Cara Louise's Blog, page 2

Oman to UK

Good things about returning to the UK. The patchwork of green fields as the plane flies over England. The aerial view of familiar landmarks - The giant offshore windfarm and Planet Thanet -The Thames estuary looking as it does at the start of Eastenders - Southend-on-Sea with all the skyscrapers of Victoria Avenue - circling Wembley Stadium.

23 degrees at Heathrow at 7.15 pm. Nice.

The next morning being able to take a walk without running the risk of heatstroke down the Bath Road near the airport hotels. The smell of the fresh Spring greenery and plants bursting out of every crack in the paving.

OD'd inOman

Today I accompanied 9 of our female students to an electronics fair.

Quite surreal - made more so by my ODing on paracetymol after a raging sore throat and flu-type aches all night.

A huge modern international exhibition centre, filled with stalls of the latest computer and mobile phone technology while people wandered about - the women in black abayas and hijabs, the men in pristine white dishdashers and embroidered caps which are half way between a turban and a fez but quite unique to Oman. Same traditional dress worn for hundreds, maybe thousands of year, juxtaposed with a futuristic world full of phones which are so smart I have no idea how to use them.

I was supposed to be chaperoning the girls to make sure they didn't talk to BOYS!!!! But they scarpered off in little groups anyway. Meanwhile I dragged around behind Ameera, the class leader, who fortunately had it all under her control - including everyone's mobile number and even the bus driver's to call when they'd had enough.

I tagged around somewhat bemused by it all, in a paracetymol haze, and got bossed around by Ameera. "Come, Cara!"

Strange little trip out instead of classes as a prelude to the weekend. I managed to muster enough energy to put paid to Ameera's plans to go to the mall for lunch and we sat in traffic jams on the way back to college.

Weekly shopping stock up in Lulu Supermarket then thankfully returned to villa. Crashed out in my darkened room - curtains shutting out the unforgiving brilliance of the sunlight and the 38 degrees of heat. (Cool for Muscat this time of year.)- until the next paracetymol.

Spies and Riots in the Prison Camp

My spies, still undergoing conditions of slavery back in Saudi, tell me this shocking British run college has become even more of a prison since I jumped ship at the end of last semester. The faceless autocrats of the senior management team have now removed the mid morning break and stopped teachers and students from leaving the classroom between 7.30 and 11.45 am. Drinks, food and trips to the bathroom are banned. They are allowed 5 minutes break every hour but must remain in their cells.

Teachers were given books but then told not to use them as management made mess of streaming classes and it has to be done all over again.

Unsurprisingly, the powder keg has exploded. The students empowered themselves by holding a protest in the car park on Sunday, videoed it and have threatened to send it to the press and the King. (If you think Saudi women are repressed, dream on.)

The college has been visited and/or inspected by no less than 3 regulatory bodies - including the British Council - and it's still allowed to operate. Shows what a scam the whole business has become. The regulatory bodies are making money from their inspections though their recommendations are ignored. It's not in their interests to fail failing colleges because they can keep returning and collect their consultation fees.

Corporate British companies scamming off the back of Saudi money.

From Prison Camp to Paradise

Went on a dolphin watching and snorkelling trip this morning. Cruising round the beautiful rocky pinnacled coast of Oman with schools of lovely dolphins surging out of the Sea. Then snorkelling in a rocky cove near Old Muscat and the Port area among baracuda, royal blue and yellow coral eating fish and baby puffers. Magical! Then back for lunch at the Lebanese, watching on TV the celebrations for the Sultan's return with Omanis in full national dress waving flags and parading the streets. All the traditional dhows in the harbour were festooned in green, red and white bunting, making their way to the Sultan's waterfront, very modest palace. (A lot smaller and far less ornate than the HSBC Bank) Prison to Paradise in one hour and fifty minute flight from Dammam to Muscat - courtesy of Oman Air.

Escape From Prison Camp Saudi

First alcohol in 4 months. A glass of full bodied Argentinian Shiraz Malbek. Poolside at the Grand Hyatt Hotel, Muscat, enveloped in velvety darkness as evening falls, still around 30 degrees, on the terrace restaurant overlooking the Sea of Oman. Well worth the wait.

Last teaching day in Saudi

Final day of teaching. The bully turned up early with her two Crabbe and Doyle sidekicks with their mirrors and make-up. They dumped their bags at their usual place at the back of the class and disappeared.

I had 2/3 of a class of nice girls and moved them all to one area, picking up the terrible trio's bags and dumping them in the empty part of the room.

We had a pleasant lesson with the girls working hard and amicably, realising it was our last ever class together.

The trio rocked up about 40 minutes late, put out to find their seats occupied. They sat down with their bags, isolated in the empty third of the room and there they stayed for the entire morning.

I carried on teaching and along with the rest of the class, ignored them completely. At one point they abandoned their mirrors and sat silently and sheepishly looking at their English Please Book 2 while the other girls laughed and enjoyed the lesson. I felt a bit sorry for them, deigned to turn round and ask one a question, then turned my attention back to those who deserved it.

After break we visited Sandra's class and walked round their exhibition of newly designed countries.

Then back to our classroom for a party.

The girls arranged a table in the centre with a beautiful cake, crisps and Arabic spicy Sumak dip. I was admiring the cake when they lit the golden decoration on the top. I didn't realise it was a firework and jumped as I nearly got my eyelashes singed.

The bully and cohorts didn't join in and sat isolated among empty desks.

The firework shot out a stream of golden sparks - straight up towards the smoke detector. I stared in dismay, waiting for the fire alarm to go off. However, although we get at least 5 false fire alarms in the course of every morning, the smoke detector fortunately failed to go off.

The girls laughed, told me their future plans and had a good time eating cake and Sumac and drinking Arabic coffee.

I got a beautiful necklace and a gorgeous bunch of ferns and roses from my two lovely girls Afrah and Muneerah. Afrah's father had donated the cake. Another of my sweet girls gave me a t.shirt. A handwritten card inside the roses read:-

"Teacher Cara - you are a beautiful addition to our lives."

I got lots of thanks, hugs and kisses.

The bully and her sidekicks got nothing
but ignored.

At the end of the day, Afrah, gracious as ever, shook hands with the remaining girls, including the three who still sat in their solitary, self-imposed isolation then floated away down the corridor. The bully and her cohorts couldn't help but look impressed.

Great Decision - made too late?

I definitely made the right decision to resign. Yesterday one of my persistent troublemakers was caught by another teacher bullying one of her students. We both had to try and calm her down and after much arguing, persuaded her to leave. Our manager marched her off to Student Services. She has already had over 3 warnings and should have been chucked out long ago, had it not been for the company's greed because they get paid for bums on seats.

She wasn't in today and apparently her father has been informed and she is on a final warning.(Really?) But too late.

One of my nice girls has already left for a good college in the town. Another really sweet girl told me today she is going there too after the March break.

"You go Oman, Miss. Omani people nice. This bad college. Crazy students, Miss. Bad students. This business, not college."

Got it in one.

Yesterday I sat down for the first time with her and another very quiet student to give them extra help. I felt really guilty I had not done so before - my time and energy has been taken up with the disruptive ones.

Today I gave them a class test under exam conditions and told them they needed to practice following the rules as they have been so bad in previous tests. (Cheating, talking, arguing etc) I told them the results were not for me but for them to see where they need to study more for their big exam next week. I caught two erasing each other's answers and writing in the correct ones as we went through it afterwards.

Despair and die!

I had a quick look at one of the admin tasks I've been avoiding. A 4 page pile of rubbish to be completed for every student. (27 in my class) I felt brain strain coming on and closed the file quickly.

Another teacher walked out of her class today.

Only one more teaching day - I told the few remaining students left this afternoon they could bring in food and have a party.

Can I survive another 6 hours locked in the nursery?

I can't even imagine getting on the plane and out of the prison camp next week. I've become institutionalised in my highly paid borstal, like the cons who re-offend as they can't cope with freedom.

Help! Maybe my resignation has come too late to save my sanity!

Hiding Out.

Had a bad day in class. 2 girls walked in at 7.30 am, promptly put their heads on the desk and went to sleep. The morning carried on in that vein. I stopped teaching by 2nd lesson and made an attempt at the huge backlog of marks on my Crapita spreadsheet, as most other ts were doing too (we are data management clerks and babysitters more than teachers). I told the class to do their workbooks but most were sleeping, doing their hair and make up or playing on their mobiles. I felt guilty so abandoned my half hearted attempt to falsify my registers and turned my back on the sleepers to try and teach the 4 or 5 good students. However, as my brain was addled by the monotony of the spreadsheet, I gave up.and walked out. Tried to find an empty room on the top floor to hide in but they were all taken by picnicking students. (Managers of course were all ensconced in offices in front of computers.) The Head of Department has resigned for the 2nd or 3rd time. Fortunately, so have I! Yippee!

Riots, Fist Fights, Teachers Over The Edge, Bureaucracy Gone Mad, The Holy Guardians of the Sacred Stationery Cupboard and the CEO with his Head in the Sand. Another Jolly Week In Saudi.

Last week my students rioted. Some of them took exception to another teacher telling them to put food they'd left in the corridor in the bin. I walked out of class and didn't go back. 6 of them, already on 3 written warnings, were hauled off by a curriculum manager to Student Services. I went down with a throat infection and spent 3 days trapsing to the hospital and recovering in the hotel.

Surprise, surprise - the warnings mean nothing and the 6 rioters were back in class. A newly arrived teacher was fed to the wolves and sent in to cover for one day. The students apparently behaved for the first lesson then drifted away to disappear in various empty corners of the college. The next day the curriculum manager e-mailed me to say my class were last seen screaming like banshees down the corridor. I met the new teacher on my return. She was pale with a haunted look in her eyes.

I returned to find my board markers all dried up - and you now have to fill in a form to ask your manager's permission before Student Services - who now act as Sacred Guardians to the Holy Stationery Cupboard - will allow you a pen. Fortunately my lovely colleagues helped me out. It took 2 days for my board pen request to be processed.

Since I've been back, the ferals have been quite nice to me - they thought they'd driven me back to England. Every time they started to act up, I played the sympathy card and coughed.

The strong Kiwi Saudi veteran has broken down and been told to take the rest of the week off. The ultra professional ex-primary teacher from Lancashire sobbed in class today, collapsed, hit her head on the marbled floor and is now in hospital.

There was a fist fight amongst the girls and students streamed out of classes to watch.

My friend next door, who has been here a month and resigned in her first week, was due to leave today for a job in Oman. At 9.00 am she was told HR have screwed up her visa and she is now unable to leave Saudi. She got turned back at the border with Bahrain.

We had to stay behind for an hour after work to listen to a presentation by the CEO who aims to motivate teachers through a competition. The teacher who gets best attendance (the business is paid for bums on seats!) wins a trip to the Bahrain Formula 1 Grand Prix. He doesn't seem to cotton on that none of us ladies are faintly interested in F1.

The CEO is back in his box in the outer walls, with his nose glued to his computer - like the rest of senior managment.

Meanwhile - back in the teaching blocks, the teachers drop like flies and the students party.

St Trinians Our Battle Cry, Death Race 2015, Over the Cuckoo's Nest - and Can I Have a Public Flogging Please?

This week, for some illogical reason no one can fathom out, apart from a sadistic desire to torture more teachers into resigning so the college collapses into even more chaos, management have decided to extend our 40 hour week- which already includes a killing 6 hours teaching a day - by another half hour in the morning and another hour in the afternoon. So our bus leaves the hotel at a brutal 6.15 am and returns at either 3.00 pm or a sadistic 4.00pm if the ex US Army exams manager gets her hands on us.

The result, of course, is more resignations and a massive increase in teachers going off sick this week.

One of those teachers works in my corridor. There is no cover so her students have turned feral and roam the college in packs. I caught one of them being pushed on her absent teacher's wheely chair by her friend at top speed down our corridor - St Trinians style. I think they were playing some kind of Death Race 2015 - score 5 points for mowing down a student, 10 for a teacher, 20 for a curriculum manager and of course you'd score 1,000 for a member of the senior management team because they're rarely spotted. They are safely holed up in offices in the admin building -immune to the chaos they've caused in the teaching blocks - except today, my curriculum manager told me, there wasn't a single senior manager in the building. So where were they all? Maybe all flown over the cuckoo's nest and gone to Bahrain on a jolly?

We've been told to jump through more hoops administering and marking yet another stupid test and inputting yet more data in the stupid on line registers. In Victorian times, teachers put a tick by a list of names and it took 10 secs. Our insane technological Capita system takes at least 10 minutes - if you're lucky. We've been told if we don't attend exam training and don't get our registers right - especially - shock horror - mavericks like me who are doing paper registers for students who don't appear on the on-line register -we'll be subject to "Disciplinary Action." I'm so excited wondering what they'll do to us, I'm tempted to break the rules to find out. Suspend us? With so many teachers already gone "sick?" Maybe I'll get a public flogging. Now that would really liven up my blog! Bring it on!