The Tabsang Gompa - next door neighbours
February 06, 2005
Life
Outside of school, there really wasn’t too much to report in this first week of teaching. I was coming home from school every evening feeling utterly exhausted and certainly not keen to sample the local nightlife. One small coincidence did, however, shape my earlier experiences of Kathmandu and give me some relief from the, at first, endless work treadmill: Dawa, my Tibetan friend from my birthday, called out to me in the street as I was walking back to my new guesthouse after my first day of teaching. It seemed that she and her sister lived close by and she seemed keen to meet up again. Two or three times that week, we sat out on the terrace of one of the many cafes surrounding the Bouddha Stupa, drinking hot lemon and ginger while she told me all about her Tibetan background and explained to me the significance of the monument and the Lhosar (Tibetan New Year) celebrations that were ongoing at the time. Being far from the hustle and hassle of Thamel was pleasant – Bouddha being a far more relaxing quarter of town…just as well with the pressures of teaching! The downside to Bouddha could have been the enforced loneliness, with most of the other Westerners (including Edd, of course) residing in Thamel. While I appreciate my own company, having somebody to yak with at the end of a long day never goes amiss and with her cheery nature, Dawa seemed the perfect antidote to workday woes.
That first week was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to cope with. Without a syllabus or text books, I really had no idea what I was supposed to teach the kids. Couple this with my total lack of teaching experience and a suddenly blank memory on schoolyard games and I was spending every night and early morning racking my brains and designing ever-more-elaborate games and lesson plans. Dawa was great light relief from the stress and I really found myself growing to like her company. Come the weekend, I was more than ready for Everest Beer and pool at Tom and Jerry’s with Edd…and Dawa came along to join us. Saturday was spent chilling my beans at the Bouddha Stupa, enjoying the relaxing atmosphere, Buddhist chanting music and the fluttering of prayer flags. Behind the white and gold of the stupa the dark silhouettes of the surrounding hills marked the outer boundary of the Kathmandu Valley and, further in the distance, the snow-capped peaks of the Himalaya peered over their shoulders to complete the picture. I felt serenely peaceful and positive about the rest of my stay in Kathmandu.
That first week was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to cope with. Without a syllabus or text books, I really had no idea what I was supposed to teach the kids. Couple this with my total lack of teaching experience and a suddenly blank memory on schoolyard games and I was spending every night and early morning racking my brains and designing ever-more-elaborate games and lesson plans. Dawa was great light relief from the stress and I really found myself growing to like her company. Come the weekend, I was more than ready for Everest Beer and pool at Tom and Jerry’s with Edd…and Dawa came along to join us. Saturday was spent chilling my beans at the Bouddha Stupa, enjoying the relaxing atmosphere, Buddhist chanting music and the fluttering of prayer flags. Behind the white and gold of the stupa the dark silhouettes of the surrounding hills marked the outer boundary of the Kathmandu Valley and, further in the distance, the snow-capped peaks of the Himalaya peered over their shoulders to complete the picture. I felt serenely peaceful and positive about the rest of my stay in Kathmandu.
Class 4B 09.45 - 10.30
As first impressions of teaching go, you could do a lot worse than Class 4B. For a start, not one of them standing on tiptoes could have reached my chin and they were all convinced that I had a former occupation in the WWF (no, not the animal charity…the World Wrestling Federation!). So, at least the first time they saw me, there was a kind of awed silence and a ready willingness to do whatever I said. Of course, they soon realised that I wasn’t going to be using my size advantage in disciplining them and they soon remembered that they were 11yr old kids and forgot that they were in the classroom to learn as opposed to chatting to their neighbour…or shouting across the classroom to their friends. For all their innocent, childish misbehaviour, 4B were really a very good class. For the most part clever – and hard-working when there was a test or written work to be handed in. More importantly there were enough of them with bold personalities and bright natures to make them both amusing and pleasurable to teach. They quickly came to understand that if the necessary work was completed, there would always be plenty of time for fun and games. They were a little unfortunate that their lesson (being the first of the day) clashed with the lower school assembly in the playground. This meant that they probably didn’t get nearly as much playground time as the other kids…but they bore it like true Nepalis – with stoicism and a smile. We were often forced to play blackboard games in the first half of the term and it was no surprise that these vibrant energetic kids sometimes exploded into over-exuberance. Probably one of the memories of the school that will always stay with me was the ‘Great Fire of Niketan’. Not long into my visit, it happened to be the feast day of the goddess of education, Saraswati. Our headteacher, principal and school-founder, Uttam Sandjel had organised a day long religious celebration which he hadn’t really given me any details about. After an overwhelming first week of teaching and two weeks of the grim realities of Kathmandu’s pollution and poverty, I would gladly have given my right arm for a two-day weekend and, if I’d realised I wasn’t required to teach, would probably have escaped to the valley-edge on Sunday too. Uttam, as I was to learn, is a master of PR and had no intention of allowing the fact of the school’s Western volunteers to escape notice on such an auspicious occasion. With several print journalists and a TV crew due to report on the event, he simply told me that I needed to be at school on the Sunday. In the end, I’m glad I attended what was a unique occasion and my first real opportunity to see the tight community spirit of the school. Arriving at school on Sunday morning, I found the playground dotted with little chimneys and rush matting. As I was to see later the children and teachers were to use the chimneys to burn votive offerings of rice and oil to the gods during a long religious ceremony presided over by a Hindu holy-man and his team of helpers. In the classrooms, prior to the ceremony, the children were drawing pictures of the goddess, burning incense and decorating the classrooms with holy signs. Although there was no teaching, I headed up to 4B to sit with them before the ceremony. To my consternation, I found three of the boys playing with matches (for lighting the incense sticks. Come on!! No health and safety remember…this is Asia!!) and burning a pile of rubbish and offcut bamboo outside the classroom. I kicked the fire over and made a real fuss of shouting at them and explaining how dangerous it was to play with fire so near so many wooden buildings - and it seemed to have sunk in as two of the boys were looking slightly tearful by the time I’d finished berating them. (My mother may recall discovering me burning small piles of dead twigs under a 50ft conifer in our front garden in Cottingham…I don’t seem to remember being deterred from pyromania by the ticking off I got either…)
After the celebrations there was the symbolic release of white doves by some of the children and then it was time to eat…at least for me. I was fed my portion of the day’s special meal (vegetable curry followed by keer – a delicious, spiced rice pudding), which had been cooked separately from the enormous cooking pot for the kids and teachers so that I wouldn’t be hungry. I hung around for an hour or so after eating, chatting with some of the kids but eventually decided to head home and catch up on some e-mail after the recent resumption of internet services.
After I’d gone, it seems that our three likely lads had gotten handy with the matches again and proceeded to burn down (entirely by accident) one classroom and seriously scorch a couple of others.
Needless to say I got a shock when I walked into teach 4B the following morning and found the neighbouring classroom a pile of smouldering cinders. Less surprising was the absence of the three culprits (suspended)…and the classroom had become instantly quieter. One of the little terrors, Shakthi, had been the noisiest, brightest kid in the class and it was suddenly a lot easier to complete the one-to-one work with some of the shyer, quieter children…but somehow the classroom also seemed to lack a certain spark. Two weeks later, he was back…without his partners in crime, who had apparently left in shame when it became apparent that they had been chiefly responsible for the incident. Still voluble and bright, Shakthi seemed to have learned from his lesson and behaved much better thereafter. The same could not be said for the class’s other resident ‘bad’ boy – Roshan. Forever talking, throwing things, hitting people and generally disrupting anything constructive, he would, irritatingly, always score full marks on the weekly listening comprehensions. In fact, he really reminded me of a certain 11 year-old I knew about 17 years ago…;-) Despite their ability to spoil things and their annoying habit of shouting out answers that I’d want the shy kids to come up with, these two had as much personality as anyone in the school and (secretly!) were two of my favourite students. Of course, I would have to shout extra loud at them to shut up and they were often at the front of the room doing punishment exercises (usually squats) just so that I could have enough peace and quiet to teach the other kids…but it didn’t do them any harm.
In complete contrast to the bad lads, my other 4B favourites were the (extremely) good girls. Right at the front sat Saraswati, Rochana, Anu and Anju. Their work was always immaculate, their handwriting a pleasure to read and they always wore looks of sweet innocence and did exactly as they were told. At the same time, they were far from being creeps and they certainly weren’t geeks. When it came to the conversation role-plays, I could always rely on them to ham it up and put a cheeky slant on whatever situation was being acted out. There was certainly no shortage of giggling and amusement if they were given time to talk amongst themselves.
Of course, the whole class were fantastic – some were shyer than others, some a little lacking in brains, others in imagination but none lacked a sense of fun. They all had the childish innocence that so sadly seems to be missing in British kids of similar ages and they never worried about looking ridiculous. We had a lot of fun playing Simon Says and Wink Murder and nearly all of them improved their English and passed their exams with flying colours. I certainly have high hopes for some of them and look forward to staying in touch with them and following their progress through the school over the coming years.
After the celebrations there was the symbolic release of white doves by some of the children and then it was time to eat…at least for me. I was fed my portion of the day’s special meal (vegetable curry followed by keer – a delicious, spiced rice pudding), which had been cooked separately from the enormous cooking pot for the kids and teachers so that I wouldn’t be hungry. I hung around for an hour or so after eating, chatting with some of the kids but eventually decided to head home and catch up on some e-mail after the recent resumption of internet services.
After I’d gone, it seems that our three likely lads had gotten handy with the matches again and proceeded to burn down (entirely by accident) one classroom and seriously scorch a couple of others.
Needless to say I got a shock when I walked into teach 4B the following morning and found the neighbouring classroom a pile of smouldering cinders. Less surprising was the absence of the three culprits (suspended)…and the classroom had become instantly quieter. One of the little terrors, Shakthi, had been the noisiest, brightest kid in the class and it was suddenly a lot easier to complete the one-to-one work with some of the shyer, quieter children…but somehow the classroom also seemed to lack a certain spark. Two weeks later, he was back…without his partners in crime, who had apparently left in shame when it became apparent that they had been chiefly responsible for the incident. Still voluble and bright, Shakthi seemed to have learned from his lesson and behaved much better thereafter. The same could not be said for the class’s other resident ‘bad’ boy – Roshan. Forever talking, throwing things, hitting people and generally disrupting anything constructive, he would, irritatingly, always score full marks on the weekly listening comprehensions. In fact, he really reminded me of a certain 11 year-old I knew about 17 years ago…;-) Despite their ability to spoil things and their annoying habit of shouting out answers that I’d want the shy kids to come up with, these two had as much personality as anyone in the school and (secretly!) were two of my favourite students. Of course, I would have to shout extra loud at them to shut up and they were often at the front of the room doing punishment exercises (usually squats) just so that I could have enough peace and quiet to teach the other kids…but it didn’t do them any harm.
In complete contrast to the bad lads, my other 4B favourites were the (extremely) good girls. Right at the front sat Saraswati, Rochana, Anu and Anju. Their work was always immaculate, their handwriting a pleasure to read and they always wore looks of sweet innocence and did exactly as they were told. At the same time, they were far from being creeps and they certainly weren’t geeks. When it came to the conversation role-plays, I could always rely on them to ham it up and put a cheeky slant on whatever situation was being acted out. There was certainly no shortage of giggling and amusement if they were given time to talk amongst themselves.
Of course, the whole class were fantastic – some were shyer than others, some a little lacking in brains, others in imagination but none lacked a sense of fun. They all had the childish innocence that so sadly seems to be missing in British kids of similar ages and they never worried about looking ridiculous. We had a lot of fun playing Simon Says and Wink Murder and nearly all of them improved their English and passed their exams with flying colours. I certainly have high hopes for some of them and look forward to staying in touch with them and following their progress through the school over the coming years.
Samata Shikshya Niketan
At 10 am on Sunday 6th February 2005, I walked into the most significant place so far on my travels. There was no towering edifice akin to Angkor Wat, no deserted tranquillity like Serendipity or Don Det, no horrifying reminders of man’s capacity for cruelty like S-21 or the War Remnants Museum. It was not a place that would immediately work its magic or instantly leave an impression on my memory…but in the next two months it was to assume a very special place in my heart and its diminutive denizens were to become as important to me as anybody in my life. Samata Shikshya Niketan School (in Nepali this means Global Togetherness and Fraternity) was like nothing I’d expected and yet, at once, was visually appealing. Countless other schools that I’d seen on trips around Kathmandu had resembled dilapidated (yet still recognisably ‘British 70’s municipal’) versions of the kind of concrete architecture that so delight the heir to our throne (the man does appear to have some taste…at least as far as architecture goes!). To be thus confronted, then, with this oasis of beauty amidst the detritus, filth and unfinishedness of Jorpati (one of Kathmandu’s less affluent districts) was, indeed, surprising. Around the main brick-paved playground were a succession of pretty white huts, constructed from bamboo and cowshit (for insulation I understand). Sitting atop one of these individually detailed huts was even a brightly painted replica of a stupa tower. Away to the north-west corner of the site, I caught a glimpse of another courtyard centred on a beautiful ornamental garden and similarly surrounded by a succession of attractive white huts. Over the course of the day (Lucy’s last and, therefore, a succession of mini School Sports Days – 3-legged race, marble (instead of egg!) and spoon etc.) I got to know the most important people at the school. Firstly, the man behind it all Uttam Sandjel…someone who I would grow to respect enormously and a man who has never since ceased to amaze me with his capacity for work and a complete refusal to accept limitations on his dreams. Secondly, I met the ‘Didis’ (Nepali for sisters), otherwise known as Komala, Gyanu, Pompa and Umilla, the kitchen staff and guardians of my appetite. Finally, and most importantly, I started getting to know the kids. All but the oldest and surliest boys struck me as heart-achingly cute and most of these kids had been endowed with a surfeit of personality and a mouth full of shining white teeth, which they loved nothing better than to show off in gleeful grins. All day long I had to deny my secret identity as a WWF wrestler and field forthright questions about my origins and history from some of the bolder, little blighters. Perhaps the biggest single impression was the kids’ impressive stoicism in the face of agonies that would have had most Premiership footballers in traction for several months. Unaccustomed to the teamwork required by being tied at the ankle, some of the kids stacked it quite brutally onto the hard brick floor during the 3-legged race. Instead of raising the dead with screams like most British kids would surely have done, they simply righted themselves, dusted off any excess, unattached skin from their kneecaps and dutifully completed the race. My first impressions of the kids were that they were bright, tough and personable…and the school seemed as pleasant an environment as any to conduct the business of learning. My two major worries, then, were the total lack of syllabus or textbooks for my ‘course’ and my own fears of inadequacy when under the bright-eyed scrutiny of the little monsters. Was I up to it? Would I let them down? Would the deep disparities between our cultures and the more obvious barrier of language come between teacher and pupils? I don’t remember feeling so scared or excited about anything in my life…
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