A story of memories
“In the last two stages of university and before obtaining a bachelor’s degree in teaching, the law requires working in schools as a substitute teacher to complete graduation. I was chosen to work in a high school where I was a student, and this is where the story begins.”
“I was barely in my twenties at that time, my personality and thoughts were beginning to take shape clearly. I wasn’t like the other young people who followed fashion trends in clothing and hairstyles; I would wear my father’s clothes when I liked them, I didn’t cut my thick hair, which took up a wide space on my head like a nest for stork’s. Thus, I entered the school administration, which was surprised to see me, the welcome was limited to a few words: ‘Welcome to the foreign language teacher.’”
“Quickly give me the class schedule, and the key to the main teacher’s room, at nine in the morning, I will deliver my first lecture. I did not believe in traditional teaching methods, especially since my specialization is foreign languages, I must convey information that is completely different from what the students are accustomed to, Add to that my different opinions regarding society and politics in the country. I was determined to make a significant big difference; I am that small young man.”
“I entered the classroom the noise filled the air. I said ‘Hello’ loudly to calm the students, they noticed that a large physical presence topped with a stork’s nest suddenly appeared among them. I said again: ‘Hello, guys! My name is Otba, and I will be the substitute teacher for French.’ I immediately noticed the whispers and laughter among them, I was sure it was because of my thick hair. I rubbed my head and said, ‘Stop staring at my hair; you won’t find any eggs there!’ Everyone burst out laughing, I knew that I had broken the first traditional barrier between me and them, which made me happy.”
“I continued, saying to everyone, ‘Let’s get to know each other. I will go around each one of you, please tell me your name. If any of you would like to say something else, that’s fine.’ I began to move around the students one by one, shaking hands with them and learning their names until I stopped at one of them, who said, ‘My name is Yusuf, and I have a question.’ I replied, ‘Go ahead…’ He asked, ‘Do you shock your hair with electricity to make it look like that?’ It was a cheeky question and my first test in dealing with the mischief of students. I answered him with a smile: ‘Would I have stayed alive if I electrocuted my head? No, my dear Yusuf, my hair looks like this because I pull it a lot while I study French.’”
“I managed to include Youssef in this response, everyone laughed, but I noticed one of them could barely smile he looked very shy. I approached him, extended my hand to shake his, and said my name is Otba. He stood up, his face flushed with embarrassment, he extended his trembling hand while trying hard to say ‘A… A… Alaa.’ He was stuttering and took a while to pronounce his name. The students immediately laughed, one of them said: ‘He needs half an hour to complete a meaningful sentence.’ Everyone laughed again while Alaa choked with sobs and burst into tears.”
I gave Alaa the key to my room and asked him to leave the class to wait for me in my office. Then I turned to the rest of the students saying: We all have things that could make Alaa laugh at us, but he has a lot of respect for all of you, he does not do that. So when you laugh at the way he speaks, you are hurting his dignity while he respects everyone. , I took a look at Alaa’s notebooks that he left on the table. Some poems were written, drawings of flowers and eyes full of tears.
I arrived at my office and found Alaa waiting for me. I took a box of juice out of my bag and offered it to him, saying, “You can have some juice, but please don’t stare at my hair. Maybe my nose looks better… Okay, what do you think about my ears?” At this, Alaa burst into laughter, and I felt relieved. I told him, “Look, Alaa, when you find it hard to speak, place your hand on your neck, above your throat.” I explained that this can help improve the flow of nervous instructions to the vocal cords, making speech come out faster. I knew my explanation wasn’t scientific or true, but I wanted to instill confidence in him to overcome his speech difficulty, which was largely psychological due to his shyness and fear.
Alaa’ believed what I told him and we started practicing in my office. He would put his hand on his neck and say his name. He was stuttered at the first attempts, but with time he was able to speak almost naturally. Months of the semester passed and I was achieving success in restoring Alaa’s self-confidence and achieving broader integration with the students. I was receiving more Trust and love over time until I became a popular celebrity in the whole school.
The school year was coming to a close, and Alaa had improved his speaking skills significantly since I first met him. He no longer stuttered, and nobody laughed at him when he spoke. I approached him and said, “I know that you write poetry. I want you to recite one of your poems at the graduation ceremony.” He hesitated and replied, “No, please, no.” I reassured him, “Don’t be afraid, Alaa. Your poems are wonderful, and you can stand in front of everyone. Please do it for me. Do it for Otba. Am I not your great friend?” I placed my hands on his shoulders and said, “You are a man and a poet. You are my student above all else, and I trust you.”
Alaa agreed, and I registered his name in the graduation program to recite his poem. My heart beat strongly as I announced his name for him to come forward and go up to the stage. Everyone applauded him. My heartbeat increased with fear that Alaa might become confused in front of hundreds of students, but he stood tall in front of the microphone. He put his hand above his throat until he hugged his neck. He looked at me and started reciting his poem flawlessly, without making a mistake. I couldn’t bear the wonderful view, tears of joy filled my eyes.
Over the years, distances of places and time have become vast between me and Alaa, I do not know if he still puts his hand on his neck when he speaks, but whenever I remember him and remember those days, I put my hand on my heart and say I love you all.
