Despite my occasional suspicions that I do in fact work in a zoo and not a school, Ihavandhoo Madharussa is a relatively prim and proper place where the students are well aware of what constitutes appropriate classroom chat. So you will understand my surprise when a usually well-behaved student caught me in a lesson and asked, “Teacher, are you going commando?”
There was a long pause as I cast about for a response. Then it dawned on me. “Ah. I think you mean ‘Am I going to Komandoo in Shaviany Atoll, on the Grade 12 school trip?’”
Said student has not yet lived down this linguistic faux pas and is unlikely to forgive me for recounting the story!
And so it was that Bella and I packed our bags once again and mustered at school at 3.30am on a Friday morning ready for a 24 hour trip to the tiny island of Komandhoo. Had it been any ordinary boat trip, Bella and I might have been a little resentful about getting up in the middle of the night to go to some unknown island, leaving behind our social circle for the weekend, especially as the weather forecast for the journey was not good. Beardy and the Big Man, who were not accompanying us on the trip, had informed us with a certain amount of glee that the sea would be very rough and we were almost certainly going to be very sick.
But this was not to be an ordinary boat trip. Ibrahim, affectionately known to us as Coach, and his boat Roadhi had been commandeered for the journey. If this wasn’t exciting enough, we arrived at the jetty to find our favourite volley team members - The Boy, Handbag Man, Ali Mansul and the Counsellor - had been called to active service as crew. Instead of leaving our friends behind for the weekend, we simply took them with us.
At this point I should tell you that messing about on boats is one of the occasions when it is awkward being an English girl. Bella and I didn’t feel in the least inclined to behave as expected of fair females, joining the Maldivian girls, huddled near the back, tending their sea sickness. Oh no. We wanted to join the fun up on the top deck with the boys. Initially our advances were met with suspicion but we soon demonstrated that we had our sea legs and were allowed to pass the six hour journey with the wind in our hair, singing songs with the grade 12 boys.
Sliding into Komandhoo harbour it looked as if the whole island had assembled on the jetty side to greet us. There ensued a considerable amount of handshaking as we disembarked the boat and made our way along the mile-long receiving line.
Given how long it had taken us to get to Komandhoo we were there for a remarkably short time and the programme was intense: lunch with our hosts, a tour of the school buildings (thrilling!), a boys’ volleyball match, tea, a girls’ netball match, dinner with our gracious hosts, late night coffee and an educational exchange meeting on Saturday morning. Amidst this hectic schedule, Bella and I found time to appreciate standard Maldivian madness. Our men’s volley team, who come in varying shapes and sizes, were issued with a one-size fits all kit for their match. The effect was comedy. While we were watching we also became aware of an army of women arriving at school to deliver hedhikaa (tea). The tea table visibly sagged under the weight of the food.
Having had a suitable amount of time to recover from tea, the girls re-grouped at school for the netball match. It was fast and furious. The was screaming, snatching and gnashing of teeth as the ball flew from one end of the court to the other and back again. Your corresponded, already in a certain amount of agony from a bad back, managed a quarter before hobbling off again, so it was Bella who tore up and down the court, mediating chaos and providing damage control. Our team prevailed and Bella was crowned queen of the match.
It was will a certain sense of relief that we headed back to the security of Roadhi and our beloved boat crew on Saturday morning. I am continually impressed by Maldivians’ ability to entertain themselves. The journey home took eight hours and was cold and wet, but the grade 12 boys sang and held court the whole way, while the girls slept, lined up at the back like a row of spoons. All in all it was a grand adventure. If only it had lasted a little bit longer.
TTFN dear readers xxx
Saturday 24 July 2010
Thursday 1 July 2010
Bella and Char-pants’ grand Maldivian tour
Having negotiated several intense weeks of school exams, marking, report writing, etc, Bella and I were looking forward to our term holiday and grand travel plans with rosy optimism. A week later, sitting at Hanhimadhoo airport, in the middle of a monsoon, unable to get home, we were feeling a little less rosy. It was at that point that I stopped to reflect on where we had been and what we had seen.
The holiday had been intricately planned to accommodate all our requirements: the need to get as far away from our lesson planners as possible; the desire to see other English people; access to alcohol; and the opportunity to purchase enormous quantities of cheese and other foodstuffs not available on our fair isle. As such the itinerary went something like this:
The first sign of trouble was the change of flight time. Never once have I flown on a Maldivian aeroplane that took off at the advertised time. No matter, this change allowed for extra time to purchase goodies for Shell and Luke in Male, and a long lunch. It was only once we had boarded the hour-long flight to Thinadhoo that I realised I perhaps shouldn’t have eaten quite so much lunch. For the next hour Bella watched me squirm in my seat and on reaching Thinadhoo I could be seen dashing through arrivals and straight into the Ladies loos.
Our hostess was charming and Thinadhoo seemed quite the metropolis compared to our cosy island. Everything seemed just so, until I turned on the bathroom taps and the over-powering smell of bad eggs issued-forth with the water. It seems that Thinadhoo sits on a particularly sulphurous reserve of ground water and every shower has the capacity to turn your stomach. Poor Shell and Luke.
Having enjoyed an otherwise pleasant weekend Bella and I set off once more for Male and more shopping. Given it’s the smallest capital city in the world it takes a remarkably long time to get around Male. And buying clothes is akin to charity shop shopping. For, you see, there are no high street shops. There are only independent shops, stocked with knock-offs and H&M seconds shipped in from Thailand. You have to sift and there’s no guarantee that anything will fit you. After several hot, frustrated hours we headed back to the airport island, armed with buckets of conditioner, ready to pick up the boat to the resort.
I have no doubt that when the sun is shining and the sea is calm Chaaya Island resort is perfectly lovely and offers a fabulous holiday. In the pouring rain it had rather less to offer. What it did have, in abundance, was buffet food and satellite TV. Bella and I set about making the best of a bad situation but after two soggy days we decided to call it quits and trade a final day of eating for another day of sifting in Male.
By this point Bella was being plagued by a vicious illness. Never before has Miss Willing been known to turn down a shopping trip. So when she asked to go home to bed I knew things were bad. Having duly deposited her in our hotel room I set out on my own to try to fulfil our extensive shopping list. By 11 pm I had bought half my body weight in cheese – mission more or less accomplished.
The phone call informing us that our flight home had been changed was not surprising. The phone call from Manafaru resort was. They wanted to know if their guests could have our seats on the plane! Certainly not. We had school the next day and anyway, it was the principle of the matter.
This was a mistake but it was only when we arrived at Hanimadhoo in gale-force winds and torrential rain that I realised it. Manafaru resort has the transport facilities to get its guests safely across the waters in even the fiercest monsoon. Ihavandhoo School does not.
So there we were. Stuck on Hanimadhoo, Bella crippled with pain and I with time for reflection.
We did get home eventually but we have learned a valuable lesson: never, ever try to go anywhere in rainy season.
The holiday had been intricately planned to accommodate all our requirements: the need to get as far away from our lesson planners as possible; the desire to see other English people; access to alcohol; and the opportunity to purchase enormous quantities of cheese and other foodstuffs not available on our fair isle. As such the itinerary went something like this:
- Fly to Malé from Hanimaadhoo, deposit bags and passport, shop for half a day
- Fly from Male to Thinadhoo for a three-day visit with Shell and Luke, two of the other IVP volunteers
- Fly back to Male and shop for another half a day, before being whisked away to a resort for a couple of days of rest and relaxation
- Return to Male and shop for two thirds of a day, prior to boarding a plane home, with plenty of time to plan and do the washing before starting school again
The first sign of trouble was the change of flight time. Never once have I flown on a Maldivian aeroplane that took off at the advertised time. No matter, this change allowed for extra time to purchase goodies for Shell and Luke in Male, and a long lunch. It was only once we had boarded the hour-long flight to Thinadhoo that I realised I perhaps shouldn’t have eaten quite so much lunch. For the next hour Bella watched me squirm in my seat and on reaching Thinadhoo I could be seen dashing through arrivals and straight into the Ladies loos.
Our hostess was charming and Thinadhoo seemed quite the metropolis compared to our cosy island. Everything seemed just so, until I turned on the bathroom taps and the over-powering smell of bad eggs issued-forth with the water. It seems that Thinadhoo sits on a particularly sulphurous reserve of ground water and every shower has the capacity to turn your stomach. Poor Shell and Luke.
Having enjoyed an otherwise pleasant weekend Bella and I set off once more for Male and more shopping. Given it’s the smallest capital city in the world it takes a remarkably long time to get around Male. And buying clothes is akin to charity shop shopping. For, you see, there are no high street shops. There are only independent shops, stocked with knock-offs and H&M seconds shipped in from Thailand. You have to sift and there’s no guarantee that anything will fit you. After several hot, frustrated hours we headed back to the airport island, armed with buckets of conditioner, ready to pick up the boat to the resort.
I have no doubt that when the sun is shining and the sea is calm Chaaya Island resort is perfectly lovely and offers a fabulous holiday. In the pouring rain it had rather less to offer. What it did have, in abundance, was buffet food and satellite TV. Bella and I set about making the best of a bad situation but after two soggy days we decided to call it quits and trade a final day of eating for another day of sifting in Male.
By this point Bella was being plagued by a vicious illness. Never before has Miss Willing been known to turn down a shopping trip. So when she asked to go home to bed I knew things were bad. Having duly deposited her in our hotel room I set out on my own to try to fulfil our extensive shopping list. By 11 pm I had bought half my body weight in cheese – mission more or less accomplished.
The phone call informing us that our flight home had been changed was not surprising. The phone call from Manafaru resort was. They wanted to know if their guests could have our seats on the plane! Certainly not. We had school the next day and anyway, it was the principle of the matter.
This was a mistake but it was only when we arrived at Hanimadhoo in gale-force winds and torrential rain that I realised it. Manafaru resort has the transport facilities to get its guests safely across the waters in even the fiercest monsoon. Ihavandhoo School does not.
So there we were. Stuck on Hanimadhoo, Bella crippled with pain and I with time for reflection.
We did get home eventually but we have learned a valuable lesson: never, ever try to go anywhere in rainy season.
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