Princess Alexandra Falls
It’s been almost two weeks since I first arrived in Hay River. My thoughts and reflections remain in upheaval as I try to make sense of this place, which is both familiar and alien. On the one hand people turn statements into questions with the ubiquitous “eh” which has defined our nation. On the other hand, there is not a Tim Hortons in sight! I have watched the days grow shorter everyday, waking before the sunset and waiting longer for a brilliant display to ignite the sky. The weather is growing colder and it becomes more foolhardy to forget my mittens, my hands painfully cold despite being tucked into my pockets. Locals remind me that we haven’t even glimpsed winter, and children show-off by letting their jackets slip to the ground, exposing bare shoulders to a wind that tastes of the North.
I have been placed, with S, in the Princess Alexandra School in Hay River. The school ranges from Grade 4 to Grade 7. Entering the school for the first time I am assaulted from all sides by a clamour of questions and comments.
“Are you the new Beaver?”
“Hey Tall Guy!”
“Why are you so tall?”
“Are you Jaime’s Replacement?”
“Jaime was really cool”
I quickly discovered that I am a “Beaver” up here, the term used to describe volunteers from the Frontiers Foundation, although I remain unclear whether it is a term of endearment or an insult. I also realized that I was stepping into the legacy of the previous volunteer, Jaime, and that I would need to carve out my own distinct identity.
My two major tasks at the school are to work with a couple of boys with severe Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD) and to coordinate after school sports programming. Both tasks seemed daunting when I stopped to reflect on what I was undertaking. Thinking back over my education and experience I questioned whether I could possibly be qualified to try help children with FASD develop life skills that they will need or how I might coach young people in sports that I’ve only ever played for fun with no regard for the official rules or strategy. To be honest, I’m not sure if anything in my life as prepared me for these tasks specifically, but maybe that doesn’t necessarily mean that I have an impediment. My experiences so far have been that a willing enthusiasm and an openness to experience are allowing me to learn what works, starting from scratch. It might be the case that a theoretical understanding of the optimal strategies for working with a child with FASD would accelerate the progress of the work, but after a couple of weeks in the school I wonder if those theoretical foundations would be at best ineffective and at worst a series of preconceptions that would need to be unlearned. Two weeks in and I know for certain that Hay River defies expectations and revels in its idiosyncracies.
Miled Reflections 