These days, I'm often reminded of what used to be a joke in which after holding forth about himself for ages, a man stops talking for a second and says, "That's enough about me. What do you think about me?" Maddeningly, it's now a daily drag that the Donald is subjecting us to and 'it ain't funny, McGee,' as my dad used to say. Thank heaven for the PVR. I still record the news but whenever I see Trump's faded, outdated forelock, I hit fast forward. My reflexes are improving every day.
I now have two students for two hours each a week. The first one, Alexander, I got through Immigrant Services and the second, Alaa, is one of the Syrian refugees in Vernon that my friend Jane's group is working with. As they come from what is now the hub of international conflict, I am taking advantage of the opportunity to learn a bit about Asia.
Alex is 26. He was born in Astana, Kazakhstan; moved to Samara, Russia at the age of 7; then lived in Kaliningrad with his grandparents from the age of 12 until he was18. His parents had moved to Winkler, Manitoba to set up a new lif. He joined them there and worked in a plastics plant until the fumes bothered him and his wife who was then with him and with child had had enough of the Mennonite Community. Three years ago, they moved to Vernon where his uncle lives.She has been looking after the baby, getting pregnant again and attending English classes at Immigrant Services. He has been employed at various building jobs. He doesn't consider himself to be a worker but rather a self employed contractor. His classes with me are the first English classes he has ever taken. He doesn't seem to have had much formal education in any language. He speaks Kazak and a bit of Russian and German, but I don't think he writes well in any of them. Consequently, after a hard day's work even the thought of English grammar makes him yawn, so teaching him is a challenge. We meet from 6 to 8pm on Tuesdays in the library. His fatigue and inability to speak English don't stop him from trying to tell me all about his plans, from making plant pots out of fabric and concrete, an idea that he found on Pinterest, to setting up his own company installing dry wall, just installing it, none of your taping or muddling. He also waxes ineloquently about religion. His only notions of history are based on his fascination with and reading of the Bible, especially the Old Testament. He's over 6 feet tall and very thin and when he is determined to convey one of his religious ideas or plans for spreading the faith, the denomination of which is unclear to me, I feel as if I'm as close to Rasputin as I ever will or hope to be. My attempts to improve his language skills pale compared to his enthusiastic rants, but he does his best to settle down to it once in a while. I enjoy our classes, and as we are in a part of the library where people meet to knit and play games such as chess and something involving buildings and action figures, nobody seems bothered by his waving of long arms and irratic bursts of words.
I have only had one class so far with Alaa, but I think she will prove to be equally entertaining and perhaps a more rewarding student. The beginning was inauspicious, however. I drove to her apartment to pick her up at the appointed time for the first class. As I couldn't manage to ring her from the foyer, I called her on my iPhone. She said she was with a friend and her son and would be down in five minutes. I said it was too cold to wait that long, could she come down more quickly. There was a lot of background noise, but amid the laughter and sound of kids, I made out a, "Sure." After a couple of minutes she approached the door with her friend and her 2 year old son, all laughter and looking at cell phones. Then it turned out she wondered if I would drive to her friend's place, drop off the son and allow the friend to join us for the first class. Not wanting to set an uncompromising tone before even beginning to help her learn to speak English, I said, "Fine." They directed me to a part of Vernon, not far away but where I had never been. There were a lot of missed and just made turns before we reached our destination. This might have worked in my favour because later Alaa readily agreed to walk to the Rec. Centre for our next class. We dropped off the son and headed for the Rec. Centre, the appointed spot for our classes. The friend was listening to Arab music in the back seat, Alaa was on her phone and I was beginning to think that Canada was perhaps going a bit too far in welcoming and helping Syrian refugees. These babes had become used to quite a bit of service, and I was not going to carry on with it much more. But the class turned out to be really fun. Alaa's level is higher than her friend's, otherwise I wouldn't mind teaching them together. They are both serious about learning English and have been through a lot getting here. Alaa is 23, with two children and a husband who is at least ten years older than she. He is not having a good time at the moment. He doesn't have much of a job and is finding English so difficult to learn that he is giving up and not making much of an effort to adapt. They are from the south of Syria and spent 2 years in a camp in Jordan before coming to Vancouver, where they were put up in a hotel for 5 months before moving to Vernon. But she's determined to learn English and make a life here, so I hope I can help her. It will be easier without her friend in the class, but Fatah was a very funny woman. We dropped her off and then I drove Alaa home. She readily agreed that in the future we will meet at the Rec. Centre on Wednesdays from 6 to 8 and I will drive her home.
As we left the little cafe at the entrance to the Rec. Centre after our first class, Fatah smiled at the girl behind the bar, said a big "Goodbye," picked up the small basket of fruit on the counter and started walking toward the door. When the girl's eyes started to pop, Fatah laughed and place the basket back. There are a lot of differences between us, but a little humanity and a good laugh help to bridge them.
