Taize

My first encounter with Taize prayer was in college, when I was contacted by a local church to provide music for a "Taize prayer service" one evening. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced: a 30-minute prayer service consisting of several short songs that were each repeated seven or eight times, a couple of brief Scripture readings, and most jarring, a 10-minute period of silence for contemplation and prayer. I had never before sat in a group of people during an organized activity with literally nothing happening. It was awkward confronting absolute silence when I was so used to a life always buzzing with activity and stimulation.

But I found myself drawn to the simple beauty of the music. (If you haven't heard any Taize songs, I highly recommend checking it out: some of my favorites are here, here, here, here...ok I'll stop now.) My curiosity had been piqued, and I did some research later to find out that this prayer service was modeled on that of a monastic community in the farmlands of Burgundy, France. Their website explained the ideas behind the format of the prayer: drawing back from our human tendency to complicate life and learning to find God in simplicity. Resting in His presence and giving ourselves a chance to shut off "the turmoil of our thoughts" so that we can hear Him speak. I also learned that people under the age of 30 are invited to spend a week at Taize, participating in the community life and having lots of empty, unscheduled time for prayer and Bible study.

It was a fascinating concept, worlds away from my church experience of flashing Power Point animations, constant background music, and calls from the pulpit to build up my faith by adding more action and Christ-centered activity to my life. Taize was officially on my bucket list of places to visit.

So when I was contemplating summer destinations, facing a tough work schedule and recognizing that spiritual isolation is not a healthy situation, it seemed natural to head to Taize for a week.

Lighting candles during evening prayer

The village of Taize

 Taize really is in the middle of nowhere. From Paris I took a high-speed train that dropped me off in the pouring rain at a tiny country station surrounded by other twenty-something Europeans with backpacks who all seemed to be waiting for the same bus as me. A thirty minute bus ride brought us to the Taize community, where we were immediately hustled into the church for evening prayer. About five thousand people crammed into the church, a large open space with no chairs or pews. People of all ages sat or knelt on the floor.

Later that evening the newcomers were given an introduction and led to our accommodations- campsites for those who had brought tents and barracks for the tentless like me. We were given work assignments (I joined the choir) and locations for morning Bible studies.

Lessons in minimalism- meals were less than stellar, but we had fun eating on benches together.

Life at Taize follows a relaxed but full routine. Morning prayer at 8:15, followed by breakfast. Large group Bible study at 10, noon prayer at 12:30, lunch. Free time in the afternoon with optional workshops on various topics, choir practice, dinner, evening prayer at 8:30. Bible studies are organized by age group, so I found myself among the 25-35 crowd each morning listening to one of the brothers preach on a few passages of Scripture, after which we were divided into small groups for further discussion on the theme of the day.

Church at a nearby village

 What struck me most was the diversity. The Bible study began by dividing the crowd into linguistic groups so that translators could be provided for those who didn't feel comfortable with English. Italian, Lithuanian, Spanish, Polish, German, Ukrainian, Korean--the whole week was peppered with multilingual moments. This stood out to me most in the small group discussions, where I met with the same group of about ten people every day. We soon discovered that while our national backgrounds varied, we all shared similar stories of growing up in the Christian faith, questioning it in our adolescence, and then finally embracing it as adults. It was fascinating getting to hear about the experience of being a Christian in these various European countries where most people view religion as an outdated relic of medieval superstition. Likewise, they grilled me on the American Christian experience, listening with keen interest to see how my perspective compared to what they see in the media.

Mealtime queues provide an excellent opportunity to make new friends.

 I spent my afternoons having long conversations with new friends, or walking around the countryside to the nearby villages. The community includes a forested area with a lake, where people go to walk, sit and pray, or read. Taize is a popular European youth group destination, so the place was packed with teenagers, many of whom were eager to talk to me when they learned I'm from the United States. Of the five thousand at Taize the week I was there, there were about 15 Americans, so we were a bit of a novelty.

The surrounding landscape reminds me somewhat of Missouri- no wonder the French settled around St. Louis!

 It was a perfect retreat- both in getting out of my relentlessly urban environment and back into a place with lots of trees and cows, and for having the chance to spend time with other Christians. It showed me more keenly the value of silence, which after the initial discomfort is a welcome change from the overstimulation of modern life. It allowed me to sing for close to six hours a day, which was pretty fantastic. It introduced me to new people from all over the world. It gave me a chance to recharge and refocus. So, one more bucket list item checked off.

Newly refreshed from Taize, I set my sights on the Dalmatian coast of Croatia for the next ten days of my vacation. But that is a story for another time. Cheers for now...

challenges of teaching

Wow, it has been so long since I've updated my blog that I'm sure it looked abandoned. The reason, quite simply, was that I had run out of things to write about, or at least things that I could put a positive spin on.

Life got a bit hectic in May when one of my British coworkers decided that he couldn't stomach life in Ankara, but eschewed resignation for the easier method of moving out of his school-owned apartment in the middle of the night and never showing his face again. Other teachers, including myself, were forced to take on lots of extra work to cover the classes he left behind. This tactic, sadly, is far from abnormal in the world of English teaching, and is part of a sad cycle. In many parts of the world, teaching English is sort of a backpacker job, seasonal work that you can pick up to make some cash while traveling. Schools invite this mentality by hiring any white face with a passport from an English-speaking country, with the misguided assumption that if you can speak English, you can teach it. 

Meanwhile, these unqualified persons get into a classroom where students eager to become proficient in English start asking questions like, "What's the difference between 'a lot' and 'much'?" and then realize that their knowledge of English is so innate that they have no ability to explain it to others. For example, the words "right," "correct," and "true" in Turkish are all covered by the same word (doğru) and so it's common for a student to say, for instance, "Teacher, Americans eat hamburgers for every meal. Is it true?" The teacher will then reply, "Of course it is not true!" The student is asking for feedback on his grammar, while the teacher is refuting the stereotype expressed in the sentence. Try explaining to the student the difference in meaning between these words, especially for a new teacher with know knowledge of the Turkish language and why this particular distinction is incomprehensible to a native Turkish speaker. Yep, it takes a bit of effort, and a lot of backpackers find themselves overwhelmed in a pre-intermediate classroom where the students know only basic vocabulary and can't follow regular English.

In addition, some of these hippie backpackers find themselves unable to cope with such professional requirements as showing up on time to class, preparing for lessons, wearing pants without holes, and grading homework. Eventually, some of the less competent individuals decide to remedy their situation by escaping. The schools are left in a lurch, and develop an attitude that foreign English teachers are a crowd of shiftless bums who cannot be trusted with any sort of responsibility.

This justifiable suspicion makes life more difficult for those of us who take our jobs seriously. Schools are reluctant to go through the hassle of a work permit for someone who might take flight mid-semester, to say nothing of making other investments such as professional development or even basics like allowing access to the office photocopier. Foreign teachers are watched closely, and you get the impression that the administration fears you won't do your job if not hounded about it constantly.

With schools treating teachers this way, those of us leaning toward the more professional side are easily frustrated with the system. I would love nothing more than to be at a school where I could stay for a long time and get involved in helping the school to develop, to collaborate with other teachers, to organize outside activities for students looking for further opportunities to improve their English. But instead I notice that foreign teachers become inward-focused and defensive, avoiding the office as much as possible and never trusting anyone. "They just want to screw you over," a coworker advised me on the first day. "Make sure you get everything they promised in the contract, and don't do anything for them unless they're paying you for it!" Goodhearted teachers quickly lose hope and become cynical. They're quick to distrust schools, and when negotiation fails, they hop on a midnight flight back home without so much as a note to explain their disappearance. And the cycle begins again.

In such an environment, my daily struggle is to look past whatever the job is doing and focus on the students. Regardless of the administration, these good people are paying a lot of money to be in my classes and deserve to have the best lessons that I can provide them. 

Working in a school that opens classes on-demand, whatever levels and courses have the number of students, exhausts the teachers. I find myself teaching the same lessons over and over again, but try to use the opportunity to go back and improve them each time. It's a call to constant humility, realizing that in a private school the will of the students triumphs over all and that I can never make everyone happy. It's an exercise in turning the other cheek, recognizing that sometimes a school's mistreatment of me is due to hurt from past teachers, and using my position to do the best job possible, hoping that my diligence can build a small amount of trust. It's a daily challenge to overcome the negativity that surrounds and desires to infest me, and to choose to be the ray of light rather than letting myself slip into cynicism. If any of these small acts makes a difference to my students or to my coworkers, then I'm not wearing myself out in vain.

Teaching English in Ankara is not an easy proposition for anyone, especially qualified teachers from Western countries who come bearing certain expectations for job contracts and work environments. But that's not to say it can't be rewarding. It is, if for no other reason than that once in a while you really help a student, and before you know it that person is off in Germany or Russia, sending you emails in ecstasy that they can be part of the international community and connect with other people thanks to their English lessons. That is what makes it worth it.

But I can only say this with certainty after some distance from a long, hectic summer. To escape, I spent three weeks in France and Croatia, an adventure which I plan to blog about before long. Stay tuned...

Eggs and Spring

This winter was the worst that Ankara, as well as most of Europe, has experienced in the last ten years. From mid-January until late March, our world looked like this:


Most days had at least a little bit of snow cover, and fresh snow fell on us at least once a week. The world started to feel dark and heavy as collective Seasonal Affective Disorder set in.

Liturgically speaking, Lent could not come at a more perfect time. It is as the darkness of winter finally squeezes our optimism and melancholy rises to the front of our brains that we experience a little bit of humanity's dark wait for rebirth and Christ's coming. But what I love about Lent is that rather than forcing our hibernating souls to be unnaturally cheerful, Christianity encourages us to utilize the winter doldrums as a time to delve deep in to the dark corners of our souls, to the places we feel least comfortable. For it is when we examine those dark corners with their skeletons and monsters that we can reach a recognition of how in need we are of help. And just as we are in the darkest moment, of feeling like the snow will never melt, we'll never see the sun again, and we'll never be free of all these demons that haunt our pasts, Easter and spring come.

Warmth, sun, leaves growing on trees, a renewed sense of hope and optimism...Easter could not be more perfectly timed! For while we were still sinners (before the spring!) Christ died for us, and gave us another chance to start over and live without the burden of sin weighing us down. Spring and rebirth indeed!

Last year, when my other American friends moved, they bequeathed me an Easter egg decorating kit, which has been lying forgotten in a corner of my kitchen for a good nine months. But last night we finally broke it out and I had the privilege of introducing my Turkish, Cuban, and Spanish friends to a new tradition- decorating Easter eggs!

Yes, I naively believed that Easter eggs were common throughout the Christian world, but the tradition seems to have skipped the Spanish-speaking areas of Christendom. When I invited a Turkish friend over to dye eggs, my Spanish and Cuban flatmates seemed just as fascinated by the idea as my Turkish friends.





I make no claims as to my artistic ability. There is, after all, a reason I leaned toward music rather than art in my studies. But my Cuban and Turkish friends took to the decorating immediately, and we spent close to three hours working on our eggs, with a good time had all around.



Yes indeed. Never underestimate how much fun a simple thing can be. These traditions are far from universal, and for those of us who have grown up with the same tradition, it's easy to forget how enjoyable or eye-opening it can be for someone who's never heard the story or painted the eggs before.

Happy Easter, everyone! And happy spring!

Unemployment games

Foreign teachers in Ankara have a few job options to choose from.

1. International/foreign schools. These are schools run by embassies, or private schools aimed at a demographic of expat kids. Curriculum is based on the standards of whatever country the school is associated with, and competition for jobs is pretty steep. The downside to teaching in these schools is that it's easy to get sucked into the expat community and then go through life in Turkey without really interacting with local people or culture.

2. English Medium Universities: Ankara has two universities, Bilkent and ODTU/METU, Middle Eastern Technical University, which teach all classes in English and employ native speakers in all departments. These schools also run a one-year preparatory school for students whose English scores aren't high enough to directly enter the university. These jobs are prestigious for foreign teachers, the salary is high, but the working conditions are difficult and there is a high turnover rate. Prep school jobs are ideal for recent college graduates, but you need at least a masters degree to get a job as a lecturer in the university itself.

3. Turkish Medium Universities: Most universities in Ankara have English language departments where English is taught as a foreign language. Most of the instructors are Turkish, but there are foreigners working there as well.

4. Private kolej/high school/primary school: A lot of schools want native speakers in the classroom to assist the Turkish teachers of English, but these jobs aren't as easy to find unless you know someone at the school. Many of these are part time jobs, and I've heard horror stories about discipline and student behavior.

5. Private language schools: This is what I've been doing here all along. Language schools are open to anyone who wants to learn English, and run classes whenever demand allows, usually evenings and weekends, with a few daytime classes. A lot of these are run illegally, and the foreign teachers have to hide in a closet when government inspectors come around. There's usually little job security, as this is the job of choice for the "backpacker" language teachers who come for a few months to a year, and employers know they can always find more teachers to replace those who leave. These are also operated on a business model, meaning profit outweighs education. Pay is decent, but most schools pay teachers on an hourly basis, meaning that you're at the mercy of the enrollment numbers.

6. Tutoring: Native speakers are always in demand, and it's not terribly difficult to pick up some private tutoring on the side of a normal job. However, it's not going to get you that all-important work visa, so doing it full-time isn't an option.


Some jobs, like the international schools, English universities, and some language schools, have extra perks like airfare to/from your home country and free housing. Others won't even provide a work permit, and you find that a lot of teachers are working illegally.

But legal or not, the fact is that in Turkey, demand for qualified native speakers is far greater than the supply, giving teachers the upper hand in contract negotiations. In fact, it's very possible for an American to walk into Turkey on a tourist visa and find a job within a week.

Knowing this, it was much less difficult than I anticipated to walk into my boss's office back in November and inform her that I didn't intend to come back after my trip to the United States. I had grown tired of fluctuating work hours which made my monthly income unpredictable. I was tired of working seven days a week, particularly Sunday mornings. Since my arrival in Turkey I had gone to church maybe three times, and after June attending weekly house meetings for Bible study and worship was no longer an option. I was spiritually exhausted, mentally stressed, and frustrated with the job.

But all the same, hopping on a plane back to Turkey in December with not the slightest whiff of a job wasn't as crazy as it sounded. For a month I held on to my pride and started hunting jobs at universities while living off the few liras I made from tutoring. The prospects seemed good at first: I had two universities interested in me, but one rejected me after the dean decided I was too young to be a teacher. I continued to hold out for the other university, but by the end of January, my savings dried up from two trips to the USA and my wallet forcing me into a poverty diet, I realized that the time had come.

I didn't want to resort to the language schools again, now that I was rediscovering the social possibilities of free weekends and evenings, but I didn't have much of a choice. But like I said, they're desperate, and after perusing the internet, I sent an email to the school I thought would offer the best salary and benefits, and they called me for a job interview the next morning. I started teaching last week, back to the weekend lessons, but at least I was able to finagle more morning and less evening work. It does feel nice to get up in the morning and go to work, rather than sit around the house all day with no reason to brave the icy sidewalks.

So it wasn't the ideal solution, but the grand experiment wasn't a failure. The month of unemployment gave me time to do a lot of reading and spend some time with friends. I also was able to visit a local church a few times, where I got connected to some other expats who invited me to join a choir, so I'm doing something musical again for the first time since I got here. And having a musical activity to look forward to, even once a week, makes me feel more alive.

As for the job, it's a step up from where I was before, if not where I really want to be. Life is uncertain, with no path for the future, but at least today and tomorrow are taken care of. And for now, I am praying for enough strength to be content with that until a next step is possible.

Snow Bus

If there is one thing that that I have learned during my time in Turkey, it is that Turkish people are intelligent, generous, hardworking, and brilliant in many ways. However, driving in the snow is one area I cannot count among their strengths. Ever since our most recent snow-laden cold snap swept in from Siberia, our street has echoed with an eternal chorus of tires spinning fruitlessly and engines screaming, "I think I can, I think I can!" as they battle the hill in front of my house. This is often followed with petulant drivers leaning on their car horns further down the hill, as if the stuck driver were blocking up the street out of spite.

It's an ongoing battle. Some drivers put chains on their tires for extra traction. Other idiots go joyriding in the middle of the street, building up speed and then hitting the brakes to send the car spinning. Most just hunker down and pray that they reach their destination alive.

I was stir-crazy enough from several days stuck at home in the snow to ignore the horrible driving conditions today and escape to a mall with some friends. Yes, laugh all you want at our teenage-ness; there isn't much else to do in this city on a cold afternoon. But the mall is far enough away that I had to take a bus to get there.

Wrong day to do such a thing! Getting there was fine, but I hit rush hour on the way back. I hopped on a bus in the center of town that was so sardine-packed I barely squeezed in, and spent the ride crushed up against the door, falling off every time it opened. Once I ended up pressed in a position with my left arm twisted behind my back, my rib cage contorted so that I couldn't breathe, and one foot hovering in space as I teetered on a stair. I tried pushing myself up onto the step next to a very large woman who glared at me for violating her personal space, but at that moment the door opened at the woman said, "I'm getting off here!" and pushed me back down the stair, off the bus, and into the snow.

But our poor bus driver was facing an obstacle course of his own, even more intense than Ankara rush hour on a normal day. Not once, but twice, he was forced to find a different route because someone had decided to abandon their car halfway up a hill on a major street. The first time this happened, the bus driver promptly shifted gears and drove backward down the hill for probably 200 feet to the previous intersection. A general rebellion rose up among the passengers when they noticed that we were now off-course, and several people got off the bus and insisted they'd find taxis instead. I thought this a silly idea, seeing as there were no taxis anywhere to be seen, but of course I'm a foreigner so my perception is often misguided.

The rest of the passengers were stoic, holding to the Muslim culture of fatalism and acceptance of the cards that God deals us in life without complaint. There were even smiles and bets of how long it would take us to get back to where we needed to be. It seemed a simple matter of zig-zagging a block around, except that we were impeded again at the next turn, where another car sat parked in the middle of the intersection, hazard lights warning us that no one was inside to move it from our path. The bus driver tried to get around him, but of course buses make wide turns and it was simply impossible. Being smushed in the front corner of the bus, I had the best view of how very few centimeters stood between me and the side of this car. We were not making this turn. At this point a guy hopped off the bus to direct the driver as he maneuvered back and forth and around, finally managing to round the corner. But victory was short again because 100 feet ahead a school bus was stopped in the middle of the street.

No fear! The bus driver, his friend, and about five other guys decided this was the perfect time to attach snow chains to the tires, so they all jumped off and two guys applied the chains while the others smoked cigarettes and watched. They jumped back on shortly, with gleams of NASCAR pit crew pride in their eyes as they congratulated each other on accomplishing this in under two minutes.

By now, we were completely off-course and I gave up all hope of any plans but going home to a hot shower, dry clothes, and a bowl of soup. The bus trekked uphill more steadily with the chains, but since the traffic had us stopping every ten seconds it was mostly irrelevant. Twenty minutes later we were finally back on a road I recognized, and the rest of the passengers began to relax a little more. I decided to bail on the bus and walk forty minutes home, figuring it would be faster and more comfortable than being stuck in traffic crammed into a space significantly smaller than what I normally occupy.

This was the right choice, despite the cold and wet. Streets everywhere were closed off due to accidents, cars were slip-sliding everywhere, and the city was generally a mess. So, the lesson learned today is that snowy days in Ankara are meant to be enjoyed from inside, where I can simply laugh at the poor automobile owners in their futile attempts to scale hills instead of falling victim to their folly.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!

Sledding

Traffic and social life tend to come to a halt whenever it snows in Ankara. There is no municipal snowplow system, so it's up to determined citizens to clear paths through the streets and open up the roadways again. But until that time, buses and taxis alike find their paths impeded, and pedestrians like me tire quickly of arriving places soaked to the knee and splattered with blackened slush.



The past two weeks of intermittent snow have left the streets resembling what an optimist might describe as a rich chocolate cake dusted with coconut, and what I might call a disgusting sludge that does no good for my shoes.

Yesterday the snow started again mid-afternoon, and fell steadily all night. Around 11 pm my flatmate suggested we go out for a walk to enjoy the winter wonderland while it was still fresh. So we bundled up and went out to explore the neighborhood. (Photo credits to my flatmate. I was too busy slipping and sliding to take pictures.)

The odd thing is that we were far from the only street prowlers out. The local park was crowded at midnight with camera-wielding families, couples with dogs, and sledders. To be clear, only about five people in Ankara own actual sleds. But as I've mentioned before, there is no flat space in the whole city, which means that a blanket of snowfall creates a sledders' fantasy land of abundant slopes. The temptation is great enough that a mass improvisation occurs, with the population rushing to their kitchens to fetch spare plastic bags, which are surprisingly slick little sleds.

My Cuban flatmate, being from a tropical island, had never gone sledding in her life, and was equal parts curious and terrified of the activity. Her fear was amplified by the sight of Turkish college guys racing their plastic shopping bags down the steepest, longest hill in the park at maximum speed, surrounded by a laughing gang of about twenty friends who were drinking beer and cheering them on. Several of them ended their runs sprawled out in a snowbank after a final bump sent them flying.

Thankfully we had lots of options for a bunny slope, and managed to find a hill that wasn't too steep for her first adventure. She screamed the whole way down, but then immediately ran back up the hill to try it again. I'm sure in time she'll be up on the big hills with the Turkish guys, skidding gleefully into piles of kicked-up snow.

And for the rest of the time, I am making full use of the armchairs which sit in front of the large front window in our living room, reading classic novels, sipping hot tea, and watching the snowfall. Bliss, indeed.