"CLASS"WORK

                                                            “Class”Work!

I first heard of ‘Malee’ as it is popularly known in Kerala, in the 1990’s from a friend who had found a job in one of the islands. I was fascinated to hear that the inhabitants drank rainwater collected from the roof tops and that the only vegetable they got on the island was ‘drumstick leaves’. Fish was supplied here for free by the friendly islanders, I heard. Potatoes and onions made their guest appearance once in a while when the boat arrived.  Little did I know then, that a decade and a half later, I  too would be at the receiving end !

2003 found me at Male’ the capital city of Maldives which is a miniature replica of a Gulf country with its concrete jungles, blaring traffic and the works.

I taught for a year in a prestigious institution, ‘Aminiya’ the only girls’ school in the land. But having had enough of the city life and hoping to taste the peace and quiet of the countryside, I came to Fuvahmulah, one of the most picturesque and peaceful islands in the south of the Maldives.

This spoon shaped island literally situated on the equator, enjoys tropical climate and the skyscapes here are often brilliant. It’s a sheer joy to watch the sun go down on the palm fringed sky, leaving traces of orange, pink and gold.

The white sandy beaches and the coral reefs were in stark contrast to the verdant lakes that studded the island. Alive with bloom and bird song, this place is blessed with sprawling farms and huge mango trees that bear fruit all the year round. To me, the distinct hues all around were a welcome change to the monotonous greys of the cityscape.

I soon discovered new dimensions to my teaching capabilities when I joined AEC ,the local school. Enthralled by the immaculate white uniforms of the students that were reminiscent of the pristine white beaches all around, I entered the class room. But the peace I had come in search of, was not what awaited me here. To my dismay, I found that even making the students stand up was an ordeal in itself. Mischief-making in the class was something at which Maldivian children outshine themselves.

Hooting, howling, littering and filling desks and walls with graffiti are second nature to them and distributing and chewing ‘supari’ or gum was a common feature that progressed with the day.

I who have never experienced nausea while crossing the rough seas or even during my pregnancies, felt my stomach churning at the stench of rotten eggs thrown into my classroom, one day. Face burning with shame, I’ve had to march a bunch of kids in uproar, to another vacant room. Sympathetic glances were bestowed on me by fellow teachers in adjacent classrooms and glares I got from the supervisors. The 'Supervisors' were the discipline keeping force ,in charge of trouble shooting, who patrol around the school at frequent intervals.

Together we had confiscated mobile phones, lighters, packets of supari, knives, nude pictures and raw mangoes galore.

A week of paper-ball-throwing was then followed by another pass time- shooting paper pellets with rubber bands. Paper rockets came next. They then turn to subtler games like applying glue all over the chairs and desks and then roar with laughter if a hapless victim sits on it.They staple anything in their vicinity, even their nails, ears and hair. Teachers can count themselves lucky if they miss being hit by tomatoes and lemons thrown at the white-board at frequent intervals.

No qualms have they to use the F- letter-word or any other equivalent in their mother tongue. Then came the bomb blasts. An occasional explosion somewhere in the campus would send the supervisors running helter-skelter.

One fine morning I was perturbed by my unruly bunch of kids who seemed unusually preoccupied and secretive. None of them paid heed to what I was teaching but what I thought  unusual, was their secretive glances and eagerness to pass something under the desks.

Determined to find out what it was, I feigned innocence and stood by a fidgety boy. Just then he dropped a deodorant bottle which I grabbed instantly. The whole class pleaded and cajoled me to give it back. To me, the blue liquid inside the bottle seemed out of place. The girls assured  that it was a liquid cleaner brought to clean the desks.

“Keep it on the table, Miss” urged the students. “Never!” said I determinedly, proud at having grabbed their prized possession. I knew they would smuggle it from the table so I held it close to my heart and taught for two consecutive periods in peace after having made a pact with them that I’d return it if they paid attention to what was being taught.

The students were unnaturally silent and paid rapt attention after that and true to my word, I returned the’liquid-cleaner in a deodorant bottle’, to a seemingly meek girl, at the end of the class. I left the class, triumphant at last, for having gained 'class control' over these hyper active students.

Meanwhile the daily blasts continued. It was only two days later when the supervisor summoned me with the news, that my jaw dropped and I felt my knees go weak. The deodorant -bottle was a ‘crude-bomb.’ A metal piece was introduced into the strong liquid detergent which would react and eventually burst with a bang!

“You are lucky it didn’t burst in your hand.”

“Yes” I replied in a squeaky voice, stunned to silence.

Then there were the ‘Limited Curriculum Classes’, which most teachers dread. This lot of students, though academically weak, had their strong points too. Once,two boys seemed particularly interested in a desk lying in the corner of class, as I entered. Together they shifted a desk, oozing a liquid of some sort, to the center of the class. In a split second they had toppled a considerable amount of the detestable liquid on to the floor. What followed was pure pandemonium. ‘Oohs’, ‘ugh s’ and exaggerated sounds of retching arose. The females fanned themselves dramatically lest they faint. Others made attempts to rush out of the class. Bewildered, I tried to make them sit at their desks, nostrils flaring, trying to figure out what the funny smell was.

The whole class was later marched out and the rest of the day was spent under the shady green trees outside. I later learnt that the errant kids who had spilt ‘urine’ in the class were suspended. ‘Suspension’ was the only punishment frequently meted out to students behind such antics.

There had been hilarious moments too. In an attempt to curb throwing paper balls, I told a boy to hand over the one he had in his hand. He promptly held it out and just as I took it, out popped an oversized gecko. I jumped and shrieked, dropping the vile thing, paper ball and all. The girls giggled with glee and between peals of laughter, the boys thumped each others’ backs for having at last ruffled the feathers of their otherwise poised English teacher.

In spite of the many mishaps, I’ve enjoyed rewarding moments too, like the time when a grade 8 student presented me with her version of a rhyme after her brief brush with the study of geography. Here’s how it goes…..

“Twinkle Twinkle Little star

Now I know what you really are

You’re just a rock up in the sky

That seems a diamond to the eye.”

            With a record of the highest divorce rates in the world, most students in the Maldives, come from broken families. A little affection and a good measure of patience, can finally bring them around.

The other day, Shafeehu was sent out of the class for misbehaviour by an irate teacher. Being his class teacher, I spoke to him and found out that his mother had left him when he was just six months old. “I hate her” he said. “Who do you love then, Shafeehu?” I asked.

“My Grandmother”, he replied.

“Where is she?”

“She’s dead”, he said softly.

Tears pricked my eyes and I looked away.

Shafeehu was just one among the scores of Maldivian children who shared  a similar fate.

Suddenly everything fell in place as I realized that what these kids’ lives lacked was love and security.

Slowly I walked him back to his classroom, vowing to do my best and to be more patient with these students who sought attention and craved for love. In spite of being enveloped in a sense of helplessness, I could at last understand them. And I felt wiser for having gained an insight into the complexities of human nature.

                                                With my students at AEC

[written in 2009]