Excursions

Sunday 29^th March

The time is absolutely flying by; it is more than 2 months since I left Hobart and 7 weeks since I arrived in Kheni.  Apart from my trip to TrashiYangtse with the principal, during the last 7 weeks, I have had 3 excursions outside the village – to Duksum to collect my ATM card and buy vegetables (pure luxury), to Tashigang with my friend and colleague Madam Zangmo to buy vegetables, “luxury items” (butter, honey, nivea cream..) not available in the village shops and a hike to Omba with some students.

I travel to Duksum with my colleague Kinley Wangchuk who needs to refill some gas cylinders and collect new prayer flags for the school Rimdu the following day.  It seems that often a trip by a staff member to Duksum is maximized; on payday in March (I am glad to have been paid, although still have not received my February pay despite follow up of this a month ago); Principal Sir (the formal mode of address to him) asks staff if they would like any banking or shopping  - and takes cheques to cash and shopping lists for many staff members.

I am impressed to receive a text message from the bank when my pay is deposited and when the cheque is cashed.  With advice of the remaining balance.  A rather neat system.

The visit to the bank to collect my ATM card takes quite some time, there are formalities, forms and polite conversation to be given time to, quite different from any similar process in Australia.  The bank manager at Duksum is less prescriptive than was the bank manager at TrashiYangtse about how I must use my card and take care of my PIN, assuming that I do have some prior experience of this!

While in Duksum I visit the post office and am pleased to find the parcel from Federal Politician Andrew Wilkie, a package I much enjoyed opening later that evening with its delights of blackboard dusters (yay, real blackboard dusters – now placed in the class 7 classrooms), coloured chalk – one packet of which is given to my colleague for driving me, notepads, coloured pencils and string.  All inspired and very useful items.

The package also contained scissors – 2 pairs of which are given to the Science Lab coordinator – also the Barber club coordinator, partly as a guilty apology for broken thermometers but also because he had told me that the science lab and barber club had  no scissors.  Barber Club, which happens during club time on Wednesday afternoons, is the means by which the boys’ hair is cut for all students.  Class teachers are requested on a weekly basis to advise which boys require haircuts and these boys are then required to present themselves.  My first assessment that all were fine, was corrected by my class captain, when I consulted him, and a list of 4 names were submitted.

A quick visit to the seller of fresh vegetables provides peas, beans, eggplant, red onion, potato, cabbage and tomato, all of which will supplement beautifully my current limited range which includes radish (plentifully provided by my landlady), green papaya and spring onions – both gifts from neighbours.  The local shops sometimes have potatoes and red onion, usually have chilli, and on one occasion had green beans and I did see some very sad looking cabbage.  This range of vegetable will provide a range of choice in my cooking – which for the previous several days has been limited to rice, dhal and what I have christened “white curry” – made from onion, radish, green papaya and cabbage.  Flavoured with garlic, ginger, chilli, cumin, turmeric, ground coriander root and black pepper.  The Bhutanese of course list chilli as a main ingredient, not a flavouring.  It is a surprise to many that I combine my vegetables to make a mixed vegetable curry.

The postmaster comes out again for a chat and asks if I would like to see some kira in the Tailor Shop.  I check with my colleague that we have time, and then wait as the lady goes to her home to fetch the hand woven kira.  There is the fabulous detailed kushutara – the style that so impressed me when I visited Khoma when I was here as a tourist;  fortunately this is in yellows which are definitely not my colour and there is no way that I can justify the price for a “best” kira that I will wear only a few times.  There is quite a nice red one that I suspect is made from the fiber from silkworm that lives on the castor tree but it is 4500 Nu and probably a bit much, compared to the similar one I brought in Thimpu for 1800Nu.  Plus I had not received any pay at that point in time, so was not going to spend that sort of money.  I ask about having wonju and taego made but am told that they are too busy  to take more orders, as Gom Kora (the local festival) is approaching and they have many orders.  I buy a length of fabric for my living room window, none too clean and when I wash it discover that the pattern dye runs!

A visit to Trashigang with Zangmo was an unexpected invitation which came last Sunday as I was finishing breakfast.  I needed to double check on timeframes, as I had arranged with Tim, BCF teacher from nearby Tshencarla,  for him to come for dinner.  Once it was established that we would be back in time, I quickly finished my breakfast and Sunday morning chores (including washing, to find there was no space to hang my doona cover on the washing lines and headed off to the appointed meeting place at the appointed time, with my shopping list, the Kira for which I wanted to match wonju and taego and my laptop so I could do a little downloading and bill paying when I had access to 3G in Tashigang.  There is no problem in tethering my laptop to my phone when I have 3G access.

The first stop in Trashigang is at a shop that sells the remote control car that Zangmo’s son wants – a purchase that necessitated a loan from me (requested in advance) and which was paid back promptly on payday.  Looking for wonju and taego are less successful, there is a power failure and the only shop that has such items ready made does not seem interested in trying to show us anything without light. 

Once vegetables have been purchased, we repair to the bakery for coffee and cake, I do not see a coffee machine so inquire as to whether it is instant, and am told no, the water needs to be heated.  Still uncertain as to the nature of the coffee, I wait, and am duly served a cup of Nescafe.  Zangmo and her brother, who has come to drive us, decide they need more than cake and have ordered rice and pork and dhal.  I decline to join them – the pork is primarily boiled rind and fat, but at Zangmo’s insistance, order an omlette and share a little of their dhal with some rice.  She is concerned, along

Rhododendrons lowering at altitude

with most of my new friends, that I do not eat enough.  I must admit to having dropped a dress size in the last 2 months.  I am eating as much variety of vegetable as I can lay my hands on but most of that which makes up my calories at home is not easily available – dairy, meat (the local method of meat preparation does not inspire:  apart from the pork, already mentioned, the dried fish is cooked without being fully rehydrated, and is full of bones, the dried beef is similarly served without being significantly rehydrated and the chicken is prepared in traditional Asian style, being chopped up bones and all and there is rarely a mouthful that can be easily eaten without extracting from one’s mouth assorted pieces that are not digestible.

Ready bright and early for the trek - Tiny Karma who would
be my knight in shining armour, Ugyen in pink, Sangay in
green and my colleague Choki in blue.

The hike to Omba was an absolute delight, although quite physically challenging.  Omba is a village on the other side of the smaller river, and much higher, although my camera was refusing to give me altitude, although it eventually gave me latitude and longitude.

The invitation had come earlier in the week from one of my class 7 students, Sangay, who told me that another student, Ugyen, also wanted to come – uncertain as to exactly which student this was, I said yes, providing I was not going to Trashigang – a vague invitation had been previously issued.  I confirmed on Friday and advised the principal, as I am required to do.

Ugyen on the bridge over the river

There was some complicated discussion with the girls about attire – I was first advised I could wear trousers, then was told kira, as it was a sacred place.  I decided that  hiking in Kira was not an option and I was prepared to do a Lady Jane Franklin  and hike in trousers and have my kira etc in my backpack to put on over my hiking clothes when needed.  There was also a complicated discussion about footwear, which I finally interpreted as advice not to wear high heels.  Sweet of them, but in my case unnecessary, I had every intention of wearing hiking boots.  Though I guess they had never seen me in anything but my dress shoes or boots, both of which have relatively low broad heels.

 

Another young hiker - dressed as every hiker
should be dressed!

The girls were to collect me from my house at 7:30am, (BFT – Bhutan Flexible Time) and we went via another house to collect some more students and the new young Bhutanese teacher, Choki and her sister.  I carried a backpack with raincoat, thermal fleece, first aid kit, water, hard boiled eggs, biscuits and attempts at chocolate cakes baked in the rice cooker the previous day.  What they lacked in light and fluffy was made up for by calorie content.  Chocki and her sister were carrying a handbag between them and I asked about drinking water and they said they would get on the way.  We stopped at a village shop and they purchased large quantities of processed snack foods and the ubiquitous and disgusting chewing gum to share with the children.

The students were assortedly clad in trousers or kira and their footwear was plastic slip-on sandals “slippers” – no backs.

Time for morning tea

As we progressed along the dry and dusty paths, becoming steep after we crossed the river, it became increasingly evident that while the students navigated the paths with the confidence and capability of mountain goats, my 2 adult companions were painfully unfit, and, as it transpired, had not eaten breakfast before we departed.  This resulted in exhaustion, the need for frequent stops, during which I insisted that they eat my biscuits, and petulant demands that we eat lunch which was provided by the students at around 10:30am, well before we reached our destination – to which my response was sharing of the chocolate cakes and the suggestion that next time they went hiking, breakfast would be in order.

Stunning valleys

The hike took us through a range of terrain and ecosystems, including some beautiful deciduous forest, which was just starting to show its new buds and which had littered the pathway with its orange-brown fallen leaves.  At higher altitudes, some red rhododendron were providing wonderful splashes of colour.

The village of Omba is delightfully scenic; remote – it has neither a school nor a BHU (basic health unit) although there is a building where the BHU was once housed.  The students tell me that there is a problem finding health staff prepared to live in such a remote location.

On the walk it seems that Sangay is shy, uncertain of her English, but her older friend, my class 8 student Ugyen, is much more confident and intends to use the opportunity to practice her English and share her dreams and ambitions to become a famous poet.  I have already seen some of her writing and believe that she has some talent that could be encouraged, she is one of my literary club girls. 

Not perfectly clear, but its amazing country

The other students are younger – siblings and friends of the two girls and the younger brother Karma, a tiny slip of a boy, turns out to be my knight in shining armour when he fearlessly chases away the cows who are chasing us down a steep, dry pathway and drives away the ox with horns that could potentially be injurious, which was tethered in a way that gave it full access to our path.  He also held my had as I navigated ridiculously steep and narrow steps as we approached the tiny lakhang, prayer wheels and other sacred places.  I did wonder what help this might be should I actually fall – I would take both of us, but the thought was lovely.

It's a long way back down to Kheni...

The student concern for my safety was evident, the echo of “be carful madam” as I balanced along precarious paths across near vertical slopes, navigated steep and dust-dry slippery tracks up the same slopes, and attempted to squeeze myself through improbably small sacred spaces in order to earn merit.  Strangely enough, being careful was high on my priority list.

On the approach to Omba

Omba Village

One of the most amusing of the improbably tight spaces was a rock chimney, for which my torch would have been most useful had it decided to work.  There was a traditional wooden ladder (ie, a log with miniscule notches cut for footsteps) propped up, then about 2/3 of the way up, a second ladder – not actually fixed to anything so getting from the first to the second was always going to be a challenge.  This was all propped against not only rock but a dust-dry dirt area, so any movement above resulted in a small avalanche to fill the eyes, ears, nostrils, throat and anything else you could think of.  My colleague was having problems but the student behind me suggested I would have few problems, as I was not fat like her.  I waited until she had finally wiggled her way out, accompanied by several screams and screeches, before trying to continue my way.  Small Sangay, not much larger than her brother Karma, kept insisting “give me your hand, Madam”;  given her weight, even if she is very strong, and the traction provided by her plastic “slippers”  I preferred to rely on as many bodily point of contact between myself and the rock as possible and after requesting that they move so that the light could actually come through the small space above, I wedged a rear end, a couple of elbows and managed to get my foot onto a foothold somewhere in the region  of my left ear.  Or at least that is what it felt like.

The sacred places still some distance from Omba

One of our destinations on the round of sacred sites was the small lhakhang (monastery) perched on the cliff (as they mostly are ) occupied by what appeared to be a mad monk.  We duly made offerings, I had brought tea and we had purchased incense and the solidified oils for making the butter lamps before leaving Kheni.  It appeared that cash offerings were also expected and I explained that I had brought a large packet of tea instead.  Worth more than the small change offering that I would have otherwise made.  We prayed and prostrated appropriately and I left it to my colleague to negotiate with the monk who wanted us to

Guru Rinpoche looking over the valley with little
Karma performing his devotions

donate the money to buy a brass candlestick – seems he wanted a donation that would have brought about 20 of them! 

By now it was around 2:30pm and I was starting to get anxious;  it had taken us 4 hours to ascend, with the fitness levels of my colleague, and I suspected that the descent may take almost as long.  Dark is 6pm.  We finally left the mad monk and the students informed me that he wants to come back to Australia with me when I go. 

Then we had more sacred spaces, places etc and while I decided that I did not have the flexibility or inclination to persevere with the one that required me to wriggle on my front, face first down round and up, I navigated most of the rest before the students finally indicated we had earned sufficient merit to return.  Could have done without cramp in my thighs on the way down. 

Declining the offer of tea with various families, I finally got back to my little house just before 6pm and while I could have killed for a hot bath and takeaway pizza, my cold shower did wash off the dust and freshen me up, and the fridge yielded sustenance that did not take too much preparation.  It took 3 attempts at washing my clothes to remove all the dust from t-shirt, trousers and socks.

The first week of the academic year

Saturday 28 February

Kheni school from the nearby Lhakhang

The first week of the academic year has absolutely flown. 

I interrupted my lesson planning last Sunday to take myself for a walk up to the Lhakhang.  Apart from the fabulous views (which I also have from my windows) and the value of getting out in the fresh air and the exercise of climbing the hill (easier in my runners and trousers than in my dress boots and kira) the pure peacefulness of finding a small promontory on which to sit and observe the river and the hill opposite with its dominant Lhakhang (which I think I want to visit at some stage) was just lovely.  I managed to successfully communicate with a couple of villagers who inquired on the way where I was going – with total lack of common language.  I will make an effort to learn some after I have mastered my student’s names  - all 120+ of them.

The Lhakhang on the hill opposite - survived the fierce fires
a month later

I was intrigued on Sunday evening by what appeared to be processional music on the village street, but on going down to investigate realized it was coming from my landlord’s house – which is the apartment immediately below mine.  Monks were busy chanting, drums and trumpets providing the ritual music for a puja: in this case an annual ritual performed by households to ensure good luck for the coming year.  I had observed the children shaping clay earlier and had inquired as to what they were making (having seen them being quite creative previously) and their response was karma.  These models were all part of the ritual.  The process continued until late in the night and commenced early again the next morning, drums, trumpets and chanting included.

The school and sports ground sitting high above the river valley

 The next day one of the support staff who speaks little English brought to me a book with a statement written in Dzonkgha, (beautiful script) which had a number of signatures after it.  Feeling that I should investigate what I was being asked to sign, I found a colleague to translate for me.  It was an invitation from my landlord, to all staff, to a puja party that evening, commencing at 5:30pm

Kheni Cluster Village and the valley looking towards the peaks
in Arundel Pradesh

A minor household repair (fixing a fluorescent light in an internal room) was needed and my neighbour and colleague Assistant Principal, Kinley, had kindly advised my landlord, and told me that I needed to get home promptly after school to provide access for this work.  The electrician came, unsuccessfully, and having communicated that the light fitting was non-functional, indicated he would go to fetch something needed and come back – the assistance of some students provided a timeframe for this. Assistant Principal, Kinley came with the school electrician, Singay, who swopped various components to come to the conclusion that the light fitting was well and truly not working and installed a light globe alongside it – easier than using a torch anyway.

In the meantime 5:30pm had come and gone (BFT - Bhutan Flexible Time at work again) and my friends and colleagues Madam Zangmo and Madam Phub had arrived to collect me, and neighbour Sithar has wandered in.  As they were dressed in kira, I thought it appropriate to make a quick change of clothes (that could be an oxymoron when changing into kira, wonju and taego).  My piece of purchased weaving was commented upon, and the price remarked upon, and it was suggested in future that if I am offered weaving to purchase I consult Sithar for expert opinion.  We sat and chatted for some time – an hour or so – until there was evidence of other guests arriving below in the local equivalent of a marquee in the garden:  some corrugated iron to protect against the evening breeze and a tarpaulin above.  Assorted seating had been arranged but as there were few people we were invited to the house. 

Traditional seating is cross-legged on mats on the floor.  While I try, I cannot achieve cross legged with both knees on the floor as I used to be able to – and my friends’ suggestions that I would be more comfortable to get my knees lower have me admit that it is not possible – I do not have the flexibility in my hip joints.  I am therefore embarrassed, albeit more comfortable, by arrangements for me to sit on a chair. 

I get to observe the ritual around offering of “seconds” (and thirds and fourths…..) especially with the ara – the local home brew whiskey equivalent. Our hostesses’s ara is a good one, but has a kick and I request a smaller amount than the full mug that is being served to everyone.  I am given a small cup, but still brimming, and the principal and vice principal tell me that if I cannot drink it all, its OK to leave it.  There is a lot of pressure from the hostess to drink more, but the senior staff tell me that they have requested for my health and well being that I do not get the same level of pressure, very sweet of them as I consume half of what I have been served during the course of around 3 hours and its definitely packs a punch.  The ritual is that of offering and refusal a couple of times before accepting a top-up or refill, sometimes with more protesting and pressuring than other times.

Assorted snacks are served, including a deep fried rice cracker that is a bit reminiscent of the prawn crackers which can be purchased commercially at home – but is made by our hostess; deep fried dried salted fish and a dish with a mixture of zao (roasted rice), noodle and chilli; our delightful vice principal warned me that there was chilli in the dish and all responded well to my comment “chilli in Bhutanese food?  Really?”  Its nice to know my sense of humour is appreciated by those for whom my language is probably their third language.

As ara consumption increases, mainly by the men, I am told that I look a bit like Princess Dianna (presumably the parting on one side hairstyle and the fact that probably all western women look the same) and I have been exempted from SOD allocation (staff on duty – ie the staff member who will report for duty at the boarding house at 6am, conduct assembly, oversee afternoon prayer and boarder evening study….) and express my appreciation but protest that I should be sharing in staff responsibilities.  I think the response was that I already have much more of a load than I should have.  Not sure how that works, my load is similar to everyone else’s;  maybe the role of Literary Coordinator is way more that I think or maybe it is more about the load that is expected for BCF teachers, but we are paid more than the local teachers so there is no way I want to be doing less.

Around 10pm I suggest that it is getting towards time for me to leave and am promptly told that I will not be allowed to before dinner is served.  Whoops, serious faux pas there, I did not realise there would be dinner as well.  Dinner is duly served and I am told that I can go now if I wish.  A couple of kids accompany me up the steps – I wonder if they have been delegated to ensure that the very short journey happens safely – a necessity that can only be appreciated by those who have navigated in third world countries after dark –I have enough challenge coming down the steps in broad daylight wearing dress shoes and kira - with the sloping, uneven surface and the regular occurrence of dogs on the steps who have no intention of removing themselves to allow me to pass.

It was wonderful to be invited to the party; much of the conversation was not in English – as would be expected,  and I sat and listened and occasionally picked up the topic of the conversation and allayed suggestions that I might be bored.  It is so kind and generous of people to include me and I really appreciate it.

Classes are interesting; I ask my home class to think of ways they can make their classroom more beautiful and am highly impressed by a written note from one of the class captains suggesting cleaning the windows, whitewashing the walls, buying fabric to make a “subject corner” and organising pot plants for the window sills as well as cleaning the desks (I have purchased, with the 5 Nu collected from each student a broom and dustpan for sweeping the classroom and stuff for cleaning the desktops) he also suggests organising of student books (currently students bring all textbooks to class and these are stacked on their desks)  he suggests collection of a further 10Nu per student for this.  This young man is definite leadership material.

Discussions with the principal suggests, as I had thought it probably would, that whitewashing walls is not student responsibility but perhaps this can be brought to the attention of the maintenance coordinator. 

The students are polite, hardworking, and will happily copy anything I write on the board, very neatly, into their books, but when it comes to asking them to answer individual questions, much more of a challenge.   If I am doing class work on the board and they recognize a pattern, I will get an enthusiastic chanting of the pattern, but ask individuals if they understand and I get an inscrutable flick of the head.  I am disappointed when I look at the test results from revision of last year’s work – I have run it as a pre-test for the first unit on number, and am disappointed, not so much in the poor results of many, but in the fact that they have not asked for help, or advised me of their lack of understanding.  There are a couple of individuals who have asked for help and I have every intention of rewarding that early next week – let’s hope that vicarious reinforcement continues to work well.  Including those prepared to say they do not understand is one young man named Thinley.  He has given me homework this week:  his book of quotes, motivational bits and pieces, proverbs, etc – he asked me to write something for him, so I was very glad to have internet active that night…  

The pre-test results show me that I have much to do tomorrow with lesson planning for differentiated lessons.  I seem to have a range from one or two students who do not understand subtraction through to some who are very capable and possibly mathematically gifted.  Complicated by those who possibly have some visual processing issues judging by the results of copying pre-test questions from the blackboard, visual spatial learners – though I am not sure how to go about activating visual spatial brains in the teen years.  I thought I had a reasonable level of understanding in class 8, as they laughed when I talked with them about test strategy (don’t copy all questions then start the answers, because if you run out of time, all I will know is that you can copy from the board, and I already know that) but not so sure.

I am presented with the blackboard metre ruler which I asked about and which the vice principal organized for the school carpenter to make for me to my specification (a metre long piece of wood with a handle – and he has marked 10cm intervals).  I feel privileged; apparently there is one blackboard ruler for the school.  It is great to be able to draw straight lines on the board; when I want students to use rulers, it’s a bit hypocritical if I am not modeling that. 

We finally receive our registers:  to be filled out each day and balanced each day and names listed on a new page each month.  Not sure where these have been stored but mine is very musty and makes me cough every time I open it.  Perhaps I should find a spot in the sun for it for a while.  There is also a chart in the staffroom for recording of monthly percentage attendance for each class.

I have borrowed 2 thermometers from the science lab for the year, procured a notebook, and we have started our temperature recording as part of our data collection – weather monitoring project for the year.  A couple of the boys volunteered and I delegated them to recruit a few more and organise a roster.  As we get closer to the rainy season, we will need to make a rain gauge.  I have one plastic juice bottle almost empty, and will need to buy something that comes in a container has a suitable funnel shape and work out how to do the scale from the size of the makeshift funnel.  I had naively assumed that I could buy a minimum-maximum thermometer in Thimpu as well as a rain gauge.  One of the boys subsequently informs me the thermometer is broken.  I bring the one that I was using at home to the staffroom, but that gets broken also in my absence.  The frequent presence in the staffroom of a rather naughty preschooler son of a staff member is suspected as a reason.

I am being asked pronunciation and assorted other bits and pieces by my colleagues and had not really realized what a resource I might be to the school in more ways than just by being here to teach the students.

Afternoons are very windy (good for drying the washing – especially hand washed sheets, towels, kira…) and the weather is getting milder.  I have not switched on my electric heater for the past few days.  It was 21C in the sun this morning at 7:45am and it’s going to get very toasty over the next few months.  The Principal suggested today during SUPW that if I am finding it difficult standing in the sun, I can bring an umbrella.  A good idea considering a sun hat is not acceptable, and more comfortable than a hat.  He really is very considerate of my health and wellbeing.

And did I mention SUPW – socially useful productive work.  Period 4 on Saturday, as well as 15 minutes before assembly each day.  Each class is allocated an area to keep free of litter, clear of weeds and undertake general gardening and garden improvements.  With areas being judged at the end of the year.  This I all knew, but did struggle to keep a straight face when it was announced in assembly that Kheni Lower Secondary School had won 3^rd prize in the district in the clean toilet competition.  While the importance of educating some of these very rural students in basic hygiene is critical, there was something almost monty-pythonesque about the competition concept.  The students are very rural, my home group numbers 32 and only 5 are day students – the rest are boarders whose home villages are located more than an hour’s walk from the school – no road access.  The other grade 7 group is similarly structured.

And on the topic of hygiene – I now have the shower promised by my landlord -installed on Tuesday afternoon.  Pure luxury.  Fully adjustable: it turns on and off (assuming the water supply is working – it has gone off twice this week – that is why I keep the buckets of water beside the toilet and the sink).  I had already been told I have the best house in the village and the adjective “clean” seems to impress – the fact that it is new and fresh makes clean much easier to maintain.  The shower will be particularly appreciated once the weather starts to get really warm.  It is refreshing now at the end of a school day when I feel hot and dusty and covered with chalk.

Time for some PD

Sunday 22 February

Yesterday I discussed with Zangmo the preparedness of the students to get up on stage and perform and she confirmed that they are happy to do this, that they find it enjoyable, but speaking out in class is something they find difficult.  Do we have a tendency towards visual spatial thinkers, I wonder. 

Thinking more about this I recall that the weaving done by the women is all from memory, they follow no pattern, but recall patterns passed down from mother, aunt or older sisters and sometimes amend or create new patterns which are their own signature, patterns which, I was told when I visited Khoma in 2013, were closely guarded in the making.  That is definitely visual memory.

So, time to refresh myself and consider how I am going to incorporate visual spatial learning skills into a very linear maths curriculum.  I did not bring Linda Silverman’s book The Visual Spatial Learner in the Classroom  due to its bulk and weight, but I have several articles saved on my laptop by Linda and others who have learned from her initial work on this important topic and settle down to read.  This is going to involve some real work for me, as, despite Linda’s insistence, when she was my guest a couple of years ago during the Tasmanian Association for the Gifted state conference, that I am a visual thinker, I consider myself much more a linear sequential thinker and learner.

Linda’s article Teaching Mathematics to Non-Sequential Learners seems like a good place to start, and while it focuses on teaching of multiplication tables, has some thoughts I might be able to use – assuming I can persuade these reticent class 7 students that they can think for themselves.  I wonder if I am going to be able to do that if they are shy to speak to me and might be used to different, more traditional, teaching approaches.

The first topic for class 7, after revision of number, is divisibility rules, and while the textbook does have a pattern discovery approach, it is very text heavy – something that will not be of help to those students whose English is not strong, and it provides a number of sequential steps for the discovery process – which will defeat the “big picture” approach that works better for visual spatial learners.

Public Holiday Sports

The day after Losar (new year) I spend a leisurely morning with coffee, scrambled eggs and an e-book before a few morning chores.  As I return from hanging out my washing, Sithar’s door is open and I ask if she wants to share a cup of tea in the sunshine.  I am not sure if she understands, but her niece Younten appears shortly with an omelet for me and I ask her about tea, which she tells me Sithar is preparing; I open the large tin of biscuits to find that the tin is full of loosely packed small packets, not choc-a-block with biscuits as I had imagined would be appropriate to its price.  Live and learn, at least the tin will make a useful storage container.

Tea is a choice of naja or suja, set on a mat on the grassed area under the washing line;  I take along my cup of weak black tea which was already made, and am told that is pica.  The naja and suja are served with the roast rice or local cornflakes which are added to the tea to make a substantial snack.  I cannot keep up with the way these people consume calories and have no intention of trying.  They must think I am awfully underfed.  The conversation leads to breakfast food, and I fetch my jar of porridge oats to clarify what I eat for breakfast on most days, and describe yesterday’s breakfast of the local cornflakes with mango juice.  I am sure they think I am somewhat weird – rice with curry or emma datsi for breakfast is more the norm here.

Archers, gathered around their target, prepare to take their
turn aiming for the target a few rice paddies away, across the path

Archers celebrate a bullseye, also with a song and a dance

My neighbour, the assistant principal Kinley Wangdi, (Kinley, Sir, or AP, Sir) tells me there is an archery match today at the school and would I like to go and watch – he is going.  Of course I would like to, and after tea is finished we head towards the school, which is quiet, and a quick phone call by him results in an about turn and walk down the hill through the dry rice paddies towards Kheni Cluster Village.  He tells me that as soon as Losar is over, work will start on the paddies, repairing the walls and irrigating.  Farmers will stay up all night while their paddies are irrigating, to guard against others misappropriating their water supply while they sleep.  I am pleased to hear that red rice is grown locally; I far prefer that to the white rice.

The archers are the staff from our school and the opponents the staff of another school.  The marksmen are clustered around their targets around 250m apart across paddy fields. The Khuru (darts) players on a lower area of the paddy fields are a mere 33m apart but their target is minuscule and is surrounded by sticks decorated with flowers and the coloured cotton cloths that are also tied to the belts of the marksmen to signify those who are successful in hitting the target.

A pretty spectator

It is a wonderful setting, the majestic hills rising steeply, the more distant hills hazy with the smoke of forest fires in an adjacent dzonghag, villages which are the homeplaces of many of our boarders visible 2-3 hours walk distance.  The archers all use locally made bows, no expensive imported bows in sight, although the arrows are purchased.  The twang of the bowstrings is followed either by a puff of dust near the other target or a satisfying thud as the arrow hits its target.  The former is accompanied by shouts, signals or chants of derision from the opponents and the latter by songs and dancing in celebration of the success at both ends.  Taking aim is similarly accompanied by calls and chants designed to undermine the effort or encourage the marksman.  I am introduced to the principal and vice principal of the opposing school and they welcome me and express hopes that I will make a difference to the education of the students.  I, too, hope I do.

Kuru player in action

We move down to watch the Khuru for a while, and as before I am offered appropriate seating – a piece of cardboard box to protect my clothes from dust, placed on the wall of one of the paddies.  It feels wonderful to be included in the audience for these events – I am not here as a tourist watching some event specially put on for tourists as can happen with “cultural activities” in other parts of the world, but am being allowed to share in the special events that make up the lives of the people in whose village I am living for a short time.

The match today is conducted with the participants in traditional dress – the gho, but I am told that archery matches are not normally this formal – it is just because it is the day after Losar.

Watching for the opponents' action in trying to hit the Kuru target

I am invited to join the marksmen for lunch, but decline saying that I have already prepared my lunch.  I have Spanish omelet in the fridge, which I should finish today.

Kuru players celebrate a bullseye with a song and a dance 

The marksmen break for lunch – prepared by the village ladies  - the cost will be shared between the teams – and Kheni is in the lead in both archery and khuru  The walk back is a wonderful lesson in the edible and medicinal properties of the botany of this amazing landscape.  Apart from the banana and pawpaw trees which I can see from my window (apparently pawpaw is not a desired fruit as far as the children are concerned) there are fig, lemon, pomegranate, guava, tree tomatoes (with fruit), berry bushes which look a little like blackberry but have a ripe orange fruit, passionfruit, peppercorn (and I was concerned about finding some to buy in Thimpu) and curry leaf trees growing wild.  Tree tomatoes are pointed out, with fruit, and the edible/medicinal properties of the fried flower of cymbidiums discussed (although these are expensive to purchase, when available).  The herb Artemesia bhutanica, which I dubbed a magic herb when here before as a tourist, for its wonderful properties in managing asthma, also seems to be a vasoconstrictor, and rubbed on wounds will stem the flow of blood.

Saturday is the birth anniversary of His Majesty the King; school acknowledgement of this important occasion will be somewhat subdued due to my colleague Rinchen’s wife still being in intensive care.  There is the lighting of butter candles on the altar on the hall stage and speeches by teachers as well as singing/prayer by the student body.  This is followed by a concert, with items by both boys and girls including dance, singing, recitals and a comedy skit.  These students have talent, although one very small performer has his hands over his ears as one of his co performers sings – her pitch is high and he is obviously sensitive to this. Some of the dance is interesting – definite cultural fusion as they seem to be mixing traditional Bhutanese style with some interesting western dance moves.  I guess this is the effect of the exposure to television, an item which seems to be in operation much of the day in many houses.

My evening meal preparation, interspersed with lesson preparation as the rice cooks, is interrupted by one of the ladies in the apartment block in which I live.  Tashi Dema has brought a piece of weaving to ask if I would like to buy it.  She says she was making a kira but could not buy any more of one of the silk colours and suggests I could use it as a table cloth (but buy a piece of glass to protect it at the earliest opportunity)  A quick assessment that this beautiful piece should be just enough to make me a jacket back home and I assent.  The primary colours of red and blue are gorgeous and the gold makes it a very rich pattern.  I marvel once again at the skill of the ladies in their weaving and pay her asking price of 3000Nu, approximately $60, but refuse her offer at this stage to weave me another similar or purchase a belt, a rachu (ceremonial scarf, required for formal occasions at school and visits to the dzong) or other, more utilitarian, pieces she has woven. 

Settling into school and village life

My neighbor, Sithar, comes on Sunday morning to tell me she is upset and distracted because a neighbor’s wife has died.  I first understand that she is telling me that it is the wife of one the cooks, but then realize she is speaking of the wife of one of my teacher colleagues.  I suggest we walk down to the prayer wheel below the school, which we do, mindful of the imminent arrival of my guests.  When we return she hears from another neighbour that the lady is not dead, but is in intensive care.  It subsequently transpires that others received the same sequence of messages, and that the interpretation here of unconsciousness or coma is sometimes translated as death.  My suspicion of stroke, from what I have been told, is confirmed the following day and the patient remains critical, in Mongar Hospital, receiving the best treatment possible in this part of Bhutan.

Communication with the shop keepers is sometimes interesting – my request for teabags meets mainly with a blank, even when I ask for ja, or find the leaf tea and sign a small packet and dipping.  I am told that I must go to Duksum for such luxuries.  A quick text message to Nancy to ask her to pick some up on the way to visit me receives a positive response and in due course Nancy arrives with Nima and Kirsten, who has been unwell and in Trashigang with Nancy for the past few days.  Nancy has also kindly shopped for me for a mirror and a new mop – my original mop having broken on second use.  She brings with her a picnic lunch – momo, delicious dumplings which are a real treat and a change from rice, lentils and vegetables which have been my staple diet.  I cannot complain, my supply of fresh vegetables in this location is quite good, any amount of onions (I would call them spring onions, but have been corrected about that) are available, along with radish, sag (mustard greens) and I purchased green beans and potato from the local shop this week.  Of course, I don’t need to mention the availability of the staple chillies.

All day Sunday, the village street is very busy.  The biggest shop seems to have additional merchandise – I don’t recall seeing the mattresses and tin trunks on my previous visit, but this is the day the boarders report to school and they must provide both items for themselves, along with many others.  While the street is busy with traffic, I think the pack ponies outnumber vehicles and at least one pony team heads back to distant places with a load of dried, salted fish.

An increase in school age people in the village means an increase in the respectful greetings I receive as I pass.  The children stand to the side of the road and bow and wish me good morning, or good afternoon.  One tiny pre-primary child in school uniform stands a little apart from his older friends and also attempts something that sounds vaguely like good morning and smiles hugely when I respond with the same greeting.

We meet an older girl arriving from some distance as a boarder, also accompanied by her younger brother who with board as a pre-primary student.  The younger boy looks most overwhelmed and resists his sister and older relative’s attempts to encourage him to greet us.  As there are 3 of us with white faces, probably the first he has ever seen, the sight is possibly a bit too daunting.

School for the first couple of days focuses on organisational aspects of enrolling students new to the school, allocating the class 7 and 8 students to different streams, ensuring sufficient desks (of appropriate size) and chairs in classrooms.  The faces in my classroom come and go on the first morning and once I know the composition of the home group, my involvement of the students in textbook issue is a little more chaotic than I would have preferred.  I try to make distribution of stationary items the following day more organized. 

Club coordinators were allocated in the first week and students choose their clubs;  coordinators are first requested to give a speech to tell students what being part of the club will involve and I am thankful that my colleague Madam Sunam had provided me with a plan for 2014 the previous day and I had spent part of the evening preparing my plan for literary club for the year.  I have 13 students who wish to be part of this club, all girls, and will enjoy working with this group.

On Tuesday I dismiss the students a few minutes early for lunch, telling them to come back at the appointed time, and one boy tells me that other classes have been told they don’t need to come back to class after lunch.  I check and confirm this is correct.  Twenty or more of my home class do report after lunch and I give them the choice of staying or going.  All stay and start to write the “getting to know you” questions I have put on the board into a notebook or piece of paper.  I have explained that I would like them to write me a letter, essay or story about themselves, incorporating the information in these questions but most either do not comprehend or that task is too open ended.  I am very grateful to those who have returned and choose to stay, what and how they write give me an insight into them and their abilities,.  The question “what else would you like your teacher to know about you” eludes them, even when I explain that this might help me know better how and what to teach them.

My home group is aged from 11-19, with about half being new to the school this year, coming from outlying primary schools, which are up to 3 hours travel, on foot, distant – there being no roads to those villages.  I attempt to get a feel for the local geography by asking my students to describe where the villages are – a request that is either not understood or they do not have the skills to respond to, and I ask of my colleagues if there is a map – the answer is negative, as I expected. 

As the week progresses, I observe that my use of selective praise of neat appearance on the first day is having the vicarious effects I had hoped for.  Amongst the girls, more long hair is tied back and the boy with the longest, untidiest hair is sporting a very neat number 4 cut over most of his head.  Yay!!

The morning of elections for the roles of captains is a very serious event.  The candidates have prepared election posters and make speeches soliciting votes.  Speeches are either in the national language, Dzonkha, or in English – neither being the first language of these rural students.  The speeches in English are generally somewhat halting; I have insufficient knowledge to make judgment about the Dzonkha speeches.  Voting is done utilizing electronic voting machines from the Electoral Commission office and with the assistance of staff from that office.  The whole process is a continuation of morning assembly and goes well past the normal appointed hour for lunch.   Students either sit patiently cross-legged on the basketball court or stand, lined up, ready to vote.  There is the odd bit of horseplay amongst some students and a few paper projectiles amongst the younger classes (although class PP-3 have already been dismissed from this process) but the successful candidates are announced within minutes of each round of voting finishing.

School is dismissed after the elections, boarders being advised that they can go home to their families, as it is Losar – new year – and there is a 2 day holiday.  They will return to school on Friday evening ready for the formal celebrations of the King’s Birthday on Saturday morning, with reminders that they are to come with the formal attire additions of Kabney and Rachu – the scarves worn by males and females respectively for formal occasions.

As shops may be closed not only for the Losar holiday but for the King’s birthday and subsequent holiday, I go shopping for additional fresh food and something to take as a gift for my friend Zangmo, with whom I am invited to lunch to celebrate Losar on Thursday.  The shop has fresh fish; I am advised these come from India.  Taking fish from the river below is not permitted and the Indian border is not far away, though these came via the border at Samdrup Jongkhar, although having seen the Brahmaputra south of Samdrup Jongkhar, I can only hope the fish were not from that stretch of water.

My use of my curry cooker to steam the fish is more successful than my attempts to cook Spanish omelet in it, but it is not a particularly firm-flesh fish.  There is way too much for me and I take ¾ of it next door and the children who are babysitting for my neighbour accept it with enthusiasm, although Sithar tells me the next morning that her friend and my colleague prepared it differently – whether she means he reprepared my steamed fish to add flavour or prepared the fish he brought in a different way – I am unsure.

Kheni Model Village

Cheeky smiles from an upstairs window of Keni Model Village

I go for a walk to photograph the Kheni Model Village, a little hesitant to actually walk in this compact village, feeling it would be rather intrusive, but my colleague, the school electrical technician, Singay is also walking towards the village – and his home; we chat and I ask if it would be OK for me to walk around the village – he invites me to his house for the inevitable naja and I am privileged to meet his family, including his 8 day old daughter – looking beautiful as she sleeps.  His house in very traditional, although has been extended to accommodate an additional branch of the family and has the addition of electric light.  Once again I marvel at actually being in this place I have looked at online so many times.

The beautiful newborn

On Thursday Zangmo rings me at 12 to tell me not to prepare lunch – confirming her invitation of the previous day to have lunch with her.  Sithar has also said I can join her for lunch and I explain that I have already been invited to lunch, although perhaps I do not explain clearly enough.  As I go to retrieve my washing, she and other neighbours are setting out a picnic lunch with rice cookers, curry pots, etc, and I am once again invited to join them.  Zangmo appears soon after to escort me to her brother’s house, where we will be eating.  I am given a chair and small table, and a spoon with which to eat, while everyone else sits on rugs the floor and eats quite neatly with their fingers – I must improve my flexibility so I can sit more comfortably on the floor.  Lunch includes rice (of course), pork, chicken, dried beef, boiled eggs and fish soup and a dish of rice noodles (which are particularly delicious)  This Losar feast is a last indulgence in meat before the meat free first month of the Bhutanese new year.  I feel privileged to have been invited into homes, especially when I cannot communicate with the older family members, in particular.

I have taken a gift of an embroidered tea towel for Zangmo, and this is duly admired and my ability to sew discussed.  Zangmo’s sister-in-law asks if I would make a piece of fabric she has into a blouse, like the one I am wearing, for her mother.  I agree – subject to my being able to procure a sewing machine.  We discuss the upcoming King’s birthday celebrations, which will be at school on Saturday, and Zangmo offers to lend me on of her better kira – with flower patterns – for this special occasion.  We go to her house to choose an appropriate garment and she lends me the rest of the outfit to go with it.  I am overwhelmed by her generosity, including her giving me a woven bag which I can use to carry my laptop and my lesson books to school, and I remember the Bhutanese way of returning the giving of a gift with another gift.  Perhaps I should have stuck with taking a food gift when invited to lunch, but the embroidered tea towel seemed a bit more special than a tin of biscuits from the local shop.  We arrange for Zangmo to stop by around 8am on Saturday morning to ensure I am correctly dressed in her traditional kira and belt (as opposed to my modern interpretations which are fastened with hooks) as I am sure that if I rely on myself for this, I will need to start at 6am and will still look untidy.