PATAGONIA 4 - T.E.I.

Santiago, Chile: after 3 weeks of Spanish class I realized I was actually learning some Spanish. But going in cold with strangers on the street, that would be scary. Eric & Benjamin were ready to move on. Dee still had time to kill and I was gaining ground. It was April. Summer was turning to fall and the change in the air let me know, I need to be moving on as well. Walking to school every day I passed a high walled compound, a full city block square. I asked Olvia about it and learned it was a prestigious, high dollar, private school for children of CEO’s, diplomats and surgeons. On the arch above the main gate were the letters, T.E.I., The English Institute. From 1st grade through high school, everybody studies English.

I had been thinking about it for several days, stopping at T.E.I. to see if they might be interested in an American story teller. So I left the house late and arrived at T.E.I. after classes had begun. I told the guard at the gate what I was about and he took me to an office, sat me down and left me. A lady, Ms Hausmann, in a gray business suit came and motioned for me to follow her to her office. Her English had a slight British accent and it was perfect. We talked for quite a while about me and my story, I told her I didn’t need to be paid; “I’m a storyteller and I need to work in front of an audience.” It seemed a natural fit, they are learning English, I already know it and I frame it in an oral tradition. 

Two men in gray suits came in, Ms Hausmann introduced us and stepped out. They certainly were not English teachers. We talked about my teaching experience in the states and about oral history. They seemed satisfied, left the room and I was by my self again. Ms Hausmann came back to inform me that they were not in the market for a storyteller but they did need a long term substitute in the English program. The men who spoke to me were the Head Master and the Chair of the language department, and our chat had been a job interview. I never learned Ms Hausmann’s title but she had her own office, a secretary and she told people what to do. She offered me the job, for a month to 6 weeks. One of their English teachers was recuperating in the hospital and there was no suitable replacement available. They really liked my midwestern accent and conversational tone. If I could get my teaching credentials faxed down and if I wanted the job, it was mine.

Everyone at Terra Australis was excited for me. I could come back to school any time but this would be an unexpected adventure dropped in my lap. I stopped at T.E.I. on the way home from school; my credentials had come through in the fax. A contract, it took over 600 pesos to equal a dollar. When Ms Hausmann did my contract the amount was incomprehensible. I just signed it. She wanted me to start the next day. I begged off, needing a day to wrap things us at my school. So it was: dress code for men was suit and tie but I had neither. No problem, she said to wear the best I had and it would be fine. 

Classes were small, no more than 18-20 per class. Ages varied and I never knew what grade they were unless I asked. The youngest were probably 10 and the oldest probably 15 or 16. It was weird; some classes only ran for 30 minutes, others 45 and some for a full hour. Ms Hausmann was crystal clear: don’t allow them tp speak Spanish, follow the lesson plan as best you can but we want them listening to a native speaker. I was to talk a lot, keep them engaged; sort of like story telling. 

     All of the English curriculum in South America comes from Great Britain. Workbooks, vocabulary, tapes, videos, reading assignments, all of it. I learned that there were literally no native speaking English instructors in Chile. They are all Latinos who learned English from other Latinos. It is a life achievement to spend a summer in England. The British accent is ingrained in the curriculum. I got stuck on British anomalies, unfamiliar words and phrases and the students loved it. My excuse was, “This is English, if I were teaching American I would never make a mistake.” We got along great, kids are kids, all around the world. My laissez faire approach came across in severe contrast with the 19th century British, no nonsense, authoritarian style that other men teachers had inherited. On my second day a security guard came into the room unannounced because we were so loud. Not all that loud by my ear but he thought he was needed. I assured him that nobody was bleeding and I was in fact, in control. 

Some teachers went out of their way to make me feel welcome, to others I didn’t exist. In one class there was a 12-13 year-old girl who was really sharp. Her classmates all turned to her when they were stumped and she handled everything well. On a Friday, as they were leaving she wished me have a good weekend. I noted her English was perfect and asked how that worked. “Easy” she said, “I’m from Fort Lauderdale; my dad was transferred here last year.” In my free time I went down to the commons area, under a breezeway and sat in the shade. Kids from my class would bring their friends and introduce us. Others would walk up cold and test their English on me. There I was in jeans and a button up shirt with two weeks of beard stubble, hanging out with kids, like the pied piper of Providencia. 

Another girl’s parents were both math teachers there at T.E.I. Her mother Amy had pretty good English skills. She wanted her other kids to meet me so she invited me to their house for Sunday brunch. The dad was stiff and formal, spoke little English but worked at being cordial. The other 2 kids were cool, spoke some English but clearly, English wasn’t spoken in the home. Then (I’ve forgotten his name) led me into the kitchen where he had set up the blender to make pisco sour. I didn’t want to shoot myself in the foot this time so I faked it. But my enthusiasm wasn’t convincing. If your host shares his fantastic, secret brew and the best you can do is a tepid smile and say, “Very good.” then he will be insulted. I was supposed to use superlatives and drink with him until it was all gone. At our house, Alberto liked pisco sour too but when I didn’t like it he offered some Pinot noir. At school the next week, Mr. Man avoided me. 

I was no longer the American oddity and it occurred to me: I had come to Santiago for the Spanish and I had been instructed to neither speak nor allow my students to speak any Spanish. I went to Ms Hausmann with my dilemma, sharing my intention regrettably to leave T.E.I. She understood. When she alluded to the signed contract and the responsibility it carried, it was laughable. We were both laughing behind somber faces. I didn’t need the money to begin with so if they void the contract and keep the money, we both come out ahead. The experience was one I could not have purchased. I suggested, they could have me deported. She assured me they were not going to have me deported or not pay me. “Come back on Monday and I’ll have a check for the time you worked.” Her smile was real, she thanked me for my contribution and I took her at her word. I finished that Thursday & Friday thinking I could disappear like the cowboy and his horse in the old westerns. But someone leaked and students knew by the end of the day. On Friday they brought cookies and chocolate, some brought cards. I brought my guitar, taught them “Auld Lang Syne” and we sang it together; “We’ll take a cup of kindness yet, for days of Auld Langs Syne.”