How my teaching career began

College Pascal: My Teaching Career Begins

I was around 26 or 27 when I got my first teaching job. It was at a private school in the Ivorian capital, Abidjan, the city where I was born and attended the first four years of elementary school. Many schools in the country organized summer school programs usually for students who wanted to get ahead in the following school year or those who, for some reason, had fallen behind or failed some of their subjects. I had always considered working in the summer when I was in college. It was a sure way to make some pocket money to supplement my $80-a-month government scholarship. Although summer employment opportunities were scarce, I was privileged to find such an opportunity at a public secondary school the summer of the year I was working on my master’s degree in English at the Universite nationale de Cote d’Ivoire. 

Without prior training, I was given the responsibility to teach several classes. As the English teacher, my responsibilities were to show up in each of the classes I had been assigned at the indicated time, take attendance, teach a curriculum mainly based on the assigned textbooks, and assess the students’ progress through quizzes and tests. I was also required to submit a grade report to the administration at the end of the summer. After my first day in this new occupation, there was no doubt that I had found my calling although I had initially intended to be a translator or interpreter. I plowed through the books at night and prepared my lessons carefully, nothing very sophisticated, just a few notes on the texts the students were going to read on a specific day, what grammar point I intended to teach, and what vocabulary words would be essential for the students to know in order to make sense of the reading and lesson as a whole. To plan appropriately, I thought about how my own English teachers had presented the material when I was in secondary school. By mimicking their instructional approaches, I was able to capture my students’ interest. Within a week or so, I had become a star teacher, “the handsome, light complected guy who spoke like an American!” By the end of summer school, around the end of July of that year, I had acquired enough confidence as a classroom teacher.

The new school year was fast approaching, and I terribly needed a job. After returning from the United States, where I had participated in an international camp counselors’ program in the summer of 1989, I had re-enrolled at the university to complete my master’s in English with a concentration in American studies. But my financial situation was far from rosy, which is why I had sought a summer job in the first place. With the end of the summer program and school about to begin for myself, I would need money for carfare and personal expenses, even books and supplies. I needed an income-generating occupation. Students in the master’s program were required to be on campus for their seminars only once or twice a week, which gave me ample time to work as a full-time secondary school teacher while pursuing my education. The challenge was finding one. But I believe I was in luck that year. 

My cousin, Anne, had been dating a guy from the neighborhood whose brother-in-law owed a couple of private schools in the Ivorian capital. I first approached him a year or two earlier, but he explained that there were no openings. Considering the dire situation I would be in without a source of income, I approached him again, touting my newly acquired experience in the summer school program. He asked me to bring him my resume. In those days, resumes were hand-written. I sat down and crafted one; it looked very slim, but I made sure to write a strong cover letter in support of my application. Two weeks later, he called me to the school in our neighborhood, a mere 50 feet from my brother’s apartment, where I was staying at the time. I was almost convinced that this invitation meant that I had secured a position at the school.

I was right! When I met him, he went straight to the point. “You got a job!” he said.  “You need to see the principal for your schedule.” I was elated! I was to see the principal that very same day, but I had to complete the paperwork before meeting him. I was directed to the teacher’s lounge, a large room with a huge table in the middle. I pulled a chair and sat down to complete the paperwork. When I was done, I knocked on the principal’s office door. Inside, I met a short, dark-skinned man in a four-pocketed suit. He had a smile on his face and invited me to sit down. I sat down in one of the finely cushioned chairs on my side of the desk. He asked me questions about my academic background and whether I had any teaching experience. I explained to him that I had just finished teaching summer school and that I was confident I could do a good job. He answered that he was sure I would be a good fit for the position. He had heard good things about me and my American accent. He even jokingly told me to tone it down a little for the students. The first day of school was in about two weeks and I had no clue what I was going to teach and how. 

Back in those days, I exclusively used to dress in jeans and T-shirts. About a week before the beginning of the school year I showed up to the school in my blue jeans and a T-shirt that said “trailblazer” across the front. Now that I think back to that day and the shirt, I realize how powerful the message was: a pioneer, a trailblazer! On that day, I sat down with the other English teachers, all of them with some years of teaching experience under their belt. For hours, we tried to map out the curriculum each of us would be teaching during the school year. To the best of my recollection, everything was tied to the textbooks our students would be using in class. There were various levels of English for French-speaking Africa for the first four grades of secondary school. Those who taught the last three years of secondary school used different textbooks or had the latitude to choose their own selections. In general, grammar and vocabulary were taught in context. A teacher would conduct a close reading of a selection to be read in class, highlight what he or she considered essential vocabulary and grammar, and create a lesson. I was a new teacher, but as a lover of English who was always looking for creative ideas to improve my own skills, I felt quite comfortable working with my more experienced colleagues. Mapping out the curriculum and syllabus would last until the last weekend before the beginning of the school year.

The year was 1991. On the first day of school, September 3rd, the date chosen by the government for the start of the school year, I woke up extra early, probably around 6:00 AM to get ready for my first day as a secondary school teacher. The night before, I kept tossing and turning and slept very little. I guess I was so happy to not only find a job but to work right by where I was living at the time that I truly looked forward to the opportunity. After a quick cold shower, I put on my jeans and Trailblazer t-shirt, grabbed a little handbag with my supplies inside and began the two to three-minute walk to the school. I walked into the teachers’ lounge and sat down at the large table, waiting for the first bell to ring before climbing the stairs to my first classroom. Back then, teachers used to rotate from classroom to classroom. Although I was a new teacher, I had been assigned a pre-college class. In the French educational system, these were students who would take the baccalaureate at the end of the school year. I also had to teach at least two classes in the lower grades and two middle-grade classes.

Teaching was generally simple. In lower grades, the lessons were built on dialogues and grammar drills or vocabulary exercises. I usually led the class in a choral repetition of the dialogues and assigned them to different groups of students who would read them several times. They would then dramatize in front of the class. The grammar drills were crafted to help students make complete sentences in various verb tenses as appropriate. Students were required to take notes into their notebooks and complete homework in what we called “exercise book” at the time. The lessons were very structured to fit the patterns in the assigned textbooks. Upper grade initially had a textbook that included reading, usually excerpts from novels or short stories written by anglophone authors. Some reading included excerpts from the works of Ayi Kwei Armah, Ngugi Wa Thiong’o, Ama Ata Aidoo, Chinua Achebe, Flora Nwapa, etc. The grammar we taught was directly taken from the selection we were. Hence, the grammar was usually taught in context although there was not enough speaking opportunity. Students learned to read and answer comprehension questions, which could be short essay questions, multiple-choice questions, or even true-false questions. Some students had an aversion to English because they didn’t see a direct correlation to their future professions. Only a handful of students showed some real interest in English, especially those in the literature and philosophy concentration in their final three years of high school. This is because English, French, and philosophy were weighted much higher in class, as well as on the Baccalaureate, the exam that will eventually give them access to a college education for those who were inclined to do so.

My classes were a bit special because I always tried to innovate. In addition to my imitated American accent, I was rather interested in seeing my students use the language for what it is, a tool for communication. It didn't make much sense, to me at least, to teach students a language that they would be totally unable to use, or that they only needed for a test or an exam. It was no surprise then that I decided to mentor the English club once it was created. I  remember a function we had one day in September. I must have been in my first or second year as a teacher at College Moderne Pascal. The parents came to visit and ask questions about what their children were learning. I had helped my students set up a gallery walk with pictures representing various episodes of American history. One of them had a picture of Abraham Lincoln, who, at the time was known by most as a The Great Emancipator. Some of the most proficient students ushered the parents into the classroom where our little exhibit was taking place. Others answered their questions while I stood in front of the Lincoln station, fielding questions and teaching the parents about American history.

At the Université Nationale de C?te d’Ivoire, my concentration was American studies, so I was truly in my element discussing American history. I was not only interested in learning English; I embraced whatever else came with it. And for me, learning about the United States was part of the whole package. At the time, little did I know that I would end up living in the US for more than 23 years without ever setting foot in the Ivory Coast. As a student at the English Department, I pored over any books in English, especially those about American history, as well as novels that I could get my hands on. The American embassy was on the way to the university. I believe it is during my second year that I decided to become a member at the American Cultural Center, which was housed within the American embassy. This center usually organized educational events for the general public, students, public school teachers, and even college professors. The Cultural Center had a well-supplied library, where members could borrow books and videos. On any day, the place was teeming with groups of students of English eager to polish up their language skills as well as their knowledge of American culture as a whole. Some were engaged in research for their master’s degree in English with a concentration in American studies. Even some students from other departments at the university frequented the library. Indeed, there were books in many other areas than in English or American studies. Students from the African studies department, which was a concentration shared by the department of lettres modernes and history used the facilities of the American Cultural Center.

In addition to the many books, the Cultural Center also offered TOEFL courses. This test was required for students who intend to study at North American universities and colleges. I knew I did not need to take the TOEFL. In fact, several years later, after I had graduated with my master’s degree, I would meet Diana Rivers, an American lady who had an English language school in the Ivorian capital. The circumstances of our encounter are as vivid as if it happened only yesterday.

I had been studying martial arts for some time, starting in the late 1970s with Taekwondo and switching to Shotokan on April 9th, 1980. I was a national team member from 1986 until 1996 when I got on the plane and flew to New York to work in Plymouth, Vermont as a summer camp counselor. So, I can’t remember the exact circumstances in which I met  Robert. He was a US marine, serving at the embassy in the Ivory Coast and needed Karate classes. Robert wore what I considered rather thick eyeglasses then. I loved exercising but felt that he needed something more than lifting weights (which most of his colleagues did at the time) or taking a dip in the Marine House swimming, which I imagine all the lodgers swam in. We connected immediately, and I used to commute to their Marine House to give him private lessons twice a week. Our relationship was growing beyond the boundaries of karate, so I wasn’t at all surprised when he invited me one Saturday afternoon to a farewell party for one of his colleagues who was leaving the Ivory Coast to take up a new post, I believe, in London. It was at this party that I met Diana Rivers.

The music was blasting, and we could barely hear one another. But those of us sitting at the bar were having a conversation, which seemed to be going well despite the loud musing and the milling crow of well-wishers and partiers who were not content with just sitting to have a chat. I had just been introduced to a group of marines, and we were exchanging the customary “Howdy? Nice to meet you… likewise” and so on. She had been sitting on the side, enjoying her drink. When our eyes locked, I immediately felt that I was looking at a familiar face. Without hesitation, I approached her and asked, “ Are you Diana Rivers? You look like the owner of AMBIZ.” She answered that she was Diana, and how did I know her. I explained that I had seen her on television at least twice, advertising her school. Her next question to me was, “Which state are you from?” or something to that effect. I was shocked. I wasn’t sure if she was making fun of a perceptible foreign accent in a gathering of American marines and their acquaintances or if she was serious. In the latter case, I would have been extremely proud since I had never been to the US at that time. I had learned English like most secondary school students in the Ivory Coast. That means I had essentially learned from local teachers whose own teachers and professors were either local native French speakers or expatriates from neighboring Benin or Togo. Anyhow, Diana seemed genuinely impressed with my accent and gave me her contact, saying she would be starting a new session within the next few weeks. With increasing enrollment, she was likely to need additional staff for potentially new classes. The year was 1993, and I had been working at College Pascal for just about two years. I remember that a number of my colleagues at the school used to hold additional jobs, usually tutoring students whose parents could afford their services. Some were even lucky to provide private classes to students from middle-class families who had no problem paying them whatever amount they requested. So for me, the prospect of working for Ms. Rivers at AMBIZ was more than welcome. I would be able to supplement my meager private school salary while doing something I loved, teaching English, my favorite subject in schools and my college major. Needless to describe how I felt about what I considered, at the time, as the chance of a lifetime. 

About a week later, I would call Diana to inquire if the new session had been at her school. The session had begun, but there were not enough students to warrant the hiring of a new teacher. She promised that she would keep me posted. Her voice on the telephone betrayed her sincerity, so I was hopeful that something would come up, if not during the current session, at least at some future juncture. I continued teaching my secondary school students, which kept me busy in the mornings. My afternoons were always free, so I could start any afternoon part-time job if I was lucky to land one. Even some mornings, I did not have class. I remember at least one weekday when I didn’t have to go to work. The scheduling in Ivory Coast public schools was very special at the time; I am sure if it is still the same. Sometimes, I didn’t have to show up to work until the second or third period. It all depended on the school year and enrollment, and I guess the availability of classrooms. About two or three weeks after I had called Diana to see if she had an opening, she called me with an offer. It wasn’t what I had expected, but at least it offered the opportunity to have a foot in the door.

Diana had struck up a great relationship with the American embassy, as well as with some of the most important corporations of the Ivorian capital, Abidjan. When new American or other expatriates landed in the Ivory Coast and needed French classes, Diana was on their contact list. So AMBIZ was not just a provider of English courses to locals interested in the language or harboring the desire to study in the US or other English-speaking countries but also a place to learn French, the local official language. It was one such occasion that for me, opened the door to AMBIZ. A family of three, let’s call them the Smiths, had been transferred to the Ivory Coast by the company they worked for and wanted to learn some rudimentary or survival French, if you will, so they could function in their new country of assignment. Obviously, being the new hire, I was asked to teach the class. In addition to providing these French classes at the Smiths’ house, I would be teaching an English class at AMBIZ, the only one for now.

I was excited to begin my new part-time job and pictured a state of the art school with big-screen TVs and at least an audio lab, the type I had seen at the Ecole Normale Superieure, the local school of education, where most secondary school teachers were trained. I was shocked when I walked into AMBIZ, the famous school I had seen Diana advertise on TV on more than one occasion, and discovered that it was no more than a three-bedroom apartment where the living room and two of the bedrooms had been converted into classrooms. The classroom furniture comprised a large central table with about five chairs around it. There was also a small board in what you would call the front of the classroom. Back then, cassette tapes were still widely in use, and in order to play the cassettes that accompanied the textbooks, teachers had to check out a cassette player from the office, a six-square-foot cubicle.  This was a perfect set-up for one-on-one tutoring sessions but far from the dream classroom I had envisioned and looked forward to working in. 

My classes with the Smiths were short-lived. About three weeks after we had begun, the lessons came to an abrupt stop. According to my boss, the Smiths were just in transit and would move on to another West African capital. No need for me to ask where they were off to. I had dreamed of making some good money since the French lessons were twice as expensive as the English and I received half of the tuition. With three private students, I would be making almost as much as my salary at my regular job at College Pascal. You can imagine my disappointment when I realized that my dream would not come true! But there was really no need for sulking for too long. A few days after the classes with the Smiths were canceled, Diana announced a new, juicy contract with Citibank, Abidjan. I would be teaching English to part of the staff twice a week. The classes were to take place on their premises at the then gorgeous Pyramid building in Plateau, the business district of the Ivorian capital. I would have about 20 students charged at twice the amount for students at the AMBIZ campus. The great part was that since I would be commuting to the company to teach, I would receive half of the tuition paid for each employee. This was twice as much as I was making at my regular job!

The lessons went uneventfully, and we completed two or three two-month sessions. The school supplied the books, which I believe came from the American embassy in Abidjan. The lessons were grounded in American culture and history. Students were able to learn not just the culture but also about current events taking place in the United States. In fact, as my teaching skills improved, I felt the necessity to supplement the course materials with magazine articles that I found interesting during my forays to the American Cultural Center in the Cocody district, a ten-minute drive away.