Discovering Moheshkhali through students' art

In the dry spring months Moheshkhali Island's Ghortibanga Bazar appears as a desert outpost, a film set from a western genre movie. It mightn't have tumbleweed but the dusty strip of tin shops adjacent to a windswept British-era cemetery is vaguely reminiscent of Hollywood's American Wild West. You wouldn't think the coast is nearby.

Overlooking the scene is Ghortibanga Government Primary School, housed in a cyclone shelter. Surely nobody can introduce Moheshkhali to the newcomer like the island's students can.

One thousand students, 9 teachers and 2 assistants: the school is making history as the island's first primary school to adopt the government initiative of teaching to Class VIII.

“The students are very eager,” says English teacher Md Shohidullah. “They are productive, have lots of potential and too much curiosity.”

Armed with crayons and felt-tip pens I hope to ask the 48 Class VIII students to draw Moheshkhali: as it was, is and will be.

Art is in the syllabus from Class VI but Ghortibanga there's no permanent art teacher. The students hardly ever draw. Nonetheless they prove willing to take the challenge.

Tajmahal and Tahamina, both 13, at the nearest bench, set to work depicting contemporary Moheshkhali. Onto paper they outline banana and banyan trees, and a jubjar bush.

With southern Moheshkhali criss-crossed by tidal watercourses there's a channel added; on each side they're colouring a house for themselves. With the addition of a small nouka boat they can ferry across to visit each other.

How easily they work together. Ghortibanga's students are accustomed to making do.

Just as there aren't enough pens and crayons for all, Class VIII teacher Md. Jahedul Islam, 26, who has taught there for the last 2 years, says there's a shortage of low and high student benches and classrooms need new blackboards.

“We need ceiling fans,” adds a student. It's not difficult to imagine how true that must be in summer.

What's the best thing in Moheshkhali? “The betel leaf,” Tajmahal answers. Although sweet Moheshkhali betel leaf is famous to the degree that it's the subject of songs, I'm surprised. “How do you know? Do you chew paan?”

“Our mothers and aunts chew it,” says Tahmina. “We live here. We know.”

Meanwhile the boys cluster around a bench beside the window. Md Sharif, 15, seems natural group captain, confidently sketching a design in lead pencil, with colour added later. The boys are working on Moheshkhali's past.

With the ubiquitous salt fields and bean vines, the scenes of yesteryear are similar to now. There's a farmer tilling soil, a hay bale and cows. Perhaps the only feature that is really nearing its end is the foot-powered rice crusher, once familiar to villages nationwide.

“I like shutki (dried fish) best,” Sharif says of Moheshkhali, “We send it everywhere: really tasty.”

I ask Islam why there are only 12 boys to 36 girls. “Many boys drop out after Class V,” he says. “Their families need them to work.” Sometimes this reality arises from poverty, but Moheshkhali has a business focus -- salt, fish and betel leaf. Education doesn't always get priority.

In the back corner, Sagorika, Ruposhi, Samira and Lovely are working on a drawing of the island's icon: Adinath Temple. Their artwork features the jetty built by the Nepalese government in the temple's honour, the mangrove forests and a tiger -- there may once have been a tiger kept on temple grounds. There's a priest to attend the temple with the signature singular strands of hair from the top of his otherwise bald head.

“It's a beautiful area,” the girls say.

Nearby, Tanzina, Jahanara and Shaheda are working on Moheshkhali's future, demonstrating no lack of imagination. On one side they've put a village -- not much change. On the other is a large town with a train service -- an imagined Moheshkhali City.

If the enthusiasm of Ghortibanga's students is any indication, in Moheshkhali anything becomes possible.