A Middle-aged english village schoolteacher
We have been here for ten days and I have settled in. I feel have got into my stride with teaching; communication has developed a pace. The children are working hard and we are having fun.
I think that escaping from the Hanoi floods and the contrast of everything here disorientated me. Particularly difficult was being expected to teach the day after we arrived. I am compiling a list of induction material and suggestions for future volunteers. It has been very exciting zapping to school every morning on the back of a motorbike but it has meant that I haven’t got the feel of the lie of the land under my feet.
Today I have the afternoon off. I have been lent an old gearless bike by Phuong’s cousin. I cycle slowly along the ochre dried mud tracks to the schools and beyond, abreast of the buffalos pulling woodladen carts. I smell the deep dank smell of their skin. In the lake are fuschia coloured water lilies. I hadn’t noticed their perfume before. The morning glory plants in full bloom drape over the palm thatched dwellings. I test the route, making a map for future volunteers, taking my time, navigating chickens and dogs. I will get up earlier tomorrow morning and cycle to school calmly. I cycle past our village shops. Hello, hello, hello. This is OK. I am the middle aged English schoolteacher on her bike and I recognise my pupils.
Just past the railwayline to the left there is a track which curves past the huge lake and up the hill. I hear music from a large building partially hidden by giant fan palms and banana trees. I push my bike upwards in the heat. It is a large hidden temple..so close. I am beckoned to enter. A seat is offered to me. About forty people sit in a crescent on the floor in front of the altar. Beside me is a group of musicians playing traditional instruments that I have never seen before. In front of the altar people are kneeling. A man is adorned in a gauze pink ankle length dress by helpers. He kneels and prostates himself, then rises and dances in a jerky fashion to the music before being disrobed. Fruit and vegetables are distributed to the congregation. I am reminded that I know nothing of the spiritual beliefs prevalent in Vietnam. Is this a wedding? A feast is layed out in the courtyard. I am given a little packet of food wrapped in a banana leaf. I feel this is an exciting event to attend on my first solo bicycle trip, but what is it? Phuong doesn’t know what it can be. He is surprised I happened upon it and says it is illegal to dance in the temple. Peter suggests it might be a coming out ceremony. Phuong asks around in the village and reports back that it is an addictive cult that is prohibited by the government. I suppose Peter could be right. The made up man dancing in pink gauze was strangely mesmerizing. All week I have been teaching using the story of Goldilocks and the three bears. I feel that in this lone exploration into the forest of banana trees and giant bamboo I have been rewarded for my hard work. My discovery was definitely more exciting than three bears eating porridge. I am glad that I do not have to go back home to my mother and be told that I am a naughty girl.
The cousins have been rethatching the cottage with palm leaves these past two days. We are to have a party to celebrate its completion here tonight. Phuong asks us if we mind them killing one of the dogs for the barbecue. Keeping up the prevalent stereotype of Westerners I try and look momentarily pained as I reply graciously ‘that’s fine.’ Secretly, however, I would be more than happy to see the demise of the one who has been keeping us awake all night with its incessant barking.