Who would have thought 8 months after I graduated high school I would be teaching at a refugee school for Burmese Muslims in Southeast Asia?? (well God did.) and the craziest part is… I LOVE IT. I cannot explain how hard it is to not be able to post pictures, videos, or even say the names of the students or of the school that I have fallen in love with these past 3 months.
But because I just can’t go on without sharing a little bit of WHAT I am doing here and WHY I love it so much, I decided to write a blog about it and call the school BRS (Burmese Refugee School). Just to clarify why I cannot share any information about the school: the staff that I am working with are Christians but the school is run by a Muslim organization, and it is illegal for Muslims to convert to Christianity. Therefore, missionaries (or as we call them here “Ms”) can’t say that is what they are here for or else they could be thrown in prison or thrown out of the country. So, I do this for the safety of my team and the people that we work with who will continue to live in Penang even after we leave.
The first month we were here, my team and I just cleaned BRS while the students were on holiday break. At the time we thought that was a pretty tough job, but we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into after break was over. When school started back up, they split our team into pairs and we were put on the schedule. Alissa and I teach English to 10-14 year olds first, then we teach English again to 6-11 year olds, then we teach “English” (mostly just listen to “The Wheels on the Bus”) to 4-6 year olds. We also have one “class” which consists of one beautiful 13 year old girl, we’ll call her Sarah. Sarah knows English very well, so class usually just ends up being a dance party, us talking about our future plans, or playing some kind of game for an hour. One time Sarah’s mom cooked us some weird Myanmar food, so we ate and chatted all class.
For the other, more structured classes, Alissa and I assist a teacher and try to tame the class just enough for them to listen to her teach. Personally, my favorite class is the 10-14 year olds (besides my class with Sarah) only because they can understand the most English. Usually Alissa and I just want to stay in that class all day and talk to the students. One of our favorite things to do with them is teach new words in English, but then get them to translate those words to us in Burmese and then we try to say the words back to them. It always gets a laugh, so sometimes I question whether or not I actually said “apple” in Burmese or something very different.
So now that I went over the WHAT, I am going to try my hardest to capture all of WHY I love what I am doing so much. I don’t exactly know how I am going to explain my full heart using only the tiny keys on my MacBook Air being pressed on by my chubby little fingers, but I’m going to try. Bear with me please.
I have never ever even once thought about a teaching career. But I can honestly say, I have thought multiple times about staying in Penang and teaching at BRS for the rest of my life. I remember the moment I realized I may just have gotten myself in too deep: I was reading a “BOB” book with one of my students in the 6-11 year old class. He couldn’t pronounce close to any of the words at first, but after a while he started reading sentences such as “Sam had a ball” on his own. I was ecstatic. I have never been more proud of anything or anyone in my entire life. And although that was just one specific time, I still get just as excited when I see the other students starting to get the material. Every time I leave that school, my heart is filled up to the brim. I find myself thinking about the school and the students randomly every day. I even talk to my team about wanting to go every morning instead of just on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Even during our Debrief, we were trying to find ways to still go to that school.
Another thing that draws us so close to that school is hearing the stories of the kids who go there and stories of other refugees in general. Refugees get little to no rights here in Malaysia. I mean, even getting to go to school is a privilege held so dearly to them. Some refugees have been taken from their jobs and thrown into detention, where they are beaten and forced to pay RM5000 to leave. Then they are taken to Thailand or another surrounding country to be put into work/sex slavery. This, of course, isn’t the case for all the refugees but it is the worst that could happen. Some of the student’s parents have been left in Myanmar so they may or may not go back to get them, which means they may or may not get to see them again. Other kids have stories that involve them or their parents being physically or emotionally abused. These families have dealt with fear of the future, rejection, persecution, and pain like most of us never will.
I only have one more week with these kids, 3 days really. Then I will be on a plane to Africa and eventually go back to the States, and they will continue in school growing and learning here in Penang. They will get many volunteers coming and teaching in their classes, just as they have before. In fact, another World Race team is coming at the end of March and will be serving at BRS as well. But nevertheless, I will always remember and treasure my time at BRS and with those students. They have not only filled me with joy but they have also given me an entirely new perspective on the Islamic culture. I love Muslim people, just as Christ does. Praying for this school and these students, and getting to love on them more and more every day allows me to see all Islamic people in that way. When I see Muslims on the street I think about that little boy I saw read an entire sentence on his own. I think about Sarah who loves Bollywood dancing and wants to be a fashion designer when she grows up. Praise God for bringing me to this incredible place and allowing me to work with these incredible people.
So this next week is going to be hard. I am going to miss hearing “good morning Teachah” every time I walk in my classrooms. And asking “how are you?” only to get the same response of “I am fine, thank you.” And watching kids pout and give me the silent treatment because I didn’t give them an extra worksheet for homework. And getting ready to leave for the day but then having a little 6 year old boy grab my attention as he sweeps his entire classroom by himself. And going home with bright red hands because one high-five just isn’t enough. I am truly going to miss this Muslim Refugee School and all of Penang, Malaysia.
pray for my heart. it will be in two pieces come March 1st.
