Birds of a Feather Flock Together

Thus far, I have had the chance to attend some pedagogical meetings and sessions ranging from MATE (Moroccan Association of Teachers of English) to the sessions organized at university. I must admit that I learnt so many things from them and have somewhat developed my teaching skills just because of them. When I was a student, I also learnt many things from the meetings held at school. However, to my dismay, I have found out that most of these meetings have one attribute in common. The latter is that birds of a feather flock together.

To begin with, I remember once attending a conference on translation at university. Thanks to it, I learnt some basics about this field. As soon as the conference came to an end, discussion began. Here, I noticed that most of those who posed questions were simply colleagues and friends of the presenters. And when a colleague of mine raised his hand to pose a question, no one paid attention to him. I believe it was simply because he was not a bird of the same feather.

The fact that when the coffee break came and the presenters and those who posed questions sat around the same table confirmed that they were really among the birds in question. Frankly, I do not see any point in sitting with those one already knows. Sitting with others from different universities and places helps us broaden our knowledge. Also, how can one share and exchange with others if we do not make others’ acquaintance and try to share the same table but with different members?

The same problem brings me back to last year when I attended a Mate meeting. I liked everything about it except the fact that birds of a feather flock together there too. Before the conference started, we were all asked to get membership cards, the thing we did. Afterwards, we were each offered a pen and a notepad to write on. One of my colleagues came late that day and got into the conference room and asked me for a pen. I had to give it to him, and I used a pencil instead.

When the coffee break came, I went to ask for another pen. It was here when the one in charge of pens and notepads went angry at me. I explained everything to him, but he refused to give me another one. Here, I thought that had I been one of the eminent members of that association, I would have got as many as pens as I wanted. I then understood that I was a simple teacher whom no one knew there. I was also understanding, for that person might even have mistaken me for a student. For him, students are birds who have a different feather.

Most of those present chose to have lunch with those they know and with those who have the same tastes. And if you happen to sit with them, no one talked to you or seemed to share with you his teaching experiences. The same thing is the case when the time of taking photos comes. Some group photos include only the members and no outsiders.Broaching on this doesn’t mean uttering complaints. It rather means describing them as mere birds that flock together because of the feather they have in common.

As a teacher trainee, I could not stand some of the trainers just because of this. They do not listen to their trainees’ viewpoints. Unfortunately, some of them behave so, for they think that trainees are merely trainees. The latter’s voice is not something special and is not worth being considered.

At last, I have come to the conclusion that the meetings where people are expected to make new acquaintances, exchange experiences, and stand together against the problems their field faces have turned out to be the melting point where only birds that have the same feather have to come to the fore.

How I Lived then

Now that I have turned twenty-four and that I celebrated my twenty-fourth birthday the other day, I can not help reminiscing about my childhood days. Though still young, I feel that I am getting older day after day. I might well attribute this strange feeling to the remarkable changes I have undergone all these years. In reality, I am no longer the person I used to be fourteen years ago, nor was I then the person I am today. Completely different personalities, actually!

It was in 1994 when I entered school; I was seven then. The first thing I was amazed by when I first entered my class were the posters hung on the classroom wall. I would say that they sum up my past life and the one I am currently leading. I quite vividly remember some of the posters. Whenever my teacher asked us to write down the lesson, from time to time I cast some glances at the pictures in the posters. I so much appreciated them and beholded them with every awe.

The first one to the right was quite gloomy-looking. In it, there was a red bus with passengers inside and a new pupil outside holding a satchel on his back hurrying up and talking to the bus driver. At the time, I had no idea what a bus was for, nor did I know why the new pupil appeared to be in a rush. Suffice it to say that I enjoyed the scene. Like any of my fellows, I was a fair pupil. I raised my hand when the teacher asked us simple questions, but at other times I just kept staring at the poster in admiration.

Only later on did I know that the new pupil was going to be me, no one else, for I was the only one in my village to pursue my studies. Owing to poverty, some travelled to different cities to work and help their family. I also wanted to do the same then, but no one offered me work. Others travelled abroad because they were born with a silver spoon in their mouth. I felt so sad to see my ex-fellow pupils leaving me one by one. After a certain period of time, I had to enter secondary school and took the bus with new pupils from other villages.

In the second poster to the left, there was a city made of glass with different lights ranging from green to red. So many times did I hear of a city, but I had never visited one by the time. Though I was born in Tangiers, I don’t remember it so accurately to know what it was like. Meanwhile, my mother recounted to me the important places, streets and markets there. At first, I thought that once I graduated, I would work in the village like any other bricklayer or mason. That is why I did not make a fuss about visiting a city.

As soon as I earned my Baccalaureate degree, my family moved to El Jadida. Only then did I know that the city in the picture was merely going to be El Jadida. In the latter, I spent indelible moments, studied at the faculty there, graduated from it, and became a teacher at the age of twenty-two. Notwithstanding, I still look back on the other posters on the class wall and try to rack my brains to remember them all, but in vain. I have looked forward to the posters describing the position of teacher and writer, but I failed to remember them.

To my utter dismay, last summer, I paid the school a visit, peered into the broken windows for long, and found that all the posters had peeled off a long time ago and that new ones have supplanted them. I went forlorn and while clenching the bars of the window out of fury, someone patted my shoulder. I looked around only to find a ten-year-old boy smiling at me and asking me about the posters.

“Hi Sir! What do you think of the posters we drew this year?”

“ Wow, they’re really amazing ; great job !” I said.

I went home immediately and from that time onwards, I felt gladder than before simply because there is still a pupil who takes a keen interest in the posters hung on the class wall. I am certain that one day this ten-year-old pupil will sooner or later be in dire need of them so as to contemplate how he once lived.



Great Talkers vs. Little Talkers

Gone are the days when most of us thought that the best teacher in a school was the one who talked too much in class, whereas now it is universally agreed that the best teacher is the one who talks less in class and who instead gives the students the chance to speak more. Speaking should then be typical of learners rather than language practitioners while teaching. However, from time to time, I hear some teachers in their classes talking all the time, and seldom do they let their students speak.

Perhaps, they do so to show of their linguistic capabilities in front of both their students and their colleagues in other classes. I still vividly remember once reading a quote by one of my favourite philosophers, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, which runs thus: “People who know little are usually great talkers, while men who know much say little.” This is what we call a paradox, something contradictory at first sight, but when we look back closely at it, we find that it is really true.

The fact that people who know too much talk little and those who know little talk much is due to several reasons. One of the latter is that those who know much feel that what they know is not necessary to say and thus desist from saying it. For instance, a writer may not tell you when to use punctuation marks unless you ask him simply because he has gone beyond this stage and feels that there is no use in explaining. He who knows much thinks that other people know the same as he does and believes that there is no point is repeating what he knows.

On the other hand, those who know little have to talk greatly, for they have to say something they have just learned. We all know that learning something new makes us so excited about it and induces us to seek every opportunity just to say it. It is the very case with great talkers. This, of course, brings me back to my university days when some of my ex-classmates talked all the time in class, but they rarely said something meaningful, precise and to the point. Afterwards, I discovered that they did so poorly in the exams they sat for which confirmed that their talking was merely a sign of little learning.

I would stress that I am not generalizing here; rather I am talking about the majority of little talkers and great talkers. Most importantly, a well-informed man of course speaks about his opinions, but he doesn’t do so as greatly as does an ignorant man. This disproportion is attributed to the fact that a well-informed man has so much to say and then holds his tongue because he very well knows that no matter how much he broaches on a certain issue, he will not say something which is everything it should be.

As regards an ignorant man, he thinks that all that he knows is so important and as a result begins to impart it to anybody he meets. The man in question can be likened to a poor man who has just won a lottery. If the latter doesn’t inform all people that he has become rich, he will not be able to sleep peacefully that night. However, a rich man doesn’t need to inform people of his social status either because he has become so out of his constant efforts or because he is already born with a sliver spoon in his mouth.

In 2004 and 2005, as a high school student, I had the chance to be taught by two different teachers of French in the respective academic years. The first one was a plain-looking, modest teacher. The second one was an insolent, great talker. The difference between the two is that we learned a lot from the former who taught us French lessons in a good, simple and patient manner, while we learned nothing from the latter because he talked greatly fast, insulted us for being inconsiderate, prided himself a lot on his pronunciation and his remarkable fluency, and was very impatient with our learning of the language.

However, towards the end of the academic year, we students learned that the first teacher was a writer and a poet, having been the author of nearly 10 books. The teacher in question gave those who excelled in French that year some of his books without even mentioning that it was he who wrote them. We only knew that when we saw his name written on the books cover. As for the second teacher, he was a mere braggart who never produced something in the language he ‘taught’ us. Later on, we even learned from some of his ex-classmates at university that he used to be such an inveterate cheater.

Day after day, I learn more and more about life, and the lesson that I have learnt these days is that most great talkers are merely braggarts and creepers, while little talkers are wise, modest, and knowledgeable. As the saying goes, still waters are deep. Or as Edgar Allan Poe once described a genius as someone who shudders at incompleteness and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be. Following is the poem that I once wrote about the topic in question.

The Pencil Sharpener

I took a pencil that I have sharpened for years,

Put it to use,

But has produced nothing of use;

Only my days it often sears.

Enraged, I broke it

As it was about to end;

I took a new and longer one

I sharpened it once;

The pencil, still sharp

While I keep using it up,

At this stage,

My spirit has never aged.

I Still Live for One Star

Why do I stand in awe in your presence?

Perhaps, I just feel transfixed as you soar;

Give me the chance to learn more of your lore.

O star! the uncharted lands you lit, hence;

Fill me with the fuel to forsake the current land

Surely, you are the last star, so lend me a hand.

One's Steps

Three stages of one's life

Render one's steps decisive:

Knowing themselves more.

Why I Write Poetry

A long time ago, I used to write only articles and sometimes short stories. But I never thought of writing poems one day even though I had so much cherished this genre of writing more than any other kind. Only when I read “a Bird Came down the Walk” by Emily Dickinson and enjoyed it so much did I make my mind to join poetry and write poems like any other poet. Since then, I have always taken the greatest delight in doing so. At first, I was told by my professors that writing poems is so demanding a task and needs more life experiences and wide travelling than we think. However, having read Dickinson many times has totally changed this misconception and ultimately led me to take the initiative.

The poem has become a turning point in my literary life. Here, I will try to interpret it line by line. We all know that Dickinson as a poetess was known to have been reclusive and home-ridden. My point here is that contrary to popular belief, we do not need many experiences or to travel the world to become poets. All that we are in need of is to develop a keen observation of any object, and fortunately no one can deny that everyone has got a certain amount of it.

Alone, the poetess in question once sat alone beholding different things out of her window. All of a sudden, she saw a little bird coming down the walk next to her house. Not having any contact with people and not travelling the world before, Dickinson usually seized such opportunities so as to write a new poem on the scene being observed. She was always in dire need of the material and despite that she always came up with really fine poems.

Amongst her best poems is this one here. The fact that she was able to write poems without any previous experiences is living proof that anyone can write poems on condition that he or she observes anything keenly enough. Also, reading widely was of paramount important to her writing career as a poetess. Some people might think that life experiences are a must in order to write fine poems. For me, wide reading in any language and keen observation would suffice. Then, through poetry, anyone can openly express himself about different aspects of life. This is why I have so far written mainly poems.

Coming back to how the poetess imparted crucial aspects of nature and life just through a little bird, she described every single step of the latter. In the poem, the bird perched on the ground, looked both sides to ensure he was safe, ate a worm, and drank some dew drops. Then, a beetle was passing by him; the bird immediately gave the beetle some space to pass with ease. Here, we come to know how small animals and insects lead their own lives and whether they respect each other or not. Of course, the poetess is alluding to us human beings who should respect one another and live and let live as the saying goes.

Observing the manner in which she wrote a poem on a very appealing theme” that of the bird with the worm and the beetle”, I was inspired and spurred on to do the same. There are many living organisms like a moth, a fly, or mosquito that we come across on a regular basis, but seldom do they attract attention to us. Since I read this poem, everything has begun to enthrall me. One day, I wrote two poems. One is entitled ‘the moth’ and another one, ‘the bird’. Of course, I took pains to write them because I related them to my personal life.

Different motives were behind putting pen to paper when I chose the moth and the bird as the themes. The first one was whilst reading and a moth was fluttering its wings against the light bulb. My concentration was exacerbated by that behavior to the extreme. Here, I am hinting at people who cause me or other novice writers in one way or another to abandon the reading pursuit. As for the birds, they perched on my windowpane serving as spies to take back my latest news to others. I did not welcome them either. For me, they are simply amongst my regular guests who pay me visits from time to time just to see how my room furniture is laid.

In Dickinson’s poem, the bird took fright when he heard her. She wanted to feed him with a crumb, but he shook his feathers, carefree and conceited and flew off on the spot. He was the only solace to her for a very short time, but she learnt a great deal from him. In the same way, I believe that we do not need to go abroad to attend poetry workshops or to study it at university to be great poets. One has only to read widely to master a language and start to write on everything, be it a human being, an animal, or living organisms in general; the latter teach us many moral lessons about their lives and our own.

Towards the end of the poem, the poetess discovered a queer fact about the bird. The latter is capable of flying over the water without making any splashes or noise. Afterwards, she added that when rowing in the water, he is totally different from oars and butterfly leaps in that the latter make so much noise which may disturb her creativity. What a vivid description! What a keen sensation of the movements of a flying bird! I must admit that this is mainly the point at which and where I fell passionately in love with poetry.

No One is Born Great

One of my friends once told me that eminent scientists and writers like Albert Einstein and Leo Tolstoy are born great, and as a result, I do not have to draw an analogy between them and other ordinary people. He said so to me soon after I told him that I also write articles and that other friends of mine publish their works in national newspapers and international websites.

He disagreed by saying that we ordinary people are different from these great people in that the latter are exceptions. I would say that we are surely different from them in that they have attained greatness, the thing which we haven’t yet attained ourselves. However, the fact that neither we ordinary people nor they eminent people are born great is indubitably true.

In reality, the numerous failures and excruciating experiences that these scientists underwent in their lifetime is living proof that they are not born great. Another reason is that had they been born great, they would have encountered all the stumbling blocks with remarkable ease. As we look back on their lives more closely, we, however, find that it is they who achieved greatness through constant persistence, everyday struggle with life problems, and trusting oneself. Most importantly, some of them even have more serious disabilities than ordinary people. By setting themselves that challenge, they sooner or later realize their aims. Once they do so, we ordinary people attribute their success to being born great.

I am certain that many people have already heard of Helen Keller, an American outspoken lecturer and author. Before reading about her life as a young woman, one might think that she must have been born great so as to be the author of nearly 12 books including her famous autobiography, the Story of my Life. The author in question was a victim of three handicaps: deafness, dumbness and blindness. Is the greatness we are talking about here mainly due to going deaf or blind? Certainly not. Had it been for well-being and good health, others would have at least done like her. However, the contrary is the case. Rather, her willingness to overcome her complexes has made her what she is today, an inspiring icon the world over.

The other day, a freshman complained to me that he had difficulty studying and writing in English. When I enquired about the why, he said that he is simply amongst those who do not have a flair for languages. At first, I did not get what he wanted to say. But, later on, I knew that it is this false idea he had in mind which made him reluctant to experience the challenge. Also, when I was young, I had some problems learning French, but as soon as I became acquainted with English, I didn’t have any difficulty learning the latter. This means that it was not because of lacking greatness that I was bad at French, but because either I wasn’t taught properly or I was not in interested in the subject. If I carried on believing that most people are bad at foreign languages, I would not have learned English at all.

More importantly, thinking that some people are born great is itself discouraging and uninspiring. How can people become great if they still keep the idea that only the elite few are endowed with the ability to achieve greatness? And how are students going to become great in their lives if their teachers are instilling in them that only few people like Einstein are endowed with genius at birth? For me, this is mainly what has greatly hindered many of us from thinking creatively, inventing new things, and daring to explore the uncharted ‘lands’.

Instead, I would choose Charles Darwin as the prime example of someone whom many think he is born great. If he had really been so, why did his father mortify him many times as somebody who only cared for shooting dogs and catching rats? He was also known to have been a disgrace to his father. We can see, however, that towards the end of his life, he had turned himself into one of the most revolutionary naturalist scientists of all time. Is it because he was born great that he had become what he was at the time? I do not think so. The fact that, like many others, he made of himself great on his own late in life is living proof that no one is born great.