Early morning monsoon rain fell heavily on the roof of Tropic Inn. The rain is louder here; the pregnant drops bigger and fuller. When they bounce off the roof they splash and shatter into further drops. In England I dread the rain, but here it serves as a welcome change, the downpour splitting open the humid curtain that wraps around the houses.
This week has flown past. On Monday when we started working in the school the heat pulled us down, and we would arrive back at Tropic Inn at lunchtime needing a shower and a sleep before returning to the school in the afternoon. But like the rain and the humidity and the contradictions all around you get used to it.
Before we knew it we were waking up on our last day of working in the school. We had promised the children that the last day would be a party. All week we had been teaching the children colours, the names for various fruits and animals, the parts of the body, the numbers up to 10. As we arrived at the school we were greeted with “heads and shoulders knees and toes, knees and toes.” Today we would not need the words but would enjoy using our senses of “eyes and ears and mouth and nose.” Indeed all of these would become the currency for the final day’s transaction as we had planned a disco, nail bar and football – the world over, these are the things which children can share without too many verbs and nouns and adjectives.
The first thing to do was to rig up an old PA speaker that the school used for the head teacher’s announcements. We set up her microphone next to a tiny portable i-pod dock which we had brought. You really know that you are working in a poor area when kids don’t have any technology – no i-pods or mobiles; the school didn’t even have a calculator. But they knew the music! It was a bit echoey in the old school hall but wow – crank it up and the place came alive. We had some Banghra music but there’s nothing quite like Michael Jackson, Tiny Temper and Glee songs to spark the combustible cocktail of children, dancing and gymnastics to life !
It was magic. The children showed off their best impressions of the old king of pop with the boys combining handstands into their dance routines. Finlay and Ethan obliged, accompanied by squeals of delight. One of the boys brought out a dusty marching band drum which had seen better days but which was still capable of belting out a bang or two. Suddenly the beat of Michael Jackson was augmented by the beat of the drum, and both the boys and girls formed a circle of rhythm around the boy with the hand-made drumming sticks. (Drum sticks – now that would be a good thing to bring next time we come).
Upstairs four of the team ran a special nail bar for the girls.This was a noticeably quieter room than the disco downstairs but the same smiles and sunshine faces were there. Earlier in the week when we were teaching the younger children the names for the colours in English, I had taught the children the song ‘Red and Yellow and Pink and Green, Orange and Purple and Blue, I can see a rainbow, see a rainbow, see a rainbow too.” Now we could see the rainbow on the ends of the girls nails. A simple treat which cost so little but gave such joy to these girls, some of whom had never had their nails done. Again the words were limited, the girls quiet as they stretched their fingers out to the awaiting brushes. Words weren’t needed this was a moment of truer communication.
In the playground, the boys were having a great time with a proper football - brought by the Carrick-Davies family with a pump - and left behind as a gift for the school.
If it is true that time does indeed fly when you enjoy yourself, this week was a speeding bullet. Before we knew it, it was time to say goodbye. And then we exchanged gifts – us giving the children cake and chocolate milk, the head teacher Miss Silva giving us a little wooden elephants or Sri Lanka key rings. Finally, after protracted goodbyes, tears and hugs we walked together with some of the children back up in the direction of Tropic Inn. The rain had long gone, the road dried out warm and dusty as ever.
And then the road divided, the children waved and shouted as they took one path – back to their homes, the rubbish piles, the shared toilet and shower – back to their mothers looking after their siblings, back to the simple but full lives. We took the right hand path back to our air conditioned inn – it is very basic by western standards, but a palace compared to where these children live.
Our minds were spinning with memories and sounds, songs and stories shared not through words but by the language of nails, Michael Jackson, laughter and holding hands. The language of children the world over.
Steve Carrick-Davies
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