TEACHER WANTED

For a school that says “yes” — Te Tai Tokerau

We are looking for a Year 5–6 kaiako.

A team leader.

This is not a glossy type of job ad. To be honest, I don’t think teaching is, anymore. I also have no doubt this advert in our current teacher shortage could fit more than just our kura as I write this. There are no stock images of smiling children with sharpened pencils and perfectly displayed learning intentions on our website. Nothing you might see on polished media videos sent to principals ‘by mistake’.

This is Te Tai Tokerau.

Our school car park floods when the rain drives in. You learn quickly where not to park—or you don’t.

Most of our kids don’t wear shoes, nor do some of our staff. Some arrive with one sock. Some arrive late, breathless, crying.

They ride to school on worn-out scooters, bikes too small, bikes too big. We find helmets. We find spare clothes, spare togs and even donate shoes.

We find kai, as most schools do. Breakfast Club. Fruit. Snack time. And yes Seymour we distribute what is left over to our community who are ever grateful. We always find a way to nourish the heart and the soul. Manaakitanga

This is the real version.

You will need to be an excellent teacher. But honestly, that won’t be nearly enough.

You will need patience that stretches beyond what you thought was humanly possible.

You will need to understand that behaviour is communication—even when it’s loud, physical, destructive, and relentless. You will know that a chair tipped is not defiance. That given time, when the realisation slips in, that the chairs and furniture will be re positioned.

A desk cleared and flipped is not always disrespect. A child hiding under a table is not always refusing—they may just be overwhelmed. You will need to see that. And respond.

Along with this superhuman patience and kindness we are asking you to lead. You won’t just lead learning—you will lead people through the hardest parts of it. Adults who feel like they are drowning, that feel let down at every turn by the system, by the government, by the stretched resources wearing thin.

You will coach in moments, not just meetings. You will guide others through days that don’t go to plan. You will hold a steady presence—sometimes a smile—when everything feels like it’s slipping sideways.

You will walk into rooms where learning isn’t at all neat. Where plans unravel before 9:20am. Where numerous children are already dysregulated. Where the first 40 minutes is spent helping a child feel safe enough to stay. Where regulation comes before reading. Connection before compliance. Always.

You will be asked for evidence and ask others for evidence too. You will gather data. Track patterns and check in on our target ākonga—with care, not labels.

You will ask: “What else have you tried?” You will consider everything.

You will have days where you go home reeling. Exhausted and emotional. Days where you sit in your car just a little longer. Days where the silence driving home on unsealed roads feels louder than being in the classroom. Days where you wonder how you will come back tomorrow.

You will teach through their tears. And sometimes—your own.

We are a school that says yes.

Here in Te Tai Tokerau, that yes carries history and reputation. It carries whānau, whenua, whakapapa. It carries stories that don’t always fit inside a school day.

Yes to the children others can’t always hold on to. Yes to whānau who have been told no too many times. Yes to utter complexity. To trauma. To the messy, beautiful reality of being human.

That “yes” is not a slogan. It is a responsibility.

And here is the part most job ads won’t tell you.

If you stay—if you really stay—you will see things that will change you. A child who runs…stay. A child who trusts…stay. A child who laughs for the first time in weeks… stay. A whānau who finally answers the phone. A sibling who starts walking through the gate instead of past it.

A moment where everything softens—and you realise something has shifted.

You will become the adult who didn’t give up. You will become the reason a child comes back.

We need a team leader.

Someone who can hold both the weight of despair and the art of possibility. Someone who can lead with clarity, with care, with courage. Someone who knows that leadership here is not about titles—it is about presence. Someone who understands that this job will ask a lot—and still chooses it.

There is a small financial allowance for being a hard-to-staff school.

But that is not why you come.

You come because you believe education is more than achievement data. You come because you know the curriculum is more than the statements on a disconnected page. You come because you know relationships are everything to everyone of us. You come because you are willing to stand in the hard spaces and not turn away.

We are expecting ERO next term.

So yes—there is pressure. Yes—there is scrutiny. Yes—there will be moments where it all feels too much.

And still—

We all will show up.

If you are looking for an easy job, this is not it.

If you are looking for meaningful work—the kind that sits with you, stretches you, breaks you open a little and builds you stronger—then maybe this is yours.

Come and walk a mile in our shoes.

Message me for the details.

Come and see what it really means to teach in a school that says yes.

Applications close 8th April.

If this calls to you—don’t overthink it.

Just come.