One day I was sent to be a cover teacher at this high school in Hanoi city, not so far from the city center. As I was driving through the Vietnamese capital I observed a whole series of contrasts. From the taken care of main road with little traffic I arrived to a cool river side and then to a turn that took me away from the river and that’s where things got interesting.
I came to this part of Hanoi city where it seemed like the Vietnam war was still at its prime. Everything seemed to just fall apart and the aesthetic was a sight to behold. Pots, holes and cracks all over, dirt and litter, no trees at all, puddles left and right (it had rained recently so yeah), and shady looking households that looked rather improvised. It all looked like a cheap dystopic Lego set. Hanoi is a beautiful city with many stunning places to check but that part of the city wasn’t one of them. The traffic was also nightmarish, regardless of the time being many hours away from the evening or morning rush hour.
But enough of these wretched neighborhood technicalities. I arrived shortly thereafter at the school. It’s worth noting that this high school in particular was the most wretched looking of all the other ones I checked out so far. Everything simply felt like it could fall down anytime. The metal bars from the windows were rusty, the concrete was cracked pretty much everywhere, the plaster was falling off or even missing completely from some walls, some mold spots were visible every now and then, some benches were ripped, stuff was overgrown in general and so on. You get the idea.
The overall facilities were simply less than modest, so to say (I’m trying to be diplomatic god damn it). The teacher lounge felt rather like a storage where all the staff would crowd and bump into each other like cattle. It was a cheap, dingy, battered rattletrap where everyone was sitting on some basic stools like in one of those stuffy waiting rooms from a provincial train station. I couldn’t spend more than two minutes in that damn place. It wasn’t the stuffiness or whatever but these Vietnamese teachers, especially middle-aged women (which were like 90% of them anyway) would chatter among themselves in such a passionate way that if one would close their eyes, one would assume that a fight or argument of massive proportions would commence on that very spot. But no! That’s just how these ladies expressed themselves when it came to story-telling, bragging about family business or even mere gossips.
That being said, I went inside in that place just to leave my shit and vanished right away. There was still some time left so I wandered across the place. Behind the school building there was the football field, the gym and a canteen, all tied together by an open space with basketball rings on one side.
That particular side of the school premise was another place to remember. If anyone would want to film a movie about the end of the world, a zombie apocalypse or an outbreak of any fatal disease, that would be the place for it. The same typical disrepair that I mentioned earlier was ever present, but it looked deserted and simply left there to rot as the sands of time were passing with no caring whatsoever. The main building had some soul in it at least. There were some teachers and students going about and it felt more or less lively. Well, walk one minute away from that place and any trace of life is simply swept away. Not just that but around that court there were houses which had the same sombrous outlook.
As a lonely guy myself I somehow felt a weird sense of peace and tranquility in that particular court. It appears that I am constituted in such a way that I find pleasure in empty abandoned looking places that are untaken care of. This reminded me of my later years in Bucharest when me and some other eccentric lads as myself would come together and explore various abandoned sights hidden in the busy urban jungle which was the Romanian capital. Those times were a lot more authentic than whatever we were doing in the old center or other commercial centers where herds and herds would flock for the pleasures of consumption and conformity.
After my casual wandering and exploration while travelling from one nostalgic moment to another, I bid my time at the canteen. The whole thing was simply a food stand with 2 benches and a slab covering the whole thing. But none of that mattered. They had banh mi[1] with fried chicken and mayo. I was always glad to find a banh mi stand where mayo was available. It seemed that Vietnam didn’t have a mayo culture when it came to sandwich manufacturing, so I rejoiced as a little kid when I saw I could enjoy this small thing.
It was almost time for my lesson so I came back to the teacher lounge to check where my class was, so I wouldn’t go around the building like a jackass asking students. I saw a sheet of paper with a building map. The place was really stuffy then and the middle-aged Vietnamese women chatter was at its peak. I tried to discern as soon as possible the whereabouts of my classes and soon enough I unravelled the mystery.
I went out of that atmosphere and just phased out, looking at the students filling the building. This teacher came to ask me if I was looking for something. I told her I had a specific class that I had to go to and she offered to help me find it. I explained that I had already checked the building map from the teacher lounge and I knew more or less where I had to go. She didn’t seem to get it. She even was an actual English teacher to my surprise. She grabbed my paper with the schedule which I was holding at that moment and looked through every detail. Eventually she figured out that I knew my way after I used my hands to point at which part of the building I needed to go. Signs did a way better job than actual words, as usual. The funny thing was that I usually used signs with people that couldn’t speak a word in English, not actual English teachers. Oh well, it is what it is.
I soon went upstairs and find my class. They had two wooden doors which made up the entrance and the handle was missing from one of them. In order to properly close the door some string was used to tie the whole thing together. Now, one would assume that in such a decrepit shabby looking high school the quality of the people would be proportionate to the outlook of the place. But lo and behold, I was wrong! These cubs were actually more than decent. Once again, I was reminded that you can’t judge a book by its cover, or in this particular case, you can’t judge the students of a school based on the messed up apocalyptic vibes the actual school gives you. This reminded me of that one time when I was teaching at a newly built and perfectly taken care of school where the students were some of biggest pricks I’d ever encountered. Pure ignorant and disrespectful retards were the norm in that school, despite the immaculate aesthetic. Anyway, back to our lovely shithole.
Many of the students from this shabby school had a more than decent level of understanding of the English language and I could actually have a real conversation with them, which had more sophistication than the cliché “hello/goodbye” and “teacher you so handsome”. I genuinely enjoyed their company and some of them had actual cunning and wit. A girl from the first class was actually listening to a lot of rock music, enjoying acts such as Metallica and Red Hot Chili Peppers. I spent the whole break showing her other bands such as Led Zeppelin, Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath.
She even had a piercing on her nose which for a 15 year old in Vietnam was a daring thing to do, considering how conservative are most of the parents. I even asked her if her parents were ok with her little gimmick and she was positive about it. Oh, how lucky could one be! I parted with that class on good terms and I gave them the Facebook of my teacher persona so they could contact me whenever.
At one of the other classes I decided to play the story game where each student had to write a sentence to contribute to the little tale. I loved this activity in particular because it triggered the cynicism and bitterness of the students’ sense of humor. I gave the start with the plot about a little girl living in a village. Those sick bastards ended the story with the girl killing herself, going to hell and becoming a Doom slayer. Such moments were the highlights of being a teacher. As a sick bastard myself, I always craved for such foibles.
My time eventually ended and two girls came to me. They were both 12th grade and they spoke English better than I did. Their grammar was a bit sketch though. We talked about Europe and the IELTS exams and cultural differences and other things of the sort. They were really warm and smart. They kept saying that they really wanted to meet me again to practice their speech. I agreed that it would be a good idea. Well, shit. I wouldn’t mind helping them.
I went back home, downed a couple of beers and enjoyed some blues from The Doors. The next day would be longer.
The next morning I saw once again the mist over the vast West lake. I have to say it always made me turn my head on the side as I drive. The whole mist made the lake look rather like an endless ocean, as you are sitting on the edge of the map. But enough of that. I hope this mesmerizing view won’t make me die horrifically on the road, crushing into who knows what.
I had to make my way once again to the same shabby school. I must say that after only one driving I still couldn’t remember all the details of the way there. I needed to turn around because I missed a junction. Right before that the traffic was almost non-existent but suddenly a wild line of trucks came out of nowhere. One after another they didn’t really stop. Why was it that exactly when I needed to make such a maneuver the traffic became impossible? Fucking hell. I managed somehow to make the turn and got back on track once again. Soon enough I was there.
I did my first lesson and thereafter I had a long break. I didn’t have my breakfast yet so I decided to venture in that wretched neighborhood. I found a place that was selling banh mi Da Nang. One would often find in Hanoi food typical to other regions in Vietnam but Da Nang itself was a rarity. Now, it’s worth noting that I was the only European guy walking around in this funny looking Vietnamese neighborhood which had nothing to offer to any foreigner whatsoever, except maybe those eccentric youtubers who enjoyed going to the exact places everyone else would warn them not to go to. So that being said, I was quite an attraction, if you include my Western outfit in this whole picture.
Nonetheless, the atmosphere was positive. I sat down and this lady made the Da Nang delight I was so curiously craving for. There were some working class middle-aged Vietnamese chaps chilling with their pipes. We somehow exchanged a few replies and we all laughed at each other. I asked the lady if she sold any beer and she told me to go to the shop next to that place to get some. I got my beer and the banh mi was ready too. It was 8 in the morning and I was having beer for breakfast. The others thought I was insane. I finished my meal and pondered while watching the traffic.
The break came to an end and I was back in the classroom. At one of the classes the teacher from the previous lesson was still there. They were doing some weird activity which involved a roulette and some students were screaming around in excitement. It felt like a football game or a betting arena. Everyone was in good spirits. The teacher told me to wait 5 minutes. 5 minutes in Vietnamese reckoning would translate to about 15. I didn’t mind. I was the master of killing time in the classroom anyway. When another teacher deliberately did that for me it felt even better.
At the last lesson before lunch break some girl told me I looked like John Lennon. These kids where pretty advanced so I didn’t do much of the school book bullshit and told them some stories instead. They deliberately asked me to tell them something about myself so I gladly delivered. I told them about my upbringing in Romania, showed them the Dracula castle, I talked about my brief time in Canada as a little kid and thereafter I mentioned my college days in the Netherlands. When I first mentioned “Netherlands” some of those teens chanted together: “WEED!”
It seemed that the kids from this particular class were indeed people of culture. So the conversation took yet another turn. I started telling them about various foibles from my student career, about the different special things one could find in that country and about the Dutch coffeeshops, which were neither about coffee, nor shops, yet they were called coffeeshops. My audience was listening with thorough interest and their eyes were gleaming. It was indeed a productive lesson where the students would actually remember something. This was education at its finest.
I left that class with a wide smile on my face. What a finale to that morning session. I went to the canteen where I once again demanded a banh mi with mayonnaise. It seemed that the lady working there had a hard time figuring out what items I was pointing out through the small glass. And oh boy, was she slow. I didn’t know if she was doing this all on purpose or if she was simply retarded. Anyway, I eventually got my food so it didn’t matter anymore.
After a power nap in the teacher lounge I soon needed to start the afternoon session. I walked into the first classroom and what did my eyes see? Some tiles were missing from the floor while others were cracked.
“What is this?” I said, pointing at the disaster from the floor.
“We are a special school!” Some student said. Everyone laughed.
“I think you’re right.”
I performed my act and when the bell rang some student wanted to give me a small piece of one of the broken tiles from the floor. It was meant to be a souvenir and a symbol of appreciation from that class. I politely declined, yet appreciated the gesture. They were good students.
During break time I bought a small bag of chips and sat on one of the benches in the school court (one that was not broken down, fortunately) and started munching on them, observing the students doing various things in the yard. Some student showed up out of nowhere and in a flash he took a seat next to me.
“What’s up, teacher?” He said, enthusiastically.
“I’m good. I like your energy, man.”
“Are you new here?”
“Well, not really. I’m just covering. You want some chips?” I handed him the bag.
“Sure, thanks!” He grabbed 2 chips.
There were other students who joined, from the boy’s class.
“Guys, someone should fix this school.” I said.
“I know. This school is trash, man!” Another student said. We all laughed.
“I mean for real. You guys deserve better. You’re actually good students. If you were all a bunch of idiots I wouldn’t care but that’s not the case.”
“They made a plan to rebuild the whole school. They kept talking about it for 4 years now!”
“Let’s hope something will happen in another 4.”
The bell rang and we had to go to classes. I had some chips left in the bag and donated it to that class with whom I had such a juicy conversation. Why was it that many schools with some of the worst management had some of the coolest wittiest students while schools with an actual responsible management had the worst kind of arrogant, spoiled and ignorant cunts as their students? It never made sense to me. But the same goes with countries and governments sometimes. You could find the most honest, open minded and interesting people in the so-called shithole countries with the most fucked up corrupted governments while in some of the most reputable countries with progressive governments you found shallow pricks, manipulators, twisted evil minds or simply boring ass NPCs[2] with nothing interesting about them whatsoever. The world was indeed a strange place.
At the end of that class I played once again the story game, giving the start with the same little girl living in her little village. The students summoned to continue this tale went on about how the little girl got stuck in a washing machine and her stepbrother would show up to help (these kids were watching too much internet, I swear). However, the stepbrother did something rather unexpected and turned on the washing machine instead of getting out the poor girl. THE END. They surely made their teacher proud.
It was good to know that many of these kids had a fine sense of irony. I often believed that irony should be a mandatory subject in every single educational institution. Our society would be so different if kids would understand and use irony in their daily lives. I often think what might’ve been, should this be actually applied. I guess we won’t know too soon.
The other classes were fine, except the last one. I was tired at the end of this whole ordeal and all I hoped for was a smooth class, like the ones before. But you couldn’t always get what you wanted, could you? This last class was more like a zoo. The moment I turned my back to them to write whatever on the board all those rowdy bastards would start yelling and some of them were even bullying each other. I tried having a conversation with them but basic reasoning hadn’t reached that corner of the school yet. It wasn’t much I could do about this. HOWEVER, there was a shy little girl sitting by herself who was brilliant. Just as a precious diamond was bound to be discovered in a pile of shit, there was also a charming soul in a sea of barbarian morons. There was one in every crowd, I guess.
But one good kid didn’t make it up for that crooked class. I took the catalogue and wrote some honest remarks: “WORST CLASS IN THIS SCHOOL. A ZOO. TOO MUCH MONKEY BUSINESS!”
I left with a bit of bitterness but soon enough it was all water under the bridge. Overall it was a fun experience.
- Banh mi – Vietnamese roll or sandwich
- NPC – non playable character. Usually referring to dull people lacking personality or any interesting quality