Foreign Parenting

I woke up this morning to yelling outside my window. I look outside my second story room window, scanning the metal open gable style roofs of multiple one story houses. My eyes look down at the small alleyway beneath my window littered with bicycles, motor scooters, and clothes lines, but I can't see anything out of the ordinary. I saw and listened for a while. It seems like a father in one of the households had been yelling at his kids for quite some time. It brought me somewhat of a sense of reality. I may be thousands of miles from home, studying on scholarship, enjoying my time in a foreign country, but what was going on directly below me was so grounded, so real. This is what many foreign children go through growing up and it brought me a sense of nostalgia for what I have come from. So large is the amount of pressure put on these children from such a young age and I can only imagine what he had been yelling at them about. Judging from the lower class status of the family, the school year winding down, and the pressure of achieving the highest marks in school my guess would be it had something to do with academia, but again my lack of language skills prevents me from really understanding what the punishment had been about.