Ahmed loves Cricket

I have written a previous post about Football, which is the Year 6 boys' favourite activity. They would play it every day of the week if given half a chance. Since it invariably ends up close to another Middle East Revolution, I have limited it and introduced other games as well - the Pakistani boys were jubilant when we started with cricket.

We have made some adjustments to the game, to suit our unique circumstances. LBW doesn't count, because we do not have impartial umpires and I don't have the strength for their arguments. We have our own way of dealing with 'wides' and 'no balls' - coz half of them can't bowl. In fact, I don't even distinguish between bowling and throwing, in order to keep the game flowing. We have a high wall directly behind us, so if you hit it across the wall - you're out! But we still play and they enjoy.

Cricket has become almost as exciting as football, just a lot less murderous.  This was last week:

Shoaib:  ”I’m having a wery bad headache.” Crying because his team lost. Kept saying: “I’m the captain and it’s the 4^th loss in a row. It’s wery bad”

This week his luck changed: “Vickets are raining!!! Hit the ball man, they’re vasting overs. Celebrations!!!”

(I’ve given up trying to correct the pronunciation of ‘v’ and ‘w’ which he swops around. I now find it endearing.)

Our students are basically either Arabic-speaking, or Urdu-speaking. They do not refer to the latter as such, but rather use the term “non-arabic speakers”.  Though there are many exceptions to the rule, it comes down to Egyptians and Pakistanis. When we have PE, the Arabic speakers all want to play football.  The Non-Arabic speakers all want to play cricket. One should therefore take turns and never allow them the last say. The screaming match could drive you to the brink of insanity, and invariably ends in tears, for whatever reason. Man, they cry easily when they lose. First swearing, then fighting, then tears. And five minutes later, it’s all over and all is forgotten and forgiven. Till the next time.

Every Death a Wake-up Call

Wouter Weylandt

Born:   27/09/1984     Gent

Died:    09/05/2011     Italy

 

“Today, our team mate and friend Wouter Weylandt passed away after a crash on the 3rd stage of the Giro d’Italia. The team is left in a state of shock and sadness and we send all our thoughts and deepest condolences to the family and friends of Wouter. This is a difficult day for cycling and for our team, and we should all seek support and strength in the people close to us."

 

 

Wouter Weylandt, verpersoonlijking van optimisme, is niet meer.

 

 

Tim Bouwhuis

 Gisteren is een muurtje, gewoon stomweg een muurtje, je fataal geworden.

 

 

Every death is a wake-up call to live more fully, more presently, now.

I am passionate about sport. In Cycling, the Giro d’Italia is only surpassed in significance by the Tour de France. The world of pro-cycling is small. If you make it to the top, you are GOOD!

Marc 

Wouter beoefende één van de mooiste sporten die er bestaan. Een sport waar Professionaliteit, Plezier en Passie perfect in elkaar samenvloeien.

I did not know Wouter Weyland. Had not followed his career. But when I heard the news of his death, I felt such immense pain and was overcome by sadness.

Ellen Janssens

Het is zeer vreemd dat de dood van iemand die je helemaal niet kende, je zo kan raken.

Can’t say why I felt so deeply affected by it.

Laura

Tranen, veel tranen en een gigantisch gevoel van ongeloof. Zo was het maandagavond en dinsdag. Ik wou, kon, wil en kan het niet geloven. Ik hoop dat hij - waar hij ook is - nog steeds even gelukkig is als dat hij het hier was.

He died doing what he loved.

Peter Kelly

Cyclists are a big family and we have lost one of our own. I never met him but I feel sad that he died. May we all die when we are doing something that we love. Rest in Peace Wouter

His pregnant girlfriend will have his child as a reminder forever.

Ann-Sophie 

België en de rest van de wereld mag fier zijn jou gekend te hebben. Een fantastische renner, maar daarnaast ook een fantastische spontane en vriendelijke mens... Bedankt Wouter, voor alle mooie momenten! 
Het ga je goed...

The sadness can be overcome.

Marleen

STERKTE, Wouter leeft voort in zijn kindje... Dit laat niemand koud...maar als de stilte komt, zoek dan houvast in de mooie dingen die Wouter naliet!

So what was it?

Maybe the fact that he was loved by so many.

Demuysere Rosita  het leven kan soms zo onfair zijn he…

Arne Vrebos  dit is gewoon erg…

Jef van den Driessche  damn, dat dit kan gebeuren...

 

Frederik Huvaere  het ga je goed...

 

Tobias Wauch  no words , just tears…

 

Gunther Houbrechts  gewoon verschrikkelijk…

 

Bob de Laet  heb zitten wenen als een kind…

 

Chantal  woordeloos, machteloos, troosteloos... 

 

Close to him or not, they remember a life well lived.

M. D'Haene

Het leven is vergankelijk, daar ontkomt niemand aan... 
Alleen heeft het noodlot te snel te definitief afgerekend met je, Wouter. 
Tientallen lofwoorden kunnen we schrijven: jong, leuk, talentvol, ambitieus, goedlachs, communicatief, speciaal, altijd bereikbaar, sociaal... maar dit is het voornaamste: je was - èn blijft - geliefd. 
Dat de liefde die je gegeven èn gekregen hebt, een steun moge zijn voor je naasten ! Dat ze troost en sterkte mogen vinden in de herinneringen die je achterlaat, en uiteraard ook in het zich ontwikkelende leven dat voor altijd van jou zal getuigen. 
Weet dat je niet voor niets bent geweest wie je was : de mate waarin je beste vrienden An-Sophie,je ouders en zus steunen en proberen bij te staan, is een weerspiegeling van jouw gulheid. 
Geef je nu maar over aan het grote onbekende, je hebt je best gedaan ...

They cherish fond memories.

Marc Thielemans 

We hebben er samen veel plezier aan beleefd langs de Schelde waar we allen konden profiteren van je machtige uitstraling, je krachtige pedaalslag, je eenvoudige en authentieke zélf onder de wielerfanaten van de Schelde tussen Zwijnaarde en Oudenaarde. 

Het zal nooit meer hetzelfde zijn. Dankbaarheid en schoonheid overheersen: je klasse en speelsheid: iedereen zal het missen. 

Wij met ons wielerbende zullen voortaan voorzichtiger zijn, zonder angst dat wel, jij had dat ook niet, maar wel alerter en goed geconcentreerd. Als eerbetoon aan jou, ook al heb jij daar geen bal meer aan. 

Het leven is hard, de dood nog harder en confronterend. Aan je vriendin, je familie, je vrienden kan ik niet genoeg steun betuigen. Dus alle (rouw)registers opentrekkend: aan al wie dit leest: trek je op aan zijn doorzetting, levenslust en vrolijkheid. Het kan zo snel voorbij zijn. De énige troost die ik voel: Wouter heeft niet lang afgezien, of zelfs niet, tijdens het beleven van de droomjob van zijn leven.

They write in poetic language.

Karin Vermeir

boom stil
bloem stil
niemand zo stil
als zij
jij stil
ik stil
niemand zo stil
als wij
om ons heen raast een wereld vol geluiden verder
blij dat wij nu even stil zijn.....

They handle their grief with dignity. 

Werner 

Geachte familie, vrienden van Wouter, 
Ik ben geen wielerfan-van-het-eerste-uur, ik ben geen kenner, ik ben gewoon maar een mens die geschokt is door de dood van een knappe jongeman die nog zoveel tegoed had van het leven. 
Ik maakte drama's als dit eerder mee met mensen die mij nauwer waren dan deze vader-in-spe, maar je raakt het nooit gewend: niks tragischer dan een ouder, een familielid, een vriend die zo'n jong iemand ten grave moet dragen. 
Ik wens iedereen die dicht bij Wouter stond alle sterkte om met dit verlies te leren leven: vergeten doe je dit nooit, de datum van het tragische ongeluk staat voor eeuwig gegrift in de kalender van je geheugen, maar ik hoop dat de tijd de scherpe hoeken van het verdriet afrondt en U langzaamaan terug de kleur van het leven laat zien. 
Zoek troost en kracht bij elkaar. 
Met innigste wensen voor sterkte.

Als je moet afgeven wat je het meeste lief hebt 
dan is er geen gisteren, 
geen vandaag 
en geen morgen meer, 
dan is er geen tijd meer, 
dan is er alleen heimwee... 

Belgium has always surprised me. That small, almost forgotten country.

Gianmaria 'Marie' Framarin

You came from Belgium's straight wet tiny country roads, under tons of rain and snow, but it was on a winding downhill lane on a sunny afternoon in Italy that you looked back and suddenly it was all over…

Gianni Vannieuwenborgh

Je was een groot persoon in de wielersport voor ons klein belgen landje. De eerbetoon van vandaag heeft echt ontroerd. ik kan het nog altijd niet geloven. De Wielerwedstrijden zullen nooit meer zijn zoals tevoren. Rust in vrede Wouter, Een ster was geboren in de wielersport nu schitterd ze aan onze blauwe belgische hemel. Respect voor het team Leopard trek. Heel veel sterkte aan de familie en vrienden van dit groot symbol.

So I have followed the mourning, and I have mourned with them.

Stijn

Nooit was ik zo ondersteboven bij het overlijden van een sportman. Gisteren langs De Schelde gaan rijden met mijn gedachten bij de mensen die nu achterblijven. Veel renners gezien, allen ontredderd en stil. Er hing een raar sfeertje ... 

Allowed myself to indulge in the sadness of a final goodbye.

kurt D

Hey maat! 
Dit zijn mijn laatste woorden zoals ik tegen jou zou gepraat hebben. 
Eerst wil ik nog mijn innige deelneming betuigen aan jouw vriendin, toekomstig kindje, en aan jouw familie. 
Je smste me nog in januari om te vragen wanneer we nog eens samen gingen trainen, heb ik nu spijt maat dat ik pas in maart terug met trainen ben begonnen. JIJ hebt me sinds lange tijd nog eens een traan laten rollen door wat je hebt voorgehad, ik zat net in de auto toen ik het vernam. Jij noemde me altijd den beer van de schelde, maar op dat moment was ik maar héél klein. Jij wou mijn job doen als je niet koerste en ik andersom dat was waarschijnlijk onze klik waardoor we meteen met mekaar overeenkwamen. Je hebt mij nog eens doen beseffen dat ik moet genieten van het leven terwijl we leven!!! 
Ik zal u godverdomme missen kameraad, ook al zagen we mekaar zeer weinig. Ik vergeet zeker de momenten niet en u ook natuurlijk, ik zal mijn best doen, je kent mijn werk hé, om woensdag te komen en WIJ een laatste keer "jow" te zeggen!

Paske Meersschaut

I saw team mates and friends of Wouter in tears crossing the finish line in a group . as a team , as a group , as a family , just like the family member , brother , team mate you always were for them . I cried too , its hard not to if you saw those images ...

Benny Impens

De tranen sprongen in mijn ogen bij het overschrijden van de finish, gaan u missen s'morgens langs de schelde.

I live with death. We all do. Some of us are just more aware of it…

Dana Champion de Crespigny

I’m sure if there is a decent place to ride up there, you will find it,
and by decent I mean impossible for the mere mortal

Ischa Dassen          

Daar hoog boven de wolken, zal hij nu rondfietsen…

Wim Christiaen

Wouter, het ga je goed in je eeuwige ronde..veel sterkte en moed aan al die hem lief was...

Dirk De Luxe Hart

rest in peace Wouter- may the wind be always at your back

De Roeck Dominique

Like a sunset 
Dying with the rising of the moon 
Gone too soon

Slow Living

Visited the Souk. Nothing romantic about it. It’s downtown and dirty. 

Strolled around and absorbed the atmosphere. Sat outside a teashop, 

on the stool normally occupied by the shopowner. Drank my tea and watched the world go by. 

Narrow alley.  Observed the taylor behind his old-fashioned sewing machine. 

He allowed me to take a picture. Maybe coz he’s young. 

The teashop owner did not want his picture taken, but allowed me one of the kettles. 

Later on had an omelette-roll. You don’t have to escape the rat race here. There is no race. Slow living at its best. Can’t imagine heart-attacks and hypertension being high on the list of medical problems. Bought some Indian/Pakistani sweets (desserts) – coconut and condensed milk – that’s what it tasted like. Heavenly. 

In ‘Kashmir Fabrics’ I indulged myself in the spectacle of colour. 

The young man selling oud and frankincense also didn’t mind me taking his picture. 

I always ask. Half the time they say no. The other half is what makes it worth it. I don’t ask any Saudis. They’re pretty unapproachable. I thought to myself, this is as authentic as it gets. 

How many people in the ‘outside world’ ever get to experience this? Very few. I consider myself blessed. 

Only the trained eye will find what is essential. Actually, it is romantic after all.

Meeting the Parents - High Expectations

Around the world, teachers and parents meet. It's pretty much the same everywhere, and then again it's not. It becomes curiously interesting when we all come from diverse cultures and have to find common ground. Not to mention crossing the big language divide. (Actually the religious divide is bigger, but we won't mention that.)

Two evenings with parents. Too many kids (in school and per family). And they all show up. Maybe not all on time, and maybe not on the evening that was booked for them, but they still show up. Except for one, the one you needed to see most. (That's the part that doesn't change.) 

I loved meeting the parents. I enjoyed getting to know them. Mostly doctors from across the region. They all have high expectations for their kids. The headmistress said "They have never heard the expression: You can't make a silk purse out of  sows ears." Being unfamiliar with the expression, I heard "you can't make a silk purse out of Saudis"!

Meet the boys (and two girls) and their parents:

·        Osama’s mom (Jordanian) is a tonic. Needs ‘The Nanny’. (Her words!) Laughs as she tells me she’s a bad mother who can’t discipline her boys.

·         Amna’s dad (Pakistani) says ‘yes mam’ to everything I say. He’s an army officer. The mother says nothing.

·         Tom’s father (Indian) has the broadest smile. A dentist I think. The only non-muslim in the class.

·         Hytham’s father (Sudanese) is special. Big man with a small boy. Doctor Mubarak. Pater familias. Devout muslim. Halfway through parents’ evening he asked for a place to go pray.

·         Medhat’s parents (Egyptian) only came in to thank me for making a difference. (I allow their son to be as clever as he is without feeling threatened when corrected by him. Happens frequently! Ask him anything – speed of light, infrared, gas or liquid, how much…? He is my walking encyclopedia.)

·         Shoaib’s mother (Pakistani) kept referring to him as ‘careless’ . When the father came, he used the word ‘carefree’ and I realized that was the word she was looking for.

·         Nasrallah’s dad (Palestinian) told me how busy he was. I tried to explain his son’s ADD tendencies to him. He says: ‘You know his mother was Russian.’  (Now  that explains everything. These damned Russians!)

·         Salma’s parents (Egyptian) were great. She’s new in class. Whispers instead of talks. (So I whisper back!)

I realize that I saw more fathers than mothers. And when together, the mothers said nothing. NOTHING. Why is it that only the fathers speak? Only the teacher-parents have very outspoken mothers. Two of them Egyptian (and loud), one Syrian (and quiet but strong)

They all love their children dearly. That much is blatantly clear. They also think that their children are exceptionally gifted and talented. They do not like hearing that the kids struggle with English and that I am happy with a result of ‘average’ coz we are comparing them to British kids who were born and raised English. ‘Average’ does not feature in their vocab. ‘Minimum requirement’ is an insult. ‘Distinction’ is all that matters.

Precious little girl - my hope for the future!

From Pilgrim to VIP

Seven months and still counting. Had a new teacher, a youngster, with us on the flight back. Good thing she had company and experienced people to assist her. Her presence made me think back. I could compare my own journey. I’ve come a long way. A lo..ooong way. I checked myself in. Had time for breakfast. Got rid of the local currency. Organised where to sit so I could have four seats to myself. Watched a movie and several TV shorts during the flight. At Jeddah, my usual laid-back self, going through the motions with ease. Some luggage went missing (not mine) – it did miraculously appear before our onward connection. The Headmistress and her ex-husband  got stuck in Rome for almost an entire day, arriving at Jeddah after us. I kept a VERY low profile, but thought it was hilarious, which is why I kept a low profile. As she commented later: If they weren’t already divorced, the papers would certainly have been on its way after that little detour. He through a hissy-fit in the middle of Rome airport; left her at Jeddah to check in their luggage and find them a hotel; then promptly disappeared with her passport and ticket (apparently being desperate for the loo); and topped it all by telling her off for a delivery that went wrong. Of course, that is her side of the story. I have no doubt that there is an equally believable other side to this story. But not my problem. I parked off and slept on a couch from midnight till morning , waking up five minutes before boarding. It is a gift and a blessing to be able to sleep anywhere any time. I have to admit, it was worth paying for the comfort and quiet of the VIP lounge. Much better than sleeping with the pilgrims, draped over uncomfortable chairs with arm rests poking one’s back. From pilgrim to VIP – some journey indeed.

"Gotta love NZ" - Blog4NZ

The joys of language… 

and of teaching a bunch of 11-year old Middle Eastern kids about New Zealand.

“Why did you choose New Zealand?”

“Coz you know nothing about it.”

“Gotta love NZ”

“Is that Maori?”

Tourism - Pakistani boy keeps saying ‘terrace’ instead of ‘tourists’. Sounds like ‘terrorists’ who should visit NZ to experience and appreciate its ‘awesome nature, mountains and…uh…uh… other stuff like that’.

 Other stuff being: rivers, forests, volcanoes, geysers (What’s that?), glaciers (What’s that?), fjords (What’s that?), lakes, adventure sport, Maori culture – urghhh!!!

“Look at the pictures! Just describe what you see.”

 National Parks?  (Reading off the calendar’s cover page)

“Three World Heritage Sites!” (and don’t say ‘What’s that?’)

Tattoos – “they use needles with ink and stick it into your skin until the ink takes the shape of the tattoo. You can’t put water on it for three weeks (horrified). If you did not have a tattoo, you were useless.”  

“No, worthless”.

 He writes ‘worse-less’.

Name three cities in NZ – “Auckland, Wellington and Nepal.”

Sport – “they are the world champions in rugby and swimming.” ( No, sailing.)

The rugby team is called All Blacks, the football team is called All Whites. It refers to their clothes! The football team is not very good.” (Don’t say that. They won’t like it.)

Jordanian boy does a whole power point presentation on agriculture. When he’s finished, he asks: “What does agriculture mean?”

Kiwi – they know it’s a bird and a fruit. They love the fruit. If the NZ kiwi board ever wants a good add, these kids would be superb!

Would you like to visit New Zealand? – “I don’t understand the question.” (Explain) “No, because I will be working in Syria.” (Something wrong with my explanation?)

Did I make a difference? I’d like to think so.

They can find NZ on a map. They do know about Auckland, Wellington and Christchurch. They know the Skytower is higher than the Eiffel Tower.

They can do a Haka (though not a very intimidating one).

They know the highest mountain is Mountain Cook (sic). They know who Edmund Hillary is. (The famous explorer who discovered NZ!) No, seriously, they do know. They even know who the Head of State is. (They can’t spell her name and they’re not sure she’s still alive, but still!) They know what the NZ flag looks like and they know that there are spelling mistakes in the National Anthem. (There is no such word as “thy”!) They probably know a lot more.

They will grow up and maybe one day, when the opportunity presents itself, they will take a break from their jobs in Syria, Pakistan, Egypt, Jordan, Sudan, India, Saudi… and say:

Let’s go visit the youngest country in the world; the land of the long white cloud; that small innovative little place at the bottom of the world, next to the penguins.

Eat, Pray, Love

I wanted to write about how I feel after six months in Saudi and what I’ve gained/lost/learnt. It meant having to go back, and that made me sad, and so I stopped.

So I’ll give you the shortened version: 

I am myself again. I am happy. I am at peace. I do as I please (within reason!) I have grown spiritually – I understand the universe better and the principles on which it operates. I understand the law of attraction. I understand that ‘as you speak, so it shall be’. I am learning day by day the value of positive thinking. I apply it. And it works. When I don’t apply it, it still bloody works.

I have more compassion. I notice kindness. I think the universe is an awesome place. I love the Middle East. I don’t understand all of it, and I certainly don’t agree with half of it, but I appreciate the place and its people. 

People are people are people. 

And I love them all.