The Fix Is In – And
Guess Who It Is
My faithful followers will have no doubt noticed by now a
significant gap in the narrative of my new job: I disappeared right after the start of Fall
semester when everything seemed to be going wrong. At the time I promised to
tell how it was all made right. The fact that there’s an 8-month gap in the
narrative just might give a hint as to what happened thereafter.
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| Dress for success: it works! |
I have never owned a business suit in my entire life—before
this year. I bought four at the thrift store the summer before I left. (In
general, people dress a little nicer in Saudi.) So the first day I ever wore a
suit, I made the biggest career leap in my life. Talk about dress for the job
you want . . . .
Promotion
Fall term had begun, and one week in things weren’t going
well: most of the previous year’s teachers never came back, including the program
Director. About half of the new teachers hadn’t arrived yet. Many student
complaints were pouring in about being placed in the wrong level. Ostensibly
the interim leadership was trying to put out all the fires, but no new
leadership had been named yet.
Labor Day in the US corresponded to the second day of
classes at Alfaisal University. I got a call from the Dean: would I be willing
to assume a leadership position in the UPP? He didn’t have many more details,
but wanted to know if I was willing. While surprised at the offer, I
nonetheless told him yes. After all, a chance for career advancement was one of
the reasons I had come to Saudi Arabia.
On Tuesday of the second week of classes I was called to a
meeting in the Dean’s Office. I had previously met, albeit only briefly, most
of the people in the room; soon we would know each other very well. The Dean
was forming a new leadership structure to lead the UPP: Dr. Joseph, a
personable Muslim convert from Michigan, would be the new Director. He would be
assisted by two Co-Directors: Dr. Mohamed, a Physics professor from Sri Lanka,
and Dr. Tamrika, a Georgian-American
English professor. The new Science Coordinator would be Dr. Amjad, a warm,
witty Palestinian Chemistry prof. And the new English Coordinator? That would
be me.
After one and a half weeks on the job, I was in charge of
457 students, 16 faculty members, and the entire ESL curriculum. Our first
task: reboot the English program.
The Great Reboot
My partner was Ms. Gada, the Dean of Women’s Studies, who
had been serving as Interim Coordinator of the UPP. (Ethnically she’s
Libyan-Turkish but culturally she’s 100% New Yorker.)
We huddled into a “conference room”—aka book storage
closet—to reorganize the entire program. Gada and I looked at comparison charts of
various placement exams (TOEFL, IELTS, CEFR, etc.) and triangulated new cutoffs
for each level. We hurriedly developed a plan of action:- Eliminate the lowest levels (Levels 1 & 2); subsume those students into Levels 3 and 4.
- Come up with a new placement rubric based on the most recent TOEFL scores to calibrate the new level assignments.
- Re-place all the students in the program. Create or eliminate sections as needed.
- Reapportion the teaching assignments, including a double load (sorry!) for the teachers who were covering for faculty who hadn’t arrived yet.
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| The Great Reboot almost killed Glen |
Finally we strategized with our IT guy, the inimitable Mr.
Omran (Jordanian), who helped us figure out the new placement mechanism. Every
student in the program would be disenrolled from his or her current class;
every student would be placed in a new class and/or level. About half the
teachers would be reassigned.
So at the start of Week 3 of Fall semester, the entire
program started over. By this point all the female teachers had arrived; we
were still missing three male instructors (or half of the staff)--two arrived within
a couple weeks; one never came. It felt a lot like doing a transmission job on
a car while it’s driving down the highway: we didn’t crash, but it was rather
harrowing nonetheless.
Teacher, Teacher
One result of the reboot was a second section of my class,
PENG (Preparatory English) 7, was created with 34 students, and my own section
of PENG 7 went from 23 to 32 students. The enrollment limit is supposed to be
30, and we try to keep the class sizes to 20. The teacher who was supposed to
take over the newly created section had not arrived yet. (In Saudi Arabia, the
answer to virtually any “when” question is “Next week—inshallah.” Inshallah translates to “If Allah wills
it” or the rough equivalent of “God willing”.) When is the new teacher coming
to relieve me? Next week—inshallah.
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| Life got better when all the teachers arrived: with Andrew, Glen, & Justin |
The upshot: I was assigned to both sections by that treacherous new Coordinator (me). So I was now responsible for teaching a double-load
of over-enrolled classes which literally met at the same time in two different
rooms. Moreover, I got two additional sections (for a total of four) of the dreaded Study Skills class
added to my schedule. And I was now in charge of the whole program. I was told
that eventually I would have a reduced teaching load as a result of taking on
extra administrative duties. The irony: initially I ended up with a double
teaching load.
My classes met every afternoon from 1:00 to 4:00. I had to
figure out how to be in two places at the same time. My solution: one class got
me for the first hour and a half, the other class got me for the other half of
the class. I combined the Study Skills classes into giant sections. This had to last for two weeks. My relief, Justin, arrived just in time for
the two-week Hajj Break, four weeks into the term.
The Challenge Ahead
We inherited a program designed by someone else who wasn’t
even around any more to guide it. Thus, we were left with a lot of gaps: No
policy handbook. No procedure for student complaints. No policy for substitute teaching.
No means for faculty observations and evaluations. No method for handling student
discipline problems in the classroom. No process for students to challenge
their placement—which meant that every Tarek, Dalal, and Homoud would land
in my office demanding to know why he was placed in Level X!
So, our new Admin Team set about righting the ship in the
midst of a hurricane. I am happy to report that we weathered the storm. We’ve
made a lot of progress. We have more changes in store for next year.
I have a very simple but ambitious goal: I want Alfaisal
University to be known for having the finest Preparatory Program (IEP) in Saudi
Arabia: the students are progressing, the teachers are fulfilled and effective,
the program operates smoothly and efficiently. Can we get there? Stay tuned.
Saving Grace: Awesome
Students
In the midst of all this insanity there was one constant:
the student of Alfaisal are awesome. The student body is about 60% Saudi and
40% expats from elsewhere in the Middle East: Syria, Jordan, Yemen, Palestine,
Libya, Oman, etc.
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| Saudi students are very welcoming: Khaled & Abulrahman (for the record, these two never cheated). |
Arabs are most famous for their generosity and hospitality. They
are very welcoming—especially to Americans. If you can connect with them on a
personal level, they tend to perform for you on an academic level. My students
are funny, lively, slothful, and clever (too clever sometimes—they find cunning
ways to cheat). Many of them are extremely bright and motivated. Almost all of
them are academically undisciplined and underprepared: they often show up to
class without books, pencil, notebook—never without their smart phone—and then look at
you blankly when you ask why they didn’t bring them.
Students here use a variety of honorifics for their teachers.
The most common is Doctor (pronounced
more like ‘doke-tore’ said quickly with a rolled r), as in “Dr. John, is the
quiz open book?” More accurate and almost as common is Mister: “Mr. John, can I go to my car and get a pencil?” Virtually
every employee of the university is addressed this way: title + first name: Dr.
Faisal, Mr. Brent, Ms. Alanoud, etc. Often the honorific titles are used
without the name, as in Doctor, Mister, Sir, or Professor.
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| The Syrian students can relax--occasionally. |
My students want to talk about religion: “Mr. John, you’re a
Christian, right? What language do you think Adam and Even spoke in the Garden
of Eden? It was Arabic, wasn’t it?” Errrr . . . . They represent the heart of
the present-day Saudi dilemma: how do you stay religiously conservative while
trying to live in a modern world? Most of them are desperate for change while
still wanting to hew to “the party line.”
I have a special place in my heart for the Syrians, who form
the largest contingent of non-Saudis. Most of them grew up in Saudi Arabia as expats
and went to private high schools in Riyadh (only Saudis are allowed to go to
the public schools). The Syrians have a mature spirit and earnest warmth to
them; they are the most highly motivated students as well (almost overly so).
This lovely energy is in stark, tragic contrast to what is going on in Syria
right now, so they carry the added burden of a broken heart for their home country,
their friends, and their relatives. Most of them want to go to med school. Some
of them are even planning to return to Syria one day to practice. I hope for their best.
Epilogue: The “Happy”
Ending
So here I am at the end of my first year. It’s virtually
impossible to recount all the numerous ups and downs of the past year (fodder
for future posts, indeed). It has been characterized by great colleagues and friends, wonderful (and frustrating) students, and lots of hard work. As Booker T. Washington said: “Nothing ever comes to
one, that is worth having, except as a result of hard work.” That’s been true
of my year as English Coordinator: We worked hard and worthwhile things followed;
other things will probably never change.
Time to close the book on Year One and go home. Back in
August for two more years.
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| Two happy students, Amer & Obada: The first year is over! |
