26th
July
Every day is going to have its highs and
its lows, and from time to time there will be extra high highs and extra low
lows, but yesterday seemed to compress both into the one day.
It was result declaration day, so the
allocated reading period, period 4 on Saturday, would be replaced with the
formal results declaration for classes 3-8 in the multi-purpose hall.
At the last moment before classes, we were
told that the normal short time allocated to life skills discussions would be
reallocated as a reading period.
Anticipating that most students would be unprepared for such, I grabbed
a copy of National Geographic off my desk and headed for class. The interest shown by students in
reading my magazine during that period and subsequently borrowing it was huge,
and pleasing. While most of these
students are happy to sit quietly with their books during reading, the
enthusiasm to read something new and different was most rewarding. I estimate that 70% of my home group
wants to read my magazine. As this
was one of the reasons for undertaking the tedious process of notifying a new
address that upset those recording it as I could not provide a street
address.
Students worked pretty well in all classes,
and were followed by a quick chat with Sangay from class 7 about delaying our
proposed afternoon walk to one of the villages across the river because of
family commitments related to the death of her stepfather’s brother – which
left me with the afternoon free, quickly filled by one of the class 7 boys
asking if I would teach him to play chess after lunch. I told him yes (I have trouble refusing
these requests – I approve wholeheartedly of engagement in such strategic
thinking games and they have little opportunity to learn), but we would fix a time
after results declaration.
Before results declaration, the principal
handed me an envelope – my June edition of National Geographic – arriving after
the July edition, but I am still waiting for April as well. The post delivery is so sporadic, but
its lovely to receive it when it arrives.
Watching the proud smiles on the faces of
the “toppers”, the top 3 students from each class, as their names were
announced and they came to the front of the assembled school to receive their
report cards and gifts, was delightful.
The younger children in particular looked particularly proud. My colleague, Zangmo, observed to me
that the student who achieved first place in class 7A, Nima Wangchuk, did not
look very happy with his results card.
I was surprised that his half term percentage mark was in the low 80s. I can understand his lack of
enthusiasm. He is a perfectionist
and the mark represented more that 15% he had not achieved.
I was pleased to be asked to present reports and gifts the
class 8 toppers. It’s an honour to
be allocated tasks such as this in my role.
A photographic session followed, with
smaller groups for some class teachers with their own toppers and I took the
opportunity to do a decent class photograph of my home group to send to my
Tasmanian friend whose class is about to become pen pals with my home class. In their Saturday “free dress” they
look so bright with their individual, colourful choice of kira and taego ,or
gho, replacing the school uniform colours.
I then handed out the remaining report
cards and paused to investigate why one girl had not stood up to receive hers,
assuming stomach pains. It turned
out to be a menstrual problem that had her on the verge of dying of
embarrassment and reluctant to move for fear of notice by the boys who were
waiting to talk to me. I sent one
of her friends for whatever she needed from the hostel, told the boys to
skedaddle and we made a bit of a huddle around her and got her to the nearby
staff toilet so she did not have to cross half the school grounds.
I went to meet the boys for chess
practice (“I want to play chess with Madam”) and needed to wait for the 7A
class to be released from their lecture on having performed so poorly last term
and was chatting with some of my 7B boys when I noticed the carapace of what I
assume to be an enormous Unicorn Beetle on the ground. I asked for a ruler, got my phone out
to photograph it and then noticed the message from my sister.
The message was one of those bolts from out
of the blue: my nephew’s
girlfriend had witnessed her father being mauled to death by a shark while diving. My brother and his
mate were in the vicinity and had gone to assist.
This devastating piece of information left
me speechless and upset, all I could do was pass my phone, with the message, to
the boys to read for themselves.
Their English was insufficient to fully understand and they asked for
explanation; all I could do was tell them they would have to read it for
themselves and it was looked at by several and they discussed it in their local
language and related “shark” and “death”.
I nodded agreement and asked them to tell the boys for whom I was
waiting that I had gone home. No
doubt I will get concerned and solicitous questions on Monday.
Deciding that I did not want to be alone
just yet, I went to they house of my friend Phub – the closest of my friend’s
houses and invited myself in for a cup of tea, and a cuddle with her son. We talked for a while and she confirmed
that I would still attend the staff function that evening: two of the staff members were
conducting rituals for the wellbeing of all sentient beings and we were all
invited for refreshments and a meal, gathering outside one of the shops before
proceeding to her house.
I spent the afternoon in occupational
therapy (keep busy so I don’t have to think too much) with my weekend chores of
attempting to keep my house, clothing and bed linen clean enough to discourage
biting insects as well as communicating with family and friends and trying to
access news websites for more details and to ascertain the emotional state of
those involved – given that my brother and his mate had actually recovered the
body.
I use the term communicating loosely; I had insufficient phone credit for a
phone call and insufficient internet connection for skype to phone, so it was
messaging. Thank goodness I at
least have that.
Chores finished, I made a cup of tea and
sat with National Geographic to relax for a bit before having another cold
shower (the only type I have available, but its luxury in the village to have
even that) and changing ready to go out.
I had thought the instructions were to
gather at the shop at 5:30pm, to go to the house at 6. I allowed for everyone else being late
and arrived at 5:50, the first to do so.
Not wanting to sit like a shag on a rock, I wandered down past Phub’s
house to a particularly picturesque viewpoint and contemplated the scenery for
a while before wandering back to her house to find she was not yet ready –
since all the male teachers had gone to do some road repairs and were not yet
returned. This particular section
of road was in definite need of repair, so it was a case of all hands on deck - otherwise our access to the outside world might be completely cut off.
When we travelled it in early March, two of us had to get out of her
husband’s car for it to get through the ruts and mud. I believe that road repairs for many of the access roads are
based on DIY action.
In due course the men returned and we
wandered in the general direction of the meeting place to find again that we were
first, so walked to where the male teachers were gathered, waiting for others
to complete their ablutions and consuming a preliminary beer. Around 7:30pm we finally adjourned to
the house to sit around the edges of the room on mats and the occasional
cushion. Zangmo, aware of my
inability to comfortably sit cross legged on the floor, grabbed a number of cushions for me
and I was able to maintain a degree of comfort despite my lack of flexibility
and having lost several kilos of natural padding since I arrived.
It was a standard start to the
evening; Naja (“sugar tea” - tea made in a large kettle with milk
and sugar already added) was served with biscuits and zao – roasted rice which
is added to the tea. Once this was
consumed the ara came out. Ara is
the “local wine” a loose description to apply to a distilled spirit, but having
purchased a bottle of gin at a shop in Trashigang and having heard it referred
to as wine, I am now used to the term.
Ara is served hot, in mugs or bowls, and I think egg is added in to give
it a cloudy look. It's potent. It is served with small bowls of a
particular brand of noodle mixed with chilli (really, chilli in Bhutanese
food?) and assorted other ingredients.
This version had coriander added and was rather nice.
After several rounds of ara (“drink up to
make more room in your cup, I still have some in my serving ladle”) the food
came out. Huge quantities of rice,
the national dish, ema datse (chilli cooked with cheese; chillies are eaten as a
vegetable, not used as a flavouring), dhal and a chicken curry.
The variation to this evening was the
addition of songs and dancing at the end.
It was explained to me that this was part of a cultural tradition that
is tending to be less and less practiced.
Shame, it was rather fun, even if my joining in with the dancing was
rather uncoordinated.
I walked home with my friends and my
neighbour, and as we neared my home my neighbour Sithar, once again shared her
concerns about her baby (now around 16 months) not eating sufficiently. I suggested reduction of the amount of
chilli and oil in the food offered to the child and definitely not junk food
snacks. I offered some pasta and
oatmeal to be tried and suggested that the local saag – leafy green vegetable
might just be a bit too bitter for the child. I guess finding appropriate food for a young child moving
onto solid food is difficult. Its
difficult enough finding healthy food for me in the village!
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