For the past few weeks I have been helping out with a kids’ soccer clinic. There is an international school, called the Media School, which has three main branches: Erbil, Sulimaniyah, and here in Duhok. A majority of the teachers are from the United States, and starting at a young age the children begin taking classes in English. Their standardized test scores are often much higher, and I would surmise to say that their outlook on life is probably different too due to so much interaction with Westerners. I maintain that programs like this one are a far more effective and less costly form of diplomacy than our traditional means, but perhaps I will discuss that a different day. For now, I’ll stick to soccer.
This soccer clinic is a basic skills and instruction program hosted by two Brazilians, Claudio and Marcus. I am not sure about Claudio’s background, but I know that Marcus was a former professional player in Brazil. He never quite made the national team, but to even play for a top team in the most highly respected football nation in the world says something. Both men are genuinely nice, clearly religious, and care deeply about making a quality program for the kids. I found out about the program from Andy, an American teacher at the Media School, who is now becoming a close friend of mine. He is from Iowa and living in Duhok with his wife and two young children.
The soccer program runs on Saturdays from 130pm-430pm and is open to 4th, 5th, and 6th graders. There is a later program for 7th and 8th graders but I am unable to attend that one because of time constraints. Generally, a day at the clinic consists of some warm-up activities, stretching, small team drills, discussing how soccer skills can apply to life, and scrimmages. The first week I was slightly timid because the program had already been running for 5 weeks and I was brand new. I did not know the kids so I chose to just have fun with them and keep the “coaching” to a minimum. By week two the younger ones had really taken a liking to me; I organized a small team and, while playing a scrimmage with them, was by far the most vocal coach on the field. I was constantly chirping about ball movement, teamwork, spreading the field, controlling the ball, and quick passes. I think the other team probably had more individual talent, but my team destroyed them. The kids were happy and, in my head at least, I think they at least learned a little something…even if there is a good chance they forgot it 5 minutes later.
The older kids, despite only being a year or two older, were visibly more set in their ways. This team was far more “me” and much less “we.” Our team was getting smacked down until they finally started playing more together. I was pleading to them the entire game, but it didn’t clique until near the end. We ended up losing, but I hope they learned something from the experience. It is no fun to play for a team that gets down on each other and doesn’t work together. That is an important lesson for them to take with them in all aspects of life. Next week is the last week of the clinic, but this has shown me that coaching a kids’ sports team is definitely in my future. I look forward to the basketball clinic that should start sometime this summer.
Next up in my musings of life in Iraq was a short cab ride on the way to the barber. Cab rides in Duhok are always a mixed bag. Sometimes you get a driver who speaks decent English and you can have a brief conversation; other times they speak no English whatsoever so you are limited to exchanging pleasantries and one word answers in Kurdish. This particular cab ride offered something I completely did not expect. In Kurdish, the driver asked me if I spoke French. Although my level of French has severely declined due to two years of minimal usage, I can still understand at a basic level. The driver happened to spend 4 years in Switzerland working at a hotel in Geneva; while not perfect either, he could also get by. We chatted for a bit in French until we realized that there were still some holes in our conversation. He couldn’t speak English, so I tried throwing some Kurdish into the mix. I never expected that by mixing French and Kurdish together we could have a nearly complete conversation. There were certainly details that were missed, but the dialogue surprisingly flowed quite freely.
When situations like this arise you truly begin to feel like an international citizen. I have always said that if I had three wishes they would be to: a) fly like Superman, b) heal physical ailments, and c) speak every language in the world. Although I am infinitely away from the third goal, it was still a cool experience nevertheless. What topped it off was also getting a haircut, shave, and 6 DVDs for a grand total of $9. Sometimes you gotta love Iraq….
No comments:
Post a Comment