It's raining in An Hoa

It's raining in An Hoa. It reminds me of the importance of schooling in Asia because I have a class tonight and, no matter what, I'll have to go out in the rain to do it. In New Zealand and other western countries, children seem to miss school for all sorts of reasons - illness, inclement weather, pupil free days(!?). Here it's unheard of. The attached clip has to be one of the most incredible things I've ever seen. In a remote part of the country even a washed out bridge and swollen river won't stop the kids from getting to school. The solution? Float them across the river in large plastic bags. I can't think of much more to add in terms of commentary except to repeat, schooling is very, very important in Asian culture and nothing is allowed to stand in it's way. And just to show this isn't an isolated incident:

Children from Ea Wy Commune are helped to cross the bridge on the way to school

Ho Thi Dom, who lost a leg to burns, has hopped 4km to school every day for 9 years. “She is always in the top three and among the best students at school,” teacher Kien proudly said of the “role model” of her class.
“No matter how far and craggy the route is, rain or shine, she never skips any class.”

With a flashlight, an old bicycle, and a briefcase, students in the Central Highlands province of Dak Lak have to cross the forest at 3:00 am to go to school, from Monday to Friday every week.

Source

Meet An Hoa, An Lao, Binh Dinh, Viet Nam

At the town of Bong Song on State Highway One there is, incongruously, a traffic light. It is an odd place for traffic control because the highway doesn't actually pass through the town. At the intersection, heading north, a right turn will take you into the town. A left turn takes you down the An Lao Valley road. Most travelers, of course, don't turn. If they did, after crossing a job lot of 13 tonne bridges, negotiating the Big Corner and having rattled past the rock crackers camp, a sweep in the road would reveal the final bridge and the entrance to An Hoa village.

Overseas visitors see Hanoi or Da Nang or Ho Chi Minh City. They might venture to lesser known tourist spots like Mui Ne or Vung Tau. But most Vietnamese live in places like An Hoa.
It is agricultural. Each settlement exists like an island in a sea of paddy fields. Traveling down the valley there are many such islands. In some ways it's like venturing back to the 17th century. There are still working buffalo, turning the fields and carrying cargo. Most households keep chickens and maintain a kitchen garden. Almost everyone has an encyclopedic knowledge of medicinal plants and their uses. There is a rhythm to life that harmonises with the ebb and flow of sun and season. Most people live by their labors. In the evenings, children still fly kites from the berms around the paddies. In many ways it's idyllic.

For the children, however, there is little in the way of opportunity. There are no major employers here. If there is no family business to take the kids in then they will have to venture out into the world and find work. That isn't easy in a place like this. With the competition of literally millions of others doing the same thing, a desirable skill is worth gold. That's where English comes in. Anyone who has the confidence to speak English will be snapped up by employers keen to attract foreign customers. It is ironic that most Vietnamese can, actually, speak English. At least they all have the vocabulary and grammar knowledge to be able to do so. Unfortunately most lack the practice of speaking with native English speakers.

So the area can be called poor without actually being in need of charity. In fact, the idea of charity is a little insulting to a people who have endured for millennia against everything that could be thrown at them. No one is looking for charity. Just a level playing field would do, the same opportunities as the big city kids get. Little things, like their own English Language Centre.

Children learn to speak in the playground, not the classroom

I have been teaching English for 7 years now. I came to the profession purely by accident at the age of 55. I studied in Ho Chi Minh City for a TEFL certificate and learned many things that I've not needed since. Until now. The course instructed us on how to craft lessons from scratch with nothing more than pen, paper and good intentions. I remain a fan of this minimalist approach, although most of the schools where I've taught have had audio/visual gear and internet access. Irrespective, course material is just something to talk about. The trick, of course, is getting students to talk at all.

Most students already know English. The have a large vocabulary and their knowledge of grammar far exceeds most native English speakers. If you were to ask any of them though, they would say that they can't speak English. The problem is lack of opportunity. Most Vietnamese kids just never get to talk with a native English speaker. That goes for their teachers as well. A recent survey found that 97% of Vietnamese English teachers couldn't pass a basic speaking test. Given this difficulty, they do an incredible job.

So, how do you get students speaking? Speaking is something you do. It's an active skill that you perform in the immediacy of the present moment. Like swimming. To learn to swim you go to a swimming pool. To learn to speak you go to the playground. Children learn to speak in the playground, not the classroom. My rooms are playgrounds, but I am also very strict, like a swimming coach who doesn't want to see his students drown. "Playground" is a metaphor for a space where talking naturally happens. I will expand on this in future posts, but for now let it suffice to say that a classroom is not a space where talking naturally happens. The rows of desks mean that most students are talking to their classmates backs, and even the front row have to turn in their seats to communicate. This is why I have launched the appeal through Givealittle for a dedicated English language Center.