What A Class Can Be
During break, three children came up to Eyo.
"Can you teach me to say my name in your language?" asked Liv.
"Yes," said Eyo.
"Can you teach me to say *hello* in your language?" asked Marek.
"Yes."
"Can you teach me to count to five?"
"Yes."
By the end of break, six children could say *hello* in Eyo's language. Eight could count to three. Liv could say *thank you*. Marek had managed *I am hungry*, which he intended to use at lunchtime.
Eyo was tired. But he was also — happy. He had not felt this happy in school for a long time.
That evening, his mama asked how the reading had gone.
"They liked it," said Eyo. "And — they asked me to teach them words."
His mama hugged him.
"You taught them," she said. "That is good. That is very good."
The next week, Mr Halpern started a small thing in the class. Every Friday, one child would teach the class three words from another language. The language could be one their family spoke at home, or one they had learned, or one they were curious about.
Eyo went first. His three words were *peace, friend, story*. Mr Halpern wrote them on the board.
The class repeated them.
The class belonged to Eyo a little bit more after that. He belonged to the class a little bit more too.
That is what happens when somebody is heard.