"We can’t even speak our own language!"
Seven years old, the memory of Princess Diana’s death is as vivid now as it was 25 years ago. Stood in the entrance to our Globetrotter caravan on a campsite in Scotland, I soaked up the emotion from my mum and the other holidaymakers as the news floated between the canvas awnings and tin boxes on wheels. I was sad. I didn’t know why but I knew it was a momentous occasion. Eleven years on and I was sat in the middle of the Serengeti, having just seen the ‘reportedly’ oldest human remains on the planet. The radio crackled and then we heard it, “Barack Obama! President Barack Obama!”. The Masai Mara was jubilant - the first black president of the United States of America. Seeing what it meant to the people of Africa was quite simply incredible. I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. This last week brought us the death of Queen Elizabeth II. We’re accustomed to hearing and saying, ‘What a small world we live in!’ - yet, this week it felt like we were walking on a different planet to the UK. Sat in our home stay - we watched in silence as the buffering broadcast confirmed the news. The night sky seemed even darker and maybe for the first time in my life I was absolutely and so painfully desperate to be back in England.
Life here in Meghalaya has continued without as much as a mention of the Queen’s passing. Strangely, there have been numerous Khasi folk speaking to us about the latest change in government though. Politics is always a topic of conversation here. The old, the young, work friends and strangers - they all speak with a real interest and I can see why. There is a collective feeling here that the Khasi people are marginalised. Whilst there is a clan system here in the Khasi Hills, there is certainly a class system here in India. “They talk down to us, we don’t look like them, we look like Burmese or Nepalese and we can’t even speak our own language!” The young man in front of me was right - we have seen it first hand from the clicking of fingers to summon waitresses to the belittling of the Khasi people's small height. The army presence here is huge - yet no Khasi people can join as they are deemed too small - “They said they would make a division just for the Khasi people - but they have said that for the last 30 years. I have to take some of the blame. I vote but I vote for the wrong people. We vote for those who promise us clean water and roads. I mean, we want more than that! This is supposed to be India.” His passion was infectious - he would get my vote. “Did you know that here in Meghalaya we have no medical college? That is embarrassing.“ It does raise questions. Last night, we sat in a music bar watching the biggest congregation of Jamaica beanie hats bop away in unison, the Rastafarian front man summed it up: “You know, we here in Khasi Hills, we’re suffering man.” The place erupted in support.
Our work in schools is in it’s twilight. We have spent countless hours/days discussing, writing and reviewing our recommendations ready to present to Tony Cann, The Bowland Charitable Trust and LBQ. What I can say is I feel we have an exciting proposal which could stand the test of time and go from strength to strength. Whether this is right or wrong, it gives me great satisfaction to say that here in the Khasi Hills there are four schools that outperform any other school in any other region in the whole of India. It’s the absolute the least these people deserve. We both feel our trip has been a success. The key to it? Well, there are many reasons but purely focusing on LBQ, I believe it’s the simplicity of it. There are countless apps, innovations and devices which are all well and good but ultimately you are always going to have to convince somebody to use it and use it independently. You’re also going to have to prove to someone it’s better than what they are already doing - that’s not always an easy task: teaching is a personal game and we have different ways of playing it and varying thoughts on what we want it to look like. LBQ is almost conscious of all of this: there are no set rules, no schemes you must follow or else … and it has a habit of bringing out the best parts of your teaching practice whether that be your modelling, assessment or planning. It truly is an enabler, the Pep Guardiola of EdTech.
The music bar is a lively place. We eventually (slightly reluctantly) joined in with the dancing to the reggae band. Being 6ft 1 with no rhythm, dancing to skank, is something nobody should be forced to watch. That awkward feeling took over me where every limb is waiting to be told where to move and when to do it. Similar to the walk a child does when they walk to the front of an assembly. The looks from those around me mirrored my own internal thoughts - ‘You shouldn’t be up here mate.’
And the more and more I think back to last night, the more unclear it gets.
“You know, we here in Khasi Hills, we’re suffering man.”
He wasn’t referring to me, was he?