Yes, China let me out

I’m back in the land of shorts and sandals, which no adult Chinese male, at least in Yangzhou, would be caught dead wearing. I’m groggy, but none the worse for wear, though it’s definitely the traveling part of traveling I hate most. Sadly, grace under pressure doesn’t belong on my modest list of strong suits.

Jianghai College arranged to have a driver pick me up at 9 a.m. Friday for the three- to four-hour drive to Shanghai Pudong airport, where I was to catch a 4:10 p.m. flight to Chicago. We were graciously accompanied by a teaching colleague, Fan Chun Xia. Xue Cai Ming, Lu Wen Juan and several other students with whom I’d grown close showed up at my dormitory to see me off.

The last few days had brought a whirlwind of late shopping and final farewells, which grew increasingly emotional until the thought of leaving had become difficult. I kept telling myself this was a good thing — better to have mixed feelings, to have met so many good people, to miss them, than to have been desperate to get out, thinking I had wasted a year.

I can’t see not going back at some point.

Anyway, a late start didn’t worry me. We had plenty of time. But I hadn’t built in the stop for a meal. I don’t care what you’re doing or where you’re going or why. In China, people stop at noon and 6, just about to the minute, for lunch and dinner. If you get injured seriously enough to require an ambulance there, I would suggest not doing so around noon or 6.

My mind started racing with worries about the early arrival time advised for international travelers, then worst-case scenarios. My old friend Panic stopped by. Taoism, Confucianism, Buddhism, contemplation, meditation, I needed them all.

After some rushing required to solve a problem paying for extra bags, I cut it a little close but made it. The rest was just waiting and losing sleep.

There’s so much I haven’t written about my experiences but still would like to write, so for the time being, the Rog-ect isn’t going anywhere.

Let me start this new chapter by recommending a couple of resources that have done a far better job than I of explaining and describing China. One is Middle Kingdom Life, a great guide to teaching in China and related topics, specifically geared toward expats. The other is “Serve The People: A Stir-Fried Journey Through China,” by Jen Lin-Liu, which I just started reading. In the first several pages, I found more accurate insights about Chinese cuisine and classrooms than I had expressed in a year of blogging, i.e., students taking cell-phone calls during class, Chinese chefs not measuring any incredients. Plus, it’s got recipes, including Yangzhou fried rice.

I’m diving into the recipes as soon as I do some grocery shopping. And get a wok and a new knife. And a stove, preferably gas. And a new home for the stove. And … well, all in good time.

Things that can go wrong with a quiz

All part of the learning process:

• You start grading and realize that one task — choose the correct sentence — doesn’t work because, grammatically, all of them are correct.
• You have to throw out another question because it refers to an activity that was done in a different class.
• You agree to give two late students a chance to take it around lunchtime, and moments after handing them the quizzes, a shaken bottle of Pepsi blows up all over you.

What’s the point of giving a written quiz in an oral English class? My semester plan for all classes had to include at least one quiz, and time would not permit individual oral tests. Instead, I concocted questions from what we had covered, and also from a couple of persistent pronunciation issues, such as the inappropriate use of “s” at the end of a singular noun.

A fill-in-the-blank task proved most difficult in all classes: My friend really loves basketball. He’s a _______ of Kobe Bryant.

a. fen
b. fans
c. phan
d. fan

Most of those who had the wrong answer chose b. (Kobe Bryant is huge in China, by the way.)

Oh, and a note for fellow ESL teaching rookies: You might not think this would be required at the college level, but it’s a good idea to remind students not to use their cell phones to look up the answers, to check a friend’s answers before changing theirs, or to discuss possible answers with other students. After writing these rules on the blackboard, I saw two students talking and checking each other’s quizzes, put a stop to it, saw them doing it again. And then one more time. After seeing me make a little mark on their sheets to remind myself, they begged me to forgive them.

Jay Chou, beer, bribes and other ESL teaching methods

Classroom tactics now tried: 429. At least it seems that way. In my oral English classes for freshmen, sophomores and juniors at Jianghai Polytechnic College — here, the class levels are referred to as grids one, two and three — I’ve settled into a routine of mixing my own ideas, stolen and otherwise, with the “Inside Out” series published specifically for Chinese courses by Macmillan of the U.K.

(It’s a tad outdated with its 1980s pop star references, and uncomfortable for an American teacher with its English idioms. Where I come from, only the Geico gekko “fancies a crisp.”)

Words of warning for fellow ESL novices: So many lesson plans, games and exercises can be found online that it’s easy to become overwhelmed. Don’t get me wrong. My bookmark lists keep growing, but it takes time to organize all of that stuff, let alone to find what you need for future classes. I’m still figuring out how to deal with this issue.

That said, allow me to summarize some of the desperation heaves I’ve hoisted, with occasionally amusing and useful results.

[picapp align=”right” wrap=”false” link=”term=Jay+Chou&iid=3516399″ src=”http://view2.picapp.com/pictures.photo/image/3516399/2008-beijing-pop-music/2008-beijing-pop-music.jpg?size=500&imageId=3516399″ width=”234″ height=”317″ /]Jay Chou: That’s the Anglicized name for Zhou Jiélún, the Chinese pop star who is beginning to show up on American radar. He’ll appear in the upcoming film “The Green Hornet.” To say he’s big in China is to fall short of an accurate description. When I played one of his hits, “Dào Xiang,” on my laptop in more than one class, all of the students — I mean every single one — sang as if it were the Chinese national anthem, revealing the visceral connection they have to an artist who belongs to them.

One of my students introduced “Dào Xiang” to me, and it is catchy. It really stuck in my head. So, I found some English translations, as awkward as you might imagine them, and went to work.

In “Dào Xiang” (稻香), or “Fragrance of Rice,” Jay Chou tells us essentially to stop complaining and appreciate what we have. The Chinese refrain, of course, rhymes:

hái jì de nǐ shuō jiā shì wéi yī de chéng bǎo

suí zhe dào xiāng hé liú jì xù bēn pǎo

wēi wēi xiào xiǎo shí hou de mèng wó zhī dào

bú yào kū ràng yíng huǒ chóng dái zhe nǐ táo pǎo

xiāng jiān de gē yáo yǒng yuǎn de yī kào

huí jiā ba huí dào zuì chū de měi hǎo

The English lyrics, not so much:

I still remember you said your home was the only castle
You continue to run along with the fragrance of rice and the flowing river
Smiling, the dreams when you were young, I know
Don’t cry, let the fireflies lead you to escape
Folk songs in the country, you can always rely on them
Just go home, go back to the happiness at the very start

As a way of getting Chinese students’ attention, it works better than translating American hits into Mandarin, though I’ve done that, too. The web site Chinese-Tools.com provides the lyrics to “Dào Xiang” in Chinese characters and pinyin, with English annotations and a free download of the song itself. Check it out. It’s a good tune.

Bribes: Some ESL manual must advise against going this route, but I was getting desperate to raise the interest level. A bag of treats, i.e., small stacks of Pringles and Oreos, or the Chinese brand equivalents for a couple of yuan apiece, is guaranteed to spice up any sort of language game. Believe me, games must be made part of your ESL arsenal here. Here’s hoping the bribes, er, prizes are tax-deductible.

Props: Yesterday, I cracked my first beer in class, a can of Shanshui with one of those old pop tops that actually comes off. I wanted to give the students an image of the word “hangover” (sù zuì) that would really stick with them.

The weather has turned cold, and many students are sneezing and sniffling. Hence, this teacher’s edition of show-and-tell, featuring a bag of remedies brought from America (NyQuil, Benadryl, Extra Strength Excedrin, Breathe Right nasal strips, Imodium A-D, Icy Hot patches, etc.) And the can of beer. And a brief explanation of America’s pill culture.

I also wanted to find out what the Chinese do for things like a cold, or găn mào. One student: Dress warmly, sleep a lot, drink a lot of water. Another: “Nothing.” (Where’s the instant gratification? The first student is a friend with a cold, so I corrupted her by handing over the bottle of NyQuil.) As for a hangover, one student’s response on what to do: “Go back out.”

The Breathe Right strips were very popular. I may need someone to send more.

Mock arguments: I’ve had more success lately getting notoriously reticent students to test their English by having teams face off over some made-up issue to which they can relate, such as snoring roommates and shopping for athletic shoes. (We pay the price on the tag. The Chinese negotiate.) Honestly, I couldn’t care less how well they spoke. It’s a major victory getting them to speak.

 

 

T.G.I. Mid-Autumn Festival

One more class today, then a four-day break to celebrate the Fifteenth of the Eighth Moon, and not a moment too soon. To borrow a line from Rodney, now I know why tigers eat their young. So, thank you ancient Xia and Shang dynasties — China Daily has a very good explanation of the Mid-Autumn Festival — and bring on the pomegranates, pomelos, cooked taro, water caltrope and, especially, moon cakes. Those are habit-forming.

In looking back on my experience thus far as an English teacher at Jianghai Polytechnic College, I hold these truths to be self-evident:

1. Don’t believe that no teaching experience is needed, as many ESL job ads claim. Classroom experience makes a big difference (translation: makes life a lot easier). At least you should do some sort of TEFL or TESOL coursework before coming to China, especially if you’re planning to teach older students. Personally, I don’t think it’s a substitute for real experience, but it can’t hurt, and will add to your qualifications if and when your school helps you apply for the “foreign expert license” that will enable you to obtain a work visa to stay in China for, say, a year.

2. “Don’t have to speak Chinese” to get a job. True. Some comfort level with the language, though, might be even more important than point No. 1. I worked with a Chinese tutor for several weeks before traveling from Raleigh, N.C., to Yangzhou in Jiangsu Province. Wasn’t enough.

It strikes me as absurd that someone with no teaching experience and no more than a few words of Mandarin in his head can teach English to 30-35 Chinese college students at a time. I’m putting myself to sleep.

3. Speak slowly, future ESL teachers. Then slow it down another 50 percent. I’m having a lot of trouble doing that. Chinese students who are supposed to have several years of English training can barely understand a word I’m saying. Many can speak no more than a few words.

I’ve expressed my frustrations over the difficulty connecting with students to my superiors in the foreign languages department, and they have sympathetically reminded me more than once that Jianghai students scored lower on their college entrance exams than any other students in China. Oh, that’s heartening. No wonder I was qualified for this job.

Another Saturday night, and I ain’t got no yuan

Then again, I really don’t know no one, neither.

No worries, though. I’m feeling full of myself, relatively speaking. Day 3: Much better. Saturday, by the way, is a school day at Jianghai College — Sundays and Mondays off — so I faced another class of juniors for the first time, EA (English and Accounting) 081.

I was determined to walk in more relaxed. More importantly, I dispensed with a lot of stiff introductory crap and went right to Bruce at the top of the program. Wrote the refrain for Springsteen’s “Hungry Heart” on the board, had the class repeat it a couple of times, fired up the laptop and the small speakers and hit the iTunes play button. Once I started belting it out, a few students tentatively joined in. Once I dusted off a few of the creaking, old white dude moves, including a spin that took, like, five minutes and 11 steps, they started laughing and getting into it.

I had, in fact, read somewhere that older English students in China expect foreign ESL teachers to be entertainers. Since I’m the only one here, the casting call has gone out: Dancing bears urgently needed. Must know their vowels and consonants.

Meanwhile, I hit it off right away with two students in the front row who were unusually eager and engaged. “Finally, someone I can relate to,” I thought. Of course, they later informed me they weren’t actually in the class. They’d just come to hang out with a couple of friends.

A few extra notes from the sweltering classroom:

• More than a few students have listed their hobby as “sleeping.” Hey, that’s mine, too!
• Asked my college soph son via Skype whether I was justified in booting the kid who had his head on the desk Friday and was practically snoring. My son’s response: “Well, was he really snoring?”
• One student in Friday’s class chose “Happiness” as her English name. Next to “my character,” she wrote: “think too much, not happy.”

From now on, you can call me Mr. Happiness.

ET 091 = rvdh(screwed²)

Victims of ET 091

And I thought the clock moved slowly in seventh-grade biology.  I just spent five-and-a-half hours teaching my first English class from 2:00 to 3:40 p.m. today at Jianghai College.

ET 091 is a sophomore class. The “ET” stands for English and Trade, as in I’d trade my right arm not to have to teach any more English classes to Chinese college students. The ad said: “Teaching job for native English speaker, no experience necessary.” Why do I feel as if I just bought a timeshare at a Superfund site?

Given my teaching background — none — I was already sweating bullets going into the first class. So, it was a good thing the humidity in Yangzhou was down to 463% and the temperature to a cool 99°. I swear, you could have poured liquid nitrogen on me, and it would have felt like Coppertone. Ten minutes in, my shirt was soaked through. Next class? Wearing a Speedo. Don’t care anymore.

I had been warned, through other sources and by Lily Han of the foreign language department here, that it would be a challenge to get the students to open up. ESL (English as a second language) materials generally recommend that the teacher do as little talking as possible. There’s even a negative acronym — TTT (teacher talking time) — for the lecture-dominated style.

But that’s exactly what most Chinese students are used to. Nevertheless, I plunged ahead with a carefully thought-out lesson plan derived from cramming and my extensive teaching background.

ET 091 lesson plan, 2-3:40 p.m. Sept. 9, 2010 (34 students — more than I had been told, by the way — who already had several years of English coursework behind them). The first class would focus on asking questions in English to learn about someone. Interviewing, in other words.

15-20 minutes:

Introduce self, write name on board, give background, why I came to China, etc., followed by rules and expectations, how students will be graded.

Blank stares.

Stress importance of participation. State clearly that there are no bad questions or terrible answers, that I hope to learn as much from them as they do from me. Ask students a few questions about my background to see what they absorbed, then offer them a chance to think of questions they would like to ask me.

Blank stares.

20-30 minutes:

Have students write names on slips of paper (almost all choose American-ized versions of their actual names) and introduce themselves to me, one by one.

Blank stares, intense embarrassment, no responses. Teacher calls early break between periods, mentally begins making flight reservations. Clearly, the time has come to deviate from the plan.

Having viewed the textbook as a last resort, I now reached for it as if it were a plank of driftwood on a stormy sea. I asked the class to turn to page 10 and instructed them to repeat after me as I slowly read a list of questions right from the book. A few voices repeated the first one softly. By the third question, they were chanting each one loudly and perfectly. By the fourth, they were no longer paying any attention to me and simply reading aloud, pronouncing one after the other almost flawlessly.

Gee, maybe they’re a little more comfortable reciting as a group. Other slap-me-upside-the-head realizations: If I approached a student individually, literally standing inches away, he or she would almost inaudibly try to give an answer to my question in what I can only describe as very accomplished English. They are far better than they think they are.

Next, I broke them into a groups of five to eight. Each group was assigned to find out as much as they could about one member of the group by asking questions in English, and by paying attention to answers given in English. (I think I’m going to have to lighten up a little on the no-Chinese-speaking rule.) Most of the students proved to be more comfortable writing out their questions first, though some of the questions were directed at me, as in, “Why did you pick China?”

Tough one to answer after today. Because it wanted me?

It’s all Frisian to me

Gee, for a guy who has spent his entire adult life working with written English, I didn’t know doodly-squat — I checked; it’s a word — about the language’s origins. According to the third module of my TEFLOnline course, English is derived from the Germanic languages. Around 500 A.D., West Germanic invaders began coming to Britain from Jutland, southern Denmark and western, present-day Netherlands. (I knew it. Everything can be traced back to the Netherlands. It’s like Kevin Bacon.)

Anyway, the Angles, Saxons, Jutes and Frisians all spoke what came to be known as Anglo-Saxon, or Old English. (The Beatles, of course, later paid tribute to one of those groups with the song, “Hey, Jute.”)

In fact, Old English is similar to modern Frisian, still spoken by approximately 400,000 people in western areas of Holland, according to TEFLOnline’s “A brief history of the English language.” Even today, Frisian is the Germanic language most closely related to English.

Postscript: China is letting me in to the country. FedEx delivered my passport with the F visa stamp from the Chinese embassy. The die is cast.

Rog, reality … reality, this is Rog

My online TEFL tutor responded to my first essay for the course designed to teach me how to teach, in a hurry. Good general notions, she thought, on how I see my future role as an English teacher. Short on specific examples.

I am reminded that I have no idea what I am doing, raising the distinct possibility that I could suck.

Training wheels and deals

I lost more sleep trying to pick a course for ESL teaching wannabes than I did deciding to replant myself in China in the first place. The options seem endless — in person, online or a combination of the two, 40 hours for a certificate or 60 hours or 120 or 250, work at your own pace or join a group class, pay $250 or $2,500, with or without actual teaching practice, take a seminar closest to home or study in Prague.

Sheesh. TEFL Course Review has a site with links to about 60 better-known institutions that offer training for teachers, as well as reviews by students. TEFL stands for Teaching English as a Foreign Language. Other acronyms that mean basically the same thing: TESL (Teaching English as a Second Language) and TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages). TEFL.net also provides some decent information.

Many overseas schools require some form of TEFL or TESOL certification with a minimum number of hours. Mine did not. (Even those schools in China willing to hire someone without a certificate generally consider only native English speakers with a college degree.)

The first two organizations on the TEFL Course Review site give you an idea of how varied they can be. ONTESOL offers a 100-hour, online course with a tutor for $265. Teaching House New York is a CELTA (Certificate in English Language Teaching for Adults) training center in downtown Manhattan, with all course instructors approved by Cambridge University in England. The CELTA is sort of the Mercedes of TESOL certificates. It’s $2,495 for a four-week course, not counting accommodations and the $200 enrollment fee, assuming you get in.

I needed something a little more modest, flexible and that I could finish before leaving — just so I don’t walk into that first class cold. After 30-plus years of writing and copy editing, I’m confident I know my way around the English language well enough, but it’s like giving directions. I know how to get there. I can’t necessarily tell you how I did it.

Finally, I decided on a 100-hour TEFL “diploma” course from TEFLOnline.com, which is affiliated with BridgeTEFL. It’s reasonable ($329); the syllabus sounds useful; and they accommodated my request for a specific tutor who is from Shanghai. I figure if I’m going to have a tutor, better to work with one who’s been there.

Will let you know how it goes.