The short-lived Indian British English school II

At the British Indian English school, I had hoped they would give up asking for my teaching certificate, but, unfortunately, they didn’t - and after putting it off for a while it reached a crisis point. It was a pity because I had taken a liking to my role as an ambassador for British education – so much so that I tried to think of a way out of things.

“Sanjeet, I need to talk to you,” I said. “I’m gutted, that school I went to in Egypt was a fake. I am really sorry.”

I handed over a letter from Cambridge Schools Certification Organization confirming that the Al-Fayed school of English was indeed a fake. The lady I emailed had been most sympathetic, even giving me a helpful warning about unscrupulous schools.

“Ah, this is from Sarah Richardson, I know her…Well, anyway, what are we going to do now? I think we keep this between for the moment, but I would like you to do a TEFL at some later juncture,” he said. “I’ll let you into a little secret: I have never set foot in England. Just between us of course...”

That explained his positive view of race relations in the UK, I thought.

I may have got away with the teaching certificate but they were still after a copy of my M.A. which also didn’t exist – and I guessed was a bullshit bridge too far. However, other events took over before I was found out.

“We can’t teach here for a while. Now we are going to a coffee shop for class,” said Sanjeet. Bad timing meant classes had started before they had got their Bushiban (private school) license. Ordinarily not a problem – the police were not particularly vigorous in their pursuit of illegal schools – unless someone wanted you closed down. Sanjeet’s old company did, and the police had reluctantly dragged themselves over.

It then got more ridiculous: Two days later, at incredible expense to the owner of the school, they were now teaching in the conference rooms of a five star hotel. The boss knew the owner of the hotel and the staff had been told not to tell anyone.

…Then just another five days later I was off home half way through class, my position in the high echelons of the English teaching profession short lived. Sanjay’s old school had caught up with him, and he was on the five o’clock flight to Rome, all expenses paid. A few hours earlier, the chief of police had called the boss – it was the courteous thing to do as the boss knew everyone – to say the police were on the way, and if they found Sanjay then they would have to expel him, never to return. If he left the country he could lie low for a week or two and then come back.

A week or so later the owner called all the teachers together to explain what had happened and when the school would open again. He had his rich guy line: As usual he talked about what a nice guy he was, and he wasn’t doing this to earn money, but because his wife was interested in setting up the school and contributing something back to society. He said he would pay them this month’s salary regardless – I had already started working somewhere else.

They still wanted me to work at the school but I figured there was no need to continue the lie. “I am sorry. I have had a change of plan and I have to go back to England,” I said. It would be strange going back to working in dark, second division schools and kindergartens in Taipei County where no questions were asked, when I had managed to work in a spanking new school in the center of town in my suit. Still I had proved to myself the only difference between me and the teachers in these schools was the piece of paper.

The short-lived Indian British English school I

“There is something classy about the English: the accent, mannerisms – not like those common yanks. England has tradition, those Americans just copy everything... I had some applications from Americans…Well qualified a lot of them, but straight in the rubbish. I am not going to employ any of them. We British should stick together,” said Sanjeet a very posh British Indian, who was opening a new school specializing in British English. They wrote on the advert that they needed someone with an teaching certificate and an M.A. – which I didn’t have - but the advert clearly said only those with British English need apply, and this was the first ad I had ever seen like that so I just had to come along.

“Indeed,” I replied conflicted: I liked the Britain is great bit, but wanted to tell him off for being an elitist snob.

“I can tell if someone has had a good education. It doesn’t matter if he/she has no teaching experience. It is…that knowledge of the grammar and the influence from good teachers, that schooling in how to learn…I know they will put up a good show. They will do themselves proud.”

I walked out of the door feelings mean, unsociable having just given him a handshake, the guy at least deserved a few bars of God save the Queen or England’s green and pleasant land. I chalked up the interview to experience and went for some kindergarten ones elsewhere.

The next week, after promising to get my teaching certificate and masters sent out from England I had taken up my position as principal teacher of the British culture and Heritage English Program, preparing the children of the rich for the playing fields of Eton.

Even though I possibly couldn’t last in the school without a teaching certificate I wanted to do the job just because it was the first place I had come across as unashamedly British. The walls of the school were covered with posters for England’s finest public and private schools, while the sounds of St. Somebody’s Hallowed School Choir playing in the background.

“Wonderful, isn’t it. Stirs the soul,” said Sanjeet. “I want you to encourage them to come in here to use the tapes and watch the videos.”

He continued, “Bet you miss all that, eh? - School, discipline, and the uniform...”

“Absolutely, mate,” I said while thinking of my comprehensive.

Taiwanese girls and close family relationships

Taiwanese women had very close relationships with their family - and sometimes that could translate itself in strange ways.

“Is this the bedroom?” I asked. It was five in the morning and I was dead drunk and tired with only the prospect of pathetic, meaningless, quick and unmemorable sex keeping me awake.

“Just a moment,” said Carol tapping on the bedroom door. “Ge ge, Ge ge (Older brother) are you asleep?”

Someone grunted from inside and she turned to me face lit up. “Wow, my brother is home. You can meet him.” I was thinking this wasn’t an absolute necessity, but remembering I was drunk, and could be overly rude and impatient in that state, decided not to complain.

We walked into the room and her brother finished up his sentence about not minding if ‘he was 15, I think we have so much to talk about’ in the chat room, and looked up from the computer screen: “Nice to meet you. Where are you from?” he said.

“Bristol, England.”

“Can you speak Chinese?”

“No! Sorry! Have you been to England?”

“No, Ireland.”

We then beamed polite warm smiles at each other and made small talk for what would have felt like forever – if I had the ability to feel - one of us determined not to be a rude host and the other not out done in the politeness stakes by a Taiwanese.

Carol finally ended the standoff. “Hey, lets go,” she said tugging my arm.

“I think your sis’ wants it…Sorry,” I said, thinking there was no point in me being embarrassed if she wasn’t.

I shook myself having almost forgotten why I was here.

Her brother stood up and started to give a slight bow while extending his hands. “Please. Go,” he said. “Nice talking to you.”

“And you mate,” I said while cracking my shoulder on the door frame.

We moved to her bedroom and she immediately got down on her knees and started unzipping my flies. “Isn’t he such a nice guy,” she said while looking up at me. “You know I really love my brother. My parents are not in Taiwan and so he looks after me….Like a father and a friend - I need to be driven somewhere or breakfast…”

Half an hour later she was still going on about her brother: how he had comforted her when he had had a pregnancy scare… I didn’t mind listening to this sort of thing - the alternative was to leave Taiwan - but there was a time and a place: like on the date, or when you have switched to post-coital daydream mode and are busy taking that special, precious moment that only two can share, comparing it to all that have gone before, replaying match highlights and wondering what the experience would have been like if she had bigger breasts, slimmer ass or so-and-so’s face. However, she had started on this rich vein of expression while she was unzipping my pants, it had then proceeded to upset her oral rhythm, and even now, even though she had to turn her head to speak to me, saw no sign of abating.

“I like him too,” I said. “Do you think you could save up all those wonderful thoughts about your brother for the next hour or so - better still organize them so you don’t miss any when you tell me later…Ok?”

“You like him too,” she said now twisting around to look at me; so much I thought she would flip onto her back. “I am in a good mood, now.”

“Excellent. Plan your speech.”

…

A knock at the door a few hours later: “Wow, my brother has got some breakfast for us. Isn’t he nice?”

“Fuckin’ star,” I replied not happy to be woken up.

“Hah, I have to get up soon. I am going to Canada to visit my parents for a few months. You want to come to the airport with me? - My brother is driving.”

“I thought he might be.”

She saw I was looking reluctant. “Don’t worry. Stay here and sleep. You can talk to my brother when he gets back.”

“I know - he is an interesting, guy,” I said, thinking that perhaps I will have disappeared before the brother got back.

God, Taiwan was a wonderful place.

An Englishman in Taipei VI

As an Englishman, after a while in Taipei, once you had learnt how to teach, and that there were many Taiwanese who appreciated a British accent, you could be more indulgent when you got a bad interview.

“You have a strange accent, but you can try to see if the students accept you,”said the boss of the school.

"Really? You are so kind," I replied. "Mmm…shove your job up your bald eagle fuckin’ ass...”

Going back home III

"Now you are going to have to start working hard again...The UK is not so cheap...Can't live on a beach."

When you go back home it seems there was a universal lack of acceptance of Taiwan's economic situation. Even after i gave my friends the long lecture about the fact that Taiwan wasn't Thailand they would still give me that look that said, You don't have to bullshit me mate.

If they weren't asking me how i paid for my flight back, then they would be saying how jealous they were of me dropping out, opting for a beach lifestyle. Either that or the old one about me buying all my girlfriends or them being mail order brides.

Taiwan doesn't have a standard of living as high as the west or Japan, but they are not far off. A quick look at average salary puts them at 16000US a year, about half of the US or UK - you have to bear in mind that China or Thailand is near 3000US a year. But the key thing is that you have to look at the MacDonalds Index done by the Economist, a bit of a joke name it has a serious purpose: compare prices for the same things on a country by country basis to see how much your salary is worth - The idea is not to just compare the price of food because obviously it is cheaper in poorer countries but also poorer quality, but to see what your salary can purchase, what it is actually worth to you. Anyway, once adjusted in this way Taiwan moves up to nearer 25000 US a year making a salary in Taiwan only say 20% less than a western one.

There are a number of examples that stand out clearly: the underground train system is brand new and has won the best mass transport system in the world award for the last four years or so, yet it is a quarter of the price of the London one. Income tax is only 6%. There is no council tax. Taxis are about the same price as a bus in London. In short, while my salary is less than if i was in England it feels like I have more disposable income.

But it is not just about the disposable income. Taiwan feels like it has money compared to many places because it makes things and unemployment is extremely low; the average Taiwanese can afford to take international holidays and spend a year abroad studying English.

The one that always gets my friends shaking their head in disbelief is that Taiwan has to import low wage labor from the Thailand or Phillipines: maids, carers, and construction workers.

Anyway, enough of the rant. Just be prepared to hear this one - and for nobody to accept it when you explain...

Going back home II

When you are in Taiwan you moan continually about the power old people have over their children: living in their houses and expecting them to simply open their wallet when they need money.

But back in England our treatment of old people seems to have gone a little far the other way. Town centers are desperately sad: bored, listless and lonely old people, desperate for something to do, some human interaction, or feeling of self-worth, hang around in doorways politely holding them open for people who are not on their shoulder, but in the process of finishing parking their cars a few streets away; otherwise giving their place up in queues in shops, seats on buses to frail fitness instructors, the perfectly ably bodied, and superheroes.

They should be a compromise somewhere.

Taiwan English teaching III: Not as straightforward as it seemed

Teaching in Taiwan wasn't as straightforward as it might seem. Going to teach wasn’t just a matter of finding a school and going to work nine-to-five, there were lots of different things to think about: kids, adults, and age-groups among others. Most of these private schools were designed for kids from seven to sixteen taking over once the local government schools finished at around 4 pm; therefore, if you wanted to teach at these schools your likely hours were from 4.30 to 8.30 everyday – and Wednesday and Saturday from 2pm to 8pm because on these days government schools finished earlier. Now if you wanted to teach nine-to-five the only way was Kindergarten which meant teaching kids from three to seven years old. If you wanted to teach adults it was mornings from nine-to-twelve (housewives) and then evenings from seven-to-ten when people got off work.

Most non-teachers preferred to teach adults because they didn’t want to deal with the shouting and screaming, but the problem of adults were the hours weren't so stable.

Now who to work for? The big chains of English schools had there benefits: training, work visa, and organization, but there drawbacks: designed to deal with the just arrived foreigner they paid less, had more homework to mark and preparation to do for class. If you went to one of the smaller chains or independent schools, they might not: have anyone who can speak good English on staff and a clear curriculum, but you might be able to squeeze an extra hundred an hour out of them and they wouldn’t expect preparation.

Number of hours: As i said the kindergartens were the only ones who were offering a solid 40 hours a week. All the private schools, would expect you to teach a minimum of 20 hours a week for them in order to get you a work visa – but would not guarantee to give you 20 hours a week. Even if all was well at the school and you were good they still didn’t like to give you more than twenty-five hours a week, telling you that was enough because you had to prepare – It was also good for them to have more teachers on staff, hungry and a little desperate. Adult teaching schools usually had even less hours because adults were sporadic and uncommitted.

What to do? Most people had a contract at one of these private schools and then went and found an illegal job at a small school somewhere else.

The only other alternative was to find private students. Private students weren’t students who wanted to meet in dark alleys or didn’t like to talk about themselves. Private students were individuals or small groups who wanted to learn one-by-one at their home or coffee shop. You could get them in various ways: agents, referrals, neighbor knocks on your door, or mother comes up to you in McDonalds - among others. One-to-ones were good because they were higher paying, and most important: easier, just sit in a coffee shop and talk to people.

Managing your schedule: Now, if you have chosen the private school, and you want to teach 35 plus hours a week, you can see from the above that you will have several jobs - Maybe, a second private school or the morning and then several privates at different times of the day. At this point you start to get obsessed with scheduling as people compete for you and you try to arrange them so that they are as near to each other as possible in terms of time and distance. For example, a private may pay 1000NT an hour but if you have to travel an hour and they only want an hour and a half it is better to try and get a school which pays less and may have a block.
Finally, there is the transportation issue: if you have numerous jobs you need a scooter to get you around as soon as possible.

When I first arrived I had no idea what I wanted to do - other than get paid a lot for doing a little - so I decided to look for as many illegal and privates as possible. Besides I liked the idea of illegal, beating the system.

It had its ups and downs...