#travelnoire

When you hear the words South of France your first thought is probably dollar signs on dollar signs. From luxury yachts to wine vineyards, the French Riviera evokes a certain level of opulence with which your wallet is not familiar.

Trust me, I understand. I was discouraged from even trying at first but I had been dying to visit the beautiful Azure Coast and was NOT going to let my pitiful bank account stop me. Where there is a will, there is a financially feasible way. The three biggest expenses within any trip is transportation, housing, and leisure. Even if you have no plans to go to the South of France, this guide will help you budget on any trip. 

Transportation

1. Getting There & Back

There’s an app called Rome2Riothat gives you the full play by play on the cost of going from point A to B by plane, trains, and other automobiles. It’s a great starting point. Once you’ve narrowed down your cheapest options, you can buy your tickets right from the site.

At this stage of my life, I value price over convenience. While an hour plane ride sounds lovely, 200 euros does not. I ended up finding a 15 euro Megabus to Marseille. Yes it was a grueling 11 hours…BUT luckily we chose an overnight bus. We left at 10pm and arrived to the beautiful sunny port city at 9am the next day. Not a bad way to wake up.

For the way back, I knew my patience for another 11 hour bus ride would be thin so I decided to spend a little more money on a faster route. I found another online app called KelBillet, where people can sell and buy unused train and bus tickets. It’s a very reliable app where vendors must be verified before posting their tickets to avoid scams. I found a girl desperately trying to sell her originally 70 euro train ticket for half the price. Winning!After traveling all week, a cheap 3 hour high speed train was perfect.

2. Local Transport

So you’re in your travel destination, HOW do you get around without paying crazy expensive taxi fares? No matter what city I travel to, I make use of two very important modes of transportation: the bus and my own damn two feet.

Let’s talk about buses. It’s become increasingly popular to use those Hop On, Hop Off tourist vehicles and while I see the appeal, they are just totally unnecessary. Why spend 40 euros to sight see when you can catch a local bus for 2 euros. It may seem scary but you will see more of the authentic, less touristy parts of town and you will become incredibly familiar with the city.

But the absolute BEST way to travel cheap is to walk. Crazy idea right? Most European cities are very pedestrian friendly. You can spend a day strolling leisurely from one historical monument to the next. You never know what you might stumble upon. A gorgeous field of lavenders, a quaint restaurant that sells regional cuisine, or a hip bar for when happy hour strikes. Walking around a city is the best way to feel within the city. So if you’re physically able and the weather permits, I highly recommend making it your main mode of transportation.

Side tip: I didn’t do this, but bike renting is another very popular option.

3. Short Distance Travel

While our main destination was Marseille, there where other small sea towns we wanted to visit only within an hour distance. We went to Cassis to visit the amazing Calanques (seen below). From Marseille it was very easy. Our hostel told us about a 30-minute shuttle that would take us there for a whopping ONE EURO! If you are ever in the Southeast of France I highly suggest you take the time to see this beautiful treasure. 

We visited the ancient city of Arles by using BlaBlacar.This ridesharing app is basically AirBnB for cars. You find someone that is going the same direction as you and you pitch in for gas. Depending on how far you are going, you can pay as little as 5 euros. It’s not only a great, cheap option, but it gives you a chance to converse with locals!

Housing

For the most part, I love using AirBnB. It’s becoming increasingly popular over the past few years and understandably so. Hostels are crowded and hotels lack personality. I always check this website first but if the prices aren’t to my liking then to Hostelworld.com I go. Honestly, I don’t love hostels. Sharing a room with 8 other 20-something strangers makes me feel like I’m at some drunk summer camp for adults. But its crazy affordable. And who knows, you might even meet some buddies to explore the city with. In general, all you need is a place to lay your head comfortably at night. My only requirements are that it has free breakfast and WiFi (: 

For the first few days, we stayed in a hostel but as funds were getting low we decided to take a less conventional route: Couchsurfing. If you’re not familiar, couch-surfing is when you stay at another person’s house for free. Yes, you heard me: FREE! How is this possible? What’s the catch?? Well, there isn’t any. There are some people in this world that feed off of being hospitable to strangers for the sake of cultural exchange. And ask for nothing in return but respect, trust, and a positive attitude. (Although, its nice to bring them a little something-something as a token of gratitude). 

I’ll be honest, I was VERY skeptical of this option. But here is the personal criteria I follow to ensure a safe experience.

1. I prefer to stay with other women my age. 
2. I only look at verified hosts with fully filled out profiles with at least 20 positive reviews. 
3. Be skeptical of hosts that are NOT selective of their guests. You don’t want someone that just lets anyone in their home. 
   

Using my personal criteria, I had a very positive couchsurfing experience. Our host was absolutely awesome, overwhelmingly generous, and gave us great advice on how best to spend our time in the city. Of course you can create your own criteria, but only do what is comfortable for you. 

Leisure Activities

This could arguably become the most expensive part of your trip but it’s also the one you have the most financial control. For vacation, I always take out cash and refrain from using my debit or credit cards. This allows me to stay in my budget as well as physically keep track of my spending.

1. Food and Drinks

If you follow my advice from housing, breakfast is already taken care of. But for lunch and dinner you have to be careful not to spend 20 euros per meal. Many restaurants in France do lunchtime deals where you can get a lot for a low price. My friend and I took serious advantage of this. Therefore dinner always became grab something small and inexpensive.

For drinks, you can utilize happy hour to the best of your ability but honestly you don’t always need to buy from the bar! It may feel classier to drink un verre du vin at a restaurant overlooking the sea but try just buying a bottle from a supermarket and drink it on the beach with your toes in the sand, watching the sunset over clear blue waves. It’s more memorable that way. 

2. Activities

They say the best things in life are free. Depending on the city, this may be easier said than done. But before you travel always look up a list of inexpensive or practically free activities. For larger cities you can use Timeout. But for smaller cities its best to just ask the locals for advice. Locals know best after all. 

_______________________________________________________________________

So there you have it. In conclusion, traveling on a budget is more feasible than you realize. All it takes is serious financial control and proper planning. Because of our extreme budgeting, we were able to see this…

and this, 

and this,  

and this. 

Happy Traveling! 

“Ugh I didn’t like France. French people are racist”“Go to Italy! They’re so friendly and I hear they love black women”“Do Germans even have black people outside of the military?”

It’s something almost every black traveller fathoms before venturing abroad. How will my blackness be perceived in this predominantly non-black space? It’s a valid concern. At best, our otherness might put us on a flattering pedestal. At worst, we might get mistreated. Even traveling to remote areas of the U.S you will find people that stare at you and ask aggravating questions like “Can I touch your hair?”. I certainly wondered about how I’d fare as a black woman before moving to France. 

But this post is really not justabout me. Yes I am black. Yes I am in Europe. But that really doesn’t make me special. Because even though only a small percentage of African Americans travel to Europe yearly, there are tens of millions of black people that are already there: Afro-Europeans. 

Black people don’t just live in Africa and the United States. Thanks (but like, no thanks) to colonialism, the African diaspora truly reaches some of the most unlikely corners of the earth. Most African Americans make the mistake of assuming that we are the only group of african descendants living as the underrepresented, mistreated, systematically oppressed minorities in predominantly white spaces. Tell that to the 55 million Afro-Brazilians. Or the millions of black descendants in the UK, Italy, and France. 

But our egocentricism isn’t entirely our fault. I, too, had no idea exactly how many black and brown people lived in Europe until I came here. I assumed based on films, television, and images I had seen growing up that Europe is one homogenous white continent. Full of sameness with very little variation of color or culture (or at least not culture from an ethnic standpoint). It’s the invisible diversity of Europe. In the same way African-Americans lack representation in almost all facets of our society, Afro-Europeans lack it even more. 

I had met a lot of people my first couple of months in France but I still felt something was missing. I yearned to connect with people that were like-minded. People in which I had an inevitable bond with. In short, I needed to make black friends. It sounds silly to some but anyone a part of a minority group in some way (race, sexuality, etc) understands this desire. 

The problem was never the lack of black people, but how to organically make friends with them. Making friends as an adult is not an easy feat. When you’re a kid it’s so easy! All you have to do is say this: 

But how do you tell a random person you think they’re kinda cool and we should hang out in the most platonic way possible without being creepy? 

Several months later and I’ve met friends of friends, connected with random people through social media, and have even joined a Black Expats in Paris meet-up. By speaking with people I’ve gathered quite a few perspectives. 

African Americans are both admired and envied in France. Believe it or not, we have the type of global visibility not afforded to others of the African Diaspora. African Americans are the examples of cool, the creators of pop culture. Our celebrities are their celebrities, our favorite TV shows are their favorites too. African Americans are vocal in periods of inequality and reactionary during times of social injustice. Mike Brown & Trayvon Martin are not only names uttered on American soil. “I Have a Dream” is familiar to all European ears, the “Black Lives Matter” cry has been heard around world and the Civil Rights Movement is a part of their curriculum just as much as ours. In short, the Black American experience has left a definite mark in world history. 

For Black Europeans, however, their history tends to get shoved under the rug. I am not AT ALL an expert on this topic but here is a concise history of European colonization in Africa in my own words. 

**Anndi’s Quick and Over-simplified History on the Conquest of Africa**

In the late 1800s, several European countries such as the UK, France, and Portugal had set up port cities in Africa for trading goods and resources. Everything was cool until this dude named King Leopold II of Belgium was like, “you know what would be awesome? My own territory in the Congo”. So homeboy sliced out a chunk of the Congo for his own PERSONAL benefit, not even in the name of Belgium. The other European powers (UK, France, Italy, Portugal, and Germany) started to freak out and thought, “Damn my ego is super big, how can I make it bigger?”. So they had a meeting in Germany, found a map of Africa, and literally cut the continent apart like slices of pizza. It’s worth mentioning that none of the African countries in question were invited to said pizza party. So NINETY PERCENT of the continent was colonized without permission,MILLIONSof Africans were forced into labor, resources were exploited, men were killed, women were raped, children were maimed, feuding ethnic groups were mixed…all under the guise that they were “saving uncivilized savages from eternal damnation”.

Flash forward several decades and the European Powers finally started to leave. Whether they left on their own accord or were driven out by revolutionary groups, the heinous effects of imperialism are evident for several African countries by way of corrupt governments, tireless civil wars, and psychological trauma.

**The End** ….Except not the end because these heinous effects still linger. 

I’ve noticed a slight lack in community for Afro-French people. For African-Americans, there’s this idea of fictive kinship. I may not know you from Adam, but if we are the only two black people within a predominantly white space then we will acknowledge one another. But that’s only on a micro-level. On a macro-scale, we have become masters of creating spaces for ourselves. Hair salons & barbershops, Historically Black Colleges and Universities, BET Network, NAACP… we have a black national anthem!! All with the intent of uplifting and strengthening one another, for validating our place in a society not made for us. 

But our sense of community derives from our shared experiences. Many of our ancestors were slaves. Many of our living relatives grew up in segregation. For France, and many other European countries, the experiences of black europeans, while similar, are not identical nor are they shared. At any rate, its hard to have a sense of community when you don’t even know how many people of African descent live in your country. Apparently, taking an ethnic census is constitutionally banned in France. 

For Afro-french people, they’re not bound together by race as much as their family origins. If you’re a black woman from Guadeloupe, you might feel a bigger bond to people from the West Indies than to those from West Africa. Honestly, I envy greatly that Afro-Europeans know exactly where they come from and even have family that still live in those countries. I have never felt so shameful about not knowing my roots until moving here. Every time I meet an Afro-french person for the first time, the conversation goes as follows.

Them:So where are you from?

Me:I’m from the U.S!

Them:Yeah, I know. But like where are you really from?

Me: Washington, DC. 

Them:What’s your family origin I mean to say.

Me:Um…I don’t know? My ancestors were slaves so…

Them:…..

Me:…..Nice meeting you! 

In general, there’s this idea that black people are never really from whatever predominantly white country they reside in. Afro-french people can be born and raised in Paris and never feel or be seen as “french”. Even when I meet White Europeans, they are generally skeptical about my origin story but for a different reason. Because I have a lighter skin tone than most Afro-french, many assume that I am “métisse” or mixed. During my trip to Italy, an italian man told me “You’re beautiful. I love mulattowomen”. The assumption really bothers me because black and beautiful are not mutually exclusive concepts homeboy! But I do love their faces of disappointment when I tell them I am proudly, undeniably, 100% BLACK. 

But let’s discuss some positives, for there are many. While Black French don’t organize against injustices in the same way we do, that doesn’t mean they aren’t having these important conversations. The Afro-fem movement seems to be really big here. I’ve seen countless articles, youtube videos, tweets, and have even been invited to conferences by Afro-feminists to discuss the interesting balance of race and gender. 

I’ve met so many black french women who are smart and woke. Clever and funny. Women who want to be a voice for their community. Women who are artists, poets, and singers. Women who are beautiful inside and out. Women who are writers. Women who are fly. Women who are college educated. Women who want to uplift and strengthen their fellow sisters. Women who want to be a vessel for serious change in their society. 

So don’t sleep on Afro-Europeans. They have a very real place in our world. 

I would be remiss not to mention the Strolling Series by Cecile Emeke, which was in truth my personal introduction to Afro-European voices. Cecile Emeke is a British woman who brilliantly decided to film black individuals across the African diaspora. The result? Unraveling the generalized blanket of our black experiences into singular, personal threads of testimony. Emeke has filmed in the Netherlands, Italy, Jamaica, and many other countries and its widespread appeal has garnered a huge Youtube following. Of course, you’ll hear the familiar stories of micro-agressions, respectability politics, and self-love affirmation. But you’ll also hear views on mental health, sexual orientation & expression, capitalism, veganism, colonial reparations, and a plethora of other subjects not often heard from black standpoints. 

If you’re interested, I would start with one of my three favorites: Two Black Friends in France ,One Black Male Feminist from the UK, orA Black Actress in London. 

So what does it mean to be Black in Europe? I have the same answer for someone who would ask what its like to be black in the U.S. There is no simple answer. The culture, the attitudes, the ideas, the joys, the struggles of black people are not monolithic. They are varied. They are nuanced. They may intersect but they don’t coalesce. 

I write this to say there is more to the black experience than what you have experienced personally. I think its important not only to have conversations on blackness within the US but in a global context as well. And lets remind ourselves that as Black Americans, our global visibility gives us a certain level of privilege. The next time you say #BlackLivesMatter, mentally expand that demand outside of North America. When you think of the black community, challenge yourself to think beyond your own borders. 

And if you’re able, travel abroad. Talk to people. Have these discussions. Your eyes and minds will open wider than you know. 

Have you ever been carried by a French firefighter to the hospital?

I have. 

Last week I was set to leave for Rome for 5 days with a friend. I was practically skipping with excitement days prior. I learned rudimentary italian on Duolingo, I watched the Lizzie McGuire Movie in preparation, and I fantasized about buttery noodles I can’t pronounce while practicing various poses for Instagram. I was ready! After being in wine and cheese France for 6 months, I couldn’t wait to get a taste of another culture. 

Seven hours before take off, I get on the bus to the airport. (I live really far away and had planned to meet my friend at her house beforehand).  As I’m still searching for a seat, the bus goes Herby Fully Loaded on me and totally throws me off balance. Before I know it I’m on the floor bleeding from my leg on a bus full of a people. No one offered to help me. Gotta love the french! 

I boogie-board the bus all the way to the train station. It’s 11pm and only the most precarious characters are around. My jeans and brand new white converses are now soaked in blood. *Cue nervous laughter* as I realize I look like the Walking Dead. So I limp-run through the platform in search of a bathroom. I finally find one not occupied by a homeless man but only to find out theres no toilet paper or paper towels. Parfait. 

Being the adult that I am, I call my daddy 6,000 miles away for advice. “ You should probably go to a hospital”, he suggests. Of course. Why on earth didn’t I think of that? 

I try to call 911 and then remember that 911 is an American emergency number. What’s the French emergency number. WHY on earth don’t I know this?!?! I’m a terrible expat. 

Six hours before take off and I am officially panicking. Because I’m in a train station in Nowhereville, France, I decide to (literally) hop on the train to the next more populated station. I get there to find it equally deserted. But that’s when Antoine the Firefighter saved found me. He calls an ambulance and it arrives in lightening speed. Antoine decides to board the ambulance like the gentleman he is. Antoine is cute. I’m in love with Antoine. He starts asking me all these personal questions, like where I live, what I do, and my phone number. Naturally I start flirting back until I realize he’s just filling out out my medical release form.

I’m wheeled into the ER, large suitcase in my lap, to find everyone and their mother and their mother’s mother waiting on a doctor. All I can think about is Rome. “How long is this going to take? I have a flight to catch!” Must. Have. BUTTERY NOODLES. My desperation earns me a seat at the front of line. I even cut a sick baby and woman that looks like the Crypt Keeper but scarier. 

Five hours before take off and I finally see a doctor. His name is Doogie Howser. Seriously how old was this kid? After clumsily applying anesthesia, Doogie administers six sloppy stitches to my shin. I can tell he’s as nervous as I am because his hand is shaking and he keeps asking the real doctor, “is this good?”. I’m too anxious to care because all I can think about is my flight and the fact that my white shoes are ruined. Mind you I am documenting this entire ordeal on Snapchat because I’m a millennial and thats just what we do. 

Four hours before take-off and I am unceremoniously released from the ER with a long list of prescriptions. I have no idea how I’m supposed to pick up said prescriptions considering its 2am and none of the pharmacies are open until after I leave for Rome. “Italy has pharmacies too” , says the sassy, disgruntled front desk lady. 

Three hours before take-off, I finally meet up with my friend at her house. The airport is 25-30 minutes away from her house but because we’re cheap we decide to take an hour long night bus for 2 euros instead of a 40 euro taxi. I don’t know what type of people I expected to be on the bus at 3am….but the sketch parade was in full force. Every stop the passengers are creepier than the last. They bus lights were dimmed, the rain came down hard, and the windows were so foggy we couldn’t even see the buildings. We clung to one another the whole 60 minutes. 

Ten minutes before take-off. The anesthesia is starting to wear off, I’ve thrown back some Ibuprofen, and I’m sitting window seat next to a priest. The meds kick in just in time for take off and I realize I haven’t slept in almost 24 hours. I knock out before the plane even leaves the ground. The End. 

What Did We Learn: 

- Don’t take public transportation by yourself after midnight. 

- Always know the emergency numbers in whatever country you’re in. 

- Ask more questions on the credentials of people operating on you (if need be).

- Trust french firefighters, especially if his name is Antoine. 

When I first applied to teach abroad, there was a section of the application that asked if I was willing to work in a Zone Urbaine Sensible (ZUS). Sensitive Urban Zone is just a fancy term for po’ & run down. A ZUS typically has a high percentage of public housing, high rates of unemployment, and very low percentages of high school degrees. In the United States we tend to refer to these places as the inner-city, but in Paris most of these neighborhoods are found in les banlieues just outside of the city. 

So knowing all of this before applying, I reluctantly marked a check in the square box. Why on earth would I agree to this, you ask? A couple reasons. The main reason being I was desperate to get into the program and thought that since many people would say no, this might help my chances. The second reason is because I wanted to have students from diverse ethnic and cultural backgrounds. I grew up in the Washington, DC metropolitan area and I am just in general used to that type of environment. But I didn’t imagine how much I would enjoy the experience. 

So I ended up being placed in 3 schools in 2 different cities. Two of my schools are in a nice, clean middle class community. There are town hall meetings, weekly farmer’s markets, community centers, a movie theater, and everything a good ‘ole town needs to feel complete. The other school is placed in a town that…has a lot to be desired. Its funny because these cities are RIGHT next to one another but if you go 5 minutes in the other direction it feels like a different world. 

The “lesser” city is not a ZUS but its probably one more project building away from it. When I told my other schools that I was teaching there, they all got wide eyed. “Oh you’ll never be able to control those kids. They’re wild. They all come from broken homes”. Even the teachers at that very “wild” school warned me before I entered the first day that they have a hard time controlling their students. All of a sudden I was scared. Wild? Uncontrollable? Am I about to be a teacher or a lion tamer?  

“How bad could they be?”, I thought. “They’re in elementary school for crying out loud.” 

I didn’t know how I would be received that first day but I certainly was not prepared for what I got. I walked in and was pleasantly surprised to see a sea of black and brown faces. Most of them are children of first generation immigrants from North and West Africa. I even have a handful of students from Cambodia, Vietnam, and India. Their excitement was borderline fanatical. I felt like a rockstar. Rich Homie Quan was right, I DO “be feeling like the man when I walk through”. Everyone came running up to me, asking me questions, shouting my name as if they’d known me for years. I finally know how Beyonce feels on the red carpet. 

I’m sure there are several reasons why their love for me was so instantaneous. Maybe its because I’m American. Maybe it’s because I’m considerably cooleryounger than the other teachers. But I can’t help but feel like the main reason is simply because I am black. 

We all know that representation matters. Typically when we speak on representation, we are referring to movies, sports, politics or some other platform seen behind a screen. Recent uproar on the lack of diversity within the Oscars is proof of that. But rarely do we consider the affect representation might have within an interpersonal relationship. Of all three schools, among roughly 30-40 educators, I am the only teacher of color. In schools that are made up of almost 90% minorities, you can imagine the message that subconsciously sends to the students. 

I’ve learned that being Black American is also synonymous with “cool” in France. One of the first questions my 4th graders asked me that first day was if I knew how to whip and nae-nae. Immediately, almost as if rehearsed, the class sprang up and started singing and dancing that incredibly annoying popular song by Silento. The principal was shouting, attempting to calm them down but something possessed me to dance with them. Their reaction was hilarious. They clapped and cheered as if I had finished the decathlon. I was given a “cool” test and I passed with flying colors. 

They love to bombard me with stereotypical questions:

Are you related to Obama?No. 

Have you met him?No. 

Have you seen the Queen?I’m not British. 

Have you been to New York?  Yes.

Do you eat hamburgers everyday?I wish. 

Have you met a cowboy?….No..?

Do you wear flip flops?Huh? 

Have you visited Big Ben? Again, Maxime, I’m not British. 

In the first week I created a slideshow about my life in the US. I included pictures of my friends, family, doing activities growing up, etc. They went crazy over my cheerleading photo, thinking that was only something they see in movies. And they oo-ed and ah-ed when they saw how big my college football stadium was. But there were two photos in particular that really took them aback. 

One picture was a photo of my sorority sisters and I at graduation, laughing with our caps on tight and tassles swinging high in the air. I had hoped they saw what I saw: Women with degrees. ** Black Girl Magic **. 

The other photo was of me in front of the Lincoln Memorial. Unsure of their familiarity with American history, I noted that Lincoln is most known for liberating blacks from slavery during his presidency and then explained how Martin Luther King gave his famous “I Have a Dream” speech in that very same location. For some of them it went over their heads but I could tell some were reflecting quietly on this. They were wide-eyed when I said MLK has his own memorial in DC and that a Black History Museum is currently being built. 

Imagine speaking in front of black and brown children who live in a country that rarely, if ever, discusses their ancestor’s history. And then telling them that there is a country, which is predominately white, that actually gives months and national holidays dedicated to the celebration and remembrance of people of color. To us, Black/Hispanic/Asian History Month is commonplace, but in France this is a mind-blowing, foreign concept. 

After class ended that day, one of my students came up and asked where I was from. “The United States of course!” I responded. 

“No,” she corrected. “I mean where are you from originally” 

This is a question I’ve grown quite accustomed to being asked here. In France, people of color are never seen as just black, or maghrebin(people from North Africa), or asian, etc. Where your ancestral roots lie are a big part of you. I finally told her, “My family has been in the US for centuries. I don’t know which African country I’m originally from”. 

“Oh,”she said disappointedly. “I was hoping you were from Cameroon like me”. And in that moment I wished I was too. 

My students have a knack for bringing my spirits up on bad days. Thanksgiving Day was a particularly rough day for me. I was in an unhappy living situation (Read HERE), I was physically sick for the past two weeks with no medical insurance, and I was homesick on the most familial day of the year. I was eating lunch alone in the teachers lounge when one of my (favorite) 3rd grade students ran up to me and said “Happy Thanksgiving, Anndi. You are too beautiful and I love you so much”. 

The hug she gave me was filled with so much love I could have sworn I was hugging a family member. That moment was really touching because it made me realize I was having a profound affect on someone. 

It has now been 5 months teaching and the “bad” school, the one EVERYONE said I would never be able to handle, is my absolute favorite. These kids make me excited to go to work. They are so motivated to learn english. Most of the time I don’t even remember that they come from underprivileged neighborhoods. But every now and then I get reminders. 

When I notice a student is wearing the same outfit several days in a row, I remember. When I ask a student why they don’t have any materials for class, I remember. When I had planned to do an activity where the whole class draws their family tree and am told by another teacher “thats not a good idea…”, then I remember. 

Listen, this is not a Hallmark movie. I’m not Ron Clark or Hilary Swank from Freedom Writers, giving underprivileged children hope to strive for greatness in the midst of disparity. (I’m probably more akin to Jack Black in School of Rock). But I do feel like I’ve been making a positive impression in their lives and most of that I feel is because they somehow see themselves in me. I can’t pretend they don’t drive me crazy or act out from time to time. But at the end of the day, they’re good kids. They’re beautiful, they’re funny, they’re engaging, they’re sweet, and I am so happy to call them my students.