After a full 14 weeks in the Maldives, it was time for me to leave. We packed one final day wandering Male', doing the essential tourist activities; marvelling at giant tuna in the fish market, sipping kurumba through straws that smelt vaguely of petroleum, and spending far too much money on ornamental shells. A hawker also convinced us into buying some 'Maldivian chocolate'. After much contemplative chewing we decided that this weird concoction was a mixture of cinnamon, sugar, dry rice, and chilli. It wasn't bad, but it looked like a dog chew and definitely was not chocolate.
That night we flew to Colombo, on a plane so ludicrously underbooked that it was actually spooky. The gate for its onward flight to Nanking was equally empty. Presumably China Eastern Airways is state-subsidised, because I can't see how 7 passengers paying 50 quid each is enough to cover the fuel, crew and fees for a 196-seat commercial jetliner. (The empty plane did not stop one poor girl diligently scanning the rows for her assigned seat). It was a good flight, through a stunning lightning storm, and with an easygoing cabin attendant who gave both of us a family-size bottle of Pepsi gratis and looked the other way when we started playing hide and seek.
Entering Sri Lanka is not a pleasant experience. The signs of Civil War are still fresh, and heavily-armed soldiers patrol every inch of the capital city. There are military checkpoints and mounted semi-automatics throughout Colombo, but the airport was a key target of the LTTE Tamil Tigers, and it was breached in 2005, so the neurosis and tension is noticeably higher here. Equally concerning is the unmissable sign at immigration proclaiming: POSSESSION OF ILLEGAL DRUGS CARRIES THE DEATH PENALTY. It's difficult to avoid paranoia seeing this. You start thinking, "what if I picked something up accidentally", "what if my luggage was tampered with?". Obviously you really know it's fine, but that fleeting creeping doubt is scary when the consequences of a mistake or misunderstanding are so horrific.
After spending the night in a little guesthouse near the airport we boarded a 'luxury' bus to shoot the 90 minutes drive into Colombo. It was still battered, packed like a tin of sardines, but there was apparently some A/C, and thus cost 50p instead of 30p. It was a fascinating journey, with the roadside packed full of small businesses, market traders, cows, shacks, and hilarious advertising hoardings. Most of these are the same: a grinning cricket player with a bat nonchalantly slung over one shoulder, holding the product to camera in his other hand. Sri Lankan marketing execs are either the laziest or cleverest in the world. I saw the exact same cricketing pose advertising: a) Milo chocolate milkshake; b) Mobitel internet; c) Coca-Cola; d) Kot-Mee instant noodles; e) some miscellaneous shower gel. Sri Lankan Tourism also get in on the cricketing/advertising panacea with one of the most astounding non-sequiters I have ever seen. "BE BOWLED OVER BY SRI LANKA'S WILDLIFE" demands the roadside billboard, complemented by a quite unremarkable image of an elephant having a nice stand in a field. Not holding a bat, guarding a wicket, or throwing a novelty cricket ball in the air. Just standing there. Sri Lanka Tourism do not get puns.
This was not my roadside hoarding however. Not even close. That honour goes to a rare non-cricketing billboard for Fedex, with some abstract silhouette of humans, lots of Sinhalese writing, and the perfect tagline: "NO TWO PEOPLE ARE THE SAME. WHY SHOULD THEIR FREIGHT SOLUTIONS?"
This is just so laughably ridiculous, clearly blue-skied by some snotty little graduate (me in six months), probably responding to a remit of "repackaging and individualising the customer/servicer interface", whilst ignoring the clear fact that freight solutions are the one sphere that really demand uniformity. It's just a glorified postal system. I felt like yelling at Future-Me: "Because everyone's freight requirements are the same. Get it from A to B. Safely. Efficiently. They don't want a personalised service. They want structure, order, systemisation, the most certain method of concluding their recent freight-based dilemma without further stress or trauma. They are not buying choice cuts of meat for a barbecue."
Marketing execs are clearly the biggest bullshitters in the world. I want to be one.
What a pleasant interlude! The bus dropped us somewhere in the bustling market hub of central Colombo, near Fort Railway Station. Laden with sweat and big backpacks, we were attractive target for tuk-tuk drivers, who clearly sensed a fee commensurate with desperate Westerners. For some reason we started bartering, before realising we had no real destination in mind, so strode with purpose up various back alleys and staircases into a succession of dirty guesthouses. After a few hours we found a room in a particularly disgusting street, where a grubby but habitable double room cost us 1500 rupees (7 quid) per night. The bed sagged to the floor, the toilet seat was left in the shower, and the cistern had to be manually filled with a hosepipe before flushing. I now know the internal mechanism of a toilet by heart. On the sink was an empty foil packet from the hitherto unknown but presumably reputable CUPID♂ brand. Clearly the previous occupant had medical issues. But at least the guesthouse boy swept the floor, and got us new sheets. It was a dive, but fine for a few hours each night.
That afternoon we tramped around Colombo, and jumped in a tuk-tuk to the posh Galle Face Hotel for a stunning view of the sun setting over the Indian Ocean. Even at this exclusive place (waiters in tuxedos) we could procure pints for just 80p, so I enjoyed my first affordable beer in 3 months and reclined into a sofa, Kindle in hand. Posh hotel, cold beer, awesome location. Bliss. And even better when they got the bill wrong. We paid, and cheesed it.
Thursday 12 April 2012
14. A Shark in the Dark
On 28 March my brother arrived in Male'. The original plan had been for him to join me on Ihavandhoo for two weeks, but now that wasn't possible so we decided to split the time between a lazy week swimming in the Maldives and a hectic week travelling in Sri Lanka.
I met Bryn at the airport, slightly fatigued after a 15 hour trip, and then cruelly frogmarched him across Male' to catch a local ferry bound for the island of Maafushi. (A 200 dollar spedboat or 2 dollar ferry - you do the math. s.) This was an inhabited island, so hotel rooms could be procured for about 10% of the resort cost. It meant adhering to Muslim rules (no alcohol, bikinis, or idolatry) but otherwise had all the necessities for a nice relaxing beach holiday. Including some powerful A/C which made me swoon with happiness. Being on Maafushi also gave us access to local people and affordable cafes, so Bryn got to see a glimpse of island culture and traditions, which visitors to resorts tend to be cocooned away from.
The best part of Maafushi was the truly stunning reef. Our beachfront room opened out into the most phenomenal snorkelling I experienced in the Maldives. A vast colony of fragile living coral which was home to fish of every size, shape and colour. It was particularly stunning in the morning, when the tide was out, and sunlight reflecting through shallower waters really framed the diversity and variety of life below. Every day we snorkelled several times, for several hours each go. One evening I even managed to glimpse a big four-foot reef shark, all angular and point, which emerged from the deep waters and passed a few metres in front of me. It was there, and then it was gone. No time to be afraid. But finally I had completed the four things on my snorkelling list: shark, manta, turtle and sting ray. Admittedly I only acknowledged this list after seeing all four, and if I'd seen a whale it would probably have been a list of five, so I'm not sure it counts as an achievement.
After three full days we were exhausted, and my cash reserves were reaching Lehmann Brother levels, so we hopped the ferry back to Male' where accommodation was cheaper, i.e. free. (Thank you Lorne and Kat). We passed a few more days on various other empty beaches, where we saw parrotfish and a stingray and only a limited amount of litter. In a moment of highly-anticipated triumph I finally finished Bill Clinton's epic seven-million page autobiography, started many weeks before on Ihavandhoo. It ranks as one of the worst-written books I've ever read; just a tedious account of every day in office, except for a few months in 1997/8 which he mysteriously skips over very quickly. I've since read Dubya's book, and the difference could not be more stark. Clinton may have nicer politics, and a far superior record in office, but Bush is a much better writer. Or at least he found a much better ghost writer.
I met Bryn at the airport, slightly fatigued after a 15 hour trip, and then cruelly frogmarched him across Male' to catch a local ferry bound for the island of Maafushi. (A 200 dollar spedboat or 2 dollar ferry - you do the math. s.) This was an inhabited island, so hotel rooms could be procured for about 10% of the resort cost. It meant adhering to Muslim rules (no alcohol, bikinis, or idolatry) but otherwise had all the necessities for a nice relaxing beach holiday. Including some powerful A/C which made me swoon with happiness. Being on Maafushi also gave us access to local people and affordable cafes, so Bryn got to see a glimpse of island culture and traditions, which visitors to resorts tend to be cocooned away from.
The best part of Maafushi was the truly stunning reef. Our beachfront room opened out into the most phenomenal snorkelling I experienced in the Maldives. A vast colony of fragile living coral which was home to fish of every size, shape and colour. It was particularly stunning in the morning, when the tide was out, and sunlight reflecting through shallower waters really framed the diversity and variety of life below. Every day we snorkelled several times, for several hours each go. One evening I even managed to glimpse a big four-foot reef shark, all angular and point, which emerged from the deep waters and passed a few metres in front of me. It was there, and then it was gone. No time to be afraid. But finally I had completed the four things on my snorkelling list: shark, manta, turtle and sting ray. Admittedly I only acknowledged this list after seeing all four, and if I'd seen a whale it would probably have been a list of five, so I'm not sure it counts as an achievement.
After three full days we were exhausted, and my cash reserves were reaching Lehmann Brother levels, so we hopped the ferry back to Male' where accommodation was cheaper, i.e. free. (Thank you Lorne and Kat). We passed a few more days on various other empty beaches, where we saw parrotfish and a stingray and only a limited amount of litter. In a moment of highly-anticipated triumph I finally finished Bill Clinton's epic seven-million page autobiography, started many weeks before on Ihavandhoo. It ranks as one of the worst-written books I've ever read; just a tedious account of every day in office, except for a few months in 1997/8 which he mysteriously skips over very quickly. I've since read Dubya's book, and the difference could not be more stark. Clinton may have nicer politics, and a far superior record in office, but Bush is a much better writer. Or at least he found a much better ghost writer.
Saturday 7 April 2012
13. Kurendhoo Excursion (can't think of a pun).
Th holiday ended and returning volunteers slowly trickled back to their home islands; those willing to stick it a little longer, to see how the political situation develops for us, whilst others - like myself - had already taken the decision to leave our contracts. Four were already back enjoying a mini-heatwave in the UK.
To pass the few days until my brother was due to arrive in Maldives I was convinced to join Jon and Joe on their cargo boat back to Kurendhoo, a small island in Lhaviyani Atoll, just north of Male'. It was still an eight hour boat ride, stowed away amongst boxes of oranges destined for some swanky resort. I read Les Miserables by the starboard reading light, and attempted to sleep on a wooden crate. It was one of the more bizarre nights of my life, and also contained the only moment of serious danger in my fourteen weeks, when we narrowly avoided a horrific collison with a speedboat. Around midnight some mental driver decided that, with a full ocean to choose from, he had to cross immediately in front of our path. It may have been nothing more than a game of high-stakes chicken, but probably closer than he intended. He must have been travelling at something like 60km/h, and missed a crash by mere feet. Our captain killed the engine, which probably prevented it. Jon and I were braced for impact, although it would have done no good. At that speed any collision would have been catastrophic, a fireball of flying debris and many casualties. Our fellow passengers slept on, unaware that we nearly became subject of a minor sub-heading in the BBC News Asa sub-topic. It took some minutes for the adrenaline to subside.
Somehow Jon and Joe managed to roll off the boat and into school for Day One of the new term. I opted to sleep for the rest of the morning. That afternoon we enjoyed coffee and fantastic hedukka short-eats at the local MDP cafe, and started preparations for a night-fishing expedition - i.e. us clumsily failing to snag any small bait fish in the harbour, until the Maldivians got so exasperated they took over and promptly landed two dozen. We set out trailing lures for tuna (I got 3), but as it got dark the real fun began, with waited lines and live bait, after barracuda and elusive red snapper. With 8 fish to my name, bettering my previous night-fishing record by 7, it was a highly-successful and enjoyable trip.
On my second day on Kurendhoo we snorkelled along the fantastic island reef shelf, and then turned up for the daily football game, from which I soon retired with a growing blister, exhaustion, and probably some mild heatstroke. I don't know how Maldivians can keep running around in 35 degree heat; I was knackered by the warm-up (shooting practice). But Jon and Joe have acclimatised, and battled through the match whilst I got extremely lost on their island.
That night I returned to Male', after a few great days, and another island ticked off the Maldives list. Eleven down, and just two thousand, one hundred and eighty nine to go. It was the same boat, but this time much emptier, so I could nab one of the highly-prized mattresses in the cabin, and bunk down to sleep most of the way back. In such luxury the journey simply flew by.
To pass the few days until my brother was due to arrive in Maldives I was convinced to join Jon and Joe on their cargo boat back to Kurendhoo, a small island in Lhaviyani Atoll, just north of Male'. It was still an eight hour boat ride, stowed away amongst boxes of oranges destined for some swanky resort. I read Les Miserables by the starboard reading light, and attempted to sleep on a wooden crate. It was one of the more bizarre nights of my life, and also contained the only moment of serious danger in my fourteen weeks, when we narrowly avoided a horrific collison with a speedboat. Around midnight some mental driver decided that, with a full ocean to choose from, he had to cross immediately in front of our path. It may have been nothing more than a game of high-stakes chicken, but probably closer than he intended. He must have been travelling at something like 60km/h, and missed a crash by mere feet. Our captain killed the engine, which probably prevented it. Jon and I were braced for impact, although it would have done no good. At that speed any collision would have been catastrophic, a fireball of flying debris and many casualties. Our fellow passengers slept on, unaware that we nearly became subject of a minor sub-heading in the BBC News Asa sub-topic. It took some minutes for the adrenaline to subside.
Somehow Jon and Joe managed to roll off the boat and into school for Day One of the new term. I opted to sleep for the rest of the morning. That afternoon we enjoyed coffee and fantastic hedukka short-eats at the local MDP cafe, and started preparations for a night-fishing expedition - i.e. us clumsily failing to snag any small bait fish in the harbour, until the Maldivians got so exasperated they took over and promptly landed two dozen. We set out trailing lures for tuna (I got 3), but as it got dark the real fun began, with waited lines and live bait, after barracuda and elusive red snapper. With 8 fish to my name, bettering my previous night-fishing record by 7, it was a highly-successful and enjoyable trip.
On my second day on Kurendhoo we snorkelled along the fantastic island reef shelf, and then turned up for the daily football game, from which I soon retired with a growing blister, exhaustion, and probably some mild heatstroke. I don't know how Maldivians can keep running around in 35 degree heat; I was knackered by the warm-up (shooting practice). But Jon and Joe have acclimatised, and battled through the match whilst I got extremely lost on their island.
That night I returned to Male', after a few great days, and another island ticked off the Maldives list. Eleven down, and just two thousand, one hundred and eighty nine to go. It was the same boat, but this time much emptier, so I could nab one of the highly-prized mattresses in the cabin, and bunk down to sleep most of the way back. In such luxury the journey simply flew by.
Friday 6 April 2012
12. Good Friends in the Komas, I know, I know, it's serious.
Term finished on 15th March, and I spent a few days tying up loose ends, enjoying fishing, snorkeling, and the companionship of Ihavandhoo chums. It was tough to say goodbye – in ten weeks I’d grown fond of the island, its people, and even my classes. Most of them.
One problem was posed by the tough old landlord. Two weeks before he moved into our spare bedroom, and since then Andrew and I had been communicating with him through hand signals and mutual guesswork. His fishing boat had been damaged and was undergoing some extensive repair work in the harbour, so he wanted a place away from the fibreglass dust and heat. Never mind that he was related to half the island and practically owns every house on Ihavandhoo - he was chief and was moving in, although still disappeared to his daughter's place for breakfast. At first we were happy enough for him to stay, but then five of his crew moved in and started sleeping on the floors, and sitting up chatting and smoking late into the night, so we put the metaphorical foot down. It was meant to be our place, and we were now paying the bills for eight people who were keeping us awake when we had to be up at 6am every morning. Not impressive.
I didn't want to tell him of my imminent departure, because I could ill afford to hand over the March rent from my small savings. The wages owed to me by the school would easily cover several months, so he wouldn't be out of pocket - I just couldn't face paying and then not getting the wages. So I had to pack surreptitiously on the last night, and carefully smuggle half the suitcases to Merlin. When I left the next morning, with just two bags, I looked merely overprepared for six days in Male', and not like I was doing a runner. (Technically I wasn't).
In pursuit of an authentic Maldivian experience (and to save money), I eschewed a flight in favour of the ferry - a marathon 18-hour direct journey through glittering atolls and shimmering seas. (Fresh from my class on adjectives y'see). Maybe 200 people were crammed onto the good ship Komas, and this lent the journey a friendly, communal atmosphere. This did not equal comfortable. The boat was small and split into several four-foot decks, so there was only space to sit or lie. Lying on wooden boards for eighteen hours is not fun.
That night we slept on the roof, under a stunning night sky, unspoilt by light pollution. Bloody uncomfortable, but it was quieter and cooler than the cramped lower decks, and I could stand up. Everyone had warned me that it would be bitterly cold, but I was confident that the Maldivian standard of 'bitterly cold' would not overly trouble a British constitution. Wrapped in a thin cotton bedsheet it was fine. Poor Merlin suffered a little more - but no problem; finally I had a use for one of the two jumpers my mum somehow convinced me to take to the Maldives! I think it was a compromise after we negotiated her down from five.
I didn't want to tell him of my imminent departure, because I could ill afford to hand over the March rent from my small savings. The wages owed to me by the school would easily cover several months, so he wouldn't be out of pocket - I just couldn't face paying and then not getting the wages. So I had to pack surreptitiously on the last night, and carefully smuggle half the suitcases to Merlin. When I left the next morning, with just two bags, I looked merely overprepared for six days in Male', and not like I was doing a runner. (Technically I wasn't).
In pursuit of an authentic Maldivian experience (and to save money), I eschewed a flight in favour of the ferry - a marathon 18-hour direct journey through glittering atolls and shimmering seas. (Fresh from my class on adjectives y'see). Maybe 200 people were crammed onto the good ship Komas, and this lent the journey a friendly, communal atmosphere. This did not equal comfortable. The boat was small and split into several four-foot decks, so there was only space to sit or lie. Lying on wooden boards for eighteen hours is not fun.
That night we slept on the roof, under a stunning night sky, unspoilt by light pollution. Bloody uncomfortable, but it was quieter and cooler than the cramped lower decks, and I could stand up. Everyone had warned me that it would be bitterly cold, but I was confident that the Maldivian standard of 'bitterly cold' would not overly trouble a British constitution. Wrapped in a thin cotton bedsheet it was fine. Poor Merlin suffered a little more - but no problem; finally I had a use for one of the two jumpers my mum somehow convinced me to take to the Maldives! I think it was a compromise after we negotiated her down from five.
We arrived in Male' at 7am, so I went for breakfast before scooting to Hulhumale with all my luggage, a big man-made island designed to handle both rising sea levels and the Male' population overspill in coming decades, and now is slowly filling with amenities and tenement blocks - not the most typically Maldivian of places, but a pleasant enough solution to some big problems. HM also had the best restaurant that I found in the Maldives, where a fresh orange juice and breakfast could be savoured for under a pound. My favourite was the kulhimas, a sweet spicy chutney sauce layered on chunks of meaty tuna, and scooped up with roshi. Elsewhere the kulhimas was more of a fish curry. Not so appetising for breakfast.
The next few days passed in a pleasant blur, catching up with all the other volunteers. Everyone seemed to need a break and change of scenery. All those castaway in distant atolls had bolted for the comforts and amenities of Male', whilst the people based in Male' were backpacking in Sri Lanka. Strange how even the picturesque paradise islands of the Maldives become somewhere to escape from after ten weeks.
Male' city was still rocking with political protests and marches. Two days after arriving there was a big demonstration which was met with tear gas and rubber bullets. Dozens were arrested or hospitalised, and some buildings were set on fire. Yet the next day all as back to normality, or normality as it pertains to Male' - the standard chaotic throng of mopeds, taxis, vans, and people, all weaving through each other at any and every opportunity. One night we got tickets for an Asian Champions League qualifying game. A veritable Clash of the Titans between top Maldives team Addu Victory, and the aces of Kuwait City FC. It was a decent game, ending 2-2 (as if you need to be told), although the preponderance of female volunteers meant most of the game was spent admiring the legs and hair of Addu's number 19. (I wish I was joking).
The next few days passed in a pleasant blur, catching up with all the other volunteers. Everyone seemed to need a break and change of scenery. All those castaway in distant atolls had bolted for the comforts and amenities of Male', whilst the people based in Male' were backpacking in Sri Lanka. Strange how even the picturesque paradise islands of the Maldives become somewhere to escape from after ten weeks.
Male' city was still rocking with political protests and marches. Two days after arriving there was a big demonstration which was met with tear gas and rubber bullets. Dozens were arrested or hospitalised, and some buildings were set on fire. Yet the next day all as back to normality, or normality as it pertains to Male' - the standard chaotic throng of mopeds, taxis, vans, and people, all weaving through each other at any and every opportunity. One night we got tickets for an Asian Champions League qualifying game. A veritable Clash of the Titans between top Maldives team Addu Victory, and the aces of Kuwait City FC. It was a decent game, ending 2-2 (as if you need to be told), although the preponderance of female volunteers meant most of the game was spent admiring the legs and hair of Addu's number 19. (I wish I was joking).
Saturday 31 March 2012
11. Frugality Is My Watchword
With my mind made up to leave, the last few weeks of term have drifted by rather quickly. February became March, and nobody noticed. The students were busy revising for their midterm tests, so lessons became quite repetitive recaps, where I bored myself rigid with explaining how a question tag works. It’s like this, isn’t it? She can’t go there, can she? We should write the answer, shouldn’t we? It was only worth 2 marks out of 40, and they still got it wrong.
My head was elsewhere, filled with overambitious and expensive travel plans, and I spent hours staring forlornly at Google Maps and Skyscanner, willing the perfect route to somehow present itself. Meanwhile, my extravagant £6 per-day living was cut down to take account of the expensive months ahead, and I dabbled in c.1944 Home Front levels of frugality, aiming to get by on less than 50 Rufiyaa (£2.10) per day, and saving the rest. I would claim that it was like a return to student days, but as Mai, Kieran and Joe will attest, I was not the most frugal of students. Although in my defence, what I spent on cheeseboards I made up for in bags of bargain potatoes.
However, when pushed, I’m discovered that I’m extremely good at living the old frugal lifestyle. It was actually quite easy (maybe Edwina Currie is talking about the Maldives?), although admittedly my diet became even more repetitive than I otherwise thought possible. For 20 Rufiyaa (80p) at the local cafe I got a pile of spicy tuna and vegetable rice with ubiquitous fried egg, popadoms, a chicken sausage, and a glass of intriguingly fluorescent ‘orange juice’. Sometimes there was even a slice of cucumber on the side - for the necessary vitamins and minerals. This was by far the most cost-effective and filling fare on offer, and I ate it most nights for three weeks, although I did try alternatives. A low point was reached when I started fishing for little minnows in the harbour, and frying them up with potatoes and onion – very underwhelming – especially when the victims still looked like goldfish. On another occasion I attempted to break the monotony by making cheesy pasta (with canned cheese from Bahrain) but it nearly made me vomit, so I returned to the café. I stopped buying Coca-Cola, sweets, coffee, snacks, phone top-ups, internet credit, or washing powder. When an invite came to someone’s house, I took it and didn’t eat for the day, so I could fill up on the banquet that was invariably prepared. (They really did load the tables when Mr Liam was coming to dinner. There would be about two dozen options – each bowl loaded with enough food to make a meal in itself).
Altogether I’ve managed to squirrel away 10,000 Rufiyaa. This equates to about £400, which I’m hoping is more than enough to see me through two more weeks in Male’ and then ten days exploring Sri Lanka. Seven weeks in SE Asia, however, will be financed purely through the power of overdraft...
Friday 30 March 2012
10. Going Lanka.
Considering I started getting drawn back into the political situation in my last post, I figured it would be a good idea to separate this out, and amongst the general hilarity briefly mention that a few weeks ago I decided to revoke my volunteer contract with the Ministry of Education following the midterm break. This means I’ll be leaving the Maldives in April, and returning to the UK on 12 June, after a few months maxxing out my location with some spontaneous travelling in South Asia.
I was starting to get real concerns about continuing to volunteer in the current political situation and this ultimately discouraged me from continuing. If you want to read about the sequence of events, stuff is available everywhere. Try the Guardian, Minivan News, and Haveeru. It’s both an interesting and seriously worrying situation, and there’s lots of lessons for the future, especially with regards the Arab Spring states!
Anyway, we had four main link bodies in the IVP programme, and all four were either disbanded or their involvement with us was terminated. The Friends of Maldives – who were supporting and funding us from the UK – were unable to continue their role after 7 February, and their founder and chairman was denounced all over state-run television. The next day there were some properly awkward questions in the staffroom over IVP links to the FOM. The UK High Commissioner and her deputy (the new President’s brother) also resigned in protest and advised us to leave. The Maldives Volunteer Corps was forcefully disbanded after the army and police sacked their offices early one morning. And finally our ‘volunteer’ contracts with the Ministry of Education were transferred to the Ministry of Youth and Human Resources without us being consulted. This may have been because the YHR was considered more institutionally aligned to the new regime than the MOE, which is apparently quite dominated by MDP supporters.
So it’s been a weird reversal in the info and support we’ve been getting. Supporters of the new government, who formerly denounced us as missionaries and imperialists, are now desperate for us to stay – because it shows continuity, and that nothing has fundamentally changed in the Maldives except for the President. Meanwhile, many of the people who put us here have since asked us to leave, to ignore the non-political clause in our contracts, and speak out. They want to show Maldivians the real and significant impact on the ground of the events they describe as a coup, and twenty-four British teachers leaving simultaneously would actually make news. This country has the population of Leicester – it doesn’t take too much to make the headlines. I don’t like being played by either party to be honest, but decided to jump the frying pan.
My resignation was effective from the mid-term break – so I’m happy that I held out and completed at least a one-quarter chunk of the planned year contract – and I would consider going back if elections were held and the volunteer programme reinstated, but I’m not optimistic. So in the meantime, I’m going to Sri Lanka, Thailand, Cambodia, Laos etc., for a spontaneous few months of travelling on the borrowed dollar, plunging my overdraft into new shades of red. India was always number one on my list, but who knew that sleeper trains are so oversubscribed with bookings two months in advance? Every train from Mumbai to Delhi had literally 200+ on the waiting list. That will be another year… and for now also means I can keep my blog address!
9. Alidhoo-dhoo-dhoo, push pineapple shake the tree...
Well… it’s been a while. Too long if I’m honest. Over six weeks since the last update, and I’m not entirely sure that I remember what’s happened in the interim. So you may have to settle for a long, confusing and incomplete summary split into several incoherent chapters – the sign of a master story-teller at work.
But I’ll get at least some chronological balance, because one of the proper highlights happened way way back in late February, and is pretty much unforgettable. After seven weeks ensconced on my own little acre of Indian Ocean real estate, and with unmistakeable signs of islands fever setting in, I was able to jump ship and experience beautiful Dhidhdhoo, lured by the glowing recommendation of the Chris Collective. (Plus there was an unconfirmed rumour that a nearby exclusive resort offered a decent rate to previous cohorts of volunteer teachers). I chartered my own bathtub and driver for a quite monstrous 1000 Rufiyaa (£40) and set out across the Ihavandholippu Channel. It was a choppy twenty kilometre journey through tuna-infested waters, and took nearly two hours, but the time, money, danger and soggy clothes were rendered worthwhile when I stepped onto the hallowed Dhidhdhoo jetty, where Chris and Chris were waiting for me.
That afternoon we sang, danced, got merry on Coca Cola, and generally enjoyed our youth by going fishing. It was not the most successful of expeditions. I first screwed up by letting go of the reel when Chris H threw the baited line in. Cue some spontaneous swimming to recover this vital equipment - it was more of an embarrassed clamber than triumphant return to the pier, and left me sodden for the rest of the afternoon. But even holding the reel didn’t improve the fishing; our expertise only stretched to snag every single discarded garment that was quietly rotting under the pier. Some shirts, dresses, a headscarve, blanket, and pair of trousers later, and we were ready to set up a fashion house, Liam Vuitton, specialising in reclaimed wet and rotting Maldivian junk.
The next day we were up bright and early for a speedboat connection to Alidhoo Resort, which zipped across to the service jetty in five minutes. Apparently they were not expecting us. The deal supposedly arranged between Dhidhdhoo’s fixer and Alidhoo’s management via some mutual friend in Male’ did not seem to have materialised, so after tentatively explaining why we were there to the lackey on reception, we quietly slunk off to the poolside bar, hoping to grab a few drinks before the management kicked us off the island. An hour later, with a cool $8 glass of Fosters in one hand, and a pool cue in the other, the manager arrived in a golf buggy. If a golf buggy can look ominous, this looked ominous. I heard the Imperial March tune from Star Wars playing in my head, and prepared for the worst… But no summary exit for us; the manager had a quick chat with Chris H, mentioned a discount on beer, free buffet meals, and some casual reference to a ‘day-room’, which he said was being arranged by reception. After being given the keys to Room 101 (again – ominous), we later discovered this ‘day-room’ was actually free stay in a $400-a-night suite, complete with kingsize-bed, Jacuzzi, outside bathroom, beachfront verandah, and a cool bowl of fresh water with hollow-coconut-on-stick-implement for washing sand off your feet. It was like blagging the jackpot!
So for the next 36 hours we swam in the infinity pool, sunbathed, read, showered (communally) in hot water (Chris C enjoyed that too much), stuffed ourselves with gorgeous buffet food, got tipsy on $2 beers, and watched hilariously inept Chinese tourists learn to snorkel in the swimming pool. One girl held on to the ladder for an hour, face down in the water staring at her feet. It would not have been so funny if she weren’t wearing a life-jacket, brand-new wetsuit, and if the pool was deeper than one metre. With such hilarious anecdotes, what wasn't to love about our new home...
It was a shame to leave Alidhoo, but the long weekend was ending and reality was calling. So we returned to Dhidhdhoo with heavy hearts but also heavy wallets, not quite believing what had happened, nor what to do next. Somehow, the earlier failed fishing expedition did not deter a return to our Waterloo. Three hours later we had learnt two more important life lessons: that crabs are mainly constituted from smelly yellow gunk, and that fish do not like eating this.
The next morning I got back to Ihavandhoo to find the island agog with excitement. Former President Nasheed, ousted in the event of 07 February, was conducting a whirlwind tour of the northern atolls - where he remains extremely popular and his Maldivian Democratic Party (MDP) have a clear majority of support. He was stopping in Ihavandhoo that afternoon. Yellow banners and flags were flying across the island, and little paper Maldivian flags were being handed out to everyone. I took my camera down to the rally, and pretended to be an intrepid photojournalist. Scratch that. I am an intrepid photojournalist. Was very tempted to line up for a third handshake with the Island President, but didn’t fancy seeing myself on national television again. A photo of us volunteers meeting Nasheed back in January was being circulated on the new regime’s television station as evidence of the links between Nasheed and the Friends of Maldives (FOM) NGO - the new regime claimed this partnership was attempting to subvert the traditions, culture and religion of the Maldives. So we were already being used as political pawns, which was extremely frustrating! Anyway, I got some snaps, and being mistaken for someone important by the welcoming committee, was handed a lovely kurumba (coconut) with a straw. The life of a photojournalist….
I’m going to write my next blog post immediately. It needs a new heading, because it deals with some totally different stuff.
Tuesday 14 February 2012
8. Detatched Retinas (Sic)
You may have all seen BBC News this week, and noted that there has been 'political unrest' in the Maldives. I'm not allowed to publicly comment on Maldivian politics - according to the stipulations of my contract and also about twelve e-mails, telephone and Skype reminders since Saturday. (You all know me so well.) Therefore, I can't say much here, but after doing my research - which for absolute no reason has included reading page 33 of the Maldivian Constitution - I have decided to draw a very subtle analogy. The version of events has been disputed by all parties, and personally I think it's like having a cigarette and getting smoke in my eyes, and thus experiencing tobacco up detatched retinas! It certainly feels as painful.
Can you tell that I was in a very boring meeting earlier today?
If anyone feels inclined to do some research learn more about the situation, you may read a few differing opinions from the Independent here, former President Nasheed in the New York Times here, current President Waheed's personal website here and Raajje News here. Again, I'd like to repeat that these are not my opinion pieces, I am remaining utterly impartial, and that I am in no way becoming involved with the internal partisan politics of the Maldives.
Anyway, life on the island pretty much continued, but with a few more political rallies and a few less policemen. (They weren't killed - rather summoned to help restore the peace in Male'). I'm surprised how quickly absolute normality has been restored to be honest. What recent events mean for the future of my tenure in the Maldives remain unclear, but most people seem convinced that the programme will continue without any problems.
Time is really starting to move now though. I've now been here for 7 weeks! In just 41 weeks I'll be flying home. Ridonkulous. I've also settled in to my new (and permanent) home for the year, so now have access to a private bathroom, a kitchen, and a garden. The house is big, and shared between myself, Andrew, and the landlord's son-in-law. Proper party town! Except instead of having raucous parties we mainly steam vegetables and occasionally fry chips.
I'll leave this short - for a change - and write a full update in a few days. If your eyes are not yet tired, please enjoy this wonderful video of my new home.
Gotcha!
Can you tell that I was in a very boring meeting earlier today?
If anyone feels inclined to do some research learn more about the situation, you may read a few differing opinions from the Independent here, former President Nasheed in the New York Times here, current President Waheed's personal website here and Raajje News here. Again, I'd like to repeat that these are not my opinion pieces, I am remaining utterly impartial, and that I am in no way becoming involved with the internal partisan politics of the Maldives.
Anyway, life on the island pretty much continued, but with a few more political rallies and a few less policemen. (They weren't killed - rather summoned to help restore the peace in Male'). I'm surprised how quickly absolute normality has been restored to be honest. What recent events mean for the future of my tenure in the Maldives remain unclear, but most people seem convinced that the programme will continue without any problems.
Time is really starting to move now though. I've now been here for 7 weeks! In just 41 weeks I'll be flying home. Ridonkulous. I've also settled in to my new (and permanent) home for the year, so now have access to a private bathroom, a kitchen, and a garden. The house is big, and shared between myself, Andrew, and the landlord's son-in-law. Proper party town! Except instead of having raucous parties we mainly steam vegetables and occasionally fry chips.
I'll leave this short - for a change - and write a full update in a few days. If your eyes are not yet tired, please enjoy this wonderful video of my new home.
Gotcha!
Tuesday 7 February 2012
7. This is mainly about sand and fish
February started, as February tends to, on the 1st of February. It also started with a tough day at school, and a v.v.v.important meeting at 8.45pm. Or this would be the assumption, from the notice that was shoved under the nose of every staff member that day. “Staff meeting, 8.45pm. Attendance compulsory”. We had to sign a sheet to prove we had seen and understood the message. The same sheet is passed back to us at the meeting itself, to be countersigned, proving our attendance. There’s lots of signing things in Ihavandhoo, so we can’t really claim to have been out of the loop.
So what would this meeting be about? As I changed into my smart clothes that evening, I was somewhat mystified. Maybe restructuring the school day – moving from double-session to single-session, as Dhidhoo is (seamlessly) planning. Maybe another debate about the merits and demerits of placing a price cap on private tuition – many of the teachers supplement their income by providing extra classes to those willing to pay – but this is a market where demand far outstrips supply, and prices are starting to move beyond the means of poorer families. We spent two hours in a staff meeting about that last week, but no conclusion had been reached, to the chagrin of the management. Were we revisiting that old chestnut?
When the meeting started with a twenty-minute speech in Dhivehi, I was guessing it could be important. The Dep-Principal is a respected man in these parts, and everyone was listening intently. Then the Principal offered to translate his speech into English, and there was lots of very admirable sentiments – developing community cohesion, promoting our virtuous profession, teachers as the masons of the nation. (I think in sense of carving the stone (bashing the children) into useful shapes, rather than being a secret cabal who control the army, government, and economy to suit our own shady objectives. If that teaching club exists I haven’t been invited yet. Maybe it’s the PTA). The context, however, was somewhat underwhelming: the school was getting some mounds of sand delivered to recover the schoolyard, and could everyone lend a few hours on Friday morning to help out.
That was the only item on the agenda, so with an enlightened mind, I emerged from the meeting to cultivate my pretentious new theory about the transmission of information / notifications in the Maldives. I’ve decided that if some serious research is needed, or an important presentation must be prepared, you are normally given an hour’s notice to start and complete it. When there is something that would normally require a month’s notice, such as a transfer to a different island – you have one hour. If a 2-minute announcement needs to be made, there is also one hour set aside to convey it. See the pattern here?
As it was, the Sandday was a massive community event. Easily half the island must have turned up, and with a thousand workers a big job happens rather quickly. There was no general organisation or direction, but the chaos and raw effort got the job done. Groups of people set up their own chain gangs, with basic ‘specialisation of labour’ and ‘Fordist production lines’, and between 6am and 10am the whole yard was covered with 10 cm of pure white sand earlier dredged from the harbour. Adam Smith would have been proud. Men grabbed shovels and piled it into wheelbarrows. Young boys carried huge sacks filled with sand to prove their strength, whilst the women set up chains and moved a massive quantity of the stuff, whilst also chattering wildly. The older boys commandeered massive carts and turned the whole day into a festival - a dozen or more would run the cart from the stockpile to the school, with whoops and cheers and chants. Older islanders raked the yard smooth, or provided water bottles, Wagon Wheels and raw eggs to the labourers. Everyone dripped with sweat. The PA system bellowed traditional bodu-beru music over the whole island – this is loud and rhythmic drumming, and perfect for working to, and it just topped off a great atmosphere. I tried my hand at carrying sacks, shovelling sand, running with the cart, and did most of it with a big smile plastered on my face, because it’s really the first day I’ve properly felt part of this fantastic community. The schoolyard now looks great, so I don't really begrudge losing a morning!
Nor that afternoon, which was the first staff trip of the year. The Events Committee arranged to hire a boat, and so at 2pm seventeen teachers sailed off into the gorgeous blue ocean aboard a medium-sized fishing dhoni. Never to return. Like the plot to some rubbish Goosebumps story. Or it began to feel like that, when we were still bobbing through the night seven hours later, and I was starting to feel the effects of seasickness, at odds with my carefully-crafted image of a brave sailor with an iron constitution. Now the world knows different – although I did resist the urge to chunder.For the first five hours it was a fascinating experience, learning how most of the islanders make their living. Firstly we searched for shoals of little baitfish. Several people had to jump into the ocean, and drag out net and floats to create a wall about five metres from the boat. On the other side, a few of the guys seemed to shepherd the shoal towards the wall, and then the men on the boat pulled the bottom of the net upwards as quick as possible, creating a bag which was squeezed from all directions until thousands of tiny wriggling fish could be scooped up into the hold. You can see that by clicking here, and I apologise if your eyes are scarred by exposure to "those blue briefs".
Then the real fishing started. The grizzled captain is clearly a devotee of the Brothers Grimm, because his strategy was straight from the Hansel and Gretel playbook. One junior fisherman – actually a student in my Grade 11 class – would casually throw a handful of captive baitfish overboard every ten seconds, creating a “trail of breadcrumbs” to attract our dinner. (I think this is how fish fingers are made). Meanwhile, from the back and sides of the boat, we all trailed lines with the unluckier baitfish, which were somewhat cruelly skewered whilst they were still alive. If anything is a disposable commodity in the Maldives, it’s baitfish. Some of the men focused on hooking seabirds to bring home as pets (or food – this was never quite clear), but the majority were after the sizeable and tasty reef fish.
Sadly it was a bad day for fishing – as dusk started to fall the whole party had only managed about fifteen between them. But I was informed by an optimistic Agil that the real fun happened at night, when the metre-long tuna fish are feeding. Some of the smaller catches were butchered into chunks, and this time we waited the lines and dropped much bigger hooks into much deeper water. After an hour, there was nada, zilch, nothing. Then I stepped up, dropped a line, and pulled in the catch of the day. A six-foot 20-stone monster, pulled from the deepest reaches of the ocean, caught with sheer wit, raw muscle and garden twine. There is some slight exaggeration here, but the fact is, I caught a (very small) reef fish. Now I have to experience zero-gravity and my bucket-list is complete.
The edge was almost taken off the fun when, at 8pm, I started feeling my first ever bout of seasickness, and tried to subtly enquire how much longer we were staying out on the water. “Probably not all night” was the unsympathetic response. With my stomach curdling and my head dizzy from all the rocking, I had to go lie down to contemplate another eight hours at sea. Fortunately they were pulling my leg, in a surprisingly adept way, and massively enjoyed my clear relief when we started heading for home a few minutes later. It totally lifted the psychological pressure, and I felt almost myself again. On the journey home I sat with some of the younger teaching staff, and shared a highbrow discussion on the merits of Proust and Nabokov. Or rather, they wanted a full explanation of the verb “to moon someone”, and then became gleeful / dumbfounded / appalled when I tentatively acknowledged that British schools do indeed teach sex education, or as my highly-professional peers called it, ‘sexology’.
After 7 hours at sea I left the boat with just that one rather unfortunate reef fish to my credit. Slightly sad I couldn’t take it with me, because that’s really one of my minor goals for this year – a determination to become an expert at cooking fish. So I can host suburban middle-class dinner parties in the parties and pretentiously boast about my formative year in the Maldives and how it forms the exotic base of my gastronomic repertoire. But also so I can eat great food whilst I’m here. In Dhiffushi (see Blog #2) our host had provided sweet and sticky chilli tuna steaks, which were just incredible. They tasted like spare ribs, but far healthier and tastier, and I decided that I would perfect the recipe. By trial and error. So far I’ve used combinations of chilli, garlic, oil, sugar, lime, lemon, and salt. I have failed several times and left Merlin with some very burnt pans to scrub, but last night it worked quite well, so at last I reach base camp! When I get my wages some will probably be invested in soy sauce and honey (and honey loops) to see if that provides any impetus to perfect fish steak.
A more basic achievement is learning the skill of butchering and preparing the fish for cooking. I would say fishmongering, but I’m not sure this is even the word, nor that it is acceptable after the Ricky Gervais debacle. I’d already mentioned that I wanted to learn, so yesterday Merlin and I spontaneously bought some small tuna from a wandering fish salesman – this is how it sounds, just a hygienic wheelbarrow of dead fish and blood in the midday sun – and got ourselves three fine specimens for about £2. Merlin then showed me the process: 1) chop off fins; 2) descale; 3) chop off head; 4) pull out guts; 5) chop off tail; 6) chop off dorsals; 7) chop into pieces. Lots of chopping and pulling. We then took different routes at stage 8 – he dissected the nice meaty eyeballs and other edible remainders, whilst I performed a hilarious double-act routine with an anthropomorphised squeaky-voiced fish head. To great acclaim, and a possible Academy Award.
Thursday 2 February 2012
Tuesday 31 January 2012
5. Birthday Bonanza
After a hungover birthday last year, 31 January 2012 was a slightly more sedate affair. As you might expect in a country where alcohol is banned. I say ‘slightly’, because the morning was just a wee bit hectic. For a start, my standard 6am alarm did not go off. Nor did the back-up at 6.10am. Nor did the absolute last resort at 6.20am – which is when I normally get up, have a quick shower, dress for the day and take a leisurely stroll to school for the quarter to seven start.
Instead, my glorious birthday lie-in was rudely interrupted at 6.35am, with a loud knock on my door. I turned over, glanced at my watch, and almost jumped through the mosquito net. “Is school over did I miss it what time is it?” were the garbled questions I shouted, throwing open the door to Mrs Z’s daughter, who was ready for the day in her spotless white Ihavandhoo Madrasa uniform, carrying her schoolbooks, ready to start walking. By contrast, I sported a smelly football top, one sock, and my only pair of smart trousers, hurriedly pulled on for common modesty. My ‘alternative’ outfit and wild bed-hair questions shocked her a little, and I don’t think she understood my panicked queries. I slammed the door, and went big on condensed preparation, even ignoring the latest victim to foolishly enter my Den of Cockroach Death. Be assured he has since been dispatched to Cockroach Heaven. (Stoke on Trent).
Five minutes later I emerged, not quite a new man, wearing Monday’s un-ironed clothes, lacking a belt, with one trouser leg tucked into the sock - just to complete the “overslept” theme with a nice accessible cliche. “Late late,” parroted several groups of kids as I hurried past them, following up with the more usual greeting: “Arrrry Potter”. And, for one day only, an afterthought: “Happy Birthday”.
I panicked when I thought my shirt was inside-out. There’s just no return from such ignominy on this kilometre-squared patch of sand. I’d have to leave Ihavandhoo forever, start a new life in Gan Atoll, and hope the gossip doesn’t follow me. Fortunately my concern was groundless – or possibly part of a dream interrupted just six minutes earlier – and I arrived in the school office ready to sign in at 6.45 on the dot. One minute later could have lost me half a day’s wages.
But survived the day, and even got a present from my Grade 8 star pupil, Sana. He’s a very bright kid, who was studying at a madrasa in Male’ for the past five years, passed his exams, and is now back on his home island getting a bit frustrated by classes that he completed several years ago. His English is excellent, he’s fluent in Arabic, and he dreams of becoming either an imam or an international footballer. Standard combination! He’s invited me to take a Saturday fishing trip with his father and cousins, which I hope can be arranged sometime soon. From his family I received a pack of notebooks, a hamper of fresh vegetables, and even a bar of British chocolate – an incredibly generous gesture, because the average temperature means that imported chocolates – Galaxy, Cadbury, Snickers, etc. – have to be kept in a fridge from source, and they cost an absolute bomb. Standard confectionary has a slightly different recipe, so it doesn’t melt so easily, but carries a taste and texture you can also experience from an advent calendar.
Last week was lots of fun! Everything fell into place very nicely, meaning nine days between 20-28th January ran as follows: weekend, weekend, work, work, holiday, work, P.D. day, weekend, weekend. The holiday was National Day, commemorating the defeat of Portuguese colonists hundreds of years ago, and celebrated with an exorbitant number of bunting and flags. We had to get up at 5.30am, and gathered at the Ihavandhoo Council offices for a flag-raising ceremony at dawn, before patiently waiting as local bigwigs struggled to get the national anthem booming across the island. It’s a very nice, melodic tune – far better than the British funeral dirge – but it goes on forever, and reminds me of a theme tune to a childrens’ TV programme, so it’s a bit disconcerting to see hand-on-heart patriotism.
After the two-minute ceremony and ten-minute anthem… gallons of chocolate milkshake cartons were distributed! Of course it was. Naturally. Free chocolate milkshake for all, recalling the victory celebrations of Mohamed Thakurufaanu when he vanquished Cristiano Ronaldo and Raul Meireles all those years ago! (Also we were given artificial-strawberry wafer biscuits. A national homage to E-numbers?) From then it was a standard day-off for Maldivians – have a nap, sit in a jolli, play some volley. I went home and slept until 11am, and enjoyed doing nothing more than read some rubbish detective novel in the sun! (I found some tatty English books in the school library - Ian Rankin, Stieg Larsson, and Bill Clinton's autobiography).
After the two-minute ceremony and ten-minute anthem… gallons of chocolate milkshake cartons were distributed! Of course it was. Naturally. Free chocolate milkshake for all, recalling the victory celebrations of Mohamed Thakurufaanu when he vanquished Cristiano Ronaldo and Raul Meireles all those years ago! (Also we were given artificial-strawberry wafer biscuits. A national homage to E-numbers?) From then it was a standard day-off for Maldivians – have a nap, sit in a jolli, play some volley. I went home and slept until 11am, and enjoyed doing nothing more than read some rubbish detective novel in the sun! (I found some tatty English books in the school library - Ian Rankin, Stieg Larsson, and Bill Clinton's autobiography).
Thursday 26th was PD Day 1. There are two more in the year. They are very, very long. I was asked to present for 90 minutes on phonemes and pronunciation at 5pm, and spent most of the day wondering how to bulk out a pitiful slideshow to last that long. Especially after my USB stick reformatted itself the day before, and I was left with the skeleton of a presentation. But with the judicious application of humour, waffle, and activity sheets, myself and Sobah kept some tired teachers occupied for one hour, which I am counting as a qualified success. However, if I am asked to present at the next PD Day it will have been too successful. I’m hoping I struck the right balance between fulfilling the remit, but not being forever revered as an enlightened teaching guru.
School days are disappearing quite quickly now. In fact, I’ve been in the Maldives for 35 days, which is over 10% of the total contract already completed! Weird! I’m now teaching an average of three hours a day, between 7am and midday, although there are rumours that school might reduce my teaching hours and ask me to focus on giving top-notch lessons to just a few higher grade classes. I’m hoping this is true, as it essentially means losing both Grade 8 classes, and gaining just one Grade 10 set. The payoff is concentrating my extra time and attention on Grade 10, and preparing a variety of extra-curricular sessions, but I think I’d really enjoy that extra involvement with them, as I’ve spoken with several and they’re all really nice, intelligent kids. The top set have their GCSEs coming up in October, and are apparently a bit of a flagship group, so the school has high hopes of a 100% pass rate. I’ll take custody of that pressure when the next version of the timetable has been written - set to be the fourth revision since term started on 8th January. Eventually a happy conclusion will be reached where teachers don’t get double-booked, but it’s trial and error to reach those halcyon days. (Incidentally, it’s not confirmed that I’m teaching Grade 10. Just that I’ll ‘probably’ be assigned them from next week, and I’ll find out for sure when I get the new timetable on Saturday – to start teaching on Sunday).
Incidentally, a few nights ago I dreamt that it was my wedding day. It was a very vivid dream, and I remember feeling quite panicked that I hadn’t organised a venue or invited any guests - even though the ceremony was due to start within a few hours. I realise that if I ever have this dream again and the scenario no longer panics me (or my subconscious) I will have adopted a truly Maldivian mindset. (This is also a message to the future - don't give me the responsibility dear).
For now, though, it’s back to the very exciting present and fast forward through the next few weeks in February. There’s a planned weekend excursion to a resort in three weeks, courtesy of Mr Chris and Mr Chris on Dhidhoo, and then the March half-term is on us in no time. (Six weeks from now to be exact). I’m hoping to save my pennies and take a whirlwind trip to Sri Lanka. Flights are £110 return, so I’ll be off in pursuit of elephants, tigers, and a beer with the touring England cricket team! Fingers crossed that I can at least escape lesson plans for that one week.
Peace.
Saturday 21 January 2012
4. Manta del Ray
It's hot, and it's getting hotter. I normally handle the heat quite well, and have dutifully downed several litres of bottled water each day, but the midday sun was pushing 37 degrees on Friday. And that's really at the limit of bearable temperature for any human. As we head towards February and March, the hottest time of year in this patch of the Arabic Sea / Indian Ocean, I think 35-37 degrees will become the norm. Fortunately the intensity of that heat is confined to 10am to 3pm, and I tend to stay indoors in those hours, enjoying the cooling whirr of surprisingly effective ceiling fans. Even in Professional Teacher Garb - smart trousers, polished shoes, long shirt, fashionable tie - room temperature is quite comfortable.
Swimming is a far better way to escape the heat. The sea around Ihavandhoo is a beautiful cyan colour, and closer in temperature to a swimming pool than the bitterly cold Atlantic. (Also it's transparent and has pretty fish - so all in all an improvement on the Atlantic). My weekend was basically spent making the most of that fact. On Saturday I took an early morning boatride to a coral reef about 2km from Ihavandhoo, with Tamehiro - a Japanese volunteer teaching P.E. - and one of his visiting friends. Those two went hunting fish and octupus/octupi, whilst I swam, dived, chased fish, and watched a school of dolphins splashing around a few hundred metres away. The ten-year-old girl in me hoped that they were come and play with us, but I it didn't happen. Damn dolphins! (They did do some tricks around the boat as we chugged back home, so I can't stay too mad). But this swimming was a real highlight of my time so far. In particular, it was great to see a octopus, and a huge crab, and the beautiful live coral under just a metre of water in places. It's a very strange feeling to simply stand up in the middle of the ocean. I was also a bit surprised (read: absolutely bloody terrified) when a gigantic manta ray casually glided by. Tamehiro was hunting for several hours and brought home a big haul, as did the two boys who had taken us out to the reef. Although it wasn't too easy to see them unceremoniously butcher their fish without actually killing them first. Old romantic that I am.
Not spent much time on the beach yet, because: a) I have no books to read after breaking my Kindle; b) busy busy busy; c) many islanders use the beach as a convenient rubbish dump. Areas close to pathways are littered with rusty cans, plastic packaging, fish bones, and discarded rice. My best option for relaxing is to settle one of the unspoilt and secluded corners. (And I've already discussed with Merlin and Andrew the viability of having barbecues on the beach.) Then again, Ihavandhoo isn't really big enough to have many secluded corners. Walking the entire 3km island circumference is an extremely quick process. The curve is quite perceptible. It does make me wonder why there are quite so many mopeds and motor vehicles, given no place is never EVER more than 800m away. Although the two extremities are the football pitch and the medical clinic, and I can imagine that broken feet and cuts are quite common. The boys play barefoot, with surprising skill and genuine ferocity. I might end up appreciating the need for that island ambulance after all.
This post has been written in the staff room. Possibly outside the "terms of acceptable internet use", but I've done my lesson plans and preparation, and Sunday is my lightest day in terms of workload. I finish teaching my second class at 8.40, and then don't resume teaching until the final session commencing 11.50. So not an awful lot to do in the interim, and I decided to fill in the gaps left in Thursday's post.
This afternoon I do have stuff to do though. Firstly, shopping for some fresh fruit and vegetables. I've been living on noodles, rice, curry for several days now, and feeling the effects of extremely serious malnutrition. Not a word of hyperbole. A nice vegetable stew will do wonders - washed down with Coca Cola and biscuits of course. Secondly, there's a presentation to arrange. It's a PD Day on Thursday, but gone are the days when this was code for a free day off. Who knew teachers were actually working on those glorious termly interludes?!
Instead, I have to create a one-hour talk/slideshow combo and present it to the staff body. For this, I've been paired with a very nice man called Sobah. He teaches Accounting, and speaks fluent English, especially since he spent four years studying in Malaysia. He also became a father ten days ago, and I've already met and held his tiny baby son. There was a steady flow of relatives coming to the house to greet the new member, so I felt honoured to be invited along! But understandably, Sobah is rather busy right now, and I offered to compile most of the presentation.
The SMT have now decided that this is to be on "pronunciation, phonemes and dipthongs". Three days ago I only knew what one of these words meant. Now I'm selling the idea that English isn't a stupid language simply because the combination of "ea" can be pronounced in so many ways: steak, head, bead, sergeant, cereal, fear. I'm sold. English is a damn stupid language. Dhivehi - the Maldivian script - makes lots more sense. They have the consonants, and they the vowel sounds are stressed exclusively by accents above or below the consonant. Much easier.
Anyway, it's now 11.43, and I'm preparing to face 8A for the coming half-hour. It's just a simple interactive activity with prolonged class participation. What could possibly go wrong...?
Swimming is a far better way to escape the heat. The sea around Ihavandhoo is a beautiful cyan colour, and closer in temperature to a swimming pool than the bitterly cold Atlantic. (Also it's transparent and has pretty fish - so all in all an improvement on the Atlantic). My weekend was basically spent making the most of that fact. On Saturday I took an early morning boatride to a coral reef about 2km from Ihavandhoo, with Tamehiro - a Japanese volunteer teaching P.E. - and one of his visiting friends. Those two went hunting fish and octupus/octupi, whilst I swam, dived, chased fish, and watched a school of dolphins splashing around a few hundred metres away. The ten-year-old girl in me hoped that they were come and play with us, but I it didn't happen. Damn dolphins! (They did do some tricks around the boat as we chugged back home, so I can't stay too mad). But this swimming was a real highlight of my time so far. In particular, it was great to see a octopus, and a huge crab, and the beautiful live coral under just a metre of water in places. It's a very strange feeling to simply stand up in the middle of the ocean. I was also a bit surprised (read: absolutely bloody terrified) when a gigantic manta ray casually glided by. Tamehiro was hunting for several hours and brought home a big haul, as did the two boys who had taken us out to the reef. Although it wasn't too easy to see them unceremoniously butcher their fish without actually killing them first. Old romantic that I am.
Not spent much time on the beach yet, because: a) I have no books to read after breaking my Kindle; b) busy busy busy; c) many islanders use the beach as a convenient rubbish dump. Areas close to pathways are littered with rusty cans, plastic packaging, fish bones, and discarded rice. My best option for relaxing is to settle one of the unspoilt and secluded corners. (And I've already discussed with Merlin and Andrew the viability of having barbecues on the beach.) Then again, Ihavandhoo isn't really big enough to have many secluded corners. Walking the entire 3km island circumference is an extremely quick process. The curve is quite perceptible. It does make me wonder why there are quite so many mopeds and motor vehicles, given no place is never EVER more than 800m away. Although the two extremities are the football pitch and the medical clinic, and I can imagine that broken feet and cuts are quite common. The boys play barefoot, with surprising skill and genuine ferocity. I might end up appreciating the need for that island ambulance after all.
This post has been written in the staff room. Possibly outside the "terms of acceptable internet use", but I've done my lesson plans and preparation, and Sunday is my lightest day in terms of workload. I finish teaching my second class at 8.40, and then don't resume teaching until the final session commencing 11.50. So not an awful lot to do in the interim, and I decided to fill in the gaps left in Thursday's post.
This afternoon I do have stuff to do though. Firstly, shopping for some fresh fruit and vegetables. I've been living on noodles, rice, curry for several days now, and feeling the effects of extremely serious malnutrition. Not a word of hyperbole. A nice vegetable stew will do wonders - washed down with Coca Cola and biscuits of course. Secondly, there's a presentation to arrange. It's a PD Day on Thursday, but gone are the days when this was code for a free day off. Who knew teachers were actually working on those glorious termly interludes?!
Instead, I have to create a one-hour talk/slideshow combo and present it to the staff body. For this, I've been paired with a very nice man called Sobah. He teaches Accounting, and speaks fluent English, especially since he spent four years studying in Malaysia. He also became a father ten days ago, and I've already met and held his tiny baby son. There was a steady flow of relatives coming to the house to greet the new member, so I felt honoured to be invited along! But understandably, Sobah is rather busy right now, and I offered to compile most of the presentation.
The SMT have now decided that this is to be on "pronunciation, phonemes and dipthongs". Three days ago I only knew what one of these words meant. Now I'm selling the idea that English isn't a stupid language simply because the combination of "ea" can be pronounced in so many ways: steak, head, bead, sergeant, cereal, fear. I'm sold. English is a damn stupid language. Dhivehi - the Maldivian script - makes lots more sense. They have the consonants, and they the vowel sounds are stressed exclusively by accents above or below the consonant. Much easier.
Anyway, it's now 11.43, and I'm preparing to face 8A for the coming half-hour. It's just a simple interactive activity with prolonged class participation. What could possibly go wrong...?
Thursday 19 January 2012
3. Ihavandhoo - Have you?
Busy busy busy busy. Did I mention I was busy? I’ve been intending to write this for a week, but have literally just got the time today. To be fair, a fortnightly blog would be a decent output over the course of a year, but so much has happened in the intervening period that this post could take some time.
Firstly, Andrew and I arrived in Ihavandhoo on Monday 9th Jan. This was just a few days behind schedule, which I’ve learnt is actually quite good going in the Maldives. The journey from Male’ is normally some trek – we’re talking a $20 and 15-hour boat ride – but on this occasion we were travelling in style! So it was a flight by a little turboprop plane (for $80) up to the regional airport on the island Hanimadhoo. This took around 45 minutes, surrounded by rich tourists on their connecting flight, who looked rather annoyed when I shoved ten toilet rolls into the overhead locker. Ignoring the Rolex-and-cologne brigade wasn’t too difficult though, because the flight was just stunning, in the midday sun, without a cloud in the sky, looking down at the tiny islands and neon blue lagoons.
Firstly, Andrew and I arrived in Ihavandhoo on Monday 9th Jan. This was just a few days behind schedule, which I’ve learnt is actually quite good going in the Maldives. The journey from Male’ is normally some trek – we’re talking a $20 and 15-hour boat ride – but on this occasion we were travelling in style! So it was a flight by a little turboprop plane (for $80) up to the regional airport on the island Hanimadhoo. This took around 45 minutes, surrounded by rich tourists on their connecting flight, who looked rather annoyed when I shoved ten toilet rolls into the overhead locker. Ignoring the Rolex-and-cologne brigade wasn’t too difficult though, because the flight was just stunning, in the midday sun, without a cloud in the sky, looking down at the tiny islands and neon blue lagoons.
Our transfer from the airport was, if anything, even more impressive. We were met at a beautiful jetty in Hanimadhoo by a speedboat taxi, which combined a lightweight plastic body and an ominous YAMAHA 3000 motor to skim over to my new home at 50mph. I lounged in the back, casually sported my “Genuine Ray Bun” shades (only $6 in Male’ - bargain), and watched the occasional flying fish glide across the water. It was OK.
Bizarrely, it started raining as we arrived in Ihavandhoo harbour. I hoped this was not some omen, but then remembered I’m not stupid enough to believe there’s any form of established link between the weather and doom-laden prophecies, so I put it down to coincidence. Maybe after some freak thunder and lightning…
We met the principal to receive our timetables, and then had our belongings transported to the two rooms that the school had acquired for us. Surprisingly, we are living separately, as the island is currently undergoing some substantial construction work to protect it from erosion, and most available houses have been snapped up by the construction firm to provide lodgings for their workers. So I’m living with Mrs Z, her mother, brother, and three children. The family has provided me with a big airy room, painted in various pastel shades, with a little ensuite. The only clue that I may have shunted someone out of their bedroom is the big HELLO KITTY sticker that covers my wardrobe door. But apparently these living arrangements are temporary – Andrew’s host family are moving to Male’ in March and they’re tendering to rent out their entire house. Still, I wouldn’t be too upset if I was living with Mrs Z for the year. They’re lovely, helpful, and provide me with a curry and roshi breakfast every morning! The only reasons I’m tempted to move in a few months is: a) the extra privacy; b) a kitchen where I can make pots of bland, tasteless evening meals, without the obligation to accept handfuls of chili thrown in.
I started teaching on Tuesday 10th January. School days run from Sunday to Thursday, as Friday is the Muslim holy day, so it was quite a short week! I’ve been handed two English classes in Grade 11 (they have 2.5 hours each per week), and two classes in Grade 8 (they have 4 hours each per week), so I’m technically teaching for just 13 hours a week. However, the marking and preparation is quite substantial, and I’ve seen the rather mystifying sheet on the noticeboard that says I am “in charge” of the English extra-curricular club. I’m not sure what that entails just yet, but I’m sure it will take a few hours of my time! There’s also the need to run extra sessions for the kids in 8A who actually want to learn anything. There are 24 boys in that class, and half of them, if I’m being charitable, “could do better”. The sad thing is they massively disrupt the lessons to the extent that I can hardly teach the other half, so I’ve realized that doing most of the speaking and feedback will have to happen in free time. I’ve also realized I’ve become every teacher I’ve ever known: “you’re wasting your own time”, “I don’t have to be here”, “Can we settle down and get this done PLEASE?!” What has happened to me?
Fortunately most of the other grades are quite friendly, and I’m enjoying the teaching, although it’s quite frustrating to have so many kids who really don’t want to be in school at all. Some are telling me, in slightly less fluent language, that their life was always on a trajectory to the fishing boat (or the hearth), and school is simply a waste of time until they can go out and earn money! Good money too, judging by some of the expensive boats in the harbor. Money and globalization is just starting to seep into the island – it obtained electricity in 2008, and now most of the homes have a little television, and occasionally a laptop. Major Hollywood blockbusters have also made it, judging by the number of shouts of “Harry Potter” directed at me when I arrived on the first day wearing glasses. This has been (quite unsuccessfully) tackled by wearing contact lenses ever since. Apparently white skin and dark hair is enough.
I’ve settled in to the school community relatively well, and getting to know many teachers of both Maldivian and Indian extraction. The other English teachers are all expats from the Southern India regions of either Kerala or Tamil Nadu, including Mr Joy, Mrs Celine, and the Magnificent Merlin Mento. He’s 29, from Tamil Nadu, and speaks excellent English. Most evenings I go over to their compound to cook, chat or watch TV with them, and we normally wander down to the harbor in the evenings to meet a few others. This is a mix of those on the fringe of Ihavandhoo society, such as one of Merlin's friends called Karupu, who is employed on the constructions. He has been working 12 hour days, 6 days a week, for 2500 Rufiyaa a month – approximately 105 quid. So it's quite a tough existence. He hasn’t seen his family for three and a half years, but his leave time is coming up in March/April, and he’s looking forward to going home. It makes my ten months – and significantly higher allowance – seem like a relative breeze...
I’ve settled in to the school community relatively well, and getting to know many teachers of both Maldivian and Indian extraction. The other English teachers are all expats from the Southern India regions of either Kerala or Tamil Nadu, including Mr Joy, Mrs Celine, and the Magnificent Merlin Mento. He’s 29, from Tamil Nadu, and speaks excellent English. Most evenings I go over to their compound to cook, chat or watch TV with them, and we normally wander down to the harbor in the evenings to meet a few others. This is a mix of those on the fringe of Ihavandhoo society, such as one of Merlin's friends called Karupu, who is employed on the constructions. He has been working 12 hour days, 6 days a week, for 2500 Rufiyaa a month – approximately 105 quid. So it's quite a tough existence. He hasn’t seen his family for three and a half years, but his leave time is coming up in March/April, and he’s looking forward to going home. It makes my ten months – and significantly higher allowance – seem like a relative breeze...
Especially given the benefits of weekends in the Maldives! School starts at 7am and finishes at 12.20am, so it really seems like two and a half days off every week. Which is just fantastic, because there is so much relaxing that can be squeezed into that time. In fact it’s 14.15 on Thursday right now – so I have a brilliant few days stretching far ahead of me. The plan is to get up for cricket with the Indian teachers and Pakistani principal at 6am tomorrow, have a kickabout with some of my Grade 11 guys at 9am, and go hunting fish afterwards with two Grade 8 boys. Last weekend I swam out to the live coral reef with Merlin, and snorkeled amongst a multi-coloured mass of tropical fish. The highlight, however, was following an unperturbed sea turtle as it meandered around the reef. Hopefully there will be opportunity to do that again on Saturday – or maybe I’ll raise the stakes and seek out a shark!
It’s not all a wonderful and untroubled paradise. In fact, when I made an abortive attempt to start this blog last week I had one incident which would have made everything sound quite bitter. It involved a man trying to trick me into giving his family six hours of tuition for one quarter the standard price. It seems quite funny and irrelevant on reflection, but mainly because I managed to wriggle out of any reduced commitment I made there. I don’t actually want to charge anything for the help and classes I’m running – I was just angered by a very blatant and manipulative attempt to take advantage of a newcomer to island life and culture. A better anecdote, however, is that I had to beat two massive cockroaches to death with a water bottle last Tuesday. They were two-inches long, scuttling and flying around my room, and one landed on my shoulder. Absolutely disgusting. Also I was being bitten to death by mosquitos – until I realized that the gap in one corner of my net was merely creating a trap and keeping them in a free buffet (thanks Niall).
But I’m in a good mood today – it’s hot, sunny, the start of a long relaxing weekend, and next week has both a P.D. day and a national holiday, and a potential visit to a resort to celebrate my upcoming 22nd birthday! So I’ll leave on a happy and slightly smug final note…
Enjoy work tomorrow everyone! ;)
Enjoy work tomorrow everyone! ;)
P.S. I wrote much of this whilst watching a ‘made for TV movie’ called Sharktopus. If anyone wants to be incredibly amused for an hour or two…
Thursday 5 January 2012
2. Male' and Me
Happy New Year!
I’ve had an incredibly hectic first week. Or at least, it feels like I’ve had an incredibly hectic week, because I’ve just done a quick summary of the past seven days and realised that four were spent on the beach. Pah. So I arrived in the Maldives on Weds 27th. It was an eleven hour flight with six of the other teachers; our boredom barely punctuated by The Smurfs Movie and stale croissants. Remind me to fly Emirates on the homebound trip. Admittedly, some light relief was provided by the dawn breaking over a glittering Indian Ocean dotted with lagoons and tiny desert islands, but by now that just seems standard. (I promised a blog, but nowhere did I say it wouldn’t be smug). The landing is an odd experience, because the airport – built on its own island with a runway that juts into the sea – is nowhere to be seen until the plane is gliding at about ten metres above the ground. It’s like the pilot has given up and decided to practice his water landings.
I’ve had an incredibly hectic first week. Or at least, it feels like I’ve had an incredibly hectic week, because I’ve just done a quick summary of the past seven days and realised that four were spent on the beach. Pah. So I arrived in the Maldives on Weds 27th. It was an eleven hour flight with six of the other teachers; our boredom barely punctuated by The Smurfs Movie and stale croissants. Remind me to fly Emirates on the homebound trip. Admittedly, some light relief was provided by the dawn breaking over a glittering Indian Ocean dotted with lagoons and tiny desert islands, but by now that just seems standard. (I promised a blog, but nowhere did I say it wouldn’t be smug). The landing is an odd experience, because the airport – built on its own island with a runway that juts into the sea – is nowhere to be seen until the plane is gliding at about ten metres above the ground. It’s like the pilot has given up and decided to practice his water landings.
We were met in the hot and humid airport by some guys from the national volunteer corps, and shepherded onto a squat little passenger boat called a dhoni, which cost a dollar to shuttle us over to the capital city of Male’. (Just to be clear, this is pronounced Mar-lay, hence the apparently misplaced apostrophe and supremely witty post title – all credit to Phil Makepeace – who is getting quite good at thinking up titles for stuff). Our main contact in Male’ is Razzan, a twenty year old international cricketer and general superstar, volunteering in the off season because he’s just charming and lovely. (Anything else Raz?) He spent this week arranging our hotels, visas, meals, phone setups, excursions, meetings with officialdom, and negotiating currency exchanges. And with a group of twenty-four sunburnt and grumpy Britishers to deal with, I’d say he did a sterling job.
So for the last week I’ve been quartered in Villingili View Inn, a budget hotel at the far end of the Majeedhee Magu – by some distance this is the longest tarmac road in the entire country. Sadly, most of the other teachers are at the other end, so every day seven of us were trekking the 1.7km down for food and fun. Until we realised that a cab can be procured for a grand sum of 20 Rufiyaa – or about 30p each – and this also means we avoid exposure to the maelstrom of mopeds which slalom around pedestrians as though it were a sport. If you waited at a crossing you’d still be there four hours later, so the best tactic seems to be stepping out with purpose and hoping the squeal of brakes comes sooner rather than later. Male’ is a buzzing, hectic and relatively poor city – by some estimates the most crowded square kilometre on earth – but it seems safe to walk around, and the people are very friendly! Shopowners seem to have taken a collective decision to give their business a bizarre name and stock equally ridiculous imports – particular favourites include the ARS Liquid mosquito repellent and the Arms Trade toyshop.
Male’ is a city that operates best at night. The heat and humidity at midday is stifling, so places close down in late morning and then reopen for a separate afternoon (3-6pm) and evening (8-11pm) shift. Fortunately beaches never close – so most downtime is spent on the sand, in the shade, and chatting with the lovely volunteers. There are twenty-four of us, aged between 21 and 36, with roughly half in possession of the hallowed PGCE. On the second day we went snorkelling at a beach a few kilometres from Male’, with stunning tropical fish of all colours imaginable. It was like having access to the aquarium at Sea World, a real-life version of Finding Nemo. The bonus was the edge of the coral reef, which doesn’t just taper away, but suddenly stops about 400 metres from the shore. So one minute the reef was two metres beneath me, and then suddenly I was just floating in the vast Indian Ocean next to a reef that just dropped off into infinity. It was kind of exhilarating but terrifying. Sadly, I underestimated the effect of the sun on my exposed back, so got some pretty nasty sunburn, but that’s cleared up quickly enough, and I’ve learnt to double slop for the Equator!
New Year was fun but understated – think school disco but with less alcohol. Everyone was very aware of a 5am start, with a long boat ride organised to take us to Dhiffushi, an inhabited island in North Male’ atoll. (To grasp how this works geographically, check out the Maldives on a map. The coral atolls are made by sediments that grew up in rings around submerged volcanoes – with the numerous islands being natural high points on these coral reefs. Now the atolls have outlived the volcanoes, and the Maldives is literally comprised of about 12 individual atoll rings). Dhiffushi was only 22 miles from the capital, but it took three hours. I now realise that Ihavandhoo, 300 miles away, is only going to be reached by plane. But on the boat trip we did have the opportunity to enjoy dolphins and stunning deserted islands, so it’s not all bad.
Each teaching pair was given lodgings with a host family for the duration in Dhiffushi. Andrew and I were lucky to get placed with matriarch Hawwa, her daughters Haafiza and Sharmiza, and 3-year-old granddaughter Irusha – who ran around, chatted excitably in Dhivehi and jumped on our beds as we unpacked. The men were lobster fishermen and away from the home for a month. Fortunately Haafiza spoke some broken English, so she was able to teach me some phrases, and ensured we were happy with our mas roshi (tuna and flatbread), tuna curry, and tuna steaks – seared in garlic, chilli and lemon. Fishy, but phenomenally nice. And eating really was a common theme in Dhiffushi – so much food was provided – and some host families passed on concerns to the island chief that their English guests weren’t eating enough and might be ill. Our surrogate mothers stood over us, eagerly awaiting comment and approval, and giggling as we struggled to adapt to Maldivian eating – right-hand only folks! (The left hand is used for less seemly purposes - toilet roll isn’t really known in these parts). Over the next day or two we snorkelled, canoed, chatted, sunbathed, read, and then did some casual Dhivehi classes, and met local councilmen and teachers for an informal advice session. So it’s not all play! Across the water was Meeru resort, costing upwards of $400 a night, with a $250 Male’ transfer. We were in the same place, but paying bugger all, with a $2 Male’ transfer. A slight mark-up?
Each teaching pair was given lodgings with a host family for the duration in Dhiffushi. Andrew and I were lucky to get placed with matriarch Hawwa, her daughters Haafiza and Sharmiza, and 3-year-old granddaughter Irusha – who ran around, chatted excitably in Dhivehi and jumped on our beds as we unpacked. The men were lobster fishermen and away from the home for a month. Fortunately Haafiza spoke some broken English, so she was able to teach me some phrases, and ensured we were happy with our mas roshi (tuna and flatbread), tuna curry, and tuna steaks – seared in garlic, chilli and lemon. Fishy, but phenomenally nice. And eating really was a common theme in Dhiffushi – so much food was provided – and some host families passed on concerns to the island chief that their English guests weren’t eating enough and might be ill. Our surrogate mothers stood over us, eagerly awaiting comment and approval, and giggling as we struggled to adapt to Maldivian eating – right-hand only folks! (The left hand is used for less seemly purposes - toilet roll isn’t really known in these parts). Over the next day or two we snorkelled, canoed, chatted, sunbathed, read, and then did some casual Dhivehi classes, and met local councilmen and teachers for an informal advice session. So it’s not all play! Across the water was Meeru resort, costing upwards of $400 a night, with a $250 Male’ transfer. We were in the same place, but paying bugger all, with a $2 Male’ transfer. A slight mark-up?
We came back to Male’ two days ago, and it’s all been a bit more formal since then. We had a chat from the Minister for Education, and the Permanent Undersecretary, and secured work visas, residency permits, bank accounts, all manner of official documents. And then, proper highlight of the week, a reception in the Presidential Palace, with a firm handshake from Prez. Nasheed himself. They didn’t prepare me for that in basic training. But everyone’s now stuck in limbo, awaiting a phone call from the man with the plan, so we know how and when we’re transferring on to our schools. It’ll be sad to leave the big group, because we’ve got on really well after just a week, but there are school holidays and most people are planning to return to Male’ for supplies and respite from utter isolation!
Generally, it’s been a great week. The drain waters stinks of egg, and it’s bloody hot, but I’m really excited about the coming year. I’ll probably write less for each blog post as my enthusiasm wanes and the Maldives becomes old hat, but right now – all good!
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