Looking for a Husband

If I was to name the subject I am the least qualified to teach, it would have to be physical fitness. As one of my high school friends pointed out last week, “Hal, you never even came to gym class!” It’s true. Much of my high school career was spent devising ways out of physics, calculus, and physical education, and I am proud to say I was more often than not successful (unfortunately, to the detriment of my muscle mass and mathematical prowess). I am uncoordinated, refuse to run even the shortest distances, and consider kanafeh healthy because it is made from wheat and cheese (and butter and sugar). I am the last person you want leading cardio, handing out diet advice, or training girls in soccer. And yet, that is exactly what I did every week here.

My beautiful aerobics class on our final party day.

On Mondays and Wednesdays, one of the other interns, MJ, and I would team-teach aerobics for two hours. At first, I mainly taught the cardio portion, a task that required me to dig deep down to my seventh grade gym days and watch some Billy Blanks videos. The women then requested dancing, and for a while, I taught a zumba routine to the Shakira song, Loca. Finally, MJ, and I taught various workout circuits together, each one of us demonstrating different exercises.

Although I love my children, their mothers, the women in my aerobics class, are in stiff competition for my heart. Everyday, the women come in covered head to toe in hijabs and abayas, and then strip down into these sexy workout outfits or pajamas. They then proceed to put up even more of a fight about working out than I typically would. But their comments during certain exercises are the class highlights for me. One morning, I was leading some pilates exercises and the women were being particularly talkative and lazy. To punish them, I said we would do forty-five leg lifts (women lay on their sides and lift one leg straight up and then lower it back down) on both sides. One of the women groaned and muttered something in Arabic; in response, the entire room busted out laughing. I looked to Hanin, my Arabic teacher and translator, for a translation. She reddened slightly before saying, “She says she won’t be able to lift her legs to her husband tonight because of you. They all want you to get tired.” For the first time in my life, I was the fittest person in the room.

  

MJ and I took some glamour shots after being made-up.

This past Wednesday was my last class with the women so we had a party. Normally, they only see me without make-up, sweaty, and in frumpy workout clothes. So when they walked into room to find me dressed in a skirt with my hair freshly washed and down, I was met with exclamations of, “Hilary, you are pretty?!” And this got them thinking. One woman decided she wanted to do my hair, and then a couple of the women thought they should do my make-up. Afterwards, I “looked like a bride without a groom,” so another woman offered me her son’s hand in marriage. He is a “wealthy man and well liked; you would be well respected in the Nabulsi community.” I politely declined and then went to dance with some of the women. This too turned out to be a mistake.

Hanin is not only my teacher and translator, but also one of my closest friends here in Nablus. Two weekends ago, I went with her to her brother’s house for Sha’aban, a celebration strictly for females during the month before Ramadan. The women chat, smoke shesha, prepare food, dine, and dance. So Hanin’s family tried teaching me how to dance like an Arab woman, aka shake my hips. And, well, I kind of picked it up. So dancing in front of a roomful of women who had just made me up to look like a bride only solicited appraisals of my physique for their eligible sons, nephews, and brothers.

I was also the topic of discussions in their homes as I came to later learn from their daughters the following day at the pool. As I was playing around with some of my girls in the shallow end of the pool, a couple of them explained that their mothers said I could dance. They wanted to see too! So the girls started dancing around me, singing, and trying to clap me into acquiescing. But I’ve learned my lesson, no dancing in front of women looking for a wife for their men.

Sing Opera, Miss

At one point, I was convinced I was going to become an opera singer. It was not one of those fleeting career affairs I have a tendency for; I lived this one. While some high school students watched TV, I watched performances from my favorite opera singers on youtube. In the back of calculus class, I sat with my calc binder stealthily open to the translation of some German aria I was trying to learn. And if I was ever going anywhere with my IPod, I was listening to opera. Oh yes, I was quite sure of my future.

This week's lesson: found instruments. One of the volunteers
and I helping the kids brainstorm ideas.

Then I went to college. I am still not sure what exactly changed, but all of a sudden, music became terrifying. In particular, I came to dread performances. Back in high school, I would sing in the practice rooms, fully aware that everyone on the floor and the one below could hear me. However, my first semester in college, I tried to sneak into the practice rooms on weekend evenings, when I could rest assured that people were at parties and not in the building. It did not take long at all, one semester, and my confidence was sapped. I could not sing. I certainly could not sight read. I was not that talented, and I had no future in music.

My translator, Mohammad, and I talking with one of the
groups about their found instrument composition.

When I interviewed for my internship this summer, I mentioned a background in music. Although I may have lacked confidence, I knew it was the one thing I had actually spent a long period of time learning and doing. However, I really tried pushing for teaching another subject: art, science, English, knitting, environmental issues, anything but music. In early May, I learned that I had been accepted into two internship programs, the one here in Palestine with TYO and one with a housing corporation in DC that works with the homeless. Obviously, I decided to take this one in Palestine, thinking that it would be the more challenging of the two. At that point, I was under the impression I would be teaching science. So when I got the email saying that my class was changed to music, all my insecurities took center stage again.

I chose this internship because I thought it would challenge me, and it has. But I did not realize what else it would do for me. Teaching music has rekindled something I thought I’d lost. Having these kids look to me for information, inspiration, and advice has helped me to find my confidence performing again. I cannot second-guess myself when I am in the moment, trying to help them create music from chairs or sing a song in a foreign language. If I am not sure about my lesson plans, why should they listen to me at all? When I am asked to “sing opera” at lunch, in class, at the pool, in the changing rooms, or on the bus to the pool, they do not care that I have not warmed up and my vocal cords are stiff. They want me to sing now.

Working with these kids and watching them really enjoy music has taught me to let go of my insecurities and just be. It is funny. My class is supposed to be geared towards teaching self-confidence through music. Something I most certainly did not have when I began classes. As at risk of reiterating the white-girl-teaching-kids-abroad cliché, I hope I have taught my students exactly what they have taught me.

Facebook Is Haram

Facebook. Bleh. I delete it every couple of months and then find some silly reason to bring it back. But there are some lines I won't cross. No twitter, no inappropriate comments, no posting photos. I've got Palestinian friends; I have to make sure my profile is not haram.  (I know, I know. I thought of the pants or the Turkish sultan's pack of women at first too. But haram in Arabic means "legally forbidden by Islamic law." This means if the Koran says no, no. But here in Nablus, there are things also outside the Koran that are still haram. So walking around in shorts = haram. Tattoos = haram. Alcohol = really haram. Painted nails = haram. You get the point.)

Anyways, I've had some requests for more photos. Mainly from my mom and dad, who are also probably the only ones who read this blog. (I don't even think my sister does, but we'll see if she catches me on this). Tonight, I have enough time to write a little and post some photos, but not enough time to write a real post. I drank a little too much Turkish coffee a little too late. So read on for some more photos of my kids' music and art class.

This was taken during the second week of classes while we were working on
pitch. On the First day, students learned one octave (C4-C5) on the music staff
and piano and then had to write their own song. On the second day, we split
up into four stations. There were two games of memory, one station making
music note cootie-catchers, and the final one with me, playing their song
on the piano. Here, Saja is working on reading the staff and playing the notes.

This was on the day we learned dynamics. We played a game of 'hot and cold."
But instead of yelling hot when the 'it' student was class and hot when far away,
we used dynamics. So if the student was close, everyone clapped loudly (fortissimo).
If the student was far away, we clapped quietly (pianissimo). If the student was kind
of close, we clapped somewhere in the middle of loud and quiet (mezzo piano/forte).
Here,  Mohammad is searching desperately for where his group hid their object. 

Also on our dynamics day. One of my volunteers, Sumar, is leading a
activity where the students mimic a rain storm. My translator, Mohammad,
is helping out.

On our melody day, I explained that notes and rhythm come
together to create a melody. Using notes and rhythms from

"On Top of Old Smokey," the students had to weave a certain

color based on a rhythm I clapped or a set of notes I played.
In the end, they had created a song and a weaving. Islam is
working away hard on his weaving.

On the our weaving/melody day, I stopped clapping/playing
and started having the students do the work for me. Here Eman,
one of my most clever students, picked the color she wanted
and played the corresponding notes on the piano. The
rest of the students then had to decide what color she played.

Hassan, also a favorite of mine, shows me his completed weaving.

Finally, this last video is of the day we worked on tempo.

I used a song called 'Froggie.' We began by singing it really 

slow and the second time around, we sang very quickly. 

See if you can figure out if this was the first time or second

Holding Babies, Singing Songs

"I am terrible with kids. I simply don't have the patience for them." This is something more than one family member and friend has heard come out of my mouth. My summer plans must have come as a bit of a surprise to those who know me. Back in America, I avoid kiddies like the plague. "No, I don't want to hold your baby. No, I am not interested in babysitting. You want to pay me twenty dollars an hour? Nah, I am still not interested."

Not only do I now teach music, I also hold babies at weddings.

Perhaps my tune began to change in Germany, where I taught English to first and second graders. But come on, six- and seven-year-olds are super cute, particularly when they are speaking in a foreign language or with an accent. Nonetheless, my time ETA-ing at Tiefburgschule got the ball rolling for this summer. Every Tuesday and Thursday, I teach a music and art class for eleven to fourteen-year-olds, the toughest age group in any part of the world: pre-teens. Without fail, it is the best part of my week.

Since most of my students have never encountered music education, I decided to teach the basics: pitch, rhythm, tempo, dynamics, melody, and performance. First, I am hoping to teach the kids concepts that they can utilize when I ask them to create a Stomp-like performance from found instruments. So far, we've gotten through pitch, rhythm, tempo, and yesterday, dynamics. 

Class began with a rain rondo, and then I asked the students to describe a rain storm to me. Storms start out quiet, a little pitter-patter. Then they become louder and louder, with lightening and thunder. Finally, as the clouds blow over, the rain becomes quiet again. I explained that in music, these different levels of volume are called dynamics. In order to practice our dynamic markings (pp, p, mp, mf, f, ff), we learned a song in honor of July 4th, This Land Is Your Land. While singing, students had to respond to the dynamic markings one of the volunteers held up in front of the class. So from my kiddies to you, Happy Fourth of July!