Quirks and Talents

Today I've been reflecting on my love/hate relationship with teaching children. They are so annoying but I would certainly miss them if I didn't work with them anymore. They mess around and fidget and fight. They tell the teacher on each other, "Teacher Cunning!" being their way of informing me that someone is cheating during a game. They pick their noses all the time. They don't listen, they argue and bicker and swing back on their chairs until they fall. 
Then there are the funny, quirky things. Like this morning, a boy took the stairs four at a time, stretching each leg out as far as it would possibly go, just for fun. Another boy "swam" across the floor to his team line. They laugh at my stupid jokes and are enthusiastic about games and stamps and winning. Boys and girls will scream and immediately stop arguing with each other if I ask if they are boy/girl friend (whilst making a heart shape with my hands).  They emphatically inform me they are bery bery bery hungry! or moan when another student cuts the lunch line Teacher, sejegae! (bad spelling).

But my favourite thing about kids, the thing I would miss the most, is how happy and in the moment they are.
 
The other day we had a talent show. Being someone who only plays the piano in a shadowy, deserted room, I'm always amazed and delighted by the willingness of Korean kids to showcase their talents. They love to dance to K pop (with its wonderful set dance moves- so regimented, so Korean). They love to sing. Sometimes they play instruments and other times they act. I've seen all sorts, and naturally the ability ranges from wonderful to painful, but in my eyes the students who suck are to be more admired. To be able to stand up on stage in front of your whole school and sing a shaky, way-out-of -your-vocal-range rendition of "I Dreamed a Dream" from Le Mis is no easy task. Well done, I say! Seriously though, somewhere down the line I developed this idea that I would only do something if I was good at it, and even then sometimes I wouldn't want to. I love that these kids just go for it, whatever their ability.
This week's talent show was extra special because we had a surprise performance from the entire school, aka more than a hundred kids dancing in a regimented mass. It was amazing.

 How can I ever say my job is boring?

Last week Lee and I went to the Asian Games, to watch a women's semi-finals cricket match between Bangladesh and Sri Lanka. It wasn't the most spectacular thing I've ever seen but nonetheless it was fun and I improved my (albeit almost non existent) cricket rule knowledge. The crowd was sparse to say the least, outnumbered by cameramen 2-1, meaning that we were filmed quite a lot and probably have now appeared on Bangladeshi prime time TV. It was a wonderfully sunny beer-filled day, so perfect that I even had a little snooze halfway through the game. Afterwards we walked around the stalls outside the main stadium, so Lee could play on the games and make new friends.

It was tense, I can tell you

Can you spot the boys in the crowd??

Lee's big win

In the moon

Lee's buddy

A grand day out!

 

The Decline and Rise of the Attempted Hobby

I'm currently reading Miranda Hart's "Is it just me?" (it's a rivetingly hilarious read, you should try it), which has got me thinking all about the subject of hobbies. Miranda talks about the change from childhood, where you could try anything and be anything whether you were good at it or not, to teenage years where hobbies were only generally pursued if the person was already somewhere along the road to success in that chosen pastime. And then when you're an adult, you invariably begin to feel bad about your lack of hobbies and therefore endeavour to take some up, most probably leading to embarrassment, feelings of inadequacy, and often downright failure.
This made me laugh so much (and cry a little inside) because it's just so bloody true. I often think I missed my calling on the stage/in a choir/as a concert pianist/artist/tennis star, but can't find it in myself to take any of these things up as hobbies now- except the piano because I started when I was six, but woe betide I think of playing in public. Of course I often pretend I'm in a stage show of Sister Act (a proper one, not the west end silliness with different songs to the original, urgh) but the idea of auditioning for a just-for-fun-no-pressure choir brings me out in a cold sweat.
When I was sixteen I auditioned for a part in the Beatles version of A Midsummer Nights Dream at school. My friend and I (you know who you are) thought somehow that the teacher might catch a glimpse of our innate brilliance and cast us as Lysander and Hermia. But in reality we sucked, were given parts in the choir and forced to stand in the background as hippy clad 'trees' along with a load of year 7's and 8's. Despite being a highly amusing experience, I do believe that this is where my fear of 'giving things a go' stemmed from.
At Uni I tried out a few hobbies. Buddhist meditation was fun for a while, until it got serious. I remember sitting on a precarious tower of three cushions, eyes closed, pretending to be 'focused on feeling the same feelings towards someone you love and someone you hate' (impossible), when my friend and I had a wildly inappropriate giggling fit for no reason. Needless to say this was met with sincere disapproval by the other meditators and it was then that we knew we needed to leave.
After that there was the kayaking society. Whilst I love kayaking on holiday, I had a few issues with the club itself: #1. I didn't want to spend my weekends off at a random lake somewhere instead of in the pub. #2. Practicing in a swimming pool is plain old crap, however you try and dress it up. #3. I didn't want to do the 'Eskimo roll' in front of everyone.
The longest stint in a new hobby at uni was my street dance and tap classes. Despite my dreams of grandeur, both of these things proved that when it comes to dancing I am very much a clumsy elephant. I did, however, force my housemates to come and see our 'performance.' I still have the photos- one of me in legwarmers, the other wrapped in a feather boa, and in both the look on my face is something of pride mixed with intense mortification.
After uni there was circus club, which was full of weirdos- who would've guessed?
In Saudi I was proud of myself for climbing an indoor wall. It was terrifying and painful and I spent the whole time egotistically convinced that everyone was laughing at me. I got to the top, but rather than make me want to do it again, this achievement enabled me to happily retire from the sport, glad that I hadn't embarrassed myself too much, or in fact died.
Lee and I also embarked on a 'trek in the desert' venture in Saudi, all set with good intentions of fresh air and exercise. The reality was, however, that we got a lift with a crazy American man who didn't actually know where we were going so instead just drove us to a random place in the desert somewhere outside of Riyadh. There was a scary moment where he stopped the car, miles away from anywhere and announced that he 'needed to get something out of the trunk.' Convinced that he was going to emerge with an axe or hacksaw, we sat nervously waiting until much to our great relief he pulled out a bottle of (half decent) homemade booze. We then spent the afternoon driving around nowhere in particular, getting pissed and not finding the walking group or indeed getting out of the car. Much more fun in my opinion.
And of course I've also taken up the ukulele, although I'm not very good at it. But then that's exactly Miranda's point- why can't we simply enjoy doing things, without this pressure to be miraculously good at them?

 

Dressing Up

Yesterday was school photo day. Now I know things have probably changed a lot in the last 20 years, but when I was seven a school photo involved smart school uniform and a formal levelled line up with the teacher. Here in Saudi the ideas are a little different. The girls were dressed up like dolls in these pink frilly things that would've had me in tears as a kid (I do actually remember crying once when my Mum made me wear a dress to my sisters birthday party). There were bows and sashes galore and even floppy silk hats and hoods. All of my girls except one-who's not Saudi- came to school with their hair straightened, because 'straight hair is good in Saudi Arabia.' I'm not sure I like the idea of changing your seven-year-olds natural appearance to create a supposedly more beautiful look. Again I know times have changed and straighteners weren't even around when I was their age, but I can't help finding this all a bit scary. The kids are already taking on their parents views and ideals of how they should look.
Perhaps I'm not being fair. I was, after all, a tom boy who had a bowl cut and was pleased when my teacher referred to me as a boy (it took me a long time to realise it was a joke). Maybe other girls of my era were just as conscious of what they looked like as the students are in my class. Maybe nothing has changed, and this country is normal.
No, that doesn't sound right.

For me the fact remains: whether this dressing up of young girls like dolls has been around forever or not, I dislike the way it prematurely prepares them for a life of preening and altering and generally being overly self-conscious.

Modelling one of the more understated numbers 

The admin staff had the job of getting the children dressed up and ready. You'd think this could be a fairly easy affair, like give the children their dresses and let them all put them on, then go round and help with zips. But oh no. Adults here encourage prudishness, teaching the children to hide from each other and be embarrassed about getting undressed. I've actually had a student before push a bookcase forward so she could get changed behind it. The girls yesterday were brought one by one into the office where I was working. The teacher signalled each child behind the door, then turned the light off, which made hardly any difference at all, as if to hide the children's modesty or something.

It's the end of the year, and as well as the silly photos, we also have a 'graduation' next week. All the mothers are coming (no men allowed, obvs) and they expect to be wowed with the cuteness of their offspring. My boys have been working really hard to put together an extract from Mr. Brown by Dr. Seuss. Unfortunately it's a bit of a mess and we've practiced up till now with me on the stage too, counting the boys in, passing them their posters and generally helping them to stay in time. I was also going to do a little intro speech, thanking the kids for being good and wishing them luck in their future endeavours etc. etc. But now, a week before, I've been told I'm not allowed on stage. So it's up to the kids to figure themselves out. I had a dream the other night where they got a quarter of the way through, got out of time from each other, forgot their lines, then gave up and just walked off the stage. I fear this could be a premonition.

In other news, it's raining hard. Day off methinks?

 

Childhood

When I think back to my childhood I'm fondly reminded of 'playing out', of riding my bike, making dens in the fields around the village, building tree houses and generally being outside with my friends. Good times. 
When I lived in London I used to think it was a shame that kids are generally deprived of this freedom, due to the roads being busy and there being a overall feeling of distrust towards others. I was a youth worker before I moved to London but it was only in London that I was introduced to 'Play Work,' a government idea designed to give the under 11's the 'right to play.' It was good because it meant there was lots of playgrounds and play centres, but still lacking that essential element of kids being able to have adventures on their own, without the supervision of adults.  

Now and Then




My Girl
(although childhood is of course better without the dead friend)

But now I can safely say that when it comes to the freedom of the child (or lack thereof) Riyadh blows London out of the water. People here live behind walls, and their kids are confined to playing on the small patch of concrete between their front gate and their house. The five year old girl I know was even riding her bike inside the other day. But the real reason Riyadh is worse is because things just deteriorate for children as they become teenagers. The fourteen year old I know dreams of having a sleepover with her friends, but for one reason or another she's never been allowed to have one. When I was fourteen I would stay at my friends house or her at mine pretty much every week and sometimes without even asking our parents first (shocking), or on a school night (doubly shocking). It just wasn't that big a deal. And then there were the party sleepovers with several people, watching loads of films and eating junk, telling ghost stories and talking about boys. And all of that fun from the safety of your own home. I don't understand why a parent would deprive a child of this joy when there's no danger in it at all.  
It's like the parents here worry that the other children will be a negative influence or something. As far as I'm aware, a lot of Saudi kids spend the weekends only with their immediate family, or sometimes their cousins if they're lucky. And the rest of the time it's just them on their own, sitting in their rooms playing on their IPad. 

Just another thing to add to the list of things that make me sad about this place...

A rather long Ikea outing

I feel I must report to you about our weekend trip to Ikea. Everything here is such an ordeal- popping to the shops simply doesn't exist, and that's how a visit to Ikea ended up taking six whole hours. I kid you not, we set off at 4pm and finally arrived back home at 10. A combination of factors contributed to the length of time it took: the roads are so massive here that when we missed the exit it took fifteen minutes to get back on track; there were two prayer times while we inside, during which there was no one to ask for assistance and no way of paying; and we had to wait over an hour for our driver who kept lying in his almost non existent English about how long he was going to be.
But anyway, the silver lining is that during this almost whole day stuck in Ikea we got to see some hilarious sights. Saudis can be pretty entertaining when they want to be.

Let's do a countdown.

5. Children were rollerblading round the shop- it's sad but true that shopping centres are their playgrounds.
 
4. A woman got her abaya trapped in the wheels of her trolley.
 
3. A showroom set of shelves just wasn't quite right.

2. There was a full on scrap (primary school kids eat your heart out) in the car park between two groups of Saudis. We're not sure what they were fighting about-possibly parking spaces-but it got so heated that a woman in one group actually took off her sandals and threw them at a blokes head!

1. A man next to us tried for more than thirty minutes to get a package into his car that just was not going to fit. First he tried the boot, then the back seat. We were lucky enough to catch some of it on camera:

Eventually, after some guidance from an Ikea employee, the man had the genius idea of opening the package and putting the really quite small pieces of sofa comfortably into his car. 

Despite its moments of hilarity, I won't be rushing back to Ikea in a hurry. It's fair to say that every time I go out it ends in me having a mini internal crisis along the lines of "what the hell am I doing here?" and having to spend a good few days in the house, pretending I'm somewhere else. Sigh.

Letterland

Recently I was reminiscing with a friend about Letterland, (do you remember it?) a magical place where every letter has its own personality. What a wonderful world it was! As you already know, I've been uncovering old books of late, and you'll never guess what I found-none other than the Letterland ABC. From the Hairy Hat man (homeless) to Poor Peter (depressed), it was a pleasure to re-read and re-live. I did notice that some of the characters are better than others, both in design and in characteristics. And it is with this in mind that I've decided the world of Letterland has a lot to answer for.
Yesterday, whilst at the self service check out of Sainsbury's, I had a little trouble self serving myself an avocado. The damn reduced sticker just wouldn't beep. So... rather than 'seek assistance' and be there for all of time, I imitated a BEEP of my own (Peter Kay would be proud) and popped the avocado casually in my bag. Just like that. And who do I blame for this instance of guiltless petty thievery? Robber Red, that's who!

My earliest role model, I quote, 'is a real trouble-maker in  Letterland.'
Everyone hates him and wants to see him locked up. Well thanks.
If only I had a name beginning with G, making the wonderful and flawless Golden Girl my mascot, maybe things would've turned out differently. But, as it is, I was destined from an early age to be the kind of person that steals reduced sale vegetables.





And as if Robber Red isn't bad enough, check out the personality of the letter 'X.' Thank goodness my name wasn't Xena! What on earth is this about?





It's the Kissing Cousins!










Now if that's not an advert for marrying within the family, I don't know what is.

Discovering old books

Nothing makes me happier than leafing through old childhood books, so you can imagine my joy when my sister brought two boxes of books back to me from her attic. I absolutely love my kindle and think it's really taught me the value of being attached to the words and not the pages on which the words are written, but regardless of this I will always have a major soft spot for children's books. They're so beautiful! Roald Dahl (and therefore Quentin Blake) or an illustrated Disney treasury, I'm not fussy; I just love it.
Another type of book that can never be acceptable in kindle form is that of the 'coffee table' variety. And so, in my boxes of books, I found PostSecret. Have you ever come across this phenomenon either in a book or on the Internet? I know it's pretty widespread so maybe I don't need to explain, but just in case- PostSecret started as a blog where people could send their innermost secrets, anonymously, of course. The postcards are supposed to be succinct and arty and truthful, but those are the only real rules. The result is amazing: a mixture of secrets that make you laugh and cry, feel hopeful and hopeless, all at the same time.
Today I went on the PostSecret website (check it out) for the first time ever. I've always been wondering if/when I would see a secret that related to me, and today, out of the blue, there it was. And it didn't just relate to me, it was the exact one I would write, down to the word and feeling, if I was ever able to tell. It was so precise it made me cry, even though it's a secret long buried and almost forgotten. But that's the absolute beauty of PostSecret I suppose. It's raw and rough and tells it like it is, no tip-toeing, no messin'.

I'll leave you with one PostSecret that made me laugh out loud, bearing in mind my soon-to-be-new-life.
Do you think this will be me??

P.S On an unrelated note have a look on story stuff if you feel like it :)

Protect protect protect!

In the spirit of keeping an open mind I have recently applied for a couple of summer camp jobs in England. But the interview I had the other day reminded me of exactly why I don’t want to come back here to work with children and young people. After a grueling sixty minute interview in which I was asked every question under the sun, I was left dizzy and feeling out of my depth, which is crazy based on my experience and qualifications versus the job in question (sounds a little arrogant, but it’s true). Questions were split into sub-categories, including grammar, planning an entire program of lessons on the spot, and the dreaded ‘safeguarding.’ It’s been a while since I’ve heard this word and I can safely say I will happily wait a while before hearing it again. Of course child protection policies should be in place, but I feel like we take it to an extreme here in England, and often rules are now focused more on making sure the staff member doesn’t get in trouble. I was reminded by the interviewer that during the camp I wouldn’t be able to be in a room on my own with a child. And what’s so sad is that one of the main reasons for this rule is to protect the staff member from having an allegation made against them. I was also asked what I would do if I saw that a colleague was talking inappropriately with a student on facebook. I knew exactly what the interviewer wanted me to say—that I would tell someone about it—but I refused to give her the satisfaction. My suspicions were correct as she went on to say that in this circumstance I would be expected to go to senior management about the issue. It’s not that I think people should talk to their students on facebook (or make inappropriate comments to students) but I don’t want to be part of a company that wants its staff to spy and tell on each other. What kind of a working environment is that?
I don’t know, maybe I’m just out of touch with the British way of thinking regarding working with children and young people. I was stunned when I was told I would have to attend a two day child protection training course before beginning the job, but when I think back to my previous jobs in England I spent a lot of time on training days just like this without batting an eyelid. And I guess some of it was useful stuff, but was it all really necessary?
According to schools in Korea, the answer is apparently no. To get my job in Seoul, all my employers really wanted was a photo to check I had a suitably ‘western’ face, and proof that I had a degree. The interview consisted of asking me when I could start. In terms of the actual work, it was refreshing knowing that I could hold a child’s hand, or give a student a hug, without being accused of ‘crossing boundaries,’ or worse. But at the same time, any special needs were largely ignored and the supervision round the swimming pool was near enough non-existent, to name just a couple of the problems. I suppose it will unfortunately take for something bad to happen for Korea to up its game in terms of health and safety and safeguarding. Maybe it will be a good thing when they do, but inevitably sooner or later they’ll go too far as well.
My question is this: isn’t it possible for us to find a middle ground? A working environment where kids are protected, but where staff don’t have to question themselves and others at every single turn, to the detriment of a child’s learning and enjoyment.  
Answers on a postcard.  

Oh and just in case you're interested, I got the job, but didn't take it.