The pillowcases of our country

14^th July

Students in Bhutan are taught most of their subjects in English, and while some of them are quite fluent, others struggle.

Given that for the students I teach, English is their third language, they do much better than I have ever done with a third language.  The local language is Sharchop, an unwritten language, as are many of the minor languages, and the national language, Dzongkha, which all must learn at school and which is the language of formal communication for the country.  While the students are supposed to speak either English or Dzonkha at school, I think that they often speak Sharchop. 

The teachers too, are required by policy to speak to the students only in Dzonkha or English, but for some teachers, even those who are required to teach their subject in English, their grasp of the language is not strong and what might be intended as a request invitation can often come across as a demand, and their written English sometimes reflects this, as a recent examination question illustrated.  One did speculate on why poor sections of people were necessary goods, after all, one has to amuse oneself somehow when invigilating a 2 hour exam.

There are, naturally, also degrees of competence amongst the students at written English and reading some of their efforts provides challenges, frustrations, amusement and sometimes, absolute hilarity.

Early on I was asked to proof read the Democracy Club magazine, with permission given to correct the writing, including the Vice Principal’s introduction.  The “track changes” function in Word was most useful!

One student, Nima, whose English teacher suggested had not actually written the piece himself, entitled his piece Advent of democratic world.  I pause to note the absence of an article – incredibly common in their writings.

Nima proceeds through a couple of paragraphs of flowery writing, praising the concept of democracy, to make the statement:

            “It is astonishing that His Majesty the King Jigme Singye Wangchuck had previously changed the pillowcase of our country towards th most satisfying sway.”

Astonishing indeed!  I was unaware that royalty were so concerned about the state of our bed linen.  With much amusement I changed the statement to talk about the pillars of our country and shared this little snippet with my colleagues.  With my friends, “changing the pillowcases” has become a bit of a standing joke.

Another wonderful little snippet for my amusement was from a student who asked me to correct a piece of English portfolio writing about friendship (actually, the piece was probably placed in front of me with the words “Madam, Portfolio”, a habit I am attempting to change.)  This student shared the piece of wisdom that we should choose good friends, not bed friends.  I was quite pleased that the student was not with me as I corrected this piece; so restraining my amusement was not necessary.  I understand from the class’s English teacher that the error was repeated in an examination answer, whether or not by the same student, I could not say.

Sometimes, what they write defies my comprehension.  Why would you write, on the front of your test paper “Madam, my name is written on the back page”?  Other times it gives me a little smile of appreciation, such as with the apology for poor test performance, or the self-made bookmarks placed to assist me in located a homework assignment, proclaiming the importance and benefits of hard work, when the assignment itself is incomplete or sloppy work.

I often think that it would be better if the students could write good basic English rather than being encouraged to expand their vocabulary with words, which if not obscure, have limited use and are often used inappropriately.  

I have made myself a promise to keep a record of the coming term’s amusing items.

What does surprise me pleasantly is the students’ preparedness to express their emotions openly.  I read love poems written by both boys and girls in class 8, I read poems they have written about their mothers (many deceased) and words that they write about us, their teachers.  I know that using the expression that teachers are their second parents is a bit of a cliché, but on Teachers’ day, when I received a card with those words from a student whose mother had died only recently, I found it particularly moving.

There are some students who are quite fluent and clear English speakers, and I had the opportunity to witness this one day, when I was asked to adjudicate an English class debate.  (All those hours spent as the solo cheer leader for my son’s debating team through 4 years actually came in useful here)  One young man, with a very winning smile, spoke very well, very persuasively, despite having little to say.  Perhaps a career in politics……

I have one student in class 8 who is part of my English Literary Club (yes, I am not a good person to be taking that club, but it was given to me anyway) who is, I believe, quite talented.  She brought me poems early in the year, but these dropped away, as did her performance in all subjects, as bigger issues impacted on her life.  I encouraged her to continue writing, to use self expression as a form of therapy, and am again touched by some of her writing.

I have recently seen one of her poems, mourning the loss of her grandmother one year past, and another in which she talks about her struggle to come out of her pond, her determination not to give up, despite lack of success and her sorrow when she sees her friends in functional family relationships.  She says, “Noone has enlightenment without facing obstacles”.  Some obstacles no child should have to face.

I photograph these poems with my phone, with the intent of compiling into a document and having it published in some way for her – probably only A4 printing and spiral binding given the facilities available.  It would be a small tribute to her capability and talent that may encourage and support her to better survive the obstacles that are impacting on her on a daily basis.

The naughty river

12^th July

Fording the "Naughty River"

“The river is very naughty,” says our driver, as we pause to make sure that the following vehicle successfully fords the river we have just crossed and makes it through the tight uphill turn with a muddy bog that immediately followed it, “last year it washed away one Bolero.  Everyone was killed.”

Given that just below the ford was a waterfall, albeit not huge, one could imagine that the river in full flood could easily wash away this preferred make of Indian four-wheel drive vehicle that is used as taxi transport.

The Gongri Chhu from my kitchen windwo

I come from Australia “the land of flooding rains” and news reports of vehicles being stranded, or caught by floodwaters are not uncommon, but I have never lived this close to such events.

The Gongri Chhu, the sound of which lulls me to sleep every night, has changed as the rains have started.  From a quiet background noise, it has developed into a steady roar.  Students were warned, at the final assembly before the mid term break, to stay clear of the river.  These students often do not learn to swim, despite the fact that there is water in every valley, but the movement of these rivers once the rains start would not just be a matter of managing to swim confidently and competently.  There is a “take no prisoners” look to sections of this river as it winds its way down the valley, through the twists and turns that resemble some of the important letters in Dzongkha, and so it considered auspicious.

The Gongri Chhu at Gongza in early June

I sit now, at the prayer wheel at the school, writing this and admiring the view and listening to the river’s roar.

Even on 2^nd June, when we hiked down the hill to visit the Gongza sacred site, the river levels were already rising, and the river running fast.  Some of the sacred sites and stones were not accessible.

Returning from Trashigang late last week, we follow the banks of the Drachme Chuu to the confluence of the Kulong Chhu and the Gongri Chhu.  Rivers here get new names after a confluence; it does save the problem of determining which is the most significant river!

Fording a river near Phongme, November 2013

As we travelled along, with the monsoonal rain easing as we got further from Trashigang, I could only imagine what this river will be like when the rains get very heavy and we near the end of the monsoon season.  When I arrived this river was a beautiful blue river, tumbling over stones and boulders, as it wound it way down its valley.  Now it is grey, angry, and it does not tumble over the larger boulders, it rushes at them with apparent intent to bulldoze out of its way.  The force that shapes landscapes and polishes river rocks to a round finish is very much in evidence.  There are places where I think anyone’s chances of survival, should they be unfortunate enough to fall in, would be minimal.  Richard Flanagan’s “Death of a River Guide” comes to mind. 

The alternative river crossing near Phongme, November 2013

As we approach the confluence of the Kulong Chhu and the Gongri Chhu, a spot that is always noisy with the force of the water, the noise becomes deafening, and one’s fantasy does not have to be too active to appreciate the demons and spirits that may be attributed to such places.

The rising rivers can isolate many communities.  When I was here as a tourist in 2013, we passed one such stream, between Radi and Phongme; the presence of basket-like conveyance on a rope above the river gorge a little downstream attesting to the only method of crossing once the rains set in.  

The remains of the bridge on the Omba track

The makeshift bridge on the Omba track

We see bridge construction underway across many rivers, but also see evidence of bridges having been washed away.  Seeing the force with which the Kulong Chhu assaulted the remains of the previous bridge at Duksum, I am not surprised, but the height of the bridge supports that crosses the (currently) small river near Omba falls, not far from Kheni, boggles my imagination at how much the river must rise to have removed that bridge.

A day in the life of…

10^th July

One of my "school uniforms" - Kira  & Taego

This time next week school will be back in full swing.  Day 1 is Thursday, and I am scheduled for SOD – staff on duty.  This means arriving at school, dressed in my kira etc, by 6am to supervise morning prayer.  Despite the ridiculously early start (for me) I have found myself adjusting to the earlier rising:  the fact that many of my neighbours are up and about by this time does not enhance my sleeping late.  The walk to school is along the unpaved road, an absolute mud bog outside the gate to where I live, but I don’t think I will ever tire of the view of the valley or the beauty of the school prayer wheel.

Morning prayer is for the boarders – around 130 of them, and is rather a special time, apart from the need to keep an eye on some of the students to ensure they are doing the right thing.  Prayer is very much a part of their upbringing, their culture, and I feel very privileged to be part of this.

The boarders range in age from class PP (6 year olds) to class 8 (some of whom are up to 19 years old – no hesitation here about holding a student back if they are not passing.

The prayer wheel at Kheni Lower Secondary Schoo

Many, but not all, of the younger boarders have older siblings who are also boarders but there is one little boy who does not, and some of the older boys take it in turns to help him with washing his clothes, bathing, etc.  This caring for younger children is very much part of the culture and it is not uncommon in the villages to see quite young children with babies strapped to their backs with the handwoven shawls that are commonly used for this purpose.

Morning prayer is followed by morning study – required to be undertaken in silence, and then breakfast.

Breakfast, like all meals, includes much rice, and I never cease to be amazed by the quantitative of food that the small boys can consume.  To see the tiny six year olds, with their bowls heaped to overflowing, always leaves me wondering where they put it all!

One day in morning study I was intrigued by sqeaking noises coming from the direction of one of the boys and he confessed to having a fledgling tucked in his gho – he had picked up this little bird which was having difficulty flying.  These boys can be as rough and tumble as any, but sometimes very gentle too.  One helped me to plant my tree on national tree planting day, and to see the care with which Yeshi, a big boy in class 8, was breaking up the cow manure with his bare hands and carefully placing it around my sapling was really quite touching.

Dishwashing after a meal

Breakfast and dishwashing (assuming the water supply is working) is followed by morning social work.  I should have mentioned that dishwashing is, of course, done outside under the cold water tap.

Morning social work includes sweeping of the multipurpose hall and classrooms, the assembly ground and paths.  I have been trying to encourage wiping of the multipurpose hall tables to remove the spilt food – it just makes conducting the occasional unit test easier if I don’t have to avoid the puddles of tea or dhal when handing out papers.  The social work also involves gardening and picking up litter – wrappers of foodstuffs and snacks that are not supposed to be brought into the school, but….

SUPW - Socially Useful Productive Work
- making beautiful gardens

The litter problem is ubiquitous.  Like many countries that have been recently introduced to western foodstuffs and it wrappings, litter is often discarded at random despite attempts to educate otherwise.

Assembly, with further prayer, the unfurling of the flag, singing of the national anthem is also an opportunity to the dissemination of information; announcements are made, for both students and staff, and there are usually prepared speeches – one in English and one is Dzonkha – delivered by class 7 or 8 students.  As SOD I am required to comment on and give a mark for these speeches.  I seek assistance in relation to the Dzonkha speech!  Sometimes I understand the whole of the speech delivered in English. 

Classes start at 8:35am and there are 7 periods in the day.  Classes generally finishes at 3:20pm, with an hour for lunch.  My best day gives me 3 free periods and my busiest day, only 1.  Classes are also scheduled for Saturday morning, with 3 periods before a reading period and social work.

As well as my own classes and preparation and marking, students also seek me out to correct their English portfolio writing.  I am now making them ask me in full sentences, rather than putting a notebook in front of me while saying only “Madam, portfolio.”  The correction of their limited command of the English language can provide entertainment, and that should be the topic of another blog.  One category of errors so common that it is almost ubiquitous is the inappropriate use of articles. IF articles are used, the definite and indefinite are often used wrongly;  articles are associated with proper nouns and the word “one” often is used as an article.  And as for the use of apostrophes……

Class 7B Classroom

Classroom facilities are pretty basic:  blackboard, chairs and tables for the students, wall space allocated to teaching-learning materials for each subject.  I should specify that teaching-learning materials (posters, or “chart-papers” as they are best known) are generally hand prepared by the teacher.

Early on in the term I ask my students for ideas for beautifying their classroom, and my delightful class captain, Namgang, brings me a neatly written letter with ideas for improvement and in due course I purchase some cloth for them to put on the wall.  My request for them to bring containers for pot plants for the windowsill elicits no response, but as most are boarders, this is not surprising.  Plant pots are usually reused containers, and some of the most decorative around the school are made from old vehicle tyres.

The proud recipient of a lapel pin for most improved

If I am returning a marked assignment or test to the class, I will identify and reward not only those who achieved highest mark, but those who showed the most improvement

from the previous similar item, and those who have shown the best continuous improvement through the term.  Recognition and rewarding of the latter does elicit quiet shows of pride amongst the students concerned, and the class acknowledges their efforts with clapping.  I was intrigued early in the year to make one such presentation to a class 8 boy, to not receive the same level of response from the other boys, so I asked them about it and they said “but, it’s Yeshi”  I take it that Yeshi was not a high achiever or hard worker last year;  this year he has moved on to achieving well, and often receives top mark for a piece of work.

We are told at workshops that we should be aiming for 21^st Century teaching and learning;  I sometimes find this challenging with lack of access to technology, classes of over 30 (I am lucky, some schools have over 40) and classroom sizes that are not conducive to rearrangement of the tables for group work plus teacher movement amongst students.  To say nothing of students whose favourite classroom activity seems to be copying from the blackboard.  Sometimes I tell them I just want them to think about and discuss a problem, that I know they can copy from the blackboard (albeit not always accurately), and early on this seemed to elicit great puzzlement.

I do try some level of differentiation for my students; somewhat essential given the ability range – I suspect the IQ range to be probably more than 80 points.  Class 7 mid term exam results ranged from 9% to 98%.  As well as identifying different problems for the more able students, and providing more blackboard based, simpler problems to supplement the text book for the lower ability, I am sometimes preparing and teaching double lessons.

Teachers normally go home for lunch and I am often asked whether I have prepared my lunch in the morning or whether I will be preparing during midday.  Actually, given that I did buy a fridge, lunch is usually leftovers from dinner the night before.  However, on my SOD day, I am required to supervise lunch – a cooked lunch for the boarders – and so eat the food they are eating.  I recall being asked by a colleague early on what Australians call the “nutella”, soy based balls that are used as a meat substitute in curry.  The closest I can think is the textured vegetable protein (TVP) that occasionally made its way into bushwalking rations, so I just say that it’s not a food I know from Australia.

Older girls helping the younger girls with reading

During lunch, and sometimes during the morning break or  “interval” we see some of the older girls helping some of the younger girls with their reading.  A lovely pastime and so important to this national year of reading.

I am supposed to check the toilets during lunch break, but often when I am SOD the water is off, so I pass on checking the amenities.

After school is afternoon prayer, which goes for 30-40 minutes if the day has been at all stressful, the prayers refocus me and I feel more peaceful – provided the naughty boys are not too naughty.

Students helping each other during remedial class

There is a break after afternoon prayer and before evening study, and 2 afternoons a week I conduct remedial classes for those students who are not performing well in class.  I do not enforce attendance at these although I do identify who should be participating.  When I first announced the remedial classes many students wanted to be part of it, including some of the much better students.

Evening study is also for the boarders; I see some of the very young boarders attempting to sit for an hour and do nothing, as they have nothing to do, and I encourage the older students beside them to give them work – from practicing writing their letters and numbers to writing out their multiplication tables.  It’s not mind-blowing stuff, but is useful.  Sometimes I want to get my class 7 and 8 students to practice their multiplication tables – many do not know them and it seriously impacts their mathematical progress.

I was most intrigued during evening study just before exams, to be asked for assistance with IT revision.  Apart from the fact that their text book and questions is Windows XP based and my computer preference is Mac, I was most amused to be asked by one of my students for study tips.  I suggested that those I had talked with them about and encouraged them to use during maths lessons and for their maths study would also be useful, and received back questions about whether the techniques were applicable to any subject.  These dear students never cease to amaze me with their innocence and naivety in so many (but not all) areas.

Boarders' Dinner

This is followed by dinner, and rice features once again – it is, of course, the staple in their diet.  Dhal is one of the accompanying dishes and depending on the day, the curry will vary, but is only meat on special occasions.  Potato curry, dried fish curry, some are tasty, some less so, but there is always plenty and the dish is predictable – not only did they have it for lunch, but they know what they will get on any given day.  A bit like home cooking when we were kids!!

The school kitchen:
fairly basic facilities to cook for more than 130 students.

After dinner the boys continue study in the multipurpose hall and the girls return to their hostel to complete evening study there.  My final duty for SOD is to ensure the girls are returned to their hostel.  I may then return home, around 7:30pm.

The school principal (addr

essed as Principal, Sir) very kindly came to relieve me during the evening meal during my last SOD, since the road was a bit muddy (understatement, sometimes the progress, or lack of, of 2 wheel drives through the mud outside my house provides lots of entertainment) and he thought it best that I walked home in full daylight.

My evening meal is normally followed by quite an early night on SOD days!

Outdoor living – Bhutan style

 25th June 2015

The phrase “outdoor living” in Australia conjures up images of comfortable chairs located outside the house, maybe on a neatly manicured lawn or a neatly paved area, surrounded by decorative plant pots or flower beds.  The presence of a barbeque with as many amenities as a well furbished kitchen is also highly likely.

It’s a little different in Bhutan.  Perhaps a question from the sample test paper in the class 7 maths text book can set the context.  It starts:

In the Population and Housing Census of Bhutan for 2005, data about drinking water showed the following:

• about 23% of the homes had piped water within the house,

• about 62% of the homes had piped water outside the house, and

• the remaining homes got drinking water from other sources such as a spring, river, or pond.

My house is considered luxurious by village standards because it has an inside toilet, 2 taps (both cold of course) and a shower (also cold – but it is pure luxury when I arrive home after school on a summer day and am able to strip off my kira, etc and wash off the chalk dust and cool down several degrees.)

Many of the houses in the village do not have water inside the house;  my neighbours behind me included, and I think maybe my landlady below.  Thus all tasks associated with cleanliness are carried out in public at the outside tap which is located over a concreted drainage area:  washing of laundry, washing of dishes, cleaning of teeth and washing of self.

The latter is quite intriguing; the younger children are bathed naked, sometimes in a large tub, sometimes just under the tap, and I suspect that the pre-pubescent boys also, but the girls undertake their ablutions fully dressed – albeit in “shorts” or skirt and t-shirt.

Pausing their bath to pose for a picture

I have a birds eye view from my front windows of my landlady’s washing area and outdoor kitchen and sometimes feel quite voyeuristic.  On a hot morning shortly after midsummer’s day, much splashing and sounds of good fun occasioned a peek out to see 4 of my young neighbours enjoying a communal bath.  Fully dressed of course.  I call down to ask if I can take a photo, so they dutifully stand up and pose, not exactly what I had in mind, but they quickly resumed their aquatic anctics.

Bath-time fun

One of my male colleagues, and his family, was, for a while, a neighbour in the house behind, and he would often be seen in his undershorts (a quite decorous garment by most standards) undertaking his morning ablutions and cleaning his teeth with much clearing of throat and noisy hawking, within metres of my back door.  I still have not worked out the protocol of whether or how one greets a male colleague while he takes his morning bath…..

Occasionally, under the privacy of dark, my landlord will fill the large tub and treat himself to a hot stone bath, stones heated up on a specially constructed bonfire, or just a hot tub of water, heated in a large pot over the cooking fire.  The grandfather was observed taking a hot herb bath in the middle of the day, but he was quite unwell at the time.

With the ambient temperature rising daily and the amount of heat generated by the gas stove in my kitchen, I can understand why some houses have separate kitchens, and why some older people in the villages shun modern amenities such as the gas stoves.  I was told by one kind gentleman who gave me a lift from Chusum to Kheni one evening, that his elderly parents live on their own (unusual in Bhutan) in a remote village (ie, foot access only) and do not want to move because they do not approve of many of the modern amenities (or the noisy grandchildren).  They like the old ways. 

I observe my landlady, who is a hive of industry, and one of the kindest people I have met.  She takes care of her children (I think there are 3 who live with her, but sometimes such things are difficult to determine), cooks (a task that can be time-consuming with third world amenities) tends a vegetable  “garden” of enormous proportions, gathers produce and sets it out to dry in the sun, assists in the new shop her husband has just built and stocked and probably has a backstrap loom with weaving in progress tucked in her house – most women do.

I see her, in the open area below my kitchen wndow, with the baskets of produce, stripping beans from their vines and podding them; stripping the dried corn cobs (maize) of their kernels, setting out the fish or strips of beef to dry on the washing line (not an overly pleasant aroma), sorting the sacks of potatoes and onions regularly  and a myriad of other tasks.  Her elderly parents live with the family.  An assortment of visitors come and go and all are offered hospitality.  I am always offered tea when I go to pay my rent, and sometimes come away with an armful of produce.

Second Stage Culture Shock, Bug Bites and R&R

30th April 2015

We were sent information about culture shock before our departure from our home countries, but the reality is stranger than I expected.

For me it was the combination of ANZAC day approaching and having talked with my son Jonathon about his arrangements for his 21^st birthday party, an event for which I will not be able to join him, the triggered some weird emotions.  I have not attended an ANZAC day morning service in the last 6 years, but somehow the 100^th anniversary of it took on a greater significance than it would have back home.  Plus feeling sad that I would not be with Jonathon on his birthday. 

Poetry read with the literary club students also triggered emotions – Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s How do I Love Thee, along with a locally written poem that talked about the changing parent / child relationship as the child matures, that one of the students asked me to help her interpret.  To say nothing of trying to remember the words of the Ode recited at the dawn service.

Then there was my changing emotional reaction to the support for preparation of printed test paper – oh, you are running the test this morning and you gave us the paper 5 days ago – we have not yet done it….  Then …we cannot print your test paper because we have run out of ink/toner.  Whereas this would have triggered amusement a few weeks previously, I struggled to overcome feelings of frustration and wondering what is wrong with ordering a spare cartridge as soon as a new one is put into the printer, to ask for suggestions as to how I should conduct the test. 

The resolutions: project via the dataprojector – which on the day was locked in a storeroom to which the key was with a staff member in another town, and I had rejected anyway as too risky given the number of power failures (locally referred to as “no light”) we’d had recently; write on blackboard/whiteboard which could be carried into the multipurpose hall for the test.  The latter was chosen and I spent an hour and a half on Sunday neatly writing the test questions on the board.  On the day, this was disastrous.  Only one board was carried to the hall by the non-teaching staff who were requested to undertake this task, and it was placed at the back of the stage so it could not be read.  15 minutes was wasted while the staff were re-summonsed and both boards placed closer to the students, who could still not read them and had to crowd to the front, sitting 4-5 to a desk, on the floor and wherever they could to copy the questions.  Needless to say, the results were disappointing; the marking took ages because they had copied questions wrongly so I was marking several versions of the test paper, and I was most upset.  I offered the students an opportunity to resit the test, and while the results were improved, they were still nowhere near our target mark set by the district education office. I was most delighted with one note written by a student apologizing for poor performance and promising better next time, a reminder to me of how sweet these students really are.

All in all, it seemed like a good time to plan some R&R so I lined up a night at Linkhar Lodge outside Trashigang, checked in with my closer BCF colleagues about my plans and prepared for a night of comfort.  The plan was to leave after Saturday morning classes….subject to the access road being passable (heavy rain and landslides had made this questionable) and the roadworks on the road between Duksum and Chosum not having the road closed all afternoon.

I had acquired a couple of insect bites on my leg which were reacting badly so I’d visited the local BHU (basic health unit) and been prescribed antibiotics (“you scratched the bites with dirty fingernails and infected them” – no, I react more to this type of bite, that is all.  It blisters and finally the blister bursts) and assorted vitamin supplements.  The swelling continues to spread and movement is difficult, I manage to trip up some steps and add grazes and bruises to my swelling which does not help.  That evening I draw around the edge of the swelling in marker pen and watch the swelling expand past it and wonder whether it is bad enough to disturb someone at 9pm on Friday night to take me to a doctor and decide against it and pack my bag ready to leave after school on Saturday.

A quick paramedical consultation with my colleagues in the village street on the way to school on Saturday achieved a level of tut-tutting and a recommendation that the principal’s permission for me to visit a doctor be sought immediately.

Permission not only granted, but tea offered (and a showing of his wife’s weaving; we had been intending to visit and look at the weaving with a view to me purchasing a kira for some time) and the principal himself was kind enough to take me to the Tshencarla BHU – a higher level BHU than Kheni, with a resident doctor.  Not only that but when it was my turn for consultation, he accompanied me in to see the doctor.  Interesting. 

While neck to toe covering of the body, with a preference for long sleeves and nothing figure hugging is the village norm, I was quite surprised when my female colleagues told me it was ok to show the extent of the swelling of the bites  (up to mid thigh) to both a male colleague who was with them when we first met in the street, and then the principal.

At the BHU, there was no apparent privacy about consultations with the doctor and I observed one elderly lady ensure she got her turn next by entering and waiting in the consulting room while 2 men were with the doctor.  When my turn came, I closed the door – after myself and the principal.

I am prescribed additional antibiotics, for longer, and given a bottle of Gentian Violet which proceeded to start to leak the minute we left the dispensary.  There was more tut-tutting by the paramedical staff, most of whom came to observe while it was being applied to my leg.

This did, of course, take most of the morning.

The dear principal then drove me down the hill to Duksum, and organized me a shared taxi to Trashigang.  The delights of sharing a vehicle – I met a teacher from Duksum primary and her husband and baby, who were most helpful with navigation once we reached Trashigang, along with interpreting to the driver where I needed to go and how much extra he was going to charge to get me there (I thought that was included in the negotiated price from Duksum, but…..)_

I called Aum Deki at Linkhar Lodge to check with her whether the taxi fare was roughly correct and so she could give direct instructions to the driver and she told me there was no need for a taxi, her husband was in Trashigang and would bring me back.

After assorted instructions, directions and changes of both, my co-passengers took me to Deepak Salon and I met the delightful Minjur Dorji, in the middle of his haircut.  After introductions and formalities, I inquire as to whether there might be time for a quick trim and am assured there will be, along with colour if I want it.  I decline the colour option. I do not think that jet black would suit my skin colour, nor would henna.  Although as Minjur observed, it might help me blend in even more when wearing kira.

The barber, Deepak, was a student of Nancy Strickland, back in the 80’s presumably, and Nancy said later that day he is a real success story – I am guessing there is a longer story here.  I guessed correctly and subsequent information identifies that he is barber to at least some of the royal family.  I can understand why, his cutting of my hair was to my satisfaction, and there are few hairdressers at home who have scored that status!

My hair is tidied nicely and a quick trip to the grocery store enables purchase of such luxuries as rolled oats, honey, shrimp sauce, chocolate and a variety of biscuits not available in the village, along with a piece of cream cake for afternoon tea. 

As we cross the road to Minjur’s vehicle, the irony of my being dressed in kira and Minjur being dressed in western clothing occurs to me, and he agrees.

The balcony at a Linkhar Lodge room

Once at the lodge I meet the lovely Aum Deki, and sample her cooking with a late lunch.  Then I am shown to my room with encouragement to take a shower.  I assume and hope that this is a reflection on my deprivation rather than my personal hygiene, I have maintained my morning mandi bath every day apart from the one day I spent most of the day in bed with a bad cold.

The room is lovely – clean, comfortable, plumbing fixtures that function well, a verandah with a view….  I go straight for the shower and although I have to call one of the staff to get the temperature adjusted to something less than scalding, I enjoyed a teenage girl shower – the water was turned off when the hot had run out.  Luxury!!!  Then I enjoy the view from my verandah.  Sitting on a chair.  And Skype with a couple of people.

Clean an comfortable - luxury at Linkhar!

The lodge is nestled among steep hills away from anything else, although the lights of villages can be seen opposite and above us.  It is unbelievably peaceful –no dogs barking continuously, bird song from the trees, a mixture of evergreen and deciduous forest on the hills, an assortment of spring flowers I know from home, along with more tropical species decorating the garden, extensive vegetable gardens on terraces down the hill and a bevy of lovely girls as the frontline staff, dressed of course in their uniform kira and taego.

The view from Linkhar

My leg continues to increase in size, my ankle disappears and the swelling expands into my foot. After a conversation with Nancy, I call the school principal and request that I stay an additional night – he was with me when the doctor told me to stay off my feet for 3-4 days, and we had already agreed that I should not be at school on Monday, though he was keen for me to return to the village on Sunday.  I think he was anxious that further rains might cause more landslides and completely block the road, with me on the wrong side of the block.  I am a little anxious to remain relatively close to a hospital in the event that the ridiculous allergic reaction gets worse.  Permission granted, and with Tuesday as a holiday, I plan to stay 2 more nights.

Minjur repeatedly invites me to join my fellow guests on excursions to the local Tsechu, or to Aum Deki’s home village, but since neither fit with keeping my feet up and resting, I decline the kind offer.

My fellow guests are Indian, one group of bird watchers who are very excited at having observed some rare birds, and another lovely group with whom I become quite friendly.  I am intrigued, however, to observe their food preferences.  They come home early from the Tsechu because they were hungry and wanted lunch;  I did ask whether lunch might not have been obtained there, and there was an expressed concern about it containing meat.  Fair enough, so I asked about momo – cheese momo (dumplings)  are meat free, and concern was expressed about the health risks of eating pre-prepared foods.  I guess that another countries food related bugs are things no one is used to so…  however, it did seem a little ironic given that I know more people who have suffered from food related illness in visiting India than anywhere else.

Their food preferences were extended to sharing of their travelling breakfast – a most delicious semolina dish (and prior to tasting, I would have said that was an oxymoron) with spices, which made what I recall as a disgusting pudding from my childhood into a tasty dish.  I was amused, however, to share their choice for dinner one night, a quite plain meal with little hint of the spices I am used to at Mother India or Annapurna restaurants in Hobart.  The waitress offers to bring me omelette or meat to supplement the meal, but since I am eating with vegetarians, I decline.  However, I am not so respectful of their personal choices as to not drink my wine – it’s the first half decent white wine in months.  Actually, its my first white wine in months.  However, at the price, I shall not be repeating the indulgence.  The equivalent of $36 for a bottle of Taltarni.

Conversation over dinner includes the devastation and updates on the second big aftershock from the earthquake in Nepal and I am touched by the email messages from assorted people hoping I am not affected.  I did feel the aftershock, but only as a mild movement.  I posted my safety status on facebook as soon as I realized the significance of what I had experienced, but not all my friends and acquaintances are facebook friends.

On Tuesday morning, I take up Aum Deki’s offer of using her sewing machine, her grandmother’s treadle.  It seems like it needs a good oil, the belt slips and I have to ask for her brother’s help in winding a bobbin (ok, did not realize that process was so low-tech) but it sewed a straight line, more or less, and let me add some darts to the green kira I purchased in 2013 so that I can wear it in a way I find comfortable.  I also did a few seams in a blouse and jacket I have underway.  But sewing without tacking on this machine is not an option.

Investigations about methods of travel back suggest what seems to be a rather high taxi price, so once again I consult with Aum Deki and she suggests her brother can drive me, as he has chosen not to attend the religious celebrations at the local Goempa.  She accompanies us and we head off, via Gom Kora to light butter lamps for those affected by the earthquake and a stop in Duksum for vegetable shopping and an ice cream.

I arrive back in Kheni with a much smaller leg, feeling physically and mentally refreshed, and am delighted to be welcomed home with smiles, waves and inquiries about my health.  Ready for school again, and pleased to be home.