S***, it comes again!

This has been an annually regular assignment. I have been summoned to supervise the week of ‘torture’ for sixth graders. Although This highly disputed practice has got its brand new name, yet its nature stays the same: it’s a compulsory exam that no kids could escape.
Speaking of its inevitability, this practice continues to display its bizarre feature. A friend of mine, who supervised the exam in well-reputable international school, told that during the first day of exam he had to go back and forth, oscillating between classes to translate many Indonesian words, unfamiliar to those poor souls. Among nationals who supervised the exam, he was the only one with an adept mastery of English. What is the purpose of giving a Bahasa Indonesia exam to those who even rarely use Indonesian in their day-to-day interactions? Besides, these kids belong to foreign national parents. What is the purpose of making this futile enterprise obligatory to those who even had to ask somebody to translate questions? Asking them to learn Indonesian might be a much more polite gesture than giving them headache of doing test in a language unfamiliar to them!
And, the story around this highly criticized exam continues to give somebody an unnecessary pain in the ass. Unfortunately, I had to feel such pain. As the tradition goes by, right before the exam, there is always a meeting between the candidate supervisors and some high-rank officer from the regional office of education. Given its regularity, everyone who previously had experience of doing the supervision could predict with certainty the meeting agenda even before that person from education office opens his mouth. True, the meeting I attended was replete with superfluous information. Things mentioned were the same things I heard a year ago. And, well, it was still the package I had two years ago. Amid the rapid change of technology these days, I wondered if the guy who kept his mouth open for more than one hour (one hour and twenty two minutes, to be precise) never thought of the possibility of making a simple infographic on how to do our supervisory duty. Had he thought of that, I should have instead saved my precious time to chat with the headmistress of the host school, a religious nun who happens to be from my beautiful island, Flores. Next time, I will spare some time to ask that sister whether she shares my opinion on the matter.

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