Having spent the rest of this week in school preparing and receiving the usual monotonous training reteaching me how to suck eggs, marbles and keyboards, I was beginning to feel pretty composed about the big day and being able to find the way to all my classrooms (i.e. my one classroom). However, come this morning I took on the persona of a timid ten year old girl having moved to a new school mid-school year and was considering the implications of phoning in sick with a case of sun burn.
I did eventually overcome these nerves, but not before ruining two work shirts within a matter of minutes, all thanks to this bloody sun of ours! I've only briefly mentioned my sun-burn so far as it has caused a great deal of pain and suffering all week, but for the sake of grossing a few people out of being as idiotic as I happen to be, I will tell the tale, but it's rather long and disgusting, so please avoid if of an uneasy disposition (bottom of the post).
So, my first day. Up at 6:30, driven to work by my neighbour Max (Uganda's number one badminton player, swimmer and soon to be taekwondo champion) at 7:15 arriving at 7:30. All the pupils were told to assemble on the field to be sorted into their form groups, which I suppose would normally have been a sensible suggestion; the rain was relentless and reminiscent of 'The Day After Tomorrow' or at the very least a typical Mancunian day. Ugandan mud, which is a cross between sand, soil and clay and a bright red colour, doesn't cut up as quickly as UK mud, but it sticks to shoes and leaves awful stains on shoes, clothes, floors, everything. The irony of leaving Burnley for hotter climes and being greeted with a torrential downpour was not lost on me or my fellow 'Muzungus' (a phrase reserved for anyone who is white, but which apparently suggests someone who is hopeless lost or confused).
By 8:30 I was snuggled up in my form room (a box) with around 25 wet, grumpy year 10 pupils. All the forms are shared, so I was helped by Lois (a Ugandan) who has been teaching English at Rainbow for a few years now, and we went through all the normal induction bollocks fairly quickly. Straight away I know I've got my hands full, the form is full of trouble makers and the behaviour is completely unacceptable... and by that I mean, one extremely pleasant girl forgot she was chewing and seemed racked with guilt before coming to confess, another boy continued talking for a second after I had signalled my intent to waffle with a booming 'OOOKKKAAYY' - always does the trick.
We had two hours together in which time: I explained all their timetables individually (unnecessarily complicated); we set year targets and aims; went through expectations and that sort of nonsense; and they each prepared a presentation about their neighbour to help me get to know them. These presentations would have been assessed as Speaking and Listening coursework if they were last year's Year 11 pupils at Unity. Superbly confident, a bit of humour and understanding their audience to the tee. I'd asked them to include their top tips for me in my struggle to adapt to life in Uganda, which generated a few interesting comments. Three restaurants, a bar and two supermarkets are apparently the only places to go; coincidently their owners happen to be parents of six of my motley crew. I should be careful in the sun... I'd told them my sun burn story in my own introduction. My favourite, however, without explanation, was 'don't trust Ugandan women after 10pm'. I'm still trying to figure out if the chap was implying they'll all give me HIV, are prostitutes or will want to lure me to my death, but the reaction he got from the girls in the class was wonderful to watch.
I only had two proper lessons, but they were characterised by the same good humour, attitude and desire to impress. I've never seen so many children smile for such a prolonged period of time. It remains to be seen whether they will amuse me as much as my Burnley bunch (who all did very well in their exams by all accounts... if anyone can give me more details as to who got what I'd be grateful), I think they may take some provoking before they will begin to abuse me with such gusto.
I left the school beaming! My, newly appointed, regular boda driver, Issa, picked me up and gave me some advice about places to visit in Kampala. Once back at the compound, I was greeted at the door by Grace, my house girl, for the first time (she was chatting and ironing while I type the first part of this) and a sparkling house and a crisply ironed wardrobe (the clothes in the wardrobe before racists damn her). I've just sent an email to another Grace, a beautiful, younger Grace, to arrange a drink next week and now have nothing of importance to do with my evening. I'm feeling quite smug... which is a pleasant change from just feeling constant agony the rest of the week.
Three lessons tomorrow and then a very late night in Miki's bar (3am last Friday after being dragged into a pool tournament with backing music from Tina Turner with a couple of the new Rainbow girls (that sounds horrendous... Rainbow girls...)) followed by Saturday's annual goat racing festival. I was bemused when I was introduced to the concept, but apparently I need to think Aintree, but with goats, more booze and nobody giving a damn about the goats. Sounds interesting. I will be backing number 4 in every race and expect to be a Ugandan millionaire by the end of it. (UGS 4,000 = £1).
Pictures!
This is a quiet day on a main(ish) road, but I'm not convinced it shows the absurdity and danger of Ugandan roads. I'll try to get one of the next crash I see.
This little chap is a) not naked (before I'm accused of something) b) chased me down a round shouting 'Muzungu! Muzungu!' relentlessly until I distracted him by taking a picture, which amused him greatly c) has flies on him, but did not look worthy of an Oxfam advert or a charity run.
I have a lone chicken who I believe lives on my compound, but he is usually very shy. Not tonight, he wandered into my kitchen before growing wary of my hungry eyes. Very cocksure.
There's another picture at the bottom, but I must warn you. Definitely NWS as I am half naked trying to demonstrate my pre-utterly disgusting sun burn torso. Mike, my 'burger-nips' are in full view... you cock!
Disgusting optional account of sun burn:
It all started so well.
Toward the south of Kampala there is a huge holiday resort that is virtually the only thing in a largish district called Munyonyo. A huge, luxurious pool; a fully equipped gym; several bars; a beach, well, a sort of beach that touches upon the impressive Lake Victoria; several restaurants and anything else you care to imagine. Several of my 'Muzungu' buddies had recommended it as a great place to relax at the weekend: wankers! In truth, it was fairly amazing until it became fairly disastrous. An hour in the gym, which I can assure you is the equivalent of a month in Burnley's finest gym purely because of the searing heat, followed by half an hour or so of lengths in the pool and then lying back on a sun lounger, admiring the palm trees and devouring a new book. I was even treated to pool side service and demolished a tasty tilapia (Uganda's national fish dish) in paradise.
And then I fell asleep. It was fairly overcast, for Kampala, but that doesn't excuse my ridiculous attitude: 'I've not been burnt so far, so I guess I'll be okay for a couple of hours'. I've taken a couple of pictures of my salmon pink chest (probably closer to a Rioja colour) for your enjoyment, but as my skin has deteriorated I have grown more shy. On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday I could not lift my arms above my head without being blinded with pain, which made dressing and decorating a classroom slightly problematic, and when I went to bed the slightest move would leave me in tears.
Today, the pain is significantly reduced, but I've been left with the most disgusting yellow blisters. My favourite is/was based on my right shoulder. It covered the entirety of my shoulder and was so full it stuck up a good 2-3cms above my normal skin level. Grotesque. Even more so when it decided to pop as I struggled into my shirt. A freshly ironed, light blue shirt covered in yellow pus/blister bile and possibly beyond hope now. Shirt changed, I ventured to work. This shirt has survived the full wrath of the super blister, but one sleeve has changed from a check red-blue-white to a check red-blue-yellow. I got a few funny looks.
Summary: do not sun bath recklessly when you live on the Equator or anywhere other than Burnley/avoid the sun at all costs.
Sorry for the large ramble, but it really has been a dominating theme this week and has led to me quickly establishing myself as the main figure of ridicule in my new school, the position I never struggle to find in any job, regardless of continent.
Burn!
