Expect the Unexpected

“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you for lunch. My principal threw an unexpected lunch for all the teachers so I had to rush back to school,” I said.

“Well, that’s expected,” Sonam replied.
*

Being unplanned is exhausting. Draining. I don’t like it. I never realized how much my body and mind operate on plans and organization until I had to let some of it go. I thought I had gotten used to a developing country’s sense of time – it’s flexibility – when Scott and I lived in Tanzania, but even there, we were still somewhat in a western trapping being at a school opened and largely run by Americans and westerners. Activities and schedules were planned in advance and followed through as much as possible. Of course, there were always surprises, and we had to get used to them and accept them.

But in Bhutan, there is no western trapping. I am in a Bhutanese school among Bhutanese teachers in a Bhutanese town. The concept of ‘planning in advance’ went out the window. I can be told at 2:30 that I need to attend a sick visit at 3:10 and once we get to the house, the visit’s been cancelled. I can be told to be at school the next morning at 6:30, have someone call that morning at 6:25 to say the time’s been changed to 9:00, and then still have to wait when 9:00 rolls around. I could go on and on with one example after another about unexpected visitors, cancelled classes, hours lost waiting and waiting and waiting.

Today, I kind of operated on the Bhutanese mentality of going with the flow. I received a call last night reminding me of a media workshop that was being held at Sherubtse. (The person was calling at 6:30 to also ask if I wanted to join them for dinner; I had to decline). I had first known about this workshop a couple weeks ago but intentionally didn’t plan on attending as it was being held over Blessed Rainy Day weekend, a weekend Scott and I hope to be out of town. Since I hadn’t put it in my planner, and there have been so many other things to occupy my mind, I let it slip from my radar. After the call last night, I figured I should attend part of it on the day I would be in town. So I thought about it for some time and called my principal around 8pm to inform him of this workshop the next morning. This is something I ordinarily would never do, but we’re in Bhutan and this is how things operate. A one-night notice to miss the next morning of work is acceptable.

So instead of teaching my usual four classes in the morning, I went to this workshop at Sherubtse. I had plans to meet a friend for lunch at the college, which I figured I could do when the workshop broke for lunch. Around 12:30, ten minutes before the lunch break, Sir Tashi called to inform Vice Principal (who had gone into school that morning as usual thinking he would have a regular work day and was told by the principal that his presence was needed at this workshop, so rushed down to the college) and I that the Principal was throwing a surprise lunch for the staff and we should attend. As the Vice Principal and I were trying to leave to get back to the school, the organizer of the workshop said, “But there’s a lunch for you here that we’re hosting. Your principal knows that. I don’t know why you need to leave.” For a moment I was torn, but we still managed to escape. In my mind, I had had lunch plans with a friend, but apparently, there was another plan that I was to be at the workshop lunch, but an unexpected lunch hosted by the principal trumped it all.

When it comes down to it, I like habit. I like routine. I like plans and sticking to them. I like filling things into my planner and I like crossing them off when they’re complete. On the other hand, I also like having no plans; for instance, when I travel. But I plan for that – I mentally prepare myself – for not having plans.

(As a side note – Scott and I were supposed to have a houseguest tonight; he never arrived in town. I was supposed to meet up with a friend around 4; she just called (at 5:08) to say she’s running late and couldn’t stop by the house. I know – this is life. Plans change. But, really, this much in one day?)

Royal Visit, Part I

Last weekend, His Royal Highness (usually abbreviated HRH) Prince Jigyel Ugyen Wangchuck visited Kanglung in honor of Olympic Day. Prince Jigyel is the second son of the Fourth King from the Fourth King’s first wife (the Fourth King has four wives, all of whom are sisters), which means he’d become King of Bhutan if anything fatal were to happen to the Fifth King.

Prince Jigyel is the head of the National Olympic Committee of Bhutan so he came to Kanglung with an entourage of athletic “masters” from the Committee. Masters from such sports as basketball, volleyball, Tae Kwon Do, karate, tennis, football, and shooting all made the long journey on the lateral road from Thimphu to Kanglung.

For the Olympic Day event, a few thousand students from surrounding schools, including my school, many teachers, and hundreds of townspeople all converged on Sherubtse College. All the participants of the event were given a white t-shirt featuring the Olympic rings. For days prior, a couple of Sherubtse’s athletic facilities received a minor facelift. The basketball court had lines painted on it (although they still didn’t fix the height of the hoops, much to Scott’s chagrin. At where the hoops are now, an average sized Bhutanese can easily dunk) and the football pitch got its weeds pulled out and its dips filled in, but that still didn’t prevent the pitch from becoming a muddy swamp come Olympic Day following a night of hard rain. Early that morning, workers were attempting to get rid of the mud puddles by filling them in with bags full of sand. That didn’t do the trick though.

Similar measures were taken during the basketball game – the Prince and members of the Olympic committee vs. Sherubtse students. Minutes before the game started, workers were wiping the court with towels under their feet in a failed attempt to dry it after an afternoon sprinkle. In both cases, the sun had the strongest affect. By the end of the basketball game, the court was almost completely dry. By the end of the Olympic Day celebration, the pitch had almost dried out.

Despite these conditions, Olympic Day turned out to be a huge success. My students absolutely loved it. They loved interacting with students from other schools. They loved getting medals and prizes and certificates, lunch and t-shirts and snacks. They loved learning new games and skills. But most of all, they loved that the Prince was there to share his time with them. Only a small percentage of the students got a few words from the Prince or a hug or a pat on the back, but his presence alone, his smile, his glances – just him – was enough.

Like most of my students, I didn’t get to personally interact with the Prince either. I was presented with a couple opportunities to shake his hand I think, but I squandered them. Scott, though, got to shake the Prince’s hand four or fives times, received a Royal hug, and even had a small chat with the Prince. The reason for all this attention paid to Scott? Is it because Scott is a tall white guy among thousands of Bhutanese and a hundred or so Indian teachers? No. Is it because Scott is just so darn charming and demands the attention of Royalty? No. It’s because Scott came in first place for the Olympic Day “Marathon.” I put quotes around it because the “Marathon” was, in fact, a 6-kilometer run (Bhutanese will call any organized run a “marathon”). Scott says himself that he does not excel in short distances, but he was still the strongest runner of around 500 race participants. Three times a week, Scott regularly runs 10-kilometers, whereas most of the other race participants – if they trained at all – ran a few mornings for a week leading up to the race.

I was in the middle of the muddy football pitch getting ready to participate in the Tae Kwon Do dance when Scott crossed the finish line, so I couldn’t capture the moment on film (I should also mention here that many minutes passed before second and third place runners crossed the finish line), but I was definitely there when Scott received the prize for winning the race from the Prince himself.

Other images from Olympic Day in Kanglung.


The Prince near a kicking bag. While the Prince did actively participate in many of the sporting events with the students, I don't think he actually kicked this pink plastic toy, although I'm sure he was tempted.

Warm up for volleyball.


I was mostly involved with Tae Kwon Do, but I walked around a little bit and did get to shoot an arrow. Archery is the national game of Bhutan. It's been well over a decade since I last shot a bow and arrow at Cape Cod Sea Camps but, with only one shot, I think my aim is still quite good.

The whole day, I was anxious to get a shot of the Prince with some students for the KPS Observer (my newspaper club's paper), but there was always such a gaggle of people around the Prince that it was actually quite difficult. During the football match, the last event of the day, I had some students politely ask the Prince for a picture while he was on the sidelines during halftime. This is the only shot of the Prince I have with him looking at the camera.

Tomorrow brings another Royal visit. This time it’s His Majesty The King Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck, the current King of Bhutan. This visit is particularly exciting because he’ll be traveling with the future Queen, his wife-to-be Jetsun Pema (the wedding is scheduled for mid-October). In fact, the reason why they are coming all the way east is because Jetsun Pema’s ancestral home is in Rongthung, a village six kilometers down from Kanglung. On Monday, the King will be speaking at Sherubtse.

Squandering chances to shake the Prince’s hand is one thing, but hopefully I won’t miss the opportunity to shake the hand of a King.

Tough Rules

When I first arrived, I wrote a post about Dos and Don'ts. Now, that I've been here for a while, there are obviously many I still follow, but there are some I didn't know about then or just didn't realize.

DON'T kill any bugs while in the company of Bhutanese. This is one I've come to realize as I've lived here and I try to strictly adhere to. Bhutanese don't like killing things. Maybe it has something to do with being Buddhist and all. Scott has told me of little pieces of paper he finds around the college campus sometimes. He'll bend down to inspect the piece of paper closer and it'll say, "Ants crossing."

DO walk clockwise around or to the left of any prayer flag, prayer wheel, chorten, lakhang (temple), and any other religious structure. This is one that I try to remember and follow, but sometimes I don't realize one is coming up, or I tell myself I'm not Buddhist, or I just don't do it. Usually it doesn't bother me when I don't follow this DO, but sometimes, around certain people, not following it makes me feel pretty rude and disrespectful.

Four Cakes (A Birthday in Bhutan)

I didn’t think this would be the case, but I had an amazing birthday in Bhutan. For people who don’t celebrate their own birthdays, my Bhutanese students sure know how to celebrate someone else’s. My students went all out to make me feel special – all this effort and all this preparation – and it worked. It totally worked. I felt appreciated and honored and just so darn happy.

Ever since I arrived in Kanglung Primary School, students have been asking me when my birthday was. Even back in March they were already doing it. By the time September 5 came around, the eve of my birthday, student after student kept asking me, “Tomorrow’s your birthday, ma’am?” As I walked home that day, students continued to ask and the news even trickled to the people in town.

On my actual birthday, my first two classes of the day – 6A and 6B – were great with some students handing me birthday cards and wrapped gifts. I guess I expected the cards, but the gifts were a surprise. As I approached my third class of the morning, 5A, a student stopped me before I got to the classroom. They instructed me to close my eyes. I did, and a hand led me cautiously to the entrance of the room. I stepped over the threshold and was told I could open my eyes. On the teacher’s desk was a homemade cake. Balloons were taped to the blackboard.


I tried my hardest to hold them in, but I shed a few tears of happiness and surprise. A student handed me an open safety pin and the students told me to pop the balloons. When popped, the balloon in the center dropped confetti. With each pop, the students clapped. With the knife that had been placed next to the cake, I cut a small sliver of the cake and ate it, praising each bite. I offered the cake to the students a couple of times, but they declined and insisted it was mine. I should’ve offered a third time, as is traditional in Bhutan. As the birthday girl, I gave each student a piece of candy, which is also traditional, but it seemed too small a token of gratitude for what they had done for me.

For my 4th class of the day, 5B, a cake, candy, soda, a birthday poster, and more balloons welcomed me. There were no tears that time, but I was beyond surprised and grateful. This time, the class did allow me to share the cake, so everyone got a bite of cake and a sip of soda. I repeated the same procedure with the balloons with the assistance of a student’s safety pin and everyone was thrilled. I gave out more candy. What was different about the 5B celebration was the singing. Two students came to the front of the class and sang songs. One student sang Happy Birthday in English which transitioned into the Dzongkha version.


At 12:30, which is lunchtime, I was blindfolded by one of my 6A students and led into our classroom. There was another cake, a bigger one, balloons, flowers, a big bowl of cut up fruit and vegetables, biscuits, juice, and a decorated blackboard. My class had gone all out. They borrowed mugs from the school, the speaker and mic, and brought in a lot of stuff from their own homes to make the event a party. Kiran, who seemed to have done the majority of the planning, even brought in his mother’s cell phone, which when held up next to the microphone, provided the party with some tunes. There was dancing, singing, and a lot of nonsense. The students were elated, giddy with happiness, and I was too. Even though I know Rabsel was exaggerating, he said, “This is the happiest day of my life.” The students had pooled money together and enlisted the help of Kiran’s mother to bake the cake to throw the party for me.







The rest of the day was spent in a meeting that lasted three hours. I walked home after 6 and when I walked into the house, I saw two pairs of little blue plastic sandals in the shoe pile that could only belong to children. In the living room sat two small girls, one I recognized, one I didn’t. Scott told me later that they had waited for a while, left and came running back when they saw me coming up the hill. As soon as I walked in, they each handed me a wrapped present and wished me Happy Birthday. One of the girls is Class 4 Ugyen, the daughter of the family who owns Shonzy. The other girl was in PP (the equivalent of kindergarten), the little sister of one of my students whose family lives across the street. I was exhausted from the day and the meeting and hungry for something that wasn’t cake, but I knew I had to sit with the girls. I still had leftover candy from the day so I gave them some and started to ask them some questions. Soon, the doorbell rang. Two girls from the neighboring family walked in holding presents, excitedly wishing me Happy Birthday. They joined us. I gave them candy and we enjoyed pieces of the birthday cake I didn’t get to share with my class. Soon, the doorbell sounded again, and there was a group of neighborhood boys crowded at the doorway. Two of my students were in the gaggle and they both came into the house followed by their little brothers. I was given two pieces of folded up paper. They joined the rest of the students on the chairs and couch. More cake and candy were given. While there were now various groups of children, I tried to keep the conversation going among all of us. I learned about inter-neighborhood crushes, they sang happy birthday in two languages, I took their pictures.


And finally, after 7 pm, I said it was time for me to cook dinner. The generous students took their cue and shuffled out of my house, again wishing me happy birthday, thanking me for the cake and candy and I thanked them over and over.

The fourth cake to mention was actually the first. The Saturday before my birthday, Scott invited some friends over to the house and we celebrated with drinks, momos, chili chops, brownies and the best cake that’s ever been made in Bhutan. Scott baked a large moist cinnamon, cardamom, peach cake, a recipe derived from Martha Stewart, and it was a success. Everyone at the gathering got a slice and with some help from me, the cake was polished off that night.

Four cakes in Bhutan for 31 years. Not too bad. It wasn’t the best day of my life but it might be the best birthday I’ve ever had.

'Tis the Season...

... for big cucumbers.

Everywhere I go around Kanglung, people are eating massive cucumbers. In shops, they're happily munching away. In the teachers' room during break, I'll see people holding big wheels of sliced cucumber. Every day this week starting from Tuesday, someone has given me a gigantic cucumber. The best time was on Tuesday when I was handing out candy to my students in honor of my birthday. As I was handing out the Munch bars to everyone, each students would accept the bar with both hands and say, "Thank you," or, "Happy Birthday." When I got to the back row where Garab and Tenzin sit, I held out the chocolate for Garab and, in exchange, he pulled out a giant cucumber from his gho pocket and said so enthusiastically, "Happy Bithday, ma'am." That was the first cucumber I received, and now we have four, side by side, in the kitchen (plus a part of one that Scott felt compelled to buy from an old man selling them at the college).

Bhutanese eat the cucumbers in one sitting, sharing them with whoever is nearby. I was given a piece while shopping for toilet paper from a bigger, old woman who looked as happy as could be chomping away on the light green, crisp flesh of a cucumber slice at the shop counter. She offered me another piece before I left the shop, but I declined. There's only so much cucumber one can eat while on the go. Scott and I have been eating the same giant cucumber for days now.

The teachers' room during a ten-minute interval.

The Student

As I walked home from Tae Kwon Do practice, I was thinking about how much I enjoy it, even though doing Tae Kwon Do means being among the students, the ones I teach and the ones I ultimately need a break from at the end of the day. But at practice it’s different because I’m not the one in charge, I’m not the teacher. At practice there’s no one looking to me for the answer, or more accurately, speaking to me, calling me, prodding me. There’s no one relying on me to show them the right way. There’s no one who thinks I should know. At Tae Kwon Do practice, I’m just like them – I’m a student.

And at the end of a teaching day, that’s sometimes what I need more than anything. I need to be led. I need to be directed. I need to be shown the way. I need to be taught.

Thank god for Sir Phuntsho, black belt master (or whatever the formal Tae Kwon Do title would be), and his soft spoken voice, his calm direction.

I realized again that I love being a student. So much more than being a teacher. I want to learn. I want to be on the other side of the desk, the other side of the questions. On the last day of my thirtieth year, I’m reminded of who I prefer to be – not a teacher, but an eternal learner.