When My Student Called Me UNCLE

When a student calls their teacher uncle, one might assume it reflects a bond of deep intimacy, sublime friendship, or even unconditional closeness. However, for me, this encounter was both perplexing and disheartening, particularly in a school setting where things are often referred to as systematic and organised.

 

I have been at my new posting for just over a week, and my experience so far had been a blend of blessings and challenges. 

Blessing because the school’s location in Wangdue allowed me to stay close to Thinleygang, where my wife works. Despite being married for 9 years with required legal documents (marriage certificate), this was the first time we were posted near each other. 

 

Challenges because I had to endure almost 20 km drive daily between Thinleygang and Wangdue. My mornings began by breaking the silence of the muted dawn, and my evenings ended as I returned home under the murky dusk. The recently ongoing road construction only worsened the journey, with frequent blocks, uncleared debris, and unpredictable traffic openings that made each drive a gruelling experience.

 

To add to the difficulties, I arrived at the new school knowing no one, and sadly nobody took the initiative to formally introduce me to the staff or students. There was no orientation to the school system, let alone the courtesy of being introduced as a new teacher to the school family.

 

Because of this lack of communication, I found myself in an awkward situation one day when a group of students, needing a ride to Lobesa, addressed me as uncle. This was not because I looked too old or had any familial ties to them. It was simply a result of negligence and disorganised management, if so to be told. I felt bad on the school management because if the school had introduced me to the students as their new teacher, such confusion would never have occurred. But I provide the lift to the students till Lobesa. 

 

The lack of communication extended beyond the students. Even the teachers were unaware of my arrival. For an entire week, I had no designated workspace in the staffroom. I improvised, working in classrooms, multipurpose hall, and science laboratories. Finally, in a tone laced with sarcasm, I approached the staff secretary and said, 

“Is it possible to provide me a place in the staffroom? I think I need some place to rest when I am free.” 

They looked surprised and admitted that they had no idea I was a new teacher. They explained that they had assumed I was a parent, regularly visiting the school for unknown reasons.

 

They may be right, but I chose not to elaborate further. All I wanted was a place to work – a desk to plan lessons, keep my stationery, and organise students’ work. Yet even now, I find myself adjusting to the irregularities of a school system which I had assumed would be seamless, systematic, and professional. Having worked in remote primary schools for most of my career, I had expected this higher secondary urban school to be a model of organisation and efficiency. Instead, I was met with a level of disarray I had not encountered before.

 

But as growth and survival demand adaptability, the time here is really testing my ability to adjust through a series of trial-and-error experiences. I have come to realise that when those around us fail to acknowledge our presence, it can sometimes work to our advantage. For example, the absence of attention has given me space to focus on my personal growth and to better understand my environment, free from the weight of others’ expectations or judgments. What initially felt like neglect has, in some ways, become a quiet opportunity for empowerment.

 

“A person’s a person, no matter how small”- Dr. Suess