Teaching English

This September I was made aware of a non-profit organization seeking volunteers to teach English to refugees and asylum seekers.  The organization is called Northern Ireland Centre for Refugees & Asylum Seekers (NICRAS).  NICRAS is run on a shoe-string budget with the goal of helping refugees & asylum seekers transition into their new country.  It is housed in a converted terraced house which is a few years past its prime.  To say the building is old would be to say that the Vatican has been around for a few years.  The front door shuts most of the time, and only one of the three bathrooms works some of the time.  The teaching room is located on the fourth floor…four floors with very steep steps, (many of which I am certain are not up to code) made even steeper by the 33 week-old fetus growing inside my body.  For a few weeks now on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have been able to volunteer my time and help teach English to this vulnerable group of people.  Most of these men and women come from war-torn countries such as Sudan and Somalia, and other countries with extreme poverty such as Ethiopia.   Many do not know where they will be headed to next until they board the plane departing their home country.  They often are able to bring the clothes on their backs and the stories of devastation and heartbreak of the atrocities they have witnessed in their home country.  Many of the asylum seekers are living in temporary youth hostel accommodations and must check in each Wednesday at North Irish government offices to maintain asylum status.  If they obtain refugee status (something which is not a guarantee), they then must find a way to acquire housing, transportation, and nourishment on their own in a land where they have trouble communicating and are learning as they go.  There is a wide range of English knowledge from the students who show up for tutoring.  Some have had university experience in their home country and a little exposure to English, while others have never set foot in a formal classroom and instead worked as a shepherd their entire lives in remote mountain regions.  The diverse knowledge backgrounds makes for an interesting mix to teach.  One group may be learning how to greet people in English and ask for directions while another group is learning the alphabet while yet another group is practicing reading English aloud from chapter books.  This is truly turning into one of those experiences where I am the one being transformed and touched by the very people who I am supposed to be helping.  Seeing the excitement in the eyes of the students when they understand something in English is a gift like I have never before felt.  Experiencing the gratitude for simply having a teacher sit with them for an hour and a half and work through this complicated language we call English makes me feel honored to be in that role.  After witnessing how grateful these students are to learn, I have found myself feeling frustration with those, myself included, who take their overall education for granted.  Each Tuesday and Thursday night I reflect on my day and I find myself feeling that much more thankful for all of the many blessings surrounding Dave and me.  The small gift of speaking the same language keeps me ahead of many people whose first language is not English and end up here either by choice or by luck of the draw.  For example, I am able to easily communicate with my doctors and midwives about questions, concerns, and comments about my pregnancy and understand their responses without needing the aid of a translator.  There are pregnant women who come to NICRAS and I have been able to teach them the words of vital pregnancy terms they need to know as well as what to expect when they are expecting in Belfast in regards to pregnancy health care.  My only regret about NICRAS is that I did not find out about it sooner.  Although I have only been volunteering at NICRAS for a few short weeks and only have a few months left, I can honestly say that it will be one of the things I will miss most about Belfast.  It is already spurring me to try and find a comparable organization in the U.S. to help people in similar situations and work to extend a hand of humanity  in an otherwise cold world.  In other words, take on the challenge laid out by a former Hope College dean of chapel in my undergrad years who said, “go out and be the Gospel”.

Learning the Ancient Craft of Aran Knitting

There are several experiences I have had in Northern Ireland that I never would have had in the U.S.  One of the experiences happened recently when Fiona, a friend from church, came over to teach me some Aran (pronounced “air-in”) patterns which would be used in an Aran jumper (aka, sweater). 

Aran jumpers are unique to Ireland.  They originally came from the Aran Isles which are located off the west coast of the Republic of Ireland, and became adopted throughout the Emerald Isle by fishermen.  The jumpers became popular amongst fishermen for a few reasons.  Two of the reasons are because (a) they were made out of raw wool which still had its natural oils and thus making it water repellant (important for a jumper worn by sea faring fishermen) and (b) each fishing family retained its own distinct Aran jumper pattern and so if a fisherman met an untimely death and drowned in the sea, when found the pattern on his jumper would identify from which family he came.  (Fiona married into the Doherty-pronounced “Dockerty”- family, which according to her husband actually has its own Aran pattern stitch.) 

Fiona admitted to me that there is no “easy” Aran stitch to learn, and luckily for me she was a very patient teacher.  The first thing I learned was that there is an additional needle I would need: a “cable needle” to hold some of the stitches while I would knit and purl and end up twisting the stitches into a specific design.  Sitting next to Fiona and copying her knit for knit and purl for purl and slip stitch for slip stitch, I was struck by the history that I was partaking in.  For generations, long before the island of Ireland was divided into two countries for religious reasons, women made these wearable stories for their men; here I sat, in the 21^st century next to someone who had distant roots to these knitters and was able to learn a few of the patterns of this ancient craft.  It was definitely a “pinch me” moment.  Fiona revealed to me that about fifty years ago, one could purchase a hand knit Aran jumper for right around £10 ($16).  However, now because Aran jumpers have become popularized amongst American tourists, the price is now around £80-£90 ($127-$144).  She said that a machine knit Aran jumper would not run that much money, but she said you would be able to tell the difference.  When I asked her what the difference would be she hesitated, and then said “Well, I guess it would be the difference between how you are knitting the stitches right now and how I am” (she also has about fifty-five years of experience on me).  After spending over three hours at our house, she left me on loan with one of her knitting books, one of the “magic” (her words) cable needles, and a ball of real Aran wool with which to practice my stitch patterns.  She also gifted me a book titled “What to Knit When You are Expecting” which contains some pretty cute project ideas.  After a few days my stitches had already improved (see pictures).  I popped into the “Pins & Needles” club at our church to show Fiona my improvements (granted there was a dropped stitch at the top of my sample), and she gasped and said “Did you do that?” in disbelief.  I beamed with pride knowing that I left my teacher speechless.  Now I have to just keep practicing the stitch patterns, hoping to get better in the 8 weeks of free time I have left before our “little adventure” arrives.  I better get knitting…

The "Cable Stitch"

Fiona's sample on the left, mine on the right

My improved cable stitch after a few days of practice

The "Honeycomb Stitch"
Mine on the left, Fiona's on the right

I don't remember this stitch's name
Fiona's on the left, mine on the right

An American Visit

Dave’s parents visited us for a week and we had some fun and exciting times along the way.  In addition to checking off the city hall tour, Titanic Exhibit, Belfast Castle, and tour around the city, we also revisited Giant’s Causeway, took our first walk across the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, and our first tour of the Mourne Mountains. 

Part way through their visit, some friends of Dave’s parents & their son arrived and went with us up and down the North Irish coast.  Giant’s Causeway was still as grand as it had been when we visited with my family in July, but this time there was a fraction of the number of tourists and the weather could not be beat.  Whereas July provided gale-force winds and rain pelting our cheeks like rice coming out of thousands of BB guns, our September visit provided blue skies and a breeze so light that there was barely a visible wave rolling into shore.

The Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge was a fun tourist trap but also one of historical significance.  Paying a toll allowed one to walk across the 20 meter wide and 30 meter deep chasm to Carrick Island where fishermen used to go to check on their salmon nets.  The rope bridge now has hand ropes on each side, but when the fishermen were utilizing the bridge for work there was only a hand rope on one side to grasp.  We also found out that supposedly there are Basking sharks, dolphins and porpoises swimming off the coast of the island – we didn’t see any, and were content with the sea views that went on for miles. 

Toby was able to come with us into the Mourne Mountains, which after living at the foot of the Rocky Mountains for four years seemed more like the Mourne Hills.  However, they were still grand in stature and beautiful enough to take our breath away.  We happened to pick an especially clear day; apparently most days in the Mournes are quite stormy.  Although the wind had fun whipping through long hair and blowing away anything weighing less than Toby, the gold sun shining in the blue sky on the green Mournes left one wondering if these were the hills referred to by the 121 psalmist who lifted his eyes and spoke to God.   The roads to and in the Mournes were barely wide enough for our 7 seat Euro sized car, and yet in several parts a full sized farm tractor managed to squeeze pass us without running us completely off the road.  Parts of the hilly roads with their sudden hair pin turns left us feeling like we were on a real-life Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.  At one point on one of the twisty roads, we came to an abrupt stop, and Dave, his dad, and Steve, one of their friends hopped out of the car.  We were puzzled as to what they were doing, until we realized that we had come upon a wild blackberry patch and the three of them were pulling off of the bushes and stuffing into their mouths as many blackberries as they could fit in the short window of time we sat idling on the narrow stretch of asphalt.  Once back in the car with their maroon-colored grins revealing three satisfied stomachs, we continued on our journey.  One of the roads took us into the Silent Valley, a lovely park with Belfast’s water reservoir and home to a man-made wall about 5 feet high of rocks to separate Belfast’s water reservoir with that of another town. What is so remarkable about the wall of rocks is that the rocks, each about the size of a bowling ball and weighing much more, were hand-quarried and hand-carried all the way up one of the Mournes.  One of the informational signs described the men who built the wall as having hands made of shovels, and that seems to be the only way to explain how they managed such a feat.  Two other sights we took in while in the Mournes were a cork tree and a gum tree, neither of which I had ever seen in person before.  It was amazing to watch the gum tree bark work its way off the tree in colorful patterns, and feel the spongy cork tree bark spring back to form after my thumb pushed into it.  Both added to the awe that was inspired by the Mournes. 

We were sad to say goodbye to Dave’s parents and their friends after a fun week of adventures.  However, we know that our adventure in Northern Ireland still has a few more months and at least one more adventure starting in November.  Until then, we are basking in the memories of a fun trip and looking forward to new memories we will form together in the land of the green rolling hills.

Jan (Dave's mom) sitting in the Lord Mayor's chair

John (Dave's dad) sitting in the Lord Mayor's chair

Jan & John in front of Belfast Castle

The Coast

The Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge

After we crossed the rope bridge

Sitting on the basalt columns making up Giant's Causeway

Getting blown away in the Mourne Mountains

The Mournes

Here, on the top mountain, you can see part of the wall of hand-quarried rocks

Gum Tree

Cork Tree

Our last supper together, eating at the Barking Dog restaurant