Yesterday, school was rather entertaining. All I could do was sit back, enjoy the show and try my very best not to laugh out loud.

Gunilla, the teacher who teaches the other Level 1 class, had the day off so they joined our class. The difference between the two classes is the level of ability to read the alphabet. Or at least that was what I was told by Leif, my Swedish teacher.

Entering our class, I realise that the 2 groups can be divided by countries as well. Except for 1 or 2 exceptions, yours truly included, my class is made up of Iraqis while the other class is made up Burmese and perhaps even Laotians (this is unconfirmed detail). And each group kept trying to assert their presence throughout the day, much to my amusement and Leif's irritation. But seeing that Leif is an exceptionally calm man, his version of irritation is actually what I subject the husband to on a daily basis.

I have tried and managed to maintain some level of acceptance to the idiosyncracies of my Iraqi classmates. I try to overlook the Arabic chatter that sometimes overwhelms the Swedish that's supposed to be what we are there for and the Iraqi girl who keeps poking me in the middle of every exercise for the answers (which I have resigned to just giving her instead of trying to make her understand the answers).

But now for a day, I endure even more idiosyncracies from a different continent which can bring out the worst in a person. I understand that I am now sitting in a middle of a class of refugees. Political refugees who came to Sweden to escape the unstable situation in their own countries. So whatever unpleasant feeling I feel makes me feel guiltier than ever.

But I can't help it!!

I turn and glance at the Burmese students and wonder if they are familiar with the comb. Almost all of them look like they had forgotten to shower that morning but they certainly remembered to cover their faces extensively with white powder (which looks more like smeared flour on their faces). I'm certainly not saying that all of them look unkempt as some of them do look relatively neat, but I had to hold back the urge to get them a comb and wet towel nonetheless. If that was the only thing that bothered me that day, I would say no problemo amigo but of cos there is always more...

I know that the group always eats together during our recess break cos I've seen them. They eat a good proper meal that everyone potlucks together. And it will include rice and a few other dishes so I know it's a good meal. I just wish they didn't have to express it in class as well.

After the break, the women started burping. And I don't mean the oops I accidentally let that one out kinda burp. It's the kind that happens after a good reunion dinner where the men sit back unbutton their pants a little and unceremoniously let loose with the gastric symphony.

Why oh why do these women think that it is ok for them to burp like that in public? In a room full of strangers? And why only the women??!! Ugh...

Apart from the Burmese, there is another Iraqi couple in that class and it turns out that they are the parents of one of my classmates, Nada. What I find interesting about this old couple is that the father always comes to school dressed like a lawyer. I have never seen him in anything other than the full ensemble of crisp shirt, silk tie (I think it's silk), woolen vest, pants and matching jacket. And this is of cos under his very spiffy looking trenchcoat which he takes off in school (thank goodness). And compared to his fellow classmates, his hair is always immaculately coiffed, he colognes and his hands and nails are in short order. The perfect Iraqi gentleman.

I have never heard him speak before until he came to class and everytime he did speak that day, I had to maintain absolute and total control. And the fact that he sat directly across from me made it even more essential. I can tell that this is a proud man, a man certain of himself and a man whom you don't really step on (simply cos his shoes look expensive) so I didn't wanna make any enemies. Plus I'm very polite.

We had a simple reading exercise and it was his turn to read. Let's just say, thank God it was a short passage cos another 2 seconds and I would have burst out laughing uncontrollably. He was called on to read and he held up the paper confidently before embarking on a language journey that only he could understand. It didn't sound Swedish, Arabic or any other language known to the common man. The only way that poor Leif even knew where along the passage the man was, was when he pronounced the word somewhat close to what it's supposed to be. When I say close, it means when someone says 'betty' when he's supposed to say 'bus ride'. But even though I laugh at the little old man (from deep inside of cos), it was still a good effort since his wife didn't even bother to read and just waved it along like traffic.

The old man was quite hardworking compared to his wife who just sat there, honouring us with her presence. He actually bothered to write things down and answer questions posed by the teacher.

We were doing numbers and had to read out the numbers on the board in Swedish (of cos). It can be a tricky exercise as the numbers are in the thousands and we are reading prices of furniture in a store. So Leif asks, 'Hur mycket kostar den soffa?' (How much does the sofa cost) and Majeed (old man) is called upon to answer. With his trademark confidence, Majeed says 'ok' and stands up tall. Which is not too tall as he is a rather short man. You must understand that NOBODY ever stands up to answer. So Majeed stands up, brushes himself down a little, takes a deep breathe and with as much confidence I have ever seen this man produce, he says '3 thousand and 4 hundred'. He then nods, satisfied and sits back down. Leif smiles and gives a little laugh and says 'Det bra! (That's good!) men du maste talar svenska inte engelska' (but you must speak Swedish not English). What can I do but laugh a little myself as I look across me and Majeed looks absolutely self satisfied at his answer.

It was a fun day at school.