Go Hammurabi!

Another chapter in the continuing saga of teaching 6th grade social studies began this week with the start of a cool simulation game about Mesopotamia called Empires (not to be confused with the videogame of a similar name). For those of you who remember Oregon Trail fondly (as I do), this is along the same lines. Groups of kids become ancient clans who must gain resources, build ziggurats, conquer territory and complete a series of content-specific tasks to win points as they vie to become the Greatest Civilization of the Ancient World. The kids come to class buzzing with excitement and already know more about this time in history than a spin through the textbook and a traditional quiz would have provided.

However. Doing one of theses games from the teacher's point of view is like reading the directions to 50 board games all at once. There is a dizzying array of rules and procedures to keep straight and communicate to the kids. Sure, I could play the game without a problem at this point, but instructing a classful of 6th graders to do the same is like herding cats through a Sumerian irrigation system (ie: very, very complicated). And the amount of old-school accutrement that accompanies Empires is truly astounding. Aussie (the other 6th grade humanities teacher) and I have cleaned out the school's supplies of different colored thumb tacks, which represent armies. The kids are buying them at quite a clip and battling like crazy on both sides of the Tigris and Euphrates (represented by maps Aussie and I painstakingly traced and laminated).

It's cool though to see the kids learning so many life lessons alongside the history. I think that's been the most surprising and wonderful thing about teaching social studies for the first time. Learning about past human systems really does help us understand the ones we live in today. Even on the 6th grade level, there are so many concepts that translate into the present. My students understand in a fairly deep way that things like laws everyone understands and a peaceful transfer of power cure many societal ills. (Go Sargon and Hammurabi! And boo to the late Roman emperors...) They know that cultures with deep class divisions don't fare as well as those less rigidly structured (let's take a lesson from that one!). They undersand that conquering your enemies may get them to shut up for awhile but doesn't necessarily mean they go away. And keeping the army well fed and happy is also a plus, if you can swing it.

The Empires simulation brings with it all of those and other lessons. For those of you not familiar with simulation games, they attempt to mimic the conditions of an era of history as much as possible. Students are usually grouped in some way (tribes, clans, covered wagons), then asked to do a series of tasks (ie: fairly typical social studies assignments based on the era of history they are studying), which result in their gaining the resources and points they need to construct a classroom version of that historical time period. For example, in Empires, the 6th grade Babylonians read about the real Babylonians, and write essays, design models, draw murals, etc that represent the real Babs' life and times. With the points they earn for learning so much about the real thing, they can buy thumbtack armies and Post-It note ziggurats to help them conquer little squares on the classroom map and take over the land of other clans, who are busy doing the same thing. They are also learning about tax shelters (map squares with a ziggurat are not subject to the 50% temple tax on all other laminated land parcels), supply and demand (resources are limited and there are specified trading times when they can get what they need); the role of luck and fate (sometimes the best laid plans don't work out and some other team enslaves your thumbtack armies); and the importance of working together (groups who bicker--like governments who bicker--get a lot less accomplished).

Today, we had a little talk about the importance of keeping track of the money (unlike in the real world, my students can't go into debt to finance their militaries) and using their resources wisely. Which leads to the last lesson of this week: it's hard to get people to listen to reason when there is money and power to grab. Figuring out how to do this will solve a world of woes, both inside and out of the classroom. I'll let you know if I find an answer, but so far it's not looking good. As the only adult in a world of 12 year olds, I want to be the voice of wisdom, counseling prudence and productivity. But my students nod earnestly and, like organized humans everywhere, have exactly none of it. After all, if my neighbor's thumbtack armies are breathing down my neck, I'm not going to invest in a school for scribes no matter how many points it'll earn me. I'm going to the teacher and asking for more thumbtacks. If that results in an arms race, we'll have yet another lesson to learn. Stay tuned...

Happy Birthday to the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)

This Monday is the Prophet Muhammad's birthday, known as Mawlid, which in lowercase form can refer to any birthday celebration. (Of course, since the Muslim calendar is lunar, March 9 is the day it falls on this year. Next year, we'll celebrate it 11 days earlier.) We have Sunday off, our only three-day weekend, in honor of the day. Apparently, it doesn't matter which celestial body determines your calendar or which dead leader your culture chooses to honor, mid-week birthdays are always attached to the closest weekend. The Prophet himself is no different.

Most Muslims celebrate Mawlid, though in Saudi Arabia, they regard honoring Muhammad above other prophets as idol worship and point out that there is no evidence in the Quran that Muhammad celebrated his birthday during his lifetime. More's the pity because everyone else embraces the day with sweets for the kids and a day off for the adults. At school on Thursday (which is the equivalent of Friday, remember), kids were handing out candy and baklava-type desserts. One of my favorite advisees swept through the room on his way to lunch with three trays of a soft, chewy treat loaded with honey and pistachios. He demanded that I help myself to a generous portion in honor of the Prophet and looked visibly pained when I took a less (in his mind) celebratory slab. (It was delicious, but even the sweetest baklava has nothing on the pastry this kid was peddling.) I don't know if one's dedication to Muhammad correlates to the amount of sugar one consumes, but I felt I was doing my part.

In some countries there are parades and carnival-like celebrations. A quick glance through the search engines reveals not much going on the UAE other than youth group events (to take advantage of the day off from school). I will be preparing for a Mesopotamian-themed simulation activity and holding an optional softball practice, but thoroughly enjoying two days in a row of weekend. Mawlid Mubarak!

Survey says?

Yesterday the teachers at my school took the annual faculty survey. It was computerized and had an alphabet's worth of questions (literally! There were sections A-S...) about every possible aspect of our work lives, from the quality of classroom furniture to the finer points of parent communication. After putting aside the mental itchiness that comes from squishing complex issues into checkable boxes, I added my thoughts to the common pot. As faculty surveys go, it was comprehensive, but low key.

One question, though, has been hard to get out of my mind. It was actually a statement. The survey asked me to rate the strength of my feelings on a scale from "strongly disagree" (1) to "strong agree (5) or somewhere in between.

The statement was this: I am proud to be a teacher at (this school.)

I stopped and thought about it for a long time, then put a 3. I was a little bewildered to find myself in a situation where I would put less than 5. Teaching is not the kind of thing that comes in half measures. At least it never has before. Not being proud to be at my school was a disturbing surprise, made all the more disturbing by the fact that I'd never thought about it before. It got me thinking yet again about the paradox of sustainable work vs. true vocation. Is it possible to have a genuinely satisfying job and not be consumed by it? Is it OK in the ultimate, this-is-your-life sense not to be 'strongly' proud of what you do for a living? Does less than 100% proud translate into less than 100% commitment? Is less than 100% commitment OK when you're in the business of educating children? Why bother to give only 85%? Where does that 15% go? Is it waste or bankable energy?

It's not that I'm ashamed to be at my school. Not at all. I'm pleased to be here. The kids are wonderful; most parents are very chill. The curriculum is interesting, and I have a lot of freedom to try new things. The content standards are reasonable. There is no testing pressure. I have a laptop cart in my classroom (technically I have to share it, but ownership is 9/10ths of the law...). I still work one day on the weekend and several hours after school, but am rarely emotionally spent. It's a congenial, relatively stress-free environment, and most faculty members are invested in keeping it that way. I don't judge them for this. I, too, appreciate the cozy calm.

But this doesn't inspire feelings of pride--and I feel its absence like it's a whole empty wing of my internal structure. This has been a good thing to discover and ponder because part of the reason I'm in Abu Dhabi is a desire to explore sustainable ways of being a dedicated teacher. But is the cozy calm I feel at my school what sustainability is supposed to feel like? (Because if it is, then it's not really what I'm looking for...) What does sustainability feel like anyway? Is it possible to find a school with a stronger sense of itself and its mission, or more of a connection across the community that is ALSO a healthy, sustainable work environment?

Or maybe it is not possible to have both a strong community united by a common mission and a job that is relatively stress free and congenial. Maybe it is one or the other. I would appreciate your thoughts on the short survey below. I will not ask you to fit your thoughts into checkable boxes. I will ask you to help me find the answer to these plaguing questions.

1) Is it possible to be 100% dedicated and not be consumed by your work?

2) Is it possible to have a strong community united by a common mission AND a relatively stress free, congenial and sustainable environment? If so, please give an example of such a community. If not, what is a more realistic balance?

Sandy weather

As time passes, I'm developing a clearer picture of what the seasons in Abu Dhabi are really about. I landed in August in the middle of the damp oven of summer. Fall wasn't much of anything but steadily increasing puffs of cooler and cooler air from the north that eventually settled into the balmy nirvana known as "winter." Now the temperature is (regrettably) on its way back up. This is accompanied by a string of dust storms that mark the beginning of the Arabian spring.

Don't think of the Hollywood wall of sand that causes well-timed drama in movies like "The Mummy" and "Hidalgo," though those do exist out in the open desert. In Abu Dhabi, a dust storm blows in with the wind, much like loosely organized fog or smoke from a forest fire. The sand hangs in the air like soot, giving the sky (and everything else) a yellowish tinge. When you walk through it, you can actually feel the grains hitting your skin in the same way water droplets coalesce in a low cloud bank. There isn't much velocity in the middle of a city, though most people stay indoors. The sand finds its way through the cracks in windows and flows through the vents. Today, both K and I came home to a thin coating on tables, chairs and floors. The dry metallic smell was everywhere. There will be a very long line at the car wash tomorrow. That is assuming the storm has stopped. Last week, it took a few days before the sand was scrubbed from the air. A prevailing wind from the ocean helps, as does gravity. As for my apartment, there's nothing to do but bust out the vacuum cleaner, dust rags and a mop--repeatedly. If these dust storms keep coming, I might start looking forward to summer.

Not in California anymore...

[Probably not a post to read to grandmothers]

This Thursday, the apartments in my building were inspected by representatives of the Sharia Court. For those who don't know, the Sharia Court is the Islamic law compliance arm of the government here in the UAE. Civil law governs most areas of life, but family law (marriage, inheritance, etc.) is faith based. The Sharia Court in Abu Dhabi is known for its mellowness, especially compared to simliar courts in the region (ie: Saudi Arabia, Iran, Kuwait). It's rare that they even bother with non-Muslim foreigners. But they decided to bother with our building, tipped off (so rumor has it) by a disgruntled former colleague who claimed unmarried straight couples were living together in school apartments. Shacking up before marriage is an on-the-books no-no that is often ignored, don't ask-don't-tell style...until someone tells. Then the inspections start. Turns out, the couples in question are actually married--and were never living in the building to begin with. In fact, no one is shacking up in my building. Even the guy on the fourth floor with the Bulgarian flautist girlfriend usually goes to her place--and then only on the weekends.

There's nothing like having your privacy invaded to really get the red-white-and-blue juices flowing. Those freedoms we take for granted really come in handy sometimes--and you never really miss them until someone decides to inspect your apartment without your knowledge or permission on the basis of a crank tip from a moron with an axe to grind. Not that I'm bitter. Interestingly, the inspectors seemed to spend most of the their time in the bathroom. I guess that's the place to go for evidence of cohabitation. They left the fan on in K's bathroom, and noticeably moved both of our shower curtains. In the apartment of another colleague, all the lights were left on. She didn't know what had happened, so she thought her cats had suddenly found a way to work the switches. Luckily, the superintendent of the school emailed both K and me (and several others) so we knew we weren't going crazy (especially since we don't have cats to blame).

It was creepy to know someone else was going through my stuff. It was creepy knowing that they can do so at any time, though the likelihood of this happening again is extremely unlikely. I was a little chagrinned that I hadn't made the bed. I was relieved that I'd put away my bras (which until that morning were drying on the bathroom door knob). But why should I feel one way or the other? No one should have been in my apartment to begin with! I hate the idea of someone looking through my books (as they did at K's--and probably at mine, too, but my bookshelves aren't as neat as hers). And, at the same time, I might have earned a few Sharia points, thanks to my little sis, who lent me all the course material for her Vocabularies of Islam class. There were articles and books on Islam scattered all over the coffee table. And not just for show--I've actually been reading them. Ironically, the book on top of the stack was titled "The Place of Tolerance in Islam."

And that's why I also, to be honest, hate the idea of telling you all this. I don't want to confirm any preconceived ideas that I live in a theocratic police state. Because I don't...at least not most of the time. (I live on the same peninsula as one--and across the Persian Gulf from another. But here is nothing like that.) Nor do I blame all Muslims for condoning this kind of thing or point to something inherent within Islam that has inspired an institution like the Sharia Court. Christianity doesn't exactly have a pristine track record in this department either. (No one expects the Spanish Inquisition!)

I'm tempted at this point to keep on blogging about how perfectly reasonable, ancient faith-based movements for social reform and radical equality (as both Christianity and Islam were during the time of their respective prophets) could morph into rigid institutions in need of even more reform. But I'll spare you the religious history. Though, if I can stay ecumenical for one more minute and borrow from the Hindus, I hope karma really bites that damn ex-colleague in the butt.

Trippin' on citizenship

My advisees are 13 of the quirkiest 6th graders in the school. I love them all to pieces--and yet even I have to acknowledge that they are off-the-charts bizarre. We were talking about citizenship last month. Advisee groups were encouraged to identify a problem in the community and brainstorm ways of solving it. After that, they came up with an action plan and made it happen. Some teams found ways to help out the janitorial staff or the endangered Arabian falcon. One group is promoting an energy-free day. Another is raising money for children in Palestine.

My group chose mushrooms. Specifically, the role fungi play in preserving the environment. Apparently, they discussed this in science for about three minutes, and, man, did it stick. For awhile they wanted us to start a mushroom garden at school. When importing spores turned out to be a bureaucratic nightmare, they decided to write a play to educate others about the role of mushrooms in the ecosystem. A Powerpoint presentation will accompany the play to further spread the word about the importance of fungi. The play itself is called "Mario and his Amazing Mushrooms." It features Mario of Nintendo fame, a Charlie's Angels-esque trio named Shitake, Matake and Ling Chi, a grove of dying trees and two meddlin' kids who litter, drive a Hummer and generally cause mayhem. The thuggish kids start the mess, the trees dial Mario (on a cell phone, as they collapse dramatically) and the girls come and clean up the mess with their "mushroom power." And lest you are tee-heeing about a psychedelic angle, let me assure you that this is completely non-ironic, 100% wholesome weirdness.

Apparently 90% of the plant growth on the planet is aided by mushrooms and other fungus. Who knew? (My advisees, since you asked.) Without mushrooms, the soil would be almost useless. "Fungal mats" (fungus colonies) are among the largest biomasses on the planet and some cover up to 20,000 acres. There are between 1-2 million species of fungus on Earth, and apparently each plays a crucial role in keeping the system running smoothly.

We are performing for the 5th grade classes on Monday. I spent today coloring red polka-dotted mushroom cap hats for the the Charlie's Angel girls while the kid playing Mario found his inner Italian. (He went to a progressive school in Manhatten last year.) The trees lived and died several times, each more dramatically than the first. The thugs added a photo-snapping pantomime to their act. (They even pretend to shoot pictures while they are acting out a scene! See below for more on this whole "pose and shoot" phenomenon.) The dress rehearsal is Sunday. Wish us luck for our debut. We are discussing "kindness" next month. I can't wait to see what they'll come up with next...

Coach

As many of you know, I realized a lifelong dream this week and officially became a JV softball coach. In high school, some of my happiest moments were spent on the rough grassy diamond opposite the well-manicured varsity field. None of my closest friends played JV softball (though many great girls did). It wasn't even in the solar system of the cool sports, like soccer or lacrosse. But it was hugely fun and open to all. No one cared if you struck out or missed a pop fly. Our only batting sign involved the coach knocking his knees together and wildly shaking his arms. This signaled that we were not to swing at the next pitch because the girl on first was going to steal second. We had decent success at this, mostly because the other team was so flummoxed by our coach's behavior that they forgot to throw the ball. We never got tired of this sign, which (in addition to stunning the other team into submission) caused everyone in the dugout to collapse with laughter.

Now, I'm the coach, full of enthusiasm, if lacking in wacky humor. Not only that, I currently have 27 girls on a roster who actually call me "coach." This is because most of them are in high school and don't know my name. But I'm digging it anyway. We had tryouts yesterday and Sunday. Unlike my halcyon high school days, JV softball at my current school is a bit more cut-throat. For one thing, there isn't a varsity, so JV is the only option available. I have to get my list of 27 down to 13, which is the maximum I can have on the official league roster. I'm already dreading injecting disappointment into such a mellow game. Shaping a well-honed team is completely appropriate in basketball or soccer. But slo-pitch, JV softball, a game in which a lot of hustle or an earnest swing can turn the weakest link into the biggest hero in the blink of an eye? Maybe I should just draw names from a hat?

The official team list will be up by next Tuesday, and practices will start for real. We will have all of three games during the regular season (which lasts until mid-April), all with the largest American school in Dubai. Not surprisingly, this region doesn't field many girls softball teams, so we take what we can get. The season will culminate, as athletic seasons at international schools typically do, with a four-day tournament with similar schools from the region (in this case, the Gulf and Egypt). The school from Qatar is apparently the team to beat, but I think we have a chance. Not that it matters...

Stay tuned for softball updates, and feel free to share your own softball memories here...