Spring 2008
In a tiny Puerto Rican Bakery, tucked in the back corner of Rochester’s Public Market, Alicia Van Borssum sits waiting patiently, eating her small almond and cream cheese pastry and sipping her coffee gingerly. She looks up as if on cue, her small hazel eyes opening a bit wider with recognition, even though we’ve never met. Van Borssum is a woman with a sixth-sense, a woman who has spent her 48 years of life relaying on intuition, never shying from a challenge and forever embracing the unknown .
Today, she’s braved February’s whipping winds and 10 degree temperature to meet the “spice guy” at the Public Market, hoping to get her hands on the ingredients necessary to make bebere from scratch, a project she wants to undertake with her students, their 10-year-old hands, and an even older mortar and pestle. The “spice guy” isn’t there, but Van Borssum says she knows another guy and another place to go.
“I’ve always had a fascination with all things foreign,” she explains, taking another sip of her coffee. “My father used to work on ships. He was an engineer He used to bring me dolls from all over the world: South Africa, Vietnam, and Europe.” You can almost see her mind drift back to her childhood in Texas, when those dolls seemed like the most important things in the world.
By college, Van Borssum wanted to see the world for herself. She headed to Belgium as foreign exchange student for a year to perfect her French and returned to Texas with new plan for her career. She switched her major from pre-med to French and Art History, an unorthodox move considering her college had a reputation for churning out doctors.
Van Borssum soon fell in love with teaching, specifically Montessori. In fact, she says she became “obsessed” with it, scouring programs around the world for the best… and “cheapest” program to enter. The search took her to Perugida, Italy. She didn’t speak Italian, had never gone to Italy, but “I had a lot of faith in me. No problem,” she chuckles, fidgeting with a small pager-like device on her belt buckle. It beeps periodically, but is acknowledged with just a passing glance. She takes a bite of her pastry and pages through the memories of her mind, carefully categorized. You almost expect her to whisper a call number for the specific year: 1983.
She spent it in Italy learning Montessori teaching techniques and soon landed a job in Geneva, Switzerland. There she lived and taught multi-lingual pre-schoolars for another year. She didn’t stay there much, however. She was still traveling back and forth to Italy to visit the man who was to become her husband (the two recently divorced after more than two decades of marriage).
They moved to the United States, spending a short time in New Mexico before moving to Rochester, NY for a Van Borssum’s first Montessori job in the States. She considered Tucson, Minneapolis and Austin, but says the director in Rochester duped her. “She set up my interview the weekend of the Lilac festival,” she says, referring to the city’s annual celebration of lilac flowers and fragrances. “Very sneaky….” She instantly fell in love with the mid-size Western New York City.
They moved to the United States, spending a short time in New Mexico before moving to Rochester, NY for a Van Borssum’s first Montessori job in the States. She considered Tucson, Minneapolis and Austin, but says the director in Rochester duped her. “She set up my interview the weekend of the Lilac festival,” she says, referring to the city’s annual celebration of lilac flowers and fragrances. “Very sneaky….” She instantly fell in love with the mid-size Western New York City.
It proved to be a good move. It’s where her family expanded (she has two daughters, 19 and 14) and her new passion for teaching English as a foreign language also bloomed, a job she continues today.
Last March, Van Borssum headed to a conference that would ultimately lead her on another journey, this time to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. One of the speakers at the conference was author Jane Kurtz, a woman born in Portland, Oregon but raised in Ethiopia (Maji and Addis). Kurtz now writes children’s picture books and novels about Ethiopia and Ethiopian culture.
Van Borssum says Kurtz mentioned a program called “Ethiopia Reads,” and said she hoped to get teachers from the States to head over to help Ethiopian teachers in their quest to spread literacy, which hovers at 43 percent of the entire population, more for men, less for women.
Van Borssum says Kurtz mentioned a program called “Ethiopia Reads,” and said she hoped to get teachers from the States to head over to help Ethiopian teachers in their quest to spread literacy, which hovers at 43 percent of the entire population, more for men, less for women.
Van Borssum says she didn’t immediately know she wanted to go, but then that sixth-sense kicked in again. In fact, it kicked the program into high gear, propelling it from a ‘hope’ into a ‘reality’ now in the works.
She and 10 other teachers from throughout the United States will spend two weeks this summer in Addis as part of the program. “I think that the fact I was so persistent and begged her (Kurtz) so much is the reason this is happening… because of me,” she smiles a slight smile, as if somewhat amused with herself.
She and 10 other teachers from throughout the United States will spend two weeks this summer in Addis as part of the program. “I think that the fact I was so persistent and begged her (Kurtz) so much is the reason this is happening… because of me,” she smiles a slight smile, as if somewhat amused with herself.
Her laugh is interrupted by another beep from the pager. She hardly misses a beat checking it before she launches into a litany of anecdotes about her newfound emersion into Ethiopian American culture. The teacher got a teacher of her own, someone to tutor her in Amharic a few hours a week. “I’m starting to understand, but I can’t make a sentence,” Van Borssum says of her Amharic lessons. “It’s been great for me as a second language teacher. You forget how hard it is.”Hard… and frustrating: especially when you don’t hear it spoken all the time.
She started attending Ethiopian Orthodox services in Rochester, making sure to pick out the most pious of dresses and donning a nutella on her head, in hopes of hearing the language spoken more. But even then, she heard Geeze, not enough Amharic. She decided to go renegade and crash a Melse instead.
“I pulled up and there were like 49 zillion taxis, so I knew I was in the right place,” she laughs brightly, mirroring the silver in her short, curly hair. “Nobody looked at me… They (the bride and groom) arrived in their crowns and I thought, ‘This is so cool!’ It was a cultural feast: the food, the honey wine, and the dancing… oh my God! the dancing!’” She slaps the table, sending our plates vibrating. She goes on to say that when the families brought out the “sheet and the meat,” she was filled with both joy and intrigue.
She laughs now about how much time she spent debating what to wear, trying to pick the most conservative outfit, wanting to make sure she was “appropriate.” She learned quickly wedding parties were a far cry from church services. No more covering... the women were “gorgeous and there was cleavage and everything!” She laughs again, saying like her own culture, it was wonderful to see so many different sides.
“We had so much in common,” she says of the ‘intelligent’ and ‘sophisticated’ friends she met. “I still can’t tell you whose wedding I was at, but I had a great time!” The months since the wedding have been more about work, soliciting donations for Ethiopia Reads from various community organizations and private donors, targeting specifics groups more than once. “They’re loaded, why not,” she quips.
She says she’ll use every dime they give to buy books and ship them to Ethiopia. She’ll pay for her trip herself. “I don’t really mention it,” she says when asked what people think of her selflessness. “It was just something inside of me. I wanted that to be my contribution.” She’s half way to her $5,000 goal and says everyday she gets a check from someone.
She’s even asked her doctor to donate. He jokes he will if she gets a donation herself: a new pancreas. For the last five years, Van Borssum has suffered quietly from Type 1 Diabetes. It came on suddenly and unexpectedly. Now, her body doesn’t make insulin at all. She explains that the beeping pager I keep hearing is connected to another device on her midsection. Right there, in the now-crowded café, she lifts up her cotton shirt slightly to expose the long; thin tubing that connects one machine to the other. Every five seconds the first takes a reading and gauges whether or not more insulin is needed. The second machine administers it slowly. Van Borssum says it only hurts when she inserts the needle, which is about two inches long at least. She wears both devices at all times.
“We had so much in common,” she says of the ‘intelligent’ and ‘sophisticated’ friends she met. “I still can’t tell you whose wedding I was at, but I had a great time!” The months since the wedding have been more about work, soliciting donations for Ethiopia Reads from various community organizations and private donors, targeting specifics groups more than once. “They’re loaded, why not,” she quips.
She says she’ll use every dime they give to buy books and ship them to Ethiopia. She’ll pay for her trip herself. “I don’t really mention it,” she says when asked what people think of her selflessness. “It was just something inside of me. I wanted that to be my contribution.” She’s half way to her $5,000 goal and says everyday she gets a check from someone.
She’s even asked her doctor to donate. He jokes he will if she gets a donation herself: a new pancreas. For the last five years, Van Borssum has suffered quietly from Type 1 Diabetes. It came on suddenly and unexpectedly. Now, her body doesn’t make insulin at all. She explains that the beeping pager I keep hearing is connected to another device on her midsection. Right there, in the now-crowded café, she lifts up her cotton shirt slightly to expose the long; thin tubing that connects one machine to the other. Every five seconds the first takes a reading and gauges whether or not more insulin is needed. The second machine administers it slowly. Van Borssum says it only hurts when she inserts the needle, which is about two inches long at least. She wears both devices at all times.
She knows she could die without a transplant, but refuses to get one. In the short term, it would delay her trip to Ethiopia. In the long term, she worries it could take away teaching altogether.
“If I were to get a pancreas transplant it could cure me. But, I would have to take an anti-rejection medication for the rest of my life and that would compromise my immune system and I couldn’t do my job. I couldn’t work with young children.”
When asked if her illness makes her afraid to travel, she jokes she is only afraid of getting through airport security. She gestures to the instrument and wires and then throws up her hands. “I look like a suicide bomber!”
She’s the only one who can joke about her condition. Her doctor, her family, and her friends all worry.“Some days (at school) I have to go to the nurse’s office and lay down on a cot next to the kids who are puking. But then, I get back up and finish my day.” But, she says she knows she will be ok. Her sixth sense tells her… just like it tells her Ethiopia is where she needs to be.
When asked if her illness makes her afraid to travel, she jokes she is only afraid of getting through airport security. She gestures to the instrument and wires and then throws up her hands. “I look like a suicide bomber!”
She’s the only one who can joke about her condition. Her doctor, her family, and her friends all worry.“Some days (at school) I have to go to the nurse’s office and lay down on a cot next to the kids who are puking. But then, I get back up and finish my day.” But, she says she knows she will be ok. Her sixth sense tells her… just like it tells her Ethiopia is where she needs to be.
(Elizabeth Medhin is a TV Journalist, 13 WHAM News Radio Co-Host, WDKX Rochester, NY)
No comments:
Post a Comment