Global Policy Forum

By Tini Tran

Once shunned by the Taliban as the speech of "infidels," English has become the language of choice at dozens of private language schools mushrooming all over this southern Afghan city. For an impoverished Afghanistan slowly reopening itself to the world, English has gained currency as the international language of opportunity.

"When you want a job, the first thing they want to know is whether you speak English," said director Farid Ahmadi, whose Sabawoon English Language Center has grown from 100 to 600 students since January. "I would say it is now almost a requirement, not only if you want to work for foreign NGOs but if you want to work for the government as well." According to the city's Department of Education, there are 26 registered private schools teaching English to thousands of students in Kandahar, the country's second largest city and the former stronghold of the fundamentalist Taliban rulers. The biggest center - the Ahmed Shah Baba school - has more than 1,200 students.

Even during the Taliban era, there were some schools but they were forced to remain underground, said Pashtoon, a Kandahar police official who has been taking English classes at night for four years. "The Taliban were calling it the language of infidels but this is an international language. If you talk to any educated person, they know English. Only the uneducated don't know," he said.

The wave of interest in English has only increased with the arrival of the United Nations and other international nongovernmental organizations involved in development work. With much of the country's infrastructure and services dismantled during more than two decades of war, there are few jobs available. That makes the handful of employment opportunities at foreign aid agencies that much more valuable. And virtually all of them require some English.

"I spoke a little 10 months ago but not much. Now it has gotten better. I don't think I would get this job without my English skills," said Mohammad Harif, 29, an engineer working for the United Nations who still comes to classes two to three times a week.

Sabawoon Center, a spacious sunlit courtyard compound of nine rooms, is one of the most popular schools in town, offering 26 classes a day for students ranging in age from elementary school kids to white-bearded seniors. A two-month beginner's course runs about 300 Pakistani rupees (dlrs 5) while the advanced classes are 450 rupees (dlrs 7.50). Classes run from 5:30 in the morning to 9 p.m. The school's current director, Ahmadi, who learned English as a refugee in Pakistan, returned to Kandahar last year and got a job teaching at the center. Though English centers were not banned outright, the fundamentalist Taliban rulers made things very difficult, he said.

"If we had an hour of English lessons, they wanted us to have an hour of religious studies. All the students were required to wear turbans and have uncut hair and full beards," he said. During periodic visits by the religious police, the center's students and teachers were subject to punishment if they were not following their strict code. At one visit, the center's then-director fled through a backdoor because he had recently shaved his beard, Ahmadi said. "They always asked us, 'Why are you teaching English? Have you seen anyone teaching Pashto? Why are you teaching their language?' " he said.

Tired of the constant hassles with the Taliban government, the center's founder decided to close the school last July, but Ahmadi, along with a partner, bought the school. "At the time, I thought if we close the school, then we close the way to learning English. It was the light in the dark for many of our students. If we closed the center, we were turning off that light," he said. The center did shut down once the U.S. and coalition bombing strikes began in October, but it reopened in January with about 100 students. The number is now at 600, including 25 female students. The center is one of the few allowing girls and women to attend.

During a recent visit, students in one class were painstakingly reciting the day's lessons from the New American Streamline series for Level 2: "Look at the girl. Is she wearing socks? Is she wearing shoes? No, she hasn't any socks. She has no shoes."

"Sometimes it can be difficult because I have my job and my family to care for," said Zarghona, 27, an elementary teacher herself. "But I tell myself that I will have a better chance for a job if I can speak English. Perhaps one day I can teach it, too."

Prospective students are still coming in every day. Earlier this week, 55-year-old Abdullah Hadi came into the center with his 13-year-old son Asadullah in tow, hoping to sign him up for advanced classes. "Our family wants him to learn English. If we are lucky, maybe we can even send him overseas for his education," said Hadi, who spoke perfect English himself from 17 years as a technician with Ariana Airlines. "I tell you, we were once very poor and I had to beg for my family. If I have to, I would keep begging in the streets now so I can send my son to school here," he said. "Everyone knows the importance of this."

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