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. 

Do Not Cut the Bougainvilleas

The king has given us all the day off. Probably trying to keep his subjects happy. The first Saturday in the kingdom that I actually get to spend as a Saturday! Decided to do some gardening. Trying to figure out why I’m paying a gardener. It was a nice day. We went from winter straight into summer. One minute shoes, next minute sandals. It changes as quickly as that.

The cats enjoyed me being at home and pottering in the garden. I stuck to the patio and was getting pots ready. Planted seeds – basil, thyme and oregano as well as some green pepper seeds which I had been saving since November. (The one and only time I made a salad.) In addition, I planted broccoli. Imagine that – broccoli!

Got the seedlings from Elle’s Pakistani neighbour. Really appreciated the gesture. She added some succulents and a very special geranium. All cuttings. Can’t wait to see the results.

My cactus has flowered for the second time since I got here and there is a white rose to complete the picture.

The aloe is also flowering. It is as confused as I am by the sudden onset of summer.

I managed to grow rosemary off three cuttings. It is a first for me. The geraniums are doing well and the stupid snails agree.

I have two bougainvilleas. Must remember to tell the gardener NOT TO PRUNE THEM EVER AGAIN.

Next time (it’ll have to be my Thursday-Saturday) I will have to tackle the side and front. Going to change the side into a sunflower show with three different varieties – standard, teddy bear and music box. I hope it looks as good as it sounds. In the front it will be a mixture of anything that flowers.

My grandfather loved gardening. My mother still does.

Hanging Village

The city where I live is on a high plato. I never realize how high till I travel to the escarpment where one can look down into the valley. It seems strange, because one doesn’t think of Saudi in terms of mountains.

The Hanging Village is precariously perched on the side of a mountain, at the bottom of a huge cliff, with an even bigger drop to the floor of the valley. God knows how the original inhabitants got there, and how they made a living. But they were safe from invading Turks, and that is probably all that mattered at the time. Apparently they used ropes and baskets to get themselves in and out of there. It has long since been abandoned, and in its place is a modern reconstruction. A cable car takes one down to the village.

The houses were made of stone and wood and as one wonders up and down the narrow pathways, it is still possible to find original remnants such as carved wooden doors and tools.

One thing is for certain, it is not for the fainthearted or those suffering from vertigo. Even today. The Saudis don’t seem to worry or care too much about railings and safety. I was intrigued and wanted to see everything, but I kept to the side of the mountain and had my feet firmly planted at all times. Carpets are scattered around on rooftops where one can sit down and have a picnic. I took pictures, but kept my distance. Zoom lenses are marvelous!

Of course the small mosque is definitely a more recent addition.

It was spring when we visited. How fortunate, because spring only lasts one day.

Across the valley on the other side of the mountain, a modern village is clearly visible. Don’t know how modern, but at least there’s life. Can’t imagine how one survives in such a harsh, inhospitable environment. But there it is.

We went on a quiet day. So quiet that I was struck by the awesomeness of the vast landscape. At some point the birds and the monkeys annoyed each other. Still not sure whether it was birds of prey or crows. But the sounds matched the scenery and provided us with a good soundtrack.

Saudi never ceases to amaze me. It is not merely a country of oil wells and armies; princes and sheiks; white robes and black abayas. If you care to explore, look at it more closely, venture out, you’ll find a beauty that can be treasured. Made more special by the fact that not many people get to see it. Ever.

Fun in the Sun

People in the southern hemisphere know about sport. They know how to throw a ball; catch a ball; kick a ball; hit a ball; run, swim, jump and even somersault.

So here I am, stuck in the Middle East, doing my first sports-day at school. Sports day, my foot! Stupid little games. And these kids can’t. They simply can not. Hoola-hoop – not too bad. Even the boys. Kick a ball – gets better. Beanbag toss. My item.  No-one knows how to throw, let alone aim. About fifty kids, (aged 8 – 12) – not a single child managed to toss a beanbag into a bucket 3m away. Less than half of them got it into a bucket 1.5m away. I found it uninspiring and not fun. Not fun at all.

Then followed the races. 

·         Sack races in sacks that were too small and therefore tore.

·         Egg-and-spoon races with wooden eggs. I remember using real eggs and real spoons and if yours fell and broke, you were out of the race. At least there was an element of fun in it! (Okay, maybe we were older!)

·         The dress-up race was stupid. (I thought)

·         The water race, which could have been fun, got canceled.

·         And finally, we were to finish with an obstacle race. My effort of bringing some fun and excitement into it. Bit of a challenge. Well, the bloomin challenge was that the teachers never got the hang of it. They were the challenge.

The whole thing is cock-eyed. The teams aren’t equally spread. In my Year 6 class of eleven, five are green and one is yellow. Two red and two blue. So it might even out with perhaps the year 3’s having more yellow and less green (not so), but even then it means the top-end of one team is loaded. Secondly, numbers are per se uneven. You would then have red with 15 members and green with 13. That means that in the green house two people have to run twice – naturally the strongest two. The younger ones get too confused. So the red team has a spread of talent whereas the green team get to run their best athletes twice. The biggest team will always be at a disadvantage. And so it goes on.

To top it off, and about this I could go ballistic, there’s this one Pakistani teacher with her holier-than-thou attitude. (Her being Pakistani is not the point.) Never opens her mouth. Never makes any contribution. Never gives an opinion… until the actual day of the event. Arrives in her high heals and evening gown. (Well, almost!)  A round robin means you change at set intervals and when every one is done. And normally you’d go clockwise. If they choose to go anti-clockwise here, I would still accept. But crossing diagonally, makes no sense! Not to me, anyway.

And so, back to the races. Madam High Heels, waits till we’ve finished three of the races, and then tells me that the red house has one extra child which hadn’t been taken into account. I got annoyed and responded “Where were you when we made the arrangements? Why didn’t you say something then?” She quickly (which is not very quickly) ran to Madam Headmistress, who doesn’t enjoy any of this anyway. And then proceeded to take over the arrangements for my said obstacle race. Could have been ‘cause I was standing, at that point, with my hands in my pockets, staring into space. Needless to say: the kids saved the day ‘cause they carried on with the race regardless of the ‘minor’ changes and adjustments made by Paris-bloody-Hilton. (Excuse my French)  

So why do I feel the need to share this boring account? Honestly! Basically because I want to say: I miss good sport. I really, really miss good sport. For that matter, any sport. And secondly, ‘cause I needed to blow off steam.