It's snow good

When things go wrong, I often say TIA. I am now experiencing TIE (This Is Europe). Mum and Dad were supposed to arrive in Cape Town, but thanks to the early deluge of snow, they are delayed until Wednesday. They are luckier than some - I have friends who have been stranded in Heathrow for days, sleeping on yoga mats in the freezing cold. At least they get to go home inbetween.
In the meantime, I will take advantage of the sunshine, the Haagen Datz, the shopping and the beautiful setting of Cape Town. Hell, I may even head towards the beach and if I get brave enough, dip my toes in the freezing ocean!

Freshly disappointed

There I was, all excited about getting into the Cape Town vibe at the 'Freshly Ground' concert on Saturday, when I hear news that they have cancelled due to some disagreement over the contracts. Disappointed does not even start to describe it! Good music concerts are such a rarity here that I would probably go and see 'Chas n Dave' if they said they were playing Kampala! That being said, I did give the riotous R-Kelly concert a wide berth last year.

Instead I will have to content myself with the Am-Dram group's pantomime - 'Shrekerella'. Penned and directed by an Austrian and starring a range of nationalities from German to American, it promises to be interesting at the very least! I will have to prep my Ukrainian friend in the rituals of pantomime beforehand I think, especially as Thursdays reputedly attract the most raucous Old Kampala ex-pat crowd.

So come on 'Freshly Ground' please change your minds and come and play afterall. Kampala needs you!

If it wasn't for my knees I'd be running that marathon ...

It's a glorious sunny November afternoon in Kampala and the frost and snow in the UK truly seems a million miles away. Friends and family often read my blog with envy when they hear about the endless sunshine and my little adventures, but of course there are times when I'd do anything to be at home, closer to my loved ones. This is one of those times, as I'm sad to say that I lost my Gran this week. Although I am far away, she is in my thoughts and I know that she was proud of what I do here. She often joked that 'if it wasn't for her knees' then she would come and join me.
A few weeks ago I when I signed up for the MTN 10km run I called her bluff on this. I noticed that there was an option for a wheelchair race. I sent a message home and asked whether she would rather enter the half or the full marathon. She replied that she was in for the full 26 miles, on the condition that I pushed her around and avoided the notorious pot holes.
When I heard the sad news I wondered what I should do. In the end, I decided to take part and dedicate the run to her.
This morning, a sea of runners, all wearing sunshine yellow running vests took to the streets of Kampala. Most of the 30 000 had signed up for the 10km, but a small and brave minority took on the challenges of half and full marathons. At 7am the sky was cloudless and I knew it was going to be particularly hot. My friends and I jostled for space in the crowd as we approached the start line. We lost sight of each other within a few hundred metres as the start was not staggered, so top class athletes had to fight their way through the throng of joggers and walkers. As the crowd thinned out I settled into the run and enjoyed the supportive cheers from standers-by and encouraging banter with other runners. Sometimes it's great to be with a mass of people all intent on the same goal of finishing the race.

 The Kampala marathon attracts runners of all ages and all shapes and sizes. Sprinting skinny legs weaved their ways through larger ladies with sizable 'akabina' (that's bums to you and me!!) The outfits on display were also a sight to behold. I spotted purple shell suits, a lady carrying a handbag, a spectator wearing a full length leather coat joined in and there were even women in skirts! I was wondering why I was the one suffering from blisters when footwear ranged from flip flops to deck shoes!

After the run we went for a celebratory breakfast, ensuring that we replaced every single burned calorie! I chatted with friends about what it's like to lose somebody when you're away and how times can be tough. I'm lucky enough to have a great support group here who will pop round at the drop of a hat, drink wine with you or do whatever you need to make you feel better. Many of us have gone through tough times in our time away and know it is important to prop each other up.  I'm missing home right now but I know that we are all thinking of each other at this time.

Gran always looked a little worried when I took control of the wheels (and rightly so!)

It'll be alright on the night ...

When it comes to Primary school plays, the works of Samuel Beckett are largely overlooked. It's a shame really, as in many ways, it could be the answer to the perfect, stress-free production! Take 'Endgame' for example - all you need is two dustbins.You could always dress the kids up as Oscar the Grouch to make it kiddy friendly. Or how about 'Waiting for Godot'? Sure, it may lack the singalong appeal of 'Grease' or the feel good factor of 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' but it does have many elements that would make it perfect.
After endless weeks of rehearsals and set building, like Vladimir and Estragon, I too am questioning the meaning of life. Is there a world outside the room of yellow and purple paint?
The script is perfect for even the most struggling of ESL kids. Take this exchange for example:

ESTRAGON: Charming spot. (He turns, advances to front, halts facing auditorium.) Inspiring prospects. (He turns to Vladimir.) Let's go.

VLADIMIR: We can't. 
ESTRAGON:Why not?
VLADIMIR: We're waiting for Godot 
ESTRAGON: (despairingly). Ah! (Pause.) You're sure it was here? 
VLADIMIR: What? 
ESTRAGON: That we were to wait. 
VLADIMIR: He said by the tree. (They look at the tree.) Do you see any others?

ESTRAGON: What is it?

VLADIMIR: I don't know. A willow. 
ESTRAGON: Where are the leaves? 
VLADIMIR:

  It must be dead.

Repeat ad nauseum.

 Then there's the set. One tree placed strategically in the middle of the stage and the right light and it's done and dusted. No need for the hundreds of tubs of glitter and paint that our production demands! Costumes? Anything goes, as long as you don't forget the symbolically important boot. A visit to the market to buy a suspicially carrot like turnip sorts out the props and a whip for Lucky and that's pretty much it!
I may just give it a go, afterall, I am sure there is a fortune to be made somewhere. If we just decorated the tree with glitter then it could be a winner!

A night in the House

After a hectic week in school, I'm having a quiet night in with Dr Gregory House. If you're not familiar with this series, then a typical episode goes something like this: the featured patient will be going about their business, playing tennis, mowing the lawn, having dinner in a restaurant or whatever seeming perfectly healthy, the next moment, they collapse clasping their chest, or their hands will swell to three times their normal size,  or they turn blue or blood pours out of some orifice or other. Somebody then yells 'Call 911'. Cue title music. Throughout the course of the episode, House and his team will treat the patient for several bogus diseases, the patient will experience major organ failure, then at the last moment, some essential medical evidence will come to light and the patient will recover within a few minutes. 
I am slightly addicted, as I enjoy the dark humour and Hugh Laurie's sarcastic tones, but every now and again I have to stop watching as I start to fear that I am at risk of some strange disease.
House will often send his lackeys off to the patient's home to search for traces of fungus, dust, vermin or parasites that may have affected them. He always asks if they have travelled abroad, so a passport jam - packed with African visas would send the diagnostic team at Princeton-Plainsboro into a frenzy. I regularly find cockroaches and mouse droppings in my cupboards at school and sweep them into the bin with barely a shudder anymore. What does make me shudder though, is the thought of what their little feet have run through on the streets of Bukoto. In my time here, I've taken pills designed for horses to rid my body of bilharzia and have had my body invaded by various amoebas and bacterias.   I inhale lungfuls of dust on my bike rides and have leaped over open sewers on the hash. I expect myself to be fully immune to every infection on earth by the time I leave here!
Touch wood, though, I'm in fine fettle at the moment ... but should I turn a funny shade of purple, please call for medical assistance!

A rolex is chapatti, eggs, cabbage, onion, tomato and who knows what added extras!

Favourite signs and products from around the world

When on my travels, I love nothing more than a funny sign or product. Here a few few from here and there:

The most famous sign in Uganda!

Tune in to hear top sex tips from Guatemala!

Fanny Tuna and fanny jam - what a lovely brand name from Peru!

Smile - God loves you!

Trust in God - because the brakes haven't been tested in years!

The UN lending a helping hand in Rwanda!

Is limbo Luganda for cemetery?

Wanted - has anyone seen this man?

Get the latest styles here!

Or head to the New York salon!

I thought I was lost when I saw signs for Llandudno in SA!

Would anybody like me to make a reservation?

Did the drink driving campaigns fail so badly that they had to target the pedestrians instead?

What a load of c-rap!

No I do not want another rap. There is nothing I want to see less than a late middle-aged politician dripping with sweat from shaking his booty. It just makes me cringe.
What is wrong with these people? At the end of the 90s Tony Blair jumped on the 'Cool Britannia' bandwagon, inviting the likes of Oasis and Kate Moss round for tea and cake at Number Ten ... just before he completely alienated the 'yoof' demographic he was so desperate to recruit by cutting student grants and introducing university tuition fees.
Just before the UK election last May, I read an article in a magazine for young women in which David Cameron waxed lyrical about 'Florence and the Machine'. It made me want to delete the album from my i-tunes. I am not about to think that the Con-Dem government is actually OK just because I like the same band.
So please - just stop. It is embarrassing.

A school trip to Africa

Every Saturday morning, the school bike club heads out onto the bumpy roads through the villages on the outskirts of Kampala. The club consists of a feisty bunch of girls and boys who are not afraid to take a tumble and get their clothes a little dusty. For many of our children, it is the first time they have had contact with 'the real Uganda'. Normally, they view the villages through the tinted windows of a four by four, en-route to a luxury safari. Along the way, we pass by children playing in the streets, men pushing matooke laden bicycles up hills and goats and chickens aplenty. In the UK, such a club would never be allowed - I can't even begin to imagine the Risk Assessment form! We have to deal with swerving bodas, unpredictable matatus, random animals that wander across the roads at will, rough terrain, the odd drunken Ugandan and the clouds of dust would have many a wheezy kid reaching for an inhaler. We certainly attract a lot of attention too. I wonder what the villagers think as they see a couple of muzungu teachers pedal by accompanied by a mixture of European, Indian and African kids on shiny geared mountain bikes. Last week a half Sudanese, half Egyptian girl got quite rattled when some men shouted 'muzungu' at me. She had experienced similar comments when she attended a local school in Uganda, as her skin is a few shades lighter than the average Ugandan. She thought it was very unfair that I should be marked out for the colour of my skin. I explained to her that it is just curiosity and that I have never felt that these remarks are ever untoward, but she still did not like it.
The club is also a great example of learning taking place outside of the classroom. Besides the fitness and learning how to manage the gears on hills, the kids are exposed to so much more. Every week, there are countless questions that we do our best to answer. 'Why is that man pedalling his bike and going nowhere?'  'What happened to the grass on the side of the hill?' 'Why do they burn rubbish like that?' They are getting a glimpse of Ugandan life and starting to realise that not everybody has the same advantages as they do. It may seem very obvious, but it does not seem real until they witness these things first hand.
This week, we strapped a video camera to one girl's helmet. It's very shaky footage, but it will give you an idea of what we see.

Don't forget the full stops!

As a Primary teacher, I spend much of my time reminding children to read their work back and check the punctuation. Even smart Year 6 children are often guilty of neglecting full stops and capital letters. I therefore, found the following conversation quite amusing:
"Are you from England?" the shop assistant asked the other day as I nattered to a friend at the check-out.
"Yes, why do you ask?" I replied.
"It is because you are talking very fast. It is like you are talking without the full stops. An African always talks using the full stops!"
I laughed at the time, but it's actually quite an acute observation. As native English speakers we don't use full stops when we speak. We start mid sentence, often trailing off before the end, or find ourselves interrupted by another person. I know some people who even interrupt themselves!
But Ugandans DO use the full stops when they are speaking. There are many more pauses for breath. Contracted forms of words are also rare, for example this common comment -  'You are looking smart today!'
Most Kampala residents speak English, with varying degrees of fluency, depending on their education, upbringing, age and occupation. Luganda is widely spoken in the home,  at social events and in many day to day exchanges, but English is the language of business. So why do we use the same language so differently? In the villages, every conversation starts with a few polite exchanges - how is your mother, your father, your sister and so forth. I think that we muzungus are often perceived as being a little rude as we jump straight to the point. We are constantly racing around to hit deadlines. It doesn't even occur to us to ask about the family, the the state of the country of the latest football results before we ask what we really want to know. We pick up our phones, bark a few quick exchanges before hanging up ... if we speak at all. More often that not, we are just texting or sending one line emails.
I wonder if we are missing out in our abruptness. Wouldn't we get more out of our friendships and work relationships if we actually took the time to chat a little more?
From now on COMMA I will try to stop for breath COMMA and make use of the FULL STOPS .

You know you've been in Uganda too long when ... Part 2

Just a thought.

You know you've been in Uganda too long when Facebook actually thinks you are a Ugandan woman.

Here are the adverts that are apparently targetted at me:


Looking for a western husband? Says the advert ... well yes, but the men who sign up to this site aren't really looking for me!

http://www.afrointroductions.com/

And if I'm not successful in my quest for a western husband, then I can buy a degree online here and become an independent African woman ... Anybody know whether 'Walden University' exists outside cyberspace?

http://international.waldenu.edu/


And should I have any questions, I can always consult Google Baraza - a more localised African version of Google apparently.

http://www.google.com/baraza/en/

Always good to know these things!

Shopping fun ...

I broke my commitment to being frugal  this weekend as I couldn't resist the yoga bag and a few other goodies that I can't mention as I am supposed to be giving them away as presents. What I like about these products is that they are particularly well made and the quirky ideas behind them. Check out the supercute lunch boxes and sandwich bags!
And finally, this is guilt free shopping as it's all Free Trade, helping out women in Gulu ... read more about it on the website:

http://www.awavamarket.com/

The Bukoto Market Diet

I'm not quite ready for a diet of rice and beans!

Times are hard this month, what with paying lots of deposits for my Christmas holiday in South Africa and a 'bank error NOT in my favour', so it's time to tighten those purse-strings a little. Kampala is nowhere near as cheap as you would imagine. Financial experts may measure the rate of inflation in terms of the price of a barrel of oil or a kilo of grain,  but I have slightly different criteria. Since I arrived in Uganda in August 2008, an average bottle of wine has risen from about 12 000 Shillings to around 24 000. A 50% increase over two years is a big hike up in anybody's book. A litre of petrol is just under a pound - which is just about what many Ugandans earn for a hard day's labour. Translate that into Sterling and if you earn 25 000 a year, it's like paying 68.50 a litre! You could fuel your car with Dom Perignon for less!

Mmmmmmm - matooke!

Luckily for me, I was born a stingy Northerner, and I have a whole host of penny pinching ways. It's time to collect all the empty soda and beer bottles and get the deposits back from the shop. Next stop, the book exchange to sell any old books I don't think I'll read again. As for shopping, I'm going to try to avoid the expensive supermarkets for a week or two. Weetabix is a bargain breakfast at 4500 Sh a box, as opposed to 10 000 Sh (about $5 US) for a small bag of muesli.
Try as I might, I still can't develop a taste for matooke or posho. I do, however, have a cracking selection of recipes that can be made with a few stock cupboard items and fresh ingredients from the market. We have a great selection of fresh herbs available here and the the fruit and vegetable stalls burst with sun-ripened juicy fruits.
What do you think of my sample menu?
To drink
Freshly squeezed passion juice
Nile Gold
Uganda Waragi (not for the faint hearted)
Pre-dinner snack
Fresh guacamole with lightly toasted herby pitta bread on the side
Starters
Carrot and coriander soup
Main course
Aubergine and tomato bake accompanied by French beans
Dessert
A selection of tropical fresh fruits including pineapple, mango, passion fruit and watermelon

Yummy!

A short lesson in economics and social studies ...

"How do we recognise a developing country?" I asked  my class of children from Germany, Ireland, Nigeria, India, South Africa, Sudan, USA, Israel, Tanzania and the Democratic Republic of Congo and other countries. Should we look at the GDP, the life expectancy, health care or access to education? Not according to them! Here are a few snapshots of their thoughts on the subject:


People drive pajeros not ferraris!

 I can just imagine an aid worker watching this one!
"Oh dear, pajero sales are up 20% in Rwanda ... looks like we'd better send in some extra bags of rice this month!"



'There are many corrupt police in developing countries!'




'Not so many bribes in developed countries'

I imagine a few of the kids have seen their parents getting pulled over by the police during their time in Uganda. I wonder whether they think that the police stop more shiny Land Cruisers than beat up Corrolas?

Yes they do have TVs in the village - just that they aren't big new flat screens!

Our kids are experts on living with power cuts





And this is apparently a Boda motorbike taxi - they forgot to add the family of 6 riding it!

Meanwhile, the developed world looks something like this:

I don't think they are so far off the mark! 

The Pictures - Kampala Style

A trip to the cinema in Kampala is a guaranteed spot of entertainment – often not so much for the films, which are your general Hollywood twaddle, but more for the audience and the general experience. I know I shouldn’t complain as we are lucky to have a 4 screen cinema in a city right in the middle of Africa, and as my friend pointed out, popcorn is one of the few foods that Ugandans prepare particularly well – the other delicacy being Spanish omelettes! Even though the sound crackles and the screen flickers, it is still more up to date than the Odeon in Lancaster that I used to frequent in my student days, where you would often hear shouts of ‘two fat ladies – 88’ from the adjoining bingo hall! It is not without its quirks though. In the past, I have experienced power cuts and once I realised that the rather large blob that kept moving across the screen was infact a giant rat! The pre-movie adverts are like relics from the 1970s, with a hand-held camcorder and cheesy slogans promoting the latest newly built ‘executive homes’ (the word executive is used synonymously with luxurious here in Uganda – I’m not quite sure what an ‘executive’ bridal suite should offer – perhaps a free Filofax and oversized basic cell phone to truly embrace the spirit of the 80s?) which are just a ten minute drive from the centre of town … by Tardis I should imagine!


I had quite fancied seeing ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ as I was in quite a tetchy mood and I thought that the process of muttering and chunnering abuse at the infinitely irritating main character played by the even more aggravating Julia Roberts would be quite cathartic. Clearly this would not be such a lovely experience for anybody else, so instead we opted to see ‘Takers’ – some kind of cops and robbers film. Within minutes, the Ugandan members of the audience were splitting their sides with laughter. Now I have heard Ugandan audiences laugh uproariously at pathetic rom-coms that barely raise a smile from me, but this was meant to be full of suspense. The only point that made me laugh was that one guy was trying to sound like an East End gangster and failing miserably. When there was a slightly tense moment in the film, the lady next to me virtually leapt onto her partner’s lap. Meanwhile, I was unsuccessfully trying to stop myself from dropping off to sleep. I snapped awake as the closing credits rolled and wondered what it was all about!

Trivial Pursuits

The pub quiz is something of an institution in Kampala town. Once a fortnight (that's every two weeks if you're from North America) a selection of Kampala's finest long term residents and short term volunteers, who are taking a break from saving the world, gather to put their trivia knowledge to the test. The prize for winning such a contest is the honour of setting the next quiz and if you tie in a round there is the notorious 'drink-off'' where you are forced to down a pint or knock back a noxious and cheap spirit. The winners are generally the team with the most Blackberries and fastest Internet connections. The quiz master is typically the member of the team with the least grasp of the English language, the female with the shriekiest voice or the American with the most drawling accent. The questions range from the sublime to the ridiculous. Tonight was no exception. Since we were unable to name any famous field hockey players from the Netherlands (I was told that writing down the name of a former colleague didn't count), nor did we know the name of the leader of the Ugandan sports press leader, we decided to quit while we were behind and made an early exit. We started to compose a few questions of our own, in the unlikely event that we should ever get the opportunity to host the quiz. Here are a few of our questions, deliberately chosen for their obscurity and their irrelevance to anybody else's lives:

1. Sports round - How many runs did South Shore cricket team score in 1982 throughout the course of the year?
2. Food and drink - What is the most popular dessert on a Hungarian menu?
3. Commerce - In which Bogota shopping centre did the first branch of Zara clothing shop open?
4. Education - What was the name of my maths teacher when I was in Year 9?
5. Music - Sing the third verse of the Ugandan National Anthem, then translate into Luganda

Seriously, I know that people need an excuse to go to the pub on a Thursday night, but this is painful. Rain check for another six months!

A day of luxury!








On the way to sundowners

 





The fab infinity pool

 

Bubble bath all ready!

24 hours was barely enough time to enjoy all the different ways to relax at Apoka Lodge. I actually got a little anxious that I didn't have enough time to fall asleep in all the peaceful spots due to the busy schedule I had. Barely had a caught a few rays and swam a few laps when I had to go to lunch and wash it down with a glass or two of wine. Then I had to dash off to the room and wait for one man to prepare my outdoor bubble bath while another fixed me a gin and tonic! I had to forego the trip to the village to fit everything in the be ready to go out for sundowners on the rock. Then I had to use the writing desk to pretend to be writing something deeply intellectual instead of my usual clap-trap! It's a good job I had done all the game drives I wanted so that the business of looking for animals in the way of having a good time!





African Skies

You can never have too many pictures of a tree silhouetted against a sunset ... The beauty of African skies may be a bit of a cliche but the changing light over Kidepo make it truly stunning.




Buffalo at sunset

 


The rewards of an early morning start!





Even the UWA bandas look picturesque in this light

 



A prize goes to anybody who can tell me what I did to my camera to get this blue effect!

 



Moon rises over Kidepo

 




An almost full moon over the National Park

 

The journey to Kidepo

A thousand images flickering past.

A long and bumpy, muddy road. Huge mobile phone masts incongruous to the surroundings. Women on bicycles. A UWA truck stuck in the mud. Women with babies strapped to their backs using a calabash as sun protection. IDP camps filled with folks unable to go home. Fields of sunflowers. School children in day-glow pink uniforms walking and laughing their way home. Signs advising you to beware of landmines. Dwarf cows with big humps. Buses with messages from the Bible plastered across the windscreen. Children gathered around a water pump and carrying jerrycans. Farmers working in the blazing sun. Countless signs for the countless NGOs at work in this region. Fields of crops. Every shade of green imaginable. Blue skies, cloudy skies, grey skies, sheet lightning, torrential rain, blazing sunshine.

A hundred photos taken along the way, two thirds blurry as we whizzed by too quickly!

Road Trips

The long half term has finally come to an end and I am preparing for a BIG road trip. So big that it takes 2 days to get there and 2 days to get back. I'm heading up to Kidepo National Park in the north of Uganda which borders with Sudan. I believe we even put a foot over the border on one of the trips. This is THE park to go to if you want to encounter all the animals - giraffes, lions, leopards, cheetahs, ostriches and zebra. It has all the attraction of the Masai Mara but only a tiny fraction of the visitors.
Road trips in Uganda take a fair amount of preparation. Here's a sample from my packing list:
New camera with big zoom lens - check
Dettol and cotton wool to ward off nasty tsetse flies - check
Anti-malarials - check - don't wanna go back there again!
Sleeping sheet and own pillow case in case UWA banda bedding not up to scratch - check
Skirt to wear on journey to avoid flashing bum to random travellers whilst taking a roadside pit stop - check
Head torch - check - about time I actually invested in a torch after using my phone torch for the past 2 years
Silly straw hat to protect from glaring sun - not checked due to disapproving look from my friend in the shop
Mountaineering trousers that zip off into shorts - check - practical as they are, they will NEVER see the light of day in Kampala town - would hate to be mistaken for a tourist
New waterproof trousers and coat - check - am half hoping for a few drops of rain so I get to use them
Passport to prove Ugandan residency for discount at luxury lodge -check
Home made flapjack with safari mix stirred in to help pass the journey - check
I-pod so I can zone out during the bumpy roads and scary driving - check
Extra strength DEET - check
Amarula for night caps - check
Wine and plastic wine glasses for sundowners - check
Binoculars to spot the lions, leopards, elephants, giraffes and zebras - check
Posh frock for meal at the lodge - check
Bikini to chill at the pool - check
Salmon steaks to be cooked on a charcoal stove - check - hope we are not being over-ambitious here - if it goes wrong it'll be rice and beans instead!

So it looks like I'm all set to go ...

A little bit of appreciation for the teachers

As I typed ’Week 8’ into the school plans this week I thought this was wrong. There should be some sort of law that makes you have a half term after any 6 week non-stop teaching period. Now I can hear the moans from those in the ‘real world’ already – but hear me out. Time in teaching is like dogs years, so every week in teaching equals seven in any other job. There is very little down time in the classroom and the younger the children, the more intensive the work. This week, ‘Teacher Appreciation Day’ passed with a small recognition (let’s face it – chocolate always goes down well in a Primary staffroom) but no bells and whistles this year. To be honest, I don’t really feel the need for little prizes and bribes as my job offers me satisfaction in itself and the children show their appreciation in a thousand different ways every single day even if it rarely comes from elsewhere. I don’t work in McDonalds so am not spurred on by my name being put up in lights as Burger Flipper of the Week, nor am I five years old, desperate to be noticed as the Star of the Week!


Teaching in the UK is definitely not appreciated enough. The media, politicians and some parents use teachers as scapegoats for pretty much every ill in society from teenage pregnancies to financial irresponsibility. When I lived in London I hated telling people I was a teacher. Instead I would claim that I was responsible for putting the stripes in toothpaste, tiled swimming pools or painted double yellow lines on roads such is the lowly status of a teacher in modern Britain – somewhere between a roadsweeper and a traffic warden I should think. Thanks to the Daily Mail and its enlightened readers, you are often asked how many chairs are thrown at you on a daily basis! Plus everybody had some sort of fancy job title – nobody has a job with a name that defines the nature of the work anymore, everybody is a ‘project manager’, a ‘facilitator’, an ‘analyst’ or a ‘consultant’. So I would like to mention some of the jobs we do throughout the year.

When it comes to peace keeping, I think we could give the UN a run for their money and probably come out trumps. With twenty-five or so diverse characters in a classroom, it would be unnatural for them all to get on well all of the time. We counsel and support our students in times of need and help them find solutions to their problems on their own. We encourage mutual respect and work hard to build self-esteem. We how to spend all day, every day in each others’ company without coming to blows and come home with many friends.

We are script-writers, theatrical directors, set-builders and musicians. Every time you see an hour long school play, you are looking at hundreds of hours of teachers preparing and editing the scripts, stage managing the children, considering the acoustics and even painting the set. Not to mention crowd-controlling over a hundred excited little people. Most of us don’t have any training in this area yet we manage to pull it off year after year.

Some of us are football team manager, swimming coaches, dance teachers, general motivators.

Events management existed in teaching years before the fancy job title cropped up. Not a week goes by without us thinking about or going on a school trip or organising one of the special events that punctuate the year. And of course, it’s in our nature to put all this information in a grid and add some pretty pictures to make it look more attractive. We record everything fastidiously and have enough spreadsheets on the go to make any accountant shudder.

Cripes – that’s a lot and I haven’t even mentioned teaching yet. I’m sure there are hundreds of others but I think I have made my point. And we still have enough energy to bake cakes on a Thursday evening ready for FAT FRIDAY in the staffroom. Still, I think my favourite description of a teacher is in the Roger McGough poem where a confused Reception child tries to make sense of her first day in school:

Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.

First Day at School

A millionbillionwillion miles from home
Waiting for the bell to go. (To go where?)

Why are they all so big, other children?

So noisy? So much at home they

Must have been born in uniform

Lived all their lives in playgrounds

Spent the years inventing games

That don't let me in. Games

That are rough, that swallow you up.



And the railings.

All around, the railings.

Are they to keep out wolves and monsters?

Things that carry off and eat children?

Things you don't take sweets from?

Perhaps they're to stop us getting out

Running away from the lessins. Lessin.

What does a lessin look like?

Sounds small and slimy.

They keep them in the glassrooms.

Whole rooms made out of glass. Imagine.



I wish I could remember my name

Mummy said it would come in useful.

Like wellies. When there's puddles.

Yellowwellies. I wish she was here.

I think my name is sewn on somewhere

Perhaps the teacher will read it for me.

Tea-cher. The one who makes the tea.



Roger McGough

Food, glorious food ...

Mmmmm - my favourite pudding from home

I think it’s a sign of old age that my mid-week ‘hangover’ is caused not by copious glasses of wine, but by an overdose of sugar and rich food. Back in the day, I would nurse a sore head and swear I would never touch another drop again ... until the next time. Yesterday, as pay day FINALLY arrived – yes there was far too much month left at the end of this pay cheque, a friend and I treated ourselves to a slap-up meal. Home-made bread, delicious pasta followed by the best sticky toffee pudding since the one that comes from Cartmel in the Lake District. But the real laugh of the night came from a different source. I have always enjoyed perusing menus in foreign parts in order to take in the linguististic boo boos. Here was no exception – the menu offered ‘Square spaghetti’ which must be a specialty the Italians haven’t even thought of. Then there was the ‘Pasta Surprise – made according to the chef’s mood’ – well if my experiences of the world of waitressing and hospitality are anything to go by, then this should be avoided at all costs. I wouldn’t like to imagine what Gordon Ramsey would cook up in a fiery temper – maybe I’ll take the risk next time though!

Decisions decisions ...

It seems as though the school year has only just begun, yet already thoughts are turning to whether people will stay or move on to pastures new. Is it time to move on to a new place? Somewhere with a healthier wage packet, or is it a good idea to stay where I am quite contented,  most of the time? This is the dilemma that faces International teachers every year. We are asked to make a decision on our futures by the Christmas, so that the school can go to a recruitment fair in the January. While this all makes perfect sense, it is always difficult to project your thoughts so far into the future. What if you quit your job and can’t find anything else? What if you decide to leave a place and suddenly realise you would really like to stay for longer? I know for a fact that I enjoyed my second year in Colombia immensely more than my first, yet I had to set the whole job hunting process in motion in the October of my second year. It was only as I boarded the plane to leave that I truly realised I was deeply saddened to leave.  I spent my first few months in Uganda looking at my time in Colombia through rose tinted glasses. I am now entering my third year in Uganda and can hardly imagine leaving. For all the daily frustrations that I talk about, there is something that has got under my skin that I find hard to let go of. Maybe it’s the beautiful country, the year round sunshine or maybe it’s the wonderful people who brighten up your day … or maybe it’s the fact that I am a lazy little madam who likes having a maid in to do my washing or the little luxuries in life we can afford here that wouldn’t be available to us at home. It’s probably a mixture of all of them. So when I look at my options I wonder what the future has in store for me. Am I ready to go ‘home’? But what is home anymore and what sort of lifestyle can I afford to live? What do I do if I go home? For sure, we are spoiled rotten here, with our small class sizes, wonderful kids and ample free periods thanks to all the specialist lessons. I’m not sure I want to get back on the treadmill that is teaching in the UK. And what about other places? The Middle East is renowned for good schools, generous packages and a lively ex-pat lifestyle. But then I don’t think I could cope with the heat and I hate air-conditioned environments, so is that really the place for me? Then there is China, which would definitely have a rich culture, but is it too exotic and different to everything I have known before. These are tough choices and if anybody has any advice on the subject, then I am all ears …

A more triumphant triathlon

Our sporty school staff

I am not genetically designed to be a natural sportswoman. In my family, extreme sports constituted the competition to complete The Sunday Times crossword before noon – so all of these energetic pursuits of mine don’t really fit.


Last year, the triathlon was really a bit of a disaster for me. I freaked out in the murky waters of Lake Victoria and was worn out with exhaustion before I even got on the bike. Nevertheless, the team spirit on the day made me want to give it another try. I got a team together and decided to do the bike ride. This was one of my better ideas! As I saw my team mate swimming towards the shore, I fixed my helmet on and sprinted (Phoebe from Friends style if the photos are believed) towards my bike. In the Botanical Gardens I saw that a friend had bike problems and I had a dilemma. It’s not that I wasn’t willing to help – more that there probably wasn’t much I could do and I didn’t really want to give up my own race. I carried on, with a few pangs of guilt for my friend. The route takes you through the gardens, along the lakeshore and around the airfield and even includes a scary dark tunnel under the runway. I was flying along and passed out a fair few cyclists on the way. The dreaded 30 km passed in a breeze and I loved hearing the cheers of my friends as I passed the finishing line only to find out that not only was I the second female cyclist back but also the fastest woman on a bike! Who’d have thought it eh!

All the competitors

 

Somehow I managed to wear my helmet in the style of a French beret, perched loosely on my head!