I was in one of three rooms that this school had for teaching students up to standard 5. I stood pressed to the wall as I looked at around twenty, fifth class kids sitting on blue-black mats each of them having their own posture and their own personal way to pay respect to my friend who stood beside the blackboard ready to teach them. I looked at their hands as they fidgeted around, putting them in their mouths, behind their back, into their little sacks which perhaps contained some notebook. I looked at their clothes - some wearing semi-white ironed uniforms while the rest in their browned colorful attire. I looked at their symbols - some wearing the taabeez, some the Cross, some nothing. I looked at their eyes, as they looked at each other, or at their teacher, or stared into the floor or the space around them.
And then a kid sprang out, came back after a minute with a chalk-piece in hand and gave it to my friend. The signal had been given. Let knowledge flow!...