What my first year as a UASC ESOL teacher has taught me
Not only have I had to learn this job on the go; I also had to Google what ‘UASC’ stood for after I accepted the position. In case you’re wondering as well, it means ‘Unaccompanied Asylum Seeker Children’ (and ESOL stands for ‘English for Speakers of Other Languages’). Of course I jumped on the opportunity when I was offered it. Thanks to in-house word of mouth at Kent Adult Education, I was given the position without so much as a, “Can I see your credentials?”
Fortunately, it was right up my credential alley-way, almost like life had been preparing me for it. That strange degree I obtained during my time in France, “English Language & Literature ''- despite having started out as a French and Mathematics undergraduate- suddenly made sense.
Teaching ESOL has become my favourite job to date. Please don’t read ‘easiest’ into this. It’s been far from easy. It’s had me crying in the shower, sweating profusely, trembling after having to deal with more confrontational behaviour than I’m used to. I’ve never filled out so much paperwork in my life. I’ve learned what ‘ILP’ and ‘PIE’ stand for (and no, the latter unfortunately has nothing to do with apples or chicken). I’ve worked far more than I’m paid to do (I’m learning to set boundaries here) and have spent hours worrying about particular students, sending off emails to their social workers to try and help them get more suitable beds or locks for their doors because they currently only have mattresses to sleep on or their housemates keep stealing their personal belongings.
I don’t just feel like their teacher. I feel like a sort of surrogate big sister, someone they confide in regularly, someone they’d often rather go to before their social workers. I think this is because they see me a lot more regularly. They know I’ve got their backs. Sometimes I take on way too much and realise I need to take a step back. After all, I am not paid to be their social worker. But I care for these boys so much. I’ve heard their stories. I’ve had to muster every ounce of strength I possess to remain composed when they’ve told me about the 3 days they spent in the back of a lorry to get here, or about how much they miss their mum (they’ll likely never see their parents again and often can’t keep in touch because it’s far too dangerous). They’re only seventeen or eighteen years old, but it seems like they’ve lived a thousand lives already. There’s wisdom and pain in their eyes that makes them look ten years older.
Most of them are desperate to learn English. They can’t wait to start studying to become mechanics or electricians or even scientists. The UK, with all its own problems and dare I say corruption, has become a safe haven for these boys. Nothing that could be thrown at them here compares to what they suffered or could have suffered in their home countries. They’d rather be misunderstood and often have to face racial abuse and shunning by us* than endure the totalitarian regimes of their own countries' leadership. They don’t have much here, but they had even less before. It’s no wonder they see the UK as the ultimate sanctuary. They have a future here. Something that no-one could have guaranteed them before. Ultimately, they’ve been given hope.
The classes I have been teaching are at Pre-Entry and Entry 1 level. This means that they have the most basic level of English. Some of them could only say, “Hello” and “My name is” when they arrived on the first day. I am not exaggerating.
The classes aimed to bring them up to Entry 1 level so that they could sit and pass their Trinity Speaking & Listening exam at the beginning of July. I’m not going to lie, teaching them was hard work. Imagine being asked to explain every third or fourth word you say. Literally.
A typical conversation could go like this:
(Reading out the words on a slide from my PowerPoint) “This man is sick. He is going to see the doctor.”
“Teacher, what is sick?”
“Sick means unwell. Not feeling good.”
“Teacher, what feeling means?”
“Feeling. Like I don’t feel good.”
“Teacher, what means don’t?”
Thankfully there’s Google images and a lot of them have translator tools on their smartphones. Without the gift of technology, I think I would have lost my patience or burned out a long time ago. We live in an era where countries and cultures can finally begin to learn to understand each other. We don’t have any more excuses for ignorance.
This has become more than a job for me. I feel privileged to be working with these amazing young men who enrich my life every day. Their questions and interest keep me motivated and passionate to teach them the very best way I can. We have so much fun in class. We play a lot of games. We laugh a lot. And when they look at me, smiling, I want to cry. Because seeing them happy makes me feel like everything I’m doing is worth it.
At the end of the day, we all just want to be happy. We all have the same right to be happy. We all deserve security, love, justice, freedom. I can’t promise these kids that their futures are going to be easy. I can’t promise them anything. I can’t do much for them, except dance around at the front of the class teaching English in a way that makes them smile. But if they go home feeling better than when they came in, I know I’ve done my job.
*Sadly, the boys tell me stories about how they’re called racist names in the streets or even feel unsafe walking home on their own.