Noun, Verb, Kimchi: Part 6

Written by Clayton Foster

You can tell Korean children all you like to cover their mouths when they cough, and they never will. You can also complain loudly and vocally that children should not be forced to go to school when they are shivering with the full throes of the flu, for all the good that it will do you.

For these reasons, this month’s column comes to you direct from underneath a quivering mass of mucus and self-pity. Sorry for being gross, but there’s something about the ongoing ravages of illness (I’m now entering my third week of illness, which means the flu and I are practically civil partners) that desensitises one to politeness and niceties. When you’re a stranger in a strange land, and you’re sick, the normally heightened levels of go-with-the-flow-ness suffer alongside your please and thank-yous. I’ve always maintained that nothing makes you more pathetically homesick than a sniffly nose, and true to form, I’ve been fighting the urge to climb up a clock tower and sing “Somewhere, out there...” like that mouse in that movie that you won’t remember if you’re not hovering around 30.

Which makes it as good a time as any to talk about the downside of working in a foreign culture. When you’re part of a community displaced from its home (even voluntarily), a surprising amount of time is spent complaining about the culture you’re in. No-one will admit that, of course, and in emails home the host culture is always amazing, inspiring and so right about so many things, man. Conventional wisdom suggests that exposure to other cultures broadens your mind and enhances tolerance. This is undoubtedly true, but it also means that you’re forced to deal with the day-to-day realities of cultures that were easier to romanticise before you got off the plane.

The first rule of thumb in a situation such as teaching in Korea is not to get too uppity. Yes, by virtue of being in Korea as a teacher, you’re showing that you have a university degree and the ability to negotiate the bewildering Visa requirements. But never forget this: you are, at the heart of things, an immigrant worker, no matter how pretty your diploma may look on the foyer wall. The money you’ll receive is good, along with the tax breaks, the accommodation, and the return flights. But the trade-off is less security and less power than you would have back home. As a result, you find yourself tolerating things that would probably see you walk out of a job were you in your natural habitat.

One factor that all English-speaking teachers will find themselves at odds with in Korea – so commonplace that’s it’s regularly forewarned about in culture guides – is the different relationship that Korean businesspeople tend to have with agreements and contracts. At the heart of the issue are different understandings of the word ‘yes.’ In the English-speaking west, ‘yes’ tends to mean, “I agree”, or “I will act on this.” In Korea, as well as numerous other Asian cultures, ‘yes’ tends to mean, “I am listening”, or “I understand what you are saying.” Adding to the confusion is the prioritisation within Korean culture of maintaining a good relationship over the western obsession with the truth. It is not uncommon to be told that you will be receiving exactly what you want, when you want it, only to later discover that this is not the case. You were told ‘yes’ because it was what was required to maintain a good relationship with you, not because there was any intention to follow through.

An example: in my current school, paycheques are always a problem. Low student numbers and the unwillingness to upset late-paying mothers’ means that money is always tight. As a result, every month, many employees will receive a late paycheque – something that does not sit well with western workers. As well as this stress, the school will further complicate the matter by not being completely honest about when the money will be hitting our hungry little hands. Typically, we are assured of an optimistically early date, which is then pushed back, and pushed back again. This is usually done without any official notification, only the anxious feeling in your stomach when you check your bank account and find that it’s even closer to zero than it was the day before (anxiety that’s heightened by the situation of living alone in a country without friends or family to lean on in times of trouble).

This became such a regular pattern of behaviour at our school that eventually the western staff challenged the Korean directors as to why they would consistently give us false hope with dates that they clearly had no intention of meeting. The directors were confused. It was better, they said, to let us feel as if the money was coming soon, so we feel good, then to merely say “We don’t know”, and create bad feeling.

Cultures can clash too when it comes to solving problems. Several months ago, on the first instance of a delayed paycheque, I let my unhappiness about the situation be known. The next day I arrive at work to find a large - and expensive - box of high potency Vitamin C tablets on my desk, a note attached saying that the Korean staff were concerned at my unhappiness, and hoped these would help. No mention of pay. In a similar situation recently, our school decided to take all the teachers out to an upscale restaurant as a well-intentioned way of cheering us up about not getting paid. In a western scenario, this would have probably read as tasteless or at least poorly ironic.

There are, of course, options for foreign workers in Korea who find their backs against the walls. However, it’s commonly known that labour boards here typically favour employers over employees, and any union-type activity is deeply frowned upon, an attitude that is perhaps a result of the blisteringly fast economic progress Korea has forced itself to maintain over the past few decades.

So, most days, you tolerate these inconveniences and cultural incongruities by weighing it against the fact that, hell, you’re living in Seoul – one of the most exciting cities in the world – your lifestyle is incredible when matched to a comparable situation back home, and for the most part you are treated like royalty.

But then, sickness strikes, you find yourself without official sick days, and you realise that the health insurance you were promised in your contract is actually just the school directors sending you to their friend who may or may not be a licensed health professional, which you can’t tell because you don’t speak the same language.

And you find yourself humming, sadly off-key and brimming with snot ‘somewhere, out there, beneath the pale moonlight....’

Follow Clayton on Twitter @ClaytronGo