Eish! London Chapter 4 - June 1 - 10

JUNE
“Believe that life is worth living and your belief will help create the fact.” William James

The first planned expedition for this month: The Ascot Races; one of England’s premier horse racing events (even the queen goes!). I’ve wanted to go ever since performing in our school version of the musical: My Fair Lady, if only to say: “Come on Dover, move your blooming arse!” Can’t wait for that! Nix confirmed our picnic site for the 20th of June. Awesome! We’ve also confirmed our tickets to the SA vs. England, Toast Polo match on Friday the 26th, brilliant!

Monday, 1 June
The morning began with a text from NJ in Australia, she’d been excited for her supply work at a Performing Arts School:
“DAY 1: Performing Arts School! AWESOME big dance & drama studios. ‘Circus’ is a subject! Dance is amazing! Drama has VERY LITTLE theory! Kids ok, but insane hairstyles & jewellery!”
Man, it sounded exciting! She has to be in her element. I hope that she gets a permanent post there if she wants it. Imagine a school like that in South Africa, especially when SA is overflowing with talent to fill it.

DAY 1 for me: Working with the Transport Company (henceforth called ‘the TC’). We all met up in a park in Camden for the first day, apparently all the Schemes are based in community venues. I was early, then 2 other newbies arrived along with our two trainers (Nicky & Zara) who were experienced at presenting. Our manager only arrived much later. The training was literally: ‘trainee see, trainee do’. (It was such an on-the-spot learning experience that I hardly even managed to chat to the other teachers at all.) We began by putting up the almost life size backdrops of a bus and a tube train. I have to tell you: The huge magnetic frames were fantastic, they literally came out of medium sized containers (one per designed backdrop), and unfolded into a full exhibition stand which we attached to the backdrop with magnetic strips. It was brilliant. They’d be perfect for plays. Open up the magnetic frame and fix the different backdrops to it, then dismantle and collapse when you are done. It’s pure genius! You could have a Greek theatre backdrop, or a medieval one, or a realistic or abstract one, the possibilities are endless.

Putting up the bus required the right backdrop panels to be in the right place. It was rather funny when we ended up sticking our bus driver at the back of the bus! When the joking was done and the driver was driving the bus again, we were given a brief run down of the bus presentation before going to a different room to set up the tube station and getting more presentation facts. We must have looked a bit overwhelmed because Nicky said: “Don’t worry guys, just watch us and copy. You’ll be fine!” Then the two of them went off for their morning coffee whilst and we (Matt, Jenny and I) were left thinking: Ok. What next? Wee wandered around the other exhibition areas hosted the police, the fire department, health and safety guys, stranger danger presenters and other exhibitions that were there to create awareness amongst the Year Sixes who were due to arrive soon. After half an hour of the exhibitionists catching up on the gossip of the year gone by, the Year Sixes from two separate schools arrived.

In a whirlwind, 120 odd learners gathered in the middle of the park and were then divided into smaller groups. Throughout the morning they rotated around all the exhibitions spending 8 minutes at each one. After the first siren we watched the presenter rush through all the facts and safety features of using the tube. After watching the first presentation, I took out a pen and started scribbling notes; there was so much to remember! Then after watching 3 of the presentations it was my turn. Up I got, welcomed the next batch of Year Sixes and the dramatist in me took over as I worked through the memorized script and escorted the children around the brilliant representative backdrop of a tube station. It was great fun! Apparently I was now proficient on the tube and I was sent across to repeat the process with the bus. No time wasted. I thoroughly enjoyed the day as we rotated through groups and presentations together. Zara, a very spunky energetic Australian, and Nicky, an experienced fun English lady, told us that we had to make sure that we got the most basic things across (in no particular order):
- Respect and Manners.
- The 11 – 15 ZIP Oyster Card (11 – 15 year olds travel for free on London’s buses if they have this card from the post office).
- Security cameras are constantly filming people using public transport.
- Graffiti is illegal and will be criminally prosecuted.
- Suspicious baggage has to be reported, due to all the bomb threats (which we had to tell them in a nice way).
- When waiting for public transport it is crucial to stand more than your height away from the curb / edge, because if someone were to push you over as a train is arriving: “Kentucky Fried Child”.
- The emergency procedures if something were to go wrong, or someone did need help.

Some of the transport facts I had to learn were:
- A bus weighs between 10 and 20 tons (1 ton = 907 kg) depending on size, and number of passengers on board.
- Standing on the upper deck or stairs of a moving bus is phenomenally dangerous.
- A train weighs 200 tonnes (that’s 10 full buses!) and moves on a potential 6000 Amps of electricity (a wall socket plug uses 13 Amps!).
- The underground network has over 8300 cameras in it!
- Never put your Oyster Card next to your bank cards as the magnetic mechanism in the card could result in wiping out the money on your Oyster, or messing up your bank card.

I found it interesting and the learners loved the fun interactive way the sessions were conducted. I think they learnt a lot in the process with regards to intelligent behaviour when travelling safely on public transport. I also thought that the Scheme concept could be a fantastic idea for South Africa, to help deal with the crime, HIV and similar problems. If we could get the South African police, fire brigade, St John’s Ambulance, social services and the like to work together in a Scheme like this to quickly and effectively educate and inform learners, then really positive moves could be made with the youth in South Africa. I think it would be brilliant!

In the afternoon another 2 schools arrived and we went through the same process again. By the end of the day I had the bus and tube waxed and was looking forward to the weeks ahead. As the last group finished we packed up the set and stored it ready for the next day.

I was enthused after a largely productive day and decided to head to Fulham to check out Attic Dance Studios. Martha is a keen dancer and she had mentioned that it was really good; it was quite a coincidence that we both love Spanish dancing and have Spanish dancing shoes in our cupboards. She was very enthusiastic to join me for a class and get dancing again (sadly, she never managed to do so). When I arrived at the studios the lady at the front desk was Afrikaans! I couldn’t believe it. She was really friendly and gave me a list of all the classes they had scheduled in the building. The gentleman next to her was excited that I was South African too: “Hoe gaan dit?” (How are you?) he asked with his British accent.
“Goed dankie.” (Good, thanks) I replied; whether he understood the answer or not, I have no idea; but people are always chuffed when they get to try new languages on ‘locals’. He was grinning away completely unaware that I am not actually Afrikaans and that I come from Durban, a.k.a.: The Last British Outpost! I was simply happy that he was grinning away at his personal achievement, and his colleague was laughing too.

The deal with the Studio: Pay a 2 Pound cover charge at the door and then, usually, 5 Pounds to the instructor for the class. It sounded perfect. I could come to any class I liked, without having to be a ‘regular’ or pay in advance. I looked at the schedule and there was Spanish, Yoga, Hip Hop, Ballroom, Street Jazz, you name it. I started to get really excited and asked if I could have a look around. The lady said “sure, no problem”. I couldn’t stop smiling.

There was a little coffee shop / seating area opposite the reception desk, everything was built with wood. Wooden floors, old wooden reception desk, wooden tables with a mix of scatter cushions and chairs. Beyond the entrance areas were the dance rooms. The basement, the ground floor and the first floor had winding little corridors with windows looking into huge dance studios and little rehearsal rooms with their mirrors all over the walls and old fans struggling to move the heated air; big old windows were open a notch, some leaky ceilings with buckets, and hidden corners with toilets and changing rooms. The ambiance was electric for me. I couldn’t contain my excitement at being in the building and seeing all the dancers mixing with ordinary working people (I even managed to see a music video being shot upstairs!). The thrill was fabulous and I knew I’d be back soon, hoping to meet people and imagined myself dancing for hours on end; that would be truly, sublimely, stupendous! I made my way home with an irrepressible desire to put on my dancing shoes 

Tuesday, 2 June
I was back at Camden in my new outfit: A golf shirt with the TC Logo, jeans and takkies (referred to as ‘trainers’ in England). It’s GREAT! No formal wear at all. Loving it! Unlike supply teaching where you have to dress all smartly, because it’s supposed to have a "better" effect on the kids - WHATEVER! Some of them are the most unkempt individuals I have ever come across in my life! Nevertheless, teaching professionals do need to respect themselves, and appearance is fundamental part of that, so I guess I agree with formal teaching wear; but for different reasons, nonetheless my new outfit was a welcome change.

Today involved setting up the backdrop with more newbies (Matt and Jenny had already gone to another Scheme). It appeared I was scheduled to be based in Camden for the week and others would be coming through to be trained during the course of the week. I was the only South African, the others turned out to be Kiwis, Australians and a British girl, which made it a bit isolating for me, but I didn’t mind because I loved the work and conversation is what you make it. My manager was back too and she made sure things ticked along properly between the scenarios and with the other groups who were there. All the timing bugs and hiccoughs were starting to sort themselves out and everything was heading in the right direction for the week.

I had to leave at 16h00 to ‘register with the doctor’ in Preston Road at 17h00; in another ‘Eish! London’ experience. I never actually met the GP assigned to me, instead I spent the session in a back room office with a nurse having my height measured, my blood pressure taken, urine checked for sugar and being weighed on the scale. I was told about the necessity to monitor myself for breast cancer, the necessity of pap smears and it was suggested that I get some shots as a preventative measure in case I was bitten by one of the learners in my classroom. I did a double take at that one, clearly the nurse had seen a lot in her time. I found the thought rather frightening, but not more frightening than a needle!
“Thanks for the warnings but I’ll take my chances.” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Alright, I just need to record on this form, sign here, that I have warned you and the NHS are not responsible for your choices.” She informed me, without any lightened mood. She was not amused.
Everything was very swiftly and clinically done. I answered the questions and did as I was asked. I tried to crack a joke here and there, but I don’t think that laughing was on the agenda. I signed the paper to say I had been informed of everything that the nurse was required to tell me and I walked out with pamphlets that the NHS regulations said I needed to have. I was another file in their cabinet. I walked out missing my friendly, chatty GP back home. Eish! London.

Wednesday, 3 June
Today was interesting in that I met two Volunteer Service Officers from the London Transport Police. They are the ones who travel on the public transport system checking tickets and assisting where needed. As part of the outreach requirements within the TC Citizenship division, Volunteer Officers were being trained up to do presentations for the Year Sixes too. I couldn’t believe the two Officers were so nervous, bless them. They had dealt with some crazy stuff on their beats, yet they were nervous about presenting to a group of 11 year olds. Interestingly, as I thought about it, many of the hired agency staff were young, new teachers and they had also been nervous to start. Maybe it’s because of my training experience, my drama background, my age, or a combination of all of it that I enjoyed the job from the start and was excited to get up there and get going. It made me think how I am blessed with gifts that I take for granted, sometimes I don’t even realise that my abilities are gifts, because they’ve always been a part of me. I used to get frustrated when others couldn’t do what I could; then I became a teacher and realised that everybody, absolutely everybody is different and blessed with substantially different gifts. I know I would never be an Officer of the law by choice, but I thank the Lord that there are people who are gifted to do that job, just like some of them would not want to be teachers!

It took a whole day of coaching, teaching, improvising and assisting, but by the end of it the two Officers had managed to do a full session with a group of Year Sixes on their own, without sweating profusely and stumbling over the words they had to say or forgetting what they were talking about. Another skill they learnt: Never let the children take you on a tangent! (Sometimes learners will have the longest most irrelevantly random stories to tell, and distracting them back to the topic politely and constructively is a skill in itself, as well as a fantastic time-saver.) The best part of the day was when the Officers had each finished their full sessions and they were so happy with themselves. They weren’t nervous anymore, they were chatting and excited and discussing how they would do their next one and how the day had boosted their confidence to help them in their day to day jobs too. How fantastic is that? They stepped out to constructively face their fears and achieved awesome things for themselves. Seeing people do that is one of the best parts of teaching, I was glad to have a bit of that feeling again. It’s a really good feeling.

From happy Transport Officers to happy Salsa dancers. My dance shoes and I headed back to Attic Studios to take a Salsa class. The usual instructress was absent (apparently she has just had a baby) so there was an authentic Brazilian guy taking the class. He didn’t speak English very well, but he absolutely loved to dance; his frustration with the language barrier was as obvious as his contagious passion for dancing. He’d try to explain, then wave his hands and say: “Just dance, like this.” And we would all copy.

We were a group of twenty to forty-somethings, a real mixed batch, all there for one reason: to have fun (and maybe learn to Salsa in the process). I smiled for the whole hour and thoroughly enjoyed wearing my dance shoes again. I knew I’d be back for more. It was invigorating to be somewhere where people were happy and the energy was good!

Thursday, 4 June
Back in Camden. So great to have some routine back in my life; returning to the same spot where I know people, where I know what’s going on and what’s expected of me. Today I worked with Anna, a girl from New Zealand. Wow, what a lady: early thirties, travelling the world with bubble and spunk and so much energy and enthusiasm. She was awesome and we just clicked. She picked up everything quickly and we ended up sharing the presentations and adding a new dimension to things by throwing some acting in the mix: being a bus driver, an old lady, or a pregnant lady and whatever worked in the moment.

In one presentation Anna introduced the learners to the mock-up of a bus stop and told them the safety rules about standing their height and a step back from the curb of the road. She went through the details on the bus stop sign: shows you where you are, where the bus has come from, where it’s going and what times it should arrive. Then the bus arrived with me ‘driving’ it; naturally the learners rushed to get on and Anna stopped them explaining how dangerous it is to rush and that ladies with babies and older people should be let on first (“because younger people are fitter and stronger”). The learners got into a line to file onto the bus; they ‘swiped’ their imaginary Oyster Cards for their free child travel. (Those that didn’t swipe received their “£50.00” fine.)

Now I’d been doing the presentation for three days already and this was yet another group with no manners whatsoever; I had had enough. I stepped away from my ‘steering wheel’ and I blasted the whole group: “I’ve been up since the crack of dawn. I have been driving this bus all day. I sit in my little box for more hours than you are at school each day. How would you feel if no-one said hello to you at school? How would you behave if every single person, even your teacher, ignored you all day? Hmm? Tell me? Because I feel angry! I feel like you are rude and disrespectful and I’m not driving this bus anywhere!” and I stormed out of the room. As I was storming I walked passed my manager. I didn’t know she had arrived. She was just staring at me. Oh dear! I’m in trouble.

Standing outside, amused at my little performance, but rather worried about the look on my boss’s face, this young voice speaks to me out of nowhere: “We are sorry Bus Driver, please would you come back and drive the bus.” I turned to see two beautiful faces staring up at me. Ah bless them!
“Are you really sorry?” I tried to be serious with them.
They looked at me with their worried eyes and nodded expectantly. I smiled. They smiled. “Alright then; I’ll drive the bus. Thank-you for apologising.”
As I returned the children were sitting quietly, not daring to move from their seats. I looked at them all: “I’m only going to drive if you promise to always greet your driver. Do you promise?”
After a tentative split second of realisation “Yes!” was the resounding cheer, as they all found their energy and smiles again. I honestly do hope they have managed to keep their promise.

Sadly the day ended on a horrible note. One of the learners stole Anna’s mobile phone. She had left it by her bag and by the end of the afternoon session it had gone. There was only the one school that had been in the room. At the end of the day they were all gathered to go and Anna asked them if anyone had seen her phone? One girl raised her hand and asked if it was the blue one with the pink cover?
“Yes, that one,” said Anna, getting her hopes up.
“No,” said a chorus of voices, they hadn’t seen it.
We called the police officers over and asked if we could do a bag search? No we couldn’t because it was against the children’s rights. The children left and the phone was never found. Anna had lost all the numbers of the friends she had made in London; she had to get a new phone through a lot of frustration with the phone company and find all her New Zealand numbers again too. I felt very angry at the situation: The children had described the phone; they knew it had been taken and they got away with it. What kind of example does that set? Being Anna she didn’t let it get her down; apparently it was yet another “inconvenience” attached to her stay in London. Such an awesome lady, it was so unfair that she had to live through that experience.

Friday, 5 June
Another awesome thing with semi-permanent work: you get to make friends. We all had to head to the TC head office at the end of the day to get our timesheets signed. In the office the head of the Citizenship Division came over to me with a grin:
“I hear you made quite a dramatic impression yesterday.” I felt myself starting to flush. Why do I always end up being different and getting in trouble? He laughed: “Well done! It all sounded very entertaining.” Relief, I wasn’t in trouble and I wasn’t going to lose this opportunity. Amen!

Timesheets were signed and faxed; I needed to head home to get ready for my play-reading with the Pinner Players. The other teachers, however, were keen to go for a drink at one of the pubs in Covent Garden. “Keen to join?” They asked me.
I paused, what should I do? Head off for the reading now, or have a drink? A celebration was in order: “I’m keen, but I have a play reading tonight so I’ll have to duck away early.”
“Cool, no worries,” said Anna, smiling with her easy-going New Zealand charm, “Let’s go get a drink.”

We ended up at The Porterhouse. It was so funky inside, there were these hectic pipes running along the walls and up in the ceiling. It looked like a brewery inside with lots of little bars in nooks and crannies and seating in the oddest places over the 3 floors and mezzanine. The staircases were all in different places too. With drinks in hand Anna, Natt and I found a table and began chatting. Anna was supply teaching on a two year visa that was due to end soon. She was the lady who had been double-booked like I had, but she had received a full days pay after giving the agency “What for”. She kept herself busy playing touch rugby with a group near her place in Clapham. She had only a few weeks left on her visa and was planning to move to Australia and not return to New Zealand when her time was up. Natt, a highly attractive brunette in her early twenties, had arrived in London in April, around the same time I had. The agency she had used had set her up in a horrible part of dodgy East London, working at a school that sounded terrible. She had been ‘temporarily’ filling in for a teacher, but the staff expected her to be full time and had given her loads more responsibility than her contract stipulated. It didn’t help that the learners were the most difficult she had ever come across. The stress and workload had become too much for her, so she had handed in her resignation. Apparently she had complained to the agency, called them, tried to get their support and get them to sort out the problems, but they never returned her calls and never helped her, so eventually enough was enough. She was absolutely thrilled to have this post with the TC. I totally agreed with her.

Wow! What a difference it makes to know that I’m not the only one who feels messed around by the agencies and that it isn’t only me who has received short straws. Thank the Lord for this new contract and that I didn’t take on a permanent post at a bad school or end up with a boss who openly hates me in the staffroom! That must be horrific. Amen to having fewer hassles than I could have had!

It was time for me to start my hour and a half trip to the play-reading. I said good-byes and thanks, and left feeling less alone in London. Such a relief! Although friends and family are marvellous, sometimes it’s not possible for them to honestly get it, but thank the Lord they listen and are supportive regardless.

I was rather daft. I went on the internet and had a look at where the play-reading was taking place; and I took a “visual picture” instead of a printout, deciding to use my A-Z for the walk from the station. Stupid! I got to Northwood Station, stepped out, opened my A-Z, and the map ended before the road I needed started. I trawled through my photographic memory and thought I could wing it. Wrong. After incorrect navigation, asking a couple in their driveway, and another lady on the road, I was lost and late and had found my way to a crossroads that I couldn’t recall at all. How embarrassing! I took out my phone and called the house where the reading was happening. Once we had placed where I was, Marco, the director of the first show I ended up being involved in, came out to fetch me; and to this day it’s the one thing he always remembers. Only me!

Everyone was merrily sitting with their wine glasses, snacks and scripts of: Alan Ayckbourn’s Season’s Greetings. They were all friendly and welcoming. I found a little chair in the corner and kept quiet for most of the time, reading when I was given a part. It was quite an experience to be in a British person’s home. It reminded me of the homes in South Africa when we were growing up: floral print cushions, clean wood, family photographs, magazines, ornaments and all the little bits that make a family home a family home. A real home is so much better than a digs or a hostel of strangers living together. Sitting there amongst people who had clearly been friends for many years was relaxingly comforting. Don’t get me wrong, I did feel separate from everyone, an outsider looking in, but at the same time I had something in common with the people in the room, we all loved theatre simply for the love of it. There were no drama queens or bickering arguments, just more wine and snacks and jokes and people relishing the play we were reading together. I felt at ease in my strange position. I sat near a guy called Stuart, he seemed to be in his 30s with a great sense of humour, and as I was leaving Nigel, who works in the postal system, was chatting to me and he said it was great that I had joined and I should come back for the next reading. I was taken with his enthusiasm and said: “I’ll definitely try to be there.”
Another chap gave me a lift to the station. It was wonderful to experience such kindness from strangers and I knew that this group of people would definitely be worth taking the time and effort to get to know.

Sunday, 7 June
I decided to try a church service in Finchley Road, and although I didn’t really enjoy the service, there was a part in the beginning where a lady stood up and spoke about something called “Freedom Prayer.” So I stayed at the end to speak to her (Trish turned out to be a South African too, which was comforting). Apparently “Freedom Prayer” focuses on finding your purpose in God’s eyes through prayer, and you don’t need to belong to the church to try it. (I often find things are offered on the condition/expectation of my joining a church, or sponsoring or donating something; I’m not really into that, so this was a great surprise.) I looked at the schedule; Tuesday evening seemed like the best option for me and I booked the slot. Trish seemed very happy that I was coming along; and I thought that maybe it would give me some insight on what I was doing in London and if it would be worth it, or maybe I’d find out I’d been wasting my time and I should head back home. I wondered what would come of it. Would I like the answers? I figured I wouldn’t find out unless I tried.

Monday, 8 June
Today the TC sent me to the High Barnet Scheme. It was very different from the park in Camden. This Scheme was based in a big old Manor House, set in the most beautiful gardens. The learners were sent to different rooms throughout the venue. They began on the ground floor where they were welcomed; then they were divided into groups and sent to the gardens, the top floor, the ground floor or the basement. Natt and I were in the freaky, haunted basement. It was a dark, windowless room with a narrow entrance. The brick work around us was slightly burnt and dusty. We reckoned that it had probably been used as a storeroom decades ago; there were these wrought iron bars blocking off some deep, empty caverns and dusty shelves along the sides of the room. When learners arrived they would all huddle together with big eyes taking in the haunted atmosphere; we added to the ambiance by telling them that the dark holes were for naughty children. They weren’t sure how to take that one, until we told them we didn’t have a key to unlock it, so they were safe, for now. Getting them to realise the dangers involved in travelling on a tube train in a dank, dark, ‘haunted’ room was perfect!

The other exhibition sharing the dungeon level with us was the ‘stranger danger’ group. At the opening welcome session a plain-clothed policeman had walked through the assembly ‘by mistake’ whilst chatting on his mobile; he apologised for interrupting and kept walking. When the learners went to the ‘stranger danger’ exhibition a policeman came to tell them a mobile phone had been stolen, had anyone seen anything suspicious? Some of the learners didn’t remember the plain-clothed guy from the morning at all, some recalled him and others remembered everything from his sneakers to his moustache. It was fascinating to see which learners had paid attention to what was going on around them. From my perspective I remembered the guy, but in all honesty I don’t think I could’ve spotted him in a line-up like some of those learners would’ve been able to. I wonder how much else I don’t take in each day…

Another ‘stranger danger’ activity: Learners were told that their police officer was running late and they needed to sit in the garden for a couple of minutes and wait for him to arrive. While the learners were waiting a plain-clothed policeman came up to them asking for help to get some things from his car outside in the road and bring them into the Manor House. Every single group, bar one, sent one or two of their friends with the man through the small forest to his car outside the premises. The reality of this scenario and the possible outcomes were too frightening for me to think about.

Another brilliant exhibition was on the Internet, Facebook and the like. Many of the learners happily go on to sites and post all sorts of information without thinking of where that information is going and / or who could be receiving it and using it, for what purpose? Many learners had never even thought that their new boyfriend could be a man in his fifties.

Lastly, they watched a play put on by a local theatre company on knife crime. The knife crime statistics in London are some of the worst in the world, and if you are caught with a knife on you, you go straight to jail, no passing go! Gangs and knives are something the police continually deal with. The presentation showed the learners that jail and death are not ways to make friends, or feel safe, or be the best you can be. The protagonist was a potential Premiere League Football player who was caught with a knife that he was “looking after for his ‘friend”. As the play ended no football club would ever go near him again.

As the morning group of learners left we had our lunch break whilst waiting for the afternoon batch to arrive. Natt and I went out to sit on a park bench in the semi-warmth of the British sun, a welcome breather from the dungeon. Over our lunch boxes Natt and I shared stories. Her situation was way worse than mine. She broke her ankle just before leaving New Zealand and had done the New Zealand - America and America - England trips on her own with bags and crutches. She said it had been ridiculous that hardly anyone had offered to help her while she struggled through the trip; and sitting on the plane with her leg in plaster sounded like one of the worst experiences ever. Once here her agency put her in accommodation with a DJ and an artistic photographer with no idea on how to clean up after themselves as they choose to leave filthy pots and dishes everywhere, don’t vacuum and steal Natt’s food from the fridge. They are into partying as much as possible and bring people home at all hours of the morning. (Teaching without sleep is a killer!)

With trying to get used to the food in London she had started putting on weight and couldn’t find her ‘normal’ balance which was upsetting her. She missed her sport and the outdoors and was trying to get back on a hockey field. She was also pretty much on her own because her closest friends had gone back to New Zealand just after she arrived. My heart, my empathy and understanding all went out to her. I knew what she was going through and all I could do was offer her my help if she needed it. We both sat quietly pondering. How would it all turn out for us? At least I knew I wasn’t in this on my own anymore, and I knew that I didn’t have it too bad, others had it way worse than I did.