Part Two: A Rocky Start to the School Daze

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.

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.

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.  

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.

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.

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.

Two happy students, Amer & Obada: The first year is over!