Yesterday was my day to tutor my Bhutanese refugee. Before the lesson I met her at Oakland’s annual Refugee Day, an occasion I’d not known existed. Here’s a picture of her with her granddaughter.
One granddaughter. Many granddaughters. During part of the day’s ESL instruction we worked with singular and plural. I spontaneously flew around the room with plastic Aquafina bottles in my hands and placing them here and there. This bottle. That bottle. These bottles. Those bottles. Either it was helpful, or she had no idea what I was talking about: one or the other.
She’s been coughing a lot since I’ve known her, but today more than ever. I’d had a suspicion of why, but was afraid to acknowledge it. Sure enough, she has TB. She’s being treated for it, but ran out of medicine over a month ago. Also, some of her teeth are falling out. On Monday I’m going to try to get her a doctor’s appointment. She can’t do it herself because of her lack of English. She also doesn’t have medical insurance.
I’m also going to write to my volunteer agency to find out if it’s better if her social worker does this stuff, rather than I.
Yet another jool in your crown.