Television

"Watching television is like taking

black spray paint to your third eye."

- Bill Hicks

I love a good television program. But not all the time.

And certainly, I visioned a lot more telly when I was younger. But I could only vegetate when I got home from school. Held fast to two hours per night, with the bonus of movies on weekend nights. Even then it was a lot.

But now, is generations of technology from then. I cannot believe the sheer amount of television watching that happens on laptops at school. Social networking is barely a blip on the radar. Seasons of television are consumed as though in a vacuum. Students frequently plug-in on their breaks and I can't help but wonder what its like in other schools? In a sense I feel like I'm waking up to just how much we consume popular media.

I feel like I didn't have as many things to distract me as a student. At least media consumption wasn't AS accessible. I feel fortunate having grown up during an age without quite as much technological temptation. 

As educators we can learn a lot from the choices students make. How much of their incessant television watching should be blamed on the system in which we operate? Beyond their unfortunate consumptive habits the students are often quite brilliant, and always friendly and polite.

Many will know that I'm as much fascinated with the advancement of technology and understanding as the as the next guy. I believe we, as a human organism, are discovering just how magical we are with every waking moment. The future knows possibilities about which we can't even dream.

But if we are to endorse technology and its possibilities, then we must aspire to give students' an education at least as interesting as their distractions of choice. We need to create a diversity of opportunities and experiences which stir their emotions and ignite their interests. Simple sounding prescription. No other instructions on the bottle.

Sometimes I feel like I'm bending over backwards trying to rouse their interest in... well, anything. It's a defeating feeling for sure, and I imagine teachers of all subjects understand the sensation of being at the end of your creative potential.

Fortunately, it only takes one learning-loving student to rejuvenate my own passion for education.

This week I invited students to reflect on their midterm performance. I invited them to share their most valuable “learnings”.

One student wrote the following:

“Biology is a course I've always liked and had a passion for.” She describes her desire to study medicine, and her fascination with the development of life.

“The most important thing I've learnt so far is that hard work actually pays off... now I do [my assignments] days before its time to submit and do research whenever I need further explanation.”

My heart warmed from her love for learning. Her enthusiasm is contagious.

At the end of the day, after closing up the classroom, I passed this same student/aspiring physician on the stairwell.

She was sitting at the side, notebook on her lap, scribbling thirstily at the homework I'd only assigned ten-minutes ago. She couldn't wait to get home to start in on the homework. I pinch myself. 

What's more incredible is that her learning is the result of her own passion for the subject. It is her OWN. Not what I, as a teacher she must listen to, have been imparting. She supplements her learning regularly, and wants to discover more. A delight to teach and learn from.

Through my various experiences in education, I keep arriving at the same conclusion: there's nothing more challenging than getting an inert student to care. It's a lot easier when the goal is to help her find something about which she already cares.

When we enjoy what we're doing, when we pursue our cares and curiosities, we tap into a sense of willingness.

How can we remodel our teaching methods to focus on helping students develop the willingness to learn in an age of exponential technology?

How can we help students care enough about something that they genuinely enjoy pursuing? Something worth pursuing more than screen-gazing? How can we make education ever-relevant for individual students in our rapidly evolving society?

Then again, perhaps it's not the education paradigm that needs shifting. Maybe its just be the students, the generation.

But I find this latter option improbable. After all, the students are often brilliant.

Found Treasures

"I'm an adventurer, looking for treasure." 

- Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

After the physics class cleared out for lunch today, I jumped into my usual routine of tidying up the classroom. The desks and chairs are usually scattered after my busiest class.

Sometimes, while tidying, I find little treasures. Usually they come in the form of shreds of confetti, or larger pieces of paper which serve as excellent scrap writing surfaces. I also sometimes find pencil shavings, and empty water bottles. But today, well, today was a special day indeed.

While sweeping up small squares of ripped paper, I spotted the sheen of sunlight glancing off of polished plastic. Nestled tightly in the cramped quarters between the floor, the foot of the desk, and the wall I saw a perfectly preserved pen, complete with a shiny cap and all!

This may sound like mild fun to some of you, but I assure you the value of such a find is far from trivial. Just as the youngster who discovers his dreams in the bottom of the Cracker Jack box, I felt a rush of joy course through my limbs, and goosebumps prickled down my spine. I picked it up, glanced around half-expecting to see it's owner returning to claim it as though it were a lost puppy. When I took the cap off and put the ball-point to a sticky note, the ink flowed flawlessly. Perfectly tamed black ink seemed to hover, glimmering, over the waiting page, eventually succumbing to gravity, sinking into dry, smudge-free permanence.

I've been looking for a black pen for weeks now. I lost my last one to a yearning student a few weeks ago, and have been settling for the use of blunt ended pencils or the bleeding sting of red ink in my agenda, and for my notes. The process of jotting ideas has indeed become somehow painful in the void of unclear writing utensils.

Some of you may be asking yourselves why I didn't simply buy a pen. Heck, you may be asking yourselves why I didn't buy several pens, in some sort of combo pack.

And truthfully, I can't give you a good answer. I suppose I hadn't really realized just how important having a new pen would mean to me. I've spent so much time focusing on other things, that I failed to notice what a hindrance my inklessness had been to my productivity. How could I possibly prioritize solving a problem I didn't know I had, until I stumbled across the solution?

This afternoon has been rich with legible lists, and joyful scribbles. I found myself wondering about the kids who often ask for pens in lieu of money at various touristy spots I've been in Ghana. What potential power can be found in the unwritten words contained in ink-filled tubules the world over? What treasures lie right under our noses?

Fears

"How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads; to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams."

- Bram Stoker

A few weeks ago I was enjoying one of my better sleeps of the past few months. Sweat-free and dream-laden. I don't remember exactly what I was dreaming about, but I'm sure an observer would have noticed a subtle smile on my face.

It's a bit of a creepy picture, to imagine being watched while you sleep. And yet, while I was sleeping, I somehow sensed it. It's the strangest feeling, sensing another's gaze, and I think many of us can relate to it. Like human beings can communicate telepathically in some way.

Anyway, I tried to ignore my sensations of an onlooker, but soon felt an itch on my cheek. And I realized what exactly my intruder was.

I swatted at what I believed to be a mosquito buzzing around my face, and felt the rigid, twitching body of an enormous cockroach who was napping on my cheek. We both woke up faster than a lightning strike as I launched him like a shot putter.

Unfortunately (fortunately), I sleep with a mosquito net around my bed which prevented me from putting a lot of distance between myself and the bug. I could see the silhouette of my exoskeletal bunkmate dangling from the mesh. I had thrown him right into a soft landing pad, and he was now scurrying up to the highest point of my anti-malarial fortress.

I'd never realized how much I don't like the thought of scurrying until that moment. And yet, I couldn't help myself as I scurried from under the net to the floor. I jerked upright in the darkness, as though someone had poured cold water down my back, and jumped on the light switch.

Squinting in the brightness, I assessed the situation. There was a cockroach. It had tapdanced on my face, and after we both had a minor panic attack, it was now trying to hide in the folds at the top of the mosquito net.

I must've stood frozen for ten minutes, trying to negotiate a way back to bed. I don't like killing things in general, but then again I'd never had a fear of cockroaches until I almost inhaled one.

I have not experienced the immense irrationality of fear in quite some time. My heart beat too quickly for my thoughts, and I couldn't sort out my next action. I was gripped in a logic-less state, and could do nothing but watch the bug through the mesh.

In the end it wasn't pretty. I decided that I couldn't touch the cockroach again, that would be too icky. I considered shaking him out onto the floor, but as logic wafted back through my foggy consciousness it occurred to me that he might make his way back up to my face once the lights were off. Nothing makes you more self-interested than fear.

I ended up killing the cockroach. Well, flushing. I carefully removed the whole mosquito net from the ceiling, carried it at arms length to the bathroom, and forced the insect invader into the toilet by swatting at the net like a cat pawing a creepy new toy. He scurried desperately one final time as he hit the porcelain, but I was too quick and I lurched the lever down, surely rushing him to a stinky, sewagey death.

At least, I think he died.

I went to bed wondering if the rumours about cockroaches' impossible abilities to survive were true. What if cockroaches could swim? What if he came back with friends?

I didn't sleep a wink after that.

I don't have many fears, and I've since calmed down, and laughed at the ridiculousness of my close encounter with a cockroach. But I'm amazed how easily I killed him that night. Fear can make people do incredible things. I'm not even sure what it was about that situation that scared me so. Was it that I was startled? Was it because I was alone with the cockroach? What was I afraid he would do?

In what other ways is power motivated so irrationally, than by our fears?

Beliefs

"We are born believing.

A man bears beliefs as a tree bears apples." 

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Magic has an incredible attention-arresting capacity. In addition to challenging models of reality and inspiring a greater sense of awareness in its observers, magic is an excellent classroom engagement tool. So it is that the students of CIC are exposed to "Mr. Love's experiments in possibilities" (magic tricks) on an almost daily basis. 

A few weeks ago I was approached by a student, poster in hand. She was putting signs up all over the school, broadcasting the upcoming variety show hosted by the students' council. I surveyed the advertisement, reading the different types of entertainment they were expecting. "SONG" was printed prettily at the top left in some sort of glitter glue. Each letter in "DANCE" at the top right of the card was a different colour. And then I saw it. Lurking at the bottom of the page, as unexpected and impossible as it's block-lettered name would suggest: "MAGIC".

"Oh yah," said the student, who must have read my stunned expression, "would you mind performing a bit of magic for the show? You're already on the poster!" She gestured with her eyes to the block-letters, and smiled as sweetly as she could in my direction. 

Thus it came to pass that I magished a small 20-minute set for the students, staff and guests of CIC at the school's first annual variety show on Friday of last week. 

Noting the uniqueness of this inaugural occasion, I wanted to prepare something special, and dug deep into an arsenal of ideas I thought I had left in Canada for the year. Most of the magic I have performed here in Ghana has been PG at best. Light-humoured, puzzling, enjoyable but not necessarily momentous. 

I thought the variety show might afford me the opportunity to practice something more intense. 

I opted to try a new thought-reading technique, and invited an audience member to concentrate on a secret three-digit number. I asked him to keep his eyes closed while concentrating on the number, so that he could focus more clearly on his thoughts. 

Members of the audience successfully guessed the first two numbers, and I still have no idea how it happened. I wanted to learn the final digit in a more direct manner, which the following video captures. I apologize for the blurriness of the video, but invite you to notice the reaction. 

Admittedly I was really pleased with the success, which rendered me all the more stunned when the audience remained completely silent after their initial gasps. No hoots, no hollers, no muffled chatter. Although I couldn't see for the lights in my eyes, I imagined their expressions to be quite stoic. To my mind, they might have been yawning. 

I took my final bow to a few polite claps, and walked off the stage as confidently as I could while self-destructive feelings of inefficacy gurgled up inside me. I knew that the audience was small, but I couldn't help but feel that they had been more responsive to the other acts. 

As the night wore on, I received almost no eye contact from anyone in attendance. I began to feel as though I had inadvertently said or done something offensive. I retraced my time on the stage in my mind through the lens of self-doubt. And then I tapped into the stream of guilt and disappointment that runs perpetually in the corner of my consciousness, though I sometimes forget about it. 

All of this from a magic show! The mind is a very tricky thing. 

At the intermission, after I'd been stewing in psychosocial turmoil for about twenty minutes, I was approached by a man I didn't recognize. He introduced himself as the uncle of one of our students, and shook my hand. I welcomed his kindness from an audience who, I was now convinced, had despised me. 

After a few sentences about the weather, his eyes looked at me more directly. 

"How did you see that boy's thought?"

"Well, it's not an easy explanation," a well-rehearsed response. "I have been studying the mind for many years, and learned a lot of confusing, fascinating stuff."

"I used to practice magic," the uncle confessed. "I was taught by my Uncle, who traveled the world performing." 

I conceded my awe at this, and he probed further.

"Have you ever moved things with your mind?" 

I nodded, though hesitantly as I noticed the increasing sternness of his expression. 

"Could you tell me who was on the other side of that gate?" he gestured over my shoulder. 

I looked and smiled back at him. "No, I don't think I could do that." 

"I could!" he jumped. "I had incredible powers, but I realized that it was too tempting, and I found the right path."

I paused fully, sensing the direction of his inquisition. 

"So what church do you go to?" he asked. My blood pressure surged. 

In case you don't know, I'm not a regular church-goer. In fact, I don't consider myself a part of any religious community.  At the same time, I see myself belonging to every religious community in a sense. I would love to talk more about the specifics of my spiritual views and religious practices, but it's a topic too dynamic for this blog. 

Suffice it to say that my beliefs, although parallel in many ways to the beliefs of many I've met here, are succinctly and noticeably different here in Ghana. Though I try not to threaten others with my ideology, I can't help but feel like sometimes my perspective is perceived as invasive. I avoid discussing religion as much as possible (not just here), simply because I don't want to draw imaginary lines with people.

However, it is a difficult topic to avoid altogether when certain Christian faiths and practices are assumed in my corner of the world. It seems like one in three billboards beckon passersby to a faith healing conference, or guided prayer session. Seven out of ten cars are decorated with religious symbols or verses from the bible. In my school I have been approached by at least half of my students with questions about the nature of my religious beliefs. 

And please don't misunderstand me. I have absolutely no complaints about these things. I am always willing to dialogue, and listen, and above all I aim to respect others' beliefs. As long as I don't feel threatened myself, I see no reason we can't try to dive into one another's deepest ideas.

I mean only to paint a picture of the depth and similarity of belief in this part of the world. Evil spirits are powerful forces here, as evidenced by the "witch camps" which exist, astonishingly, in the North. Indeed, many people believe that magic is can be a force of either good OR evil. 

The man who approached  me that night believed that my performance was supernatural, and warned me against my practice. As he regaled me with his religious discoveries to lure me from the evils I would certainly confront on my current path. I heard the voice of a friend in the back of my mind, who warned me about practicing magic here in Ghana. 

"I choose the right path in Jesus Christ" he said seriously, invitingly. "I see something in you, and I hope you don't go the wrong way."

"I have no idea where my path is leading," I admitted. "Maybe Jesus will meet me yet."

It occurred to me that perhaps there were others in the audience who felt that my demonstration was anti-religious, or tainted with evil. Perhaps this is why they weren't wildly enthusiastic after the show. Perhaps this is why I felt they were avoiding my eyes. My thoughts ran away from me, and I allowed myself to feel more marginalized, more different, more excluded than I've ever felt in my life. 

Careful folks, the mind is a powerful thing. I realized that much this emotional trauma was self-inflicted on Monday, as things grew back to normal. Students eventually warmed up and approached me, full of high fives and curiosity about the show. 

What they felt on Friday night I'll never know. Whatever it was, I've been reminded of power of belief, and its entanglement with reality. We have an incredible necessity to make sense of the world, and our self-reinforcing interpretations are the building blocks of our identities, our families, and our communities. 

I was also reminded that the tension that arises from differences in interpretation can feel threatening. And that these differences in interpretation are the cause for many conflicts. It's fascinating just how physical a belief can feel. And how unsettling it can be to have one pulled out from beneath you. 

At what level can all of us, no matter what our interpretations, find agreement with one another?

What beliefs do ALL of us share?

Change from Within

A few years ago I was part of a service learning experience to Cuernavaca, Mexico. The theme of the journey was Change from Within, meant to draw the participant's attention to the deeper causes of social injustices. As students we engaged with various volunteer-based projects and asked reflection-generating questions of our experiences. The whole project was designed to raise awareness of our unique impacts on our environments and consequently one another, hopefully inspiring a sense of change from within.

The theme echoes that famous quotation which is often tossed around: "Be the change you wish to see in the world." Gandhi? Craig Kielberger? I'm not sure who to credit, but surely the idea of changing the world by changing oneself is as old as Eastern philosophy. It requires an acknowledgement of the power of one's own perceptions, interpretations, and choices. And it requires a sense of responsibility, and a sense of connectedness to all people and things.

I write about this concept of internally-driven growth because it is some how more relevant to my present journey than I can remember it being in recent times. Though, I DO have a terrible memory.

You may have noticed I haven't written in a while. I have been struggling with many things lately: the frustration of no running water and often spasmatic electricity in the past few months has been exhausting. It's even more frustrating to know that SO many people have SO many fewer comforts than I do, and that I have allowed myself to become encumbered with a sense of self-pity.

I have also struggled with my own thoughts. I have long had this problem, and have often come through rich with epiphany. However, solitude has bought me more time alone with my existence, which means I am digging and diving deeper into my convictions and emotions than ever before. Much of my writing is too self-absorbed, or too drab to publish on this blog, and so I have abstained.

Finally I have struggled in my capacity as an educator. I often feel like I can be a lot better engaging classes, collaborating with co-workers, and helping students grow. My slow-leaking self-efficacy has rendered me tired and lazy, which in turn has make me tiredER and laziER. It's a self-defeating self-fulfilling prophecy. Its definitely been more difficult to switch into a positive positive feedback loop.

I am treading water in my own consciousness, in an often inconvenient and uncomfortable context. With each breath I have been diving deeper and deeper. Sometimes I'm a little freaked out by the insecurities I discover, but all the while I trust that I'm growing stronger. "That which does not kill me..." Nietszche? Kanye?

And though it sounds dramatic these challenges, and their unexpectedness, are exactly what I hoped to experience this year. Relentless challenges on the outside prompt change from within.

Thank you for reading.