First Day Jitters

(My school just left of center. Taken by phone)

Even though I had sat through a week of meetings, I still didn’t feel like I knew the school’s structure well enough to walk into the first day's routine comfortably. As a result of my anxiety, I slept poorly the night before, but for better or for worse, the date had come and it was time to go. I sloppily put together my gho and walked to school, encountering several small clusters of students in their school uniform. The boys’ ghos are black with yellowy-orange plaid lines while the girls’ wear a similar robe of longer length underneath a black jacket, or tego, with red cuffs.  If anything, the color combination is quite smart.

I stopped by Karma’s house, which is on school grounds, so he could fix my gho. The process is difficult with two people and nearly impossible alone. The way they pleat the robe around the back is neat and straight, without any bunching or wrinkles. Unable to see behind me, my attempts have repeatedly ended in failure. He fixed it and together we descended the stairs to the central grounds. There hundreds of children were running about, using nothing but their imagination to keep them entertained.

We began the day with an assembly. All the students lined up in perfect rows, alternating male and female from the youngest grade to the highest. The organization is impressive, and even though some were fidgeting, their ability to stand relatively still is a feat unto itself. The principal stepped up to the podium where he welcomed the students before they broke into a mantra. Looking around I saw everyone with their palms touching each other in a praying gesture, their hands at neck height. I quickly emulated their mudra in respect and listened to their chanting. As I came to learn, this is a prayer to the god of wisdom, asking for his assistance in their learning. The prayer is followed by a kind of song, the melody soft and smooth. Similar to the first, in this song the students pray for assistance in their education from the goddess of knowledge.

 (The first assembly. My apologies for the quality--I took this with my phone)

Afterward the principal began a long monologue in Dzongkha. Dzongkha is the national language of Bhutan, but it is far from the only one. In fact there are dozens of dialects, but all students must learn it during their matriculation. Because teachers are placed all across the country, they will often speak Dzongkha to one another, and thus I have decided learning it is more important than Sharchop (the local language), as I will be exposed to it more often. I spend a lot of time listening to Dzongkha being spoken, rarely discerning the content. Most teachers, kind as they are, will relay the most important information to me in English, though this is not always the case. Sometimes I need to be aggressive in my questioning so I don’t miss a deadline or a meeting.

But I digress. The principal spoke to the children about the activities of the day and welcomed them back with hopes of a strong performance…or so I gathered from the occasional English word uttered. Then, out of nowhere, he switched to full English—a sign I should be listening carefully. He introduced the three new teachers including myself and asked for us to make a speech. A speech? In front of 900 kids? I hadn’t been informed of any such thing. Since I didn’t know a single student, I sighed away my anxiety and walked to the stage. There I welcomed the students and gave a brief introduction about myself. I thanked the school and the principal for the opportunity and wished the students a good year. All in total, my speech ran for less than a minute, but I relayed everything they needed to know and was content with this. The next teacher, a short studious man who came to teach Dzongkha, then spoke for 5 minutes. My thoughts ran wild and I felt like perhaps I had botched my first public appearance, but when the third new teacher spoke, a meek lady whose words were short and sweet, my worries were assuaged.

A few announcements followed before the students sang the national anthem. Soon they left and were delegated to their class teachers and put to work. They swept the grounds and cleaned their classrooms, moving tables and chairs to accommodate the new numbers. I admire the process, as it makes students respect their own space and take ownership for it.

In the meantime, since I am not a class teacher, I went up to my office, which I share with the two vice principals and the assistant principal. The location is clearly special treatment, something I’m not very comfortable with, but this, to them, was non-negotiable. Without any books or planning materials, I could do little but take notes from a book written by the teachers the year before about the school’s organization and rituals. I found it informative, laden with the flowery language that the Bhutanese own so well. Little else was done this day. At lunch, not having brought anything, I walked up to my place. Climbing dozens of stairs and walking uphill, I passed a great number of students, who all stopped at my passing and bowed, articulating a respectful “good morning, sir”. After lunch I repeated the process in reverse.

I joined teachers out on the field, watching the students practice marching and dancing in preparation for his majesty’s upcoming birthday. Apparently the production is a big deal and the students need almost a full week to prepare for their marches, dances, songs, and presentations. I was reassured that even though they weren't taking the practice all too seriously that they would be on point for the king's birthday.

The sun was strong in the afternoon, likely a consequence of the altitude, and soon my black gho didn’t seem like such a great idea after all. I ducked in the shade until obligation befell me. I had to attend some horizontal and vertical team meetings, as well as being designated as head coordinator of a 5-school production promoting reading in Bhutan. Talk about responsibility! Between meetings, planning, and taking notes, the hours quickly passed. Before I realized it, the school was desolate.

(Students practicing a cultural dance in the afternoon. Taken by phone)

I found myself alone in the office with Karma Wangdi, the other vice principal of the school. Not to be confused with Karma Rinzin, Karma Wangdi is tall and richly educated. He speaks with a placid tone of voice that hints to an overall wisdom. He tends to wear bright, striped ghos and argyle socks. Between these things and his goatee, he stands uniquely beside his colleagues. We spoke at length of literature and his academic loves then he whisked me off to assist me in setting up and fixing up my place, with plenty of conversation and tea in between. Around 7 he departed my place, having sufficiently filled me with stories and thoughts on which to ruminate. All in all the day wasn’t half bad and surely not worthy of losing sleep. I could rest easy knowing that it would be another week before the actual academic session began, giving me plenty of time to adjust and plan my upcoming classes.