Happily Married Week

On Thursday Dezlin posted a Happily Married Week post on her facebook profile, and I reposted it onto mine. At the same time I changed my profile pic to one of Pete and me on our wedding day.

So what does 40 years of knowing each other and 35 years of being married mean to me?

I still remember being at Leticia's house on a day in early December just after turning 18. It was the day of the matric dance and I was on my way to the hairdresser to have my long, straight hair teased and curled into what would now be called an "upstyle." Tee phoned and Pete came across the road to meet me. I don't think there were any violins and shooting stars, but by the end of that evening, I felt that this shy young man was really very nice. And the next few months and years confirmed this. I wasn't good at long distance relationships, but we kept up a correspondence and then when he came home to do his internship in Pmb in my last year at College, we started a real relationship. Every time I drive along Oribi Road in November, I think of the long evening walks we took at the end of my academic year - just seeing jacarandas under streetlights evokes love and romance.

Once I started teaching in Highflats while Pete was working in Port Shepstone, we only saw each other once in 2 weeks, but we knew it wasn't long and we would be married and live together all the time. The wedding was fairytale - after a hectic build up, I floated through the day - and then through the night on the bottle of champagne my dad had hidden in the car for us as we left for our honeymoon. That much alcohol on an empty tummy was hectic!

Settling down to married life wasn't difficult - a new house, a new job, new friends - and always Pete to come home to. Sarah arrived when we had been married nearly three years and we had moved to Dundee, and Nicky 2 years later when we had moved to Pmb and the house in Dennis Road that we lived in for 14 years. There were tough times - moving too often, Pete having to spend a lot of time away, no job and never quite enough money, babies that cried. But there were great times too - getting involved at St Matthew's, Marriage Encounter, friendships that endure, and our wonderful kids - the light of both our lives.

When Kev was born 14 years ago, we did a lot of evaluating of our lives, and have spent the time since then building and consolidating the importance of our family. It's grown - first Kev, then Riaan and Ray, then Sihle and now Ricky. We've mellowed and I think we've become less selfish - realising that there's room for much more love if you let it grow. Our home is open to our kids' friends and relations, to our friends and to others who need the space to be in a family.

This new phase of our lives - retirement - is like being newlyweds again, without all the anxieties of youth. We can travel, walk, read, renovate the house, work together and separately, just "be" - and it is great. I have to echo Maurice Chevaliers words "I'm glad I'm not young any more," but there is a part of me that is just as young as it ever was. Seeing Pete at the airport last week when he came to fetch me made me realise how much I love him. Being with him makes my heart feel light. Living with him makes my day bright. Loving him makes me complete.

I feel so sad for people who have lost their beloved partners, and those whose marriages have ended in divorce. I am so grateful that Pete and I have the chance to grow old together, to have memories that go back 2/3 of our lives, that we know each other better than we know anyone else except ourselves.

Happily Married Week - yes. But we also have Happily Married Life. Praise God.

Going Back

Today I was invited to go back to St Nicholas to do the talk at the weekly Staff devotions. Yesterday as we drove past the school, I said to Pete how remote the whole school life felt to me – both past and present. But I was so pleased when Kamal phoned on Monday and asked me to share something with the staff.

I spent a lot of time this week thinking what to share. I often ended up doing chapel when there was no-one else rostered and it was always easy because I had a fund of ideas from services and bible studies. But this time, I (gulp!) haven’t been to church since July sometime – probably early July – so other peoples’ ideas were a bit thin on the ground. And most of the books I have been reading about re-incarnation of pets and the way they wait for you on the rainbow Bridge, Bill Bryson’s A short History of just about everything, and a book about the ’94 elections would be sure to offend someone.

I looked at something from BRF on Light and darkness, but it seemed a bit preachy. Then I decided to something for World Rhino Day, and spent hours (till midnight and I had to wake up at 6.30!!) collecting readings, prayers and stories for Chapel.

Then, when I woke up this morning, I knew I needed to share some of my journey through other educational institutions over the last 3 months with the teachers who were still in the place I had been last year. I started with the article from today’s Witness, the looked at the conference at St John’s with the wireless network and twitter feed; the Botswana conference with teachers from African countries which had just introduced free, compulsory educations and now had classes of 200 to one teacher – and the Americans who had come to solve all Africa’s problems; the textbook workshop with Lawrence telling us about the Frances Cornford poem he does with his students in Langa; the time on the Wild Coast, with its laughs, its shocks, its sadnesses and its triumphs; the schools in Nairobi and the trainers in Mombasa and all I learnt from David and the group; and ended with what I heard and thought at the RASA conference in Cape Town.

There was no spirituality in it – except that we are responsible for the children – as Graeme Bloch said – we need to give them a reason to shoot for the stars. I’m going to write an article about it – but it just happened today.

How people received it is neither here nor there – but the greeting I received from staff and friends and children was overwhelming. I was afraid I might be knocked down in the enthusiasm of the hugs! Annette met me at the car – it was good to see her looking so much better; Cecilia, who brought me some tea, wiped away tears of happiness; Sue and Caro who keep me so entertained with their antics on facebook came running out to catch me before I escaped; Oom Piet beamed as he opened the gate for me; I waved and hugged and felt enfolded in love. My life at St Nics has not disappeared – I am remembered and loved, and it’s a good feeling.

There are a lot of things I miss – people who share their lives with me, kids who are just so affectionate and affirming, friends – young and old, new and long-standing – who are part of the fabric of my life; being part of the planning of a dynamic organisation; some of the mental stimulation; planning new programmes to work on in classrooms; and most of all, teaching. I LOVE TEACHING. I want to do some more of it.

But there are parts of me that wonder whether I actually ever did work there – or was it all some sort of fantasy world. And some of it I don’t miss at all – hassling over finances, reports, computer malfunction, interruptions, getting up early and getting home late, fighting amongst staff and always having to be in the middle. I don’t miss any of that. I don’t want to go back.

But the sad feeling of being Julius Caesar – “The evil men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones” after my very unhappy and frustrating first term back at St Nics – is dissipating. I’m sure that certain people still don’t want me on the campus, but most do. I’m remembering happy times and how much I owe to what I learnt there, and how much of what I learnt, I take with me into new ventures.

So going back was good this time. Thank you, Kamal, for officially asking me so I knew I wasn’t an intruder. I can go back happily again.

CAPS and MISHAPS

I’ve spent the weekend at a RASA (Reading Association of South Africa) conference. An experience which I could have done without in some ways after our 2 weeks in Kenya, but in other ways, an ideal follow-on from the Mombasa workshops.

CAPS(Curriculum and Assessment Policy Statement) is the new curriculum which is being implemented in great haste by the Department as a knee-jerk reaction to SAs appalling reading stats. The ideal is a good one – back to basics, more training and structure for teachers, giving schools good textbooks. But the reality is that the CAPS have been put together so quickly that they are full of errors. The training is likely to be as poor as it was in the previous curricula (4 in 15 years). Teachers are just as likely to be confused and unmotivated.

We looked at some of the statistics of reading competency in SA schools – it was sobering hearing. A talk by the Vice-Chancellor of UCT was amazing. He posed some really challenging questions.

He asked us, “IS THE FUTURE OF EDUCATION TRAPPED IN THE PAST?” He went on to say that many young South Africans are ANTI-INTELLECTUAL. Their models are anti-school, anti-learning, anti-critical thinking – he even named Julius Malema as being a shocking role model for young people. He feels that learners see education as punishment, an imposition, an affliction on them. It is counter to their culture.

He went on to say, despite how the world perceives South Africa and what we see ourselves, a lot has changed in 20 years. Many people are more affluent than they were – especially previously disadvantaged people. But, he goes on to ask - “When are the economic benefits going to be translated into improved educational achievement?” Parents drive Mercs, children have Blackberrys, but they don’t acknowledge that education is more important than affluence. The material is more important than the intellectual.
He went on to say that we need to take a stand against the grip of our social structure and try to make some changes. He had no solutions – but he challenged my thinking and got me to stop looking at the negatives and think about how to change.

The conference was full of other interesting topics. In one session we discussed how, although English is meant to be the Language of Learning and Teaching, most teachers in High Schools teach in the dominant mother-tongue because they think the kids won’t be able to understand, but the kids are aspiring to read in English. We also heard that many teachers teach the version of the learner that they see in front of them – but it is not always the real person. Teachers need to be given training and self-confidence so that they can teach children the way that they need to.

Most of the speakers were passionate about what they do, about the kids they teach. Some had brilliant ideas, others shared what they had done.

I had some of my ideas confirmed, I learnt some new things, I met some interesting people, I saw some awesome books.
I’m tired but I’m glad I came. CAPS

A sad goodbye

The training ends and we bid a sad farewell to the many new friends and colleagues we have met in Mombasa.

The Aga Khan Foundation has as its aim improving life for the poor and marginalised all over the world, and here we have been working with people from East Africa – Uganda and Kenya. AKF started the Reading to Learn in some of the very poor rural schools about 4 years ago in Kenya and Uganda, and in some of the Nairobi slums schools this year, and are ready to take it further up the school, as well as trying to get the MoE interested in spreading it throughout the schools where it will make the most difference. So our training has been with trainers, advisors and MoE officials as well as two very special teaches – Aisha and Chale.
We deal with reading and writing of factual texts and reading of Maths – it is the first time I have worked with the Maths and it is fascinating. Then David gives us a chance to teach the story genre and Mike and I have a wonderful time letting our creative juices flow! We write an amazing joint story with the trainers and then they set out to write their own stories in groups – what a lot of fun.

The final session is a bit o.t.t and overwhelming. We are praised, thanked and sung to. We are told a story of how a good thing is ever enough, and that people will always scramble for good food. The story ends by saying, “We are hungry in Kenya for good education – please come back and give us some more.” We have so much to share but we have learnt so much from this group. They have such a “can-do” attitude. They keep asking for help in problems like 200 kids to one teacher in some Ugandan schools, now that Education is free – but at the same time, they have already identified so many of their own solutions. They amaze and awe me. I want to shake some of the whiney teachers I know who complain and say things are impossible and never look for their own solutions, but expect them to be handed to them on a plate. I meet people at this workshop whose positive attitude and determination will stay with me always – Aisha who teaches in a poor school with a head teacher who doesn’t really support the programme because he doesn’t understand it, but who perseveres in spite of everything; Atresh and Amina who are the Project co-ordinators in Kenya and Uganda respectively, and who make sure that the teachers are supported and given the help they need; Semmy who is as bright as a button and always has a quick answer; Yusuf who can be relied on to give a well thought out suggestion or who can see potential pitfalls, but is not daunted by them; Mole from Uganda who knows the curriculum backwards and sees all the ways to circumvent it to make sure children learn in spite of it; Rosemary who works for an NGO but is still close to the teachers on the ground – the list could go on and on. And then there are the project managers – Nafisa from Nairobi and Cathy from Geneva, who join us for dinner on the Tuesday night. Nafisa grew up in the Soviet Union in Turkmenistan and she tells us how it was to discover as a teenager what being Muslim and Ismaeli really means. They are both great women and the AKF is lucky to have them on their staff.

The training finished, Mike and David set off on yet another visit for David to the Antique store – it is his 6th visit and today he actually buys something. Some of it will be sent by ship and other pieces need to be packed into his case with the many kikoyis and kangas he has bought. It must have been worth the owner’s while, because he takes Mike and David to visit the school in which he has an interest – a combined madressa and Kenya curriculum, and then he insists on fetching us and driving us to the Tamarind restaurant in Nyali for dinner. He even offers to fetch us after dinner and take us home to the hotel, even though he lives 30km up the coast. We hit a monumental traffic jam on the way, and Yusuf happily drives his vehicle up onto the pavement so he can get to an alternative route – not that it helps much. But it gives us one of our biggest laughs. We have seen tuk-tuks painted with flames like Hells Angels bikes, with crazy names, with two drivers on a single seat (we went in one!) and even decorated with flashing fairy lights. But the one we see in the traffic jam takes the cake – it has one passenger and 5 goats in it! One hang out through the side awning, we see different legs appearing and disappearing through slits in the side and back of the covering, and we see the owner perched on the bar at the side, trying to keep his goats in. This vehicle vies with the bread-delivery bicycle for the most innovative use of a vehicle that I have seen.

The Tamarind is tranquil and up-market – and costs us 10000KS for the three of us! Luckily, AKF will re-imburse us. We sit on a wonderful verandah overlooking the estuary, with the lights of the island opposite us, and the lights of small fishing boats going up and down. We see a fire flare up on the beach opposite, and the sound of the meuzzins is muted and musical over the water. Then back to the Hotel for a last night, and a last dop of Mike’s whiskey (he needs to finish it so he doesn’t have to pack it – I just leave my left over wine for the cleaner) before an early start to Nairobi.

David is on a later flight, so he goes to visit a rural school while we meet with Nafisa, Cathy and Everlyn about the next steps with the project. We try to get to a Masai market, but there isn’t one on Thursdays, so we go to a shopping centre and to the City Market where we have to beat off touts and drive hard bargains so we aren’t ripped off. Then off to bed ready for a 4.00am start.

This has been an exhausting but an amazing experience. I see a new way forward for our own R2L training and look forward to working on implementing it. Back to cold Cape Town tomorrow for the RASA conference and then home! East, West, home is still best!

Some time out

On Saturday we finish training a bit early and with Sunday off, we have a bit off time off to explore, rest and enjoy Mombasa a bit. We find out about a Swahili food restaurant which is close enough to walk to. I spend some time having a rest in the amazing heat, and catching up the sleep that I missed the night before when my aircon didn’t work and there was such loud music that I couldn’t have the windows open. Then at 6, we set off to find the restaurant.

In the lift, David meets a local man who comes to the gym at the hotel, and he suggests some Indian restaurants - one is closer than the one in Old Town we have thought of going to, so we decide to find it. We go a bit far down the road and ask directions at the Casablanca Club, where Mike is propositioned by a girl sitting at the bar. When David and I walk in behind him, she quickly gets engrossed in her cell phone.
We eventually find the Shennai restaurant – a North Indian restaurant which only opens at 7, but which allows us in a bit early, anyway. It is opulent and traditional – sitars and shennais (Indian flutes) on the walls amongst gilded pictures and brassware. The waiters are dressed in traditional garb – baggy pants and coloured hats and sashes. The service is amazing – our hot plates are placed in front of us between two spoons, napkins are opened for us and spread on our laps. And then there is the food – I have the best biryani I have ever tasted – chicken with saffron and fried onions – not just yellow rice with chicken, but hidden nuggets of saffron and chicken in fragrant basmati rice. It is food to dream about. And so is the saffron and cardamom infused kulfi to follow the meal.

We walk back to the hotel past a community centre where a charity event is happening – families, children, young men and women all lining up to buy tickets for 50KS to listen to music, dance and play games. As we walk back on the other side of the road, the bhangra type music is reverberating in the air.

Sunday is a day off and we spend the day catching up with some of the things we have wanted to do. David and I set off after breakfast to go and find the Fresh Produce market and the Spice shops. It is still the original market built by the British in 1914 and is crowded with exotic foods, fruit, veggies, spices – the array is huge! I am buying spices when a tout tries to muscle in, but David chases him off and we go into the street behind and find a spice shop where we buy some of the things we want – and some we didn’t know we were going to buy, like tamarind fruits. The smell in the shop is exotic and heady – I almost bought things I can easily buy at the Curry Pot, under the influence of spice scents! David buys a handful of vanilla pods – probably 30 of them for 400KS – about R40.

Then we set off for the Antique shop we visited two days before – Yusuf, the owner, will open for David at 10. A tout called Ali insists on accompanying us, although we know where we are going. He asks where we are from, and then makes a profound statement ;-) – He points to me and says “South Africa – Thabo Mbeki!” and points to David and says “Australia – kangaroo!” David and I can hardly walk we are laughing so much. Ali follows us all the way, insisting that there is no charge – he just wants us to be happy, but in the end, we end up paying him to go away.

We wait for the shop to open and make the acquaintance of 3 little girls who are going to throw the family rubbish away – probably in the sea – and share our strange chillied nuts with them and take their pictures. They come back later with some strange sweets they have made which they want me to buy. David and Yusuf, the shop owner, start looking at what David wants to buy – in fact he goes back again in the afternoon, trying to decide what to buy and ship. Some of the antiques in the shop are run-of-the-mill junk shop stuff– and then there is a huge collection of African statues and art – bisexual gods, masks, head rests and implements. I get bored and decide to go back to the hotel, and Yusuf, the owner, gives me a lift back.

I get back to find Mike has miscalculated the time of the rugby, so we watch the first springbok game. When I say to our driver, Jali, on Monday that I have watched the game, he assumes it is soccer – doesn’t even know that the World Cup is on.

We take a tuk-tuk to Nyali on the North side of the island – we cross the bridge and go to the beach at the Reef Hotel. We walk right though the hotel and down onto the most amazing white sand beach, with blue water sparkling just beyond it. Mike swims in the sea and says it is beautiful – sparkling and clean. On the beach there is a plethora of traders selling everything from scarves to massages. Everyone has a cousin who will organise a safari for you. Just off shore are dugouts and sailing boats, ready to take tourists on trips, but there don’t seem to be any takers. Along the beach, there is a camel which people are having rides on. I take a picture to add to my collection of animals on the beach – cows on the Wild Coast and camels in Mombasa.

We have lunch at the Reef Hotel – the food is a bit pedestrian but it is pleasant out in the garden and we watch money walking past us in the form of very pink and burnt European tourists, many wearing costumes people their size should not be wearing. One very white young man is being rubbed all over with sunburn lotion by a statuesque young black woman. We negotiate a better price for the Tuk-tuk and get back to the hotel in time for a rest before dinner.

For dinner we go back to Nyali in a much slower and more cautious tuk-tuk, and eat at a Bollywood vegetarian restaurant at the Cinemax centre. The food is nicer than the hotel but after the dinner at the Shennai, a bit dull. David has a dosa, which is a huge, crispy pancake which is rolled and arrives on our table as a ½ metre long tube. We have to ask the waitress how to eat it. A different type of Indian cuisine.

A good sleep ready for the next day’s work.

The Music of Mombasa

After our training session today, we walk down to Biashara Street and then into the Old Town of Mombasa. What a wonderful experience!

Mike coins the phrase “The Music of Mombasa” as we thread our way through narrow streets thronged with people, hard carts, lorries, posh cars, matatus, and most of all, tuk-tuks. People shout, hawkers and touts call us to buy, tuk-tuks put-put and every vehicle hoots, toots and parps. Loud, discordant music – but so exciting!

We walk across roads, taking any gap in the traffic – running when we need to, facing down tuk-tuks when we have to. And then we are into the trading area – stalls sell everything you could want – cosmetics, plastic shoes, food, spices, fabrics, bedding, toys – you name it, it is there! We get back to the kikoyi shop and buy some more amazing fabric and then Mike sets out to look for cotton pants. We can’t find the shop David bought his in, and so we ask at the Emporium where to go. They give us the name of a shop and we find it eventually, only to be diverted by a tout who drags Mike off down increasingly narrow alleyways to a shop where they want to rob him blind. Actually, by SA prices, the pants were not expensive, but by Kenyan prices they were exhorbitant! David chases the tout off and we decide to come back another day to find the first shop. The touts are a curse – trying to inveigle tourists into buying at the shops where they get kick-backs. Some stores have signs that say “No commission paid.”

While the men shop, I look down the narrow alleys, overshadowed by tall, weathered buildings with washing hanging from their balconies, and elaborate cast iron around the windows and verandahs. Newish buildings are cheek by jowl with dilapidated tenement buildings. Everywhere there are wires and cord – criss-crossing the glimpses of the sky like demented spiderwebs. After Sarah’s photos of Zanzibar, I’m attracted by the many carved wooden and decorated iron doors.

We decide to walk into the Old Town and find a map against a weathered wall, showing us where we are and where we want to go. A young woman selling samosas, stuffed fried chillies and potato wedges sits near it, and
I succumb to my weakness for street food. David eats the chillies – 5KS for a whole chillie with the stem still on, stuffed with lentils and coated in a maize batter and deep fried, while I have a delicious vegetable samosa. Mike has already bought tuna, caught in the bay, deep fried and sold in the street, and David has bought a wonderful selection of fruit for 100KS.

The streets become less crowded and quieter – and we notice after a while that they are paved – there are tourist walking-routes through it. Houses are tall and quiet, and friendly children shout “Jambo” and reach their hands out to us. High fives all round and we squeeze through a very narrow passage and there is the sea. It is incredibly blue and tantalising but when we try to get closer through the gates to the Old Port, we are asked for 100KS to go in. We walk on a bit, and enter a building being renovated. The huge iron gates are being manned by men plying dominoes, and they welcome us and are happy for us to walk down to the edge of the building. It is going to be a magnificent home or office once it has been finished, retaining the original outer walls and the huge archways, but being completely re-built inside. A little further along the road we meet the first white people we have seen, shopping in a curio shop. The Antique shop next door is closed, but a local calls the owner who opens up for us.

Then we walk back down to the edge of the sea and join some local men who are sitting on benches on the bank and drinking tea. The tea is hot, sweet and spiced – I taste ginger and chilli and a hint of cinnamon. We sit in the gathering dark and watch the sea as it enters the channel, and bemoan the hideous concrete building being erected on the opposite beach.

It is getting dark as we start the walk back to town and we pass the Mombasa Club, Fort Jesus and a Museum before hitting the main streets. On a Friday evening we see many more people in Muslim dress – mostly men and young boys, walking in chatty clusters along the road. Half way back, we give in to tiredness and hail a tuk-tuk. That is an experience! I think it must have been one of the most unroadworthy ones in Mombassa, and sways and creaks as we roar around corners. But it is exhilarating and exciting. Again, I wish Pete was there to share this with me.

We end this magical, almost surreal afternoon with a cold Tusker beer at the rooftop bar, and then early to bed. Sadly, music of a loud, modern sort spoils the night as someone, somewhere parties into the early hours of the morning. Feels like home!

Training is a wonderful job

It is hot and steamy in Mombasa but the room crackles with electricity as we start the session. Trainers, teachers and officials from Kenya and Uganda share some of the exciting things that they have experienced with using the reading to learn methodology over the past 2 years. Someone says that for him its great strength is that it teaches children in a natural way, rather than a contrived way. Another says that the engagement of learners is amazing to see. Another says it has made teachers more committed, organised and innovative. They share challenges – huge classes as education has become free and compulsory in both countries – some classes up to 200 to one teacher; lack of support; lack of resources. But there is no negativity, no feeling that the challenges make it impossible to put the method into practice. Instead, it seems that everyone is looking for solutions.
And then David Rose starts the training. I am blown away by his depth of knowledge and ability to train without a note in front of him, and to adapt to the needs of the group. Especially as he hears during the opening session that his father has died in Australia. I feel as though my nerve endings are tingling as I understand things about the method that I have never really understood before.
The group are an interesting group – some very outspoken and challenging, some very affirming, but all thirsty for what they can learn. And there is so much good stuff going around as we revise the method in the early years, and have a lot of fun working with a story I have saved on my computer.
On the second day we start with a chance for people to share what they feel was most significant from the first day’s training, and then we get the chance to work with a text for the middle primary, looking at reading and writing for information. We work through the first and second stages, where the whole group rewrites the text in common-sense terms, and then they have to rewrite it again in groups. I am fascinated by the interplay in the groups – the passage is about the history of Uganda and as they are meant to be writing a short passage, there is hot debate about how accurate the text book (a Kenyan book) is. It takes the adults maybe 3 times as long to write as it would take children, because they debate everything – even evolution!
In the afternoon, Mike and I get a chance to teach a session and I enjoy the interaction with the smaller group, as they practise what they learnt this morning.
Back to our hotel – it is not as luxurious as the one in Nairobi, but comfortable and cool once I put the aircon on. Tomorrow afternoon I want to shop in Biashara street again and spend some time wandering aimlessly. I also want to take some photos. Sunday is free and I am sure we will get to the beach as well as watching the game between SA and Wales.
Busy, but fulfilling.

First Impressions of Mombasa

We leave Nairobi in the dark to catch a 6 am flight to Mombasa. As we come down through the cloud the sun is shining and the captain talks about seeing Mt Kilimanjaro, but the row I am in has no window.
We’re met by another cowboy driver who takes us into Mombasa itself. David says he feels as though he is in India – the Eastern architecture and even a cow in the road. We go straight to the Aga Khan Foundation headquarters but the planned rural school trips are cancelled as the teachers are on strike, so we have a strategy planning meeting and then the afternoon is free.

The teachers’ strike is for better conditions as well as pay and it seems that the public is behind them. The unions want to regularise contract teachers’ positions and get extra teachers into state schools – agreed to originally by the government but now the agreement has been reneged on. Atresh at the Foundation explains that politicians were, for the first time, going to have to pay taxes on their earnings, and had woken up to the fact that this would mean less money in their pockets. So they have siphoned money off from all sorts of places, including the money set aside for education, so that they will still have the same take-home pay. I’m not sure whether this was in the form of bigger salaries or how it has been worked out, but in effect, they are using tax payers money to pay their taxes. Or, as David says, they are stealing directly from the children. On TV, there are visuals of children teaching each other, while other children hang around outside their locked schools.

Atresh says several of the teachers on the project were willing to be at school so we could visit them, but he is not prepared to put them in any danger, as the situation is volatile. We plan the 7 days of the workshop in principle, before we set off back to the hotel.

Along the way, we are taken to Biashara street – a narrow, winding area of shops and stalls, selling almost anything, Rukaya takes us into an “emporium” where we are able to buy some kikoyis – I chose some for cloths for Sarah, Nic and me. If we ever lived in the same city, we could have a party with matching cloths! I feel quite vulnerable in the street as I have my big bag with me, and stay close to our driver. A man stops me and asks if I want to buy spices. He has a stall at a nearby market. I do, but we don’t have time today. He asks when I will come and persists when I say I don’t know. Eventually, our driver tells him to go away. Then we drive to the other side of the city to a shop a bit like the Warehouse in NZ to look for some china markers. (Which we don’t find). We see some very tall men and women selling basketware – woven sieves and mats and stools. I would like to buy some but don’t know where I will put it all.

Everywhere there is traffic – tuk-tuks zip in and out of the traffic, people and motor bikes spread into the path of cars, matatus (kombis) weave in and out, despite their length, people pulling handcarts carrying water in huge plastic containers, bananas, and all sorts of other wares dice with death as they try to shoulder bigger and heavier vehicles out of the way.

We pass stalls selling grains and legumes – huge 100kg bags standing side by side, with their tops open to display beans, lentils, soya, maize and other seeds I can’t identify. There are many stalls selling charcoal burners and others using the burners to cook food which is sold on the street. The smells are exotic – an olfactory experience I don’t mind experiencing – hot oil from fried samosas and other exotic looking titbits, fruit and veggies, fresh coconuts and pineapples, cut and ready to eat. I love the hardware stalls, selling pots from tiny to gigantic, ladles of all descriptions, lamps and other implements I can’t identify. There are leather shops which carry stocks of thousands – we plan to go back and have a look at what is available. Then there is the usual “stuff” sold by hawkers – t-shirts and plastic shoes and bags, cheap toys and jewellery and CDs and DVDs whose provenance I sincerely doubt.

Mombasa is very much a Muslim city with mosques and women wearing black dresses and head-dresses. Some wear kikoyis over their black dresses. We also see some people wearing kikoyis and kangas, but most people are dressed in Western dress, and many of the men are smartly dressed in black suits despite the heat.

I check with the concierge whether it is safe for me to walk alone in the area, and I set off down Haille Salassie Rd towards Aga Khan Road. People ignore me or smile and a few say “Jambo” as I go past. I walk past a temple and a mosque – it reminds me of Northdale where the two can be cheek by jowl. There is a park where people sit, relaxed, enjoying the relative cool of the evening after the work day is finished. At the end of the park are 4 gigantic “tusks” which span the road. I walk past shops of all sorts – many automotive spares shops and books shops, shops selling airtime, clothes shops and bars and food shops. I see the Scripture Union bookshop but press on back to Haille Salassie Street to find the hotel.

All around are bouganvilleas – cerise, red, orange, white – against the glossy green leaves. It is a tropical city, and the plants are tropical, too.

A visit to the gym on the top floor gives me a glimpse of the sea in the distance – but only if I stand on the tallest treadmill. Dinner on the pool deck in the cool of the evening, to the sound of the muezzuins is delicious – snapper in a coconut milk sauce with naan bread and spinach. Washed down with a Tuskers beer. It just feels right.

The whole day is a rich experience, and for a moment, I wish I were a tourist and Pete and I could wander through these streets looking, absorbing and buying. But the work starts tomorrow – 30 teachers and organisers, ready to learn how to take Reading to Learn into the next phase. If the strikes end before we leave we will be taken to see the rural schools, but we will meet and talk to teachers anyway.

As the evening cools down and the mosques fall silent, it’s time to sleep in my air-conditioned room – with windows tight shut against the noise of the unrelenting traffic.

Another part of Africa

We land in Nairobi in pouring rain – it is not the rainy season but it has rained for 2 days. As my suitcase arrives on the carousel and I notice the wet patch, I think – oh no, my bottles of wine have broken and leaked all over my clothes. But it is just the rain.

Our trip to the hotel is hair-raising – potholes, roadworks, rain and Nairobi traffic! Add to this our taxi driver, Mengo, who swerves, shouts, hoots and looks at me while he talks to me – and I have a recipe for instant nervous breakdown. But arriving at the hotel, the worries are soothed away by the Victorian splendour of the Sarova Stanley – opulent carpets and curtains, dark furniture, club chairs – it is wonderful.

In the morning, the work begins. We meet David Rose at breakfast – he is just off a plane from Australia and looks travel-weary, but the work has to start. He gets a 45 minute nap while Mike and I set off for the Aga Khan Foundation offices. We walk the block to the offices – the city “feels” like a foreign city – it is clean but busy. Mike warns me that there is an “informal arrangement” when it comes to crossing the roads. There is no need to wait for the lights – neither cars nor pedestrians do! So you watch out!

We are driven by another cowboy driver, Josef, to Mkuru – a large slum near Nairobi, to visit two schools where the Reading to Learn methodology is being implemented. On the way, Mike points out all the storks, which roost in the trees in the middle of the lunatic traffic. All along the light poles, we see these huge birds, perching and watching, and later, see a whole flock wheeling and flying in the sky. They are ugly birds close to, with their pink wattles and scaly legs, but in the sky, they are graceful and almost ethereal. We also spot a yellow-billed kite high up in the sky.

We enter Mkuru through blocks of apartments, unfinished but inhabited, and with a forest of TV aerials rising from each roof. As we go deeper in, the roads deteriorate, and the apartments become tenement buildings, with shops underneath and children and washing leaning through skimpy balconies. Everywhere there is litter – piled up on the sides of the roads, where it has been pushed by graders, lying in any empty piece of land, on fences, in huge piles. Joshua, who travels with us, says that visiting these areas is certainly an “olfactory experience.”

The schools we go to see are private schools, and are run either by NGOs and churches, or as businesses. The first one, Kids of Hope, is down a smelly, wet alley way and is made entirely of corrugated iron – old corrugated iron, full of holes and with “frilly” edges where the iron has rusted and buckled. It is the first day of school and not all children have returned, and in the Gr 2 class we visit, there are normally twice the number of children in a tiny space. Their teacher, Betsy, goes through a story about going on holiday, and the level of understanding and the level of English astounds me. The children are dressed in red pants or skirts – huge, voluminous skirts and long, baggy shorts, made out of what looks like fasco. They all wear gumboots – and considering the terminal state of the muddy, litter embedded state of the roads, it is a wise choice.

I chat to Elizabeth, who is a facilitator for the project, training and supporting teachers in R2L, and David, who works with the schools in the slums. They tell me that most of these schools do not have qualified teachers, as the salaries are very low – about 5000 to 6000 KS a month. When I change $100 into KS, I receive 9000KS – so salaries are very low. Some of the teachers are recent graduates who are unable to get jobs in state schools, so serve out some time in these schools. Others are community members. Children pay between 250 and 400KS a month. Parents who are employed are mostly casual labourers or factory workers, and earn about 200KS a day. They also pay for uniforms and exercise books for their children.

The children are delightful – all known by English names and I can’t get them to tell me their real names. When I video them, they all rush to see what I am doing – and then want to see themselves on the monitor.
As we leave the school, Mike steps across onto the other side of a ditch and up to his ankles into fetid water and waste. The smell is still with him.

We leave for Gramo Joy school, and drive along the main “shopping street” – a 3 km congested, muddy track lined with wood and iron shacks, selling everything from charcoal to couture clothes, and everything else in between. There are even hotels, clinics and laboratories amongst the mud and congestion. I try to take photos, but Josef is hooting, swerving, swearing at motorcyclists and driving into huge craters, so my photos are not really clear.

The school is bigger and is managed by a husband and wife team – she teaches and he manages. He is an ex-Telecom worker, and when he was laid off, he and his wife started the school. He shows us how they have moved up into the top 10% rating of Nairobi schools in the past 3 years. I observe some Gr 1s who can speak an amazing amount of English, but are dead keen to have their photos taken instead of co-operating with the teacher.
What we see is very impressive – the teachers have learnt the steps well, but David is able to suggest ways that they can improve on the spelling and writing stages.

We say goodbye to Mkuru Kwanjenga and hit the traffic jam back into town. At the office we are given more background. Schooling has just been made compulsory, but it has not yet been enforced, and state schools are not fulfilling the needs of the population. This is why there are so many private schools. They are also bound by a curriculum that is exceptionally prescriptive and which makes it very difficult for teachers to work creatively. The Foundation is looking at getting some of the teachers to write stories which incorporate some of the spelling words, and to use them as resource books.

I am blown away by what I see – I have just come from schools that are poor and under-resourced but this is beyond anything I have seen anywhere in South Africa. A mud hut in a rural area with clean air and space to play must be better than what I saw today. And yet, the teachers were positive and innovative. Wonderful.

Off to Mombasa at 4.30 tomorrow morning, to visit some rural schools (if the teachers aren’t on strike.) A different experience.