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.
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| Kheni Model Village |
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| 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.
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| 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.
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