Angry Birds and Action Words

About two months ago it was, the first time I heard the term "Choral Speaking". Unfortunately, it was as part of the sentence "The mentor will teach us how to do choral speaking - won't you, Miss Emily?" Apparently this is something that we do in the west. Yes, I know, it's the first time I've ever heard of it too... So online I went - I do so love Wikipedia and YouTube, truly they are a teacher's friends. 

Choral Speaking is something that used to be done in British schools, as a way to improve students' memories, to make them work as a team, and to focus on diction and pronunciation. Presumably in 1950s Britain, this meant stuffing little West Country kids into a Queen's English mould. In Malaysia, it's become a big deal - schools that win the national contest get major bragging rights for the year. But before you get to national level, you have to get through state level. And before you get to compete at state level, you have to win at the zone level. And it was at zone level that I was asked to assist my schools, not just in choral speaking but in various extra-curricular activities that the schools would be competing in for a two-day Extra-Curriculum Competition (kind of a talent show, but better respected...) 

It was only after I'd been helping each of my school for a few weeks that I was told I would also be required to judge them. I didn't feel guilty at all, honest.

So. Monday and Tuesday was the zone competition, two loooooong days of watching children dance, sing, recite, tell stories, give speeches, speak chorally (because that's the official verb of the noun Choral Speaking, really), sing actionally (ditto for the noun Action Songs) and generally show off all their wonderful skills. The action songs in English were lots of fun - even though I'd had to listen to endless hours of Heads Shoulders Knees and Toes and Do the Hokey Pokey during practice, it was still lovely to finally see their hard work in action, in costume, on the stage. I do find it a little odd that the kids get tailor-made Angry Birds costumes for 7 minutes of performance, but the budget can't be found for a decent laminating machine in the staff room, but you know, priorities, right?

But aren't the kids just the most beautiful happy little kids you've ever seen?! This was one of my schools, one of the teams that I worked really closely with - they came second:

The next day was the Choral Speaking. There're a lot of rules for this - I had to read 4 pages of them out loud for the audience (in English, even though most of the parents didn't speak a word - but the competition has to be in English, and therefore so do the rules), and it was tough to judge and remember the rules. The winners were clear though - they won by a huge margin. The conductor also won a prize, which made me so happy as she's one of my favourite students, and we practised for hours together on her public speaking competition (which she also won - yay!)

After the English-speaking competitions came traditional dance. I was thrilled to see some of the most popular kids in school participating in this with such enthusiasm - I can't imagine an English student performing the Morris Dance with much joy... But then in Dusun dancing you get to beat gongs and leap around, and bellow like a wild thing...

Some of the kids did dances from other tribes as well - the ones below were (I think) presenting a tribal dance from Sarawak. There are plenty to choose from, as between them Sabah and Sarawak boast of around forty ethnic groups, each with their own clothing, basketry, artworks, dances, songs, musical instruments... I'm privileged to live in a very diverse part of our world.

The last competition (before the inevitable speeches by local VIPs) was the singing. Now, I do like a bit of singing, me. The singing was lovely. It was the make-up that was disturbing. It was mainly the fact that while listening to these little girls sing, if I watched their faces for too long then I got a terrible shock when I happened to look away, and realised that they were only four feet tall.

It may also be a result of my childhood - I'm only jealous, because I never got to dress up as a glittering princess...

This gorgeous child's teachers took the theme of Malaysian Unity seriously, and dressed her in a combination of Chinese, Dusun, Malay and Baba-Nyonya clothes.

And don't be thinking that the boys get away with it either. The winning male singer (incidentally the same popular boy that led the winning dance group) did a wonderful love song, complete with imaginary tears falling from his devastated face, and a full-on, lime-green Malay costume, sword and bling attached.

In England this might be called child abuse; I'm glad I'm living in a place where it's called pride in your heritage...

Olympic Countdown

The Olympic campaign is in full swing, it seems. Last week I was summoned to a sports day at the Ranau Sports Ground by the British Council - the very amiable head of B.C. Malaysia was due to be in attendance, and "would very much like to meet any mentors living in the area." I ignored the implication that them in Kuala Lumpur head office had no idea who was living in Ranau and apparently had no records of our names that they could check, and dutifully cleared my diary. On arrival I was shown to the teachers' section, my guide explaining that "Gavin's up in the VIP area, but I'm sure he'll pop out to see you." Well. I'm not used to not being the VIP in the area, but I was quite pleased to be able to quietly sit with the teachers from one of the schools taking part. Soon the VIPs came out to take their seats - typically, these were comfortable cane chairs with cushions, arranged in a line on a tiled area, before a table carrying water and snacks, in contrast to the concrete steps the rest of us were making do on. Not that I'm in any way jealous, mind you. By this stage the band had started up, and the five selected schools were making their way onto the field, each one representing a continent.

Sorry, I should have said "making their way onto the best sports field in the world." Look at that view! 

The VIPs set off a hundred balloons, taking with them a sign to celebrate the occasion - as it disappeared into the sky, I wondered about the villagers who would wake up the next day to find this incomprehensible piece of fabric tangled up in their rambutan trees.

The obligatory run with the torch came next, with students from each school relaying the homemade torch to each other, then continuing on together - surprisingly touching!

Finally came the obligatory dancing girls - which I have no objection to at all. Every time I watch this particular dance - the Bamboo Pole Dance, apparently, with no sense of irony - it amazes me that nobody loses a leg. The four girls sitting on the ground slam together bamboo poles in time to a drumbeat. Two girls then skip easily through the poles, lifting narrow ankles just clear of the sticks-of-death, smiling prettily all the while.

I'm always a little relieved when the end comes and the poles are lifted up for applause from the audience.

And then the VIPs all disappeared inside for makan-makan - the popular Malaysian pastime of eating. We were spotted by a BC official who recognised us from a previous mentor gathering, and ushered into the VIP area, where we chatted to our big boss, ate banana rice from leaves, and vaguely watched the sports events from behind a glass window. This seems to be the usual state of affairs; officials attend an opening, then leave the actual event to the participants and a scattering of spectators. The officials today were lovely and friendly to us - the Minister of Education for Sabah thanked Fiona and I for all our hard work, the MP for the district wanted to hear what we were up to - but nobody paid the slightest bit of attention to the day's main stars - the children out on the field, practising their newly-attained skills in javelin throwing and 100m sprints.

Shop Shop Shop

I'm in ecstasy. I think the food currently on my table is the best food I've ever eaten - certainly the best Indian. The naan is smoky from the tandoor, the paneer masala has the perfect level of spice. It's a completely unpretentious cafe/restaurant in a back road of Kuala Lumpur, and I will always remember with deep love the woman that sent me here. I'm kind of glad I don't live in Kuala Lumpur, because if the shops didn't take all my money, this restaurant would. In the hopes that they will also take all of your money (which would admittedly be difficult, as my whole meal cost me about £1.20): Sangeetha Restaurant, on Lebuh Ampang, round the corner from the Masjid Jamek LRT station. Go.

I feel like I've been from one end of the shopping scale to the other today, and walked every inch of it. I've bought a new camera in a Korean-style electronics mart, walked awed through a luxury mall that had an aquarium in the basement and a 5-star hotel in the attic, bartered at a flea market, wandered through a very sedate Central Market (like an over-civilised Grand Bazaar in Istanbul), bought spices and incense using only hand signals from an Indian woman with a cart, and been dressed in a saree by an over-ambitious shop assistant in a fabric shop in Little India (there was a short silence and then he slowly started unwrapping me again.) I'm fairly certain I spent most of my salary in one day, and on return to Sabah will be eating instant noodles until the 27th of April...

But look at where I stayed! Kuala Lumpur is a remarkable city in some ways - the hustling crowds of the cityscape suddenly give way with no warning to quiet streets lined with century-old shophouses. My hostel was in a converted shophouse, the middle one in the picture below; although 'converted' is stretching it a bit. The front was immaculate, the back they had gutted and replaced with some oddly beautiful modern architecture - steel and concrete and brick.

And they had awesome doors on all the rooms too:

Yep, that's me! Emily! My room! (It also really helps for when someone new arrives, tells you their name three times, leaves, and you promptly forget their name and then bump into them at bedtime. Sneaky.) (In case you were my roommate, I totally remember your name, it was that other guy next door I'm talking about.)