Day forty-six – Police manoeuvres

Exams are still going on at college, so I remain at something of a loose end.  No classes for me to take, and this afternoon I have accepted an invitation to the police school, to attend some sort of celebration there.  So in the morning, I took myself out to the dairy, which I have not visited for quite a while.  Sot it was quite a disappointment to find it completely shut up, with a notice pinned to the shutter with some Nepalese writing and an arrow… I looked next door, but nothing there.

I started to return, when I walked past a brand new shop on the other side of the road.  Sure enough, it had relocated, to brand new, larger, and relatively swish premises.  I went in to buy some yogurt, and got chatting with two of the brothers who run/own it (having taken advantage of a start-up grant from SPA.)  They are both very nice, and we got chatting, mainly about Hare Krishna – they are reguar attenders at a temple a few minutes walk away.  We made tentative arrangements that I will visit this Saturday, which is apparently a special day.  It starts at 4 am, apparently, so can’t see me managing that.

A lady was busy cooking samosas at a tiny roadside café, so I bought four – two for my lunch, two to go into the fridge for a snack later.  And then some fruit from a barrow on the street, and I hadf all I had come out for.  (And on the way back I spotted the children from a large state school lined up for assembly, so paused to look and take a photo or two.)

I was collected in a police landrover at 2, and driven out to visit the school – a long drive, 45 mins or so, and set in the middle of nowhere.  The boss there welcomed me, and we had a slightly awkward chat – when would I be able to come out?  It had been made perfectly clear, I thought, that this was not going to be possible, but they had been insistent with their invitation, and, out of curiosity mixed with politeness, I had come.

I was escorted to the school, laid out in what is now-familiar arrangement – rows of schoolchildren in a mixture of cultural dress and school uniform, and a section with comfortable chairs and name plates (my own said “Chris Walters, ex-teacher at Lord Williams’s School” which was at least accurate, and correctly punctuated.)  But it was clear that the school was not at all suitable for any contribution from me; they had just two years, 4 and 5 (or aged 10 and 11 – not exactly my usual range.)

There followed the usual display, dancing, some singing, a spot of martial arts… but all at the most simplistic level, and not really even charming (and the singing was execrable!)    And when the boss – I don’t know his exact title – gave a speech, he announced that I would be teaching there for a month.  Hmm.

I had been promised that I would be returned by 6, and it was already approaching that when I saw with a sigh that food was being laid out.  (Can you see with a sigh?  I did, anyway.)  The food was alright, but no better, and then I made it clear that I needed to be on my way.  I firmly rejected the offer of beer and whiskey that had been planned, as part of a cultural meeting apparently, and virtually had to insist on being taken back.  Now.  I invented an appointment, reminded them I had been promised to be returned by 6, smiled grimy at the joke(?) that this meant 6 am, and the land rover was summoned.

It was a long and horrible drive home; driving in the dark in Nepal is very stressful, headlights coming at you, cows lying down in the middle of a dark road, swerving round pedestrians…  I was enormously relieved when finally we arrived back at Dhangadhi.

I suppose the whole thing can be out down to linguistic misinterpretation, but I reckon it was just as much arrogance, that the boss had seen a problem – he was new in the job – and saw me as some sort of magical solution.  When what he really needed was a decent primary school teacher, skilled in teaching English to kids without any.  Which is absolutely not me.

I was angry all the same; we had tried, and failed, to find a time for a cast get-together before the long holiday, and this might have been it.  Ah well.  We live and learn.  But I will not be Yopied (long-term readers of this blog might remember the term.)