6 Signs You Need a New TEFL Job

We've all been there: you arrive in a new job full of enthusiasm and ideas. A couple of years down the line, some of the joy has gone missing along the way. Here are some signs that it's time to refresh your CV, stick a pin in a globe and go.

1. Little things are annoying you.

Constant, low-level irritation is a sure way to drive you mad. Maybe one teacher slurps his tea too loudly; another one always leaves the classroom in a mess. Maybe they're in the habit of setting their mobile ringtone at full volume and leaving it in their desk in the staffroom while they go to teach a lesson. Maybe the coffee in the staffroom is just terrible. If the small things are irritating you more than they should, time to get out of there.

2. Professional development isn't happening.

If you've been staying in the job just to clock up the number of years' experience, while at the same time seeing no sign of actual professional development, maybe it's time to move on. If you're not encouraged or supported in developing your skills, you'll probably feel pretty demotivated. If there's no reward for striving to be better, then why bother?

3. You don't want to progress.

If you're serious about your TEFL career, you probably want to climb beyond an entry-level teaching position. But if the idea of managing the particular mix of personalities or organising the specific brand of chaos at your school makes your toes curl, best start applying elsewhere.

4. You've 'done' this city.

A picture postcard location can truthfully get pretty boring if you stay there for a long time. Maybe there's just not quite enough to do in your city, or the heat, the cold, the dust or the pollution is starting to grind you down. Maybe you've heard one too many horror stories and want to get out while the going's good. Change it up before you start to hate the place.

5. You've forgotten why you wanted to teach in the first place.

You arrived bursting with excitement and fresh-faced enthusiasm. Now certain things have started to turn you bitter and resentful, such as a negative atmosphere, bureaucracy, bitchiness, gossip, a schedule that wears you out. Avoid getting to the critical point where you're turned off from ever teaching again. A change is as good as a rest.

6. You're making excuses.

"I don't want to have to settle in again somewhere"... "I can't be bothered to sell my bicycle/rehome my cat/clear out my room." Suck it up. Moving is an adventure. Shopping for a new apartment is exciting. Buying a new set of kitsch decorations in a new city is fun. Fussing with visas, work permits, phones and bank accounts is annoying, sure, but it's part of the parcel.

7. The atmosphere is rubbing off on you.

It's easy to do: the environment is bitchy, and then you find yourself constantly bitching about it. People are less than friendly to you, so you respond by becoming less friendly to them. There's a culture of favouritism, and you respond by forming cliques. When you find your job bringing out aspects in yourself that you don't like, time to get out of there before you become bitter and unpleasant, like that terrible staffroom coffee.

Don't Speak That! It's Not Yours...

Does a language 'belong' to its native speakers?

By definition, something that belongs to us is something that we own, control, have control over. We can own a car, yes. If you take my car you're punishable by law. But what if you speak my language? Have I got the right to take your words from your mouth, to tell you you're not welcome in my language?

Are native speakers the ones who make the rules?

When language is borrowed, it is changed. The quirks of EU English, Globish, Chinglish, or any of the miscellaneous mashes of language that people speak every day, show it. Do native speakers have the right to take English back from those who are using it in a different way?

Do native speakers have the right to stop others from using their language?

Can English (or French, Chinese, or Hindi...) be patented, licensed and distributed in controlled amounts?

No.

Language is interchange, currency, commodity. Who owns money? (But who owns it, really?) Who owns electricity? Who owns the air in your lungs?

Language exists in the space between people. By using it, we give it away. When we release language into the world it's subject to interpretation, misunderstanding, judgement, plagiarism, endless mixing and remixing. And then it's not ours any more.

To truly 'own' language we would have to never communicate, to keep it locked up in a box.

If we 'own' language we are like dormant volcanoes.

The true value of language is not in its possession but in its use.

First-world problems in EFL textbooks - a rant and questions

As we all know as ESL teachers, reading lessons are up to 90% less akin to pulling teeth if the students can relate to the reading text. My latest lesson was entirely unrelatable for my students, and it's left me with several burning questions.

First, a description of the text in question.

The text, from a recent British textbook, deals with the well-worn modern cliché of inaccurately self-diagnosing illnesses using the Internet (eg. Googling a headache and thinking you have a brain tumour).

I was aware there was a problem as soon as I tried to lead in to the subject. When you are sick, what do you do? Go to the doctor. Do you ever try to look up your symptoms on the Internet? ...No. Well, that's what we're going to read about today. Ok, teacher.

They politely humoured the lesson, but ultimately couldn't relate to the content at all. It's not that these students don't have access to the Internet - most urban Cambodians have a smartphone and regularly use the Internet. I would guess that they simply don't have the free time or the compulsion to Google every ache and sniffle.

I may be going out on a limb here, but I think "Cyberchondria" is an affliction of bored salaried office workers who desperately hope they might be getting sick enough to take a day off.

In Cambodia, paid sick leave is a rarity, healthcare isn't free, and medicines are often counterfeit or prescribed somewhat haphazardly. Hospitals seem to work on a sort of bribe system; pay more to get treated quicker. You don't go to the doctor or hospital unless you really have to.

So my students' responses to the article ranged from a sheepish "it's a bit stupid" to "if she's sick, she should go to the doctor". The implication: if she isn't sick, she can stop her whingeing.

And so on with other textbook articles that deal with various shades of suburban ennui. Being 'addicted' to travelling, being a 'textaholic', worrying that you're consuming too much sodium because of your job as a professional cheese taster. The absolute horror!

This may sound like a rant against textbooks in general. It isn't. I appreciate that these texts, even if the context is a little far-fetched, are designed to include key vocabulary and reinforce grammar structures that have been recently introduced. I'm a little loath to 'just throw out' chunks of the book.

I'm sure these articles go down a whole lot better in Western Europe, and especially for foreign students who have come to England.

My point is, really, why do people insist on using Britain-centric Oxford textbooks in far-flung locations such as Cambodia? Not just in urban language schools like mine, but also in volunteer-run projects in village pagodas.

When you're in a small tin-roofed classroom building, the view of bright green rice paddies out of the shutters, the smell of incense wafting in from the shrines and the occasional orange-robed monk strolling serenely past, what is really the point of talking about Liam from Surrey who is finding it hard to readjust to his life as an insolvency administrator after his gap year?

I've got more questions than answers about this.

Why do countries such as Cambodia use British-centric textbooks?

I'm under the impression that there are a limited selection of textbooks that are approved by the Cambodian Ministry of Education, and they're mostly British. Why?

Is there a good-quality comprehensive textbook with an international focus?

I've used a few different textbooks, but they've all been overwhelmingly British. I've come across some good internationally-focussed reading/listening books that are good for supplementary material (National Geographic produce some great resources) but not any international General English coursebooks. Are there any?

Are there any General English textbooks that are specifically aimed at use in Asia?

Surely Asia must be the largest market for TEFL. Which textbooks are used in China?

Why are we teaching EFL, not ESOL?

Facts and figures tend to suggest that English has more second-language speakers than native speakers. Instead of using textbooks with sections devoted to quirky idioms and how to use the Tube, why aren't we focusing on teaching second-language speakers how to communicate with each other clearly and effectively in simple, neutral English?

What can we (and I) do?

To redress the balance, I have to adapt and supplement the textbooks, sometimes pretty heavily. I would really like to know if anyone is working on creating modern Asia-centric ESOL resources, plus how I can get involved!

I would welcome discussion and opinions on any of these points! Do you get frustrated with your coursebook? How do you get around it? What can we do to help each other?