A visit to the asylum school

In the morning, a small bus winds its way up the steep little road through the grounds of the cantonal hospital. It stops in front of the last building on the edge of the forest and spits out a group of schoolchildren with colourful rucksacks. They hurry past the reception of the asylum centre and the office where asylum seekers sit, wait and discuss loudly. The children are late this morning because their school bus was stuck in a traffic jam. They hurriedly take off their jackets, place them on the hooks on the wall and scurry into the classroom. Their classmates are already hunched over their assignments. They had a shorter route to school: from the upper floors of the asylum centre to the ground floor. The teachers take the late arrival of the school bus children from the other asylum centres in their stride. The exceptional situation is the norm here.

Cantons operate different models

At the school in the Hirschpark asylum centre in Lucerne, school starts every fortnight. Pupils are sent off almost as often. At the time of our visit, 48 children and young people were studying in six classes, but the number is constantly changing - it is usually growing. All children in Switzerland are required to attend school - regardless of their residence status. With the growing influx of refugees, there are also more and more children waiting in the cantonal transit centres for their asylum applications to be processed. Even during this time, education is both a right and a duty for them. The cantons have different models for this. From immediate integration into a regular school with additional German lessons to special small classes and school classes directly in the asylum centres, as is the case in Lucerne. Once their asylum status has been clarified, the applicants either return to the municipalities - and thus to mainstream schools - or to their home country. On average, children in Lucerne stay in the transit centres for two to three months. However, there are always some who move on after just a few weeks. And there are those whose status remains unclear for up to a year or longer.

«We can't teach the 16-year-old illiterate together with kindergarten children and primary school pupils.»

Headmistress Silvia Rüttimann

Each pupil must be supervised individually

They see their classmates coming and going all the time. The gap is huge Before the children are divided into classes, they introduce themselves to the headmistress Silvia Rüttimann. She tries to find out whether the children have already attended school, whether they can read and write, and whether they have learnt Latin or mainly Arabic characters. «The gap is huge,» she says. The most difficult task is to categorise the children by level, but still give them the chance to learn with their peers. «We can't put illiterate 16-year-olds in with the primary school and kindergarten children,» she says. For the eight primary school teachers who have a fixed workload at the school in the asylum centre, this means one thing above all: they have to look after each pupil individually. Assigning tasks to each pupil at their own level, allowing them to progress and still keeping the group together. A constant balancing act.
That's why there are usually no more than ten pupils in the classrooms. Language acquisition takes centre stage and all teachers have additional training in «German as a foreign language». Each pupil has ten German lessons per week in the morning. In the afternoons, there are two lessons each of maths, design and sport on the timetable. And then there are things that are also learnt without being directly named: giving structure to the day, getting ready for school.

«The children soak up everything, want to know everything, without reservations.»

Teacher Pia Schnyder Perrollaz

This is a particular issue for the youngest children, the budding primary school pupils. They sit at small tables on the first floor and stick colourful dots behind pictures and words. Each dot stands for a syllable. Anyone who is unsure claps their hands together with teacher Pia Schnyder Perrollaz and trainee Anis Ayachi and counts. «Re-gen-schirm.» «Storm-wind.» The children have only just learnt the words - they come from a story about a hibernating hedgehog. Some pupils puzzle and ponder so hard that you almost think you can see steam rising from their little heads. They rub their noses, tighten their mouths and try: «Two?» «No, listen again!» Others sigh and shake their chairs impatiently.

But there is also the other side to the work at the asylum centre. The unrivalled enthusiasm of the children. Whenever Pia Schnyder Perrollaz asks a question, all of the children's fingers are raised greedily and they shout «Me, me, me...». «They soak up everything, want to know everything, without any reservations,» says the teacher. At the same time, they seek closeness. Trainee Anis, 22, is particularly fond of them. Perhaps because, as a half-Tunisian, he also speaks Arabic. Perhaps also because, as he says himself, «he doesn't have to exude so much authority and is sometimes just allowed to sit there». Time and again, one of the children comes up to him and snuggles up to his arm. Even when they sing the song of the hedgehog in hibernation together at the end of the lesson, loudly, incorrectly and with a lot of physical effort. Headmistress Silvia Rüttimann knows from experience that most of the children really enjoy going to school and don't need any convincing from their parents. «School is extremely important to everyone.» And not just because of the subject matter. It's also about getting the children out of the cramped living conditions in the asylum centre. You can see this clearly with the Rashid family. Since arriving in Switzerland from Syria via Turkey and Germany three months ago, they have been living two floors above the school in a small, spotlessly clean room. There are two bunk beds and a cot with a newborn baby. There is also a sink, a microwave, a fridge and a small table - that's it. This is where the family of six lives. And everyone tries to be quiet when the three school-age children are doing their homework. Father Muhammed, who can often be found with a dictionary himself, assures them of this. «Education is important,» he says with a serious face. He stands in front of a wall on which the children's timetables hang, along with portrait photos. School desks and shoes are lined up underneath. Until a few months ago, there was still a room in the asylum centre where the children could do their homework in peace. But this is now used as an additional bedroom.

Getting the children used to school structures is anything but easy, reports the teacher: «Many have never sat in a circle before, some have never played.» What's more, some of the children have a high potential for aggression - they don't know any different from their families. «Whoever has the toy in their hand believes that it now belongs to them, and others are fended off by hitting and scratching,» explains Pia Schnyder Perrollaz. These moments are particularly challenging for her as a teacher and as a person. She has to explain why hitting is not allowed in the classroom. And often only with gestures and facial expressions, because the right words are still missing.

Whispering about the teacher

There are only a few teenagers who sometimes don't seem quite so enthusiastic about the lessons. For them, the teacher is sometimes a reason to whisper in their mother tongue. And there are boys who have to be admonished three times before they switch off their mobile phones. This may be due to puberty. Perhaps also because they have the most difficult path to take. In just a few weeks or months, the young people should learn German so well and be taught their first school subjects so well that they will soon be able to attend «the lowest standard school class that is still acceptable for their age». That's how headteacher Silvia Rüttimann puts it. That's why these classes are much less playful than the younger ones.
They are busy conjugating verbs. «I kiss, you kiss ...» «Do you know what kissing means?» the teacher interjects, and the girl from Afghanistan shyly forms a kissing mouth under her headscarf. «Yes, exactly!» She then praises an Eritrean girl for conjugating the verb «to run» correctly - without reading, because she can't read yet. One classroom further on, teacher Heidy Müller also throws a word in Farsi or Arabic into the round every now and then when communication gets stuck. However, she admits self-critically that she forgets most of it soon after the pupils have taught it to her. «I find it all the more admirable what the children achieve here.»
Most of them speak German in short sentences. «I come from Syria.» «I am 14 years old.» That works. Also: «I have two sisters.» But why they stayed with their parents in Syria, why the boy reporting this came to Switzerland all by himself, the German words are still missing. Instead, he smiles and shrugs his shoulders. One thing is clear: he is not the only one here without a family. In the canton of Lucerne, a special centre has been set up for around 70 so-called UMAs - or «unaccompanied minor asylum seekers». A particular challenge for the teachers? Silvia Rüttimann: «We rarely notice any trauma. Only occasionally does a parent say something when it comes to explaining the children's behaviour.» However, what the children have experienced is not normally a topic in the classroom. Teacher Pia Schnyder Perrollaz is convinced: «First of all, the children are busy arriving - what they have to deal with only becomes apparent much later, when they have calmed down.»

Read more:

• Und wie geht es weiter nach der Schule im Asylzentrum? Wir haben die 14-jährige Amina bei ihrem Schritt in die Regelschule begleitet.