Teaching in Sri Lanka

Teaching in Sri Lanka is understandably nothing like teaching in Australia. To begin with, the teaching takes place outside on the concrete under a tin roof. There is a blackboard and nothing else - no chairs, desks or most importantly lights, which means while I take my one-two hour English lesson in the afternoon as the monsoonal rain belts down, the children squint to see me and my well-intended resources. I also need to  yell quite loudly in order to compete with the crashing thunder and sound of rain belting on the tin roof.

I really had no idea what to expect on the first day but I wasn't surprised to find 20 odd children ranging from 4 to 16 years old waiting eagerly to learn something when my tuk-tuk pulled up in front of their 'school'. I had heard a range of reviews about their level of English but after the first day  found that it varied from non-existent to reasonable with those who can speak English having mainly memorised things in a particular rote order, including the letters of the alphabet which many struggle to identify if asked randomly.

Obviously it is quite a challenge teaching to such a broad range of abilities but their appreciation and beautiful smiling faces make it more than worth while. I didn't bring any resources with me and even left my computer back in India with all my teaching ideas and plans on the desktop but I have managed to rack my brain for enough lesson ideas that are adjustable enough to the different levels. Ideally, splitting the children into ability groups would make their experience much better but as there are no pens or paper or resources each group would require a 'teacher' to support them and of the 10 or so volunteers working here, Brent is the only one I can convince to come along. Yesterday I discovered the children love to play Bingo, so I spent the day creating Bingo cards that have simple sight words instead of numbers so hopefully that will be a hit and a good teaching point for today.

The children making letters in groups with their bodies - this is a T

Using the floor and chalk instead of pencil and paper

Word Bingo

Our first week at Millennium Elephant Foundation

We arrived at the Elephant center about a week ago now. It's a little like stepping onto the set of Jurassic Park, with random monsoonal rains, giant mosquitoes and other flying creatures and wildlife buzzing about and of course these incredible dinosaur-like elephants.

Brent and I were allocated a large male elephant named Saliya, he is about 5o years old and is extremely placid. Initially I wanted my own elephant but once I  started looking after him and got involved with all the other happenings at the  foundation I was more than pleased to be sharing. When we arrived at the center it was extremely disorganised due to it being Shri Lankan new year and due to the English coordinator having left. There were already some other volunteers here but it didn't take long before Brent and I got cracking on things and with the help of the owner/vice president of the foundation brought a bit of order and organisation back to the place.

Our day goes a little like this: At around 730am we meet our Mahout and go and collect our elephant from his sleeping area. While Brent assists the mahout I get the lovely job of removing between 40-100 dung balls (with my hands!) which has to be counted, observed and recorded for medical reasons. After this we take our elephant down to the river to bath and scrub him with coconut. This is pretty strenuous work and leaves your hands blistered and arms aching. We then head off for a quick breakfast before returning to our elephant to check his feet and feed him his vitamins. From about 10am onwards Brent and I have been working in the eco-garden. This was in pretty bad shape upon our arrival and has required us to remove the entire garden, bring in new soil (which of course we had to dig up) and plant new seedlings. We have also managed to transfer all the elephant records to electronic version, create a teaching resources 'corner', shift an entire veterinary room, update files, sponsorship packs, newsletters and more. Three afternoons a week we head into town to teach English to the local kids and today I will finally get this privilege as it has been school holidays.

Usually in the late afternoon just as the monsoonal rains begin our mahout decides to put our elephant to bed. Of late this has required us to drag 30-60 giant coconut leaves to our elephant as well as tend to some of his cuts and wounds, usually while a huge electrical storm crackles and thunders overhead.

Exhausted, saturated, covered in leeches, mosquito bites, rashes from the wild grass, cuts and bruises we drag ourselves to bed rather early but having felt pleased at accomplishing something worthwhile each day. We are looking forward to what the next week or so brings.

Me and our Mahout 'VJ' scrubbing Saliya

Brent cleaning Saliya's feet

Me with one of the house dogs 'Collin'

Brent feeding Saliya his vitamins

I survived a semester at an Indian University

I officially finished university lectures today. I wish I could say I am sad that I am finishing up here but ‘relieved’ would more closely resemble the truth. I would love to be able to write a long list of things I will miss about this university the way Jessica Watson did towards the end of her sailing adventure but all I could come up with was friends. Having said that, my time studying here has been a very steep learning curve and no doubt has brought about much change in my own beliefs, ideals and values and for that I would not wish to change my experience.

Ok, so while my lectures have officially finished I still do have to come back to the uni at the end of May to sit my end term exams. During this time my classmates will all head off to different schools to complete their practical teaching .This was one of the things I was looking forward to the most about studying in India – teaching in India! However, when I arrived at the uni I was told it would not be possible for me to teach in Punjab because I didn’t speak Hindi or Punjabi. I have no idea why they couldn’t have told me this while I was in Australia but I am beginning to think that many Indians actually believe a large majority of people outside their own country speak their language. Of course I have since found out that there are in fact many primary schools in the area that are strictly English medium and I even know a Polish girl who speaks English as her second language who teaches as an ‘authentic English teacher’ at one of these schools. I feel now that perhaps the real reason I am not permitted to teach at one of these Primary schools is the fact that in LPU I am studying how to be a ‘university’ lecturer not a primary school teacher as requested and promised.

Nevertheless things have worked out well because I now have a month free. And with that I have booked a plane ticket to Sri Lanka where Brent and I will be volunteering at an Elephant conservation centre. Next to horses, I am slightly obsessed with elephants and completely captivated by their beauty and magnificence. I suppose we could have found an Elephant centre in India to volunteer at but when you are so close to so many countries it makes sense just to pop over for a look (oh and did I mention there is better surf in Sri Lanka!). I am told that while we are at the park we will be allocated our own elephant to care for. This includes cleaning his paddock (I am no stranger to mucking out stables and paddocks but I assume cleaning an elephant’s paddock might be a ‘bigger’ job), bathing the elephant, feeding him and giving him any medicine or first aid care required. Contrary to what you might think, caring for an elephant is not an all day job so while we are there (and this was the clincher for me wanting to stay at this particular centre) we also get to choose another volunteer project to partake in. There is an option to teach English to the local children and adults in the Buddhist temples (which is what I am hoping to do) or you can volunteer in their completely self-sufficient organic garden (which is perfect for Brent given he is studying Environmental Science). In addition we can also accompany the local vet on his house visits for those people with sick or injured pet elephants – strange but true. Apparently there is little to do at night time at the centre so I have packed my books and intend to study for my end term exams.

We head off early Wednesday morning so I’ll keep you posted on the Elephant adventures.

Some of my Guidance and Counseling classmates - my teacher on the right in the pink top sitting

Some of my educational entrepreneur classmates

Shimla Hill Station

After quite a challenging week, Brent and I made a very impromptu decision to take advantage of our rare two day weekend and head to Shimla, in Eastern Himachal Pradesh. Having not booked a bus we jumped on whatever we could find and took a very bendy and squishy trip to Shimla Hill station. Although I was quite comfortable, the poor woman in front of us sat nursing her baby with her head hanging out the window, vomiting on every second turn and unfortunately she wasn’t the only one.  

We arrived at about 1am and the first thing that struck me was how empty the town was. Usually I would welcome this change however we weren’t even being hassled by taxi drivers and this of course was the one time we needed one. After walking the streets aimlessly for a while with no map, no clue of where to go and the sound of wild dogs growing closer we eventually found a man who (at the right price) offered to walk us to our accommodation. The following morning we woke to playful monkeys banging on our window and an amazing view of seemingly endless mountains.

Our first stop was a Bird park that interestingly only contained a few Geese, roosters and some locked up Pheasants and probably wasn’t worth the 25 rupees but nevertheless the baby gooslings were cute. We then weaved our way up the old English influenced streets that are dotted with cheeky (and sometimes aggressive) monkeys to the Indian Institute of Advanced Study. A friend had suggested I see the building and at the time I couldn’t help but wonder why I would want to visit another university but on reaching the magnificent building I understood her request.  Built in 1884, it looks like something straight out of a Harry Potter movie, surrounded by manicured gardens and incredible mountain views. We stayed here a while and walked around the quiet gardens taking in the views.

We then slowly made our way to the main street of Shimla, Mall Road. It is extremely British influenced with old English buildings lining the streets, children being led on ponies up and down the road and street sellers selling handicrafts and Indian sweets. We drank coffee in an old Indian coffee shop, and then watched the world cup cricket over lunch in a quiet but surprisingly well lit bar and restaurant (most of the bars are hidden away and dark). The streets of Shimla are immaculate due to a new law that forbids littering and surprisingly the town is hassle free. I even found bargaining for a pair of sunglasses to be relatively easy as much more laid back than in Punjab.

The following morning we took a train ride back down the mountain. It took five hours of twisting and turning through the most incredible scenery and views of Shimla. Shimla is vastly different to Punjab where we live and is almost like a different country. The diversity of this country never ceases to amaze me. It was definitely worth the trip and the perfect anecdote for a long and draining week.

The Geese and their goslings

Indian Institute of Advanced Study

A rooster at the Bird park

Hindu Monkey God, Hanuman

The view from our window

Some boys playing cricket stop to wave the train goodbye

Death strikes twice

I knew I would experience death in India. In a country so gripped by poverty, disease, illness and heartbreak I knew the experience of death would be inevitable. I just didn’t realise my experience would be so close to home and I certainly didn’t think it would strike twice in one day.

As soon as I heard the message come through on my phone, I knew it was mum. No Indian would be up that early sending text messages! My heart was racing before I’d even rolled out of bed and by the time I had read the message asking what time would be a good time to call I was covered in sweat. The moments between texting my mother back and her ringing felt like an eternity. Was it Grandma? Was it my niece or one of my brothers?

I soon learned that it was my grandmother. She had passed away during the night. I am not one of those ‘strong’ people when it comes to death and despite her being old and having led an amazing life, I sobbed like a child and desperately wanted to be beamed back to Australia to be with my family. I felt and still do feel tremendous guilt at not being able to say a proper goodbye to my much loved grandmother and be with my family in this time of grieving.

Nevertheless, I decided it would be pointless skipping class and went to the morning’s first lecture in hope of a distraction. Whilst waiting for the teacher to arrive I noticed an unusual amount of gossip and whispering taking place within the class. “Ssshhh don’t tell Kristen” someone whispered too loudly.

“Don’t tell me what?” I questioned.

A group of girls spun around and stared at me blankly. In the background someone mumbled the words “suicide” and the name of my friend, the ‘popular girl’ who I have often blogged about.

“What?” I demanded, going into an almost instant shock. Somewhere along the lines someone confirmed for me that yes my friend had indeed killed herself the night before.

The next few moments were a blur. I literally felt like I had stepped into a cartoon. My reaction to the news of my friend’s suicide was as foreign to me as the Punjabi language that was buzzing around the room. My head started to spin and all the noise around me went dull. I gasped for air, as though I was being choked. I was in complete and utter shock. Then the inconsolable tears came. I cried for a long time.

As anyone does when they lose someone to suicide, I have gone over and over in my head why such a talented, seemingly happy, popular girl would take her own life. I went over our last few conversations looking for hints but I could only come up with guilt. Guilt at not having been a better friend, guilt for not knowing that she was in trouble and guilt at rejecting her last dinner invitation by telling her I was too busy.

I have since found out that my friend poisoned herself after a supposed fight with her mother. I refuse to believe this to be the single cause. A single fight does not cause someone to take their own life and her own mother simply adored and worshipped her. I am not holding my breath waiting for the truth as it rarely emerges in places like India.

My friend’s death magnified the pain and grief I felt for my grandmothers death, I hope they both rest in peace or in my own belief be blessed with a good reincarnation. Goodbye and much love, Grandma and Tanu.

Wagah Border

Brent and I visited the Pakistan and Indian Wagah Boarder earlier this week. It is one of two tourist attractions in our state and with a day off and little else to do we took a short 2 hour bus ride, a very bumpy rickshaw drive and a very hot and squishy 1 hour car trip to the Pakistan border.

The border is known as the ‘Berlin Wall’ of Asia and each evening there is a retreat ceremony called the lowering of the flags. During the ceremony there is a parade by the Border Security force of India and the Pakistan Rangers Soldiers where the two sides literally take turns out-calling each other. The Indian soldiers line up on their side of the border and the Pakistanis do the same and one by one they take turns trying to shout the longest. This is then followed by an aggressive looking march towards the gate and eventually the lowering of the flags which all takes place while an unusually tall Indian man hypes up the crowd. As expected the crowd is segregated into men and women with a middle section reserved for foreigners.

After the ceremony we headed back to Amritsar to find something for dinner. Being close to the other main tourist attraction, the golden temple, there are only vegetarian food stalls and shops available but with Brent’s new ‘weight gain’ eating regime (due to losing 8kg from constant sickness) he was determined to find some chicken. Eventually we found a little old man who knew of a back street chicken shop and we negotiated with him 20 rupees (about 45c) to take us there on his rickshaw bicycle (basically a push bike with a seat for two attached to the back).

When we arrived we were surprised to find the tiny tucked away little shop buzzing and so we took a seat inside. After ordering we were equally surprised when the driver of the rickshaw bike came and joined us at our table. As our food arrived he leaned his scrawny body close to ours and ogled our food. “Mmm looks good, does it taste good?” he repeated several times. There was no way Brent was giving up his prized chicken but I looked at my humdrum vegetarian dhal and asked if he would like some. As I did he shrugged his shoulder and snatched the plate from me “Ok, if you’re not hungry” he replied and proceeded to eat the entire contents of dinner before leaving without a word.

Assuming the man was gone we paid the bill and set off to leave but our little friend was waiting outside keen to know where we wanted to go. After several attempts of trying to get rid of him we eventually gave in and reluctantly agreed to let him drive us to the bus stand. I say reluctantly because when we tried to negotiate the amount, he used the all too common phrase of “If you’re happy, I am happy” which is basically code for “I am going to rip you off severely once you get off my bike.” Sure enough when we got off the bike and gave him a very generous 55 rupees for a very short ride (but also for his persistence), he put on his best starvation face and said “only 55, I thought you were happy”. Getting a little more street smart or should I say ‘India smart’ we simply replied “yeah mate 55” and walked off ignoring his calls after us. The funny thing about many Indians is that when you give an inch they will at least try to take a mile.

As close as we will ever get to Pakistan

Indian Boarder Security Man

3rd from front - A very keen marcher

The Indian side - spot the female

The Pakistani side- again spot the female 

Lowering of the Indian and Pakitan flags

A proposal!

One of my closest Indian girlfriends was looking a little sheepish at uni today. I knew she was hiding something so I prodded her to tell me what was going on.

“I got engaged yesterday” she whispered in my ear.

“WHAT?” I screamed back a little too loudly, drawing attention to our private conversation. My friend and I had often discussed the possibility of her marriage. She is 26 years old, fair skinned, tall and gorgeous – perfect Indian marriage material but as far as we were both aware her parents had not seriously started looking and had no plans until after her graduation. I should point out here that a very large majority of Indian marriages are arranged and it is the parents’ duty to find a suitable candidate.

It all began the morning before. My friend had returned home for two days as we were having time off after our exams. She was woken on the second morning and told to get ready as a potential husband was coming to meet her. Nervous and excited she protested, insisting it was not enough time to get ready and scolded her mother for not telling her earlier but nevertheless dressed in her best Indian suit and awaited her potential husband.

Apparently the connection was instant. It would have had to have been as the entire meeting took 15 or 20 minutes. My friend informed me that under the watchful eyes of both sets of parents the handsome Hindu who works in the Navy asked her about her expectations. She informed him that he would need to respect her parents. I knew this would be her one and only answer as we had discussed and rehearsed this very conversation only weeks before whilst snuggled up in her bed one night.  She then asked him of his expectations and he replied that his wife must stand by him but have her own personality. He also informed her that he occasionally “takes alcohol” and is a ‘non-veg’ and she slyly and quietly informed that despite her Hindu religion, she occasionally did the same. I challenged her as to why she didn’t ask him further questions like his perspective on raising children or what he would do if they had a girl, but I knew as well as she did that these kinds of questions were inappropriate to ask a future husband and regardless of her opinion on the matters his and his families opinions will forever trump hers should they get married.

And that was that! It was a match made in heaven, they are of the same religion and caste and they liked the look of each other so their engagement will be announced shortly after our lectures finish on April 12^th. They are planning to marry in June which is brilliant for me as I will still be around to watch the nuptials.

It is in situations like this that I remember how different our two worlds are. Although I have known for a long time about arranged marriages in India and have even attended one, the reality of it is really magnified when it is a close friend doing the marrying.