The Eritrean School Director

He sits in my class, clinging to every word. Hoping that he will catch every nuance, but castigating himself for his self-perceived lack of understanding. Every break in my lecturing he comes to me and apologizes for his inadequacies. I talk to him of patience and self-compassion. I remind him in every class that learning takes time and also that he is doing better than he thinks.

I ask him one day after class, "What did you do in Eritrea?"
"I was the director of a school. I studied and taught mathematics. I am not good at languages."
I smile and shake my head. I draw an upward sloping line on the whiteboard with plateaus along the way. I explain that learning anything goes along this line. He nods his head and smiles, but I can tell from his eyes he does not believe me. He smiles and thanks me for my time. Apologizes again for his incompetence. Then he heads out the door, heading back to work. He gives up his dinner break twice a week to come to my class. He works as an orderly at a local hospital.