From muddy fields to the global stage: The Sarawakian teacher who never gave up [WATCH]

MUHAMMAD Nazmi "Little Chuckee" Rosli never had a single, defining moment that made him want to be a teacher. Sometimes, a calling doesn't strike like lightning — it unfolds quietly, in the small moments that shape who you are.

For Nazmi, it was those late nights in an isolated village with no electricity, watching his mother — a dedicated teacher — hunched over her lesson plans, her face lit only by the flickering glow of candlelight. Those quiet yet powerful moments left a lasting imprint, lighting the path he would one day follow.

"Those nights are still so vivid to me," he reflects. "I was so little then, tagging along when she was posted to a rural school in Long Semadoh."

Sitting 3,000 feet over 914 metres above sea level, Long Semadoh is a remote valley in the Lawas Highlands in Sarawak, home to seven small villages mostly populated by the Lun Bawang — an indigenous tribe that once lived as hunter-gatherers but later turned to farming.

Far from the nearest city, the valley is cut off from modern conveniences, reachable only by rough dirt roads or small aircraft. For students and teachers, getting an education here has never been easy.

"To get to the nearest town, we had to ride in a 4x4 Hilux," Nazmi recalls. "I remember the times we missed the pickup and had to wait by the side of the road for hours!" He laughs, but the memory sticks with him.

He recalls watching teachers do whatever it took to help their students learn, even with almost no resources. They created fun, hands-on lessons to make tough subjects easier to understand. Some even made their own teaching tools — like using cement to craft dumbbells for exercise or turning everyday objects into learning aids.

Their dedication left a deep impression on him.

"It didn't occur to me then that I wanted to be a teacher, to be honest," he admits. "But those childhood moments became part of my core memories."

Fast forward to today, and the 32-year-old Sarawakian educator is making waves as a finalist for the prestigious 2025 Global Teacher Prize. Awarded by the Varkey Foundation, this global honour recognises educators who make a lasting impact in their communities.

In 2023, Nazmi won the Malaysia Teacher Prize, a national award backed by YTL Foundation, Yayasan Hasanah and ECM Libra Foundation. His passion and commitment to his students have firmly established him as one of the nation's most inspiring educators.

"I never thought about becoming a teacher," he muses. "But then again, I never imagined being anything else!"

EARLY YEARS

Nazmi's mother spent years teaching in Long Semadoh, and for a few of those years, he lived there with her. Life was simple, but one thing he and his siblings always looked forward to was the monthly package from their father, a contractor working in Brunei at that time.

"We were so excited every time his box arrived!" Nazmi says, grinning. "He always packed my favourite magazines, Gila-Gila and Apo?, and my mother's Mingguan Wanita. She still keeps those old copies to this day!"

Shoes were optional when he played football — most of the time, he and his friends ran barefoot across the field. When they did wear shoes, it was usually rubber boots.

"I remember the smell of mud everywhere!" Nazmi laughs. "And we always had to shut the gates, or the kerbau (buffaloes) would just wander into the school like they belonged there!"

But that idyllic, though remote, childhood lasted only until Nazmi turned 9. When his father relocated to Lawas, he moved in with him, leaving behind the quiet village life he had known.

"I felt the change," he admits. "The teachers were just as dedicated, but everything was different. We had better equipment, more books and proper classrooms. Learning felt easier with all the resources we had. And, of course, the biggest difference — there were shopping malls! It felt like stepping into a whole new world."

But the differences between his new life and the one he left behind became painfully clear in one unforgettable moment.

One of his mother's pupils was chosen for a district competition in Lawas but had nowhere to stay. Seeing this, Nazmi's mother brought him home.

That evening, as the family watched television, Nazmi noticed the boy peeking from behind the door.

"Come join us!" his uncle called.

The boy hesitated, shifting uncomfortably.

"He only had one pair of shorts and it was wet," Nazmi recalls. "He had nothing else to wear."

That moment stayed with him — a stark reminder that while talent could take you far, opportunity was not always equal.

"Somehow, that memory is still so fresh in my mind," he notes. "It's something I've never forgotten."

INSPIRATION

Along the way, there were teachers who shaped the way he thought and learnt.

One used an old aquarium to create a stunning diorama, turning scraps into a world of wonder. Another, one of his favourites, Puan Hanizah Matair, made the solar system come alive — literally. Instead of just reading from a textbook, she had Nazmi and his friends spin, move and become the planets and the sun themselves.

"If you don't study or learn science properly," she told them, "You'll miss one of the best things in the world."

Those moments stayed with him — teachers who went the extra mile to make lessons exciting and real.

Nazmi went on to score 4 As in his Ujian Pencapaian Sekolah Rendah, but one subject remained a challenge. Still, he earned a spot in an exchange programme to study in Sabah.

"I arrived in Sabah with zero confidence in English. I mean, I got the only B — guess in what? English!" he laughs.

Shoes were optional when he played football — most of the time, he and his friends ran barefoot across the field. When they did wear shoes, it was usually rubber boots.

But once again, it was teachers who made the difference.

Nazmi wasn't looking for anything life-changing when he spotted a flyer for the school's English Drama Club. He just thought it looked interesting. So, he signed up.

That decision changed everything.

"I'll never forget Miss Serenah Asral and Madam Evelyn Annol, the two English teachers who ran the club," he says. "They saw something in me before I even saw it in myself."

At the time, Nazmi was small, shy and struggling with English. But that didn't stop them from giving him a big role. "I played 'Little Chuckee', an elf with a magic flute that could summon rain," he recalls. "I was terrified, but they believed in me."

The play was a hit, and somehow, their team ended up representing Sabah in a drama competition. But for Nazmi, the biggest prize was the nickname that stuck.

"Even now, people still call me 'Little Chuckee'," he says with a grin. "And I don't plan to let it go. It's my way of honouring the two teachers who changed my life."

FULFILLING THE CALL

After completing his Sijil Pelajaran Malaysia, Nazmi enrolled at the Institut Pendidikan Guru (IPG) Kampus Sarawak in Miri. Teaching felt like the natural path.

"I chose to major in English!" he says with a grin.

Not long after graduating, he received his first posting — deep in the remote highlands of Lawas, in Long Sukang, a Lun Bawang settlement in northernmost Sarawak.

When night fell, darkness swallowed the village. The only source of light came from the security guard post. Locals warned him about spirits that roamed the area — especially ones that liked to target new teachers.

"I was nervous," he admits. And rightfully so.

On his very first night, his entire house began to shake.

"The whole place was trembling. I was petrified," he recalls. "I remember reciting every holy verse I knew, but it just kept shaking in the middle of the night."

Heart pounding, Nazmi debated whether to make a run for it. But just as suddenly as it had started, the shaking stopped.

The next morning, as he stepped outside, he made a discovery that turned his fear into laughter. A herd of buffaloes had been sleeping under his stilt house. One particularly large buffalo had been rubbing its horns against the wooden pillars, making the entire house rattle.

"That was my first real scare," he chuckles. "And it wasn't ghosts — it was just a very itchy buffalo."

More importantly, Nazmi was determined to connect with his students and make learning meaningful.

"I was frustrated at first," he admits. Teaching subjects that felt distant from their reality was a challenge. "You can't ask them to write about a shopping mall or a picnic when they've never been to one or even know what a mall is. It was hard."

At times, he questioned his purpose. "Why was Allah sending me here?" he wondered. But then, he shifted his perspective. "Instead of asking why, I asked myself — what can I offer them?"

From recreating a swimming pool with blue plastic bags in the classroom to help students visualise concepts, Nazmi developed his own unique teaching approach — one he called Danger Room.

"I'm a huge comic book fan," he reveals. "I loved X-Men, and I remember how Professor Xavier gathered kids who were different, kids who felt like outcasts because they were mutants. Their training facility was called the Danger Room, where hologram simulations of the outside world helped them prepare for real-life challenges."

Inspired by that idea, Nazmi set out to create his own Danger Room — a space where his students could experience the world beyond their village, right in their classroom. "The method worked," he shares. "Once they could visualise the concepts, the lessons started making sense to them."

NO TURNING BACK

His unique perspective continued to shape his teaching as he moved from one school to another. At his next posting at SK Luagan, the idea of getting students to create films emerged in the aftermath of the Covid-19 pandemic, which had put everything on pause.

"There wasn't much we could do at the time," he recalls. "The school had just reopened, and we wanted to try something different. That's when we came across an online film-making competition."

From brainstorming ideas to shooting films together, the Filpen club was born. Students began creating stories with strong moral messages, tackling topics like drug abuse, the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV) and drug decriminalisation.

Then, the wins started coming in.

"That was unexpected! But I realised we were on to something good here," he says.

Filmmaking soon became more than just a creative outlet — it became a solution. When the flood-prone school faced yet another closure, students had to continue their projects from home. But with no Internet access, a library was desperately needed.

With the help of the villagers, they transformed a pondok in the middle of the field into a makeshift floating library, moving all the books there. To fund a boat that would help students reach the library — and the school — during bad weather, they sold their short films.

In just two weeks, they raised RM2,000 — a huge achievement not just for the students, but for the school and the entire village.

Teaching students life lessons through unconventional methods has shaped Nazmi into the educator he is today. Now serving as the assistant principal at SK Long Sebangang, he continues to find creative ways to help his students learn.

For Nazmi, education isn't just about textbooks and exams — it's also about preparing students for life. Through his hands-on approach, he gives these children opportunities they might not have had otherwise. Whether it's filmmaking, interactive projects or real-world simulations, Nazmi is determined to make learning an experience they will never forget.

"Teaching isn't just a job for me — it's been a part of my life since I was a kid," the father-of-two says. "I'm grateful to the teachers, including my mum, who have shaped me, guided me and shown me what it truly means to make a difference. Their passion lit the way for me and now, I hope to do the same for my students."

In classrooms far from the conveniences of the city, "Little Chuckee" finds himself doing the same — going the extra mile, creating light where there is none, and giving his students a chance to see a world beyond their own.

In many ways, he has become the very kind of teacher who once inspired him, proving that sometimes, a calling isn't something you choose. It's something that chooses you.