Teaching with the Ghangida, or, Is there a Trash Can in this Classroom?

The title of this post is an homage to Jeff's great India blog (http://www.findjeff.blogspot.com), in which he recounts his adventures traveling, taking care of Kolkata's sick and destitute, and battling his own nasty gastro-intestinal bugs (a.k.a. "the ghangida").  
As you might have surmised, my first day of teaching began in the wee hours of the morning with overwhelming nausea, stomach pain, and some other yucky things I won't go into. My plan was to get into my office bright and early, do some last-minute photocopying, and generally prepare to meet my students for the first time. Instead, I spent most of the morning in my bathroom (did I mention how very thankful I am for indoor facilities?!). I did eventually pull myself together enough to shower, dress, and walk very slowly to campus. In my office I realized that although my office is wonderful--spacious with a great, sunny window-- it is one floor down from the nearest women's bathroom. A major liability.
 
Anyway, after making desultory conversation with some sympathetic colleagues (some ex-pats say the Beirut nausea never really goes away. Great.), I set off to meet my first group of students. First of all, my first class is in a lovely old-ish building with nice outdoor hallways (one walks along a covered balcony to get from one side to the other) and welcoming, modern classrooms. My American lit survey sudents and I had a lively good time doing a little word association: I asked them what comes to mind when they hear "American," "British," and "Lebanese." After a writing for a minute on each one, they shared their responses. "British" inspired thoughts of tea, stiff upper lips, and Shakespeare. "American" prompted ideas of fast food, Oprah Winfrey (BOTH my classes mentioned Oprah; only one mentioned George W. Bush. Hmm.), and a couple oddly regional responses: funnel cake and In-N-Out Burger. I'm assuming those students spent some time in the mid-Atlantic region and California, respectively. "Lebanese" elicited notions of cedars, nightlife, "the odd bomb here and there" (Tripoli, today), and lots of talk of food. It was by now about 35 minutes into a 50 minute class, and the talk of labneh (similar to plain yogurt) and manouchi (a flatbread sandwich) set off the waves of nausea again. It was when I started sweating and looking around to see if there was a wastebasket in the classroom--just in case--that I realized that I needed to wrap things up. A hasty handing out of the syllabus ensued, and they were on their way. I was ok enough in a few minutes to survive round two with my nineteenth-century students. Whew!
 
Now that I've got the first day under my belt (make that my comfy elastic wasteband), I'm realizing that my students appear to be just like students anywhere. Sure, they can speak several languages, and some of the women wore pretty headscarfs, but most of them seemed like pretty familiar types. I don't know why I was expecting anything different. It will be interesting to re-read this post at the end of the semester and see if my first impressions were accurate. Hopefully by then the ghangida will be gone and peace will reign...in my belly if nowhere else!