Fearing the unknown

This time I help my boss carry my luggage as we take it up to my room in the motel. From the outside it doesn’t look like much, neither does the location but once inside my fears subside. It is a spacious en suite room with a huge bed. The bed is covered in a soft silver embroidered duvet cover and supported with a dark wooden headboard that matches the dresser.

We put my bags down in the corner and then my boss finally opens the plastic bag he’s been carrying around. “I thought you will want milk in morning,” he says as he takes out a bottle of milk decorated with cows. He also takes out a bunch of bananas and a box of chocolate brownies. It is my welcoming gift, slightly absurd to me, but I realise it’s a very sweet gesture and thank him.

He tells me he will fetch me “Maybe 11:30, so you can get much sleep.” We then begin our awkward goodbye’s and he reminds me I can now use internet to email my parents, then as an afterthought, as I’m about to shut the door behind him he says, “You must lock.” The paranoid South African in me suddenly becomes suspicious at the comment, after all why wouldn’t I lock the door behind me. I’m suddenly filled with fear, fuelled by the unknown. I know nothing about the country I’m in, the place I’ll be working at, or where I am going.

I want to let my family know where I am, that I’m safe in a motel, if anything just to reassure myself but it doesn’t take me long to discover that when Mr Kim said I could use the internet at the motel he meant the wifi, using a laptop I didn’t yet have. So I promise myself I will get up early to go in search for an internet café so my parents don’t panic.

Exhausted from the longest journey I decide to flop straight into bed and into the soft duvet covers. Flopping into bed proves impossible though, it is rock solid. To me the mattress, like the headboard, is made of wood, not springs or foam. I’m too tired to care though and happily stretch out my feet and assume my usual position, diagonally across the bed, corner to corner.

I’m suddenly awoken by noises, except I’m not sure if it’s real or if I’m dreaming. The noises sound close, loud, I get the feeling someone is trying to come in, like someone is banging down my door. I hide under the blankets frozen with fear.

Next I know I wake up again, it’s still pitch black in my motel room and I can’t believe it’s not morning yet, I feel for my watch in the dark but unable to see the time, I brave stepping out of the safety of the blankets to hit the lights. Its 7:30 am, I’ve only managed seven hours of restless sleep and somehow I feel wide awake. I’m still uneasy, unsure whether I was just dreaming, exaggerating the unfamiliar noises in the night or if someone was trying to get into my room.

I find the mobile phone I brought with me, it’s on its last legs, and doesn’t work in Korea at all, but is loaded with all my familiar contacts and still has the South African time on it. Looking at it comforts me as I think about what everyone back home is doing. Then wondering why the sun isn’t glaring through my windows yet, I go to take a peek outside. I discover the windows are shielded by wooden shutters. Now this I could get used to I think, as I slide them closed again shutting out all natural light. I then head for the shower, deciding there’s no sense in trying to get back to sleep.

Finding my voice

The bus comes to a halt and as I’ve been sleeping comfortably, for the first time since I left Johannesburg, I’m a little groggy and unsure whether this is the first or second stop. I’m supposed to get out at the second stop – Government Complex. I look out the window at the unfamiliar darkness and hope I didn’t sleep through it. I look around me but I’m a little nervous to ask the strangers for help, something that was soon going to have to change.

It’s late, after 11 pm and I’m pleased to have gotten a solid couple hours sleep, and nestle back into the comfort of the limousine bus as it pulls off again, trying not to worry about possibly having missed my stop. When we come to the second stop a couple minutes later I gather my things together but then hesitate. Before I get up I turn to look around me and spot the friendly face of a younger Korean girl, please speak English I think. I ask her, “Is this Government Complex.” She smiles and nods. I can’t tell whether she understood me or was just being polite. I jump off the bus anyway. Almost as soon as my feet land on the pavement I’m greeted with a huge grin. A middle aged small Korean man, small glasses perched on his nose, hair slightly balding. “You Nicole?” he asks.

“Yes, Mr Kim?” I respond.

I’m filled with a sense of relief, glad to see my boss isn’t at all intimidating and knowing that I’ve gotten off at the right stop. As I point out my luggage he goes to pick it up and I feel bad, letting this tiny little man carry my heavy belongings. “So little bags,” he says, adding, “Most foreign teacha come with many many bags.”

I’m a little surprised to hear this, knowing I’m a few kilograms over the limit, and knowing I usually over pack. I just nod and laugh. We climb into his spacious jeep, and begin driving. There’s little conversation, I’m tired and at this point I’m still my shy awkward twin. He tells me I am going to be staying in a hotel for the first week. That the foreign teacher I’m going to replace will be moving out of the apartment only the following Sunday.

Talking in circles, as I was beginning to realise most Koreans do when they’re speaking English, it was evident I needed to say more, that he expected more confidence from me. A key characteristic they look for in the teachers they hire. Most of his teachers have been Americans.

“You do not speak so fast, like other foreign teecha,” he says to me. At the time I assume it’s a compliment but I know better now, how a Korean boss, somehow foreshadows criticism with compliments, how he can make criticism sound like advice, or a suggestion. What he was really trying to say in that moment was that I didn’t speak enough, that I didn’t have enough to say. Sure enough I changed that.

Lekker lights

Next I had to book myself a bus ticket to Daejeon, I had relatively specific instructions on what to do but still a little unsure I sauntered over to the first information station I saw and was relieved to find someone who could speak a bit of English. She directed me to the bus ticketing counter, the way I would discover most Koreans give directions in English, with painful repetition, and slow description.

Swiping my visa card, loaded with dollars I paid the 21 000 won wondering how much I had just spent. I then headed over to the little convenient store, I was suffering from in flight dehydration and needed change to call my boss and let him know what time my bus would be arriving. I was confronted with products and symbols that meant nothing to me, I wanted juice or an ice tea but instead opted for what looked like it must be water. Stick to what I know I figured. I then phoned Mr Kim, using the payphones, slotting in as many coins as I had, hoping they would be enough.

My bus was scheduled to leave at ten past eight, and since I had a couple minutes I decided to make use of the free standing computers and let my parents know I was alive and had arrived safely. It all took a little longer than usual as I navigated my way around the Korean text, using the habitual routes I knew. Then once I’d found a way to convert the keyboard from Korean to English, I typed my email. By the time I was finished I had two minutes to make it to the bus, which I thought was just outside, the sliding doors behind me.

Looking at my ticket I read the platform number and begin walking toward it, it didn’t take me long to realise I wasn’t as close as I had assumed, so I begun to pick up the pace a little, until watching the giant digital clocks overhead click over, I started to break into a run, with two tog bags and a 50 litre backpack. I was almost there but needed to be on the other side of the road, so determined not to miss my bus I crossed the road right there. This was the first time I almost got run over in Korea. Because as far as I’m concerned they drive on the wrong side of the road over here.

After causing many Koreans a heart attack I made it to my bus just in time, the driver had to get out and open the luggage compartment just for me. I was exhausted but as soon as I got on that bus and saw how luxurious it was I knew why they called it a limousine. I flopped into the lone, soft leather seat and pressed the first metal button. A foot rest popped up, I pressed the second metal button and my seat went back. It went back so far I was almost lying down completely.

The bus immediately pulled off and at first I was taken in by the television screen displaying some Korean movie. Soon though, my eyes were drawn to the view outside my window. Lights, everywhere. Big, bright, colourful, flashing lights lining the length of high rise after high rise. “Look at all the lekker lights,” my grandfather would have said. I smile with a burning excitement and remind myself I’m somewhere in Asia, a million miles away from home.