Goodbye Mr Tom (written on January 11th)

It is not long since I last blogged, but a combination of boredom, frustration and the need for a creative outlet has driven me to another entry. 

Despite the spectre of imminent departure hanging over us, my last few days in Male were genuinely wonderful.  Though some lovely people had already departed, it meant that those left grew closer and I got to spend more time with those I may not have had the opportunity to do so otherwise.  We lazed at the beach, ate out (sounding familiar yet?) and played indoor cricket in what must have been at least 35 degree heat.  A small feather in my cap came in the form of taking the wicket of an international cricketer.  The previously mentioned Mohamed Razzan, was defeated by an absolute jaffer that cut away from him and scattered his stumps.  We won’t mention the other balls bowled.  They generally went either too wide to hit, or five feet over the batsman’s head without bouncing.  Rustier than a wrought iron bar left by the sea.

On Monday the 9^th of January we had our last breakfast in Male and Chris Cleland and myself departed for pastures new, via a 55 min flight in a twin prop light aircraft and a speed boat journey at either end.  The flight was genuinely spectacular (one day I will be able to upload the photos) with birds eye views of the thousands of islands below.  There was even one shaped like a ‘C’.  Good omen?

We were met at Hahnimadhoo airport by Sujua, our school representative who took us to our speed boat along with three other teachers, all from India.  On arrival we were shown to our accommodation, a lovely green house, clean, tidy and with football on the telly.  Sadly, it also lacked a kitchen and a second bed.  After a lot of anger and frustration and a few phone calls, Chris and I were met by Sujua who informed us that we weren’t expected to sleep in a double bed together for 11 months and that they were negotiating with landlords to get us some permanent accommodation.  As is common in the Maldives, a communication breakdown and laissez faire attitude culminated in a lot of needless anguish.  Our concerns allayed, we proceeded to take a moonlit wander around the island.

Apparently 4500 people live in Dhidhdhoo… you wouldn’t believe it walking around.  I would estimate that at least 3000 of these people are bed ridden.  To call this place a ghost town is doing ghost towns a disservice.  A ghost town would seem like a bustling metropolis in comparison.  The only time we have seen groups of people were on two occasions, The first was when a gang of curious locals (perhaps everyone with two working legs) watching a JCB at work building the new breakwater, and the second was predictably at a game of football on one of the dirt pitches on the island.  Sadly this crowd dispersed as we approached as the first cries from the mosque were heard.  We have vowed to return though and teach the locals a thing or two about the beautiful game.  This will probably be showing them the dictionary definitions of ‘agricultural football’ and introducing them to my friend ‘the reducer’.  You have been warned young Maldivian footballers!

School itself has been a somewhat underwhelming experience.  I have been given 3.5 hours a week to teach and currently four days out of five have to be in for 6.45am without teaching till 12pm.  At the moment my main quandary in life is whether I am more frustrated than bored, or bored than frustrated.  I have vowed to be patient however, and hopefully things will become more interesting soon.  There is also an issue surrounding the promised environmental projects that I could get involved in.  Like the majority of the things described/promised to us by the high commission of the Maldives in London, this seemed completely absent.  Combined with the teaching and housing situation, and finding out that a trip to Male for the weekend to restore my sanity will cost $400, it is fair to say spirits are lower than in Charlie Sheen’s liquor cabinet.

Before I sign off I must do two things.  Firstly, I need to reassure you, dear reader (I initially wrote dear leader… perhaps Kim Jong-Il is reading this from the ether) that I am not going to pack this in.  I’m off to speak to my department head tonight and hopefully the school principle, so I hope that this can help alleviate some of the problems experienced.  Secondly I should explain the blog title.  Mr Tom is the teacher who was here last year.  He seemingly made quite an impression as just about every person who has spoken to us has mentioned him.  He is a bit of a legend in these parts.  The poor guy Will who he was with is a total afterthought, so much so that initially we thought Mister Tom was here on his own.  Perhaps the names of Chris and James (Chris Cleland has resorted to using his middle name to avoid confusion.  I tried to get them to call me Ted after my granddad, but they have settled for Mr Crish) will echo through the ages with similar reverence… probably not though!