What's My Age Again?

Maybe the people in the older generation won't understand the reference, but there is probably only one song in existence that references being 23 years old- "What's My Age Again?" by Blink-182.  The exact lyric is "No one likes you when you're 23.... my friends keep telling me to act my age.  What's my age again?"

And yes, I crossed that threshold yesterday.  I am officially 23 years old.  One of my friends sweetly reminded me that I better enjoy it because it's the last year of my "early 20s."  Apparently 20-23 are the early 20s, 24-26 are the mid 20s and 27-29 are the late 20s.  At least I got to remind her in the same snarky tone that next year, she'll be entering the late 20s.  And no, 23 really doesn't feel much different than 22.  Not yet anyway.

What's it like to celebrate your birthday in Uganda?  Well, I celebrated with all my American friends, so kind of the same.  We spent the afternoon lounging by the pool, praying for the clouds and drizzle to disappear.  It only began to clear up after we gave up and showered.  I got to eat a pizza with ham, olives, and mushrooms.  I know it would be considered sub-par at best in the states, but here it's practically heaven.  From there, we all migrated to our hotel.  I hope this blows your mind: we pay UGX 26,000 for one hotel room that has two beds.  We're a close crew, so we put four people per room.  That averages to about UGX 6,000.  You may be thinking, whoa, 6,000 dollars for a hotel room.  That must be some hotel room.  And how in the world are Peace Corps Volunteers affording this?  And why are my tax dollars supporting this kind of behavior?  Well, UGX 6,000 is actually about $2.  So, it's kind of an awesome deal.  After dinner, I went and bought about 10 ice cream cones because people claimed that they wanted them.  False!  No one claimed ordering them after I brought the box back.  I ended up eating about three... hey, don't judge!  I didn't have birthday cake, so it makes up for it, right?  After becoming borderline nauseous from my overdose of ice cream, we went out for an epic night of dancing.  In the end, it was a great night, and I'm so happy that all my friends came out to celebrate with me.

My birthday in general has always been a strange one though.  Blame it on the California cut off dates for school, but having an October birthday meant that I could have been the oldest or the youngest in my class.  I must have been a promising child, right mom?  I was put in kindergarten when I was just four years old, which has lead to a complicated feeling about age and my birthday.  My friends have always been older than me, so usually by about May, I started feeling like I had already turned a year older.  I could get away with claiming 13 years old when I really was still 12 years old.  The only times I've actually had to face the fact that I was unfortunately younger: 16 years old, 18 years old and 21 years old.  It was awful when I had to beg my friends to pick me up in high school, when I had to have my college call my parents my freshman year because as a 17 year old, I was still a minor, therefore could not seek medical attention for my busted knee, and I was left at home for the first two months my senior year every Thursday when my friends went to the bars.  So, I've essentially spent my entire life desperately wishing to be older.  It's a weird feeling that now I'm suddenly expected to dread getting older, to curse birthdays and just pray that time stops so I can enjoy my youth.  I still find myself hoping to play catch up with my friends.

The most frustrating bit of all?  Apparently around 16 years old, I've stopped aging.  Every 50 year old woman that's reading this right now is probably groaning.  I can hear the lectures already, "You're really going to appreciate your youthful face in your thirties."  Yeah, alright, call me ungrateful.  I'm just saying that I'm pretty tired of being mistaken for a high school student more often than being recognized for being a teacher.  In the states, when I got carded, people usually would flex my ID, inspect it so carefully under black light, and then hand it back with some kind of backhanded comment like, "Wow girl, I would have pinned you at 15."  Awesome.  I blame my chipmunk cheeks, but who knows what exactly it is about my face that makes people think "Definitely eligible for our youth discount."  When exactly will I start to look my age?

Now, this is not just some pity party.  It actually affects my work here in Uganda.  I've noticed that when I'm teaching, it can be really difficult to keep order in the classroom.  I know for a fact that when their Ugandan teachers are in the classroom, you could hear a pin drop, they do their work and no one's slapping each other up side the head.  At first, I thought it was because I was new, novel and they were just so excited to have me in the classroom.  I began to wonder if it had to do with my lack of discipline.  I do try to discipline them: they have to move seats when they're talking, they have to write letters to me apologizing, etc.  However, I will never cane them, which is their usual form of punishment.  Still, when I threaten that they will have to do extra work, they do shut up pretty quickly.  Then, I thought maybe my strange teaching techniques that require them to work in groups, to discuss, to get out of their seats and to be more involved would also cause them to be noisy.  But, still, they know better than to talk while I'm talking.  They know they are supposed to respect a teacher.

That's when it dawned on me.  They don't respect me.  But why not?  If you ask me, I'm a pretty awesome teacher.  I just drop in their classes anyway, and teaching is technically not part of my job, so wouldn't they want me to keep coming?

I found my answer in a very surprising manner.  I asked my pupils to write autobiographies.  "But MADAM, we don't understand!"  That made sense.  How could they write something like that?  They had no idea what I was asking for.  So I wrote one about myself.  They thoroughly enjoyed it.  They couldn't believe that I didn't like sugarcane, or that my favorite fruit is jackfruit (an indescribable experience that can only be explained as the perfect combination of pineapple, bananas and bubblegum), or that my favorite color this week is purple, but next week it might change.  I did hear some murmurings when I explained that I finished secondary school in 2006 and spent four years in university in some magical place called St. Louis.  Of all the things I wrote, it didn't seem like a very interesting point.  I mean, c'mon, I wrote that usually I wear trousers in America, and that I didn't even have an appropriate skirt or dress to wear in Uganda.  That's just downright scandalous.  When I had finished reading, I asked them if they had any questions.  At least three hands shot up.  "But, Madam how old are you?"  That's when I realized what all the whispering was about.  They couldn't figure out how I had finished secondary school in 2006.  "Well, how old do you think I am?"

What kind of answers do you think I got?

13
12
15

When they noticed that I was getting flustered, one girl finally said, "Ok, Ok Madam.  You're not that young of course.  You're 16."

Problem solved.  After a quick survey of my other four classes, I realized that they all think I'm between 12-16 years old.  You're probably thinking, well, in a primary school you should still be able to pull rank, right?  WRONG.  The average age in my P-7 class is 15 years old, and I definitely have at least three 18 year olds!  These 18 year old kids think that some 13 year old is trying to teach them?  Isn't it absurd?

Despite my big reveal, that no, in fact, I'm an ancient 23 years, I haven't noticed too much of a change in the kids attitudes.  Maybe it will take time.  It's nearly impossible to change a first impression though.  I know that kids have a hard time telling people's age, but ends up most of the teachers can't believe how old I am either.  Most of them think that I'm 18 years old.  Even after I tell them about my education.  The average age of university graduate here is about 25 years old, so why in the world would they think that I was any less than that?  I'm really not sure.  So, I'm not exactly reaping any benefits yet from my god given youthful looks.  In fact, I'm having to offensively defend myself by trying to act wise, regal and serious.  I might fit the bill for seriousness, but it's been difficult to convince anyone that I'm wise or no longer a pre-teen once they've seen me dance in class.

So, I do have to ask myself every so often, what is my age again?