[EXPAT VOICE] The major troubles with teaching the Turkish way

Initially the children gazed at me with wide-eyed curiosity -- even the English-speaking ones -- and went home to tell their mums and dads, “Our teacher can’t talk!” What they meant, of course, was that I couldn’t speak Turkish. Still, they came into school happily enough and carried on playing regardless of their apparently inarticulate teacher. Their worried parents, however, continued to stand outside consoling each other. They wanted their children to learn English as soon as humanly possible but in doing so they were leaving their little darlings in the charge of someone (me) who couldn’t even understand them. What would happen if they needed the toilet, a drink or a cuddle? But unlike adults, who are often too scared or inhibited to try communicating in a new language, 3-year-olds have no such fears!

Communication had been my prime concern before starting this job, but I was amazed how quickly and smoothly I overcame the so-called language barrier with children and staff alike. What was to prove unexpectedly fraught, though, was a barrier of a different nature -- culture. As it turned out, the main stumbling blocks to delivering the curriculum were the wide variety of specifically Turkish traditions firmly entrenched in the upbringing of young children.

The curriculum may be English, but the structure of the day has to incorporate many of these Turkish customs.

Firstly, the ubiquitous slippers. After each and every trip to the garden for playtime, the kids had to change from their outdoor shoes to their indoor slippers -- no mean feat with 18 kids, the majority of whom had never had to put on their own shoes before. Lesson number one (and no, it isn’t part of the English National Curriculum -- even for the early years) was teaching them how to fasten their footwear!

Next, back in England, lunch, naturally enough, is part and parcel of every school day, with the occasional mid-morning snack of fruit thrown in for good measure -- but a full breakfast, a three-course lunch and an afternoon tea? Where, I queried, was the time to do any teaching, to observe the children playing or to allow the children to explore my carefully planned classroom activities?

Then, of course, there was the need for children to be changed after any exertion that might possibly have caused them to sweat! Huge bags arrived with each child every morning, with three or four changes of outfits. Some parents rang up to make sure their child was changed several times per day, others complained if they had been changed too often. Getting the right balance depended on getting to know the parents. Why, I wondered, did the parents dress their children in so many layers and then express surprise when they perspired? Why did they send them to school in October, with daytime temperatures still in the 30s, in vests?

As it had been for the parents of my English charges, the weather was an important preoccupation for the anxious parents in my new environment. I could understand why they worried if it was too hot for the children to play outside in the summer, with temperatures nudging 40 degrees. But I was very surprised when parents called, expressing concern that the children were being taken out to play if it was windy, slightly below 20 degrees or if there was a hint of rain in the air. In England, I stood outside at playtimes in cold, dismal conditions while the children raced around, happily oblivious to the elements.

Then there was the administering of copious amounts of medicine to a child that had so much as sneezed. Trips to doctors or hospitals were a regular feature of my charges’ lives. In England it is expected and accepted that every child will suffer from coughs, colds and stomach bugs throughout their school life, for which the best remedy -- in my opinion -- is rest. Here it seemed that spoonfuls of an assortment of syrups, taken frequently, enable them to continue at school without so much as a day off!

There are, of course, many more differences, but these were the ones that first confounded me. However, before long the strange became familiar and I learnt to adapt my teaching to fit into these constraints. Four years later, I still struggle with the language when talking to parents and regret that my Turkish is still limited (though many of them are no doubt delighted that my limited Turkish will somehow ensure their offspring will learn English faster and better than if I were bilingual!), but have happily accepted and adopted the many cultural differences. For me it has provided many insights into the finer workings of Turkish life not visible to the passing tourist. I am sure there are many more to be learned!