Spending the night in the desert of Kuwait

Every November since we have been living in Kuwait, we join the Amicale des Français au Koweït (that's the local association for French-speaking expats) for a night in the desert. We meet up at 1 in the afternoon at an agreed-upon place, someone hands us a map and GPS coordinates, and we head out in a convoy to a corner of Kuwait where there is nothing but sand and the odd herd of camels.

Some observations about the desert in Kuwait. First of all, it's almost completely flat.

It's nothing like the beautiful vast rolling dunes that you see in the United Arab Emirates, for example.

The flatness makes finding a campsite all the harder, because you really do need dunes to camp out. Dunes make camping a better experience, more beautiful, less windy, easier to find a private spot when you want to go pee! There are a couple of places where you can find a sand dune or two, fortunately, but they're rare.

Seconlyly, the sand of the Kuwait desert isn't consistently smooth and fine. In many parts, its more like gravel. There are plenty of stones and even large rocks to be found in it.

And then there is the garbage. It's a sad fact that there is trash everywhere you look in the desert of Kuwait. It litters almost every square meter of sand. We are guessing that there is no or limited trash collection for the bedouins who live in the desert. That might be one part of the problem. However, I also sense that people in Kuwait have not developed the common value of caring for their communal environment. The desert doesn't belong to any one person individually but to the whole country, so it's not up to any one person to keep it clean. It's sad because, even without the dunes, it could be a beautiful desert. As it stands, it can be truly ugly just because of all the trash.

The camp is only an hour and 15 minutes away (Kuwait is a tiny country!).  Once we arrive, we have to set up our tent right away, before it gets dark. Pitching a tent can be an arduous task in normal conditions. It's really hard when you have a strong wind, and sand blowing in your face while you're doing it. We end up getting help from a few people to set up our tent, plus several bags of sand and rocks to prevent the tent from blowing away when we aren't in it.

Once the tents are pitched, it's time for the aperatif. Everyone gets beverages out of their coolers (I'm not going to mention what kind of beverages people brought with them. I'll leave that up to your imagination).  We drink to good health and the expat life.  The Crown Plaza Hotal has already arrived with the catering truck, and an hour later, there are tables and chairs set up and a buffet dinner is served. We have a lively dinner filled with banter, jokes, and camraderie. The kids hardly eat anything. They're too busy rolling down the sand dunes and exploring dark places for snakes and lizards.

After dinner, it's time for singing around a big bonfire.

Somewhere around 11PM, we make it to our tents and fall asleep. This may seem early to you, but it's been dark since 5PM and we're exhausted.

In the morning, we wake up with the sun and the sound of wind. Sand covers every crevice of our tent and every orifice of our body. After a communal breakfast of coffee and packaged croissants, we take down our tents and pick up any garbage on the ground.  We think it's important to clean up after ourselves. 

We can't wait to get home, take a shower, and appreciate the new-found luxury of our homes. The desert is fun for a night but not longer than that.

That moment when you realize that you really are in another part of the world...

Kuwait has so many street cats, maybe as many cats as people. Most of the cats you see hiding under parked cars or meowing from rooftops are feral and it's impossible to pet them, let alone pick them up. Even if you wanted to adopt one of these cats, you couldn't. They're not meant to be domesticated.

And then you happen upon some poor wretched cat that is not feral, just living in the street, very friendly and (dare I say) cuddly, begging you for some food. Here is a beautiful Persian cat that lives just outside our house. She's one of these cats.

Something happened to her tail. I don't want to know what it was. It's too painful to think about and I can't stand to look at it. It has puss coming out of it sometimes, and today I finally couldn't take it anymore and I took her to the vet to get her treated with antibiotics.

And here was my Kuwait moment - my moment when I thought to myself, "This part of the world really is very different from the place where I grew up". I arrived at the veterinary clinic, I took a number, I sat down with the cat in her cage (yes, I know, poor kitty) and here is what I saw:

Yes, that's a bunch of Arab men holding falcons. They traditionally use falcons for hunting, although I'm not sure that these men do. They might just keep a falcon as a pet. It was a bizarre scene - me with my stray cat and eight men that look like they're wearing pyjamas holding a falcon on their finger.

I think I'll send the photos to National Geographic.

Judging Kuwait by its playgrounds

Since having children, I have learned about the importance of public playgrounds.  Playgrounds give children something to climb on, swing on, slide down, and run around.  But they're not just for children.  Playgrounds are a meeting place.  They are the place where you bump into other mommies and daddies and grandparents in the neighbourhood, where nannies can meet up to chat every day, and where your children get to meet other kids.  In our travels, I have met many people and made many friends in neighbourhood playgrounds and I have failed to meet people and been prevented from making friends in places where they were no playgrounds.

The number of play areas in a country as well as the state of a country's playgrounds says something about that country.  In Italy, for example, there aren't many public play areas at all (although this is changing) because Italians view the family unit as a pre-emptive force.  Children stay at home (or in the restaurant or wherever) with their parents and brothers and sisters (and maybe cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents).  The state has no role in entertaining children.  There is no room for a neighbourhood playground in this scenario.

In Madagascar, there are no public playgrounds, because the country is far too poor to think of spending public money on such luxuries. Children play on the street, in the dirt.  This might sound romantic but in reality it is not.  Their are no parks, so children play on the street where they breathe in noxious car fumes all day long.  Their clothes and bodies get filthy from the red earth, the children rarely bathe and their clothes don't get washed.  Disease spreads.  Asthma is common.

In France (or at least in Paris), the playgrounds are numerous and of good quality.  Practically every church or public square has some kind of a play area, and sometimes even a sand box.  There are also the major play areas in the Champs de Mars, the Jardin du Luxembourg, and the Jardin des Tuileries (including trampolines), to name a view, not to mention pony rides and merry-go-rounds (but you have to pay for those).  It is a convenience that I will never tire of boasting about.  Where is the first place we go when we hit the ground in Paris, once we check into our apartment-hotel?  The local playground!

In France, if any part of public playground equipment gets damaged, it gets fixed, promptly.  If the play equipment is starting to look worn out, the local city hall takes it all down and builds another play area.  All play equipment has a sticker on it indicating what age the equipment is appropriate for.  What do French playgrounds say about the French?  For the French, children have their own sphere of activity separate from their parents and extended families, and providing activities in that separate "children's sphere" is part of the job of the state.

Kuwait is interesting when it comes to playgrounds.  The country is stinking rich, and the weather is decent for playing outdoors at least six months of the year.  So you would think that this country would be the ideal place for lots of good playgrounds.  Unfortunately, this is not quite the case.  There are many playgrounds, especially on the Gulf Road, and many families frequent these playgrounds. However, all the equipment looks about 20+ years old and is badly in need of repair.  20+ years.  Hmmm.  That would take us back to before the first Gulf war.  So it would seem that before the Gulf war, the Kuwaitis were very keen to have lots of great space for kids and families.  Since then, they have left it all at a standstill.  None of it has been maintained and nothing new has been built.   Amazing how a war can affect the mindset of a people.

It's not only the run-down playgrounds that need a facelift.  The public hospitals are on shoestring budgets.  The beaches have been full of sewage for the past 10 years.  There is litter all over the desert....

What does the state of Kuwait's playgrounds tell me about Kuwait?  It tells me that while Kuwaitis, for whatever reason, no longer think that their country is worth investing in.  The war seems to have made them cynics.  After all, why build a playground when it risks getting bombed?  

Wordless Wednesday- Habits that could make me go broke in Kuwait

Expatriate lunches and dinners, and why I loathe them

If there is one thing that I really dislike about expatriate life, it's all the lunches and dinners.  There are so many of them, at least one a week, and sometimes more.

So why do I continue to go, you ask?  Well, a few reasons.  First of all, there ain't much else to do in Antananarivo, Madagascar on a weekend, unless you leave the city to join nature.  There are no cinemas, no parks, no playgrounds, no museums that have had any upkeep in the past, oh, 30 years.  There are no outdoor cafés.  You can't even walk around town, because apart from the fact that you will be very quickly surrounded by street beggars on all sides, there are no sidewalks, the traffic is scary and the pollution is enough to give anyone instant asthma.

So we visit each other.  (And sometimes the "club olympique", which is just a campout with a swimming pool, tennis courts and some stables with horses - but we don't like the food there).

Visiting each other reduces our own boredom and especially the boredom of our children, who would be otherwise locked in our air conditioned houses watching dubbed Hannah Montana French satellite TV all day long.

Why don't I enjoy these lunches and dinners as much as I should?  It's not like I don't love our dear friends (bless their hearts).  It's just, well, me.

For one, I'm a vegetarian.  Almost.  I do eat beef and duck and lamb and poultry, so you could argue that I'm very far from being a vegetarian.  But I don't each shellfish or any sea creature that lives on the sea floor.  I also don't eat tuna.  I don't eat ham or pork.  I won't touch fois gras (goose or duck liver paté).  And I generally don't eat fish unless I am right next to the sea and the fish has been caught the same day (and it's not tuna, of course).

If I go through this laundry list with my hosts, they will inevitably give me this strange look and try to review each item to understand why I won't eat it.  Since I refuse to get into a long discussion about levels of mercury in tuna with someone who hasn't even read up on the issue, it's just easier to say that I'm a vegetarian.

The problem is when either I forget to tell them that I'm a vegetarian, or they forget that I am one, or (more often than not) they haven't forgotten but (quite understandably) they don't want to have to adapt their fantastic menu to my fastidious tastes.  The French can't imagine a meal without fois gras and the Americans can't imagine a meal without shrimp.  So I often end up just not eating half the stuff that is being served.

The second problem is with dinners - late dinners.  Well before motherhood, my brain was wired to go to bed no later than 10:30 pm.  At 11 pm, I'm a zombie.  Post-motherhood, I'm the same way, plus add the fact that I have an todder who, since birth, has woken me up at 5:30 every morning - for the day.

In Antananarivo, when someone invites you over to dinner, you arrive at 8, you talk for what seems like an eternity, and you start the meal at 10 pm.  At 10:30, I'm ready to hit the sack (keep in mind that I have been up since 5:30 am) but it would be rude to do so, as most people haven't even finished their main course by then (I have though, because I generally have only been able to eat the rice and vegetables).

"Well, then, why don't you explain to your hosts your problem", you ask.

You're right.  But I need to do this when I accept the dinner invitation, so that they are really forewarned.  This is what happened the last time I had to explain at the actual dinner  (I was solo that evening, as the Frenchman was in Paris on business):

Me: "Thank you so much for having me over.  I had a wonderful time."

Hostess:  "You're leaving already?  It's only a quarter past midnight."  (I am not kidding.  She considered a quarter past midnight on a Thursday night to be "early" for leaving a dinner party).

Me: "Well, yes.  My 18-month old son wakes me up at 5:30 every morning so I get tired pretty early.  And I have to get enough sleep in before tomorrow morning."

Hostess (who is French, by the way, which really does explain a lot): "5:30?  This is not acceptable.  Can't you just give him a bottle?"

I'd like to mention here that I don't understand how on earth a bottle solves the problem.  You want me to get out of bed and go to the kitchen and warm up a bottle of milk for my son?  At 5:30 in the morning?  Are you fricking kidding me? 

Back to the conversation:

Me: "Well, I do nurse him when he wakes up but he stays awake after that.  His day starts then.  He's just wired that way."

Hostess, with look of shock in her eyes: "You're still breastfeeding him?  But isn't he is too old for that."

Me, shrugging my shoulders: "er, I don't know.  People don't seem to think that he's too old for a bottle, and breastfeeding is the normal way to feed a baby..."

Another guest, now listening in on the conversation pipes in to say: "So you're a militante."

Me, shrugging shoulders again and trying to smile: "I don't know what that means.  In any event, it's not the nursing that causes my son to wake up.  My six-year old also wakes up at 5:30.  Fortunately, she's capable of taking care of herself.  It's just the way our brains are wired in our family.  And of course, the 18-month old needs to be looked after once he's awake."   

Understand that I don't generally mind being questioned about nursing my 18-month old.  After all, what better way to educate people?  But when I've just told you that I have to go because I am extremely short on sleep, why are we having this conversation?  I told you that i had to go.  I told you my reason.  Why are you now launching a discussion about the fact that I "still" breastfeed my son?

The third problem that I have with lunch and dinner parties is that the conversation generally bores me.  There.  I said it.  I find about 90 percent of the discussion during lunch and dinner parties dreadfully boring.

Am I the only one?  I don't know.  I'll be the first to admit that I'm borderline Asperger's when it comes to small talk - it's not just that it bores me - I am incapable of participating in it.  I have no idea what to say.  And the problem is that most stuff for me is small talk.  I care very little about the hotel you stayed in when you went to Toliar (in the south of Madagascar) last year and certainly not enough to listen to you talk about it for half an hour.  I care not much more about the cute little restaurant that you discovered while you were there.  I'll be happy to talk to you more about that should I ever decide to book a trip to Toliar (which is unlikely ever to happen), but I have no desire to hear all about it for twenty minutes now.  I'm happy to talk about that little boutique you discovered up last week for about, oh,  thirty seconds and then I will try to change the subject.  I don't give a rat's ass about where to buy great shrimp, not least because I don't eat it.

I would love to talk about politics (especially French or US politics) but apparently I'm not allowed to.  Religion is another topic that fascinates me but apparently that's taboo, too.  I'm always happy to talk about someone's kid of whatever age, even if the "kids" in question are already adults.  "What grade?  What school?  What does she plan to do when she graduates this year?" "Where do they live now?"
Fortunately, people are always happy to give forth when it comes to talking about their kids and I never get bored by it, but I can only milk that topic so much.

As an expatriate and a mom of bicultural children, the topic of schools and education fascinates me, but I have the impression that many people aren't so interested in that subject.  Most French people accept that their kids go to the French school, wherever they live, without thinking much about alternatives, and most American people accept the American school in the same way.

I love to talk about the ins and outs of people's businesses.  Give me a factory or store owner anyday and I will ask about how they select their inventory, how hard it is to get and train staff, and who designed their products.  It's not often you get to meet this kind of person though, and when you do, even if he or she is keen to discuss the business in detail, others around the table don't understand why you keep bringing up questions about the nitty gritty of running some store or factory at a dinner party.

Yep, just say it.  I've got Asperger's.  Or I'm just too academic about things.

My saving grace is the Bambino.  He is often present for lunches at people's houses, and I therefore often have to excuse myself from the table because he needs some attention for whatever reason.  It's a great way to escape! If there are other bigger kids hanging around, I like to talk to them too.  At a lunch a few weeks ago, I had a great bunch of French kids asking me all kinds of questions about bilingualism and trying out their English on me.  It was much more interesting than the discussion among the adults about that hotel in Toliar....

The positive side of expat life in Madagascar

Expat transfer season is coming up soon.  With that in mind, we can't help but wondering whether we'll stay or be sent somewhere else.  We've had our fill of Madagascar and love the idea of moving to yet another country, but as I contemplate our last two years here, I realise that, however much we complain about the dirt, the pollution, the poverty and the lack of choice for schools in this city, we still have it pretty good.  So if we do end up staying (and the chances are good that we will), at least there'll be more of these positive aspects of life in Tana:

 We live in a residence (some people call it a compound) with streets that are paved and guarded, and kids can walk, run and ride their bikes anywhere they want within the residence.  The residence gives them a freedom that they would never have back home in Paris or in pretty much any other modern city.  My six-year old Bambina leaves the house by herself and takes off on her bike and I don't have to worry about it.

Horse-back riding lessons for children and adults of all ages, at reasonable rates and not too far away from where we live.  The Bambina has a lesson every Sunday morning and the Bambino likes to try out a pony whenever we go. 

Lots of rain and every now and then a rainbow.

 A heated swimming pool in our back yard and lots of opportunity for friends to come over and play - school gets out at 12:20 three times a week.

 Lots and lots of yard space.  

Very cheap manicures, pedicures, massages and haircuts.   A haircut for the Bambina costs about 2 euro.  A pedicure costs about 10 euro.  A message costs about 5 euro for an hour!

Questioning our school choice

I'm feeling anxious today. Recently, the Bambina has seemed not quite herself and her teacher at school agrees that something is not quite right.

Sunday night, I reminded the Bambina that tomorrow there was school and her face went from content to crestfallen within a second. When I asked her what was wrong she said "I don't like school".

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because" was all she could answer. And then "I can't explain".

"Okay, let's review your typical school day and see what it is that you don't like. What do you do first?"

"First the teacher reads us a story. I like that."

"Okay", I say. "Then what."

"Then we read and write. I like that, too. Then there is recréation. That's okay but kind of boring because there's nothing there." (There's no playground equipment at the Bambina's school, if you can believe it.)

"Continue".

"Then we have mathématiques. I don't like that."

Uh-oh, I think to myself. She's not even seven years old and she already is having problems with math...

"I don't like working on the ardoise. I hate it. I want to do math on a piece of paper with a pencil."

The ardoise is a little slate that each child has, just like in the olden days, to do quick sums on. I had no idea that this could be an obstacle to learning.

"Then there's sport. I don't like sport. It's boring and tiring. Then English - also boring."

No surprise there. The Bambina is bilingual and has to sit through English lessons for beginners. Yawn.

"Then we have théatre. That's also boring."

I actually think that the Bambina could like a theatre class if it was done properly but in this case, judging by what they have "performed" for us, I can see her point. In the last performance, they stood around acting like sheep for ten minutes. And that was it.

And then there's art but we don't do much art like we did in kindergarten. We just learn about artists.

I'm happy that the French have taken it upon themselves to imbue knowledge of Kandinsky, Picasso and Robert and Sonja Delaunay, but it sure would be nice if they would also let the kids actually do some art!

"Mommy, if they canceled everything else, even recreation, and just let me write all day, I would love it. I just want to write."

Not sure what to do with this was. Academically, she is doing fine. Her grades are good. But she seems bored or at least uninterested. Is she in the wrong school system? Maybe I should take her out of the French School and put her in the American School? At least she would get to do more art and would be allowed to do math with pencil and paper instead of on a slate.

I'm afraid that if we continue in the French School it will be more of the same, year after year. On the other hand, I might switch her to an American school, and the problem still might not be resolved. And then if we ever do want her to switch back to the French system (say, because we move back to France and we can't afford a foreign private school), she may have a very hard time reintegrating.

And then there is always the possibility of putting her in the Primary Years Programme of an international school (when we move to another country, that is. There is no international school here in Tana). But having read the description of I'm not sure whether to love or hate it. (Any thoughts most appreciated, of course).

Hey, anybody home?

Herein lies the essence of what makes neighbourhood life in a developing country different from your house in suburban North America or Europe.

Walls and Gates.  Metal, stone or brick.  Two metres high with sharp glass or barbed wire on top and thorny bushes on both sides at the bottom (except of course at the gate, so people and cars have a place to enter, if the guard posted out front lets them in).  

Barriers that keep intruders out - but that also keep out little neighbours who are just looking for a playmate on a lonely summer afternoon.

You know you live in a developing country when

1.  You pay top dollar for bottom of the barrel no-name imported brand canned and packaged food at the grocery store - when you can get them.

2.  Your tap water is so full of chlorine that the kids' bath has a light green tint to it.

3. Your kid speaks at least two languages, and sometimes three, depending on what country you're living in at the time.

4. You have grown an affection for scenery filled with dirt roads, gutters and rice paddies.

5. You never walk anywhere anymore and you're no longer used to driving in vehicles that are not 4x4.

6.  You expect to get a stomach bug about once every three to four months.

7. You buy meat the same day that the animal was killed and you age it in your refrigerator.

8. Your definition of a "really good restaurant" has evolved to being a restaurant whose food doesn't make you sick.

9. A chauffeur drives your kids to school every day.

10.  You count down the days to Christmas vacation months ahead of time and can't wait to experience cold and snow.

The International Family's Never-Ending Dilemma : Is my child in the right school?

The number one question of the international family: Where should we send our children to school?

The number two question of the international family: Have we put our children in the right school?

Basically, the question is always on our minds.

Here in Tananarive, Madagascar, the choices of schools is VERY limited.  You can send your child to the French school or you can send your child to the American school.

Pros of the American School, from our perspective:

- Great way to consolidate my children's English.

- It's close to home.

- It has small classes.

- It is more open to creativity and different learning styles than the French system.
- Thinking with an open and critical mind is just as important as coming up with the right answer.

- It has a great community feel to it.

- If offers lots of extra-curricular activities.

The American School has its disadvantages, too, though.  It's very expensive.  Their pre-K and kindergarten facilities are not great (in fact, they're downright shabby and small), some of the teachers are not native English speakers, and for an natural-mama type like me, their vaccine requirements are a little over the top. 

Pros of the French school:

- Teaching the Bambina to read and write in French is something that I can't do and that the Frenchman won't do.  This is close to being a deal-breaker point. 

- It has an excellent kindergarten programme.

- Truly excellent teachers in kindergarten, first and second grade.

But the French school is a 30 minute drive away in the morning.  And in the long run, French education may be rigourous but it also has the reputation for being narrow, closed-minded and not great for building confidence in children.

We chose the French school because at the time, the Bambina was only five years old when we arrive in Tana and the kindergarten at the French school was visibly better than the one at the American school.  Now that she's in first grade, I'm sure that the American school is just as good, if not better.  Neither school is perfect.  Either one would leave us questioning our choice.

For our next expatriation, my prayer is that not only will we not be in a francophone country, but that we will be in a country where there is no lycée français, at that we will have no choice but to put the Bambina in a reputable international school that offers French for native speakers.  Alternatively, sending her to a local school, should we be living in a developed, anglophone country (Australia, Scotland, the United States  or Canada, for example) would also be interesting.

A Montessori school for the Bambino would be a cherry on the cake.

Language Etiquette

I come across a lot of two-language families.  For example, the mother is Italian and the father is American, or the mother is Australian and the father is German, or there is our case - I'm English-speaking Canadian and I have a French husband. 

The question always arises - which language should we speak to our children in?  For me, the answer was and is simple - English, English and English.  I speak to my children in English, read to them in English, sing to them in English, play with them in English, and listen to the radio and watch television with them...in English!  Call me stubborn but they don't get much English exposure anywhere else - I'm basically IT - so I do everything with them in English.

So far (knock on wood), I've been lucky.  The Bambina speaks to me exclusively in English, this despite the fact that she has a French father and is in a French school. 

Some people are taken aback that I speak to my kids in English even when we are with other non-English speaking people.  I attend a playgroup twice a week, once with my daughter and once with my son.  Both playgroups are francophone.  No matter to me.  When I am speaking to my child, it's in English.  We often have people over here for lunch on the weekends and the conversation with them tends to be in French.  Any discourse with my children remains nevertheless in English. 

If the Bambina has a friend over, I still speak to her in English.  If I am talking to both of them, I say it in English and then in French.  (Actually, the parents of the child are inevitably thrilled that I am speaking English to their child so there is no objection from them there).

I may be in the minority on this one.  I've talked to other moms in two-language families and have discovered that they are reluctant to speak to their children in their own language when they are around other people.  One Italian mother told me that she simply refused to speak Italian to her children at (French) playgroup because it would exclude others from the conversation.  Um, you're talking to your son about his lego tower.  What makes you think we need to be included in this conversation??

Another (once again Italian!) mother told me that she thought it would be rude (gasp!) to talk to her children in Italian when they were with other people.

Well, you know what?  It might be rude but my answer is that my children's bilingual ability takes precedence over showing good manners.  Call me rude, I don't care.  In ALL the cases I have encountered where the parent in a two language family switches languages when around others, the child ends up speaking to the parent in the dominant language rather than in the parent's minority language.

Here is a typical discussion that takes place on this matter:

Other mom: I speak to him in Italian but he'll only answer me in French.
Me: But I just heard you speaking to him in French.
Other mom: Well, yeah but when we're with other people, I speak French.  Otherwise the other person won't understand what I'm saying.
Me: Hmmm. I don't think he'll speak to you in Italian unless you speak to him exclusively in the language.
Other mum: Well, he understands everything I say and I guess that's good enough.

Fair enough.  If bilingual comprehension is your goal, then that's all you need.  But if your goal is for your children to be bilingual and you are in a two-language family, you need to keep it exclusive in your language when you talk to your children - no matter where you are.

Which School?

I get a lot of emails from people asking me which school they should send their child to.  Usually, the person is considering between two schools that teach in different languages.  The latest email comes from Erin, an American mom in Rome who wants to know if she should take her kids out of the private American school that they currently attend to put them in the French school that French kids in Rome attend.

It's hard for me to answer such questions without knowing all the family circumstances and the language abilities of the kids, so I ask parents to consider the following factors in making their decision.

Location: One of the most important considerations in deciding on which school your child will attend is where you live, where the school is and what methods of transport you have at your disposal.  The school you have chosen could be Montessori, have Chinese language immersion and serve organic lunches.  If it's across the city, then it won't be much use to you unless you own a helicopter.

Is there any connection with your family or with where you  are living?: As an expatriate, would I ever send my children to the school where the Spanish kids go?  Not unless we were expatriates in Spain or another Spanish-speaking country.  I'm not Spanish or even Hispanic and neither is my partner.  We don't speak the language, don't know the culture and wouldn't be able to offer an iota of help to our kids.   There is simply no family connection to the Spanish language or culture.  I would rather send my kids to an English school and get them really good in their mother-tongue than put them in a school where they have no connection with home or where they live. 

Keep in mind that I am not talking about language immersion schools that are AIMED at non-native speakers, such as French immersion schools in Canada.  I am talking about sending your kids to the French school where the French kids go or the Spanish school where the Hispanic kids go or the Japanese school where the Japanese kids go.  Your child will suffer unless there is some kind of, well, reason to send them there, like that you happen to live in France or Spain or Japan, or you used to live there and you don't want your child to lose the language that they have learned, or that you are French or Spanish or Japanese.

If your family is bilingual, which school will maintain the weaker language the best?  I speak only English with the kids and my partner speaks only French with them.  The Bambina is in the French system because, without the support of school, French would be her weaker language.  Papa is simply not home enough to ensure that she is is getting sufficient exposure to French.

Considering choosing a local school if you speak another language at home and if you are going to be living in the country for a long time.  Why not?  You live there. Your child might as well learn the language of the street. 

Language immersion schools work best when there is support at home. If you are just a North American family living in North America and want to put your child in a French or Spanish immersion school that is aimed at non-native speakers, consider how much support you will be able to offer your child.  My experience with language immersion kids is that, without the support of a family member who speaks the language, these children end up not being able to speak the immersion language well and, worse, not being able to read or write their native language well.  In the absence of a good support system at home, I would choose a plain old good quality traditional school over a language immersion school.

Moving on...

It's been a while since I last posted! Lots has been happening in our little globetrotter family since then. For one, we have a globetrotter baby on the way this May! Baby might not get much of a chance to experience Italy, however, as it is entirely possible that we'll move to another destination before the end of this summer. On the other hand, my four-year old will have had her fill of Italy. In addition to expecting pasta at every meal, she now speaks Italian fairly fluently, albeit with an anglo accent. She will likely forget most of her Italian once we move from here but I am told that she will retain a predisposition for it later in life, should she choose to learn the language again.

In other moving on news, our friends Steve and Linda, an American couple living in Rome and parents to three girls, have announced that they are moving to Bali, Indonesia for a year. They aren't moving there for the beaches or the weather. They're going for the schools! Or should I say, one school in particular. Meet The Green School. Providing a holistic education for children from pre-school to year 8, this school combines ecological awareness and the pedogogy of Rudolph Steiner with the academically rigourous international baccalaureate programme. And the school is built almost entirely of bamboo!

The Green School has been making waves in the mainstream press. CNN International recently did a report on The Green School in its program Eco Solutions. The New York Times mentioned it in its travel section in September 2008. And a recent issue of Conde Nast magazine even recommends to its readers to visit the school as a tourest destination, stating "Harvest lemongrass, rambutan and tapioca alongside students in the garden, milk goats for the school's own organic ice cream, and enjoy a gourmet lunch plucked straight from the surrounding fields." I think I'll skip on the goat's milk ice cream and continue enjoying my gelato for the time being. But the rest of the school sure sounds good to me.

I'm just wondering if there are other families out there who have changed cities or countries principally for a school that they have chosen for their kids. Anyone?