Page Content
Marty Rempel
My introduction to Kuwait’s desert climate occurred when I left the air-conditioned airport for an August nighttime temperature of 44 degrees Celsius with 80 per cent humidity. My wife, Cheryl, and I had just disembarked from a 14-hour direct flight from the Dulles International Airport, near Washington, DC. This was the first day of my two-year contract with an international school in Kuwait. Now well into my second year, I’ve made my peace with the climate, yet I find myself still adjusting to the quirks of the culture and the many challenges I face as a teacher.
Teaching in Kuwait is a challenge. To begin with, I am a Canadian teacher teaching American history to Kuwaiti special education students as part of an English as a second language program. Although liberal Kuwaitis wish to westernize as quickly as possible, the more conservative elements within society pull in the opposite direction. For example, Bedouin members of parliament would like to see music classes removed from the public school curriculum, as Bedouins consider music and dance an offence to the purity of Islam, whereas the more liberal parents want to see their children enrolled in European and American universities and colleges.
At the time of this writing (December 2009), the Kuwaiti legislative and legal affairs committee approved gender segregation laws in private schools that were already in force in private universities, such as the American University of Kuwait. The law was introduced for religious reasons.
Another challenge is government censorship. In my classroom, posted on the wall under pictures of the emir and the crown prince, are two pages of censorship guidelines. All textbooks, novels and videos that I use have been stamped, indicating that they’ve been examined, censored and approved by the ministry of education.
Although my textbooks are from the United States and loosely follow that country’s curriculum, some text and pages have been blacked out by Kuwaiti officials. For example, the Persian Gulf is now called the Arabian Gulf and any reference to Israel (Occupied Palestine) has been removed. I can only reference the Holocaust if I show historical balance and discuss genocides in Rwanda, Cambodia or the former Yugoslavia. Allegations that Muslims persecuted Christians or Jews can’t be made, nor can references to pork or alcohol products, human intimacy, homosexuality or evolution. Criticizing the government or Islam is strictly forbidden.
Although teachers are cautioned repeatedly to check the guidelines and not stray from orthodoxy, my students can access uncensored information on YouTube, Facebook and Google. Even with government firewalls, one need only plug into a server in Germany or elsewhere to access blocked websites. Many of my students believe that censorship is futile.
Typically, Arab culture is not a reading culture. My students at the university (where I teach first-year students the intricacies of writing academic papers), students I tutor privately and those I teach in high school do not read for recreation. I’ve never seen a public library here, although I’m told they exist.
Reading material is not in abundance, but I’ve seen bookstores where numerous Sunni and Shi’a interpretations of the Quran are found (audio format is available for those who prefer not to read or who can’t read). I am told that Arabic novels dealing with love themes exist, although human sexuality in any genre is a misunderstood and murky area rife with taboos.
The population of Kuwait is about 3 million, of whom 1 million are Kuwaiti and the rest are expatriates. The country’s two-tier school system has both public and private schools. The latter follow a business model and are designed to make a profit. Only wealthy students attend the best schools.
The expat community, of which there are about 6,000 Canadians, is divided along Western and Asian lines. Westerners hold the higher-paying professional and managerial positions (teaching is on the bottom rung of the ladder). Asians provide cheap labour that keeps the economy going.
Should the expats ever leave Kuwait, the country’s economy will collapse, as Kuwaitis do not have the skills or the motivation required to maintain the economy, nor does the country have an educational system geared to meet its needs. Kuwait has become almost totally dependent on outside labour and management skills. Consequently, Kuwaitis’ expectations are unrealistic in light of the country’s economic reality. In an economics course I teach, when I discuss the American Dream and ask my students what an equivalent Kuwaiti Dream is, the boys respond: “I want a free ride, a fast car and a hot wife.” The girls’ comments follow domestic themes and are more in line with the realities of Islamic life.
It’s difficult to motivate students to learn or to work toward specific academic goals, because their wealth is an impediment to lifelong learning and development of a work ethic. On average, Kuwaitis work a 20-hour week, with incomes supplemented by the government’s oil revenues. Students have a sense of entitlement; teachers are hard-pressed to give realistic marks because of repercussions from parents who expect their children to receive higher grades. Another obstacle to success in school is the culture’s nocturnal nature, perhaps a tradition born from living in a desert climate before air conditioning. Many students are up late or all night and are too tired to work or do homework.
Students study American history but appear to know little about Kuwait’s history, Arabic history or Islam. They have been plunged into Western culture and are only two generations removed from desert life. They are caught in the cultural headlights, so to speak, and live in two worlds. One part of society is eager to blend cultures, while the other fights the erosion of their culture. My Kuwaiti students have grown up with iPods and headphones, flat-screen plasma TVs and fast cars on crowded streets. The life their parents knew is disappearing fast.
The entire Arab culture in Kuwait is permeated with the belief or lifestyle of inshallah, translated as “God willing.” Inshallah is a laissez-faire, noncommittal way of living that requires no personal responsibility—because life is always in God’s hands. In this way, an entire society can’t be held accountable for anything. A student who receives homework may tell me that it will be done for next class, inshallah. I tell my students that they are learning in an “Inshallah-Free Zone.” I have made baby steps but perhaps in the wrong direction.
Despite the unique and challenging nature of living and teaching in Kuwait, along with students’ sense of entitlement associated with their wealth, I find my Kuwaiti students refreshingly naive. Discipline problems rarely exceed the he-called-me-a-name level, a food fight or mild teasing; I’ve never witnessed a serious fight. Students respect Western teachers and listen to them—it amazes me.
I am thriving thanks to the positive attitude students have toward their teachers in Kuwait, and I may just renew my contract for another year. Inshallah.
Marty Rempel currently teaches special education in Kuwait City, Kuwait. A story by Rempel appeared in the December 1, 2009, ATA News.
