Shaky Foundations, Plugs and Voltage

Night falls, and I’ve just returned from cafeteria dinner to my annex apartment. Thank you, Universe, for (somewhat) functioning electricity and three out of four wireless bars. Some of my neighbours— two dozen high school boarders—are playing football in the driveway, their laughter and shouts nearly drowning out Dorm-mother, who yells that it’s time for study hall. Prayer-call drifts up the hill from a mosque (I’ve been told it’s the adhan, but it doesn't match my memory, and I wonder whether Tamil-accented Arabic is as distinct from Arabic and incomprehensible as Tamil-accented English is from English).

I’m putting aside a pile of French tests that need marking, and some demo-fish that need painting, and an IB assessment guide that needs reading…to write, and relax, and rest. I’ve got a nasty headcold (thank you, germy children!) and taught one too many classes today. The schedule's been finalized. Art/ESL somehow became French/Art/Math/3rd and 4th grade Language Arts. My favourite age-group and subject, YAY! And I have been encouraged to incorporate a lot of visual arts into their lessons. Double YAY! And the 6th graders report that they like French because I make it fun (triple yay, but whispered cautiously, because now I wonder whether it's too fun).

The youngest ones continue to be a real (and unpleasant) challenge. I feel like a babysitter. A grumpy one. With a sinus infection. Walking up the hill from elementary campus this afternoon, feeling sour and sorry for myself, I looked up and notice that I was schlepping along behind three Tamil women. Barefoot, in dusty saris, gracefully navigating the cows, motos, buses, taxis. Balancing on their heads bundles of firewood, each bundle at least five times as big around as one of their waists...

It wasn’t that moment. It wasn’t a piercing realization that I can’t complain of having 3-year-olds in my art room twice a week, when these women carry firewood on their heads, uphill all day long every day, for a hand-to-mouth living. It wasn’t; I’m not quite there yet. And I’m not sure I will get "there" anyway, not sure it ever means much to compare fortunes or misfortunes, because each of us can only ever have our very own experience for reference. But I did notice, I did stop to think.

To those of you who snuck a peak (via my friend’s blog or facebook) at pictures from the Tibetan Engagement party that I haven’t yet written about…booooo! Tsk! I’m waiting to get better pics from another source.

Being an over-prepared and organized traveler, I bought several plug adapters in Toronto. They’d be widely available and cheap here, I was told, nonetheless I wanted some on hand (the main reason: recharging my laptop in Frankfurt airport. FYI, there are no accessible electrical outlets in all of Frankfurt airport). While shopping, it seemed strange that the various universal plug adapters were labeled with every region or nation in the world save India, and that India was missing among country-specific adapters. India is not exactly an obscure, untravelled destination. The closest I got to an explanation came from a MEC salesperson (http://www.mec.ca, these guys are normally fountains of hard-core travel information) who frowned, picked up this plug (the small, black one)  and said, “wellll…..hmmm….yeah, I think this one is the right one. I’m pretty sure. Take this one.”
Cool. I’ll trust the MEC guy. Two flat prongs become two round prongs. Simple. Except that also pictured above are two varieties of adapters that I bought here...they've each got 13 holes on the flip side, none of which fit my two-round-prongs and my local appliances. It gets stranger:

Plug on a local appliance; fits some of the variety of outlets in my apartment. Also, two of the variety of electrical outlets in my apartment, note that the two-round-prong plugs do NOT fit any of the holes in any of these outlets. 
 You’d think they would.
Confused? I was merely confused, even amused. Until last night, when I needed to plug in phone charger (local), camera battery (not), speakers (local), and computer (not), all at once.
Speaker plug (local) + adapter #2 (local) + outlet in sitting room wall (obviously local) = BIG sparks + smoke + charred speaker plug + scary knocking sound all around in the walls - functioning outlets in half my apartment. Confused becomes amused becomes petrified, though not electrified, and relievedtobealive-but-withoutpower-withoutnewspeakers-annoyed.

In even the littlest ways I guess we live closer to the edge, farther from everything tested, inspected guaranteed functional, sanitary, safe. Maybe I’ll tell you about Almost Dying at the KIS infirmary next time.

At least it wasn’t an encounter with E. coli