Aliya Bashar finished up her Grade 6 class exams and swiftly walked over to a room next door at her Kanya Mandir Secondary School in Kathmandu. Other students join in and together they offer namaz. This is an important time of year for Bashar, not only because of her annual exams but also because of the holy month of Ramadan. "It is a relief not to have to rush home for prayers at 1 pm," Bashar tells us later. "The school provides a space for namaz, making it easier for us to focus on exams." With a week left for the end of Ramadan, Muslims eat before dawn and fast throughout the day with afternoon prayers at 1pm. They break fast with a collective iftar feast after sunset. Recognising the challenges of its Muslim minority students, Kanya Mandir School provides a dedicated space for them to offer prayers immediately after the exams.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240402120448_48e2571556490b496061569a30d8935a7d358b2647feb0935d09cfbe2fb53cc4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_0" data-image-id="20240402120448_48e2571556490b496061569a30d8935a7d358b2647feb0935d09cfbe2fb53cc4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kanya Mandir Secondary School"> </figure>  "Having a prayer room makes everything easier,” says Salma Khatun, a Grade 8 student. "And the school also allows us to dress in clothes we are comfortable in.” The school’s inclusive environment has helped students like Bashar and Khatun thrive. They participate in sports wearing the hijab, something not possible at many other schools. Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/guest-column/moving-to-the-mainstream">Moving to the mainstream</a>, Chandra Kishore Jasmin Shaikh in Grade 7 says she faces no hate and discrimination at school. “Students of all religions are treated equally here,” she says.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240402120448_7d674a06c7ebaf6e5a35f8d19595b55a9f5710bee41fb2243abd9a54a24422d8.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20240402120448_7d674a06c7ebaf6e5a35f8d19595b55a9f5710bee41fb2243abd9a54a24422d8" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kanya Mandir Secondary School"> </figure>  Muskan Khatun says being allowed to wear the hijab in class makes her feel safe and supported. Khatun who is originally from India says she feels a sense of belonging at the school. “There are no restrictions here, even the school feels like home,” she says, smiling. The Kanya Mandir School’s commitment to inclusiveness extends beyond Ramadan, and extends to the cultural practices of students from all faiths, including Hindu, Buddhist and Christian.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240402120448_e2f7573555a66f363ec2927588488ac85b97bbf0d36fa5f95140eeb833c6ac73.jpg" data-media-id="editor_3" data-image-id="20240402120448_e2f7573555a66f363ec2927588488ac85b97bbf0d36fa5f95140eeb833c6ac73" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kanya Mandir Secondary School"> </figure>  "The hijab does not hinder the students in any way," says Assistant Principal Bhagwan Babu Adhikari. “In fact, our top performers are girls from the Muslim community." The welcoming environment has boosted the school’s appeal, and some 245 of the 1,170 students at the school are from Nepal’s Muslim minority.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240402120448_47c4d1d60e34acf8be892a28a643edb4eebb0f8b6d3c2887396072705dc2adcf.jpg" data-media-id="editor_4" data-image-id="20240402120448_47c4d1d60e34acf8be892a28a643edb4eebb0f8b6d3c2887396072705dc2adcf" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kanya Mandir Secondary School"> </figure>  "School is where children develop compassion, tolerance, good behaviour," says Principal Ghanashyam Neupane. "We are simply trying to create an environment that fosters these values."&nbsp; This approach promotes respect for different religions, cultures, and traditions, inculcating a sense of camaraderie among students when young, he adds.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240402120448_b14ec82030a573a5bf31ed7d4d2bdb8e46568c9fcd3020686261057632b1c014.jpg" data-media-id="editor_5" data-image-id="20240402120448_b14ec82030a573a5bf31ed7d4d2bdb8e46568c9fcd3020686261057632b1c014" data-rendition-name="original" width="1920" height="1280" loading="lazy" alt="Kanya Mandir Secondary School"> </figure>  Nepal’s Tarai plains bordering India where there are more Muslims have more traditional madrasa schools which focus mainly on religious studies. Students say they prefer mainstream schools so it helps them get into good colleges.&nbsp; Read Also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/multimedia/nepali-muslims-on-the-margins">Nepali Muslims on the margins</a>, Prakriti Kandel Not all madrasa have Nepal’s educational accreditation, and this limits career options for students. Many Muslim girls prefer public and private schools, but not all have a welcoming environment like Kanya Mandir.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20240402120448_0cca122211c649b5c57cdad51fbbd2bc41d63abf55dbbd7f2007b21a93873d68.jpg" data-media-id="editor_7" data-image-id="20240402120448_0cca122211c649b5c57cdad51fbbd2bc41d63abf55dbbd7f2007b21a93873d68" data-rendition-name="original" width="2048" height="1366" loading="lazy" alt="Kanya Mandir Secondary School"> </figure>  "We must uphold the constitutional rights of every child and ensure schools become inclusive spaces," says Seema Khan of the Muslim Mahila Kalyan Samaj. “They should follow Kanya Mandir’s example and adopt an inclusive education policy that reflects Nepal's rich social tapestry."

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Inclusiveness not just theory in this school

Thick-framed glasses, a wide nose, and a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache. A front curl peeked out of his cap if he missed his haircut. He wore a full-sleeved shirt and cotton trousers.
His appearance was unremarkable, lacking the fashion sense of the stylish Dharan people of the day. He seemed like a tired, middle-aged man by the end of class, covered in chalk dust. He was easily overlooked until he spoke English because his English was impossible to ignore.
This man was dealing with a significant issue. He wanted to teach English in English, while we students preferred learning English in Nepali. His pronunciation was different from other English teachers, causing students to struggle to understand him. They started calling him Thoo Sir because they heard ‘to’ (/tu:/) as ‘thoo’ (ठू), but no one knows who first started this nickname or when it began. No one knew where he acquired his accent from, either.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/class-differences">Class differences</a>, Rabin Giri
Every morning, the bus would drop him off at Ghopali Tol from Dharan around 9AM, and he would walk 12 minutes to school from there. Students would have to interact with him in English or listen to a kind of English they could not understand.
I had heard his infamous nickname long before I attended Thulo School, the only secondary school in the village, after passing out from the primary Sano School.
He never inflicted any physical punishment on us, however his frustration was harder to handle. He would say things that friends could use to mock and tease fellow classmates.
Students would dread his presence in the classroom because unlike other teachers who would read slowly and explain in Nepali, he insisted on speaking English correctly and would not let us off the hook until we did so as well.
I only had him as a teacher in my Grade 10 class, and I remember being late on the very first day. "Mai commin, Sir?" I asked from the door.
"Ask properly," he replied, without even looking at me.
I asked again, but he continued cleaning the blackboard without paying any attention to me.
"Sir, Mai commin?" I changed the word order.
"Repeat after me," he instructed. That day, I learnt for the first time that 'Mai commin' was actually 'May I come in?'
"You don't even know basic English? Silly girl!" he said, and of course, my friends teased me for a long time about that.
His dissatisfaction with a student’s pronunciation silenced the class. While I was usually vocal and asked questions in other subjects, I could not utter a word in his class for fear of being ridiculed again.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/lowest-common-denominator">Lowest common denominator</a>, Editorial
I would formulate questions in my mind but struggle to voice them. Sometimes, I would start in English and end up speaking in Nepali, which would upset him even more.
He would not engage in conversations in Nepali, preferring to explain things in English. His excessive use of English gave us all chronic headache.
One day, in the middle of class, I asked in Nepali, "Thoo Sir, my pad is leaking. I will go home, change, and come back in five minutes."
"What did you just say?" he asked in English, lowering his reading glasses, revealing a pair of tired eyes, and a bruise on the bridge of his nose caused by the weight of the frame.
<a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/that-time-of-the-month">Sanitary napkins</a> were not yet available, so we sisters would have to run to my nearby home to use one of our mother's old cotton saris as pads. But these were not absorbent enough for heavy bleeding. There was no door or roof in the school toilet, making it impossible to change at school.
I never felt embarrassed about asking to be excused, and neither the teachers nor students used to make a big deal out of it. Since he had responded to my Nepali, I assumed his 'WHAT?' was in response to my request to go home to change my pad.
I repeated my request, this time to assure him that I would return in exactly five minutes. But his "What did you just call me?" was actually about my publicly addressing him as “Thoo Sir”.&nbsp;
My bench-mate Bishal tried to warn me to keep quiet. But I continued, "Thoo sir. Everyone calls you Thoo sir behind your back. Don't you know?"
"I know but no one said it to my face before."
Quickly correcting myself, I said, "BB Sir, please allow me to go home. I won't address you as Thoo Sir anymore."
"Thoo Sir again," he chuckled, lightly tapping my head with the book in his hand. "Go on, run!"
All these years later, I realised that it took a lot of effort for him to respond the way he did. Unlike other teachers who only focused on the top students, he would treat all students equally, change the seating arrangement, shifting students from the front to the back.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-rubbish-memorising-gibberish">Learning rubbish, memorising gibberish</a>, Yugottam Koirala and yugeshwor Koirala
After leaving school and moving to Kathmandu, I began learning English and found the language fascinating. It took years to overcome my hesitation, but I eventually understood why Thoo Sir insisted on teaching English in English. I wished he had been more creative in making us appreciate the language and understand its importance.
We used to believe that Thoo Sir had the best English in the world and was forcing fluency on us when all we needed was 32 marks to pass. There was not much interest in learning English in those days.
Thoo Sir was ahead of his time in grasping the importance of a global language. He knew there was a world beyond our village of Madhesha and the SLC exams. He was not interested in our exam marks, he only wished us to understand English in English. And today, I am glad we had Thoo Sir as our English teacher.
Anbika Giri is a novelist and author of children’s books in Nepali. Angrezi is her monthly column in Nepali Times about learning English in Nepal. Her previous column was <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/opinion/angrezi/the-thappad">Thappad.</a>
&nbsp;

"Mai commin, Sir?"

This piece is not about Tapasi Pannu’s Bollywood movie, Thappad. But the echo of that slap from childhood still echoes in my ear.&nbsp;
It was the first and only time my father ever laid a hand on me. It could happen again, since Nepali parents have a tendency to believe that no matter how old you are, you are always a child. They can hit you even in your 30s.&nbsp;
My father, a retired high school principal, seldom raised his voice at us while we were growing up. His silence and stern gaze were nevertheless frightening to us youngsters, and struck fear in our hearts.&nbsp;
As children, we never dared speak to him directly. Our mother acted as an intermediary, even in trivial matters like buying a ball-point pen for Rs4.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/news/why-do-so-many-nepali-students-underperform">Why do so many Nepali students underperform?</a>, Anita Shrestha
This was the 1990s, and we all excelled in studies. We were disciplined children who never uttered a curse word. We respect our elders. We were the epitome of well-behaved children.
So imagine our shock when I was subjected to physical punishment from my father for the first time. And it all had to do with my use, or misuse, of the English language.
We started learning English in Grade 4. I had topped not only my &nbsp;class, but the entire school. I could recite what was on any page in my text book. I had a photographic memory.&nbsp;
I excelled not only in academics, but also in General Knowledge. I could rattle off all the countries of South Asia and their capitals and heads of state.&nbsp;
My sister and I were the only two students in our class who had mastered the multiplication table up to 20. One day, our primary school principal announced that only students who knew the table up to 20 could go home, while the rest had to stay back and keep learning until they did. My sister and I found ourselves waiting until evening for our classmates to catch up.
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/banner/after-quantity-nepals-education-needs-quality">After quantity, Nepal's education need quality</a>, Prakriti Kandel
I was 9, and also starting to learn to spell simple English words. I took immense pride in my progress because my grandfather did as well. However, it wasn't enough for my father.
That day, I was doing my English homework, while my father and his colleagues were engrossed in a political conversation. One of his colleagues suddenly asked, "Which grade are you in?"
"Fourth," I replied proudly.
He continued, "What is your roll number?" (Ah, the roll number, a prestigious measure of talent in those times.)
"One," I answered confidently.
He then asked me to recite the multiplication tables for 7, 9, 13, 17, and 19. Which I did, and I noticed my father’s eyes gleaming with pride.
My father’s other friend was also interested and asked me what I was writing.&nbsp;
When I responded “English”, he asked me to write out the lowercase alphabet — widely regarded as the more challenging aspect of English writing. I guess he was trying to confirm if I truly deserved the Roll Number 1 position.&nbsp;
To everyone's surprise, I swiftly wrote out the lower case alphabets from a-z. Satisfied, he was about to return to the political conversation when my father abruptly asked me, "Can you spell 'dog' for Uncle?"
“I can,” I said. “D-O-G,”
"And how about 'god'?" my father pressed on. I spelled god, and everyone was impressed.
Then my father asked me to spell ‘bag’. In those days, children attending <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/editorial/ministry-of-education-gets-an-f">government schools</a> in <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-marginalised-on-the-margins">rural Madhes</a> had to carry our books cradled in our left hands. Sometimes, they held the books tightly against their chest with both hands, like parents carrying a child.&nbsp;
School bags were fancy and rare. Only private school students had bags. You could be sure a student carrying a school bag, wearing shoes and a tie would be attending a private school.&nbsp;
I had never carried a school bag, and did not know how to spell it. I looked up at the ceiling and squirmed, and my father’s eyes widened. The lines on his forehead showed disappointment.&nbsp;
It must have been less than a minute, but it felt like an eternity. The more time I took, the more they saw me as unworthy of having Roll Number 1. To escape my predicament, I blurted out: “B-O-G."&nbsp;
That was it. My father rose from his stool and slapped me on my face. No one stopped him. His colleagues tried to console me by urging me to study harder.&nbsp;
Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-rubbish-memorising-gibberish">Learning rubbish, memorising gibberish</a>, Yugottam Koirala and Yugeshwor Koirala
I was in shock. I had never imagined that my father would ever hit me. The slap did not just hurt me physically, but left a deep emotional scar. I fell ill with a fever that evening, and everyone knew the reason.
No one said a word to my father. My grandfather consoled me, but said that I needed to study even more diligently. As if I had not been studying diligently before.&nbsp;
I have hated the English language ever since. I never dedicated myself to learning English properly in class. And I hated English even more after we had Thoo (ठू) Sir. But that is a story for some other time.

Anbika Giri

The Thappad

Flipping through the pages of the government textbook for Grade 7 Nepali, one comes across this baffling paragraph which would be funny if it were not so serious:&nbsp; An elderly couple live in a village. They bear a son in their old age whom they name Balram. When Balram grows up to be a young man, the couple decide to get him married. The wedding is a grand affair. Balram’s wife is exceptionally beautiful and his parents are ecstatic about having found such a beautiful buhari. However, the sasura, curious about her intellect and disposition, decides to test her. So he calls her in and asks her, ‘Buhari, can you tell me how much you think we spent on your wedding?’ Read also: <a href="https://nepalitimes.com/here-now/learning-rubbish-memorising-gibberish">Learning rubbish, memoring gibberish</a>, Yugottam Koirala and Yugeshwor Koirala Red flags go up all over that paragraph that serves as the story's exposition. But wait, things get even more interesting:&nbsp; &nbsp;The buhari replies, ‘I think you must have spent only about 2-3 manas of rice grains’. Offended by these words, the sasura retorts as he fumes with anger, ‘Your wedding cost me a fortune, and you’re saying 2-3 manas of rice grains is all that was spent? You make it seem like I incurred no expenses’. In what sounds like a line lifted right off of a hammy Indian daily soap, the sasura then goes on to say, ‘I don’t even want to look at your face anymore. Go back to your parents’ house right away! There is no place in my home for a buhari like you’.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230925090916_76578a0ecf3c35d2bdeff79022ed048c5bcfeed57a9cfd4b618c5d33c62f2783.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20230925090916_76578a0ecf3c35d2bdeff79022ed048c5bcfeed57a9cfd4b618c5d33c62f2783" data-rendition-name="original" width="1311" height="463" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali textbooks"> <figcaption>The story in the government textbook for Grade 7 Nepali.</figcaption> </figure>  Although aghast at her father-in-law’s response, the buhari does not utter a word. The dad-in-law, on the other hand, is determined to send her off to her parents’ house. The two then embark on a journey to the buhari’s parental home. As the plot thickens, it is revealed that the buhari has a special ability, thanks to which she can communicate with animals. Along the way, the sasura-buhari hear a wolf howling. The sasura does not think much of it, but the buhari knows exactly what the wolf is ‘saying’. The wolf's words translated are too bizarre to ideate. It says, ‘There is a corpse buried right here. If someone were to dig it up, I could feed on it. There’s a diamond ring on one of its fingers. I’d give the ring to whoever digs up the corpse for me’. Upon hearing this, the buhari thinks to herself, ‘If only I could lay my hands on that ring. My sasura will never believe me if I tell him about this. Oh, what a fix I am in!’ Soon, the sasura-buhari decide to make a pit stop under the shade of a banyan tree, and the sasura dozes off as he rests. The buhari then sneaks off to the spot where the wolf had been howling and starts to dig. Unsurprisingly, she unearths the corpse, presents it to the wolf, and takes the diamond ring on the body's finger. Not only are readers confounded by the sheer absurdity of the plot of this 'story', but it must be hard for young Grade 7 readers (or even their teachers) to shake off the macabre mental image it projects in the mind. Aside from a blatant disregard for the concept of dignified treatment of the dead, this story actually presents grave robbing as a perfectly acceptable thing to do.&nbsp; This is not all. The buhari then goes on to dig up some more valuables after a crow tips her off. The sasura is delighted to have come upon so much wealth because of the buhari. Subsequently, she also hands the diamond ring to the sasura and tells him all about how she found it. As you may have guessed, the sasura is now in awe of the buhari and regrets ever having doubted her. Having had a change of heart, he decides not to take the buhari back to her parental home. &nbsp; The story drags on as the sasura continues to ask the buhari random questions to test her wit till he is convinced of her ‘intelligence’ and ends with the sasura ‘entrusting’ the buhari with all his household responsibilities as he is finally impressed with her. What is a student to learn from the protagonist’s attitude towards his daughter-in-law? Will the story leave a child assuming it appropriate for a man to ask his daughter-in-law how much he must have spent on her wedding? Will a child be able to question why such an enquiry on the part of the father-in-law is even relevant? Will a seventh grader who reads the story consider it a man’s prerogative to ‘send his daughter-in-law off’ to her parents the minute he feels offended? What is a girl child to make of the portrayal of the buhari in the story? Are they to think that there is nothing wrong with assuming that a man is entitled to ‘test’ whether his daughter-in-law is good enough for the household?  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230925090920_7a8bef87e71b1ce652247b916eaa4d0e1addfb882b53dcbfad2bf39c5693805c.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230925090920_7a8bef87e71b1ce652247b916eaa4d0e1addfb882b53dcbfad2bf39c5693805c" data-rendition-name="original" width="1000" height="500" loading="lazy" alt="Nepali textbooks"> <figcaption>Government textbook for Grade 7 Nepali.</figcaption> </figure>  Is it only after she proves her ‘worth’ that a woman is acceptable to her marital family, even if that means digging up graves to bring in wealth? Oh, by the way, where was the woman’s husband while all of this transpired? Even if the author who wrote this story thought it would be an appropriate example to teach children they should not be too quick to judge a person, didn’t a single person who reviewed this story to decide whether it should be part of the school curriculum find the details in the story in the slightest bit objectionable?&nbsp; It is worth noting here that the line-up of authors and reviewers featured in the preface of the textbook in question is predominantly male and all from the dominant ethnic group. Perhaps objections were raised to the content of the book, but they were overruled? Either way, this and many other examples warrant a closer assessment of the government’s school curriculum development system, particularly the process of reviewing and screening content to ensure it is conducive to children’s overall social and emotional development in addition to helping enhance creative and analytical skills. It is crucial for those who design Nepal's school curricula to be mindful that the content of textbooks can solidify gender and social stereotypes in young minds and shape how people perceive and interact in society. If we are to envisage a future free of gender bias and social inequality for Nepal, school textbooks may be a good place to start. &nbsp;&nbsp; Sudeshna Thapa is a human rights lawyer and researcher. thapa.sudeshna@gmail.com

The Exceptional Buhari

Many students in Nepal do not even learn half the content of the school curriculum in various subjects because of teachers without adequate training and motivation. The 2020 report <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/1J1ZmZgigpoOPtrRW05wzp7N4kZYZUB3H/view">National Assessment of Student Achievement (NASA) in Mathematics, Science, Nepali and English for Grade 8</a>, published recently by the Education Review Office (ERO) showed that students are struggling to acquire even minimum learning. The report draws from its assessment of 43,886 students from 1,800 schools across the country, and concluded that the majority of students are not able to learn even half of the content of the subjects they are taught.  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230329150352_4f54a4bd8b361f57e915abccca760ac5d8fefd6ed9bd8338a553a11f6145f776.jpg" data-media-id="editor_1" data-image-id="20230329150352_4f54a4bd8b361f57e915abccca760ac5d8fefd6ed9bd8338a553a11f6145f776" data-rendition-name="original" width="796" height="1060" loading="lazy" alt="Student performance in Nepal"> </figure>  Three versions of standardised tests, together with the background information in the questionnaire to the sample students, the teacher questionnaire to subject teachers and the school survey questionnaire to the head teachers, were administered in each school.&nbsp; Only 32.1% of eighth graders in Nepal passed the basic proficiency level in mathematics. The numbers for science, Nepali and English stand at 37.7%, 58.8% and 51.1% respectively.&nbsp; In the case of mathematics, the national average of learning achievement in 2020 decreased by 17 scale scores from 500 in 2017. Similarly, the national mean of science was 470, which is 30 scale scores below the national mean from the NASA 2017 study.&nbsp; And while the students from Bagmati, Gandaki and Kosi scored above the national average, the report adds that the performance of Madhesh, Karnali and Sudur Paschim students was lower in all four subjects than the national average. “The increased number of students with minimum learning achievement shows problems in the teaching-learning strategies, remedial actions and the role of head teachers,” says Devi Ram Acharya of ERO. The assessment was designed to prepare baseline data for the School Sector Development Plan (SSDP), as well as to compare the learning achievement of 2020 with the previous cycle of NASA in 2017 to ensure quality school education. Since 2011, ERO has published four reports, all of which have found lower-than-average learning achievements. "We have been suggesting the government and policymakers to formulate practical and implementable educational policies at national and sub-national level for the much-needed educational reforms,” adds Acharya. “But the government has failed to address the problem.”&nbsp;  <figure> <img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230329150352_7fa0b2ef65c148899547f715806dc7ef9b32827b81f226ee26e3b912babbb3b4.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230329150352_7fa0b2ef65c148899547f715806dc7ef9b32827b81f226ee26e3b912babbb3b4" data-rendition-name="original" width="1500" height="1125" loading="lazy" alt="Students in government schools"> <figcaption>Photo: NEPALI TIMES ARCHIVE</figcaption> </figure>  The factors considered in the research are age, home language, school type, distance between home and school, career aspirations, parental education and occupation, family size, teacher's regularity, permanent head teacher, and subject teachers. The president of Nepal Teachers Federation, Kamala Tuladhar, believes that one of the reasons behind the poor level of learning of Grade 8 students is the promotion of failed and weak students from lower grades.&nbsp; The government in the 1990s introduced the Liberal Promotion Policy which allows students from Grades 1 to 7 to be promoted to higher grades even when they fail the final exam. But teachers and parents are also said to be equally responsible for the lower proficiency level.&nbsp; Education expert Shyam Shrestha, on the other hand, blames the ignorance of the government. “Most public schools don’t even have enough subject teachers to begin with,” he says.&nbsp; Shrestha was a member of the High Level National Education Commission in 2019 which published a report recommending the government to fill the vacant post of teachers to improve school education. Shrestha’s team found that out of 650 public schools, only 71 had the required number of teachers.&nbsp; “In our report to the government, we recommended that enough teachers should be hired, even suggesting the ways in which the student’s learning achievements can be improved,” he says. “If there are no adequate teachers, including subject teachers, how can the students learn?” Teachers were involved in politics, they lacked infrastructure and textbooks, and there was unequal distribution of students in class. “The government itself is promoting private schools rather than thinking about the improvement of public schools,” he adds. The Curriculum Development Centre (CDC) however says there is no link between the students’ learning achievement and the curriculum. Director-General Baikuntha Aryal says, “We have been analysing the recommendation of ERO and we have changed the curriculum as per the students’ point of view.”&nbsp; But the difference in basic-level learning achievement affects not only the students and their future, but also the country's human capital and knowledge economy, especially as Nepal continues to rely heavily on labour migration even as the world advances rapidly in all the sectors. &nbsp;“There is a noticeable gap in monitoring and evaluating school governance, empowering head teachers,” he adds. “Proper systems for reward and penalty should be in place to improve the situation, and local government should also play a crucial role in the improvement of governance in the school.”

Why do so many Nepali students underperform?

When Nepalis are leaving the country in droves, there are unsung heroes providing selfless services in isolated parts of the country. Teachers like Sarala Basnet do not crave wealth or fame but work one day at a time to meet their ideal of bringing up the next generation of motivated and compassionate Nepalis. Sarala, as her name suggests, values simplicty and is guided by a straightforward attitude towards life: integrity, diligence and decency. After working her way up from a small village in Baglung, Sarala, at age 35, is the first female principal of Chandrodaya Secondary School in Abu Khaireni of Tanahu district. Back in Baglung, she was also the first female student to pass SLC from high school two decades ago at a time when very few girls attended school in such far-flung villages. “The mindset was that if the girl is educated, she will contaminate traditional culture,” recalls Basnet. “But I had my heart set from an early age to being an educator.” Her father was in the military, and Basnet was the youngest of many siblings. Luckily, the family valued education and sent her to school, unlike many of her childhood mates. But it was not an easy path. When she raised her young voice against prevailing <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/fatal-discrimination/" target="_blank">gender inequality</a>, neighbours scoffed at her. This only made her more determined to be a teacher. After school, she graduated with a Bachelor of Education from Gorkha Campus, which was an accomplishment on its own at a time when <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/can-nepal-end-child-marriage-by-2030/" target="_blank">families married off their daughters </a>instead of sending them to colleges. She traveled to Butwal for an internship as a maths instructor but seeing the need in her own hometown, returned to Baglung and was a teacher for 17 years. Eight years ago she was transferred to Abu Khaireni and made principal in recognition of her dedication and commitment.  <figure><img src="https://publisher-publish.s3.eu-central-1.amazonaws.com/pb-nepalitimes/swp/asv65r/media/20230303050312_84ca4e90b26674b418916f02c7beebf7728cff814e440ad82db72ebf69fbc892.jpg" data-media-id="editor_2" data-image-id="20230303050312_84ca4e90b26674b418916f02c7beebf7728cff814e440ad82db72ebf69fbc892" data-rendition-name="original" width="960" height="720" loading="lazy" alt="Nurture in her nature NT 2"></figure>  During this time, she got married to musician Krishna Prasad Bhatta, who works as a music teacher in Kathmandu. The couple has two children, 13 and 8. Abu Khaireni is a small picturesque farming town mostly inhabited by families whose <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/diary-of-a-nepali-soldier-in-france/" target="_blank">men serve</a> in the British, Indian or Nepali armies. The rest of the young men have migrated for work to the Gulf or Malaysia. There are not a lot of jobs for young people here and <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/nepal-child-marriages-spike-during-pandemic/" target="_blank">child marriage</a> is common. Which is why one of the first things Sarala did when she became a teacher was to counsel parents about the importance of schooling girls. It used to be the girl students who dropped out in Grade 5 when their parents married them off, but interestingly these days it is the boys who are dropping out. “The boys are leaving to work in the cities or to try to get into the military,” says Sarala. “This is worrying, it is not good for the future of this village.” Schools in rural Nepal have <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/after-quantity-nepals-education-needs-quality/" target="_blank">insufficient amenities, instruction is impractical and curriculum outdated</a>. During the Covid-19 pandemic, students at Chandrodaya School did not have access to the Internet, and were deprived of online classes for nearly a year. To fill the gap, Basnet organised physical sessions with varying schedules for the students. By the time the second Covid wave hit in 2021, the school was prepared for <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/latest/face-to-face-classes-online/" target="_blank">remote classes</a>. Even so, parents still make students complete their household chores before or after school, and there is not much time for the children to play and have fun. Sarala remembers her own childhood and how she had to struggle to balance home work with homework. She had to finish her assignment under the faint light of a kerosene tuki lamp. “We had to walk an hour every day to get to school, the path was steep and through forests with wild animals,” she recalls. All 160 students at Chandrodaya now have access to extracurricular activities including basic computer classes, sports, and other contests, including arts and crafts. It is extraordinary for a government school to have activities that are much better than neighbouring private schools. After having spent over two decades shaping young minds, Basnet believes that age or circumstance should not affect the process of learning. She says: “We should never stop learning, it is a lifelong process. My biggest sense of fulfilment comes from seeing my students do well in life.”

Nurture in her nature

<div class="embed-block"><a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/issue/133">							<img width="762" height="261" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230228150236/63fe11c39c7e80680e0da4f5jpeg.jpg" alt=""></a>
											Issue #133 21-27 February 2003</div>
The obsession of our leaders with Singapore is unmatched. Every prime minister we have had in the 30 years (some of them serial prime ministers) has promised to turn Nepal into a Singapore one too many times. Why not just build a Nepal that is just and fair for everyone?
Many readers are going through a withdrawal syndrome after the Ass formally stepped down, including the author his-self. This week we revisit one of the earlier <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/news.php?id=4308#.Y_guAy8w1KM">‘Under My Hat’ columns</a> which takes a dig at our Singaporean aspirations.&nbsp;
Excerpts from <a href="https://himalaya.socanth.cam.ac.uk/collections/journals/nepalitimes/pdf/Nepali_Times_133.pdf">issue #133 21-27 February 2003</a> 20 years ago this week:
If, one day, we want to become filthy rich like the Singaporeans, it is pretty clear that we must institute stiff fines for all major and minor misdemeanours and also turn ourselves into a penal colony.
But let’s be realistic: do our army, navy and air force have the capacity to instill fines on every non-flushing Nepali? Sadly, the answer is an unequivocal “no”. So, unlike Singapore, which penalises offenders with fines, we must use positive enforcement by rewarding those who do things right. In Nepal, instead of taking money away from those who litter, we must give money to those who don’t.
Cash prize of Rs 2,000 for the lone pedestrian who actually used the overhead walkway at Bhotahity in the last fiscal year. To be presented at a public felicitation ceremony chaired by the Mayor of Kathmandu or the MP of Kathmandu, whoever is elected first.
The Honest Cop Award in Cash or Kind for the pre-embarkation security check personnel at Tribhuvan Intercontinental Ballistic Airport who doesn’t ask you to open your wallet during the mandatory body search and contribute generously to the Free Lunch Fund for Kathmandu’s Finest.
The columnist who adheres to the highest standards of personal hygiene by not grooming his nostrils in full view of the rest of his staff during the course of writing the above column. This award carries with it a permanent residence certificate for Singapore. Terima Kasi.
From archive material of Nepali Times of the past 20 years, site search: <a href="http://www.nepalitimes.com/" target="_blank">www.nepalitimes.com</a>

Singha Darbar, not Singapore

<img width="596" height="447" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230208140216/63e3a0e29c7e80680e0d7058jpeg.jpg" alt=""/>A headmaster of the local school, an entrepreneur and an ambassador of the community who helped foster relationships with the outside world, Suraj Kumar Gurung, fondly known as 'Master Surje' was a fixture in Sikles.For international visitors he was an excellent interpreter, educator and friend who was always willing to share his vast knowledge of Gurung culture and nature. For the locals, he was the eyes and ears of the community.On 2 January 2023, at the age of 71, Suraj passed away in a house fire.He was born in Sikles, Kaski and dedicated his life to the village. After completing his early education in India, he did his Bachelor of Education from Prithvi Narayan Campus, Pokhara.He then dedicated nearly four decades to teaching before retiring in 2012. Although politics was not his cup of tea, he contested and won the first local elections as the village needed an educated and committed leader. He served his term as the ward chair of Ward 1 in Madi Rural Municipality following his belief in sustainability and justice. <img width="602" height="451" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230208140216/63e3a0e49c7e80680e0d7059jpeg.jpg" alt="">He was also a social entrepreneur looking for opportunities to uplift the economic condition of the community. He established the local village shop in the centre of Sikles, introduced vegetable farming, ran a rice mill, developed poultry farming and introduced mule transport before the road to the village was completed.He also served as a member of Annapurna Conservation Area Project (ACAP) for sixteen years and was passionate about including traditional knowledge into the ACAP ethos. He encouraged the community to keep the entire village neat, clean and green. It was because of people like Suraj Gurung that in 2014, the Conservation Area Management Committee, Parche under ACAP won the prestigious UNDP Equator Initiative Prize.Over the years he welcomed, and supported, many volunteers from United World College of Southeast Asia (UWCSEA), Singapore and beyond. <img width="588" height="371" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230208140216/63e3a0e79c7e80680e0d705ajpeg.jpg" alt="">Master Surje is remembered by all of them as being the heart and soul of the community. He was highly committed to improving the education in Nepal, both the infrastructure and teaching methods. Even after retiring, he made sure to help outsiders settle down, understand the complex social issues, challenges in the village and schools.Gunhild Flaamo was a graduate student when she visited Sikles from Norway 25 years ago. She had helped the Norwegian talk to people and gather information about local environmental knowledge for her Master's thesis. <img width="559" height="356" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230208140216/63e3a0e99c7e80680e0d705bjpeg.jpg" alt="">Gurung also helped her set up the Lali Guras Fund that provides scholarships for needy students. The Fund named by Gurung after the national flower of Nepal with an endowment of Rs1.1 million has supported over 300 students."We continued our partnership with the establishment of Lali Guras Fund. I wanted to contribute with resources as an appreciation of the generosity the Sikles community had shown me. I could not have established the fund without him," says Flaamo.Tributes have poured in from the Sikles diaspora community as well as volunteers whose lives Gurung touched with his generosity and knowledge. <img width="602" height="394" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230208140216/63e3a0ec9c7e80680e0d705cjpeg.jpg" alt=""> “I remember being so impressed by his passion, vision, and hard work for the Sikles community,” writes Arianna. “He was in inspiration, so kind and so helpful for my undergraduate dissertation research.  And with a brilliant sense of humour,” writes another visitor Zuzanna.“What a loss the Sikles and wider community will be feeling right now. Such a keen mind full of generosity and drive.  In the times I had the pleasure of talking with him, he always made me feel I had more to offer than I realised,” writes Paul.“What a huge loss. I can’t imagine the village without him. He was a pillar of the community in the trusted sense. He really held it up in so many ways," says Alyn.BK Shrestha from Global Action Nepal who worked in Kaski area says, “He was not only educator for children but whole Sikles community."Suraj was always immediately available when the authors visited Sikles and updated them on village affairs with a great humour. He was always concerned about the number of young people leaving the village.Suraj took great pride in his role as political leader in his later years.  He was a keen supporter not only of formal education but also non-formal education and took keen interest in the discussion group literacy classes that ran in Sikles. <img width="602" height="271" src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230208140216/63e3a0ef9c7e80680e0d705djpeg.jpg" alt="">Suraj sir was truly a ‘bridge’ connecting Sikles with international and national visitors and built connections to make Sikles a model for sustainable heritage village. Suraj’s lifelong investment in education to his people has built a confidence and established a network to work for the development of the community and continue his legacy.  As Gehendra Gurung, deputy headmaster in Sikles notes in his emotional tribute,  Suraj was “everyone’s guardian” and his “educational intellectual contribution to the village and contribution to rural municipality and social service and whole service to the nation will remain a golden one”. Man Bahadur Gurung, Federal Member of Parliament (Kaski-1) from Sikles remembers Suraj as an intellectual whose knowledge and wisdom will be greatly missed. He will remain as a star in the hearts and minds of people because he was not only born in but was also a man of Sikles.  The passing of Suraj, just as his presence did in life, has united people all over the world. To honour and respect his work we are setting up a Suraj Gurung Memorial Foundation to raise funds to support education in Sikles with the support of his family and wider network – link <a href="https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/surajgurungmemorialfund?utm_source=messenger&amp;utm_medium=fundraising&amp;utm_content=surajgurungmemorialfund&amp;utm_campaign=pfp-share&amp;utm_term=278616aa28ea4a88a408d7f9a4240090&amp;fbclid=IwAR3HbvlGOHCTfpMyzM8MbX0JDuvQRMhTAjHHf_5vD9e3uhytZAm-yRzZ8Eg">here</a>. Hum Gurung is Asia Partnership Manager, BirdLife International and Sara Parker is Reader in Development Studies at Liverpool John Moores University.

The man from Sikles

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100132/63bfd3f89c7e80680e0d3082jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1115" height="738"/><figcaption>Estimated number of Nepalis studying, working and living abroad in selected countries. Source: VARIOUS SOURCES</figcaption></figure>At a recent graduation ceremony of one Australian university, 300 students paraded across the stage to receive their diplomas. All were Nepalis, except one. The only white people there were faculty members.A back-of-the-envelope calculation shows that at an average cost of USD30,000 per year for their undergraduate education Nepali students spent $15 million in just that one university in Australia.Just from January-June 2022, the Ministry of Education in Kathmandu approved 82,000 NOC (No Objection Certificates) for Nepali students going to Australia, Canada, UK, Japan and the US. This was more than double the figure for last year.A conservative estimate shows that Nepalis spent a whopping $3.3 billion for education overseas in just the first six months of this year. By comparison, Nepal’s annual petroleum import bill has risen to $2.5 billion, and tourism brought in less than $1 million in 2019.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100132/63bfd3fc9c7e80680e0d3083jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="227">Nepalis are essentially <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/from-the-nepali-press/rs40-billion-outflow-by-nepali-students/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">enriching first world countries with student out-migration</a> now costing the country more than what it earns from all its exports combined.Although some of the money students spend on fees and living costs are from what they earn from <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/why-nepalis-are-flocking-to-okinawa/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">part-time jobs</a>, much of it is funded by families in Nepal who sell their land or borrow money to send their children away.Since work and residence permits are difficult, getting a student visa is the easiest path to emigration for desperate Nepali youth. For host countries, this is a way to get cheap labour for low-skill jobs that their own nationals will not do.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100132/63bfd4009c7e80680e0d3084jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="2048" height="1386"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>The <a href="https://amp.smh.com.au/education/why-is-australia-such-a-popular-destination-for-nepalese-students-20191217-p53ktf.html" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Sydney Morning Herald reported</a> recently that the ‘Nepal market’ was worth $2.6 billion to Australia in 2018-19, up from $1.6 billion the previous year. Nepal is the third biggest source of international students in Australia accounting for 7% of them."My best guess is that a majority of Nepalese students in Australia are here simply for work, hoping to make enough money in Australia both to pay off their tuition loans and return some extra to their families back in Nepal,” Salvatore Babones at the Centre for Independent Studies of the University of Sydney told the Herald.Countries like Australia, Canada, Japan, and increasingly the UK have deliberately left their immigration door slightly ajar to address their temporary labour shortage by giving out student visas, without a drastic liberalisation of their strict immigration policies. A bonus is the income that they earn from student fees.International students are an excellent business proposition. <a href="https://www.researchprofessionalnews.com/rr-news-europe-nordics-2022-12-danish-engineers-demand-removal-of-foreign-student-cap/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">The Danish Society of Engineers in Copenhagen</a> this week asked the government to drop the cap on foreign graduates and allow them to work after completing studies to fill a crippling shortage of engineers.Many Nepali students interviewed for this report admitted that getting a student visa was a one-way ticket out of Nepal. Indeed, the push-factors are strong: erratic and low quality instruction in colleges, and the lack of job prospects.Whereas abroad, students get better education and exposure, earn some money on the side because the host governments allow them to work a limited hours per week, and also because of the possibility of staying on.Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/hardworking-students/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Hardworking Students</a>, Editorial<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100132/63bfd4049c7e80680e0d3085jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="584">Another push factor, especially for young Nepali women is that by going abroad they can escape family pressure for an arranged marriage. Nepali youth are also <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/the-past-is-foretold-in-nepal-poll-results/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">frustrated with Nepal’s politics and leadership</a>, and most voted for the Rastriya Swatantra Party in November elections.“Three thousand Nepali youth are leaving the country every day either on work or student visas, but many of them will not be coming back,” says Pukar Malla of the non-profit Dayitwa which supports returnees with entrepreneurship in Nepal.Making it easy for students to leave allows the government to get away with not improving the state of education in Nepal. This is similar to labour migration which lets the government off the hook by not having to worry about job creation, and runs the country on the estimated $10 billion in remittance that Nepalis send home every year.The disparity between public and private education systems in Nepal is stark. And while there have been some notable improvements including world-class education in business administration, economics and public policy, much of this is centred around Kathmandu and not on the scale required.<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100132/63bfd4079c7e80680e0d3086jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="718"><figcaption> </figcaption></figure>“The fact that our education is still very much <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/opinion/teaching-nepali-teachers-to-teach-better/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">rote learning with curriculum</a> not relevant to our context means we are producing graduates without actual skills required to meet challenges. Moreover, our education doesn’t even guarantee them jobs,” says educationist Narottam Aryal of King’s College.Speaking to Nepali Times from Finland where he is attending a conference on education reform, Aryal added: “We must shift our focus to innovation and entrepreneurship, to evidence-based research and interdisciplinary learning. Unless our policies put students at the centre, we will continue to lose our brightest young minds.”Some recommendations include reforming university law such that the focus is on quality instruction instead of infrastructure, and allowing autonomy in specific areas of study and their institutions.Says Pukar Malla: “Let’s get going by empowering our youth and women who are still in Nepal, providing them with leadership roles. Once we truly start changing politics and work for the people, even those who have left will start returning home.”Read Also: <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/migration-certificate/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Migration Certificate</a>, Prakriti Kandel<h4>Sima Gurung, 22</h4><h4>Bristol, UK</h4>I am from Sindhuli and I went to college in Kathmandu. After graduating in 2019, I am now doing a three-year undergraduate course in UWE-Bristol. I also work part-time as a bartender in a Latin-American restaurant here.It has only been three months since I left Nepal. The reason I left was that my college affiliated to Tribhuvan University in Kathmandu relied only on theoretical knowledge. I needed to have more practical knowledge and more exposure for better opportunities in future.Here in Britain, universities have decades of experience in working with international students. My annual tuition fee was £14,250 a year but I got a partial scholarship. In addition, I paid £5,700 for my CAS letter as per university regulations plus expenses for medical, visa and biometric fees.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100132/63bfd40a9c7e80680e0d3087jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="853">There are many international students in UWE-Bristol which also includes a lot of Nepalis. I have met some of them who took loans to be able to afford education here.I have many friends who have settled down abroad. There are a lot of opportunities here, and that discourages them from returning. But I have also met students who are here for learning and exposure and are determined to return to apply it back home.I haven’t thought much about my future plans yet. I will probably return to Nepal, but I’m not sure. I definitely want to contribute in some way for my country. But there must be jobs that pay well back home for me to return.<h4>Samjhauta Rai, 26</h4><h4>Winnipeg, Canada</h4>I am originally from a small town in Sarlahi district. I completed my bachelor's degree in social work in a college in Kathmandu before moving to Canada for a diploma course after paying a lot of money in the hope that I would get a quality education and exposure to the outside world.Since I arrived here in midst of the pandemic, I had to bear a lot of extra expenses from tuition fees to preparing additional documents, booking hotels for quarantine and so on. But the online classes were well planned, engaging and efficient. There was a stark difference with education in Nepal.Taking a loan to afford abroad studies is a common practice in Nepal and I had to as well to build my career and secure a future. I see students dying to go aboard, risking everything to get a visa that they think would open the doors to their imagined lifestyle.<img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100132/63bfd40e9c7e80680e0d3088jpeg.jpg" alt="" width="640" height="853">Most students who come here tend to stay on permanently. But I do want to return to Nepal ultimately. Maybe a couple of years down the line, I will be back home and set up something using the skills I have learnt here.Lack of jobs back home is the main reason for youth migration. It is the failure of the Nepal government that we are forced to leave. Even when they have a job on return, the salaries are low. The government should have a social safety net to help low income families.Canada has taught me a great deal of things. I’m more patient, calm and composed. But personally, I think it is best to return to our own country at some point. I cannot wait to get back home and add value to my experience here.

Sonia Awale

Nepal’s hard working students overseas

<figure><img src="https://superdesk-pro-c.s3.amazonaws.com/sd-nepalitimes/20230112100128/63bfd2a19c7e80680e0d302ejpeg.jpg" alt="" width="1500" height="1000"/><figcaption>Photo: PRAKRITI KANDEL</figcaption></figure>In recent years, many scholars, policy makers, and educators have pointed to the abysmal results of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/editorial/ministry-of-education-gets-an-f/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s education system</a>, particularly its government schools. Some have noted the persistence of this low performance year after year.According to a 2017 Asian Development Bank (ADB) study of education in South Asia, student learning achievement in Nepal ‘has remained poor over the years’.Because of <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/class-differences/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s ineffective educational system</a>, the country as a whole suffers but especially those from rural and marginalised communities -- Dalit, ethnic minorities, and poorer Nepalis of all caste groups. As wealthier students move to private schools, students from marginalised groups increasingly make up most of the students attending public schools.In particular, the ADB places the blame on Nepal’s ineffective and outdated teaching methods: ‘The main issue in Nepal is how to address the weak performance of classroom teachers.’ It emphasised the need for ‘fresh perspectives’ for understanding teaching and teachers.By and large, ever since modern schools arrived in Nepal in the 1950s and 1960s, <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/good-fellows/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepali teachers</a> have taught the same way: using rote methods with teachers lecturing or reading material straight from the textbook and students listening and later regurgitating.This holds true, with only a few exceptions, from pre-K through college, in both government and private schools. Very few teachers encourage critical thinking, meaningful learning, or practical application.Why is rote so entrenched? Many factors seem to combine including cultural, political, policy, and personal factors. In an influential study, Nepal’s leading anthropologist Dor Bahadur Bista argued that a status-based anti-utilitarian philosophy of education embedded within Nepali religious traditions has long pervaded and undermined Nepal’s ‘modern’ schools.Historically, Bista says, education in Nepal has meant recreating hierarchy, not bringing about meaningful change in the world. The ADB addresses these foundational ideas when it calls for a new role for teachers: ‘It is important to develop teachers as facilitators and not as the sole source of knowledge and influence.’Other scholars have noted how Nepal’s autocratic rule before 1990 promoted narrow education traditions creating a mindset that still drives Nepal’s schools, including the emphasis on rote.In addition, Nepal’s culture of <a href="http://archive.nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/teaching-teachers,3126" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">teacher education</a> is broken. Years of pre-service and professional development efforts have made little dent on how Nepali teachers teach.‘Most of the teacher education and training initiatives have failed to transform the classroom teaching and learning process,” the ABD report notes. It adds that this includes not just Nepal’s preservice training but also its in-service teacher education: ‘The opinion of most stakeholders is that in-service programs have been reduced to training halls and leave no impact on the teachers.’That’s worth emphasising: ‘no impact’. What has been the result of years of trainings costing millions of dollars? No impact.The problems with Nepal’s teacher training culture are many. The ABD stresses one key problem: what it calls the ‘approach to delivery of curriculum’. Nepali teacher education programs, it notes, are 'structurally loaded with adequate content … (but) the overall approach and delivery most often remains traditional and fairly weak’.In other words, in Nepal, even ‘expert’ teacher trainers primarily use rote teaching methods. Exactly those trainers charged with showing teachers how to use non-rote methods often themselves rely upon rote methods.They lecture about how teachers should not lecture. In doing so, Nepal’s trainings reproduce the core problems of its educational system: too much regurgitation and not enough higher-level thinking.“Got it?” trainers yell out to teachers after a lengthy rote explanation. “Got it,” respond the teachers, and everyone is happy.Kathmandu University professor Laxman Gnawali has researched the culture of trainings in Nepal, and finds two main problems. The first is methods imported from elsewhere. These methods work in these other places (presumably), and are assumed to work in Nepal, but are actually untested.Gnawali does not conclude that outside methods cannot work, just that they can work only if they are better road-tested and carefully tailored to the <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/digital-divide-exposes-class-divide-in-nepal-schools/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">realities of Nepali classrooms</a>. That rarely happens. Instead there is an assumption that they should work.The second problem Gnawali identifies is the many ‘last mile’ barriers to implementation that Nepali teachers face. Student failures in English, he notes, “are often ascribed to teachers' under-performance.”“The plight of the teachers working in under-resourced classrooms,” he points out, “is habitually ignored.” That includes a daunting list of challenges: parents who are not literate, class sizes of 50 to 100 or more, hard-to-manage students, students who don’t speak much Nepali, multigrade classes, students years below grade level, a lack of materials, sometimes even no textbooks, and desks and benches fixed to ground or too crowded to move.Too often, Gnawali says, teacher trainings presume a near perfect teaching setting. Trainings “present to the trainees a picture of idealised classrooms which are well-laid out, materials rich, learner-friendly, within teacher's control and generally conducive to learning.”That’s not the reality real <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/here-now/a-decade-of-work-lost-in-4-months/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepali teachers</a> face in real classrooms. Instead, Gnawali says, Nepali schools need more “context-specific” methods.Many reports on Nepali education, including the ADB report, call for new teaching methods often developed in radically different teaching environments, but rarely place the emphasis on context specific appropriateness that Gnawali reminds us of.In addition, no discussion of the problem of teacher trainings would be complete without mention of two core problems. The first is one I have seen over the decades but is rarely commented upon: the problem of paying participants extra stipends on top of their salary and transportation costs to attend trainings."As soon as you say the word ‘training’ to a government teacher,” a teacher once told me, “he'll ask immediately, 'How much allowance is there?'"The extra money may guarantee high attendance – a common metric donors use to assess training ‘success’ -- but usually distorts who actually shows up for trainings and undermines their motivation to learn.And finally, there is little to no accountability for teachers. Teachers in Nepal are protected by political parties. The parties help teachers get hired and protect them when in the position. In effect, the political parties control hiring and firing, not the schools.Even if teachers do something egregious, they are rarely disciplined, much less fired. This almost total lack of accountability lowers performance across the board. It protects bad teaching.Reform efforts must account for these realities if they hope to bring any real change to <a href="https://www.nepalitimes.com/banner/after-quantity-nepals-education-needs-quality/" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">Nepal’s failing public school system</a>. In the meantime, a generation of Nepal’s youth will suffer the consequences.Tom Robertson is a historian and the former director of Fulbright Nepal.

education