Morgan's first impressions

(Note: This was actually written by Morgan Curtis, but due to technical difficulties, it has been uploaded to the blog for her.)

My initial impression of my foray in into working for a NGO and helping Bhutanese refugees was that of excitement and slight reservation. I had no idea of what I was getting myself into. I didn’t particularly know much about the conflicts that produced the people that I was preparing to help and hopefully empower. All I knew was that I had committed myself to a cause that is of great importance and could hopefully improve the life of at least one person. My first encounter with the refugees was at best awkward and at worst offensive in my view because I was going on a field visit to their homes and observe them during an ESOL class. It felt as if I was an invader, occupying someone’s home and observing them like a colonialist trying to understand the actions and ways of a mysterious group of people. Perhaps my feelings are a little melodramatic but in some ways I did feel as if I was imposing myself by just going and observing a class. In addition to my awkward feelings, I was also late to the field visit by a few minutes so I disrupted the first minutes of the lesson by my tardiness. I knew this was not the best way to make a good impression. However as I settled in and took my seat with the other interns I became a little bit more comfortable.

As time wore on I was introduced to some of the ESOL students and one very active and precocious little girl named Sonia. Sonia was the highlight of my visit. She was incredibly cute and so curious and wanted to impress us with her understanding of English by writing phrases and words in her notebook. A little later we (the interns) left the class to talk about what we had just witnessed and our feelings about the class. I felt that it was a very intimate and close knit environment, perfect for learning a foreign language because a student could receive one-on-one help when they needed it. All in all, I had a great time on my first field visit and I felt that I was an invaluable experience and it helped me understand the Bhutanese students and the pains they are going through to better themselves, their lives, and their families.

My first ESOL class.

Countless emails told me how to get to there, reassuring my fellow interns and I that Vaishnavi and Suryansh would help if we got lost. I had driven there with no problems and no expectations. How ESOL classes could take place in an apartment was my only real question.

After getting out of my car and greeting my fellow interns and coordinators, I walked tentatively up the stairs to the correct apartment number to observe. Observe. The word reminded me of a wildlife expert scanning for birds and lions in the Serengeti or an anthropologist studying a small tribe. But of course, I was neither. I was merely here to empower. Barely 18, with only my idealistic notions to prop me up and help me hold my own against the much harder, much less privileged circumstances that the thirty- and fortysomething ESOL students were facing, I was expected to empower them, help them gradually reach self-sufficiency, respect, and autonomy.

We entered a small living room, filled with brightly colored decorations and posters stuck on the beige walls. We were greeted warmly by the Nepali-speaking English teacher, Manju, and another teacher, Shivangi. We pulled out black, metal chairs, sitting at the back of the room, asking questions to Vaishnavi and Suryansh while slowly getting to know each other. An older woman in a bright pink sari shook my hand softly, and I placed my hands together in a familiar greeting. Shivangi encouraged her to use her English, to tell her unfamiliar guests her name. The woman was shy, a bit reluctant to do so.

Shivangi was stern with the stragglers & late arrivals, even though many of them took multiple buses to get from work to the class. It seemed harsh at first, but then I'd realized that no employer was going to tolerate it, so why should she? A five year-old girl, Sonia, walked in and sat with Vaishnavi, showing her how she was learning to write and catching onto English very quickly. Her gap-toothed smile and open nature endeared all of us to her, and she left the back of the room to go sit front and center with Shivangi and the other students.

Instead of a lecture format, the students were broken into small groups and started writing slowly and carefully on the white board in front of them - hazaar became one thousand, tha became t. Training the students' minds to think in English was another obstacle altogether, but a necessary one in order for them to learn it properly. While Shivangi was teaching, Suryansh explained what exactly made them refugees. The nagging question that was never answered was why they were kicked out. But did it really matter? All we knew was that they were here and that they needed us.

And what exactly was I supposed to do?