In Working My Way through Retirement, author Lola Albion finds that retirement has many surprises and totally unexpected opportunities in store for her. She shares her unique trek in a series of e-mails written to family and friends from locations throughout the world over a period of nearly eight years. Her travels spanned far and wide, with her messages relayed from places as diverse as Doomadgee, an Aboriginal community in remote Australia; Labrador on the Atlantic edge of Canada; Montenegro in the Balkans; Tanna in the Pacific; Qatar in the Middle East; Italy; Jordan; and Cambodia. Albion shares her extraordinary experiences with a great deal of humour, gentleness, and wise insight into the human condition. She also considers themes of change, ageing, the universality of human hopes and dreams, and the wonder of the world and its people throughout.

Working My Way through Retirement

E-Mails from AfarBy Lola Albion

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Lola Albion
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-3420-5

Contents

Acknowledgements...................................................................vIntroduction: To Retire or Not to Retire? That is the Question.....................1Doomadgee: A Different World.......................................................5Back in Doomadgee..................................................................11On a Countdown.....................................................................17Late News Bulletin.................................................................26Why Tanna?.........................................................................31The Trip to Tanna..................................................................33Sights and Sounds of Tanna.........................................................35Crossing Over to the Other side....................................................41What Next after Tanna?.............................................................47The Eagle has Landed...............................................................49A Love Affair With Labrador........................................................52After Labrador.....................................................................59Lola is Speechless.................................................................61On the Way.........................................................................62Daily Life in Podgorica............................................................67The Last Epostle...................................................................72Jewel of the East..................................................................78One Day in the Life................................................................84Go where?..........................................................................89Doha...............................................................................93Diary Entries: Doha in Qatar.......................................................101Domestic Issues....................................................................115Let's Have the Dessert before the Broccoli and the Cabbage.........................123Christmas 2007.....................................................................132One Wedding and an Engagement Plus a Funeral ... and Moi...........................142Cambodia: The Cultural Lens has Fogged.............................................149Thoughts on Thobes and Other Thutch Things.........................................159Easter in Jordan...................................................................166A Few Dry Gullies..................................................................178The Price of Eggs and Other Such Worldly Concerns..................................186Looking for Benvenuti Land.........................................................200Is there Life after Italy?.........................................................210Back home: But ... is there Life after Doha?.......................................221Can a Pit Pony Stop Going Round in Circles?........................................231Footnotes..........................................................................233

Chapter One

Doomadgee: A Different World

Last day of A ugust, 2003

Dear everyone

Well, time is flying. I cannot believe I have been here for nearly seven weeks and still haven't put finger to email till now. So to those who have been anxious about me I send abject apologies.

I'm no longer sick and I seem to be used to the red dust. I swept about half a cupful of dust out of every room yesterday – not sure how much came out of the nostrils. There has been no wind during the weekend and the weather has been hot but much nicer. As I sit here at my computer I have the air conditioner on and the fan. The air conditioner sounds like a generator pump.

Life's exhausting and, while many of the kids are very appealing, there is an undercurrent of defiance and an over current of foul language. If teachers are away from work for any reason it's almost impossible to get relief teachers to fly up from Mt Isa (or anywhere else for that matter). Mt Isa is really not that far away. It's only an hour or so flight or a bit over five hundred kilometres by road but still they won't come. So I have done a lot of filling in for teachers who have been away or involved in curriculum planning or travelling with sporting teams etc. I don't think I've really done any proper teaching and don't really have a proper role.

Let me tell you about last week and it's fairly typical of what goes on but maybe a bit more hectic than usual.

Sunday

First day out of Doomadgee since I got here. And what a lovely day it was. We went to Hell's Gate (a shady roadhouse with oasis type of greenery with lots of birds), had morning tea and investigated the rock formations (very old and very crumbly). Hell's Gate forms a natural corral where the Cobb and Co coaches used to stop and keep their horses locked up for the night, as well as Aboriginal prisoners going somewhere – maybe to Normanton some 500 km away. We were directed to a dirt track and found an old cave with Aboriginal rock art and the little natural hollows where long-gone artists ground their ochre, then on to the Northern Territory to Woloogorang Station Homestead – now made into a roadhouse, all very shady and green. More tea and cake and ice-cream. Woloogorang is still a vast cattle property as well. We drove back to Hell's Gate for lunch at four o'clock then home. Jabirus and bush turkeys abounded all along the road. Home by 7: 30 just after dark. It was called Hell's Gate because the road used to become hellish after there: the gate to Hell. Actually it's now rather a lovely spot and the road has since improved.

Monday

Probably the worst day of my teaching life. One pays for the good things. I considered coming home, walking or even running. It was like a three-ring circus: no ten-ring would be more like it. Two villains (Legard and Brandon) about three foot high with black rolling fiendish eyes, ran, scampered and cavorted and ignored me much to the delight of everyone. Finally they ran out of the door and I felt like locking it in case they came back. But the day was lost by then. They have not reappeared since despite being on the list of enrolments.

After school we were expected to attend Professional Development (PD) with a lady who had flown in from Mt Isa to do strategies for teaching ESL (English as a Second Language). The air was hot and heavy as were my eyelids. I noticed that some eyelids gently closed and the flies buzzed softly in the background.

Tuesday

A better day. Same class. The reason I was taking that particular class was because the lower-school teachers were having two days' planning and I was filling in for that teacher. However, the kids had had their fun the previous day so the day was OK. But ... more PD after school till after 5 o'clock. A fellow from Central Office in Brisbane was talking about assessment: Making Assessment an Integral Part of Your Teaching ??? Day. I looked around at the weary, sagging faces and wondered what change would come about as a result of that expedition and all that expenditure. He was then off to Mornington Island, another Aboriginal community, the following morning for more of same.

Too weary to walk. Got a lift home. I then realised I'd left my keys at school so I trudged back along the dusty red road. And so it all went.

Wednesday

Lo and Behold, NAIDOC (National Aboriginal and Islanders Day Observance Committee) celebrations. I think everyone in Australia had it in July but Doom wasn't ready till now. ALL DAY down at the town oval. Activities for everyone had been planned; weaving, necklace threading, javelin making, flag painting and so on while Robert, our artist in residence, had millions of yards of calico to be daubed with paint to make a serpent. Unfortunately the wind howled, the red dust flew and the sun beat down, and the wind continued to blow and the calico had to be tied down and some kids painted themselves instead but all in all the serpent looked pretty good. Did I say the wind blew and the sun beat down and the red dust flew? After lunch the races started: tug of war, three-legged races, relays. Teachers, not my good self, joined in. All in all it had been a good day for the community. I felt like fainting.

BUT ... not to be outdone eleven of us headed off at five o'clock for a Mars party at Burketown (about one and a quarter hours away). The school there had invited us to join them. Burketown is a tidy little town with a pub and with only twenty-eight kids at the school. We went out onto the salt flats for a BBQ and to watch Mars. I had a wonderful view through the telescope and through the digital camera zoom. Mars looked like a floating red and pinkish ball. That's the first time I've ever seen a planet looking like a picture of a planet and not a twinkling star: very, very exciting. The Savannah sports team people were there – bringing sport to the Gulf schools. If you ever run into them, don't ask them about their work unless you've got a very long time to spare. They are very dedicated. Home at last, bed just before midnight.

Thursday

Couldn't be morning. It must be the middle of the night. But no. It was time to get up. There must be something wrong with that mirror in the bathroom. The sun shines in to the bathroom and the mirror is merciless. Who was that wreck trying to put on a face for work?

First we had parade. Then ... more NAIDOC

It seemed like the whole of Doomadgee straggled down to the meeting place by the river and waited interminably. Finally a truck decorated with balloons got going followed by the serpent held up by little kids who had jostled each other to get under the dragon sheet but who soon got bored and wanted to drop it. Replacements had to be dragooned to do it. We staggered through Doomadgee up to the oval from yesterday. Yet, I felt that the kids were very proud of it all as were the parents and community members. Then: more activities, more races, more sun and even more wind and red dust. Home for a shower then back again. They were having a Dundee (a bullock cooked in a big pit and covered with rock and dirt and left to cook all day). I didn't have any of that but I did have some kangaroo and emu. I crawled home while the feasting went on and about fifty ladies then engaged in a wild game of football.

Me? ... Too tired to sleep.

The interesting thing was how the kids sat around all day at the activities waiting so patiently. This was behaviour I had not witnessed in an overflow of abundance in the classroom.

Friday

The Savannah team (bringing sport to the Gulf) flew in. They were late so our timetable was useless and no one knew where they were supposed to be. I think the plane got to the airport and there had been no arrangements for them to be picked up. I don't really know what happened.

We had rugby, touch, footsal (indoor soccer), archery, and lifesaving which I thought, perhaps, could be useful for me.

And a good time was had by all once again, especially the Savannah team. I think we only had about fifty kids at school on Friday although the enrolment is somewhere between two and three hundred.

By now, I'm in a daze.

Saturday

I helped out with the second-hand clothing stall. A stall is a lot of big bags strewn out on the footpath. I love talking to the Aboriginal women. Some of them are so stoic and no nonsense. They buy for everyone with most garments costing $3 or $4. The garments are donated by a Rotary club in Brisbane. I talked with a darling old lady who was the grandmother of a little girl my daughter Lisa loved when she was there some fifteen years ago. The girl is now nineteen years old. She was a very bright preschool student when Lisa was there and is now on social security. No jobs in Doomadgee. It's really the end of the road.

I then came home and swept a ton of red dust out of the house, washed clothes, washed floors and washed myself.

Sunday

Mostly at the computer. I'm going up to school now to do some work.

I do hope I can keep up the pace. I wouldn't have missed it for quids (as they say) although I have some bad days.

By the way, Lisa is leaving Canada to go to Los Angeles and Bangkok and Vietnam to review some program for the UN and then she has four weeks to write up the report so she'll be home during the time I'll be home in Brisbane.

I feel very privileged to have had all the friendship and support and love that you have all sent me. Say no more.

I'm becoming quite attached to the place. I say that sincerely.

But ... looking forward to seeing everyone.

Love from Lola

Back in Doomadgee

October, 2003.

Dear all

At present the Doomadgee scene is not good: a terrible thing has happened. The ABC has gone on the blink. I think there's been a power surge. I can't watch the ABC news – the highlight of my night – the highlight of my life actually here in Doom. I sat down at the computer to do some schoolwork instead but I don't think that I'm up to it. It's been a hard and hot week. I gave myself a few games of FreeCell instead (I'm addicted to it – especially if I have any work to do.) and tried the TV but it's still not working. Perhaps it never will. And I don't know of any means of getting it fixed. I must say, though, that I've found out what to do to get a new gas cylinder for the stove and the hot water so that by tomorrow I'll probably be able to cook again. The hot water is not so high on the list of essentials here. No need really.

However, with three weeks nearly down and six more to go, I've decided to start some form of communication with the outside world again. Unfortunately it doesn't seem that anything much has happened so there isn't much to communicate. Yesterday was a very bad day and as I trudged home feeling very concerned about the state of affairs it crossed my mind that maybe the kids who'd been causing such utter chaos could possibly have been on funny stuff. Who knows? It's rife. Not just here, I know. Not kids I teach just some older ones. It leaves a bad feeling.

Yesterday I felt particularly old and particularly useless and helpless but then when Years 1, 2, 3 were gathered under the covered way (in searing heat) to start to practise some songs for the upcoming Christmas festivities one of my young casual acquaintances called Taylor was lurking around a post somewhere and eyeing us all off from afar with no intention of participating when I went over and lured him in to the scene and stood behind him so that he was aware of my presence. Before long a couple of pudgy black hands reached up and wrapped my arms around him. As long as I stayed like this he participated in the actions and some semblance of singing. He seemed to enjoy the contact. He seemed to like "Santa Claus is Coming Town." If only! I refer to him as a casual acquaintance, since, although he is actually on roll he only lobbed along twice that I know of last term and didn't appear again until last week on the Friday. Since then he has been at school three times this week. I'm hoping he doesn't make it a habit. We're getting a bit worried. My main aim when he's in the room is to get him to stop rolling on the floor, to learn to write his name, and to enjoy some books: just to look at the pictures or stop rolling around long enough to listen to a story: a surprisingly big ask.

When I asked him why he didn't come to school (along with half of the other school-age population) he looked particularly cunning and said that his mum and dad hit him with sticks to try to make him come to school but he just didn't. Since then I've been trying the old hitting with sticks routine to get me to come to school. It's having more success with me than with Taylor. Taylor is about eight years old and is big and lumbering and lumpish: definitely not in the cute category. Dullish? I don't know. He often gives the appearance of being stone deaf as he ignores all and sundry. I see no evidence of friends at school except for shoving and pushing a few kids now and then. I don't think he's got much going for him socially or academically so I will hang in there and keep trying. Next time I happen to run into him I will continue the battle to help him write his own name. I have no idea of what he does when he isn't at school.

I arrived back at Doomadgee after the holidays full of vim and vigour and enthusiasm and determination but vim and vigour and determination can be a frail and fragile thing. I ask a lot of my iron tablets and horseradish and garlic tablets.

By the second day I was observing some kids in the playground carrying on like fools and I felt like saying, "Get a brain." Then I said to myself (who else?), "This is the way it is. If you don't like it go home." So I decided to stay and the kids and I and all of us battle on. Unfortunately, I'm reading Whitefella Coming, a report by an anthropologist from the University of Western Australia written in the seventies when the mission was still here, and I have to keep this place in an historical perspective. He wrote about the colonisation of the land in the Gulf area as it affected Doomadgee, and the migration of the various tribes as they were cut off from their food and from the waterholes – also forbidden to participate in their traditional ceremonies and their language and made totally dependent. It helps me to understand many things and to try to suspend judgment. But I like to have a little judge now and then. It makes me feel better.

So, what else besides philosophising?

On a different note, I was very lucky one morning to see a particular weather phenomenon called the Morning Glory. It is a certain type of low cloud formation that stretches for hundreds of kilometres (hundreds of miles in the good old days). I believe it can even be as extensive as a thousand or so kilometres. Apparently it's only found in this area and in Mexico. The bank of clouds stretches across the skies, low down, and rotates like a big cylinder. If it comes close enough you can see the drifts of clouds whirling round and round. You become alerted to its presence by a strong wind that comes before it. The one that came over was just before 7: 00 a.m. as I was on my way to school. It wasn't one of the most spectacular as it had begun to dissipate on the Doomadgee end. It was a way over and extending from Burketown, which is the best place to see them apparently. It was quite thrilling to see. Look it up on the internet where you may find more accurate information than I'm able to give you. I'm hoping for another viewing before I go home.

Lisa sent me some photos that included photos of myself that were taken when I was home for the holidays and as a result of that I've started walking again despite the heat. I have to wait till about 6 o'clock in the afternoon and even then it's hot. However, there's a definite change in the weather. There's a sense of storm and sometimes the clouds come over. It's hotter than last term, but still no rain, although it did rain while I was away on holidays. As I walk down toward the ant hills when I go for my walk I go past Colleen's house (She's the principal.) and there is a very flash bird's bower built of long grass right in the yard just over the fence from the road. You've never seen such busy birds. It's not the familiar satin bower bird: it's the stage for the great bower bird to woo his female companions. The bird has a small bright pinkish ruff of feathers on its neck when it displays. Such is life in Doomadgee that it is a must on my daily list of things to see and do. Each morning one (or both) of the bower birds arrives at 7o'clock in the branches of the poinciana tree just outside my kitchen window and seizes a small pale silvery bud from the tree. It looks very grand as it flaunts its prize then shoots off homeward to add the treasure to its hoard of other whitish adornments for the bower. It only collects whiteish adornments unlike the satin bower bird that collects blue. I don't know if the courtship is over yet or if it has been successful and I don't know if or where he or she has built the nest. The bower is just for strutting and displaying and seeing if the male is up to the mark to regenerate the gene pool of the great bower bird. A bit like the red sports car used by some human males.

(Continues...)

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