“At the
center of everything is nothing, the silence of god.” August West
Hey Now
Kids,
Once upon a
time Tim returned to his copper mountain of paradise of Tsenkharla. But it
wasn’t the smoothest reentry as a matter of fact. But physically I am nestled
in my concrete shelter on a moonlit night. And as I gaze at the moon I see
Bobby! My guru now relegated to streaks of gold light coursing through god’s
artery the Dagme Chu below in the vapid valley. Oh what a splendid place to be
alive and call home for this short spell. In fact we are all moving on,
paddling towards our maker. For me that would be the elements the raw materials
that form life. Bare hard earth and rock fortify a magnificent wasteland. As
long as the parched earth thousands of feet below my stoop remains uninhabited
then I will enjoy some degree of happiness. One thing is clear for me and that
is I LOVE this land the most. Feeling depleted of late I haven’t even roamed
much but rather have read two Kraukauer novels on my rock enjoying the mild
winter sun licking my face like a zealous puppy. On the offhand chance you are
waiting for an account of my Himalayan Odyssey over the break, you will be
disappointed in this mere simple report of “my village life” I haven’t quite
processed the myriad of cosmic occurrences that constructed my vacation yet.
Sufficient to boast it was an unparalleled adventure which I hope to share
later on in another self absorbed rambling. But if you’ve come along this far
perhaps you will go FURTHUR! Ah shucks your readership means a damn lot to your
humble author! Some of your generous donations are directly responsible for my
being in the Kingdom. So let the jubilant complaining begin. On the surface
things are peachy. I have a mild sore throat from talking all day in class but
I am sound and my loved ones are accounted for on the other side of the globe.
The best part of this homecoming is reconnecting with the children that sustain
us here. Across the board BCF teachers (past and present) love their students
immensely and often we put up with some heady circumstances to connect with
them. After traveling so far it warms my innards to see smiling familiar faces
welcoming me home. But the flip side is the terror of digging in for another
year in the wild East. But Bhutanese are a special breed. One might see them as
pilgrims or chosen ones blessed with a bountifully diverse piece of land in a
small portion of the Himalayas. But it’s the people that inspire. I endured a
bout of insomnia which allowed me to lay in bed at 5 AM listening to the kid’s
prayer chants from the MP Hall in the predawn gloaming. These kids are
remarkably self- possessed and composed in the difficult reality of boarding
life. Unlike me they are not built for complaints or misery and support each
other as a community. I can’t help but think of ants or bees on occasion but
they also have distinctive personalities if one scratches the surface. This
interaction lies at the core of our collective mission here. Our mere presence
opens a new world to them and we gain more than we could ever give from the
hearts of our children. On days where I am tired or lacking, a moment of magic
always reaffirms my career choice and placement in no-man’s-land. And I have
Karlos and Sonam to take care of me next door. Love thy neighbor. Ah Tsenkharla
how I cherish each rock, tree, and the very dirt I tread on. Especially the
dirt which has a comforting configuration, dry and lean yet capable of
supporting year round life. Add in some adorable kids and a quirky village and
Bob’s your uncle. Lord Buddha would teach us to unhinge ourselves from
attachment which is improbable as a teacher. But it is also part of the game
plan. New kids replace the old ones and some move away and you can only
remember and hope that you served them well. Love well or not at all, right?
As the
digital large size clock beside my cot strikes the bewitching hour I pray to
turn into a pumpkin or maybe a pizza. Therefore I would eat myself up. Instead
I am talking nonsense to a radish I call Bunky. So now my pal sits on my desk
top silently condemning this sentence. (Like Wilson from Cast Away) So for now
let’s hang it up and see what tomorrow brings…In the words of legendary KTVU anchor
Dennis Richmond Goodnigh”t” Or better
yet in the posthumous words of late night host Tom Snyder, “Fire up a colortini
and watch the pictures as they fly through the air.”
“Don’t want to end up a cartoon in a
cartoon graveyard” Paul Simon
Good morning
on a Thursday in Bhutan. The Circus rolls on. Mutating into new expressive
dimensions and weight. I start my day listening to “Graceland” which is about
long enough to supplement my morning routine of washing, brushing my teeth, and
making tea. “You Can Call Me Al” is spot on to my experience here and I think
it is mine and Becky’s song. Being kept up by a noisy hound for three
consecutive nights, I love the lyric “get these mutts away from me you know, I
don’t find this stuff amusing anymore” Absolutely genius Paul! The whole darn
tune is autobiographical. I enjoyed the morning classes and facilitated the
writing of poems by class seven. All but one of my thirty kids had never
written a poem so it’s a celebratory day for the muse. Later they will revise,
draw pictures to accompany, and hang on the wall. Early on, I have found a
better cadence and rhythm in my second year. At times I have taught like a
chicken with its head cut off and must remember to breath and take time.
Preparation is essential for the job and improves the flow of the lesson
tremendously. Teaching is difficult. You must take into account different
learning styles and pace, undertake classroom management, and facilitate
learning all in the moment. Truthfully I am still seeking my voice in my third
year at the job. But it is a rewarding if not demanding profession. For me it
is a process of learning to love the journey and the daily fruits of the
teacher/student interaction. And putting in the time needed to craft my lessons
and execute effectively. At times I am envious of how easily it seems to come
for certain of my colleagues who simply have a knack at it. (Along with great
work ethic) But what I might lack in organizational skills I hope to make up
for in passion and care for my charge.
Either way I have been given a space to work on my skill set in unique
environment, and for that I am grateful. And one of my former boy’s from last
year thanked me for my teaching, which reinforces the meaning. I had an
interesting conversation with Jigme, a soft spoken, tall and handsome new
teacher. He noted the difficulty of a Bhutanese teacher to make the American
literature relatable to the students. Being somewhat familiar with my own
cultural history I can provide useful background information. For class nine we
are studying a Booker T Washington essay which calls for a short explanation of
racial tensions of that era in the United States. I try to stay true to the “Harris
Line” of 80/20. That is, 20% teacher instruction to 80% student activity. In
the ESL game that is pretty hard to maintain but I keep it firmly in mind. Principal
Julie Harris critiqued my student teaching lesson in 2011 exclaiming I was
providing too much direct instruction in the classroom without enough student
centered activities. Mostly I want to have the students feel energized and
engaged at each moment. I don’t want to put another brick in the wall so to
speak but rather tear down the wall with active student based learning. I want
empowered freethinking kids that can work as a team to solve Bhutan’s future
problems. Many will toil in traditional farming role after class ten but they
will be “educated farmers” I try to instill a mentality to do any job to the
best of their ability. So if you’re a taxi driver, be the best driver
possible.
One thing
that is difficult in Bhutanese Education is getting face time with a student. I
find one on one instruction particularly gratifying. For example during my
poetry exercise today one diminutive girl was having difficulty staring her assignment.
She sat pensively in the golden grass overlooking a hazy horizon. I knelt down
next to her and asked her about her village. (Always a good icebreaker) and
what parts of nature she appreciated? Her voice was barely audible but she
remarked her affection for trees. So I prodded her for more information and she
provided a great first line which read. “Trees provide us many things” For the
next twenty minutes Cheki intently scribed into her notebook and another poet
was born. I love this lesson and did it last year. We don’t have many opportunities
to write poetry and it is amazing to see the raw talent and poetic sense of many
of the students. It’s also a rare gift to see Bhutanese kids expressing
themselves creatively. (Talent shows are a notable exception and that’s why
they are a hoot) The educational system is rote in construction but the natural
tendencies of the students are affable, creative, cooperative, and fun.
One setback
to the new school year is that old thorn in Tim’s side, trash. All my trashcans
have vanished from the property and litter peppers the campus. The cans were
merely old oil tins that were hard to scrounge up from various places. We also
had to buy paint and brushes to coat the receptacles yellow and green. I was
sad to see them gone and the lackluster response of administration irked me.
Culturally Bhutanese are more consistent and stable so the reaction only
appeared ambivalent. In addition I had to except 51 members when I only wanted
30. As the numbers increase, bunking becomes an issue. (Bunking is slang for
truancy) Also, BCF has withdrawn my grant for lack of ability to acquire large
trash cans. Resources can be an issue in these parts and I hold myself
accountable for the lapse. So I will find more tins and restart the effort
encouraging the students to change their habits and reinforce the community cleanliness
standards. (Sisyphus dragging the stone up that hill again) I don’t take the
problem personally anymore and know gentility wins the race in Bhutan, la. I
will use this approach to secure a month’s salary that some of my colleagues
have received for January. Due to the efforts of certain BCF alumni, Trashigang
teachers received a January salary as do the national teachers. Each Dzongkhag doles
out pay individually.
I awoke
after a fitful sleep to the smell of Bhutan that I associate with the Brokpa’s.
A sort of smoky fermented cheese odor that is deeply pleasing to my core.
Perhaps due to my poor eyesight I have always cherished smell. I can’t clearly remember
the face of the waif rainbow I pinned for in 95’ but I recall her scent which
remains palpable. Similar memory burns include the fragrance of Ashland in
spring, or the smell of Donner Lake in early morning. Probably when the images
of this place fade from memory over the years that Brokpa smell will remain
locked in my DNA. When I go down Gods Highway AKA the tunnel of light, I will
likely follow a fragrance into that white light. This day (still Thursday) will
be capped by watching the light filter through the hazy valley and then off to
a baby shower, which hopefully included dinner. (FYI I am definitely the
hungriest man at Tsenkharla.) Today as always, my emotions ranged all over the
map, but let’s call it a good day for prosperity. (Today is February 28, 2013) The
best lesson I learned today which I already knew was to keep smiling. In class
it is my duty to remain positive and upbeat which I let slip away at times last
year. Youth are sensitive to moods and being a grumble bunny doesn’t contribute
to the vibe of the class. Of course I will be firm and fair but also gentle and
compassionate. My temperament and collectiveness is my primary goal for this
academic year with many supplemental goals as well. It’s nice to be back in
action as the beat marches on!
