History lessons

Since 14 October the census takers are going through the town. We had a young man from the district in our school yard with a folder, and he asked the director twenty-six questions. "Language at home?" "Iradi." "Religion?" The director hesitated and then said it. The young man wrote it, he did not look up.

Next to him stood a girl in the 9th class who had come to see. She asked him what the census is for. He said: "To count how many we are." She said: "My history teacher says it is to know who we are." The young man did not write that down.

I was very happy, I admit.

Everyone in the district knows what happened this autumn to a girl from one of our villages. I will not write her name; the newspapers did not. She was strong and she escaped. The court gave a fine.

I am a history teacher. In history class I tell the children that "ala kachuu", the stealing of brides, is not our old tradition, whatever the uncles at the wedding say. It is a crime. I said this in every class this week. Some boys laughed. Some girls did not laugh, they listened.

Now young women wear white headscarves for this: Ak Jooluk. Two of my 11th class girls wore white scarves on Monday. I said nothing. I was proud.

After Jumabai ata died I read his "Spring on the jailoo" to the 6th class on Monday, from his blog, printed on a clean page. Then I asked: what does the radio smell of? Silence. Then a boy said "dust". Then a girl said "batteries". The grandfather's radio in the poem has never smelled the grass, of course.

That is a good lesson in the poem, and in the history of the radio in Irad.

I printed "For those who left" too. I did not read it aloud. Some of the children knew why.