Fulbright Reflections 1 - Texas & NDSG

Godbless America and Texas!

Howdy y'all.
This post sees over 3 weeks since end to the conference I attended in Edinburg, South Texas. The group who convened the conference is called the North Dakota Study Group (NDSG) and is a group of around 160 progressive, liberal educators, and those who are interested in education. It was a three day conference with a number of workshops, discussion groups and field trips. Here are some of my thoughts on what I experienced over the three days. They are my ramblings and a kind of diary for me. They allow me to reflect and make sense of all I experienced over my three weeks in the States, warts, spelling mistakes and all!

People.
I was a little anxious about what type of people I would be working with: would they be interesting, accessible, would I understand their particular context, would I get shot in Texas? Yes to all except gun wounds. It was a very diverse group, both in terms of culture, socio-economic background and profession. There were lots of academics, educators and people from non-profit organisations, activists and just the plain interested. This of course led to some interesting dynamics and allowed me some insight into the intersection of race and education and how it manifests itself in society here.

Mariachi - fulfilling a lifelong dream!

Llano Grande Center
Firstly it hurts to spell centre the other way around. Probably as much as it was annoying how I instinctively went to the passenger side of the car only to find someone had inconveniently installed a steering wheel in the way. I digress. The center is a non-profit organisation that 'seeks to revitalize the community through youth'. It has become a focus of community, outreach and education in the Rio Grande Valley and as such, was the host for some writing work that the guys had come to visit were a part of. It was my first night and I came straight from the airport. I was exhausted and could have gone straight to bed. Instead, here was a group of really smart people talking of things of which I had little experience. It is only through the generosity of spirit and inclusion that I was able to keep my eyelids open! The group was sharing their experiences of using social action, or how they may, to engage their respective communities, which were diverse. It was my introduction to many inspiring people but also to the powerful sense of mentorship and support that would wrap around me throughout the trip. Here was a stranger in their midst and they did not hesitate to share and include. It was immediately disarming, I was intimidated walking into a group of people had shared such passion and intellectual strength. I needn't have worried. Thanks to all who welcomed me that night, especially the Guajardo brothers - who are a phenomenon. It was a wonderful introduction into the kind of discussion and brain/soul food I was to have throughout the conference.

Working at the Llano Grande Center/Centre

Race #1
Throughout the conference I felt this was a pervading undercurrent that run through proceedings. Whether it was addressed directly through workshops and discussion or we could see it during field trips and informal gatherings - race was partner to all that happened. At one stage we had Racial Affinity Group meetings, which separated the group into White and People of Colour. A moment of decision was forced. I identify as NZ European/Pakeha and NZ Maori. I am clearly not a White person, but ironically neither am I technically a Person of Colour - I am lily white and surburn, Sometimes genetics plays out in different ways. So here is a large group of People of Colour and people with colour. As we sat in a big circle I was acutely aware of the colour of my skin and it made me feel uncomfortable. I felt tension and during the warm-up activity people asked me what I was doing here and probably thought I was just a crazy New Zealander. It was a an open discussion and I made the decision that rather than sit here feeling like an impostor, I would address the issue directly. I told the group that they may be wondering why a sweater-vest wearing (fashion crime I know) lily white boy was doing sitting in the room and everyone burst into laughter - the sense of relief and break in tension was immediate. I explained and asserted my right to sit in that room, along with a couple of lame jokes about not being in the oven long enough and big white elephants in the corner... but it was an interesting situation for me personally. Never had I felt so uncomfortable and so many eyes on me in a professional situation. My sense of not-belonging and resulting not-wanting-to-be-there was profound. Which leads to my reflection on the nature of race and race based discussions as I saw it at this conference.

Discourse on race is extensive: newspapers, television but there is a distance created by the geographic divide between communities or the need to rationalise peoples own discomfort that became evident. Like anywhere else the US is very tribal, people of a feather and all that, but this is exacerbated by size - you can be very separate and develop quite happily because there is the room to do so, in addition, the country's continental nature makes the likelihood of contact less likely, or impossible, if you choose not to leave your community. There is a buffer of geography but also the intellectual buffer. I can sit quite comfortably in my armchair in Massachusetts and soundly condemn what is happening in Sandford without ever having to confront a reality. It is easy to say I am this and I believe this - to deal in the grand statements and generalities but how do we react when we are confronted? Viscerally. There was so much emotion and tension generated in our discussions around race and it was moving and disturbing. The 'angry Black man' was made real for me, the undocumented Latino, was more than a news report. That made a lot of people uncomfortable. There was heat, passion, disagreement. One group I was in was interesting and illustrates this difficulty. Almost every attempt by two Black members to share and explain an experience was met by an elderly Jewish woman by a 'me too', but more than showing empathy I really felt there was a reductive and defensive element to the tone and language of the conversation. There was so much hurt on both sides that rather than listen and accept there was too much anger at that this pain was 'unheard'. It was almost 'competitive trauma'. It became evident in listening to peoples journeys that there were just not fora available to discuss this safely. I listened to a colleague who had one fair son and a darker son and who worried more about the darker boy and was wracked with guilt, her honesty was deeply moving, as was the fact she shared that this was the first time she had verbalised her dilemma.

More on race in the US in a later post.

Rio Grande Valley Dive-bars

The dive bar next to the hotel, which had its own retro, plastic waterfall ambiance, was the Cubbyhole. Needless to say it was inappropriately named for the duration of the conference... It was in all of its run down splendour a perfect illustration of the impossible cultural intersection of the Rio Grande Valley. I watched a band made up of well-dressed latino play Australian heavy metal and British pop in the style of the American deep South. Talk about culture mash-up! My only regret is that I decided to make a late-night visit to another Texan institution What-a-Burger... Texas toast and onion rings with tartare sauce is not an experience I am in a hurry to repeat.

School bus. The weird looks I got because I was so excited. A design icon.

Gators in Lingere and Cooking Auto-Alfresco

Two of my most amusing and perhaps confusing encounters were at the Echo Hotel in Edinburg. It is a grand sixties creation and has a certain retro appeal - though with no irony whatsoever.
In the lobby appeared a stuffed alligator unusually posed next to a painted bar scene. If this wasn't strange enough it was dressed in very sexy lingerie. Hoping I hadn't stumbled into a twilight zone episode or furries convention I walked on affecting the casual stride of the amused and slightly anxious. However, the next day she was joined with a companion - a very 'putting on the ritz' kinda guy, with a top hat and monocle. Splendid. At least Lingerie Gator will not wander this world alone. It turns out the Valentines Day celebration was Cajun themed. Obviously. What is Valentines without taxidermy and sexy undies? There are around 200 local Rotarians who would disagree with me and when they are line dancing without irony. Wearing plaid and cowboy hats very seriously. Chances are they wont take kindly to my ironic criticism. All power to them really.

The second experience woke me at 5:30am in my first morning. A loud, cussing, explicit conversation between two guys with thick Southern accents on the merits of their relationships. I stepped outside to be confronted by two men in cowboy hats having a bbq on their pickup. They shot some hostile glances, sizing me up and nodded in unison. Luckily my accent is immediately disarming as they cannot place it accurately on things they kill. We exchanged nods and small talk and I scuttled back into my room. I did notice that they were cooking cans of beans in the cans and slabs of meat. Welcome to Texas I guess!

Lupe
I had the opportunity to visit LUPE an agricultural workers union. It was started by a famous Latino leader Cesar Chavez and gave a platform and voice to the agricultural workers, who were exploited in their work. We heard their stories, their organising and shared a meal together. The Rio Grande Valley is predominantly Latino and the culture is evident and dominates this part of Texas. It was interesting to view the interplay between place and culture and the fact that a border makes a heck of a difference in the outcomes and lives of those living either side. There were many moving testimonies of those who had grown or come to the US in varying circumstances; some organised, some desperate. The people at LUPE made me value how although I have had disadvantages: race, sexuality and especially socio-economics,  But that I have also had privilege: skin colour, education, social mobility. There were so many examples of those who had leveraged their own privilege and opportunities, often against great adversity, to forge a future. It was such a humbling experience for me to bear witness to these stories. It sounds spiritual, because there were elements that tapped deeply into my own sense of self and belief. People never cease to amaze me. Moreover, I guess it reaffirmed the obligation I believe one has in sharing and supporting those to help leverage and realise their own opportunities or navigate them through their challenges. It reaffirmed my commitment to social justice. Which explains why I am now a member of the LUPE union... I do have life insurance in the US now though!

LUPE. Solidarity forever!

The conference was incredible. The spirit and welcome I received was amazing and set the scene for the next step on my journey - to travel into stormageddon and North Carolina.

Boarding the Plane Again

A post especially for my former colleagues at OSC about teachery-type stuff.

"Building the plane while flying" in many ways became a catch-phrase for the way we approached the establishment of Ormiston Senior College. It conjured up the idea of creating the teaching, learning and culture while we the school was operating. It also, for me, became a general description of  the collaborative way and urgency we lived in our approach to figuring out how to put ideas into practice. As with all glib phrases it doesn't capture the depth and meaning of the process and effort that went into building the school but it provided us with a metaphor throughwhich we sought to understand and rationalise what was happening.

It was a crazy, amazing, frustrating, difficult and rewarding four years for me; an experience that I thought that I would have only once in my teaching career. But as it is wont to do, fate has pulled another plane onto the tarmac.

It is my struggle to come to terms with once again embarking on this type of educational journey that has meant this blog post (or any for that matter) has been a long time coming. I have written two previous drafts in the last three months that I just couldn't publish. They seemed too emotive and over reaching and I didn't want to post them. They were raw with frustration and anxiety.

In taking this position I was ready to approach education from a different perspective - with some distance from the classroom and space for me to explore other ways I can contribute to the wider educational field. The job description did not mention working with Modern Learning Environments or new schools and the interview panel noted with interest my previous experience at Ormiston. There was brief mention of a new school project and I gave little thought after the interview had finished. However, the work I am doing here has become increasingly focused on where I came from and the task of establishing a new school.

A little background. After a tragic arson the Ministry decided that instead of rebuilding the existing buildings that were burnt down at one primary school, they would rebuild a new school. They went on an exploratory tour of schools in New Zealand and decided they would build along the Modern Learning Environment trend. They made a decision to amalgamate two schools that were situated next to each other and they drew up some plans that drew on educational concepts and architectural designs that followed a different approach to education.

So the situation as it it stood when I started was: there was political will to begin the project, there was some understanding of the concepts around 'Modern Learning Environments', there was a commitment to the shift that this would entail and there was a building sense of urgency.

Initially I became involved with doing some broad research around what literature was already out there and cobbling it together to build more understanding and approach to where things might go next for the senior members of the Ministry. Then as the project picked up pace it was working with the design of the building - understanding what the design team had done already and working with them to make changes to better suit teaching and learning. It was exploring pedagogical design and drawing case studies to sharpen our approach. This was absorbing and exciting and had a nice balance of the theoretical with practical detail.

This all became a little too real when confronted with a big political decision. After a long time negotiating funding with New Zealand and then the Chinese governments, there was a shift in the Chinese approach and the project finally looked to start moving. The depth and gravity of the situation was made evident. Two long standing and strong schools were to be demolished. Temporary schools to be created. Staff and the community were to be dragged willing or otherwise into the project. So began an incredibly busy and intense two month period at the end of the school year. It all began moving at break neck speed. The design team had to finalise and detail the whole plan - often working to the small hours of the morning. We created and implemented a communication plan to push information out and engage the community through meetings, TV advertising, interviews and newspaper advertising. We developed plans to engage and develop staff and begin the process of readying them for their new school. We designed transitional environments where the students would continue their education while the school was being built. All at a time when schools and the Ministry would traditionally be winding down for the year and people were tired.

This is when I stopped. Was I ready to do this again? I wrote hundreds of words giving voice to my anxiety, frustration and exhaustion at this point. After doing some of this already did I have the capacity to do this again, especially as my role had shifted from participant to leader. I doubted that I was to be honest.

There was a crunch event for me - the Secretary gave permission to close three schools a week early, in order to do some work with the teachers to introduce them to some of the concepts we would be working with and to be able to work with a number of members of the Ministry team to plan for the first term. It was an opportunity, but it was fraught with many pressures and barriers. We had little time to prepare. We gave parents their lovelies a week earlier, a holiday extension... Teachers were exhausted at the end of the year and anxious about the future. We were pressing ahead with the demolition and they had farewell two important community institutions and pack resources away at the same time. It was frantic. There were many cracks with overwhelmed people struggling to meet the demands of the situation. I was anxious, tired, felt like I was carrying the mantle of MLE and vulnerable. Not the best way to start a week of PD with 60 teachers and Ministry staff. This anxiety, distrust and tiredness was reflected in the mood of the opening sessions. The Hall next to the school was huge, stark and uninviting. To cap off an inauspicious beginning the power went off and the whizz bang audio visuals did not come to the rescue. There was a palpable sense of resistance and disquiet. I was on edge. My colleagues and I put in a huge effort to expose the teachers to new ideas, engage with material differently and to try to give the the information and support they needed to make a start on their journey. Against resistance, we catered lots of food. We gave the teachers lots of time to think and plan collaboratively. We gave them structures to work with. We challenged them when we didn't.

The culmination was the final day where the collaborative teaching groups would present their learning and planning to senior members of the Ministry and we would share an end-of-year social. That morning where we opened with a hymn and a prayer (as are all meetings and gatherings here) I made the decision to offer to lead the prayer and sing a hymn. I was absolutely exhausted and wouldn't normally be comfortable sharing spirituality with a large group, but I sang a hymn that is important to who I am and shared the history with the group. Mo Maria is the first Catholic himene composed in NZ Maori and holds a lot of resonance for me personally - it reminds me of my turangawaewae, my whanau and a number of emtional experiences. As I was wobbling through the second verse the teachers were picking up the harmonies and even though they were unfamiliar with the words they joined me. That was incredibly moving. In that moment there was some clarity for me. That this was a shared experience and that there we had formed a sense of collective identity and purpose. Moreover, there was  some trust and a sense of the willing. We gave out certificates to the teachers and had presentations. There was celebration, song and laughter. I was relieved and felt a sense f accomplishment. I felt connected to my colleagues and thankful for their support and that now the journey was shared.

This week, the new transition buildings open for the year. They were built, renovated, furnished all during the holidays. An extraordinary accomplishment. The teachers are unfamiliar and nervous, as are the parents and students. Already I have heard and seen conversations about furniture and space between teachers - unheard of! Students are excited and the teachers are developing a sense of them self and their culture in these spaces. One of the transitional spaces is a refurnished 90 year old school building. We have breathed new life into it and it looks great and is a great place to have a modern learning environment - old dogs new tricks! The other is a community hall where we have retrofitted a mezzanine floor and breakout spaces. It was a hectic week and I am totally exhausted. The teachers and kids have realized it is not as bad as they thought and there is a positive vibe in the two spaces.

It is still the beginning, but I am ready for the challenge ahead. There are many opportunities ahead. Building relationships with the Remarkables Primary and their inspirational principal, teachers and students. Taking a group of teachers to freezing Queenstown, to Ulearn in NZ and my Fulbright trip to the States. All firsts for me or the Cooks in one way or another. Although I am still uneasy about the responsibility, it is becoming more and more a shared vision - and in turn - a stronger and more collaborative project. A large part of the anxiety did come from knowing what hard work Ormiston was. But so too a large part of the resilience and understanding I need to make this work. A very reflective time for me at the moment and I have enjoyed thinking about the past and the present. I felt alone in walking aboard the plane at times last year, but now the plane is filling with passengers and I am ready to buckle up, Even if I am putting the seat belt on extra tight and smashing the drinks trolley!

Let's go!

Aitutaki & Auckland

Aitutaki & Auckland

Today marks the second week I am back in the office for a full week, I have been lucky enough to have traveled around the country and to New Zealand recently. I had a week in Aitutaki and a week in New Zealand.

Approaching Aitutaki I realized that I was fulfilling a childhood fantasy – to be Dr Geoff Standish of the Royal Australian Flying Doctor Service. I could almost taste the beer from Vic’s bar and hear Dj’s annoying banter over the radio, in fact I think Rebecca Gibney was sitting next to me. I am mad but here I was flying to a far flung locale on a rickety pencil-plane in pursuit of better lives for all. Instead of an arid outback station, however, I was heading straight for the brightest turquoise colour that I have ever seen. You can spot the colour of the lagoon long before you can make out the motu or the reef itself. Aitutaki’s natural lagoon is beautiful – vast and vivid, ringed by sandy islands. I was amazed before I even touched the ground. Dr Geoff eat ya heart out!

There are four schools on Aitutaki, three primaries and the only full high school outside of Rarotonga. I was there to help plan technology use and to develop funding plans to assist their needs. The island is to Rarotonga, what Raro is to Auckland – there is a noticeable shift in the hustle and bustle and a real step up in the laid-back nature. Aitutaki is small. Smaller resident population than a NZ high school small. Although tourist numbers do boost the population and ensure there are bars and restaurants to water yourself at, everyone knows everyone. The schools held their annual sports day competitions while I was there, think an athletics competition held in the spirit of an Empire Games circa 1956. Marching on to music, in lines with arms swinging, pennants fluttering! The pride of your school is at stake. Egg and spoon and sack races – cuteness overload with the juniors. All of the track and field events you could swing a stopwatch at! A deep spirit of competitiveness ran through the day and there would have been many a pleased parent at the loss of voices by the end of the day. The community was out in force and there was kaikai aplenty. A really nice day to see in action.

One small side note – the Sunny Beach. The motel where all of the advisors stay in Aitutaki. A Formica and Crown Lynn paradise. It was the most spotless time warp I have slept in for a while, but Papa Rata and Aroha were wonderful hosts and there was a chair set down on the beach which made for those ‘Am I actually here’ and sunset moments. I thought my bedspread was retro-fabulous but have since been outdone by a frilly pink satin number down at Rino’s Motel, you have got me there Gary!

I was lucky enough to be able to stay and get sun burned on the Saturday. Dani treated me to the special Cruise that Air Raro lays on for their guests. A waka cruise around the motu of Aitutaki is a must do before you kick the bucket. I was lucky enough to be able to do it with considerable style: Buffet BBQ, cold bottle of Chardie and a smoking deck. Ahhhhh… The lagoon up-close is even more stunning than from a distance. The colours are other-worldly, the most unnatural turquoise, simply beautiful. I was able to traipse in the footsteps of the Coral Route – The flying boat route across the Pacific and I left footsteps in the sand where Sinatra, Bogart and Brando felt the sand between their toes. Certainly a spot for the romantic – there was a chalet on One Foot Island, where after the cruises left you can happily run around starkers and have the entire island to yourselves – they resupply you with food and drink every day and you are stranded in paradise. Well maybe one day!

Contrast the brilliant sunshine and brilliant natural hues with landing in Auckland at 5am in the middle of an icy rainstorm. Welcome home. I had the opportunity to spend a week in Auckland with the Liggins Institute at Auckland University. With a group of Tongans and Cook Islanders it was the first time that I have been in a situation where I was in my home country representing the Cooks. The Mamas at work gave some pupu ei (shell leis) and I wore them with pride. We were there to continue develop the Pacific Science for Health Literacy Project, an inspirational project working to use education to improve health outcomes in the Pacific Islands. Jacquie Bay - the leader of the project has boundless energy and a zeal for making the project work and the schedule was punishing. Still, we managed to approach the project from many angles: research, classroom, personal experience and a school visit. One of the unexpected results was a renewed pride in the NZ education system, where we are innovative and world leading, but also we are richly resourced and privileged. If you are familiar with the NZ decile system (10 richie rich – 1 poor) think of a Cook Island school as a decile 1 and then think of a Tongan school as -10. At Tonga High, the premier academic college in Tonga, they do not have one data projector. They don’t have paper, most of the windows don’t work and the ceilings are falling in. Yet, the principal there and who was on the trip, is one of the most engaging and inspirational leaders I have met. I was brought to tears by another member of thew Tongan delegation as she explained that the reason she was involved in the project was the recent loss of her husband to the disease we were working to build education programmes around. It was wonderful to catch up with friends and family and enjoy some fancy kai and coffee. I was worried that I would not want to return, but I was only a little sad to walk through the departures gate.

Well, I have slipped back into my daily routine again – scooter, work, lunch, scooter, walk, beach. I am back at home. Most importantly for me, the trip back to Auckland has shifted my mindset, Raro is now my home and a rather nice home it is too! It is lunchtime and I am sure that Vic has my icy schooner waiting at the Majestic. I will say hi to Violet and Nancy for you all.

Work

It is 20 minutes until my Friday afternoon improves and I thought it a good time to tell you about what it is I am doing over here.

I have joined the ranks of the non-teachers. It is a new and unique experience for me. Keep in mind that for the past 30 years I have only known years that have school holidays, so adjusting to be a 'normal' person is unusual. Today I found that when asked what week of the term it was, I didn't know. Doesn't sound much, but, as every other teacher knows, you live your life by the week of the term. I am still in grieving for the loss of my holidays and adjusting to the fact that I have to take 'leave'. As a matter of fact, I am also having a internal paddy over how I have to take 3 days of my own personal leave over the Ministry shut down over the Christmas period. Outrageous! I feel like going in and sitting at my desk to spite them.

It is also a first, because I am sitting at a desk. In a cubicle farm. In a building that isn't a classroom. I am over the initial flush of novelty - I have my pictures of my family, postcards and other little bits and pieces where I have personalised my desk. My own little formica piece of partitioned paradise. I am adjusting to the dynamics of the cubicle farm. The overheard conversations. The wish you didn't hear conversations. The wish that some had a mute button. The failed control over my hyperactive need to be included or distracted by everything I see and hear. The horror at others musical taste.

All of these things are fairly typical of a shared, open-place office. I have already mentioned the chickens and dogs which remain a point of difference to the Ministry office. The hilarious fob English that I hear is another amusing aspect. As is the overwhelming smell of 101 variations of boil-ups that waft from the kitchen. The embarrassing toilets that need one more layer of separation form the communal area.

Here's to offices! And air freshener!

So, my official title is Learning & Teaching Advisor of Curriculum and Pedagogy. Very highfalutin! What I have come to discover however, is that the reality is much more practical.
Oh, you can make a Word document that isn't comic sans and clipart based!
Yes.
Wow. You can be a technology expert.
Okay.

No, there are exceedingly smart people in the ITC Division and I do enjoy using technology, it just illustrates how an interest and knowledge can be used in a resource scarce and personnel deprived organisation. I am doing much more than I expected and with much more potential for impact than I expected! I am beginning to realise that I was employed largely for my perspective, my experience as an outsider and I am exploring my strategic and problem solving ability more and more. I am excited by my ability to work across an education system and that is very challenging. That I can problem solve as part of my daily work flow is very gratifying. I was worried that I might be bored, but I already have too much interesting stuff I can sink my teeth into. Choice.

Currently I am working on:
 - Designing a pedagogical framework to deliver professional development for teachers
 - Building a process to help staff, students and the community to transition to a new school with a different style of teaching
 - Working on developing data strategy for the country to improve educational outcomes
 - Working on a how to deliver digital education in an internet scarce environment
 - Delivering workshops on the above
 - Playing with iPads
 - Laminating stuff (so therapeutic)

So, if the stuff above means anything to you - you  must be a boring education type. An exciting part of working on the Cooks is that this has to be delivered around the country, which means travel to the Pa Enua or outer islands. So, in a couple of weeks I will be off to Aitutaki for a week to work with schools. Nice, to get out of that office cubicle. On the down-side, I hear that Aitutaki is, aside from being one of the largest and most beautiful lagoon environments in the world - it is also home to millions of giant crab beasts who come out at dusk and terrorise everything else. Eeeek, crabby crabby! Gross.

So, it now 5 minutes past when I can slink out and I have a cold beer to drink in the warm sunset. Oh by the way, we finish at 4pm in the Cooks. Ahhhh.
 

Animals

As far as I can tell there isn’t a massive variety of animals on the island, though I am sure Wikipedia would tell me otherwise. When I consider the matter carefully I don't have any knowledge of the animal species that are native to Rarotonga, other than a poor knowledge of the sea life. No doubt there are a hundred Latin names to describe the beauty of the reef when you snorkel. Unfortunately they are out of reach. No, not because I am scared of the water, I float quite nicely thank you, but because I just can’t see the damn things. Blurius swimmus too quickus is the closest fish species i can’t get close to. That, and the fact that when I did get close to some colourful delight I ended up face first in a sea anemone, which inevitably lead to a fright-filled thrash around where the snorkel filled quickly with seawater. No, the best kind of fish spotting I do is parrot fish and chips at Palace Burger for $8. Tasty sealife it is to too, I prefer mine submurged in a vat of hot oil rather than under the waves. I have also been told of a cheeky species of sea snake which doesn't have me running down to the water. 'They are more scared of you' is the good advice of my colleagues, but I am not willing to test this. Just like the ladies of the night on K Road, some things are best left unprovoked (Roz and Nat!).

So that leaves us with the terrestrial animals. The most abundant animals on the island are the insects. It may surprise you to know that insects and I aren't easy friends. Even though I am to them, what Mt. Taranaki is to me, this superiority in size doesn't translate into confidence. They move too fast. Several times, while I am sleeping or drifting off, I have felt a little tickle (who doesn't like that every now and again...) only to find there are 6 or 8 legs instead of 2. Now translate the washing machine thrashing from the water to the bed and after a battle with sheets, a leap from the bed, a paranoid frisk of the rest of bed, I am left awake and creeped out. All accompanied with a few manful shrieks and bye bye sleep.

If it doesn’t crawl, it flies. And eats you. I had thought I had come to some understanding with myself about the hate-hate affair I have with mosquitoes. I haven't. Unfortunately I am sometimes allergic to mosquitoes. In India, I was attacked on my ear lobes, juicy morsels they are. They then ballooned up to 'have to have a secoond look at that strange thing' status. Tramping in the UK, one particularly nasty mosquito bite turned into a semi transparent pus ball the size of a marble, good to poke at and marvel, bad to pop. So history tells me that I should be wary and hateful towards our poky-nosed friends. So, to the Rarotongan variety. Bastards. After a month on the island I think the bite count on my legs has finally dipped below double digits. If there was a scabby legs contest happening at the Edgewater Resort, I'm your man. Still, it is more than vanity, it is like having chicken pox all over again. There is the ‘phantom itch’, the ‘I had nearly forgotten about it’ scratch. There my there is a ‘cluster of 6 bites’ together rub. And the ‘how the hell did a mosquito get there’ discovery. As long as I don't get dengue, I'm happy. I also want to find the man who invented insect screens on windows and give him a big sloppy kiss.

Getting bigger, we have chickens. So many chickens. The island is a free-range haven, Colonel Sander's wet dream. Mostly scrawny hens scratching about endlessly and making mad dashes across the road. I think it must have been a Cook Islander who first coined the famous chicken and road joke. So when they are not on a suicide mission trying to get mown down by a scooter (probably carrying a coffee table) they are laying and clucking noisily. Hens aren't the main source of frustration when considering chickens, no ladies it is the men. More cocks than a gay bar during pride week. I hate Roosters. A hate that will develop some serious pathology during the next three years I imagine. Roosters crow, I get it... a farm yard and a rooster heralds the new day and all of that rubbish. If all they did was herald the new day I could easily live with them. No. They herald the new day, the old day, the new moon, days that are to come and every freakin day that has ever been. So they crow and they crow and they crow. And being strutting men who are jealous of their pride and vain of song, they must reply and out-do all others. Therein lies the problem. It is not just one, it is the other hundred thousand that are threatened and must outdo their neighbours. So, a fairly typical occurrence is a plane taking off. After each plane there follows a rooster chorus. Jesus that giant funny looking rooster just flew into the air, I am unsure of my rooster masculinity so I will crow as long and as loud as a 737. The valley ripples as the crowing flashes from one area to the next and pretty soon there is a cacophony of crowing. This can also happen at random. Shit, it is a worm - and the cacophony will rip from your sleep, if you are not already up hunting bugs crawling through your sheets. In addition, the roosters set off the dogs.

I love dogs, I am a dog person. The breed here is that nice inbred mongrel that you will find all over the Pacific. Brown eyed, their fur every hue that you can make from brown, black and brindle. They are easy going and are usually pretty friendly. However, some things are mutually exclusive. Dogs and scooters are one of them. There is one strain of mongrel over here that has the stunted legs of a Corgi. In fact a short film screened in the last film festival (yes there is a movie theatre, no it isn't a big screen TV) that cheekily invented a visit by Queen Elizabeth and her Corgis and the subsequent loss of innocence of one of them to explain this phenomenon. Back to dogs and scooters, small-dog syndrome is well known, closely related to small-man syndrome. You know, lack of legs made up for with aggressive tendencies. This seems to manifest itself exclusively with small legged dogs being the most vicious haters of scooters. I have been lunged at (well, maybe just yapped at and chased) a number of times by the Corgi Mongrel of the neighbour, mostly on the way to work in the morning. To further complicate matters Corgi Mongrel lives at the bottom of the driveway of death. SO, not only do I have to navigate the driveway and squeeze my poor little scooter's disc brakes to within an inch of their life, I have to watch out for the beast who lies in wait at the bottom. Rusty, however is going to be my favourite dog. With such a surplus of dogs it isn't surprising that the Ministry of Education has one. What isn't unusual about a government department having a dog, firestations have them? He is placid and friendly and has my boss Gail wrapped around his paw.

And the best thing about it: when 2 chickens flew through the door interrupting the planning and betterment of the education of the children of the Cook Islands, there was Rusty to fight with them and chase them out! All workplaces need a Rusty.

Scooters

Thursday 24 July

One of my fondest memories of my first holiday to Rarotonga was the freedom of my scooter. Bright yellow it belonged to the hive, the ironically named Killer Bees. There wasn't much lethal force to the swarm really, just a lot of noise and a cheerful bunch of hoons. The feel of the wind in my hair and sun on my face as we zoomed our way around made me a happy camper.

There is some law regarding scooter use in the Cook Islands. You must wear a helmet, you should only travel at a certain speed if do not own said helmet and the speed limits are quite gentle: 50km on the open road and 30km in town. The open road consists largely of two in Rarotonga. The main road and the back road, so that takes care of the open roading network and town, Avarua, has in its most built up area, four lanes of tar sealed action. This, you may think may limit the scooter in many ways, especially given the state of the roads themselves. There is one stretch of road around the airport, where the seal is smoother than my face, but the rest does not aide speed at all. Despite this, the ways and wiles of the true-blue scooter user are as unlimited in Rarotonga as they are in India and China.

It is this ingenuity that makes me chuckle, gasp and marvel every day. Even on my small commute to and from work scooter riders never cease to amaze me. The other day as I was scooting quickly to avoid the rain, many others were doing the same. They had adopted what I call 'scooter face'. The face should be slightly turned to one side, with eyes tightened against the wind and missile-like insects and you should definitely purse your lips, once again to escape the bugs. So here we were, the sensible scooter-faced people rushing to escape the rain when out in front of me pulls a mama. Mama is a lovely term to describe those who are your elder in the Cooks and one that will inevitably allow me to ingratiate myself into the lunchbox and heart of my older colleagues. Nevertheless, I digress: Mama pulls out, heedless of those who would knock her over - with the supreme confidence of those who have 1) lost their peripheral vision and 2) Are old enough not to give a shit. She is adorned with the typical flowing floral print and festooned with an ei n the top of her head. Nothing unusual, except she is carrying a full sized coffee table on her lap. Not the occasional table you have by a chair, with doily and cuppa, but one that would easily hold the mugs of visitors, a plate of Toffee Pops and a rather large pile of magazines. Ei off to you mama, to be able to control a scooter and manoeuvre a coffee table while in the rain, you are indeed a better scooter rider than I. May your table serve you well.

I am just a beginner with the scooter and a colleague was kind enough to lend me her scooter while off in the outer islands. A nifty looking Yamaha, silver, retro gauges and black racing stripe. I was feeling Fonzy like as I made my way to visit Eddie and Tash on the southern side of the island. Bumps aside, the trip there was uneventful. Add some heavy rain and nightfall and things get interesting. I bid my goodbyes and scoot off into the sunset, lights on, with a heavy drizzle.

One. Scooting in the rain with glasses is crap. I have always complained about the rain on my glasses and god knows I am sick of the old window wipers joke, but they would have been excellent on this occasion. A thousand little rain drops hitting my lenses made it quite difficult to see, but you can look through the rain and concentrate on the road.

Two. Headlights are worse. Do you know when you look at a drop of water and the light gives a halo effect, beautiful for dew and rainbows, shit for the million drops of rain that had accumulated on glasses. Also, given the fact that dipping your headlights is not a priority for many drivers on the road that night, every time a car passed me, my field of vision turned into the Las Vegas Strip. Amusing except for the fact that the road is crap and narrow and twisty. After a number of stops to wipe my glasses I was feeling a little frazzled by the time I turned off the main road to head up to my whare.

Three. Height is not my friend. The one photo I have posted gives you some idea that my house sits on the side of a hill and the distance from the road and altitude gives me some peace and a cool breeze. To reach the peaceful heights requires a steep driveway - concrete for the most part, but in the style of two skinny tracks. On a dry day, even with my weight, I gun the motor and we get up to the top no probs.  Tonight, however the rain and the maintenance man had conspired against me. The maintenance man had been weed trimming as I left in the morning and I gave him a wave thinking nothing of it. He had trimmed all of the long grass along the driveway and had did a good job, the long grass, was now cut grass, all over the driveway. Combined with the rain we have now what the House Rules contestants would call a vertical garden; one which had been whipped into slime by the wind and the rain. My first mistake was accepting the very kind shopping bags crammed with groceries from Eddie and Tash - I was riding heavy-er. My second mistake was wimping out and slowing down at the bottom of the driveway - caution equals failure. Hitting the bottom of the driveway at heavier than usual capacity, going slower than I usually would and feeling less confident than normal, were all adding up in my mind. So, to the driveway itself. Slowly I hit the wet grass and lost some traction, luckily this was only forward momentum, a little skidding. I wrung out the accelerator as I felt myself slowing and still, I made progress. It was about 3/4 of the way up that things were beginning to look a little dicey. I could feel myself slowing; to the point where Mama Coffee Table could probably have sauntered past. It is at the point where you slow too much and your balance gives out; that you have to decide what to do. The scooter is too heavy and the driveway too steep for me to get and push it without falling over so it is either fall over or stick your legs out. Star jump legs it is. With brakes pulled hard and legs balancing I am at a standstill 3/4 of the way up my driveway, wet and worried that this may be the beginning of another embarrassing scooter story (Hastings, intersection, fell over, Anna wet her pants laughing  instead of helping). Damn it. Full throttle, the engine has nothing more to give. Not going forward but not rolling backwards. This is good. Lean forward and crab walk with legs, scooter moves forward a little. Oh, to have been my neighbours watching: 55cc engine screaming, a little scooter headlight inching up the driveway, a fat, wet man crabwalking and pushing, slipping his way to the top.

Ed Hillary eat your heart out - I too knocked the bastard off.