Friday, 24 January 2014
There's chapatti in my mouth and everyone's welcome! Continued tales from Goa
COUNTRY: India
PROGRAM: UniBreak
PROJECT: Teaching & Care Work
WRITTEN BY: Sally Kirk
First free weekend in Goa: “It’s my chapatti, and I’ll buy 5 kilograms of chai tea if I want to”, alternatively dubbed, “Dinner time in Goa: There’s a chapatti in my mouth, and everyone’s invited. Except you, dodgy street cart food. You can stay home.”
So the past couple of weeks have been completely insane.
Friday
After spending both Wednesday and Thursday night at Majorda beach, we decided to spend our first Friday evening at Colva instead. Half of us browsed the market stalls, while the other half ventured off to the beach.
Colva in general is much busier, and much more touristy than anywhere we’d been so far. Majorda beach is populated almost exclusively by Russian tourists. Owners of the cafes and bars along the beach seem to all already know we’re from “Idex?! Idex?!”, and treat us with discounts accordingly. I’m not complaining. Yesterday, the owner of the beach cafe we usually go to presented us with this sizeable reward for being Not-Russian and Purchasing-hefty-quantities-of-iced-tea-on-a-daily-basis.
Apparently, something like 4 out of every 5 tourists in Goa are actually Indian. Charlotte and Trisha, after going swimming at Colva beach, said that they felt very aware of how much they stood out in their bikinis. Even moving along up the beach, they were followed by gaggles of Indian tourists, all staring, and many taking not-so-sly photos from a not-so-distant distance. Some even asked if they could have pictures taken with them. It’s true that, while at first you feel like a bit of a celebrity, the eyes of strangers bearing down on you quickly starts to feel intrusive. Then again, we are constantly snapping photos of women in sarees packed onto a motor scooter, carrying water on their heads, or gathered next to a particularly picturesque fruit stall. Things that are strange and beautiful to us, but insignificant in the daily lives of the locals here.
We met up with the others for dinner and, after waiting around for almost 2 hours for a place to seat 11 people, we ate at what was probably the best Indian restaurant I’ve ever been to. The curries were served in ornate silver pots, like little steaming bathtubs, and the collective mountain of roti we ordered was so fresh, so doughy and warm, I just wanted to wrap it around me like a giant cocoon, and live in it’s belly forever, and have it suffocate me with love and puffiness.
Saturday
Saturday was a packed day. In the early afternoon, we went on a tour of a spice plantation, where we walked through beautiful forests and learned about the properties of a range of plants (cinnamon, lemongrass, nutmeg… apparently every second spice is either an aphrodesiac, a miracle skin treatment, or “makes you on the high”). Our tour guide also brought us shots of Feni to have before lunch – a local Goan liquor, made from cashew fruit or coconut, and about 40% alcohol. Hours after lunch, Celina (one of the project-managers from the camp) said very aptly, that she could still feel the Feni “dancing on her head”.
The boat cruise that evening was…. Memorable. We spent 3 hours on this big, rickety boat, an enthusiastic DJ introducing us to a series of traditional Goan dances, performed by four not-so-enthusiastic teenagers. The DJ then invited first the children, then all the couples on board to come up on the dance floor and “hold your partner as much as you love them” (All you single people…. You can just sit there in the corner. Yes, there. No, don’t smile. Stop moving. It’s not your turn, dammit. Drink your Feni.) After venturing below deck to brave the bathroom situation (verdict: ohdeargodwow. It was wet), Jess and I ran into the boys from dance troupe. A little star struck, we giggled and stumbled around as they attempted to teach us some form of Portugese salsa – before some guy yelled at them in Hindi to get upstairs, and stop fraternising with the (very uncoordinated) boat guests.
Sunday
After watching the sunset, Charlotte and I (geniusly) decided to walk back to camp, keen for some exercise after a week of overloaded dinner plates and hammock-dwelling. For the second time in two days, we got horrendously lost. In hindsight, it was pretty predictable – we’d never walked before, didn’t know the way, didn’t have a map…. but had been told it was “pretty much a straight line” from the beach back to Idex (unclear in exactly which direction this was…. We cleverly decided to wing it #universityeduation #qualitylifechoices).
Week Two on the Projects: The Government School
The teacher was absent for the entire week at the Day Care centre (for a variety of reasons – from a family dinner party to a wedding, to delivering nutrition supplements to the homes of the kids in the daycare class), and we had an average of 20 kids attending each day. Needless to say…. We were on struggle street.At this point, I’m getting to know each of the children though, and it makes each day that much easier. The
The most difficult thing about teaching at the government school is, when there’s always such a range of ages and ability, it’s difficult to cater to all the kids at once. Either we’re singing the colours of the rainbow, and the smarter kids already know it all, or we try something more advanced, and the littler ones are instantly lost and mute (or, in the case of the 2-year-old boys, tackling and tumbling over each other on the carpet)
Adolescent Girls
It’s quickly become my favourite time of day – when we pull up at 2.30 to the rubbish heap outside, and the girls are all gathered there, waiting to grab our hands and lead us to the classroom. It’s such a vibrant community, always so full of life and optimism. Everybody smiles and waves to you in the streets, and there always seems to be some kind of celebration going on. On Tuesday, we had a public holiday for the Muslim festival of Eid. As Monte Hill is largely a Muslim community, the entire place was decked out in fairy lights and vibrant flags, all red and green little moons, constantly waving and pirouetting in the breeze. All the girls were scrubbed up beautifully in their sarees and best salwar kameez (patterned tunics with matching pants and scarf).
Before we went to class, the volunteers were invited into the home of the family who usually host the Adolescent Girls class. We sat on their rug, and they served us some Falooda (a milky, rose-flavoured beverage) and stuffed puri (homemade pastry, filled with a sugary lentil dal) – traditional dishes cooked for the Eid festival. It continues to amaze me how hospitable the Goan people are. Less amazing for my waistline though. The health kick starts…. tomorrow.
I can’t imagine what it will be like to leave these girls in just two weeks. It’s strange to think that I’ll go home, back to my normal life, and they’ll still be here, growing up. Becoming older, more beautiful, getting better at their times tables and at henna and homemaking. In only a few years, some of them getting married.
This weekend, we’re heading down the coast to Palolem beach, apparently one of the must-see tourist destinations in Goa. It’s renowned for it’s sweeping white sands, lined with palm trees and beach-front bars. We’re staying in little huts just along the shore line. I am far too excited for this.
Edited by Antipodeans
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