It's 5pm, do you know where your child is?

5pm in May somewhere in central Spain. The temperatures have already invaded the mid 30s and the brief rains of spring are a memory. The green plain beyond the expanding urban blight has already burnt off and the sleepy siesta streets are still quiet at this hour. But wait, what's that sound in the sea of calm?

Sure enough it is coming from an open window a few floors up, and what does it sound like? Perhaps English? English here in the middle of lost Spain? Sure enough there seems to be a few hoarse English words peppered amidst a general buzz of screaming children's voices.

All over Spain guilty feeling, or perhaps not so guilty parents trudge their kids off through the hot, sleepy streets to their bi-weekly English "lesson" at about half past four. Taking advantage of this blessed 1 1/2hour of childfree bliss to continue their own siesta in peace under the ridiculous guise of bettering their child's future. Where do these kids go and who "teaches" them?? well...

Picture a hot room with a few tattered posters on the wall, perhaps left over from the last well meaning "teacher" who moved on 2 years ago. The overhead fan, if it exists, isn't on for fear of disturbing the invariable crossword puzzle that passes for vocabulary revision.10 to 15 children, from 3 to 16 sleepily dream of their couches while they incubate a deep down tubercular hate for this enforced language that exists for them only in vague statements like, "I'll be good for ya", or "It'll help you get a good job". Sound like an educator's dream? Wait, it gets better.

The "teacher" that stands or maybe by now sits before them herself is, like the students, half stupefied by the stagnant air and day-dreaming of the pints to come. Teacher of course is in quotes, because this person has no qualification whatsoever to teach. The last child they had encountered was the one that sat across from them on the bus to University and their knowledge of their student's cognitive capabilities is the same as their knowledge of quantum physics, that's to say...nil. Does a 5 year old learn differently than a 13 year old? Who cares? if the teacher is lucky enough to have a course book to follow, their lesson plan consists of the statement, "Turn to the next page."

Indeed, who cares?

You have to wonder. The parents sometimes drop their children off in these hidden away Academies, usually lost on the 4th floor of some apartment complex. Inside there are a few bogus diplomas hanging on the wall, but as they are in English they could be for hamburger flipping technique for all the monolingual parents know. Go ahead little Javier, I know that you are only 4 years old, but mind the sharp corners of that metal desk and the too-high chairs. Sorry, no play area here. Perhaps they do feel uneasy, but the belief that their child will somehow become bilingual due to its 3-hour weekly exposure to this native speaking god who only looks hungover, overcomes this uneasy feeling. Blind faith is something to admire, isn't it? Or is it good riddance to their brat for that lovely 1 1/2? Do they question at least themselves?

Of course the Academy managers have no scruples here. Yes, yes, our teachers are "natives." Of their own countries of course. Never have I heard it asked, "Yes, but are they actually teachers!? Have they any idea how a young learner's mind works!" Like the American Army's famous don't ask, don't tell homosexuality clause. No, it's please hand over the monthly fee while I report to Social Security that my teachers are only working 10 hours when they really teach 25, and of course for minimum wage...right?

Then there are the teachers. Perhaps a well-meaning teacher with an Adult teaching certification (like the CELTA) who is forced to face a group of alien minds in order to retain her job. But its more likely someone on their gap year or someone just looking for enough beer money to make it through the month.

The 3 options combine to make the situation for TEFL teaching outside of the bigger cities here in Spain awful or at least difficult. I'm sure there are exceptions, but for every exception, how many of these places out there make my description look rosy in comparison? On a blog that seems to have focused on the corrupt, for me, there is little worse than this deception that I take part in several times a week.

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