Teaching, Anyone?

Should you choose the cobblestoned path to contentment that I selected – retirement to South America, here's what to expect:

First, you'll want to pare down your life to the essentials, and even then your essentials still won't fit into a two-bedroom apartment here, at least mine didn't. Why? Because Americans have more stuff than most people. Where do you think the TV show hoarders originated? In Brazil, you'll face an additional hurdle. No apartment or home has a built-in closet. I'm not talking about a luxurious walk-in closet, I'm speaking of any closet, period. Brazilians use standing closets, like armoires, which means unless you own one pair of jeans and two pair of sneakers, you're going to surrender one of your two bedrooms to a giant walk-in closet, especially if you're not living alone.

Second, once you've settled in, you'll need to follow the cardinal rule of retirement – find something to do. Despite all those glossy brochures you've been feasting on of suntanned lounging under palm trees, where the mode of exercise is lifting a fresh coconut to your mouth, being idle all day gets tedious after a few months. Your tedium tipping point will depend on how well your lumbar adjusts to hammocks and how much you drink to alleviate your lumbar pain.

To occupy my empty hours, I hatched a plan to teach English to native Portuguese speakers. I planned it as a casual venture – no office space, not even a business card, just in case I never found students. I set up my desk and computer in my living room, which conveniently had two doors, one leading to the elevator and the other closing it off from the rest of the apartment. There was also a half bathroom next to the entrance.

I'm here to testify there can be no greater exercise in stupidity, namely mine, than trying to teach English in a non-English-speaking country.

I was shocked when I actually had students seek me out. They weren't in the least surprised I didn't have an office, a website, or business cards. None of them asked what my occupation had been before I retired. They were eager to pay for private tutoring with a native speaker, even if all we did was talk. Just conversation.

However, the bigger shock was I encountered earnest students learning their English from TV series such as Game of Thrones, or rap music on YouTube. They were asking me questions like, “What does 'the end is nigh' mean?”

For the first few weeks, I was able to fool myself into thinking I was up to the task, having worked in the US as a high school English teacher. But nothing prepared me for, “How can the same word mean to feel healthy and to be a watering hole?” (well) I was asked the difference between shade and shadow so many times (there's one word for both in Portuguese) that I don't know the difference anymore. No amount of cogitation could explain why Brazilians confuse the words kitchen and chicken.

As I struggled with their bafflingly brilliant questions, I imagined learning a few words in Portuguese might help. It didn't. Rather, I discovered there is no word in Portuguese for desk, like the desk we all work on, the desk where I had my computer. The only word is a child's desk in school. While some obviously essential words were missing, there's a verb in Portuguese for the action of a shepherd's crook. Meanwhile, good luck using the verb explorar, which can mean both to explore and to exploit.

I admit it hasn't been all frustration. I adore the labyrinth of words; it's a pursuit most everyday folks don't have time for. I savor listening to my students create new words, like calling aluminum foil “silver paper” or ground beef “mashed meat.” It reminds me of that old TV show, Kids Say the Darnedest Things.

One evening after a tutoring session, I had an epiphany: I'm grateful to be a native speaker of English, which has become a global language the way French was a century ago. Listening to a Brazilian try to pronounce “mother” or “three,” I feel sorry for them. (The consonant blend TH doesn't exist in Portuguese.)

Equally enlightening is how people here trust my expertise despite any lack of training in EFL or ESL. Bear in mind my students are not children; they are adults with college degrees and gainfully employed in white-collar professions. Not one of them asked me to produce my resumé. The only teaching credential they needed was, “My colleague at the bank said you were a good teacher.” In keeping with the you-never-know-where-you're-going-until-you-get-there theme of expat life, I couldn't believe people were paying me good money simply to have a conversation with them, especially as I didn't know Portuguese.

As perplexing as Portuguese is, navigating the pitfalls of employment in a foreign country is equally disconcerting. I sidestepped some of the confusion through the underground economy; I avoided byzantine bureaucracy by not registering myself as a business. My students came to my apartment and paid me in cash, and I didn't advertise my services on social media.

The first pitfall arrived when I tried to pay a lovely student for providing a referral that brought me three new students. I made the assumption she would want to be compensated. Wrong. No one expects compensation when they refer others; it's how business is done, whether it's for a private teacher or a doctor or a repair shop.

My second pitfall was the cultural crossfire of getting paid. I couldn't fathom what to do with the cash a student handed me. They expected me to count it, which seemed rude. Additionally, when they paid, I'd place the money on my desk, but that seemed to make them uncomfortable. Perhaps they thought if I didn't hold on to it, another student would steal it. I learned to put the cash into my pocket, which to me gave the appearance of greed. Also, everyone paid at the conclusion of the session, so as they were leaving, I would thank them for their payment. However, the mention of money seemed to embarrass them; none knew how to respond. Instead of a simple “You're welcome,” they lowered their gaze in silence.

While navigating the unknown waters of cash payments and thanks, I ran into a third trap – making a schedule. I was thinking, how complicated can a schedule be for a dozen students with electronic agendas and cellphone alarms, etc. Nevertheless, they would forget to come to class or cancel at the last minute. They were often late, which was a problem if I had students coming back-to-back. Should I kick out a student who arrived late because the next student was waiting? Worse, if they arrived within 15 minutes of the scheduled time, they didn't think they were late because it's the norm in Brazil. Therefore, was it fair to penalize them? I tried dangling the logic carrot, “If you come late, you're going to lose part of your class when the next person arrives on time.” Of course, that was an idle threat when the next person was late, too. I eventually gave up trying to alter the customs of 200 million people; I adjusted to their lifestyle and never slotted students back-to-back.

For the first few months, I thought when they were playing havoc with my schedule, they were taking advantage of me, a joke played on the rube to prove Americans are slaves to the clock. I learned if it's essential that someone arrive on time here, you give them the watch signal: “We'll meet at 6 pm on the watch” and you point to your wrist. Never mind that most Brazilians don't wear watches.

I had students telling me they wouldn't be in class that evening because their boss was sending them on a business trip the following day, without warning, and they needed to prepare a PowerPoint presentation and then get home to pack. Again, the first time this happened, I assumed the student was lying. It happened frequently. Students texted me ten minutes before their 6 pm class because their boss has just called a department meeting. Sure, US companies have emergency meetings, but here an unplanned business trip or unexpected meeting isn't an emergency, it's just a meeting.

I would say tardiness is an art in Brazil. In restaurants, food service is slower than I am accustomed to, and sometimes when my food arrives, my wife's meal is still being prepared. When she and I cook a meal together, I'll take charge of the meat and ask her, “How long does it take to make the cauliflower?” so I can serve the meat at the same time. She's made the same cauliflower dish dozens of times, but she doesn't know if it takes ten minutes or twenty. Time is not of the essence.

As I slowly began to fill my empty agenda with tutoring times, I was inclined to check my agenda each morning to plan my day. What's the point of using an agenda if you don't check it? It should have been a simple task. Not here. Thanks to the mystical butterfly effect, it's impossible to maintain a steady rhythm with people whose plans are constantly changing. Not only was my schedule different each day of the week, but my students were always changing their itinerary so what lay ahead on my agenda each morning was rarely an accurate reflection of how the day would transpire.

I did learn a valuable lesson from the ever-shifting appointments of my students and their work obligations. I discovered the same system of ripple effects were at play with social functions as well. At least half the time social engagements end up changed or canceled, not to mention the revelatory concept of tardiness, i.e. it's impossible to be late. In the US, if a friend invited me to dinner and then canceled at the last minute, saying he forgot he had another engagement, I would be skeptical. Did I inadvertently offend him? Did he encounter some personal crisis? However, here social invitations arrive like the daily newspaper, and nobody bothers to keep an agenda. Thus, a friend really did forget he had another party, or else the invitation to the other party came just this minute via WhatsApp and the party is today.

Here's the butterfly effect in action with one of my students:

Student: I can't come to class today because my parents are coming to visit.

Me: Oh, that will be nice. Where do your parents live?

Student: They live in Foz de Iguaçu.

Me: That's far away. Your parents were lucky to get a flight at the last minute.

Student: No, they can't afford to fly. They're driving.

Me. How long does it take to drive?

Student: It's about 12 hours.

Me: You could have told me last week your parents were coming so we could reschedule.

Student: I didn't know last week. My parents just told me now.

Me: I guess they wanted to surprise you. Is it your birthday?

Student: No, it's not my birthday; they just wanted to visit. They decided yesterday. They are driving all night and will be here today.

Did your parents ever jump in the car for a 12-hour drive to visit their adult child on the spur of the moment? If the beauty of ambiguity appeals to you, linguistically speaking, or the vagaries of scheduling in a land of spontaneity, then you're ripe for the wonders of South America. If the open hours of retirement are daunting, perhaps it's best to surround yourself with people who have no sense of urgency. Brazilians may not be fluent in English, but they're fluent in improvisation.