I'm back!

Hola guys!

So I’m thinking everybody who clicked on this link can be divided into 3 groups:

The ones who know I used to write a blog and LOVED it and are my biggest fans. Thank you very much, I love you and I will dedicate my first Nobel Prize in literature to you.

Those who know I used to write a blog, hated it and thought I was annoying.  I would now advise you to please go very very far away and never come back.

Those who’ve I’ve met these last two years and are like ‘’Wut? She’s blogging?’’ Hello, let me hug you to my (admittedly very large) bosom and welcome you to my blog! This is where I dump thoughts and experiences. I sometimes go away for a while, but I always come back. My language and punctuation tend to be atrocious but who cares? It’s MY blog! :D

But why am I blogging again? Well, readers, Marvellous Marieke (I dubbed myself that – it’s my superhero name) is going to university! Or, rather, is already AT university! :D Yes that is right, I finally made it after two gap years! I am officially an English Language and Literature Student at the University of Greenwich in London! Wooohooo!

I started two weeks ago and so far it has been…. Really fun! :D

My course is challenging and interesting, my flatmates are awesome and so far I’ve met loads of really great people. After two years of volunteering and working, my mind has gone back into English-geek mode and I even found myself buying this at the uni’s bookstore the other day

How much geekier can you get?

So, yes, that was a tiny update, just to get you up to speed with my life. I’m gonna leave now and let it sink in…..

I’m back!

Yes.

General- everyday-thoughts of an au pair:

 Folding adult-clothes sucks.

Alright, you can have my banana and I’ll take your brownish apple, even though you ate your banana, and this is my banana, but you know I’m a grown up so here you go. Bitch.

Blackmailing kids is totaaaaallly legit.

THANK GOD FOR BISCUITS!

My hands smell like baby-pee.

I need a nap.

Banana on my shirt, BANANA ON MY SHIRT.

For god sake, wash your hands, there is pee on them. I SAW you missing the bowl.

I just tidied that!

THANK GOD FOR X-BOX!

I need a second nap.

There's too many buttons on this washing machine. 

I was never this annoying. My parents are lucky.

Ow, you’re so cute, very very cute, cuddle cuddle, OW GREAT SNOT IN MY HAIR

Don’t reach down when I’m changing your diaper, don’t, nooooo, OW GREAT POO IN YOUR HAIR.

And then, one of the last au-pairy thoughts of my days, the one that makes me feel all relaxed and thankful and, I swear, almost religious:

THANK GOD FOR TV!

Exhausted

Converse in the snow back in January. I got an awful lot of crap about that from aunts and grandmas alike.

How is it that the work I take on VOLUNTARILY my GAP YEAR takes more time than any of the homework I did in my final year of high school? Am I prioritizing wrong? Is it bad luck? Or just a bit of unconscious self-punishment? I’ve been known (to myself) to take on a little more responsibility than I can handle at times, a side-effect of wanting to be perfect and the need for attention. I was swamped with work in Ghana, working hard day and night to be as much of a help as I could be, and now, taking the most demanding English course in the world, I find myself with piles and piles and piles of homework. Grammar tasks. Essays. Articles. The articles get me down the most, that’s why I’m writing this right now instead of trying to explain somethingsomthingblabla. They just remind of exactly one year ago when my Norwegian teacher was my mortal enemy and I postponed all the essays until, like, 5 minutes before the file closed on Fronter. That was hardcore but man, this is hardcore-er. (NOTE FROM AUTHOR: Intentional mistake for humorous effect. I tend to do that.)

Misunderstand me correctly, the course is going great. The teacher does his job well, the other students are, albeit being a little bit older than me, a lot of fun and the work is finally FINALLY challenging me in something that has been, let’s face it, my field of expertise for the last 5 years. The exam is on the 23 of March and I’m working my butt off to get a good grade. No way I’m becoming president of the world with a C.

Now that that’s off my chest; HELLO! How are you? I’m great! Yes, I’m still au pairing and yes, it’s still going… It’s still going. I’m enjoying myself, but man, kids are tough! I thought I’d reached the worst of the worst in Ghana, but over there they were so in awe of my skin colour alone that ‘’controlling’’ them became easier after some experience. Plus I really liked their energy. This is a different kind of work altogether. But I feel like I’ve figured it out now, and that they’ve accepted me, so that’s nice. I haven’t seen much of the country yet, but I’ve met some awesome people and as said, the course is great too. Seems like everything is going my way right?....

Think again. I still don’t know (exactly) what I want to do with my life. Well, yeah, I do know, I’m listening to Adele right now and I desperately want to become the next Adele and win an Oscar, but since I can’t sing that won’t be happening soon. I’m gonna study English, sure, nice plan, very good but what am I gonna do with that? No idea. Something useful. Something fun. Which probably means I’ll end up a secretary. :/

Wise words: LIFE IS HARD

That was an update, bye now. 

I'm writing about feelings on the internet. This might be a dumb idea.

Yeah, so I had plans once. Plans to write and blog and tell you internetpeople everything, but then I had to say goodbye in Ghana, get on a plane (on December 21. I survived.) and then I was home. Finally. With the confused feeling of being happy/sad at the same time I forgot about everything that sometimes matters in my life. Like blogging.

Today’s exactly 22 days since I got home. I’ve been sleeping, eating, doing nothing, sleeping and eating. And talking. I never stop talking.

But life moves on and I need to too so BAM on Monday I’m leaving on a jetplane and then BAM I’ll be visiting like ALL my family and then BAM going to Dublin to do some hardcore babysitting for like 5 months. But, before I leave I figured I needed to give you some closure about Ghana. Some final words. But because I can’t write about it right now (TOO MANY FEELS) here’s something that I wrote on my way home. On the 21^st of December. The day we didn’t die.

Here’s something you don’t know about me. I write. Quite a lot. Writing helps me think and process those thoughts into something substantial instead of just faint ideas and useless information. I’ve got word documents full of little stories and thoughts, of opinions and ow yeah FEELINGS. None of it is relevant, and none of it will win me a Nobel literature price but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t write it.  

So let me paint you a picture. It is 03.00-ish. I’m on an airplane from Accra to Amsterdam. I’m cold because of the air-condition and nauseous because of the too many M&M’s. I’m sitting here, sandwiched between two big guys, writing on my laptop. The lights are off. Michael Buble is singing in my ear. You’d think I’d sleep right, since I’ve been awake since like 8 o’clock this morning and today’s been a emotional day, but no. I can’t sleep. Each time I close my eyes I see someone’s face. One of ‘’my’’ kids faces. They haunt me, determined to make me burst out in tears in front of all these strangers. So even though my eyes burn from the sleep, I can’t fall asleep. In many ways I want to cry, but that won’t work either. I’m dried up for today. So instead I’ll sit here tapping away, hoping that it’ll help.

I know this feeling will pass. In a couple of weeks it won’t feel as foreign to me. My bed will be my bed again and those kids, those wonderful kids, will be a memory. An experience. A perfect experience, but long gone in the past. It is weird, loving kids you don’t really know. Loving kids that are so different from you and that live so far away. But I still do. I’ve never been in a relationship, so I don’t know what breaking up is like, but somehow this feels like the feelings they always describe in songs. It’s an ache in my heart. Right now it is overpowering every other feeling, right now it is so fresh, but I know the feeling will pass. Which is strangely comforting even though it should be a horrible thought. I know I’ll struggle to remember their names in a couple of months, that I won’t remember the way they said my name or the times they made me laugh. But there is one thing that will never go away. The memory of that time in Ghana, that time when I was happy and content, when I was emotional but also incredibly cheery, when I truly cared and worked hard and laughed till my stomach ached and cried in front of children and yelled at strangers In the street and experienced the joy, yes joy, of volunteering. And that is something that will never faint.

Here’s something you don’t know about me. I write. I write when there is stuff in my head that won’t go away. I write in a quiet airplane (except for that one SCREAMING baby) even though I’m pretty sure the guy on my right is reading everything right now. That’s nice for him, because then he’ll have met a celebrity when I win the Nobel prize for literature. 

In which Marieke gets all preachy and shizzle

Do you remember when you wrote your b’s and d’s backwards? When your dad was the strongest man you knew? When you intentionally made your teacher love you when you wrote ‘’Madame ...... is a kind girl.’’ on your exam? Well, I’m reliving all those emotions right now. At the same time I’m experiencing the whole thing from the other side. I’m marking this terms exams and ‘’my kids’’ are almost making me cry. I’m only one class in, but man, they make me proud. Sure, some of them disappoint me (‘’I taught you this TWO MONTHS AGO.’’) but in general... Proud Mama over here guys!

Today, when I was walking around the classrooms, checking up on all 70 of my students doing their English exam at the same time, I knew which ones were struggling with what. I made sure that Michael knew what each question was saying. I knew that Stephanie was going to talk to her neighbour, that Bertha was going to panic and that Chris was going to be over-confident. I knew that I was going to feel sad when I saw them making mistakes and feel responsible each time they looked at me with their big, brown eyes, telling me they didn’t have a f-ing clue what a proper noun was. When Gilbert came to me after the exam to hold my hand and tell me that he was scared because he can’t spell, I asked him how old he was. He’s 12. (Boys here aren’t shy about wanting to hold their teachers hand. Most of them are going to marry me too.) I told him that this was one test, on one day, and that the score wasn’t going to change anything important. That everything was going to be fine, that I was going to write some nice comments on his test so his parents wouldn’t beat him too hard (It breaks my heart, but that is a real thing here.) and that he was smart and clever and funny. That is (almost) the exact same thing I told myself after my exams earlier this year and I’m nineteen. Those exams DID matter. But that is what you do after a bad exam, you pick yourself up. Or the crazy white lady they let volunteer at your school does it for you.

I didn’t tell him that he was unlucky. That he got the short end of the stick, not because of his dyslexia, but because he lived in a country where there were no funds to help out kids like him. The teachers do their best, but these kids are extremely lucky to even go to school and get an education. However flawed the system might be. The kids with learning disabilities fall behind, further and further each year, the average ones disappear in the crowd and act up for attention, only to get caned, and the super-brilliant ones stop working, because, what is the point? Everybody suffers in a way, different ways, but all those ways make me want to grab these kids and take them home and give them the attention, care and education they deserve.

But then, when I’m standing there in a classroom, looking at those kids, something pulls me back to reality and makes me realize that I have to stop feeling sorry for them. Laughter. Jokes. Brilliant ideas on how to fix their broken pens. Smart ways to steal my chalk. Funny plans on how to follow me back to ‘’No-way.’’ The fact that they say I live in No-way and ask me how I can drive a car when there are no ways. These kids are kids, and sometimes I have to stop being all sentimental (and honestly – a bit premenstrual) and shut up. Because in the end all I can do is smile, wink, mark their work, give them an extra sticker or draw a smiley face and make sure they know that crying over a test result is no use. Whether you are nine, twelve or nineteen.

So yes I’m marking. I’m almost done with class 3 and have to say that those little troublemakers surprised me! I feel an excellent average coming up. It’s pretty surreal to mark an exam I’ve fabricated myself – you’d almost think I know what I’m doing!

Smileyfacee

I’m leaving in two weeks. Yeah. I can’t believe it myself. On one side I’m SUPERSTOKED to go home, to see my family and friends, to eat my food and see the snow, but then on the other side... I don’t want to go home! I don’t want to leave ‘’my’’ kids, I’ve fallen in love with the red, sandy roads, with the shouting and the music and the constant smell of poo. I’m going to miss everything and everyone. But then again; I’m having so much to look forward too! Christmas at home is going to be fun, in January I’ll be travelling to the Netherlands to see my family (Especially my baby-cousin!) and then, late January, I’ll be going to.... Tatatatta.... Vietnam? No. Peru? No. New Zealand? No. No more sweat and heat rash for me, because I’ll be going to rainy Dublin in rainy Ireland! I’m super excited! I’ll be au pair-ing for a Dutch family for about 5 months. They have three children; Pepijn, 7, Olivier, 4 and cute little Babette who is 1,5 J At the same time I’ll be following a course and the hopefully passing a CPE Cambridge Exam, which is going to show my level in English and look goohood on my CV. It’s on the super secret requirement list to be President of the World.

So BAM, there you go, update from my life! Now; the reason I even opened a word document in the first place:

THINGS I’M GOING TO MISS ABOUT GHANA

All my little chocolate-brothers and sisters. (They call themselves chocolate btw, so don’t throw any racism negativity on  me. They call me ice-cream. Even though I’m TAN.) They are all adorable, intelligent and hilarious and just so HWFHFKQKBFN. They are the ones who made this whole trip for me, they ones who have changed the way I look at education and happiness, the ones who loved me from the start, who made me cry a couple of times, but mostly laugh and the ones that made me realize that I maybe possibly could think of becoming a teacher. Next to President of the World of course.

The other volunteers. There have been ups and downs, sure, but being here creates a bond, one that won’t fade away anytime soon.

The fact that I can but a delicious, ripe mango in street for 3 Norwegian kr (40 € cent), half-wash it with my own spit (as you do) and eat the whole thing on my way home. Yes, you can eat the skin because the mango wasn’t sprayed with every chemical known to man on its way from Abaladuanga to Norway, but just fell from the three in the garden of the woman you bought it from. There is something about walking in the street with mango juice dripping down my chin that makes me happy.

Teaching. Teaching is challenging, tough and scary but extremely satisfying. Plus, my own English has improved sooo much just from trying to figure out the colonial 1940’s syllabus I’m supposed to use.

The singing, dancing and the music. I tend to have a song on my brain 24/7, add that to the fact that I’m not afraid to horribly sing out loud and you’ve got my most annoying personality treat. But here it’s all good, and people love it when I go all;’’ WEE ARE NEVEREVEREVER GETTING BAAACK TOGETHEER BLABALBLA NEVEREVERVER’’ and show off my sad, white girl-dancemoves.

The sun. I’m tan for a change. Bet you that my skin will go back to its pasty-ness after two weeks in the snow.

Mavis, our cook. Sweetest person you’ll ever meet. Jamal, the CEO. The poor man manages an awful lot all on his own down here in Ghana, but does make us all feel safe.

The magnificent relief of a cold shower when you are covered in sand and saliva and flushed with heat. I am not going to miss the cockroaches and the lizards that like to walk around the bathroom while I try to shower.

People being friendly.

The constant choir of ‘’Obruni! Obruni! Obruuuuuniiiii!’’ you hear everywhere and then turning around to meet a bunch of beaming smiles.

That’s it for today, because I just made myself sad! I’m going to be a snotty, teary

, blubbering mess when I leave. I’ll guess I’ll see you in a month, haha.