How I became a French teacher in Louisiana

His budding career as a professor led the author to live in a lesser-known region of the French-speaking world, in Baton Rouge, in the south of the United States, and to demonstrate great resourcefulness

In 1997, I graduated with a degree in arts education in a different job market than today. While I was looking for work, an opportunity presented itself: helping French teachers in New Brunswick.

Having become a French instructor in a few days, I went for it, without knowing what awaited me. I moved to St. Stephen, not yet a French teacher, but ready for a challenge. I was also following my girlfriend, a student in Moncton, which seemed like a good idea.

My first year there went pretty well, although I lacked the confidence to develop as a teacher. I still returned the following year as a substitute, hoping to get a position. Unfortunately, in 1998 and 1999, the phone did not ring often. Saved from depression by running, a few artistic projects allowed me to pay my bills.

In the meantime, another opportunity presented itself: teaching in Louisiana. I had the address of CODOFIL – Council for the Development of French in Louisiana –, but little more information.

First attempt: a CV sent late. The following year, I met deadlines, but the interviews were far from home. I missed the train – the bus, in fact, which was too expensive for my means.

That summer, on “vacation” in Montreal, back at work, I had an interview and was hired. Ready to head out to the bayous, things moved quickly.

The big departure

In a few weeks, I emptied my apartment, filled out a thousand forms, participated in a pharmaceutical study to finance my trip, and got into a truck rented by a professor with whom I had been matched to move.

Ce road trip was a costly and dangerous adventure: I slept in the box of the truck, due to lack of planning on the part of my colleague. The truck broke down and the driver ran out of money, all before the border. I entered customs to sign some papers, I asked the customs officer for a pen, who replied: “You come to teach here and you don't even have a pen?” »

Arriving in Baton Rouge in the middle of the night, and having to follow several training courses the next day, I experienced some shocks: intense heat, bombardment of information, large cockroaches, etc. Once housed, I explored my neighborhood by bike, only to learn that there were streets where I was not welcome: people threw stones at me, which I luckily avoided. Permanent detours, without orange cones.

At school, surprise: there were no teaching tools. I had to teach French to children, but also create a program and materials. Without a place to teach, my first schedule sent me to 11 different classes per day. All my equipment fit on a cart.

As a traveling teacher, I had to be creative and resourceful. I drew my material in the evening, which led me to some collaborations with important figures in the Louisiana Francophonie.

At least I couldn't be blamed for not following the program.

Eventually, I was able to move into classrooms, temporarily, over the years I spent in Cajun country. I still experienced great things there, between the educational obstacles, the hurricanes and the shock waves of terrorism.

I learned to drive and how to conduct myself in the small, tight-knit, conservative communities of the South. My English was already good, but some accents were problematic at first. I became acquainted with the immigration process: slow and expensive. It allowed me to (or forced me to) spend a Christmas in the South, a great cultural experience: bonfires, Cajun dinners and visiting a Haitian family in Florida.

I thought for a long time that I would spend my life in Louisiana. I even bought a small house there in 2008. Unfortunately, 15 years after my arrival, I was still a long way from taking the oath of allegiance or even obtaining a green card.

Become a Quebecer again

Having left Quebec for a daughter, I returned in 2014 for another: the maid, and I decided to teach French to adults, but not before becoming a Quebecer again, bureaucratically speaking.

The job market had changed, but things moved slowly for me. There were times when I felt like an outsider. Rather tanned after 15 years in the South, someone said to me: “You're not from here, are you? »

Today, after a few years working as a coach and driver, to make ends meet, a night on Highway 13 in 2017 and a pandemic, I juggle three teaching jobs. From contract to contract, the future sometimes seems uncertain, because of political squabbles. But I'm doing what I love and I'm not alone anymore. Obviously, I could go and teach young people, but that scares me. I would rather start something else, even at 53.

Between children and hurricanes, I would probably choose hurricanes.

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