Teaching in the jungle

I have, officially, had two weeks of classes, although I have yet to have a full week of classes here in Ampangan Woh, a village on a hillside in the jungle near a small town called Tapah. Although I've written a couple of posts already about my new center, I thought that, with classes moving along and feeling at least somewhat settled in my new digs, an update was in order. I've also spent this weekend and last weekend helping out with a food donation project in a northern city called Ipoh, so I'll say some (mostly) nice things about that.

The People
A major difference between the center in Chaah and the one in Ampangan Woh is that the community in Chaah, like that of Malaysia in general, is composed of a mix of Indian, Chinese, and Malay Malaysians. The country's three primary races tend to separate themselves from one another, at least to some extent. This is, in part, due to the differences in religion, in language, and, in many cases, though certainly not in all, in wealth and social standing. In Chaah, although it was common for me to run into Chinese and Malay neighbors on my morning jogs through town or at shops or restaurants, my students were all Tamil-speaking Indian Malaysians, due to the center's connection with a political group whose goals served the educational and cultural needs of the Indian community. This led to my (slowly) picking up some words in Tamil and even learning to read the unnecessarily difficult alphabet. I also ate a lot of curry and rice, and got used to introducing myself: "hello, my name is Emily, I am a teacher from the US and I can eat spicy food."
Ampangan Woh is a village of the Orang Asli, literally people of the land. Orang Asli is the name given to Malaysia's indigenous people. I am just beginning to learn about them, and all that I hear is very interesting. They face many of the same problems as exist for indigenous populations in most countries, most specifically loss of land and culture. Lately, many religious groups in Malaysia's multi religious atmosphere have been sending representatives to the Asli villages to convert the people. In Ampangan Woh, a Christian group arrived and started to build a church in the middle of the village, without consulting anyone or legally purchasing the land (if I understood correctly, the land there does not  officially belong to one person, but to Malaysia, and, although it should be used for the Asli people, it is reasonably easy for shady business to go down). For this reason Orang Asli are suspicious of religion in general and, though they are very spiritual in terms of their tribal beliefs, will claim to have no formal religion.
Ampangan Woh is a village of the Semai, one of Malaysia's largest Asli tribes. They speak a language called Bahasa Semai, which, while it shares little linguistic geneaology with Malaysia's official language, Bahasa Melayu, has been influenced by it to a great extent. The kids in Ampangan Woh attend a school at the bottom of the mountain - a bus arrives to pick them up at 5 am, and it is not uncommon for them to oversleep and miss class more than once a week - with a mix of Asli and Malay students. The language of instruction is Bahasa Melayu, but Semai is taught as a second language that both groups must study. Having devoted a large part of my final semester of university to studying the issues of identity and political power for groups whose mother tongue is not the official language of their country, I find this very interesting. Forcing fluency in Bahasa Melayu encourages more equal educational and political opportunities, should speakers of the identity language choose to pursue them, and requiring even students whose first language places them in a position of power to learn the minority language, to any extent, legitimizes the minority language as a worthwhile means of communication.
The Asli people, in general, live very simply. I am learning a lot about what a person needs to get by. I had expected it to be really hard to get used to not having a real toilet, or sleeping on the floor, or sitting cross legged on the floor, or sharing a room with enormous bugs and rats. I thought it might be hard to adapt to the isolation that comes with living in Ampangan Woh, a place that requires me to hitch a motorbike ride down the mountain to find a shop to buy a notebook or coffee or a bag of rice or a bottle of water, or anything that doesn't grow in the jungle. I get very limited cell service if I sit in one corner of the house. I am finding, though, that I really don't need anything I don't have there. The hotel beds where I spent two food donation weekends hurt my back, and sitting on the floor at eye level with my students makes it easier to see how they're doing. I haven't even hung up the mosquito net I bought to come here, and the humming of any bugs around lulls me to sleep. Being cut off from virtually anyone who speaks English has been, so far, really good for my Bahasa. I buy serious groceries (rice, coffee, cooking oil) whenever I'm in town, and otherwise, food just happens. We get what we need. Which brings me to...

The Food
I love the food in Ampangan Woh, even more than the food elsewhere in Malaysia. I adopted the set up from the previous teacher in the village, which is that I buy groceries for the family every now and then, and the family prepares it, and throws in some things from the jungle. For breakfast, we sometimes have just coffee, or we have bread, or ramen, depending on supplies. I'm not bothered, as long as there's coffee (instant, and half sugar, as everywhere else in Malaysia, but it does smell like coffee). Lunch and dinner are the same. There is always rice, with whatever the jungle chooses to provide us with on a particular day. This is often cassava leaves (possibly, although I'm not totally sure of the translation) and fresh chilies (just because I am no longer living with an Indian family does not, by any means, suggest that my food is any less spicy) patai beans, and other leafy veggies, and occasionally, fish caught in the river by one of the boys. Very rarely, the boys will be successful with their slingshots and birds will wind up on our (metaphorical) table. When there's meat, I don't ask questions. I find it better not to know. But the vegetables are so good! Cooked in any sauce or with any spices available to us (I try to buy at least onions and garlic whenever I am able) they taste so fresh. Whether or not it's just in my head, it feels so good to be eating straight from the land outside the house, and there is something to be said for the fact that whatever we eat, I know took some effort on the part of my host family to actually go deeper into the jungle to gather it.

The Classes
Another big change from Chaah is in relation to the classes here. While my classes in Chaah were held in a classroom, with desks in 8 neat rows and a teacher's desk facing them with a whiteboard at the front, the Ampangan Woh classroom is just part of the family's main house. The floor, as in the rest of the house, is made of bamboo pipes laid one next to the other. If you stand up too fast, or place your weight in just the wrong place, they snap under you. They are numerous enough that it's not a problem, and happens all the time, but it is quite jarring and a little embarrassing to hear a loud crack and realize you've just broken this family's house. As there are no desks or chairs in the house, the students and I sit on the floor, which gives the lessons a much less formal feel, not necessarily a bad thing. Sitting on the same level as my students relaxes the student-teacher relationship, which is really important, as most of my students are adults, my age or older. That's another thing. In Chaah, my students were all school children. I had always said that I'd prefer to teach adults and,  though I loved all my students there, by the end of the night I was exhausted of disciplining. In Ampangan Woh, I have two classes of illiterate adults (one mixed with literate, older public school students), two classes of adults who are halfway through the program (one including a handful of the sons and daughters of the students), and only one of children (in addition to the computer classes, which has only six students, who all happen to be teenage boys). I am thrilled to be teaching adults - they are so much more invested in the class then their youthful counterparts, as they really understand the value of what they are learning. However, it hasn't been a completely easy transition, as I have no experience teaching adults, and am a bit pressed to come up with age appropriate but also engaging activities.
To keep my classes straight, I have assigned each a color. Want a quick run through of my week?
The first class of the week is orange. They are a small group of mostly younger adults (late twenties and early thirties)  who are already halfway through the program. These are some of my strongest students, and because they are such a small group we are able to work really one on one. Also, perhaps because of their age, they really want to learn. They see English as something they can really use to improve their lives. The orange class meets three times a week. Like the other classes, they cannot meet every day, because they need time to go into the jungle each week to gather things that they need. So they come in the afternoon on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
The second class is yellow, who come on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings. They just finished a basic literacy program, but they are still working on sounding out words. Our classes, therefore, focus on doing the English exercises orally, and then practicing reading in Bahasa Melayu. They struggle, but they are definitely progressing. This is the class that makes me the proudest, but also makes me work the hardest. They are all adults, but most of them never had the chance to attend school because they grew up too deep into the jungle. Many, like my host parents, moved to Ampangan Woh to be closer to the school in town, so their children could have the educational opportunities they were denied themselves. For them, my jungle is the big city. It actually brings tears to my eyes when they read a word that has been giving them trouble, or correctly form the English question "what are these?" correct plural construction and all.
Third is the green class, a big class of students who are halfway through the program. They have class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights. Though they should be at the same level as the orange class, it takes them a little longer to get through the material, mostly just because there are more of them. They are mostly adults, some young, and some older, in their forties or fifties. A couple are in their sixties. This class, though, also has about 7-10 kids, who come to class with their parents because they must walk an hour from another part of the mountain, or simply because they behave better in class with their parents then with their friends.
The fourth class is blue, on Tuesday and Thursday nights. They are mostly adults, another group that just finished the literacy class, but they are a little quicker than the yellow class, except that it is a very big class, and many of them are very shy, so it's hard to get everyone participating. The class also includes a group of students from the town public school, but they are older kids, mostly around 15.
The kids' class is purple. They meet only twice a week, on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, and that is enough for me. It's a lot harder than in Chaah, where enough students knew enough English at the start to follow my directions or explain them to others. Here, I try my best in limited Bahasa and hand gestures, and coloring books when I can't do any more. While most of the exercises from our curriculum are too advanced for the kids, we are trying our best.
We also just started our computer class. It meets four afternoons a week and includes six of the young boys from the green class, who speak enough English at this point in the program to follow directions, or at least ask questions when they don't understand something I say. So far, we've had only one computer class, and we spent it playing with Microsoft paint, trying to get used to holding and moving the mouse, but next week we'll start a speed typing program, and then move on to basic skills in Word, PowerPoint, and Excel.

TESCO Food Donation Project
This weekend and last weekend, I have spent Friday, Saturday, and Sunday at a massive supermarket (think Target only not as well organized) asking customers to donate food for a local charity - an orphanage. The supermarket is in a city called Ipoh, a few hours north of KL, and somewhat close to Ampangan Woh. By "somewhat" I mean that to get to Ipoh I must get a ride down the mountain on the back of a student's motorbike, then catch a bus from the bottom to the town nearby, then another bus to a midpoint town, and finally a third bus to Ipoh. From the Ipoh bus station, I can take a city bus to the supermarket, which is just around the corner from a cheap hotel that a coworker, who grew up here, was nice enough to find for me. All in all, it is quite a trek to Ipoh. The journey this past Thursday took six hours door to door. I did get to do a little sight seeing (a phrase which, in Bahasa Melayu, I was delighted to learn, translates literally to "eating the breeze") out the window of the bus as we drove through Old Town. Ipoh seems to be a pretty little city, with lots of evidence of British influence. Yeah colonialism! There is even a clock tower.
The project itself is hard work. Eleven hours a day, I hand people flyers and ask them, in Bahasa, if they can donate food. Most people don't understand me, but the ones who are really interested in donating sometimes come running back out to have me explain further, and once they get it, a lot of people are extremely charitable. I was a little disappointed to find that no one from the orphanage came to help out with the project, seeing as they're the beneficiaries and all, but people get a real kick out of a white girl speaking terrible Bahasa and handing out flyers. It's pretty tedious and lonely work, just standing by myself asking people to donate to an orphanage I know nothing about and have zero connection to, and I learned during my internship a couple summers ago that I am no great raiser of funds. Every rude response (and there are many that seem rude to me) puts me in a grumpier and grumpier mood, not much relieved whenever I consider that no one who is getting either benefit from or recognition for the project (specifically the orphanage and the grocery store) has been helpful at all. The manager of the supermarket even told me that the collection table had to face backwards and be out of the way of customers. This is supposed to be their big Ramadhan donation project and has literally nothing to do with me, so maybe they could take an interest in it. Still, all this is worth it every time someone makes a donation. There have been many happy moments. One man and his daughter donated an entire shopping cart of food. Another older man gave bags and bags of rice and noodles, and told me I was doing a really incredible thing. When I told him that he was the one doing an incredible thing, he refused to hear it, saying "what's a few extra bags of rice? Nothing." One woman misunderstood me (okay just about everybody misunderstood me) and thought she could give cash after she finished shopping. When I told her we could only take food, she selected a few items from her own shopping cart, things she had bought for herself, and placed them on the donation counter. A guy from Pittsburgh and his Malaysian wife donated a huge collection of food and told me that their neighbor is looking for some international social work. She is going to apply for my organization. A little girl tried to donate her half-eaten ice cream cone. These more than make up for the rude ones, even the ones focusing so hard on ignoring me that they run over my toes with their shopping carts. I will never love fundraising, but I have mostly enjoyed these weekends. I'm looking forward to getting back to Ampangan Woh, though, and pushing ahead with my classes! We've got an exciting week ahead of us, with (hopefully) some awesome projects for my first real weekend in the village!

Suddenly Goodbye

I have left Chaah. But let me start from the beginning.

Almost exactly two months ago, at my first CDO meet up (where all the teachers in Malaysia get together in KL for a weekend of city life... Er, I mean training), I got to talking with a teacher from Chile, named Angello, who is one of our most seasoned teachers, and was nearing the end of his one year contract. I had heard rumors about him and his center - that it was, firstly, in a village of Orang Asli, the indigenous people of Malaysia; that it was one of the most rural centers; and that his community was one of the neediest that we reach out to. I had always thought it sounded amazing, but talking to Angello only made me think that is where I want to teach. His love for the community was so clear, and his experience sounded so amazing, his only regret was that he was leaving at the end of June, before all of his students could graduate from our program, and he had been told that there was some difficulty finding a replacement for him. Failure to do so would mean closing the center. I said "I'll replace you" and tentative plans were made. About a month later, I sent a message to the person in charge of Angello's region, asking whether we were still on. He told me that they had actually found someone to replace Angello, who could head there earlier than me. I was a little crushed, but I understood. I had said I didn't want to leave Chaah before the end of August, when I estimated my students would graduate, which would leave a two month gap between Angello's departure and my arrival. Besides, I was told that there would be a lot of centers opening up in Asli communities in the next few months, and I was at the top of the teacher waiting list. I even started preparing to go to a village close to Chaah, and was getting ready to head there after the Chaah graduation.

This past weekend, we had another CDO meetup (we have them every two months). Almost the second I arrived, three people told me I was going to Angello's center on the 25th. I was like "of what month?" and they said "June". Once I got over the initial shock, and gotten over the disappointment that someone else was going to get to graduate my classes (a really lovely friend from Chaah who has been in training to take my place, but who was planning to do so only in August), I got really really excited. This is, after all, exactly what I wanted when I first came to Malaysia. Working with this organization to target undereducated communities in the most rural parts of the country, especially the Orang Asli groups, is why I took this job. I was practically jumping for joy in the headquarters, probably annoying everyone else except Angello, who was as excited as I was.

But, twist. About 11:00 that first evening, a friend of mine, who is in charge of the centers on the east coast, told me that I was not going to Angello's center, but rather to a new school in the northeast, by the sea. It's a fishing village, she assured me, and they really need help. Partially because it was late, and partially because I had spent the whole day getting beyond excited about the Orang Asli village, I was stubborn and upset. It took a good night's sleep to realize I could get excited about a fishing village on the beach in Malaysia too. Once I did realize that, I decided to just get excited about going somewhere I was needed, anywhere the people at HQ decided I could be most valuable as a teacher.

Still, something about the way Angello talked about the center where he had been working for the last year made me feel drawn to the place. So in a meeting with a handful of involved people, which felt more like a formal interview than my actual interview, I made it clear that while I would go happily to a place in need of a CDO, my opinion was that I would make a good replacement for Angello. After a lot of looking at each other and noddingn and shrugging from my interviewers, and a lot of nerve wracking from me, it was agreed that I should go to the village on Wednesday, a few days before Angello's departure on Sunday, to get to know the place and the people. I didn't stop beaming the whole night - I just felt like something perfect had fallen into place.

Of course, the situation isn't complication-free. Moving literally across the country on less than a week's notice is not simple, even in Malaysia, where time sometimes happens like that. I arrived back in Chaah on Monday evening, spent Tuesday training my replacement on everything she needs to know to run the Chaah center, from submitting reports to uploading photos to actually teaching the classes, and then I left my house and drove through the palm plantations for the last time on Wednesday, to take the 9 am bus to Kuala Lumpur, where I had to take the train across the city to the other bus station (one is for southbound buses, one one for northbound), and catch another bus. It was sad to say goodbye, with no warning. I didn't even get to see Anita and Dominig, as they were both out of town for courses this week. I spoke with Anita on the phone, and I hope that they both know how much I appreciate all they have done for me in the past three months. I did say goodbye to their kids, which was sad; I will miss them a lot. No one was as sad as my students, most of whom cried when I said I was leaving, and all of whom wrote me letters. I will really miss them, and plan to return to Chaah to celebrate their graduation once they finish the course.

I was going to Tapah, which Angello has described as "the city" near the village, where one can count on cell service and KFC. I wouldn't call in a city, but ask me after 8 months living in the jungle and maybe I'll have changed my mind. The bus didn't even drop me at a station: after asking whether I was sure I wasn't supposed to be going to Cameron Highlands, the popular tourist destination not too far from here, and scratching his head when I assured him I wanted to go to Tapah, the driver left me on the side of the road, and drove off probably to tell his friends that some white girl with a bunch of bags asked him to take her to Tapah. I looked around at the food stands and mini markets, and, yes, the KFC, and thought "this can't be what he meant by 'I'll meet you in the city". It was. I met him just outside KFC, which happens to be at the intersection of the two streets in Tapah (from what I can tell, there are only two), and we took the bus from Tapah to Batu Tujuh, the smaller town just down the mountain from the village. Then we bought some groceries for the family, and  headed, via Angello's motorbike, which I will (hopefully) learn to drive, and climbed up into the mountain, to my new home. Goodbye, Chaah. I will miss you and your endless palm fields, but for now I am happy to say I am at home here. Hello, Ampangan Woh.

Well, I am not allergic to bees

I have been settling into my new home - the village of Ampangan Woh - for almost a week now, and I couldn't be happier. I love everything here, from the house to the people to the environment. I am staying in the house of the leaders of the village, where Angello was staying before me. He introduced the owners of the house simply as Amek and Apak, or Mother and Father, so that's how I've come to know them, and they have really welcomed me into their family, as have all of their children and neighbors. Now in the house live Jawani, one of the daughters, who is 27, her young son, Bah Deni, and her twin brothers, who are 10 years old, Jakenny and Jakemmy. Altogether their are ten sons and daughters, but some live in other houses nearby, one has moved to Cameron Highlands, and two left this past weekend to participate in our full time English program in Kuala Lumpur. Good luck to them!

The house itself is incredible: it is made entirely out of bamboo collected from the jungle - sticks laid across sticks for floor and walls, thick branches for support, and woven leaves make th roof. It is absolutely beautiful, and certainly lets a breeze in now and then... What a blessing to wake up chilly! The house, as are all the surrounding structures, is built on stilts on the side of the hill, so that on the way back from the toilet or shower (shared by the whole village) when you have scrambled up the dirt and rock path and arrived unscathed (relatively) at the house, you still have a bamboo ladder to navigate. It makes you really question how badly you need a shower. My room is separate from the main house, it has a separate entrance, but is still attached and shares a ladder up. It is also the only part of the house made of wood, and is (thanks Angello!) painted a very pretty light green. Very suitable for the jungle. 

The dining area, living room, main room. No furniture means multipurpose!!

My bedroom

The shower is fed by the river, which means cold water, but heavy water pressure so clean clean hair! It's a small room down the hill a bit from the house, with walls made of bamboo leaves. A pipe shoots water further down the hill, and the stone floor and relaxing atmosphere make it feel like a spa. It's beautiful, and I love it.

Even more breathtaking are our surroundings here. Set pretty deep in the jungle (although not as deep as the family's original home - they moved here so the kids could attend school, but their home village requires a three hour trek), the view from the house is mesmerizing... All palm trees and jungle flowers, and the smell of durian wafts up from the town below. 

About a five minute walk (or slide, depending on one'a coordination) is a river, where I have so far spent almost all of my free time, with the kids jumping up as soon as someone says "let's go to the river!" The river is beautiful, and you can really tell how far the jungle goes on. On my second trip down to the river, I was following Angello and a few kids. All of the sudden, something hit my eye. As I was trying to figure out what was happening, someone shouted "teacher, run!" So we did. Only when we reached the safety of the river did I realize we had been attacked by bees. Mean bees. I had never been stung before, and in less than a minute I had gotten three stings. So there goes a great never have I ever move. In the past few days, I've gotten four more stings, so I guess they've gotten my scent or something. Bloodhound bees.

Bees aside, I think I'll stay here.