The Last Chapter, Pt. 1 - Manifest Destiny

The end of the school year came quickly after a series of Bhutanese holidays in November. I was refreshed and ready to wrap up review, but school ended much more abruptly than I had anticipated. Exams quickly followed and, after lunch every day, we broke up into department teams and completed mass grading of whatever group had taken our department’s exam on that day. 

I was in the English group as I was head of the department. And because everyone had faith in my knowledge of grammar and syntax, they insisted I be on essay duty—a task that incited little enthusiasm. You see, during mid-terms we had to do the same thing and the entire process was overwhelming to say the least. I would arrive at the prescribed time (always a foolish thing to do in a land of stretchable time) and wait for the others to join. Once all had convened, a massive stack of papers would be distributed and we would pick a section of the essays to grade. My coworkers prattled on through the process and discarded their work into chaotic piles that later required re-allocation. The hardest part was, as they trudged slowly but surely through their work, they’d converse in Dzongkha and laugh heartily. I remember the mid-term session being particularly alienating, but in Bhutan this is just how things functioned. But by the end of the school year I knew what to expect and prepared accordingly. I brought my headphones and some relaxing music to keep me focused. We averaged about 3-3.5 hours of grading a day for a week and a half straight. It was hard going, but once everything was graded and recorded, we felt as giddy as the students to be free of burden.

The school year wasn’t quite over, however. For some reason that still eludes me we had another two weeks where very little transpired, with the exception of celebrating International Disability Day. Students came to school and sat in their classrooms as the teachers fraternized with colleagues. We still had morning assembly and occasionally the students were asked to complete cleaning of the grounds or classes. I took the opportunity to finish grading the final batch of my 400 student notebooks, compiling the grades and weighting them to be integrated properly into their overall grade. 

 

I also took advantage of the early dismissals by taking walks in the afternoon, as often as I could spare the time. After all, that’s a big part of why I moved to Bhutan and it certainly is one of the things I miss the most. Nature—true, unspoiled and unplanned nature—lay in every direction. Even being in the (relatively) sizable town of Mongar, it only took 10 minutes of walking in any direction to escape civilization. I visited all my favorite paths and even stumbled upon a few new ones. For about a week I even took walks out under the stars, far away from the lights in hopes of imprinting Bhutan’s nocturnal beauty firmly in my brain. That ended when I stepped in one too many mud puddles (sometimes past my ankles!) and paid for my foolishness through hours of hand washing my soiled shoes and pant cuffs.

There were ample 'lasts' and I consciously reveled in them. Last trip to the market, last meal at Sharma's, last day of work, and of course my favorite last—last bucket bath. I spent my final days packing and the night before my departure the school threw me and other departing teachers a farewell party. I walked down, now a champion of Bhutanese etiquette, fashionably late under the cover of night, aiming toward the dim glow of a distant bonfire. 

Last time seeing these cute little guys!

I was one of the last to arrive. People were merrily talking in small groups, standing or sitting on plastic chairs in a large circle around the fire. Snacks and different kinds of alcohol were passed around and just as many acquired the liquid courage to fortify themselves, the principal called upon members of our faculty to give speeches about the departing teachers. It might have been an awkward affair had this not been normalized over 11 months of impromptu, peer-pressured speeches at meetings, social gathering, and rituals. I had grown to deeply appreciate this gesture as it sharpened my wit and oratory skills. After a great many had shared sweet memories and well-wishes, I took the opportunity to stand in front of the fire and speak to my colleagues. I spoke to them first of the wonders of their community and culture, emphasizing the things I think are important to hold onto as Bhutan continues its development then I shared a few memorable moments throughout the year, finishing with a few parting gifts for the administration. They also gave me a few things including traditional woven bowls I refer to as Bhutanese Tupperware and a regional hand-crafted arra container (for Bhutanese moonshine). Afterward we went in to eat and we took several pictures and said our final goodbyes. It was bittersweet. Karma Rigzen drove me home that night and dropped me outside my place, which coincidentally was where I had first met him. It was fitting that the first person I’d seen in Mongar would be the last.

The next morning I tidied things up and placed all the belongings for my replacement in my room and locked the door. I took a final few photos of my home, a place I had come to love dearly, and watched from my balcony as my students received their exam scores down by the school. I ended up waiting much longer than expected for my ride, a BCF-sponsored van picking up the few remaining teachers heading west, but when I saw Nakita running toward me to give me a hug I knew this life-changing experience was finally coming to an end. 

She helped me grab my things, which were few I proudly admit, and I squeezed in the van to meet the mysterious Scott—a man who had lived roughly an hour away in Yadi for the last several years whom I hadn’t met until then—as well as my northwest compatriot Sarah and our taxi driver. That afternoon we drove all the way out to Bumthang and managed to score rooms at our favorite place, the Riverside Lodge. 

As I might have mentioned, Pema Dawa is one of my favorite people in all of Bhutan. He is an adorable old man who has led an incredibly distinguished life. Not only was he a teacher, principal, and DEO (district educational officer similar to a state superintendent) before settling into the role of hotel owner, but he has a renowned bloodline, is extremely well-known all over Bhutan, and is nice beyond all belief. Most of all he is an amazing storyteller and has kept me engaged for hours over the course of the year with his blunt, hilarious, and historically-detailed yarns. 

We sat down with him for coffee and he told us about a time he went to a 5-star hospital in Bangkok when he was seriously ill and how surreal the whole experience was. We laughed and enjoyed his company with coffee and tea in hand, huddled around the bukkari in the early and relentless Bumthang winter until we grew hungry and set out to dine at our signature pizza place. Unfortunately on this day they were out of cheese so we scoured the streets for another place to eat and settled on a decent pizza alternative.

The next morning we braved the laborious day-long drive to Thimphu, filling the time with banter. I steeled myself with a comforting thought: this would be the last time I’d have to endure the epic cross-country drive. Having traveled this road several times at this juncture I needn’t worry about taking photos. I could sit back and enjoy the ride, which I thoroughly did.