By Wendy Behn

In 1993, I moved to Manama, Bahrain, which was a relatively old-world, island nation that most people could neither find on a map nor pronounce. It is better known now for the fact that Michael Jackson sought refuge there after his recent trial, but back in the early nineties it was still a relatively undiscovered paradise.

It took some getting used to living in the Middle East. Though ex-patriates could (and still can) dress and act pretty much the same in Bahrain as they do in the States and Bahrainis drive on right, the desert nation did have some really big differences.

The entire island is peppered with mosques for the call to prayer, round-abouts like in England, and loads of cab drivers who know no fear – nor what blinkers are for. What’s more, one was likely to stop at a red light and look up to see a donkey’s face in the rearview mirror, as elderly Bahraini men were still quite fond of driving their donkey-powered carts on the main roads. One was also quite likely to be given directions based on landmarks (say, the Dairy Queen or Intercontinental Hotel), as there were very few street or road signs at the time.

More attention was paid to fact that one of the Amir’s camels was accidentally hit by a car, than to the injured driver of the vehicle. Camels belonged to the royal family and you did NOT harm them without repercussions. Yes, it definitely took some getting used to the environment, but it was still interesting and fun.

When I joined some girlfriends in our compound for a netball league, they suggested that I apply to a nearby pre-school seeking English-speaking teachers. I would not need formal training or a different wardrobe, only solid references. As it happened, I played netball with some very solid references, so, I threw my hat in the ‘teaching’ ring.

Teaching at the preschool was very straightforward. The private school’s headmistress wanted the children to be spoken to in English, sung to in English, and exposed to nothing but English. The children spoke only Arabic at home, so their parents chose our school to give them their start on a second language. Most of the children spoke NO English whatsoever and it would be my job to teach them the basics. To further that, we played games, chatted about simple, daily activities, and practiced the ABC song together. (If I do say so myself, I’ve always been very good at the ABCs, so the children were getting a top-notch education.)

Every day I met the parents that dropped off and picked up their children. Some of them were proficient in English, but some struggled. If the parents didn’t cart the children around, their maids or drivers did. ALL of them were very proficient in English. I found it easiest to discuss problem students with the maids, since they tended to be more forthcoming about a difficult child’s behavior and possible solutions. They also helped the students with their English studies.

On Valentine’s Day, one student brought me a very pretty homemade card, decorated with markers and glitter. “Thank you!” I exclaimed. “How did you make such a pretty card?” The student looked up, cocked his head at me, and said, “I didn’t. Our maid did it.” (In truth, I suspect it was a fib and my stellar performance of the daily ABC song was getting me big-time bonus points with my students!)

Another student’s maid came to me one morning and handed me a toy cell phone that belonged in my classroom. She explained that her young charge had stolen the toy so she could look more like her mother when they were out in public together. I laughed and said it was not a problem, but the maid disagreed. SHE, not the child, had been chastised and blamed for the fact that the child stole the toy. She had been instructed to return it and apologize. Upset by this, I could only smile and apologize to the maid.

Everyone apologized except the person who needed to, and no waves were caused. It was an odd system, but it’s just the way things worked out there. No matter what the problem or who was at fault, you never knew who had royal family connections, so you said “sorry.” Apologies were the knee-jerk reaction to every problem and the safest way to go for ex-pats. Since most of my students were related to the royal family, something as simple as a pinched toy was no big deal, so long as someone returned it and apologized . . . and no camels were harmed.

So, I tucked the plastic cell phone back into the toy bin… and commenced with the alphabet song. I knew it probably meant nothing to the children as I sang and pointed to the English letters on the wall, but I was determined to drill at least one Americanism into their little heads before the semester was finished.

Soon the end of the year was upon us, and I looked around the classroom at all we had accomplished. There were cartoon-decorated bulletin boards, students’ colored pictures everywhere, English alphabet friezes, and a few student papers with gold stars affixed to them for a job well done. That afternoon as my students filed out of the classroom, I watched them carefully and tried to determine what I had taught them, if anything, over the last few months. When my last student’s mother came to my room and began to pack up the child’s things to leave, I heard her inquire in heavily accented English, “What did you do today, Habibi?”

The reply from the Bahraini student, in a perfect, nasal, Michigan accent was, “Aw, nuthin’. We just sang that stupid ABC song AGAIN.”

Victory was mine.

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