Thou shalt not:
- become addicted to The Gardener's Daughter after publicly slating it in my previous note
- put a 2ft 6-year-old child on the swings and push him too hard causing him to fall off and land on his head
- quote me unhappy ($250 for a half day walk in the park).
- shit on the floor outside the classroom used to eat lunch and then run to Teacher Dominic yelling "Come see! Come see!"
- sit in camera shot directly behind a key witness at the Rwanda genocide tribunal so that everyone can see your stupid mug in the background every time he speaks
- play the same ads every commercial break so that your 2 year-old host sister's favourite words are Coca Cola (or "cola cola" in her words), Celtel and Vodacom (the two main mobile phone operators)
- make generic, repetitive bongo flava
- make generic, repetitive bongo flava
- make generic, repetitive bongo flava
- spoil your first born so that when the second born arrives, the lack of attention results in continuous piercing screams
- do the funky chicken in the bongo flava room of the local Afican nightclub (Colobus)
- drink four beers and eight shots of Konyagi on a Monday evening
- be stupid enough to think a buffalo is similar to a woolly mammoth and be disappointed upon seeing a large cow
- stray too far from the armed park ranger and find yourself face-to-face with a warthog (if only for a split second before it legs it)
and my favourite original lyric:
- treat disasters which occur in non-English speaking countries with less importance than those which occur in English speaking ones
Friday, June 8, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Arusha Arusha Update 3 (The Gardener's Daughter)
"Luis Arragones, you bastard! I've just found out that the only reason you're being so nice to Louisa Fernanda is because you've found a way of stealing her inheritance!" Zoom to close up of accused looking dastardly. "Dun-dun...DUN!"
I sit on the sofa impatiently tapping my fingers on my knee. The Champions League final has coincided with the daily Latin American soap that is The Gardener's Daughter. Unfortunately, this happens to be my host father's favourite programme. Like most things in Africa, TV scheduling is not quite the German rail network when it comes to timekeeping, and today's late start means I'll miss even more of the game.
Sat here now, I can't help but think of all the people back in England watching the game on a big screen with their mates, having a couple of sociable pints, while at the same time I'm sat here watching The Gardener's Daughter. However, as they say, the grass is always greener... (no pun intended). In all reality, I'd probably just have been watching the game at home, albeit on a slightly bigger screen (and with less inane commentary), but with the prospect of ten hours sat behind a desk the next day.
Thinking about it, tonight is the first time in a while that I've longed to be in England. Sure, there are things I'm looking forward to about coming back to London (I have a list...), but I've been having a great time here and am going to be pretty sad when it comes time to leave.
The past week and a half (since the last update) seem relatively uneventful when I look back for big points of interest, but at the same time they've been some of my best times, and I feel fully settled here now.
For one thing, I'm starting to get the hang of this teaching lark. Before, I was very much like the substitute teacher that the kids know they can take advantage of, but now I'm starting to get a little more respect (although they still try to test my patience). The kids are currently preparing for a school presentation in the local church that is scheduled in for Saturday so much of our time is currently focussed on that. For some reason, singing songs and acting out scenes from the bible seem to go down better than grammar and arithmetic. Kids these days...
Apart from the routine of my teaching (kids from 8 till 2:30, adults from 4 till 5:30) and preparing lesson plans, there has been little else that would be worth writing about here. There was a little bit of drama last Friday night when my host mother went into false labour (we're still waiting) and a few leaving dos each for Lisa and Annabel (missing you both!) but it's becoming much more like regular life than the initial shock to the system.
Probably partly for that reason I have spent a bit of time this week booking in plenty of activities for the coming weeks before I leave. This weekend I have the kids' church presentation followed by a day trip to Moshi and Marangu (to do some trekking in the foothills of Kilimanjaro) and then back to Arusha for a night out for a friend's birthday. The weekend after I have a day safari on Saturday and fly off to Zanzibar for the week on Sunday. And lo-and-behold, the weekend after I arrive back in London. Time really has flown by...
Speaking of time flying, all of a sudden I hear the theme tune inviting in the closing credits of The Gardener's Daughter (by far the best part of the show), and realise it's time to turn over to the football. Fifty minutes gone and Liverpool are one-nil down. I imagine disgruntled Liverpool fans hurling abuse (and some of their pints) at the screen in a dirty British pub. Having spent the last half hour writing and thinking about my experiences here I realise that perhaps the grass isn't quite so green after all...
I sit on the sofa impatiently tapping my fingers on my knee. The Champions League final has coincided with the daily Latin American soap that is The Gardener's Daughter. Unfortunately, this happens to be my host father's favourite programme. Like most things in Africa, TV scheduling is not quite the German rail network when it comes to timekeeping, and today's late start means I'll miss even more of the game.
Sat here now, I can't help but think of all the people back in England watching the game on a big screen with their mates, having a couple of sociable pints, while at the same time I'm sat here watching The Gardener's Daughter. However, as they say, the grass is always greener... (no pun intended). In all reality, I'd probably just have been watching the game at home, albeit on a slightly bigger screen (and with less inane commentary), but with the prospect of ten hours sat behind a desk the next day.
Thinking about it, tonight is the first time in a while that I've longed to be in England. Sure, there are things I'm looking forward to about coming back to London (I have a list...), but I've been having a great time here and am going to be pretty sad when it comes time to leave.
The past week and a half (since the last update) seem relatively uneventful when I look back for big points of interest, but at the same time they've been some of my best times, and I feel fully settled here now.
For one thing, I'm starting to get the hang of this teaching lark. Before, I was very much like the substitute teacher that the kids know they can take advantage of, but now I'm starting to get a little more respect (although they still try to test my patience). The kids are currently preparing for a school presentation in the local church that is scheduled in for Saturday so much of our time is currently focussed on that. For some reason, singing songs and acting out scenes from the bible seem to go down better than grammar and arithmetic. Kids these days...
Apart from the routine of my teaching (kids from 8 till 2:30, adults from 4 till 5:30) and preparing lesson plans, there has been little else that would be worth writing about here. There was a little bit of drama last Friday night when my host mother went into false labour (we're still waiting) and a few leaving dos each for Lisa and Annabel (missing you both!) but it's becoming much more like regular life than the initial shock to the system.
Probably partly for that reason I have spent a bit of time this week booking in plenty of activities for the coming weeks before I leave. This weekend I have the kids' church presentation followed by a day trip to Moshi and Marangu (to do some trekking in the foothills of Kilimanjaro) and then back to Arusha for a night out for a friend's birthday. The weekend after I have a day safari on Saturday and fly off to Zanzibar for the week on Sunday. And lo-and-behold, the weekend after I arrive back in London. Time really has flown by...
Speaking of time flying, all of a sudden I hear the theme tune inviting in the closing credits of The Gardener's Daughter (by far the best part of the show), and realise it's time to turn over to the football. Fifty minutes gone and Liverpool are one-nil down. I imagine disgruntled Liverpool fans hurling abuse (and some of their pints) at the screen in a dirty British pub. Having spent the last half hour writing and thinking about my experiences here I realise that perhaps the grass isn't quite so green after all...
Monday, May 21, 2007
Arusha Arusha - Update 2
7:00am. I awake on Thursday morning to the prospect of another two days of teaching prior to the weekend. I’m absolutely shattered! I’m not sure I can do it, I think to myself. Perhaps another 5 minutes in bed will do the trick, so I hit the snooze on my alarm...
Twenty minutes later I drag myself out of bed and into the cold shower. The refreshing shock to the system of the cool water against my skin wakes me up some, but the lingering dread of a full day's teaching is still present. Partially, it’s the booze from the previous night talking, but much of it is the sheer constant effort that is primary school teaching (in my limited experience).
I'd always thought that the life of a primary school teacher was a blissful one. Read a few stories, get cuddles from adoring children, and other general fluffiness. OK, there's the occasional story to read, and as I arrive at school the children come running to greet me, but once the school bell sounds the kids get their game faces on. Less than two weeks in and I am knackered! I now have a completely new found respect for the teaching profession.
I guzzle down my breakfast (chapati, banana and chai) and rush off to school. I manage to arrive on time, but the school van doesn't arrive for another 45 minutes. T.I.A.
Not wanting to waste the significant effort that was getting out of the bed in the morning, I sit down to write this update. Sitting here now in the internet cafe, I can reflect on a couple of challenging, but rewarding days.
Thursday morning begins once the bus load of children arrive. The first lesson of the day is mathematics. The counting sticks are out... My previous English classes don't seem to have taught them much as they appear to be unaware of the difference between "counting" sticks and "fighting" sticks, and mayhem ensues. I get out the mean Teacher Dominic voice, but this works for about 2 minutes at a time.
Today's topic is multiplication. Not exactly an attention grabber it seems. 90 minutes of multiplication tuition (plus counting stick related injury time) later, and I still receive three different answers to the taxing problem of "two times two is equal to...?" What a great teacher! I try my best not to be discouraged (as this is their first ever multiplication lesson) but decide the kids can go for an early break.
After the morning's draining maths class, I make the tactical decision to re-jig the schedule for the rest of the day. Science and English are replaced by silent reading, art (or vocational studies, as they call it here) and a story. Still lots of misbehaviour, but it goes a lot smoother than the morning session.
Once school is over for the day I head into town (10 minutes ride on the Dalla Dalla local bus). I head to the second-hand clothing market and get immersed in retail therapy, African style. The majority of the stuff has been donated by the American Red Cross (over the last 25 years from the looks of it). Rummaging through the various stalls is like trawling through the Klaxons/Hadouken! tour wardrobe. I lose track of time and have to quickly negotiate a deal ($1.50 for 2 t-shirts) before jumping aboard a crammed Dalla Dalla heading for my adult English class.
Teaching a group of adults, who don't speak a lick of English, but are kind enough to refrain from hitting each other with their pencils, seems like a piece of cake compared to the trauma of the morning.
Today (Friday) goes much better at school. To my surprise, our recap of the multiplication from yesterday seems to sink in and they're all getting the answers (albeit to simple questions) by the end of the session. We follow up with a word-search and then we've got break.
It's my fellow volunteer teacher Lisa's final day at school today (as she returns to the States on Tuesday), so we let the kids watch Tarzan 2 on DVD as a treat. Afterwards, the kids perform a leaving song for her and she's given her leaving present. She has literally taught me everything I know about teaching (and also about "local culture") and I don't know how I'll cope once I'm teaching completely on my own...
Again, I've babbled on for far too long without really saying much, so I'll leave it there. If anything's going on at home then I'd love to hear about it, but otherwise I'll see you all (well, most of you) in June.
Baadaye.
Dominic
P.s. I will get around to putting some photos up soon, I promise...
Twenty minutes later I drag myself out of bed and into the cold shower. The refreshing shock to the system of the cool water against my skin wakes me up some, but the lingering dread of a full day's teaching is still present. Partially, it’s the booze from the previous night talking, but much of it is the sheer constant effort that is primary school teaching (in my limited experience).
I'd always thought that the life of a primary school teacher was a blissful one. Read a few stories, get cuddles from adoring children, and other general fluffiness. OK, there's the occasional story to read, and as I arrive at school the children come running to greet me, but once the school bell sounds the kids get their game faces on. Less than two weeks in and I am knackered! I now have a completely new found respect for the teaching profession.
I guzzle down my breakfast (chapati, banana and chai) and rush off to school. I manage to arrive on time, but the school van doesn't arrive for another 45 minutes. T.I.A.
Not wanting to waste the significant effort that was getting out of the bed in the morning, I sit down to write this update. Sitting here now in the internet cafe, I can reflect on a couple of challenging, but rewarding days.
Thursday morning begins once the bus load of children arrive. The first lesson of the day is mathematics. The counting sticks are out... My previous English classes don't seem to have taught them much as they appear to be unaware of the difference between "counting" sticks and "fighting" sticks, and mayhem ensues. I get out the mean Teacher Dominic voice, but this works for about 2 minutes at a time.
Today's topic is multiplication. Not exactly an attention grabber it seems. 90 minutes of multiplication tuition (plus counting stick related injury time) later, and I still receive three different answers to the taxing problem of "two times two is equal to...?" What a great teacher! I try my best not to be discouraged (as this is their first ever multiplication lesson) but decide the kids can go for an early break.
After the morning's draining maths class, I make the tactical decision to re-jig the schedule for the rest of the day. Science and English are replaced by silent reading, art (or vocational studies, as they call it here) and a story. Still lots of misbehaviour, but it goes a lot smoother than the morning session.
Once school is over for the day I head into town (10 minutes ride on the Dalla Dalla local bus). I head to the second-hand clothing market and get immersed in retail therapy, African style. The majority of the stuff has been donated by the American Red Cross (over the last 25 years from the looks of it). Rummaging through the various stalls is like trawling through the Klaxons/Hadouken! tour wardrobe. I lose track of time and have to quickly negotiate a deal ($1.50 for 2 t-shirts) before jumping aboard a crammed Dalla Dalla heading for my adult English class.
Teaching a group of adults, who don't speak a lick of English, but are kind enough to refrain from hitting each other with their pencils, seems like a piece of cake compared to the trauma of the morning.
Today (Friday) goes much better at school. To my surprise, our recap of the multiplication from yesterday seems to sink in and they're all getting the answers (albeit to simple questions) by the end of the session. We follow up with a word-search and then we've got break.
It's my fellow volunteer teacher Lisa's final day at school today (as she returns to the States on Tuesday), so we let the kids watch Tarzan 2 on DVD as a treat. Afterwards, the kids perform a leaving song for her and she's given her leaving present. She has literally taught me everything I know about teaching (and also about "local culture") and I don't know how I'll cope once I'm teaching completely on my own...
Again, I've babbled on for far too long without really saying much, so I'll leave it there. If anything's going on at home then I'd love to hear about it, but otherwise I'll see you all (well, most of you) in June.
Baadaye.
Dominic
P.s. I will get around to putting some photos up soon, I promise...
Arusha Arusha (said in a Kris Akabusi stylee) - Update 1
"T.I.A., This...Is...Africa". Leonardo DiCaprio's voice sifts into my brain via the in-flight entertainment headphones as I struggle to stay awake. It's not that Blood Diamond is a slow, dull movie, far from it, but the combination of an early morning flight and a restless night's sleep were conspiring against me. Despite my rapid progression towards dreams of FA Cup winning goals and the like, this particular quote manages to weave it's way into my sparse remaining consciousness, and I remember thinking "I'm sure Africa can't be that different really". I have rarely been simultaneously so right and so wrong.
Upon arrival at Nairobi's Jomo Kenyatta International airport I am taken to the hotel that I booked prior to departure through the ever reliable universitiesnet.com (cashback please Lionel). As I enter the elevator at the rather shabby looking hotel I am joined by a mzungu in her 60s accompanied by a local guy who can't be a day over 21. As they exit the elevator together, the hourly room rate that I heard discussed at reception while checking in begins to make more sense. Upon seeing the room I decide that I have chosen to stay in one of Nairobi's seediest hotels and decide to go straight to bed. The next day on the shuttle bus to Arusha I am told that the hotel I stayed at is considered to be "one of the better ones in Nairobi. TIA indeed.
The shuttle from Nairobi to Arusha takes five and a half hours, most of which I spent trying to pick up a few basic Swahili phrases from my LP. Upon arrival in Arusha, I am greeted by my host father, and also headmaster at the local school I will be teaching at, Mr Sam Kironde. Sam is a 30 year old Ugandan who has been living in Arusha for the past five years. He finds my attempts at Swahili a source of great entertainment and I know within minutes that we are going to get on fine.
We jump in a taxi and set off for 'home' (a 3-bed family house situated 10 minutes by car/bus from the centre of town). The house has everything you would expect of a house in the UK with the exception hot water. The family I am living with consists of Sam, his wife Ruth, their two daughters, Lisa (14) and Linda (2), and their housegirl Angelina, all of whom are exceptionally friendly.
Following a couple of days of orientation I started my voluntary work. The school where I am supposed to be teaching is still on Easter break, so instead I have been helping with another programme teaching English to street kids, and also running an adult English literacy class. All quite daunting considering I have never taught before, but it's only 3 hours a day so better than being thrown in at the deep end with full days of school teaching. I still have that challenge to look forward to...
Arusha is a beautiful place. The town sits in the lush countryside near the foot of Mt Meru (TZ's 2nd highest mountain after Kili) and has some stunning scenery. It's within spitting distance of Kilimanjaro, the Serengeti, Ngorogoro Conservation Area, and the homelands of the Maasai Mara, and is therefore a major tourism centre. It is also the location of the UN's Rwanda genocide tribunal. These facts mean that there is a large population of Westerners/Nzungus (compared to the rest of Tanzania at least).
I have met quite a few other volunteers already, and had a big party and night out on Thursday. Many7 packets of the local spirit Kunyagi (which is a type of gin unfortunately) was imbibed and a lot of what else happened is blurry to say the least. Teaching a group of 7 and 8 year olds the next morning after dancing away till 4am the night before was an interesting experience. Definitely not recommended as a hangover cure...
Anyway, I think I've definitely bored you all enough for update 1 so will leave it there. I hope you're all well and hope to hear from some of you soon.
Baadaye,
Dom
Upon arrival at Nairobi's Jomo Kenyatta International airport I am taken to the hotel that I booked prior to departure through the ever reliable universitiesnet.com (cashback please Lionel). As I enter the elevator at the rather shabby looking hotel I am joined by a mzungu in her 60s accompanied by a local guy who can't be a day over 21. As they exit the elevator together, the hourly room rate that I heard discussed at reception while checking in begins to make more sense. Upon seeing the room I decide that I have chosen to stay in one of Nairobi's seediest hotels and decide to go straight to bed. The next day on the shuttle bus to Arusha I am told that the hotel I stayed at is considered to be "one of the better ones in Nairobi. TIA indeed.
The shuttle from Nairobi to Arusha takes five and a half hours, most of which I spent trying to pick up a few basic Swahili phrases from my LP. Upon arrival in Arusha, I am greeted by my host father, and also headmaster at the local school I will be teaching at, Mr Sam Kironde. Sam is a 30 year old Ugandan who has been living in Arusha for the past five years. He finds my attempts at Swahili a source of great entertainment and I know within minutes that we are going to get on fine.
We jump in a taxi and set off for 'home' (a 3-bed family house situated 10 minutes by car/bus from the centre of town). The house has everything you would expect of a house in the UK with the exception hot water. The family I am living with consists of Sam, his wife Ruth, their two daughters, Lisa (14) and Linda (2), and their housegirl Angelina, all of whom are exceptionally friendly.
Following a couple of days of orientation I started my voluntary work. The school where I am supposed to be teaching is still on Easter break, so instead I have been helping with another programme teaching English to street kids, and also running an adult English literacy class. All quite daunting considering I have never taught before, but it's only 3 hours a day so better than being thrown in at the deep end with full days of school teaching. I still have that challenge to look forward to...
Arusha is a beautiful place. The town sits in the lush countryside near the foot of Mt Meru (TZ's 2nd highest mountain after Kili) and has some stunning scenery. It's within spitting distance of Kilimanjaro, the Serengeti, Ngorogoro Conservation Area, and the homelands of the Maasai Mara, and is therefore a major tourism centre. It is also the location of the UN's Rwanda genocide tribunal. These facts mean that there is a large population of Westerners/Nzungus (compared to the rest of Tanzania at least).
I have met quite a few other volunteers already, and had a big party and night out on Thursday. Many7 packets of the local spirit Kunyagi (which is a type of gin unfortunately) was imbibed and a lot of what else happened is blurry to say the least. Teaching a group of 7 and 8 year olds the next morning after dancing away till 4am the night before was an interesting experience. Definitely not recommended as a hangover cure...
Anyway, I think I've definitely bored you all enough for update 1 so will leave it there. I hope you're all well and hope to hear from some of you soon.
Baadaye,
Dom
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