One month. Wow. That completely flew by. Two volunteers have left and twenty more are coming over the next week. Which I am personally not looking forward to. I have gotten quite settled into my empty room and had to rearrange it today since two more people will be sleeping there. Our small group dynamic was also fantastic and I will miss it dearly. I’m sure they are lovely people, but twenty just seems like a lot all at the same time. The girls floor will be entirely full, so I sincerely hope my translator’s friend can fix my computer so I won’t need to fight for this common one.
The kids in class got the best of me this last week. Their lack of discipline frustrated me to a point of emotional pain. The five and six year olds began ripping up the coloring sheets I had drawn and copied for them, and commenced hitting each other and running around the room. I told them to stop in Arabic, but they just thought it was amusing that I was speaking Arabic so sternly. But the last class I had with them, we made a thunderstorm, and it was fine. The theatre class at Askar refugee camp was rowdy this week too. They wouldn’t do any sort of theatre activity that bored them too much, even though some of them are 11 or 12 years old. They act much younger. They only play the fun games and won’t take the class seriously. I want to create a play, and I just don’t know if it will happen.
But I can’t let them get to me. I can’t keep expecting them to behave like the kids I’m used to in the States. These kids have grown up under occupation and have completely different upbringings and I can’t possibly compare their lives to mine growing up, or any of the kids I know. Maybe their parents have been in jail, maybe their family members were shot, who knows. The second intifada ended only a few years ago and those children were born right at the end, in all sorts of chaos.
But it’s exhausting. It may not be their fault, but it is so exhausting.