No, No, No, Naima!

I met Naima after I had started working at an Islamic school in London. We hired her as a principal for our boy's elementary school, based on the recommendation by a respected school inspector. We hired her in time to help with our upcoming school inspection, and it was a wise decision as we would not have passed it without her!

Naima was another one of the Muslim professionals I have worked with who had her feet in two worlds and her head on straight. She was a strong young woman, who had a wonderful knowledge of the British educational system. I often teased her that she could not have actually been a Moroccan, as all the North Africans I knew were anarchists - she humored me with feigned indignation. Naima was far too earnest a great deal of time, occasionally betraying her sedulous composure with a sly grin and an indecorous anecdote. She was charming that way - not unlike a boxer that sets you up with a dozen jabs then finishes you off with an uppercut from nowhere.

I knew that whatever task I charged her with, Naima would carry it out assiduously. She had a great sense of integrity, and never let a difficult task alone. She was one of those people I didn't always agree with, but I knew that whatever she was fighting for, emanated from her heart with no selfish motive. Her passion was her strength, and occasionally nigh on her downfall. In my more ornery moments, my favorite distraction was counting her staccato "no's" in staff meetings. I would watch her contemplating something being said, usually something a bit near-sided, and I could almost predict the moment of her controlled eruption. After a few times, being the bright woman she was, she would catch herself around the fourth no, and turn around and look at me. I would smile and mouth "arba" silently, the Arabic word for four. Her fervently furrowed brow would relax, and she'd grace us with her beautiful smile.

Naima was just one of a terrific staff we had at the school, but her knowledge of school inspections, and her singular, focused work ethic helped us carry the day. We received an adequate report, phenomenal as we had turned over more than 60% of our faculty that year, and was midway between two curricula. Naima helped us with far more that year, and I was saddened to hear she left shortly after I did. Naima has since adopted a daughter, and is married and living in Saudi Arabia, She comes to mind very often, when I indulge the fantasy of having a few of her while facing a current predicament with limited resources. Just a few of her though, not particularly relishing an orchestra of no, no, no, no's. I miss her.

Tony the Tiger

Tony was another colorful, talented teacher I met at the King Fahad Academy in London six years ago. He was a tall, blond Brit that could've been a stunt double for Daniel Craig's 007.  To his chagrin I suppose, I publicly diagnosed him with ADHD shortly after meeting him.  Tony was eager and  earnest, sincerely motivated, and ardently ambitious - possessing an over-the-top personality that never slept, even off the amateur stage he loved so well. I would have deemed him a manic depressive, if I had ever seen anything but the frenzied zeal he offered everything, everyone.

Tony's work ethic was incredible.  His energy and passion were never far from his hands or his mouth.  The frenetic, staccato language he wielded was polished lyrically with an intelligent argot laced with a healthy measure of classic references.  Ideas exploded in his cranium - his creativity matched his metabolism, and I would have given a year's pay to map the short circuit that must have mangled his synaptic network, creating one of the truly few  unique individuals I have ever met.  I was never bored in his presence.

Unlike so many savants, Tony followed through on his plans, and those assigned to him.  He was the rarest of all pedagogues - loving equally the promise of an idea or theory, and the welfare of the children he taught and nurtured. He was an intellectual and a broke philanthropist, he was a leader and he was loyal, and he was strong and he was vulnerable.  I wasn't always sure what was going in his mind, but I trusted the process. Supervising him was a curious pleasure - I couldn't always keep up with Tony, but I had a heck of time trying. 

Tony rallied a wonderful group of ESL teachers and they created an intervention that literally saved a year of schooling for a cohort of young students who had suffered from the benign neglect of an ill fated language program. They worked hard, worked weekends, and worked a small miracle.  As is my fashion, I gave Tony but a few concrete goals, and he and his peers fleshed out the model, then artfully applied it.  I can honestly say I had never seen such a turn around in so little time.  Of all the challenges we overcame and the programs we developed across the institution, I was most proud of Tony and his team, and their loving dedication to a small group of students who no longer dreaded their alienated environment, but who now laughed and learned freely in the school they deserved.

I don't keep up with Tony as I would like.  Sometimes I worry about him, worry about the cost of  fueling that creative cauldron that warms everyone about him, hoping that he can afford the upkeep, and that he warms himself there too when the cruel winds of misfortune blow.

*Tony wrote a book, biographical in a way I suppose, that I found very fascinating.  If you care, you can find it here: http://anthonyheptinstall.blogspot.com/2010/08/foreward.html