Matador Abroad » Work Abroad

Is Teaching ESL “Recession-Proof”?

Anne Merritt — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 12:44:47 +0000

Students in China, Photo: Steph & Adam

We had set our sights on Japan. Yes, a year of hiking, karaoke, bento boxes and hyperdisciplined students. We researched cities and companies. We polished our resumes. We cast our nets into the online world of TESL job postings.

I thought it wouldn’t be hard. With a few years’ experience under our belts, I thought we would be able to cherry-pick TESL jobs. The offers didn’t exactly come rolling in; it was more like a desperate trickle. Part-time jobs, jobs that started that very week, jobs that didn’t sponsor a work visa. We read about the bankruptcy of a major language school; how hundreds of teachers were suddenly jobless in Japan. We attended a group interview where young applicants had flown in from hundreds of miles away for the chance to secure a job. We got some offers, less than I hoped, but they weren’t great. After months of looking, we set our sights on a different country.

I had heard countless job sites and recruiters refer to teaching ESL as “recession-proof,” and I had figured it to be true. Education is always in demand, right?

Well, not so fast. TESL has been impacted by the recession too. There are no daily layoffs, no ghost towns where language schools once stood, but as I learned during my Japanese job hunt, the industry has changed. Here is a guide to understanding these changes, and knowing how to prepare yourself if you want to teach English overseas in the current job climate.

More Competition

It used to be said that if you spoke English, you could find a job teaching it somewhere.

This may still be true in some countries, but by and large, the industry is getting more competitive. Sure, most language school applications list bare-minimum requirements; a passport, an undergraduate degree, a native speaker’s proficiency in English. There was a time when the bulk of ESL teachers were fresh university graduates, and these requirements were all they had.

Nowadays, more and more people are switching (or being forced out) of careers, and “recession-proof” TESL is growing in popularity. You may meet the requirements for a great-looking job, but other applicants may pack additional ammo on their resumes: TESL certificates, Masters degrees, teaching experience, or foreign language fluency.

It’s good news for language schools, who can be choosier about who they hire. It’s good news for students, who are getting well-qualified teachers. But if you don’t have extra flair on your resume, it’s bad news for you, the applicant.

Prepare Yourself: At the very least, get a TESL certificate. You can take an affordable 100-hour course online or at a community center. For some teaching practice, you can volunteer at a language school or offer free language lessons or English conversation practice in your area.

Photo: prufrock27

Low Teacher Turnover

In a precarious job climate, people know to hold onto a good thing. In the past, travelers have been inclined to take a TESL job for a year, experience a new culture, then go home again. Now, ESL teachers know that going home might involve months of thankless job-hunting and living with their parents. More and more teachers are staying overseas for years at a time, hoping to build up savings and ride out the recession in their home country.

In South Korea, the Ministry of Education’s EPIK program offers 1100 public school positions for ESL teachers. According to one recruiter, less than 500 positions were open for this academic year. Over half of EPIK’s teachers re-signed their contracts, meaning fewer spots and more competition for prospective teachers. In some regions of the country, a year or two can pass before these teaching jobs become available.

Even teachers who don’t want to stay at their current schools are at a vantage point by being in the country and building a year’s worth of contacts. On-site teachers can apply for jobs in person, and scoop them up before the position ever gets posted online.

Prepare Yourself: Allow yourself plenty of time to apply for jobs. Most countries have specific hiring periods; typically in late winter (for September contracts) and late summer (for January contracts).

Fluctuating Currencies

Many currencies worldwide have fluctuated heavily in this recession. Even now, we can’t be sure that they have stabilized. For ESL teachers, though salaries may remain constant on paper, your savings may be worth less than you thought once you take that money out of the country.

In Brazil and South Korea, teachers’ salaries are worth less because of falling currency rates. In China and Vietnam, however, the currencies have fared well in this economy and your salary will be worth more when you change your money.

Countries that were once known as ESL moneymakers might not be as lucrative nowadays. The opposite is also true; you may be surprised with how much you can save in a less affluent but economically strong nation. If money is a big factor in how you choose a TESL destination, then research the currencies of countries that appeal to you.

Prepare Yourself: Sort out your finances before going overseas. If you owe monthy payments on credit cards or student loans, look at the current exchange rate and budget how much you’ll have to wire back each month. Also, remember to budget an emergency airfare fund, in case you need to fly home for any reason, or in case your school closes down unexpectedly — it happens more than you think.

Trouble for Schools?

So how does enrollment fare in a recession? Tough to say. It would vary from country to country, city to city, even neighborhood to neighborhood. On one hand, if companies or individuals are reducing their budgets, language lessons may be a trimmable expense. On the other hand, if people are out of work and looking to add pep to their resumes, they might dive into language studies as way of gaining edge in the competitive job market.

Language schools may boom, bust, or remain steady. If you’re being paid an hourly wage and not a set monthly salary, this means boom or bust for your income as well.

What does this mean for teachers? Bree, an American teacher in Italy, observed the stability of government work in 2009, the depth of the recession. “The majority of our work came in the form of contracting teachers out to local high schools,” she says, “paid by the government. So while businesses and corporations seemed to be cutting back on providing English classes, the government seemed to be requiring more native teachers in the public school system.”

The most secure jobs are said to be through public schools and government programs. Funding is backed by the state, and even in a recession, the demand is constant.

Prepare Yourself: Unless you have contacts at a private school, working for public schools is the safest bet. Japan’s JET program, for example, is a renowned ministry-run initiative. Some private companies will also sub-contract their teachers to local schools. Remember that these are plum jobs, and you may need to start the application process up to 8 months in advance.

Community Connection

Do you have a story of how your teaching career has been affected by the recession? Share in the comments below.

If you want to learn more about teaching English overseas, check out Matador’s Teaching ESL Focus Page.

On My Way to Work: Mumbai

Neha Puntambekar — Tue, 10 Aug 2010 14:23:06 +0000

All photos by Neha Puntambekar

On my way to work I take a bus, a train and a taxi. On my way back I take a bus, a train and a rickshaw. I get a lot of reading done in between.

The corner chaiwala pours milky tea into a glass. The glass is filled just halfway – the portion is called cutting. Behind the cart a younger boy, he doesn’t look more than 11, is rinsing out used glasses. Next to them is a tobacco stall. Two yuppies, dressed in formal clothes, ties folded in their front pockets, stand with freshly lit cigarettes. Since single cigarettes are available for a rupee, or less, depending on the brand, corner smokers are a common sight. I walk past them and cross the road to the bus stop.

The Bus

“Tikeett?” The conductor half barks. The steel box holding ticket coupons is strapped across his brown uniform. He clicks the ticket puncher with his right hand – ‘ticktickticktick’ – and waits for me to handover my Rs.5 bus fare to the railway station. He barely jolts as the bus moves.

We drive past residential colonies; pockets of organized, multi-storied suburban dreams. We drive past a large slum; residents and small-scale businesses (vada stalls, a make-shift fish market, rickshaw service shops) spill on to the road, nudging trucks, buses, cars and bikes into a jam. We drive past newly planned residential colonies built over demolished slums; construction goes on all day and all night.

The Train

The 7:50 slow has just pulled in. Most people jump in before the train stops. I never leaned how to do that, and as a result I only manage to find a corner seat.

This is the Ladies First Class. It has softer seats. I recognize most of my fellow travellers. They are regulars – mostly bankers and students – and I’ve pieced together their stories from overheard conversations. They are ‘train friends.’ A clique has formed during our daily commute. They discuss marital problems, trade dirty jokes and have potluck breakfast parties. When they bring Prasad, food offerings made to the Gods after special prayers and during the festive season, they share with the rest of the compartment too.

Because it’s morning rush hour, there are no vendors peddling knick knacks or fruit. They will come later, with their big baskets, and stay on till the last train. From the grill window barrier I can see into the General First Class compartment. Some men gawk at the women. Others fiddle with cell phones.

With every stop, the windows get a little more closed off. Sometimes it’s so crowded it’s hard to read. Sometimes it’s so crowded I give up my seat and go stand by the door where I can breathe. Sometimes it’s so crowded the train moves before I can get off.

The Taxi

The taxi queue under the Dadar Flyover is the only element of order on a road crammed with office goers and vendors selling fruits, gajras (flowers strung together and fastened by women in their hair) and other knick knacks. When the municipal car comes they use a series of coded calls to pack and empty out in minutes; it was during one such raid/run that I realized the street was actually wide enough.

A guy joins the line behind me. “Share Taxi, na?” he asks. A shared taxi runs between a preset route and carries 4 passengers, each will pay Rs.10 for the ride irrespective of where they get off along the route. It’s more comfortable than a bus and it’s cheaper than taking a cab alone.

I’m sharing the cab with a pin-stripe pantsuit, an orange salwar-kameez and a green tee-shirt. The cab is old and its insides feel tired. The window is stained and only opens midway. When we stop at the traffic light a kid approaches me with a stack of pirated books. His clothes are ill fitting. His smile is wide; he has seen the open book on my lap.

“Didi, best books for half price. Didi!” he yells as the light changes.

We cross two worlds at a distance of two traffic lights. On one end are the community housing projects, public schools and gaudy store fronts. At the other are MNCs, showrooms and malls; Mumbai’s textile mills once stood here. I’ve heard the stories from my Dad – of the good years, of the strike and how most mills shut down in the years after. I catch the emotion before he shrugs and says, “anyway…”

At the end of the street, the taxi comes to a noisy halt two minutes away from my office. I gather my bag, my jacket and paperback, pay the cabbie and get off. Today I have a brochure to finish and blogs to read. I punch in my key card and head back out for tea.

Two Villas In Iraq

Daniel C. Britt — Sat, 07 Aug 2010 15:47:50 +0000

Photos: author

Glimpse Correspondent Daniel Britt’s experience working for British mercenaries in Iraq.

At first, there were two villas.

DeBritish, as the Iraqi maids called him, was the boss of both. The protection business was his. He made the deals and everyone had a job thanks to him.

At the New Villa, there was Ali-foreman and Ali-paint. Fat Mohammed was the electrician. Ammar, with the thin, thin neck, dug the holes outside. They came every morning to remodel the place. Every evening they left. No one lived there except me, upstairs in the yellow room.

The contractors – jokey ex-marines, ex-paratroopers, ex-Iraqi army – slept and trained at the Old Villa. The clients lived there too, in decorated rooms. I was in one of those for a while before there were too many clients. Then I was in a container with the contractors, then in the New Villa behind the Chinese restaurant in the Greenzone.

Each decorated room came with a mini-fridge with a tall can of cold beer and two candy bars inside. It wasn’t anything like the Iraq I had seen over the last five months. Everything was clean and put-together.

At the Old Villa, Qusay was the chef. Patrick, the Filipino, was the manager and Saife did everything else. In the evening most of the Iraqi servants left, none of them lived at the Old Villa except for Saife.

**********************

The contractors smoked Honeywell cigars and wore bullet-proof chest plates over t-shirts. They wrapped their compact rifles in Sunni head clothes so the polished metal did not glint in the sun. They ball-busted in dark, dark shades – skinny rectangular lenses. They drove around Baghdad in a fleet of bullet-proof Mercedes sedans – polycarbonate thermoplastic windows, two inches thick.

That’s how they rolled.

Ambassadors, international businessmen, Non-Governmental Organization big-shots and anybody with wasta wanted them for protection.

What about the roadside bombs, truck bombs, rocket attacks and the militia kidnappers dressed as police, the big shots thought.

Protection is a money-maker in Iraq because those threats thicken the air like the fine dust on storm days. And few big shots know how to kill or when to fight back.

What if the driver gets sniped, they think.

What if it’s me, they think.

Then they contract some muscle.

All the contractors at the old villa had a good sense of humor. And except for Fingers, they were all big guys with knotted arms and sly, crazy grins. None of them were stupid or pretentious. No ilusionados like in California.

Half the contractors were Iraqis and half were from the United Kingdom. They showed me how to un-jam an AK-47 and how to find the Ukrainian brides with the good proportions.

When there was nothing to do, we talked on the wrought iron chairs in the yard. Here and there we talked about the Thai whores of Dubai but it was mostly about worst-case-scenarios and double-tapping and throat-slitting — the ins-and-outs of all kinds of death, mate.

We talked about killing so much the talk became my thoughts.

After that, everything else was unnatural.

**********************

The new villa was being fixed-up for more expats. The business was growing. Nice lawyers and articulate state-department-types from good universities were moving in to advocate for human rights. They needed protection, breakfast and a clean guarded place to sleep.

One of them brought his Nintendo Wii and a trunk full of fake Nintendo instruments.

Before the Old Villa vanished, Patrick, Saife and I got blitzed three nights in a row and played Rock Band with the expats in the air-conditioned living room, on a wide-screen television.

I was bass, Saife on the drums, Patrick played lead guitar.

“What the fuck ees dees won,” Saife asked.

“Is good.”

Ees Aerosmith, Fatboy. “Dream On.”

**************************

In the Old Villa kitchen, under Qusay’s direction, I chopped cabbage, onions and carrots for broils; potatoes for chips.

“If you are not a soldier, why are you here?” Qusay asked.

“To take pictures,” I said.

“That’s stupid,” he said, “switch.”

“Why do you have holes in your pants,” he asked.

“That’s the style in Canada,” I said.

“Daniel is an Iraqi name too,” Qusay said, “for Iraqi Christians.”

“Are you Christian,” he asked.

“Schweyeh, schweyeh,” I said.

Qusay shook his head.

He said his name meant a point far, far away. He said that in the same voice he used to talk about Mohammed.

Qusay’s eyes changed when he talked about those things. They closed halfway.

Qusay knew who the boss was. He knew who was close to DeBritish and who must have meat and who must be served quickly so the food was hot. Qusay chose carefully when to talk about the meanings of Iraqi names and Mohammed. He knew he served a table of lightweight Catholics and atheists.

Saife heard us talking about names with his hands in the dishwater. He straightened an arm toward heaven and said his meant saber. Onion-water dripped on his head.

Saife appeared to be nothing like his name, but he was.

He was 5’10” and round like a medicine ball. Saife had a huge ass that hung out of perpetually wet sweatpants. He drove a truck on house errands because he could not fit into a car.

But beneath all that meat, bracing his Jurassic spine, there was a steel blade. The blade sang at odd times, like a pitchfork, and the sound of it scraped Saife’s brain.

*********

In that way, Saife and Liam, the old Scottish medic, were alike.

Liam heard incoming rockets before anyone else. The brief whistle before the boom scraped Liam’s brain and pushed his body. His face tightened all of a sudden and he dove from his seat. I learned to follow.

“Doont b’daft Danny, geh’ th’fook doon,” Liam said.

It was shame made the steel sing in Saife’s head. By the time I learned that, Saife was gone and it was too late to follow him.

*********

Saife ate his family. That was the rumor. No one had ever seen them and he rarely spoke of them.
Pobrecito Saife.

When I showed up at the old villa, Saife had just turned eighteen.

“I love Iraqi, I love American, I love British,” Saife said, on a night we nicked two gallons of booze from the contractors’ stash.

He was not sharp – joven, gordo, ilusionado – but he was burro-strong and he had spirit.

I was into the whiskey.

Saife finished his sixth or seventh beera then showed me his purple hand.

He put a cigar out on the back of his hand when his uncle joined the Mahdi Army. He re-lit the cigar three more times before he finished burning himself.

Saife was Sunni. He was ashamed of his uncle for joining the Shi’a militia so he burned through the thickest veins in his hand and he didn’t feel anything, he said.

Saife burned himself for shame.

And he didn’t like it when he didn’t get paid.

And he didn’t like it when the Britons called him Fatboy.

“Dudeki!” Saife called back. “Motherfucker! Koosortek!”

But there were more of them than him.

They were just fucking with him.

Sometimes Saife didn’t care.

Sometimes he did.

Saife wanted to kill his uncle. Saife wasn’t afraid, he didn’t feel anything.

“Lee-esh,” I asked.

Why kill?

It was all very cloudy.

My brain was fat and the colored lights strung around the yard streamed across the wet glaze on my eyes.

Kill him because he joined a militia or kill him because he joined the Shi’a militia instead of al Qaeda?

Those things were always cloudy here. With the war, these were places to take cover. Now it was just
rubble baking in the sun. Now there were as many questions as there were displaced families.

Are you Sunni first or Iraqi first?

Saife?

Have 150,000 Iraqi’s died or have that many Shi’a and Sunni died in Iraq?

It was all very cloudy after the war. Life was beginning again but the militias still bombed the markets
and government buildings, unarmed people. In April, strings of bombings killed and maimed all over Iraq.

The threat thickened the air like the smoke and the dust.

No one knew why. They watched the television news reporters say the militias were backed by money from Iran and Saudi Arabia. The overarching goal was to create instability in al-Maliki’s new government. Iran and Saudi Arabia were jockeying for influence over Iraq.

When those succinct broadcasts ended people returned to their cloudy lives and all the floating questions:

Are you a peaceful man or the man of the house?

If you are the man of the house you better work.

If you are the man of the house, you better defend it – the militias can help with that.

If you are the only man, where do you go?

I was drunk. I promised Saife I would help kill the traitorous uncle.

“Sadeeki,” we said, one after another.

Outside the sculpted concrete walls of the Old Villa, dumpster dogs growled over one lame, pregnant bitch. She had a matted golden coat and a broken leg that was turning black. Every night, the dogs found her.

Saife and I shook on our murder promise.

We drank some more and threw kitchen knives into the ground and listened to the dirty golden bitch squeal.

That was the night song.

**********

Intesar was boss at the new villa. She was in her thirties and she judged everyone’s work with bright eyes, black eyelids and pursed wet-looking lips.

The doctor was her assistant. He tested the light switches and brought us lunch.

Intesar was Ali-foreman’s sister. She ran the construction company and she worked well with foreigners. When she talked to you, she always smoothed your shirt at the shoulders.

When she walked by, Ali-foreman looked at the floor because she was his sister. Ali-paint looked after her and exhaled in English, “my God that woman, oh my God.”

Ammar, whose head bowed naturally, always said a quiet prayer.

*************

In the new villa, I slept upstairs, in a small yellow room with a huge bathroom. The bathroom had deep, deep blue tile and a western toilet. There was sand in the carpet and the faucets didn’t work. Neither did the toilet. For a long time, I used the spigot outside to wash. It was ok. I was out of money. I was stealing booze these days, not selling pictures.

Water came out of the spigot scalding, as though from a kettle. After a week, its low rumble – when Ali-paint washed the rollers – started to scrape my brain. Sometimes I flinched.

The water ran for a full minute before it cooled enough.

As it poured out, it did not pool on the ground, it disappeared instantly. The sand ate it.

****************

In exchange for my room at the new villa, I rolled the walls upstairs with Ali-paint and I dug the holes with Ammar. Every day, Ali-paint and I sang along with the Lebanese techno-pop girls on his phone. Ammar liked the Lebanese girls too, but mixed it up with Kathem al-Sahare, the “Elvis” of the Arab world.

When the spigot was dry, we said, “makoo mai.”

There were no hammers or pliers or screwdrivers when we needed them in the New Villa. We all shared broken version of each.

“Makoo tal nefece.”

After a few days, the doctor stopped bringing falafel sandwiches.

“Makoo akeel,” we said, “Koosortek doctor!”

Saife had left us some beera, Heinekin and Tuborg, and that was gone too. There were women and beera in Baghdad, just none for the pobrecitos.

“There is no work, no money, no beera, no bitch, so the other pobrecitos in Baghdad go to the militia,” said Ali-paint. “For money.”

Twice we talked about pitching in for a woman. There was no money and no one wanted to share her. No one except fat Mohammed the electrician, he didn’t care at all. He was lying on the cool stone floor smacking his belly.

The second time buying a woman came up, Ammar moved to the other side of the room.

“Haram,” he said. He took long breaks in the shade of the villa now. He didn’t care if the doctor forgot the falafel in samoon bread because it hurt to eat.

“Makoo floos!” we sang. “Makoo nee-itch!”

That was the work song.

***************************

We stomped it out with our rollers on the wall.

“Wen beera, wen bitch? Makoo floos, makoo nee-itch!”

We sang it with our shovels in the sand.

Ali-paint always started it, skipping in place, slapping his knee.

The intro was the list of nothings:

Makoo mai?

Makoo akeel?

Koosortek doctor!

Makoo tal nefis?

Makoo visa?

Makoo camera?

Makoo whiskey?

Makoo sadikis?

Makoo Amreekie?

Nothing food?

Sister-fucker the doctor!

Nothing screwdriver?

Nothing visa?

Nothing camera?

Nothing whiskey?

Nothing friends?

Nothing Americans?>

*********************

The United States was pulling out of Baghdad and Ramahdi and Fahlujah and all the cities in two months. None of los pobrecitos cared about what happened after that.

It was too hot, mang, too harra to think about big shots.

Ali-foreman was sleeping the afternoons away in my room, on the cool blue bathroom tile.

Intesar cooled the damp skin between her neck and her breasts with a red paper fan she called “my Japanese.”

Ammar’s abdomen hurt. It was hard, as though filled with water. He pressed on it with his finger tips.

*******************

As the intro finished, Fat Mohammed, the electrician, bellowed his part:

“Makoo flooOOS? Makoo flooOOS?” he sang from a room further down the hall, where sparks from the exposed wires in the wall shot holes in his cigarette cloud. Rising from tenor to alto, his voice boomed. His eyes rolled back. He smacked his belly, four smacks per measure.

Ammar twirled his wide hands on his stick-arms and bobbed his head on that piece of string. His part was next:

“Wen beera? Wen bitch? Eyahaha!” he screeched.

“Weeen? Eyahaha! Weeen?”

His part was the most joyous because without the work song, Ammar had nothing to say.

Me? I was, the wonkey cakewalker, tracking watery white latex up and down the New Villa’s stone stair case:

“Makoo floos? Makoo nee-itch! Eyahaha!”

I never felt closer to Allah and the simple truth of it all. I became epileptic.
“EYAAHAHAA!”

The work song always evolved into a spastic dance-off that ended when Ali-paint fell down laughing.
Intesar always shook her head.

*****************
Viva Iraq mate, viva the sounds of the desperate dogs y los pobrecitos.

****************
“You are not Iraqi,” Qusay said.

“You cannot know my people.”

Qusay asked me one day how I could trust a taxi driver in Baghdad.

He asked because that’s how I got around, in taxis, with my camera wrapped-up in a kefeeya or a grocery bag. He asked because he heard me introduce myself, more than once, as Canadian, Colombian or Kurdish.

The driver may kill you or sell you off at anytime, Qusay said, flicking a finger across his throat.
Everybody was about to get their throat slit in Iraq. Everybody was doing some slitting.

My taxi screening process was simple. He wanted to know, so I told him.

When a car pulled up I asked the driver—in English – who would win in a Kung-fu battle, Jesus or Mohammed.

If the driver spoke enough English to respond, he could also translate for me. If he didn’t shout haram at the idea of prophets duking it out Shaolin-style, odds were there wouldn’t be any shouting about prophets at all.

******************

I had helped around the kitchen for a few days now.

We became friends, Qusay and I, by asking questions.

This time he didn’t like my answer. I had insulted Mohammed.

“Never speak that again,” he said.

“I am Shi’a. I love Mohammed. Say it again … say it again … you will not live.”

I said nothing. I was smoking one of Saife’s Gauloises Blondes, toying with the idea of killing Qusay first.

**************

Earlier, I had asked about Qusay’s wife.

She was his cousin.

“Will you take another wife?” I asked.

“Man, I will take three more,” Qusay said.

His other cousins were not menstruating yet. He said he would marry them after that started.

“Can you take all four to bed all at once?” I asked.

From the dish-pit, Saife shouted, “Haram!”

“No, Haram,” Qusay said. “No Haram.”

Qusay said he will take one in his lap, one on his face and one on each nipple.

He was snickering then. It was ok with Qusay to talk about women.

******************

Now, he glared at me through his half-closed eyes. We were no longer friends, though we shared the same patch of shade beneath the only tree in the yard. Qusay loved Mohammed. For that he should kill me, he said.

A cubic mile opened-up between us. Perhaps it was other things, I thought, a buildup of slights.

Perhaps it was because I drank in the kitchen or because I looked at the maids.

In the shade of the tree, it was a livable blue. Without the shade, the world was yellow and baking.

I cracked a false smile and laughed and asked that puta to chill-the-fuck-out but he didn’t budge.

After that, there were no more questions. He was stroking the inside collar of his chef jacket with both hands.

“Puta sucia,” I said.

He understood because I had taught him a few words in my native Colombian but there were no more jokes either.

“I can kill,” Qusay said in crisp English.

“I will do it,” Qusay said, kissing his fingers, “Ask it again.”

******************

I thought about killing him because the idea was easy here.

It was fine.

If he came after me, it would be with a curved kitchen knife in my lower back, I knew that much. Qusay would think long and hard about when to do it. Qusay, esa puta sucia, con su cuchillo divino, would choose a time carefully.

But I’d kill him first – with my Beretta – double-tap mate. Send a round through each collarbone and pistol-whip him; lick his ear and let him know what I’ll do to his mother.

In hand gestures and broken Arabic I’d paint a spectacular picture, mate.

The sharpened tire iron would work too.

When he tries to deflect the lunge at his guts, I’ll bury the crooked point of it in his femur.

Yes, mate.

Liam said the femur is where all the blood is made.

Spear the femur all the way through, he’ll go down. Pull it out, and he’ll bleed to death. Doing it this way allows twenty minutes for theatrics while he bleeds. That’s how Liam would do it, with an improvised speech.

Twenty minutes to mock his family and his religion. Twenty minutes to watch the sand swallow gallons of his leg.

From that day until the end of the two villas, I never turned my back on Qusay.

He wasn’t scared of my thoughts.

I was.

That puta knew I could never kill anybody.

********************

The Iraqi contractors stayed in the caravan when it was too late for them to leave the Greenzone or when they had to transport a client early in the morning.

It was a plywood box next to the Old Villa with a television and bunk beds.

Saife stayed there all the time. If he had family, no one knew where.

If they weren’t washing their cars and juggling footballs in his stomach, Fingers said, they might be in the north, maybe Mosul, maybe Tikrit.

In the caravan, Saife and I watched Kathem al Sahare sing on the television.

Kathem was singing on a neon blue stage. Behind him an orchestra of shadowy oud, qanun and darbuka players swayed with his voice. Circles of cool blue light rippled from where he stood like the stage was a pool of water.

Saife sat to my right, trading insults on the phone with his sadeeka, spitting as he spoke. To my left was a mountain of cigarette boxes and a row of water bottles half-filled with cigarette-butt soup.
The whole place smelled like tuna sweat.

It had been three months since DeBritish paid him. There was no money for sadeeka or her family, Saife said.

Kathem was singing about a woman named Ensa, a woman he could not forget. The harshness of the world was too much. Kathem wanted Ensa by his side.

His body fidgeted on the pale screen as if restrained by ropes. At the height of the longest note, Kathem’s hands broke free and opened like flowers. His head plunged backwards.

Sadeeka wants too much, Saife said at last, balling-up on his side, tilting the bottom bunk.
This was when Saife, the first to disappear, began his departure.

*************************
After Kathem al Sahare sang of Ensa, Saife stopped talking.

He smoked his Gauloises Blondes and sweated stolen booze and let his work go unfinished. You could smell the booze when he sulked by.

Blankness replaced his wide open eyes and toothy smile.

He was silent for two days. In the early hours of the third day, he spoke again, but not convincingly.

What I know, I heard secondhand from Muthana:

Saife rolled up to the check point at the edge of the Greenzone before sunrise of the third day.

There was something about Saife’s voice or his face the guard didn’t like.

Maybe the guard didn’t like fat-ass Sunnis. Maybe Saife’s bribe was chincey. Whatever it was, the guard did something very unusual in Iraq: his job.

Unlucky Saife, gordo, pobrecito.

Muthana said that guard should be promoted to Iraqi general, because he wasn’t asleep or wanking.
Qusay’s diced, deep-fried eggplant breakfast was tossed in ketchup for Saife’s birthday. The maids and the contractors nodded at Muthana with full, greasy mouths.

It was amazing: the guard checked Saife’s papers and searched the car.

Pobrecito Saife, Allah willed it.

The car belonged to DeBritish. It was one of the armored Mercedes. Saife had copied the keys in secret.

In the trunk the guard found several unregistered AK-47s; in the glove box, a heavy wad of cash; in the backseat, a hundred pounds of ammunition and medical field kits worth thousands in the states.

Saife’s plan was to sell the car and the rest of it. He was almost there. The buyer was twenty yards away, on the edge of the Fourth of July Bridge, Muthana said.

“That guy was probably going to resell to al Qaeda or the other militias,” Muthana said.

Instead of embracing and kissing cheeks with a briefcase full of floos – for his sadeeka, for Tuborg and Heineken – a cubic mile opened between the money and the fat ass.

Saife was detained by the guard at rifle-point and arrested by Iraqi police.

His buyer disappeared.

DeBritish got a phone call and the Old Villa Iraqis turned on Saife.

Muthana and the other Iraqi contractors paid police to kick the shit out of him.

No one had been paid in months – not even the muscle.

Saife was fucking it up for men with children.

“Saife is Ali Babba,” Muthana said.

“They sent him back to his family.”

**********************

Saife was the first to disappear. Before we all followed, I heard he awoke from his concussion somewhere in Karrada, with two teeth and a dozen broken ribs.

It hurt for sure, but the shame sound, the scrape, may have left his mind.

Two weeks later, the heat died down and the market people talked about the 18-year-old chunk who stole guns, cash and a car from a pack of mercenaries.

If that gordo-Ali Babba could walk, he walked a little taller in Karrada, with wasta.

Wasta of a different type, mate, not a title mate, or money; not an advanced degree and good intentions, the kind reserved for Iraqi men with bothered heads, who bet their lives against armed contractors and militia wholesalers.

Think about the burro balls that took mate, and tell me ‘fat-boy,’ ‘fat-tart,’ ‘fat-fuck’ and ‘Saif-e-licious’ don’t really mean saber.

*********************

The villas are still standing, weathering the dust and the weekly rockets from Sadr city. They are still there, just not as I knew them when I arrived the spring before last.

When I last saw the Old Villa, it was empty. No more plush couches and big refrigerators. No beds. No fancy garden swing with thick blue cushions. Makoo wide-screen TV. All that stuff was repossessed before our eyes and from under our asses.

Less than a month after Saife’s beating, mate, DeBritish, boss of both villas, retired early. He fucked-off on an early morning flight to Dubai and disappeared.

Debritish was the second to vanish. When he left, he took the clothes on his back and the contents of the safety-deposit box.

“One more Ali Babba,” Muthana said.

“Si,” said I, “Bandito.”

None of the contractors had been paid. Saife, Qusay and Patrick had not been paid. Intesar y los pobrecitos had not been paid. Los pobrecitos didn’t even get lunch.

Koosortek doctor!

Rent on the villas had not been paid. The plush furniture, the fleet of Mercedes and $10,000 in auto maintenance had not been paid for either.

The man who made all the deals flew with everyone’s money — between $300,000 and a million dollars by Liam’s estimate.

In less than a day, word spread that DeBritish wasn’t coming back and the old villa was swarmed by armed collectors. They wanted their money and there wasn’t any so they took what they could grab.
They started with the electronics, then the tables and chairs, then the paintings on the wall. Some Iraqi tried to run off with one of the upright toilets.

The maids were crying. I worried after them all, especially Souhaila. Now that she had worked with westerners, no one Iraqi would give her a job, she said.

Militia men had threatened her life already, she said. The make-up was sliding off her face. The make-up was much lighter than her real skin.

She had no choice but to work with westerners, she said:

“My son! He is eighteen! There is something wrong with his head! He won’t work. He won’t leave the house. He won’t open the shades and leave his bed!”

“No husband,” she said.

The lazy son is the only man.

Souhaila was round like Saife but small, with kite-stick legs. I saw shadows of them once when the wind hit her abbayah head-on and the black fabric became paint on her body.

The sticks were wobbling now. Souhaila leaned heavily on the other maids and cried until she disappeared. When the maids left, they took all the remaining food and the medicine with them.

The expats were next.

They texted, Facebook-ed and emailed their way to a new contract with different protection service.
They were sweating more than usual in their jackets and ties. It was an oven without the villas’ shade. Their collars came undone but I never really worried after them. A powerful wasta, the U.S. Department of State, was on their side. They would all find their way to decorated rooms elsewhere.

When the expats disappeared from the Old Villa in borrowed van, they took their trunks, all the fake Nintendo instruments and all the wine.

I didn’t worry much after the contractors either. The Iraqi half knew where they weren’t welcome in Baghdad and the Britons had all seen much worse.

The short end of the stick though, belonged to the Britons. All the Iraqis had jobs on the side. The Britons had become like los pobrecitos: no home, no money. They had makoo to show for the last several months but two feet in the fine, eager sand.

Perhaps they were los pobrecitos all along.

Ammar knew about being sexless and he knew the difference a little cash can make in a man’s life – he never saved enough for a wife, but before the war, when there was work, Ammar didn’t worry about sharing his prostitutes.

The day DeBritish left, Ammar was too sick to be angry about his pay. He lay on the cool blue tile between Ali-foreman and Ali-paint, far from fat Mohammed the electrician, and he recited a long prayer for the contractors.

Ammar’s body was crumpled the way it was after a few short hours of work, his hands and feet looked awkward and limp but his eyes were lucid.

In his brain, Ammar saw the contractors’ fair dispassionate wives and Ukrainian brides and their girls-on-the-side lit pale blue.

He saw the Britons return to beds as cold as the weather that fell on their homeland. The most basic principle of the universe, Ammar said, applied to big-shots and ex-soldiers and ditch-diggers the same: makoo floos, makoo nee-itch.

Ali-paint smoked Davidoffs and laughed as he translated.

Ammar’s prayer celebrated that common bond. And he asked Allah not to forget the Britons, but, maybe, show los pobrecitos de Iraq the path to money first.

“We are much closer to Mecca,” Ammar said.

I pressed on Ammar’s turgid belly through his dirty purple dress shirt with my fingertips and thought of all the lesser poets growing old in their starched, dreary suits.

It was painful to think of how clean they are.

*************************

Ammar, Both Ali’s, Mohammed and Intesar left early that day and stopped showing up to fix the new villa.

It was their turn to disappear.

The doctor had been a myth for weeks now.

Me? I said as many goodbyes as I could and encouraged the expats to take more wine. Then I went back to the yellow room.

I wasn’t ready to leave yet.

Patrick, the Filipino manager, tossed a stone at the window at dusk.

When he left the Old Villa, he took all the hard liquor with him. I promoted him from Old Villa Manager to Benevolent Genius and we invited some other Filipinos over to witness his inauguration. They all worked for different western agencies with kitchens and each one nicked a different kind of food for the party.

There was a toast and a promise. I promised to one day help Patrick find his estranged father. The father was a retired Karate teacher and part-time stuntman in Los Angeles. The father was a soldier who left Patrick in the Philippines with his mother and never returned.

“I just want to ask why,” Patrick said.

I was drunk.

“Yes,” I said, “Why abandon your family?”

Lee-esh?

We toasted more and I stopped thinking about my voice. I thought about my ears and I scanned the darkness for the night song. I was sure it was there. I was sure it knew why. There was a desperate note that would tell Patrick all he needed to know.

*********************

After the Filipinos disappeared, I resumed painting.

“Wen beera? Wen bitch?” I asked the last uncovered wall. I was stirring the water-cut paint alone.
I had to finish the big, empty living room of the New Villa.

It was my job since I stopped selling photographs.

It was the least I could do. I was the only one who got paid.

Before he left, DeBritish handed me an envelope with five-hundred dollars inside. That envelope and some ingenuity paved my way to Afghanistan before fall.

Five-hundred dollars will get a pobrecito a long way. In Karrada, a kebab and a post-war pack of Gauloise Blondes comes to a buck – you can squeeze two kebabs out of it if you act a little squirrely.

The first thing I did with it was catch a football game on Aaras Island: Karrada Vs. Sadr City.

Lah.

The first thing I did was catch a taxi to Aaras Island.

I picked an innocuous corner off of Yaffa Street and waited with my head wrapped up in a dirty black-embroidered kafeeyeh.

There were kids playing between reinforced Iraqi police pick-up trucks. They were Ford f-250s with machine guns mounted in the back.

Suited men hopped the puddles and mud patches in the unpaved sidewalk. There were a hundred taxis, always compact, white 4-door cars with orange fenders.

I passed on the first seven.

One guy had an AK-47 in the back seat and gun parts all over the dash. That one was like Saife, on his way to wasta.

One guy was driving on a flat tire. Another smelled like donkey shit. None of them spoke English.

When the eighth pulled up, it was a young, sad-looking guy. Beer bottles were in a pile on the floor on the passenger side so I said hello and made small talk in shitty Arabic.

The sad-looking guy answered in sad-sounding English, so I asked him:

“In a Kung-Fu fight, who would win, Jesus or Mohammed?”

*****************

What I would have given for Qusay to be numero ocho, mate.

After the Kung-fu question I’d rip the dirty kafeeyah from my face!

“Salam, puta suciaaaa!”

I’d choke the sister-fucker with a sly, crazy grin.

***************************

No such luck.

Instead, I got Fahady: “I don’t know man … who thinks about that? It’s shit.”

Fahady was not witty.

He charged too much.

He off-gassed a powerful form of frustrated depression, that, I believe, jammed the airwaves around his taxi.

That’s why the radio never worked.

On the bright side, his English was good and he had friends in the police who called when there was an explosion.

He was it.

For the next two months Fahady took me to bomb sites all over Baghdad and to the hospitals.

The slow, folksy song he sang, quietly, something like a chant, something like a prayer, while we waited for orderlies to open up the emergency ward, was the hospital song.

It always spread down the flickering corridors, moving into from one mouth to the next like an act of hypnotism. I remember the shutter sound of my camera cutting into it in the dingy waiting areas and in every yellow-lit room.

It was breathed by all the motionless cousins and grandparents squatting on the floor, smoking with their elbows on their knees.

Fahady translated a portion of it for me, the part about a dying pobrecito trying to impress beautiful Layla.

‘I hide my approaching death from everyone,
If they knew, they would try to console me.
I know they cannot.
I walk and smile, Layla, I am stubborn.’

It’s still in my head, this long after I disappeared.

Teaching English: How to Give Private Language Lessons

Milana Bogorodskaya — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 12:38:30 +0000

Photo: alexbrn

Matador U student Milana shares her tips for getting started as a private English teacher.

Whether you are interested in a part time job, a career in ESL (English as a Second Language) education, or need some experience before teaching English in a foreign country for a year, becoming a private English teacher can be financially rewarding and a great way to meet new friends and learn new cultures. Starting from scratch with few or no contacts can be daunting, but it is definitely possible. Here are six tips and strategies that I’ve learned to get you started.

1. Understand what you can offer your students.

You need to have a good grasp of English grammar to teach English, but you do not need to be a grammar expert. Students are usually looking for help with conversation, technical skills, or even a crash-course in slang and colloquial expressions, skill sets that are less commonly taught in a traditional classroom setting. They want to speak like a local, and you may be the local that can teach them.

If you learned English as a second language, or if you’ve ever studied a foreign language, you will be able to relate to your students and better understand what methods work and what methods don’t.

2. Publicize yourself.

Put up flyers in language schools, ethnic grocery stores, common areas of local universities and colleges, and any organizations that work with foreign or immigrant populations in your area. Some organizations to try are the Latina Women’s League, Florida Immigrant Advocacy Center, and Rotary Club.

If you know a foreign language, consider joining a conversation exchange to increase your contact list. You will meet with someone who knows the language you are learning, and the two of you will divide the time conversing in English and the foreign language. You can also volunteer to just meet with someone and talk in English with them. Usually these exchanges are free, but they can be a good way to acquire contacts.

One summer, I spent an hour on Monday mornings conversing with a Korean exchange professor to improve his English, and two months later, one of his Korean colleagues called me to request lessons for his whole family!

Photo: mrsraggle

3. Customize lesson plans for your student.

The advantage of a private lesson is that all your attention is focused on a single student. I recommend meeting with the student before officially starting lessons in order to learn his level and interests. Ask what specific goals he wants to achieve. Each student is unique, and it is your job to tailor the lessons to help the student achieve his goals.

When I was teaching the Korean family, the wife loved to cook while the husband was interested in American politics and social issues. For the wife, I brought in American recipes and taught her the vocabulary needed to read a recipe. With the husband, I based our lessons on current events and social debates.

The first meeting is also the time to set tuition rates, meeting times and the meeting place.

4. Create the lessons and don’t be afraid to get some help.

For a first timer, creating a lesson plan can be daunting.

For a lesson longer than a half hour, plan a set of mini lessons. For example, spend 10 minutes on new vocabulary, then move on the main lesson point, and spend the last 15 minutes on freestyle conversation.

You can base each lesson by skill or by theme. For example, you can have lessons that focuses on a specific verb tense, or you can create a lessons on topics such as health care, sports, cooking and so on.

If you feel lost and don’t know where to start, search online for ESL lesson plans and you will find plenty of ideas, exercises, and games for each level type. Do not be afraid to use the entire lesson plan, tailor it to suit your student’s interest, or take bits and pieces to form your own lesson. Eventually you will grow more confident and obtain an archive of lesson plans that can be revised and reused with other students. Some websites I find useful are Using English, English as Second Language, and Dave’s ESL Cafe .

I have used the internet, old foreign language books that I convert into lessons for ESL, old ESL workbooks, and I’ve even asked people who learned English as a second language for advice. All you need is some time and creativity, and voilá, you’ll have a lesson plan.

5. Pay attention to the student.

It is all about the student. Speak slowly. Slow down if he seems confused and speed up if he seems bored. Even if you are naturally shy, you are the teacher and you must be confident and extroverted. You should take the lead and engage the student. Make your students feel comfortable and let them know they are free to ask questions at any time.

As time goes on, ask the student’s opinion about the lessons. Since you are not part of a language school and do not have anyone to answer to, you have the freedom to continuously alter the lessons to meet your student’s ever-changing needs and concerns.

6. Have fun.

Teaching English is a great way to learn about other cultures and meet new people. The experience is as much as you make of it: you can be strictly professional with your students, or you can initiate excursions and field trips for them to experience your culture.

Eventually, word will travel and you’ll find yourself with plenty of students and hopefully some new international friends.

Community Connection

For more about teaching English abroad, check out Matador’s Teaching ESL Focus Page.

Travel Jobs: Working Internationally with Club Med

Mary Richardson — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 12:39:41 +0000

Club Med Punta Cana, All photos: Ed Yourdon

A year ago, my husband and I stayed at a Club Med in Japan. It wasn’t our usual kind of trip as we prefer independent travel, and we worried the resort would offer no more than an impersonal tourist experience.

With resorts in over 40 countries, Club Med maintains a workforce of people of 80 different nationalities. The result is a dynamic energetic community, resembling what you’d find in a good backpacker hostel. Over dinner, in the bar, on the beach, we befriended hosts from France, Malaysia, Germany, Australia, and Sri Lanka. We ended up having a fantastic time, and it was mostly due to the Club Med staff.

Jobs

Club Med has a range of work positions for people with diverse backgrounds. A quick glance at the recruitment site indicated a need for art instructors, finance managers, electricians, sommeliers, bakers, salsa dance instructors, nature recreation specialists, and many more.

In addition, Club Med is the kind of resort where employees take on different roles. You might be a desk clerk in the morning, a yoga instructor in the afternoon, and a backup dancer in the nightly show. In fact, Club Med offers training in many skill areas for people wanting to develop new areas of expertise. So, if you’ve ever fantasized about becoming a costume designer or scuba instructor, this may be your chance to get the ball rolling.

Lifestyle

Fixed work contracts are 6 months long, and they are renewable. You don’t select your initial country assignment; rather it is assigned based on your skills and background.

But over time given changing personnel needs in other resorts, you can switch locations. That could mean living at a tropical resort in Turks and Caicos half the year, and a ski lodge in France the other half. Of course, there are restrictions based on legal requirements for your nationality, but with resorts in 40 countries including places like Turkey, Egypt, and Maldives, there are many possibilities.

The typical work schedule, depending on your specific job title is 6 days on and one day off. However, you may have time before and after contract periods to travel your host region freely.

Benefits

You live in provided accommodations in a shared room, and eat the same cuisine as the guests. Apart from basic personal needs, there are few expenses.

Working abroad in Latin America, Europe, or Asia, you have a chance to develop a range of foreign language skills.

Best of all, you meet people from around the world and build a network of international friends. As you move about, you meet up with old pals in new resort locations. Club Med maintains an online employee network so you can easily keep in touch.

Drawbacks

Like all jobs, there are potential negatives too. The hospitality industry is heavy on socializing, which may not fit well with some personality types or temperaments.

Work schedules can be rigorous. Some days may be long, starting early in the morning and going until every last guest is finished doing the electric slide way past midnight.

In addition, there is a prescribed dress code, which could be a problem if you just don’t feel like wearing blue (or whatever color) on a given day.

Finally, given the salary and your particular duties, working at Club Med may not pad your bank account or develop into a long-term career.

However, the way I see it, for a few years of living abroad, making friends, learning a new language, and having a range of unique experiences, the few downsides aren’t such a serious price to pay.

Check out the Club Med Planet , an online forum where interested parties can ask questions about employment and seasoned workers discuss their own experiences with the company.

Application guidelines

1. Recruitment periods generally go from September to June.
2. Visit the Club Med jobs website and find out your eligibility based on your country of origin. Club Med encourages people who speak more than one language to apply.
3. Browse the list of job openings and submit an application online. You may also be asked to supply an application packet with resume, CV, copies of certificates and degrees, and letters of reference.
4. After a preliminary screening, you will be contacted for a telephone interview.
5. If you pass the phone interview stage, you’ll be invited to a recruitment day. From there, you may well be on your way to the Bahamas or the Dominican Republic or Turkey or any of the other resort locations worldwide.

Community Connection

For more jobs travel jobs, check out Matador’s run down of Travel and Adventure Jobs.

On My Way To Work: Copenhagen, Denmark

Brittany Shoot — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 17:24:31 +0000

Photos: author

Never a morning person, I tend to have a pretty rough time — especially on the weekends — when my alarm goes off at 7am. Malcolm, my cat, who demands breakfast early, is thrilled, but as I pull on a dirty pair of jeans and sneakers with holes near the toes perfect for walking dogs downtown, I can barely consider my own sustenance.

I grab a muffin, a handful of vitamins, and a bottle of water to stick in my small messenger bag and pat myself down several times to be sure I’ve brought the necessities: klippekort train pass, Dankort credit/debit card, keys.

Driving in Denmark requires a Danish license — not to mention a car that is usually triple the price it would be in the U.S., plus “green taxes” that quadruple the total values — so there’s a reason many commuters ride the Metro, S-tog, and regional trains.

I live a four minute walk from the nearest S-tog station, or about one minute on my bike. If I’m feeling strong or know I’ll want to save time by biking in town later on, I take my wheels. I unhook them from the bike rack behind my house — even in the safest suburb, my partner has had his bike stolen from in front of out building, the thick chain cut and left as evidence — so I always park behind our flat now.

Ordrup station, on the C line of the S-tog, is almost always quiet. As I bike down Schioldannsvej to catch the train, I’m hit in the face with the scent of lilacs as I pass large houses surrounded by woven twig fences and enormous shrubs. Two dogs live on the left side, one black retriever and one scruffy white mutt. When I’m walking, I often stop to pet them both.

In the summertime, I diligently watch the sidewalks and streets for snails and killer slugs, an invasive species that take over all walking paths and yards for a few months every summer; though I hate them, I can’t bear to kill them.

I wait at one end of the platform since the cargo cars are typically attached at the front and back. When the C train bound for either Ballerup or Frederikssund arrives I have about a minute to scramble to find the cargo train car and push my bike’s back wheel between the tire rack holders. Early in the morning, I’m often alone and sit right next to my bike as I listen to my iPod.

Riding inbound in the mornings and sitting alone in the train is perhaps one of my favorite experiences as a solitary introvert expat, because in public, Danes rarely communicate unless absolutely necessary. While I’ve had my share of bizarre transit encounters — a woman asking me to stop tapping my foot and looking insulted when I told her to move to the quiet car, of which every train has at least one — a smile tends to go a long way, as does moving out of the way of the notoriously large baby buggies and passing a few coins to the men selling the homeless newspaper.

“Mange tak,” they always say. Many thanks. “Det var så lidt,” I reply and smile even wider. Literally, I am saying, “It was just a little thing,” or, no problem. The occasional morning drunk wanders through with a giant Carlsberg can twice the size of his hand, but he keeps to himself as he slumps into one of the plush blue bench seats. I’ve learned to avert my eyes, no longer bewildered to see anyone inebriated so early in the day.

We pass through some beautiful suburbs on our way in: the embassy houses bearing brilliant flags and wealthy expat homes with impeccably manicured lawns behind stone walls in Hellerup provoke a mixture of distempered envy and wistfulness. On summer Sundays, the bustling Charlottenlund flea market is the first sight on the trip, filled with bins of children’s plastic toys gleaming in the sunlight, dresses on hangers attached to the chain-link fences blowing in the wind; coming back even a few hours later, the previously bustling gravel parking lot is spookily deserted.

Further in, I marvel at the elaborate bubble letters and scrawling graffiti tags in the Svanemøllen train yards and on the sides of Østerport station. When we go underground, I know it’s time to stand up, shake my bike loose of its rack, and move aggressively towards the door, which will soon be packed full of people trying to get in and our, as quickly as possible, no matter the actual crowd or time of day. Exiting the train can be a total headache with people pushing for no reason, and I’m generally glad my bike keeps at least a few people out of my way.

My destination, Nørreport station, is the convergence of all three train types. When I don’t have the strength to carry my bike up two flights of stairs, I steer it down to the far end of the platform and take the elevator to the ground level. I battle with other cyclists and mothers for space in the tiny elevator that invariably reeks of spilled beer — two bikes, one pram, if we’re lucky to squeeze it all in at once — and once I reach ground level, I walk my bike across the cobblestones, past the vegetable and flower vendors and the mobile polser hotdog cart.

Disobeying a few rules, I jump onto my bike in the middle of the crosswalk and take off around the sleepy pedestrians, only using my giant child’s bike horn to scare off people who step into the bike lane without cause or warning. The other cyclists out so early look so put together, the women unusually beautiful with hair on top of their heads and big baggy layers of dark colors over sleek tights and leggings, but I power on my jeans and flannel.

From my quiet suburb of Ordrup to the already bustling streets of Nørrebro, it takes exactly 18 minutes to meet my dog walking clients if I’ve brought my bike. And even if it will take me a slow 40 minutes to ride my two wheels all the way home again, if the fickle northern weather cooperates, I just might take advantage of the sunshine.

Learning Experiences: How To Become A Successful Career Woman In Saudi Arabia

Michele La Morte-Shbat — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 14:01:38 +0000

Photos: author

Michele La Morte-Shbat decides to leave a comfortable life in Washington D.C to move to Saudi Arabia.

“I never wanted you here,” he said. “When they asked me I told them that you were all wrong for the job.”

My heart skipped a beat. I stared dumbstruck at the bits of frayed, brown mesh office carpet, the afternoon sunlight filtering in through the windows of the King Faisal Specialist Hospital (KFSH) in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia.

It was November, 2000. Just days ago, my husband Bishara and I had left a nearly idyllic life in Washington, DC, where we had shared a five-bedroom home complete with the requisite American white picket fence, to come to Saudi Arabia.

Our flight from Washington Dulles airport to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia lasted nearly 20 grueling hours, taking with it our two beloved apricot poodles, our 43 pieces of luggage: our entire life. Five words threatened to make our journey half way across the world meaningless. I peered at Abdullah, the man whom I had looked forward to meeting as my new boss, in his crisp, white thobe and ghuttra, searching his cherubic face, trying to comprehend his words without letting my emotions get the best of me. Was I prepared to let my hard work be squelched by this soft-spoken bureaucrat?

Relocating to Saudi Arabia was not a choice that my husband and I had entered into lightly. After spending seventeen years in the urban grind of the nation’s capital, I began to notice a kind of restlessness in my life.

I had a happy and fulfilling personal life with my husband and friends, and I enjoyed my job and co-workers, but I couldn’t shake the notion that I had reached a plateau; I felt as if I were standing at the edge of an imaginary shore like a sailor’s wife, willing a familiar ship to appear on the horizon.

I wrangled with guilt in feeling compelled to step out of this perfectly fine existence. While dating Bishara, a Christian Lebanese national born in Jordan, I became acquainted with, what seemed to me, the enigmatic and esoteric region of the Middle East.

Sword dance in a festival in Riyadh

I remained curious about that part of the world after we married, always intrigued when Bishara talked about his childhood and experiences growing up overseas. My yearning – like a low-grade fever – for a cultural adventure caught up with me in late 1999 when I felt particularly drawn toward inscrutable Saudi Arabia.

There was no denying the effect that even the mere mention of the Kingdom had on me; my mind turned over images of white washed palaces, cobble-stoned streets jammed with merchants’ carts, and regal women enveloped in black gliding silently through airy plazas. The pictures flickered by like scenes from a film not yet completed. As I shared my feelings with Bishara, his normally merry eyes clouded and his forehead tensed. “Saudi Arabia, why Saudi Arabia?” he asked.

I could not articulate exactly why, I just knew this was the place I needed to explore at this juncture. The more I turned over the possibility of starting a new life in this mysterious country, the more enthusiastic I felt. New found energy replaced my restlessness and eventually swayed my initially reluctant husband.

I thought, perhaps naively, that finding employment might be the toughest hill to climb in making this life transition. For nine months, my husband and I worked feverishly to secure jobs in Saudi Arabia. After an initial trip to the Kingdom with the US-Saudi Business Council in February 2000, Bishara was fortunate to meet a Saudi sheikh who kindly promised to secure a job for me first and then Bishara as Saudi work restrictions limited my job prospects to academe, hospitals, and women’s banks.

True to his word, a week after Bishara’s phone conversation with the sheikh we received a call from King Faisal Specialist Hospital, a highly regarded medical institution in the Middle East with a well-trained staff, requesting my CV. Two weeks later we were notified of my new position as head of a recently established department in the finance office.

My initial excitement was short lived, replaced with administrative headaches: innumerable phone calls to management at KFSH about the details of my employment contract and salary, figuring out the logistics of bringing our two miniature apricot poodles with us, repeated trips to the doctor for the required medical tests, and supplying the hospital with criminal history reports, visa forms, and family records.

I began to think our new life in Saudi Arabia would never materialize. Whether by the sheer force of my determination or from a series of lucky breaks, I nevertheless found myself thousands of miles from the only home I had ever known, meeting my new employer.

“Abdullah,” I began, finally finding my voice. “I came here to be a team player, to work hard and assist your department to be the best it can be.” A flicker of remorse passed across Abdullah’s face. “Well,” he retorted, “I really don’t think you have the appropriate background to be part of our group.”

With my resolve building, I persevered. “Abdullah, I am interested in learning and I’m a quick study; I’m sure that any weaknesses I have can be overcome.”

Abdullah fixed me with a stern, quizzical look and then abruptly turned his back, striding down the corridor. I remained rooted to the spot, unsure as to what had just transpired. Several minutes passed and neither Abdullah nor another superior appeared to politely “escort” me out of the building; I began to realize my job remained intact and let out a thin sigh of relief.

KFSH building where author worked

There was never a time when I wasn’t conscious of being a professional, working woman in Saudi Arabia. The Middle East and its customs have received a tremendous amount of attention in the last eight years. I admit to my own curiosity and apprehension before traveling to the Kingdom, turning over in my mind myths and rumors I had heard about the strict rules and regulations imposed on women.

Though they most certainly meant well, friends and family had no shortage of opinions and (I would soon learn) erroneous or sensationalized facts about the “tragic” plight of women in the Kingdom. I was determined, however, to start my new life with a completely open mind and to learn as much about myself as well as the culture through this new experience.

I took small, calming breaths as I strode along the office corridor on my first day of work. To my surprise and relief, two young Saudi women readily greeted me, offering me cardamom coffee, a popular drink with a pungent, spicy, sweet taste, which served as a welcome pause from my early frenetic days in the Kingdom.

My Saudi male colleagues were cordial, but less familiar, tendering me gentle handshakes and steely reserves. This reception left me a bit perplexed as I was accustomed to casual greetings followed by the requisite “small talk” typical of American working environments.

In the weeks that followed, I became pleasantly surprised to notice that this seemingly restrained working relationship with my Saudi male co-workers gave way to an almost familial association; I was referred to as “sister,” which afforded me a certain level of respect. In time, even my boss, Abdullah, became a good friend and almost a brother to Bishara and me, helping us through some harrowing personal trials and perilous situations.

In my first few weeks at the hospital I found myself learning more than just my new job; the aspects of work I had taken for granted in the U.S. suddenly became completely novel. Professional etiquette, for instance, took on a whole different meaning in this new workplace, and I had to relearn a diverse set of protocol just to fit in.

At times, I found myself treading lightly around cultural and traditional roles for women and men and the appropriate interactions between the two. If I were one of a couple of women at a meeting with a predominance of men in attendance there was no particular code of behavior; I felt comfortable sitting where I liked and freely expressing myself. Women, particularly Western expatriates, were also allowed more informality when interacting about work-related issues on a one-on-one basis with a Saudi male workmate.

It was important, however, that the discussion center on work and not track into the personal realm. On other occasions, such as the time when we welcomed a new Director of the Finance Group or when a collection of men and women in a conference room celebrated the retirement of a fellow colleague, tradition dictated that women and men remain segregated.

It was during these instances that I found myself making a conscious effort to respect the customs of my host country. There were moments when I instinctively felt like walking over to a Saudi male co-worker clustered with other male cohorts on the far side of the room to discuss a particular professional matter, and I had to pull myself back. During these occasions, I felt particularly nostalgic for the easy circulation between my male and female workmates in the U.S.

My role as supervisor to Arab men, including Saudi and Lebanese nationals, also required some mental adjustments on my part, leaving me more than a little curious and anxious.

Similar to my workplace persona I assumed in the States, I felt it important to convey through my statements and actions that I was a team player and a professional. If there were issues with my Arab male subordinates having a female American boss, these sentiments were left unexpressed verbally or otherwise.

My male Saudi teammate, Saad, was smart and exceedingly polite and respectful. Our working association evolved into the more traditional supervisor/subordinate relationship, making it less familial than the working relationship I shared with my Saudi male peers outside of my group. I also contended with the matter of my Lebanese subordinate, who had worked for a couple of prominent American companies in the U.S., and regularly solicited Abdullah for my job. Fortunately, I’d encountered a similar situation several years earlier with an ambitious subordinate when I was a finance manager with the U.S. government.

Festival in Riyadh

The responsibilities and complexities of management seem to transcend cultural or gender divides. In both instances, I found myself focusing on promoting a balance between the team effort concept, and maintaining clear lines of authority.

In addition to the inherent “ups and downs” in any workplace there were some obvious differences between America and Riyadh, such as their Saturday to Wednesday workweek, the laws that restricted women driving to work (or elsewhere for that matter), and the scent of bakhour (incense) wafting along the halls.

Other, less transparent, customs left me slightly bewildered. I quickly learned, for instance, of the male Saudi habit to let doors close behind them, regardless of who trailed, as they stepped briskly through the halls of the hospital complex. In time I realized that even women did not hold doors open for each other.

My husband explained that Saudis presumably wished to avoid any gestures possibly construed as flirtatious or inappropriate. Ironically, though I regularly asked men in the States to step through a doorway before me in an effort to reinforce the notion of gender equality, I found myself missing this common western courtesy when moving through the corridors of KFSH.

Another practice I learned to quickly incorporate was using the phrase, “inshallah,” or “if God wills,” into my daily speech in both social and professional settings. Expatriates learn of this neologism within days of arriving in the Kingdom. “Inshallah” follows many expressed thoughts, wishes, queries, and responses. The phrase is so common it becomes entrenched in the vernacular of the ordinary expatriate.

“Can we meet today at 1:00?” “Inshallah,” comes the response. Or, “Do you think we can have that report finished by the end of the day?” Without hesitation, the reply is “inshallah.” One day when my husband and I were rushing back to work after a medical appointment, we found ourselves in the middle of a crowded elevator.

The elevator stopped on the second floor and a gentleman outside asked if the elevator was going up; several of us responded automatically, “inshallah.” It wasn’t long before I found myself saying “inshallah” in meetings or in the course of workplace conversation.

Despite my sometimes steep learning curve in becoming acclimated to my new place of employment, the days slipped by rather quickly until I could hardly remember my daily routine working in the States. Though my schedule had a similar rhythm of deadlines and meetings, the work hours were enjoyably punctuated with gratifying moments of downtime– not the same kind of grab-a-cup-of-coffee-and-stand-around-watching-our-watches-chatting kind of moments I knew too well from my own and friends’ professional experiences.

Arab corporate culture allows you, encourages you in fact, to take time out of your day to devote to connecting with one another on a more convivial level. Usually this happens, I discovered to my ample enjoyment, over soothing mint tea or cardamom coffee served with dates or Arabic sweet pastries.

Coming from a corporate environment less concerned with this aspect of professional development, I failed to realize how vital it is to truly slow down in the course of the day until I worked on my first large project for the hospital a couple of months into my contract.

Expat picnic outside Riyadh

In January, 2001, the team I supervised became responsible for a new automated budgeting process. Despite the frantic pace and frustrations intrinsic in implementing any new process, it was rare for a day to pass without being offered Arabic coffee.

One afternoon, my head buried in a stack of reports and my thoughts distracted by a presentation looming the following day, a female Saudi co-worker popped her head through my office doorway.

“Michele,” she called. “Please come by my desk, I made some mint tea this morning that I would like to share with you.”

My first impulse was to decline: there were final preparations for my big financial presentation the following morning; how would I be able to finish everything with this impingement on my critical work time? However, I understood the importance of human interaction in the Arab workplace, and I knew that refusing this sort of invitation was considered rude.

I summoned a smile and reluctantly followed my colleague to her partitioned office. As I stepped inside, I encountered another woman already seated in the corner, dressed in typical hospital attire for Saudi women: a long skirt that fell below the ankles, her blouse positioned high on the neck, a black scarf adorning her head, and a long white lab coat completing the ensemble.

I barely had a moment to find my own cup when the women broke into animated banter. Conversation about our current financial project was interspersed with more casual talk about their children’s schooling or what the housekeeper might prepare for dinner that evening.

The chitchat and aromatic mint tea lulled me, as it would do in the future, into an appreciation of this particular instant in time; I realized that there were life issues just as, if not more, important as the tasks at hand in the daily work grind.

The hospital compound itself actually helped to bridge this work-life divide in some interesting and unexpected ways. Its vast property catered to single, expatriate females, primarily nurses, by providing a large array of amenities. From grocery stores and flower shops to a bowling alley, post office, and Dunkin’ Donuts, the grounds included everything that an average, western girl needed to feel at home, minimizing her exposure to the Kingdom’s unfamiliar customs.

Most days, these many facilities, combined with the overall make-up of the staff, made it easy to mistake the hospital premises for a small town or planned community. Browsing the magazine racks in the grocery store always brought me back to reality. Black magic marker blotted out the bare arms, legs and cleavage of the models on the magazine covers.

My spine bridled when I first opened one of the women’s magazines to find each of the pictures of the young models with similar blackened arms and cleavage; each magazine I flipped through was the same. Later, I discovered that one of the informal duties of the mottawah, or religious police, involved shielding the community from even the slightest hints of sexuality.

This sort of seemingly nonsensical mottawah activity provided fodder for uneasy chuckles and long discussions about our mutual unconventional experiences within the Kingdom at weekend expatriate gatherings or evening fetes. Many of my single female expatriate friends who remained in Saudi Arabia for an extended period of time eventually came to the conclusion that the financial rewards and unique professional and personal experiences gleaned from life in the Kingdom outweighed concerns over eccentric and baffling pursuits by the mottawah.

While the mottawah were not permitted on the hospital premises, I remained mindful of my dress, especially for work. In the States, I might have decided on my outfit for the day in the precious minutes between drying my hair and heading downstairs for a bite of breakfast. Although my clothing options were more limited in the Kingdom, my early days at KFSH found me devoting significant time to picking out clothes that were both respectful of the stringent cultural customs and professional.

During my induction at KFSH I half expected to be greeted with a neatly divided fleet of robes and pant suits. Instead, Western women like me were permitted to forgo the black abaye on the hospital grounds; we were strongly counseled, though, to have our arms and knees covered, and low-cut blouses were strictly prohibited.

When off hospital grounds, Western women typically wear the abaye; in some shopping malls they are required to wear a headscarf or otherwise risk an encounter with the “mottawah.” In extreme circumstances a woman or her husband, who in the “mottawah’s eyes allowed her to dress indecently, might face jailing.

Like most other female expatriates I normally wore a mid-calf (or longer) skirt or pants, and a long white lab coat to work. My colleagues’ fashion, however, reflected both the cultural and stylistic diversity in the workplace. The Saudi woman working at the passport desk was completely covered in black, her eyes, two charcoal pools, stared back at me. Her Sudanese workmate at a station in close proximity wore a colorful yellow and blue sarong and head covering that exposed her entire unmade face, leaving wisps of hair peeking under her scarf.

At the hospital, Lebanese women stood out in stark contrast to all others not only in attire but also in their confident demeanor; these women sported tight pants, immaculately coiffured hair and painstakingly applied makeup, demonstrating their knowledge of the latest fashion trends. Lebanese women followed the same kind of cultural mores as other Arab women such as covering their arms and legs while on the hospital grounds and wearing the abaye and headscarf in public (with their faces exposed) when off the hospital premises.

Yet, it appeared as if there was an unspoken understanding in the Arab world that granted Lebanese women more fashion freedom. Conceivably this nonconformity was due to the regular influx of Western European tourists into Lebanon during its golden age in the 1960’s and early 1970’s, before the civil war, when it was known as “the Paris of the Middle East.”

In any event it became increasingly apparent to me that women from Gulf countries such as Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Bahrain were clearly more reserved and demure in dress and behavior in public settings than those women from non-Gulf countries, such as Lebanon, Syria, Egypt and Jordan. I soon found that despite the divergence in clothing styles and presentation, women were not typically the objects of unwanted glances or stares that sometimes find their way into Western workplaces dominated with male colleagues.

The author and her family

In fact, great lengths were taken to shield women from this unwanted attention; Arab women’s offices were never positioned along a main corridor, and some women even hung curtain material over the entrances of their partitioned offices.

As I became more acclimated to my new professional surroundings and adjusted my demeanor and appearance to fit in, one particularly surprising aspect to the Saudi workplace continued to fascinate me: the relationship between women and their hair.

It might sound trivial to Western women who fail to think of their hair beyond fretting over its neatness, messiness, or frizzyness, but Saudi women experience their hair in a completely different manner. In the Kingdom, strict mores exist about the public display of women’s hair, and Saudi women exercise careful attention to keep their hair covered with few exceptions.

I distinctly recall dashing to the restroom early one morning before a meeting and running into my workmate, Amal, splashing her face with a bit of water, her shiny raven colored locks free from the confines of the obligatory headscarf. Restrooms were one of the few locations at work where a Saudi woman felt safe and sheltered enough to bare her hair.

Wednesday morning breakfasts of Lebanese mazzah that featured mounds of hummus and babaganoush, freshly baked pita bread, tabouli, fattoush, and spirited chatter behind closed conference room doors were another. Although I usually felt awkward when I noticed a Saudi woman uncover her hair, as if I were intruding on a particularly private and intimate moment, I inevitably found it hard to look away.

Despite the ubiquitous headscarf, Arab women take great pains to style their hair based on the current rage, commonly sporting fashionable cuts and trendy highlights. Some of these women were particularly exquisite looking with their luxurious hairstyles framing ebony pools of their eyes.

On another occasion Aisha, also an officemate, came into my office and glanced around furtively, making sure we were unobserved, before tentatively removing her headscarf. Her dark brown wavy hair spilled around her face, and she asked if I liked her new haircut. “Oh, yes, it looks great,” I affirmed. “You know, Michele, you should really try putting highlights into your hair like Alia,” Aisha quipped. “Highlights would really bring out your face.” My heart swelled with humility; this from a woman who, in public, outside of hospital grounds, was not only required to cover her hair, but her face, as well.

Working “shoulder to shoulder” with my female Saudi counterparts I came to learn that they had an acute appreciation for their career opportunities, were extremely hardworking, and remained intensely disciplined, particularly those without young children.

I often felt like a surrogate mother or big sister to some of the younger, female Saudi women, one of whom would even stop by my office regularly to discuss some of her more private marital challenges, which invariably most women face. “My husband isn’t spending enough time with me,” she fretted on one occasion. “Sometimes he goes out with other men, and doesn’t tell me where he’s going or what he’s doing,” adding “I feel that maybe he doesn’t love me anymore and is not interested in me.”

I admit that at times I felt off-balance during these encounters, happy yet daunted by this level of trust from a workmate; I couldn’t recall ever having these kinds of intimate discussions in the American workplace. “Marriage is complex and challenging,” I began tentatively, trying to give my best Dr. Phil advice. “It has its ‘ups and downs,’ and there are some points during a marriage when the man and woman feel somewhat distant from each other. You just have to nourish the marriage like you have to water a flower to make sure it grows and stays healthy.”

She remained expressionless, yet I glimpsed a flicker of understanding before she bolted away to answer her incessantly ringing phone in her office down the hall. I always felt honored to be a trusted colleague and friend during these moments. The professionalism of my American employers suited my career aims, but after becoming familiar with this more familial work culture, I realized how many U.S. offices, by their very nature, discourage these types of personal interactions.

The heart-wrenching tragedy of September 11, 2001 certainly challenged some of my budding relationships with my Saudi co-workers. The events of that day left Bishara and me emotionally spent and quite discouraged as initial reports implicated Saudi involvement in the attacks.

As I tentatively entered the office the following day, Abdullah cautiously approached and asked, “Are you alright, Michele?” adding “I am so sorry about what happened.” He continued, “I hope that nobody you knew was hurt or affected.” I told Abdullah I appreciated his concern and felt a bit of relief that there weren’t any hostilities toward me.

KFSH, like many places in the Kingdom, certainly had its factions that disagreed with American policies, and I became apprehensive when it was confirmed that Saudis participated in perpetuating the attacks.

However, I was astounded one late afternoon several weeks after 9/11 when Samer, a Saudi finance manager and collaborator on one of my reports, bristled when I expressed concern for Americans living in Saudi Arabia. He exclaimed, “Michele, if anybody tries to get near you, anybody at all, I will put myself between them and you.” He paused for a moment, and continued “And I know your workmates would do the same.” Samer’s gesture rendered me mute for a split second; I barely managed a curt, “Thank you, Samer.” Despite my enduring trepidation, in this moment I had a renewed sense of faith in humanity.

Many of my friends back in the States still wondered at my dubious choice, fearing that I had traded one competitive work culture for another one with additional, improbable challenges. They emailed regularly with endless queries: How was I coping? Did I miss family and friends? How did I manage working under such (they envisioned) strict and sterile conditions?

I greatly appreciated their concern, but I assured them that I was thriving with each new discovery. In the midst of what was becoming a fulfilling and productive life transition, more change ensued: My heart sank in late spring 2003 when we discovered that Bishara had a life-threatening medical condition.

We considered having Bishara treated in the U.S., but after much deliberation we realized that Bishara would receive “top notch” medical care from KFSH doctors who had studied at some of the finest medical institutions in the world. I was not only gravely concerned about my husband, but acutely aware of how this might impact my work arrangements. I found myself in Abdullah’s office again, hoping to trade on his good graces.

“Abdullah,” I began, as I closed the office door behind me, a lump forming in my throat “Bishara is going to be in the hospital for an extended period of time, and I’m going to need to work out a leave schedule with you so I can split my time between work and spending time with Bishara.”

Before I could continue Abdullah jumped in, “Michele, while Bishara is in the hospital, I am not your boss, Bishara is your boss. Anytime Bishara wants you to take off from work, take leave time; and I am not going to charge you for any time off as long as Bishara is in the hospital!”

He must have seen the uncertainty in my face because he added, “It’s okay, go off and see Bishara. He needs you!” My eyes welled and my limbs trembled as I stepped over to shake hands with my gracious benefactor, the same man who had made such a stony impression on me when I first arrived.

I couldn’t help but reflect on how far my working relationship with Abdullah had come in the short years I had been at KFSH due, at least in part, to my own personal and professional growth rooted in this unparalleled cultural experience. My initial meeting with Abdullah in November 2000 had left me numb and certain that my best efforts to contribute to the financial success of the hospital would be thwarted at every turn.

At the time, I thought maybe what I had heard in the states about women lacking respect or receiving unfair treatment by men in the Middle East was true. In that instant, I had questioned my decision to leave my comfortable life in Washington, DC for this unfathomable and strange life in the Kingdom.

Yet Abdullah’s unwavering support of me and my husband during this time of crisis, (and on other projects and ventures throughout my time at KFSH), simply affirmed that I was where I belonged: among a very unique community of individuals who had as much to teach me as I had to teach them.

One early evening, around the anniversary of my first year at KFSH, bone weary after several twelve-plus hour days at the office, I turned my bleary eyes to Abdullah as he swung through my office door.

“You know, Michele,” he exclaimed, “you are the one person in our group who I know when I give her a task, will get the job done right!” My knees nearly buckled with the unexpected compliment. Taking a breath, I merely smiled saying “Abdullah, I think it’s time for a cup of tea.”

Community Connection

Matador Abroad is still accepting submissions for our “learning experiences” series! Please send your submission to sarah@matadornetwork.com with “learning experience” in the subject line.

Three Job Fairs, Three Jobs: An International Teacher Hiring Saga

Amy Villagio — Fri, 11 Jun 2010 15:06:53 +0000

What teachers normally wear to a job fair, Feature Photo: Alex France

English teacher Amy Villagio shares about getting hired for international school jobs.

I was in graduate school, and I was broke. The easy way out hovered over me in a dreamy haze of financial stability and 403b plans: take the job offer at the school where I had just completed my student teaching. But after the three major firsts of post-undergrad life (first “real” job teaching English in South Korea, first trip out of the country, and first plane ticket) I couldn’t imagine doing anything else but going back to teach overseas.

My dreams of a glamorous life in Cairo, Bangkok, or Nairobi needed to take a slight detour, though – to Waterloo, Iowa, and the UNI Overseas Recruiting Fair. So begins the saga of my international school teaching career…and the longest ride on Greyhound in my life.

Job Fair #1, February 2000:

Early morning, Chicago bus station, many many hours after leaving Albany

I wandered around, trying to look inconspicuous among the shuffling, muttering masses of transients and transfers. Turning the other way as a man got into a shouting match with a police officer, I finally pushed aside some fast food trash in order to hunch down and hide in a seat for a few hours.

Photo: loop_oh

A rest stop somewhere in the Midwest

As it turned out, while I finally made it onto the next bus in Chicago, my bag did not. I had no clothes other than what what I had been wearing for the past 24 hours. I bought a three-pack of Hanes men’s white t-shirts, reasoning that out of all the options available, these might be something I’d actually wear again in the future. Remember, I was broke.

Interview sign-ups, Hotel, Waterloo, Iowa

One of the hallmarks of the international teaching job fair experience is the sign-up period. This is somewhat akin to a cattle stampede. Tables are set up in a huge room arena-style, and candidates head to their top schools, turning in their invitation if they have one and signing up for a time slot, or turning on the sales pitch and angling to get into any remaining interview times. Beforehand you’ve done your country research, noted all available jobs in your subject area, and prioritized according to countries, schools, and assignments. Now it’s down to following your carefully mapped-out plan of which table to go to first.

Only as straightforward as that all may seem on the surface, it actually isn’t. Changes happen from hour to hour, minute to minute as positions get filled, new ones open up, and countries you never even considered, let alone thought were legal for Americans to go to, suddenly become possibilities. Weren’t they just in a war? Is that going to matter? Could I really teach middle and high school English and social studies? And maybe math?

Everyone else was in suits and other suitable professional attire. I was wearing one of my three precious white t-shirts, and apologizing to the administrators at the table for looking so casual. “You took a bus to here from Albany? Okay, you need to come to Turkey. Let’s get you signed up for an interview.”

Photo: SteelCityHobbies

School presentations

Throughout the fairs, administrators give sales pitches about why you should come work at their school. I was seduced by all of them, the possibilities of living and teaching in all these vibrant, exciting communities, working with bright and motivated students, travel opportunities such as hopping on a bus to the Caribbean and learning how to SCUBA…

Decision time

I interviewed with schools from all over, including Turkey, Mexico, Haiti, and Honduras. I was waiting to hear back from a few, and turning over in my head the offer from Honduras: “The job is yours if you want it. You make the decision. You call us if you’re interested.” A solid job offer, a chance to use my Spanish, SCUBA diving…I took it.

Job Fair #2, February 2005:

Ostensibly older and wiser, I was back in the US, living and teaching in Colorado, and ready for a new adventure. Now I owned a car, and I decided to drive to Iowa. This was an infinitely better experience than the bus, although the title of a folk song from my DJ days in college kept coming back to me: “I Hate to Wake up Sober in Nebraska.”

Sign-ups

In my message folder an unexpected yellow invitation awaited – one of the top Eastern European schools, one I hadn’t even really considered. I bolted toward their table and settled into an already impossibly long line, the longest in the room. After what felt like forever I made it to the front of the line, eagerly turned in my card, and heard, “Amy! It’s so great to meet you. I wanted a chance to say hello, since I noticed where you went to college. I taught in that town for many years and have many fond memories of it. Well, I’m actually only interviewing for my hard-to-fill positions right now; you’re the only English teacher I gave an invitation to. If any slots open up while I’m here I’ll be sure to get in touch with you. Best of luck at the rest of the fair!”

Much later, and much wiser

Cameroon, Photo: manbeastextraordinaire

I interviewed with schools from Germany, Kuwait, Syria, and Thailand. Finally, I was down to my interview with the school in Cameroon. Here I got the hard sell – “I’m offering you the position, you’ve got about five minutes to decide, you’re my number one candidate, I’ve got other English teacher interviews after yours and I can’t guarantee this later on…”

I took it. Later I drove back to Colorado, racking up ridiculous cell phone charges calling friends and family and announcing in gleeful shock: “I’m going to Africa!”

Job Fair #3, January 2007:

This time it was different – I was signed up with ISS, International School Services, and had purchased a bank-breaking ticket from Cameroon to Bangkok, plus reserved rooms at the Shangri-La. Administrators had access to my file beforehand, and started contacting me for interviews right away. With the advent of Skype and the often exorbitant expenses (did I mention I had already bought a ticket from Cameroon to Thailand?), fairs are quickly on their way to becoming obsolete.

An administrator from a little school in Kaohsiung, Taiwan, a city I’d never heard of before, and I started talking. Several skype interviews later, he offered me the position, and I took it.

May 2010

Three years and a horribly expensive vacation in Thailand later, I am still in Taiwan at a small but growing international school, preparing to come back for a fourth year of teaching high school English. I don’t know what types of hiring experiences await me in my future, but I’m sure my time in the job fair milieu so far has prepared me well for whatever happens next. If you are considering this crazy but exciting path for your future, here’s what I would keep in mind: be flexible, be ready for the unexpected, and never underestimate the power of a men’s white t-shirt.

Community Connection

Have you ever attended a teaching recruitment fair? Let us know about your experience in the comment section.

If you are considering a career in international teaching, check out Matador intern Heather Carreiro’s guide on How to Become an International Teacher.

44 Organizations Providing Internships, Volunteer Vacations, and Long-Term Programs in Africa

Bernard Pollack — Tue, 25 May 2010 15:44:13 +0000

Urban gardening in Nairobi’s slums. All photos by author.

Bernard Pollack from Border Jumpers shares dozens of opportunities to work, volunteer or intern in Africa.

Most of what we hear about Africa in the United States (and across the Western world) are stories about conflict, famine, disease, HIV/AIDS and hunger. The news tends to be so negative that it desensitizes people from the problems, makes us feel powerless, hardens us from doing something about it, and even scares us from visiting Africa beyond the World Cup or a packaged tour safari.

In October 2009 I arrived in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, where my partner Danielle and I started our journey to visit nearly every country in Africa. At every stop we are meeting with farmers, community organizers, labor activists/leaders, unions, non-governmental organization (NGOs), the funding and donor communities, and local press.

Our goal is that along the way we can highlight hundreds of stories of hope and success on the ground in Africa. We are visiting and profiling projects and innovations that are working in sustainable ways to alleviate hunger and poverty, and we hope to spotlight things that are working on the ground that could be replicated or scaled up. Along the way, many people ask us how they can volunteer and what organizations they can connect with to enhance their travel experience, so here is a list of opportunities for you to put your hands in African soil from a couple of days to a year. We tried to offer a wide variety of efforts, from long term work to shorter volunteer vacations.

Visiting a school in Ghana

1. Working Abroad has projects in several countries including a Watamu turtle project in Kenya, a White Lion conservation project in South Africa, and a Cheetah conservation project in Botswana.

2. Africa & Africa Venture has volunteer projects in Kenya, Malawi, South Africa, Tanzania and Uganda from three weeks to five months. Their Uganda project is based overlooking white water at the Source of the Nile, and the works consists of constructing, repairing or improving village schools, health facilities and buildings.

3. Worldwide Experience offers sports coaching and kids sports initiative volunteer work in rural South Africa. Project lasts either two or four weeks.

4. UVolunteer offers volunteer work in Ghana from helping at an orphanage, teaching physical education, and working at a medical clinic. Programs last either two or four weeks.

5. ikando places people in internships and volunteer positions in Ghana. Work projects include teaming with the Red Cross Society, the National Museum, Ghana Health Coalition, and an Autism Center.

6. Edge of Africa offers the chance to be a game reserve volunteer in South Africa including managing and maintaining the cheetah research and breeding project. Courses are two or four weeks.

7. StudentUniverse operates in South Africa and offers wildlife protection volunteering, that includes environmental education programs in local schools.

8. Real Gap offers a program in Zimbabwe, that works in rehabilitating the Black Rino back into their natural environment. The projects run four, eight and twelve weeks.

9. Gap Year Ghana offers volunteer work in Ghana that lets you teach, coach sports, offer medical support, practice journalism, or assist a refugee camp. Projects run from two to twelve weeks.

10. Project Abroad puts you with a host family in Tanzania. Work includes assisting an orphanage, working with special needs children, or helping a day care center.

11. Worldwide Helpers offers volunteer work in Zimbabwe to work with an HIV/AIDS school orphanage and provide support for community based awarness projects.

12. Volunteering in Africa provides projects in Ghana, allowing volunteers to work in education, health care, media/journalism, and legal work.

13. VolunteerAfrica has projects in Tanzania. Volunteers work alongside villagers on community-initiated building projects. Past projects have included health dispensaries, school classrooms, pit latrines, and homes for teachers and medical staff. Programs last four, seven and ten weeks.

14. Idealist offers literally hundreds of ways to volunteer in Africa, connecting you with dozens of organizations and agencies across the continent.

15. Habitat for Humanity works across the continent including Ghana, Zambia, and Kenya, and offers volunteer opportunities as part of their Global Village program.

HIV/AIDS orphanage in Harare, Zimbabwe

16. Volunteer 4 Africa provides budget ways of volunteering on the continet. Some of its projects include work at a community television station, an organic fruit farm, on tropical organic permaculture, a Maasai project, and at a Chimpanzee Rescue Center.

17. African Impact works in Mozambique with a pre-school orphan teaching program in the tropical beach town of Vilanculos. Project lasts up to eight weeks.

18. Cross-Culteral Solutions offers several programs across the continent including providing caregiving for infants, teaching, community support, and assistance to healthcare professionals.

19. Transitions Abroad offers an interesting listing of projects across Africa, including marine conservation volunteer program in the Seychelles.

20. Volunteer Abroad offers dozens of programs in Tanzania and Uganda, working with organizations like a center for the blind, hospitals, camps, schools, and orphanages.

21. United Nations Volunteers is a program that mobilizes volunteers to work in agriculture, health and educationn, human rights promotion, information and communication technology, community development, vocational training, industry and population. You must be 25 or older with a university degree or higher technical diploma.

22. Student Partnerships Woldwide works across the continent including in Zambia and Uganda. One type of volunteering activity SPW offers focuses non-formal education such as sports, music, drama, arts and debate to open a dialogue with youth and get them actively involved in learning about health and environmental issues.

23. GVI offers construction projects including one in Kenya where you work with former poachers of Tsavo West National Park, East Africa, to tackle human-wildlife conflict and the bush-meat trade through community infrastructure and development

24. i-to-i offers tons of volunteer project listings in Africa including working with AIDS orphans, teaching English, and construction in rural Kenya.

25. BUNAC offers volunteer programs throughout South Africa, offering opportunities to teach, work with children, promote HIV/AIDS awareness and work on environmental conservation.

26. Global Vounteer Network has literacy, HIV/AIDS, and gender-based violence prevention programs in Rwanda. Volunteer projects last between two weeks and three months.

27. United Planet offers six months to one year programs in Ghana, Kenya, Mozambique, Nigeria and other countries. The program in Lagos, Nigeria places volunteers with host families working with children from a variety of disadvantaged backgrounds including rescued child laborers, abandoned street children, disabled children, children from troubled families, those who have suffered abuse, and orphans.

28. All Africa Volunteers offers a penguin rescue project in South Africa that does rehabilitation and rescue work. Commitment starts at one week but can last much longer.

Women’s co-op near Accra, Ghana

29. AVIVA offers teaching and cooking programs at a primary school near Cape Town, which caters for around 300 children from five to thirteen years of age. Program lasts from one to four weeks.

30. VolunteerAdventures offers a public health outreach program in Zambia where you will assist the medical staff at several local clinics in Livingstone and work at a home for children orphaned by the AIDS epidemic. The program lasts between two weeks and three months.

31. Volunteer Partnerships for West Africa offers programs in Ghana ranging from women’s empowerment, to business developement, to arts and culture and microfinance.

32. Institute for Field Research Expeditions offers summer volunteer projects in Ghana and Tanzania. Volunteers will work in Arusha, Tanzania in an orphanage for three weeks and then spend the final five days on an African safari. Project lasts one month.

33. Cultural Embrace has a program in Zimababwe that lets volunteers work at a wildlife orphanage that offers a home to orphaned, abandoned and sick wild animals. Programs start at one week.

34. Advance-Africa offers programs in Kenya that place volunteers in mental health clinics, amongst the handicapped, in hospices, with HIV/AIDS patients or doing volunteer work in specific areas like nutrition and dental services. Programs last from two weeks to six months.

35. You 2 Africa lists several volunteer projects in Cape Town, including working on an organic farm.

36. Earth Watch Institute provides opportunties work in Madagascar protecting the fossa as well as coral and coastal ecology in Seychelles. Programs last about two weeks.

37. Pathfinders Africa offers volunteer vacations and conservation programs in Africa. Most of the programs are in Southern Africa and last around two weeks.

38. Global Service Corps has a program in Tanzania where volunteer placements include teaching English and providing necessary services to underprivileged children. Projects last from six weeks to six months.

39. Gap Year for Grown Ups offers tons of projects in Ethiopia, Ghana, Kenya, Malawi, Mozambique, Namibia, Senegal, South Africa, Swaziland, Tanzania, Uganda, Zambia and Zimbabwe.

40. International Volunteer Travel provides placement on volunteer programs in Kenya, Tanzania, Ghana, and Zanzibar Island.

41. Conservation Africa provides volunteer programs in Mauritius doing dolphin conservation. Some of the work includes photographing individual dolphins for identification, tracking pod movements and mapping habitat use, and cataloguing individual animals. Programs are between two and twelve weeks.

42. Volunteering Solutions offers programs in Malawi teaching English and working at an orphanage. Programs last from one week to two months.

43. Animal Job Direct offers a goods listing of organizations that have volunteer programs with animals across Africa.

44. Advance-Africa offers programs in Senegal and the Sudan. In Dakar, Senegal, you can work on a variety of medical projects, teach English or volunteer at an orphanage.

Know of any more opportunities to work abroad, intern or volunteer in Africa? Mention them in the comment section!

Community Connection

Looking for country specific volunteer opportunities in Africa? Check out Lola Akimade’s guide to volunteering in Nations Less Traveled on Matador Change.

How To Become An International Teacher

Heather Carreiro — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 13:21:53 +0000

Photo: Fantaz

In no way are educators limited to teaching English while abroad.

While I worked with local NGOs and universities in Pakistan, my husband Duarte took a two-year contract as a Physics teacher in an international high school. By connecting with other foreign teachers in the school, we quickly learned that making a career out of international teaching would be an ideal way for us to sustain long-term travel and life abroad.

International vs. National Schools

There are scores of schools that claim to be “international” in name, but what teachers often call a “true international school” is a school that enrolls students from a variety of countries. These schools tend to be located in major cities, diplomatic capitals and international financial centers. Students include ambassadors’ kids, expat kids, teachers’ kids and local children whose parents can foot the bill.

Other schools may be internationally accredited but enroll primarily local students. Teachers refer to this type of school as a “national” school, although both types hire foreign teachers. Some national schools hire only foreign-qualified staff; others hire most teachers locally but employ foreigners for certain subjects like English. The ratio of foreign to local faculty at schools can vary widely even within the same country or city.

School Curriculum

When Duarte and I first moved abroad, we had no idea what O-Levels and A-Levels were. Since he was teaching in a school that offered both the British system and the American system, he had to learn how to teach two different curriculums.

Photo: Steve & Jemma Copley

International schools usually belong to one of the following systems: British (IGCSE/GCSE), American (often offering AP classes), or International Baccalaureate (IB).

Teacher Qualifications

There are schools that will hire teachers without formal qualifications, but to be a competitive candidate you need at least two of the following: a Bachelor’s degree, a valid teaching license in the subject you plan to teach, and two years experience.

In the U.S., each state has its own process for teacher licensure. Many undergraduate education programs provide routes to state certification, but you can also find post-baccalaureate programs aimed at career changers.

The majority of these programs require a one-semester student teaching practicum, a series of education courses based on classroom observation, and a set of exams.

Massachusetts is one state that offers a five-year preliminary license without requiring student teaching or the completion of special course work. You can apply for this license by passing two exams: MTEL communication & literacy and MTEL content area. For either elementary or secondary teachers it costs about $230 for the exams and $100 for a one-subject license. Your license is valid for five years of employment in Massachusetts, so if you never teach in Massachusetts it can remain valid for your entire international teaching career.

Job Searching

Most schools offer two-year renewable contracts, although some offer one-year contracts or require a three-year commitment from new hires. Prime hiring season is from January through April, although hiring is done all the way through August for the upcoming school year.

A lot of hiring is done at international job fairs organized by school placement organizations. At job fairs, dozens of school administrators and hundreds of teacher candidates converge in a major city for the purpose of lining up jobs.

The biggest job fairs are run by Search Associates, International Schools Services (ISS) and University of Northern Iowa (UNI). To attend a Search or ISS fair you need to apply and become a member.

Before the fair, candidates are given a list of schools that will be represented and current job openings. Larger companies like Search and ISS have online databases with detailed information about each school and salary package. The best way to prepare is to research every school, city and country that you might be interested in.

Once at the fair you will sign up for interviews with different school administrators. Between interviews you can go to school information sessions or network with other teachers.

Photo: Bridget Christian

Factors to Consider

Attending a job fair can be expensive, especially if you need to factor in travel and hotel costs. It is worth contacting schools ahead of fair season, in November and December, to see if you can interview via Skype.

Not all schools, even those listed by placement companies, are legit. Before applying for a teaching position, read what other teachers have said about it on International Schools Review (ISR). It costs $29 per year to be a member of ISR, but this will put you in direct contact with other international teachers and expat parents. Reviews posted on schools and directors are anonymous, so be aware that some feedback may simply be venting by teachers or propaganda by school administrators.

When you compare salary packages, compare the cost of living and the local tax rate as well. Annual salaries range from about $15,000 through $70,000, but you can live much better on $20,000 in India than you can on $40,000 in Switzerland.

European schools tend not to offer housing or utilities as part of the salary package, although many other schools around the world do. Benefits to look for include round-trip airfare, medical insurance, life insurance, free tuition for school-age children, daycare for younger children, moving allowance, professional development training, transportation allowance and retirement funds.

Final Tips

Look at the number of contract days and the number of teacher-pupil contact days required per year before applying. An average number of contract days is 180-190; this is the number of days per year teachers are expected to work. An average number of contact days is 170-180; this is the number of days you will be expected to teach. A few days more or less aren’t anything to raise concern, but I was once looking at a job in a new international school that required 250 contact days. Yeah, no thanks. I’d like to keep my summer vacations and my sanity. A side note said that teachers would be required to arrive early in order to create the school curriculum from scratch.

The teaching culture of a given school can vary markedly. Some schools are isolated; some are set in urban centers. Some cater to a young-single crowd of teachers while others prefer hiring couples or pensioners.

For Duarte and I, international teaching is a combination of career flexibility and stability. Once a contract is completed, we can choose to stay or move on to another destination. Currently we’re back in the U.S. pursuing further education, but we’re psyched to find out what opportunities the next international job fair will bring about!

Community Connection

Interested in some other travel job ideas? Check out 20 Ideal Day or Seasonal Jobs for Travel Writers .

Travel for Free as a Work Camper

Gabriela Garcia — Mon, 12 Apr 2010 19:44:31 +0000

Photo: kashyap_hc

Combine work and camping to save on travel costs in North America.

Work camping is an outdoor lifestyle that can be a good fit for people who enjoy long-term camping, are interested in seasonal work in between travels, or are looking for a way to afford sustained travel.

Both volunteer opportunities and paid positions exist, but all work camping jobs have two things in common: either an RV hookup or on-site housing and the flexibility to move around by working on different camp sites. Jobs vary from place to place, but common positions include camp hosts, desk clerks, park managers, activity directors, wranglers, and tour guides.

How to Find Work Camping Jobs

1. Contact a national park

Several national parks, such as Yellowstone and Yosemite , offer seasonal employees RV hookups or housing in lodges and tent camps. Most national parks have their own website where you can find employment information.

2. Go through a park management company

Many parks and campsites have the same central management company that does all of their hiring. The two most popular ones in the United States are Aramark and Recreation Resource Management . They have positions in campgrounds all over the country.

3. Find work at private campgrounds

If you are familiar with a particular campground, you can inquire about work camping positions directly. There are also national brands of campgrounds, such as KOA, that offer structured work camper programs for travel around different company-owned campsites.

Things to Consider Before Accepting a Work Camping Job

Photo: Velo Steve

1. Type of housing

The work camping lifestyle is easiest for people who own an RV. If you plan to travel around campsites without an RV, it’s important to map out the sites that offer housing ahead of time and find arrangements that you are comfortable with.

National or state parks and private campgrounds are the most likely to offer housing, usually in the form of cabins, lodges, or tent camps. You may want to ask about showers, availability of kitchens or meals, and whether there are pictures of typical accommodations that you can check out online before making a decision.

2. Length of commitment

Depending on what you’re looking for, work camping opportunities can offer full-time schedules or part-time schedules. If you plan to use work camping to save up for your next trip, a full-time schedule would likely suit your needs. Otherwise, working a part-time schedule allows plenty of time to enjoy the park setting.

Work camping can involve working in different places every few months or staying in one place for an entire season. Determining what your expectations and goals are ahead of time will help you figure out what campsites are best for you.

3. Work environment

If you haven’t been to the campsite prior to your employment, it’s a good idea to ask about the work environment. Some places are particularly interested in retirees or couples. Several sites are popular with a younger crowd or offer specific summer programs for high school and college students. Consider whether you prefer a quiet location or a busy campsite where you can meet and interact with other travelers and workers.

4. Payment structure

Some national parks or charities offer only volunteer positions along with free housing or RV hookup. Other sites may deduct a certain amount from your paycheck to cover housing or offer optional meal plans if there is an on-site kitchen. It’s important to fully understand the financial costs and benefits of each campsite before making a determination, and to define exactly what your arrangement includes.

Find the work camping setup that is right for you, and it may prove to be the ideal balance between structured life and the freedom of the road.

5 Tips for the Aspiring Au Pair

Shannon David — Sat, 18 Jul 2009 21:43:16 +0000

Photo: Design Mom

Working as an au pair is one of the best ways to jump right into another culture…just make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into first.

When my adoptive house family took me on holiday to the Swiss Alps, where I enjoyed a private chalet, meals by a personal chef, expensive French wines and free snowboarding lessons in return for part-time babysitting, I felt like I was living the good life.

On the other hand, when I found myself carefully scooping soggy poo out of the bath while trying to placate two screaming, dripping children, I wondered what on earth I was doing there.

As an au pair in Amsterdam, I’ve seen the good, the bad and the ugly.

Providing childcare and light housework in return for room, board and a small stipend sounds like a simple arrangement, but with a job that requires you not only to live with foreign strangers in a foreign place but to essentially join their family, there is real potential for conflict and discomfort.

However, with an open mind and enough research, working as an au pair can be extremely rewarding and a great way to immerse yourself in another culture. Here are a few tips for securing a place with a family, and making sure it’s the best place for you.

1. Use all of your resources.

There are two ways to find families seeking live-in help.

One is through an agency that mediates the agreement between a family and an au pair, making the match and dictating the terms of employment. The advantage is the presence of a third party making sure everyone is treated fairly and the initial contract is mutually upheld.

You might have to pay a fee, however, and there is a lack of flexibility for both you and the family. For example, an agency may set the au pair salary much lower than what families who search independently are ready to offer. Agencies in a given country can be found through the International Au Pair Association .

There are numerous networking websites to help you find families conducting the search on their own. The best is Great Aupair, but Aupair.com and Easy Aupair offer something similar.

It’s usually possible to find a position without paying to use the sites, but if you’re not having any luck, a nominal fee will give you access to families’ contact information and allow you to be a bit more proactive.

Photo: alexandre.galbiati

While the networking sites are easy to use and provide hundreds of families to consider, it’s important to bear in mind that no one is making sure that agreements (or au pairs) are respected throughout employment.

It’s up to you to make sure you’re safe and treated fairly.

Au pair literally means “living on equal terms,” which is something to remember when coming to an agreement.

2. Know what you hope to gain from the experience.

It helps to know what you’re looking for before diving head on into photos of smiling families,. Do you want a family that keeps the relationship strictly professional? Or do you want to be treated like a member of the family, tagging along to grandma’s birthday party?

Do you want to spend the year in a lovely country villa with access to the great outdoors or a smaller city home with access to great museums and nightlife?

As you will be living and working in the same house, there aren’t always opportunities to make friends, so be prepared to spend some time on your own and be confident that you’ll be satisfied with the entertainment and leisure activities the location has to offer.

You can make the experience what you want it to be, depending on where you choose to go and with whom you accept a position.

3. Do your research and insist on a contract.

Ask a lot of questions. Don’t be afraid to dig deep and find out what kind of people the family you’re interested in working with are.

Inquire about background, religion, career, and parenting style. Some of these issues may seem awkward to discuss with strangers over Skype, but it’s fair to want to know what you’re getting into. You’d hate to be the only person in the house that tries to discipline the children, for instance.

There are certain employment details that should be outlined in a contract signed by both parties. These include your weekly schedule, all expected daily tasks, room and board, possible flight compensation, vacation time, overtime, and language classes.

It may not be a legal contract, but having the agreement in writing allows you to consult it later in the case of a dispute with the family, be it over taking out the garbage or the agreed employment dates.

Don’t forget to check one or two references, such as a previous au pair or, if you’re their first au pair, a babysitter. You may trust the family, but it’s always a good idea to consult an outside perspective.

Photo: willsfca

4. Be honest about yourself.

To ensure your comfort and theirs, share as much as you can about yourself on your au pair profile or application and in subsequent contact.

Not only is this more likely to land you a job in the first place, but it will prevent surprises on both ends.

My family asked that I cook dinner several evenings a week, so I made sure to mention that my skill level did not go beyond scrambled eggs and spaghetti.

This way they knew what they were getting, and instead of being disappointed, they were glad when I learned how to make a few more things.

5. Trust your instincts.

If you get a bad feeling from a family profile or Skype conversation, listen to it.

But try to have an open mind and remember that the family is taking an even bigger risk than you by inviting a total stranger into their home and giving her (or him) responsibility of their children. If they trust you, chances are that you can trust them.

Community Connection

Want to work abroad but a little wary of the kids? Check out these ten travel jobs within your reach. If you’ve got your heart set on Europe, read up on how to find paying work while traveling in Europe. And don’t forget to figure out how to get an EU work permit.

Broke In Lima

Jenny Sherman — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 02:38:58 +0000

Photo by rednuht

Lights spiral up a tall building, making it sparkle like a jewel in the dark. It is the tower of one of South America’s largest cell phone carriers.

I scan the burnished windows and imagine the CEO sitting comfortably at his desk, not wondering where his next meal will come from.

I despise this person because the amount of money I need to get home is pocket change to him, and the least he could do is share.

Photo by James Preston

Then I look again at the streets of Lima, and see a blind man holding out a tin can for money.

Next to him a woman carries an infant over her shoulder and two more children circle her legs as she vends small bags of candy. In the 25 minute bus ride, I pass dozens of poor men and women trying to feed families and simply stay alive, and guilt overruns me.

I left an apartment in southern Brazil to traverse the continent of South America and landed in its geographical armpit: Lima, Peru. I have reached a controversial point in my trip, a point I was pretty sure would come but am in no way prepared for.

I am broke.

And what a place to have chosen! I am walking the streets of a city where a quarter of the population lives in poverty, and I am dreaming of handouts. Lima is the fifth largest city in Latin America, yet with empty pockets, it feels tiny and suffocating.

I took a combi bus downtown (26 cents) and stopped at Church of the Nazarene. Not being a religious person, praying for help seems a last resort.

A man with no legs sits on a grate outside the church and shakes a plate of loose change. The grate emits a hideous odor and passersby walk more quickly to avoid it, ignoring the legless man.

The buildings and streets around us are sad: their greens and reds have dulled with a thick coat of vehicle exhaust, and the gutters overflow with plastic bags.

Photo by adpowers

There is not a breath of fresh air in this part of town; I haven’t had one since I arrived.

It is so noisy that I almost don’t hear the moans of a lady sitting by the cross walk. She has snow white hair, starkly contrasting her reddish brown skin, which is wrinkled like a discarded blanket from her years of apparent suffering.

She doesn’t look up or even hold out a hand; she just sits and moans.

Roughly ten years ago marked the end of Peru’s worst internal conflict of modern times.

Due to increased terrorist bombings and resistance effort violence, along with a severe national economic crisis, civilians fled from the valleys and mountains to the coastal city to look for jobs, food and shelter.

Unfortunately, Lima was not equipped to accept some two million new inhabitants, and this led to the development of poor shanty towns on the perimeter of the city, and a lot of mouths to feed.

Photo above and feature photo by antifluor

This is all too apparent if you’ve spent five minutes in Lima.

The slums that circumscribe the desert metropolis lack running water and electricity. The shelters are made of wood planks and makeshift adobe, and sanitation is practically non-existent.

The life expectancy of a child born in this area of Lima is ten years less than those living in the developed world.

On top of this, unemployment in Lima is roughly ten percent, and 50 percent of people are said to be underemployed.

And the gringa needs a job.

One guy offered me work as his pastry girl to humbly take his cakes to the streets of Lima. He pays “average,” which amounts to less than $200 USD for a month of full-time work.

My plane ticket will cost $800 and panic starts to set in. I decide to take a breather in a park in the nice area of the city.

Photo by visualpanic

There is a man in a business suit reading the paper beside me, drinking Starbucks. A woman on a Bluetooth drives by in her Mercedes. Groups of well-dressed students sit down at a classy restaurant.

Other people’s wealth is starting to make me crazy.

I suddenly understand the desire to steal, and all of the worries I had protecting my things while I’ve been backpacking immediately come full circle and slap me in the face.

Lima is certainly not without its wealth.

In fact, even with the global economic downturn, the Peruvian economy is on the rise. All across the city, the streets are being torn up and repaved, new buildings are replacing crumbling ones and parks worthy of a New England suburb are plopped down in the most dangerous areas of the urban center.

The government is using the improving economy to bring changes to Lima’s exterior, yet it still doesn’t have a plan for the four million impoverished peasants seeking a better life.

I take another combi to a different part of town. At a traffic stop, a young boy juggles sticks of fire between the green lights. He is no more than ten and has the talent of a circus performer. Quickly, he runs from car to car and knocks on windows, hoping for anything he can get. On this light, he gets nothing.

Image by circo_de_invierno

I found a volunteer job that houses and feeds me for a small fee, and the noose loosens slightly.

One day the group of volunteers decides to explore Lima. We visit the historical sites and museums, eat its inexpensive food and browse its markets.

Throughout it all I am consumed with thoughts of money. I find myself scorning flagrant tourists who spend unabashedly. I painfully envy individuals who seem to have disposable income, or who have any income for that matter.

Destinations

Community Connection to Peru

My workmates want to eat at the place recommended by Lonely Planet, and I am the only one who can’t afford it.

Still the couple dollars in my bank account is more than the boy outside the restaurant has. His clothing is tattered and face marked with dirt, and he squats with his head between his legs.

From my apartment in Central Lima, I think about that boy while I watch my bank account dwindle.

I realize what a fortunate hand fate has dealt me in that I am able to find shelter and food in a strange city, while a native Peruvian may be hard pressed to keep a roof over their head.

As I observe a busy street of people earning their daily bread, I have three wishes: I hope to help the kind people of Peru, I hope to learn from these lessons of life, and I hope to do it all with a happy ending.

Have You Heard About The Bloodshed In Peru?

On June 6th, 2009, dozens of people were killed over controversial oil fields in the Peruvian Amazon. We’ve got the story right here on the Matador Network.

“Peaceful Protesters In Peru Attacked, Killed”

For another traveler’s perspective on Lima, check out “Arrival In Lima”, part of the journal pages series at the traveler’s notebook.

How To Get A Job Teaching English In Korea

Chris Tharp — Wed, 20 May 2009 12:58:09 +0000

Seoul by TylerDurden1. Feature photo by Stinkie Pinkie

Are you a recent college graduate in search of employment? Do not despair! There is hope for you in Korea.

Make that liberal arts degree finally work for you! Come join the best and brightest of a generation and teach English in South Korea!

All you need is a college degree, a passport from a first-world English speaking country, the willingness to adapt to a foreign culture.. and a pulse.

Pusan monks by Ryuugakusei

In this time of economic uncertainty, teaching English as a second language abroad has suddenly become an attractive career option, or at least something to do while waiting for a dream job to materialize.

And what better place to teach ESL than South Korea – “The Land of the Morning Calm” – which is one of Asia’s strongest economies?

Koreans are crazy about learning English. They recognize that it’s the only way to economically move their country forward. And they’re willing to pay top dollar – or won – to learn.

The salaries, along with the relatively low cost of living, make Korea one of the most attractive options for teaching in Asia.

But before learning to like kimchi and jumping on that next plane to Seoul, take a look at the three main types of teaching jobs that are available to foreigners over here:

Teaching by Kai Hendry

1. Hakwons

Hakwon is the Korean word for “academy.”

You can’t throw a soju bottle without hitting a language hakwon in this country, and it’s likely the first place you’ll end up teaching.

English Hakwons mainly cater to kindergartners and elementary kids, though there are also some for adults.

The hours can be long and the erratic changes in curriculum maddening, but they’ll pay for your round trip airfare to and from your country, provide you with an apartment, and give you a contract completion bonus equal to one-month’s pay.

It’s not uncommon for someone to sock away between $10,000 and $20,000 (USD) after a one-year stint at a hakwon – perfect for paying off your student loans or financing a backpacking trip around the world.

Just know this: Hakwon’s are businesses first and educational institutes second.

The academy directors will always have their eyes on the bottom line. Start losing too many students or garnering complaints from the notoriously fickle mothers, and it could mean the end of your job.

Also, like Korean barbecue restaurants, the quality of these academies varies immensely.

Some hagwons have modern facilities and provide you with a nice, new apartment, while others are dilapidated, lacking heat and/or air conditioning.

The apartment provided by bad schools is invariably as small and nasty as the school itself.

Beware of sketchy hagwon directors!

The majority of teachers have a decent experience working in hagwons, but there are some greedy, psychotic, and downright evil directors operating on the peninsula.

Horror stories abound of teachers being paid late or not being paid at all, having to live in roach-infested hovels, being cheated out of bonuses or airfare – generally being shat upon and jerked around.

Just know that in this case Korean law IS on your side, but the best thing to do is to check out your school before you sign the contract. Talk to other teachers and read any feedback you can find on the net.

2. Public Schools

In recent years there has been a big push to place native speakers in the Korean public school system, mainly through what’s called EPIK (English Program in Korea).

Public school gigs are definitely a step up from hagwons. The hours are better, the pay’s decent, and you are usually guaranteed at least two weeks paid vacation per year, though this often translates into much more.

EPIK also gives you a housing allowance and end-of-contract bonus. There is the opportunity (or requirement, often) to work “camps” over the schools’ winter and summer vacation periods.

These are intensive English courses, for which you are paid extra, of course. It’s a good way to pad your salary.

Korean market by Giladr

Beware of boredom!

Many public schools require you to come into the office all day during their vacation periods, whether you have classes or not.

Consider this paid time to hone your writing skills or delve deeper into the raging hell mouth that is facebook.

3. Universities and Colleges

These are the holy grails of Korean ESL gigs, and also the most difficult to get.

Generally, universities want at least three solid years of English teaching experience, or both a masters degree and experience.

Jobs are often landed through reference: like the rest of the world, it’s not necessarily what you know, it’s who you know.

Universities generally like new hires to be ushered in by someone they already trust.

Why all the fuss?

University jobs usually require about 12 hours of classes each week, and provide you with at least 2 months of paid vacation a year, the dream job of a habitual traveler.

Some schools give you 3 or 4 months of vacation time. There are also plenty of opportunities to pick up extra classes which, of course, translate into more money.

Beware of complacency!

Aside from the fact that some universities don’t give you an end-of-contract bonus, you’ll find yourself so spoiled by the job conditions that the thought of returning home and actually having to work for a living might make you want to remove your own eyes with a spoon.

4. Privates

Many teachers earn a lot of extra money teaching private lessons to Koreans in their homes or by moonlighting at other schools.

Know that this practice is strictly illegal. In Korea, you are only allowed to work at the school that sponsors your visa.

If caught, you will be fined and possibly deported, though this doesn’t stop many teachers from dipping into this huge well of cash.

The best way to find any of the jobs described above is to contact a recruiter.

Good luck, and as the Koreans say: Fighting!

Teaching ESL Job Resources In South Korea

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ESL Recruiters List

Dave’s ESL Cafe

Pusan Web

COMMUNITY CONNECTION!

If you’re interested in teaching English in Asia, here are some Matador articles to check out:

How To Get A Job Teaching In Japan

Is The JET Program Right For You?

Teaching English In China

10 Online Resources For Finding A Job In Asia

How To Work Your Way Around The World On A Cruise Liner

Nicole Kowalewsk — Wed, 06 May 2009 16:04:16 +0000

Photo: flickrized

I can’t believe they pay me for this!

I work on board a luxury cruise liner, playing games and doing crafts with children while their parents go to the casino, shop or disappear into their cabins.

Photo: author

I work on a contract basis and am usually at sea for four months at a time. I’m employed by one cruise line but the company can place me on any of their ships, which sail all over the world.

So far I’ve sailed on three different ships and have run into friends each time. The cruise ship employee world is a small, tight-knit network of young, adventurous people, many of whom feel like they’ve stumbled upon an amazing secret.

Job Qualifications

Unwavering patience is definitely an asset.

The only prerequisites for this job are a bachelor’s degree and experience working with children.

It’s also helpful to have your sea legs, physical fitness, a high energy level and a social, outgoing personality. Unwavering patience is definitely an asset.

Sea Day Or Port Day

There is no such thing as a typical day in my line of work. Forget about weekdays and weekends: the thing to pay attention to on a ship is whether the itinerary says “sea day” or “port day”.

The only predictable thing about working on a cruise ship is that the day will end at the officer’s bar.

Each port day my coworkers and I rotate who works and who has the day off. If it is not my turn to work I can enjoy some quality time off wherever the ship has docked.

Fee shore excursions are a MAJOR perk for staff. We can sign up as an “escort” for the tours offered by the ship if there’s space.

I’ve gone horseback riding in the rainforest in Puerto Rico, swum with stingrays in the Bahamas, ridden on an aerial tram through the rainforest in St. Lucia and sailed a catamaran to a remote beach for dinner and show in Mexico.

The only predictable thing about working on a cruise ship is that the day will end at the officer’s bar.

A Hard Day’s Work

Sea days are the busiest days, though I can’t complain because I still only work eight and a half hours with an hour and a half hour lunch break and a three hour dinner break. I begin work at nine a.m. and finish at ten p.m.

On sea days I follow the program of activities. I improvise when I see the attention start to wander because a focused child is less likely to cause trouble than a bored one.

On every cruise there’s always at least one child who stands out as a “challenge”, which has taught me to multitask and divide my energy between the problem child and the “good” children.

I now understand what my teachers meant when they said they have eyes on the back of their head. By the end of each cruise I have usually lost my voice from calling out instructions to the group and shouting at the misbehaving children.

“I Love My Job”

But I love my job, especially when a child runs up to me beaming and says “I saw you at lunch time!” as though it’s the most clever thing they have ever done.

Photo: ccgd

When I’m not working, the ship is my home. There are several luxuries I’m allowed to enjoy on board. I can (in fact, I have to) eat my meals in the casual buffet restaurant. I’m also allowed to make reservations at the fine dining restaurant on special occasions if there’s space.

I can go to the guest gym and use my crew discount in the shops. I can dress in my own clothes, with my name-tag on, and go to any of the guest bars or lounges or the shows. I can check out books or DVD’s from the on-board library.

On port days, I can swim in the pool or suntan on the back deck.

Another perk is the fact that I live with my coworkers and friends. If I’ve had a particularly exhausting day I’ll always find a shoulder to lean on in the officer’s bar. Frustrations usually melt away quickly with a look out the window the next day.

On any given port day I will throw a sundress over my bathing suit, slather on some SPF 30 and grab a towel from the gangway. I’ll meet up with an eclectic group of friends, we’ll scan our ID cards to get off the ship and then we’ll head out towards whatever adventures we might find.

And we can’t seem to stop saying, I can’t believe they pay me for this.

Community Connection

If you’re interested in working on a ship but would prefer a smaller scale experience, check out Matador’s guide abouthow to travel the world by crewing on yachts.

If you have an insatiable romance for ships but aren’t sure about full-time employment aboard one, find out how to travel by cargo ship. And if you’re just plain intrigued by the thought of an odd travel job, investigate ten travel jobs within your reach.

Matador member Becky Timbers worked on a National Geographic cruise ship in Baja and Alaska – check out her amazing photos of killer whales and grizzly bears.

Were do in jazz band in high-school? You can get work as a musician on cruise ships – check out jazz saxaphonist Linda Little’s comment on the travel jobs piece:

Cruiselines are great for entertainers (myself), but also for anyone who can work in the hospitality industry. Casino dealers, bartenders, activities staff, and youth staff (daycare and youth activities) are easily trained jobs that pay well on ships.

Cruise ships go to most destinations, just be prepared to do a less popular run on your first contract. I did 5 months in South America and 1 month in Alaska during my brief Cruise ship career and think it’s great for those with a serious travel bug on a budget.

For more info, check out cruiseshipjob.com or browse individual cruise line employment pages.

10 Travel Jobs Within Your Reach

Tim Patterson — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 15:09:39 +0000

Photo zeandroid Feature photo skino

You love to travel. You hate your job. Maybe a travel job is right for you.

Despite the economic gloom and doom, there are millions of jobs available these days. Many of these jobs require extensive travel or even relocation overseas.

Some of the travel jobs on this list pay better than others. Some demand specific qualifications, while others are available to just about anyone who can speak English and button their shirt. Most are best suited to young people without major attachments.

All of these travel jobs promise overseas adventure and exposure to foreign cultures, so put aside the local classifieds and explore a world of possibility!

English Teacher

English teaching jobs are ridiculously easy to find in many parts of the world. It helps to have a college degree or ESL certification, but these qualifications aren’t mandatory. The Japan Exchange and Teaching Program is one of the best English teaching gigs, but there are countless other opportunities in every corner of the world.

Top 10 Places For Teaching English Abroad

Tour Guide

Photo by Marcin Wichary

Tour guiding jobs are plentiful if you already know a place well and have good social skills. You can either freelance, using the web to attract clients, or you can apply for a job with an established tour company. It helps to have a particular skill or hobby that you can share with your clients, like mountain biking or birdwatching.

Tour Guide: The Right Job For You?

Sailor (Navy)

Even when the last factory in America has closed, the military will still be hiring. There are a ton of reasons why this situation sucks, but a Navy job actually isn’t all bad. You’re very unlikely to see combat, and you’ll definitely get to see the world.

Join the Navy, See the World

Sailor (Yachts)

Photo by sharkbait

If you can’t picture yourself on an aircraft carrier, how about a luxurious yacht? Rich people need crews to help them get around, and qualified sailors with good people skills can travel the world in style by hanging out in fancy ports and making connections with the global elite.

How To Travel The World By Crewing On Yachts

Travel Writer

Becoming a travel writer is easy. Earning a decent income from travel writing is more difficult. However, if you can write fairly well and are web-savvy, it’s possible to sustain your travels on writing income alone.

Matador Travel Writing School

Geologist

Becoming a geologist will take some time and money, but once you get your degree the travel and employment opportunities are mind-blowing. Our hunger for fossil-fuel energy isn’t going to end anytime soon, and people who can sniff out the world’s last stashes of oil will always score high-paying work in exotic locales.

Becoming A Geologist

Peace Corp Volunteer

Photo by army.mil

Wait a second, you say. Don’t Peace Corp volunteers get paid pennies? Well, yes, but how does good health insurance, student loan deferrals and a solid $5,000 bonus after the end of your service sound?

Peace Corp Official Site

Importer / Exporter

There are cheap widgets for sale in China. Americans love widgets. So go to China, buy cheap widgets, and sell them in America. Done and done.

How To Start Your Own Import / Export Business

Host / Hostess

Photo by Timothy Lloyd

Japanese men and women will pay you hundreds of dollars to flirt with them in smoky bars. Hey, it beats English teaching…

So You Want To Be A Bar Hostess?

Diplomat

Yup, the foreign service is hiring. If you read The New York Times and don’t smoke pot you’re probably qualified. Being a diplomat isn’t all fun and games, but the pay is decent and you’ll have good job security.

The Life Of A Diplomat

Final Notes

Done with travel and want to find a job back home? How To Make Travel Look Good On A Resume is a must read.

An excellent resource for finding travel jobs is the website Transitions Abroad.

And remember, if you can’t find a travel job you can always travel the world for free.

If you have a suggestion, question or just want to rant, please leave a comment below.