Just as the Saharawis think that having a toilet seat is strange, we think teaching in a dark classroom with the only source of light being the window is exotic, strange and challenging. Eivind's classroom door doesn't close, Sunniva's advanced class struggle with grasping the verb 'I have' and my class shows up thirty minutes after we supposedly have started. On a good day, that is. Yet, we find our role as teachers very interesting. Being a teacher gives us a time where we are in full control of the situation- a stark contrast to the rest of our 21 hours of the day. Being in control can be demanding and sometimes even difficult. On Tuesday, while attempting to explain personal pronouns to my students, one woman entered my class. This was about one hour into my lesson, but instead of asking if she could join she simply took over, greeted all individual students in the very long, traditional Saharawi way (how are you, how is your family, I'm fine, Mohammed is fine, Fatima is fine... inshalla) and upon finishing the once-so-nice tradition sat down on a empty chair looking at me like she had won a battle. This whole thing took five minutes at least, and believe me, I tried to get her to sit down! Now, it turned out that the woman didn't speak a word of English and after a while she left my class. I'm adapting to the new Saharawi culture, and have after a while realised to expect everything. I'm not surprised anymore if the classroom is covered in sand when entering the centre, or if my student have to go outside to chat with her friend for the 17th time the very same hour. I have at least made them go outside! All three of us, Sunniva, Eivind and I, are enjoying the time at the centre. We have become close friends with some of our students already and despite cracked black boards and lack of paper, we are slowly adapting to this new role. Right now, we simply hope that our students will show up after this weekend. Inshalla.