My Student, My Teacher
by Rebecca Lund
Teach in Chile 2008-2009 – Santiago
I had been warned that Victor wasn’t an easy student to work with; he’d fired native English speakers and Chileans for not being able to teach him the way he wanted to be taught. I wasn’t scared though when I walked up to the corporate headquarters of his company; I knew that his job was on the line if he didn’t learn English.
I arrived in Santiago, Chile a few months prior, among many reasons, to pursue my passion to teach Spanish speakers the English language. I thought I was equipped with the tools to create a dynamic learning environment, but what I realized after meeting Victor was that sometimes being a good teacher means becoming a good student.
Victor is a man small in stature, not unlike many of the Chilean people. He is in his mid-40s and has a certain nervousness about him. He speaks quickly and hushed in the office as to not disturb anyone—or possibly to avoid probing questions as to why an American girl visited him at the office twice a week. You see, he was supposed to attend company-paid English courses but he excuses himself from them with “esos no me sirven bien” (those aren’t good for me).
I started teaching him like I had been teaching my other students in the less-affluent part of the city. I prepared grammar and vocabulary activities intertwined with listening, writing, and reading exercises, all of which I thought were high-energy and entertaining. Victor was unresponsive and not impressed. I needed a different approach.
I started asking questions, probing further than favorite colors, cities, and hobbies. What began as somewhat prescriptive English lessons morphed into discussions, debates, and questions of personal life choices. We continued to practice verb tense and pronunciation, but instead of getting easily frustrated with the content, Victor welcomed the opportunity to express pride for his country, talk American politics, and tell me about sorrow and happiness in his life. This transformation not only benefited Victor as he progressed with his second language, but also pulled me through tough times.
Representative of cultural immersion studies, I too experienced aggravation towards my host country. Victor became a voice of reason when I couldn’t take one more piropo (whistle) from men as I walked down the street and couldn’t wrap my head around why there was yet another protest in Santiago. Instead of writing these things off as frustratingly non-American, Victor took the time to explain the reasons behind them, converting my annoyance into respectful understanding.
Just as Victor recognizes me as the best English teacher he’s ever had, I praise him for being an indispensable reference and teacher too. I was an outlet for him practice the language that allowed him to keep his job. He became a representative for a culture that I respect as beautifully different from my own. I may forget his history lessons and opinions of political climate but will always attribute some of my acceptance and appreciation for life outside the U.S. to Victor, my student, my teacher.