"Good Evening, Ma'am" at 3:10
My students have strange habits. Most Bhutunese would consider these habits good. The actions that bewilder me are here considered polite. I guess after over six months, I’ve gotten used to me, but I find none of these actions necessary and I’m glad they don’t exist in the realm of politeness in the States.
My students call me “madam” or “ma’am.” There are no exceptions. (Well, there was one time when a class two student, the daughter of one of the married teacher couples at my school, called me “Lisa.” I had never found hearing my name so refreshing, but it was a one-time occurrence. I thought that, since I was a friend of her parents, she felt comfortable addressing me by my first name, but she never did that again.) I know it’s considered polite, but it can get in the way of actual communication. My students, and some Bhutanese adults as well, feel the need to insert “ma’am” way too often when they’re speaking – “Please, ma’am. My head is paining, ma’am. Ma’am, can I please, ma’am, go to the BHU, ma’am?” Ugh. It’s enough to drive a ma’am nutty.
I also want to mention that adults address each other this way as well. If a woman is married, she’s a “madam” or “ma’am.” If she is not married, she is a “miss.” So most of the teachers I work with call me “madam.” Only one of the teachers I work with, Dechen, who spent a year in Australia, actually calls me “Lisa.” To the rest of the Bhutan, I’m known as “madam.” Even among a group of women who are good friends, you’ll always hear the madams being thrown around. The same goes for men – sir, sir, sir. When a group of male adults are doing something, I would refer to them as “guys” or “the men” if I felt like being more formal. Here, it’s “the gents.” For example – “The gents will be putting in the new prayer flags tomorrow morning.”
Last year in Tanzania, all I heard was “teacher.” “Teacher, I have a question.” “Teacher, I need a pen.” Teacher, teacher, teacher. It’s no contest – I much prefer “teacher” to “ma’am.”
My students say “Good evening, ma’am” at 3:10. There’s no “hello” or “hi.” It’s about the formal day greetings when they see me – “good morning, ma’am” when I arrive to school in the morning; “good afternoon, ma’am” when I return to school from lunch, and “good evening, ma’am” all the way home. The Bhutanese break up of the day is interesting. Right when the last bell rings at 3:10, all of a sudden it’s evening. Their prayer time, which occurs between 3:15 and 4:00 is called ‘evening prayer.’
My students bow to me (and usually to Scott as well). Sometimes it’s the subtlest bend at the waist. And sometimes it’s the full out 90-degree bend forward with the arms folded out in front of them, palms up. It’s paired with the day greeting. On our walk to work, Scott and I pass bowing student after bowing student, and when I enter the school ground and sweep by groups of students doing social work on my way to the staff room, they all turn and bow, one by one. I will never get used to the bowing. I’m not royalty. I’m not anyone special. Who are they bowing to?
Even on Saturday afternoons and Sundays, when I’m not wearing my kira, when I’m just walking on the street like a normal person, I still get students, who are wearing their casual clothes, stop and bow to me.
My students stand up when I pass by. When it’s break time between second and third period or lunchtime or after school and students are sitting down, if they see me approaching, they will stand up. When I’m outside of school and walking on the street, sometimes I see my students taking a rest and sitting on the ground. If they see me, they will stand up and likely bow. To me, there’s no need for that. To me, there’s nothing wrong with sitting down.
My students let me pass. When there’s a mass movement of students, like after morning assembly or right when the lunch bell rings, I usually have no problem fighting the crowd because the crowd parts for me. As soon as students sense that I’m behind them, they’ll stop and let me pass by. If a student happens to be oblivious to the fact that I’m there, their friends will yank at their arm or speak loudly at them to move, and then I can hear that oblivious student getting teased and reprimanded by their friends.
My students don’t pass me. This is not a hard and fast rule as some of the others are, but there is an etiquette if they do want to pass me. At lunch I usually walk home and many students live in the same direction as I. My house is about a six-minute walk from the school. There have been many times when a students or students will walk behind me for those six minutes and it’s only when I’ve turned into my driveway that they’ll break out into a sprint and rush home. If they do want to pass me before I reach home, they’ll walk up alongside me, politely greet me, and wish me a good lunch. Once I’ve replied, they’ll then quickly walk past me and then break out in a run.
My students cover their mouths when they talk to me, which makes it all the more difficult to understand them. Already they are speaking in their third or fourth language. Already they are speaking quietly. Now add a physical sound barrier to that. With all of these conditions, they might as well not speak at all. They either cover their mouths with their hands or, for some boys, the cuff of their ghos. When I first arrived, I asked why. Their replies – it’s a sign of respect, it’s to protect me from their potentially bad breath or spit, it’s a sign of shyness. The Bhutanese also cover their mouths when they’re getting blessed by someone really important.
My students stand up when I enter the classroom and when I leave. When I enter the room, their standing is accompanied with a “Good morning, madam” or “Good afternoon, madam.” When I leave the room, I hear, “Thank you, madam.” For one class I teach, they sing their greetings and farewells. You’d think this would be endearing and sometimes it can be, but when I’ve just struggled for 50 minutes with a class that won’t shut up, the last thing I want to hear when I leave is “Thank you, madam.” It’s so insincere and mechanical.
My students ask, “May I come in.” Whenever a student enters the classroom when I’m inside, they have to ask, “May I come in?” and they won’t come in until I say so or gesture them to come in. So if I’m preoccupied helping a student and I don’t hear someone at the door asking to come in, that student will just stand at the door and they’ll repeat their question until I acknowledge them. If I happen to enter a classroom a few minutes before the bell rings to get things ready, there’s a stream of “may I come in”s from students wanting to come into the classroom. Among many practices that I’d want to do away with, this is the number one. I find it so cumbersome to have to personally grant allowance to each and every student who wants to enter the classroom. I know I can’t get them to stop. The students have been trained all their lives to ask this question before entering into a classroom that a teacher is in.
My students call me “madam” or “ma’am.” There are no exceptions. (Well, there was one time when a class two student, the daughter of one of the married teacher couples at my school, called me “Lisa.” I had never found hearing my name so refreshing, but it was a one-time occurrence. I thought that, since I was a friend of her parents, she felt comfortable addressing me by my first name, but she never did that again.) I know it’s considered polite, but it can get in the way of actual communication. My students, and some Bhutanese adults as well, feel the need to insert “ma’am” way too often when they’re speaking – “Please, ma’am. My head is paining, ma’am. Ma’am, can I please, ma’am, go to the BHU, ma’am?” Ugh. It’s enough to drive a ma’am nutty.
I also want to mention that adults address each other this way as well. If a woman is married, she’s a “madam” or “ma’am.” If she is not married, she is a “miss.” So most of the teachers I work with call me “madam.” Only one of the teachers I work with, Dechen, who spent a year in Australia, actually calls me “Lisa.” To the rest of the Bhutan, I’m known as “madam.” Even among a group of women who are good friends, you’ll always hear the madams being thrown around. The same goes for men – sir, sir, sir. When a group of male adults are doing something, I would refer to them as “guys” or “the men” if I felt like being more formal. Here, it’s “the gents.” For example – “The gents will be putting in the new prayer flags tomorrow morning.”
Last year in Tanzania, all I heard was “teacher.” “Teacher, I have a question.” “Teacher, I need a pen.” Teacher, teacher, teacher. It’s no contest – I much prefer “teacher” to “ma’am.”
My students say “Good evening, ma’am” at 3:10. There’s no “hello” or “hi.” It’s about the formal day greetings when they see me – “good morning, ma’am” when I arrive to school in the morning; “good afternoon, ma’am” when I return to school from lunch, and “good evening, ma’am” all the way home. The Bhutanese break up of the day is interesting. Right when the last bell rings at 3:10, all of a sudden it’s evening. Their prayer time, which occurs between 3:15 and 4:00 is called ‘evening prayer.’
My students bow to me (and usually to Scott as well). Sometimes it’s the subtlest bend at the waist. And sometimes it’s the full out 90-degree bend forward with the arms folded out in front of them, palms up. It’s paired with the day greeting. On our walk to work, Scott and I pass bowing student after bowing student, and when I enter the school ground and sweep by groups of students doing social work on my way to the staff room, they all turn and bow, one by one. I will never get used to the bowing. I’m not royalty. I’m not anyone special. Who are they bowing to?
Even on Saturday afternoons and Sundays, when I’m not wearing my kira, when I’m just walking on the street like a normal person, I still get students, who are wearing their casual clothes, stop and bow to me.
My students stand up when I pass by. When it’s break time between second and third period or lunchtime or after school and students are sitting down, if they see me approaching, they will stand up. When I’m outside of school and walking on the street, sometimes I see my students taking a rest and sitting on the ground. If they see me, they will stand up and likely bow. To me, there’s no need for that. To me, there’s nothing wrong with sitting down.
My students let me pass. When there’s a mass movement of students, like after morning assembly or right when the lunch bell rings, I usually have no problem fighting the crowd because the crowd parts for me. As soon as students sense that I’m behind them, they’ll stop and let me pass by. If a student happens to be oblivious to the fact that I’m there, their friends will yank at their arm or speak loudly at them to move, and then I can hear that oblivious student getting teased and reprimanded by their friends.
My students don’t pass me. This is not a hard and fast rule as some of the others are, but there is an etiquette if they do want to pass me. At lunch I usually walk home and many students live in the same direction as I. My house is about a six-minute walk from the school. There have been many times when a students or students will walk behind me for those six minutes and it’s only when I’ve turned into my driveway that they’ll break out into a sprint and rush home. If they do want to pass me before I reach home, they’ll walk up alongside me, politely greet me, and wish me a good lunch. Once I’ve replied, they’ll then quickly walk past me and then break out in a run.
My students cover their mouths when they talk to me, which makes it all the more difficult to understand them. Already they are speaking in their third or fourth language. Already they are speaking quietly. Now add a physical sound barrier to that. With all of these conditions, they might as well not speak at all. They either cover their mouths with their hands or, for some boys, the cuff of their ghos. When I first arrived, I asked why. Their replies – it’s a sign of respect, it’s to protect me from their potentially bad breath or spit, it’s a sign of shyness. The Bhutanese also cover their mouths when they’re getting blessed by someone really important.
My students stand up when I enter the classroom and when I leave. When I enter the room, their standing is accompanied with a “Good morning, madam” or “Good afternoon, madam.” When I leave the room, I hear, “Thank you, madam.” For one class I teach, they sing their greetings and farewells. You’d think this would be endearing and sometimes it can be, but when I’ve just struggled for 50 minutes with a class that won’t shut up, the last thing I want to hear when I leave is “Thank you, madam.” It’s so insincere and mechanical.
My students ask, “May I come in.” Whenever a student enters the classroom when I’m inside, they have to ask, “May I come in?” and they won’t come in until I say so or gesture them to come in. So if I’m preoccupied helping a student and I don’t hear someone at the door asking to come in, that student will just stand at the door and they’ll repeat their question until I acknowledge them. If I happen to enter a classroom a few minutes before the bell rings to get things ready, there’s a stream of “may I come in”s from students wanting to come into the classroom. Among many practices that I’d want to do away with, this is the number one. I find it so cumbersome to have to personally grant allowance to each and every student who wants to enter the classroom. I know I can’t get them to stop. The students have been trained all their lives to ask this question before entering into a classroom that a teacher is in.
posted by Siapiau | 5:24 PM
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