The first week of school

First Week of School

My colleagues Madam Phub and Madam Zangmo have introduced me to the concept of BST – Bhutan Stretchable Time.  Not dissimilar to Fiji time.  Meetings start each day at 9am ….. or so.  Or we wait for someone who is needed but has gone to a neighbouring town. 

Observing development of the timetable is interesting.  The staff member responsible for the timetable in the past has left and mastery of the software for the timetable has not yet been attained.  Progress is very slow and we sit patiently making the occasional suggestions.

On Friday, the Principal take me to Trashiyangtse to open a bank account and meet the Chief District Education Officer.   I naively assume that we will be back around lunch time and will participate in afternoon meetings at school.  Silly me.  The bank manager fills out the required forms and carefully explains to me about use of my ATM card (which I will have to collect from the bank) and pin numbers and daily/weekly withdrawal limits for India and Nepal (card will probably not work at all) Given that my daily withdrawal limit in Bhutan is approaching twice my monthly salary, I do not think it will be a problem.

Meetings at the Dzong take time as paperwork is found and recorded and various relevant and important people are awaited.  There is a meeting of principals about Maths teaching and I am introduced to some and we are invited to have lunch with them.  As I have not yet been game to attempt to eat rice and other dishes with my fingers when alone, I resort to use of a spoon.

The drive to Tashiyangtse is stunning and I enjoy both the scenery and the company of my principal and I am taken to Chorten Kora to admire and circumambulate this beautiful and sacred construction.

Year and block planning is commenced, albeit some al-fresco and other while waiting patiently for meetings to happen.  I completed both plans in good time and had them signed off by the principal before the deadline.

Moving house

On Thursday, as I was preparing to don my Kira and proceed to staff meetings, 2 workmen walk through the front door of my temporary residence with saw and crowbar and signal their intent to start to remove the floor.  It transpired that they were told to wait 3 days, they waited 3 days, so here they were.  My attempts to signal that I am still sleeping in the house do not seem to be understood, so I signal them to come to speak with the principal, who fortunately is outside his temporary residence and within calling distance. 

Principal’s wife goes to check on the progress of my new house and it is suggested that I pack up all my things and they will be moved to my new house, which will be ready this afternoon.

Some of my colleagues come to help with the packing up, replacing appliances in boxes, but since I have nothing in which to put the contents of the fridge, that is carefully carried with contents in place. 

Meetings are finished at lunchtime and we are told we can do our planning this afternoon at home.  Could be a problem….  My colleagues offer to provide me with lunch, but Principal’s wife has already cooked for me and I sit down to emma datsi, kewa datsi, boiled eggs, dhal and rice.

As building is still underway in my new house I visit my new colleagues and friends Madam Phub and Madam Zangmo and am treated to milk tea (ja), milk coffee, company and an insight into life in an average Bhutanese village home.

I take my books and laptop to the table under the small pergola in the school grounds and soak in the scenery along with the class 7 curriculum as I do my planning.  The school, as with most buildings in Bhutan, is perched precariously on the hillside, on terraces which drop steeply, in this case to a stunning river below. The interlocking spurs and ridges get progressively mistier with distance, in both directions.  The second major ridge to the east bears the scars of road building in India.  That is not easily visible from the school, but from sections of the road to and through the village it can be seen.  I am surrounded by temperate and sub tropical plants in the school gardens – I am told that each class competes with others to keep their section of garden the most beautiful.

I have been told at 5pm my house will be ready;  the electrician is still working but it seems most of the sawing and hammering is almost finished.  A multitude of neighbours appeared with tea, children, offers to help unpack me, beer, Ara….  2 school tables have been brought from my temporary accommodation, one placed in my living room with a TV provided by my landlord.  I am also provided with a couch, Bhutanese style (wooden bench, on which is placed a rug) and a small table covered with a piece of cloth.

Another table has been placed in my bedroom, which is provided with a wooden bed and a spare mattress.

I inquire about the other school tables from my temporary residence for the kitchen (I use the term loosely, it is an empty room, no benches, not shelves) and in due course they appear and my gas stove is placed upon one and reconnected for me.

The electrician continues work on recalcitrant sockets (powerpoints) and light fittings, along with fixing my heater after he and one of my neighbours and colleagues established that not only did I have no warranty paperwork but I would not be attempting to return it for exchange in the near future.  I may not be back in Thimpu where I purchased it until the end of the year.  It is 9:30pm when the electrician departs and he has refused my offer of payment for mending my broken heater.  I am told that he has no formal education and I am intrigued by his testing device for powerpoints:  a light globe attached to a couple of wires which are inserted into the holes of the powerpoint!  The mystery of why powerpoints have plug holes that will not accept suitably sized plugs is also solved – it is necessary to insert a device into another plug hole to unlock these holes to accept the plug.  My water boiler will not be unplugged as this will close up these holes and I have little inclination to go sticking things into the holes of electrical sockets.  Should that also have been part of the risk management in our orientation?

I tactfully refuse offers to help me unpack.  I need time and space to unpack myself and clean the space to my satisfaction.  The latter task occurring over a number of days and almost being achieved.

My sitting room

The principal comes to see if all is well and the landlord’s wife brings beer and glasses, offers ara when I decline beer, and when I also decline ara, sends her daughter to make tea – which in Bhutan either comes as butter tea or milk tea (with sugar).

My kitchen

My bedroom

My little house is on the first floor of the building and consists of 4 small rooms, perhaps 2.5 metres by 2.5 metres each.  I have the luxury of a powerpoint in each room and very good bright lighting – 2 light fittings in each.  There is a kitchen style sink in the hallway/scullery area and 2 powerpoints – so my fridge and water boiler and water filter are located here.  The drainage arrangements for the sink are interesting – the sink empties into a rectangular area below (nothing so effete as a pipe from the sink drain to contain the flow)  The powerpoints generally defy the multi-adaptors I brought with me but the shop from which I purchased my appliances provided an adaptor whenever the appliance plug was not appropriate to Bhutan.

My washroom is standard Bhutanese style – cement floor and walls, ceramic squat toilet cemented into a slightly raised platform and a tap from which I can bale water to flush the toilet.  My landlord has promised a shower (cold water, hand held) and my bathing arrangements involve a jug and basin of water – warmed in my water boiler.  I have not yet experimented to see if I can find somewhere where my solar camp shower will warm up during the day.

There is another, larger, room, but this is not yet finished and is to be completed as an alter room – so not for my use.

The scullery

My walls are either painted blue, where they are cement, or are paneled with green or blue panels and black framing with brown or yellow paint on the wooden rods that hold the panels in place.  Windows in the front rooms provide me with a wonderful view of the hills and river valley along with peeps of daily life below in what appears to be their outdoor kitchen space – there is at least some cooking and heating of water which goes on over an open fire, and the tap and drain are on a cement slab.  I have observed many of the villagers washing dishes at their outside taps, so my kitchen sink is a luxury.

The landlord, at my request for a length of bamboo mounted so that I could hang some clothes was reinterpreted (given that we have no common language, that is not surprising) and I have a construction about 1.5 meters high by 2 metres long consisting of 3 rails.  The addition of a length of venetian blind cord from my luggage has enabled the hanging of clothes in a way that will keep them looking as they should. 

My bedroom with my clothes rail

My landlord came again to add another door and this activity seems to be an open invitation for neighbours to wander in and check out my house.  One man, after many attempts on both sides at communication and comprehension, told me it is beautiful, and I must agree with him.  I ask the landlord about a shelf in the kitchen – I think this conversation has already been had with him.  Maybe he forgot or maybe he thinks it unnecessary, but it would be convenient, I am currently storing much of my food in buckets.

My neighbour Sithar, again comes, with her baby who is not well, so I extract my thermometer to check her temperature, seems more or less normal.  The child is probably teething.  She again offers naja or suja, which I politely decline, I think an excess of these milk drinks is playing havoc with my insides, and I explain to her that I am busy with my household chores and with my planning for school.

Kheni Cluster Village

After domestic chores are largely done on Saturday afternoon I walk along to the village community centre and look from there at the view down the hill to the cluster village which comes up on Google maps earth view.  The realization that I am here, after months of looking at that picture, strikes me and I listen to the quiet of the rural setting.  Cows mooing, the music of the horns from the monks at their devotions at the lhakang, sounds of children playing in the village, crows calling as they fly above.  There are small boys collecting corn stalks on the terrace below and other terraces step down towards the river, awaiting the appropriate time to plant the rice. 

On the walk I pass banana and papaya trees, laden with fruit, and the extensive areas of garden planted with onions, turnips or radish, and the occasional tomato plant already self germinated.

When I return home, I am treated to the sight of a large portion of cow being butchered in the space behind my house on a piece of roofing iron, much to the interest of a large number of village dogs.  It seems that a cow strangled itself on its rope overnight and one of my neighbours, who has vocational qualifications in animal husbandry was allowed to butcher it and the meat be sold.  I am told that animals are not slaughtered for meat in this part of Bhutan, it is normally brought from India.  It appears that this animal managed to strangle itself on its rope.  The following morning, strips of meat put out to dry are an addition to the washing line behind my house.  The meat thus obtained will make good additions to the Losar (Bhutanese new year) celebrations which are imminent and will be a last treat before the meat-free first month of the new year.

I feel very privileged to be living here.  I am the first western person many have seen and a source of fear to at the small daughter of my landlord who burst into tears the first couple of times she saw me and weeks later still is a bit hesitant about being near me in the absence of older sibling or parent.