Nonverbal communication

Monday was President's Day, and a holiday for my class. Tuesday's class was cancelled because of winter weather. Somehow, after only two days of class, the week still feels exhausting. 

I went to get my students this morning, taking a snap of Moby and I as I waited for the massive vehicle to warm up at least a little bit. Yep, you can see four rows of seats, two car-seats, and just out of the picture is the most unhelpful ice-scraper ever made. The ice scraper might be more helpful if I 

could fully reach the windscreen when standing on the ground.

Most of the caseworkers don't like to drive Moby, so I typically get the pleasure of driving him. At first, I was afraid, I was petrified (...Did you start singing too???) but I've gotten used to it. It makes me chuckle when I turn the ignition only to have our solitary cassette tape start blaring Nepali music.

Most of our students/clients live in a housing complex not far from my teaching site. We've established a meeting point at an old gas station. Almost every morning, I pull up to the gas station and see two of my most faithful Bhutanese students, waiting stoically in the cold, occasionally smoking a cigarette. 

For the entire first month, their faces were always serious and almost dispassionate. They rarely came to class in December. Their caseworker called them finally, asking if they would come to class in January. The caseworker (who is from the same cultural background) told me, "They said they will come. But you have to remember, they might not come. Culturally, they will always say yes, but that doesn't really mean yes." 

That first day in January, I drove to the gas station, wondering if I would have any students at all. It always makes me smile to see my students standing in a line outside the gas station, patiently waiting for me in front of the "No Loitering" sign. The men dress in Western clothes, although sometimes they are wearing the traditional cloth hat called a topi. The older women are always awash in colors, wearing traditional cloth wrapped around their thin bodies in blues, reds, and yellows.  

Since that day in January, there have always been at least two men waiting for me at that stop. Sometime in January, despite the arctic temperatures, something thawed in our relationship. Now, Naina Singh and Sher Man return my smile and wave as they finish their smoking and climb into the van. As new students arrive, these two men shepherd them into the van, showing them how to buckle seat belts or open the door. They proudly say, "Good morning, teacher!" 

I should add that my conversations in the van are hilarious. By the end of my trip to collect students, there are normally at least two languages being spoken, and sometimes as many as five or six. Most of our students live in proximity to others who share their language. If absent students are part of the Nepali community, I'll normally ask Sher Man or Naina Singh if they know if they are coming. The response is a flurry of Nepali directed at me, which is completely incomprehensible to me, and then a much more helpful "Go" or a hand gesture to wait longer. 

There are several new students who live in a housing complex adjacent to the apartment block. One woman, Dil Maya (which is an incredibly common Nepali name judging by how many Dil Mayas are in our program), has been running late most days. As a result, I've begin to drive by her building on my return trip, hoping to hurry our departure a little bit. She wasn't at the gas station today, so I asked my regulars if she was coming. I got shrugs in response and gestures to drive past her house. I acquiesced and slowed down as I drove by her house. A man was standing on the stoop, smoking a cigarette, watching us with mild interest. Sher Man caught his eye, and through entirely non-verbal communication, managed to communicate that we were wondering if Dil Maya would join us today. The man went into the house, came back out, responded with a hand wave of his own, and Sher Man informed me, "She not come today." There was no need for a cell phone! 

I had to share this last picture. I keep reminding myself that I need to slow down. I have misread a number of things because I'm reading really quickly. I was substituting for another English teacher a few weeks ago. Her class is held in a local Baptist church. As I got on the elevator, I glanced at this sign:

At first glance, I thought it said, "Please do not pray on the elevator!" That seemed a trifle odd, particularly in a church!