How I Live: One Teaching Day

The students wake in the dark at 5:00, roused by a piece of rebar banged on an old truck gear; it starts the dogs barking.  The girls' shouts and laughter in the hostel below me ring through the morning hearth smoke and mist that rises from the valley, obscuring the rumble of the river that flows south past the dzong, on down past Wangdiphodrong and eventually into the Duars, the green flat jungles of Assam.  

The "bell," a ubiquitous dog, and a side of beef (!)

I am still sleeping in the $20 so-called North Face sleeping bag I bought in Thimphu, using my sheets as curtains until it gets too hot to use the bag. After the 5 o'clock bell and barking, I pull the bag over my head and sleep another hour until the alarm on my cheap used Nokia phone wakes me again.  During the night, the warm, dry air has turned chilly; I turn on the heater next to the bed, put on my Crocs (so practical in Bhutan), and go to the kitchen at the end of the hall. Sounds of the neighbors' children practicing their times tables in English and the odd whizz of their mother Anidha blending tea come clearly through the cement wall that divides my apartment from theirs. I turn on the water boiler--a necessity in Bhutan, where the water is not treated before it comes out of the tap--and light the two-burner gas stove under a sauce pan I've filled with water the night before. I've found that these two containers provide just the right amount of heated water for a bath and a cup of tea or coffee in the morning.  I know that heating the water takes about seven minutes, so I tuck back into my sleeping bag as the room warms up.

My Bedroom

The bath is Indian style: it is a 5 gallon plastic bucket of the water I've heated mixed with cold water I collected the evening before since there is no water available in the morning; the girls in the hostel are all showering as I am getting ready for school, and since they are below me on the hillside, the water reaches them first (it is pumped from the river uphill).  I take my bucket of water into the small "bathroom" in which there is a large shallow plastic tub to stand in.  I hang my clothes on the back of the door, setting my Crocs just outside.  I wash my hair first, and then quickly everything else.  The room steams up, but it is cold.

The Kitchen

After the bath, I make coffee or tea in the small amount of water I've left in the sauce pan and take it to my bedroom where I do push ups and sit-ups as I listen to podcasts on my computer of news from the West. When I've finished my exercises, I have a bowl of cornflakes with almonds and raisins that have been soaked in warm water to remove the pesticides and e-coli and anything else they've collected on their journey from India.  If I'm lucky, I've got yogurt--it is hard to get here--and if not, something that is labeled milk, but as it never seems to go sour even though I haven't got a refrigerator, I am not sure I trust the label.

At 6:45 precisely, the pigeons begin to clatter and coo on the roof--their feathers and dirt come into my bedroom under the door; their smell and racket a constant irritation.  At 7:30, I get dressed for work.  I alternate between wearing my kira and wearing slacks, both for comfort and, because of the water shortage, I can't wash clothes very often so I have to be judicious about what I wear and when.

My Flat

The path from my flat to the staff room leads behind the girls' hostel, down a cement staircase, through the canteen where Lobgir, one of the support staff, always offers me sweet milk tea and a snack (in the afternoon, he gives me pakoras; in the evenings, Oreos).  I pass the mess hall and the outdoor taps where the students wash off their plates and cups after breakfast and the dogs linger, waiting for the slop to wash down in their direction.  Nearly every student bows as I walk by and wishes me a "Good Morning, Miss!" as they have been taught to do.

The Girls' Hostel from my Porch

The staff room is the second floor of a new building between the mess hall and the academic building where most classes are held.  The first floor is the new computer lab where the only modem and router are located, so the staff room is where everyone logs onto Facebook or downloads music and illegal copies of American movies.  Spending time in the staff room, one sees how productivity levels are severely affected by the presence of the internet: hardly anyone who owns a laptop is actually working.  Most, including me, are distracted by the seductive winking of the icons on our desktops: The New York Times, The New Yorker and iTunes for me; Bhutanese music sites (which feature 1980s American C&W music, for some reason) and Bollywood videos for the native staff.  I usually arrive early to the staff room to avail myself of whatever bandwidth can be used to download podcasts, articles, and music to access later from home since I do not have internet yet in my apartment, but bandwidth is narrow even when no one is using it, so downloads are always painfully slow.

At 8:15, the students and staff gather in the courtyard for morning assembly.  The courtyard is decorated with paintings of the eight auspicious symbols of Buddhism, the grammatically confused PHSS acronym, and the flags of Bhutan and of PHSS.  Assembly begins with the morning prayer, in Chokyi (classical Tibetan), to Manjushri, the emanation of wisdom, followed by the national anthem and the school pledge, both in Dzongkha.  Next, two students, after bowing to the flag, offer speeches on an inspiring topic, one in English and one in Dzongkha.  The English speeches are almost always about either the importance of being true to oneself, or steps to success lifted from Stephen Covey or Dale Carnegie (self-help books that offer Seven Habits or Twelve Steps are extremely popular here).  The speeches are followed by announcements from the principal and some form of chastisement, either for "defaulting" on the English-only policy* or for littering.  Assembly concludes with a two silent minute meditation: remarkably, every student actually appears to be meditating during this short interval, their eyes closed, their hands cupped in front of them.  It is a lovely way to begin the day.

By 9:00, when the first of the six daily periods begins, the sun has dispersed the clouds and it begins to get comfortably warm, unless one is in one's kira, in which case it is hot.  Due to the spring wind, a fine red dust covers everything and gets in one's eyes and nose, clogs computers and permeates clothes; many students have coughs and sore throats (and as of today, so do I).  Every two periods, a tea break is scheduled.  The students head for the mess or the canteen and get very weak sweet milk tea and chile chops (called "poppers" in America--batter-fried chillies) or pakoras.  After fourth period is lunch.  Depending on my schedule, I try to go back to my flat for a meal of apples and peanut butter; otherwise, I am strongly encouraged to eat with other teachers in the mess (that deserves its own blog posting) where there is always some variation on the theme of rice and potato curry (the frequency and amount of rice and potatoes in the Bhutanese diet accounts for my inability to slim down here).  Sensibly, lunch lasts an hour--it actually feels like a real and welcomed respite in the middle of the day and permits one a few minutes of sitting in the sun and reading more of War and Peace, if one should be so inclined.

The teaching schedule rotates so that every day is different, a welcome change from the way we do things in Portland, though it can be confusing (on more than one occasion, I have gotten the schedule wrong and arrived late to a class or missed it entirely, which fazes no one--students remain dutifully in class with or without a teacher).  

Teaching here is so much less stressful than in the United States.  The stakes are higher, especially in classes 10 and 12 because of the exams, but at the same time the expectations are lower since English is not the first language and, due to the size of the classes (I have from 32 to 46 students in my classes), there is very little homework given, so formative assessment counts as only 10-20% of the final grade.  

Teachers are given a Teacher's Guide for every class that summarizes the learning objectives, associated activities recommended for use in the classroom, and assessment strategies.  Though we are not required to use them, they certainly provide a welcome set of guidelines for a new teacher, and make lesson planning very easy since they are geared to addressing exam questions.  I know that as long as I meet the learning objectives--however I choose to do that--my students have been given the chance to do well on the exams.  The marriage of the Teacher's Guides and the lack of homework to grade makes my work load minimal compared with the daily assessments and the high level of discourse and use of technology expected in my American classes.  

The students, once they become comfortable with the new chillip teacher (Dzongkha for 'foreigner'), are generally enthusiastic, though nervous about speaking English with a native speaker.  They are respectful and well-behaved but as reluctant to complete homework as Americans, in part because it is so rarely given and even more rarely scored, as far as I can tell.  They know it counts for very little in the end, so they are not as wound up about homework as Americans whose homework might count for as much 60% of their final grade.  

In Bhutan, as in India, secondary school students are funneled into one of three "streams" after the results of their 10th class exams are released: Arts, Commerce or Science.  It seems to be common knowledge that those whose scores are the highest are in the Science stream and those with the lowest scores end up in Arts, a misnomer as these students will be teachers (not by choice, sadly), low-level managers in banks or at service companies (Telecom, Bhutan Power), or, in a few unusual cases, journalists.  Students who are actually interested in painting, sculpture, metalwork, weaving or the other "arts" (other than music, which is taught in monasteries) attend the National Institute for Zorig Chusum ('Thirteen Traditional Arts'). 

A very few high-scoring students select the Arts stream because they are interested neither in a career in business nor in science, but for the most part they end up there because their scores were too low to qualify for the other streams. A student who wishes to switch from one stream to another is permitted to do so only if her marks are high in the classes central to that stream.  So an Arts student who wishes to move into Science must have excellent marks in math, biology, chemistry, etc.  Though this sounds egalitarian, the truth is that if a student is in the Arts stream, it is unlikely that she will have taken biology or chemistry, so she can't qualify for the Science stream regardless of her wishes.  (Those who are considering school reforms that approximate this model with career "pathways" in the United States take heed.)  Unlike India, Bhutan cannot yet offer the range of employment opportunities that would effectively support a three-stream education system: science careers are somewhat limited, mostly to agriculture, forestry, and engineering (hydropower in particular, which is government owned; most of the power is sold to India which built the power plants in the first place); commercial opportunities are mostly in small business and tourism or government work.  Indeed, a government job is the most coveted type of employment as it provides insurance and a pension and not a little respect from the rank and file.

My teaching assignments are 11 Arts, 11 Commerce and 12 Arts; untested as a teacher, I have not been entrusted with the presumed pinnacle of teaching, 12 Science.  This is fine with me: though I do think the United States would benefit from developing a national exam, the stakes here are too high and the pressure on the teachers to ensure students' high marks too intense.  Students who do not pass the 12th class exam do not qualify for a seat at a Bhutanese college and must either pay to repeat their senior year at a private school or quit altogether (the highest scorers are offered education abroad, paid for by the Royal Bhutanese government, as is all education, including college and university education). A test that measures student literacy and numeracy at graduation makes sense to me; a test that determines a seventeen-year-old's future does not. [Side Note: There are a few 'special schools' scattered across Bhutan for the blind and for the most needy Special Needs students, but, for the most part, I am not asked to provide accommodations or differentiation in my classes to meet the needs of those for whom learning is a challenge. No student is medicated and none appears to have ADD or ADHD or symptoms of bipolarity or other pathologies (such students may have permanently left school in their elementary years).  Though I do think many students could benefit from IEPs and any class benefits from effective differentiation, the fact that I am not required to provide either makes my job very easy.]

In addition to teaching, all teachers are expected to help run a club (in my case, the Media Club which shares current events at Saturday morning assembly and which, I hope, will explore media literacy and the use of media in learning); to be on committees (Library Committee and Literary Committee, which organizes intra-house debates and extemporaneous speaking competitions, and publishes the school magazine); and to assume regular duties such as Study Duty (morning, evening and night study) and Mess Duty (ordering supplies for the dining hall; determining the menu for the month).  Thus, though my teaching periods amount to relatively few (18 teaching periods in a week), my actual commitment to working at school is pretty high.  In addition, I have been providing remedial classes in English during evening study and will continue to do so.

Instruction ends at 3:35, but, depending on the day, this is followed by S.U.P.W. (Socially Useful and Productive Work, such as planting shrubs or painting the school), or by sports such as volleyball and football, or by clubs/committees (see schedule below).  Every house (there are four mixed-grade and mixed gender houses) is assigned a plot of land to be tilled, planted and harvested during S.U.P.W.  This is an agricultural society, so the students seem to appreciate the opportunity to grow their own food; the boys are especially grateful because they get to expend considerable physical energy hacking away at the earth with their spades.  The girls tend to the watering and weeding and, often, standing around looking a little bored.  Every one of these activities--agricultural work, participation in clubs, sports, debate--is competitive.  Points are awarded and badges given, either to individuals or houses.

Girls Hauling Water from the River

Boys Digging Up Beds

In general, the demand on students is remarkable--two girls I spoke with who are class Captains (an honor) told me they stay up until 11:30 organizing S.U.P.W. and studying, then get up at 4:30 to wash, do laundry, and fulfill their other captaincy duties.  They complained that they are so sleepy in class they can barely attend to what is most important: learning.

After I have fulfilled my commitments on campus, including hacking away at the earth myself, I pass back through the gauntlet of "Good Evening, Miss!" salutations and return in the gloaming to my home.  My evening meals are usually Bhutanese or Indian in flavor, due to the availability of vegetables and spices: saag spiced with ginger, chillies and cumin with red Bhutanese rice and dahl.  Cabbage and cucumber salad.  Tea. Some evenings I spend reading for pleasure or writing (What rapture! What joy!).  When I have water, I do the laundry, again in a bucket by hand.  Sometimes, I visit with other teachers who live on campus, or have dinner in Kuruthang or Bajo with other western teachers in the Valley.  Generally, I am asleep by about 10:30.  

This job is sensible, relaxed, rewarding; the Bhutanese are playful, kind and generous; the country is stunningly beautiful and for the most part undeveloped; and though the standard of living is very low, life is comfortable.  Many people here have asked if I plan to extend my contract for a second year.  Though I do not yet know the answer to that question, I would bet that my teacher friends in the United States would not just understand if I decided to stay--they might envy my chance to do so.

*Consequences for defaulting (defaulters are caught by "informers"--students who have been selected to narc on their peers for speaking any language other than English during classes): First offense--50 prostrations in the courtyard; second offense--100 prostrations; Third offense--150 prostrations; 4th offense--write an essay on a given topic in one hour and then copy it fifteen times by the end of the school day AND do 150 prostrations.  I and many of the students are troubled by the use of a religious practice--prostrating--as a punishment.

The STUDENTS' DAILY SCHEDULE

5:00 am Rising Bell

5:30-6:00 Hostel cleaning

6:00-6:15 Wash and Change

6:30-7:30 Morning Study

7:30-8:00 Breakfast

8:00-8:18 S.U.P.W.

8:20-8:45 Assembly

8:50-9:45 First Period

9:45-10:40 Second period

10:40-10:55 Tea Break

10:55-11:50 Third period

11:50-12:45 Fourth period

12:45-1:45 LUNCH

1:45-2:40 Fifth Period

2:40-3:35 Sixth period

3:35-5:15 Tea Break/Sports

5:30-6:30 Evening Study

6:30-7:00 Evening Prayer

7:00-7:25 Dinner

7:30-8:30 Night Study

9:00 Attendance for boarders in hostel

9:30 LIGHTS OUT