Foreign Teachers on the Qinghai-Tibetan Plateau

By SONG GUOQIANG

It is the plateau's clear blue sky, and his deep affection for the local children that keep Carl on the plateau.

The Jiayi Ethnic Boarding School in Daotanghe Township, Hainan Tibetan Autonomous Prefecture, Qinghai Province is on the southern shore of the scenic Qinghai Lake. The 100 or more Tibetan students there all speak good English, and headmaster Carl is fluent in Amdo Tibetan, the local dialect.

It is Carl from Norway and his colleague St. Paul from the U.S. that make this otherwise nondescript Tibetan school extraordinary.

Located in a recess of the prairie, Jiayi Boarding School can be seen from a distance by the five-starred red flag flying high above it. The school consists of a teaching building, two bungalows and a playground that occupies half of the space in the compound. When I arrived, Carl was giving fourth grade students a geography class in his fluent Amdo, using a tellurion. When he first arrived five years ago, Carl did not speak a word of Tibetan, but his aptitude at language learning was such that he was able to teach in the local dialect just two years after arrival. He cannot, however, speak more than a few phrases in mandarin Chinese.

Carl teaching a geography class.

This 36-year-old bachelor made his first trip to China ten years ago, but it was in 1995, when he toured western China, that he fell under the spell of the exotic Tibetan culture of Qinghai Province. The Qinghai-Tibetan Plateau, with its snow-capped mountains, lush grassland, clear sky, and cobalt-blue lake was the kind of place he had always dreamed of. He also felt compelled to help the local Tibetan children.

Prior to Carl's arrival an American girl of the Tibetan name Nyimaco, had worked at the school for three years. She paved the way for English language education in the province, setting a precedent in this remote pastoral area 3,600 meters above sea level.

Carl and St. Paul teaching their students English by way of a game.

Carl receives a salary of 500 yuan from the school, while in Norway he can make up to 20,000 yuan each month. Carl seems indifferent to this drastic drop in income: "In Norway I am just one of the masses. It makes no difference to anyone in the country whether I live there or not. But in Qinghai my presence has meaning. The local children need my help, and I love them."

"Carl is a friend we will always remember. He has done a lot for education in the Tibetan region," says Carl's colleague Zhaxi. Thanks to Carl's efforts, more local herdsmen send their children to school, and all his students are proficient in English on entering middle school. Carl was also instrumental in raising the funds necessary to build the school's first teaching building. Just a few days before my arrival he had paid out 6,500 yuan in tuition fees for 21 needy students who would otherwise have had to drop out of school. "It brings me great joy to have these 21 children around me. The money means nothing," says Carl.

Carl and students having a PE class.

The other foreign teacher, St. Paul, joined the school last year. This 50-year-old American brought his wife and three children with him, in the knowledge that his children could quickly adapt to the plateau, and that he could then dedicate himself entirely to his work.

Many local herdsmen lived in tents when Carl first arrived, but most have now built themselves brick apartments. Carl intends to stay here for a few more years and, if possible, marry a Tibetan girl and settle down.

As I was about to leave, Zhaxi told me that he and his Tibetan colleagues are studying English with Carl and St. Paul. They all share the ambition to make their school a leader in English education on the prairie.