Saturday, May 22, 2010

Mistah Scahtt


Today I'm going to write about the only person who has faced the whole length of the Iraq experience with me. His name is Scott Welsh. He is originally from Phoenix, although he has spent time in China, Taiwan, and has vast experience in South Asian cultures.

I am fascinated by his stories of those cultures much like Marie fascinated me with her talk of the Middle East (she lived in Iran and Saudi Arabia). He sports a goatee, prefers jeans to slacks (me too!), and loves himself an iced tea.
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He and I are different in a lot of regards-I think I'm more of a touchy-feely teacher, and I'd describe him as more gifted than me at breaking down difficult information and making it appear accessible, fascinating even (he's the Malcolm Gladwell of ESL teachers). While he tends to view things through a leftist lens, and I tend to see things through a right-leaning or moderate lens, I never feel threatened for sharing my view, and he always listens carefully. He and I find common ground in a surprising number of areas, something that may or may not surprise him, but is certainly refreshing for me.
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And yet, through all of our differences, I find that there is a lot more I share in common with him. We are both children of the 80's and can finish each other's lines when we are quoting from an 80's movie or song. We both love music, love the mind-expanding nature of being inside other cultures, and like the possibility of having our paradigms shift as a result. And so I wanted to make sure that I wrote down a few of my thoughts about why I'm glad he came along to make this whole experience more bearable. You'll excuse me if this gets to sound like a eulogy. (Dear Scott's mom: he's just fine.)
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Scott cares about others. He is generous, perhaps to a fault, and I have noticed how he tends to make sure that people are taken care of. Case in point: He found out that one of the guards here likes the TV show Lost. Since then, Scott goes out of his way to make sure the guard is invited to watch the show with us each Friday. He gives considerate gifts consistently (a candy bar for me on my birthday, a Corona for Kim on hers), and makes sure that everyone has an equal say. He is an egalitarian in the best of ways: by paying attention to the details of others' lives.

But here's another thing I like that swings him in another direction. Scott also pays attention to the big picture. Since he is a political soul (and I mean that in the best sense I can) he cares about the world outside of himself. He is one willing to defend his views both with his own experiences and with a rational discussion about world events. He definitely sees victims - winners and losers - in his tapestry of intellectual discussion, and it is enjoyable to see him weave world events into a cohesive whole. I get a sense that he cares for those who have been wronged and has a strong distaste for corruption, and I think that is why I naturally get along with him. He likes to defend the little guy, widen perspectives with information, and employ rigorous intellect to do so.

But really, really, the thing that makes this whole Baghdad thing an easier pill to swallow is that he is a clown. As you can imagine, there is so little normalcy in our compound inside the international zone--including its location. On one side of us there a military base, on another we just miss bordering the Tigris river, and on the other two sides we border mostly abandoned landmarks of a once-vaunted regime (Google "Crossing Swords Monument"). So in this place where things are far from normal, nothing is more necessary than the willingness to find humor and a chance for fun in everything.

And Scott, you see, knows how to make Baghdad fun! He plays with language and gives excellent one-liners. He is never so seriously entrenched in discussion that he won't allow the freedom to laugh and make others laugh. Nothing epitomizes this better than his willingness to act the part of a genie in a small home video I made for my kids. He dressed up in complete genie attire, and ad-libbed a scene that had the kids back at home responding to him as if it were live. In the video I rub a "magic lamp." Scott hid behind a curtain until it was his cue.

"Hey kids!" Said Scott the genie. His head swayed behind a curtain that he placed perfectly in front of him, making it appear that his head was floating above the lamp. This prompted children to call this (and I quote) "cool" and "creepy."

Scott knows how to have fun.

And so it should come as no surprise that we have decorated a bedroom entirely in silly pictures to welcome back an AED employee who arrived yesterday. Nor should it surprise you that he spearheads chess tournaments (to which I consistently decline), gin rummy events (of which he accuses Kim of cheating), and has tried to acculturate as many people as possible to the world of "Dr. Horrible's Sing -along Blog. "

"Bad horse," we'll sing at the Al Rasheed as we get ready for classes, "the thoroughbred of sin / he got your application / you just sent in ..."

Okay. I guess you'll have to see it.

So anyway, Scott makes this entire surreal ride just a little more fun. We all find ourselves looking at Baghdad in a more appreciative way, and I believe that because of Scott the surreal images all around us are imbued with the natural movement of a Salvador Dali painting.

So to Scott I just want to say: thanks for making the ride a little less bumpy. Good companions on a rough road will do that.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

The Excitement of Success

Students make the letters, "ASU"! Here they come!

I hope the Iraqi trainers don't mind that I post a few emails I have recently received from them. Some recently wrote me to give me updates on their own training and some because they have been accepted for additional training stateside. Since teachers like me don't generally get paid in cash, and I submit that we are not crazy (at least a great many of us), than there must be something else we get paid in. Here is that something.

Hello Shane,

This is Hawzhen, the actor! I am doing well. It is really great to hear from you. The workshops changed my lifestyle in everything, not only teaching. We came back to our college and really did a great job. We held meetings with other teachers to discuss what we learned from Baghdad.

Thanks for your help. I will get passport in the next three or four days. I have sent 2 emails for Husna and asked for the deadline, but she has not answered me yet. Anyhow, I will get it and send it to her. I wish to see you and the other dear teachers, who have really showed and opened new gates for my life career (that's teaching).

Please, if you are in Baghdad, take care of yourself. Pass my greetings to the other great teachers.

Send you all my love from my heart,

Hawzhen

Hi Shane,

There is a statement that says "he who is away from the eyes is away from the heart," but I think you and other wonderful team reversed this meaning. Believe me, I remember you every time whenever you spoke about teaching and humanity. I respect the man who left his family and came to country with so much unrest to teach and help Iraqi teachers.

Dheyaa

Dear Shane,

I'm so happy to hear from you and I hope you, your wife and the three lovely kids are OK. Really, I miss you and your lectures so much.

I'd like to tell you that we have been chosen for a 7-week workshop at Arizona University the next month and we are so eager to see you, Scott, and Marie.

Untill then, see you and may God saves you and be in peace

Regards,

Hasan Hameed

Hi Shane

I want to let you know that I have started a new stage in my teaching because of what I got from the training course. I discovered that there is inside me a great teacher that can emerge. For the first time I feel that my students really like what I give them; and that they can enjoy reading plays and even some of them try to give me ideas of how to appreciate what they've got.

I remember that I told you that I would use the strategies I have got for the course in my drama class and with Sami's help ... we are doing it. Thanx for the nice photo.

Be safe, be happy and always take care.

Yours,
Amaal J.

Hello Sir,

I hope you are fine.

I do miss you and miss to your kindly and lovably words in your speech and your romantic songs. I wish you to send me your kind and romantic songs, especially with their words in order to sing them with my students.

By the way, I am gonna teach English as a Second Language in the Lebanon Institute in Anbar Governance besides doing my current job as a teacher of English language and literature at Ramadi High School.

I am gonna follow your ways and steps of teaching. Am looking forward to meeting you all once again in near future. Thanks a lot.

Best Regards ...

Mustafa R. Ali

Hello, Shane!


How are you? I'm MARWA from the trainers 4 ever and this is my email. I want to tell you that I recevied an invitation to go to America and visit your university.

When Ussama told me I danced in the school and in that moment I thought that my heart will stop from the happiness because I remember when I told you that maybe one day we will meet in AMERICA. I think when he said these words the doors of the sky were opened.

See you in your country and I hope you keep in touch with me.

Marwa

Friday, May 14, 2010

"It Don't Mean a Thing..."


"I am incapable of telling you not to feel. Feel, feel, I say-feel for all you're worth, and even if it half kills you, for that is the only way to live, especially to live at this terrible pressure, and the only way to honor and celebrate these admirable beings who are our pride and our inspiration. "

I remember the first time I heard a bomb here in Iraq. I had to sit down and I almost cried. I thought of children wailing at the scene of the incident. I imagined women huddled over bodies. I thought of sirens, gurneys, body bags, shouting, looking amidst rubble, and I thought of all of the unspeakable realities that were associated with this sound. This sound seemed to reverberate clear through the walls and shake me. I had never heard a sound quite like it.

Now, almost five weeks from that event, I wonder if I haven't become callous. I am, in fact, still seeing and hearing incredible events that you would think I might blog about. For example, I spoke to a man just yesterday who tells how his security team was caravanning across a bridge in armored vehicles. Just then a bomb went off underneath the last car, an armored Hyundai, lifting it several feet in the air. Upon touching the ground again (the man telling me the story smiled as he said this part) there was nothing for the pasengers to do but keep on driving. The team in front of them simply laughed and laughed as those in the Hyundai cursed their luck with a series of expletives, gestures, and facial expressions.

And among my own students there have been incidents, though I am happy to report that they are all safe. Here are two of the latest excuses my students have had for being late to our workshop (all verified, by the way, in case you thought we might have students come up with creative excuses):
1. A bomb blew out the windows of my home
2. The checkpoint in front of us was bombed, so we had to find an alternate route

So, yeah, I guess having your home nearly bombed is a pretty good excuse.

And here is the thing that you may have noticed if you have followed my blog ... I haven't even thought of writing these experiences down lately. And it makes me wonder why. You'll notice the quote that I put up above. It's by Henry James, an American novelist who spent much of his life writing fiction until the last days of his life. As World War I rolled into his life, he took a drastic turn from writing fiction to trying to help in the war effort. He visited soldiers, hospitals, wrote pamphlets, and above all, he tried to praise those who were doing what he thought was a noble work. The quote I selected, in particular, speaks to the absolute human necessity of not losing yourself in the midst of so much chaos.

Andy, a recent patron of our security compound / hotel, told us to take pictures the first two weeks. He said, "after two weeks" and he paused when he said this, "everything will just start appearing so normal." And today I had a similar conversation with a US embassy worker, Steve, who stated that it was impossible to spend a lot of time here without becoming somewhat, well, crazed. When it starts to appear normal, we decided, that is when we realize that we have become abnormal.

And what HAS become abnormal about me? I wondered this evening as I spoke to Kim. Kim is the new teacher who is soaking in this experience with fervor. She is taking pictures to the point of reckless abandon, even asking for pictures of the soldiers at the security checkpoint - um, probably not the BEST idea, Kim:). As we spoke she told me that she wrote in some detail about the students' experience at the bombed checkpoint, and I realized it hadn't even occurred to me to write about it. She told me (and I'm paraphrasing), "It's like it didn't even faze the students. They just found another route. Like it was normal ... "

And that is when I realized that it struck me as normal as well. It was another bomb. It was another incident. It was an inconvenience for my students to get around. I didn't imagine the death. I didn't think of the implications of a bomb or a shooting. It was just something that happens.

And the thing is, I SHOULD feel. I need to desperately feel this. It is wrong for it to be just some event that happens every day. It is, in a portion of Scott's words (you can guess the rest), "messed up."

Yes it is. And to not feel it, to shut it away, to pretend that it is normal, in my view, is one of the biggest mistakes I could make. I have learned to love so many of the people here. There is so much goodness throughout all of Iraq. By the way, I'm not trying to claim a political stance one way or the other, and I'm not preaching pacifism; I'm just talking about human life. The whole point I'm trying to make is something that goes way beyond politics. If you think I'm making a statement about war or American involvement or anything remotely like that, let me suggest you re-read what I'm saying. There are BAD dudes here, let's make no mistake. And that is why I am so afraid, because you see, there is Wafaa, too.

Wafaa is the teacher trainer who called me yesterday with excitement in her voice she could barely contain. She said that she was so excited to be training, and that the training was working. "Now I know why you were always smiling," she says. We discuss my own enthusiasm for teacher training and why I love it. Then she continues.

"I trained 13 teachers these last two weeks and I'll be teaching more." Then she speaks of the stories that I used in my own training. "I'm using your cake story," she says, "and I tell them about elephants."

Today I opened an email today and saw 10 pictures that Wafaa sent me from Basra with all 13 of her teachers. They stare out at me eager, young, and wide-eyed. And so forgive me for being a little nervous if I hear a report this week that a bomb in the city center of Basra killed more than a dozen people.

You see, I just HAVE to feel.

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Back to Life...Back to (Sur)reality

I’m back in Baghdad. I’m back in Baghdad. I’m back in Baghdad. Even as I write it, it is hard to believe. It is strange to have an airplane touch down on a landscape like this and have it feel familiar: the armored vehicles, the blast walls lining the streets, the sound of helicopters, and the feel of the dust in the air. It is like returning to Kansas after being in Oz. It just feels odd.

You see, Istanbul felt like Oz. I arrived there last Thursday and saw an explosion of color. In Baghdad I had forgotten it was spring, but in Istanbul it was everywhere obvious. I saw the blue of the seashore, the yellow tulips, and the green hillsides. The air felt crisp and cool as Marie, Scott, and I boarded the taxi to head to our hotel. The word “freedom” kept creeping up on me as an adjective for the air.

But that’s ridiculous.

So I was in Turkey and our next session with trainees was a week and a half away, and I was ready for the respite away from the confines of the green zone. That was clear. However, what was not clear (at least not to my wife) was that I wasn’t going to spend my R&R in Turkey. I was flying home to Arizona! Maybe that is why I kept smiling as tulips danced past my window on my ride in the taxi. She really had no idea.

I had been mildly confident she hadn't caught on to this fact for some time, and became even more confident just the day before when I learned she was trying to arrange to meet me in Istanbul. She had found a 24-hour passport place and was looking into airplane tickets. I, on the other hand, was staying in Istanbul for only a few hours before boarding Delta Flight 702 to New York City, to board yet another flight two hours later to Phoenix.

Thus realizing that my wife was planning on meeting me in a city thousands of miles away caused me, as you can imagine, some anxiety. This anxiety led me to seek the support of Dixie’s family (MY family) in the form of the following email:

Family! I just found out for sure that I can and will be coming home on April 29th (late this FRIDAY!!!!) for a few days. However, Dixie knows nothing about this and I'd like to keep her in the dark about this because 1. I'm evil (who would have guessed? Really: who?) 2. It's way more fun (this means that I am telling gobs of lies to her about a trip to Turkey that I am taking with the other teachers).

However, now Dixie has been talking about going to Turkey to visit me there. This would be, well, very bad, since I'll be IN ARIZONA. Agh. This is why lies are no good. So I need family intervention. I was hoping I could count on family like you (meaning that believe you are supportive, not devious, but whatever).

I was hoping for a few things. 1. Someone to pick me up from the airport. (Please?) 2. Someone to tell Dixie that flying to Turkey is impractical (I can't watch your kids, one-day passport services are unreliable, flights to Turkey all plunge into the depths of the ocean--you get the gist) 3. A team to help watch the kids on Saturday (or at least Saturday night) so I can take Dixie out on the town. Please let me know who is in and what you'd like to contribute. You can also come up with your own assignments and let me know what you'd like to contribute. I'll be in Arizona for four full days (Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday), so anyone who'd like to help out in any way can feel free. Thanks SO much. Shane


Within hours I had received a flood of emails from willing participants (Shumways are natural and professional performers, so I was in good hands). While I flew to Arizona, I knew that plans were being made and lies told. What can I say about such malevolent behavior but that my family is awesome? For those family members, I’m (right now) giving you a standing ovation here in Baghdad, right in front of a small desk in a small room in a small compound in this small part of the world that I am growing to love. Bravo.

So here is the Cliff Notes version of the performance after I arrived in Phoenix:
Act 1: Adam and Dana picked me up from the airport. Porter and Lana offered their home as the place we would surprise Dixie. Jere and Allison came over to join in the celebration. Porter called her and asked her to come over. She was already asleep (it was almost 11 at night), but the tone in Porter's voice made her think something was seriously wrong (probably not the NICEST thing to do to someone whose husband is in Iraq, but effective nonetheless).
Act 2: She came in to the front room where we were all seated, although I was positioned away from the door so that she could only see me if she walked in and turned around…which is precisely what happened. She walked in, said, “what?” and then saw a mishmash of expressions (some acted concerned, some looked excited). She sat down in a chair exactly opposite me and looked at each person’s face until she reached mine. It looked almost staged it was so perfect.

And then she caught my eyes.

As she explains it, she saw me, recognized that the dude sitting in the couch looked a lot like the guy she calls her husband, but for the life of her, she couldn’t get her brain to accept the fact that it WAS me. I was in Turkey. It is on the other side of the world. Don’t you know?

Finally, as she realized that it was indeed me and not some strange doppleganger Shane, she broke out into smiles, then a shout for joy, and then we hugged.

It was then that I knew that there is no place like home.
Love you, Dixie. Happy Birthday and Happy Mother’s Day.

*And to those grammar teachers who are quick to point out that “freedom” is a noun rather than an adjective, let me kindly remind you that nouns, indeed, often serve as adjectives (apple juice, freedom fighters). Just sayin’.