Fun Friday...

So it's holiday time here in India; Dusshera has finally arrived. A 10-day break from the norm filled with celebrations, entertainment and the enjoyment of family life. The atmosphere is not unlike Christmas back home, and of course the other unmissable similarity is that of excitable children.

Dusshera marks the end of 5 weeks' intense teaching for Giles and I, and the ratio of frustrations to wins has been pretty even to date. However, by Friday the balance might just have tipped in favour of the good bits...

Firstly there was the successful teacher training session. The concepts behind how children actually learn were taken on by many, fuelling questions and better still an understanding of why we are so passionate about modern teaching techniques. Significantly the nursery is almost unrecognisable; gone are the days of 'write a, a, a, a,' and instead we are seeing genuine smiles from both children and teachers alike.

Then there's class 3. 5 weeks ago Giles' exit from the little hut that houses the 19 rowdy 8-year olds was accompanied by a chalk hand print on his bottom, sweat dripping off his nose and a pledge to never teach the little monkeys again! Well here's another success story which proves the value of rapport and the importance challenging lessons... Class 3 love us! Giles' only regret is that he teaches them in the slot just before my lesson, and gets ever so slightly ruffled by the shrieks of 'yesssssss, it's Miss Sarah' as I near their hut.

But their love for us both was embarrassingly evident when we left the school on Friday; they literally wouldn't let us go! Srijana and Neha's cries of 'you're soooooooooo nice' were rivalled by Puja and Rahul's determination to keep hold of our hands. Determined little Pritty made sure she got to try on Giles's 70 litre rucksack whilst Ashit and Danish fought for poll position in the photos. We're not sure who wrote Happy Dusherra on the board but it made for the perfect send-off as we headed for the jeep stand with about 15 kiddies in tow.

Finally my last Friday dit comes from our newly inspired nursery. It's not unusual to see urination and even defaecation on the streets of India, but I couldn't help but double-take upon seeing an entire class of 8 tots partaking in what can only be described as formation peeing. Where? The school's very own playground AND under the watchful eye of their teacher. I'm pretty sure this kind of teamwork was not encouraged in the training, but at least they all had a smile on their face. This is more than can be said for mine just moments later when class 2's ball rolled into the resultant wet patch and was then hurled in my direction accompanied by the order, 'catch'! Fortunately my ball handling 'skills' in this instance didn't let me down!

Pics:

Teachers prioritising sort cards on a mission to discover the secrets behind learning environments.

Danish and Ashit fight for poll position.

Pritty finds a bag big enough to house her.

Class 3 and their Dusshera blackboard message.

Dripping with just 4 kiddies, I make my way to the jeep stand. Darjeeling here we come!

18 Oct - Amusing Anecdotes

A brief resume of the little things that made us smile over the past couple of days:

Arriving at the playing field, we were as usual greeted by our little girl friend, but accompanied by her friends. Like all Indian children, they are obsessed by having their photos 'snapped'. But imagine the smile on our faces, when they were prompted by me for a bit of Jai-Ho and serenaded us off the field with a coordinated acceptable effort of the Slumdog dance.

The resourcefulness of the children never fails to impress: class 6 have been chucked out of their 'work in progress' class room while the floor is being laid. Solution, much like the age old jape of moving one's friend's room en masse into the garden, move all the desks and chairs out to the lower play ground and carry on lessons as normal. Faultless. Good thing it isn't the rainy season.

On teaching class 4 about gravity: "so why when I throw a rock in the air does it fall again?" Quick as a flash from the ever enthusiastic Prashant: "It doesn't have wings!". Again, faultless.

Sarah and I have been amused by the positioning of the top floor commode in our house. Positioned as a stand-alone entity in the corner of the roof overlooking the school, it really does look more like a sentry post. Ironically over a school called 'Kids' Castle'... One wonders whether when we are not here it is manned by diligent prefects, taking shifts with the shared AK.

Prayers. Bizarrely the prayers each morning at assembly are both in English AND Christian. Of course, it is lead by a senior pupil at the front, and then recited back by the rest of the school. Needless to say, the little ones in LKG (Lower Kindergarten, age 4) have absolutely no idea what they are saying or why. One little boy believes that the route to a happy form teacher is to belt it out as loud as he can. Hilarious, but not as much as listening to the instruction "hands down" at the end of the prayer, which is also repeated parrot fashion!

Parsuram teaching forces this morning: "This door will not open unless I exert a force on it." Oh how the kids, followed by me, and shortly after, Parsuram, laughed as, on cue, the door swung itself open apparently under the influence of no force at all. Timing is everything.

Along with prayers, each assembly sees a teacher giving some cringeworthy talk on a moral topic that is usually totally misguiding and blinkered. This morning's was all about God, and how the children should love him for giving them everything they have; that they did not need to go in search of God because he was all around us and in us (cue the headmaster closing his eyes and giving one of his most wilting worshipful looks!). As the talk closed, the next topic was the Puja festival production. From the deputy headmaster: "There will be a professional choreographer, and the parts for Superman, Spiderman and Mickey Mouse are already cast. They do need a Tarzan though, so anyone who wants to be Tarzan please see Miss Kalyeni, who will tell you all about him and his costume." I can only imagine that God was laughing as hard as us at the juxtaposition.

And finally: an extra English lesson given by SirGiles and SheiraMiss to class three as their teacher wasn't around. Talking about shapes, Sarah drew a heart on the blackboard. "What do we call this shape?" The response: "Love, miss!". Melts your heart.

Pictures:

Class 6 and their al fresco classroom.

The girls half of our running partners.

Class 3 enjoying a volcano demonstration. It's amazing what you can do with Fanta and baking powder. How to win friends an influence!

Toilet sentry post. Patrol and squat!

Parsuram in charge of class 4 science.

18 Oct - Olympic Effort

It's a good thing that we don't live closer to the centre of town here in Pedong. Seeing the preparations commence yesterday for the big St George's College Althletics Day, I got up early to see the finished product while the track was still untouched and the sun just risen.

Rounding the corner above our little road, I was bombarded by Bangra. 6am, and the beats were stirring the ant-like army of St Georgians into frenetic activity, which had clearly been going on long before dawn. Hundreds of chairs, last minute powdering of the emblems in the sand, the omnipresent measuring and recording, and the owner of snacks bar, the nearest eatery to the field, making momos and milky cakes as if his life depended on it!

Effort like you rarely see. Surprisingly relevant after yesterday's teacher training session at KCS, delivered by Sarah with her ever willing aide. The subject, which I am sure she'll write more on, was "how children learn": trying to persuade the teachers that effort and thinking were essential attributes for the modern teacher. How to teach what, in what order, and why. How fitting, that on completion of the session yesterday afternoon, when we retreated to Snacks Bar, we were met by this image of Olympic effort, creativity, imagination, resourcefulness and celebration. The turning of a dusty field, without astroturf, or any modern materials, into an athletics track that the London 2012 committee would have been proud of. Parallel tracks, staggered starting points, a dedicated 100m track, and a dias full of Indian culture, status and colour. Imagine the Quidditch world tournament (I blame Sarah's current enthusiasm for Harry Potter for this reference!) and you wouldn't be far off in the magical transformation which has taken place. Flying golden winged balls, broomsticks, I wouldn't put it past them.

The day went off amazingly: a hectic race schedule was maintained by a duel between the two people, a male and a female teacher, holding the microphones. Children ran their hearts out, those successful being invited onto the podium and presented their medals by Olympic style medal bearers. The event was colourful in every respect, and a lovely spectacle to be privileged enough to see. So much effort, so much energy, and so much enthusiasm. To even half repeat it in the UK would be a bureaucratic nightmare. I only hope that it was done for the spirit of competition, for the gamesmanship and most of all for the children. The cynic in me just has a niggling doubt, wondering whether in fact the whole charade was instead for the headmaster's career progress. Let's hope that I am wrong.

Pictures:

Our normal exercise ground. Usually full of impromtu football practice and amateur 20-20!

Pre-dawn set up. The detail is wonderful; the bunting almost rivalled that at our wedding! And the momo 'factory' of Snacks Bar in full swing!

Start of the school day: enter the St Georgians.

The action.

Our favourites, class 3, enjoying the event.

15 Oct - Home from Home - Adaptation

Pedong has become very familiar. We have now explored it as thoroughly as home. In fact it feels a lot like home: we are comfortable with the hustle and bustle; there is routine to our wanderings and jogs, from a route perspective as much as as knowing who we're going to bump into, where and when; our place in the community as teachers, volunteers, friends or entertainment (as we do laps of the playing field in our trainers) is settled; there's the path that takes us home to the little room we call ours; and the familiar intricacies and surrounds which make Pedong Pedong.

But it's not just the place that feels normal. I remember turning to Sarah before we left: "I feel such a fraud. I mean, they're trusting me to go and teach English. I'm not a teacher, far less a language expert. No training, nothing." And yet, in similar fashion, here I am inventing activities, making resources, and teaching as if it were what I always do. Gosh, I've learnt, no, am learning so so much about myself, my respect for Sarah's profession, and about children and some pretty basic people skills.

Yet we've only been here 4 weeks. Four quick weeks, most of which have been spent in the classroom, planning for the classroom, or away for weekends exploring the surrounding area. What evidence to prove individuals' abilities to adapt, to remove the norms, and reasonably quickly be able to fit in, and, I suppose, use the new environment comfortably. It's not that different to deploying to Kandahar or Camp Bastion really; a bit more colourful, less routine, exciting in entirely different ways, and of course not constrained by the harsh reality of war. Getting used to the new, a concept so readily avoided and feared, it transpires is not so tough, because the new isn't new for very long.

For our teachers here at KCS however, the new is causing some interesting reactions. Anmol, Parsuram, Samrat and Jyoti are getting it: varying levels of effort to understand, appreciate, and use modern techniques. Great. But others are displaying a surprising behaviour. Despite our openness, our clearly stated intent that we are here to help them, they have regressed. It may be due to laziness or other motivations, but their apparent maturity and social skill has markedly regressed. The pressure they perceive has seemingly pushed them back to the last point in their lives where they were comfortable: being children at school. The evidence is plain to see; whispering, gossip, shy giggles, the tendency to look at the floor when being spoken to, and an embarrassed grin if faced with anything other than agreement or trivial conversation, a challenge which makes them have to think or act. And a strange desire to complete childlike tasks. I caught one of them recently colouring in an outline from a nursery book, others trying out reception level puzzles - and not to test them before handing to the children. Of course, for many of them, teaching at Kids's Castle is indeed the first foray they have taken into the real world, and certainly the first time they have met the likes of us with our unusual manner and crazy ideas. Human behaviour then, here, appears to be functioning entirely normally; something I never thought that I would say.

Talking of normal out here, my final observation from today is one which I have heard nearly every day since our arrival. "Good morning, PD" I greet Gautam's father, who lives downstairs. "Yes, yes, yes" is his normal reply. Looks like his generation must have been indoctrinated too!

Pictures:

GB teaching students (reflection of light) and helping teachers.

The teachers frantically colouring in.

A couple of Pedong centre. Indian competition for Bradford's Building Supplies!

Dog Dodging in Pedong

Going out for a gentle jog in Pedong is the epitome of oxymoron. At the rawest level, the gradient just to get from our house to the road raises the heart rate; it's only ten yards but it's a brutal warm up. From there, just under 20 minutes of gruelling climb to the 2km marker, through crowded streets and terraced slopes.

India is littered with flea ridden mangey hounds; our hosts call theirs a pet, but they're a bit like their owners in the majority: relaxed and lazy, and just occasionally when something unusual comes along (Joggers? And their white?!), a furious ball of frenzied waste of energy. It's these moments that I dread. They're, luckily, few and far between, but it's amazing what a bit of yapping, and bared canines does for our apparent pace, despite the futility of our efforts to escape up a 1-in-5, and on closer inspection, wagging tails! There's really only one 100 yard section that owns dogs who have enough energy to care, and perhaps they are, bit by bit, getting used to us; but gentle on the nerves it is not. I think even Sarah, who will climb the wall bare-handed to escape a money spider prefers the large arachnids which live in the electricity wires above the roads to the dogs.

So that's the actual running and the dogs. The route is now familiar, and we're pretty good at minimising the chance of being barked at. But, as with all things India, one's initial observations are always so superficial. Running uphill this close to the Himalayas was always going to be tough, but now add another factor: the 'Namaste'. That useful pumping of the arms, our biomechanical turbo, is lost to cultural politeness... for every person you pass. It's like being held by elastic from behind.

But of course the real joy of being out and about in India is the stimulation that saturates nose, eyes and ears. The intoxicating smell of cooking dal or momos juxtaposed with that of rancid raw sewage flowing down the street; the unbelievably loud ticking of the cicadas, or playful shouts of children; and the colours, oh the colours, and contrast.

Contrast is an understatement. Even at maximum setting on your computer screen or telly, you in no way reach the levels hurled at you constantly out here. Out of Pedong, past a beautifully manicured garden below a fortress like mansion, and the next sight, directly opposite, is a wooden shed, seemingly made from scrap wood. It's home to an entire family (and we're not talking just the 2.4 children), all of whom look happier than the serious inhabitants of the mansion, as they converse, prepare food and play in the dust outside. I always wonder what the underprivileged children in the UK would make of this simple happiness.

Then there's what you can't see: past one pastel coloured modest home, and our eyes are drawn to the tens of pairs of multi-coloured flip-flops; a birthday party perhaps? A meeting? Or simply a full house - parents, children, grandparents, servant, and numerous other lucky hangers on?

Sarah and I reach the playing field for the last part of our run. Safe from dogs, the hazard now is simply footballs being punted around by enthusiastic wannabe Ronaldos in their favourite strips. We're joined, as usual by two shadows: a boy of 6 and a girl of nine, who hare across the field in their flip-flops to meet us, smiles on their faces. They don't attend KCS, but they're fearless, interested and funny. Watching the little boy: "Ready..., steady..., GO!" as he careers down the field in his pyjamas trying to keep stride with us, so close that I have to avoid his flailing arms. The faster we go the louder he shouts, before I let him beat me to the end, a photo finish. His sister is inquisitive, not quite such a runner. But as she and Sarah jog up and down, she tells of her excitement for Halloween, about how much she enjoyed the story of Cinderella at school, and how much she dislikes her form teacher. It's a friendship like no other: we don't even know their names.

Back at the other end of the field, puffing, and we're down for a couple of press-ups. She gracefully declines, but the little chap, well he's humping away at the ground so vigorously that Sarah and I have to get up and run again to prevent ourselves from collapsing, we're laughing so hard.

Stretching later, they get their own back. I creak and groan, and fail to get anywhere near my toes, while they effortlessly plant their hands on the ground. We all laugh and leave for home together, an extraordinary team sharing a pretty bizarre routine.

Back down the street to KCS, quick monkey impression at the little girl from nursery who finds it so funny, and we just have to hope that the electric's still on to heat the water for a well earned wash...

14 Oct - The View We've Been Waiting For!

Wow. Not sure that any prose or pictures can really do justice to the magnificence of this morning. Watching the sun light up the 5 peaks of Kanchenjunga's range was completely spellbinding. For the first time the extent of its height above us was clear; we looked down from Reshap towards Pedong on the other side of the valley, and up to what appeared to be floating leviathans way, way up. Amazing.

Just as amazing was the fact that although the locals live here, they too, at 5.30 this morning were also all out staring in awe at a sight that they have no doubt seen a thousand times before.

Pics: most speak for themselves, but the one with the house in the background shows where we were, KCJ and on the other side of the valley, right of the picture, Pedong!

Nurture seedlings and they grow into fine plants...

For the first few weeks here at KCS Giles and I diligently followed our assigned timetable. We prepared and delivered imaginative lessons and invested time in getting the teachers onside. But last week the remit widened as the deputy head approached me about Nursery: 'Miss Shiera, I am worried about the crying from the nursery, can you investigate?'.

So I did, and what I discovered was pretty sad. No stimulation, no colour, no learning, just a waiting room for 3-year olds. If they were lucky a teacher was present, but rather than interacting with these primed young minds they'd be marking books from another class. The only real interaction we have seen is children literally being forced to write the alphabet line after line. They don't need to say it, nor speak, nor identify anything beginning with 'a', just write seemingly pointless symbols time and time again in their books. How do they achieve it? By a teacher physically holding a pen in hand and repeating the motions. When I quizzed the teachers on the logic of the order of learning they simply shrugged and said 'they must write'.

Watching this made us realise just how crucial this stage of education is. Encourage them, develop their creativity, and longer term you're making for much more inquisitive and engaging students. Force them to write, make them sit as if on punishment, and you've lost them at just age 3...

I've got a real job to do. With the school's permission I'm re-writing the syllabus for the 3-6 year olds. It's only a basic outline but I'm hoping to initiate a more logical order to what children learn, when and how.

If ever there was a brilliant illustration of what children can achieve it was in our project coordinator's child last weekend. Sperse, Santa's daughter, is not even 3 and already she counts, reads and writes the alphabet, speaks beautifully and draws pictures that actually bare a resemblance to what she's planned! How can she do this? She's no super child, just one who's been loved and encouraged by her father.

I've got to find a way to get the nursery teachers onside in a similar way. The children deserve their full attention, energy and enthusiasm so this is a big project for the rest of our time here.

Fortunately we had some amazing donations from friends and family prior to arriving in Pedong. Lloydy and LJ's children, along with the Sherringtons provided a stash of 3-year old stimulation in the form of toys, building blocks and picture books, all of which are going a long way to transforming the nursery. Their little faces light up when the toys come out and some now identify the hedgehog after a valuable 10 mins I spent with them the other morning. The building blocks are a real hit with the boys, although our next task is to encourage sharing! (Giles is definitely the worst culprit and I have had to ration his play time!) Likewise the use of 'please ' and 'thank you' is quite rare out here, but I'm hoping that in breaking my own rule, a bit of say and repeat won't do them any harm when it comes to learning the 2 magic words!

Watch this space for nursery progress, and if any primary teachers out there have any good tips then do let us know! Tomorrow we're playing hopscotch and using an abacus for the first time...

Pics: The building blocks are a huge success; A teacher holds a child's hand and forces writing.