Winds of change

On Saturday, we spent the whole morning drifting about the beach with the tide way out and all the rock and coral pools exposed. Dozens of crabs scurried for cover at our footsteps and tiny fish darted for the shade of rocks. I discovered for the first time that sea urchins can move. I imagined them to be a plant of some sort, but I was truly amazed to see these balls of long black spikes rolling towards the deeper water. I had never understood why I never found them in the open, always under the water, usually sheltered on the side of rocks. Now I know. They know where they are and they seek the deeper water.

Our companions were women, bent double, grabbing handfuls of shellfish from the sand. They collected them in old buckets and paint pots and worked in small groups, kangas wrapped about their middle, their rears pointing skyward, backs straight, necks strained. It looked excruciating. I dived occasionally to see the blues and greens of fish, and the oranges and reds of coral, but, truthfully, I was too scared of the sea urchins to do it for too long.

Later at the fish market we bought two small cory. The men stood swatting aimlessly at the hundreds of flies, they scraped and hacked the scales and fins, and slit the fish open with a rough blade, the innards spilling to the floor. We fried them for lunch with spinach and potatoes.

By Sunday afternoon the weather had changed. The wind had strengthened and the swell of the sea with the high tide, sprayed up on the terrace as we sat and watched sundown. For a moment, the scene could have been Scarborough, as the sky darkened, the wind gusted and the sea churned grey. Except for the cloying heat. There was no let up through the night. We lay in bed willing it to rain, the tough seed pods rattled on our tin roof, sounding like small animals. Strange noises kept us awake, wondering, listening.

This morning, the wind was still gusting, the sky was grey and threatening, but still it did not rain. At 7.30, students were milling about the campus, my English class had only a handful of students.

“Where is everyone?” I asked one of the girls, copying from another’s folder.

“They are performing their duties, sir.”
“But I am to teach you English this morning,”
“Yes. They will come.”

But they didn’t. The entire student body was being punished for their failure to complete cleaning duties yesterday. Their punishment was to sweep the pavements instead of attending class. I was too irritable to stay and teach the five faithful students who did attend and I barked at them to be there at 1.00pm, when I would attempt the lesson again. The wind, the oppressive heat, and the grey dullness of the clouds were creating a bad temper I had not experienced before.

I cycled across to school where Form I waited patiently. For the first few weeks of term, Form I is not taught in subjects, but undergoes a cross-curricula induction covering basic skills in literacy, numeracy and science. For me, it was a chance to play some games, sing some songs and act the fool. We all loved it. I took my tea as children were still singing,

“Head, shoulders, knees and toes, knees and toes.”

In the midst of all this a Form III student asked if he could interrupt our lesson to ask for “condolences”. Students were asked for a small contribution and invited to write their names in a scruffy exercise book, in a list drawn up under the name of a fellow student, who had died.

“How did he die?” I asked.

“Tuberculosis, sir,” and he passed on to the next class.

All in all, the wind has changed, the season has changed and with it, to a degree, our mood. We have started work, but the reality of life here, its harshness and cruelty, has today, crept up and hit home.