Enter the world of ESL (English as a second language) and you step into another universe, filled with excitement, frustration, joy, confusion, laughter and a slight hint of the unknown. There is however, always something that will either make you try to figure out your own intelligence level or leave you in stitches.

I remember my first encounter as if it were yesterday. I stood nervously facing a classroom of 22 five-year olds, none of whom spoke a word of English. The kids stared at me as if they were facing an alien, blabbing to each other in Arabic, waiting for me to make a move. It felt like light years would pass before I would be able to do something that would have them take me seriously. But then something snapped in my brain and told me to behave like the adult that I was.

Tempted to shout at them to be quiet, I remembered something one of my teachers had done to my class almost twenty years ago. I looked at the children, held their gazes, raised my hand and in my clearest, steadiest voice, began slowly, yet firmly counting. By the time I got to "five", the class was quiet, and 22 pairs of large eyes were curiously looking at me, waiting for instructions. And then... I was in charge.

And so began the journey of my development with my Egyptian kids. Soon my rapport with my kids grew to the extent that I would even miss them when I didn't see them. By the time weekends were over, I was waiting to see how my children were doing. I was almost 25 and they just about could have been my kids. Some of their moms were just a few years older than I was. But I felt like they were mine, all 22 of them, and I felt a strong responsibility to see to it that they would be well-educated under my rule (yes, I was the Queen of my classroom) and that they would both feel and be secure.

I was soon their confidant, friend and respected Mees (1). As my Arabic improved, I got to listen in on their innocent conversations, some of which were about me, as they smiled at me, oblivious to the fact that I was part and parcel of their little gossip.

"My mother says that South Africa is far away."
"It's somewhere near Amreeka (2)."

Some of the kids also thought it their duty to let me know all the happenings in their homes. I was informed about birthdays, weddings, arguments, diets, wigs and even an aunt who was thinking of getting a nose job, because "her nooz is a too much beeg" (3) all very matter-of-factly as if it was my duty to know.

A parent came to me in tears one morning a few minutes before the school bell could ring. She looked so desperate; I thought there was something seriously wrong.

"Miss Saleha, I really need your help." The woman looked like she was about to cry, and I felt my body go cold, expecting to hear that someone in the family had died or something equally ominous.

"Miriam doesn't eat; she hasn't eaten for a few days. I've tried everything, but nothing's working. Please can you help? She'll listen to you. I sent her with lots of sandwiches today."

I blinked, unsure of what was expected of me, and then assured her that I'd take care of it. It was only when I got Miriam to eat a sandwich a few minutes later that I realised my power over these kids. This was later confirmed on parents' day when more than one parent told me how they used me to get their kids to behave. One parent told her son that she'd tell me if he didn't put his toys away after playing with them. Another parent told her daughter that I ate spinach, which was why she had to eat it too. I felt ridiculously powerful, but also content with the knowledge that I was making a positive mark on these young souls.

I learned far more than I had anticipated. It broke my heart to discover the pressure these poor kids were under to perform well at school. Most aimed for full marks on their tests. Some cried when they didn't reach their 100% target. Others looked at me with accusing faces as I handed them their tests which were to be signed by their parents. I cursed the system daily for pushing these little people so far at such a young age. Always a rebel, having grown up in Apartheid South Africa, it was frustrating knowing that there was little I could do to change the situations of my children. I was astounded by the amount of work that they fast became used to, and wondered what my life would have been like had I learned two languages with two different scripts simultaneously in first grade. To top it all, the scripts were written in opposite directions! I admired my kids a lot, and to me, they were the smartest kids on the planet.

When I stayed home for a few days with the flu, I returned to school only to be bombarded by questions, ranging from whether I had gone back to my country to whether I'd had a baby. One smart girl told the boy sitting next to her;

"But how can she have a baby if she doesn't have a husband?"

I think my first group was probably the most special. It was through them that I learned the value of a good teacher, and was forced to remember some of the wonderful teachers my life had been blessed with. Different countries brought new challenges; each challenge with its own unique set of highlights and disappointments.

When I became a teacher-trainer, it was amusing to see that some of the situations were parallel to the ones I'd experienced with my first class. I met people, some of whom I would admire profusely, and some of whom, would irritate me to hell and back. But once I made peace with the fact that every culture and place on earth is ignorant to some degree about other people and countries, I was able to grow from my experience. Again the frustration of not being able to change education systems that were obviously not working would always be a problem. And again, I'd learn different things from my students from other parts of the world, all over again.

It was sad to see adults struggling to improve their English for work purposes, while juggling limited time between studies, work and families. I was astounded to see a Korean trainee type 60 words a minute in English as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Even after an honours degree in Arabic, I would feel like a pro if I could type half as fast in Arabic. My respect for my trainees grew as I saw them do things to improve their English language skills which just seemed so extreme to me. Yet for them, it had become a part of the way in which they functioned.

As I read their essays, I got a clearer picture of their lives, whilst being both impressed and amused by some of their writing. Misplaced verbs always make for interesting reading. Words used incorrectly can sometimes have the reader in stitches. I think the sentence that stays in my brain is the following;
"It was time to kill again"; and for a second I thought I was teaching a serial killer, till I figured out that the trainee meant she had time to kill again!

I saw my power again when trainees asked my advice on various things and actually took it. It was a good feeling to have trainees read books I recommended, watch movies that I liked and test out my favourite music. One even invested in toothpaste which I used. (And no, I don't have great, sparkly teeth.)

Nothing was funnier than a trainee who asked me in the middle of a speaking lesson on professions what a "blow job" was. Having assumed it to have something to do with the making of glass, the poor woman almost died of shock, when I carefully explained what it referred to, in the most polite manner than I could. It was similar to the time of the US election campaign, when my Asian trainees were all abuzz about the American "erections" (4).

For those of us born into English-speaking parts of the world, being native speakers of English is an asset that we will probably never begin to fathom. That half the world is studying this language diligently, some from the age of five, some earlier, and some even still doing so whilst in their fifties and older, puts us at the top end of a privileged class. Teaching it to speakers of other languages allows one to view the world through new eyes and in so doing gain insight into so much more than the norms of life.

By Saleha Khan

1 - Miss
2 - America
3 - Her nose is much too big.
4 - Asians tend to confuse the "l" and "r" sounds.

I am an ESL teacher-trainer with more than a decade of international teaching experience. I love reading about people's ESL experiences and would love to share mine.

Enter the world of ESL (English as a second language) and you step into another universe, filled with excitement, frustration, joy, confusion, laughter and a slight hint of the unknown. There is however, always something that will either make you try to figure out your own intelligence level or leave you in stitches.

I remember my first encounter as if it were yesterday. I stood nervously facing a classroom of 22 five-year olds, none of whom spoke a word of English. The kids stared at me as if they were facing an alien, blabbing to each other in Arabic, waiting for me to make a move. It felt like light years would pass before I would be able to do something that would have them take me seriously. But then something snapped in my brain and told me to behave like the adult that I was.

Tempted to shout at them to be quiet, I remembered something one of my teachers had done to my class almost twenty years ago. I looked at the children, held their gazes, raised my hand and in my clearest, steadiest voice, began slowly, yet firmly counting. By the time I got to "five", the class was quiet, and 22 pairs of large eyes were curiously looking at me, waiting for instructions. And then... I was in charge.

And so began the journey of my development with my Egyptian kids. Soon my rapport with my kids grew to the extent that I would even miss them when I didn't see them. By the time weekends were over, I was waiting to see how my children were doing. I was almost 25 and they just about could have been my kids. Some of their moms were just a few years older than I was. But I felt like they were mine, all 22 of them, and I felt a strong responsibility to see to it that they would be well-educated under my rule (yes, I was the Queen of my classroom) and that they would both feel and be secure.

I was soon their confidant, friend and respected Mees (1). As my Arabic improved, I got to listen in on their innocent conversations, some of which were about me, as they smiled at me, oblivious to the fact that I was part and parcel of their little gossip.

"My mother says that South Africa is far away."
"It's somewhere near Amreeka (2)."

Some of the kids also thought it their duty to let me know all the happenings in their homes. I was informed about birthdays, weddings, arguments, diets, wigs and even an aunt who was thinking of getting a nose job, because "her nooz is a too much beeg" (3) all very matter-of-factly as if it was my duty to know.

A parent came to me in tears one morning a few minutes before the school bell could ring. She looked so desperate; I thought there was something seriously wrong.

"Miss Saleha, I really need your help." The woman looked like she was about to cry, and I felt my body go cold, expecting to hear that someone in the family had died or something equally ominous.

"Miriam doesn't eat; she hasn't eaten for a few days. I've tried everything, but nothing's working. Please can you help? She'll listen to you. I sent her with lots of sandwiches today."

I blinked, unsure of what was expected of me, and then assured her that I'd take care of it. It was only when I got Miriam to eat a sandwich a few minutes later that I realised my power over these kids. This was later confirmed on parents' day when more than one parent told me how they used me to get their kids to behave. One parent told her son that she'd tell me if he didn't put his toys away after playing with them. Another parent told her daughter that I ate spinach, which was why she had to eat it too. I felt ridiculously powerful, but also content with the knowledge that I was making a positive mark on these young souls.

I learned far more than I had anticipated. It broke my heart to discover the pressure these poor kids were under to perform well at school. Most aimed for full marks on their tests. Some cried when they didn't reach their 100% target. Others looked at me with accusing faces as I handed them their tests which were to be signed by their parents. I cursed the system daily for pushing these little people so far at such a young age. Always a rebel, having grown up in Apartheid South Africa, it was frustrating knowing that there was little I could do to change the situations of my children. I was astounded by the amount of work that they fast became used to, and wondered what my life would have been like had I learned two languages with two different scripts simultaneously in first grade. To top it all, the scripts were written in opposite directions! I admired my kids a lot, and to me, they were the smartest kids on the planet.

When I stayed home for a few days with the flu, I returned to school only to be bombarded by questions, ranging from whether I had gone back to my country to whether I'd had a baby. One smart girl told the boy sitting next to her;

"But how can she have a baby if she doesn't have a husband?"

I think my first group was probably the most special. It was through them that I learned the value of a good teacher, and was forced to remember some of the wonderful teachers my life had been blessed with. Different countries brought new challenges; each challenge with its own unique set of highlights and disappointments.

When I became a teacher-trainer, it was amusing to see that some of the situations were parallel to the ones I'd experienced with my first class. I met people, some of whom I would admire profusely, and some of whom, would irritate me to hell and back. But once I made peace with the fact that every culture and place on earth is ignorant to some degree about other people and countries, I was able to grow from my experience. Again the frustration of not being able to change education systems that were obviously not working would always be a problem. And again, I'd learn different things from my students from other parts of the world, all over again.

It was sad to see adults struggling to improve their English for work purposes, while juggling limited time between studies, work and families. I was astounded to see a Korean trainee type 60 words a minute in English as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Even after an honours degree in Arabic, I would feel like a pro if I could type half as fast in Arabic. My respect for my trainees grew as I saw them do things to improve their English language skills which just seemed so extreme to me. Yet for them, it had become a part of the way in which they functioned.

As I read their essays, I got a clearer picture of their lives, whilst being both impressed and amused by some of their writing. Misplaced verbs always make for interesting reading. Words used incorrectly can sometimes have the reader in stitches. I think the sentence that stays in my brain is the following;
"It was time to kill again"; and for a second I thought I was teaching a serial killer, till I figured out that the trainee meant she had time to kill again!

I saw my power again when trainees asked my advice on various things and actually took it. It was a good feeling to have trainees read books I recommended, watch movies that I liked and test out my favourite music. One even invested in toothpaste which I used. (And no, I don't have great, sparkly teeth.)

Nothing was funnier than a trainee who asked me in the middle of a speaking lesson on professions what a "blow job" was. Having assumed it to have something to do with the making of glass, the poor woman almost died of shock, when I carefully explained what it referred to, in the most polite manner than I could. It was similar to the time of the US election campaign, when my Asian trainees were all abuzz about the American "erections" (4).

For those of us born into English-speaking parts of the world, being native speakers of English is an asset that we will probably never begin to fathom. That half the world is studying this language diligently, some from the age of five, some earlier, and some even still doing so whilst in their fifties and older, puts us at the top end of a privileged class. Teaching it to speakers of other languages allows one to view the world through new eyes and in so doing gain insight into so much more than the norms of life.

By Saleha Khan

1 - Miss
2 - America
3 - Her nose is much too big.
4 - Asians tend to confuse the "l" and "r" sounds.

I am an ESL teacher-trainer with more than a decade of international teaching experience. I love reading about people's ESL experiences and would love to share mine.

Author: Saleha Khan