The Salopian no. 160 - Summer 2017

SCHOOL NEWS
15
mandatory “yes, sir” as the teacher called out pupils’ names
during registration. It felt more like a prison roll-call.
It is understandable for anyone to mispronounce someone’s
name, especially when it is alien to them. A teacher, having
to say many names during the day, both foreign and native,
may understandably not know how to say all of them, so the
students correct him, no harm done. Right?
“Sarah?”
“It’s actually Zarah, sir.”
“I apologise, Zarah.”
“Mia?”
“Uhm Maya, sir.”
“Sorry. Maya.”
Common mistakes. Nothing abnormal nor unusual and
certainly nothing to make a fuss about. Some names,
however, are so unique that they lead to confusion and
amusement.
“Tiny Pony?”
Sniggers filled the room.
“It’s T-Tai Ni Po Ni, sir. It’s Chinese.”
More giggling.
“Sorry, Tiny Pony.”
More laughter ensued. I glanced behind me to the girl who
spoke. She looked as if she wanted the ground to swallow
her up, her face red from embarrassment. I pursed my lips
and turned back towards the front of the classroom, the
laughter and whispering rolling like a wave above me.
“Ok, everyone, be quiet,” the teacher said sharply.
Immediately the noise stopped and he continued. “Chew
Rabbit? Oh no, Chew Babeet, sorry.” He corrected after
squinting at the paper and bringing it up to his face for a
better look. The room filled with sniggering again. “Was
that pronounced correctly?” the teacher asked.
“I-Its Chiew Babit, sir.” A small boy a few seats behind me
stuttered in answer, his eyes wide in fear. “Rabbit” may in
fact have been more appropriate as he looked as startled as
a creature caught in headlights, staring fearfully into the
eyes of his predator. His foreign accent served only to fuel
the laughter as the boy shrank in on himself and lowered
his eyes, peering down at his desk. I felt a sympathy tug at
my heart and guilt too, guilt for not standing up and doing
something to stop the laughter. What could I do though,
without the risk of being ridiculed myself?
“This is your last warning,” the teacher said loudly, silencing
the laughing students. “If you interrupt this class again, you
will all be staying during lunch.” He finished, giving the
class a deadly look, then slowly returning his gaze back to
the name sheet. “Pai yoo?” I could physically feel the tension
in the room from the stifling of laughter.
“Pei Yu, sir.” A girl in my row corrected. Someone snorted,
but tried to pass it off as a cough. It was about as subtle as a
charging bull.
“I apologise,” the teacher said, in an insincere tone, neither
looking nor sounding remorseful. I looked over the desks
separating me from the girl. She was resting her head on her
hand, a tired look in her eyes as if she’d become accustomed
to this already. She didn’t look embarrassed nor scared,
simply bored and unmoved, and my lips curled upwards at
the sight of the unfazed girl. But the smile quickly fell again
as the teacher carried on with the roll call, and I heard the
whispers and giggles and mimicking of foreign names.
I noticed this a lot.