Tag: teachers

daily prompt

Wind Back Time to Year Nine

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Do you remember your favorite book from childhood?

Time: Year Nine

Place: Cairo, local state girls’ school

Class: Arabic

As far I can remember, a different Arabic Story was included in our curriculum every year.

I can mainly remember that book, though I’m not actually sure whether it was in year eight or nine.

Anyway the story was somehow historical, the kind of heroic epic with a gentle tug of innocent romance. They used to say that it was adapted from a real story. 

That’s the first reason I still remember it.

As for the other reason… I’ll reveal later.

Just keep reading.

The story took place centuries ago in a small city near Alexandria. Though it was only a small city, its people, old and young, men and women, were among the bravest in all of Egypt. They had taken part in a heroic battle and made a memorial contribution to defeating and expelling the french invaders from Egyptian lands.

And so… this once -upon -a -time story unfolded during the Napoleonic Invasion of Egypt.

Within its historical, epical context, the book weaves the tale of one of the prettiest young women and one of the bravest young men in that small city.

They were cousins, deeply attached to one another, but each with a different dream.

She listened to the fortune -teller and believed she was destined to become a queen.

He listened to the cries of his country, the enemy invasion, and the duty to free his homeland.

She married the chef leader of Napoleon campaign and travelled to France, but she never became a queen.

He worked hard, fought for his country, and married an English girl who believed in his cause.

She returned defeated and humiliated.

He stayed, died, and was buried as a martyr and loyal man to the very end.

The end.

Isn’t it a memorable story.

Now, here’s the second reason which is a bit funny, and that’s why I remember it. 

Isn’t memory selective? 

Yes it is, and it always seems to swing between two extremes: the happy and the awful.

So then… here’s the fun bit.

During one of the classes, while the teacher was in the middle of explaining the historical events, a girl raised her hand to ask a question. 

Strange how I still remember that girl, but not her name. Perhaps it’s because she was the tallest in the class. 

The girl was leaning against the wall when, out of the blue, she threw her question into the room: What was the age difference between Zubaida (the pretty heroine) and Laura (the English girl)?

Our Arabic teacher turned and gave the girl one of those blazing looks that made the whole class freeze.

“Out of all the sensible questions we’re practising, you came up with the one that doesn’t relate. Why would you ever care about their age?”

The poor girl flushed, straightened in her seat, opened her book and flipped to a random page.

That was so funny how the poor girl, instead of keeping her dreamy question to herself, voiced it out loud.

 Even now, I still can’t help laughing.

And that’s all about my memorable book.

Though it wasn’t exactly part of my childhood, my teen years will do.

With school- book thoughts,

Nahla

Just writing

Reading Psychology

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Well… I’m pretty sure one of my recent posts was about the change in my reading genre. 

Reading and Mood Change

So far, I am following the plan just fine—reading nonfiction. 

Recently, I’ve started reading some psychology.

My first encounter with this subject was in my final year of high school, many years ago.

Honestly I remember nothing of those lessons except the teacher herself— even her name has slipped away. I remember her loud voice and sharp gaze, but I can’t get any closer to her name. 

But I do remember the name of my teacher from my first year of primary school.

Strange, isn’t it.

I loved my first primary teacher and I wept buckets when she left and moved away with her husband. 

Anyway, my psychology teacher crossed my mind as I stole a little time for reading. Time is tight these days, with Eid celebrations almost knocking on the door.

So… according to psychology, our memory machine is not only selective, but also clever and cruel. It doesn’t come with a button we can press to “save all” or “delete all.”

No.

It works professionally, by using its own unique selective strategy. 

It mainly saves the things you like the most, hate the most, or the things that hold your full concentration and consciousness.

Memory is not like history, which keeps a record of everything, though sometimes with some alterations and even some big lies.

Memory is a trustworthy keeper. It writes the minutes of the things that truly matter in your life, even those small details, those passing emotions, or those quiet, special moments.

And sometimes, out of the blue, it brings back one of those memories from many years ago.

Something that can make you smile, cry, or simply wonder as time pulls you back in a split second.

You find yourself back in that classroom, learning psychology, having no idea that years later you would be reading a psychology book explaining why you can’t remember your teacher’s name.

Simply because you neither loved or hated her, your memory saved only what had caught your attention back then — the special tone of her voice and her sharp gaze

And… thanks to psychology, I found the little distraction that inspired me to write this post.

With these reading–psychology thoughts,

Nahla 

daily prompt

Can’t be without it

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What makes a teacher great?

Knowledge, creativity, honesty, dedication, and talent, I was thinking  of as the main qualities that would make a great teacher. Still, there was something missing, I thought,  as an old memory of my school days crossed my mind.

One day in the last month before final exams at my high school in Egypt, it was also the last year, a group of my class, including myself, headed to the agricultural class. By the way, it was one of optional subjects that students had to choose and attend but was not graded. Wouldn’t it be boring to learn about flowers and plants only theoretically without outdoor practical lessons? Of course it would be, but what else could we do? We attended and to make things worse, our  teacher was as dull as the lesson. Nothing in her features, her style, and her voice was relating to nature and its beautiful creation.

On that day and before starting the lesson, our teacher assigned some students to do some cleaning in the class while others were instructed to make some readings in the textbook. My friend and I  were choosen to wash some plastic plant pots and as I headed to do my job, my friend volunteered to wash them all. It was so kind of my friend, I thanked her and went to the table to start my reading.

A few seconds later, like a captive lion that had just escaped from its cage, our teacher was roaming all over the class searching for her prey – me. Deaf and blind , she kept asking others about me as her bloodshot eyes searching all the faces in the class  though I was sitting right before her. Then, the veil on her eyes was lifted and they  fixed on me as she ordered me to stand up. I did, feeling my heart would stop beating. I had no idea why she was mad at me.

‘Why didn’t you do the job I assigned you? She yelled and I told her about my friend’s offer, and even my friend, drying her hands with a towel, indicated that she was the one who wanted to do them all. But our teacher was not listening to reason or truth. She screamed while explaining how I was careless, disrespectful, and lazy student. I burst into tears for I had never been any. It wasn’t my earnest tears that had thrown cold water on our teacher’s blazing anger but a sentence uttered by one of the students. 

‘You’ve gone so far, miss. You know you shouldn’t behave like that’, said one of the students. The teacher turned to the girl and looked so ashamed. She didn’t approach her because she understood well what the girl meant. Both the teacher and the student were christians, and the first impression the teacher’s behaviour has on a class of both Christian and Muslim girls was her prejudice against me as a Muslim. A few minutes later, she calmed down and asked me with a broad smile to join her and study my lesson at her own desk as if that was a great privilege.

Could her new attempt overcome my shock and my hurtful feelings toward her irrational conduct. Never.

Wisdom that’s the missing quality I was looking for and I believe a great teacher should have it.

With all the best wishes,

Nahla

Just writing

Marva Collins

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Teaching is a talent.

Would we go back a bit to recall those special memories about teachers that had really taught us something special, something we still remember? Are there any? Or Your teachers had that traditional style that gives students no more than what’s already been in books.

Marva Collins was a talented teacher, believing that every child has a right to learn and can learn. She hasn’t got a certificate in Education; her degree was in secretarial science, but her teaching methods became far better than many of those highly qualified teachers. So what was special about her?

Collins resigned from the teaching position at Chicago public school because she didn’t believe in the system that teaches to the test and eliminates children with learning disabilities. She launched Westside Preparatory School which was a one-room school with eighteen students of different abilities. There, she cared for every single student in the class. She gave good quality and quantity of education, she gave love and respect, and her students learned how to be themselves and to choose a better way of living.

These are some of her phrases which she used to inspire her students;

‘’You have the choice, the right to choose what kind of person you want to be.’’

‘’This is my life to use or to throw away.’’

‘’You are not in school for your parents, for your teachers, or for anyone else. You are here for yourselves.’’

There is a movie available on Youtube about her story. It’s great, why not watching?

Happy New Year!

With all best wishes,

Nahla