I'm no sha'er, but I love a good kaseedeh

Today we had the second group of teacher trainers graduate. They were fantastic. I really enjoyed learning about them. Today they were very alive and there were quite a few tears. A U.S. Embassy official spoke to me after that there is something very unusual and powerful going on with our groups. And I agree. I think there is something electric. Many shared poems, expressed thanks, and stated that they would, indeed, teach other teachers about how to motivate and inspire students through language. We spoke of the power of words over guns, and how it is dangerous but necessary to hope. I love my job.

And besides, I learned to do a dance. I'm afraid, however, that all video evidence of Shane dancing to Arabic music was strangely destroyed in a sandstorm. So sorry.

I did, however, get a video of some of the teachers trying to teach me Arabic so that I could write poetry to my wife. Throughout the training, a few have expressed sadness that I have been apart from her and they know that I have stated that while I don't have culture shock when I am teaching, I feel it when I leave the hotel to go back to the tiny compound. There are sandbags instead of toys. Sounds of helicopters and rifle practice instead of, well, normal sounds.

And I have noticed that most of my culture shock comes in not having the small things, like watching my wife tell a story while we put away dishes together, or see her smile when she has made one of her patented "breakthroughs" ("Honey," she'll say, "I just had a breakthrough") I like the particular cadence of her daily thoughts.

Now I'm fairly certain that she doesn't speak Arabic (I haven't precisely asked her, so I guess there's an outside chance), but hey! Comprehension is overrated when we are attempting to speak the language of love. You'll have to forgive the total lack of verbs, pronouns, particles, etc. Call it Arabic free verse, if you will. Here goes my poem:

Mushtaklek. Mushtaklek, habibi.
Beash?
Hwajeh.
Leash?
Tedree?
Ahebek.
Ahebek hwajeh.
Mushtaklek. Mushtaklek, habibi.