This is Just a Test

In every country, standardized tests suck.

Meet Pema.

“Hello, sir.”

“Hi, Pema.”

Pema is soft-spoken, timid. When I offer him a high-five he cringes a little and hesitantly puts his hand in the air. Once contact is made, he turns away, giggling. Pema is kind. Very kind. He might be one of the kindest students I’ve ever taught, which says a lot because I used to teach four-year old Japanese kids who would incessantly hug my leg.

Pema’s about to take his midterm examinations in a few days. He’s in class twelve, his final year of high school. These examinations will give him a good idea of how he’ll do for the National Board Exam in December.

“It’s very much important,” he reminds me.

The National Board Exam determines where and if Pema will go to college. College acceptance determines if he’ll be a white-collar citizen or remain blue-collar, likely working on a small subsistence farm in his village, or herding yaks, like the generations before him.

“I want to own a business, sir.”

Pema has ambitions. He is studying in the commerce department of the high school so that he can one day leave his village and pursue his dream of entrepreneurship. He gets good marks in his economics class, in accountancy, and in math. His English, however, struggles.

“How many languages do you speak, Pema?”

“I speak our national language, Dzongkha, our local language, Sharchop, and I speak Nepali and Hindi.”

“And you speak English.”

“Not very much good, sir.”

“But you speak it. I mean all of your subjects are taught in English--except your Dzongkha class, of course--so you have to speak English.”

“Understanding is difficult, sir. The exam I am not very much ready for, sir.”

“Have you studied?”

“Somewhat studying, sir.”

I haven’t prepared Pema well. I’ve prepared Kinley well. But before I came Kinley spoke English with a very clear American accent, derived from obsessive American movie and TV watching. I’ve prepared Sampa well. She has a bright smile and an insatiable curiosity. Her questions are astute and well-formed, a product of diligent study done on her own independent time. She now has relative comfort with English, along with three other languages.

But Pema … my instruction is failing poor Pema. I’m one in a successive line of English teachers, perhaps since he started school, that can’t give him the attention he needs to be ready for the board exams. He is surrounded by nearly forty other students in his class, and he rarely asks questions. At this point, I’m estimating that he has to catch up on at least three years of language instruction in order to get the score he would want.

“A sixty percent, sir.”

“Sixty? Come on, Pema. Let’s aim for at least a seventy.”

This is part of my attempt to convey that, with enough studying, he could pull off the impossible. Despite knowing my instruction is failing him, I still believe in him.

“Wha’d’ya think the hardest part of the test is gonna be?”

“Sir?”

“What do you think will be the hardest part? Of the midterm?”

“Oh. Story writing, sir.”

Pema gave me a draft of a short story he had written as practice. For the board exam the students have to demonstrate that they know and can apply the elements of a short story to a creative piece--though, in actuality, it's better to keep the reins tight on the creativity. The story must have characters, setting, conflict, theme and a moral. The plot should follow a traditional, ho-hum, story arc.

Pema’s story went like this

In village Bhutan pema and friend are argument and he say “I am wanting talking to girl and he friend say I helping talking to girl. and they go looking for girl talking about nice day and a bear jump out. boy run and friend is going but than find girl and he talking to girl and it is okay because she say I loving to you. Moral is expect the unexpected.

“Well, Pema, you’ve got characters. So that’s good, “I tell him. “You’ll get points for the characters. You need to develop your setting a bit more though.”

“Sir?”

“You can describe the village. Is it big? Is it small? Does it smell like fire from the woodstoves? Are there flowers? What’s the temperature? What season is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And your plot is a little confusing. What’s the conflict supposed to be?”

“Bear, sir.”

“Alright. A bear is a problem. What’s going on with the girl though?”

“Pema is in love, sir.” (At this he giggles.)

“See, that’s a conflict too then, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So which one do you want to focus on?”

“Bear, sir. And girl, sir.”

“Well Pema, normally I’d say go for it, but for these types of tests it’s best if you just have one obvious conflict that the person marking the test can follow. It’s the worst way to write a story—to appease some person ticking off each item—but it’s what you’ll have to do if you want to pass.”

“Sir?”

“Pick one: the bear, or the girl.”

I continue to give Pema advice and I’m certain he’s understanding much less than his desired sixty percent. But he takes back his draft and promises he’ll try again.

“You can check second draft, sir?”

“Yeah, I’ll check as many as you can get done before the test. But don’t forget to study for the other parts, too: grammar, drama, essay writing.”

“Okay, sir.”

I tell him to study but I’m afraid that a lot of what he will study will be futile for improving his actual language skills. I’ve seen copies of previous years’ board exams and the expectations are esoteric and, literally, absurd. I mean it. The drama piece that all class twelve students around the country are mandated to study is Jean Anouilh’s 1984, experimental play, An Episode in the Life of an Author. Genre: theater of the absurd.

Pema, his classmates, and I suffered through nearly three weeks of attempts to reenact the farcical play in the classroom. Students wore artificial noses—the only “indispensable” costume requirement, according to the author’s notes—and acted out scenes that intentionally make no sense whatsoever.

“Okay, students. Here you have to imagine that water is raining down from the ceiling while the inspector is jotting down notes. That’s why he opens his umbrella. And the author, he’s on the phone with his friend, talking casually, even though his wife is shooting a pistol at him.”

"And maid is still crying, sir?"

Reading drama and dispensing with the artificial noses.

"Yeah. The maid is still crying."

The students sought clarity from me desperately throughout the play. I am, after all, the native English speaker and eight-year veteran teacher that is supposed to clear up all the strange mysteries of the English language. But even when I heard myself explain for the umpteenth time, “It’s not supposed have meaning. It’s supposed to be illogical,” or better yet, “It’s a critique on the ability of language to be an effective means of communication,” I disbelieved my own rhetoric and stood in front of the room deflated. In every single pair of eyes I could see panic arising from the realization, “This? We have to understand this for the board exam?”

Inevitably I fell into the bane of educational methodology: “Just memorize ‘illogical,’ ‘avant garde,’ and ‘satire of communication and language’ and write about it on the test. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.” I cringe still, knowing my pedagogy was reduced to the lowest common denominator. But for the students it was comfortable; something like a tangible answer that they could study; something worth their time.

The farce extends far beyond French modernism. I’m meant to teach grammar incorrectly. The students are required to do “Sentence Transformations”, a language development strategy that ignores all current research regarding language acquisition. That isn’t the ridiculous part though. In the students’ study guide, a tome of practice exercises and notes specifically for the Bhutanese board exam, the students are asked to change the sentences by adding in a new word. For example, “I need to go to the store, but don’t have any money” using the word “nevertheless.” Pema writes:

I don’t have any money, nevertheless I need to go the store.

I catch him on the comma splice, like the good grammar teacher that I am.

I tell him, “You can replace the comma with a period or a semicolon, Pema.”

But he flips to the section in the book that says “nevertheless” and shows me the examples with their answers. There it is, just as Pema wrote it. All the other examples follow the same structure. I insist that it’s incorrect, all of them are, but Pema and the other students don’t believe me.

“It’s here in the guide, sir. This is what we have to study for the board exam.”

It’s a conundrum. I could teach them the correct grammar, but then they’ll likely get the answers wrong on the test. I’ve seen this happen too, where a teacher just looks at the answer key and marks “X” if the slightest thing varies from the example answer, an answer that the teacher pulled from the same study guide. For active to passive voice exercises, for example, the students have to change “A book was given to the little boy by a friend yesterday,” to “Yesterday, a friend gave the little boy a book.”

Pema wrote:

A friend gave the little boy a book yesterday.

It was marked wrong.

Group work. Consulting the "guide" book, just in case.

I’m at a loss. It seems that there is only one right answer, and in the case of “nevertheless,” “inspite of” [sic], and a slew of other grammar, spelling, and punctuation examples, the right answer is the wrong answer. In order to make Pema’s English score better, I have to make his English worse.

It’s one of many walls dividing me from my students. Commonly I defer to the rebellious adage of, “Tests aren’t real learning,” a proclamation that has endeared me to a number of American high schoolers. But here in Bhutan the test is everything to the class twelve students. To say, “Don’t worry about the test,” is equatable to saying, “Don’t worry about your future,” though my intention is just the opposite. When I say, “Don’t worry about the tests,” I mean that they should learn because learning is fun and interesting. To show that they have authentically learned something—and not just regurgitated it onto a test—they should practice speaking, explaining, demonstrating, and creating. They should be passionate about something and pursue that passion doggedly. They should develop critical thinking skills; the ability to discern a source’s validity, for one, which social systems to trust, for another, and which systems to rail against so that unfairness doesn’t befall the next generation. But for students who simply want to ascend the social ladder a single step, who don’t want to toil in potato fields until they're old, passing a few tests seems a worthy obstacle to prepare for.

A teacher is ultimately a servant of his students and their culture. Both my social-justice and learn-for-the-joy-of-learning narratives are something I should offer for consideration, as a new perspective, but are not something to be imposed. In a strange twist of fate, now teaching-to-the-test (a technique I loathed) is actually student-centered instruction (a philosophy I adhere to religiously). In class I find myself saying, “The guidebook, and likely the board exam, probably wants you to write the answer this way,” while the students take diligent notes. Occasionally I’ll suggest, “But another way to do it is this way, though it might be wrong on the exam” and I’ll see one or two students writing down my digression.

It’s a humbling lesson in pedagogy. But it's also a confirmation of a maxim that has held true in Peru, Japan, America, and now Bhutan: Know your students. Know their ambitions, their goals, their fears, and their insecurities. Develop instruction that is sensitive to all their needs and helps them become the better people that they envision themselves becoming.

Pema wants to be a kid that can confidently pass the English section of the board exam.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Pema.”

“I have other short story, sir. Other draft.”

“Alright, let’s take a look at it.”

In big village Bhutan that smell like woodstove and have many red flower and is cold because it winter pema and friend are argument and he say “I am wanting talking to girl and he friend say I helping talking to girl. and they go looking for girl talking about nice day. Girl and pema fall in love and they marriage and they are happy. Pema is owning business and he work hard and wife is happy with pema and pema happy because he work in nice job where he helping others. Moral is dreams come true.

Pema is improving, nevertheless we’ve got a lot more studying to do before the board exam. 

Advice from a Holy Lama

Beware. There are demons and spirits in every nook and cranny of the school. They’re sitting in the ceiling on classroom crossbeams, where the rats scurry about and the crickets chirp at night. They’re on front steps, waiting to trip you up in the morning; the dogs sleeping there are wary. If you give way to lethargy and slip away to bed for a nap in the dorm room, you better check that a devil isn’t in there, pulling the covers up just under his eyes, waiting for you to lay beside him. The spirits have gotten into the students’ heads. They’re sneaking off into the woods for their first clandestine trysts. Others are getting sick, they’re failing tests, they’re crying and they don’t know why.

It’s time for a rimdro.

The demons will be exorcised. There is a team of monks in our assembly hall, headed by a holy lama. They call him, simply, “Lama.” The cymbals crash and the dungchen horn, twice the length of a man, reverberates its deep bellow; the gyaling cries at a haunting pitch, cuts the air, rattling it like a snake tail; there is a mellifluous babel of guttural, unworldly mantras echoing through the hall and into the sky. Lama leads the prayers. Om mani padme hum. Om mani padme hum. We’ve descended right into the pith of Mahayana.

The students and teachers crowd into the assembly hall and prostrate, first to Lama, then to Guru Rinpoche, enshrined on the second floor balcony.

“We bow to Lama first because he is the teacher,” K.D. tells me in a whisper, looking toward Lama but averting eye contact. “He shows us the way to Lord Buddha. We need the teacher to access the teachings of the Buddha. Lama is the first step to enlightenment.”

Lama sits on an intricately hand-painted throne. The monks are in lines moving out from his left and right flank. He recites prayers that sound as if they were born when the earth was, an ancient language spoken by crags and forests, by winding rivers and gnarled trees.

“Lama is well-known in Bhutan. He has studied everything about Buddhism and knows it in intimate detail,” I’m told.

I hold my hands together in prayer, point them high in the air like I am preparing for a dive, then bring them to my lips, and then to my chest and I kneel on the floor and press my head to the thin red carpet which is stained and soiled.

When the students approach Lama they cover their mouths—a sign of respect. They bow in veneration and he taps them lightly on the head with a silver pitcher, a blessing to cleanse them of bad karma. There are many students and teachers and townspeople that come for the blessings.  He’ll cure what ails you, is the word on the street.

After lunch, Lama leaves the assembly hall and meets with our principal and vice principal. I approach to sneak a picture and am caught red-handed. Lama looks at me and smiles. I bow slightly and principal signals me to approach. I think that I should cover my mouth and prostrate and put on my ceremonial sash. To approach without doing such things seems an insult. But there is no time now and I stand beside the principal as he speaks about me to Lama in Dzongkha. Recognizable words arise but the conversation is mostly incomprehensible to me. I catch: “America”, “teacher”, “one year”.

Lama looks at me and smiles. He speaks back to the principal, who translates, “Lama would like you to know that Buddhism is a good path. He is here to show you the path, but you must decide whether or not to take it.”

I bow in gratitude. “Yes, Lama. Thank you, Lama.”

The principal continues to translate, “Lama says that he has studied many religions and that he does not wish to say that one is better than the other. But one must choose a spiritual path and he thinks that you have not yet done that.”

I nod my head, “This is true, Lama.”

He is still smiling. His kind eyes look over me.

“Lama says that perhaps in a past life you were Bhutanese and that in the future you may be Bhutanese once again. Then you will follow the path of Buddhism. In this way you may reach nirvana.”

“Yes, Lama.”

The principal and Lama talk then for another few minutes while Lama looks at me. They are discussing something in earnest but now I do not understand any of the words. The principal himself is a holy man, they say, devout to morning and evening prayer, scholar of Tibetan astrology. What fate of mine are they analyzing? The state of my karma, perhaps? What direction this incarnation of mine will take?

They pause and the principal gathers his thoughts. He translates for me once again, “Lama says not to worry, he will find you a Bhutanese wife.”

“Come again?” I say.

“A wife. Lama says you and the Bhutanese woman can crossbreed. He says you will be like a horse and a donkey creating … what is it called?”

“A mule?”

“Yes, yes. You two will create like a mule.”

I hesitate and bow again. “Thank you, Lama.”

“He says the crossbreeds are often the most beautiful. With a Bhutanese wife, you would have beautiful children.”

“Uh, yes. Thank you, Lama.”

Lama smiles again, his kind smile. He nods toward me in farewell and walks back to the assembly hall. There, he chases away more demons, and bestows blessings. 

For the Visual Learners

It isn't fair. For the five years that I thought about coming to Bhutan, what kept me salivating were the pictures that I'd scroll through religiously on the Bhutan Canada Foundation teachers' blogs. Now that I am here and I am one of the BCF teachers, I've gone and described most of my journey through prose. 

It must be my penchant for making students read that makes me defer to storytelling. Or it's because I want to doggedly practice writing in order to improve. Either way, I'm sure there are now prospective teachers who couldn't care less about if I'm sick or not, what a trip to the Bhutanese bakery is like (boooring), or whether Mendigo survives or gets kicked to the curb. So for those who just want to see damn some pictures, here you go. My 21 favorite pics from Bhutan so far.

(But, because I can't help myself, I have added little descriptions to accompany each one.) 

Kids at the Mani

I remember worrying about getting good pictures when I first arrived in Thimphu. Fresh off a three week journey around Japan and Thailand, where I broke in my new camera and took what I think were some really cool photos, I wandered Thimphu hoping for a nice shot. I got this one, one that I looked at a lot that night and thought, "Bhutan. I'm in Bhutan."

Punakha Dzong

For two years I had a picture of this iconic dzong as the background on my phone. It reminded me daily to try and pursue my dream of living in Bhutan. When we crossed the country to drop off the other teachers at their placements, we passed right by it. Karma, our guide for the cross-country trip, let us get out and walk around the dzong before heading farther east.

His Majesty's Birthday

When school started, rather than jumping right in to classes, we prepared for His Majesty's birthday for nearly a week. When the day came, there were songs, dances, and speeches to honor his reign. Here, the students are singing while wearing buttons with images of the 4th and 5th kings together.

Village Life

Bhutan is developing. Many of my students prefer wearing western dress when they have a choice, Hindi and American music is very popular, and students relish their access to TV and internet. But, in the villages there are still vestiges of an older way of life. I took this photo on the way to Trashiyangtse, the district next to Trashigang, where I live.

Principal Sir's Home

One of my first trips outside of the area where I live was to go to the village where our principal grew up. Sadly, we went to pay our respects for the passing of his brother. Here, his sister comes out of the separate kitchen area where they still cook on a wood fire. 

Painting an Image

This is still one of my favorite pictures so far. Because of the light, it seems like it could have been a painting. This is another one from the time in the principal's village. Though the father and son are the focal point of the shot, if you look down and right, you can just make out the principal's mother, an aged woman still working hard on the daily rigors of village life.

Indian & Nepali Road Workers

There are vast stories to be told here. Every time that we take a ride to Trashigang town, or even as I walk through Kanglung, there are many Indian and Nepali road workers, men and women, young and old, working tirelessly to expand and pave the roads. It's a brutal job, one that no one would choose if they had a better option. 

Students

Ultimately, this is why I am here. When I set out teaching abroad in 2008, I was just as interested in developing my pedagogy as I was in traveling. Every year teaching, getting better at it and learning about it, becomes more and more my priority. And the best teachers for teachers are students. I've already learned more than I can process from these students and I am grateful to be able to work with them.

Neighbors

Here, Yoezer is reluctantly getting a bath from his dad Gyeltshen. Gyeltshen and his family live right next door to me. He has been endlessly hospitable and patient as I fumble through this culture. He invites me over, teaches me how to wear the gho, patiently explains to me cultural customs, school bureaucracy, and a plethora of other facts needed to live here comfortably. His son, Yoezer, is always popping in and out of my Boy's Sick Room, eager to help me cook, jump over me as I do sit-ups, or, at times, challenge me to a superhero battle. 

Assembly

We have school for half a day on Saturdays. It's a thorn in many teachers' and students' sides. But, one benefit is that students don't have to wear their uniform national dress and instead are allowed to don their own ghos and kiras. It's a colorful spectacle when they are all together for assembly, one that I always want to take pictures of.

Girls Hiding From the Sun

There are two kinds of students: those who constantly bother me and ask, "Sir, can you take a picture of us?" And the others who run away even if I'm just holding a camera near them. These two girls obliged a shot during a sports tournament. I like this picture partly for the clarity of the girl's eyes in the foreground, but mostly for the enigmatic expression of the girl in the background, obscured by the blur. 

Monks

Monks are ubiquitous in Bhutan. The Himalayan, Mahayana Buddhism here is thriving. There are monks walking the streets, in the shops, chatting with college girls. They come to religious events and secular events. They're on cellphones (see below) and at the ATM. Here, an aged, weathered monk asks me to take his picture at the Trashigang rimdro. I had clandestinely been stealing shots of him, which I think he noticed despite having only one good eye. 

Stay Connected (to all sentient beings?)

Part of my "Monks on Phones" series. Of course they need to be connected to the world just like anyone, but it often ruins my idyllic expectation that monks would completely abandon materialism and live an austere existence. Turns out that they play soccer, make lewd comments, are occasionally truculent, and enjoy chillin' with friends, just like the rest of us. 

Boarding School

Here the kitchen staff is preparing food for nearly 500 people. That's a lot of rice. These guys are amiable characters. They smile and greet me often and I try to convey what messages I can despite my weak language skills in Sharchop and Dzongkha. 

JD

JD's a cool dude. We are always elected to be the school photographers because he has a good camera and actual photography skills, and I have a point-and-shoot (albeit, a good one) and like to dabble. This is my "Portrait of a Photographer." He's also rockin' the casual gho look, where you slip out of the top part and tie it around your waist. Good for doing manual labor and for cooling off in the 28 degree (Celsius) heat. 

Sherubtse College Idol

Some of my friends were asked to be judges at a traditional singing competition at the local college. We went backstage to meet the competitors. The guy on the left is blind and was escorted out onto the stage. His singing was the best of the night, the only competitor, I thought, who bled emotion into his hauntingly beautiful songs. 

Daily Life

Though it's cool to get pictures of my Bhutanese friends in their ghos and kiras, and to capture monks praying, really, daily life here is similar to that of other countries. The preferred dress is western and much time is spent at home, chatting and caring for kids. This photo is one of my favorites because it captures an honest moment, where the two women are lost in thought as time pushes forward. 

The National Sport

Archery is big here. Really big. Everywhere you go there are archery ranges and competitions. A few of the students at the school are going to a competition in Russia and they are training hard. I wouldn't recommend practicing archery indoors, but it makes for a nice picture. 

Prostrations
 

Religion is in schools here. In the morning the students meditate (arguably not religious) and pray. In the evening they also pray. We celebrate Buddhist holy days, such as the Buddha's Parnirvana, and Guru Rinpoche's birth. There are also religious ceremonies called rimdros--also known as pujas-- which serve many purposes, some of which are to cleanse an area of evil spirits, or to bestow blessings on people and the places they occupy (homes, schools, workplaces.) Here, a student makes prostrations to a holy lama who is leading the school rimdro. 

Blessings

Part of the school rimdro involved the lama and monks going through the audience of students and bestowing blessings. Here a monk goes through the rows, playing quintessential Himalayan sounds from a horn. You can get a good sense of the sounds of a rimdro on YouTube. 

Gift from a Lama

My friend's son puts his hands out to receive a small gobstopper-like food from the lama. You learn these rituals from a young age, along with how to be respectful, how to wear national dress properly, and and overall sense of comity.