8 March I just got a parcel from home! It took about two weeks to arrive, and it was a bit damaged, but it was so nice to get some sweets and jam from home; I’ve been dying to have some of my favourite sweets, and it’s always nice to get mail! So I’ve been here in the jungle for about a month now. My secondary school is a bush school. The classrooms are made of bamboo, with clay floors and roofs of grass. It takes me only a few minutes to walk to school down a dusty track covered in weeds. When I reach the school grounds, I’m greeted by a chorus of “good morning” from the boys. Unlike students in our country, these boys do not wear cotton uniforms, and many of them also have to walk a long way, sometimes for up to two hours, just to get to school. There’s no electricity, running water or even textbooks, not to mention laptops, tablets, or other modern devices! All the students have are pencils, rubbers, and paper. I’m still trying to adapt to these conditions. I’ve had to become much more imaginative in my teaching. Science is my most challenging subject as my students have no concept of doing experiments. There is no equipment, and since there isn’t even a washroom, if I need water I have to carry it from my house in a basin! It’s important not to be too rigid about rules here, too. The other day I was showing the boys a chemistry experiment when, before I knew it, the mixture was bubbling out of the test tube spilling everywhere! The class became a circus as the boys, who had never come across anything like this before, started jumping out of the windows. Sometimes I wonder how relevant chemistry is to these students—few will ever become chemists—and most will be going back to their villages after Year 8 anyway. To be honest, I doubt whether I’m making any difference to these boys’ lives at all.
17 April Last weekend I made my first visit to a remote village, home to one of our students, Tombe. Another teacher and I walked for two and a half hours to get there—first, up a mountain from where we had fantastic views, and then down a shaded path to the valley below. When we arrived at the village, Tombe’s mother, Kiak, saw us coming and started crying “ieee ieee”. We shook hands with all the villagers. Everyone seemed to be related to Tombe. Tombe’s father, Mukap, a man with a strong jaw and a wrinkled forehead, led us to his house, a low, round bamboo hut with no windows, with a door just big enough to get through, and with grass sticking out of the roof—this shows it is a man’s house. Such housing is dark inside so it took time for our eyes to adjust. Fresh grass had been laid on the floor and there was a platform for Jenny and me to sleep on. There was a fireplace in the centre of the hut. The only possessions I could see were one broom, a few saucers, a kettle, cups, pans, and a couple of jars. Mukap built a fire outside and laid stones on it to heat. He then placed the hot stones in an empty oil drum with kau kau (sweet potato), ripe corn, and greens. He then covered the vegetables with banana leaves and left them to steam. It smelled delicious. We ate inside the hut sitting round the fire. I loved listening to the family talking softly to each other in their language, even though I could not participate much in the conversation. Luckily, Tombe interpreted for us. Later, I noticed a can standing upside down on the grill over the fire. After a while, Tombe threw it out of the doorway. Tombe told me that the can was heated to dry out the leftover food. His family believes that leftovers attract bad spirits in the night, so any leftover food is dried up in a can and the can is then thrown out of the hut. We left the village the next morning after many goodbyes and firm handshakes. My muscles were aching and my knees shaking as we dragged ourselves down the mountain towards home. That evening I fell happily into bed. It was such a privilege to have spent a day with Tombe’s family.