Stranger in a Strange Land

This is a true story. In it I talk about my experience in a school where a 9 year old girl lied against me of physical abuse. Names of individuals and places have been modified to protect them, except for myself, Hennang.

I still remember the day I received the phone call telling me about the new job offer. I had just left a shop on the Whetstone High Street and could barely contain my excitement. I would be supporting a young boy as a Special Needs Teaching Assistant. This child had been through so much in the nine long years of his life. His mum, a single parent, had left the children and was struggling with some personal challenges. He had been bullied in school and had lost sight in one eye. My heart was full of compassion for the little boy and couldn’t wait to meet him.

We had three  days of INSET training to start the term and I got to meet the staff team. I would be in Year Five working “one to one” with Keith. He was a delightful child although full of mischief. I helped him with his handwriting, spelling and reading. He was dyslexic but amazed me with his willingness to work. Trying to adapt to a new school culture was slightly challenging for me. Mars Hill School was a different kettle of fish. I was not used to children talking back to adults or challenging their authority. They were bold and daring, completely unafraid to say or do exactly what was on their minds. In my country, all adults had the responsibility of bringing up all the children. They say, it takes a village to raise a child. It was perfectly normal for a neighbour to discipline next doors children if they saw them doing something wrong. He could spank them and report it to their parents. They would in turn thank him for being mindful of their children. This was normal and was not termed as abuse. Sometimes parents could speak to their children without saying a word. A “sustained look” spoke volumes and the child would instantly understand what it meant. Other times it could be just a fleeting glance and a nod, the child would  get the message, “just you wait till we get home!”

I watched as teachers sometimes struggled with class control and with keeping certain children quiet. In my mind I would think, “good thing you are not in my country, that behaviour would have earned you some spanking”. A few times during conversations with the teachers, I would compare the two systems. Some would be horrified when I said children were spanked in schools. I was gradually learning the ropes of being in a new school and in a new land.  I was eager to learn and looked forward to eventually getting my teaching qualifications.

Keith however was a delight to work with. I had grown to love the little boy like my own. He would always ask, Mrs A, please could I visit and play with your children?

Mrs A, can you attend my birthday party next Saturday pleassssssse? Both our birthdays were in May, a few days in between.

Mrs A, why do you always go to Church?  

Mrs A, please can you pray for my mum to come back?

Mrs A, please will you be my teacher in year six?  

Mrs A, can you come with me to secondary school too? I felt a sense of accomplishment when he asked me to come with him to his next class and even on to his secondary school. I felt I had impacted his life in such a positive way that he felt I had his back.

Mrs A, since I can’t come to your house, can you come to ours?

I tried to explain to Keith that I was his TA and wasn’t allowed to be involved in his life outside school. He couldn’t understand what safeguarding meant.  As much as I could, I would affirm him just to help build his self esteem. His mums’ leaving had had a very detrimental effect on him. It had left him feeling completely rejected and abandoned by both parents. This in turn made him a bit of a  “people pleaser”, always wanting to do things to earn affection, even with his peers.

A few months after I started working with him, he was moved to a new foster home. The carer seemed rather over procedural from my very un-expert point of view. She had lists, rotas, rules and schedules for everything. I was certainly not a guru on child psychology but I felt he needed more love and validation than strict processes and procedures. Of course, I might have been wrong. I once told him, Keith, you are a smart young boy. If I were to choose one child in this class, it would be you; in both classes it would still be you. If I were to choose from the whole of Mars Hill Primary, it would still be you, Keith Jones.” His reaction was beyond words, he was so happy to hear that.

My world would soon come crashing down to the bottom of my feet.  It was completely unexpected and I was so unprepared for it.

That fateful Thursday afternoon, as I came down the stairs from the staff room, I ran into my class teacher. She said quite anxiously, “Hennang, where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you. Magdalene (the Headteacher) wants to see you”. I wasn’t at all worried so I answered, “wow, hope I’m not in trouble”. I was at peace, not knowing what was about to explode in my face. She took me upstairs to the Headteachers’ office, there were three people already seated.  They all looked serious and sombrep; the Headteacher, my line manager and the school secretary. I looked at them, smiled and said, “I hope I’m not in trouble”.  Magdalene replied; “Please sit down”.  

Magdalene: “Hennang, what happened during Maths class today”?

Me: “I don’t know, what happened?” I also asked.

Magdalene: “Tara said you hit her during the class”.

I was taken aback. Tara sits on the same table as Keith and had been very disruptive during the last Maths class. She had thrown an eraser across the room and it nearly hit my eye. I had jerked in a reflex response and wondered if I might have bumped her with my arm during the motion. I absolutely had no recollection of touching her though.

Me: “I don’t remember hitting her but if she said I did, maybe I did”. I couldn’t imagine her or any child cooking up a story that wasn’t true. I immediately gave her the benefit of the doubt. That sentence would later come back to haunt me.

Magdalene: “Okay Hennang, if you can’t remember whether you hit her or not, go downstairs get your coat and proceed on suspension. We shall get back to you”.

I was in a daze. I couldn’t believe what she was saying. Suspension? Why? What did I do? Magdalene didn’t explain anything to me except that I had hit Tara during the Maths class. My mind was in a turmoil as I walked to class to get my jacket. Where did I hit her? What does suspension mean? Will I be getting the sack?  As luck would have it, I ran into Tara on my way down and I asked her naively, “did I hit you during the Maths class”?  She responded in the affirmative. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”  I was further digging myself into a very deep pit.

I told the Class Teacher about the allegation and she advised that I wrote a statement before leaving. I quickly did that, giving all the details of Tara’s disruptive behaviour and the throwing of an eraser that almost caught my eye. I took it upstairs feeling like a condemned criminal before their stern unsmiling faces. I was already beginning to feel guilty although I had done nothing wrong. Magdalene read my statement and showed me some great “magnanimity”. She said I did not have to leave immediately; I could stay in the staff room until the close of day. I immediately called my husband to brief him. I also contemplated Tara’s general disposition towards me. She had always been fascinated by how different I was from “them”. Mrs A, you don’t speak like us, where are you from. Mrs A, your lips are really thick! I would always laugh at her childish questions and quibs. I thought they were from a pure and innocent heart.

I started my suspension the next day and was totally at a loss about what to do. I must quickly add that my faith has always been very central to my life and I had been brought up to believe that God answered prayers.  My favourite way of praying is to find a scripture in the Bible that related to my situation. I would use it to pray repeatedly until I got an answer.  In the instance of my suspension, the most relevant Bible Scripture for me was the story of the tower of Babel. The Bible says that God was not happy with the project and he therefore confused the language of the builders (Gen. 11:1-9). Without the art of communication, the work came to a grinding stop. That was the end of Project Babel and that was also my point of reference for praying.

I would pray daily, asking God to confuse every story that Tara was building against me. On certain days, I would not only pray, but fast as well. I just kept on praying and asking God to confuse everything she was putting together against me. One day, a policeman came to my home and invited me to the station for an interview. When I saw him and the parked police car, I wondered what my neighbours would be thinking. What had the African lady done? Is it domestic violence? why a police car? Maybe nobody saw me or thought anything but my mind was already playing games with me. At the station, the Policeman grilled me about all that had happened. I made sure I didn’t deviate from my story. He asked if it was true that I had apologised to her. I said yes, I had “apologised” to her based on what I thought had happened. I asked him where exactly I had hit her because as at then, no one had given me any details of my alleged offence.  I also requested that we both took lie detector tests to prove who was lying. The policeman said children couldn’t take lie detector tests. I however insisted that my request be included in his report because I knew I was telling the truth.

Unbeknownst to me, Tara had arranged for her best friend to be a witness. I was astounded when the Policeman told me there were witnesses to what had happened. He had me draw the sitting arrangement in the class to see if the “witness” would have had a clear view of the incident. She did. There was also my damning rhetoric of children being spanked by teachers in my country. It suggested that I had a penchant for spanking naughty children. I was in above my head. There was nothing I could do. I gave my statement and went despondently home. It seemed like the beginning of the end.

After two weeks, I was invited back for a meeting at the school. I was given the good news that the allegation against me had been dropped because it could not be substantiated. All her stories had been too confusing and inconsistent. Even her star witness was not found to be credible. Her dad had come in to say that his daughter was a compulsive liar and should not be taken too seriously. They had both once lied against another girl in the class to get her into trouble. In the end, there was nothing concrete to hold against me. No other pupil in the class could also substantiate her claim that I had slapped her. No other child had seen it or had heard about it. We eventually realised that a certain TV channel had shown a documentary about a child who had lied against her teacher for hitting her.  It was thought that maybe the documentary might have influenced her.

I resumed school hoping to put the unfortunate incident behind me but it wasn’t to be. On my second day back, Tara’s mum arrived at closing time and came straight for me. She was screaming at the top of her lungs, calling me names. She was threatening to get me arrested for assaulting her baby. As I picked my bag and walked away from her down the corridor, I could still hear her ranting. At that point, I just made up my mind I’d had enough. Maybe teaching in the UK wasn’t meant for me.  I put in my resignation at the end of the term.

As I look back at how I was treated, I wonder if there was any tinge of racism. Too many “funny” things had happened to me at Mars Hill. I remember my friend, Sally Night, she was offered a chance to undertake her Graduate Teacher Training Programme on the job. She had eventually moved on to a better job but encouraged me to replace her. I requested to take her vacant position but the Headteacher denied she was ever offered any such thing. She said she actually didn’t know anything about it. It was so bizarre. Even after my resignation, they gave me a very dismal reference. I couldn’t believe it. It was based on a five point scale; Outstanding 5, Very Good 4, Good 3, Average 2 and Poor 1. I was marked between average and poor on almost everything, even on my time keeping. I was never ever late to work and yet I was marked as average. It should have been an “outstanding”. Thankfully, I belonged to a Union and I handed over the issue to them. After this, I couldn’t wait to see the back of the class room. The whole experience left me a very cautious person around the Caucasians. My default mental position was to expect the worst from them. It is really a sad place to be when you can’t let your guard down and trust people!! When you don’t know where you stand with people and if the smile is for real. Unfortunately, I have learned not to expect too much and in this way, I am saved from hurt and disappointments. I must however add that I have also met many great white people and so far, I haven’t been able to fault them in anything.

My only regret was leaving Keith. I felt I had let him down, doing exactly what most adults he had leaned to trust had done to him. As I write this blog in June 2020, I’m still looking for Keith as I feel I owe him an explanation. My 21 year old daughter, who is the same age as him says, “mum, please just forget it. Stop stalking him”. I have typed his name into Face Book and about 200 people with the same name popped up. I don’t know what he looks like anymore and cannot afford to start befriending strangers online. I will however pray that one day our paths will cross again.  

I have also gone back to school to do a Masters in Human Resource Management. As an HR Advisor, I now have a better understanding of how investigations should be conducted. I’m resolved not to ever treat anyone the way I was treated.

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