A few weeks ago it was health check and immunisation day at school. Here's how it played out:
9am, the bus has just arrived and kids start filling past my classroom window. I peek outside and find Senitoa class lining up outside classroom #3 a.k.a. "multipurpose/no purpose room". I wonder what's going on so I ask the closest child who proceeds to demonstrate sticking a needle in his arm. Ah must be immunisation day. Interesting. So I walk down the corridor to sneak a squiz in the room and I see a sea of what is unmistakeably a clutter (correct collective noun suggestions welcome) of nurses. Dressed head to toe in white pinafores, and my memory likes to see stiff white hats to top it off.
and I was drawn into the ensuing spectacle:
The first kid in line is looked at by nurse #1. Tongue out. Torch in mouth. Torch in ears. Inspect fingernails. Check vaccination card. Given OK to enter "the clinic".
Inside:
task #1 eye test - stand behind teachers desk and look at chart on the opposite side of the room. Chart is one of those really appropriate ones with the matching M, E, 3, and W. I watch 2 very young, nervous nurses attempt to explain the task to a child who is either deaf, intellectually impaired, language impaired, non verbal, partially blind, autistic, oppositional defiant, ADHD or has a combo of any, or all of the above. Observe child try their very best to move their fingers in a weird combo of "east side" "west side""3rd side" and "Manly side" trying to keep up with the nurse who is only trying to demonstrate (but the kid thinks they are acing this one! thinking "I cant believe they make these things so easy"). Pass.
task #2 simultaneous height and weight measuring. This complex task requires 3 nurses - one to read height, one to read weight and a third to record the results.
special task #3- injections! a super awesome experience not only for the poor child that has to receive it, but also for the whole class of students lined up outside peering in the windows wondering whats going on, and the teachers who have to run around the school grounds chasing, finding, consoling and soothing the kids that have flipped after seeing whats in store for them! (thankfully most children were lucky enough to be spared the awful procedure that is needles). Those not so lucky shed a few tears, but then spent the day proudly showing off their spot band aids.
This entertaining spectacle was repeated for each of the 4 classes, with slightly elevated anxiety levels for each new class as they witnessed the hysterics of those before them.*
Little did I know that once all the children were checked over the true spectacle was still awaiting us. The secretary, lovely Irene, came into my room and told me that the head teacher wanted to see me. I was directed towards the "clinic room" where the head teacher pointed to the scales and said get on. I had a little chuckle and admired her sense of humour. And then she cracked another one "I am writing your weight on this piece of paper get on" and it slowly dawned on me that this was no joke at all. All teachers, volunteers, parents and grandparents at school were systematically being weighed, with no exceptions. After much nervous laughing and pleading and thinking light thoughts I stepped on the scales, with 4 sets of eyes peering at the numbers as the pin made up its mind. BAM "insert number" was shouted out and scrawled on the paper nicely next to my name. Amy was up next and BAM her "certain number" was shouted out and duly noted. Our weights were then compared, discussed, dissected, examined, hypothesised, scrutinised, and finally approved.
The spectacle was not restricted to us whiteys. Each participant (willing or unwilling)'s weight was read out and discussions of who was too heavy and who was too skinny were commenced. As each new adult was shepherded into "the clinic room" their weight was added to the paper and their size added to the discussion. The heaviest lady (at 105ishkg) was on the receiving end of the majority of comments "you need to lose weight" "I cant believe you weigh that much, you carry B, and you walk to town every day" (carrying B involves carrying him ~10m on and off the bus 4 times a day, and he weighs about 20kg tops). The lightest mum (at 41kg, and a good head taller than me) was also subject to much criticism, "you are too skinny", "eat more", "you need to eat more this and more that".
It was then proposed that all the teacher's and parent's weights would be typed up and posted on the notice board outside the office for all to see. And on the subsequent nurses visit (next term) our new weights will be placed right alongside so we (or everyone else) can see our progress. We were told by the head teacher not to put on weight, avoid the Dalo, and she will be checking up on us.
The topic of conversation did not vary one bit for the remainder of the day. The tea room was filled with comparisons and comments (always about people in front of their faces, rather than behind their backs. A refreshing, if not awkward approach). Big bones were claimed by the Fijians amongst us. One teacher (83kg) was constantly commenting that she has always been 60kg (unlikely, she is a giant, big bones.) And it went on and on and on until everyone had committed everyone elses weights to memory and told each other what they thought of their mass, girth and impact on earth.
Thank god we didn't have to get needles as well!
*(actually I exaggerate slightly, the majority of the children were much better behaved and braver than I would have ever been, I like to think its because they didn't know what was coming?)
Wednesday 20 July 2011
Wednesday 6 July 2011
A Stages Bus
The trip from Ba to Lautoka is a well worn route for me. A quick 40min trip one way gets me to my swimming location 3 times a week. Finish school 3pm, bus from Ba 3:15, arrive Lautoka just before 4, stroll up to the Northern Club, dive in, quick 1.5-2kms, dry off, coffee (if I have company), back to Lautoka bus station, 5:30 bus back to Ba, home before dinner is served (if I don't have company).
Really not too much effort for a very enjoyable swim, and what can be described as a pleasant bus trip. That is if i haven't been duped into catching a stages bus yet again...
A stages bus is the exact opposite of an express bus. And is a perfect example of Fijian culture. Instead of a pleasant 40min one way trip, a stages bus trip is over 1.5 hrs of hair tearing, nail biting, teeth grinding frustration.
You see bus stops haven't quite made it to Fiji yet. Yes bus stations are the hub of every big town, and bus shelters are THE place to hang out in smaller villages, but bus stops are non-existent or non-functioning. And here lies the #1 problem with stages buses. They stop. Everywhere. This does not mean they stop at regular 500m intervals, or at major intersections. No. They appear to provide a more or less a door to door service. This means that if you and your next door neighbour are waiting for the bus they will pick you up then they will drive and pick your next door neighbour up. The same applies if you and your neighhbour are getting off the bus. And to top it all off the ride is not smooth and the bus takes a lot to get moving so i have decided to give you a little taste of a ride on a stages:
Ba bus station: board bus (usually pulled up at the express stop, with an encouraging wave from the driver to come on in). Squeeze down narrow isle, past the badly positioned poles (I really have no idea how some of the bigger members of society, and there are a lot of them, manage this tricky navigation). Try to avoid getting the middle spot in the 3 person seat (George has a knack of being wedged between the 2 biggest Fijian women on the bus). Sit down. Open window. Arrange bags on lap (if this involves a surf board (laid down the isle) the excitement of the trip increases ten fold - for everyone on the bus bar me). Glance up. Notice the unusually high number of school children on the bus. Start to panic (school children = almost certain sign that you have been conned into boarding the stages bus). rev. rev. rev. gear crunch. revvvvvvv. Bus starts to move out of station. eeek. Bus stops for people who have been sitting around watching or chatting, to board bus. rev. rev. rev. gear crunch. revvvv. Bus moves forward (or backwards) again. beep. eeek. puttputt. navigation of buses parked at all angles is a genuine skill. eeek. Chat with other bus driver through windows. rev. rev. rev. gear crunch. revvvv. Go! Out of the bus station! eeeeeek. stop. More people board, as walking IN to the station is far too far. Conductor gets out. Loads on sacks of something (most probably cassava). Piles them around driver. New arrivals squeeze onto seats (usually the middle of the 3 seater, as the isle occupant is not giving up their prime position, no matter how much squeezing is required to get past them). rev. rev. rev. gear crunch. revvvv. OUT OF THE BUS STATION! annnnnd crunch SECOND GEAR! eeeeeeek. stop. more passengers. rev. rev. rev. gear crunch. revvvvv. first. second. third! And we are making our way through town. Over bridge. Left turn. Left turn? Left turn! BLOODY LEFT TURN! (confirmation that this is indeed a stages bus, and I have in fact been conned). Around the block and 5 stops later we are back on the high way. Yay! Not. The next 1.5 hrs consists of rev. rev. rev. First gear. rev. Sec....ding. eeek. Stop. Wait. Person collects bags. Stands up. Squeezes past other 2 people on seat. Shuffles down isle (tilo tilo tilo). Pays driver. Chats to driver. Gets off. Points to package. Gets package passed off. rev. rev. rev. 1st gear. revvvvv. Ding. eeeeeek. Stop. Repeat. rev. Ding. eeeek. Repeat. rev. Ding Ding. Repeat. So much so that Amy and I take bets on how many seconds between stops, 5 is a pretty sure bet. Reaching second gear without hearing a ding is worth celebrating. Looking down the road ahead and seeing 3 people standing 50m apart is not a good sign (unless you have a bet on <5sec), we will stop for all of them. Individually. And probably with an added drop off somewhere in between. In addition when you ding the bell that means you want to get off. Immediately. i.e. stop right now this is my house. Thus every stop is a tyre screeching, head jerking, body bracing, bag clutching, not so enjoyable experience. And the trip is a bloody long one. Unfortunately you cant jump off and wave down the express bus that you were supposed to catch because they are not guaranteed to stop for you. Instead you just watch them zoom past you on the outskirts of town, and spend the entire trip gazing your watch calculating how much closer to Lautoka you would already be if the bloody stages driver hadn't pulled up at the bloody express station, to pick up the bloody lazy people who were chatting with their friends in the park (having deciding that when the bus is actually leaving is a much better time to board, than sitting on the bus in the bus station), and bloody beckoned you to come aboard.
To enjoy your ride on a stages bus more thoroughly, it is beneficial to have a appreciation of Hindi RnB remixes. This style of music is difficult to explain as nothing so terrible exists in Australia. However I'll try my best. Take any hip hop, RnB or pop overplayed song (e.g. Rhianna) take the chorus, cut it and loop it, add some heavy, but tinny bass to it (enough so you cant really hear the original beat or song), record a young widow wailing and play it over the top of the bass over the top of the song that was murdered (perhaps explaining the wailing) add a dash of bells and ta da! Now give it to a bus driver to BLAST out of the speakers (which I always unfortunately happen to plonk my ass directly underneath) loud enough so mobile conversations are impossible (sorry Nick and Annette), an iPod is useless and conversation is non existent. Voila you have a hit in fiji! Or permanent hearing loss + a headache.
Just in case you start fearing for your safety due to the volume and frequency of beeping you hear emitting from the drivers horn, fear not, there are not nearly that many near misses, close calls or almost incidents. No here in Fiji a horn toot means a myriad of things. And almost all are friendly and polite- another fine example of Fijian culture. So here are the possible meanings behind those friendly toots:
toot toot!
Really not too much effort for a very enjoyable swim, and what can be described as a pleasant bus trip. That is if i haven't been duped into catching a stages bus yet again...
A stages bus is the exact opposite of an express bus. And is a perfect example of Fijian culture. Instead of a pleasant 40min one way trip, a stages bus trip is over 1.5 hrs of hair tearing, nail biting, teeth grinding frustration.
You see bus stops haven't quite made it to Fiji yet. Yes bus stations are the hub of every big town, and bus shelters are THE place to hang out in smaller villages, but bus stops are non-existent or non-functioning. And here lies the #1 problem with stages buses. They stop. Everywhere. This does not mean they stop at regular 500m intervals, or at major intersections. No. They appear to provide a more or less a door to door service. This means that if you and your next door neighbour are waiting for the bus they will pick you up then they will drive and pick your next door neighbour up. The same applies if you and your neighhbour are getting off the bus. And to top it all off the ride is not smooth and the bus takes a lot to get moving so i have decided to give you a little taste of a ride on a stages:
Ba bus station: board bus (usually pulled up at the express stop, with an encouraging wave from the driver to come on in). Squeeze down narrow isle, past the badly positioned poles (I really have no idea how some of the bigger members of society, and there are a lot of them, manage this tricky navigation). Try to avoid getting the middle spot in the 3 person seat (George has a knack of being wedged between the 2 biggest Fijian women on the bus). Sit down. Open window. Arrange bags on lap (if this involves a surf board (laid down the isle) the excitement of the trip increases ten fold - for everyone on the bus bar me). Glance up. Notice the unusually high number of school children on the bus. Start to panic (school children = almost certain sign that you have been conned into boarding the stages bus). rev. rev. rev. gear crunch. revvvvvvv. Bus starts to move out of station. eeek. Bus stops for people who have been sitting around watching or chatting, to board bus. rev. rev. rev. gear crunch. revvvv. Bus moves forward (or backwards) again. beep. eeek. puttputt. navigation of buses parked at all angles is a genuine skill. eeek. Chat with other bus driver through windows. rev. rev. rev. gear crunch. revvvv. Go! Out of the bus station! eeeeeek. stop. More people board, as walking IN to the station is far too far. Conductor gets out. Loads on sacks of something (most probably cassava). Piles them around driver. New arrivals squeeze onto seats (usually the middle of the 3 seater, as the isle occupant is not giving up their prime position, no matter how much squeezing is required to get past them). rev. rev. rev. gear crunch. revvvv. OUT OF THE BUS STATION! annnnnd crunch SECOND GEAR! eeeeeeek. stop. more passengers. rev. rev. rev. gear crunch. revvvvv. first. second. third! And we are making our way through town. Over bridge. Left turn. Left turn? Left turn! BLOODY LEFT TURN! (confirmation that this is indeed a stages bus, and I have in fact been conned). Around the block and 5 stops later we are back on the high way. Yay! Not. The next 1.5 hrs consists of rev. rev. rev. First gear. rev. Sec....ding. eeek. Stop. Wait. Person collects bags. Stands up. Squeezes past other 2 people on seat. Shuffles down isle (tilo tilo tilo). Pays driver. Chats to driver. Gets off. Points to package. Gets package passed off. rev. rev. rev. 1st gear. revvvvv. Ding. eeeeeek. Stop. Repeat. rev. Ding. eeeek. Repeat. rev. Ding Ding. Repeat. So much so that Amy and I take bets on how many seconds between stops, 5 is a pretty sure bet. Reaching second gear without hearing a ding is worth celebrating. Looking down the road ahead and seeing 3 people standing 50m apart is not a good sign (unless you have a bet on <5sec), we will stop for all of them. Individually. And probably with an added drop off somewhere in between. In addition when you ding the bell that means you want to get off. Immediately. i.e. stop right now this is my house. Thus every stop is a tyre screeching, head jerking, body bracing, bag clutching, not so enjoyable experience. And the trip is a bloody long one. Unfortunately you cant jump off and wave down the express bus that you were supposed to catch because they are not guaranteed to stop for you. Instead you just watch them zoom past you on the outskirts of town, and spend the entire trip gazing your watch calculating how much closer to Lautoka you would already be if the bloody stages driver hadn't pulled up at the bloody express station, to pick up the bloody lazy people who were chatting with their friends in the park (having deciding that when the bus is actually leaving is a much better time to board, than sitting on the bus in the bus station), and bloody beckoned you to come aboard.
 |
| Cuties waiting on a stages bus. Big lady in background, avoid that seat. |
 |
| View from the front row. Packages loaded, gear stick padded. Standard. |
To enjoy your ride on a stages bus more thoroughly, it is beneficial to have a appreciation of Hindi RnB remixes. This style of music is difficult to explain as nothing so terrible exists in Australia. However I'll try my best. Take any hip hop, RnB or pop overplayed song (e.g. Rhianna) take the chorus, cut it and loop it, add some heavy, but tinny bass to it (enough so you cant really hear the original beat or song), record a young widow wailing and play it over the top of the bass over the top of the song that was murdered (perhaps explaining the wailing) add a dash of bells and ta da! Now give it to a bus driver to BLAST out of the speakers (which I always unfortunately happen to plonk my ass directly underneath) loud enough so mobile conversations are impossible (sorry Nick and Annette), an iPod is useless and conversation is non existent. Voila you have a hit in fiji! Or permanent hearing loss + a headache.
Just in case you start fearing for your safety due to the volume and frequency of beeping you hear emitting from the drivers horn, fear not, there are not nearly that many near misses, close calls or almost incidents. No here in Fiji a horn toot means a myriad of things. And almost all are friendly and polite- another fine example of Fijian culture. So here are the possible meanings behind those friendly toots:
- the bell has just dinged and I will be stopping, immediately, so please be warned and don't run up my ass
- there is a car/ truck/ bus/ horse coming in the opposite direction, now is not a good time to overtake me, nor is it a good time to pull out to check if it is a good time to over take me
- do you want to catch this bus even though you are waiting on the other side of the road?
- bula!
- I'm overtaking you now, please don't pull out, or swerve, or drive on the wrong side of the road for the next 30 seconds.
- thanks for letting me pass
toot toot!
Friday 1 July 2011
A bitter cold winters day. In Fiji.
So last weekend was a scheduled party/ social gathering/ catch up weekend at the Beach House on the Coral Coast. Surfing, reading, beers, sunning, volleyball, pool time and leisure were on the cards. What we got was pissing rain, a capsized boat (in a storm), stepping on cane toads in bare feet in the dark and beers. Luckily we coped. Quite well (thanks to the beers).
The lead up to departure time on Sunday arvo consisted heavily of bragging to our Suva cousins that unlike in dreary Suva it would not be raining in Ba (because it never does of course). Incredibly unfortunately for us it rained the entire 4.5 hour bus journey back to Ba (so much for the burning west), and Ba itself was no exception. As an added surprise we came home to a blackout (the last time it rained in Ba the Vodafone phone and internet service crashed). So much for catching up on over a weeks washing and internets.
With the rain came a slight drop in temperature...
Enter a bitter cold winters Monday morning at BSSE. With a minimum recorded temperature of 18 degrees and a max of 23, combined with constant drizzle BSSE went into semi hibernation mode. Ski jackets, gangster hoodies, beanies, gloves, track pants under school dresses, boots (socks with sandals for the majority not fortunate enough to own boots) and scarves were not in short supply. In fact every single person at school was rugged up like it was an ice age. However having completed a speech pathology degree with 4 years of critiquing research studies, and being drilled about randomised control trials and sample sizes I must be cautious that I am not generalising here. Thus I am openly declaring I cannot guarantee that what I am reporting on was a representative sample of how the students and teacher at BSSE respond to milder weather, especially considering that less than 50% of the usual number of students attended school (so perhaps I have only witnessed the stronger of the bunch?).
There is a proven link between cold and brain shutdown (hibernation) thus all classes were suspended for the day, the TV was switched on and as the students huddled in one classroom the teachers tried to warm themselves in the staffroom with endless cups of steaming hot tea (and endless discussion about the weather, and how much nicer it would be to be rugged up at home). On top of this school finished early and the entire staff granted themselves an early mark and piled out the school gates 2 hours early to head home where they could access more socks, jumpers, blankets and hot tea.
Through post event discussion with my Suva cousins, and our sista in the north, I have deduced that this phenomenon is not restricted to BSSE or Ba, but the entirety of Fiji enters lock down mode as soon as the thermometer drops below 20.
Oh and boy do they like to talk about it.
Moce!
The lead up to departure time on Sunday arvo consisted heavily of bragging to our Suva cousins that unlike in dreary Suva it would not be raining in Ba (because it never does of course). Incredibly unfortunately for us it rained the entire 4.5 hour bus journey back to Ba (so much for the burning west), and Ba itself was no exception. As an added surprise we came home to a blackout (the last time it rained in Ba the Vodafone phone and internet service crashed). So much for catching up on over a weeks washing and internets.
With the rain came a slight drop in temperature...
Enter a bitter cold winters Monday morning at BSSE. With a minimum recorded temperature of 18 degrees and a max of 23, combined with constant drizzle BSSE went into semi hibernation mode. Ski jackets, gangster hoodies, beanies, gloves, track pants under school dresses, boots (socks with sandals for the majority not fortunate enough to own boots) and scarves were not in short supply. In fact every single person at school was rugged up like it was an ice age. However having completed a speech pathology degree with 4 years of critiquing research studies, and being drilled about randomised control trials and sample sizes I must be cautious that I am not generalising here. Thus I am openly declaring I cannot guarantee that what I am reporting on was a representative sample of how the students and teacher at BSSE respond to milder weather, especially considering that less than 50% of the usual number of students attended school (so perhaps I have only witnessed the stronger of the bunch?).
 |
| sneaky beanie shot |
 |
| Ski jacket, hood up |
 | ||
| Vitila dons gloves, Caroline ditches uniform all together |
Through post event discussion with my Suva cousins, and our sista in the north, I have deduced that this phenomenon is not restricted to BSSE or Ba, but the entirety of Fiji enters lock down mode as soon as the thermometer drops below 20.
Oh and boy do they like to talk about it.
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