If you've read a handful of my posts, I think you have a pretty good grasp of how tough a life it could be up here. Living 4,000 miles away from my family, isolated in the middle of nowhere, 400 miles from the road system, and living in harsh conditions can be rough, and I'm accustomed to it. But tougher than all this is trying unsuccessfully to make the wrongs right and deal with things I cannot control. You're probably wondering what the heck I'm talking about, so I'll just try my best to explain it.
Back in January, just a couple of weeks since I got back from Christmas vacation, a man in his early twenties came to my house. I thought he was my roommate, so I opened the door, and he came in and tried to rape me. He forced my hands down, and I won't go into details, but I literally had to fight him off. Thank the Lord I was strong enough, because his intentions were strong, too. Let's call him Joe.
I didn't even know the first step to take. When you live in such a small village, a place with only 380 people in it who all know each other, are a big family, and and have lived here with each other all their lives, you feel like the outsider because they have each others backs. It's hard to face them, but wrong is wrong, and my parents taught me to fight for what's right, even when you are fighting alone. So I told my closest friends about it, including my boss. I reported it to the state troopers, and basically sat around waiting for something to happen. The troopers drug their feet, and when they finally were able to come out, the weather turned. The guy, believe it or not, actually had the nerve to come back to my house, standing there knocking on the doors and windows, hanging outside my bedroom window, and would even follow me to other houses. And what would anyone do about it, when no law enforcement is around?
Now, at this point, I just wanted to avoid the guy. I was really angry but I was hopeful that he would be arrested soon, so I didn't want to interfere with anything. I didn't go anywhere by myself, making sure that someone would witness the encounter if there was to be one. I have protection on me at all times, and my guard is constantly up. I haven't even been hiking like I usually do, and that has been rough. I need that, it's my escape.
The trooper initially told me that he could be optimistic or realistic; justice is simply not served like it ought to be in the bush. What would be considered a huge crime down-states is downplayed here. But taking into account all that happened the night when Joe came over, the trooper assured me that he would spend at least a year in jail, so I was waiting for that to happen, taking comfort in knowing he would be getting what he deserved. Also, within about a week of the incident, Joe, along with a few of his friends, actually beat a man within an inch of death. Get this: One of Joe's friends is actually one of my students, and it was his father who they hospitalized. Do you know how hard it is to not give that kid what he deserves?! Not just what he deserves, but what he needs.
So anyway, when I learned about Joe's violent side, to be honest it didn't make much of a difference. The thing about me is, you can call me stupid or immature or just plain crazy, but I'm not scared of him. When you mess with me or my family, there's nothing you can do to intimidate me, because every ounce of my being is screaming "Try it and see what happens." I guess that's just the fighting Texan in me.
Okay, let me backtrack. I had told Audrey what happened, but not my parents, because I couldn't bare to cause them pain. I was honestly afraid my brothers might fly up here just to find the guy and beat him up. Also, it happened right around the time that Kayden, a 2 year old foster baby that my parents have raised for most of his life, was being taken away from them for no reason whatsoever. My dad spent some time in the hospital, too, and really, how could I add to their worries? I simply couldn't bring any more bad news to my mom and dad, so I decided for the time being to keep it to myself. In the "50 things I've learned" blog I mentioned you have to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps. This was one of those times. Although I have my bush family here, I felt like I couldn't talk about it. I'm not weak, I'm not in need of psychiatric help, I'm just pissed off. No one knew everything that happened that night, and they didn’t know how bad I wanted Joe to be punished. No one knew how anger was ripping my insides apart. And that can lead to pretty big problems when you're in the middle of nowhere with virtually no outlet whatsoever.
The trooper finally made it out at the end of February, and I had to call Joe up and basically get him to admit to it, using as many details as I could, while the trooper was there recording the conversation. Talk about the pressure being on. I did way better than I had imagined, and he did admit it, although he had no idea he was being recorded. I took a personal day from work after this phone call, and when I came back, Joe's younger brother, also a student of mine, was telling me "I know you weren't sick yesterday..." and would just smirk. Boy, it took all my strength not to slap that kid. I knew then that he told people what happened, and probably was bragging about it. Not only this, but several of his other friends would look at me in a very disturbing way.
I filed for a restraining order, and I received the 20 day one while I waited for the long term order to be reviewed. The trooper would not arrest him yet because paperwork took so long. Basically, if he arrested him then, he would get off sooner. So we both agreed to wait for the longer incarceration. I got a letter in the mail at the end of March, though, that said the protective order was denied. No reason why, no word from the trooper, no sense whatsoever. I made a few phone calls to the DA's office and found out that the trooper had flat out lied to me; he may not even go to jail at all. I was floored, upset, and so angry that I pretty much lost it for a few days.
Okay, let me add that this very week is when the whole curriculum fight arose, too. My roommate did some very tricky things and showed unprofessional behavior, and to make a long story short, I was told, AFTER I signed my contract, that I had to teach another subject next year, for which I am not highly qualified. Which is just wrong. She didn't tell the whole truth, so eventually I got what I wanted, but at this point in my life, that was just not okay. I was so full of rage, I'm talking, uncontrolled, reckless rage, that I was positive the next time I saw Joe that I was going to punch him in the face, and I didn't even care who saw or what the consequences would be. If I fought him off once I could fight him again. I was so consumed with anger that I would punch walls that left me with bloody, nearly broken knuckles. My mind was constantly clouded with fury that it was all I could do to not get up and start swinging. I would sit and shake with this rage, my mind willing my body to try and stay calm, waiting for someone to cross that line. Let me be certain you understand that I never did anything to anyone who didn't deserve it. I fully believed that if someone could get away with attempted rape, surely the victim could get away with punching him. I felt so trapped, living out in the middle of nowhere among enemies, with nowhere to go and no one to talk to.
Kids here are simply not disciplined or respectful like we learned when growing up. There were a couple of teenage boys banging on the school window one day after school, and would not stop. This kid has given me trouble for three years, and as I was trying to work but couldn’t because of his annoying banging, I finally snapped. I went out and said some things I probably shouldn't have said, but it's not like they shouldn't have heard it either. They knew they had pressed a button, but I can happily say that they have been perfect little angels ever since that. I never did run across Joe, and the anger had not subsided. I did my work, I didn't let it affect my teaching responsibilities, and I fully believed that if no one was going to do something about the wrong, then I'm going to, because I don't lay down and let people walk on me. I was going to make a statement, showing people I am not someone you mess with. So even though I didn't stop working, colleagues knew I was angry, and one day I finally vented my feelings to a friend. She and my boss held what I would call an anger intervention for me, and it seems pretty silly now, but the rage was completely real. I doubt I could have controlled it had I run across Joe, even if I wanted to. Knowing that he got off, and is probably having a laugh about it with all his friends, got under my skin in a way you can't even imagine. There wasn't a dang thing I could do about it. I don't sit still well, so when something crappy happens, I REALLY don't sit still well. I had to be doing something, I had to get my hands busy and active, so in this case they came back to me bruised and bloody, and I didn't care. And there is certainly no relief at home with my roommate, so there is really no escape in this village.
I know I ruffled some feathers trying to get Joe behind bars. In many people’s eyes, I’m just a white person coming to their village and stepping on their toes. They expect me be the kind of role model who does not complain about their kids‘ behaviors, who does not care about getting cussed out in front of my classroom - I should just shut my mouth and take it all, bend to their every need and keep giving, without worrying about my own needs.
I wouldn’t be a teacher if I didn’t believe in helping kids and encouraging them. But I do NOT believe in letting them get away with what they are use to getting away with. It’s a no-win situation. I’m either a good teacher and a bad villager, or a good villager and a bad teacher. Many are trying to push me out, even making false accusations about me, and I don’t know what to do now, except to keep doing my best in what I believe is right. Some people think I am too harsh, but being soft sure doesn’t work. Sometimes it feels like I’m at a juvenile detention center for all the crud I have to put up with. It’s no fun living in a place where people go out of their way to make you feel unwelcome, and it really surprises me because I’ve lived here 3 years. But Joe’s lived here all his life, so I guess they care more about family than ethics. And our students are their kids, and there is no wrong their kids can do. I guess I knew that all along.
I’m in no way saying I am flawless or even a great role model - I’ve made mistakes, and I know there are many improvements I could stand. My temper has been something awful this semester, and I have to learn to control it. I’ve never experienced this kind of anger in all my life. Sometimes I try to shine a light and then realize my own batteries are off. And sometimes people don’t want your light - they just want to stay in the dark. The inability to converse with people who share my beliefs can bring me down, and even though God is with me every step of the way, it’s just plain hard.
I finally did tell my parents, and I hate it even more for their sake. They know I am strong, they know I can handle it, and they raised me well. I am so grateful for them for instilling in me the will to fight (metaphorically), and I am grateful for my brothers that I know how to fight (physically) if the need arose, and to protect myself. My friends here mean the world to me, and I would never intentionally hurt them. I think I shocked everyone by my anger, and even surprised myself, and it's been rough trying to smooth that over, having been forbidden to take any physical action, but try and settle down, even though my blood still boils. So like I said, you have to be able to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps, and even though some days are down right horrible, I am strong, I am not a quitter, I am not scared, and I don't back down.
