Me Card Read Good

Nha Trang, Vietnam. Since I was going to be staying in Nha Trang for a while, it seemed prudent to put my hotel hopping heroics behind me and lease an apartment. Sure it was a touch less convenient--no more fresh towels, tucked in bed sheets, or housekeepers forced to hose down my general flotsam and jetsam--but it would give me the opportunity to get a better feel for daily life in Vietnam. With a little help from a diving colleague, I managed to luck into a cozy little place just two blocks from the dive shop. While not quite as robust as my African digs, it does have the benefit of being fitfully furnished. Standard features include a spacious living room with a pleather couch (guaranteed to bond to bare skin instantly), a bed with a fitted sheet, a mini-fridge, a countertop dual-burner butane stove, a shower/toilet area, and a healthy assortment of water bugs, cockroaches, winged insects and, god knows how it gets there, but a few nights a week an orange tabby mysteriously appears in my hallway.

Probably the most enjoyable part of having my own place is the ability to cook. I love trolling around the lively markets, where, with enough patience, I can find everything from tomatoes to televisions to tuberculosis--all in one convenient location. Women gleefully cleave through pig bones, hack slabs of tuna, hawk fruits and vegetables, and delightedly chortle at the American who abashedly picks up a basket of dried chicken necks thinking they are mushrooms. I particularly enjoy splashing through the water-logged pathways of the fish mongers, where women excitedly shake handfuls of shrimp in my face, entice me with mounds of freshly caught squid and carefully knot up live crabs with short lengths of twine. Sometimes I have to remind myself that despite the intense smells, the murky puddles beneath my shoes and the fish scales stuck to my legs, that this is probably the freshest seafood I will ever get my hands on.

Now that I had settled in I needed something to keep myself occupied. Sure, I go diving nearly every day, but that particular train starts at 5:30 in the morning and we are usually back by around 1:00pm. I generally take care of a little office work (e.g. drinking beer with the customers) and then I have the evening free for the finer pursuits (e.g. drinking beer with the staff). I felt that something was wanting. Then it dawned on me. Every single day of my life I have been speaking English. Most days of the week I read English too. And every now and again, as you are undoubtedly aware, I find myself writing in English. The signs were so obvious. If I can speak English, read English, and write English, it stands to reason that I would have no problem teaching English, right?

And so it is that I find myself spending three nights a week teaching a quartet of Vietnamese women the elementary principles of spelling, grammar and pronunciation. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday, the ladies gather in my living room for two hours of rigorous English lessons, aided greatly by a dry-erase board propped awkwardly on a chair and the complete fearlessness I display in the face of my own ignorance. So far we have covered most of the ABCs and almost the entire itsy-bitsy spider refrain.  Next week I think I am going to teach them how to subjugate verbs and the importance of avoiding the dastardly dangling partynipple.

Only time will tell, but I think I have had a positive impact on their progression so far. In fact, at the end of each evening they seem loathe to leave--though I have to admit, it's possible they are just stuck to the couch.