Chapter 8: Shit
Show-More Lickings -The underbelly of Bhutan-Take it all around
Today
exposed the underbelly of Shangri-La a place I dearly love. I have just gotten
home from Social Service Club where I took the boys to the hostel area for
cleaning and Captain Dawa Dema (namesake of pet Dawa Dema) took the girls to
their hostel. It was a literal shit show when I came to the boy’s toilets which
had feces overflowing out of the squatters and swarms of flies feeding on heaps
of crap. Then I was picking up trash in mud/shit overflow while the lazy boys
watched. Yes Bhutanese can be quite sincere but they are also like any other
kids. I called them out saying it was disgraceful to watch a teacher picking up
after them and not lend a hand. Overall the girls are more solid club members
and do their work more earnestly. When I got home I washed my hands OCD style (ironically
I don’t wash my hands enough in this place) When I told the administration of
the problem they shrugged and passed the buck off to the warden and assistant
warden. The assistant warden seemed unconcerned telling me that that he will
force the kids to eat SHIT someday. I will inform Karlos (the warden) when I
see him later tonight. Living so close to that shit bomb I am directly susceptible
to any health hazard, and from my point of view it’s a whole bowl of wrong.
What a dirty place as my water is coming out black these days and this morning
after my bath I was filthier than before. But at least there is H2O on occasion!
I had a fine day marvelling at the brutality of the LOT (Land of Terror) My
class 7B bore the brunt of a merciless beating as Pema Lhamo showed me the
welts on her hand afterwards. The preferred method of administering a licking
is with a thick stick some carved with jagged points like a harpoon. The reason
for this lashing was for getting incorrect answers. This week teachers have
been on a rampage and I have spoken up about it with many of them privately
reminding them that it is illegal and does no good anyway.
I enjoyed my
classes and interacting with students and now am making rice as the rain falls.
My roaming has curtailed drastically since it rains everyday at 4:20 P.M. It’s
partly cloudy at 3:30 with blotches of double dipped rainbows but then the
clouds swoon in from Arrunachal Pradesh dumping rain. In class students worked
in groups on their trash posters with one group actually taping plastic rubbish
on their poster. Presentations will happen tomorrow and it’s delightful to witness
these young learners working as a team. (Teamwork is Dreamwork as Ashleigh
would say) It’s raining harder now and my thoughts go out to Namgang Mo who is traipsing
up the mountain with her buddies to Shakshang Goempa. She is a day scholar and
must commute two hours each day in the mud out of doors. It’s not easy here and rereading this chapter hunched
over my keyboard I wonder if I make it sound terrible? The truth is its amazingly
challenging and for every ounce of SHIT there are gorgeous flowers radiant
smiles and a simplistic lifestyle that cannot be underestimated. If any
prospective teachers are reading this I ONLY want to make them aware of the
reality not the BCF brochure take. For one thing travel is difficult in Bhutan
but many teachers work it pretty nicely with their Principals, while some clash
with their La’s for more freedom. Like the dude told Becky at Dochela on our
journey east “It’s all about the village” I have had enough opportunity’s to
see the countryside and now am content to make dashes into T-Gang to preserve
my sanity. But take it all around I have a great situation at Tsenkharla and I
have it on authority that a few alumni are eager to return to the Kingdom to
teach which speaks too it. This blog appears negative but that’s just my overactive
speaking complaint box. The truth is I’ve found a home here and I consider my
placement providence of the highest order. (Thanks Choden, my angel!) It was my
theory she just threw darts at the map over a beer but she assured me it was a
methodical process to place teachers in the field. This year the ministry favoured
the West probably for health reasons since we lost a teacher last year in the
far -east. Not a day goes by that I forget how blessed we are to be working immersed
in a place folks pay $300 just to glimpse. Ours is a different experience than
a tourist, while I may never scale Jhomolahari or explore Manas I HAVE
Tsenkharla and the wonderful people that go with it. Bottom line is Bhutan is
what you make it, a lesson I don’t always adhere to. But I like that and I like
to make it up as I go along. We are a part of something bigger that our selves
a mission more profound than any of us can comprehend, WE STAND ON THE
SHOULDERS OF GIANTS: NANCY, JAMIE, MR. MARK, and the mythical CATHERINE. So don’t
chicken out just come and experience the adventure of a thousand lifetimes. And
think of Mr. Tim when you’re sinking your teeth into a juicy cheeseburger stateside
with strips of bacon and guacamole with a side of waffle fries and a strawberry
shake. Begging your pardon my rice is up and I have to boil a readymade packet
of Indian curry that I procured at the K.C store. Oh did I tell you those K.C
folks are an enterprise featuring the best digs in town with their hilltop
hotel and bustling grocery. Hell its only midweek and I already miss the Gong/Gang.
The Last: Happy
B-day Dave!-Yours Truly Mr. Tim-Coda
“I’d fly away if only I could, I’d be
a raven if I only could, I’d fly away”
Five years
ago tonight I was in old town Las Vegas at the dilapidated Aruba Hotel seeing
the Rads. It was a Thursday and Dave Malone’s birthday kicking off a three
night run in the forlorn slums of sin city adjacent to a 24 HR wedding chapel whose
neon blue bell blazed in the 107 degree fever (the brain boils at 106 degrees)
that show was a barnburner a marathon of unbridled rock that seared my soul permanently.
Cowboy Dave branded my ass all night with blistering solos coiling from his electric
guitar his ecstatic smile reaching every derelict heart in the sweaty lounge. Meanwhile
Morgana was up to no good burning the man on the playa, like always our defunct
souls were connected by invincible waves. Despite reconfiguring my DNA with
lysergic POWER that night Dave (the forever man) taught me to love what I do doing
it the right way with boundless enthusiasm. Cheers Davey wherever you roam
tonight, I love you man!
The ravens
have returned to Rangthangwoong to roost, for whatever reason they come in the
autumn congregating cawing up a maelstrom. They soar in fleur-de-lis formation
up to Shakshang displaying aerial acrobats, harbingers of magic. On the border
summer ploughs on as farmers cut the maize and luscious veggies sprout from the
soil on terraces etched into vertical cliffs. I am fortunate to have a perch on
this peak and gaze upon villages marooned on steep isolated slopes with no
roads their tiny lights making them seem like lonesome constellations. I
suppose there ain’t nothing left to tell so I will light out to the village in
search of a chilled Coca Cola to alleviate my DESIRE. DESIRE the root of all
suffering just ask Adam and Eve or Buddha. Fuck it, who is John Galt anyway???
In Joplin Missouri in 1996 I was hit
by a station wagon going 65 MPH while I was crossing the road like the proverbial
chicken. Why you are required to inquire. You know it, for a cold coke and recess
pieces. I had just stumbled out of the Ozarks after helping clean up after the
rainbows and was out of my gourd malnourished and never saw the hick mobile
coming. I flew about thirty feet in the middle of the expressway losing a shoe
and bloodying my head. It was a miracle not ending up road kill and my fate was
sealed on that “Show Me” pavement. Ironically the night before I supped on
venison that had died in that same violent vehicular fashion. The universe is copasetic
in its own enigmatic way and I lived on to make love, meet Dave Malone, and
immerge in the Kingdom of the Thunder Dragon unscathed.
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