Teaching Minions in Laos

November 4, 2017

The Green Lion

I don’t like children. I associate kids with drool, sticky fingers and permanent marker on your brand new couch. The ones that crawl or waddle are often pretty cute, but generally come with unlimited supplies of snot. I do see the appeal to their big dopey eyes, but that maternal instinct has never quite hit me (yet). But here I was, teaching English to a bunch of minions in Laos. Why not. Life begins at the end of your comfort zone, so let’s roll.

The residence of The Green Lion in Laos is located a good half hour outside of the capital. It’s behind a big road with plenty of stores but zero tourist influence and all the volunteer projects take place within a few minute bicycle ride. The week’s setup was that we’d do one afternoon class, aged around 3 to 5, taking place in a decent sized school that continuously has volunteers teaching there. In the morning however, we went to a different, brand new kindergarten that never had volunteers before. It only has one class of about 25-ish toddlers and a bunch of chickens on the premise. Most had never even seen a “falang”, let alone a pale six feet Dutch girl with curly hair and a few excess pounds. Honestly, I’m a bit of a spectacle if I stand next to an average Laotian. Two kids started crying when I arrived, the rest just stared at me. I’d probably cry too, upon meeting a giant.

I have zero experience with teaching. Let alone teach English. Let alone teach Engels to munchkins that just learned how to walk. The kindergarten is filled with one to three year olds. Isn’t that the age where you spend all day playing tag with your friends, learn shapes and just sit around lounging in your diaper? Would English class really have a place in that world?

Before the first class, I interrogated the coordinators and some other volunteers for tips, but it’s difficult to prepare for a brand new school. You have no clue what they’ll be capable of if they even know how to count. You just prepare a few letters, numbers, colors and say a hail Mary. I rode my pink bicycle to school that morning, feeling nervous. I felt like the clueless monster with zero compassion for what a toddler needs in life. After their initial cries of terror, the students sang a cute song in Lao to welcome me and seemed like such well raised kiddos. The teacher sat them down in front of the whiteboard. Then all thirty of them stared at me, filled with anticipation. And stared. And stared some more. Oh lord what have I gotten myself into.

I threw a bit of ABC at them, then hid my face to see if they’d spit it back and eat me alive. It went OK enough at first, but I completely failed to understand that tiny people have an attention span of about three seconds and I did not prepare for that. I didn’t know any English games or fun songs, though that was what they wanted. It was evident they needed something happy, or any random thing involving movement to wake them back up and grab their attention. But here I was, having them mumble twelve-thirteen-fourteen while half of them zoned out. It got awkward. Some walked off. Two were fighting in the corner. The coordinator desperately asked me to do the Banana song. For god sake man, what Banana song? I’d give my left nut to know the Banana song at that moment. Somehow I wrestled through that first day and decided to Google the crap out of the “Hokey Pokey” and “the Chicken dance” for next day. After that, it went so much better. Another volunteer with more experience joined me for the rest of the week and we’ve gotten the hang of it. The kids started to learn some good basics and quickly grew closer to us. More importantly, you could tell they were having fun and man, so were we.

As of now, it’s been five days that we’ve spent giving lectures at that particular kindergarten. Consider the fact that they never had a English lecture before. But, writing this, some can already scream out A-G, 1-15 and about seven colors. It’s pretty amazing, since most are SO young that they barely know how to talk in Laos, let alone a second language. Progress, WHOO! I’m so impressed with the speed in which these kids can pick up on any info you throw at them. They’re my little sponges.

One particular girl is the smartest little thing you ever met. On the second day, we played a new game. We’d start by going over ABCDEF. I’d point at A on the whiteboard, and all the little minions would scream “AAAAAA” as if it was a competition which tiny body could produce the most decibels. Then we went over “BEEEEE”, etcetera. When I felt like they started to memorize each one, I laid each card of A till F in a row on the ground. I stood in front of the group, called out a random letter, and then had them walk to the card with that particular letter on it. They loved it and every time a kid went to the right card, we’d all clap or give him/her a high five. It didn’t take long before that one smart girl got the hang of it. She’d raise her hand and if I let her come to the front, she’d point to the card while staring me straight in the eye without blinking. Her entire body language was saying “This is the right one, duhhh!”. And it was true: each and every single time, she’d get it right. I wonder where she’ll end up in life.

Unfortunately, we had to skip kindergarten on Thursday morning. It was raining balls out here and apparently that’s when Laotians melt. So even though the school is just a 5 minute bike ride, the coordinators nicely asked for our input and we weren’t heading over. The classroom wouldn’t be as busy as normal anyway, since rain means half the parents won’t bother getting the kids out the door. Again, because they might melt. The unpaved roads with red sand quickly enough turn to a muddy mayhem, so to be fair, it doesn’t make for ideal circumstances in which to drive your scooter to school with a toddler on your lap. We went to the bigger school in the afternoon, but I caught myself a bit disappointed I wouldn’t see the littlest ones that day. Now, remember I didn’t like kids? Turns out they had started to grow on me. There’s just something weird that happens as soon as a miniature person in a Frozen dress leans her entire little body against you and starts petting your arm over and over, five minutes after meeting you. When they cry and look for you of all people, for guidance. Or when you can’t squat down, without them using you as a giant mountain to climb on. You melt, it’s unavoidable.