My days have quite easily and naturally set into a routine. Up at 6 at the latest (the rest of the household wakes at 4 so I'm a bit of a late riser) and up onto the rooftop for my morning pikka cha (black tea). With the prayer flags fluttering above me I drink my tea and watch the clouds rolling in over the mountains, the women lighting butter lamps and incense for the gods, the children playing or helping with jobs before the school day begins and the numerous dogs cavorting and playing in the fields amongst people, chickens and the occasional buffalo. This morning it seems that a water pipe had burst in one of the fields and the children were having a wonderful time splashing in the stream of water and shrieking with laughter. Washing facilities are limited and a number of people have to resort to using the tap from that pipe and wash as best they can outdoors. Everyone is so clean though - I'm constantly conscious of being sticky and damp with perspiration, even immediately after washing, but everyone around me always seems fresh and clean.
Time to make sure my lessons are ready, have a breakfast of rice and dhal and then, although there's a short cut to the school, I walk there through the market, stopping along the way for fruit (a big papaya maybe or lychees with the branches tied with string) to share with the boys, for a freshly cooked samoosa, piping hot and with pastry as soft and melting as butter (just for me) and for The Himalayan newspaper which I buy to keep myself in touch with the news and for the sports pages so covetted by the boys. All along the way there are smiles and hands raised in Nameste.
When I first began teaching here I could be certain of having half an hour or so in my 'office' to lay out my lessons ready for the day and just mentally prepare myself. Now that's no longer possible as the moment I sit down there's a delegation of boys waiting to be invited in to present me with pictures and generally chill out. I try to use that time with the littlest ones to play with my flashcards and go over words we've learned. I'm constantly overwhelmed by how genuinely happy the boys are and how eager to learn. The school has so few resources! For 80 boys there's no bathroom but just one outside tap which they use for their ablutions and laundry (yes they all, even the littlest ones, wash their own clothes and bedding). There are just 2 squat toilets between then and 4 members of staff (self included) and they don't have beds (although there's a rumour that some may arrive next month). For all that though there's not a single discontented child here and I think the only thing they would really like most of all would be an area large enough to play football.
My classroom is a third of one long room which has been divided almost all the way across with pieces of hardboard so a passage way runs down the front. I have a cracked whiteboard and a desk and apart from that the room is bare. The posters I bought with me have been put up though and that makes it all quite cheerful. I start each lesson with 'Simon Says' which is useful for prepositions, direction, colour, all sorts of things and I've swung away from the formal 'sit and listen' approach and have gradually brought in board race games, gap fills etc which are a great success. The boys were shy about participating at first but are now far more enthusiastic and are desperate to be called up to write on the board even when they don't know the answer. I can't stop comparing this with the complacency towards learning that a lot of Western children have. As it's a boarding school and none of the staff stay overnight I asked one of the senior boys how control is kept. He said that the boys don't need prompting to do the jobs that need to be done. They get up just after 4 every day of the week for prayer, chanting and meditation and at the weekend (Friday and Saturday) it's up to them whether they play first or clean their rooms and do their laundry first. Whatever they choose it gets done. There are no school holidays - most are orphans so where would they go? Those 2 days a week are all they have. He told me that so long as they're not playing in such a way that they could get hurt then they're left to have fun. Yes, but what about the times when they're sick or hurt or have nightmares? As a mother my heart aches for them.
When I go home in the afternoon I often go down the alleyway that passes behind the school and from the rooftop, from windows, from the corridors and the playing area come shouts of "goodbye miss". When I look back robed figures are waving me farewell.
Time to make sure my lessons are ready, have a breakfast of rice and dhal and then, although there's a short cut to the school, I walk there through the market, stopping along the way for fruit (a big papaya maybe or lychees with the branches tied with string) to share with the boys, for a freshly cooked samoosa, piping hot and with pastry as soft and melting as butter (just for me) and for The Himalayan newspaper which I buy to keep myself in touch with the news and for the sports pages so covetted by the boys. All along the way there are smiles and hands raised in Nameste.
When I first began teaching here I could be certain of having half an hour or so in my 'office' to lay out my lessons ready for the day and just mentally prepare myself. Now that's no longer possible as the moment I sit down there's a delegation of boys waiting to be invited in to present me with pictures and generally chill out. I try to use that time with the littlest ones to play with my flashcards and go over words we've learned. I'm constantly overwhelmed by how genuinely happy the boys are and how eager to learn. The school has so few resources! For 80 boys there's no bathroom but just one outside tap which they use for their ablutions and laundry (yes they all, even the littlest ones, wash their own clothes and bedding). There are just 2 squat toilets between then and 4 members of staff (self included) and they don't have beds (although there's a rumour that some may arrive next month). For all that though there's not a single discontented child here and I think the only thing they would really like most of all would be an area large enough to play football.
My classroom is a third of one long room which has been divided almost all the way across with pieces of hardboard so a passage way runs down the front. I have a cracked whiteboard and a desk and apart from that the room is bare. The posters I bought with me have been put up though and that makes it all quite cheerful. I start each lesson with 'Simon Says' which is useful for prepositions, direction, colour, all sorts of things and I've swung away from the formal 'sit and listen' approach and have gradually brought in board race games, gap fills etc which are a great success. The boys were shy about participating at first but are now far more enthusiastic and are desperate to be called up to write on the board even when they don't know the answer. I can't stop comparing this with the complacency towards learning that a lot of Western children have. As it's a boarding school and none of the staff stay overnight I asked one of the senior boys how control is kept. He said that the boys don't need prompting to do the jobs that need to be done. They get up just after 4 every day of the week for prayer, chanting and meditation and at the weekend (Friday and Saturday) it's up to them whether they play first or clean their rooms and do their laundry first. Whatever they choose it gets done. There are no school holidays - most are orphans so where would they go? Those 2 days a week are all they have. He told me that so long as they're not playing in such a way that they could get hurt then they're left to have fun. Yes, but what about the times when they're sick or hurt or have nightmares? As a mother my heart aches for them.
When I go home in the afternoon I often go down the alleyway that passes behind the school and from the rooftop, from windows, from the corridors and the playing area come shouts of "goodbye miss". When I look back robed figures are waving me farewell.
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