Today was the second day of Summer School and I’m knackered. However, it’s 10.00pm and I’m still not in bed. Instead, I am at the computer doing Google searches for pictures that will adequately illustrate words like ‘Happy’ ‘Sad’ ‘Angry’ ‘Shy’ etc (note to self: be careful when searching for a picture to illustrate the word ‘hot’!)
Summer school has been my baby – the first thing I’ve overseen from the very beginning – and it’s been on my mind in some way almost constantly for the last month. We’ve talked with students, teachers, parents and local government to make sure it’s as useful and effective as it can possible be, and it’s very different from day to day school here.
For a start, it’s being held on Saints Days (the one or two days a week that people are forbidden to do physical work – well, the people in rural areas, anyway) and weekends so that as many children as possible can attend (they won’t be working in the fields). We have employed two new teachers for the summer (to give our teachers a rest, and also to give the students the experience of being taught by someone new) and the students are having lessons in Amharic, English, and Maths to work on their core knowledge. I’m also working with the students for one class a day on things like communication skills, teamwork and confidence building.
We are in the new building (which did present a few problems in relation to water pouring in through the holes in the roof ...!) and the students don’t stay in one classroom for the whole session, they move around in a kind of carousel. It’s all about giving the students the oppotunity to develop responsibility and personal management skills (Do you know which class you’re supposed to be in? Do you have all the materials you need for this class, or did you leave them in the previous classroom?), and it also gives us as teachers a chance to decorate and arrange the room in subject and teaching specific ways.
Also, students are not being taught in their usual classes. Instead, they are grouped in ability levels and the focus is on helping the lower ability students reach the required standard, while also stretching those students who are clearly capable of great things!
We told all the students things would be a bit different at Summer School this year, and around 60 students registered. On the first day, around 35 children turned up, which was slightly disappointing but it meant smaller classes and more individual attention, so there were advantages. Then today we had 90 students! Of course, this meant frantically rearranging classes, checking lists to see which class they should be in, and making up new registers, but it was worth it.
I’m looking forward to seeing what the next few weeks will bring!
Friday, 31 July 2009
Friday, 24 July 2009
19th July
A Hanna’s Orphanage update – finally!
A while ago, I wrote a piece for the Telegraph Expat Newspaper about the orphanage. We had a lot of people get in touch offering to volunteer, which is unfortunately something we (as UK based Hanna's Orphanage) are not able to support right now, purely because we don’t have the infrastructure or the manpower – but we do pass on any volunteering offers directly to the orphanage, so they can reply themselves.
However, Peter Hansen, from Pacific Environmental Consulting, got in touch with us and personally donated £2,500. He also challenged his staff to match it, so we had various donations flood in via paypal (you can donate via paypal even if you don’t have a paypal account – just go to our website!) and when some staff visit Ethiopia later in the year, they will bring over some supplies needed by the orphanage.
The £2,500 will be used to refurbish the library and computer room – buying chairs and tables for studying, new books, mending computers etc. The library and study areas are really important not only to the orphanage children, but to those children in the local community who come and study there after school. This kind donation will make such a difference to all the children by giving them a quiet, well equipped place to study, and will be added to the money we have already given the orphanage for computer training, ensuring the orphanage staff also get to upgrade their skills.
One of our regular donors, C., also managed to get to the Orphans Home in Addis and handed over another donation, so we’ve done quite well these last two months! We’ve also held another music gig in London, raising some more money and encouraging some more companies and individuals to offer their services and get involved. Thank you, thank you, thank you! (If you want to receive information about the music gigs, please find us on Facebook, Myspace or Twitter, or send your email address to info@hannasorphanage.org.uk)
When we do get mentioned in the press or on the web, many people start their emails with ‘I’m sure you’ve been flooded with donations’, but unfortunately that’s rarely the case. That’s why any donation, however small, makes such a huge difference, and every person who reads about the Orphans Home is one more person we hope will pass the word on to someone else. So thank you.
A while ago, I wrote a piece for the Telegraph Expat Newspaper about the orphanage. We had a lot of people get in touch offering to volunteer, which is unfortunately something we (as UK based Hanna's Orphanage) are not able to support right now, purely because we don’t have the infrastructure or the manpower – but we do pass on any volunteering offers directly to the orphanage, so they can reply themselves.
However, Peter Hansen, from Pacific Environmental Consulting, got in touch with us and personally donated £2,500. He also challenged his staff to match it, so we had various donations flood in via paypal (you can donate via paypal even if you don’t have a paypal account – just go to our website!) and when some staff visit Ethiopia later in the year, they will bring over some supplies needed by the orphanage.
The £2,500 will be used to refurbish the library and computer room – buying chairs and tables for studying, new books, mending computers etc. The library and study areas are really important not only to the orphanage children, but to those children in the local community who come and study there after school. This kind donation will make such a difference to all the children by giving them a quiet, well equipped place to study, and will be added to the money we have already given the orphanage for computer training, ensuring the orphanage staff also get to upgrade their skills.
One of our regular donors, C., also managed to get to the Orphans Home in Addis and handed over another donation, so we’ve done quite well these last two months! We’ve also held another music gig in London, raising some more money and encouraging some more companies and individuals to offer their services and get involved. Thank you, thank you, thank you! (If you want to receive information about the music gigs, please find us on Facebook, Myspace or Twitter, or send your email address to info@hannasorphanage.org.uk)
When we do get mentioned in the press or on the web, many people start their emails with ‘I’m sure you’ve been flooded with donations’, but unfortunately that’s rarely the case. That’s why any donation, however small, makes such a huge difference, and every person who reads about the Orphans Home is one more person we hope will pass the word on to someone else. So thank you.
It's Bloody Cold!
My God, it’s cold. I’m not really a person who feels the cold, but good God! There have been nights just recently where I’ve had three blankets on my bed, yet I’ve still had to sleep in my jeans, jumpers and socks.
Of course, it doesn't help that 1) I basically live on top of a mountain and 2) a few days ago I lived up to my 'stupid faranji' name and went out to photograph the rain yesterday. I got some amazing photos (and some funny looks!) but my trainers got soaked and with the power off so often, and the weather in general, it’s a real bugger to get them dry. I have a hair dryer here somewhere, so I’m going to try and give them a blast with that.
Yes, I went out to take pictures of the rain. The rainy season has finally arrived with a vengeance in Lalibela and the storms we have been having are just beautiful – proper forked lightning, vibrating thunder, and black clouds that gather low over the mountains. But that’s nothing compared to the actual rain, which doesn’t so much fall from the sky as throw itself violently at the ground.
I started taking pictures because I wanted to be able to show people the intensity of the rain – and because I thought it was beautiful. I could honestly sit and watch the rain for hours. When it’s really heavy, the walkway outside our office door gets flooded, and it pours down the stone steps like a waterfall. It also hits my wooden house with such force that you can’t hear anything else and it starts to feel like you’re the only one left in the world.
(As a slight aside, my wooden house on the hill is an endless source of concern for me, particularly during storms. For instance, last week I sat listening to the thunder and watching the lightning illuminate the whole town and thought “Something could get hit by lightening tonight. What’s the highest point in Lalibela? Oh. That would be me.” You see my problem?)
This time, I took my camera, wrapped myself up in as many clothes as I could find, and ventured outside. I spent nearly half an hour taking video and pictures, unsuccessfully sheltering under an umbrella, and had a great time! It was only when I started shivering uncontrollably (wimp!) that I retreated back inside.
Sometimes, I’ve decided, it’s okay to get soaked to the skin and for your trainers to start smelling of wet dog. Like last week when I was watching A and H playing volleyball outside the office and, without warning, the sky started dumping litres of cold water on us. We continued playing, and then when the sun came out we saw the most amazing double rainbow any of us had ever seen. It arced over A’s house, over the mountains and down into a shimmering mass above the football field. We stood there for ages, grinning wildly, staring and pointing, and eventually taking photos of one another in front of the rainbow, as the rain soaked into our hair, our clothes, our shoes.
I know my Nan is sitting at home, shaking her head and muttering about pneumonia, but I don’t regret it for a minute.
Of course, it doesn't help that 1) I basically live on top of a mountain and 2) a few days ago I lived up to my 'stupid faranji' name and went out to photograph the rain yesterday. I got some amazing photos (and some funny looks!) but my trainers got soaked and with the power off so often, and the weather in general, it’s a real bugger to get them dry. I have a hair dryer here somewhere, so I’m going to try and give them a blast with that.
Yes, I went out to take pictures of the rain. The rainy season has finally arrived with a vengeance in Lalibela and the storms we have been having are just beautiful – proper forked lightning, vibrating thunder, and black clouds that gather low over the mountains. But that’s nothing compared to the actual rain, which doesn’t so much fall from the sky as throw itself violently at the ground.
I started taking pictures because I wanted to be able to show people the intensity of the rain – and because I thought it was beautiful. I could honestly sit and watch the rain for hours. When it’s really heavy, the walkway outside our office door gets flooded, and it pours down the stone steps like a waterfall. It also hits my wooden house with such force that you can’t hear anything else and it starts to feel like you’re the only one left in the world.
(As a slight aside, my wooden house on the hill is an endless source of concern for me, particularly during storms. For instance, last week I sat listening to the thunder and watching the lightning illuminate the whole town and thought “Something could get hit by lightening tonight. What’s the highest point in Lalibela? Oh. That would be me.” You see my problem?)
This time, I took my camera, wrapped myself up in as many clothes as I could find, and ventured outside. I spent nearly half an hour taking video and pictures, unsuccessfully sheltering under an umbrella, and had a great time! It was only when I started shivering uncontrollably (wimp!) that I retreated back inside.
Sometimes, I’ve decided, it’s okay to get soaked to the skin and for your trainers to start smelling of wet dog. Like last week when I was watching A and H playing volleyball outside the office and, without warning, the sky started dumping litres of cold water on us. We continued playing, and then when the sun came out we saw the most amazing double rainbow any of us had ever seen. It arced over A’s house, over the mountains and down into a shimmering mass above the football field. We stood there for ages, grinning wildly, staring and pointing, and eventually taking photos of one another in front of the rainbow, as the rain soaked into our hair, our clothes, our shoes.
I know my Nan is sitting at home, shaking her head and muttering about pneumonia, but I don’t regret it for a minute.
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
14th July 2009
When I first started telling people I was going to move to Ethiopia, the majority of people said ‘be careful’ or gave me advice on keeping safe. I’ve been worried about a few things since being in Ethiopia – amoebic dysentery, wading through a river, and mice in my bed, to name a few – but I’ve only once felt in physical danger from anyone here. I was much more likely to be stabbed or attacked whilst in London than I am in Ethiopia.
But I can’t deny that the word ‘violence’ is one that is often at the forefront of my mind whilst living and working in Lalibela.
Since I’ve been here, there have been several very nasty conflicts around our school. In one, two members of the community came on to the compound and beat one of our workers badly enough for him to be in hospital and unable to work for several months. As far as we know, it was do with the fact the worker had come from Lalibela town (which meant he wasn’t really that popular already) and was having a relationship with a woman from the village, which – presumably – the men weren’t very happy about.
In another instance, some teachers from a government school relatively near our school attacked a member of the local community (I don’t know why). In retaliation, a number of the community came to our teachers’ house armed with various sticks and rocks – they had heard it was a teacher, and so just assumed it was our teachers. Luckily, – with devotion to the job I’m not sure it deserves – our guard grabbed weapons of his own, and told the mob that they’d have to go through him first (I’m paraphrasing – I’m sure the Amharic didn’t sound like a dodgy action film).
The ‘mob’ were eventually convinced that it wasn’t our teachers, and the other teachers had run away from the area (to escape arrest) so they were unhurt. The police are still waiting for the teachers to return so they can be taken to the court.
Another time, when we tried to bring some skilled craftsman (skills the school community doesn’t have) from the town to work on our school, the local men in the community decided they didn’t like these ‘outsiders’ and attacked them, en masse, with sticks and stones. Fighting even broke out in the community after our Sports Day a few weeks ago. Nothing to do with the Sports Day itself, thankfully, but the community was together, there was drinking and violence followed.
It happens in the town, too. One night about four months ago, I heard shouting and screaming in the town, and the next morning I discovered a man had been killed by two men he’d spent the evening drinking with. The men knew he was carrying a large amount of money, and beat him to death before robbing him.
I feel like this a more violent place than back home, and a quick look around could back that up: children are disciplined with a clip round the ear, crowds are controlled with a whack from a stick, domestic abuse is considered acceptable (not in all places, but in some places I’ve been it’s considered the only way to keep a marriage running smoothly). However, when I actually think about it rationally, that’s ridiculous. For every example, I could probably think of one back home, in London or even in my home town.
I also want to say that people here are much quicker to resort to violence without thinking or actually understanding the situation – but I remember the news reports of a paediatrician in the UK being hounded out of their office when idiots started rioting outside because someone confused ‘paediatrician’ with ‘paedophile’. So that’s not true, either.
Maybe it’s just that physical violence is more visible here, on a day to day basis? Maybe it’s the fact that it’s accepted as normal, an understandable response to any situation? The only way I can explain it is that, to me, there’s a feeling that life here is very fragile and violence is always just under the surface, quick to ignite.
Ethiopians I’ve spoken to point out that life here is more fragile, there is less security, less to rely on. They have other theories, too, involving a ‘survival of the fittest’ mentality, and a mix of poverty and alcohol. Others point to a lack of education.
Ironically, the catalyst for writing this piece was not any of the situations mentioned above, or any fight at all. It was two things. The first was that the man who tried to steal my bag out of the office and who tried to punch H, the guard’s son, came and apologised to me. He said he was sick at that time (which we knew already) and didn’t know what he was doing, and apologised for scaring and hurting me. I thanked him, but what could I say? I’m sorry for calling the policeman who kicked you in the head and threw you in jail?
The other thing was that one of the street boys here died. He had a growth disorder which made him very short and very wide, and he also suffered from diabetes. He often had money because he was a proficient gambler, and would win against nearly anyone at cards, but he only ever wore a filthy tee shirt and trousers and would beg from any tourist around. The other street boys would pick on him regularly, but he could give as good as he got, and was often as obnoxious as one person could possibly be.
A while ago, he spent some time in hospital after being involved in a car crash, and when I came back from Bahir Dar, he’d disappeared again. A. told me that while I’d been away, the boy had bought a huge amount of food and sat and eaten it all at once. His blood sugar had gone haywire, and he had gone into one of the little shops, lay down, and fallen unconscious. The owner of the shop took him to hospital, and he died there soon after.
It’s not a fight, or an attack, or a beating. But it felt violent to me.
But I can’t deny that the word ‘violence’ is one that is often at the forefront of my mind whilst living and working in Lalibela.
Since I’ve been here, there have been several very nasty conflicts around our school. In one, two members of the community came on to the compound and beat one of our workers badly enough for him to be in hospital and unable to work for several months. As far as we know, it was do with the fact the worker had come from Lalibela town (which meant he wasn’t really that popular already) and was having a relationship with a woman from the village, which – presumably – the men weren’t very happy about.
In another instance, some teachers from a government school relatively near our school attacked a member of the local community (I don’t know why). In retaliation, a number of the community came to our teachers’ house armed with various sticks and rocks – they had heard it was a teacher, and so just assumed it was our teachers. Luckily, – with devotion to the job I’m not sure it deserves – our guard grabbed weapons of his own, and told the mob that they’d have to go through him first (I’m paraphrasing – I’m sure the Amharic didn’t sound like a dodgy action film).
The ‘mob’ were eventually convinced that it wasn’t our teachers, and the other teachers had run away from the area (to escape arrest) so they were unhurt. The police are still waiting for the teachers to return so they can be taken to the court.
Another time, when we tried to bring some skilled craftsman (skills the school community doesn’t have) from the town to work on our school, the local men in the community decided they didn’t like these ‘outsiders’ and attacked them, en masse, with sticks and stones. Fighting even broke out in the community after our Sports Day a few weeks ago. Nothing to do with the Sports Day itself, thankfully, but the community was together, there was drinking and violence followed.
It happens in the town, too. One night about four months ago, I heard shouting and screaming in the town, and the next morning I discovered a man had been killed by two men he’d spent the evening drinking with. The men knew he was carrying a large amount of money, and beat him to death before robbing him.
I feel like this a more violent place than back home, and a quick look around could back that up: children are disciplined with a clip round the ear, crowds are controlled with a whack from a stick, domestic abuse is considered acceptable (not in all places, but in some places I’ve been it’s considered the only way to keep a marriage running smoothly). However, when I actually think about it rationally, that’s ridiculous. For every example, I could probably think of one back home, in London or even in my home town.
I also want to say that people here are much quicker to resort to violence without thinking or actually understanding the situation – but I remember the news reports of a paediatrician in the UK being hounded out of their office when idiots started rioting outside because someone confused ‘paediatrician’ with ‘paedophile’. So that’s not true, either.
Maybe it’s just that physical violence is more visible here, on a day to day basis? Maybe it’s the fact that it’s accepted as normal, an understandable response to any situation? The only way I can explain it is that, to me, there’s a feeling that life here is very fragile and violence is always just under the surface, quick to ignite.
Ethiopians I’ve spoken to point out that life here is more fragile, there is less security, less to rely on. They have other theories, too, involving a ‘survival of the fittest’ mentality, and a mix of poverty and alcohol. Others point to a lack of education.
Ironically, the catalyst for writing this piece was not any of the situations mentioned above, or any fight at all. It was two things. The first was that the man who tried to steal my bag out of the office and who tried to punch H, the guard’s son, came and apologised to me. He said he was sick at that time (which we knew already) and didn’t know what he was doing, and apologised for scaring and hurting me. I thanked him, but what could I say? I’m sorry for calling the policeman who kicked you in the head and threw you in jail?
The other thing was that one of the street boys here died. He had a growth disorder which made him very short and very wide, and he also suffered from diabetes. He often had money because he was a proficient gambler, and would win against nearly anyone at cards, but he only ever wore a filthy tee shirt and trousers and would beg from any tourist around. The other street boys would pick on him regularly, but he could give as good as he got, and was often as obnoxious as one person could possibly be.
A while ago, he spent some time in hospital after being involved in a car crash, and when I came back from Bahir Dar, he’d disappeared again. A. told me that while I’d been away, the boy had bought a huge amount of food and sat and eaten it all at once. His blood sugar had gone haywire, and he had gone into one of the little shops, lay down, and fallen unconscious. The owner of the shop took him to hospital, and he died there soon after.
It’s not a fight, or an attack, or a beating. But it felt violent to me.
Monday, 20 July 2009
14th July 2009
I spend a lot of my time in Lalibela feeling foolish, incapable, helpless, and just a general freak. Often, this has nothing to do with my work – despite the fact I still have momentary panics about the fact people refer to me as the Director of the school, and the fact I am responsible for the quality of the education of 200 children, I do actually have all the skills, knowledge and abilities to successfully do my job
No, normally my ‘I’m an idiot’ moments come in my personal life and in my interactions with people. Of course, I feel a freak most times I leave the house, particularly when I find groups of grown men and women staring at me as if I am a two headed monster, purely because I’m white, or when I have small children plucking the hair out of my arms in wonder (“yes, I am farange, yes I have body hair, yes, isn’t that hysterical?”)
It’s not always the inhabitants of Lalibela who look at me strangely, either. Today I went to have some lunch at a hotel (I’d been living on injera for days, and desperately needed some faranji food!), and found it full of UK students dressed in football shorts. Listening to them chat and plan their football match made my day, and I said hi and chatted for a little bit. I have long ago lost my self consciousness about starting conversations with strangers, and people generally welcome the interaction … but again, this time I felt a little like I had two heads, and I soon excused myself to go back to my tuna sandwich.
‘Incapable’ and ‘helpless’ comes when I am in a situation where my baby Amharic is just not up to it, or the conversation is moving too fast and the sheer embarrassment at not being able to adequately express myself just takes over. Like today, when the Area Supervisor came to the office to collect some reports.
The power had just come back on, and I was alone in the office when he arrived. I knew he wanted a report about the final exam results of our students, and I knew S, one of the teachers, had compiled some statistics. I knew this because A and I have an endless fight with most of local government about the fact that they always insist on giving letters, requests for information and directives to the teachers (primarily S) instead of to me and A. No matter how many times we tell them (and they have to pretty much drive past our office to get to our school!) they still insist on doing it.
S always does whatever he’s asked with grace and willingness , and that’s great. Except that S doesn’t always have the right information, or he doesn’t know we don’t necessarily want that information made public at that point, or there is a vital context he doesn’t know about.
This was the case with these statistics. The request had been given to S, who had done it, but the numbers were wrong . So it was sitting on my desk, waiting to be corrected. I knew this, but didn’t have Amharic to be able to explain this to the Supervisor. He has no English at all, which is why he was unable to explain to me that the numbers were wrong, and I was unable to reassure him that I knew that and would be able to give him the right information on Monday.
As I got more and more frustrated at the language barrier, and more and more flustered, I was even unable to communicate that he should come back later when A was there, something I can say in Amharic. He just kept waving the form in my face, talking in Amharic and pointing out mistakes.
One of my many character flaws is the fact that I cannot bear being blamed or thought responsible for something that wasn’t my fault. I realise there are many millions of reasons why this is a very bad character trait, but I don’t have the time to go into them now. I just point it out to emphasize how stupidly frustrated I was at the fact that I was unable to say to him ‘I’m sorry it’s wrong, but this is because S had the wrong information. If you’d given it to us in the first place, like we asked, it would be done!’.
And instead of being calm and not taking things personally, I get all het up and flustered, which does not help anybody – least of all me – and leaves me feeling and looking like a fool.
H, one of the guard’s sons, took pity on me and went off to get A who was finishing his coffee in a nearby café. He came back, we went through the report, made the corrections there and then, gave the info to the Supervisor and all was good. (A also told the Supervisor again to please stop asking the teachers for the information and instead speak to us, as we actually had the right statistics).
But I just felt so stupid and incompetent that I’d had to call A back to come and rescue me. Not being able to understand or explain myself in a simple situation is bad enough (I constantly feel bad that I’m working in a country where I am relying on everyone else to speak MY language), but then I feel like an idiot because I’m getting into a flap over something so stupid.
Such is life. I just have to live with the fact that the Area Supervisor has probably gone away thinking ‘that mad faranji girl, no wonder I don’t ask her for information …’
No, normally my ‘I’m an idiot’ moments come in my personal life and in my interactions with people. Of course, I feel a freak most times I leave the house, particularly when I find groups of grown men and women staring at me as if I am a two headed monster, purely because I’m white, or when I have small children plucking the hair out of my arms in wonder (“yes, I am farange, yes I have body hair, yes, isn’t that hysterical?”)
It’s not always the inhabitants of Lalibela who look at me strangely, either. Today I went to have some lunch at a hotel (I’d been living on injera for days, and desperately needed some faranji food!), and found it full of UK students dressed in football shorts. Listening to them chat and plan their football match made my day, and I said hi and chatted for a little bit. I have long ago lost my self consciousness about starting conversations with strangers, and people generally welcome the interaction … but again, this time I felt a little like I had two heads, and I soon excused myself to go back to my tuna sandwich.
‘Incapable’ and ‘helpless’ comes when I am in a situation where my baby Amharic is just not up to it, or the conversation is moving too fast and the sheer embarrassment at not being able to adequately express myself just takes over. Like today, when the Area Supervisor came to the office to collect some reports.
The power had just come back on, and I was alone in the office when he arrived. I knew he wanted a report about the final exam results of our students, and I knew S, one of the teachers, had compiled some statistics. I knew this because A and I have an endless fight with most of local government about the fact that they always insist on giving letters, requests for information and directives to the teachers (primarily S) instead of to me and A. No matter how many times we tell them (and they have to pretty much drive past our office to get to our school!) they still insist on doing it.
S always does whatever he’s asked with grace and willingness , and that’s great. Except that S doesn’t always have the right information, or he doesn’t know we don’t necessarily want that information made public at that point, or there is a vital context he doesn’t know about.
This was the case with these statistics. The request had been given to S, who had done it, but the numbers were wrong . So it was sitting on my desk, waiting to be corrected. I knew this, but didn’t have Amharic to be able to explain this to the Supervisor. He has no English at all, which is why he was unable to explain to me that the numbers were wrong, and I was unable to reassure him that I knew that and would be able to give him the right information on Monday.
As I got more and more frustrated at the language barrier, and more and more flustered, I was even unable to communicate that he should come back later when A was there, something I can say in Amharic. He just kept waving the form in my face, talking in Amharic and pointing out mistakes.
One of my many character flaws is the fact that I cannot bear being blamed or thought responsible for something that wasn’t my fault. I realise there are many millions of reasons why this is a very bad character trait, but I don’t have the time to go into them now. I just point it out to emphasize how stupidly frustrated I was at the fact that I was unable to say to him ‘I’m sorry it’s wrong, but this is because S had the wrong information. If you’d given it to us in the first place, like we asked, it would be done!’.
And instead of being calm and not taking things personally, I get all het up and flustered, which does not help anybody – least of all me – and leaves me feeling and looking like a fool.
H, one of the guard’s sons, took pity on me and went off to get A who was finishing his coffee in a nearby café. He came back, we went through the report, made the corrections there and then, gave the info to the Supervisor and all was good. (A also told the Supervisor again to please stop asking the teachers for the information and instead speak to us, as we actually had the right statistics).
But I just felt so stupid and incompetent that I’d had to call A back to come and rescue me. Not being able to understand or explain myself in a simple situation is bad enough (I constantly feel bad that I’m working in a country where I am relying on everyone else to speak MY language), but then I feel like an idiot because I’m getting into a flap over something so stupid.
Such is life. I just have to live with the fact that the Area Supervisor has probably gone away thinking ‘that mad faranji girl, no wonder I don’t ask her for information …’
Thursday, 16 July 2009
Feels Like Home
Just got back from Bahir Dar, the town which houses Lake Tana. Bahir Dar is around a day’s drive from Lalibela and is the regional capital, meaning it’s quite a cosmopolitan town – it has supermarkets, a cinema, a huge variety of bars and restaurants, all of that kind of thing. It also has Moenco, the place which services our car, which means we go there maybe every two months or so to give the car its health check.
I do quite enjoy going to Bahir Dar (it’s a change – and they have chocolate there!) but this time it wasn’t so fun. Power was the same as Lalibela (one day on, one day off), I didn’t have my laptop so I couldn’t do any work, and apart from the cinema, there wasn’t a lot of new things to do. I did do quite a bit of walking along the lake and around the town (Bahir is flat – bliss!), and I enjoyed the break, but I found myself missing Lalibela – the beautiful mountains, my house, my office, my own bed, my own cooking.
Lalibela felt like my home for the first time since I arrived (apart from those magical few weeks when I first got here and I was floating on the novelty of it all!). When we drove back, I jumped into the shower (there was water, albeit a dribble!), put on my comfy trousers and my kaftan thing, made a cup of tea, and padded around the house in a state of deep contentment.
Because I’d been away, I didn’t have very much food in the house to have for dinner – a bit of pasta, some packet spices, and some questionable potatoes. I didn’t want to have to go out as I’d spent the whole Bahir Dar trip eating out, and I couldn’t really afford to anyway, for the same reason.
Around 6, while I was still umming and ahhing, H, A’s girlfriend, came to the door with a steaming bowl of Dorro Wat (Ethiopian chicken curry) for me. Fabulous! Dinner sorted. Then Y, the lady who makes injera for me once a week, came with a large casserole dish filled with Kai Wat (meat stew), potatoes and injera that she’d made for me. There was way too much for just me, so I gave some to Ab and G, the guard’s son, and called a few of the street boys who we try to look after.
I was so touched by the fact they’d thought of me, and that I could pay forward their kindness. Neither H nor Y had to bring me food, and for the first time I really felt part of a community here, not just the stupid farange (which is how I normally feel and, some would say,act!)
Silly – or maybe not – how curry and potatoes can cause me to feel all that!
I do quite enjoy going to Bahir Dar (it’s a change – and they have chocolate there!) but this time it wasn’t so fun. Power was the same as Lalibela (one day on, one day off), I didn’t have my laptop so I couldn’t do any work, and apart from the cinema, there wasn’t a lot of new things to do. I did do quite a bit of walking along the lake and around the town (Bahir is flat – bliss!), and I enjoyed the break, but I found myself missing Lalibela – the beautiful mountains, my house, my office, my own bed, my own cooking.
Lalibela felt like my home for the first time since I arrived (apart from those magical few weeks when I first got here and I was floating on the novelty of it all!). When we drove back, I jumped into the shower (there was water, albeit a dribble!), put on my comfy trousers and my kaftan thing, made a cup of tea, and padded around the house in a state of deep contentment.
Because I’d been away, I didn’t have very much food in the house to have for dinner – a bit of pasta, some packet spices, and some questionable potatoes. I didn’t want to have to go out as I’d spent the whole Bahir Dar trip eating out, and I couldn’t really afford to anyway, for the same reason.
Around 6, while I was still umming and ahhing, H, A’s girlfriend, came to the door with a steaming bowl of Dorro Wat (Ethiopian chicken curry) for me. Fabulous! Dinner sorted. Then Y, the lady who makes injera for me once a week, came with a large casserole dish filled with Kai Wat (meat stew), potatoes and injera that she’d made for me. There was way too much for just me, so I gave some to Ab and G, the guard’s son, and called a few of the street boys who we try to look after.
I was so touched by the fact they’d thought of me, and that I could pay forward their kindness. Neither H nor Y had to bring me food, and for the first time I really felt part of a community here, not just the stupid farange (which is how I normally feel and, some would say,act!)
Silly – or maybe not – how curry and potatoes can cause me to feel all that!
Monday, 13 July 2009
Sports Day
Today was finally our sports day, and what a wonderful day! We’ve had a really busy few weeks, with interviews for new teachers, reports due, summer school planning, plus my normal training schedule with the teachers, and various admin and organisational issues which are constantly on everyone’s mind, so we were working flat out to get everything ready. But as we left for the school at 7am Sunday morning, we were as prepared as we could be.
(Of course, half way to the school, we suddenly realized we’d forgotten to bring the honey - a Lalibela specialty - the Parents Committee had requested. But in the scheme of things it wasn’t a disaster.)
When we got there, the school compound looked fantastic. The teachers had spent hours clearing the compound of stones etc, marking out a running track with white cooking ash, making a high jump stand out of wood, and putting up banners and balloons. The whole place looked amazing! Loads of students were already there, and their parents started to arrive about 8.30am. There were also political meetings going on in the area at the time (the local government office is next to our compound so they tend to come and sit under our trees or use our classrooms for meetings), so there were quite a few people milling around.
The parents committee had been working hard to make talla (local beer)and kollo (nuts and seeds) for the guests, and alternated manning the refreshment stall with doing crowd control for us!
Sports day started at around 9.30am (the plan was 8am – ha!) with a presentation from the music and dance club. Then we had
- wrestling, with some great skill, but also some seriously dodgy ‘grabbing’ tactics! I was concerned for the future child-creating ability of some of the boys
- The high jump – my God, these kids can jump! Everyone – farmers, government officials, parents, other children – were on the edge of their seat when M cleared the second highest level with ease. Sadly he didn’t quite manage the highest, but he won by a clear margin and there was a huge cheer anyway
- Gymanstics, using the mats kindly loaned to us by the Circus. There was walking on hands, backflips, handstands and the truly terrifying team activity where they built human pyramids. I couldn’t bring myself to watch – apparently I can watch the Circus do it, but not when our children are involved! – but it was apparently all very good and Am. and As. acted as ‘spotters’ to make sure nobody fell (they didn’t)
- Running – split into boys and girls, then again into ‘big ones’ and ‘little ones’, we had four separate races. They ran round a pre-arranged track either once or three times (depending on age groups). No sprints, please, we’re Ethiopian! This was another huge crowd pleaser, despite the few drops of rain
- Football: the big one! Our Project Team, the teachers and G, a local Government member, made up the Adults Team, and the majority of the bigger boys from both Grades made up the Students team. An exciting game, with everyone in proper football gear (including the referee, a volunteer from the local Farmer Training Centre) which was sent from the UK last year. Many new talents were discovered – for instance, who would have guessed that Ay., one of our female Grade 1 teachers, is such a demon in goal?! There were a few own goals scored, including one by As., a Grade 2 teacher! Understandably, he wasn’t very popular with his colleagues, although his students loved him! I didn’t count on S and Ab being so good – or so competitive! – so the adults team won easily, but it was a great way to finish the Sporting part of the day
After this we all moved over to ‘Tree’ which is our meeting/presentation place. It’s a huge old tree on the edge of the school compound, standing tall in the middle of a tumble down stone wall, and with a natural mud and stone ‘platform’ in the front of it. It’s an ideal place to hold meetings as the tree’s branches provide good shade, and the mud and stone provide a stage or a seating area. For this day, Tree had been decorated with balloons and a big fabric banner painted by S. Various shepherd boys had climbed into the branches to watch the action from a comfortable and privileged vantage point, and our Parents Day Helpers had put out lots of chairs for the audience.
The Parents Day was officially opened by the Head of the Kebele (like local council), who came out of a meeting to come and make a great speech about how the community need to look after their school, and how important it is for them to send their children to school regularly. There was more music and dancing from Asnko’s club, then we made the sports day presentations, giving tee shirts to 1st, 2nd and 3rd in each of the different disciplines, and baseball caps to the Adults Football team.
After those presentations, A and S gave a 10 minute Project Report, giving a summary of the last year of the school. One of the Parents Committee chose this particular moment to invite A. to come and have coffee with them … it was gently pointed out that he was actually a little busy, but it was fine for them to go ahead and have it without him.
After that it was a drama by the Child Rights Club which talked about the consequences of early marriage. I had no idea what was going on most of the time, but I could see the audience laughing and ‘oohing and ahhing’ at various points, so I’m guessing they got it!
I couldn’t get over how many people had come (many, many more than last year, apparently). There was everyone from mothers breast-feeding their toddlers, to farmers sipping talla, to government officials who should have been in a meeting, but were much more interested in watching what we were doing! A’s girlfriend and friend had come along, and our Guard from our compound in the town, Ato M., had also come. He caught sight of me taking pictures of the audience, and gave me a big grin, posing with his umbrella to shield him from the sun. I already have the picture up on my wall!
The final part of the day was to give out prizes for Semester Exam marks, participation in clubs, and just for general wonderfulness! We tried to reward as many people as possible with clothes, little bits we’ve had donated (colouring books etc) or even just with certificates, encouraging people who help, who get good marks, and who have made great progress by working hard
The 10 students who had volunteered to be ‘Parents Day Helpers’ for the whole day, lugging chairs and tables around, making sure everyone was in the right place at the right time, and generally helping Ab and I to ensure the day ran smoothly, all got Baseball caps and a huge round of applause. I also rewarded the teachers for their commitment and hard work, and gave them laminated photos we had taken of them all – the Grade 1 teachers were so happy I thought they were going to cry
When the students received their rewards, their parents often came out of the crowd and pressed 1 or 2 Birr into their children’s hands or onto their foreheads, as is the custom here. It was so lovely to see how proud they were, and that ended up making me a bit tearful
Lastly, Ab made a big announcement to everyone about summer school, and then it was all off to drink Talla and party into the night! Actually, we didn’t stay to party, we just went home as we were all knackered and I was running a full day training session the following day. Also, at least two of our party don’t drink alcohol anyway, and Ato M. was already a little bit tipsy!! However, most people stayed around the school and enjoyed a well earned celebration.
Everyone said the day was a huge success, including the Head Man of the Woreda, who is one of the local Government that I really like. He was amazed at how many people were there, and how well organised it was (apparently, I am much better at organising Sports Days than Music Gigs, which is why I leave the Hanna’s Gigs to the wonderful Maria!). He was also apparently surprised I was there and getting involved – I’m not sure if he thought I just sit at a desk all day?
It was honestly the most exhausting, most satisfying and most fun day I’ve spent since I’ve been here!
(Of course, half way to the school, we suddenly realized we’d forgotten to bring the honey - a Lalibela specialty - the Parents Committee had requested. But in the scheme of things it wasn’t a disaster.)
When we got there, the school compound looked fantastic. The teachers had spent hours clearing the compound of stones etc, marking out a running track with white cooking ash, making a high jump stand out of wood, and putting up banners and balloons. The whole place looked amazing! Loads of students were already there, and their parents started to arrive about 8.30am. There were also political meetings going on in the area at the time (the local government office is next to our compound so they tend to come and sit under our trees or use our classrooms for meetings), so there were quite a few people milling around.
The parents committee had been working hard to make talla (local beer)and kollo (nuts and seeds) for the guests, and alternated manning the refreshment stall with doing crowd control for us!
Sports day started at around 9.30am (the plan was 8am – ha!) with a presentation from the music and dance club. Then we had
- wrestling, with some great skill, but also some seriously dodgy ‘grabbing’ tactics! I was concerned for the future child-creating ability of some of the boys
- The high jump – my God, these kids can jump! Everyone – farmers, government officials, parents, other children – were on the edge of their seat when M cleared the second highest level with ease. Sadly he didn’t quite manage the highest, but he won by a clear margin and there was a huge cheer anyway
- Gymanstics, using the mats kindly loaned to us by the Circus. There was walking on hands, backflips, handstands and the truly terrifying team activity where they built human pyramids. I couldn’t bring myself to watch – apparently I can watch the Circus do it, but not when our children are involved! – but it was apparently all very good and Am. and As. acted as ‘spotters’ to make sure nobody fell (they didn’t)
- Running – split into boys and girls, then again into ‘big ones’ and ‘little ones’, we had four separate races. They ran round a pre-arranged track either once or three times (depending on age groups). No sprints, please, we’re Ethiopian! This was another huge crowd pleaser, despite the few drops of rain
- Football: the big one! Our Project Team, the teachers and G, a local Government member, made up the Adults Team, and the majority of the bigger boys from both Grades made up the Students team. An exciting game, with everyone in proper football gear (including the referee, a volunteer from the local Farmer Training Centre) which was sent from the UK last year. Many new talents were discovered – for instance, who would have guessed that Ay., one of our female Grade 1 teachers, is such a demon in goal?! There were a few own goals scored, including one by As., a Grade 2 teacher! Understandably, he wasn’t very popular with his colleagues, although his students loved him! I didn’t count on S and Ab being so good – or so competitive! – so the adults team won easily, but it was a great way to finish the Sporting part of the day
After this we all moved over to ‘Tree’ which is our meeting/presentation place. It’s a huge old tree on the edge of the school compound, standing tall in the middle of a tumble down stone wall, and with a natural mud and stone ‘platform’ in the front of it. It’s an ideal place to hold meetings as the tree’s branches provide good shade, and the mud and stone provide a stage or a seating area. For this day, Tree had been decorated with balloons and a big fabric banner painted by S. Various shepherd boys had climbed into the branches to watch the action from a comfortable and privileged vantage point, and our Parents Day Helpers had put out lots of chairs for the audience.
The Parents Day was officially opened by the Head of the Kebele (like local council), who came out of a meeting to come and make a great speech about how the community need to look after their school, and how important it is for them to send their children to school regularly. There was more music and dancing from Asnko’s club, then we made the sports day presentations, giving tee shirts to 1st, 2nd and 3rd in each of the different disciplines, and baseball caps to the Adults Football team.
After those presentations, A and S gave a 10 minute Project Report, giving a summary of the last year of the school. One of the Parents Committee chose this particular moment to invite A. to come and have coffee with them … it was gently pointed out that he was actually a little busy, but it was fine for them to go ahead and have it without him.
After that it was a drama by the Child Rights Club which talked about the consequences of early marriage. I had no idea what was going on most of the time, but I could see the audience laughing and ‘oohing and ahhing’ at various points, so I’m guessing they got it!
I couldn’t get over how many people had come (many, many more than last year, apparently). There was everyone from mothers breast-feeding their toddlers, to farmers sipping talla, to government officials who should have been in a meeting, but were much more interested in watching what we were doing! A’s girlfriend and friend had come along, and our Guard from our compound in the town, Ato M., had also come. He caught sight of me taking pictures of the audience, and gave me a big grin, posing with his umbrella to shield him from the sun. I already have the picture up on my wall!
The final part of the day was to give out prizes for Semester Exam marks, participation in clubs, and just for general wonderfulness! We tried to reward as many people as possible with clothes, little bits we’ve had donated (colouring books etc) or even just with certificates, encouraging people who help, who get good marks, and who have made great progress by working hard
The 10 students who had volunteered to be ‘Parents Day Helpers’ for the whole day, lugging chairs and tables around, making sure everyone was in the right place at the right time, and generally helping Ab and I to ensure the day ran smoothly, all got Baseball caps and a huge round of applause. I also rewarded the teachers for their commitment and hard work, and gave them laminated photos we had taken of them all – the Grade 1 teachers were so happy I thought they were going to cry
When the students received their rewards, their parents often came out of the crowd and pressed 1 or 2 Birr into their children’s hands or onto their foreheads, as is the custom here. It was so lovely to see how proud they were, and that ended up making me a bit tearful
Lastly, Ab made a big announcement to everyone about summer school, and then it was all off to drink Talla and party into the night! Actually, we didn’t stay to party, we just went home as we were all knackered and I was running a full day training session the following day. Also, at least two of our party don’t drink alcohol anyway, and Ato M. was already a little bit tipsy!! However, most people stayed around the school and enjoyed a well earned celebration.
Everyone said the day was a huge success, including the Head Man of the Woreda, who is one of the local Government that I really like. He was amazed at how many people were there, and how well organised it was (apparently, I am much better at organising Sports Days than Music Gigs, which is why I leave the Hanna’s Gigs to the wonderful Maria!). He was also apparently surprised I was there and getting involved – I’m not sure if he thought I just sit at a desk all day?
It was honestly the most exhausting, most satisfying and most fun day I’ve spent since I’ve been here!
27th June 2009
When I first decided to come to Ethiopia, I wanted to come and work with the orphanage, oversee the spending of the money we’d (you’d!) raised, and learn about how we could help even more. There was another motivation though.
I wanted to live somewhere where all those things I relied on to entertain and amuse me in the UK were not available. There were times in London when I would realise I was sitting on the train reading a book and listening to music, and flitting between eating a chocolate bar, typing a text message, and looking out of the window. It was ridiculous - I was incapable of concentrating on one thing at a time, let alone sitting and do nothing. I would panic if I left the house without a book just in case there was a split second where I might have nothing to do and I would want something to fill the space.
Not that this made me unhappy, it’s how I like to live (still, secretly, the idea of concentrating on one thing at a time bores me.). But there was a little voice in my head that wondered what I was hiding from – and what would happen if I took away all the outside stimulation I relied on.
Moving to Addis Ababa was definitely the first step. Life was at a much slower pace, I learnt to sit in a café and just drink a cup of tea; not read a book, write my diary, listen to music and drink a cup of tea. I didn’t text people 300 times a day as my phone didn’t receive texts, and I had very few people who wanted to text me in Ethiopia anyway! However, I still had books, music, TV, internet, and my computer.
Moving to Lalibela was the next step.
I say all this only to explain that I actually wanted to be in a place where internet and TV weren’t on tap, where I didn’t have an unlimited choice of food and books. And apparently, Lalibela has listened to my musings and decided to grant my request – with bells on
Current situation: one morning and evening of power every other day, no internet access, running water at a bare minimum (sometimes there isn’t even any water at the outside water point), phone network 4 hours on, 4 hours off (ish) and running out of books (although thanks to T who sent a box of 6 a couple of weeks ago!! 6!). I eat shiro (kind of like a chick pea sauce) with injera pretty much every day, with some potatoes or pasta (prepared with a variety of different spices) thrown in for interest. Occasionally I find some meat or some rice. I would kill for some proper chicken fajitas and nachos with cheese … mmmmmmm.
And then last week, in the midst of all this, my computer got sick. Despite several attempts at resuscitation, it was pronounced officially dead on Saturday 27th June at 7.34pm. It was very old and had had a good life, but what on earth was I going to do without my trusty laptop to keep me busy?
Luckily, in a rare moment of common sense, I had backed up most stuff on A’s computer about 3 weeks ago, so I don’t need to worry about losing all of my work and writing (although I have lost some). However, A and I now have to share the desktop computer, and considering we have such limited hours of power, that’s easier said than done – and it involves me doing a lot of late night typing!
However, considering my personality, I’m dealing with this all very well. I’m slightly ashamed to say that if this had happened even a month ago, there probably would have been tears and tantrums and stamping of feet (I may have wanted those things taken away, in theory, but I can’t say I was particularly happy about the reality). Of course, it does help that summer school planning can be done with a pen and paper, so I always have something to do, even without power.
But right now, I’m not even moaning when the electricity goes off without warning in the middle of the evening, and I’ve only complained a little bit about the fact we’ve had no internet access for a week and a half (and that’s mostly because I am trying to do things for Hanna’s Orphanage) . I’m not quite at the stage where I can sit and do nothing without fidgeting, but I no longer need to do 27 things at once. I also appreciate things a lot more: when the power came back on in time for me to watch the Vietnam Special of Top Gear on Saturday, I was ecstatic, and when A and I discovered six English books in the library in Lalibela (a library! I know!) I nearly died of happiness. Mondays are currently my favourite day as I normally have a chicken from the weekend market and can make something approximating a chicken curry, and the lady in the post office thinks it’s very funny that I get so excited when I get letters and magazines in the post.
Having said that, I don’t think I want to tempt fate and ask for anything more to disappear from my life. I am currently treating my MP3 player like gold dust, just in case that breaks too …
I wanted to live somewhere where all those things I relied on to entertain and amuse me in the UK were not available. There were times in London when I would realise I was sitting on the train reading a book and listening to music, and flitting between eating a chocolate bar, typing a text message, and looking out of the window. It was ridiculous - I was incapable of concentrating on one thing at a time, let alone sitting and do nothing. I would panic if I left the house without a book just in case there was a split second where I might have nothing to do and I would want something to fill the space.
Not that this made me unhappy, it’s how I like to live (still, secretly, the idea of concentrating on one thing at a time bores me.). But there was a little voice in my head that wondered what I was hiding from – and what would happen if I took away all the outside stimulation I relied on.
Moving to Addis Ababa was definitely the first step. Life was at a much slower pace, I learnt to sit in a café and just drink a cup of tea; not read a book, write my diary, listen to music and drink a cup of tea. I didn’t text people 300 times a day as my phone didn’t receive texts, and I had very few people who wanted to text me in Ethiopia anyway! However, I still had books, music, TV, internet, and my computer.
Moving to Lalibela was the next step.
I say all this only to explain that I actually wanted to be in a place where internet and TV weren’t on tap, where I didn’t have an unlimited choice of food and books. And apparently, Lalibela has listened to my musings and decided to grant my request – with bells on
Current situation: one morning and evening of power every other day, no internet access, running water at a bare minimum (sometimes there isn’t even any water at the outside water point), phone network 4 hours on, 4 hours off (ish) and running out of books (although thanks to T who sent a box of 6 a couple of weeks ago!! 6!). I eat shiro (kind of like a chick pea sauce) with injera pretty much every day, with some potatoes or pasta (prepared with a variety of different spices) thrown in for interest. Occasionally I find some meat or some rice. I would kill for some proper chicken fajitas and nachos with cheese … mmmmmmm.
And then last week, in the midst of all this, my computer got sick. Despite several attempts at resuscitation, it was pronounced officially dead on Saturday 27th June at 7.34pm. It was very old and had had a good life, but what on earth was I going to do without my trusty laptop to keep me busy?
Luckily, in a rare moment of common sense, I had backed up most stuff on A’s computer about 3 weeks ago, so I don’t need to worry about losing all of my work and writing (although I have lost some). However, A and I now have to share the desktop computer, and considering we have such limited hours of power, that’s easier said than done – and it involves me doing a lot of late night typing!
However, considering my personality, I’m dealing with this all very well. I’m slightly ashamed to say that if this had happened even a month ago, there probably would have been tears and tantrums and stamping of feet (I may have wanted those things taken away, in theory, but I can’t say I was particularly happy about the reality). Of course, it does help that summer school planning can be done with a pen and paper, so I always have something to do, even without power.
But right now, I’m not even moaning when the electricity goes off without warning in the middle of the evening, and I’ve only complained a little bit about the fact we’ve had no internet access for a week and a half (and that’s mostly because I am trying to do things for Hanna’s Orphanage) . I’m not quite at the stage where I can sit and do nothing without fidgeting, but I no longer need to do 27 things at once. I also appreciate things a lot more: when the power came back on in time for me to watch the Vietnam Special of Top Gear on Saturday, I was ecstatic, and when A and I discovered six English books in the library in Lalibela (a library! I know!) I nearly died of happiness. Mondays are currently my favourite day as I normally have a chicken from the weekend market and can make something approximating a chicken curry, and the lady in the post office thinks it’s very funny that I get so excited when I get letters and magazines in the post.
Having said that, I don’t think I want to tempt fate and ask for anything more to disappear from my life. I am currently treating my MP3 player like gold dust, just in case that breaks too …
Friday, 10 July 2009
30th June 2009
I had so much fun today!
We have our Sports Day on Sunday, and one of the sports the children are competing in is Gymnastics. So we invited the Lalibela Circus to come and work with the students, to encourage them to practice and to give them some tips. Yes, you read that right. The Lalibela Circus. Nearly every big town in Lalibela has a circus, apparently, and there are Regional and National competitions, too. Of course, before I moved here, if anyone had asked me whether Circus was big in Ethiopia, I would have laughed, but it’s really popular.
I first realised this in Addis when walking along Bole Road last October. Suddenly, I could hear music, which is not unusual as many cars drive round promoting films or conferences at an ear splitting volume, but then I thought I could see two people walking along the road on stilts. I had clearly had too much sun and was hallucinating. But no, as they came closer, I realised that there actually were two people walking along the road on stilts – followed by people doing forward rolls and backflips and leaps and all kinds of things. They were all followed by a big car with two booming speakers on the back.
Lalibela Circus doesn’t quite have all that (I haven’t seen them walk on stilts, for a start), but it has a band of around 10 incredibly talented people aged from around 13 years old, I would guess, to mid twenties. They do all kinds of flips and jumps and acrobatics, but they also do drama and sketches to teach people about HIV and Aids, and other traditional practices considered harmful (such as child marriage).
They also create human pyramids! When they came a few months ago and did a display for the children of our school and the nearest government school, and the local community, there were many grown men with their hands over their eyes as one girl climbed up three people to do a handstand at the top of the pyramid!
This time they did do a little display, but mostly they worked with our children. We were slightly late arriving (as usual) so it was a bit frantic trying to set up, and then we noticed that loads of other people – adults and children – were walking over to our school and settling down to watch the show. A and I soon realised the government school were holding their Parents Day celebration, and everyone had decided what we were doing was a lot more interesting so they wandered over. Oops! We tried to dissuade people, but gave up eventually and just stuck Ab on crowd control duties.
The Circus set up their mats in the compound and Grade 2 were bought forward to have a go. I was proud that quite a few students had a go, even if they could only manage a front roll, and we saw some students do some really exciting acrobatics. Some children were very shy and content to watch, no matter how much we tried to encourage them. I guess it’s a little intimidating to have your whole community watching you as you attempt to do something you’ve never even seen before.
This kind of activity can also be especially problematic for the girls, who are wearing dresses and risk all kinds of modesty mishaps while hanging upside down. Some put trousers on underneath their dresses, which offers them some protection. We do have some athletic kit for them to wear for Sports Day though – just normal trousers and tops donated from a school in Scotland, but it means they can take a full part in the gymnastics without worrying.
Of course, as so often happens, when Grade 1 were allowed to have their go, we had to fight to keep them back! The two Grade 1 teachers were stationed either sides of the mats to give students a quick swish of a stick as they got too far forward in their excitement. (yes, yes, we shall talk about the whole stick swishing stuff at some point …)
Not all students could back up their enthusiasm with the skills required and there were some very funny moments as children skidded off the mats or got themselves in a tangle of arms and legs. One particular boy was struggling with a backwards roll so one of the boys from the circus lifted his legs to help him over. Except the student decided that this was his cue to take his hands off of the floor, leaving the Circus guy supporting his whole weight by his ankles!
Nobody was hurt, though, and I must confess to spending a few moments during the sessions thinking ‘hmmm – can you imagine the risk assessment I would have done for this back home …!’
It was very clear that the children had gained skills from the Circus lesson, but the really great thing was that as we drove away, circus mats and instructors piled into the back of the car, the students who had finished their lessons for the day were still around, practicing forward rolls and handstands and all sorts. That was the aim of the game!
We have our Sports Day on Sunday, and one of the sports the children are competing in is Gymnastics. So we invited the Lalibela Circus to come and work with the students, to encourage them to practice and to give them some tips. Yes, you read that right. The Lalibela Circus. Nearly every big town in Lalibela has a circus, apparently, and there are Regional and National competitions, too. Of course, before I moved here, if anyone had asked me whether Circus was big in Ethiopia, I would have laughed, but it’s really popular.
I first realised this in Addis when walking along Bole Road last October. Suddenly, I could hear music, which is not unusual as many cars drive round promoting films or conferences at an ear splitting volume, but then I thought I could see two people walking along the road on stilts. I had clearly had too much sun and was hallucinating. But no, as they came closer, I realised that there actually were two people walking along the road on stilts – followed by people doing forward rolls and backflips and leaps and all kinds of things. They were all followed by a big car with two booming speakers on the back.
Lalibela Circus doesn’t quite have all that (I haven’t seen them walk on stilts, for a start), but it has a band of around 10 incredibly talented people aged from around 13 years old, I would guess, to mid twenties. They do all kinds of flips and jumps and acrobatics, but they also do drama and sketches to teach people about HIV and Aids, and other traditional practices considered harmful (such as child marriage).
They also create human pyramids! When they came a few months ago and did a display for the children of our school and the nearest government school, and the local community, there were many grown men with their hands over their eyes as one girl climbed up three people to do a handstand at the top of the pyramid!
This time they did do a little display, but mostly they worked with our children. We were slightly late arriving (as usual) so it was a bit frantic trying to set up, and then we noticed that loads of other people – adults and children – were walking over to our school and settling down to watch the show. A and I soon realised the government school were holding their Parents Day celebration, and everyone had decided what we were doing was a lot more interesting so they wandered over. Oops! We tried to dissuade people, but gave up eventually and just stuck Ab on crowd control duties.
The Circus set up their mats in the compound and Grade 2 were bought forward to have a go. I was proud that quite a few students had a go, even if they could only manage a front roll, and we saw some students do some really exciting acrobatics. Some children were very shy and content to watch, no matter how much we tried to encourage them. I guess it’s a little intimidating to have your whole community watching you as you attempt to do something you’ve never even seen before.
This kind of activity can also be especially problematic for the girls, who are wearing dresses and risk all kinds of modesty mishaps while hanging upside down. Some put trousers on underneath their dresses, which offers them some protection. We do have some athletic kit for them to wear for Sports Day though – just normal trousers and tops donated from a school in Scotland, but it means they can take a full part in the gymnastics without worrying.
Of course, as so often happens, when Grade 1 were allowed to have their go, we had to fight to keep them back! The two Grade 1 teachers were stationed either sides of the mats to give students a quick swish of a stick as they got too far forward in their excitement. (yes, yes, we shall talk about the whole stick swishing stuff at some point …)
Not all students could back up their enthusiasm with the skills required and there were some very funny moments as children skidded off the mats or got themselves in a tangle of arms and legs. One particular boy was struggling with a backwards roll so one of the boys from the circus lifted his legs to help him over. Except the student decided that this was his cue to take his hands off of the floor, leaving the Circus guy supporting his whole weight by his ankles!
Nobody was hurt, though, and I must confess to spending a few moments during the sessions thinking ‘hmmm – can you imagine the risk assessment I would have done for this back home …!’
It was very clear that the children had gained skills from the Circus lesson, but the really great thing was that as we drove away, circus mats and instructors piled into the back of the car, the students who had finished their lessons for the day were still around, practicing forward rolls and handstands and all sorts. That was the aim of the game!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
