Wabi-sabi Dzonglish Meetings

Tuesday the 10th was my first day at work. I left early that morning and walked straight to Karma’s house. As per an earlier agreement, he promised to help me affix my gho. I had never imagined it could be so difficult to put on, but then again I never in a million years would have guessed my default work attire would include knee-high socks with dress shoes.
When in Rome, I suppose. He expertly folded and pleated the sides, then proceeded to cinch the belt so incredibly tight my insides screamed. This is how it should feel, he assured me.

Down at the center of the school I mingled with many teachers. Normally I would try to keep a low profile, but that isn’t possible when you’re the only westerner among some 40+ Bhutanese teachers. A few men took the opportunity to introduce themselves to me. They cracked jokes that went over my head between question after question about my age, interests, and thoughts on Buddhism and sports. They all seemed nice and easy going, comparative in age, and for the first (and last) time in my life, I was among the tallest.

Our introductions continued as we ascended some hundred steps to the conference room. This would be our main meeting room for the week. An old wooden structure, the building reaps much of its character from the traditional paintings and symbols on the beams, if not for the rickety wabi-sabi aesthetic that caused me slight concern. The conference room was dark and cold, but it held the school’s only projector and enough seating to comfortably sit the lot of us.

(Outside the Resource Center awaiting other teachers one morning)

Inside the new teachers—myself plus two others—introduced ourselves and spoke of our aspirations for the upcoming year. Between the principal’s introduction and several teachers’ comments, my name was uttered a lot the first day. I felt out of place with the extra attention and my colleague appears to be under the impression that my teaching strategies will transform the school. I am unsure if I can match the hype, but I can and will do my best.

Much of the week proceeded in this fashion; all day meetings with Dzongkha being the preferred medium of communication, though English was not totally uncommon. The faculty prepared small group activities with presentations, mini-PD sessions, speeches, and revisions in previous policy. There was even a half-day workshop on special education. Pretty progressive of you, Bhutan! A good half of the week, though, I had no idea what was happening due to the language gap. Being new to the system meant I had to gain some contextual understanding before being capable of participating anyway. Once in a while someone sitting next to me would fill me in on conversation, but as the principal reminded me, if it was truly important, he would speak in English. In the end it was a 5-day lesson in cultural immersion and helped me to understand my school atmosphere, hierarchy, and dynamics.

Late in the week we signed up for classes. In truth I didn’t have much say in the matter, but I wasn’t fussy to begin with. By Saturday my roles had been set in stone. I would be the head of the English department, the English examination coordinator, the literary club coordinator, Class III and Class VI English and Math teacher, and a member of the conch house (one of eight school houses, in reference to the eight sacred Buddhist symbols). At first the list seemed overwhelming, but in the end I am only teaching half of the 6-day school week’s 48 periods, giving me plenty of time to prepare for my various responsibilities.

(My school just left of center)