The Sixth Grade

Yemeni mp

Ahmed Saif Hashed

I was transferred from fifth grade to sixth grade. Your studies hold no significance if you do not pass sixth grade. Successfully completing sixth grade is the most crucial milestone in the first six years of primary education. Your success in sixth grade signifies the culmination of six years of diligent effort.

The sixth-grade examination was a governmental one. The preparation of exam questions, their correction, and the evaluation of responses are entirely beyond the control of the school, its teachers, or its principal. The questions are sent from the Ministry of Education in Sana’a, sealed and confidential, known only to those who prepare them within the ministry. Likewise, the grading of answers is reserved for specialists in the ministry or their representatives in the provinces.

Passing sixth grade means you have completed primary education and are now transitioning into the beginning of the preparatory stage. Finishing primary school signifies that you have made the first significant leap in your academic journey. It represents a transition from a lower level that is essential for entering a more substantial and important stage. Completing primary education means you have recorded your first victory over ignorance in your initial battle, which spans six long years of your life, and prepares you for another victory that will unfold over the next three years in the preparatory phase.

The sixth-grade certificate represents the most significant achievement in my six years of education. Without it, disappointment looms, threatening to derail my educational future and lead to loss. However, there is no sixth grade at Al-Wahda School, nor at Shaab School, and there is neither water nor provisions for a journey to China. There seems to be no means or strategy to reach my goal. Thus, my destination this time was Al-Ma’arifa School in Thujan, the birthplace of the Brotherhood’s guide, Yaseen Abdulaziz.

I had to traverse nearly three kilometers to reach the base of the mountain, which I needed to ascend. After conquering its heights, I would descend from the opposite side and then cover a few more kilometers to finally reach that school in Thujan. This journey was fraught with difficulty and toil, and the return would be even more exhausting and arduous.

As I began my climb, I felt like a child attempting to mount a towering camel. The disparity between my stature and that of the mountain seemed almost insurmountable. Yet, there was no choice if I wished to complete this stage; I had to conquer this mountain daily, both going and returning. I had to reach the school and return home six days a week.

Every day, fatigue enveloped me as I ascended and descended the mountain. Exhaustion washed over me with each school day. The examination was governmental, the year pivotal, and there was no room for complacency. I had to cover a distance that could reach eight kilometers one way, and just as much on the return.

I had to instill within myself a stubborn determination that would stand resolute against all discouragements. Five long years of study and effort would seem wasted in despair. I would not allow hopelessness to undermine my resolve, nor would I let it tarnish those five years filled with toil and suffering. I would not permit frustration to seep into my weary soul. I had to be steadfast; fatigue was preferable to the alternative of ignorance, which could rob me of a future I so desperately sought. Perhaps in this way, I spoke to myself.

Upon reaching the summit, I could see distant landscapes that the obstacles of terrain had kept hidden from view below or from the valleys that now appeared as deep chasms from this height. From the peak, nature unfolded differently to the east and west; I could see what was invisible from below. Conquering the mountain mirrored the educational journey I yearned to undertake each day.

Viewing the world from the back of a camel offers a perspective unlike any you perceive while walking in worn-out shoes, or perhaps without shoes at all. The rest at the foot of the mountain is a delight following the exhaustion of the climb. Gaze east and west from this lofty vantage point. At the summit, you feel like a falcon, staring intently at both the distant and the near, examining the details now beneath your feet. At the peak, you are crowned with dignity, your presence majestic and imposing.

The sensation bestowed upon you by the summit is captivating and beautiful. The view from the top is nothing short of magical, even if you reach it utterly spent. A brief respite can restore much of your energy and strength, especially when the goal you seek is worthy of the ascent.

The school administration requested each sixth-grade student to submit personal photographs for their file, form, and certificate. This request proved challenging for us, as there were no photo labs in our villages or regions, nor even in Shaab or Tor Al-Baha. The nearest lab was located in Al-Rahda.

My father was anxious about my going to Al-Rahda for the photographs. My brother’s escape from Sana’a after the events of August in the late sixties, when he was likely a captain, made my father wary of the possibility of my abduction should I venture to Al-Rahda, despite my young age.

After much contemplation and coordination, my father allowed me, along with some fellow students, to go to Al-Rahda for the photographs. With the guidance and care of my father directed towards Mr. Abdo Ahmed Talib (the Talabi), I was permitted to make the trip and return swiftly without delay, and the journey proceeded without incident.

Overall, it was a grueling year, but I successfully completed primary school, achieving a score of 302 out of 500. On that day, I regarded this result as commendable and satisfactory. I then continued my studies in the preparatory stage for three years at Martyr Najib School in Tor Al-Baha, in the southern part of the country.

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