Leaving the party before it is over!
The Post-Benoit Era begins……….. A sad time to leave, but nothing I could do would allow me to stay. The powers that be had their two poence worth and cast me adrift. All for speaking out and being myself. The controllers of the programme dont like my individualism and my fun loving hedonistic approach to life. They say that I scare the Indonesians, but a sparrow makes them run for the hills and the sight of bare Glasgow flesh makes them cross the road to escape. By sending me home they have shot themselves in the foot bif time. Thye have sent home and banished someone who can make a difference and has the courage to do so. The project supervisors cant see the wood for the trees and strive to create sopmething that they know they cant. They flog a dead horse. They never liked the fact that I speak my mind.Its now back to Essex and then a few trips away before the big one beckons.
The other day it would have been the first ‘teamtime’ session In the post Benoit era (I am not trying to sound dramatic), it hit me hard! It hit me like a plank of wood well aimed at the knee caps. It sent me spinning and I feel dizzy.
I wish I was still up there in Bonnie Scotland with you lot. I miss it, I miss all the randomness and the friends that I have left behind. It feels like I am coming pout of a Coma down here. Being back in Essex is doing my nut in, I am so bored. All the old things seem mundane and no one has moved on.
Even though I am away from the randomness of Indonesia the surreal ness of life never seems to amaze me. I was walking through London after meeting up with an old Friend and going to Camden and somehow we ended up in the Weatherspoons in Whitehall. As we were walking back to the tube station we past Trafalgar square. Low and behold who should I see? Bloody Bruce Forsyth in the flesh. It was some strictly come dancing bollocks and he was being mobbed and through his microphone which was audible through the massive speakers he was sternly saying to these sprogs running at him ‘back off’. Oh what a ledge!
Back in Essex after being thrown off from the VSO global xchange programme creates a feeling of tremendous loss. I am away, absent gone into the mists of time disappearing until only Smokey fragments of memory exist.
Its odd to be thrown back into a life that you were so easily forgetting. To return to rubbish jobs, warm beer in the local and the thudding of Essex boy cars as they roar past with their chav music up to top whack.
Since being shown the VSO door I have kept myself busy. My hair is now short and brown, my beard trimmed and rather rascalish, my room is full of carved masks and I have driven my Grans car illegally.
Life is slowly getting back to some shape again. But I have another trip next week to Look forward to. Yes I am off once more. This time I am off for a 4 day jaunt to Amsterdam. Copius amounts of weed await me, amstel beers, goos Dutch company and meeting some old mates whom I haven’t seen for quite a while.
I argued every angle in the most polite and calm voice. But I fear that this decision to send me home was made a long time ago and not by Bex. Tom officially kicked me off and left the room to phone the head boss of the GX programme. When he left the room Bex broke into tears and said that she didn’t want me to go. But if that was the case then why did she keep her mouth shut while Tom was kicking me off and I was fighting my corner like a caged tiger. Therefore I can only assume that she wanted me to go from day one. We have never seen eye to eye before and have always crossed paths on opinions and the like.
It was so cloke and dagger of them to kick me off like that. Call for me to come in and then do it. I wasn’t given pre warning and the chance to defend myself. Nothing. I was ill equipped to fight the battle, which lay awaiting in ambush for me.
How do you change suddenly and without warning?
One moment you are working like a trooper in Bonnie Scotland happy as Larry, meeting friends going to the gym and having a great time. Then suddenly you get the news most dreaded and completely out of the blue that you are going home. Being outcast, ostracised, cast into the void that it time and space. The feeling of emptiness was too much for me to bear.
The train journey was long and gave me too much time to dwell. I know that I have to keep busy and write all my experiences down like I am doing now. This is therapeutic and also creates a record foe me.
The train didn’t get into London Kings cross till 12.30am the Saturday morning. I loaded up my bags and went to the underground station. But when I was on my way to Liverpool street we stopped. A poor sole had taken their life by throwing themselves under the train. This hit me because I could not stop thinking about loss. In my case it is not loss of life but loss of precious time and experiences spent with people who are up in Scotland still. The place I loved and should still be.
While travelling down I thought about getting off at York to see Fae, but the train only stopped for a minute and by the time I was perusing the idea in my head the train pulled out and the automatic door locked.
I therefore had to load myself up and loads of commuters all going back home all-beered up and I had to walk from Moorgate station to get to Liverpool street. Its not a long walk but we had 5 minutes to do the ten-minute walk in and there was one last train. I also was loaded up like a bloody packhorse and the surging drunken crowd really didn’t want to let me get there on time. I ran like a wobbling wind swaying with my bags under my arms and on my back. My capeng bouncing on my bag and my lacrosse stick dangling. I got their just in time to push through the barrier hurdle with difficulty the rail run down the escalators and jumped on the last train to Epping. But it wasn’t the last train to Epping. It was a bloody Hainault via New bury park one so I had to change again at Leytonstone.
On the train some youths took a liking to me and shouted things like’ Hey Jesus can you turn this into wine’, and then tried to carry my bags, but they were so drunk that they couldn’t lift them. They must have seen the non expression or some sort of fire in my eyes as I didn’t say a thing but they left me alone after I gave them a calm stare.
Finally I got to Epping station at 2am and my mate was in his car waiting for me. The trouble is he had hardly any boot space because of his stereo system and speakers so it was a cramped ride home.
That night I slept in a strange bed and then in the morning I awoke to find myself back in my town.
Unable to get into my house as the oldies are in Menorca. Unable to go anywhere as my car is uninsured and declared off the road at my Grans and she is in Italy.
What do I do now?
Well the Saturday I went to my other grans and started to wash my clothes. Everything looked different. My granddad was thinner than ever, my gran looked tired and the dog was too sore to move because of her hysterectomy but she wagged her tail and I lent my head against hers as she licked my cheek.
So lets me tell you this. Adjusting suddenly back to a life you almost cant remember is a strange thing. I am at home alone as I got the spare keys off my grans, but the house has no water and therefore I have to piss in the garden. Nice I know but true? Therefore I have to go to my grans to wash. I am unpacking at home and putting my masks up on the walls and reading my post. I am listing to music and trying to put everything away without making a mess.
I decided that I was not going to mope. I could mope and sit there and get rip ragingly drunk and wallow in my own self pity. But I am bloody not going to. Fucks sake man I am not dead. I have just been sent home. I have made the greatest friends that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, many of which I have given permanently rooms of residency in my heart. So I am going to sort my self out.
First thing was I had a few people round and we had a small BBQ at mine. There hardly any food in the house but a few mates came round and we polished off my little brother ‘s (he is in Ibiza, what a chav) and cooked a bit. We sat in the scorching sun and talked.
The I popped down to my local pub which is now over 21’s as someone crashed into the front of it and it is a listed building. Therefore as the person who was driving was 18 that must mean that all 18 years old can damaged the pub. The logic behind the whole thing is reminiscent of VSO’s decision to create more trouble for themselves and send me home.
Sunday I continued to methodically unpack but had visitor after visitor of friends all popping in to see me. I have missed them and each and everyone said I needed to shave.
So guess what when I went up the road to play football as my football team needed a goalkeeper I got my old job back.
I walked up to the sports centre where I used to work and they are crying out for staff. They couldn’t believe how I looked they were shocked. But the conditions of the new employers are that all long hair must be tied back, only one earring per ear and staff must be clean shaven. So what I have done is sculpt my beard from jungle mass to rather dapper creation. I look like I have a jaw line again now. I can see the definition of my face. I look much better. But still a wee bit hairy. Well they got the shaving out of me but the rest they wont bother to complain to me about.
Playing football was a great feeling. I was in goal and a bit rusty but my team are pretty poor at the moment sop I got in a lot of practice. We lost but I was like Ben the cat again. But a bit more restricted in movement. It’s coming back to me though.
So I have a job and some shifts, I have unpacked, I have bought some hair dye but haven’t used it yet and my first shift is tomorrow. Therefore I have sit down to write my diary and conclude my Indonesian and Scottish adventure. It ended prematurely, but not all stories have an idyllic ending do they. But my bar where I worked in has gone and the gym I go to have been demolished. So I can continue to run, but I was really becoming a gym freak again!
I don’t know what I will do. I have a few ideas but I will sort myself out. I may go away somewhere and meet some of the people I met in Africa.
I am definitely going to sell my car and get my motorbike license in a weeks intensive course and buy a classic bike with a sidecar. When I got to my house my mini is sitting there, all gutted out as she is being restored but a silver mini has appeared from no where in the drive.
One thing made me laugh. A mate said to me ‘Oi Ben I saw you in the times like’. I don’t know what was more shocking. Ennik and my article was also in the English times or one of my Friends actually reads it? Funny old thing life.
Since I have been back the phone calls (even ones at 2am) and the texts from the Scottish lot whom I left behind have been flooding in. They bring a smile to my face, I know I left an indelible mark. I still feel like I have lost a leg and think I forever will. But I am the last of the Whateley-Harris’s and by Jove lets bloody cat like one then shall we. Music up loud in the house, going out and enjoying life.
I left behind the greatest people in the world. The people who are my family. I love them all and always will do. I hold no grudges for the ones who complained about me and the ones who thought ill of me. I hope that they think the same of me.
Everything keeps reminding me off the times I have just had and been forced to leave. The masks I am putting up on my walls, the music I listen to. The music conjures mental images of people and times and activities we did. I feel like I shouldn’t be here back in Essex. I feel like a hairy impostor in my hometown. Essex eh. Oh what a place. You may have NEDS up in Scotland but here we have and its so delightful to reacquainted with those little fuckers known as Chavs. Oh I hate chavs!
This brings the final curtain down on my adventure. There will be an epilogue come September and I look forward to seeing them all.
But for now This is the major part concluded, I can conclude by saying that I write far far far too much.
I will end on some quotes which I feel are rather apt..
‘Fate shuffles the cards and we play’ (Arthur Schopenhauer)
‘The hardest decision you ever make is knowing that you have made a mistake’ (Art Brut)
‘So when your lonely, you know I am here waiting for you’. (Franz Ferdinand)
The last quite means that I am only a phone call away and that I am waiting for you. Waiting to see you all at the debrief.
Have a great time in Avey Bridge and make sure you do all the mad things I would have done.
I love you all, see you all soon!!!!!!
Benoit
Remember whisper my name and watch me dance.
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Holland extravaganza
Well I am back now after a great 4 days of hedonistic fun in the land of Clogs. Oh how wonderful it was to jump on the easy jet plane and shoot over the water for a bit of fun.
I was one night taken to a International students bar and we didn’t leave till 5.30am. It was crazy man!
Amsterdam may be the place to go, But I have been in Leiden a picturesque university town only 30 minutes by the train from the capital. There I have been staying with a friend and it seems like the token Englishman has been adopted by all my friends friends who made me dance all night and also lent me a bike to use.
It was so surreal as all the Dutch use bikes rather than cars. We should learn from this and outside clubs, bars, stations and cafés are hundreds of bikes all chained up to railings and they also have their own special bike parking areas. The bikes are really old granny ones too. No one cares what they look like out here. There is no materialistic idea about mountain bikes. bikes with baskets and breaks using the pedals pushed in the opposite direction are the rage!
Also I have had a day at the sea side. The Dutch seaside is very much like the British equivalent but much cleaner and with less chavs and arcades. Instead they have windmills and lots of cheese. Oh this place may be famous or infamous for porn, red light districts and drugs but the cheeses steals it for me. Also the Hertog Jam beer isn’t half bad either!!!
I have been staying with friends whom I met in Africa and also stayed one night in Amsterdam in a cool flat over looking the wonderful Vondelspark where I spent many an hour sitting drinking and smoking.
But now I am back and recovering after a night out in Chelmsford where I ended up staying out til 4 am again. Oh I need some sleep.
Night all.
Indonesia or Bust Scotland beckons
Ben's back in the UK!!!!!!
Indonesia or Bust 11 - The End Glasgow lets rock!!!!
JULY 2ND
A long time has passed since I last wrote and an awful lot has happened. For starters In am in Bonnie Scotland where they have an obsession with Irn-Bru and many drunks roam the streets singing at you. Its juts like home but it doesnt get dark til 11.30pm. So its a real contract from Indoland getting dark at 5.30 each evening.
So far I have been sampling the good Scottish culture such as having a good booze up. It is strange to go into a club or bar and have to push your way through all the smokers standing on the pavement as they are banned from smoking inside. But is is great to come home not smelling of old fags after a ood drinking session.
I have to pretend I am an Aussie mots of the time as yesterday saw the orange marches and the world cup end for our heroic boys. Oh Rooney why doyou have to be such a chavchild and why is Christaino Ronaldo such a snug basterd that you want to smash his face in!
Yet again the dream has ended............
Indoland is now in the past, the second phase of our Glbal Xchange has now started and here I am in Maryhill Glasgow where the weather is refreshingly cold and the sun sems to never set. I am working for the Princes trust and really also baby sitting the Indo's as they are like fish out of water and have no idea as to whats going on and cant fathom out anything at all. They are scared of seeing people sitting drinking outside a pub, scared of crossing the road, scared of the accent and scared to do anything un-Indoish. They even go so out of their way to eat only noodles and Indonesian foods. I knew that they wouldnt be asked to conform lik we did. For one they havnt the ability to as tey are so extreme in their beliefs and ways. But they have also been indoctrinated to be so, well so bloody Indo. They are so fundamenta theat they look at our culture as though they have desended into the fiery furnaces of hell. They even brought eith them so much bloody Indo food and not once can we get them to sample fsh and chips or a slither of haggis. I fully understand that they only eat halal meat but for gods sake try a bit of cheese fr the first time in your life. Dont come to Brirain and live in an Indo bubble.
The police gave them a talking to about safety as they alreday walking round in a group, jumpers tucked into waits bands that were up to their nipples and bloody socks and sandles were taken away on a trip by some complete stranger. Its so bloody ironic, the police told them as they were complete naive visitors to this country not to talk to strangers and the next day armed with bloody rape alarms which the copper gave them they go to Loch Lomonde with a random tey met in the street!!!
Dogs! Miftah is murder to live with, not only does he stink to high heaven and never use any form of deoderant but he is shit scared of the dog. So much so that when he walks around in the house he arms himself with that bloody ear splitting rape alarm and a spatula. He wont leave the house to do anything and wont even go into the room where the dog is. Get over it man!
Last days in Indolands
Our last time spent in Indonesia was a mixture of formal and informal farewells. We had a governors reception thing in Surabuya where they presented us with placques each and there were lots of speeches. But so many cameras that they all crwded round you and became irritating. The govenor a rotund moustached man gave speech after speech and some other chief honchos spoke and it was al rather tedious really. Back in Malnag we all had to stand up and say something as a sort of leaving speechs so I said a few things in 12 different languages whichI got off the internet and really had no idea about pronounciation at all. All of this of course was done in bloody batik. Batik is not forever gone, thank goodness that I have never got to wear that awful shite again.
So after the Indos fiorst ever flight and the first time they had ever left the country. We headed to Glasgow vis Singapore and London. Og wat a flight! I froliced in the free beers and gin al the time, when we got to Singapore airport we ran straight for the bar and it was cosktails all round. Wehave been back almots 2 weeks now and already I have had to carry Hugh home from his brithday night out. We went out on the town and lived it up. Only Brits of course you would never get an Indo coming out aftre 6pm. But what a cool night out we had. It was juts wat the dpoctors ordered, but the fuzzy head feeling the morning after as I woke up spralwed on Katies floor wasnt the greatest return home reminder of hardcore binge drinking after a long sabbatical!
When we irst got to Scotland vis our stop overs and randomhello I'm back send me socks and pants phone calles we went to our In country orientation for the Indos in the beautiful Scottosh town of Stirling. This place has actually got a statue of Mel Gibson at the castle. Yes a five foot nothing ststue that looks like a bleeding action figure, oh how braveheart boosted the Scottish tourist industry! At Stirling we had many sessions basically based at our naive friends from Asia on how to adapt and many team bonding sessins. Oh how I am sick of all that tripe. But ater a few days of reajjustment where I sampled many beers and cheeses to get my tates buds back to normal and managed to properly wash my clothes we went back to Glasgow to meet our host families.
I am yet again living with captain stinky and his awful bodily odours. But my host Mum who intridueced her self to me as 'I am your new mummy' is fantastic. Angela O' Sullivan is a great hoot, an Irish lady from Kenmare who ves fun and is a great person to stay up late drining Guinness with. She also has a dog which Miftah is scared of and hides from and she also loves a tipple so I am drink in the house and scare olf uber Islamic smelly pants out of his mind. Her dog 'mocca' is wonderful and hastaken to me. We regualryl run in the park eveymorning and he is my fitness buddy. Its great to be doing some sport again, we evengot free leisure passes so I canuse the locals gyms for free. The trouble is my local gym is near Ibrox (I worl near in Govan Hill) and there are alays bloody fights going on. Sort of area an English southern accent should be avoided. Hense my constant use of Australian!
I live on Maryhill road up to top by th station and her house is a beautifully converted tenement flat. Top floor with views over the par. glasgow as a city has the mots parks in Europe and some late night spots.I have orientated myself almost fully and I rem,embered where all the weatherspoons pubs werer from my visit here 3 years ago. We had a community welcome and even had a piper play for us. One of the Indonesians did a little dance of stage which to her anoyance I keep imitating and since our arrival, being met by the LOcal Member of the Scottish parliament and reporters aswell as the all the partners of this exchange and all the hosts and worki placemnts. We have also been a bit of a media frenzy up here. The locals rags and the national papers including todays Sunday times (which I get a menton in) have all asked us for interviews and they have concentrated on the shock value of the Indos coming from depravity to the UK to hlep. IOts not the norm really is it and it makes for shock news. But even though the papers have been full of us, Richard and Judy wanted in on the action but backed out as we then were not front page anymore and had our moment fame.
I am working for the princes trust here in a place called Govan Hill and there area is full of chavs and whet are called NEET people. Basically young people not in employment or education. I have my work vut out and especially as I am working with Ennik one of the Indos who needs constantly bady sitting. They are so out of their depth. But I am enjoying watching that waste of space Fifie the Indo supervisoor struggle. Its so funny seeing the indos shuder when they walk past Anne Summers or visibly look sick when they see a wino in the street. They are so sheltered and now have to face the real world. A world where alcohol is in your face, there are dogs and kidsshout obsenities at you. Luckily they havnt realised that when a kid shouts 'Chinkey' at them it is an insult!
So for a while I have been getting readjusted back to a normal life again. Drinking, eating copius amounts of cheeses exploring the city and babysitting the lost, dazed and confused indonesians. Luckily my host mum has said to me that I can leave Miftah for her to baby sit so I can go out and have fun. The Indos are intheir little bloody buddle here again and have not done anthing British at all. That annoys me as I dressed up in their bloody batik, danced in festivals, was made to wear traditional attire and ate all the spicy food that blew my socks off when I consumed it. They cannot even try anything or even set foot ina pub so have a look. They are little lost kids.
As for now I have joined the gym, been running with the lvely dog and visited many other volunteers host housese and their great host families. Tomorrow is the first full day at work and a routine. For now Indonesia is over, but rock on Glasgow!!!
Take care all and you dont have to read the newspapers articles which I have put on the end of this.
Love to all
Ben
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What the Sunday times said when we rocked up to Glasgow...................
The Sunday Times
June 25, 2006
Third World to aid Glasgow poorMarc Horne
IT HAS traditionally been a chance for gap-year students and skilled people from affluent backgrounds to do a good deed in the world’s most destitute spots. Now it seems Britain itself is a suitable case for help from the developing world.
The charity Voluntary Service Overseas (VSO) is bringing volunteers from Indonesia into some of Britain’s roughest housing schemes to help tackle deprivation that is sometimes worse than in their own homelands.
The visitors have been warned they will be working in areas with “shocking” levels of violence, drunkenness and other social ills.
Nine Indonesians, aged 17-25, will be sent for three months to districts of Glasgow. Paired with British volunteers, they will work on projects addressing poverty, racism and disability.
Here they will become acquainted with the city’s endemic crime, random violence and such terms as “a Glasgow kiss” (a headbutt) and “a Glasgow smile” (a mouth extended with a cut).
Under the programme, known as Global Xchange, young people from other developing countries have spent time in deprived areas of Birmingham, Luton, Bradford and Blaenavon in Wales. In return, young people from those British cities have been able to spend time in the developing countries.
Youngsters from Sri Lanka, Uzbekistan, India, Nigeria and the Philippines have also worked in parts of Bradford, Luton and Selby.
The Glasgow districts are among the most impoverished in Britain, with life expectancy rates below those of many developing countries. Average life expectancy in Indonesia is 66, compared with 60 for men born in Maryhill and Milton.
Rebecca Metcalfe, the project supervisor, said the visitors have been told to prepare themselves for the harsh realities of inner-city Britain.
“Before arriving in the UK, the Indonesians had preconceptions that they picked up from movies and adverts,” she said. “They saw the West as glamorous with everyone being affluent and having access to high-technology gadgets. But the next three months are really going to challenge those preconceptions.
“They are going to see and experience things which will surprise them. They are going to be shocked.”
The visitors, members of the Indonesian Scout Association, will live with families in Glasgow during their stay. They have been told that there are areas of the city where there are problems of drink and drug abuse and they have been briefed about the country’s growing secularisation, according to Metcalfe.
“Poverty in Glasgow is at a different level from Indonesia but it is a serious and very real part of life here.
“In Indonesia, most people never drink alcohol and drug use is very much underground,” she said. “They will be especially surprised at the number of young people who use drink and drugs.”
She added: “They were surprised to learn that people in the UK have the right to have no religion. In Indonesia it is expected that you must follow a faith.”
Indonesia is among the poorest countries in the world. The monthly average wage is around £40, and most people have to survive on less than £2 a day. According to figures published by Unicef, as many as 140m people, around two-thirds of the 210m population, live below the poverty line.What the Daily Record said...............
SCOTLAND GETS AID FROM THIRD WORLD
Volunteers braced for 'shock'
By Ben Spencer
ONE of the world's poorest countries is sending aid workers to Scotland.
Nine volunteers from Third World Indonesia will spend three months trying to tackle deprivation in Maryhill and Milton, Glasgow.
The districts are among Britain's poorest, with life expectancy for men some six years lower than in Indonesia- 60 compared with 66.
The group, aged 17-25, have been warned they'll face "shocking" levels of violence, drunkenness, drug abuse and other social problems.
They will stay with local families and work on projects addressing poverty, racism and disability.
The trip has been orgaanised by the charity Voluntary Service Overseas as part of Global Xchange.
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Rebecca Metcalfe, project supervisor, said: "The Indonesians see the West as glamorous with everyone being affluent and having access to hi-tech gadgets.
"The next three months are going to challenge those preconceptions."
The exchange bucks the trend of sending people from richer countries to the world's poorest regions.
The average monthly wage in Indonesia is about £40 - compared with £1943 in Scotland. Rebecca added: "Poverty in Glasgow is at a different level from Indonesia but is a serious and very real part of life.
"The visitors will be especially surprised at the number of young people who use drink and drugs."
A Glasgow City Council spokeswoman said: "We welcome people from all over the world on cultural and professional exchanges."
The sunday times article from july 2nd. I get a mention, oh fame at last!!!!
We thought you needed some help in the First World
Adrian Turpin meets the Indonesian volunteers who have come from the Third World to help the deprived of Glasgow
Oh, for the certainties of empire. Britain exported civilisation to its colonies, and the country was smug in the belief that this trade in values was strictly one way. Pity any Victorian imperialist faced with last week’s news, then, that nine Indonesian volunteers are being deployed to help in some of the most deprived areas of Glasgow.
Indonesia is one of the world’s poorest nations. Since its economy collapsed a decade ago it has struggled to keep pace with its Asian counterparts. The tsunami and the earthquakes dealt it further blows. Poverty is endemic. Britain’s Department for International Development says that 40% of the Indonesian population (roughly 86m people) live on less than £1 a day.
A cynic might say that seeking help from such a country is a bit like asking the Swiss to train your navy or hiring a national football coach from Sweden. But these statistics do not tell the whole story. In Indonesia the average life expectancy is 66, whereas in Maryhill — the area of northwest Glasgow where the Indonesian volunteers will spend three months — it is less than 60 for men.
The third most deprived area in the UK, according to a 2002 survey by the Child Poverty Action Group, Maryhill has some of the worst records for drug abuse, heart disease and unemployment in Scotland. Its streets are a jumble of ragged tenement blocks, iron-grilled chemist shops, tattoo parlours and fish bars.
It is not hard to see why the Global Xchange scheme should choose this part of the city. Run by Voluntary Service Overseas, Community Service Volunteers and the British Council, the programme’s aim is to pair a group of British 17 to 25-year-olds with their peers from a nation in the developing world. The group spends three months in each country, staying with local families and learning about each other’s lives. Unlike many similar cultural exchanges, however, they do useful charity work within their host community.
Potential for culture shock is great on both sides. But while 24-hour news has made poverty familiar to young Britons, in Indonesia the prevailing images of the UK remain Big Ben, Hugh Grant and trooping the colour.
“At home we never see any of the problems in Britain on television,” says one of the volunteers, 23-year-old Ennik Fajarwati. “When I heard about the scheme I thought, how can we in Indonesia do anything to help? We have created the stereotype that western countries have a modern life and society and won’t need anything.”
Fajarwati arrived in Glasgow nine days ago. It is the first time she has been out of Indonesia, the first time she has not eaten rice three times a day. She finds it hard to sleep in Glasgow because, unlike East Java, the summer sun in Glasgow does not set until almost 10pm.
British toilets, she giggles, take a bit of getting used to; so does the Glaswegian accent. What has she learnt so far? “In Britain you have to be on time in any situation,” she says. “In Indonesia we have rubber time.” But other things are harder to get her head round. “I find it surprising that people live longer in Indonesia than in some parts of Glasgow. I would have imagined it was the other way round. I thought the welfare system was very good in the UK.”
Fajarwati and her English pair, 23-year-old Ben Whateley-Harris from Essex, are to work with the Prince’s Trust in Govanhill, another pocket of deprivation on the city’s south side. Their project is to encourage social enterprise and is one of five pilot schemes across Britain.
“What we’re asking them to do is get out on the street and engage the young people,” says Ken Imrie, the Trust’s Glasgow manager. Imrie hopes that, as a Muslim and a woman, Fajarwati may be able to reach sections of the community that would otherwise be neglected.
Glaswegians may be shocked to be receiving charity from the Third World, but what is happening there may offer a glimpse of the future. Increasingly the university-educated elite of the developing nations (to which Fajarwati, the daughter of a teacher and a navy officer, belongs) will not be content to stay at home but will seek the same opportunities as their western counterparts; keen to do a little good in their gap year while polishing their CVs. And where better than Britain?
Instead of nursing wounded pride at accepting help from afar, we should be grateful. There are, after all, parallels. The National Health Service would grind to a halt without Ugandan doctors, Nigerian nurses and the like. Last January Médecins du Monde, the medical charity, launched a clinic in east London because it believed the state provision was not adequate. If that doesn’t dent misplaced First World pride, nothing will.
The Sunday Times Review 2nd July 2006
We thought you needed some help in the First World
Adrian Turpin meets the Indonesian volunteers who have come from the Third World to help the deprived of Glasgow
Oh, for the certainties of empire. Britain exported civilisation to its colonies, and the country was smug in the belief that this trade in values was strictly one way. Pity any Victorian imperialist faced with last week’s news, then, that nine Indonesian volunteers are being deployed to help in some of the most deprived areas of Glasgow.
Indonesia is one of the world’s poorest nations. Since its economy collapsed a decade ago it has struggled to keep pace with its Asian counterparts. The tsunami and the earthquakes dealt it further blows. Poverty is endemic. Britain’s Department for International Development says that 40% of the Indonesian population (roughly 86m people) live on less than £1 a day.
A cynic might say that seeking help from such a country is a bit like asking the Swiss to train your navy or hiring a national football coach from Sweden. But these statistics do not tell the whole story. In Indonesia the average life expectancy is 66, whereas in Maryhill — the area of northwest Glasgow where the Indonesian volunteers will spend three months — it is less than 60 for men.
The third most deprived area in the UK, according to a 2002 survey by the Child Poverty Action Group, Maryhill has some of the worst records for drug abuse, heart disease and unemployment in Scotland. Its streets are a jumble of ragged tenement blocks, iron-grilled chemist shops, tattoo parlours and fish bars.
It is not hard to see why the Global Xchange scheme should choose this part of the city. Run by Voluntary Service Overseas, Community Service Volunteers and the British Council, the programme’s aim is to pair a group of British 17 to 25-year-olds with their peers from a nation in the developing world. The group spends three months in each country, staying with local families and learning about each other’s lives. Unlike many similar cultural exchanges, however, they do useful charity work within their host community.
Potential for culture shock is great on both sides. But while 24-hour news has made poverty familiar to young Britons, in Indonesia the prevailing images of the UK remain Big Ben, Hugh Grant and trooping the colour.
“At home we never see any of the problems in Britain on television,” says one of the volunteers, 23-year-old Ennik Fajarwati. “When I heard about the scheme I thought, how can we in Indonesia do anything to help? We have created the stereotype that western countries have a modern life and society and won’t need anything.”
Fajarwati arrived in Glasgow nine days ago. It is the first time she has been out of Indonesia, the first time she has not eaten rice three times a day. She finds it hard to sleep in Glasgow because, unlike East Java, the summer sun in Glasgow does not set until almost 10pm.
British toilets, she giggles, take a bit of getting used to; so does the Glaswegian accent. What has she learnt so far? “In Britain you have to be on time in any situation,” she says. “In Indonesia we have rubber time.” But other things are harder to get her head round. “I find it surprising that people live longer in Indonesia than in some parts of Glasgow. I would have imagined it was the other way round. I thought the welfare system was very good in the UK.”
Fajarwati and her English pair, 23-year-old Ben Whateley-Harris from Essex, are to work with the Prince’s Trust in Govanhill, another pocket of deprivation on the city’s south side. Their project is to encourage social enterprise and is one of five pilot schemes across Britain.
“What we’re asking them to do is get out on the street and engage the young people,” says Ken Imrie, the Trust’s Glasgow manager. Imrie hopes that, as a Muslim and a woman, Fajarwati may be able to reach sections of the community that would otherwise be neglected.
Glaswegians may be shocked to be receiving charity from the Third World, but what is happening there may offer a glimpse of the future. Increasingly the university-educated elite of the developing nations (to which Fajarwati, the daughter of a teacher and a navy officer, belongs) will not be content to stay at home but will seek the same opportunities as their western counterparts; keen to do a little good in their gap year while polishing their CVs. And where better than Britain?
Instead of nursing wounded pride at accepting help from afar, we should be grateful. There are, after all, parallels. The National Health Service would grind to a halt without Ugandan doctors, Nigerian nurses and the like. Last January Médecins du Monde, the medical charity, launched a clinic in east London because it believed the state provision was not adequate. If that doesn’t dent misplaced First World pride, nothing will.
