Debbie Downer Day

Recently, I was having an epically bad day. To be honest with you, I can hardly remember why it was so terrible, but you know what I mean. I don’t have Bad Days very often, so this was the real deal. All the tiniest things kept going wrong, and more importantly, I had just discovered (via my online bank account) that I was broke as a joke. Not a humongous surprise, considering I’ve continued to pay my student loans, work without a paycheck, and had budgeted half-blind for six months on a foreign continent; bad exchange rates, cab fees, and porter tips unknown and thus unplanned for. I knew the day would come, but I had no idea how soon. Anyway, I was feeling a little terrified about money (to say the least) when I suddenly realized that I had also misplaced one of my many notebooks. This one in particular is near and dear to me, as it contains ALL my notes from teaching in Africa, from lesson plans to personal anecdotes, Tanzanian orphanages to South African schools. BUMMER.

Then it rained that morning, or something ridiculous. It almost NEVER rains here in Cape Town. We watch the local news every day during breakfast before we head to work, and without fail, the weather map will show the entire country covered in animated, angry little rain clouds – all but the very bottom left hand corner. That’s Cape Town. So, naturally, it rained that morning.

I arrived at school an hour later with a mild headache and slightly damp jeans, woe-is-me-ing over my newfound poverty and beloved-notebook predicament, among other things. A sorry sight, and I’m not proud. Nothing could prepare me for what was waiting in room 1B, however.

Never mind the onslaught of “Good Morning Miss Sarah” I received upon opening the front door. Never mind the bright, smiling faces of 40 first graders. I still wasn’t 100-percent. Within the first half hour, with even my best game face on (I always try to check my personal life and emotional silliness at the door), my students read me like a book – and they can’t even do that yet!

There I was, poking around the windowsill to see if I might have left my notebook there, when Chad-Lee ran up and kissed my elbow twice. Just like that. Ran right up and kissed my elbow, and then stood there smiling up at me like he knew something I didn’t. After my initial shock, I laughed at how ridiculous it was and then told him to get back to work before I tickled him to death.

Not five minutes later, during a class meeting, Hayden snuck over and presented me with a home-made gift (not his first – he’s a repeat offender/gift-giver) – two pieces of thin cardboard stapled together, with raggedly cut lined paper stuffed in the middle, his name neatly written three times on the first page.

THE BOY HAD MADE ME A NEW NOTEBOOK. Oh my god.

There’s no way he could have known I lost my original. I hadn’t told anyone. The World just told him I was hurting for one, and he fashioned it out of recycled homework and cereal boxes. I nearly started crying, it was so absurd. And amazing.

Not twenty minutes later, Keisha popped up next to me (they have nearly zero concept of raising their hands) as I knelt over another child and helped him to decipher the endlessly complex code that is the difference between “left” and “right,” when suddenly she pressed something into my palm, the most serious look upon her face. I opened my hand to discover about 10 Rand in coins. I looked up at her, surprised. That’s a decent amount of pocket money for a six year old. “Do you want me to watch this for you, Keisha? Are you afraid you’re going to lose it before lunch?” She shook her head no. “Did you find it?” No, again, like I’m a complete idiot. “What’s up, then, honey?”

It’s for Miss Sarah. (Insert long, pregnant pause.) “Sorry?” It’s for Miss Sarah. I want you to have it.

Naturally, I freaked out, refused the money, told her to keep it and buy herself something nice (“Like a book” -- shameless). She told me I should buy a biscuit or a dress. Sound advice, Keisha, but I prevailed in the end. After a bear hug, I told her to put her money in her backpack where she wouldn’t lose it.

Only later (after dinner, sitting at the home-base with both of my notebooks, as I found the original there – thank goodness, holy smokes) did I really reflect on how I had gotten everything I “needed” that day – a notebook, money, elbow kisses– all out of the kindness of my six-year-olds’ hearts. Six year olds who have NOTHING and live in impoverished South Africa. Ugh. Life is never as rotten as it seems.

I could not have made up the events of that day if I tried. The new notebook from Hayden now sits on the mantel in my bunkroom, next to the paper “heart” Lee pasted together and the “book” Jade “authored” for me over the weekend. Some souvenirs can’t be bought in stores.