Don’t You Want Me — Vientiane, Laos | January 2003
“Why you want to know about feets? ”
“…,” The silence is deafening. I don’t understand. It’s my first day as an English teacher in Vientiane and I have been planning this first lesson for weeks. Now, after I’ve introduced myself and explained the activity I had in mind to get to know my students, 18 pairs of eyes just stare at me, glazed in total confusion.
Slowly it dawns on me that all my students — ranging in age from 13 to 50 — and I have in common is that we don’t understand each other at all. These are just elementary students and I probably overestimated their levels of English. I’ll try again.
I put the question grid I prepared back on the overhead projector and once more review the question prompts using myself as an example: What is your full name? What should we call you? Where do you live? … There are eight questions in total.
“OK, the first question is ‘What is your full name?’ What does this mean, what should be my answer?” Silence, “OK, a full name means your first name and your family name, so my full name is Marko van Gaans. My first name is Marko and my family name is Van Gaans, OK? Noy what is your full name?” I ask, picking at random a nickname from the attendance sheet.
“Noy teacher,” a girl in the back of the class says with a broad smile.
“Erm no, Noy is your nickname, the name we should call you,” I say while looking up her full name on the attendance sheet, “your full name is Manivong Chanthaphone, OK?”
“OK,” she says, but I’m not convinced.
I try a few other students and it’s gradually starting to look like the class is getting what I want them to answer. As I go through the other questions we actually seem to be making some progress and the horrible silence has disappeared. But then we get to the sixth question: What is your shoe size?
The moment I ask the question, the class goes silent again and I find myself in front of blank staring faces. What is the problem? It’s not a difficult question, why won’t they answer? I’m starting to sweat. The silence is deafening, again.
“Teacher,” a young girl finally speaks up, “why you want to know about feets?”
Then I realise that in Buddhism the feet, as the lowest part of the body, are considered unclean and, therefore, it is considered disrespectful to point towards things with your feet, show the bottom of your feet, or enter someone’s home without removing your shoes. It must seem weird to my students to talk about their feet, no matter how innocent the question really is.
“The question is not really about your feet Tuny,” I start to explain, “it’s about the letter S. Remember there are three steps to this introduction. First you answer the question. For example, ‘My shoe size is 43.’ You see ‘shoe size is’ sz-sz-sz. Second you interview a classmate and third you introduce your classmate to me. For example, ‘His shoes size is 41,’ sz-sz-sz-sz. You see it’s about the letter S.”
“Huh, uhm OK?” Tuny says as she turns to the group of elderly men seated at her group of tables to explain. First I just see confused faces, but then there’s a murmur of approval. I’ll try again.
This time, the response is much better and before long the students’ struggle with the S-ending sound, so common in English but absent in Lao, is becoming quite hilarious.
All in all, despite the disastrous beginning, this first class as an English teacher in Laos has turned out well, and I’m sure things will improve from this point on.
The Human League. Don’t You Want Me on Dare [LP]. London, United Kingdom: Virgin Records (1981)
This autobiographical sketch comes from my bundle In the Moment: A Disjointed Audiobiography which is available at Amazon.com. (USD 9.50 for a paperback or USD 4.50 for the Kindle version)