Living in a Multilingual World (The One About the Royal Wedding)

What is her name? I stressed the “her” as much as I could but my pre-entry ESOL students’ faces remained blank as they stared at a picture of Meghan Markle.

Like many people in the UK I had bought into the whole royal wedding shebang and planned a lesson around the Windsors and the Markles. In this case, the focus would be on introductions, a subject we had covered previously but to which I wanted to come back using the royal shindig as class material. I was really pleased with myself and the fact my lesson would be as student-led as possible. The lead-in would be a photo of the happy couple, Meghan and Harry, the hand-over to students would be swift and smooth and the practice stage productive. There was one element, however, I didn’t count on.

My learners did not know much about the royals.

There it was on the wall, the family tree diagram I had so carefully printed off the net showing the lineage from Queen Elizabeth II to the latest addition, Prince Louis. Yet, my students, spanning continents from Asia to America, and countries from Pakistan to Ecuador, only recognised William. I panicked in the same way a theatre director panics when their leading actor or actress falls ill on opening night and their understudy has lost their voice. What to do now?

Well, time for some improvisation – having been part of an impro troupe back in my uni days, I developed then very handy skills that have served me well over the years. For instance, how to turn a potentially failing lesson into a successful one with a simple sleight of hand and some thespian tricks – and concept checking questions. Is the woman’s name William? No, it isn’t (well, even Harry would have been surprised at that one!). Is her name Elizabeth II? (they knew who the Queen was) No, it isn’t and I for one can’t see the newly-minted Duchess of Sussex applying for the top job anytime soon.

Next it was a controlled practice activity. I chose a multiple-choice question with just one correct answer. Is the woman’s name a) Elizabeth II b)Meghan Markle c)William?

They all called out at the same time, in different accents and using various pronunciations: Meghan Markle! I carried on playing devil’s advocate for a few seconds, broad smile on my face. So, it’s not Elizabeth II (no). And it’s not William (no).

No, it is not, I said. Or no, it isn’t. I decided to throw in a bit of language feedback to ensure that their answers, whilst correct, still included the full structure.

First hurdle overcome I grew in confidence. I moved on to the productive stage. I normally use puppets in my lessons as ice-breakers and to make them more fun and entertaining. Also, to bring the child in us back out. William. Elizabeth and Meghan lost their titles and became plain Bill, Liz and Meg, a cat, a dog and a bear. Introductions were practised. Then, the new content was presented: This is my friend…His/Her name is… My learners took to it pretty well. Even the usually shy ones in the room contributed actively. My personal aim of maintaining a good pace and giving out clearer instructions was working.

Still in the productive and final stage, I marched on. Here is where most beginners’ level teachers stumble. Learners can easily get used to the teacher doing all the work whilst they only answer controlled practice exercises. Their attitude at times can come across as uncooperative. Yet, all they are doing is showing their lack of knowledge of the target language and their insecurity in acquiring said language. No wonder they refuse to leave their comfort zone. Hence the quick hand-over at the start of the lesson ensures both parties know what is expected of them. In my case, I had made up little cards, each with a (very) short bio of Harry, Meghan, William and Kate. After reading them, the students were expected to role-play between themselves.

Up stood the first two, a man and a woman. After the usual hellos, the introductions:

 My name is Henry Charles Albert David, but you can call me Harry, what is your name?

My name is Meghan Markle. Nice to meet you.

-         Nice to meet you, too. Where are you from?

-         I am from the United States of America. And you, where are you from?

-         I am from Great Britain.

-         OK, bye.

-         Bye.

We all clapped the pair and ended the lesson there on a high. I am sure that some of them went home desperate to show off to their family what they had learnt in class and what to answer if they were ever asked “What is her name?”, a picture of a beaming Meghan Markle in hand.

© 2018

Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music

The word 'magisterium' and its close Spanish equivalent 'magisterio' might come across as two different terms, if not visually, at least semantically speaking, but they do share one common element: teaching. The main difference is that in English, 'magisterium' refers to the authority and power of the church (especially the Roman Catholic Church) to teach religious truth, whereas in my mother tongue, 'magisterio' is used in broader terms, as in what a teacher does every day at school. 'Magisterio' was also the name of one of the courses available to a younger version of myself when I was seventeen and about to finish college and head for university.

It was not until my third year at the former ISPLE (Higher Institute of Foreign Languages) that I fell in love with teaching. And the catalys for that transformation was a lecturer who taught one of those subjects that when you first heard of it, made you want to dash off for the nearest exit: History of Pedagogics. I still remember that first time. He had been given the 'graveyard slot', that was, straight after lunch and the subject was in Spanish rather than English. His future with us, defiant, cocky students in their late teens and early twenties, did not bode well.

By the time he came in, we all had plotted different scenarios. Some suggested that we play hooky, others that we answer his questions in English - it was unlikely that he spoke the language, we thought -, there was another group, of which I was part, that proposed that we give him ten minutes after which, if we didn't feel challenged enough (smug prats as we were then) we could all come up with different excuses to leave the lecture room. In the event, his ten minutes extended to an hour and half and then some more.

Mr Pedagogics turned out to be the best teacher I have ever had in my life.

For starters, there was his approach to education. He didn't believe in mindless repetition, the usual attitude amongst other lecturers. He encouraged interpretation and independent thinking. We later found out that he had been the rector at our faculty some years before and had resigned when he couldn't take the state's dogmatic stand on the learning process anymore. And now we were the ones benefitting from his decision. In explaining the development of pedagogics, he took us from ancient Greece to modern Cuba. And if sometimes his lectures resembled Plato's famous dramatic dialogues, the reason was that he encouraged us to think and think freely.

It was from this moment on that I changed my teaching methods. I had been an assistant-student for a year then and suddenly I began to enjoy more my tutorial role. I became less judgemental and more supportive of my pupils' efforts. I stopped being apathetic towards teaching and started to see it as a viable career option, even if bureaucracy and socialist rhetoric were always going to be a major problem for me, as they turned out to be years later. I felt I had found my calling. Moreover, I realised that teaching was truly the most important job in the world, the type we did even when we didn't engage in it professionally. A parent who shows a child how to walk or use his/her spoon is actively involved in teaching. Recently I found the most appropriate definition of a teacher in 'Reading Lolita in Tehran', Iranian writer Azar Nafisi's memoir. Although she is referring to a close friend of hers, it should not come as a surprise that he had been a lecturer years before: 'Does every magician, every genuine one, like my oown, evoke the hidden conjurer in us all, bringing out the magical possibilities and potentials we did not know existed?'

The reason for this flurry of memories is a recent government's white paper proposal that would allow two-hundred outstanding recruits from its fast-track teaching scheme to become headteachers in as little as four years. All of a sudden, 'magisterio' has turned into an attractive career choice.

One of the consequences of the current economical situation is unexpected career changes. With unemployment at a record high, it is the teaching profession the one to which many ex-employees of the financial sector have decamped. 'City seminars', named so after the part of London where the stock market is located, attracted over a thousand visitors last year, according to the Times Education Supplement, and up to four-hundred companies have already signed up to the Training and Development Agency for Schools' Transition to Teaching programme.

There are more reasons, however, for this increasing interest in education and I'd better mention them before the cynic in me takes over this post. Many individuals feel a duty to give something back. Others find themselves in a rut and want a new challenge. A third group wants a job that will inspire young people. The fact that the subjects they will be/are teaching are relevant to their former careers makes it less daunting to take the leap of faith from one field to the other. At present, these courses are: science, technology, engineering and maths.

And yet, I, too, find myself agreeing with the dissenting voices. Once the economy recovers, and there're already signs of green shoots in the distance, will these people stay? Is the government not depreciating the teaching profession by fast-tracking newcomers into education within six months? Six months? I trained for five years! I had to study Psychology for Children and Adolescents. At university we started our practice in our first year and did not stop until our final one. However, these rookies have six months to master the intricacies of teaching, to inspire a new generation, to become au fait with the complex world of marking and dealing with unsatisfied parents. You can see why eyebrows have been raised at the government's initiative to allow these new teachers to become schoolheads within four years of starting their practice. Would a same scheme involving future doctors be permitted? Would novices to the health sector be given permission to operate on patients after training for six months? Methinks no.

The silver lightning in this story is that other programmes are run for a little longer, twelve months, with prospective teachers training and earning on the job. The economic crisis has also brought with it a wind of change in that more and more people are less focused on job titles or status and more on a profession that makes a difference. How long will it last? I don't know, maybe it will be just as long as a heartbeat, but there's no escaping the fact that you need a lot of heart and soul to teach and a syncopated beat to go with it.

Disclaimer: I finished writing the above post on Friday 9th January. Then last Tuesday 19th January I chanced upon this article included in the G2 section of The Guardian. My initial reaction was surprise and mild amusement, above all, at the parallels between Francis's piece and my column. Then, I realised that with an election year ahead of us in the UK - though at the time of writing the Prime Minister has yet to come up with a date for the general election -, these 'coincidences' will happen more often than not, especially because my Sunday posts are open fora for people to discuss their views on a particular subject, be it UK-focused or of a more worldwide nature. I hope you enjoyed my column today, I strongly recommend Francis Hilbert's feature (his classification of teachers is hilarious, but, oh, so true!) and the music. Fellow bloggers and followers of this blog should know by now that I don't need any excuse to upload music by Aziza. Many thanks, enjoy your Sunday and your week.

Copyright 2010



Next Post: 'Reading Lolita in Tehran' (Review), to be published on Tuesday 26th January at 11:59pm (GMT)