A teacher runs the whole thing from one projected screen — no student devices, and no prep beyond reading the script. Each week takes a single human question (who are my people? why do people do things differently?), spends session one discovering it and session two connecting it back to the class, then ends on a quiz. Everything a child makes stays on paper: the passport booklet, and one kōrero card that travels home.
Culture is usually taught as a set of facts to learn. This is a lens instead — a small set of questions a child can point at any culture, known or unknown, for the rest of their life.
A different Why makes a different Look — but never a different Heart.
Wherever people are from, the Heart underneath is the same: a wish to love and belong. This is the idea the whole programme builds toward, and it is what makes “world citizen” more than a nice phrase — difference is surface-level evidence of something everyone shares.
In week one each child is issued a passport and fills in the front: their name, how to say it, where their people are from. The back fills up over six weeks with entries — one for every person whose culture they actually learned something about. The first entry is their own, because you leave from somewhere before you arrive anywhere.
Not a list of facts about other countries. Four habits that outlast the six weeks, and work the same way on a stranger, on the child at the next desk, and on themselves.
The framework explains why culture exists. These are the equipment for going and investigating one — your own included.
Every week the children meet the same friends and answer a universal human question through their lives. Modern kids — marae and Minecraft, farm and rugby, cricket and samosas.
Every culture has three layers, and only one of them is visible. Children can reason their way to the other two — from a map and a question, not a list of facts.
A different Why makes a different Look — but never a different Heart.
A desert and an island can produce completely different food, dress and greeting, and the same need to belong. This is the sentence the whole programme rests on.
One place a week, on the one projected screen. The class guesses what people there would have needed — and only then is anything revealed.
Five tools, picked up one a week and carried in the passport. Week six picks The Guide back up rather than adding a sixth.
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The order is the tool. Children who skip to looking close collect facts; children who never ask permission study a classmate instead of meeting one.
One question a week to ask at home — a two-minute kōrero at dinner. Cut them out, or keep them on the fridge. Grown-ups answer first.