The Classroom
The classroom was a narrow, angular room on the top floor of the building. A horseshoe shaped arc of desks covered the circumference of the room. The desks were those hybrid combinations of table and chair, consisting of metal and molded hard plastic, in order to save space. The table top could be folded off to the side for easy entry. The majority of these desks were designed with right-handed people in mind, which is somewhat inconvenient for a lefty like me. But after years of enduring this prejudice, (let’s not discuss right-handed scissors) I had long ago adapted to the unnatural position of writing across my body. For a southpaw, pencil and ink smears are a fact of life. That there were one or two left-handed desks available only served to confuse me.
A large whiteboard covered most of the wall opposite the entrance. One of those easel-type stands was squared away in a distance corner, left unused except in emergency cases. The walls were painted white and affixed here and there with colorful, speech-inducing photographs. The carpet was the color of Walmart blue.
This room had clearly once been some kind of attic/storage area, as it had the sort of structural oddities one expects in those sorts of places. Although we did not have assigned seats, more often than not, there was a tendency amongst us to sit in the same seating arrangement day after day. As such, I sat directly behind an exposed wooden pillar, which I quickly began using as an impromptu footrest. Long sloped windows were built into the angled roof, washing the room in morning sunlight. Glimpses up at the passing blue skies gave our tired, bored minds something to live for.
There were approximately 15 or so of us who had signed up for this. For one whole month, we’d be spending nearly 8 hours each day in one another’s presence. Our objective was to learn how to effectively teach English as a foreign language. The group was a mixed bag of personalities, backgrounds, and experience. Each of us had our own reasons for flying halfway around the world to do this. I could only speculate on why they were there.
Some were fresh faced college graduates looking to pad their resume by adding a year of international experience before they submitted applications to grad school or law school or wherever. Others were would-be world travelers of the trust fund and/or backpacker ilk. For them, teaching was a mere excuse, and Prague an exotic medieval stepping stone to jet off to Greece or Italy or wherever.
Others still were tired of their previous jobs and sought something exciting and new. A few were already teachers of varying experience (high school, university teaching assitants) who came looking for either seasoning or a change of scenery. Perhaps there was someone who wanted to receive the certification in order to make a quick buck in yet another far off land like South Korea or The United Arab Emirates to pay off student loans or stash away some savings. And let’s not forget the couple of folks who came to be with their partner and just really wanted the visa and a job!
It might be worth noting from a strictly sociological point of view the statistical makeup of the TEFL course attendees. Of the (retrospectively estimated) 20 or so people, there was a fairly even split between genders. Nearly everyone had a caucasian complexion, save for one woman with partial Lebanese origins. From a standpoint of nationality, there were two individuals from Great Britain, two Canadians, and one person from New Zealand. The rest hailed from the United States.
Religious affiliation? None of my business. If I had to guess, I would say the mean age amongst attendees was likely around 27 years old. Couldn’t tell you the median. The oldest amongst us topped out at 35 (although he turned 36 midway the course), and the youngest was a fresh faced 20. We had one married couple who enrolled together. I make the assumption the rest were either single, or otherwise left their significant other an equally significant distance behind. Sexual orientation? Again, none of my business, although my roommate in Stodulky, Paul, was openly gay and once described himself as having “rainbows coming out of my ass.”
I’m just now remembering that in fact there were a few more people who attended but are not factored into the above statistics, considering we were split into an A & B group and given concurrent workshops in adjacent rooms. Those few who I have forgotten were placed in the other group. Not to say they were especially unmemorable, it’s just that it’s been several years now and a lot of people left after the month was up. Can’t remember everybody.
The promotional materials for this certification course invariably described it as “intensive.” There were 3 trainers who gave a series of workshops over the course of the morning. After a break for lunch, we reconvened for further workshops, and starting the second week, we began doing teaching practice with Czech learners. To conclude each day, we’d have a feedback session with our evaluator and peers over either how awesome, mediocre, or catastrophic our lesson was.
The amount of course materials we had to ingest during this protracted period of time could be described as daunting. We had two textbooks, one slim, the other a doorstop. Believe it or not, I still have them stowed away somewhere, but don’t feel like fishing them out just for the sake of remembering their titles.
And let’s not forget about the printouts! We probably each received a ream of supplementary material, including a sort of grammar assessment test to make sure you know the rudimentary rules and structure of the English language before they unleash you upon the world. Then, by the time we were doing actual lesson planning and poring over course books for our own respective students and printing dozens of pages of material, we had all become highly proficient with photocopiers.
Here is an overview of the topics covered during this “intensive” four-week course: an overview of modern TEFL basics, language learning and language acquisition, teaching grammar, teaching vocabulary, teaching reading, teaching writing, teaching speaking, teaching listening, teaching pronunciation, lesson planning, error correction, roleplay, interviews and discussions, classroom management, motivating students, using course books effectively, using songs in the classroom, alternative teaching methods, teaching one-to-one, classroom teaching ads/equipment, storytelling as a teaching tool, the Cambridge exams, conducting a needs analysis, business English materials and tips, using newspapers and other authentic materials.
Yet of all these varied subjects, the one thing that consistently induced sheer pants crapping terror in these would-be teachers was the prospect of teaching grammar. My other roommate during this time period, Seb, had this constant nagging worry that his muddled grasp of grammatical rules would torpedo his chances of receiving a Pass 1. Those who held degrees in English or had taken university level linguistics didn’t fret so much, but I have strong reason to suspect the biblically sized grammar assessment test gave everyone headaches at one point or another.
The Director of Studies and head trainer was an American by the name of Paul Michel. He had a small, cluttered office on the second floor of the building, right near the staircase. Besides his penchant for always wanting to discuss teaching theory, he seemed to have few other interests.
I remember passing by his office — when he was in, the door was always left open — and seeing him watch rock and roll videos on YouTube. Likely in his mid-to-late 50s at the time, he had first come to Prague some 20 years before during the fall of Communism in the Czech Republic. Sometimes, in more private moments, he’d open up and share his stories about how things had changed there over the years, seeing society transform and become gradually more open before his very eyes.
His eccentricities were the source of regular amusement. It didn’t take long for a group to form outside during cigarette breaks or lunch to mock his vocal tics, expressions, and mannerisms. Some wondered aloud whether he was gay. At the start of a workshop, we’d break off into smaller pairs or groups to either do an activity or talk more in depth about some technique or concept. Paul always wanted to “elicit” answers from us — his word, not mine. And that was our goal as teachers as well, to always elicit elicit elicit.
A typical routine that soon became a parody was when he’d ask the class an open-ended question and then proceed to pair us off with a gesture that resembled a Tyrannosaurus Rex frantically trying to clap. And while making this gesture, he’d kind of nod his head and exclaim, “Discuss! Discuss!” And if you answered a question correctly or made a valid point, his head would bobble again and he’d say, “Yes, yes, yes!”
Prior to writing this story, I reached out to a few former classmates for their impressions. One of them, Troy, a former pharmaceutical salesman who had sold his apartment in San Francisco to go to Prague, recollected how Paul had once mimicked a chicken by flapping his arms. He and another student, Meredith, secretly called him Bawk Bawk. I seem to have blocked this memory, but there was something bird-like in his posture and movements. My former roommate, Seb, had this to say: “Had a good time venting with George about that bearded dickhead in charge of the skool (sic)…no idea what he was called but he was fucking weird!”
The other senior trainer was a British woman named Andrea. She was a self-admitted sort of mercenary for hire who only did TEFL training for the school and revealed having multiple executives as private students, presumably for a lucrative fee. She was middle aged with dark hair and had a very dry sense of humor.
Sometimes she’d socialize with the students during smoke breaks, but kept the kind of emotional distance that implied she had been in the TEFL game for a long time. She had a laundry list of countries where she had taught, from China to Brazil, Oman to Estonia. Her husband, apparently an elderly man she described in vague, mysterious terms, was some kind of TEFL scholar or guru or something. When she spoke of him, I kind of had in mind the age gap between Celine Dion and her rotund and distinguished father figure of a husband.
Her expertise laid in grammar and pronunciation. My strongest memory of her workshops was when she gave each of us a printout of an International Phonetic Alphabet chart, and as an exercise, we had to think of unique words to represent specific phonemes. Much of the meat and potato workshops were under her excellent tutelage, which was no frills and droll, but still engaging. Whereas Paul’s eccentricities distracted from his message, Andrea’s all-business approach won her respect and approval.
The third trainer was a young Czech woman named Kamila. She was probably in her late 20s or early 30s and had porcelain facial features and long brown hair she often wore down. She dressed fashionably, mixing beige tones with skirts and long leather boots. She also had a tendency to wear those oversized belts that serve no real functional purpose. Like a lot of Czech women, Kamila made looking attractive appear effortless. Troy added, “I used to think she was so hot, but I think we were just depraved at the time, though.” That probably best sums up the entire classroom dynamic during her workshops.
I believe Kamila was a gifted trainer — she spoke impeccable English, was DELTA certified (which is a professional teaching diploma linked to Cambridge), and had received a degree in Linguistics from a university in Vancouver. My theory is that in order to handle the depraved and horny pack of wolves in class, she tried to exude this dominatrix sort of vibe, which kind of backfired on her since the faux authoritarian schtick rubbed people the wrong way.
As part of the whole TEFL process, we also had elementary Czech lessons for absolute beginners, and this is when Kamila shined. Freed from having to teach dull methodology or what not, when she lightened up and joked around with us, the classroom exuberance was a shining example of what the potential of language learning could be.
Besides workshops that were structured to improve our grasp of theory and method, the true test of one’s mettle was actual teaching practice. Amongst the two larger groups, we were broken down into smaller, more bite-sized groups of 5 or 6. Each group was assigned to an experienced trainer, who would first provide a sample lesson for us to observe. For our own lessons, this trainer would in turn become an observer and provide us with constructive criticism based on a whole rubric of criteria.
The students we’d be teaching were divided by previously assessed ability: either pre-intermediate or upper-intermediate. We’d have a little more than a week of lessons with each. As luck would have it, for the first week of teaching practice, my group would be giving lessons to the pre-intermediates. And our assigned trainer? Why that was Big Bird himself, Paul. Some members of the group had reservations about this, what with him being the Director and all, but I saw this as an opportunity to work my ass off in order to impress. A potential job was on the line here so I generally took this course pretty serious, reserving cruise control for those final few days when things were coming to an end.
We first met with these budding English language learners after lunch, where they sat all bundled together and nervous, waiting for us to arrive like building inspectors. Except we were just as nervous as they were. We meekly said hello, shaking hands, and finding a seat, waiting for Paul to arrive.
Common sense dictates that the first thing a foreign language teacher should do with a class is an ice-breaking activity. I don’t think I need to explain why this is important. Our initial ice-breaker was to line up — teachers in one line, students in the other — face one another, and ask the person opposite you questions to learn something about them. This is harder than it looks.
If there is one thing I have genuinely learned while living abroad, it’s that you don’t realize how much you take for granted that everyone you know speaks the same language as you. It is so easy and natural that part of you doesn’t even notice you’re doing such a complex series of actions. This unconscious ability of the brain begins to make even more sense when you put two-and-two together and come to understand that’s why so many people freak the fuck out over grammar — all the archaic rules and formulations have been so deeply internalized and perfected, you have to actually pay attention to what you’re saying because otherwise you’ll miss it completely.
Fortunately, even for amateur teachers, the brain is hard-wired to recognize mistakes when it hears them. Our bullshit detectors are finely tuned. This is one the main reason why native English speakers are in demand throughout the world. Constructively correcting errors and bad habits so that your student will make sense is one of the many challenges of English teaching. Equally important, however, is speaking clearly and slowly enough to be understood.
As our students were pre-intermediate, this meant they should have had a basic understanding of language concepts and vocabulary, been able to express basic needs and desires, formulate questions and give opinions, etc. By no means does this imply fluency. Being a pre-intermediate student basically implies you can have a rudimentary conversation with someone, provided you have enough time to think about how to say what you want to say. To give some personal perspective, it took me living in France for two-and-a-half years before I thought I reached this level.
I have forgotten the specifics of how this initial ice-breaker activity played out, but I know some of the students had obviously anticipated this game and had come prepared with stock questions that they repeated to each of us. When it was time for us teachers to reciprocate and ask them basic questions, their expression at first was just . . . blank. The whole process was pretty incredible really, like removing the back of a watch to see how it worked. Their eyebrows would furrow and the forehead would scrunch. Eyeballs have a tendency to roll up when trying to remember pertinent information, like vocabulary. First, they’d have to quickly piece together and understand the question as well as possible and then formulate a response.
“Repeat your questions slower,” Paul advised. “You’re speaking too fast for them to understand.”
“Where do you live?” I asked the Czech girl across from me. Let’s call her Martina.
“In Prague.”
“Yes, but where in Prague?”
“I am sorry but I do not understand.”
“OK. For example, I live in Stodulky. Where do you live?”
“Oh!” Her eyes shined bright with understanding. “I live in Haje.”
“Yes yes yes. Everybody, stop for a second,” Paul waved his hands above his head. “Did you hear what Matt did here with Martina? Repeat what you just did, Matt.”
Upon my repetition, he explained, “When Martina didn’t understand, he gave her a personal example to elicit a response. Good, Matt, good!”
Afterwards, Paul gave his sample lesson, which was a clinic in efficacy. It was like watching an old wily baseball veteran doing batting practice. The next day we’d have to give our first 20 minute lesson, so everyone quickly came to dread lesson planning. For the purposes of the course, we had to fill out a detailed lesson plan based on a pre-formed outline to give our proposed lesson the requisite structure and form. At first it was a challenge, but soon became another form of tedium.
Today I have no recollection of what I taught for my first lesson. I know that before I started, 20 minutes seemed like an eternity. But in the midst of teaching, correcting errors, and acting like a circus performer, time passed by like a whirlwind.
Afterwards, I was so sweaty it felt like someone had drenched me with a bucket of water. It was borderline embarrassing, to where you’re wiping your forehead with a handkerchief every five minutes and live in mortal fear of some beads of sweat dropping onto a student’s paper while you’re leaning over to help them. My undershirt and collared shirt were soaked through, my hair a slick mess. The reaction from Paul and my peers was a mixture of impressed relief. Impressed because my lesson was concise, informative, and helpful. Relief, I think, from the fact that I didn’t pass out from overexertion.
My fellow teachers also took part in this trial by fire. Some were naturals. Brian, one of my future roommates after the TEFL course concluded, had taught high school before and had received a Master’s degree in Education. In addition to being innately charming, spontaneous, and creative in a classroom setting, he already possessed the confidence and poise to implement a quality lesson. As might be expected, Paul hated his lessons because he didn’t stick to the script.
Another teacher who did well was Jacob, an eternally youthful looking poet who had recently wrapped up graduate school. Bookish, intelligent, and attentive, our group thought he gave good lessons. Jess and Joel also put in solid performances.
But alas, poor Emma, the girl who had arrived in Prague at the same time as me, suffered from the jitters in front of the class from get-go. Her face would turn beet red and she’d kind of get that deer-in-the-headlights look when she’d start to stumble over her own words or forget what she was about to say. As an observer, you can’t help but wince when you see someone stumbling like that. During feedback, Paul criticized her lesson with restraint and tact, but that still couldn’t staunch the flow of tears.
Still, we managed to have good times during teaching practice. I usually sat next to Brian, where we’d horse off and silently giggle like school girls at inside jokes, like The Bombay. Don’t ask.
And so our workshops and teaching practice continued. Our group switched to teaching the upper-intermediates and we also received a new observer, the very kind and sweet Biba, from Slovakia. She was kind enough after the course ended to invite us to her home in Kladno, just north of Prague.
The overall impression people had of this course was that it was indeed “intense.” My other roommate, Paul, said it was on par with university level material. I personally never found the material especially difficult; rather, the challenging aspect was the fact that everything was so condensed. To stuff everything into one month — 8 hours a day, 5 days a week — became rather grueling. Not to mention the extra work and reading we had to each night in preparation for the next day’s seminar.
Being stuck together for so long, and basically divorced from our previous lives, developed a strong sense of camaraderie between us. Sure, not everyone got along swimmingly — on occasion, there was a bit of high school-ish socializing — but the friendships we formed helped keep us afloat. If we weren’t in workshops or teaching practice, most people tended to congregate in the computer lab where people’d be checking their email or making copies or doing lesson planning. During breaks or lunch, we’d go downstairs to the cafeteria or to a nearby restaurant in Andel and laugh and commiserate. It was down in that small cafeteria where I first got to know Sven, who used to race bicycles professionally. Although a bit of a loner and occasionally misanthropic, Sven and I found a commonality in the Three B’s: beer, bikes, and books.
With the stress being what it was, most people let loose on the weekend. There was always some place to go or something to do, and more often than not, a large group of us would go off somewhere together. A healthy nightlife is never lacking in a place like Prague.
By the end of the month, even before passing grades and certificates were given out, I feel that a lot of people already knew if they were staying or going. Seb and Paul both decided against staying, but I had found new roommates in Brian and Steve. Some people left immediately, others hung around for a few months before deciding the expat life wasn’t for them. Others stayed for a year or more. Though I’m not 100% sure about this, but I believe Brian and Steve are the only ones from our graduating TEFL class of August 2009 to still be living in Prague.
Despite the relative brevity of this demanding, exasperating course, it all made for a lasting, nigh unforgettable experience.
