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I was about 15 when I met with a careers adviser to discuss what I wanted to do after leaving school. I remember mentioning teaching and feeling crushed when she told me that this wasn't an option; because I'm profoundly deaf she said I wouldn't be able to control a class. It was the first time I'd encountered that attitude – I'd attended a mainstream school where my teachers had always been supportive, and my family had never suggested I couldn't do something just because of it.
I was born deaf – my type of deafness is only ever congenital, though there were no newborn screening tests for deafness in those days. I learned to speak "normally" as a child and when I started at the local preschool aged four I was bilingual in English and Urdu, my family language. My teacher recognised that I was struggling in group situations and I was referred for tests.
Although the education authority recommended that I be sent to a school for deaf children, my dad fought the decision. He knew that I could speak well and said I would be OK in mainstream school if people were made aware of my needs. Looking back, dad made the right choice because deaf education is of a very poor standard, with children leaving aged 16 with the reading and writing skills of an 8 year old. The focus is on speech and oral methods rather than learning to read and write. I would have liked to at least go to deaf clubs and have some contact with the deaf community though. Sometimes I felt isolated, especially in my teenage years. But I never thought my parents had got it wrong.
After school, I did a media studies degree with ambitions to become a journalist. It wasn't until a few years later when I moved to Manchester and got involved with the arts scene there that I meet other deaf people who could sign. I learned BSL and started working with people with learning disabilities to facilitate drama. It was then that I rediscovered my desire to teach.
I decided to go back to university and do a PGCE for the post-compulsory sector, with a specialism in disability and deaf issues. By this point I was working with a company creating and delivering day courses in disability deaf awareness and BSL all over the UK. My teaching hours were done on the job, teaching disability awareness, deaf awareness, deaf blind awareness and communication, BSL and drama.
I wasn't nervous about the PGCE – knowing I would have interpreters helped. I've just done my level 6 NVQ (a degree-level qualification) in BSL which was a lot more nerve-racking because I had to fit it in with two kids and two businesses. There was no need for me to be trained as highly as I am, but I wanted to be the best I could. There are lots of cowboy BSL tutors around who are not properly qualified. I want more recognition and respect for BSL as a language as well as for deaf people and myself – the best way to do that is teach it properly.
BSL is a modern language and has it's own grammar structure, lexicon and idioms separate from English. It's a native, idiomatic and living language. My classes are around two hours – we share news and through that learn vocabulary, I use games and quizzes to explore the structure of BSL and we do lots of group work. For me, teaching is a transaction; my students learn signing and communication skills from me and I learn to be a better teacher from them.
The youngest people I've ever taught are my children; last year my daughter was the youngest person ever to achieve the first part of the level 1 at the age of five.
It's hard work being a self-employed BSL teacher, but I love it. I see people develop confidence when communicating, enjoying themselves and knowing that one day they may become a qualified professional and gain a great career.
To any deaf people aspiring to be teachers, know your rights and fight for them. Deafness may hold you back but only if you let it.
(Source: TheGuardian)
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