Kaliq Simms ETA :: 1996-1997 Jeju Seo Middle School
One Voice
T
he memories of my time on Jeju have appeared to me in flashes over the past decade and a half. A sea of students in identical blue blazers and blunt haircuts standing and bowing ceremonially upon my entering the classroom each day, “annyeong hasaeyo, Hunter seon-saeng-nim!” they would chant. The ever-open classroom windows let in snowflakes, ocean breezes, or sunshine depending on the season. Jeju Seo Middle School would teach me the wonders of the open air school. My students waving a colorful farewell banner, “saranghaeyo!” would blanket me forever with their vitality, a stark contrast to the island’s relentless calm. These images come to me from time to time, rediscovered pictures in an old album. I felt as if I were on location in a movie for most of my year in South Korea. The scene opens on a tall, clear-eyed, Black American tourist, her hair in dozens of sturdy braids. By all accounts, I was a spectacle. We, the Fulbright ETAs of 1996, all were a sight to see in what was then a culturally homogeneous country—give or take a few thousand oddly inconspicuous U.S. military solidiers. On the congested Seoul streets with their pungent aromas of smoked squid and fermenting cabbage, every one of my senses simultaneously experienced unfamiliar stimuli. The effect was heady, out of body. Was I really there? I’m not sure which was the greater motivator: the longing to leave the U.S. or the draw of living and teaching abroad. Having attending a Historically Black College, Morgan State University in my hometown of Baltimore, Maryland, the last place I ever thought I would wind up was South Korea. I was an English and Secondary Education double major preparing to teach English
34
| Fulbright ETA Program 20 years in Korea
