Chapter 1

So it's been a busy month, yet again. April and the beginning of May have seen concerts come and go, a new job gotten, and a few chapter titles for the book that begs to be written out of this experience. 

Concerts were great this year, loved being able to get past the nursery rhymes into real songs this year. We sang Let's Go Fly a Kite, Surfin' in the USA (complete with swim caps and goggles), and I had them doing a yoga demonstration for the parents. They rocked the yoga, even if the parents were clueless and it was something different for them anyway. I wanted to go with Colors of the Wind for our song, but I thought that might be a little toooo crunchy. So great success anyway, no tears at all and no dramatic crises of children being pushed off the stage or bared backsides (yes, really, you will understand why this pleased me shortly). 

And I got a new job in Dubai for next year, so I'm really looking forward to moving out there.

Now, on to the novel. A few people have mentioned that this would make great reading, and considering the zillion absurdities I encounter on the daily I'm starting to agree. 

Chapter 1: Bare Ass Bandits

*9:20 am. Standing in the window of my class watching them settle after snack. Notice one boy adjusting his pants. Think nothing of it. Open door.*

Twenty seven voices: "MISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!! When you are gone Mohammed* remove his pants! Mohammed shake his butt! Mohammed show off his BUTT! He remove his pants AND underwear."

Stunned silence on my part. I turn to the substitute lunchtime teacher, (a brand new, innocent, shining girl whose dreams of teaching were probably shattered by the last month in my classroom) and much as she can see in my eyes that I'm willing this to be an exaggeration, she leans forward and whispers, "Miss, I'm sorry but it's true. Mohammed removed his pants and underwear and was showing off his butt. I'm sorry but I can't control him." *Sigh* Sweetheart, welcome to the club. These days he crawls around the room on his hands and knees grabbing girls' ankles under the desks while they're trying to work. Or spinning around on his back singing to himself. He hasn't opened a workbook in weeks. Or sat in a chair really. (It's possible that his father is a deaf mute based upon his reaction to information like this, i.e. to stare at a fixed point over my left shoulder. Come to think, he could be blind as well considering I have never seen his eyes, as in almost nine months he has not yet deigned to remove his Ray Bans, indoors, in my presence.)

Effff. How do I even deal with this? First of all, if he took off everything, his butt was not the only thing he was showing off. This boy is almost six years old. He clearly wants attention, so I don't want to give that to him in abundance. But at the same time, he is exposing himself in the middle of the room at snack and I certainly don't want a five-year-old-nudist epidemic on my hands in this country.  So I can't ignore it. I also can't help verbalizing my inner monologue at this point, "What's thisssss? Mohammed. What's this? Why are you doing this? Do you know, this is haram! What would mama and baba say?" Funnily enough, I think we both know the answer to that question is that they would say nothing. Which is why things like this are happening. The internal continuation was filled with more colorful invectives and many variations of the plea, "What, please, WHAT did I ever do to deserve this? What could possibly be worth this much karmic punishment?"

Did I mention this is the day of the concert? *Sigh*

Stay tuned for more tales of Fahad the Fondler, Talal the Toilet-Face-Shover and don't forget Chapter 2: YOU LIE!.

Fourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeksfourmoreweeks