From the rooftop, the sky was pink, the day young with thought, dispersed its illumination onto the windows of the distant cities that could be seen from this amazing view. The gloomy clouds hung low over the mediterranean sea that blanketed the city. I looked around the rooftop, rebarb wire sticking out, tripping hazards all over the place, no railways on the stairs, bricks that fell off the edge of the building if you sat on them... Yet, still one of the most beautiful places to be. Behind me, the mountains. "There is the army", Mustafa pointed out. " That is where the gunshots are coming from."
A tank and green army trucks spotted a corner of the hillside where you could see men with rifles and weapons, practicing.
"Also, people go hunting in this area" he said.
It was 7:45 am and school was starting soon. "Hurry, go get ready!" I said. "Also, please move away if you are going to smoke."
Yah, I can be pretty bossy like that when it comes to the issue of air quality. Mustafa was pretty easy going though, and handled my cigarette complaints very kindly.
The kids and I ate breakfast and we were ready to go. The kids were excited to go to school. Together, we all walked down the steep old alleyways, the entire time, feeling like a quick impression of a person walking, in a painting perhaps.. Each doorway we passed was more beautiful than the last, each window, carefully aged and cracked.
As I made my way into the school, children gathered excitedly around me giving me things. One little girl with deep brown eyes handed me a folded piece of paper. I opened it in front of her. It was a picture of dora the explorer that she had copied off of something.
Another boy, about 8 or 9 years old, handed me another folded note. This note, not as cheery as the last. Split into two sections was a before and after picture. The top was Homs before the bombing. It said "befor". The buildings were in tact but you could see missiles starting to drop. The bottom half said "After" and had the buildings in the same spots but half of them were missing. Some were scribbled over. This was fascinating since I had only asked the kids to draw what they wanted to be when they were older. Perhaps it was hard to do that until they could express to me what they had seen. This boys eyes spoke of a deep sadness, one that perhaps a mother gets after her kid dies but is trying to mask. The scars on his face perhaps were the evidence of his story.
The bell rang and the kids scampered to line up.
"Kids. What did we talk about? I still see trash on the floor." Mustafa's voice boomed over the courtyard.
One kid walked over and picked up the empty bag of chips that was laying on the floor. "Clap for him!" The principal announced. The courtyard burst into a large clap for him. The boy smiled and proudly walked back to his line.
"There is something important I need to talk to you about. As you know, We are starting a new year and we do not have a name for our school yet. We are going to vote on a name. Sama and I will be coming around to your classrooms to vote on a name for the school. You have three names to choose from: TUyoor Al-Amal (Birds of Hope, or Hope in Flight), Amal Al-Mustaqbal (Hope of the future), and Madrasatul Amal (The school of hope). The school is not run by me or your teachers, but it is successful when all of us have a voice in what happens at our school. We want this to be the best school. A school where you have a choice of what you want to name your school." Mustafa said. The kids cheered. This was a new concept for them, for in Syria there was no such thing as kids having a say in anything important. This meant a lot to them. I couldn't help but think of the time I was doing my Master's Thesis on the water crisis in Syria. One of the problems I was trying to get to the root of was WHY people felt it was okay to just throw their trash on the floor. The reason I had come to was because they were not allowed to take part in their country. They felt no ownership of their country and therefore always felt disconnected from anything that went on outside of their household. When a person has the right to choose or at least have their voice heard, they are more interested in the future of the place, more interested in the outcome, more interested, period.
The conversation we had the night before was about how to run the school. What is the core philosophy that will govern this school. Lets be real. When the kids graduate, their papers won't mean anything if the Assad regime is still in power. Their education will not be formally recognized by the Syrian government or the Lebanese government. They therefore will have to learn some useful skills while they are in school. Perhaps we should run the school like how we hope Syria will be run someday. We can vote on the name of the school. We can have the kids clean their own trash, clean their own courtyard. We can teach the kids things they can make and sell as well as all aspects of a business, from the idea to production to sales. The entire school will feel like they are taking ownership in raising funds for the following year. In the meantime, it will help them move on while also teaching them valuable skills. By the time they graduate, they will know how to dream and act on that dream, how to complete a project, and how to move on in life. It is the art teacher's role to make that happen, which meant that I was to be very picky about who I chose for the art teacher. I was excited to interview my first two art teachers after the assembly.
My first interview came. She was a woman with a pointy scarf, a brown plain blazer, and brown pin striped pants. She came prepared with an art lesson as well. I brought the paper and the pencils and told her she could choose whichever class she wanted. She chose the first grade class. SO far so good. She handed out the papers, gave the pencils out, and then drew a rectangle on the board to show them an example of the direction they need to place their paper in. The kids were following. She then started drawing a bowl, giving step by step instructions. THey followed. So far so good. Then a kid drew one part wrong and she yelled at him, erased it for him, and then drew it for him. THat was the moment that she failed. As far as I was concerned, although she was good at showing the lines, her teaching style is oldschool. What topped it for me was when a kid got up and was in the aisle, she pushed him back into his seat. Okay. Art teacher interviews were not off to a good start. At least I had another one today!
The next interview ended as soon as it began. I humored her and let her teach me in an empty classroom how to draw something. By then I was already disinterested for the reason being: Giving the worst possible answer for an art teacher interview. What might that be you ask? Well its funny you ask. It goes something like this:
"So, tell me, have you had any experience teaching kids art?" I asked
"Sure, when my daughter has a homework assignment, I always draw it for her," She said proudly.
It was then I knew it was a no go. Plus, the veil covering her face was not the warmest thing I needed a kid to look at during art lessons. Hey, Im all about people dressing however they want, but art is all about expressing yourself, including your face while you are teaching, and if your face is covered, its pretty disconnecting.
First day of Art Teacher interviews was a complete flop. Nobody fit the bill yet. I still had 4 more to go, so there was still hope.
The bell rang for break. I didn't want to miss break and never did. Kids scampered out of their classrooms almost pushing each other to get outside. As soon as I step outside, kids circle around me to offer me chips, drawings, and flowers. I wondered where they kept getting the flowers from. One kid then handed me a folded drawing. I opened it and did a double take. IT was rose crying blood. It was so expressive. I took a picture of him and noticed his haunting eyes. Those eyes have seen so much and have felt so much pain.
As we walked home that day, past the zaatar bakery, past all things old, I thought about all that had happened so far. I had only been there for a few days and already so much was happening.
At the house, Mustafa had visitors. Actually, there was almost never a day that went by when people weren't dropping by to talk to him or handle school related stuff. I told him that if we thought we were going to get stuff done in between visitors, it would never happen. Mustafa was the point person for the area to hand out bread rations for the UN. So, when he wasn't doing school stuff, he was constantly being asked for to see if a family could get bread. He was too busy to wait for to get a project done. I looked up at the army of kids he had in his house and decided it was time to involve them in everything we did.
"Let me and the kids count and organize all the textbooks so we can see how many more we need to buy." I said.
He agreed and the kids and I went into the other room where the books were all stacked and started organizing, counting, and sorting... We put a number on each book with the total count.
After textbooks were finished, We needed to start preparing the backpacks we bought. After removing the plastic wrap off of each backpack, we made an assembly line and placed one pencil, one eraser, one ruler, one pen, and 2 notebooks in each backpack. We had to sort girlie stuff from boyish stuff. I so enjoyed working with his nieces and nephews. We were an awesome team and they were hard working. At one point, I recommended that we take a break. They refused and said they wanted to get it all done first. By the time we finished everything, it was 10pm. I still needed to sit down with Mustafa, since he had been busy day and night, to talk about the project, what we needed to do, and check in on our "To Do List". One thing on our "To Do List" was to pay for the backpacks. I had to go to some guy named Sadeq and then take him to a pharmacie where we could use the credit card machine. Then the pharmacie dude and Sadeq would handle getting the payment to the backpack guy. Complicated but at least someone was going to help take the credit card.
I put my head down to sleep. So much had happened already and I haven't even been there that long. Tomorrow, we would hand out the backpacks. I was so excited I could barely sleep. I had it all planned, what I would say, what the kids faces would look like when they got their GOOD QUALITY many compartment, long-lasting backpack. My mom said there were better ways to spend the money than on backpacks... Again, always a better thing to spend money on. ALWAYS. But my trip was a fun one this time, from the beginning, it was all about giving kids a normal sense of childhood. It was about giving them a break from being a refugee, and a chance to save their essence. In my heart, I believe strongly in the idea that kids must feel a strong sense of belonging
At 1am, the rooster yelled across the alleyways. I would soon learn that 1am rooster sound, since most days to follow, I slept after 1am. Dear Rooster who crows at 1 in the morning, I have a message for you. Although you are unlike the other roosters who wait till the crack of dawn to wake everyone up, I like your uniqueness, courage, and willingness to make your 1 am announcment.