Monday, June 29, 2015

A Summer's Respite

Today I finished entering all my classes' grades for the term. At last summer vacation has arrived!
I will be spending the next couple of weeks exploring the country and undoubtedly gaining fodder for future blog entries. I look forward to updating everyone upon my return.
In the interim, I am pleased to share an entry through my friend Megan Haskin's website, korbaydelay.com. She has been spotlighting international teachers via a web series entitled "Teacher's Abroad" and I feel truly honored to take part in it. So please enjoy and explore her beautiful website. I think you will find her passion for education infectious--she really is an inspiration to us all!

http://www.korbaydelay.com/teachers-abroad-series/teacher-abroad-reese-ishmael

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Weekend Vignette #2: Carpe Diem, Carpe Nocturne

Once upon a weekend cheery,
there I pondered, accomplished (in theory),
despite many a bemusing event from the week before,
While I daydreamed, in reverie
Suddenly arose a quandary,
Making me an accessory
Accessory to plans galore.
Tis my friend, I realized,
Offering beer, hikes, and more.
The tale of which here lies below; a weekend vignette’s in store.


It was a Saturday. Like any Saturday I faced a serious dilemma: collapse into my bed for an hour-long nap so as to recuperate from a long week or use this precious time to capitalize on my freedom. Decisions, decisions. The hard fact of working as a teacher in Bhutan is that it is utterly exhausting, especially for us foreign transplants. I have spoken about this at length with a variety of my expat colleagues; some speculate the cause of our fatigue lies in our ambitious aims and general work ethic, some surmise it’s the overall lifestyle that wears us down, yet others hypothesize it is the incessant exposure to foreign bacteria. All are valid in my eyes. No matter how you look at it though we are only in Bhutan once and weekends like these are our only chance to explore and/or relax.

Fortunately I had plans to keep me from stasis. In the late afternoon Nakita and I were to meet some friends for a hike. But before that we, the dynamic duo, decided we had earned ourselves a nice, cold beer. So we met in the town square and did a few errands before we found ourselves at the front of the Wangchuk hotel, rather by chance. This hotel is the fanciest place in town and we had never been inside so it was worth a look. We weren’t disappointed. The ornate interior design, tile floors, and general sophistication had us floating on air. The bathrooms were pristine, the staircases spiraled, the walls decorated with art. Such simplicities to the west are ostentatious displays for such a remote location like Mongar.



Upon meandering into the dining hall we saw a veranda and quickly decided this would be a perfect place to spend our early afternoon. Once we found the wait staff we ordered some beer, pizza (PIZZA!), and momos (Bhutanese/Tibetan dumplings). Soaking in the sun we laughed away the hours, dabbling in philosophy, culture, and the simple joys of life.

Before we knew it, the clock read nearly four, the time we had planned to meet Peter and Ruth.

Peter and Ruth are a couple who volunteered at the Mongar hospital from February to May. Peter is a pediatrician originally from the UK and Ruth a retired nurse from Canada. Despite their advanced age, they are unusually spritely and adventurous. Over the months they were here I had spent plenty of nights over at their house drinking beer and sharing stories though we also would chart weekend hikes, play card games, visit our favorite restaurant in town, and tackle culinary challenges. They made for great company while they were here and I miss them greatly—but I’m getting ahead of myself.

On this day they had offered to take us on a hike the Gangala River. Mongar town is roughly a mile above sea level and at the top of a ridge, so visiting natural bodies of water makes for an exciting change of scenery. Nakita and I had wanted to go for weeks, especially since Peter had enticed us with tales of the wildlife. So, having finished up our afternoon treat, Nakita and I descended to the hospital housing and there we put down our bags before the four of us set off. We cut through a small trail on the outskirts of the hospital which lead to a hole in the fence before descending some hundred giant stairs into rougher terrain. Not 10 minutes in and we were engulfed by rural surroundings. The verdant greens of the jungle were nearly upon us as we passed village cow herders on the dirt road.


At some point we took a turn which led us past vertical prayer flags and banana trees until we came upon a prayer wheel being spun by a creek running down into the valley. Hydro-powered prayers—I like it. Further we descended until the sounds of jungle life filled our ears. It wasn’t all that precarious but the angle of descent was steep enough to occasionally merit the use of all four limbs. We stopped from time to time to ogle at birds (Peter and Ruth being bird-watchers) as well as the wild magnolias. At one point two blurs of brown about waist high darted across the path. I was surprised to hear from Peter these small creatures were deer—far smaller than any species I’d ever seen.




Roughly 50 minutes in we reached the river. What a lovely sight to behold after living up high for so long. The water flowed steadily over large gray rocks, twisting ever slightly through the valley. In order to reach a bridge we had to walk parallel to the water for some time. Looking down I couldn’t help but notice the copious amounts of wild marijuana growing near the bank. While there is a zero tolerance attitude toward drugs in Bhutan, weed seems to grow everywhere. To them it is quite literally just that, a weed.



At last we reached the bridge—a precarious mix of wood and bits of metal. Peter and Ruth assured us it is safe and I trusted in them, especially as it swayed and bounced with each step. We explored just a bit further but, with the hour growing late and the sunlight waning, it was time to return. Just as we passed the river crossing on our return we spotted two langurs playfully chasing each other through the trees.


Going back up the mountainside was a bit trying, but not enough to lessen our spirits. Back at the prayer wheel we ran into some of my students catching river crabs. We gave them a few treats and continued on our way, making it back to Peter and Ruth’s place just as the sun dipped behind the mountain. There we ate and talked for some time before departing.

I was tired to say the least and could easily have called it a night, but Nakita was dead set on snooker, so I decided to stick it out. We navigated our way to the building then conquered a concrete maze up until the parlor’s entrance. Walking through the door took us into a totally different world. Men in heated exchange spoke frantically as money was being thrown in every which direction. These men were clearly no amateurs. In the air was a faint but noticeable smell of cigarette smoke, a rarity considering its debatable legal status. I stood paralyzed by the intensity of life and sport taking place before my eyes. This scene was just so un-Bhutanese.

Nakita turned to me, wondering how we’d get a table. We were ruminating our options for a short while before the matron of the establishment walked over and introduced herself. She kindly escorted us to a corner of the room and removed a tarp, revealing a normal sized "practice" table. Not long after a group of three college-aged guys asked if we wanted to play against them. I, being rather unfamiliar with snooker, wasn’t too keen on taking on locals right away due to what I just witnessed, but they assured me they were still beginners. With a little extra coaxing from Nakita I decided to go with the flow. That always seems to be the solution in this country. As it turned out, we weren’t half bad and managed to beat them the first round—mostly by luck. During the second game they decided to substitute a friend in, which happened to be our downfall. We got our asses kicked, and that’s putting it lightly, but the experience was great fun—exchanging playful taunts and jokes.

Happily sated by the experience, Nakita and I walked under the stars in search of a taxi. The town was dead by this time save the faint glimmer of lights from houses across the valley, seemingly close yet so far away. With a little luck we managed to get a lift back to our respective places, bringing to an end one of the most eventful days of my time here in Mongar.

Saturday, June 6, 2015

Teacher's Day

 

Teacher’s Day is serious business in Bhutan. There was a considerable buzz from students weeks prior to the date, which I thought strange considering they get little out of the whole affair. But I was game to see what lay in store. In the five countries I have taught in, teacher appreciation is a rather mild affair where students give gift cards, mugs, or stationary supplies. Oddly enough the US seemed the least enthused, though when I look at other teachers’ Facebook pages I see this varies depending upon the community’s income level.

Teacher’s Day took place on Saturday, May 2nd. Saturdays in Bhutan are half days. After 3 periods of class students are typically required to indulge in agricultural work for an hour while teachers either supervise or attend professional development meetings that last well into the afternoon, but every once in a while Saturdays are devoted to something special. This means classes get thrown by the wayside, which makes the day more eventful even if it causes a bit of a scheduling headache.

On that very morning I awoke with a rather cloudy head. Unbeknownst to me this was the onset of a very serious infection that would keep me in bed and away from school for several days. At the time I thought this fogginess rather strange, but concerted myself to make it through the day. As I walked to school I could hear the sounds of excited banter. When a small group of students saw me they instantly blurted, “Sir! Sir! You come to class party, okay? After assembly you come!” Knowing I would get the same invitation from various classes I hesitated to give them a definitive response, but eventually I acquiesced, deciding I can schedule other class parties around it.

This was only the beginning. Once I made it onto school grounds I was ‘attacked’ by scores of students. They all rushed at me in droves, like zombies, crawling and swimming through their peers to meet my gaze. But instead of feasting on my brains they merely wanted to present me a gift. Fortunately I had brought an empty bag to school in anticipation of a few gifts. Student after student presented me cylindrical gifts (pens, most likely) vested in gift wrap. A pen may not seem like too much of an indulgence to us, but considering entire families often live on less than $200 a month, such an offer is incredibly generous and speaks wonders to the selflessness that exists in Bhutan. I made sure to thank each and every student whilst making eye contact, quickly stuffing each item into my gho. But by the time I had reached the bottom-most level of the school, my gho was full to capacity—and those pockets can hold books, balls, just about anything. The sheer determination of these students to fight through the crowds and present me with gifts bordered on ridiculous.

(Some of my bounty from the day)

I eventually managed to escape the unstinting hordes for a minute and upon reaching my office I let out a sigh of relief. I took this moment of respite to relocate my gifts to my bag. Little did I know my gho would be filled twice more by the end of the day. Coupled with the dream-like fogginess besetting me, everything up to that point had made for a very surreal experience, but it was far from over.

When I left the office block I was corralled over to a patch of grass by a few of my students. They insisted I help them with something, but exactly what that entailed I didn’t know. They started digging with their hands and farming tools then handed me a sapling. I asked, “What is this for?” to which they responded that I was to plant two trees in honor of my presence at the school. What a cool idea, I thought. I then delicately placed the saplings into the fresh earth and thanked them before they quickly buried the roots. 

(After the tree planting)

The assembly commemorating the occasion with various performances was to take place at 9am. Taking BST (Bhutan Stretchable Time) into account, however, it was pushed back some hour plus. In the interim I was beckoned to a class party. I walked into the classroom of 6A to see the room transformed. The students had decked out the inside with homemade streamers and balloons from the bakery. They had written well-wishes all over the chalkboard and had a variety of treats sitting out to offer to their teachers. Again their generosity moved me (albeit with a tinge of guilt). The students seated us, the various subject teachers, into a central location where they poured tea and offered snacks. There I was given ceremonial scarves and asked to pop a balloon. After we had been properly stuffed with sugar, the students sang songs and danced for us. It was all so very sweet to see them giving back. I certainly hadn’t seen them this well behaved so I welcomed the experience.

(One of many performances for the teachers)

The sugar, noise, and lack of fresh air really exacerbated my malady but I pushed through another party before everyone moved to the multi-purpose hall for the grand assembly. Once everything was in place and the students were seated, a few scarves were given and the vice principal assisted in the ceremonial cutting of a cake.


The next couple hours yielded various displays of traditional and modern dance, songs, and skits. There was a certain magic to it all—seeing these children perform knowing full well they designed, practiced, and prepared on their own. I found the whole day a great exercise in personal responsibility and a wonderful display of Bhutan’s great cultural strengths: hospitality and altruism.

(A very blurry snippet of Class 8 girls performing a dance)

After the assembly, more food, and (for me) several trips outside for fresh air, the students dispersed. I was invited to one final class party where the students performed songs on guitar and organized a couple games.

We took a few pictures and just like that, the day was through. The students went to cleaning up the classrooms and returned them to their original state. Meanwhile I had had all I could take in my feverish state and set off home with a school bag filled to the brim with gifts and a few items that didn’t fit which I tucked into my gho.

The next day when I unwrapped all the gifts I counted 108 pens (coincidentally—or perhaps not—a very auspicious number in Buddhism), a few woven baskets, a couple mugs, some ornate cups for arra, and heaps of cute letters. I felt extremely grateful to all the students for their kindness, hard work, and generosity. The hard truth is it can be easy for teachers to get bogged down by the day-to-day and forget the bigger picture of just what exactly we are trying to accomplish. Teaching is hard work and this rings especially true for me here in situations where I find my pedagogy totally ineffective due to the country’s unique cultural context. But days like Teacher’s Day remind me that students possess a multitude of strengths that I can build upon and that helps resuscitate my ambitious aims.  With this clarity of mind I am able to recognize just how lucky I am to play a role in this most historic transition for Bhutan, so my thanks goes out to them: the students of today and future of tomorrow