A rare moment today. The sense of having helped to launch that hand-made raft of learning that is the only possible transport from the desolate island of ignorance to the abundant continents of knowledge. However hard we try, no teacher can do this for our students- we can only stand by, guide, assist and share what we know. We can assist the launch, but we can never remain for the whole journey. We can equip our brave voyagers with instructions, with tools, with supplies, but we can never be sure what adventures await them. What we can do, in the ever-too-short time that we have with our students, is simply to impart what we know, and if we are lucky, the ways to find out more for oneself on the oceans of uncertainty. Learning is the only weapon we can provide, but learning how to learn is the power to forge one’s own weapons, tools; swords or ploughshares. Have I succeeded? There is never a simple answer. But that little spot on the sun-shimmering horizon there, that is the raft I helped to launch today.
All this after incidentally sitting in on the Speaking exams of a group of Foundation Year students that were under my wing for Study Skills in the first semester and Writing in this second semester. As one student after another made the required presentation, I was awed to see how clearly every single one of them had structured the task. Having examined this course twice before, I know that this is unusual at Foundation level, and even beyond, since it is never explicitly taught. The fact that the students have transferred what they have learnt in other courses to making speeches is remarkable, since a very segmented view of different courses is common. It also eliminated two of the common problems found in presentations: blind memorisation of the student’s own text and, even worse, blind memorisation of a copied text. It was very clear that every student had created, structured and intellectually digested the presentation, and every piece displayed both intellect and heart. Of course there were little stumbles and bumbles and the usual light garnish of errors, but there was structure. Errors can be addressed later, but structure- that is what Foundation Year is all about.
BUT WAIT, in true Shopping Channel fashion, THERE’S MORE. These students had their Writing exam yesterday, and while invigilating the same exam with another group I was horrified to see students scribble down several pages, frantically counting words, and filling in the mandatory outline as a half-hearted afterthought. As those students handed in their papers, page after page of disorganised gobbledegook spilled out. I had to wonder if I would be subjected to the same torture as their poor examiner. But no. The work I received was crisp, clear and to the point. Using the outline, students were able to plan their arguments and anticipate their word count without being side-tracked. Even those who struggle with the language made very clear what they would be discussing and what their main arguments were. There will always be different levels within a language class, but at least in one thing every single one of these students is equal: every one of them can structure an essay. When you can structure an essay, as they have proved, you can structure a speech. When you can structure your own essays and speeches, you can extract the key ideas from others’ discourse. When you can do that, you have a steady foundation to work from.
Although I share in the satisfaction, the credit goes to my students when I confidently declare that the foundation- the Foundation- has been laid.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Good Language, Bad Language
There’s nothing that will knock you off your high horse quite like a spot of proofreading. A section of a colleague’s doctoral thesis has been sitting on my desk for an amount of time that is about to become critically embarrassing, and I simply had to start tackling it this evening. There is a reason why I had procrastinated! Not a walk in the park at the best of times, academic texts develop a life of their own when their fate is in your hands. The pages teem with pernickety little things that tug at the seams of your consciousness… a malapropism here, a stray preposition there, a phantom faux ami everywhere. Suffice it to say that there is no longer a film of dust on my dictionary.
It’s a funny thing, the English-speaking hierarchy. Whose language is it anyway? In his book The Struggle to Teach English as an International Language (OUP 2005), Adrian Holliday identifies two streams of English speakers: BANA (those from Britain, Australasia and North America) and TESEP (those who are taught English in Tertiary, Secondary and Primary School). Robert Phillipson, in turn, distinguishes between “core” and “periphery” circles, which respectively represent the haves and have-nots of the English language. The most nuanced picture is painted by Braj Kachru, who proposes an “inner circle”, representing the traditionally English-speaking developed world, the “outer” circle, representing the former English colonies, and the “expanding” circle”, representing, well, everybody else.
This gives us a nice little multi-faceted paradigm for a spot of good, old-fashioned pigeonholing. Let’s see where my students, my thesis-writing colleague and, of course, I, fit onto all this.
What all this means, is that my TESEP, outer/expanding circle colleague whose third language is English, is depending on TESEP/Inner/Core-or-maybe-periphery me, whose second language is English, to ensure that his writing will be palatable within the BANA/Inner/Core inner sanctum of his international university.
No wonder I am using my dictionary.
It’s a funny thing, the English-speaking hierarchy. Whose language is it anyway? In his book The Struggle to Teach English as an International Language (OUP 2005), Adrian Holliday identifies two streams of English speakers: BANA (those from Britain, Australasia and North America) and TESEP (those who are taught English in Tertiary, Secondary and Primary School). Robert Phillipson, in turn, distinguishes between “core” and “periphery” circles, which respectively represent the haves and have-nots of the English language. The most nuanced picture is painted by Braj Kachru, who proposes an “inner circle”, representing the traditionally English-speaking developed world, the “outer” circle, representing the former English colonies, and the “expanding” circle”, representing, well, everybody else.
This gives us a nice little multi-faceted paradigm for a spot of good, old-fashioned pigeonholing. Let’s see where my students, my thesis-writing colleague and, of course, I, fit onto all this.
What all this means, is that my TESEP, outer/expanding circle colleague whose third language is English, is depending on TESEP/Inner/Core-or-maybe-periphery me, whose second language is English, to ensure that his writing will be palatable within the BANA/Inner/Core inner sanctum of his international university.
No wonder I am using my dictionary.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Digitally Dumbfounded
The link on one of the LeedsBlogs really set me thinking. About a lot of stuff.
It is about a website showing a stupendous project: a collection of Polaroids that were taken every single day by one man over the course of eighteen years- right up to the date of his death in 1997.
The first thing I had to think about was the dedication and perseverance required for such a project.
The second is the inspiration.
The third is the richness of life that the photographs reflect.
The fourth is what constitutes suitable subject matter for a photograph.
The fifth is how easy such a project is today- yet how many who try it throw in the towel.
The sixth is, considering the resources available today, how much is being put to meaningful use? User-generated content is getting so much airtime at the moment (Time Magazine’s Person of the Year 2007 was, after all “YOU”), but what is the quality that users are generating? After eight years of “generating content” myself, I think I am entitled to ask such a question.
The seventh, and final thing I had to think about is whether such a collection matters more once a life is no longer a work in progress.
It is about a website showing a stupendous project: a collection of Polaroids that were taken every single day by one man over the course of eighteen years- right up to the date of his death in 1997.
The first thing I had to think about was the dedication and perseverance required for such a project.
The second is the inspiration.
The third is the richness of life that the photographs reflect.
The fourth is what constitutes suitable subject matter for a photograph.
The fifth is how easy such a project is today- yet how many who try it throw in the towel.
The sixth is, considering the resources available today, how much is being put to meaningful use? User-generated content is getting so much airtime at the moment (Time Magazine’s Person of the Year 2007 was, after all “YOU”), but what is the quality that users are generating? After eight years of “generating content” myself, I think I am entitled to ask such a question.
The seventh, and final thing I had to think about is whether such a collection matters more once a life is no longer a work in progress.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Fair Play
The only way to ensure a fair opportunity for all is that everyone plays by the same rules. As the accreditation process of our college draws near, the contradictions are becoming clearer. National policy (and international standards) suggest that certain standards should apply to everyone. But tradition is a powerful force, and it does not agree.
During today’s invigilation of a final year exam, seven students (whom I have taught) asked me to bend the rules for them- one of them even asked to use her mobile phone in session. All this after the exam rules had been written on the whiteboard and repeated verbally at the beginning of the session. (The same rules that have been in place throughout their degree programme.) Interestingly, none of these requests were directed at my co-invigilator, who does not know these students. Knowing people is, after all, the major currency in this culture. At one point, their teacher came in and initiated discussion, which naturally led to side-talk. Nipping this in the bud, I was rewarded with the dirtiest of looks from students, and the teacher’s reprimand that this was the best group he had ever taught (suggesting I had no right to chastise them). When the allotted time was over, my colleague and I announced that students were to put pens down. Over half of them did not stop writing after our second instruction, and we had to physically take the papers from them, once again accompanied by dirty looks and tongue-clucking. “Not fair.”
Ah, but the tale does not end there. As it turned out, the teacher was with another group, and allowed “flexibility” for the hand-in… for fifteen more minutes.
Now the students are on the case of the teachers who followed the rules to ensure fair play, singing the praises of their teacher who bent the rules to the authorities- who are sympathetic. Needless to spell out whose actions they consider fair. Allegiance comes before standards in this part of the world. And I have to question whether it is to my credit- whatever the financial or professional benefit- to work in a system where the unfair is deemed fair, while following the standards of fair play is deemed high treason.
(Re-reading what I have written this seems like a paranoid nightmare, and I can well understand that it may be interpreted as such. Surely no establishment would tolerate such absurdity? Anyone tempted to test the reality of these statements is welcome to apply for a job here: of the fifteen people recruited at the beginning of this academic year, only ONE is re-signing his contract. The others have chosen to wake up. I have to wonder if I should do the same.)
During today’s invigilation of a final year exam, seven students (whom I have taught) asked me to bend the rules for them- one of them even asked to use her mobile phone in session. All this after the exam rules had been written on the whiteboard and repeated verbally at the beginning of the session. (The same rules that have been in place throughout their degree programme.) Interestingly, none of these requests were directed at my co-invigilator, who does not know these students. Knowing people is, after all, the major currency in this culture. At one point, their teacher came in and initiated discussion, which naturally led to side-talk. Nipping this in the bud, I was rewarded with the dirtiest of looks from students, and the teacher’s reprimand that this was the best group he had ever taught (suggesting I had no right to chastise them). When the allotted time was over, my colleague and I announced that students were to put pens down. Over half of them did not stop writing after our second instruction, and we had to physically take the papers from them, once again accompanied by dirty looks and tongue-clucking. “Not fair.”
Ah, but the tale does not end there. As it turned out, the teacher was with another group, and allowed “flexibility” for the hand-in… for fifteen more minutes.
Now the students are on the case of the teachers who followed the rules to ensure fair play, singing the praises of their teacher who bent the rules to the authorities- who are sympathetic. Needless to spell out whose actions they consider fair. Allegiance comes before standards in this part of the world. And I have to question whether it is to my credit- whatever the financial or professional benefit- to work in a system where the unfair is deemed fair, while following the standards of fair play is deemed high treason.
(Re-reading what I have written this seems like a paranoid nightmare, and I can well understand that it may be interpreted as such. Surely no establishment would tolerate such absurdity? Anyone tempted to test the reality of these statements is welcome to apply for a job here: of the fifteen people recruited at the beginning of this academic year, only ONE is re-signing his contract. The others have chosen to wake up. I have to wonder if I should do the same.)
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Linguistic Levity
Classes are over and exams have started. This is a mixed joy: without classes to teach and prepare for, there is suddenly time to do all those little things that were simply not a high enough priority in the sink-or-swim semester days. On the other hand, it also means eight sets of invigilation for each teacher- enough to send the most fearless of Zen masters running.
Today’s preparatory reading was on a topic I had been putting off for a long time: Second Language Acquisition. It’s an area that intrigues me, not least because of my own chequered history with language learning. That is a story for another day, though. What really lightened up the reading, and had me in (vociferous!) stitches, was one of the activities at the end of the chapter. Written by Nina Spada and Patsy Lightbown, authorities in the field and authors of their own influential book on SLA, the chapter in Schmitt’s Introduction to Applied Linguistics (2002, Hodder Arnold) is a useful overview.
The activity shows the responses form three students to a question asking them to guess what people in a picture of an airport are saying. Two of the students’ responses are unremarkable, but one was spiked with mischievous humour. Here are the madcap student’s responses, evidently heavily influenced by The Godfather. (Incidentally, the Godfather seems to boost English ability remarkably.)
Flight attendant to passenger: Do you need something?
Customs officer to passenger waiting to board: Why did you bring this bomb?
Man in coat and hat on telephone: Where do I put the money, boss?
Man to woman: Hey, short stuff. What time is it?
Woman to crying child: Why are you crying little boy?
Boy to woman, while pointing: Hey mom! It looks like your ugly skirt!
Female officer to man: What did you find on this terrorist, agent 007?
Woman to car rental clerk: Do you have a big uncomfortable car, Mrs.?
Man at luggage desk, pointing at a mountain of suitcases, to old man: Dad, are you sure you can bring this alone?
I laughed until the tears ran, especially at “Why did you bring this bomb?”
It is extremely good for the heart to know that there is levity in a field that can be known for seriousness. And it is even better to see that the student who learnt with humour is using the target language better than those who are seriously suffering along. There is a lesson in all this….
The image is from Lightbown, P.M. and Spada, N. 2002 Second Language Acquisition, in Schmitt, N. (Ed.) 2002 Introduction to Applied Linguistics. New York: Hodder Arnold.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
The Quest For Resources Begins Again
As I sit at my desk, I hear the imam in the nearby mosque tap the microphone before sounding the call to prayer. Six months ago this microphone tap was not even audible to me. Then I started studying again, and the calls to prayer became the punctuation of my day. Somehow, my study time coincides with the dawn, dusk and evening prayers, and the microphone tap has become my Pavlovian signal for a shift in activity. Today, it marked the beginning (at 12.30) and the end (at 3:40) of my quest for online resources.
My former lamentations have recorded the woes of students in Oman who struggle for access to resources for their international courses. The political implications are myriad and won’t be discussed here, but I, along with my fellow students, have come to accept the fact that we are on our own in this battle. The question is no longer whether we will receive assistance, but rather what we can do, under the circumstances, to help ourselves.
It turns out that, to misquote Benjamin Franklin, Google Books helps those who helps themselves. Though the university library offers access to a single full text of one of the recommended books, Google Books offers limited views of seventeen of them. This is not nearly what one needs for readings at postgraduate level, but it does at least give us a chance to familiarise ourselves with the field before our classes start in three weeks’ time.
And we take whatever we can get.
My former lamentations have recorded the woes of students in Oman who struggle for access to resources for their international courses. The political implications are myriad and won’t be discussed here, but I, along with my fellow students, have come to accept the fact that we are on our own in this battle. The question is no longer whether we will receive assistance, but rather what we can do, under the circumstances, to help ourselves.
It turns out that, to misquote Benjamin Franklin, Google Books helps those who helps themselves. Though the university library offers access to a single full text of one of the recommended books, Google Books offers limited views of seventeen of them. This is not nearly what one needs for readings at postgraduate level, but it does at least give us a chance to familiarise ourselves with the field before our classes start in three weeks’ time.
And we take whatever we can get.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
The Real World
The single most popular criticism levelled towards the academic world is the Ivory Tower Argument: the academic world is said to be removed from the Real World. Since I do not really belong to the academic world, that is not my battle to fight. I can, however, emphasise that when it comes to teacher education, educational institutes do work hand in hand with the end users: real schools in the real world.
Student teachers at our college spend two days per week teaching under observation for their entire final year. I have not really been involved this Practicum course before. Now that my own theoretical base is expanding, I will be one of the observers in the coming semester. I have had one trip to the schools, simply as a chaperone (see the entry for 15 March 2008). Today I had another, to present a workshop for teachers at an open day arranged entirely by our college’s graduating students.
Of course, some things went wrong- they always do. Yet the students were so capable and competent, had such wonderful ideas and gave the teachers a lovely day off while inspiring the students about this new language they are learning. (One has to give them credit: out in the rocky hills where this particular school is located, there seems very little reason to learn this language- or anything much at all.) The staff gave us a warm welcome and the kids surrounded me (foreigner!) in a squealing throng, piping up in brave snatches of grammarless English spiced with rolling r’s.
When I think in terms of preparing my students for the real world, I think New York London Paris Shanghai Sydney. But in this context, the real world is Suwaiq, Sur, Salalah… little brown towns where nothing much happens- except for the revolution that is brewing in Oman’s schools.
And that is very real.
Wednesday, 7 May 2008, 7:28 PM
Student teachers at our college spend two days per week teaching under observation for their entire final year. I have not really been involved this Practicum course before. Now that my own theoretical base is expanding, I will be one of the observers in the coming semester. I have had one trip to the schools, simply as a chaperone (see the entry for 15 March 2008). Today I had another, to present a workshop for teachers at an open day arranged entirely by our college’s graduating students.
Of course, some things went wrong- they always do. Yet the students were so capable and competent, had such wonderful ideas and gave the teachers a lovely day off while inspiring the students about this new language they are learning. (One has to give them credit: out in the rocky hills where this particular school is located, there seems very little reason to learn this language- or anything much at all.) The staff gave us a warm welcome and the kids surrounded me (foreigner!) in a squealing throng, piping up in brave snatches of grammarless English spiced with rolling r’s.
When I think in terms of preparing my students for the real world, I think New York London Paris Shanghai Sydney. But in this context, the real world is Suwaiq, Sur, Salalah… little brown towns where nothing much happens- except for the revolution that is brewing in Oman’s schools.
And that is very real.
Wednesday, 7 May 2008, 7:28 PM
Monday, May 5, 2008
Closure
Call me a victim of Oprahfication but when something is over I need closure. In a tertiary setting, the end of the academic year is often a gradual process of incoherent dissolution. Last year I remarked on this, and was told by a colleague I greatly admire that this is normal.
Well, I object. This year, I have insisted that my students attend the last lecture, with blackmail and bribery ranging from exam tips and test results to awards, movie clips and good old chocolate cake. Not every one fell for it, but the majority of students attended and I got my closure, thank you.
Having taught at the college for three years now, I have a strong bond with all these students, and saying goodbye is quite emotionally loaded. My Foundation Year students were the keystone of my recent research, and the force that got me through many a tough day. My fourth year teaching students have studied two very liberal courses with me and are on the precipice of the real world beyond graduation, armed, hopefully, with some of the educational ammunition I have passed on.
Although it sometimes seems that a teacher’s world is quite small, it is these times of closure when one realises that it is, in fact, exponential.
Well, I object. This year, I have insisted that my students attend the last lecture, with blackmail and bribery ranging from exam tips and test results to awards, movie clips and good old chocolate cake. Not every one fell for it, but the majority of students attended and I got my closure, thank you.
Having taught at the college for three years now, I have a strong bond with all these students, and saying goodbye is quite emotionally loaded. My Foundation Year students were the keystone of my recent research, and the force that got me through many a tough day. My fourth year teaching students have studied two very liberal courses with me and are on the precipice of the real world beyond graduation, armed, hopefully, with some of the educational ammunition I have passed on.
Although it sometimes seems that a teacher’s world is quite small, it is these times of closure when one realises that it is, in fact, exponential.
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