Abolaji Odalipupo
Nigeria
ESOL 400
Fall 2009
Just like any other day in Netcom Africa Limited, I could not predict my activities for the day. Hence, I made no promise to anyone as regards to time, visits or any related activities. It was like I was married to the job. On that very day, there were lots of phone calls streaming in from the customers, lodging complaints about erratic wireless internet service. The customer support staff was overwhelmed by the load of the “trouble calls.” A first line support was given remotely to the aggrieved customers, but it did not suffice. The issue was referred to the technical department, which showed that all the affected customers were clustered around the same serving base (wireless transmitting) station. I worked as a 3G field engineer. Within few moments of troubleshooting, it was realized that a physical presence would be needed at the affected base station.
My supervisor assigned me to the task. I quickly fetched my tool kit and ensured I had the right equipment in my bag. I dashed out of the office and headed straight to the vehicle to transport me to the site.
The Apapa base station was about twenty-five minutes drive from the office, which was located on Victoria Island. A drive out of the ever busy Victoria Island through the tightly clenched traffic at the peak of the day, to the Apapa on the mainland, which had its own slowly creeping traffic owing to the seaport’s location, would be nothing less than forty-five minutes. I was the man at that moment. The slightest thing I wanted was to receive a call from the Chief Technical Officer (CTO).
Chinedu, the driver of the vehicle, headed towards Apapa. As fate would have it, the road was slightly congested with traffic. He maneuvered vehicle through and out of Victoria Island. I still had time on my side. In less than fifteen minutes, we were at the bridge descending into Apapa. We drove along the road, which led us to a round-about, where we had to make a right turn. As the road bent, I felt blood surged through my head at the ugly sight just in front of me. It was like a rat walking into a trap. Chinedu quickly realized this and tried to renegotiate to another route but it was instantaneously impossible. Several vehicles had queued behind us. I was stuck. A trailer with a full load had turned on its side, blocking the access road. In a twinkling of an eye, the traffic dramatically built so heavily such that vehicles were at stand still. I knew I had to improvise. While I raked my brain for ideas, I saw an okada pass by.
I quickly rolled down the side window and called out. The okada rider looked towards the direction of the origin of the voice and our eyes made contact. I signaled to him to stop. “Chinedu, meet me at the base station,” I said to the driver, and I alighted from the vehicle.
“Duala Street,” I said to the okada rider and briskly got myself on the bike. He rode off without negotiating the fare with his passenger. It was a matter of urgency and circumstances, which he realized. In less than ten minutes, I was at the base station. I got off the okada and paid him his fare, which he told me at that point. It was worth the time saved though exorbitant on a good day. I dashed to the base station container, opened it and began to troubleshoot. A rectifier was burnt; hence the equipment had to shut down some redundant components and operated at a low output level. In less than five minutes, the faulty rectifier was replaced, and the station went back to an optimal state with subscribers’ connectivity increasing. Calls came in on my phone. “Bolaji, you saved the day,” most of my callers voiced on the phone. I thought I saved the day, but really, I did not.
An okada is a commercial motorcycle in Nigeria, in which the motorcycle okada riders transport passengers to their destination at a fare. It is one of the major types of transportation in Nigeria, and by far, the most common form of informal transport in the country. Okadas have become ubiquitous because they take you to your destination on time, they go where other land transport cannot get you, and most importantly, they cut through traffic like a knife through butter. Not to mention, they are available all around the cities.
In the major cities like Lagos, where traffic congestion with inevitable delays are present, an okada comes into play and literally rescues countless helpless people from the chaos. On the other hand, there are menaces attached to this form of transportation. The most prominent ones being incessant accidents, reckless riding and crime perpetration, to mention a few. These have raised lots of discussions and deliberations on its abolishment. Nonetheless, it still has its good days. Sometimes I wondered what a transportation system would be like without the okada.
When I came to the US, I did not expect to see an okada but I was anxious to see a transport system that addresses the role okadas play back at home. My point of destination in America was Newark in New Jersey. There were a lot of intriguing things about my new abode, such as a switch being flipped in opposite direction, as compared to the way it was done back at home when switching on an electrical light. Another example was the building structures around Newark residential area. I found it difficult to remember places, as every street appeared similar to me. I looked for landmarks for recognition, but every house seemed so identical, as opposed to houses in Lagos, which are built in various designs. Hence, it would be possible to remember a peculiar building, and associate it with a street, when it is sighted. After three weeks of stay, I still did not go out myself because I had not been familiar with the routes. My brother, Ayo, dropped me at school when he had the chance or at Washington Park when his schedule was tight. There, I would catch bus 28 to Montclair State University (MSU). I knew it was a process that would be short-lived; hence I hoped to familiarize myself as soon as possible.
One morning, Ayo called to inform me that he would not be able to drop me off as usual, and then I realized it was sooner than I thought. I was given the description of where and when to catch a bus to downtown Newark, and instructions on making my way to the bus station.
I left earlier than usual in order to offset the time to be spent on the bus. I memorized this and actually got on the right bus, but on the wrong side of the road. I was taken towards the opposite direction of my intended destination. Oh Lord, how could this be! I did not know where I was. I informed the bus driver and he told me to get down at the next stop, and wait to catch another bus going in the opposite direction to the downtown. My time was running out. I walked up to a young man and explained myself to him, and fortunately he said he would be heading towards my destination, Broad Street, in a moment. I had to wait for him for a ride.
At the bus station, I guess I was not conscious of the bus timing. I saw bus 11 slowed down towards me. It read Montclair-Willowbrook, so I went on board. I never remembered using bus 11 before then. The bus passed along the route I was aware of, Bloomfield Avenue, but it suddenly changed route.
I did not want another mistake; quickly I pushed the stop button to stop. The bus driver gave me a transfer ticket and showed me where I could catch bus 28 to MSU. It was just a stone’s throw away. I heaved a sigh of relief. “I would still be on time for my classes,” I thought. Then I waited for my bus to come, but it did not. I asked a woman standing with me at the bus stop and she replied that she was from New York and so returning back. I looked at my watch; I had twenty minutes before my class started. I thought I had to do something. “Montclair is unlike Newark, where there are more activities. It is more serene and the people seem to be more mindful about them selves,” the thought went through on my mind. I thought of getting a cab, but there were none that came my way. I was blank with ideas. I was in a complete dilemma and felt homesick. “I wish there were okadas here,” I thought. In this typical situation, it would have been my best option. Even if I was not used to the town, I could still make my way to my intended destination. Lo! There weren’t any. I could not stop a car for ride, because I did not know how it would be perceived.
I was on Park Street. I often looked from the bus window to the street as I was transported to and from MSU, so I figured the walk could not be more than twenty-five minutes. I resorted to walking to MSU, so I set out on the sidewalk. I walked on Park Street with the hope it would be less than five minutes, but it seemed endless. I knew the route I should follow; Park Street would lead me onto Valley Road. Valley Road would lead me onto Normal Avenue. That was the bus route which I knew. I did not know any other shortcut, hence I could not experiment. At the junction where Park Street intersects Valley Road, I knew I had to ask someone for the right turn I should make or else it would be the greatest mistake I could have made. I had to wait for a passerby to come. I was getting tired, and I was about twenty-five minutes late for my first class. I wondered if I was worthy of blame for my mishap or who or what should be responsible for it. I valued the relevance of okada at that time. My duration on Valley Road was almost twice as much as I spent on Park Street. Not too long, I heard a huge vehicle’s engine from behind, and then the vehicle briskly passed me by. It was bus 28. Bitterness swept me as I languidly moved my body on the road. By the time I eventually got to school, I missed my first class, and was also late for the second class. There was no okada to save my day as it did when I was held up in Apapa. Then, I acknowledged that it was the okada that saved the day at Apapa.
Here I am, in New Jersey. I realized I had to figure out the best means amongst the available transportation that will suit me the most. Soon, I realized that the train is a lot faster and a better alternative for me. I have to memorize the schedule and be on time. I have also learned the alternative buses I can catch to and from my home to downtown Newark. From there, I will walk to the Broad Street station to catch the train. Now I have options and I have readily adapted.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Thursday, June 19, 2008
New Country, New Food, New Life
Ananya Sengupta
India
ESOL 400
Spring 2008
My first day in the US was on April 9th, 2006. I landed in O’Hare International Airport, Chicago at around 11:30 pm with my husband. I can still remember the day oops!!! the night, or you can say, “A windy, chilly, night welcomed me.” After going through all the immigration formalities, finally we succeeded in coming out of the airport. By that time, both of us were totally exhausted and my husband told me, “Please take care of the luggage and let me call a cab.’’ I was standing outside the airport door wearing a light cotton top, jeans, and a pair of sandals. After a few minutes, I felt that my whole body was freezing. In my whole life I had never felt so cold. Ironically, when I was coming from India, it was a hot summer day! I noticed suddenly that every passenger who was passing by that door was giving me an odd look. I was feeling embarrassed and ashamed for my wrong attire. After a few minutes, my husband arrived with the cab, and we headed towards our hotel. It was dark, but still with exhausted eyes, filled with excitement, I was looking at the roads and getting amazed. The roads were so big and cars were moving without any sound of horns (which I was used to) and above all, everyone was driving on the wrong side. (In India, we do right-hand driving.)
We reached the hotel, “Extended Stay America,” booked by my husband’s company for us. We couldn’t sleep the whole night due to our jet lag as it is daytime in India and the biological clock requires some time to adjust. I wanted to go to the bathroom, and my husband had just closed his eyes after trying to sleep for a long time. I whispered in his ears, “Hey! I can’t switch on the light. All the switches are fixed in the wrong direction.” (In India, switches are turned on and off in the opposite direction.) I was confused and worried and saying to myself, “What a country it is! People drive sitting in the wrong direction, and the position of the switches is also in the wrong direction. Everything seems to be peculiar here.”
The next morning, we went to a nearby shop to get some food. I didn’t have any warm clothes with me as I mentioned earlier, so I wore my husband’s sweater, and it was just double my size. My husband was in the US for couple of years before me, so he was familiar with frozen foods. He decided to take a few of them as we had a microwave in our hotel room. However, I didn’t have any knowledge about this kind of food. (In India we don’t get frozen food in markets. We always buy raw vegetables and meats that we have to cook before we eat.)
After coming home, I asked my husband, “Okay, Shall we eat now?” as I was excited to taste the new kind of food. He microwaved something and called me “Come on Honey! Taste it.” I asked him, “What is it? You have not cooked it properly, I think. How can it be all white? It should be colored! I know that it is frozen and you don’t have to cook it, but still you must have to add some green chilies, red chilies, and turmeric powder to it.” My husband didn’t say a word and just gave me a sweet smile. “Please taste it first.” I tasted it and I swear couldn’t tolerate it for a second, threw it out and shouted at him, “Do you think me a fool! I might be new to this country, but how you could think that I have forgotten the taste of food, and you could feed me whatever you like!” He again gave me a sweet smile and said, “Its America’s favorite food, Mac n Cheese.” Whenever I remember this now after almost two years of my stay in this country, I feel so embarrassed and laugh at myself because now it’s my favorite food too. I cook it and love to eat it.
India
ESOL 400
Spring 2008
My first day in the US was on April 9th, 2006. I landed in O’Hare International Airport, Chicago at around 11:30 pm with my husband. I can still remember the day oops!!! the night, or you can say, “A windy, chilly, night welcomed me.” After going through all the immigration formalities, finally we succeeded in coming out of the airport. By that time, both of us were totally exhausted and my husband told me, “Please take care of the luggage and let me call a cab.’’ I was standing outside the airport door wearing a light cotton top, jeans, and a pair of sandals. After a few minutes, I felt that my whole body was freezing. In my whole life I had never felt so cold. Ironically, when I was coming from India, it was a hot summer day! I noticed suddenly that every passenger who was passing by that door was giving me an odd look. I was feeling embarrassed and ashamed for my wrong attire. After a few minutes, my husband arrived with the cab, and we headed towards our hotel. It was dark, but still with exhausted eyes, filled with excitement, I was looking at the roads and getting amazed. The roads were so big and cars were moving without any sound of horns (which I was used to) and above all, everyone was driving on the wrong side. (In India, we do right-hand driving.)
We reached the hotel, “Extended Stay America,” booked by my husband’s company for us. We couldn’t sleep the whole night due to our jet lag as it is daytime in India and the biological clock requires some time to adjust. I wanted to go to the bathroom, and my husband had just closed his eyes after trying to sleep for a long time. I whispered in his ears, “Hey! I can’t switch on the light. All the switches are fixed in the wrong direction.” (In India, switches are turned on and off in the opposite direction.) I was confused and worried and saying to myself, “What a country it is! People drive sitting in the wrong direction, and the position of the switches is also in the wrong direction. Everything seems to be peculiar here.”
The next morning, we went to a nearby shop to get some food. I didn’t have any warm clothes with me as I mentioned earlier, so I wore my husband’s sweater, and it was just double my size. My husband was in the US for couple of years before me, so he was familiar with frozen foods. He decided to take a few of them as we had a microwave in our hotel room. However, I didn’t have any knowledge about this kind of food. (In India we don’t get frozen food in markets. We always buy raw vegetables and meats that we have to cook before we eat.)
After coming home, I asked my husband, “Okay, Shall we eat now?” as I was excited to taste the new kind of food. He microwaved something and called me “Come on Honey! Taste it.” I asked him, “What is it? You have not cooked it properly, I think. How can it be all white? It should be colored! I know that it is frozen and you don’t have to cook it, but still you must have to add some green chilies, red chilies, and turmeric powder to it.” My husband didn’t say a word and just gave me a sweet smile. “Please taste it first.” I tasted it and I swear couldn’t tolerate it for a second, threw it out and shouted at him, “Do you think me a fool! I might be new to this country, but how you could think that I have forgotten the taste of food, and you could feed me whatever you like!” He again gave me a sweet smile and said, “Its America’s favorite food, Mac n Cheese.” Whenever I remember this now after almost two years of my stay in this country, I feel so embarrassed and laugh at myself because now it’s my favorite food too. I cook it and love to eat it.
Deeply in Love
Diana Al-Alawneh
Jordan
ESOL 400
Spring 2008
“Good morning, sweetheart; how are you feeling today?” my husband whispered.
“I’m fine. It’s just that the baby was kicking all night,” I said. “Try to get some sleep,
I have to go to work now,” my husband said.
It was a beautiful sunny morning of October, 2008. I looked at my son Baker. He was deeply sleeping. I covered him with a blanket and went to the kitchen. “Oh, breakfast is ready,” I whispered to myself. My husband prepared it before he went to work. He is indeed a wonderful man. After I finished eating, I got up and started looking in the mirror as usual, measuring my belly. “Wow, the baby is growing very fast!” I said to myself. At that time, I was 8 months pregnant, and I was feeling very heavy and tired. I took my cup of coffee and looked at an album of pictures that I found near the couch. I think my husband had left it there. I stopped at a picture of my father hugging my mom. My mom looked very tired and pale. I stared at the
picture for a while; I remember those days; it was a horrible time.
I was 9 years old when my mom was six and a half months pregnant. I came back from school; it was a hot summer day. “Hi, Diana. How was your school?” my mom asked. “As usual,” I answered. “How do you feel, mom? Do you still feel dizzy?” I asked. “Oh baby, don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine,” she answered. “Are you going to see the doctor today?” I asked. “Yes dear, I have some tests to do. Now go and change before your father comes from work,” my mother rushed me. I smiled and went to my room to change. I was taking off my uniform when my father arrived, and I heard him whispering to my mom, “How do you feel sweetheart?” “I think something is wrong with me; this pregnancy is very hard, and I keep feeling dizzy,” my mom answered. “But isn’t that how you’re suppose to feel?” my father wondered. “Yes, but not at six and a half months,” my mom answered.
I remember that week my mom went to the hospital three times, but the fourth time was different. I woke up in the middle of the night at the sound of my father making a phone call. I jumped out of the bed, and I saw my father rushing to the bedroom. He was very worried; I ran to my mom’s room, where she was lying without any motion, and blood was running from her nose. I will never forget that moment when my father looked at me with teary eyes. “I’ll take your mom to the hospital now, and I asked your aunt to come and spend the day with you and your brother.” At that moment, I started crying. “Is mom going to be all right?” I asked. My father hugged me and said, “Your mom is a strong wonderful woman, and with that big heart she can beat anything.”
I heard the door bill ringing. “Hi, Omar. How are you? Where is Diana? I missed you guys,” my aunt said. “She is in her room crying,” my brother answered. I hated him for that because I don’t like anyone to see me crying, but she was my mom and I would give up my soul for her. I washed away my tears and went out to say hi. My aunt hugged me and assured me that everything would be fine. I asked her if I could go to Dana’s house. She was and is my best friend, and I knew she was the only one who could make me feel better.
I came back home when my aunt was on the phone talking to my dad. It seemed that my mother’s platelets were very low and her body was rejecting the baby and considering it a foreign body, and that caused the immune system to produce a large number of antibodies. Of course, at that age I didn’t know that, but after I grew up, my mom told us what had happened. The doctors recommended surgery to remove the baby, but the condition of my mom’s blood did not allow them to perform the surgery. First, they kept trying, but every time they
gave her platelets, the number went down. At that time, a doctor named Hani heard of my mother’s condition, and he was an expert in platelets and the ABO system (the blood type system). He talked to my mom and dad and explained to them what he was about to do, and that it might fail. My mom approved, but my father was very worried. My mom asked the doctor with a worried tone, “What about my baby? The doctors told me that there is a chance that he might not survive!” “It’s all in the hands of God, but I promise to do my best,” the
doctor said.
It was the night before the day of the operation and we were all gathered in mom’s room, and my father was holding one of her hands while I was holding the other hand. She kissed me and looked at my father. “my kids are part of my soul, please take good care of them,” my mom said. My father said nothing. He kept looking into her eyes.
Dr Hani extracted a large number of platelets from a horse’s blood and inserted the whole amount into mom’s blood system, and then he immediately rushed her to the operating room and took the baby out. The surgery went just fine and everything was good. The baby was healthy and adorable. “Mom, what is his name?” I asked. “Hani,” my father answered with a big smile on his face. He held my mom’s hand and looked at her “Mariana, you are a wonderful woman, and I love you more than anyone ever loved someone in this world.”
“Mama.” I looked up and there was my son Baker; I hugged him so hard. When he looked at the picture in my hands and started screaming, “Grandma, Grandma,” I couldn’t keep myself from crying and thanking my God for giving me such a wonderful family. A month later, I had a baby girl. She is very beautiful, and her name is Mariana.
I really miss my mom and dad and I can’t wait for the summer to come so I can go and visit them back in Jordan.
Jordan
ESOL 400
Spring 2008
“Good morning, sweetheart; how are you feeling today?” my husband whispered.
“I’m fine. It’s just that the baby was kicking all night,” I said. “Try to get some sleep,
I have to go to work now,” my husband said.
It was a beautiful sunny morning of October, 2008. I looked at my son Baker. He was deeply sleeping. I covered him with a blanket and went to the kitchen. “Oh, breakfast is ready,” I whispered to myself. My husband prepared it before he went to work. He is indeed a wonderful man. After I finished eating, I got up and started looking in the mirror as usual, measuring my belly. “Wow, the baby is growing very fast!” I said to myself. At that time, I was 8 months pregnant, and I was feeling very heavy and tired. I took my cup of coffee and looked at an album of pictures that I found near the couch. I think my husband had left it there. I stopped at a picture of my father hugging my mom. My mom looked very tired and pale. I stared at the
picture for a while; I remember those days; it was a horrible time.
I was 9 years old when my mom was six and a half months pregnant. I came back from school; it was a hot summer day. “Hi, Diana. How was your school?” my mom asked. “As usual,” I answered. “How do you feel, mom? Do you still feel dizzy?” I asked. “Oh baby, don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine,” she answered. “Are you going to see the doctor today?” I asked. “Yes dear, I have some tests to do. Now go and change before your father comes from work,” my mother rushed me. I smiled and went to my room to change. I was taking off my uniform when my father arrived, and I heard him whispering to my mom, “How do you feel sweetheart?” “I think something is wrong with me; this pregnancy is very hard, and I keep feeling dizzy,” my mom answered. “But isn’t that how you’re suppose to feel?” my father wondered. “Yes, but not at six and a half months,” my mom answered.
I remember that week my mom went to the hospital three times, but the fourth time was different. I woke up in the middle of the night at the sound of my father making a phone call. I jumped out of the bed, and I saw my father rushing to the bedroom. He was very worried; I ran to my mom’s room, where she was lying without any motion, and blood was running from her nose. I will never forget that moment when my father looked at me with teary eyes. “I’ll take your mom to the hospital now, and I asked your aunt to come and spend the day with you and your brother.” At that moment, I started crying. “Is mom going to be all right?” I asked. My father hugged me and said, “Your mom is a strong wonderful woman, and with that big heart she can beat anything.”
I heard the door bill ringing. “Hi, Omar. How are you? Where is Diana? I missed you guys,” my aunt said. “She is in her room crying,” my brother answered. I hated him for that because I don’t like anyone to see me crying, but she was my mom and I would give up my soul for her. I washed away my tears and went out to say hi. My aunt hugged me and assured me that everything would be fine. I asked her if I could go to Dana’s house. She was and is my best friend, and I knew she was the only one who could make me feel better.
I came back home when my aunt was on the phone talking to my dad. It seemed that my mother’s platelets were very low and her body was rejecting the baby and considering it a foreign body, and that caused the immune system to produce a large number of antibodies. Of course, at that age I didn’t know that, but after I grew up, my mom told us what had happened. The doctors recommended surgery to remove the baby, but the condition of my mom’s blood did not allow them to perform the surgery. First, they kept trying, but every time they
gave her platelets, the number went down. At that time, a doctor named Hani heard of my mother’s condition, and he was an expert in platelets and the ABO system (the blood type system). He talked to my mom and dad and explained to them what he was about to do, and that it might fail. My mom approved, but my father was very worried. My mom asked the doctor with a worried tone, “What about my baby? The doctors told me that there is a chance that he might not survive!” “It’s all in the hands of God, but I promise to do my best,” the
doctor said.
It was the night before the day of the operation and we were all gathered in mom’s room, and my father was holding one of her hands while I was holding the other hand. She kissed me and looked at my father. “my kids are part of my soul, please take good care of them,” my mom said. My father said nothing. He kept looking into her eyes.
Dr Hani extracted a large number of platelets from a horse’s blood and inserted the whole amount into mom’s blood system, and then he immediately rushed her to the operating room and took the baby out. The surgery went just fine and everything was good. The baby was healthy and adorable. “Mom, what is his name?” I asked. “Hani,” my father answered with a big smile on his face. He held my mom’s hand and looked at her “Mariana, you are a wonderful woman, and I love you more than anyone ever loved someone in this world.”
“Mama.” I looked up and there was my son Baker; I hugged him so hard. When he looked at the picture in my hands and started screaming, “Grandma, Grandma,” I couldn’t keep myself from crying and thanking my God for giving me such a wonderful family. A month later, I had a baby girl. She is very beautiful, and her name is Mariana.
I really miss my mom and dad and I can’t wait for the summer to come so I can go and visit them back in Jordan.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Alone Abroad
Doniyor Askarov
Uzbekistan
ESOL 173
Spring 2008
Living in a tropical climate, in a country thousands of miles away from your homeland, among people speaking a totally different language and eating food absolutely unknown to you can all be very challenging and shocking, yet travel undeniably broadens your mind and leaves its mark on your life. What happened to me in Malaysia can further prove the point.
It all goes back to the summer of 2005 when my parents, tired of routine work and life, decided to get away to some island. Oddly enough, of all places, Malaysia happened to be their holiday destination. Having recently come of age, I decided to tell my parents that I was not going to Malaysia, since I had already made my summer plans. On the one hand, however, the idea to explore such an exotic country as Malaysia certainly appealed to me, but on the other hand, spending the summer on my own with my friends seemed much more exciting. However hard I tried to avoid tagging along, my hopes were eventually dashed by my father’s harsh and unyielding adamancy. " Don’t get all carried away with those summer plans of yours; you ain’t goin’ nowhere without us," my father harshly replied to me after I had plucked up the courage and hinted that I would prefer staying to going to Malaysia. So there I was, all sulky and down, on a long and boring flight bound for Malaysia.
Upon arriving, I was astonished at the intensity of the humidity that filled my lungs as soon as I took the first breath, which made me feel pretty dizzy and all the more gloomy because the thought of my friends partying and having fun without me kept haunting me. As humid as Malaysia was, the process of our acclimatization did not seem to have any effect on us whatsoever.
Our first destination on the way to the island was the capital city, Kuala Lumpur, a bustling business city, yet the tourists seemed as though they were the only population. Much to my surprise, the city did not appear to be a jungle with monkeys jumping from tree to tree or palms with bananas hanging down from them as I had initially imagined, but in fact, it was an industrial city with sky-high buildings and a modernized way of living. In addition to that, the sight of the tallest twin skyscrapers on earth not only made me stagger but also filled me with great respect toward the Malaysian people, who at a mind-boggling pace have developed from a colonized and poor state into a prosperous and wealthy one. Funnily enough, the only thing that repelled us was the Malaysian cuisine, which we found to be extremely exotic. Come to think of it, our dinner at a local restaurant probably was the most awkward situation in my life. Curious as to what Malaysian cuisine is like, we went to the best Malaysian restaurant where we were warmly welcomed and served their best meal. What seemed like delicious-looking meals on the menu was, in fact, a table full of some of the most disgusting "delicacies" we had ever been offered. Already seated at the table and not wanting to even try the meal, we could not think of anything better than to stand up and say that we had to run because there was an emergency.
Towards the end of our vacation, my mother told me that she and Dad had decided that I should stay and learn English, as it was Malaysia’s second language. At that moment, it all became apparent to me that my parents had killed two birds with one stone, meaning that they had had a vacation and brought me all the way down to a country where I could learn English, which I had been so reluctant to do and opposed to doing. Suddenly I realized that they must have known all along that they would have me stay on, and that I should have agreed to go to the USA when asked back home because now it seemed much better by comparison with Malaysia.
So there I was, forced to stay on my own, studying in a language center with many other international students from practically all over the world. Never before in my life had I ever seen such a diversity of people coming from all the continents of the world, and the only language that we could communicate with was broken English. Through many social activities and struggles, I eventually achieved mastery of the English language. Speaking the most used language in the world, I realized that I was capable of communicating with the whole world, exploring other cultures, perceptions of the world, traditions and so forth. Moreover, I began to appreciate the importance of academic aspirations and successes as I saw the possibilities and the fruits that could be ultimately enjoyed.
Upon completion of the whole course in the language center, I returned to my country. I thanked my parents for having given me such an opportunity that I had foolishly ignored long before, and they replied: "Don’t get all carried away yet. You have another trip and this time to the United States of America." I smiled and hugged them tightly because I knew they did not want me to stop at what I had already accomplished and simply because I had missed them like crazy.
So here I am studying in one of the most prestigious universities in the state of New Jersey, where the diversity of ethnic groups and the possibilities seem to be even greater!
Uzbekistan
ESOL 173
Spring 2008
Living in a tropical climate, in a country thousands of miles away from your homeland, among people speaking a totally different language and eating food absolutely unknown to you can all be very challenging and shocking, yet travel undeniably broadens your mind and leaves its mark on your life. What happened to me in Malaysia can further prove the point.
It all goes back to the summer of 2005 when my parents, tired of routine work and life, decided to get away to some island. Oddly enough, of all places, Malaysia happened to be their holiday destination. Having recently come of age, I decided to tell my parents that I was not going to Malaysia, since I had already made my summer plans. On the one hand, however, the idea to explore such an exotic country as Malaysia certainly appealed to me, but on the other hand, spending the summer on my own with my friends seemed much more exciting. However hard I tried to avoid tagging along, my hopes were eventually dashed by my father’s harsh and unyielding adamancy. " Don’t get all carried away with those summer plans of yours; you ain’t goin’ nowhere without us," my father harshly replied to me after I had plucked up the courage and hinted that I would prefer staying to going to Malaysia. So there I was, all sulky and down, on a long and boring flight bound for Malaysia.
Upon arriving, I was astonished at the intensity of the humidity that filled my lungs as soon as I took the first breath, which made me feel pretty dizzy and all the more gloomy because the thought of my friends partying and having fun without me kept haunting me. As humid as Malaysia was, the process of our acclimatization did not seem to have any effect on us whatsoever.
Our first destination on the way to the island was the capital city, Kuala Lumpur, a bustling business city, yet the tourists seemed as though they were the only population. Much to my surprise, the city did not appear to be a jungle with monkeys jumping from tree to tree or palms with bananas hanging down from them as I had initially imagined, but in fact, it was an industrial city with sky-high buildings and a modernized way of living. In addition to that, the sight of the tallest twin skyscrapers on earth not only made me stagger but also filled me with great respect toward the Malaysian people, who at a mind-boggling pace have developed from a colonized and poor state into a prosperous and wealthy one. Funnily enough, the only thing that repelled us was the Malaysian cuisine, which we found to be extremely exotic. Come to think of it, our dinner at a local restaurant probably was the most awkward situation in my life. Curious as to what Malaysian cuisine is like, we went to the best Malaysian restaurant where we were warmly welcomed and served their best meal. What seemed like delicious-looking meals on the menu was, in fact, a table full of some of the most disgusting "delicacies" we had ever been offered. Already seated at the table and not wanting to even try the meal, we could not think of anything better than to stand up and say that we had to run because there was an emergency.
Towards the end of our vacation, my mother told me that she and Dad had decided that I should stay and learn English, as it was Malaysia’s second language. At that moment, it all became apparent to me that my parents had killed two birds with one stone, meaning that they had had a vacation and brought me all the way down to a country where I could learn English, which I had been so reluctant to do and opposed to doing. Suddenly I realized that they must have known all along that they would have me stay on, and that I should have agreed to go to the USA when asked back home because now it seemed much better by comparison with Malaysia.
So there I was, forced to stay on my own, studying in a language center with many other international students from practically all over the world. Never before in my life had I ever seen such a diversity of people coming from all the continents of the world, and the only language that we could communicate with was broken English. Through many social activities and struggles, I eventually achieved mastery of the English language. Speaking the most used language in the world, I realized that I was capable of communicating with the whole world, exploring other cultures, perceptions of the world, traditions and so forth. Moreover, I began to appreciate the importance of academic aspirations and successes as I saw the possibilities and the fruits that could be ultimately enjoyed.
Upon completion of the whole course in the language center, I returned to my country. I thanked my parents for having given me such an opportunity that I had foolishly ignored long before, and they replied: "Don’t get all carried away yet. You have another trip and this time to the United States of America." I smiled and hugged them tightly because I knew they did not want me to stop at what I had already accomplished and simply because I had missed them like crazy.
So here I am studying in one of the most prestigious universities in the state of New Jersey, where the diversity of ethnic groups and the possibilities seem to be even greater!
Interview with Basel
Diana Al-Alawneh
Jordan
ESOL 400
Spring 2008
This interview is with an old family friend that I adore. His name is Basel. He was recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, and I thought that he might be the right person for my interview.
It was the afternoon of March 1, 2008 when I saw Basel and his wife getting closer to my the door of my house. I was very nervous and excited at the same time. I hadn’tseen him for long a time; I think the last time I saw him was three months ago when I had my baby. At that time, Basel was not diagnosed with the disease yet, but his wife was complaining about him forgetting too much and becoming very nervous, and that was causing them many problems with relatives and friends, and she mentioned something about him seeing a doctor. Two months later, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.
I opened the door; he didn’t seem much different; he was smiling as usual. “Hi, Diana,you look great,” Basel said. “Please come in; I’m so happy to see you.” I said. They sat on their favorite couch, and he took the glass of water that was on the table near some cookies and the tea that I had prepared for them. His wife apologized and said that she had some work to do in the office, and she would be back after one hour. I closed the door behind her and went to the living room, where Basel was smiling. “She thinks that I have forgotten how to drive. She is watching me as if I were her child; that is really frustrating,” he complained. “Please, have some cookies. You know how much she loves you; she doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. You must not underestimate your disease.” I said.
“So, what is Alzheimer’s disease?” I asked. He took a cookie and had a bite “At first, I didn’t know much about it, but then the doctors explained it to me. Alzheimer’s disease is a brain disease where brain cells are destroyed, causing problems with memory and behavior,” he answered. “What causes this disease? Is it a virus or what?” I wondered.“They don’t know exactly, but part of it is inherited genetically,” he answered.
I poured some tea in his cup; he took the cup; at that moment I felt very sorry for him. He is a very smart guy; he has a doctoral degree in petroleum engineering and has a very good career, which he loves very much; he got married four years ago and has two boys. I can’t believe that he is going to lose all that. I can’t imagine that one day he might not recognize his own son. I’m sure that is what he thinks of all the time. “Do you feel depressed?” I asked in a sad way. “Yes, when I realize that my memory and ability to function is getting worse, I feel very depressed; I’m going to lose my identity. I will not be able to remember my wife, my children, my knowledge.” He said that and the tone of his voice changed; it was more like he was choking with words.
It was the afternoon of March 1, 2008 when I saw Basel and his wife getting closer to my the door of my house. I was very nervous and excited at the same time. I hadn’tseen him for long a time; I think the last time I saw him was three months ago when I had my baby. At that time, Basel was not diagnosed with the disease yet, but his wife was complaining about him forgetting too much and becoming very nervous, and that was causing them many problems with relatives and friends, and she mentioned something about him seeing a doctor. Two months later, he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease.
I opened the door; he didn’t seem much different; he was smiling as usual. “Hi, Diana,you look great,” Basel said. “Please come in; I’m so happy to see you.” I said. They sat on their favorite couch, and he took the glass of water that was on the table near some cookies and the tea that I had prepared for them. His wife apologized and said that she had some work to do in the office, and she would be back after one hour. I closed the door behind her and went to the living room, where Basel was smiling. “She thinks that I have forgotten how to drive. She is watching me as if I were her child; that is really frustrating,” he complained. “Please, have some cookies. You know how much she loves you; she doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. You must not underestimate your disease.” I said.
“So, what is Alzheimer’s disease?” I asked. He took a cookie and had a bite “At first, I didn’t know much about it, but then the doctors explained it to me. Alzheimer’s disease is a brain disease where brain cells are destroyed, causing problems with memory and behavior,” he answered. “What causes this disease? Is it a virus or what?” I wondered.“They don’t know exactly, but part of it is inherited genetically,” he answered.
I poured some tea in his cup; he took the cup; at that moment I felt very sorry for him. He is a very smart guy; he has a doctoral degree in petroleum engineering and has a very good career, which he loves very much; he got married four years ago and has two boys. I can’t believe that he is going to lose all that. I can’t imagine that one day he might not recognize his own son. I’m sure that is what he thinks of all the time. “Do you feel depressed?” I asked in a sad way. “Yes, when I realize that my memory and ability to function is getting worse, I feel very depressed; I’m going to lose my identity. I will not be able to remember my wife, my children, my knowledge.” He said that and the tone of his voice changed; it was more like he was choking with words.
Suddenly a strange silence was in the room; I couldn’t say anything. I was very close to crying. He looked at me and said, “Don’t you want to know more, or is the interview over?” “Oh, two more questions,” I said, and I felt very embarrassed. “It’s okay, ask whatever you want,” he said. “Is there any treatment? And what are the symptoms of this disease?” I asked. “No treatment has been proven to stop Alzheimer’s disease, but there are some drugs that help prevent some symptoms from becoming worse. There are many signs of this disease and they become more difficult with time,” he answered.
Basel is in his 30s; he is a handsome and a very kind person; it’s really a tragedy to lose such great personality. “How did you know that something was wrong?” I wondered. “At first, I started to forget a lot; in the beginning, it was forgetting simple things, like locking the door or calling someone back, but then it became worse, like forgetting the time or the place. I’m afraid of what is next. The doctors said that I’m going to have problems with the language, and misplacing things. Now I have started to write my memoirs so my children will know the real me, not the sick me.”
He stood up and begged me not to hate him if one day he didn't remember my name. I looked at him and hugged him; he was, is, and always will be that great wonderful guy.
He stood up and begged me not to hate him if one day he didn't remember my name. I looked at him and hugged him; he was, is, and always will be that great wonderful guy.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Relating Reading to Experience: The Fascinating World of Books
Hansa Hasgur
Turkey
ESOL 400
Fall 2007
The person who finds pleasure in reading can never stop it because there is a fascinating world inside books. As LinYutang repeatedly stated in his article “The Art of Reading,” reading is a kind of art (p. 90). Sometimes when you ask some people about their hobbies, they include reading as one of them. For me, reading is such a serious and an important task that it cannot be a hobby because a hobby is an occupation that a person does in his\her leisure time. However, reading books should not be considered as a leisure time activity. If we find pleasure in reading, then we should allocate a special time for it. For this reason, we need to understand reading as a serious job instead of a hobby, which we do to spend or kill time.
As it is stated before, there is a fascinating world inside every book. It does not mean that every book must be read because each person’s taste is different from another. Not every book can address everyone’s tastes, but there is a book which is definitely written for you. As Lin Yutang emphasized in “The Art of Reading,” “There are no books in this world that everybody must read” (p. 92). When someone captures the magic inside the world of books, he/she starts to read passionately. I remember my high school years, which were full of reading. I finished a book every two days. I could not stop myself from reading or I could not think of anything other than the book that I was reading. Those years were really enviable because I cannot read that much right now. After a while, I realized that my vocabulary was enriched fabulously and the words that I used in the conversations started to change. I also started to set up longer and more sophisticated sentences while writing. This fact is true for foreign languages too. When I read books in English it is immediately reflected to my vocabulary and writing. Therefore, we can see another benefit of reading. While reading, we have the opportunity of learning different ideas, cultures and lives, as well as improving or strengthening our vocabulary, speech and writing. However, as Lin Yutang emphasized, if people read to improve their minds, they cannot get pleasure from what they read. I never aim to get those benefits from reading. While reading, the only purpose of mine is to get the pleasure from the book. If I do not enjoy reading a book, I never read it even though it may give me the secret of life. The benefits and enrichment of vocabulary or speech are like “promotions” which come together with reading as a package.
Reading a book is a great way to take a quick immediate break, to be instantly transported into another world. Lin Yutang illustrates this statement in his article by saying that books carry their readers into different worlds (p. 90). When I read books, especially novels, I always go to the places which the novel takes place. When I read Anna Karenina by Tolstoy, I went to the Russia with great excitement, as if I lived at that time. When I read Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With the Wind, I went to Atlanta in 1864, at the time of war and poverty. There is no limit to the places books can take us. In addition, reading opens our mind to new possibilities. It stretches our imagination in new and wonderful directions and takes our mind on a wonderful journey through others’ lives. I always put myself into the position of the characters in the book that I read. When I read Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky, I imagined what I would do if I were Rodion Raskolnikov. Would I prefer a life in poverty or would I go after my obsessions? After killing the old lady, how would I live with the prick of conscience? When I read Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, I sometimes put myself into the position of George, and sometimes Lennie. Would I kill Lennie if I were in the same situation?
Books are capable of provoking many and varied emotional responses. They can make us laugh out loud, they can make tears spill onto the page, they can challenge our core beliefs and thoughts. There is a world of emotion in every book. I remember how I burst into tears at the end of Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. The book was so touching that I finished it in two days. I went to Paris in those days with Jean Valjean and felt the same grief. I sometimes became happy and smiled at his happiness, and sometimes I was frightened by the dangers he faced throughout the book. In addition, I learned a lot from that book about honesty, self-sacrifice for our beloved ones and benevolence. While reading, we become passive contributors of the book. This fact is also stated in Lin Yutang’s article. “The net gain comes as much from the reader’s contribution through his own insight and experience as from the author’s own” (p. 93). We add our own experiences, knowledge, emotions and understandings to the book, which differentiate our benefits from those of other readers of the same book. Those qualities make reading an art and turn us, the readers, to artists.
Some good books can be read a second or third time because those books address every age or every understanding. As Lin Yutang stated in his article “All good books can be read with profit and renewed pleasure a second time” (p.92). When we read a book at the age of seventeen, we get a benefit and pleasure in terms of our understanding. However, when we read it at the age of forty, the benefit and pleasure which we get, will be increased. When I read Crime and Punishment in high school, I did not understand many ideas and concepts. In fact, the book seemed to me very boring. However, when I read it the second time in my university years, I got different benefits and pleasures from the book. In addition, if I really like a book, I can read it a second time giving more attention to the details, or I can read it after two or three years to refresh my memory and get the same pleasure of reading.
I always see the books as the most loyal friends of people. They never have expectations and they never complain about anything. When we feel alone, we go to them and they immediately open their fascinating world without judging us. Books make you forget your loneliness and the relationship between you and books is endless.
Turkey
ESOL 400
Fall 2007
The person who finds pleasure in reading can never stop it because there is a fascinating world inside books. As LinYutang repeatedly stated in his article “The Art of Reading,” reading is a kind of art (p. 90). Sometimes when you ask some people about their hobbies, they include reading as one of them. For me, reading is such a serious and an important task that it cannot be a hobby because a hobby is an occupation that a person does in his\her leisure time. However, reading books should not be considered as a leisure time activity. If we find pleasure in reading, then we should allocate a special time for it. For this reason, we need to understand reading as a serious job instead of a hobby, which we do to spend or kill time.
As it is stated before, there is a fascinating world inside every book. It does not mean that every book must be read because each person’s taste is different from another. Not every book can address everyone’s tastes, but there is a book which is definitely written for you. As Lin Yutang emphasized in “The Art of Reading,” “There are no books in this world that everybody must read” (p. 92). When someone captures the magic inside the world of books, he/she starts to read passionately. I remember my high school years, which were full of reading. I finished a book every two days. I could not stop myself from reading or I could not think of anything other than the book that I was reading. Those years were really enviable because I cannot read that much right now. After a while, I realized that my vocabulary was enriched fabulously and the words that I used in the conversations started to change. I also started to set up longer and more sophisticated sentences while writing. This fact is true for foreign languages too. When I read books in English it is immediately reflected to my vocabulary and writing. Therefore, we can see another benefit of reading. While reading, we have the opportunity of learning different ideas, cultures and lives, as well as improving or strengthening our vocabulary, speech and writing. However, as Lin Yutang emphasized, if people read to improve their minds, they cannot get pleasure from what they read. I never aim to get those benefits from reading. While reading, the only purpose of mine is to get the pleasure from the book. If I do not enjoy reading a book, I never read it even though it may give me the secret of life. The benefits and enrichment of vocabulary or speech are like “promotions” which come together with reading as a package.
Reading a book is a great way to take a quick immediate break, to be instantly transported into another world. Lin Yutang illustrates this statement in his article by saying that books carry their readers into different worlds (p. 90). When I read books, especially novels, I always go to the places which the novel takes place. When I read Anna Karenina by Tolstoy, I went to the Russia with great excitement, as if I lived at that time. When I read Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With the Wind, I went to Atlanta in 1864, at the time of war and poverty. There is no limit to the places books can take us. In addition, reading opens our mind to new possibilities. It stretches our imagination in new and wonderful directions and takes our mind on a wonderful journey through others’ lives. I always put myself into the position of the characters in the book that I read. When I read Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky, I imagined what I would do if I were Rodion Raskolnikov. Would I prefer a life in poverty or would I go after my obsessions? After killing the old lady, how would I live with the prick of conscience? When I read Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, I sometimes put myself into the position of George, and sometimes Lennie. Would I kill Lennie if I were in the same situation?
Books are capable of provoking many and varied emotional responses. They can make us laugh out loud, they can make tears spill onto the page, they can challenge our core beliefs and thoughts. There is a world of emotion in every book. I remember how I burst into tears at the end of Les Miserables by Victor Hugo. The book was so touching that I finished it in two days. I went to Paris in those days with Jean Valjean and felt the same grief. I sometimes became happy and smiled at his happiness, and sometimes I was frightened by the dangers he faced throughout the book. In addition, I learned a lot from that book about honesty, self-sacrifice for our beloved ones and benevolence. While reading, we become passive contributors of the book. This fact is also stated in Lin Yutang’s article. “The net gain comes as much from the reader’s contribution through his own insight and experience as from the author’s own” (p. 93). We add our own experiences, knowledge, emotions and understandings to the book, which differentiate our benefits from those of other readers of the same book. Those qualities make reading an art and turn us, the readers, to artists.
Some good books can be read a second or third time because those books address every age or every understanding. As Lin Yutang stated in his article “All good books can be read with profit and renewed pleasure a second time” (p.92). When we read a book at the age of seventeen, we get a benefit and pleasure in terms of our understanding. However, when we read it at the age of forty, the benefit and pleasure which we get, will be increased. When I read Crime and Punishment in high school, I did not understand many ideas and concepts. In fact, the book seemed to me very boring. However, when I read it the second time in my university years, I got different benefits and pleasures from the book. In addition, if I really like a book, I can read it a second time giving more attention to the details, or I can read it after two or three years to refresh my memory and get the same pleasure of reading.
I always see the books as the most loyal friends of people. They never have expectations and they never complain about anything. When we feel alone, we go to them and they immediately open their fascinating world without judging us. Books make you forget your loneliness and the relationship between you and books is endless.
Analyzing an Argumentative Essay: The Role of Teachers in the Educational Process
Hansa Hasgur
Turkey
ESOL 400
Fall 2007
“Pupils are most like oysters than sausages. The job of teaching is not to stuff them and then seal them up, but to help them open and reveal the riches within” (Harris, p.5). In his article “What True Education Should Do,” Sydney J. Harris stated that true education is to give the opportunity to students to reveal their real capacity, which is actually inside of them, rather than stuffing their brain with information. I partly agree with this idea. For me, education is to give the necessary information and knowledge about various or specific topics to the students and after that, let them add their own interpretations and understandings.
According to Sydney J. Harris, the role of the teacher is to elicit knowledge that students have inside them (Harris, p.5). However, if we say, “All people have the knowledge of everything somewhere inside of them and we should let them be free to show it,” then what is the role of education and teachers? That kind of idea is like expecting a seed to become a tree without putting it into the earth. If we do not put the seed into the earth and irrigate it regularly, we cannot expect it to become a tree. In my opinion, the primary mission of a teacher is putting the seed into the earth and irrigating it with his/her knowledge and experience. Without true knowledge and information, we cannot expect students to become today’s real intellectuals or scientists. There are certain ideas and concepts that students need to internalize. Without any facts, concepts or information, how can students begin to think, and what can they think about?
On the other hand, giving information to students does not mean that stuffing them with information that makes them unable to think. As Harris clearly stated in his article, education is understood by most people as stuffing information into the brains of students (Harris, p.5). That will be a kind of strict education that does not allow students to use their own interpretations or imagination. The most valuable education should be flexible enough to let the students think and learn by themselves, and should lead them with the light of knowledge.
In some countries, education generally depends on rote learning. Teachers or professors make the students learn their lessons by heart. Students learn their lessons by rote just to pass the exams, and after that, all the information is deleted from their minds. They never learn anything in reality. Harris emphasized this situation in his article by quoting from a student, “I spend so much time studying that I don’t have a chance to learn anything” (Harris, p.5). That is not a good form of education. In fact, if students forget everything immediately after the exam, such “learning” is really a waste of time, and is not really “learning” at all. The key factor in successful learning should be critical thinking. If the students can learn how to think critically, it facilitates the process for education both teachers and students.
I agree with Harris that students are not sausages. Each student has his/her own capacity to become successful and waits to reveal it. If we create the most suitable learning environment for them, they will eventually blossom like seeds, which we put into the earth and take care of. However, if we think students as oysters and expect them to reveal their riches without doing anything, there might be no outcome. In order to get good results, we need to give education to the students and encourage them to make their own way. In my opinion, this is the best definition of education.
In education, the role of teacher is to show students the way to success, by encouraging them and helping them to become more confident. Each student has the potential to become an independent thinker. In my opinion, in the educational process it is essential for the students to criticize and discuss opinions to become real intellectuals. The goal of a teacher should be to give the necessary information to the students and then encourage them to become active learners by questioning or discussing the issues. True education should give the specific information to the students which they need in order to become specialists in their field of study, and should teach them how to criticize. The actual duty of teachers is to illuminate the road to success with their knowledge and experience for their students and to guide them to achieve their goals.
Turkey
ESOL 400
Fall 2007
“Pupils are most like oysters than sausages. The job of teaching is not to stuff them and then seal them up, but to help them open and reveal the riches within” (Harris, p.5). In his article “What True Education Should Do,” Sydney J. Harris stated that true education is to give the opportunity to students to reveal their real capacity, which is actually inside of them, rather than stuffing their brain with information. I partly agree with this idea. For me, education is to give the necessary information and knowledge about various or specific topics to the students and after that, let them add their own interpretations and understandings.
According to Sydney J. Harris, the role of the teacher is to elicit knowledge that students have inside them (Harris, p.5). However, if we say, “All people have the knowledge of everything somewhere inside of them and we should let them be free to show it,” then what is the role of education and teachers? That kind of idea is like expecting a seed to become a tree without putting it into the earth. If we do not put the seed into the earth and irrigate it regularly, we cannot expect it to become a tree. In my opinion, the primary mission of a teacher is putting the seed into the earth and irrigating it with his/her knowledge and experience. Without true knowledge and information, we cannot expect students to become today’s real intellectuals or scientists. There are certain ideas and concepts that students need to internalize. Without any facts, concepts or information, how can students begin to think, and what can they think about?
On the other hand, giving information to students does not mean that stuffing them with information that makes them unable to think. As Harris clearly stated in his article, education is understood by most people as stuffing information into the brains of students (Harris, p.5). That will be a kind of strict education that does not allow students to use their own interpretations or imagination. The most valuable education should be flexible enough to let the students think and learn by themselves, and should lead them with the light of knowledge.
In some countries, education generally depends on rote learning. Teachers or professors make the students learn their lessons by heart. Students learn their lessons by rote just to pass the exams, and after that, all the information is deleted from their minds. They never learn anything in reality. Harris emphasized this situation in his article by quoting from a student, “I spend so much time studying that I don’t have a chance to learn anything” (Harris, p.5). That is not a good form of education. In fact, if students forget everything immediately after the exam, such “learning” is really a waste of time, and is not really “learning” at all. The key factor in successful learning should be critical thinking. If the students can learn how to think critically, it facilitates the process for education both teachers and students.
I agree with Harris that students are not sausages. Each student has his/her own capacity to become successful and waits to reveal it. If we create the most suitable learning environment for them, they will eventually blossom like seeds, which we put into the earth and take care of. However, if we think students as oysters and expect them to reveal their riches without doing anything, there might be no outcome. In order to get good results, we need to give education to the students and encourage them to make their own way. In my opinion, this is the best definition of education.
In education, the role of teacher is to show students the way to success, by encouraging them and helping them to become more confident. Each student has the potential to become an independent thinker. In my opinion, in the educational process it is essential for the students to criticize and discuss opinions to become real intellectuals. The goal of a teacher should be to give the necessary information to the students and then encourage them to become active learners by questioning or discussing the issues. True education should give the specific information to the students which they need in order to become specialists in their field of study, and should teach them how to criticize. The actual duty of teachers is to illuminate the road to success with their knowledge and experience for their students and to guide them to achieve their goals.
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