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After these decisions and our Hajj experience, I was torn by two options: to find a teaching or research job in a university and move up the research ladder; or to secure a teaching job in a school or a further education college that would allow me to have a better connection with the community. Sayeda was insistent I took the first option, my extended contract at Royal Holloway College would come to an end early in 1990. I sounded out Professor Jonscher and was disappointed to learn that he could not secure any new funding. However, he agreed to extend my contract until July, and from then on I was on the lookout for a university research post. Most jobs were outside London, temporary and not particularly well-paid. By this time, a few of my close friends had just finished their PGCE (teacher training qualification) and had begun teaching in secondary schools. They advised me to follow the same path so I made up my mind to go for it and take a PGCE, but I had to do a lot of convincing with Sayeda. I sat with her and gave all my reasons, including my growing passion for community work, and thankfully she relented and gave her blessing.
In the summer of 1990 I returned to King's College, this time on the Waterloo campus, to start my PGCE (Secondary Science) teaching course. It was a new experience in the world of England's statutory education system. Many things were new to me – the admissions process, the examination systems, school governance, types of schools, pastoral care, relationship with parents and career advice. Educational philosophy and classroom management, especially in inner cities, were other areas that I had to quickly grasp. Just like starting my PhD, I had to learn things very quickly to be on par with others who had gone through British schooling. However, the course was enriching and very useful; I thoroughly enjoyed it. When it came to choosing a school for teaching practice, I ended up at Tiffin Grammar School for Boys in Kingston upon Thames, which was actually quite close to my home. I did not know the school, but one of my course friends remarked: 'Man, you're lucky! You've got one of the best schools in the country!' I felt happy and thanked the staff.
Founded in 1880, Tiffin was a selective boys' school that became a grammar school under the Education Act 1944. It then changed from being voluntary-controlled to being grant-maintained in 1992; today it is an Academy and educates more than 1,000 pupils each year. It had always been a high-achieving school and students were selected in year 7 through competitive exams. It had strong A-level teaching facilities, and once I started teaching I was really impressed with the high standards, the behaviour of the boys and the dedication of both teachers and parents. The head of Physics was particularly happy to have a senior physicist teaching in his department for a few months. He put me mostly in the upper school and A-level teaching. We became good friends and he taught me valuable skills to make learning physics easier, as well as fun for young people.
Despite my enjoyable time at Tiffin, I wanted to know how an inner city school worked. Through one of my research projects in the PGCE, I had the opportunity to observe some Bangladeshi pupils in a secondary mixed school in Elephant and Castle. I visited the school for a few days, observed how they behaved in classrooms and talked with them. There was a sharp contrast compared to the Tiffin experience, and I realized that education was far from uniform in British schools. Over the next few years, as I moved into teaching low-achieving children, I was keener than ever in helping the disadvantaged ones.
As the PGCE course came to an end, most of my peers received job offers in various schools. My stumbling block was that I needed a new work permit, as the one for my research job at London University was expiring. It was not an issue for my postdoctoral research at Royal Holloway College, as my salary did not come from public money. I applied to a few schools in South London as a matter of preference. They liked me but were reluctant to go through the hassle of applying to the Home Office for my work permit. Eventually, a school in Haringey's Broadwater Farm, The Langham School (which had a fairly negative image due to the civil disturbances between youths and police in the mid-1980s), offered me a job and the head teacher agreed to apply for my work permit. I had to remain unemployed and survive on the little we had saved for a few months. Eventually, the permit came through and I started as a science teacher; we soon became permanent residents and within a few years Sayeda and I had also become naturalized British citizens.
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The Langham School on West Green Road in Haringey (today Park View School), was a mixed comprehensive which had a wide intake of students from many ethnicities and faiths. The catchment area was one of the most ethnically mixed and socio-economically deprived in London. Within a few weeks, I realized that many children of Turkish and Kurdish origin had English as their second language. I was determined to make an impact on my students by giving my best to their education. But, as expected, behaviour was an issue. I was aware that the area was tough and class discipline would be a major issue, which meant I would have to concentrate more on managing my classes than simply teaching. I would have to be tough but flexible at the same time. It was a test for me; I could not afford to give in to deliberate attempts by some children to disrupt my class and establishing a tough but fair image was vital. I realized that in our science department we had a few successful strong-willed teachers who appeared to fit into that category. I followed them and talked with them to gain some practical tips. They would not tolerate indiscipline in the corridors as well as the classroom – using techniques of remaining calm through tough love.
I decided to attend a few day-courses on assertive discipline and techniques of classroom management with mixed ability and often difficult children. One of my techniques was to build individual relationships with the students, especially those who would easily engage in low-level disruption, and empathize with them by getting to know their backgrounds; having a personal touch was always effective. I knew about a highly successful college principal in my home district in Bangladesh who had memorized all of his students' names. It would not be difficult for me to memorize the names of a couple of hundred students – so I thought! I developed a student-centred approach and established clear expectations from each of them. Difficult children are often creative, they develop mental images of their teachers as to whether they are soft or tough and consistent; they take advantage by testing a teacher's ability to handle difficult situations. Students become less disruptive if they are more engaged in their learning, with age-appropriate differentiated materials. Empathetic teachers can relate to students in a mutually and informally agreed understanding; when teachers show the way, students respond positively. I also learned some key words in the first languages of several students to make them feel valued. I felt I needed not only to survive but to succeed and make an impact as a teacher.
To me, teaching has always been a noble profession. Prophets, sages and philosophers are essentially teachers of humanity. Our beloved Prophet said: 'Verily, I have been sent as a teacher' (Ibn Majah). In most cultures, respect for teachers is next to one's parents. Through teaching we also keep on learning and sharing our experiences with others. I was blessed with a number of successful teachers in my primary and secondary school life that helped shape my future. One of my secondary teachers impressed me so much that by trying to emulate him in reading, I became a bookworm. Sayeda's family was also blessed with a number of teachers. I decided to invest in young people, the most dynamic and creative section of human progeny. My aim was not just to help them with their subject education but also to give them the values of life that would allow them to become a force for good in society.
According to Islam's holy book, the Qur'an, human beings are created with the dual ability to do good and bad. It is their environment that affects someone's behaviour. With this principle in the back of my mind, I tried to build a positive relationship with each individual student, concentrating on behaviour management techniques and attempting to reach out to difficult students. Classroom teaching was indeed exhausting. Even with plenty of energy, one has to have good rest and leisure time to recuperate and prepare for the next day's teaching. But rest was not easily available to me, my commitment with the newly-formed professional community of the IFE, as well as voluntary work in Tower Hamlets, was also demanding. However, the feeling that I was given the opportunity in life to help shape others' futures was a satisfaction that drove me.
I continued as a Science teacher until the end of 1996. During this period I became more involved with the Special Educational Needs (SEN) of some students in the school and I set out to learn more about this work. Whenever I encountered a SEN child in my class or corridor, or in the playground,