Erm... why am I teaching??

I'm working as a teacher in Swaziland – a job which came as a considerable surprise to me, too. I've generally been an advocate of the 'those who can, do; those who can't, teach' philosophy, and consider the concept of an 'intelligent teacher' to be the finest definition of oxymoron going. Thus, somewhat out of character, I try to muster enthusiasm for course guidelines, exam regulations, and the restrictions imposed by the endless reams of instructions examining bodies are capable of producing. I remind myself regularly that the likes of DH Lawrence and Robert Frost worked as teachers.

In addition to brandishing my own endless reams of Browning and Shakespeare and Blake handouts at students, I am also required to teach the most ridiculous of courses: the ToK element of the IB diploma. ToK stands for the somewhat pretentiously named Theory of Knowledge aspect of the programme the students here follow. At first glance, those of you who have managed to avoid become embroiled in this wretched course may enthusiastically consider that it could be a sort of beginner's guide to philosophy. Why yes, it could! But it isn't. It is something that involves extremely loosely defined 'knowledge issues' and for individuals to be able to consider the various 'areas of knowledge' via the 'four ways of knowing' (language, reason, emotion, and perception – for those of you remotely interested).

It is a course that currently clogs up four periods a week on my timetable, and sees me standing in front of a class flailing vaguely in the direction of the ill-defined syllabus. Today's session at least created an interesting debate, although not that which I'd intended upon when entering the classroom. Via a series of leaps and bounds the students ended up discussing why they get educated at all: half were convinced it was so they could get a job with more money in the future, most of the rest 'abstained' (they couldn't care less, they just knew they were told to go to school and did so), and a couple of others seemed to be edging towards what I believe is the real purpose.

More accurately, what I believed. I now don't know. If even the pupils don't think it is to stretch their minds and make them more inspired, more interesting individuals with greater potential for understanding the problems the universe still daily throws at us, then I'm not sure it is for teachers to define it in such a way...

This goes some way to explaining, however, why none of my supposedly intelligent students saw any comedy in Kafka's, 'Metamorphosis'. Why they still insist on calling Levi's, 'If This is a Man' a mere story. Why the existential angst of Camus' protagonist in, 'The Outsider' will inevitably be lost on them.

Ignorance is never blissful – I will always be the curious fool who opens Pandora's box and goes dramatically into battle with the consequences. I can't understand these students who see the process of education as the great curse of their youth and as a mere means to a financially beneficial end. Imagine being granted the opportunity to spend the rest of your life researching anything that came to mind that morning when you woke up, following whichever path your brain desired until it found a new avenue to explore. And to experience everything this world has to offer: never mind just reading about the tribes in Papua New Guinea, but getting to go live with them and see for yourself. Don't just know that the Great Wall of China can be seen from space (I'm not even sure that is true, come to that) but go and see the dratted thing for yourself, snakes and all. Not just hear of the unrivalled majesty of the clouds lifting over Macchu Picchu as the sun rises between the mountains, but go and watch for yourself as the lost city is unveiled.

So many people wrongly accuse me of being 'angry with the world', and it becomes ever more tedious with each rendition of the tired phrase. I am angry with people who don't know and who don't want to know; who are content in their small corner of the globe to limit their experiences to a distinct safe sphere; who look scornfully at my erratic and seemingly unstable version of existence.

I think the trick with life is to realise when something is no longer engaging your interest and to be able to step away from that situation and head off to find new pastures, while fending off feelings of being jaded or discouraged. Some people think there is merit in 'sticking it out' and plodding wearily on when they are no longer content, that you can learn and – to use a painful Americanism – 'grow' from such experiences. I'm not so sure there is any great quality in learning to handle your increasing misery when you know how to exchange that state for a happier one.

'May you live all the days of your life'. (Jonathan Swift)