Meet the Students

My first week of teaching went by in a flash.

I have PET1 and PET3 (PET standing for Preliminary English Test), the former class a bunch of smart, cheeky, unmotivated 17-20 year olds, all girls, save for one boy; the latter a bunch of lazy, cheeky, unmotivated 17-20 year olds, fifty per cent girls, fifty per cent boys. The boys are to a man taller than me, and I can't imagine them sleeping in drawers. I'm told that the ethnic north-easterners are descendents of the Manchu and have inherited their towering physique, pale skin and sharp cheekbones.

Although the students here seem much less mature than their western counterparts, perhaps because they live a life of sleep, study, curfew, sleep, study, curfew, hardly getting a chance for vandalism, drugs or teenage sex, the classes do come with their own particular challenges.

I'm told the college is a kind of halfway house for the offspring of the rich, who've failed their university entrance examinations and are just waiting in limbo until daddy finds them a good job or a place at a university abroad. You certainly see some expensive clothes, watches and mobile phones here, and in fact the students often make the teachers look like paupers. I surmise that the more motivated students are from the families who actually had to save to put their children into this college. A pity that they are the ones who have the least chance of success, as it seems money in this country, like any other country, can buy you anything. Brains and hard work, on their own, can't.

Thus, a sense of inertia seems to prevail amongst many of the pupils, and a sense of cynicism definitely prevails amongst all the teachers. One told me of a time when he tried to get a reaction from an especially lazy student by burning a note in front of him (the teacher found out later this was illegal in China, burning the image of Chairman Mao not a good idea) and telling him this was what he was doing by not working, just wasting his money. The student looked up and, in the only English he had spoken for weeks, said:

'Is not my money. Is my father's,' and, glancing at the burning banknote, added, 'and my father got much more than that.'

The classrooms feature the same bare, peeling white walls as the dorm rooms and three rows of two-berth wooden and steel chair-desk combos nailed to the floor. If a student isn't interested in the class (or just can't be bothered), they lay their head on their desk and fall fast asleep. I tried throwing a bit of chalk at a girl doing this. The chalk bounced off her skull, she looked up with a confused expression, then fell straight back to sleep. Worse still is when a student shows their displeasure by opening their mouth as wide as a train tunnel and yawning so loud that the other students can't hear what I'm saying. I've begun to realise my job is to stand at the front and try to keep them awake. I hope it gets better.