The Year of the Reader

The morning was just like any other. I arrived at school to greetings from chipper students exclaiming “good morning, sir” as they bowed respectfully. But as I walked clockwise around the venerated statue of the god of knowledge right in front of the main office, the principal approached. He said in the most casual of tones that I am to coordinate a 5-hour reading program for the 5 local schools scheduled for this weekend. Internally my mind was struggling to wrap itself around this. Wait, what the hell? That sounds like a big task for someone who is brand new to the system, but I needed to stay calm and take his direction to heart. So I agreed. He lightened the burden by adding that I would be working in conjunction with two other teachers. 

(Aforementioned statue)           

        

That afternoon when the three of us shared a free period, we convened to discuss our plan which was due by the end of the day. I’ve never been asked to do anything remotely on this scale. Thousands of students would be in attendance! The stakes were also high because reading holds special significance in Bhutan this year. The secretary to the minister of education emphasized that we as foreign teachers should work diligently to improve students’ readership. The minister of education echoed these statements when he visited my school.  I myself had chosen the school’s theme for the year as “building life-long readers” in response to the national designation of 2015 as the “Year of the Reader”. Now I am typically vocal in teacher meetings, but I had absolutely no clue where to even begin. What resources are available? What do we have already and what can we afford? What kind of level are Bhutanese students capable of reading in class 1 or class 8? What skills can they display with confidence? With all these thoughts unproductively floating around in my head, I was—not surprisingly—quiet during the first few minutes of our meeting. With every question one of the madams would ask for my thoughts, upon which I could only reply, “I’m not sure”. It took some time before I conquered the nagging doubt, but somewhere halfway through the meeting I found my voice.

Eventually the three of us were able to hash out some initial ideas for the day’s program. We would have student speakers and performances preceding an activity block with three-simultaneous stations which would tailor to different age and ability groups. Somewhere in the mix we would have a speech by the chief guest, our governor. We would distribute food and drink for our guests, some of them students, but also members of the community coming to observe the day’s events. We would then conclude by giving out prizes for the winners of the activities and close with a final speech.

There. Our preliminary work was done for the time being, subject now to administrative scrutiny. I returned to lesson planning and wiped my thoughts of this grand task. The channels were quiet for some time. Word came that our chief guest would be out of town for some undetermined period of time so the program would be delayed. This was welcome news as we would not have been ready for the original date anyway.

Over the next week we sat in various meetings to draw up a budget for refreshments, banners, tents, prizes, furnishing, and the like. We then researched reading-related quotes for the banners. I organized the logistics of the three simultaneous activities which would be buddy reading from grades 1-6, a reader’s theater competition for grades 7 through 10, and a read and retell exercise for grades 11-12. Further meetings yielded delegation of performances to teachers and staff, which lightened the work load. I then drew up rubrics for the judges and hunted down material for the read and retell portion. We made slight changes to the itinerary often and sent out updated information to the other schools. Within a few short weeks the stars had aligned and our program was beginning to look promising.

In the days prior to reading day, students were asked to clean the children’s park which sits at the center of Mongar town. I was elated to come by after school to find students picking up trash and sweeping the grounds of glass and other hazardous material. Students in the upper grades erected tents and banners while younger volunteers stripped pine needles from branches to use as bedding in the tents. More volunteers brought in tables and chairs. All this transpired after school hours with no promise of reward. Sure students may be rowdy in the classrooms, but they are undoubtedly helpful and obedient when called upon.

               After weeks of delays, weeks of planning, and weeks of teachers and students practicing after school, the day had come. Reading Day took place on a Saturday. The sky was virtually clear. I woke up early and walked into town, arriving before most of the students. There I met with my fellow coordinators where we did last-minute arrangements of the chairs. I spoke with the judges and went over their packets to ensure they understood their role in the day’s activities. Things started slowly, as they tend to do here. Students, teachers, and townspeople arrived within an hour and a half. Finally it was time to begin. 

               Student speakers who had practiced for weeks finally gave their speeches. The mic was working—a miracle given its track record, and the students were audible. Next the district education officer delivered a speech on the importance of reading, followed by one by the governor. All was going according to plan, but my mind was still focused upon damage control. The poetry reenactment by our class 5 was a bit robotic, but there were no striking errors, falls, or slip-ups. 

               The day followed much in this fashion. I kept waiting for something to go wrong, and though there were some issues, none of them threw off the general momentum of the day. The activities ran smoothly and the judges seemed comfortable. At the principal’s insistence we even included a block of time during the program for the entire audience to read. People of all ages and levels of importance sat quietly, poring over newspapers, books, and magazines. Afterward “randomly selected” individuals were called to summarize what they had read. Two of them happened to be the two foreign teachers in the area, Anna—a Tibetan-American from Virginia—and Nakita. I figured surely they would call me up next, but thankfully, they didn’t.

              At the end the governor and a high-level monk awarded the winners of the activities with gifts. I was happily surprised to hear my name called just before the end. The coordinators, myself included, were recognized and given a portrait of the king with a white sash and a dedication of thanks at the bottom. Needless to say I felt proud of our brainchild, but it would never have been a success without everyone’s diligence. We had transformed an empty time slot into an elaborate celebration of the art of reading, not in one go, but by tackling it piecemeal. And our efforts did not go unnoticed; portions were aired on the news and an article was even published about the day's events in the national English newspaper, The Kuensel.

               Reflecting on the preparation and delivery of Reading Day, I cannot help but see parallels to the experience of living abroad. As an international teacher, I must constantly face the unfamiliar. The beginning is always the most trying, as I must relearn virtually everything. But everything we have ever seen or experienced was once new to us. Learning to navigate these challenges is what builds character and I find both strength and peace from the process; after all, that’s why I chose teaching—it’s a dynamic profession that requires ongoing learning and adaptation.