Sarah learns what she can and cannot do in another culture

Sarah at Cape Town FIFA World Cup Stadium

After almost four months of being in South Africa, It’s safe to say that a lot of things have become much easier for me.  I know my away around the city, I have gotten used to public transportation, I can understand the thick accents of Cape Town natives, even using the rand has become second nature.  One thing, however, that has not gotten easier is teaching in another culture.

Even without taking the language barrier into account, the cultural barrier between me and the students I teach has, if anything, become more discouraging as I have progressed throughout my stay here.  As I have grown used to this country and its culture, the shock has subsided and I have been able to develop a more critical eye.  I have, thus, become more critical of how feasible teaching is outside your own culture.

There are certainly countless benefits of teaching in another country: It’s beneficial for both the teacher and the student to be exposed to different cultures, so as to view their own with a more critical eye.  There is also immeasurable gain from exposing yourself to new and worldly concepts, thereby bettering your own ideas.  The list could go on, quite monotonously, but to keep things brief I’ll just say this: I do say the benefits of teaching in a different culture, at least short term.  The barriers involved in such, however, often convince me that teaching in another culture provides a good deal of conflicts.

Today during lunch a learner got sick (or “fell ill” as they call it here).  Her friend told me, and I immediately told Ms. Bopi.  Something as straightforward as dealing with a student with a stomach ache was simply too complex for me to handle in a foreign country.  I thought about what I would have done if I “fell ill” back when I was in high school.   The teacher would write me a pass, send me to the nurse, where she might take my temperature or have me lay down on some sort of bed.  From there she would call my mom.  If she was home, she’d drive to the school and bring me home.  If she was at work, she would leave work and bring me home.  She’d probably make me some tea or soup, and I’d lie down on the couch and order a movie to watch. 

These thoughts, nonetheless, were useless in this situation.  Thandokhulu has no school nurse.  There are certainly no thermometers or beds and I would be surprised to be able to even get a hold of a Band-Aid.  The sick girl in question was most likely from Khayelitsha, which is about an hour long train or bus ride away.  Both her parents, if she lived with them, most definitely worked, and there was no way they would be able to leave and travel all the way to Thandokhulu even if they did have a car.  Which they almost certainly didn’t. 

The girl sat at her desk with her head on her hands, her eyes glazed and puffy, as Ms. Bopi made her away across the crowded classroom to her side.  I watched her joke in Xhosa with her and a group of her surrounding friends, forcing a feeble smile from the girl and a round of laughter from her friends.  She quickly gave some directions, apparently asking her friend to pick up her backpack and follow the girl out of the classroom.  I’m not sure what I felt, but I think it bordered on jealousy.  I was jealous that I didn’t know what to do with the girl, that I couldn’t speak to her like Ms. Bopi did.  There was just no way to relate, and I was frustrated. 

I have learned there are some things I can do here, and there are some things I simply can’t.  I can run a book drive and provide the students with reading and leaning materials they may have never gotten, I can be enthusiastic to learn about them, thereby boosting their own self-esteem.  I can think they are funny, and smart, and amazing in every way, and they can think the same thing about me.  But there are just some things I will never be able to do.  I will never be able to relate to them like their parents, their teachers, and their friends.  I will always be an American.  The best I can do is come to terms with this, and from there do what I can with my own capabilities.