PARTY TIME AT HILTON

Friday last week was an extremely special day at Hilton Special School. Mr Hilton, who the school was founded by and named after, had his birthday. He turned the ripe age of 90. Apparently he still works next to the school's hostel down the road and is heavily involved with the school commitee.

While I was sick in bed last week, the whole school was busy preparing for the birthday bash. Dances were choreographed, multitudes of cakes were made, decorations were prepared and invitations were sent to all those who are connected with the school.

We arrived at school and it was already buzzing by 8am. Everyone was dressed to the nines. In Fiji, shirts, dresses and skirts made from "bula" fabric (bright floral prints) is completely acceptable. In fact, Friday is "Bula Friday" whereby everyone wears a brightly printed top/sulu/jaba/shirt/combo around town or to work. Knowing that I had no "Bula" outfit that I was comfortable wearing, I chopped the dress I'd bought when I first arrived into a top and used the bottom half to make a matching headband. When I wore it as a dress, the print was so overwhelming that it was as if one of the printed leaves on the fabric was actually going to eat me.



We sat through the formal speeches to thank Mr Hilton and pay respect to the wonderful work that he has done for special education in Fiji. The children performed a traditional dance and the entire school and birthday guests sang one of the best "Happy Birthday" songs I've ever heard. Well, being in Fiji, everything that is sung is sung beautifully and in some form of two to four-part harmony.



Then morning tea was served. Unfortunately, I missed out on morning tea and was instead trying to console a crying student. She had been pushed off the gigantic jumping castle that had been erected in the middle of the school grounds. I thought I'd cheer her up by painting a butterfly on her face with some facepaint that the deputy head teacher had given me.

So of course, word had spread that I was painting someone's face. I think the sound of a bottle of paint being opened must ripple through the school faster than a wildfire. Either that or the frequency of a facepaint bottle being opened can only be heard by children who know how to pinpoint the exact location of said facepaint bottle. I wouldn't be suprised if they could recognise the colour from the next room. Before I knew it, I had a swarm of children pushing and shoving around me to be the next to have their face painted. All of them were yelling "me next, me next, me next!!!"



I called for reinforcements: the gap volunteers and Lauren came running to my aid. I spent the next 3 hours madly painting countless numbers of faces: flowers, hearts, butterflies, the New Zealand fern rugby logo thing, spider webs, more flowers and the list went on. The children at the school have little concept of taking turns or staying in a line. In about 30 minutes, the classroom was crowded with pushing, shoving children who gave us no personal space. A tired and exasperated Lauren acted as crowd control and had to teach the children how to wait in line.

I missed all the extra formalities as I was confined to the facepainting classroom. I did manage to squeeze in a proper introduction to Mr Hilton. My impression formed from a short conversation with him made me believe that he's a 40 year old brain in a 90 year old man's frail body. He shook my hand with much gratitude which was also accompanied by a kiss on the cheek. I feel honoured.



The deputy head teacher had seen how we had been face painting non-stop for about 3 hours and demanded that we stop once the bell had rung. Of course, the children kept coming in for more. I finished up with an empty stomach and completely exhausted. Lauren and I excused ourselves from school. As soon as we entered the door on Ruve Street, we both waved at each other, flopped onto our beds and snoozed like we hadn't slept for days.



Click to enlarge the article from the Fiji Times: