rarely, it is between 9:00 a.m. and 12:30 p.m. The short days have forced me to buy very expensive full-spectrum lights to simulate the sun's rays and stave off the fatigue caused by the darkness.
This is my little girl Igaak shortly after I adopted her. Since then, she has grown considerably, and looks completely different.
Finally, Sophie and I.
And I finally tracked down some photos of this beautiful place. What follows is a brief photo essay of what it's like to live up here. I haven't included any photos of my students, but promise to after Christmas.
When you fly into Kangirsujuaq, you get to see a magnificent fjord surrounding Wakeham Bay's deep blue waters.
The village itself is surrounded by small mountains, upon which grow beautiful flora and whose peaks people have built impressive inukshuks.
Some views from the surrounding mountains.
When the sun shows it's face, which seems to be rarely, it is between 9:00 a.m. and 12:30 p.m. The short days have forced me to buy very expensive full-spectrum lights to simulate the sun's rays and stave off the fatigue caused by the darkness.
This is my little girl Igaak shortly after I adopted her. Since then, she has grown considerably, and looks completely different.
Finally, Sophie and I.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
4:00 and it's dark
Since my last post, I've been very busy, lazy, and drained of energy. Between teaching eleven difficult students, end of term commitments, dealing with a school that seems to be on a downward spiral, enjoying the rewards of a new relationship, and coping with the shortening and ever-overcast days, I think I can construct some semblance of an excuse for shirking my online obligations.
My students and I seemed to have turned a corner. For the most part, things inside my classroom have been going quite well, considering the rough start we had. Certainly, we are behind (about four years behind to be exact) but things seemed to be coming along nicely. Now that the behavioural issues have settled down somewhat in my class, I have had enough time to worry about just how little I've taught them and how little I know about teaching ESL. Until I got the news today that one of my students was in the hospital because she tried to seriously hurt herself last weekend. We are doing what we can for her, but she has responded so negatively to me virtually every time we interact that I'm not sure I'm doing any good.
Report cards and parent-teacher interviews happened last week. What a long week. Most of the parents came to meet me, which was nice, but, like in the South, the ones who do not show are ususally the ones that teachers need to talk to most, including the student who is in the hospital. So, after leaving the school at 9:00 on Thursday night, I woke up early on Friday, walked the dog, and went back to school until 7:30 p.m. The teachers made and delivered pizzas to last month's "stars of the month", the best-behaved students in each class. After throwing enough dough to make 45 pizzas, I was thoroughly exhausted.
The school situation outside of my classroom is deteriorating quickly. I'm losing faith in our ship's captain. Last year, there were two tools that the school deemed necessary to maintain good student behaviour and a safe school environment: a security guard and an igloo room. The igloo room is a place where students who need to "cool off" can go without all of the embarassment and hassle of being seen in the office day in and day out. Our principal has failed to do two things: furnish the school with the funding for these necessitites; and provide his staff with adequate explanations as to why he has failed to do so. A school with no consequences for misbehaviour is a disaster waiting to happen. The situation has come to a point where, after a seven-and-a-half hour staff meeting, the school has asked the parents to come into a symposium to discuss problems in the school and the community at large.
Outside the school, life is fantastic. Sophie and I are very quickly moving along in our relationship. Virtually no one who has been up here for an extended period is surprised. We hear things such as "Things are more intense here" or "things move much more quickly in the North" all the time. I suppose we have something basic and important in common: we both chose to live here, of all places. The more time that we spend together the more certain I become that it was no coincidence.
Finally, the weather. The days here are getting extremely short. The sun comes up at around 8:30 I think and sets around 3:30. However, until today we didn't see the sun for over a week. It was just a grey haze in the day. The nights, oddly enough, have been fairly clear. Last week, I was treated to by far the most amazing display of aurora borealis in my experience, and coming from Northern Alberta, that means a lot. This past weekend, the clouds opened up just long enough for us to walk Igaak in the light of the full moon.
Yesterday, I had my first taste of an Arctic blizzard, with high winds and a good dumping of snow. I no longer feel cheated by the mild weather. However, the Inuit teachers have assured me that it was just a taste. I can't wait for the real deal. Today, the clouds finally broke and gave us the few hours of direct sunlight we deserve. It was a balmy -18 with the wind chill, but I nonteheless struggled with the idea of keeping my students outside to take in some sun. This place is truly beautiful.
J
Since my last post, I've been very busy, lazy, and drained of energy. Between teaching eleven difficult students, end of term commitments, dealing with a school that seems to be on a downward spiral, enjoying the rewards of a new relationship, and coping with the shortening and ever-overcast days, I think I can construct some semblance of an excuse for shirking my online obligations.
My students and I seemed to have turned a corner. For the most part, things inside my classroom have been going quite well, considering the rough start we had. Certainly, we are behind (about four years behind to be exact) but things seemed to be coming along nicely. Now that the behavioural issues have settled down somewhat in my class, I have had enough time to worry about just how little I've taught them and how little I know about teaching ESL. Until I got the news today that one of my students was in the hospital because she tried to seriously hurt herself last weekend. We are doing what we can for her, but she has responded so negatively to me virtually every time we interact that I'm not sure I'm doing any good.
Report cards and parent-teacher interviews happened last week. What a long week. Most of the parents came to meet me, which was nice, but, like in the South, the ones who do not show are ususally the ones that teachers need to talk to most, including the student who is in the hospital. So, after leaving the school at 9:00 on Thursday night, I woke up early on Friday, walked the dog, and went back to school until 7:30 p.m. The teachers made and delivered pizzas to last month's "stars of the month", the best-behaved students in each class. After throwing enough dough to make 45 pizzas, I was thoroughly exhausted.
The school situation outside of my classroom is deteriorating quickly. I'm losing faith in our ship's captain. Last year, there were two tools that the school deemed necessary to maintain good student behaviour and a safe school environment: a security guard and an igloo room. The igloo room is a place where students who need to "cool off" can go without all of the embarassment and hassle of being seen in the office day in and day out. Our principal has failed to do two things: furnish the school with the funding for these necessitites; and provide his staff with adequate explanations as to why he has failed to do so. A school with no consequences for misbehaviour is a disaster waiting to happen. The situation has come to a point where, after a seven-and-a-half hour staff meeting, the school has asked the parents to come into a symposium to discuss problems in the school and the community at large.
Outside the school, life is fantastic. Sophie and I are very quickly moving along in our relationship. Virtually no one who has been up here for an extended period is surprised. We hear things such as "Things are more intense here" or "things move much more quickly in the North" all the time. I suppose we have something basic and important in common: we both chose to live here, of all places. The more time that we spend together the more certain I become that it was no coincidence.
Finally, the weather. The days here are getting extremely short. The sun comes up at around 8:30 I think and sets around 3:30. However, until today we didn't see the sun for over a week. It was just a grey haze in the day. The nights, oddly enough, have been fairly clear. Last week, I was treated to by far the most amazing display of aurora borealis in my experience, and coming from Northern Alberta, that means a lot. This past weekend, the clouds opened up just long enough for us to walk Igaak in the light of the full moon.
Yesterday, I had my first taste of an Arctic blizzard, with high winds and a good dumping of snow. I no longer feel cheated by the mild weather. However, the Inuit teachers have assured me that it was just a taste. I can't wait for the real deal. Today, the clouds finally broke and gave us the few hours of direct sunlight we deserve. It was a balmy -18 with the wind chill, but I nonteheless struggled with the idea of keeping my students outside to take in some sun. This place is truly beautiful.
J
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