Ran the gauntlet over the weekend, not two days post-interview. Not only managed to emerge unscathed, but felt rejuvenated with a newfound sense of purpose. Teaching fifteen hours of mostly improvised lessons over two days (twice the number of teaching hours accrued over my entire two month CELTA course!) coupled with bare minimum sleep has, nonetheless, left me physically and mentally spent.
Had to commute to and from my Khao San Road hostel, practically the opposite end of Bangkok. 2AM Saturday, my first lesson mere hours away, bars are closing up, battered backpackers are returning to their hostels, and my tenuous dream tether is abruptly severed by an ear-splitting cacophony of English and Tenglish. Facilitated by paper thin walls soon deduced that the argument arose (no pun intended) from something in the knickers of an English guy’s date that he hadn’t been expecting. An awkward situation to find oneself in to be sure, but after hearing the jilted date sobbing in the corridor outside my room - "you Engrish break my heart!" - sympathy was soon angled towards him/her. Since was stone cold sober when shunted awake, this Khaosan wayfarer noticed the deeper tone of his/her voice straight away. The guy who'd obviously felt cheated, however, was clearly three sheets to the wind, and would’ve needed his date to be flying a flag to make the deduction. From a ladyboy’s perspective, would’ve thought it more prudent to reveal ones true sexual identity before going back to a hostel with a horny pissed up farang and thus avoid such unpleasant incidents.Then again, am not a ladyboy, so can only speculate.
Am digressing. Back to the Thai teaching experience. Thought – and still think – it unfair, on both myself and my students, for ECC to throw me in at the deep end and see what my swimming capabilities were, but it soon became abundantly clear that even had this tenderfoot gone under, choking and spluttering and not knowing where the surface was, would still have feet firmly cemented in the bedrock of ECC. The most obvious indication of this was a lesson with a pair of late teenage, practically fluent, Thai twins called Top and Tat – to the Western ear, most Thai names sound rather amusing, if not downright hilarious. Noticed in their report cards that they hadn’t had a lesson in over a month. Asked them why. The answer: no one available to teach. This threw into stark relief the enormity of the English teacher shortage in Thailand, and the reasons why, A: the interview was more of a “Please just sign on the dotted line!”; B: this prospective teacher was straight out of the frying pan (okay, the gas hadn’t been switched on begin with) and into the fire; C: even a bumbling idiot with the right skin colour, first language, and certification, is a shoe-in for a permanent teaching position.
This latter is even more of an assurance in that even if you blathered on in English all lesson long, teaching your students little or nothing of value, you’d unlikely hear about it.
And why?
Firstly, there’s no-one watching your lessons; the place is a madhouse with everyone running around trying to keep on top of their own hectic schedules (even the headmaster). Secondly, teachers are accorded a very high level of respect in Thailand – a custom originating from the traditional, and highly revered, teachers of yore; Thai monks – to the point where, unless you’d spent the whole lesson Skyping your mate back home, you’d probably never have a bad word said against you. Won’t disguise my disdain for the portion of English teachers who invariably use this fact to justify winging it and producing substandard lessons, and am consequently making a concerted effort not to join the club. Thais pay huge amounts (when juxtaposed against their salaries, that is) to get a one-to-one lesson with a native English teacher (and, as aforementioned, often have to wait weeks before they can get said lesson) and to produce anything less than your best is, in my mind, just not cricket.
That being said, when confronted with a weekly timetable of nearly thirty hours contact time, it would be impossible to do this for every lesson. Thankfully, as I’ve recently discovered, it’s often not necessary.
A few cases in point:
Saturday, lesson 1. Class of 7 or 8, ages about in that range. Had to give an end of course test. The only real work was in the marking, whereupon was told by the headmaster that Thai students cannot fail. A huge part of their culture is saving face, and that they must succeed (think this is similar in many East Asian countries) no matter what. So ingrained is this mentality, that even if a student stared at me like a Martian for the two hours (quite a few did) and wrote a big “Fuck You!” on their test paper (none did, but let’s just say the test wasn’t a resounding, class-wide success) then I'd still have to pass them. An unfailable test that reflects nothing in terms of ability seemed ludicrous, but went with the flow and gave them all ludicrously high marks. Their parents will be happy, and since they’re the ones forking out for the “tuition”, ECC will be happy.
Saturday, lesson 4 (I think). Private student: Kentai, aged 5. Clearly from a very well off Thai family, he’s accorded nothing but the biggest classroom, despite it being a one-to-one session. He sits down, stares at nothing, frozen and mute. A tray of hot chocolate and biscuits is soon brought in by one of the numerous – always female, attractive, and very obliging – Thai receptionists. He doesn’t even acknowledge her. He doesn’t acknowledge me either, and for the next thirty minutes, as he dunks and nibbles and sips away, I try to drag words out of him with little more success than Captain Ahab had when trying to reel in Moby Dick. Frustrating to say the least, but after an hour had managed to trawl a handful of basic phrases from the depths of his vocal chords, and since none of the other teachers had reported any tangible progress, there was a sense of hard-earned accomplishment. Certainly no prep work was needed for that lesson.
Saturday, lesson 6ish. Private student. Ai, aged 17, half Japanese, half Thai. She didn’t even want a lesson. All she wanted was to chat to a native English speaker for an hour – said chat revealing that her old man is on a high rung of the business ladder, and either doesn’t know (or doesn’t care) that he’s funding an exorbitantly priced conversation.
Sunday, lesson whatever. Came, aged 11. Child prodigy. Obsessed with everything. Challenged him to a series of quizzes (was sure I'd win the geography one about countries and capitals) and he wiped the floor with me every time. Only spent about ten minutes actually teaching; the rest was him doing the teaching!
The rest of the lessons can generally be pigeonholed into either a glorified baby-sitting service to spoiled Thai kids – parents drop them off, go shopping for a couple of hours, pick them up – or advanced grammar instruction to adults and uni students.
In summary, if you want a job that offers variety, teach at a Thai language school.
Am writing this in new (and blessedly quiet) digs, but after having moved residence three times in two weeks, will aim to make these at least semi-permanent. Five minutes walk to work in one direction, five to the underground – and by extension, the rest of Bangkok – in the other, the apartment’s even more cushty than my suite at The Rembrandt, though regrettably lacking a minibar, daily cleaner, and 24 hour room service. Sets me back the equivalent of £150 a month – the cheapest rent, by far, I’ve paid anywhere, ever – yet still wins the Best Abode prize hands down. Even in the capital, money goes a long way in Thailand.
Notwithstanding the departure from farang district, where white faces and familiar tongues were seen and heard in abundance, am not feeling as isolated as previously supposed. This can be attributed to the famously friendly and welcoming nature of Thais – it’s not called the Land of Smiles for nothing. Am referring namely to the receptionists at work, who’ve chaperoned me everywhere, finding me this apartment, acting as interpreters, even helping me shop. Okay, their job description undoubtedly prescribes aiding the new, naive English teacher on the block, mediating an otherwise laborious and constrained transition, but they’ve gone above and beyond that, offering to take me out on a day trip, inviting me out for a meal. Thais, in this bloggers humble opinion, really are just innately nice.
On the flipside of the coin, my fellow co-workers are a bit hit and miss. One Iranian – though with such perfect English that you’d never know it – called Ali has been immeasurably amiable and insightful. Ironically, the native English teachers (a Brummie, a Yank, and an Aussie) seem less amenable. Bizarrely, on the Saturday morn, the guy from Oz was bawling his eyes out in one of the classrooms and was subsequently sent home. Annoyingly, this meant that the rest of the teachers and I had to cover for him, and ended up teaching from 9 till 7 with barely a break. Apparently he’s a self-pitying alcoholic. This line of work attracts all types it seems.
Have been rambling for too long already, so offer this final platitude.
Britain is a tiny speck of an island when viewed on a world map, yet one of its biggest exports, the English Language, finds its way into practically every country on that map. One cannot but feel fortunate to have English as their mother tongue.