Despite the Harshness
Yemeni mp
Ahmd Saif Hashed
My first teacher was the esteemed Ali Ahmed Saad, who disciplined me with a cane until my feet were bruised and sore. One might criticize his educational methods as excessively severe or harsh, yet on the other hand, we can say, “If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t be who we are.” He was strict and resolute, adept at teaching and conveying knowledge. He never compromised on lessons or diminished their importance. He was the teacher who single-handedly taught us all subjects, and more significantly, he began our education before the “school” itself was established, as its classrooms took shape under his unwavering commitment.
The beginnings were arduous, yet through this difficulty, he laid the foundation for an educational edifice that seemed to arise from nothing. He was instrumental in rescuing us from a deep-seated ignorance, from which we would not have emerged without him. This ignorance had long plagued our families and villages. For us, this teacher was a beacon of fortune and good luck, illuminating our path and guiding us to the threshold of knowledge and enlightenment.
Ali Ahmed Saad continued to teach us until around 1970, when he left after years of dedicated service to work and reside in the city of Taiz. His departure left a significant void, which was partially filled by some of his bright and outstanding students who took over his teaching role. He planted the seeds, and we reaped the deserving harvest.
He left us having established an educational edifice that rescued us from profound and certain ignorance. He created a comprehensive curriculum from the first to the third grade, teaching us the fundamentals of reading, writing, arithmetic, social studies, and science. Many students from nearby villages and even distant areas learned under his guidance. He was like a bird nurturing its young until they grew strong enough to soar high.
Interestingly, he also bestowed upon many of us nicknames that overshadowed our actual names for many years. We still remember some of them, and some remain alive to this day, such as: Al-Tunays, Hofer, Al-Mirrad, Al-Kabreet, Al-Bulbul, Al-Qaradi, Al-Mateet, Al-Zanat, Al-Najashi, Al-Maqrour, Al-Malhos, Al-Tubaila, Al-Zaydi, and Malit. We began to forget our names and remember the nicknames instead. We are unsure of the reasons behind these names or the criteria he used to choose them, yet amusingly, some have stayed with us, living on even after our departure, and others have extended to our descendants.
Despite the sternness of this esteemed teacher, he is credited with our initial education, delivered in a modern way that relied on notebooks and pens. Reading, dictation, arithmetic, science, and literature came to us at a time when we desperately needed the education that had eluded us. Without him, ignorance might have engulfed us entirely, constraining our lives. Had it not been for him, many of us might never have reached even the simplest public positions, and countless others would still be struggling with the burdens of illiteracy and herding sheep.
He departed, leaving us a foundation of knowledge upon which we could build our learning in the years to come. Though he is gone, his teachings and kindness remain. He left us a small library and a blackboard, behind which he sat, embodying the spirit of a dedicated teacher and noble educator.
We inherited a few booklets stored in his cabinet. I remember taking one titled *”The Dimensions of the Yemeni Revolution” by Abdulrahman Al-Baydani. I recall memorizing several pages of it by heart despite my young age. When I recited what I had memorized, I caught the attention of one of the older teachers or students, who was astonished by my ability to recite passages from it.
This teacher promised me he would bring me a story called “The Black Panther,” a tale meant for children. I was eager to read it and waited anxiously until he presented it to me on the third day of his promise. Perhaps it was the first gift I ever received in my life.
I didn’t realize that I was supposed to read it to the end to grasp its narrative fully. I thought I was required to memorize it like I had with some pages of Al-Baydani’s booklet, which made it difficult for me to retain certain parts. My excitement turned into frustration, and I felt a bit disheartened. I began to avoid the teacher who had gifted it to me, fearing that I might seem unworthy of his kind gesture, unaware that memorization was not necessary.
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