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.
Tuesday, 18 May 2010
Failure in transmission
Greetings dear readers. Just when I though it wasn’t possible for life to get any more busy, the school events calendar decided to show us what it was really capable of. A month later, looking somewhat worse for wear, and feeling a little weak, I have re-emerged from the hefty pile of extra-curricular events and activities under which I have been buried. This, and my recent failure to pay our internet bill, is the explanation for the lack of blogging activity over the last month. Sincerest apologies.
The blame for our ridiculously busy life does not lie solely with school. In a moment of foolish enthusiasm, spurred on by a heady weekend watching house volleyball, Bella and I decided to get involved with daily volleyball practice down the road. Naively, I thought we might be able to go along to volley sessions a couple of times a week, revive some long-forgotten volley skills and play as equals with our Maldivian friends. How wrong I was. It quickly became apparent that if I had ever had any volleyball skills they were now completely gone and I had no idea what to do.
Determined not to be defeated, the subsequent weeks have seen us bumped, bruised and broken as our team mates have done their best to transform us into reasonable players. After three weeks Bella made the team. I made it to the health centre where the doctor searched the poorly equipped building for something with which to splint my deformed fingers. As I type, two weeks later, I am still intrigued by the lump adorning the joint of my little finger.
The most recent event in the calendar took place just last night: the annual Ihavandhoo School prize giving ceremony. To mark the occasion, staff were asked to wear light blue and the matter of mine and Bella’s outfits was addressed directly. It was made clear that a half-hearted effort with a light blue T-shirt was not going to cut the mustard. New clothes were going to be required. After a week of creative discussions, negotiations, fabric shopping and pattern cutting, Mama Chief, our esteemed land lady, presented us with our new clothes. We were delighted and only slightly perturbed by the idea of wearing synthetic crushed velvet in 30 degree heat.
My gratitude lasted until about an hour into the four-hour ceremony when I became conscious of just how itchy I was. By the end I didn’t know what to do with myself and had to make a hasty exit to run home and get undressed. It seems I am allergic to my dress. I look like I’ve fallen into a nettle patch: I’m now covered in enormous red welts and I’m intensely itchy all over. Not a good look and definitely not fit for public consumption. As such, I have enjoyed the first quiet day at home for many weeks – a small blessing in a pink and lumpy disguise.
And so the sun sets on yet another extraordinary day. Until next time dear readers, TTFN xx.
The blame for our ridiculously busy life does not lie solely with school. In a moment of foolish enthusiasm, spurred on by a heady weekend watching house volleyball, Bella and I decided to get involved with daily volleyball practice down the road. Naively, I thought we might be able to go along to volley sessions a couple of times a week, revive some long-forgotten volley skills and play as equals with our Maldivian friends. How wrong I was. It quickly became apparent that if I had ever had any volleyball skills they were now completely gone and I had no idea what to do.
Determined not to be defeated, the subsequent weeks have seen us bumped, bruised and broken as our team mates have done their best to transform us into reasonable players. After three weeks Bella made the team. I made it to the health centre where the doctor searched the poorly equipped building for something with which to splint my deformed fingers. As I type, two weeks later, I am still intrigued by the lump adorning the joint of my little finger.
The most recent event in the calendar took place just last night: the annual Ihavandhoo School prize giving ceremony. To mark the occasion, staff were asked to wear light blue and the matter of mine and Bella’s outfits was addressed directly. It was made clear that a half-hearted effort with a light blue T-shirt was not going to cut the mustard. New clothes were going to be required. After a week of creative discussions, negotiations, fabric shopping and pattern cutting, Mama Chief, our esteemed land lady, presented us with our new clothes. We were delighted and only slightly perturbed by the idea of wearing synthetic crushed velvet in 30 degree heat.
My gratitude lasted until about an hour into the four-hour ceremony when I became conscious of just how itchy I was. By the end I didn’t know what to do with myself and had to make a hasty exit to run home and get undressed. It seems I am allergic to my dress. I look like I’ve fallen into a nettle patch: I’m now covered in enormous red welts and I’m intensely itchy all over. Not a good look and definitely not fit for public consumption. As such, I have enjoyed the first quiet day at home for many weeks – a small blessing in a pink and lumpy disguise.
And so the sun sets on yet another extraordinary day. Until next time dear readers, TTFN xx.
Sunday, 11 April 2010
Resolution report
Well, I’m not going to have any trouble keeping my new term resolution, to tell you more about school, this week. I’ve barely been allowed out of the place, and then only to eat and sleep. For, in addition to a fulfilling academic timetable, we have had to negotiate a packed schedule of school events and functions - every night.
School functions tend to follow a standard format involving a welcome, a Powerpoint presentation (guaranteed to contribute a technical hitch), several lengthy speeches, an entertainment item, an effusive vote of thanks and (if you’re lucky and still standing) refreshments at the end of the evening.
Before the working week had even started we were in school helping the Scouts to say thank you to anyone and everyone who had helped out on their Scout camp. Little did we know that this 2 hour celebration was merely the warm-up act for all that was to follow. On an island where very little ever happens it is perfectly acceptable to plan an event, announce it and issue invitations less than 24 hours before the event is due to commence.
Had I known what was coming I might have thought twice before spending the whole of Saturday planning, marking, and generally faffing about in school. For her part, Bella didn’t have much choice. As assistant co-ordinator of the Health and Environmental Club, her big moment, in the form of World Health Day, was imminent and banners had to be made. She spent a happy day lying on her tummy on the floor of a classroom making giant stencils with the ever-handy Scouts. There was just time to pop home for a fake-cheese sandwich before we were due back at school for a PTA meeting. It ran for THREE hours and was conducted exclusively in Dhevehi. I went prepared, armed with a good book. Poor Bella however, had nothing. We staggered home at midnight and crawled into bed, heavy with the knowledge that we’d be up again in just six hours.
Sunday morning brought with it tiredness, my normal Sunday classes and the news that my head of department had succumbed to a disgusting cold and was too poorly to teach. Cue a cover lesson for his Grade 10 class. In the evening Bella headed to school and so did I. The trouble with giving your students work to do is that you have to mark it afterwards. Legal addictive stimulants required to get me through day one: two coffees and a diet coke.
On the surface of it, Monday had the makings of a normal day but it was not to be. Having signed the substitution book at 6.50am, committing myself to teaching another of poorly Isaac’s classes, I made a dash to the power house on the other side of the island to pay the electricity bill. By break time I was exhausted and by lunch I was practically on the floor. Having received the news that Grade 11 were having a parents’ evening on Tuesday, Monday evening saw me back in school writing comments. Legal addictive stimulants required to get me through day two: two coffees, a diet coke and a nap.
By Tuesday we were seriously flagging. After a relatively successful parents’ evening on my part, and hours of World health Day planning on Bella’s, Sobah took us out for fried noodles, since we had no food in the house, nor the will to cook it. Legal addictive stimulants required to get me through day three: two coffees, a diet coke, two paracetamol and a nap.
On Wednesday morning we were up at five. Not content with a full evening of activities to mark World Health Day, the principal had decided to add an early assembly to the proceedings. By six we were assembled, by seven we were in the classroom and by eight most of us were ready for bed again. In the evening we rallied and came out in support for Bella and Sobah and their grand World Health Day celebrations. It was quite an evening. The event took another THREE hours but Bella’s Dhevehi speech went down a storm. Legal addictive stimulants required to get me through day four: two coffees, a diet coke, four paracetamol and a nap.
Thursday dawn and extreme exhaustion was mingled with relief. Just 5 lessons, a session meeting and two teacher English classes to get through before the weekend brought sleep. We were granted a reprieve from teacher English classes by the house volleyball tournament. All week Hamid and ‘Domenich’ had been seen racing up and down the island trying to coax gaggles of girls into some semblance of a volleyball team. House sports tournaments are taken very seriously and every house wants to win. Coaching had been employed with varying degrees of success and at one stage I’m pretty sure I saw Hamid with his head in his hands.
Opening night of the tournament was, of course, an event but one at which the shattered Bella and I could merely sit back and enjoy watching our school community hurl itself into action yet again. Legal addictive stimulants required to get me through day five: three coffees, more paracetamol and three hours of Gossip Girl.
So, you see? It’s been an epic week. The tireless energy of our friends and colleagues has been impressive and at times I think we’ve questioned their sanity. But we have survived and have never felt more a part of the school.
If I am still alive to tell the tale next week, I will impart more of the madness of Ihavandhoo School life. But for now, dear readers, it’s midnight and I’m going night fishing.
TTFN xx
School functions tend to follow a standard format involving a welcome, a Powerpoint presentation (guaranteed to contribute a technical hitch), several lengthy speeches, an entertainment item, an effusive vote of thanks and (if you’re lucky and still standing) refreshments at the end of the evening.
Before the working week had even started we were in school helping the Scouts to say thank you to anyone and everyone who had helped out on their Scout camp. Little did we know that this 2 hour celebration was merely the warm-up act for all that was to follow. On an island where very little ever happens it is perfectly acceptable to plan an event, announce it and issue invitations less than 24 hours before the event is due to commence.
Had I known what was coming I might have thought twice before spending the whole of Saturday planning, marking, and generally faffing about in school. For her part, Bella didn’t have much choice. As assistant co-ordinator of the Health and Environmental Club, her big moment, in the form of World Health Day, was imminent and banners had to be made. She spent a happy day lying on her tummy on the floor of a classroom making giant stencils with the ever-handy Scouts. There was just time to pop home for a fake-cheese sandwich before we were due back at school for a PTA meeting. It ran for THREE hours and was conducted exclusively in Dhevehi. I went prepared, armed with a good book. Poor Bella however, had nothing. We staggered home at midnight and crawled into bed, heavy with the knowledge that we’d be up again in just six hours.
Sunday morning brought with it tiredness, my normal Sunday classes and the news that my head of department had succumbed to a disgusting cold and was too poorly to teach. Cue a cover lesson for his Grade 10 class. In the evening Bella headed to school and so did I. The trouble with giving your students work to do is that you have to mark it afterwards. Legal addictive stimulants required to get me through day one: two coffees and a diet coke.
On the surface of it, Monday had the makings of a normal day but it was not to be. Having signed the substitution book at 6.50am, committing myself to teaching another of poorly Isaac’s classes, I made a dash to the power house on the other side of the island to pay the electricity bill. By break time I was exhausted and by lunch I was practically on the floor. Having received the news that Grade 11 were having a parents’ evening on Tuesday, Monday evening saw me back in school writing comments. Legal addictive stimulants required to get me through day two: two coffees, a diet coke and a nap.
By Tuesday we were seriously flagging. After a relatively successful parents’ evening on my part, and hours of World health Day planning on Bella’s, Sobah took us out for fried noodles, since we had no food in the house, nor the will to cook it. Legal addictive stimulants required to get me through day three: two coffees, a diet coke, two paracetamol and a nap.
On Wednesday morning we were up at five. Not content with a full evening of activities to mark World Health Day, the principal had decided to add an early assembly to the proceedings. By six we were assembled, by seven we were in the classroom and by eight most of us were ready for bed again. In the evening we rallied and came out in support for Bella and Sobah and their grand World Health Day celebrations. It was quite an evening. The event took another THREE hours but Bella’s Dhevehi speech went down a storm. Legal addictive stimulants required to get me through day four: two coffees, a diet coke, four paracetamol and a nap.
Thursday dawn and extreme exhaustion was mingled with relief. Just 5 lessons, a session meeting and two teacher English classes to get through before the weekend brought sleep. We were granted a reprieve from teacher English classes by the house volleyball tournament. All week Hamid and ‘Domenich’ had been seen racing up and down the island trying to coax gaggles of girls into some semblance of a volleyball team. House sports tournaments are taken very seriously and every house wants to win. Coaching had been employed with varying degrees of success and at one stage I’m pretty sure I saw Hamid with his head in his hands.
Opening night of the tournament was, of course, an event but one at which the shattered Bella and I could merely sit back and enjoy watching our school community hurl itself into action yet again. Legal addictive stimulants required to get me through day five: three coffees, more paracetamol and three hours of Gossip Girl.
So, you see? It’s been an epic week. The tireless energy of our friends and colleagues has been impressive and at times I think we’ve questioned their sanity. But we have survived and have never felt more a part of the school.
If I am still alive to tell the tale next week, I will impart more of the madness of Ihavandhoo School life. But for now, dear readers, it’s midnight and I’m going night fishing.
TTFN xx
Thursday, 1 April 2010
Rats, rosaries and resolutions
The time has rolled around once more for another blog post and I have been pondering what to write about. I started to compose my thoughts in bed last night, which is always a bad idea. As the sentences took shape, so sleep escaped me and my brain kicked back into action. Not good with only seven hours to go until the alarm went off.
The journey back from Dubai was relatively uneventful, although my friend Fuad nearly gave himself a hernia carrying my two tonne suitcase up three flights of stairs in Male. Arriving back in Ihavandhoo at 1 am, I was just in time to bump into the Big Man and Beardy on the jetty and was roundly scolded by Beardy for not having phoned ahead to arrange a small army to cart my copious belongings back to the house.
For some time now I have suspected that the previous occupants of my bedroom were a family of rats. There have been small amounts of tell-tale evidence and a rather strong smell of rat wee. Two weeks without airing and the smell was overpowering, so upon my return I decided that the time had come to take action. I called for reinforcements and together Bella and I moved my extraordinarily heavy mattress. Suspicions were confirmed, for the floor underneath was littered with rat droppings – and a squashed cockroach to boot. Curiously, we also found a rosary down there – strange in an entirely Muslim country. Once we’d recovered our composure we cleaned up, replaced the mattress and Bella threw the rosary back for good measure. I’m pleased to report that the smell in my bedroom is now vastly improved.
Since then it has been all go getting ready for school and jumping back into a full timetable. A friend commented the other day that I never write about school. This certainly isn’t due to lack of interesting material or because I’m not enjoying it. So this half term I have resolved to tell you a little bit more about the madness that takes place in my classroom daily.
We’ve got off to a relatively good start this week. I decided to plan a mini topic on clothing and fashion but both fashion and western clothing are somewhat scarce here. Not to be defeated, I scoured our old magazines for Muslim-friendly pictures of models to use as props. Having run the pictures past the relevant authorities I took them into the classroom where they were greeted by a mixture of horror and delight; horror mainly from the girls and delight mainly from the boys. They have, however, served their purpose as today 10C, ordinarily a rather lively bunch, worked in absolute silence on their fashion articles for a grand total of 35 minutes, setting themselves a new hard-work record.
More tales anon but for now I must stop. The crows are making an almighty racket in the palm tree, so I’m off to find my air gun. Just kidding.
TTFN xx
The journey back from Dubai was relatively uneventful, although my friend Fuad nearly gave himself a hernia carrying my two tonne suitcase up three flights of stairs in Male. Arriving back in Ihavandhoo at 1 am, I was just in time to bump into the Big Man and Beardy on the jetty and was roundly scolded by Beardy for not having phoned ahead to arrange a small army to cart my copious belongings back to the house.
For some time now I have suspected that the previous occupants of my bedroom were a family of rats. There have been small amounts of tell-tale evidence and a rather strong smell of rat wee. Two weeks without airing and the smell was overpowering, so upon my return I decided that the time had come to take action. I called for reinforcements and together Bella and I moved my extraordinarily heavy mattress. Suspicions were confirmed, for the floor underneath was littered with rat droppings – and a squashed cockroach to boot. Curiously, we also found a rosary down there – strange in an entirely Muslim country. Once we’d recovered our composure we cleaned up, replaced the mattress and Bella threw the rosary back for good measure. I’m pleased to report that the smell in my bedroom is now vastly improved.
Since then it has been all go getting ready for school and jumping back into a full timetable. A friend commented the other day that I never write about school. This certainly isn’t due to lack of interesting material or because I’m not enjoying it. So this half term I have resolved to tell you a little bit more about the madness that takes place in my classroom daily.
We’ve got off to a relatively good start this week. I decided to plan a mini topic on clothing and fashion but both fashion and western clothing are somewhat scarce here. Not to be defeated, I scoured our old magazines for Muslim-friendly pictures of models to use as props. Having run the pictures past the relevant authorities I took them into the classroom where they were greeted by a mixture of horror and delight; horror mainly from the girls and delight mainly from the boys. They have, however, served their purpose as today 10C, ordinarily a rather lively bunch, worked in absolute silence on their fashion articles for a grand total of 35 minutes, setting themselves a new hard-work record.
More tales anon but for now I must stop. The crows are making an almighty racket in the palm tree, so I’m off to find my air gun. Just kidding.
TTFN xx
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
Pause... for consideration
This blog post is brought to you from a sun lounger by the pool of the Shangri- La resort, Muscat, Oman. That’s right dear readers; I have escaped my desert island for a week, set off on my travels to the Arabian Gulf and my Maldivian friends are all terribly worried that I’m not coming back! They needn’t fear. Dubai is shiny, Oman stunning and the Bank of Mum and Dad affords a very nice lifestyle but Ihavandhoo holds a fond place in my heart and I’m not ready to give it up just yet.
Since mid-term break is upon us I feel the moment has come to pause and take stock of events so far. So this week’s offering is to be a round-up of our antics, in which we shall discover that there is so much more to baked beans than we realised, that the journey to Kulhudhuffushi takes a jolly long time, and exactly how the principal split his trousers...
Looking back, I’d say our Maldivian antics truly began the night of the inaugural meeting of the Ihavandhoo School Staff Recreation Club, about two weeks after our arrival. To her horror, and my gleeful delight, Bella was nominated and voted in as co-ordinator of the club and promptly became embroiled in the organisation of the staff picnic to an uninhabited island, which was scheduled for the weekend of 30th January.
The eve of the picnic dawned with much excitement and anticipation, until an ill-timed circular (everybody loves a good circular until it brings bad tidings) went round ordering all local teachers to attend an island meeting the next day. Picnic postponed, excitement evaporated and we were left twiddling our thumbs, feeling oddly bereft. The disappointment only lasted until one of the boys suggested we go fishing with them instead. Excitement re-ignited.
Bella and I love boats. The pair of us is rarely happier or more relaxed than when we are bobbing about in a wooden tub, warm water and clear skies around us, so we thoroughly enjoyed our first fishing and snorkelling expedition. Even as I lay stranded on the edge of the boat, without the strength to pull myself up, and looking not unlike a beached whale, I think I enjoyed myself.
Having endured the disappointment of one false start, we anticipated the re-scheduled staff picnic with more guarded enthusiasm. But the day arrived and Areeb appeared on our doorstep at ten to six, a sure sign that all was go. You might have been forgiven for thinking the whole island was attending the staff picnic, for the provisions were abundant. It therefore took some time to load everyone and everything on to assorted sea-going vessels but eventually we got away.
The uninhabited island was exquisite. Unspoilt, with white sand, trees for shade, and a shallow lagoon stretching right out to the edge of the reef. The perfect spot to pass a day.
Maldivians don’t take picnicking lightly. Forget sand-filled sandwiches and crisps. We started the day with coffee and prawn-based breakfast snacks aboard the boat before congregating for roshi and ‘bake-ed beans’ around 9.30. Bake-ed beans are so much more than the humble baked bean. Add chilli, vegetables and dried fish and you’ll be somewhere near this culinary delight. A snorkelling sortie worked up an appetite for a hearty lunch, which, in turn, provided us with enough energy for a rather boistress game of water-piggy-in-the-middle. The principal it seems was playing so enthusiastically that his shorts, already under considerable strain, finally gave up the fight and split up the seam. Bella’s sarong had to be drafted in to preserve his modesty.
We made our way home as the sun was setting, tired but happy having had a thoroughly enjoyable day.
Our next excursion from our beloved island was a trip to Kulhudhuffushi to visit Ali, fellow volunteer and friend. It take three hours to get to Kulhudhuffushi by ferry, leaving at sunrise, but the joys of vegetables, cheese and bread were sufficient to get Bella and I out of bed at half past five and to the jetty ready to board the ferry. Kulhudhuffushi has the nearest hospital, so the ferry was somewhere between maternity ward and geriatric unit. Fellow inmates included 3 newborn babies, a spectacularly seasick toddler and a poor old lady who looked as if she needed both knees and hips replacing. Dolphins provided a welcome distraction on a couple of occasions and we arrived at Kulhudhuffushi feeling that the journey had been worthwhile.
Compared to Ihavandhoo, Kulhudhuffushi seemed huge and slightly daunting. It actually takes time to get places and there’s a wide main road running from one side of the island to the other. There are even taxis. Once over the initial shock of being on an island larger than a postage stamp, we got moving. Ali whisked us round the shops and treated us to an episode of Sex and the City. The ferry home was due to depart almost before we’d arrived, so there was just time for a lunch of cheese toasties before we had to head back to the jetty and assume our positions for the journey back, clutching our loaves of bread victoriously.
As ever, I could go on. There are entertaining events on a daily basis but I think I must stop. Happy hour is about to commence in the cocktail bar and with 10 dry weeks stretching ahead of me I intend to make the most of it.
Until next time dear readers, farewell. x
Since mid-term break is upon us I feel the moment has come to pause and take stock of events so far. So this week’s offering is to be a round-up of our antics, in which we shall discover that there is so much more to baked beans than we realised, that the journey to Kulhudhuffushi takes a jolly long time, and exactly how the principal split his trousers...
Looking back, I’d say our Maldivian antics truly began the night of the inaugural meeting of the Ihavandhoo School Staff Recreation Club, about two weeks after our arrival. To her horror, and my gleeful delight, Bella was nominated and voted in as co-ordinator of the club and promptly became embroiled in the organisation of the staff picnic to an uninhabited island, which was scheduled for the weekend of 30th January.
The eve of the picnic dawned with much excitement and anticipation, until an ill-timed circular (everybody loves a good circular until it brings bad tidings) went round ordering all local teachers to attend an island meeting the next day. Picnic postponed, excitement evaporated and we were left twiddling our thumbs, feeling oddly bereft. The disappointment only lasted until one of the boys suggested we go fishing with them instead. Excitement re-ignited.
Bella and I love boats. The pair of us is rarely happier or more relaxed than when we are bobbing about in a wooden tub, warm water and clear skies around us, so we thoroughly enjoyed our first fishing and snorkelling expedition. Even as I lay stranded on the edge of the boat, without the strength to pull myself up, and looking not unlike a beached whale, I think I enjoyed myself.
Having endured the disappointment of one false start, we anticipated the re-scheduled staff picnic with more guarded enthusiasm. But the day arrived and Areeb appeared on our doorstep at ten to six, a sure sign that all was go. You might have been forgiven for thinking the whole island was attending the staff picnic, for the provisions were abundant. It therefore took some time to load everyone and everything on to assorted sea-going vessels but eventually we got away.
The uninhabited island was exquisite. Unspoilt, with white sand, trees for shade, and a shallow lagoon stretching right out to the edge of the reef. The perfect spot to pass a day.
Maldivians don’t take picnicking lightly. Forget sand-filled sandwiches and crisps. We started the day with coffee and prawn-based breakfast snacks aboard the boat before congregating for roshi and ‘bake-ed beans’ around 9.30. Bake-ed beans are so much more than the humble baked bean. Add chilli, vegetables and dried fish and you’ll be somewhere near this culinary delight. A snorkelling sortie worked up an appetite for a hearty lunch, which, in turn, provided us with enough energy for a rather boistress game of water-piggy-in-the-middle. The principal it seems was playing so enthusiastically that his shorts, already under considerable strain, finally gave up the fight and split up the seam. Bella’s sarong had to be drafted in to preserve his modesty.
We made our way home as the sun was setting, tired but happy having had a thoroughly enjoyable day.
Our next excursion from our beloved island was a trip to Kulhudhuffushi to visit Ali, fellow volunteer and friend. It take three hours to get to Kulhudhuffushi by ferry, leaving at sunrise, but the joys of vegetables, cheese and bread were sufficient to get Bella and I out of bed at half past five and to the jetty ready to board the ferry. Kulhudhuffushi has the nearest hospital, so the ferry was somewhere between maternity ward and geriatric unit. Fellow inmates included 3 newborn babies, a spectacularly seasick toddler and a poor old lady who looked as if she needed both knees and hips replacing. Dolphins provided a welcome distraction on a couple of occasions and we arrived at Kulhudhuffushi feeling that the journey had been worthwhile.
Compared to Ihavandhoo, Kulhudhuffushi seemed huge and slightly daunting. It actually takes time to get places and there’s a wide main road running from one side of the island to the other. There are even taxis. Once over the initial shock of being on an island larger than a postage stamp, we got moving. Ali whisked us round the shops and treated us to an episode of Sex and the City. The ferry home was due to depart almost before we’d arrived, so there was just time for a lunch of cheese toasties before we had to head back to the jetty and assume our positions for the journey back, clutching our loaves of bread victoriously.
As ever, I could go on. There are entertaining events on a daily basis but I think I must stop. Happy hour is about to commence in the cocktail bar and with 10 dry weeks stretching ahead of me I intend to make the most of it.
Until next time dear readers, farewell. x
Friday, 5 March 2010
Ihavandhoo: a tourist’s guide
Guide books about the Maldives are relatively hard to come by and it’s virtually impossible to learn anything useful about the upper-northern province. So, your local correspondent feels it is time to put Ihavandhoo on the map with a comprehensive guide to our delightful island.
Getting started
Located on the west side of Haa Alif, the northern-most atoll of the Maldives, Ihavandhoo is home to a thriving community of around 3000 inhabitants. After being somewhat neglected for several decades, Ihavandhoo only got electricity and street lighting three years ago.
Fishing is a lucrative business here, with fisherman from Ihavandhoo supplying a substantial proportion of the Maldives tuna exports. As a result, life is comfortable for most islanders and drugs, which have cast a shadow over many Maldivian islands, have not become a problem here.
Visitors to the island are few and far between and foreigners (save for a single Nepalese shop worker) are almost unheard of. Your correspondent’s arrival on the island provoked many astounded looks and a general sense of bewilderment. However, don’t let that put you off. This is an island just waiting to be explored.
Places of interest
Maldivians are mad for football, volleyball and badminton. On any given weekend it’s highly likely that will be a school house sports tournament taking place. These make for good viewing if you’re prepared to get up at six in the morning. Otherwise, Grade 11 boys play football on the dirt pitch at 5pm every afternoon until sunset, although they're not that keen on spectators.
Sitting is an entirely legitimate form of entertainment here. Every household owns a joli, net seats slung on rectangular frames of four or five. They play the same role as park benches but are considerably easier to move and a very sociable way to sit. As an occupant of a joli it is possible to sit and do next to nothing for an incredible length of time.
As a guest on the island you will probably be invited to go fishing. Be sure to take up this offer, even if the trip is due to commence in just ten minutes and you have a whole list of other things you are supposed to be doing, because the invitation might not be repeated. Take sun cream because the sun is fierce and Maldivians have no shame in laughing at you if you come back looking like a lobster.
Shopping
The other places that hold enormous interest for your correspondent are the shops. Fashion doesn’t hold high importance here, so we’re not talking clothes shops but that’s ok because food is much more exciting. The Big Shop (a nick name given by us) is, as the name suggests, the biggest shop on the island and a hub for the community. Shop here for rice, bottled water, juice and biscuits. When it has them, Big Shop’s fruit and vegetables are good but you’ll have to be quick as a vegetable delivery usually generates something of a stampede.
If the Big Shop fails you, other options include the Treasure Trove, for all those things you never imagined you could buy here; the Diet Coke shop, handy for its mysterious stash of Diet Coke, which is otherwise impossible to get in the Maldives; and the Corner Shop, so called because it’s on the corner of our street and it never has exactly what you want, although it can usually supply the next best thing.
Should you need to buy clothes, or any household items, there are a number of small shops where you can purchase a random assortment of clothes, fabric, kitchen utensils and building supplies. A local friend has told us that these shops run a sort of mail order service for clothing. You go into the shop and choose what you want from a catalogue and the shop owner will send to Male for the item on your behalf. This, we suspect, is how Hamid came to be wearing Dockers pants (trousers) and the rest of the guys came to own Lacoste polo shirts.
Eating out
Ihavandhoo boasts five different cafes, known to Maldivians as hotels. We’d give you names and addresses but you’re probably better off just asking an islander to point you in the direction of the cafe most suited to your demographic. Our recommendations are Mini Tea and the one with the outdoor tables and pretty umbrellas round the back.
On the menu: fried rice, fried noodles and hedhikaa (short eats). We’d like to assure you that all the cafes use the finest, fresh ingredients but it simply isn’t true, so we won’t. What is true is that a plate of fried noodles is an experience you are never likely to forget if you have a low tolerance for chilli.
To drink order coke, juice, tea (with a heap of sugar), milk coffee or a Lavazza coffee, of which the owner is very proud. Alcohol is strictly forbidden on inhabited islands, so none of that thank you.
Getting around
Given that the island is only 800 metres across, visitors are best advised to walk round Ihavandhoo. Flip flops are the most appropriate footwear as the roads are all made of sand and closed shoes tend to fill up with grit rather rapidly.
Should you find yourself unable to walk, or in too much of a hurry, ask an obliging friend to lend you a bicycle or give you a ride on the back of his motorbike. The bike may well be child-sized but nobody here will care how ridiculous you look cycling about with your legs wrapped round your ears. A wheel barrow can be commandeered should you wish to transport anything heavier than a shopping bag.
Only got 24 hours? Here’s how to spend it:
Getting started
Located on the west side of Haa Alif, the northern-most atoll of the Maldives, Ihavandhoo is home to a thriving community of around 3000 inhabitants. After being somewhat neglected for several decades, Ihavandhoo only got electricity and street lighting three years ago.
Fishing is a lucrative business here, with fisherman from Ihavandhoo supplying a substantial proportion of the Maldives tuna exports. As a result, life is comfortable for most islanders and drugs, which have cast a shadow over many Maldivian islands, have not become a problem here.
Visitors to the island are few and far between and foreigners (save for a single Nepalese shop worker) are almost unheard of. Your correspondent’s arrival on the island provoked many astounded looks and a general sense of bewilderment. However, don’t let that put you off. This is an island just waiting to be explored.
Places of interest
- The Mosques: there are five mosques for the men and a similar number of smaller mosques for the women. They are beautiful and essential to our conservative Muslim community. Call to prayer takes place 5 times a day, starting at 5.15 am.
- The Jetty: nice for a stroll, some people watching, bumping into friends and watching a spectacular sunset.
- The Beach: white sand, turquoise seas and palm trees for shade. Actual paradise, as long as you disregard the assortment of fish heads, rusty tin cans, broken flip flops and nappies that litter the shore. We recommend the east side of the island because it smells better and there aren’t quite so many flies.
- The Island Office: the centre of government for our small community. The mobile bank rocks up here every so often and it doubles as a post office from which the sporadic post is delivered.
- Ihavandhoo School: if the island office isn’t the centre of the community, then the school certainly is. Opening hours are 6.30am to 9.00pm every day except Fridays. At all times you’ll find a gentle thrum of activity.
- The Court House: fortunately your correspondent has little knowledge of the workings of this building.
- The Power House and the Ice Plant: now we’re really scraping the barrel...
Sitting is an entirely legitimate form of entertainment here. Every household owns a joli, net seats slung on rectangular frames of four or five. They play the same role as park benches but are considerably easier to move and a very sociable way to sit. As an occupant of a joli it is possible to sit and do next to nothing for an incredible length of time.
As a guest on the island you will probably be invited to go fishing. Be sure to take up this offer, even if the trip is due to commence in just ten minutes and you have a whole list of other things you are supposed to be doing, because the invitation might not be repeated. Take sun cream because the sun is fierce and Maldivians have no shame in laughing at you if you come back looking like a lobster.
Shopping
The other places that hold enormous interest for your correspondent are the shops. Fashion doesn’t hold high importance here, so we’re not talking clothes shops but that’s ok because food is much more exciting. The Big Shop (a nick name given by us) is, as the name suggests, the biggest shop on the island and a hub for the community. Shop here for rice, bottled water, juice and biscuits. When it has them, Big Shop’s fruit and vegetables are good but you’ll have to be quick as a vegetable delivery usually generates something of a stampede.
If the Big Shop fails you, other options include the Treasure Trove, for all those things you never imagined you could buy here; the Diet Coke shop, handy for its mysterious stash of Diet Coke, which is otherwise impossible to get in the Maldives; and the Corner Shop, so called because it’s on the corner of our street and it never has exactly what you want, although it can usually supply the next best thing.
Should you need to buy clothes, or any household items, there are a number of small shops where you can purchase a random assortment of clothes, fabric, kitchen utensils and building supplies. A local friend has told us that these shops run a sort of mail order service for clothing. You go into the shop and choose what you want from a catalogue and the shop owner will send to Male for the item on your behalf. This, we suspect, is how Hamid came to be wearing Dockers pants (trousers) and the rest of the guys came to own Lacoste polo shirts.
Eating out
Ihavandhoo boasts five different cafes, known to Maldivians as hotels. We’d give you names and addresses but you’re probably better off just asking an islander to point you in the direction of the cafe most suited to your demographic. Our recommendations are Mini Tea and the one with the outdoor tables and pretty umbrellas round the back.
On the menu: fried rice, fried noodles and hedhikaa (short eats). We’d like to assure you that all the cafes use the finest, fresh ingredients but it simply isn’t true, so we won’t. What is true is that a plate of fried noodles is an experience you are never likely to forget if you have a low tolerance for chilli.
To drink order coke, juice, tea (with a heap of sugar), milk coffee or a Lavazza coffee, of which the owner is very proud. Alcohol is strictly forbidden on inhabited islands, so none of that thank you.
Getting around
Should you find yourself unable to walk, or in too much of a hurry, ask an obliging friend to lend you a bicycle or give you a ride on the back of his motorbike. The bike may well be child-sized but nobody here will care how ridiculous you look cycling about with your legs wrapped round your ears. A wheel barrow can be commandeered should you wish to transport anything heavier than a shopping bag.
Only got 24 hours? Here’s how to spend it:
- Awake with the call to prayer at 5.15am. If you’re not Muslim go back to sleep.
- Reawaken at around 8am, have a cold shower (there’s no hot water) and some curry and roshi (like a chapatti) then head out of the house.
- Make for the jetty to see what’s going on before embarking on a walk all the way round the edge of the island on the beach before the heat gets too intense. Insider tip: start at the opposite end of the jetty to the power house for the most pleasant experience.
- Meander round until you’ve passed all the boat sheds then turn back onto the island, past the football pitch.
- Pop into school and hang out in the staff room for a chat and to cool down under the fans then go to Mini Tea for fried noodles and juice before making your way slowly home for a siesta.
- Mid-afternoon return to the beach for fantastic swimming and snorkelling then watch the teenage boys throwing up dust on the football pitch as you wander slowly home.
- At 5.50 head back up to the jetty and take your seat for a splendid sunset.
- Once the sun has gone down it’s dark and there’s nothing much to do, so you might as well head home for supper and bed.
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