Timing

Timing is everything, huh?

I got invited by a friend who lives in my village to attend the wedding of her neighbour. As you may have picked up from other blogs, weddings here are an open affair, and any passing stranger is welcome to drop by for a bite to eat. I knew that the wedding was happening - it had been happening all day, with cars roaring past my house, filled with gong-players escorting the wedding party to the Catholic church in town, and back again, then music, then entertainment for the family while photos were taken at the hot springs, then more gong-playing. 

So I walked up the road to meet my friend, and she brought me to the village hall, where some of my students were performing the bamboo dance for the bride and groom. We peeked in through the window for a while, and then my friend suggested we go and salaam the happy couple. Just then, the electricity went out! Now, this has been happening a lot lately, on, off, on, off - I just keep a candle to hand and make sure my Kindle is fully charged for those very dark hours - and my, is it dark in a village of 100 people when the power goes out!

Anyway, so the power was out. Amazingly the bamboo dancers continued - bamboo dancing is not something I would be willingly doing at the best of times, and here were these young girls committing their slender ankles to bamboo poles being slammed together with force by their brothers, in the dark! Brave kids.

Anyway. So the the power was out. We went ahead anyway, squeezing past the dancers and through the audience, and up to the stage, where the newly married couple was seated. It was very dark, but without appearing too schoolmarmish and crazy (I think...) I managed to squint over at them and offer my congratulations, as my friend explained who I was. They appeared pleased to see me, as all the brides and grooms whose weddings I've crashed have appeared to be. They greeted me politely, and asked me to accept a gift from their bridesmaid, who passed me a golden pen prettily boxed and beribboned - another tradition that always leaves me balanced precariously between my roots (i.e. Give The Bride A Present) and trying to be culturally sensitive (i.e. Accept A Gift From The Bride.)

So there I was, smiling and half bowing and heading off the stage. Which is when the lights came on.

Now, I like to think it was a collective gasp at my awesomeness, but I have to say, it was probably the shock for a hundred people of suddenly seeing an orang putih where none had been before. Like magic! 

I'm just grateful I didn't fall over.

Never mind, at least I got a delicious meal out of it. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in Sabah they feed their gatecrashers. 

Most of my little students were in attendance as well, dressed in all their finery and squealing "Cikgu Emily! Cikgu Emily!" which is a HUGE improvement on "Orang putih! Aaargh!", and anyway, I quite like being Teacher Emily... 

End of Year

 So we've finally come to the end of the school year in Malaysia. The last few weeks have been a constant struggle to find and speak to teachers, who have been busy with a pile of administrative tasks. Although the aim is not to take teachers out of class, in reality there is very little teaching time in the last month, as there is no real administrative staff in schools. Teachers have to write, record, and submit reports on each child, take in and report on textbooks, complete data on assessments and progress online, make reports to the local, district, state and national offices, and... well... take part in a LOT of ceremonial days. Yes, ceremonies are a large part of the last month; they're a large part of the year, really, but the last month is crazy.

Ceremonies include preschool graduations in which the children wear little hats and red capes, Parent-Teacher Association fishing competitions, singing and drama competitions, Year 6 farewells, teacher appreciation days, prizegivings, and parent report readings.

The other day, I was invited along to a farewell party for Year 6 at one of my schools. Thinking it would be a bit of makan with the kids and their teachers, I wore a skirt and short-sleeved blouse. To their credit, the headmaster and curriculum head didn't bat an eyelid as they told me that since the exam results have been delayed, the party was postponed until late November, and instead, the day would be devoted to entertaining none other than the State Minister for Education, and his wife. I batted several eyelids as I cast an eye over my totally inappropriate clothing. I did manage to get out of sitting on the VIP couches at the front of the hall with the Minister and his entourage, as we listened to a wee little thing belt out that song about living your dreams and aiming higher. You know the one.

But later on I was called up to the stage for photographs, which rather amusingly ended up being me in short sleeves with around 20 men. Well, not that amusingly...

Then at the end, the headmaster, who is a lovely man, called on me to come back to the stage to receive a gift in thanks for the year, and it was only when I returned to my seat next to my teacher that I realised that this was my new baju kurung.

Baju kurung is the uniform of Malaysian women. All teachers have to wear it in school, although I have seen a few daring women in skirts and blouses lately. It consists of a knee-length, long-sleeved blouse worn over a "sarong" skirt. It's grown on me. When I first arrived I swore that nobody, but nobody, was getting me into what is basically a bright purple (/orange/yellow/other luminous unmatched patterned material) sack, covering as much as it can without putting a paper bag on one's head.

Now, I looked at my present, and said, "What a pretty combination of blue stripes and purple swirls." It has a neckline of large plastic beads. I did tell my teacher that they weren't getting me into the traditional high heels as well, but I'm not so sure anymore that I will be finishing my contract without owning at least one set...

So off I went into the office to get changed, and when I came out, the Minister and his wife congratulated me with big smiles on how pretty I had suddenly become. The teachers all exclaimed and smiled and patted me on the back, and I smiled back and realised that this moment should have come several months ago. Their pleasure shamed me!

After makan, I had to pop into another school where the teachers were having a meeting, and I actually got a round of applause when I walked in.

Unfortunately, although I was asked to pose for photos with every single person at both schools, I didn't take one myself, so you will have to wait until the new year for a photograph of me in my lovely new uniform. 

For now, school is over, my meetings with my Project colleagues are done, the cats are settled and I have found someone to feed and cuddle them while I'm gone. Tomorrow, I fly home to Zimbabwe, and sadza, and Castle beers, and Amarula in morning coffee, and my family and friends, and I cannot wait!

New Home

Isn't it always the way? After weeks and weeks of waiting for the teacher's house to be finished for me, and problems with the electricity connection (they didn't want to connect a foreigner), and arguing with the workmen, another school suddenly realised that they too had a house to offer me, and I could move in almost straight away. Although losing all the money I'd spent on renovating the first house was difficult, I decided to move to the second house instead, the benefits including being a short walking distance from the hot springs, and having three bedrooms instead of two. The hot springs was the more exciting benefit, I'll admit.

So. It's a kampung house, a village house. Kampung houses are stilted and wooden, with slatted windows, leaky pipes, bizarre bathroom arrangements, and sinks hanging out the back window. Really. They are usually quite beautiful (if it's not you living in it...) but mine is not.

That's okay. Inside, it's lovely. When I got it, it was pretty dingy, with yellow walls and lots of graffiti. Malaysian graffiti artists are as imaginative as western ones - my favourites include "I love you" and "Hello". The floors were raw wood, and the doors, which were once made of cheap plywood, were now made of splintered cheap plywood. The former owners had nailed wire to the walls of one room as a laundry, and the pretty netted shutters had lost most of their nets, letting in bugs and moquitoes to breed in the nooks and crannies.

The doors are still splintered wood. I'm not that fussy. I did get them to nail some new plywood onto the worst ones, but brand new doors can wait.

What couldn't wait were the floors and walls. Now, Malaysian men are not particularly macho, really, if we're being honest. Which is why it was so humiliating when the workman - who was originally only hired to tile the bathroom - gently removed the paintbrush from my hand and proceeded to do the painting himself. Put in my place, I agreed to pay him extra to complete all the painting. I think he took the same time as I took to paint one panel, to paint four and a half rooms.

BUT I did varnish the floors, so I feel a little more dignified now.

I'm still living as a bit of a camper, but just look at those beautiful floors:

I have kept a lot of the furniture, some of which is better than others, like my kitchen cupboards, which are fronted by, yes, mosquito net, and which are now playing home to my Semporna fish.

Round the back I have a bit of a garden, which hasn't dried out once since I moved in, but which offered up the gift of a sprouting palm nut as compensation.

 

The cat is less than impressed; the fact that palms are sprouting in my backyard does little to distract him from the fact that I now require him to use said backyard (yes, the damp one) for his littering purposes.

 

The local kids have already discovered the two cats, calling to them through the fence and giving them the adoration they so rightly deserve. I'd invite the kids in to play, but I forgot to ask the workman to build a gate into the fence...

It's a quiet little village... actually, make that a little village - it's not quiet at all, with the roosters and dogs and people and babies and scooters... but there's not really much going on. The highlight of most of the boys' days is the football match that gets played in front of my house on the school field every evening at 5. The team can be told apart easily - Team A wears shirts, Team B doesn't. It's a change from the inside-out-division.

I have a lovely view over the hills of Sabah towards the second-highest mountain in the state. The highest one is directly behind me, looming over Poring Hot Springs. It's a pretty awesome little spot, really :) I do hope you'll come to visit!