>Monday I began teaching in Concentration Camp.
Not my first naming choice. Not my last either, “English Concentration Camp” is the name for the four-week intensive course for postgraduates, or as most prefer to call it, “Concentration Camp”.
Kind of makes you wonder how intense it is.
Concentration Camp. At dinner last week, our program head, Tyler, described the intensive program to me and seven Chinese English teachers. His opening line? “The way I run concentration camp is…”
I looked around the room. No one batted an eye. He just said he runs concentration camp. Okay. What’s for dinner?
I began to wonder if these adorable Chinese girls know what a concentration camp is. Listening to them say it unsettles me a bit. Is this some kind of twisted joke on them? Or does he really believe “English Concentration Camp” is the best name? Most people prefer simply “Concentration Camp”. They see “English” as superfluous.
How? How can he not know the negative connotation? How can anyone? It takes what, a minimum education level of high school to get it? Did it go like this: “It’s a camp where they will concentrate on learning English. Eureka!!”
Each day lasts eight-hours with a few ten-minute breaks and one lunch break. I assisted Christie on Monday, and how did I assist? I answered questions. I endured long stares.
And I corrected all their English. They don’t call me a Foreign Expert for nothing.
The girls are good teachers and hard-workers. They put a lot of effort into crafting well-done PowerPoint slides full of movie clips, pictures, and stunning examples of useful English. Plus, they’re extremely friendly and helpful. I cannot compliment them enough.
They go by English names, as do all the students. I don’t know why. I guess we all suck at pronouncing Chinese. Or maybe it’s part of the westernization of the Middle Kingdom. Regardless, the students choose their names from two lists, one marked Common Boy’s Names, the other marked Common Girl’s names.
Among these names? Trapper. Chili. For the students who want to stand out. Dare to be different.
Christie took roll and announced some class rules. Aside from the standard “pay attention”, she added an addendum to “be on time”: any late student will have to explain their tardiness to the whole class. Whether it’s enforced or not, I don’t know. No one is late.
Which brings me to my next point: the students are very well-behaved. Yes, they sometimes talk a lot. Yes, some of them text, some an obscene amount, but there is no backtalk. No major disruptions. No one really misbehaves.
What I have done so far involved standing there, explaining certain concepts, and explaining my origins to a less than captive audience. It might be that they did not understand my English, but Neyland Stadium’s 106,000 seating capacity did not thrill them. I’m willing to bet it’s Neyland’s fault, not mine.
Today differed a little bit. Rebecca, a teacher and an interpreter, came down with that condition that hits a lot of women: pregnancy. Knocked-up and out of commission for an indefinite period of time, we reshuffled the schedule to put me and another American in control of a class this morning.
The topic was directions. I prepared a small PowerPoint, and as I did, I began to appreciate all the work the local teachers put in. Note that they do not get paid as much as I do, and yet here they are, doing more work, paying rent and other living expenses I don’t have to bother with.
Monday, Christie used a good game to help teach them the days of the week. I can best describe it like this: seven students stand in front of the room, each representing a day of the week. One student says the name of his day and the word “down” at each. He repeats, and at each repetition, he kneels down and springs up. At end, he says another day, and if that student does not move on time or says the wrong day, he’s out.
Don’t let me description mislead you. It was lots of fun.
The long hours and the style of teaching demands a lot of energy. I have been getting little sleep and consuming large amounts of instant coffee and cola to help compensate. This is in addition to working on these columns and other projects.
Come to think of it, I wouldn’t even blame the style of teaching. Teaching well requires a lot, more than most people give them credit for. I am completely exhausted, so I will put it plainly and simply: I respect anyone who cares to do it well, for I now have a small taste of what they go through.
Next week: more on teaching, maybe some on social life among the expats
