Between Poop Rules & War Alerts: Five Things I Learned as a New Teacher
“Salamalaikum & a very good evening, to you all!
Sigh! What a time to be a teacher! If I could sum up this year in a metaphor, I would say - it was like hitting off on an unknown journey with 20+ 10-year-olds, riding a rollercoaster that never stopped.
Grade 5 was a riot. Despite all our challenges though, 5B, you performed phenomenally! I hope you go up to G6 with confidence in your abilities. Remember, you and your voice matter.
Thank you for making everyday of teaching worthwhile for me. I am so proud of you!
Mr J., Ms R, Ms N - thank you for going ahead with our exhibition. I’m glad we’re ending our year on a high note. Thank you, mentors, thank you, Ms M. and all our colleagues for making tonight possible.
Thank you, Ms D., Ms A and Ms K (our shadow assistants) for your patience, wit and compassion.
Above all, thank you, parents for trusting me with your kids. Enjoy the evening.”
The above “speech” note was hand-written in 20ish minutes, in two drafts, about two hours before the Exhibition & Moving-Up ceremony and delivered as such - read from the diary gifted to me by my writer-friend, farzana.
I promised myself I will keep it raw, will not ChatGPT it at all - this was my first class. I owed the OGs the honesty and the love I preached in my class. The only cue I was given that evening was: Keep it short.
The first academic year for any teacher is a tribulation - one has to adapt to the curriculum, behaviour issues, navigate the system, understand the students, the parents, your colleagues. And that's just a gist of the ever-expanding list of things to adapt to.
Your first academic year in the midst of war, alerts, distance learning literally qualifies you as a frontline worker - at least it should, if it doesn’t already.
Here are 5 things I learned as a new teacher - in the thick of war and uncertainty:
Poop Rules!
“Miss! Someone forgot to flush the toilet!” announces a funny 10yo boy after the first break.
Me: Relax, Y. Just flush it down please and move on.
Y goes to the toilet, returns after 5mins giggling: Miss, it’s now broken into two pieces. The water is brown….it’s humongous!
The class erupts into laughter. I’m secretly relieved our descriptive writing lessons are doing their magic.
You then bump into a colleague in the elevator. He arrived late to work that morning.
“Oh, Sanobar! 15mins on the toilet! All out…” he says as he gestures towards his tummy and shakes his head vigourously, still looking exhausted by the ‘exertion’.
In 99.99pc of those cases, you will have a freshly brewed cup of black coffee in your hand. And you’ll still drink it.
Be Noisy
Everyone in school is doing more than what they should be doing. (Well, pretty much everyone except for those one-off odd individuals who are busy looking busy, and you keep wondering what on earth they actually do.)
But really, from the storeroom manager to the receptionist, every single staff member is exhausted. People will still bend over backwards for you if you show some basic human compassion. Not a single person dislikes receiving a thank-you note. A chocolate - or any sugary treat, for that matter - always brightens a dull day for any living creature in school.
Use those thank-you notes generously. Plus, you’d be better off with your colleagues having that sugar than you straining your already strained gut!
I think the biggest fear that holds adults back from asking for help is the self-sabotaging assumption that we should already know everything.
My experience has been the opposite.
If I want something, if I need help, I ask for it. You don’t ask, you don’t get.
If I don’t get it, I make the right noise even as I start inching towards solving the problem. More often than not, I get what I want.
Everyone’s happy to help those who are curious and genuinely want to learn and grow.
And in the worst-case scenario, you discover even your experienced colleagues are struggling with the very thing you’re struggling with. That’s actually good, because the right kind of noise gets the right kind of attention directed to the right kind of problem.
As long as your aim is to solve the problem - not whine for the sake of whining - be noisy.
The Village Has Names
Yes, by all means, get the help you need - but only after you’ve exhausted your own resources.
Water spilled in the classroom, a child wanting to see the nurse, you needing supplies urgently - all solvable problems. The forms can be filled later. The formalities can be dealt with later, provided you know how to find your way around.
Learn people’s names. Besides, it’s just respectful to know the name of the cleaner who cleans your classroom three times a day, at least. You can’t teach kids that respect matters if you don’t even know her name yourself.
Save the nurse’s number, the storeroom manager’s number, the security guard’s number. The security guard knows every single child in your class by their full name - and their siblings, who’s in which grade, who comes from where.
That young fellow could probably work in a much higher position, but he’s still there, waiting for the right opportunity. It doesn’t stop him from doing far beyond what’s expected of him. Respect them, and you'll be surprised by how often the people others overlook come through for you. It really does take a village!
Connection IS the Curriculum
Kids have bad days too.
A weekend spent fighting with siblings doesn’t make Monday mornings any easier. Arguing adults can make the drive to school harder.
Make room for uncomfortable emotions.
“Sometimes, the ones we love the most are the ones who tend to hurt us too.”
I once mentioned this to my class, biting my tongue as soon as the words left my mouth.
“Miss! There was an attack last night. Are we still coming to school?” lights up my phone with a 6 a.m. message from a student.
It’s not easy being a 10yo today.
Let kids journal, draw, colour, listen to music, let them fidget, move around the classroom, take their shoes off, sit on the floor, giggle. Make room for banter.
Academic performance follows once students feel safe in your presence.
Brown Folks Will Face Bias - Plant Seeds Anyway!
“Well, you found a connection with these students because you played the Muslim card...” one of my favourite white colleagues remarked during our everyday banter.
Without missing a beat, I replied, “Well, if you can play your white man card, why can’t I use whatever little leeway I have with these kids?”
…………..
“Miss you’re sure you’re from India?” says Y, chuckling awkwardly.
“Yes, Y. Very sure.” I respond.
“Miss, not even from the UK?” he remains confused.
“No sweetheart. Besides visiting the UK once, I’ve never even lived in the UK.”
This was an ordinary conversation at the start of my year. With time, I used my Muslim brown identity to connect with the discrimination many Muslims - especially visibly Muslim folks - face in the West.
Stories started pouring in: airport experiences, traveling abroad, a beach incident where one student's mother, wearing a burkini in LA, was approached by a group of women. Instead of reacting with anger, she used it as an opportunity to speak with them about choice.
Our lesson on ‘Discrimination’ ended up becoming a lively exchange of lived experiences.
“Would you treat me differently if I came to teach you in a kurta and churidaar? Would it matter to you if I drove a different car and did not holiday in the US or the UK?”
I would leave the class with questions no one was marked for.
Listening to “haram” from 10-year-old boys because I was a non-hijabi Muslim woman was also something I had to put up with as their new teacher.
Around the second term, after one of the breaks, I spoke to the class.
“You know what’s haram? You not addressing the cleaner by her name. You calling people Bangali, Hindi. You swearing at your friends. Using inappropriate language about their mothers or dead grandparents. You telling girls to cover - it’s none of your business! Stop ‘haram-ing’ me.”
That was the end of students asking me to “cover.”
You know you’ve planted seeds when two girls argue over the hijab - one pressuring the other to cover because she’d hit puberty and would otherwise go to hell - and the ones rushing to defend her are your boys.
“Don’t you tell me I’ll go to hell. You don’t get to decide that!” shouts D., tears filling her eyes.
“My 21-year-old cousin doesn’t wear hijab. It’s okay!” chimes in one of the boys.
“My young aunt doesn’t cover her hair either. Let her be,” adds another.
……..
And just like that, my first year as a teacher has come to an end. With all the madness and uncertainty, I think my neurodivergent brain has finally found its fix. I cannot wait to see what next year brings.
That last bit about the boys coming to the rescue of the harangued girl was amazing! And the badass response to the white guy. Fun!!
More power to teachers like you Sanobar! To teach Choice - it is never too early. And how well you have narrated it too. Please tell us more about your teaching experiences.