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 ...
Saturday, 16 October 2010
Saturday, 9 October 2010
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
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
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
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!
Saturday, 2 October 2010
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 …
Thursday, 30 September 2010
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!
Wednesday, 22 September 2010
It's all go here ...
As usual it's all go in K-Town and I'm having a rare lazy evening in at home, vegetating infront of Glee (it's going to finish soon and I am in need of a new obsession - any suggestions?).
On Sunday I'm joining a team for the triathlon. I've guaranteed myself no repeats of the near drowning panic attack incident last time and have only signed up for the bike ride. I'm a little concerned as I haven't even covered the full distance yet, but my team mates assure me that they are not feeling competetive ... I hope that really is the case as I am no Lance Armstrong at the moment! Anyway, a few of us are heading out to Entebbe the night before and I am considering the whole thing a social occasion with a 30 km bike ride thrown in for the hell of it.
I am barely going to have time to recover from this before I head off on the Outdoor Education trip. This time we are heading for the beautiful bilharzia-free (it's a selling point here) waters of Lake Nabugabu for two nights. The kids assure me that they are now all experts at the art of putting up tents and I intend to test them out and put mine up for me too!
This half term has to be one of the longest on record - so naturally my thoughts have turned to holidays. At the moment I am battling with my conscience as to whether I should stay in the posh lodge in Kidepo National Park or in the cheap and cheerful bandas. I'm told that staying in Opoka is a 'once in a lifetime experience' but after having 'once in a lifetime experiences' for the past four years my bank balance is suffering from serious malnutrition. The other big news is that my parents have just booked flights out to South Africa for Christmas and I'm doing a very good impression of a travel agent - infact I think I could have an alternative career in the making there! We have booked some awesome places just by the beaches in Cape Town and looking to stay in the winelands for New Years - hic!
So I as my head nearly falls on the keyboard from total exhaustion I will repeat the mantra 'holidays are coming, holidays are coming' ...
On Sunday I'm joining a team for the triathlon. I've guaranteed myself no repeats of the near drowning panic attack incident last time and have only signed up for the bike ride. I'm a little concerned as I haven't even covered the full distance yet, but my team mates assure me that they are not feeling competetive ... I hope that really is the case as I am no Lance Armstrong at the moment! Anyway, a few of us are heading out to Entebbe the night before and I am considering the whole thing a social occasion with a 30 km bike ride thrown in for the hell of it.
I am barely going to have time to recover from this before I head off on the Outdoor Education trip. This time we are heading for the beautiful bilharzia-free (it's a selling point here) waters of Lake Nabugabu for two nights. The kids assure me that they are now all experts at the art of putting up tents and I intend to test them out and put mine up for me too!
This half term has to be one of the longest on record - so naturally my thoughts have turned to holidays. At the moment I am battling with my conscience as to whether I should stay in the posh lodge in Kidepo National Park or in the cheap and cheerful bandas. I'm told that staying in Opoka is a 'once in a lifetime experience' but after having 'once in a lifetime experiences' for the past four years my bank balance is suffering from serious malnutrition. The other big news is that my parents have just booked flights out to South Africa for Christmas and I'm doing a very good impression of a travel agent - infact I think I could have an alternative career in the making there! We have booked some awesome places just by the beaches in Cape Town and looking to stay in the winelands for New Years - hic!
So I as my head nearly falls on the keyboard from total exhaustion I will repeat the mantra 'holidays are coming, holidays are coming' ...
Sunday, 19 September 2010
Another day at the races
Goatzilla and Atilla the Goat were back in town this weekend for the 2010 Royal Ascot Goat Races.Anyone who is anyone in Uganda was there - from celebrities to politicians and a shedload of wealthy mzungus excited by the prospect of donning their gladrags. This year was more extravagent than ever, as we were lucky enough to be upgraded to the VIP tent where the pink bubbly stuff flowed non-stop ... and when supplies ran low, our friends in high places discovered the secret stash and ensured our glasses were topped up to the brim at all times. I placed a modest bet of 3000 Shillings on a goat - but forgot to watch the race as I got distracted by a glass of the pink bubbly stuff - whoopsy! Apparently I also missed the first aeronautical display in Uganda - am not quite sure how! Today I am checking Facebook in the hope that no pictures from the latter end of the day have been posted and am ready to detag any I don't like. The Goat Races give you a rare opportunity to get really dressed up, but in retrospect the cute little pink kitten heels weren't such a great idea as I spent half the day trying to unstick myself out of the mud. I am a bit disappointed that I didn't make the cut for the Red Pepper's Goat Race hot babes section!!http://www.ugandaonline.net/gallery.
A good day was had by all but I imagine a bad day is being had by many today!
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