I thought I'd dedicate a post to writing about an average school day, but it's actually far harder to get down on paper than I imagined as a month in and there still isn't a set routine. Amongst the sports competitions, meeting with education officials, re-painting the school furniture, there is rarely a day that meets my timetable as neatly as it would suggest.
Today is as averagely unpredictable as it gets...I arrive to a smattering of new posters; a spread of the current teachers and a very unexpected (and large) photo of me. I am flattered and embarassed. Even moreso when I have to admit that there's a spelling mistake in my last name.
Having recovered from my 30 seconds of fame I remember that it's P'Som's, our only science teacher, last day. She stands on the podium at morning assemly addressing the half-asleep children; the younger ones still watching the birds, or chattering aimlessly to themselves, the older ones have more of an understanding of the poignancy of the moment but it doesn't take long for the warm morning sun to coax yawns from a few of them.
It turns out that part of the ceremony of leaving a school includes a selection of teachers driving the leaving teacher to her new school...goodbye full day of lessons, hello roadtrip through the jungle countryside towards the Myanmar border.
A couple of left turns off of the main road and the potholes and palm trees seem to triple in size. P'Som's tiny silver car literally jumps from one side of the road to the other to avoid any fatal dips in the road. Every now and then the lush green forest disappears entirely; felled to make way for palm tree plantations for the most lucrative of products in the area: palm oil. Side by side to more traditional lean to farming dwellings are large, shining houses, complete with shaded parking spaces and extensive terraces for the newly wealthy palm oil growers.
The ceremony of delivering P'Som to her new school is far less official than I imagine and actually involves a good nosy round, a gossip about teaching in the area and a large glass of red, sweetened water and ice.
We're soon back in the car attempting to remember the way home and deliver the last few wedding invitations for P'Saupom and P'Jim's daughter's wedding, stopping for lunch (of course) in between at a roadside noodlebar. By the time we get back to school the children are in afternoon lessons and avidly preparing for another round of the ASEAN competition. My timetabled primary 6 and primary 3 class turns into hurried practicing for tomorrow's spoken English competition. I parcel phrases into Nasneen's mouth; she's six, it's 3pm and her stifled yawns and bewildered brown eyes tug at my heartstrings. At least she knows the difference between a pencil and ruler, even if she's still struggling to grasp the idea of an English conversation.
By quarter to four P'Om calls it a day and we pull the shutters closed padlock the door and head home for early dinner.
Today is as averagely unpredictable as it gets...I arrive to a smattering of new posters; a spread of the current teachers and a very unexpected (and large) photo of me. I am flattered and embarassed. Even moreso when I have to admit that there's a spelling mistake in my last name.
Having recovered from my 30 seconds of fame I remember that it's P'Som's, our only science teacher, last day. She stands on the podium at morning assemly addressing the half-asleep children; the younger ones still watching the birds, or chattering aimlessly to themselves, the older ones have more of an understanding of the poignancy of the moment but it doesn't take long for the warm morning sun to coax yawns from a few of them.
It turns out that part of the ceremony of leaving a school includes a selection of teachers driving the leaving teacher to her new school...goodbye full day of lessons, hello roadtrip through the jungle countryside towards the Myanmar border.
A couple of left turns off of the main road and the potholes and palm trees seem to triple in size. P'Som's tiny silver car literally jumps from one side of the road to the other to avoid any fatal dips in the road. Every now and then the lush green forest disappears entirely; felled to make way for palm tree plantations for the most lucrative of products in the area: palm oil. Side by side to more traditional lean to farming dwellings are large, shining houses, complete with shaded parking spaces and extensive terraces for the newly wealthy palm oil growers.
The ceremony of delivering P'Som to her new school is far less official than I imagine and actually involves a good nosy round, a gossip about teaching in the area and a large glass of red, sweetened water and ice.
We're soon back in the car attempting to remember the way home and deliver the last few wedding invitations for P'Saupom and P'Jim's daughter's wedding, stopping for lunch (of course) in between at a roadside noodlebar. By the time we get back to school the children are in afternoon lessons and avidly preparing for another round of the ASEAN competition. My timetabled primary 6 and primary 3 class turns into hurried practicing for tomorrow's spoken English competition. I parcel phrases into Nasneen's mouth; she's six, it's 3pm and her stifled yawns and bewildered brown eyes tug at my heartstrings. At least she knows the difference between a pencil and ruler, even if she's still struggling to grasp the idea of an English conversation.
By quarter to four P'Om calls it a day and we pull the shutters closed padlock the door and head home for early dinner.