If you really want to understand a school culture, don’t start with its prospectus - wait for International Day. That’s where the reality sits.
It’s in the details. The conversations about costumes. The decisions about food. The quiet negotiations over what is, and is not, “necessary”.
And, if I’m honest, it’s something I haven’t always judged particularly well.
Judging school events correctly
In the UK, there is an unspoken rule that nothing at school events should look too polished. If a costume appears suspiciously well-made, someone will inevitably ask, “Did you buy that?”
Costumes should be assembled rather than designed. A bedsheet becomes a toga, cardboard a crown. Tin foil does a surprising amount of heavy lifting.
The same applies to food. A shop-bought cake, however good, will never earn the same approval as something home-made, even if it is misshapen and listing to one side.
Effort, here, often matters more than the finish.
It is about something creative, slightly chaotic and faintly held together by a glue gun - and there is something reassuring about that. The emphasis is on participation rather than polish.
Perfection, or memories?
In many school settings in China, where I worked for many years, those same instincts surface differently.
I remember a showcase where children, aged no more than 6 or 7, appeared in full stage make-up, delivering carefully memorised scripts with remarkable poise. The language was often well beyond their everyday use, but the execution was polished, precise and deeply impressive.
There is a clarity of expectation: this matters, and it should be done well. The memory that has stayed with me the most, though, is not the polish but a moment that sat quietly alongside it.
At a Year 13 graduation, our head boy, a very able and composed young man, was caught off guard when his mother was unexpectedly invited on to the stage. He faltered, lost his words and became visibly flustered.
It was unscripted, slightly awkward and entirely human. A colleague leaned over and reassured me, “It’s OK. Next year it will be better.”
The implication was clear: the following year’s head boy - exceptionally gifted, academically formidable - would deliver the moment exactly as expected, and rather more smoothly.
And perhaps he would. But that moment wasn’t diminished by its imperfection. If anything, the imperfection made it more real - and, quietly, more memorable.
Investment and expectations
Now I’m in Nigeria, and here the same instincts play out again - but on a different scale.
Costumes are commissioned, measurements taken, fabrics selected with care. Food is not simply brought in; it is catered, curated and often abundant enough to suggest something far beyond a school event.
Parents don’t just support the occasion - they elevate it. That investment comes with expectations, too.
If the sound isn’t right, if microphones fail, if children aren’t fully prepared, parents notice - and they care. It may not be the same kind of precision you see elsewhere, but there is still a clear sense that things should be done properly.
You see it in other ways, too. Invite parents into school and the differences appear immediately. Some arrive as they are - it’s a school event, fitted into a busy day. Others arrive as though attending something far more formal, because in their eyes, they are.
It isn’t really about what people wear. It’s about what the occasion represents.
There is pride here. There is generosity. And there is a strong sense that these moments should reflect the dignity of the cultures they represent - something I have, on occasion, underestimated at my peril.
Embrace the change
Educational research suggests that different systems put an emphasis on different aspects of childhood - creativity, discipline or community - and international schools sit at the intersection of all three.
Which is why these moments can feel quietly complex - particularly if you arrive with a firm idea of how things “ought” to be done.
A suggestion as simple as “perhaps this could be made at home” is not just about practicality - it touches on deeper ideas about effort, value and what it means to do something properly.
Having worked across different countries, I have learned how easily you can misread what matters. What seems unnecessary in one setting can carry real weight in another.
With time, I have come to appreciate what each approach offers: the creativity that encourages children to take part without fear, the discipline that allows them to perform with confidence and precision, and the investment of the community that ensures occasions are treated with the importance they deserve.
None of these is complete on its own. The real privilege of working internationally is not choosing between them, but recognising what sits behind them - and, when necessary, adjusting your instincts accordingly.
And perhaps, across all of them, the aim is the same: to create moments that children feel part of - and remember long after the event itself has passed.
Dr Jill Cowie is the principal of Broadoaks British School in Nigeria
