Mt Karioi, Raglan

The Kiwi has landed: Part 2

....and the stroy continues......
A long story, but how is it relevant to my time here in New Zealand? Well, the same thing happened to me here a few days ago. Once again cars were involved, and a strangers questions, but it wasn’t a new language that I realised had been a barrier; it was a collection of little things. Since arriving I have been getting used to all the small differences in comparison to Australia. A few examples -there are some very unusual traffic rules, plus if you have an accident the government pays for all of your health care but if you just want to visit a doctor because you are sick then you have to pay everything, it’s also up to you to decide whether to send in a tax return or not, and they call Australia “Aussie” and Australians “Aussies”. While these things are not cultural divides that are impossible to fathom, they do make me realise that this is a different country from Australia and things are not to be assumed or taken for granted. So once again, a spectator watching from the sidelines just waiting for his chance to get called up to the game. The call up recently came at a petrol station where there are no operators to take your money, it is all done by automated teller machines (more about that in Part 3 of this tale). This particular station was one of the places I dreaded. As there was no one to show me how to use the system, the first few times I tried to get fuel I ended up driving off in frustration and embarrassment and finding one of the old fashioned petrol stations with human operators. Having got the hang of this new system recently though, I was filling up my car while watching a young couple go through exactly the same motions as I did upon my first attempts. How could something so simple be so foreign I thought to myself? Upon catching my eye, the girl approached me and uncomfortably asked how it works and I duly told her the secret to winning the fight with the machines so she could get her fuel. Driving off, it was a moment where I realised I had crossed over from being the learner of everything Kiwi and had become enlightened enough to be a teacher. It doesn’t quite make me a local, but it sure gave me a renewed sense of belonging and strength.

The Kiwi has landed: Part 1

The following entry is part one to a three part story. The other parts will be published on this very site soon. Lets call it "Spreading the Joy"?

A long, long time ago in a far distant land.........when I was working in Norway, I remember the exact moment when I felt I crossed the line between being a visitor to that grand country and feeling like a local. I had struggled a bit with the language since arriving and most of the locals in the remote area I lived could only speak Norwegian. As a result, I really felt like I was constantly battling to establish a sense of self identity within myself, and therefore the community. It was a time where I learnt Language is the single most impenetrable barrier to a new culture. One day however, while walking the few kilometres of country roads back from the local shop, contemplating life’s gifts and marvelling at the ruins of ancient roads which ran parallel to the stream, it hit me! Without warning a vehicle rushed up beside me and a man opened the window and shouted a question at me. He was obviously in a hurry and I felt a little intimidated with the urgency, so I gave him the directions that he so desperately needed. With that done, he sped off in the direction from where he came and I was left alone again. Then I began to smile. I started as a tingle inside but ended in an arm raising release of joy. I could feel my spirit guides dancing around me in support as I swallowed the reason I was experiencing this feeling. The albeit brief yet intense conversation I had with this man, was in Norwegian. Not my usual effort of - Think about what you need to say, how do I say it? Is this the right tense? The right tone? No, none of that. The situation was so spontaneous and unexpected, I didn’t have time to think anything, I just blurted out my responses, in Norwegian! That was the point, with that realisation and that confidence, when I began to feel that I was no longer a spectator on the sidelines of this game, I was in it. The rest that say, is history.

(To be continued....)

Being in authority does not make you a good leader, it is an opportunity to be one. (Anon)

Random things I love about working for the New Zealand Government

Everyone can get free copies of the latest release computer software programs. I recently received a copy of the latest Microsoft programs – most of which I have never heard of, but the email program is great.

We get a paid day off a year to go and volunteer in the community somewhere.

We get a paid family day just to do whatever we want with family i.e. a mother visiting from overseas, maybe?

We get a free health and fitness medical once a year.

There are dozens of free courses which we can choose from if we want to improve our skills. I am off to a ‘Resilience at Work’ course in a few weeks to learn about conflict resolution, negotiating and similar workplace tools. They will also pay for tertiary fees if the study is relevant to our position.

We receive council subsidies to play sport and to be fit and active.

We get a free paid day off to attend NZ’s biggest Agricultural Field Day.

The council will pay for our membership fees to any relevant groups and organisations.
As council employees, we get discounts at a large range of businesses and services including gyms, hairdressers, health and medical practitioners, hire outlets, accommodation and car rentals

And finally, the best of all……

We have a masseuse comes in to the zoo once a week to soothe our aches and pains!

So it’s not only about the working outside and running around with exotic animals that is great about this job. There are a number of little things like these which kind of fill in the gaps between the bigger aspects of the job.

You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it. (Margaret Thatcher)

I lost a good friend of mine a few weeks ago. We hadn’t been friends for too long, but I considered him one of my best mates. We spent a good part of my last year in Adelaide Zoo talking every day, me more than him of course, but it was always good conversations. We didn’t always speak though, a lot of time was also spent just enjoying each other’s company, just sitting, listening and watching what the other was doing and trying to sense each other’s thoughts and moods. You may have met him if you were one of the many who visited Adelaide Zoo, his name was Pusung and he was the male Sumatran Orang-utan. It was a gentle friendship which grew in to a trusting bond that I cherished, and was my greatest loss when I left for New Zealand. He died a few weeks ago, due to a medical condition in his throat which lead to other complications and I never got to say goodbye or even see him. I didn’t even know how ill he was until after it was all over. I feel so alone because no one over her knew him and so my sadness remains inside.

When I first started working in the industry, a supervisor told me that the golden rule is to never get attached to the animals in your care. It was seen as a flaw or a sign of weakness. I have never believed in this, and indeed have strived for the complete opposite. I would challenge anyone who says a good animal keeper must remain disconnected from their charges for fear of becoming emotional involved in making decisions based on this, not on reason or ethics. The loss of Pusung is devastating, but I have no regrets in becoming so attached to him.
This isn’t just a personal loss either; everyone who worked with him over the years is feeling sad right now. Even people who had brief encounters with him through tours and visits to the zoo are overwhelmed.
Pusung trusted me enough to allow me to do some training with him. He would open his mouth wide and I could check all of his teeth and make sure he was taking care of them. He would push his nose in my direction so I could clean it when he had a cold. I could clean his eyes, check his hands and feet for injuries and prod and poke him almost anywhere to make sure he was all OK. With minimal training, he learnt a lot. This isn’t a reflection on me, it was he who had to do all of the learning and hard work, I was just the weird human that wanted to clean his nose.
So now, his imposing presence and personality have gone from my former workplace. No longer can he turn his back when offered celery instead of banana. No more shutting his den door to indicate that he doesn’t like the person that came to see him. No more offering his head for a kind pat. No more gentle throat rumblings to say he has had a good nights’ sleep. Nothing. Only the memories I have, the pictures I saved and this feeling of sadness and loss remain.