Sometimes three-and-a-half-hour meetings are worth it.

Today was our end-of-semester teacher’s meeting. Going in, I was prepared for the discussion of our students’ performances over the past five months to start late and last longer than I would guess.

I was right.

What I wasn’t anticipating was what would happen after.

About halfway through the meeting, we starting passing around a sheet of what we would like to drink. Martin, the history teacher, before me had asked for a beer. Following his lead, I wrote the same thing. There was potentially a light at the end of this tunnel of a meeting.

Three hours and 43 minutes later, we set out to the bar near my house. When I got there, I stood awkwardly, not really knowing where to sit until a group of three teachers called me over to sit with them.

Of the 13 teachers at my school, I am one of two women. I would like to say that I have experience breaking into boys clubs, but even five months later, I still wasn’t sure how this one would take me.

The three guys that called me over wanted to spend dinner trying to practice English. I spent the next 45 minutes fielding questions such as “How can I speak English like you?”, “Can you find me a pen pal in the US?” and “How can I maintain my woman?” I don’t remember the last time I laughed that much when I wasn’t with a group of Americans.

One of the best parts came later when, leaving the bar, we ran into several students.

“After the meeting you guys went drinking?” one innocently asked us.

There are times when I really hate being in my village. And then there are times when I couldn’t have asked for a better group of people with whom surround myself for the next 19 months.

Tonight was one of those nights.