Lessons From A Few Years Spent in the World (4 of 5)

by Jake Hollingsworth // Seoul, South Korea // www.JakeHollingsworth.net

Apparently, around midnight on Saturday, the subway stops running between Noryangjin and Hapjeong Station. Maybe it was just down for maintenance. Or, quite possibly, we were naive foreigners in over our heads. Either way, we were stuck. My wife and I had opted for a weekend in the city (our first such trip to Seoul, a city which is quite big to put it mildly) and had come down with a sudden, panicky case of where-the-heck-am-I.

Because this was early in our Korean adventure, we had yet to learn the ropes. We could not read street signs. We could not ask for help. We could not tell a taxi driver where we wanted to go, and we had no friends to call for help. We were infants. Of course, we had each other, which made my mom feel better, but practically speaking, having each other didn’t do us a whole lot of good.

We were alone in a big city. A big foreign city.

One thing, among many, that a foreigner in a new setting must come to terms with is the fact that travel is a solitary experience. Sure, you may walk the Great Wall with your wife. You may lounge on the southern coast of Taiwan with a crowd of tourists, or even tour the Louvre with your old college roommate. But at its heart, travel is about leaving. Going away. Not so much on a holiday, but just going.

Travel is an incredibly isolating experience. Languages are different. Cultures are strange. Stares. Smells. People. It’s all foreign, odd, and unknown. The traveler soon learns he must become a skilled thespian on the local stage where he finds himself…if he hopes to eat, that is. For words are no longer a means of communication. At least not for you. The rest of them, all of those people staring at you, they can speak…to each other. But you, you are different. Your words have no meaning. Here, you are the odd ball. You have the handicap. You’re that guy. The one that needs special accommodations. Because, well, you can’t speak. Your thoughts, needs, questions. You’re like a helpless infant in desperate need of a diaper change and a generous dose of Gold-Bond powder. All you can do is cry and hope someone comes to the rescue. What do you want? A hotel? Pretend you’re sleeping. Or showering. Food? Pretend you have a fork in your hand. Chew something. Or nothing. Toilet? Pretend to pee. Or hold your stomach and pretend to be in pain.
from 453 DAYS IN KOREA

We were rescued that evening by a very kind stranger. He was dressed in a business suit. His tie was loosened and a hint of Soju was on his breath. Fortunately for us, he understood English well enough to determine where we needed to go. The man lead us up to street level, flagged down a taxi, and sent us on our way north across the Han River.

As a traveler in a foreign land, it can seem quite obvious and natural to need help. At least in the beginning, we don’t understand the language, the customs, or the general ebb and flow of life. We’re not locals. Far from it. That part makes sense. But when it comes to our classrooms, it’s a different story altogether.

I came to Korea to teach English. Teacher. Not student. I’m a lifelong native speaker. I have a university degree and a TESOL certificate. Curious what a gerund is? I can tell you. An infinitive? I’m your man. Irregular verbs? Modals? Past Perfect tense? You’ve come to the right place.

(…and don’t even get me started on articles, participles, and present progressive verbs.)

Honestly, my job is not difficult. I know English backwards and forwards. I can speak with perfect fluency without even thinking.

But, here’s the thing: I can’t teach it all. There are certain parts of second language acquisition that simply cannot be communicated without a little help.

When I studied Spanish in high school and college, the instructor verbally communicated what each new vocabulary word meant: Padre = father. Si = yes. Mirar = to look. Siempre = always. He did not attempt to act out the word, or show a picture of ‘always’ (whatever that looks like). His point of reference, and the most efficient, sensible way of communicating the material, was to tell us what the new Spanish words meant in our native language. Once we understood the new word and associated it with what we already knew, we were then free to put the words into practice.
from 453 DAYS IN KOREA

In most ESL classrooms, native speaking English teachers do not speak the first language of their students. This language barrier is generally a good thing, as students are forced to think in the target language if they wish to communicate with the instructor. But this can also be a problem when a teacher does not, cannot, or will not ask for help.

I have spent entire class periods attempting to entice my students to write descriptive sentences. But we never made progress because they did not understand the English word adjective. I explained it again and again. I pulled my hair out stressed away 10 years of my life. And then finally I gave in and asked a Korean office assistant to translate the verb to describe, which took exactly 3 1/2 seconds, and all was made clear. My students breezed through the assignment like they had been doing this their entire lives.

Our students benefit directly from our willingness to seek out assistance. Conversely, they suffer according to our stubbornness, pride, and unwillingness to ask for help in our classroom. There are certain parts of a language that we just can’t teach if our students do not have a prior knowledge of key words or concepts.

Yes, a teacher should be the most knowledgeable person in the room. Yes, a teacher must be prepared to communicate the target information in a way that students can understand and process. But sometimes (many times) we help our students more by asking for help.

What about you? How are you communicating difficult ideas and concepts in your classroom? Have you come across a lesson that you can’t communicate? How do you deal with it?