I have yet to write specifically about my career in teaching ESL here in Mexico. Now that I’m well into Year Six,  it’s probably a good time to reflect in writing upon my experiences and my students.

I arrived in Culiacan, Sinaloa, a city larger than my hometown of Winnipeg, on November 2, 2010. It was Day of the Dead, a holiday that I was soon to learn a great deal about. Indeed it has become one of my favorite Mexican holidays. After almost twenty-four hours of travel, while I welcomed the sunshine and the warm climate, I desperately needed sleep.  

The following day the Director of English picked me up and we headed over to the private school where I was to teach for the remainder of the school year. Although it was early in the morning, the temperature was nearing 30 Celsius and the humidity was high. Clad in shorts and a tank top, the perspiration poured from my body. My then short hair was drenched. And I gazed out at a sea of uniformed students in their winter apparel–long pants, sweaters and fleece jackets.

My first day in the classroom, I immediately turned on the air-conditioning. To my dismay the students begged me to turn it off as it was winter and they were freezing. Word got out and my other classes saw students arriving with scarves, hats and gloves as they heard that the new teacher had turned on the air-conditioning.

I was also required to wear a uniform consisting of long pants, a shirt and a wool vest. After all, it was winter. As soon as the school day ended, I immediately changed into a tank top and shorts before walking home. On the way home, I’d often stop at an Oxxo and buy a can of Coke, which I held up against my cheeks or my forehead to cool me off as I walked the few blocks to my home. The locals were all friendly and soon grew used to seeing the gringa teacher strolling down the street with a can of Coke plastered to her face.

That first year was challenging. I was teaching secundaria (middle school), and these teenagers were very different from the Canadian teenagers. Not only were they privileged and extremely spoiled, they still struggled with all the other issues that hormones cause at this age. They were not in the least concerned with their future and viewed learning English as a waste of time when they could be doing other things. Out of some 50 students I don’t think there were more than four or five who were actually eager to learn English and saw it as beneficial to their future

The next year found me in Irapuato, a small pueblo in the state of Guanajuato. While it was nice to be in a smaller center, Irapuato had very little to offer. The only real culture there was the futbol stadium that bustled with activity on Saturday nights. I had been hired on a Skype interview to teach sixth grade at a private school. It was apparent shortly after I got there that the job description provided in that interview in no way, shape or form resembled what the administration expected of teachers. They demanded we work longer hours and virtually treated us like slaves. Payday was often delayed as they hadn’t yet gone to the bank, or they didn’t have the correct denominations of bills to pay us. After 2-1/2 months, there was still no contract or health insurance as promised. I left after a little over two months when offered a job in Guadalajara.

I arrived at the bus terminal in Tlaquepaque and secured a taxi. The driver had to stop and ask for directions several times before we finally located the house provided by the school for the teachers. My housemates were a woman in her sixties from Canada, a woman in her twenties from Norway and a man in his twenties from Ireland. It proved to be quite an interesting semester. The Canadian woman was an alcoholic who left for Ecuador a couple of months later. The Irishman wound up in jail and was fired. The woman from Norway and I are still friends, although she moved in with her Mexican boyfriend midway through the semester.

The following semester I remained at the same language institute and had three new housemates, two from Ireland and one from the USA. This semester was very different from the first one. The school had moved us to another location, an office building that had been converted into a house. Although it was closer to the school, it was a disaster! The main level had been rented out to a zumba studio. The second floor had a living room, a small balcony, two bedrooms and a bathroom. The third floor had another two bedrooms, a bathroom and the kitchen. The school was notorious for not paying their bills, so our water was cut off, we had no gas and the Internet was cut off. Then we teachers went on strike as they thought it would be fun not to pay us. Once I was finally paid, I left. Enough is enough.

I also taught business English on site to companies, and really enjoyed that experience. I met interesting people who were actually interested in learning English. I felt badly when I had to return to Canada for surgery as I had really enjoyed my students.

When I returned to Tlaquepaque, I briefly taught at a language institute, but the students were there as it was cheap babysitting for parents. I then began teaching at a language institute where my students were mainly adults, many of them young professionals. I taught there for about a year and a half before returning to Canada for a visit.

When I returned to Mexico this time, I moved to Mazatlan. I taught for a school for a little over a month, but left when, among other things, they refused to assist me in renewing my work visa as promised. I then taught briefly at another language institute. Then a new school opened up and I began teaching there as well. However that school subsequently closed just before Christmas.

Teaching in Mexico has been a fabulous experience; my one year plan is now in year six. There have been challenges……a new language, a different culture, securing a work visa and health insurance. But I have met the most amazing people! And I have had awesome adventures! Right now I can’t fathom living anywhere else.

I have now been in Mazatlan just shy of eight months. I have only one private student at the moment, but have just embarked on yet another career. You’ll have to watch for future posts to learn more.

Every year for the last seven years I have spent New Years Eve in different cities with different people. In 2009 I was in Winnipeg, 2010 I was in El Fuerte, 2011 I was in Culiacan, 2012 I was in Mexico City, 2013 and 2014 I was actually in Tlaquepaque both years but with different people, and 2015 I was in Mazatlan. This year I was recovering from a nasty bout of food poisoning on New Year’s Eve so I toasted in the new year with PowerAde while my friend rang it in with alcohol. Ok, he did persuade me to take a couple of sips but it was not my drink of choice that night.

After checking old blog posts and journals, I am now ready to write my first post of 2016. First of all, I’d like to wish everyone a fabulous 2016. May you be blessed with good health, happiness and peace in your lives.

The beginning of the year always means wonderful resolutions and intentions.  As for me, I have but one resolution and that is to take care of ME. I am not going to pressure myself with a myriad of resolutions that will be impossible to achieve. I am going to do what makes ME happy and it doesn’t matter to me what other people think or say.

I know that while many of you will support this reasoning, there are also those who may view this as being selfish or narcissistic even. Congratulations skeptics as you are the true narcissists! That’s right! People like me have always enabled people like you throughout our lives. Well, now you’re on your own. It’s time to take care of me. Judge me all you want. I simply don’t care anymore.

I spent too many years of my life involved in a career I detested and remaining in an unhappy marriage–all as it was in the best interests of others. I’ve always tried to do the right thing, although my efforts often went unacknowledged. After decades of banging my head against that brick wall, I realize that it’s time to put myself first instead of everyone else in my life. 

Do you also find yourself in a similar position? Is it finally time to take care of yourself? 

 Who is with me? Are you in? 

I have decided to write a post based upon my experiences living with a Mexican family here in Mazatlan. I do not believe in stereotypes. This post is based solely on my experience. I am sure that not all families live like this one did. I have heard stories far worse as well as far better than mine. But this was my reality when I first arrived here in Mazatlan. I should add that the director of the school where I was teaching when I first came here found me this accomodation as A was a close friend of hers.

I arrived in Mazatlan on a bright and sunny Saturday, very early in the morning. It took over an hour to find the house. I had been given an address that was impossible to find as there are no numbers on the houses in this low income, working class neighborhood. The street names also change every few blocks. When A finally answered her phone, she gave the taxi driver better instructions as well as a description of the house.

I was relieved when we finally found the place. From the outside the house was painted a brilliant orange and was most attractive.

But the inside was the complete opposite. Sparsely furnished with decrepit items, it was dark and stuffy. The steps leading to the second floor had not been tiled. A white plastic table and chairs had exposed wires hanging above where a light fixture should have been. The kitchen was tiny with next to nothing in terms of cooking equipment which I will save for later in this post.

My bedroom was dark and gloomy. The bed did not have matching sheets and the pillow was a toss cushion. There was a small closet, a handful of shelves and a chest of drawers that were all missing handles. There was also a small nightstand and something that passed as a desk with another of those white plastic chairs. There was also a TV missing a remote control. The best part about the room was the ceiling fan (albeit it sported exposed wires) and the air conditioning unit mounted in the wall.

The walls themselves definitely required more than a paint job. Big chunks of plaster were missing and basically the walls were falling apart, fresh polvo on the floor every morning. There was children’s handwriting scribbled all over the walls and the closet doors.

OK Karen, don’t unpack those bags. Just turn around and walk out the door. You don’t have to live like this. And I hadn’t even seen the bathroom yet!

But I was exhausted after two days of traveling and instead passed out on the bed for a couple of hours. I woke up and contemplated my fate. I wanted the experience of living with a Mexican family. I wanted to be immersed in the culture as well as the language. My room was on the main floor so no stairs. Give it a chance for a while until you get to know the city and decide where you want to live.

The first week was a blur of adjustment. I began teaching on the Monday. Thankfully the house was conveniently located to bus routes. There was a convenience store, Kiosko, right across the street. There was a totilleria, a hamburger stand, a chicken grill and tacos close by. I never did buy meat from the butcher just doors away. Unrefrigerated meat in soaring temperatures had no appeal.

I actually spent very little time in the house, mainly due to the disgustingly filthy kitchen. A was a single mother with a daughter aged 10 and a son aged 12 when I moved in. She would cook breakfast in the morning and leave the only two  frying pans dirty on the stove. The children left dirty dishes everywhere and the sink was always filled with dirty dishes. Saturday morning was the only time A made an attempt to wash dishes or clean the house. Because they had so few dishes they would switch to styrofoam plates and plastic cups, also left lying about. The garbage was always overflowing although it was picked up regularly if it was placed by the curb, which it seldom was. Only two burners worked on the stove. The fridge had no light and was missing shelves. Leftover food often lined the shelves uncovered when it occasionally was refrigerated.

I bought some cutlery, plates, cups and a crock pot and cooked in my room when I was home. I also bought some containers and microwaved food as well. I was probably the only one who ever cleaned the microwave. I wound up washing my crock pot in the bathroom as I could never get near the kitchen sink to wash it.

And I don’t even want to talk about the bathroom. It was supposed to be my private bathroom, but there were always other people using it. The bathroom itself had the same gouges in the stucco, broken tiles, and a sink faucet that leaked constantly. The toilet needed repair and a dirty towel hung on the rod and stayed there until the day I left. I never used it. The saving grace was the passable shower, although there was no hot water.

After a couple of months the walls starting closing in on me and I started looking around for somewhere else to live, but only halfheartedly. It was nice having A and the kids around, they had a dog, I liked the neighborhood and was starting to feel at home there. I was the only gringa in this area so I was constantly able to practice my Spanish.

But there were other problems. Like clockwork the internet always disappeared around the 10th of the month. There was no gas for over a week. The water was cut off once. A told me it was a broken pipe in the street. But when I took the water bill as I needed proof of residency to renew my health insurance, there was a disconnect and a reconnect charge. Yes, the time to pay bills was apparently when services were cut off, not when the bill was due to be paid.

But what bothered me the most was the neglected children left to their own devices for hours on end. The youngest did most of the cooking as the mother was never around, and her skills were limited to refried beans in tortillas, hotcakes and macaroni. This is definitely not a healthy diet for anyone. And the children would roam the streets with their friends at all hours of the day and night. They hardly ever ever locked doors and there were always lost keys when they did.

I was gone for the last two weeks in October. When I returned to Mazatlan I knew I had to move right away. I had a place lined up for December, but I knew I had to get out before that. I’ve met some wonderful people through my church here and one of my friends offered me a spare bedroom in his house. I eagerly accepted.

A was not at home when I left, but her son was. I left the keys with him and said goodbye. To my amazement I received a text from A asking when I was going to give her rent money for the month of November. I couldn’t believe the audacity of this woman! Not only had I always paid my rent in advance, but I had also kept a spreadsheet on my laptop with all the cash transactions for my rent. When I informed A of this, I never heard from her again.

As parents we have the huge responsibility of modelling behavior for our children and instilling certain values upon them in order to provide a safe and secure environment in which to grow and thrive.  I feel for this family and they are in my prayers.