International Day 2012

UK Contingency 

Ugandan National Dress?

Henna tattoos

Today I learnt that you get more exercise from carrying the croquet set up 4 staircases than actually playing the game!

We thought this may have been the world's biggest ever Hokey Cokey - but then discovered that the world record is over 7000 people, so we fell short by about 6500!

Who's the queen? I'm queen!

Ozzies finding a way to surf in the middle of a land locked country in Africa!

Feathers!

Today I received a complaint from a parent about our production of Seussical the Musical. She thought it was unfair that the male teachers were given bottles of wine as a 'thank you' whilst the women got bunches of flowers. I couldn't agree more!

It's been the usual hectic rush of making props and scenery, organising costumes, programs and displays. For the past few days I've been coming home covered in glitter and feathers. Luckily, this year, the feathers in question were prettily coloured ostrich feathers from South Africa. In my first year here, the experience was a little less pleasant. Our team ordered some feathers to make costumes for some of the kids. Instead of the brightly coloured synthetic feathers us teachers are accustomed to we were presented with a big black bin liner full of chicken feathers. Straight from the abattoir. Smelly, dirty and complete with lumps of recently deceased foul fowl flesh. With metaphorical pegs on our noses and rubber gloved hands, we sat in the open air and rinsed the feathers in soapy water and snipped off the offending lumps of flesh. My vegetarian soul was scarred to the core.

Feathers: dyed and processed - just how I like them!

Ntinda School for the Deaf

These cuties performed an elephant poem in sign language!

Today we visited our new Community Development project, Ntinda School for the Deaf. Children come from all over the country to study with the specialist teachers here and board at the school, many of them having been abandoned once they developed the disability. Some of the children were born deaf, while others were left with impaired hearing or total deafness following simple childhood diseases such as mumps, measles or whooping cough that could easily have been cured or prevented, had their parents access to decent medical care.

When we first arrived at the school, we all felt a little alienated. We wanted to communicate with the students, but it was like being in a new foreign country, where you don't speak the lingo. Our children quickly learnt how to introduce themselves and managed a few exchanges with the deaf students. With my sore throat and crackly voice, I wished that I was fluent in sign language and could use it in class until I recover! 

The teachers are hardworking and talented and displayed a patience that I admired. This is one of the only places in Uganda where deaf people are valued and invested in; it is sad to say that in 2011, they are still marginalised in most aspects of society here. I enjoyed watching the fascination and enthusiasm from our children and felt like it was a genuine exchange. I am looking forward to the next visit.

Learning to sew on an ancient Singer!

Oh dear - I'm still struggling to get going on the old blogging. I could blame being ultra busy at the start of a school year or the notorious power cuts, but ultimately I am out of practise and feeling a little uninspired. As I enter my fourth year in Uganda, I find it hard to see anything new. I could tell you about the 'Pothole Tourette's  Syndrome' that we're all suffering at the moment (it is impossible to drive over the one at the end of the road without saying 'bloodyhell - I swear it's getting worse', or an hour's wait for a coffee, but then I feel it's all been said before! 

So I have decided to adopt the same 'get it over and done with' approach that I used with running. I hadn't dealt with the heat or the hills throughout the summer at home, where I happily trotted along the smooth, flat roads in a temperate climate. I knew the first run back here would be sheer hell, but after a few outings, it's getting easier. If I could just apply the same tactic to writing ... but unfortunately it's all too easy to hit the delete button!

Maybe it really is the return to school. I am exhausted, mainly from the anticipation of the new school year. The first couple of days are always fuelled by pure adrenalin (yeah - it's extreme teaching you know!), the following 3 being a sledgehammer comedown.

Right - enough for today. Hopefully normal service will be resumed soon!

Sandcastles and dolphins

This time last week, I was swimming in the crystal blue waters of the Indian Ocean ... this week I am just about managing to keep my head above water in the sea of paperwork and endless tasks that mark the end of the school year.

The long awaited Zanzibar trip lived up to all expectations. I had worried that some of the children would get homesick, but in the end, we had trouble dragging them away.From the moment they spotted the famous 'Blue Beach' it was clear that this was going to be a week to remember. The kids loved their little beachside abodes, adorning them with flowers on the beds and welcome mats for the daily room inspections. One group even tried to bribe us with welcome snacks on arrival for extra points, but unfortunately their method of melting the marshmallows by dunking them in the kettle did not put them in good stead!

I'm beginning to think that the animals of the African continent must be having a good giggle at my expense. In the past three years, I have trekked through almost impenetrable forests to spot gorillas and chimps, driven around fig tree circles in search of tree climbing lions and spent hours on safari seeking out lions and other majestic creatures. This time, it was the turn of the dolphins. Now swimming with dolphins is one of those activities that is somewhat over-romanticised. What they don't tell you, is that you have to get up at the crack of dawn, to board a vessel that does not look worthy of the village duckpond, let alone a tumultuous ocean. A few of my group, who had better sea legs than I did, dived in at every opportunity to swim with Flipper and friends. Meanwhile, myself and a couple of the girls turned an insipid shade of green and I was little comfort to them as I hurled over the edge! I was relieved when somebody else decided the white horses were too big and that we should head back to dry land.

 The final day's visit to Stone Town was a little hurried for my liking. We spent some time in the former slave quarters and learnt about Zanzibar's colourful history. However, we barely had time to get lost amongst the maze of ancient alleyways and I was too busy helping the girls decide what they should buy for their little brothers and sisters to have any time to shop myself. I will have to book a return visit sometime!

The trip marks the end of Primary for these children, many of whom I have known for 3 years, having taught some of them twice. Soon they will be teenagers and will leave behind the fun of building sandcastles and peering into rock pools. I will miss them next year, but they are ready to fly the nest.

Busy, busy , busy!

Phew - what a day! Have been running around like a madwoman, trying to finish reports, grab time for a swim, brunch at the Serena, get a pink pedicure (very important of course), buy Tanzanian Shillings and of course, packing.

So it's a 5am start at school so we can jet off to Zanzibar. I am a very lucky teacher indeed! If anybody needs me in the next week, I will be here...

April Fools

Friday at last ...

After the adrenalin rush of the triathlon, Monday hit hard. By mid-day I was virtually crashing out in the classroom and decided I would have a week of total rest and pampering myself! My hair is now chocolate brown again and my feet are neatly pedicured. One of my favourite indulgences here is having the massage lady come to my house and work out all of the knots in my back. What could be better than being able to go for a nap straight afterwards? The only exercise I have done all week is a few leisurely laps at the club on Wednesday (actually I have to admit that the OCD did take over a little at this point and I didn't manage to stop until I did 40!)

Galaxy chocolate is currently on sale all over town. It's a little melted but still lovely and creamy and smooth. Caramel is best! I (almost) hope it disappears off the shelves as quickly as it appeared so that I don't develop a serious chocolate habit!

This morning was my class assembly. As soon as I saw the rota, I knew I was in for trouble having it on April Fool's Day. I think the joke was well and truly on me. A middle of the night power cut meant that my alarm failed to go off. I woke up with a start at 7.15am and had to get ready at lightning speed. If I don't have half an hour's quiet time in the morning, it puts me out of synch for the entire day. The kids performed and did a great job ... considering that one little diva decided to improvise and confused the rest of the class. I sat and watched with a bemused look on my face, but they held it together pretty well. The day ended with a Ugandan staff member in a fankle because an owl landed on the administration building which is apparently an omen of death here. And there was me thinking that the wise old owl had landed on the school building to impart his knowledge!

Must try harder ...

Right now we're right in the middle of reports, so as usual, I find anything I can to distract myself. It's funny how I can churn out endless amounts of rambling on my blog, but when it come to reports I am totally uninspired.
Maybe if we could write what we're really thinking it would be more fun! Today I read the opening chapter of Matilda with a boy. Here are some of Roald Dahl's report comments:

The periodical cicada spends six years as a grub underground, and no more than six days as a free creature of sunlight and air. Your son Wilfred has spent six years in this school and we are still waiting for him to emerge from the chrysalis.

Or how about ...?

Fiona has the same glacial beauty as an iceberg, but unlike the iceberg she has absolutely nothing below the surface.

Pure brilliance from Mr Dahl, proving that the best children's writers entertain the grown ups as much as the kids.

I was trawling through the Literacy books this afternoon and came across a couple of little gems I will share with you. We have been learning about persuasive writing and discursive writing recently. Here are a couple of the kids' arguments in favour of wearing school uniform:

More Money

Getting uniform would mean teachers get paid more salary and that would make the teachers stay instead of leaving.

Really? Well all of my class are wearing full uniform - I await my bonus!

Here's the next one:

Uniforms have been used for generations by police, school children and security guards. So before you vote 'no uniform' think - policemen look cool!

Glad we've got that one straight then. I wonder whether he was talking about police in full riot gear or the crisp white uniform with matching gloves worn by the Ugandan traffic police!

And now for something completely different!

I found this Monty Python Kilimanjaro sketch this morning when I was looking for clips of Kili to show to the kids. It was quite a welcome distraction after watching people huff and puff their way to the summit.

This was the first time I have really talked to the kids about climbing Kili and after sharing a few You Tube clips, they are quite impressed and bewildered by the thought of the whole trek. One boy thinks we are lucky to have the opportunity to play in the snow and asked me to bring some back! I hope it was a joke - otherwise I have been wasting my time teaching States of Matter for the past 4 weeks. However, my favourite comment was:

'Miss, if you slip and fall off the mountain and die, who will be our teacher?'

I am so glad they appreciate me!

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 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.

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

Fetch the dunce cap!

It's a long time since I have put pen to paper and I think I may be suffering from that 'Summer holiday fall back' syndrome. For those of you who are not teachers, I am talking about the way that kids drop back a bit over the summer holiday, forgetting how to pick up a pencil or how to use a protractor.
For five and a half blissful weeks, all I have had to think about is whether I'm getting tan lines on a beach. The biggest stress in my life was deciding whether I should spend my money on a new camera or a laptop. Major decisions consisted of which pudding I should have off a menu or whether I should have a glass of wine or a beer.
Then, with little warning, we are catapulted back into our working lives. We always give the kids a few days to get used to the routines and to tune their brains in again, while we are expected to go from naught to sixty in less than a nanosecond. Moving classrooms, backing walls, planning, collecting resources and a neverending 'To do' list. On top of that, I have just moved house, have boxes everywhere and still haven't found my hairdryer ... normal service will be resumed soon.

Safari suits ...

I am a little bit concerned as to what is in store for us in school next year. I am starting to wonder whether the school is about to relocate to under the proverbial tree that people are convinced is my classroom. What has sparked this concern? The new uniform – and it is not pretty. I am not sure whether we are going to be going on safari 1920s style or whether they are trying to shape up our students to recolonise Uganda. It is truly ridiculous. The girls are going to be wearing a brown, button up, linen dress, which resembles my Brownies uniform from the 1980s, with slightly less style. The boys, meanwhile, will be wearing a khaki coloured button up shirt, made out of a material that looks particularly stiff and scratchy along with a choice of brown shorts or long trousers. There’s even a belt, so that they can attach their rifles to, should a passing lion (in the middle of Kampala) decide to give them trouble. They will also be sporting safari boots for warding off anything untoward that should be lurking in … I don’t know – the cafeteria? The auditorium or classrooms? Maybe the big field? The children are not impressed with what they are going to have to wear. But who would ever think of asking them, the ones who have to wear it every day, when you have a Belgian architect who thinks about Africa with a capital A (the one with the roaming lions and giraffes and starving children) to design a uniform?

Kampala Rocks!

When you say you live in Africa, most people react with raised eyebrows and then exclaim that you must be very brave. For many, the word Africa conjures up images from the television, such as Micheal Buerk’s reports from the famines in Ethiopia in the 1980s or of various wars. When you are more specific, and mention that it is Uganda, the common response is to comment on Idi Amin’s brutal regime of over 30 years ago. I am often asked questions that range from the naive to the outrageous. So now I would like to paint a little picture of modern Kampala. Here are some of the things I have been asked:
1) Do you have to teach under a tree?
No, of course not. I teach in a newly-constructed, well resourced International school. My classroom is spacious and I have more than enough room to capacitate my small class. The classroom is bright and has lovely furniture, unlike the majority of the schools in the UK that were built in the 1930s and are no longer fit for purpose, with expanding curriculums and increased class sizes. I have a Smartboard in my class, which allows the kids to interact with the computer, shows movies and accesses a plethora of online activities (OK sketchy internet permitting). There is a beautiful 25m swimming pool on site, so the kids can have swimming lessons on site, rather than wasting an hour on a bus each week. There are fully equipped ICT suites and the kids have specialists for many lessons. This is the best teaching environment I have ever experienced by far!

2) Do you feel guilty for earning money and not working in a village school as a volunteer?
Well, yes and no. I like to think of myself as quite the socialist, and I never would have opted to teach in the private sector in the UK. There are times when I see the level of privilege the children in our school have and the fact that some of them are blissfully unaware of the conditions most people in this country endure. However, I work hard and deserve my pay. Some of the parents of the children in my school work for NGOs, the UN and other charitable organisations and naturally any foreign worker would hope to offer their children the best education possible. Furthermore, I actually earn considerably less than many of the people working in development, so if they don’t feel guilty, why should I? Like many people of my generation, I took a gap year after university and volunteered in a school in Ghana. Looking back on that experience, it is clear that I benefitted from this more than anybody else did. The teaching methods I had learnt on a whistle-stop ESL course before going out there were simply not suitable for the classes of 50 plus and when I tried to use the drama and games they had suggested, I simply had chaos on my hands! In the end, I resorted to the chalk-and-talk that the local teachers used, so I really do believe that Ghana would have survived quite well without my input! But I gained a great deal, making lifelong memories and discovered that the whole world is not quite the same as Europe.

3) Do you think you’ll get really skinny, because there won’t be much to eat, will there?
Not a chance! When it comes to food in developing countries, I think the motto should be ‘You can never get enough carbs!’ Local food, which I eat from time to time, consists of posho (a kind of millet porridge), matooke (a type of bananas), rice, beans, pumpkin, peas, and a few other things, sometimes accompanied with chicken, goat or tilapia fish. However, Kampala is a city that is developing at a very fast rate. Every month, new restaurants and bars seem to pop up around town. In the past few weeks, I have eaten pizza made by real Italian chefs in the new trendiest spot in town, pain au chocolat in the Belgian patisserie, Indian food that has more delicate flavours and yumminess than any I have ever tried in the UK, my special birthday treat at the Emin Pasha and probably a few more. I haven’t even mentioned the Turkish restaurant, the Thai, the Greek, or the Chinese. It’s a surprise I can actually move after all that fodder to be honest. But the point is that in Kampala, like in any capital city, you can eat your way around the world.

4) Is everything really cheap?
Again, no! The cost of living has risen dramatically in Uganda over the past couple of years. Locals will tell you that the costs of grains and basic food stuffs have gone up by massively, and here we are affected by climatic change and world trends. Last year, there was quite a large drought in the summer, so many crops failed, bumping up the price of and decreasing the availability of basic foods for many. A litre of petrol costs about a pound, which is ludicrous when you consider the average Ugandan wage. It would be like you trying to fill your car with finest champagne! On my wage though, I could very easily survive if I wanted to live like a local. But I don’t (or am too soft to live without my home comforts). As soon as you import anything, then you may as well say charge whatever you like. Some of the craziest prices are nearly 10 quid for a week old edition of The Sunday Times, £4.00 for a box of cereal, £5.00 for mushrooms that don’t taste of rubber and a whopping £25.00 for a Body Shop moisturiser that you could pick up for less than a fiver at home. Travel is also costly – only the richest people can afford to fly here, which combined with a lack of competition, equates to literally sky-high fares. So there we have another myth busted.

5) Is it dangerous?
For crying out loud, I lived and worked in Dagenham and used to catch the fright, I mean night bus back in the small wee hours through some of the less salubrious areas of East London for 3 years! I walked through the centre of Blackpool in the early evening last time I was home, and have to say that I was far more petrified of the dodgy characters hanging around the rundown buildings than I have ever felt either in Bogota or Kampala. Unfortunately, I can’t say that Kampala is crime free, but most of us living here feel perfectly safe, day or night. Yes there are instances of opportunistic theft, but name me a city where this doesn’t happen. Of course, people are also referring to the bigger picture, thinking of the wars and military coups that have blighted this continent in history. Before I left Colombia, one parent physically shuddered and sucked in her breath when I mentioned I was leaving for Uganda, uttering the words “Aye no, es peligroso, receurdas Idi Amin”. Well get over it! It was a long time ago and nobody would worry about your safety in Germany because a very mean man named Hitler was once in charge! A well meaning friend once pointed out that there had been some violence reported in the DRC, which they claimed is ‘near you’. I don’t think any of you would be worrying about dodging bullets if a civil war broke out in Denmark, would you? Ironically, when there were instances of riots and violence in Kampala last September and following the fire in the Kasubi Tombs, most people had no idea because it was not headline news in the UK. It was reported in the newspapers, but only those searching for news in Uganda would be likely to come across it. So do please keep an eye out on what’s going on here – your concern is very much appreciated!
I think I may have wandered off the point a little, as I am always liable to do, but I hope that this has given you a little bit more of an idea of what life is like here. Kampala rocks!