I never ever talk about Amira except for maybe my initial post- She’s the lady of an ambiguous age, with the super mysterious past culminating in converting to Islam (or rather, “reverting” to Islam. Islam is the “natural” state of human existence, so you don’t convert to Islam, you revert back to the way things should be..) and moving from Jersey ( shout out to The Squan!) with her FIVE teenage sons. I find her completely intriguing. She is smart and hysterical and I’m enjoying her immensely. She’s also consistently late- a trait I meet with fierce gazes, audible sighs of exasperation, and flashing pen to the attendance sheet with my students, but which I find oddly endearing with her- she comes in in a great frenzy, burka whipping about, waving her gigantic hands in the air (seriously though, think Seinfeld, the lady with man-hands episode), flinging papers about and causing quite a stir. She has not been forthcoming about her story, ergo I have not inquired.
I never saw too much of her, she lives all the way in Sheikh and clearly has her hands full with five boys to look after. Also I have always taught early mornings, she in the evenings. But now with Ramadan hitting mid-session, none of the teachers wanted mornings – just imagine, teacher and teenage/whiny students, listless and unmotivated, ravaged by dehydration and hypoglycemia, endeavoring to retain our spirits and keep our thoughts on Allah-and grammar… sounds like pure misery, and yes, it kinda is. So she was able to request mornings and I continued to be stuck with them. Mornings are, shall we say, difficult for me. I pretty much look and feel like hell. I have a wild mane of hair, I wear a sleepy mask- so the first light of the morning is a shock to my system, and before I put my contacts in I’m blind as a d-word bat wearing my huge, coke-bottle glasses. In an extremely uncharitable moment, my beloved college roommates gave me the sobriquet, “mole-face” as I emerge from my little cocoon squinting, and stumbling into the light of day [see fig. 1]
Pre-Ramadan, because of my recent addition of a French press AND Starbucks coffee Amira, Ansam- another Yemeni teacher, and I made plans to meet in the teacher's room in the morning before class- I to make fresh brewed coffee, Amira to bring some homemade banana muffins. I awoke in the morning in my usual fog, groaning because it was even earlier than usual but I instantly perked up at the thought of an actual bakery-like item. When I got to Amideast, no Amira. Okay, that’s fine, I thought, I’ll just enjoy a delicious, life-giving cup by myself. Time continued its inevitable ascent and still no Amira. The brief window we had for our breakfast date involved me genteelly sipping coffee, staring across the expanse of the conference table at Ansam, both of us staring at the clock, back at each other and then giggling uncomfortably for absolutely no reason. Where the hell were our muffins?!
Amira is known as a strict teacher I am…not.
So during breaks I’ll go into her class and talk for a few minutes- it’s hysterical because we just feed off each other. It’s awesome to have a fast-talking American and we get each other all riled up talking about cultural absurdities/outrages, social and sartorial faux pas, making fun of our students (no we don't!), and our fervent desires to hold “social cues and awareness” classes for all of Yemen. The students look on with open-mouthed awe because we are talking soo fast, using slang and expressions, and just cracking up. It’s all just highly unprofessional. This is a side of their reserved, middle-agedish (?) teacher that they don’t really get to see, and they just love it.
The other day I gave her the name and number of my realtor so she could move closer to Amideast. After giving it the once over she cavalierly, albeit inadvertently (or so she claims!) cast it to the floor with out another glance. I took this as the incredible personal affront it so clearly was and used the proceeding moments to cast vociferous aspersions on her character and castigate her for her blatant perfidy and disregard for our glorious friendship.
Amira: Okay yes, yes, I realize this was a total betrayal but first, may I just inquire, when exactly did we form this “glorious friendship” I guess I’m not sure about the timeline.
Taryn: Oh? Well clearly we first embarked on this journey called friendship about six months ago we found ourselves sitting on a bench in a derelict medical clinic getting government mandated HIV tests. We looked around, saw the array of dirty bandages, and bloody swabs strewn about the room, made eye contact, and the rest is history.
Amira: Ahhh yes, that was a pretty great moment for us, you’re right. But glorious…?
Taryn: I know! Then we had about five months of occasional office sightings, one teachers meeting when you quibbled with Kors about spelling lists for an hour and threatened to ruin our friendship forever , but then there was that time when you stood me up for pre-classes mini breakfast THREE days in a row…
Amira: and that was when our glorious friendship started…?
Taryn: well duh.
I never saw too much of her, she lives all the way in Sheikh and clearly has her hands full with five boys to look after. Also I have always taught early mornings, she in the evenings. But now with Ramadan hitting mid-session, none of the teachers wanted mornings – just imagine, teacher and teenage/whiny students, listless and unmotivated, ravaged by dehydration and hypoglycemia, endeavoring to retain our spirits and keep our thoughts on Allah-and grammar… sounds like pure misery, and yes, it kinda is. So she was able to request mornings and I continued to be stuck with them. Mornings are, shall we say, difficult for me. I pretty much look and feel like hell. I have a wild mane of hair, I wear a sleepy mask- so the first light of the morning is a shock to my system, and before I put my contacts in I’m blind as a d-word bat wearing my huge, coke-bottle glasses. In an extremely uncharitable moment, my beloved college roommates gave me the sobriquet, “mole-face” as I emerge from my little cocoon squinting, and stumbling into the light of day [see fig. 1]
Pre-Ramadan, because of my recent addition of a French press AND Starbucks coffee Amira, Ansam- another Yemeni teacher, and I made plans to meet in the teacher's room in the morning before class- I to make fresh brewed coffee, Amira to bring some homemade banana muffins. I awoke in the morning in my usual fog, groaning because it was even earlier than usual but I instantly perked up at the thought of an actual bakery-like item. When I got to Amideast, no Amira. Okay, that’s fine, I thought, I’ll just enjoy a delicious, life-giving cup by myself. Time continued its inevitable ascent and still no Amira. The brief window we had for our breakfast date involved me genteelly sipping coffee, staring across the expanse of the conference table at Ansam, both of us staring at the clock, back at each other and then giggling uncomfortably for absolutely no reason. Where the hell were our muffins?!
Amira is known as a strict teacher I am…not.
So during breaks I’ll go into her class and talk for a few minutes- it’s hysterical because we just feed off each other. It’s awesome to have a fast-talking American and we get each other all riled up talking about cultural absurdities/outrages, social and sartorial faux pas, making fun of our students (no we don't!), and our fervent desires to hold “social cues and awareness” classes for all of Yemen. The students look on with open-mouthed awe because we are talking soo fast, using slang and expressions, and just cracking up. It’s all just highly unprofessional. This is a side of their reserved, middle-agedish (?) teacher that they don’t really get to see, and they just love it.
The other day I gave her the name and number of my realtor so she could move closer to Amideast. After giving it the once over she cavalierly, albeit inadvertently (or so she claims!) cast it to the floor with out another glance. I took this as the incredible personal affront it so clearly was and used the proceeding moments to cast vociferous aspersions on her character and castigate her for her blatant perfidy and disregard for our glorious friendship.
Amira: Okay yes, yes, I realize this was a total betrayal but first, may I just inquire, when exactly did we form this “glorious friendship” I guess I’m not sure about the timeline.
Taryn: Oh? Well clearly we first embarked on this journey called friendship about six months ago we found ourselves sitting on a bench in a derelict medical clinic getting government mandated HIV tests. We looked around, saw the array of dirty bandages, and bloody swabs strewn about the room, made eye contact, and the rest is history.
Amira: Ahhh yes, that was a pretty great moment for us, you’re right. But glorious…?
Taryn: I know! Then we had about five months of occasional office sightings, one teachers meeting when you quibbled with Kors about spelling lists for an hour and threatened to ruin our friendship forever , but then there was that time when you stood me up for pre-classes mini breakfast THREE days in a row…
Amira: and that was when our glorious friendship started…?
Taryn: well duh.
[fig. 1] Heyy you big pretty!
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