It's a typical Monday morning at the Holy Rosary National School, Ballycragh, Tallaght, Co Dublin. In a portakabin across the yard from the main school building, an English class for parents, is under way. Meanwhile, in his office, school principal, Max Cannon, is meeting with home-school liaison teacher, Margaret Byrne, and David, a parent of one of the pupils. David is not his real name. He's Nigerian and has asked me to give him a pseudonym because he fears reprisals against family members still living in Nigeria. David's story is a disturbing and depressing tale of bigotry, repression and violence. He came to Ireland with his wife and four children in July.
"I am a former Muslim married to a Christian," he explains. "I later converted to Christianity. When my daughters were born we were under a lot of pressure to have them circumcised. We refused, but were protected by my uncle, who was in a powerful position." When the uncle died, David and his family started to receive threatening phone calls. They were attacked, their property was vandalised and eventually their house destroyed. David, who studied at a British university for his degree in food science technology, his wife, three daughters and a son, fled Nigeria. They left behind them David's food and computer installation businesses. With the help of an Irish friend, they came to Ireland. After a short time in Dublin city centre accommodation, the Eastern Health Board moved the family to a hostel in the Tallaght area, where they share kitchen, bathroom and living space with three other families. In Tallaght, they have received nothing but kindness from their neighbours, David says. The racial abuse he has suffered is minimal. "Youngsters driving around in cars, sometimes shout out `niggers', but that's all," he shrugs. Three of his children attend Firhouse Community School, the youngest is a pupil at Holy Rosary. All of them have settled well into their schools.
Sonia, an artist and designer from Angola, has two children - a girl and a boy - at the national school. They were forced to get out of Angola after Sonia's husband, who worked for the UNITA rebel movement, was murdered. "I was advised to leave. We just locked the door and left," she recalls. Sonia, too, appreciates Ireland and the Irish education system. "The school," she says, "is an extended family for us. People say there is racism in Ireland, but it hasn't happened to me." Across in the portakabin, the English class is in full swing. Four women sit around a table with their teacher, Alice Malone. Three of them - two from Algeria and one from Libya - are swathed in headscarves. They are reluctant to give their names. Yan Xu, a nurse, who comes from Shangai in China and helps out with reading classes in the school, has no such inhibitions. In a corner, other Muslim women, including a parent from Afghanistan, have embarked on a beginners class. Their tiny tots, too young for school, play quietly together in a corner. The Muslim women at the table have fluent Arabic and French and reasonably good English. The women are keen to stress that as there are many different types of Christians, so there are different types of Muslims. In Libya and Algeria for example, women go to university and hold down professional jobs, they say.
One of the mothers worked as a chemical engineer in Algeria, another was a civil engineer in Libya. The second Algerian woman is a former medical secretary. "I am respected better here than in my country," the chemical engineer remarks. "Algeria is a Muslim country, but if you wear a headscarf and look for a job, you don't get the same respect. Here the cover is no problem." The Muslim children in the school attend the Islamic Cultural Centre, in Dublin's Clonskeagh, on Saturdays to study the Koran. "I asked her (Holy Rosary) teachers to respect my daughter's religion," says the chemical engineer. Parents are happy that their children are attending a regular national school. "I prefer her to be educated with Irish students near her home," this woman says of her daughter. Religion apart, the curriculum is exactly the same, she notes.
Until two years ago, Holy Rosary National School was almost 100 per cent Irish. Today, however, 20 per cent of the 290 children in the school have come from overseas. A few short years ago, it would have been impossible to predict that this small school, tucked away on the outskirts of Tallaght at the foot of the Dublin mountains, would be educating children from China, Nigeria, India, Nepal, Afghanistan, Somalia, Sudan, Romania, Greece, Denmark, Norway, the Czech Republic and Algeria. "We have become a multi-racial, multi-denominational school by accident," says principal Max Cannon. "The issue for us is how do we respond to this?"
The school is doing its utmost.
Ballycragh teachers will shortly take an orientation programme at the Islamic Centre, which also plans to send someone out to the school each week to teach the Muslim children. Cannon has also used the centre to provide a translator to explain to Muslim parents that the school was keen to respect their religion and avoid teaching Christianity to their children. For the future, the school plans to celebrate the feast days of children from other cultures.
"The school has taken a proactive approach," observes Cannon. "When the first non-nationals came here, we didn't know what to expect. The only negative is the frustration of dealing with children who can't speak English and dealing with parents from difficult and traumatising situations. We don't have the resources to assist them.
"Most of the non-national parents here are very well educated in their own countries. They should be seen as a resource. We have a group of people with a richness in culture and education and ultimately they give to the school. Not a single child from another country has caused me a problem. We have definitely gained."
