The kind of school families call a second family.
A child remembers who waited at the gate, who clapped loudest at the assembly, who learned to say their name properly. Here, the people stay — and so do the children, long after they graduate.
A parent chatting easily with a teacher at pickup, both relaxed — the kind of conversation that happens when people actually know each other.
Consent required before publishing any real student or teacher.
Small enough that no one slips through.
When the classes are small, the relationships are real. The teacher knows your child isn’t just quiet — they’re quiet until they trust you. The office knows your name before you finish saying it. A younger sibling arrives already half-belonging, because the school remembers the older one.
Parents tell us they came for the Cambridge programme and stayed for this: a place where their child is a person to everyone who teaches them, not a name on a long list.
I didn’t expect to know the teachers by their first names. Now they ask about my mother’s surgery, and my daughter draws cards for them. It stopped feeling like dropping her off, and started feeling like leaving her with family.
Family Day: parents, kids, and teachers crowded around a long table of shared food, mid-laugh — a real, un-posed moment.
Consent required before publishing any real student or teacher.
Family Day, and the faces that come back for it.
Once a year the whole school spills outside. Parents bring dishes from home — a dozen countries on one table — and teachers swap their markers for tongs at the grill. Toddlers who’ll start in a few years run between the legs of teenagers who are about to leave. Nobody really wants to be the first to go home.
It’s the day the word “community” stops being a word. Graduates wander back without an invitation. A teacher is greeted by a parent who was once her student. The same warm faces, year after year — that’s the tradition that matters most.
About half the school comes from somewhere else.
Belonging happens fast here. A child learns the world not from a textbook but from the friend beside them — whose lunch smells different, whose grandparents live a flight away, whose first language they end up picking up by recess.
More than twenty nationalities*, one hallway. The new kid from Lagos and the new kid from Seoul figure out they’re both new — and that’s a friendship.
- Filipino
- Korean
- Japanese
- American
- Chinese
- Indian
- British
- Nigerian
- Australian
- Spanish
- Vietnamese
- Iranian
- and more
* Figures shown are confirmed against official school records before publishing. The nationalities listed are illustrative of a genuinely international community.
A teacher who has clearly been here a long time, mid-lesson with a class that obviously adores her — warm, candid.
Consent required before publishing any real student or teacher.
The teachers don’t leave — so the children aren’t starting over every year.
In a city where teachers often move on every couple of years, ours stay long enough to teach younger siblings, to remember which child needs a quiet word and which needs a challenge. Continuity isn’t a policy here; it’s just what happens when people are happy.
The moments behind the school.
Real families, told with their blessing. Until they say yes, these are written in our own voice — and clearly marked.
The community is the part a website can't show you.
A visit tells you more than any website can. Come meet the teachers, sit in on a class, and watch how a smaller school pays attention.