Last Friday was my first day of teaching English at the SWVG (https://swvg-refugees.org.uk). I was waiting for C, the coordinator of volunteers, to assign me a student. Mingling with the crowd, I eavesdropped on conversations. Afghans, Egyptians, Syrians, Pakistanis, Kurds … milled around. A veritable United Nations of the desperate seeking refuge in my city. Volunteers, almost all of them white women, flitted from table to table. Around my table, an Iranian was speaking to an Iraqi. I asked them what language they were conversing in. Farsi, one of them responded. A new learning point for me. I had always thought Iraqis spoke only Arabic. In the 10 minutes or so I spent around the table, I got a brief peek into the tribulations of asylum seekers.
Then a woman came around with leaflets and spoke to everyone around our table about forthcoming events. She addressed each person individually. My turn was last.
“We have this nice walk in the New Forest,” she said, quickly adding, “SWVG will pay your train fare.” I just couldn’t resist it. I pretended I was struggling to understand. Deep inside, in some obscure alley of my psyche, I was offended that I was mistaken for an asylum seeker. And then I was offended at myself for being offended.
I felt as if I had driven into a cul-de-sac and my reverse gear had failed. I didn’t know what to do or how to come clean, now that I had started. So, I continued my act.
Pointing at a map of the New Forest, I asked the lady,
“This Lundoon?”
“No, this is Southampton, not London!”
A few minutes more of this game and I was contrite that I was teasing an innocent person, a fellow volunteer who was giving up her time for others. I came clean, and the lady, bless her, wasn’t upset with me. She was wearing a mask. It couldn’t hide the smile in her eyes.
To avoid further confusion, I asked C to find me an SWVG ID card.
The funny thing was, the ID card made no difference!
An academic from a local University came to our table next and asked if I would like to attend a colouring-in session on 27 October. I quickly fessed up that I’m a volunteer teacher and not an asylum seeker. He was quick-witted enough to respond,
“That’s fine. All are welcome.”
All the confusion and the philosophical conundrums about identity and belonging dissolved after I was assigned my first student. It was a pleasure to teach her- her enthusiasm was catching. She asked if she could have lessons 7 days a week! We settled for two.
gopistory.com 
Leave a comment