I started to see these contrasts already on my very first day in Kenya. I landed at the international Jomo Kenyatta airport, one of the top 10 busiest airports in Africa, receiving as much as 7M passengers each year. And yet as I entered the arrival hall, I was greeted by a small terminal with a shabby roof, three almost-foldable kiosks selling sim cards and one security guard. Little did I know that this little hall was nothing like the other arrival halls with western cafes and an atmosphere that makes you think you never left Europe.

So to stay on theme here, let me divide my experience of Kenya into the most basic contrast of all: good and bad.


Nature, nature, nature. Kenya truly is a beautiful country. In many places, you will find the unspoiled beauty that was once found in popular places like Thailand. Tourists are slowly discovering Kenya, but it is still not a common destination, leaving you the freedom to discover a lot of places without the crowds of western tourists. From safaris through hiking to the beach, Kenya has something for everyone. On the other hand, Kenya still has a long way to go to truly preserve its natural beauty, especially since littering is far from uncommon.

Gorge in the Hell's Gate National Park

Strong sense of community. People within one community (such as family, friends, or even a village) help each other much more than in Europe. It is common for the whole family to chip in for medical treatment for a sick family member. After being at my company for one month, I was asked to give some money for the funeral of my colleague's granddad. And on the very first day in Kenya, our landlady drove me and Roel to the supermarket, waiting for us until checkout, and drove us all the way back, while her two friends were waiting in the car for us to be done. Nonetheless, people really don't respect each other beyond their community (e.g. our neighbors playing loud music until the wee hours week after week despite our relentless complaints) and in a way, Kenya really is a dog eat dog world unless you have a strong support group. Or enough money.

Hakuna matata. This saying, popularized due to the Lion King movie, means "no worries" in Swahili. And the statement that everything is hakuna matata in Kenya could not be truer. Whatever the problem is, people always find a solution or learn to live with it. If your car breaks down, you can be sure that a dozen people will surround you within a minute and try to fix it. (And while around Nairobi they will always ask for money afterward, this is definitely not the case in other parts of Kenya.) We never found this relaxed lifestyle more prevalent than in the coastal areas where people "chill for a living." For instance, Jawad, a young adult in Lamu, operates a dhow sailboat business and is paid to relax on a sunset boat tours every weekend. Undoubtedly, living with less stress is something that westerners could learn from Kenyans.

Sailing on a traditional Swahili dhow boat in Lamu

Kenya, and especially Nairobi, is very welcoming. Nairobi is full of expats, who are almost always searching for new friends. Already in our first week in Nairobi, we met a lot of people that we ended up spending a lot of time in the months to come. Talking to random people in a bar is nothing weird and everyone is usually very open to making new connections. Even local people on the street very often just greet you without wanting anything.

The food is great. No, I don't mean Kenyan food, which very often consists of ugali (cornmeal porridge), some sort of meat (often organs), and sukuma wiki (cooked kale). But across Kenya, and of course, especially in Nairobi, you can find exceptional restaurants serving any kind of cuisine you can imagine. The only one I have yet to find is the Slovak one.




It is still a poor country where people live from day to day. For many Kenyans, salaries are paid on a daily basis and saving is not a big thing. What often happens is that people start every single day anew, with no spare money. The fact that Nairobi is a very expensive city compared to the wages really doesn't help. In addition, a huge chunk of the population is unemployed, and any day you will see a lot of people just hanging around in the streets with nothing to do. In addition, the majority of the people who become beggars are handicapped due to the lack of access to healthcare and the inability to afford even simple procedures that would entirely prevent their disability. The one good side effect of the Kenyan poverty for expats is that Kenya offers some affordable luxury, allowing you to visit beautiful places to relatively good prices.

While Elephant Resort in Malindi

'Efficiency' has completely disappeared from the Kenyan dictionary. Kenyans are literally never in a hurry. In our very first week of being in Nairobi, we went to a fast-food restaurant where one staff member prepared our orders one by one, while the other four of his colleagues stood around and watched him. But the lack of efficiency seems to extend to every part of life. Working at a coworking space, on a daily basis I have around 20 people around me. And while many of them are developers and people who spend the whole day on their computer, none of them, in fact, use a computer mouse. This inability to see the value of small adjustments and investments in order to optimize efficiency is one of the reasons why many African businesses still cannot compete with their European or American counterparts.

Flexibility reaches undesired amounts. The hakuna matata mentality translates into people being extremely flexible. While on the one hand, it can be convenient to always be able to change your mind without any repercussions, I have found that this cultural habit proves to be more of a challenge. Booking back-to-back meetings is usually suicide, as meeting times are rarely respected. In fact, there is a running joke in our company that our management team meeting starts at 10:00 am Kenyan time, 10:30 am real time. Even conferences for hundreds of people routinely start an hour late. In fact, I learned the hard way that agreement or one's word doesn't mean much here - when a Kenyan company revoked my contract already after quitting my job and moving to Africa. But more about that here (coming soon).

Enforcement and regulation is a joke. Police are in most cases completely useless. When I got my phone stolen, they wrote me a report for my insurance company but never bothered to investigate. The same happened when Roel's bag was stolen. From my perspective, police are in most cases the biggest danger out there. With corruption reaching astronomical levels, police randomly stop cars, take your passport and only give it back if you pay. In fact, money will get you literally anything in Kenya. A local friend told me that if I wanted to become a Kenyan national and had some money, I could get it done within a day. Regulation of many aspects of life doesn't really work either, even though I must give kudos to the government for trying, such as recently introducing a ban on all plastic bags.

Security guards are everywhere in Nairobi and really change your feeling about the city. Especially after the recent terrorist attack on the Dusit hotel in Nairobi, security guards have sprung like mushrooms in literally every side of the city. Sometimes you go through three security checks before you can enter a shop. On the one hand, guards are there to make it safer for everyone, but their relentless presence and their loaded guns everywhere you walk really do not make you feel safe.

Despite security guards, crime rates are exceptionally high. First of all, walking outside after dark is a big no-no in Nairobi that even locals do not dare to do. Stealing is a big part of life here and there are only a handful of expats who leave Nairobi without having their phone stolen. The worst part about it is that those who steal do not even think they are necessarily doing something bad, as they are only 'taking from those who have everything.'

Health and safety are not big priorities. Despite having the best marathon runners, Kenyans are on average not very healthy or fit. Naturally, this is primarily caused by the lack of proper nutrition for a lot of the population. But even those Kenyans who belong in the middle class do not seem to care too much about their health. Their food is very simple and always the same, full of oil, salt, and sugar. They do not usually like to experiment with new cuisines and even though they never say no to food if you offer, they stay true to their Kenyan cuisine. This is also one of the reasons why many Kenyans consider hiking Mount Longonot or Elephant Hill as very difficult, even though we found it very doable. Safety enjoys a similar statute. People regularly walk in between cars waiting at the traffic light selling small bites. They cross highways like it's no big deal. They refuse to wear a helmet on a motorbike even though there is one available.

Hiking Mount Longonot (2,776 m)

Driving habits are rather poor. Most importantly, drunk driving is not stigmatized. This means that quite a few accidents happen at night after people go home from parties. Secondly, Kenyan always use their big lights at night, whether they need them or not, whether they are inside or outside the city. They also don't exit the fast lane after overtaking. One funny observation is that there are often speed bumps on a highway, as they pass through villages where people need to cross to the other side.

Cyber? What's that? Even though people are slowly realizing that cyber security is to be taken seriously, this renaissance is very recent and definitely still shallow, making Africans approximately 20 years behind the US, Europe, Singapore, or Japan. One most striking manifestation of this is that people leave their unattended laptops in a public space in an unlocked state, and probably don't even realize why that would pose a problem.

African definition of cyber

Kenyan men are quite the players and often like Western women. Be it in the gym, at a club, or just in the streets - Kenyan men are very, very keen on socializing with Western women. And they often don't even leave you alone when you say you have a boyfriend. In addition, the whole dating culture in Kenya is very relaxed, with many men not wanting to settle down until their 30s.



Almost all Kenyans have a Christian name: Catherine, George, Victor... This is a legacy of the colonial times at the end of the 20th century when western colonists gave Africans names that they could pronounce. Later, Christian missionaries spread the notion that together with baptism, Christian names are going to secure Africans a place in heaven. As written by a Kenyan writer here, "In the psyche of the Kenyan mind, Christian names came to be seen as formal, official, a sign of being educated, no longer a heathen, saved from one’s primitive nature. Long after the country gained independence, this mentality remained." I somewhat understand the value in introducing yourself with a name that the other party can comprehend (I also sometimes pronounce my name in the American way if I meet Americans) but the fact that Kenyans still use their European names in basically all official settings is very sad and disturbing to me.

Many use their African name as their last name. The vast majority of Kenyans have at least three names: European name (used in official settings), African name (used with family and friends), and their surname. Interestingly, very often they only use their first two names when introducing themselves fully. For instance, my colleague is called Mark Ochieng Onyango, but really only uses Mark Ochieng.
Kenya is very, very conservative. At least for my Dutch standards. The majority of the country is Christian and all of my colleagues go to church every Sunday and even sign in the choir or play in the church band. Conservativeness also means that the traditional gender roles are very much enforced here, with the bride still being bought by the groom's family, women expected to raise the children, and so on. Homosexuality is not only still a big taboo, but a lot of people are outright homophobic.

'Hello' in Swahili always has the meaning of 'Hello, how are you?'. Kenyans whose English lacks a bit do not recognize the difference between "hi" and "how are you?" and in fact, sometimes when I greet the security guard at my apartment complex with a "Hello!", he just responds "Fine."!

People do not say goodbye when they hang up the phone. This might be a cultural thing but I am pretty sure it also has to do with the fact that people do not have phone subscriptions and pay per minute. This way, they try to minimize the amount that they pay.

The last days of our Thailand trip were inevitably coming closer and closer, and we were a bit reluctantly planning our way back to Bangkok. Leaving the sunny paradise of Koh Tao for the big, dirty metropole seemed like a bad dream—not only because it was our second least favorite place, but because it was an unmistakable sign that in a couple of days, we would need to leave our carefree life. And, eventually, say goodbye to each other.

'Budget constraints,' I said to myself and to Roel once again when talking about the best way to make our last big travel. Luckily for us, there was a night ferry that we could take for very little money and even save one night of accommodation. But as it sometimes happens, the night ferry on Mondays—only on Mondays—is not a real ferry at all. It's a converted fisherman's boat with no bunk beds, only sheets spread across the deck, and with people literally fighting for spots—that's what we gathered from online reviews, anyway. I'd never ever do it again, read those comments, and a little scared, we decided to do it differently and bought a (much more expensive) joint ticket all the way to Khao San road, where we were staying.

Only after we boarded the bus did I realize how comfortable this option was. We didn't have to worry about anything - we didn't have a hassle getting a taxi to the harbor in Koh Tao, from the Chumpon harbor to the bus station, from the Bangkok bus station to Khao San. No haggling, no stress, no endless waiting. And now I realize that the money might just as well be a good investment.

We were even lucky enough to get the best spots on the double-decker bus, all the way at the front - with enormous leg space (greatly appreciated by Roel) and a feeling of being in a cinema, able to watch the whole way through a big screen right in front of us. And so I curled up to Roel and got ready for an 8-hour long bus drive.

As we were approaching night Bangkok in the dimly lit bus, the scenic little routes through Thai countryside suddenly morphed into kilometers of parallel and perpendicular highways, intercepted at points where layers and layers of roads intermingled like braided bread. And in the midst of the white and red sea of little moving lights, the City of Angels was unfolding in front of us like on a big movie screen.

Our first Bangkok trip left a deep impact, but not necessarily always in a positive way. As soon as we got to the city, we were 'greeted' by hundreds of shouting taxi and tuk-tuk drivers who wanted to offer us a drive to our hotel. We pushed our way through the loud crowd of locals and walked through piles of smelly urine to the bus stop.

The local bus, which we managed to take with big pride in ourselves as real travelers and not just rich holiday people, brought us to a busy neighborhood with a huge endless road with various little local shops situated along the way. It did feel like being in a metropole, but it had an odd feeling to it, and at that time I couldn't put my finger on it.

But as we walked off the main road towards our guesthouse, I started to realize that the unfamiliar, odd feeling that I had was because this was not the usual city I was used to. It didn't have the glamour of Paris, nor the buzz of New York, and certainly not the rusticity of Rome, but one denominator that Bangkok showed to me was its poverty disguised by metropolitan feel.

The buildings lining the main road were gray, faded, inconspicuous. They looked old fashioned and modern at the same time, and the city felt dynamic as well as idle. And just several meters off the main road, on our way to the guesthouse, we found ourselves in a ghetto, where people lived crammed in small houses with insufficient facilities, where rabid dogs with blood dripping from their eyes were there to welcome you, and where urine was its signature smell. And while we hoped so much that we just got lost, we found our guesthouse at the end of this poor, claustrophobic maze.

You get what you paid for, I thought and tried to reconcile myself with the funny squeaky bed, extreme warmth in the room, and a toilet full of feces. The sad part though is that we didn't have a chance to take advantage of all the good things about our guesthouse: the friendly, laid-back company at that place and an amazing riverside deck with lawn chairs to chill at while listening to the sound of the water. We again made ourselves really busy with what was going on in the real Bangkok.

While that part of Bangkok was not our favorite, there were still many places that we loved. Indeed, on our second day, Bangkok felt different. The odd feeling was faint, and I was welcomed by what I had expected: the overbearing, impersonal vibe of a multi-million city, with loads and loads of tourists and beautiful landmarks sprinkled all around.

As we got off the bus and walked towards the Grand Palace, there were thousands of locals, all dressed in black, gathered at a big square. I didn't think that black was the color of mourning also in Thailand, and, seeing kiosks with various logos of Thai ministries on the banners, I thought that it was a government-sponsored event.

Locals mourning the late King

"Sir, what is going on here?" Roel asked a friendly elderly local who was giving us directions to the Grand Palace. The thousands of locals all in long black clothing in the middle of a hot day, as it turned out, were there to mourn the late King Bhumibol Adulyadej, who had been adored by the whole country. The square would fill with thousands every single day since his passage—of over two months ago.

The Grand Palace was just beside this black sea. It belongs to the most visited cultural landmarks in Thailand, and quite justifiably. As opposed to being a single palace, it is a collection of buildings that are spread across the area of over 200 thousand square meters, including temples, gardens, statues, squares, or royal buildings. Even though it is not used as the residence of the king anymore, it still serves official purposes, such as hosting royal events.

Roel wearing borrowed long pants as he could not walk around the palace in shorts

And needless to say, it was one of the most magnificent palaces I have ever seen. The Thai style, interesting architecture, and lavish decor make it a truly unique place with numerous unique sites. It is home to the infamous Emerald Buddha temple with a single small statue of Buddha (not actually made from emerald), the protector of the Thai, which is deemed the most sacred site of worship.

And for the rest of the time, we were walking around like proper tourists—me following the signs at the place and Roel reading about the must-see's in the rough guide—and discovering little wonders along the way.

"We need to see hermits," Roel tells me with serious determination and we begin our search for little stone statues of naked masseuses on a hill (as described by the rough guide), after which you can hear us shout 'I see a hermit!' or 'There they are!' only to be followed by slight disappointment the second after, realizing that those actually weren't hermits.

(We were also looking for the big guardians of the temples, which were the most conspicuous statues in the whole area, but it took us quite some time to realize that those were the enormously big statues right in front of our noses. And also because being navigated by the rough guide meant that we didn't really know what temple we were at right now.)

The guardian of the Grand Palace

The Temple of the Reclining Buddha was our last cultural stop of the day and was the biggest surprise for me. Expecting to see a larger-than-average statue, I was astonished to read in the rough guide that the statue was 15 meters tall and 60 meters wide. I boldly proclaimed that it must be just bullshit and still couldn't believe it, and only when I saw the massive golden statue did I realize that this must be one of the most magnificent Buddha statues ever.

Reclining Buddha

And so we experienced a different Bangkok, full of lavishly decorated temples, enormous relic houses, beautiful greenery, and clean environment.

And while we were feasting on the cultural beauty of the city during the day, we headed to the neighborhood of the Khao San road in the evening—the infamous party road in Bangkok with thousands of intoxicated tourists enjoying the city's nightlife—where we together with Nouschka feasted on good food, cocktails, and, as it must be with me, desserts.

And yet another face of Bangkok unfolded the day after when we went to Chinatown. Its primary appeal to me was the great souvenir shopping opportunities, essentially making it totally unappealing to Roel. And so I tried to make it over as soon as possible, but the roads were way too narrow for so many people there, who were pushing and slowing you down.

The vibe in this part of the city was also much less kind, with people pushing their way through the crowd without any respect for others. I guess that's what happens in China when you need to fight for your spot, and this place was no different.

Probably the experiences from our ghetto and the Chinatown made us feel a little disappointed by Bangkok; after all, the neighborhood and place you stay in plays an important role in how you perceive your holiday. But that was not the Bangkok that we wanted to remember, and luckily morphed our opinion in a better way the second time we visited it.

Chinatown in Bangkok

Khao San road

This time, motivated by the idea of going partying at Khao San on our second last evening, we decided to find a place close to it. And so we didn't even know but we ended up on a really nice walking street, with small restaurants and cafés, souvenir stalls and fast food trolleys. The continuation of that road led to the most gezellig restaurant street with live music, lots of lights and people eating and drinking well into the late hours. And Khao San was just the street next to it.

The guesthouse, even though very simple and with shared bathroom, was still really nice and relatively clean, and it assured us that this would be a better stay than last time.

Our plan for the evening to drink like animals at Khao San did not work. I guess we are getting old, but after spending the whole day traveling, and now having a huge, unhealthy dinner with some drinks, we didn't feel like partying. Roel was really tired and I suddenly felt so full after the pepperoni pizza that I couldn't even move. My legs were also totally swollen and the party mood was gone. "I feel fat, lazy and disgusting. Drinking beer and eating pizza," Roel said, pretty much summing up our evening that night.

"I feel fat, lazy and disgusting."

And so we did what we still wanted to do in Bangkok.

Our first stop was Siam square, a very rich neighborhood and a capitalist paradise. It features modern, extravagant architecture, a food court with expensive western restaurants and stores, and a shopping mall with prestigious western clothing brands. There's a tower for business purposes, high-speed trains in the area... But most importantly, what surprised me most, was the bathroom - with a little lounge with chic vintage chairs and tables placed all around the top-to-bottom mirror walls for the ladies to fix their makeup while comfortably seated.

Hug machine inside a shopping mall in Siam square

As soon as we stepped into the MBK shopping mall, a seven-story building opposite the road, we noticed a huge difference between those two. Suddenly, the beautiful modern features of glass and chrome were gone; and so was the simplicity, elegance, and luxury. Now you see fake Nike sneakers for 5 euros, cheap sunglasses with no UV filter, and basically anything a person looking for a cheap deal might want, all displayed in cramped stalls. And despite its enormous size, this place looked dwarfed compared to Siam.

The last night approached and Roel had planned to take me out and have one last nice meal with me in Thailand. We started with cocktails in a cozy, chic bar next to our place, and then wanted to move to a high-rated restaurant in our vicinity. But as it was already around 9 pm, most of the people were done eating, and the place was completely empty. And so was another one as an alternative. At that point, I didn't even care so much because I was so hungry, but the cozy and lively atmosphere of the main food road had its appeal—especially if you plan to have a nice, long dinner with desserts and cocktails—and so we went to that same place as yesterday. And as it turned out, it was the only place (excluding the airport) that we tried for dinner in Bangkok in the whole time.

And so I woke up stressed and sad the next day, hoping that we would make it all on time. The travel was, in the end, without problems. The only issue was the constriction in my throat and watering of my eye as the time was approaching to say goodbye to Roel. And to Thailand.

VP Bali's classes are anything but boring. We never really teach without the new lesson being presented in the form of a game, but aside this creative learning process, kids enjoy a lot of special events almost on a weekly basis. This includes picnics with free food for everyone (a huge success, obviously); a Finnish day organized by two Finnish volunteers when we played only fun games from their homeland; a Halloween party; or a treasure hunt. And this way, we sort of established a Thursday Funday concept, when almost every Thursday, the whole school would not have a class but play games together.

This, of course, required a lot of planning from the side of volunteers, and would often be organized or thought of last minute. However, things don't run as smoothly in Bali as they do in Europe, and if you need some props or help from the staff, you need to arrange it in advance. Many times it would also lead to small hilarious misunderstandings and, consequently, to a serious need of improvisation.

We were also once invited to a wedding of a nephew of Komang, one of our staff members. (Since the wedding was partially paid for from our program fees, we didn't feel so awkward about crashing a party like that.) The bride and groom were beautiful; they were both dressed in colorful Balinese clothing and wore heavy flower crowns. Komang told us that they had to start assembling the crowns at 3 am and they could not be taken off until very late in the evening, making for a very heavy and painful thing to wear. (Since weddings are big in Bali, we also had to wear sarongs and lace tops, which, in the end, created a beautiful rainbow.)

Amazing farewells

Being sprinkled with confetti with Jess

Today it's an extremely warm day. The temperature has risen well above 30 degrees and the humidity is steadily around 95%, making even the slightest movement unbearable for me. It hasn't been even 5 minutes since I have taken a shower and I can already feel the sweat on my whole body. I lay on my bed under the fan, hoping to cool down a little bit. I am soon about to go to school. For the first time.

*

As a recent graduate at an important crossroads in life, I decided to postpone my further studies and take a semester off to just travel—before committing to the work-life soon. And the chicken that I am (mostly scared of being alone), I have agreed to a milder version of the backpacker life that I had previously imagined for myself—volunteering for two months and traveling with my boyfriend for another.

Bali has had an appeal to me for a long time; and I am not going to deny that Eat, Pray, Love had no influence whatsoever. While I did not intend to trace Julia's footsteps, I have discovered Ubud as a place of tranquility, spirituality, and yoga through the movie. And therefore, even though I did not at first want to volunteer as a teacher when I saw the program of VP Bali in Ubud, everything was becoming clearer.

*

After the hour-long Monday morning orientation and being filled with fresh enthusiasm, I feel more than ready for my first day at school. I have been assigned a school, classes, co-teacher; they have explained some basic cultural rules, provided teaching tips. Kimberley's (our boss's) passion for the job encouraged me even more. And thinking of it helped me stand up from the comfort of my own bed and the coolness of the fan above, and I walk out of my room to the common area outside to meet other volunteers. Close to 13:15 we all march outside the homestay to wait for our driver to be transported to school.

Like seven other volunteers (two of those new just as me), I will be teaching in a small village close to Ubud. We are picked up by a new 8-seat minivan and are soon leaving the center of Ubud. On that first drive to school, anything from traffic to the scenery seemed like from a different world. There were tons of cars and even more scooters, none of which seemed to be governed by any noticeable traffic rules. The road was lined with small shops offering clothes, souvenirs, food, hammocks, statues, glass and wooden vases, and a lot more.

After about half an hour ride, we arrive at a big football field, close to the entrance to a small but pretty building with a fountain and religious statues on school premises. And as soon as I step out of the car, I am not only overwhelmed by the pressing heat, but by the dozens of little happy angels running towards us, shouting, laughing, and giving us all hugs. They notice that I am a new teacher and want to know my name—and hilariously, each and every one of them manages to blurt the infamous phrase: "My name is?", waiting for me to answer.

As we get rid of the clingy little kids and make our way to the staff room, we meet Tutik, a local staff member who, together with our driver Wayan, helps us with anything school-related, such as translating the instructions of a new game or dealing with a crying kid. And as it turns out later, she is the real life-saver on many occasions (be it crying, hitting, behaving inappropriately, etc.). She immediately takes us on a tour around the campus, a small L-shaped building with 5 classrooms and an outside area.

Just like every volunteer, I have got two classes four times per week, from Monday to Thursday. And even though Bobbie, my co-teacher at that time who's been there for 6 weeks already and thus knows the kids quite well, has told me much about our students this morning, I could not have ever imagined this. As our first class starts, the 5-6 year-olds are running around, shouting, playing, not exactly ready to sit down and listen to a teacher. 

The kids are so adorable that I already feel my cheeks hurting from all the smiling, but as I try to ask the simplest questions in English and met only with confused faces, desperation overtakes me. Bobbie is rather calm. "It's okay. These kids don't even speak Bahasa [Bahasa Indonesia is the official language of instruction in Balinese schools, while Balinese is the commonly spoken language of the island]. We're more babysitters than English teachers." And so for the rest of the class, we only played an alphabet game and hide-and-seek.

I was sincerely hoping that the second class would be different. Our students there were around 10-12 years old and even though I did not expect their English level to be great, it should be a least, well, not non-existent. And so we fished our cups of ginger tea (that was waiting for us every day at the staff room during the 30-minute break between classes) and Bobbie took some books from the shelf to read with the kids. This is a good sign, I said to myself.

But as we entered the classroom, the kids were again running and screaming; full of life. We tried to calm them down and distributed the books, but the reading was more like mumbling some English-resembling words. We came a little closer to "teaching" this time, though it was still a big chaos. And while the little kids are very sensitive to losing, I could already see on my first day that the kids from my second class are best motivated through games where they can win—either beat their classmates or better, gain an actual reward.

And as this is a village school, most of the kids come from not so well-off families. Consequently, they have to help their parents after school—either with taking care of their siblings, helping with household duties, or some of them even helping make income for the family. The only time for some of these kids to actually be kids is during these English classes when they can be with their friends and learn through creative education, read play games.

For them, these English classes are also completely voluntary, and they attend them after already having spent their whole day (often starting at 6:30 am) at a regular school. It is therefore oftentimes stressed by VP Bali's management that volunteers make the classes as fun as possible to make sure the kids do not lose enthusiasm and continue coming.

A side-effect, of course, is the extremely slow pace at which the kids progress. My first class, for instance, had spent almost 3 months (each class lasts 75 minutes) only on the alphabet, and when I finally decided to move on to a new topic, much of the class was still clueless when it came to even the easiest spelling.

Playing outside with the kids

The one thing that helped me stay motivated even though I didn't see much progress in my kids, was that being surrounded by English-speaking people and getting used to that language is still a great help. For the students, our program is the only way to gain access to English education. And since stricter and faster learning would discourage students who wouldn't come anymore, perhaps there really isn't a better way to teach English than what we were doing.

Fun facts about the teaching experience:

During my first seven weeks of teaching, I had four co-teachers. (On my last week, I taught alone.) None of my co-teachers stayed longer for two weeks, and since the first week is always still a little bit shaky, most of the time I had to take care of the curriculum planning, take lead in the classroom, and do the diaries*.

*Diaries were non-arguably the most annoying part of the whole experience. Each teacher had to write a detailed summary of what they had done that particular day with the kids, preferably including some pictures and/or videos, and upload it to cloud. Even though it was supposed to be there to help future teachers to see what their students have already gone through, I know for a fact that most of the teachers never even looked at the past diaries. 

Our class size was constantly changing. Usually, our classes were already quite small (around 15 kids for usually two teachers), but in practice, a lot fewer kids would come. The kids would not really be missing classes because they were sick, but it depended on all sorts of factors: weather (rain, heat), ceremonies, helping their family at home, etc. Some cheeky kids would, of course, skip classes because they didn't feel like coming that day.

I almost gave up already on my first day, when I thought the heat would be too much for me. I was constantly sweating, and as I usually wear tank tops (yes, even in winter), I thought I would not survive the clothing covering my knees and shoulders. But later I got used to the constant flare up my nostrils from the hot air, and I realized that the stickiness and dark spots under armpits are signatures not only for me but also for other volunteers—and so I tried to ignore it. And later were not bothered by it anymore.

Photo courtesy of VP Bali