Lizard walk, July 6, 2010
W is cold at night, so he turns the air-con from 27o to OFF. Not knowing this, I wake a few times, thinking how warm it is before I drift back to sleep. He’s up at 8, I’m out of bed by 9, groggy from the sleeping pill. After a breakfast of PB and bread, it’s time to swim.
The groundskeepers are from Bangladesh. They swarm the compound in the morning before the heat hits, pruning palm trees, sweeping walks, and vacuuming the pool. The hose is across the main swim-line, so on every lap I have to duck under the floating tube. Someone comes back to start vacuuming again as I am on my last round. The swim goggles sure help. I can see the tiles of the receding and approaching walls of the circular pool underneath and the obstructing concrete island to the side. A man and his son splash from one end to the other, the dad coaching and cheering, the son valiantly diving and bobbing to the surface.
As I dress for the day, I glance in the mirror. I have two “black eye” circles – one under the length of an eye, the other from middle through the side. It looks like I’ve been punched. I stroke concealer over the dark blue strips – my goggles must have been too tight. And they held water out so nicely!
We’re scheduled for car pickup at noon. We have a leisurely morning, which is very nice as we shake off the night. Singapore is moving from a 2-session system of morning or afternoon to trying to get all children into classes at the same time. Presently, children study from 7.30-12.30 or 1-6. The maid will drop them off, pick them up, or they will be in care. Singaporeans work long hours, then socialize at the end of the day with family and friends. Meals might be at 8 or 9, or children buy food throughout the day at their convenience. Families seldom eat the same thing – there are choices for every taste, and everyone buys whatever they’re hungry for. We offer to bring lunch for Kara, but she waves us off. “I prefer to eat with my eyes before I eat with my stomach.”
I’m ready for class by 1.30, and students start to trickle in about 1.45. Five are missing at 2pm, and someone says, “We thought class started at 2.30, so some have gone for lunch.” This is fasting and prayer week: students assemble in the morning to pray, then have to come from the church campus in central Singapore for classes in Tampines from 2-5pm. They head back in the evening for 7-9.30pm services. Someone phones the missing classmates, and they tromp in a few minutes later. I tell them the next cellphone that rings is on the table at the front of class: they are to turn off cellphone and texts throughout class. I set the class temperature to 25oC (about 77oF), but Paul brings the office remote with him adjusts the setting when he comes in for the second session. He has the reputation for turning the air-con on high, and the classroom begins to chill. At break, I snag the remote: it is set for 16oC (about 61oF). Brrr. No wonder we were shivering.
Class is FUN. The spontaneity of being able to design learning experiences to highlight a point makes it pure delight for me. Before the first break, I ask students to reformat the room into another learning configuration. Several of them get right to it: the straight lines disappear into a circle, chairs behind tables. Some of the students are disappointed: they left for break, expecting to help or have input when they returned. “But you started without us!” We talk about learner and cultural expectations: task orientation vs. process orientation. "You said take a break and then move the room around. But they moved it right away, before break!"
“How does the room feel, compared to the first structure?” I ask. They say they feel more connected, able to look at each other and talk to each other. At the second break, I appoint a student to take charge of another configuration.
“Me? I get to choose?” he asks. And then he requests the students to put their chairs in front of the tables. One student strongly protests the awkwardness of the arrangement. It takes a while before everyone is in a circle, tables behind their chairs. We will change at every break – part of a learning environment is the use of space, and we’ll see how many options they can think of. The students move a lot, interact well, laugh and talk, and clap for the end of class. “This is fun teaching,” I think to myself, “Much preferred to the dry transfer of theological information.”
Meanwhile, W has been setting up the camera in our office to record his coursework. Jonathan will video W’s presentation for distribution in Africa and elsewhere. W is designing a delivery system for students without access to traditional classrooms.
Kara drops us off at the flat around 6. W repairs the broken blind in our bedroom with a simple screw-in hook (bigger size than the one that pulled out of the ceiling). I’m happy: the sun won’t shine onto my face in the morning tomorrow.
We leave our things behind and head out for supper. W finds his extension cord, some pastries, plastic bags, and a compact meat tenderizer (nails pounded through a board) that I want to use for an art project back home. We eat an indifferent meal at Economy Meal: I have three veges (all green for some reason) and fried fish. W has long beans (green beans) and the same fish @ $4 for both. The food is lukewarm and greasy. We stroll around the small neighborhood mall, exclaiming as a McDonalds delivery boy heads into the street, a thermal backpack strapped across bony shoulders. “24 hours a day/7 days a week McDonald Delivery” exclaims the logo.
A two-inch lizard scoots across the sidewalk as we walk toward home. The Indian construction crews are waiting along the roadside for pickup back to Little India. The new skeletons of buildings are draped in fabric to prevent dust from migrating to the sidewalks. A few workers wield hoses to wash down the construction vehicles: when they hit the road, tires, bumpers, and undercarriage are mud-free. Another worker sweeps the dust from the pavement.
It’s a short one-mile walk back to our apartment. A junior-high aged boy strides up the sidewalk and turns off into a gate. It is 7.30, and he’s just coming home from school. “Children here don’t go to bed until 10 or 11,” Kara told us. “Even church children stay up late. Their parents will drop them off at After-School Care (daycare before or after regular school hours), sometimes as early as 6 or 7am. Then the parents go to work, and pick up the children for church activities that might last from 7pm until 9 or 10. The children do homework when they get home, so it might be very late when they get to bed.” Yes, that was true of her children as well.
We are at the very far end of the complex, which may be a problem for Kirsten. It is a steady uphill climb to our entry. The elevator whisks us up 13 storeys and deposits us on the little landing near our door. We have tea and split a few of the smaller pastries. Then I head to bed, while W stays up to wait for the children. He’ll hop a bus at 11.30pm for the airport, then bring Kirsten and Jono back in a taxi.
