When my husband and I first packed our bags to join the Teach Taiwan FET Program, we thought we were coming to teach English. You know—verbs, tenses, “How are you?”, and convincing Grade 3 learners that “three” and “tree” are, in fact, not the same word. What I didn’t know was that Taiwan would quietly enroll me in its own full-time course: Advanced Life Skills, Major in Humility, Minor in Bubble Tea Appreciation.
This is the story of how a South African teacher—armed with worksheets, enthusiasm, and possibly too much confidence—found a second home in Taiwan.
Arriving with Chalk, Leaving with Chopsticks
As someone who grew up in South Africa, where we measure distance in “just now” and “now-now,” Taiwan felt like stepping into a world that runs on efficiency, politeness, and convenience stores. In South Africa, if someone says, “I'll be there now,” it could mean in five minutes or sometime before the next year.
I arrived thinking I would teach grammar. Instead, I learned patience. The FET Program didn’t just give me a classroom—it gave me an entire island to explore, students who test my creativity daily, and a new appreciation for stinky tofu (well… appreciation might be a strong word. Let's say tolerance).
Teaching in Taiwan: Where “Teacher!” Is a Full-Contact Sport
Teaching in Taiwan is not for the faint-hearted. Especially if you teach elementary school.
The first time I walked into a Grade 1 classroom, I was greeted with 28 tiny humans who looked at me like I had just stepped out of a YouTube video. Some stared. Some waved. One immediately shouted, “Wàiguó rén” followed by "Teacher! Why are your eyes blue?" (This is a recurring theme in my life.)
My lessons are rarely quiet. They are productions. When I teach simple past tense, I do not merely say, “I cleaned my room.” No. I act it out. I mime sweeping. I pretend to collapse from exhaustion. By the end, students are shouting:
“I CLEANED MY ROOM!” “I PLAYED BASKETBALL!” “I WATCHED VIDEOS!”
And somehow, between the chaos and the laughter, they learn.
One of my favorite activities was taking my younger students outside to hunt for letters of the alphabet. Inspired by books like Alphabatics and Alphabet City, we left the classroom and searched the real world for English letters hiding in plain sight—on signs, buildings, scooters, and snack wrappers. The joy on their faces when they spotted a giant “M” or a sneaky “S” was priceless. It turns out education is far more exciting when it involves fresh air and mild competition.
With my older students, especially Grades 6 to 9, the challenges shift. They are cool. Very cool. Too cool, sometimes. I have learned that humor is my greatest survival tool. If you can make a junior high student laugh, you have already won half the battle.
Teaching in Taiwan has sharpened me as an educator. It has forced me to adapt, simplify, exaggerate, repeat, and most importantly—connect. My students may forget a worksheet, but they will remember how the class felt.
The Classroom as a Cultural Exchange
What makes the FET Program special is not just that we teach English—it is that we live cultural exchange.
My students frequently ask me questions:
“Teacher, do you have night markets?” “Teacher, why do you speak English like that?”
“Teacher, can you eat spicy?”
I answer honestly. (No, we do not have night markets like this. Yes, that is my accent. And spicy depends on the day.)
In return, they teach me Mandarin phrases, local customs, and the correct way to hold chopsticks (I am still improving).
There is something powerful about standing in front of a classroom knowing that you represent more than yourself. You represent possibility. You show students that the world is bigger than they imagined—and at the same time, you show them that their world is worth discovering too.
Convenience Is a Lifestyle
Let's talk about daily life. If South Africa has braais, Taiwan has 7-Eleven. Need to pay a bill?
7-Eleven. Pick up a package? 7-Eleven. Get dinner at 10 pm? 7-Eleven. Print documents?
7-Eleven. Forgot your socks? 7-Eleven. Exist? Probably 7-Eleven. I quickly learned that convenience stores in Taiwan are not stores. They are institutions and should be treated with the respect they deserve.
Public transport deserves its own standing ovation. Traveling from Shalu to Taichung, from Wuqi to Taoyuan, or planning a carefully timed connection to catch a free shuttle bus—this has become part of my life. I now discuss bus numbers and train platforms with the seriousness of a military strategist.
“Take Bus 308V.” “No, taking the train is faster.” “But will I make the 16:30 shuttle?” This is my version of extreme sports.
Taiwanese local life has a beautiful rhythm: morning breakfast shops with egg pancakes sizzling on the grill, grandparents exercising in parks, night markets buzzing with energy, and locals riding scooters like synchronized swimmers in traffic.
I have grown to love the politeness woven into daily interactions. The orderly lines, patiently waiting. The quiet respect in public spaces. It is a contrast to the loud, vibrant energy of South Africa—but both feel like home in different ways.
And yes, I have mastered the art of crossing an intersection surrounded by 200 scooters. It is all about confidence. And mild prayer.
Rain, Railways, and Resilience
Traveling around Taiwan has been one of the greatest gifts of this experience.
From Taipei during Lunar New Year—where the skyline glows with fireworks—to quieter coastal areas where the sea meets dramatic skies, Taiwan offers endless variety. I have planned itineraries around possible rain, checked train numbers with precision, and learned that “holiday crowds” is not a suggestion—it is a reality.
Places like Old Taichung Railway Station Plaza and riverside walkways have become familiar landmarks. Even getting slightly lost has its charm (less charming in the rain, but still).
What I appreciate most is how accessible everything feels. In one weekend, you can go from bustling city streets to tranquil mountains. From modern malls to historic old streets filled with tea shops and handmade ceramics.
Every trip feels like discovering another layer of Taiwan's personality.
A Journey from Confusion to Craving
Taiwanese food deserves poetry.
When I first encountered a traditional Taiwanese breakfast, I was confused—but intrigued. Savory soy milk? Tea Eggs? Scallion pancakes? My South African brain, raised on toast and cereal, did not know what to do.
Now? I crave it.
Night markets have become my culinary playground. The first time I smelled stinky tofu, I thought something had gone very wrong. But curiosity won. I tried it. I survived. I even… almost enjoyed it.
Bubble tea is no longer a drink. It is a personality trait. I have preferences. Sugar levels matter. Ice levels matter. Toppings matter. This is serious business.
I also love introducing my students to South African food. Trying to explain a braai is an adventure, it’s a religion.
"It's like a barbecue." "But better." "And it is very important." "Yes, we take it very seriously."
Food has become a bridge. My students teach me about their favorite Taiwanese breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. I teach them words like “biltong” and “koeksisters.” We laugh at the differences. We bond over flavors.
And sometimes, after a long teaching day, there is nothing better than sitting with a warm cup of Alishan Mountain tea, reflecting on how far I have come—from confusion to craving.
More Than a Teaching Job
When I reflect on my time in Teach Taiwan's FET Program, I realize it has been more than a job. It has been growth.
I have grown as a teacher—more creative, more flexible, more patient.
I have grown as a traveler—more adventurous, more observant.
I have grown as a person—more open, more grateful.
Taiwan has challenged me, surprised me, fed me, rained on me, and welcomed me.
It has taught me that education is not confined to four classroom walls. It happens on train platforms, in night markets, in conversations about breakfast, and in the laughter of students proudly shouting, “Teacher! I walked my dog!”
If you had told me years ago that I would feel at home on an island across the world—debating bus routes, teaching phonics outdoors, and choosing bubble tea sugar levels like a professional—I would have laughed.
And yet, here I am.
Still teaching. Still learning. Still occasionally confusing “three” and “tree.”
Taiwan may have invited me to teach—but in the end, it taught me just as much.
