The Adventure of Learning Spanish
How a reluctant language learner discovered a new path to professional growth
On October 19, 1984, a Spanish teacher arrived at my doorstep carrying lesson materials—and the ingredients for a lasagna I loved but had never learned to make. Her mission was ambitious: to persuade a reluctant colleague to learn Spanish.
I had little interest in taking on another challenge. I was already a full-time teacher, a wife, and a mother of three. Yet that afternoon marked the beginning of an adventure that would take me from weekly lessons at home to university studies, research in Spain, and new opportunities in bilingual education.
I had not planned to learn Spanish. In fact, I had never imagined learning another language beyond those I already knew. What began almost by accident became one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.
A Teacher Looking for an Opportunity
My journey began after I completed my master’s degree in education at Alfred University in Alfred, New York. I was eager to secure a permanent teaching position, but the job offers I expected never materialized.
Concerned about my prospects, I turned to one of my professors, Dr. Weizandanger, for advice. She suggested that my accent might be putting me at a disadvantage when competing with local graduates whose first language was English. Learning Spanish, she explained, could improve my employment opportunities.
Her advice reflected the growing demand for teachers who could work with Spanish-speaking children. During the 1980s, bilingual education programs were helping students transition from Spanish-language environments to English-language instruction while continuing their education in American schools.
My professor believed Spanish would remain valuable in the years ahead.
I was less convinced. The suggestion seemed presumptuous. How could I learn a language when I did not even know its alphabet?
I went home disappointed and told my husband what had happened.
His response was brief: “Why don’t you?”
That only annoyed me further.
Fortunately, within a week or two, I secured a teaching position in a neighboring town. I found the people friendly and developed a good rapport with my students. For the moment, I had a job. Spanish could wait.
Or so I thought.
A Teaching Career That Began in India
I was no newcomer to the classroom. My teaching career had begun in India in 1962, after I graduated from Osmania University in Hyderabad.
My first position was at Islamiyah Girls’ High School in Secunderabad, the twin city of Hyderabad. The school’s principal, Wahab Khan, was a longtime friend of my father.
Years earlier, my father, who worked as a judge, had been posted to Parbhani, where Wahab Khan was the principal of an elementary school. I had attended that school as a fourth-grader, and his daughter, Khalida Aziz, had been my classmate.
I had lost contact with their family over the years. Then, after my father died, Wahab Khan unexpectedly reached out to interview me for a position at his school. Knowing my circumstances, he offered me an opportunity to establish myself professionally.
I was selected to teach English and science to high school students.
Soon afterward, I married Jaffer, who graduated from Gandhi Medical College the same year I earned my degree in education. While I continued teaching, he explored opportunities at hospitals and considered establishing a private practice. Eventually, we began looking beyond India for further professional training.
England became our next destination.
In 1964, Jaffer secured an opportunity to pursue postgraduate training there. Our daughter, Tazeen, was still a baby, and I was expecting our second child. He left for Bombay, now Mumbai, on August 15, 1964, promising to contact me as soon as possible.
Our son, Ashfaq, was born on December 21, 1964. I joined Jaffer in Harrogate, England, in April 1965, leaving our two young children with my in-laws. Tazeen was about 14 months old, and Ashfaq was only four months old.
That difficult separation deserves a story of its own.
From England to The Gambia
We spent nearly eight years in England. Our third child, Ishtiaq, was born in 1966, and our other two children joined us in 1969.
As Jaffer completed additional fellowships, we moved several times. I wanted to return to teaching, but I lacked the certification required to work in English schools. I enrolled in a typing institute, spent hours in libraries, and prepared for the O-level and A-level examinations to strengthen my command of English and qualify for further study.
I was eventually accepted into a local college to pursue teacher certification.
Then another opportunity changed our plans.
Jaffer was offered an exchange-program position as a consultant in The Gambia, a small West African country. Despite completing his fellowships and working as a registrar in England, he had repeatedly been passed over for consultant positions.
I did not even know where The Gambia was. I consulted maps to understand where we might be going. After considerable thought, we decided he should accept the offer.
At the time, it felt like a leap into the unknown. In retrospect, it was one of the best decisions we ever made.
We arrived in Banjul, the capital, where the Gambia River meets the Atlantic Ocean. Ferries connected communities along the river, and the journey itself became part of our new life.
From 1972 to 1974, I taught children from expatriate families at an international primary school. In 1975, I taught English, reading, and composition to boys at St. Augustine High School. When that position ended for reasons I never learned, I applied to Gambia High School, the country’s only government-run high school at the time.
I was hired to teach English and science for the 1975–76 academic year.
The most unusual aspect of the job was that I was the only woman on the teaching staff. I expected the situation to be intimidating, but my colleagues were courteous, friendly, and helpful. During our final year in The Gambia, Tazeen was also a first-year high school student at the school.
Meanwhile, we applied for immigration to the United States. We submitted our application on July 4, 1976, and received our immigration cards during the last week of July.
We left The Gambia on August 26, 1976, and traveled to London. We stayed there for just over a month while Jaffer completed the necessary paperwork and exit formalities.
America was our next destination.
A New Life in the United States
Jaffer initially planned to work in public health and family planning in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. We sent our luggage there and began preparing for the move.
But a visit to family in Chicago changed our plans once again.
We flew to Maryland to visit Jaffer’s brother, then traveled by train to Chicago to spend two weeks with my sister. Many of our relatives and friends lived in the Chicago area, and they encouraged Jaffer to explore local opportunities.
He received fellowship offers from two hospitals and accepted one at Cook County Hospital.
We spent two years in Illinois, living first in Oak Lawn and then in Hinsdale. Afterward, we moved to Wellsville in western New York.
By then, I was ready to resume my certification studies. I enrolled at Alfred University to complete the undergraduate-level courses required for American teacher certification. After completing those courses, I was granted special-student status and allowed to begin a master’s program in education.
When I graduated, I assumed that my experience and qualifications would make finding a teaching job relatively easy. Instead, my applications went unanswered.
That was when I returned to Dr. Weizandanger for advice—and heard the suggestion that would change my professional life.
Learn Spanish.
The Colleague Who Would Not Take No for an Answer
Although I initially resisted the idea, I mentioned the conversation during lunch in the faculty room at my new school.
Cindy Tenny, a colleague who taught Spanish, immediately supported the suggestion. I was still reluctant, but Cindy was not easily discouraged.
She offered to assess my aptitude for the language. If I showed promise, she would come to my home once a week to teach me basic vocabulary and grammar. The rest, she made clear, would depend on my own effort.
Then came October 19, 1984.
Cindy arrived with teaching materials and the ingredients for lasagna. We sat down to begin, and she introduced me to the Spanish alphabet. She explained that Spanish spelling and pronunciation were generally more consistent than English and that the language had five vowel sounds.
Next, she handed me an excerpt from a children’s storybook and asked me to read it aloud.
I read it surprisingly well, even though I understood almost nothing.
The experience reminded me of reading the Quran. My familiarity with the Arabic script, through my knowledge of Urdu, helped me recognize and pronounce the letters even when comprehension required a different kind of knowledge.
That first lesson gave me an encouraging glimpse of what might be possible.
From then on, Cindy visited weekly. She prepared lessons, checked my homework, supplied cassette tapes, and assigned readings. She gave me structure, encouragement, and a reason to keep going.
I had plenty of competing responsibilities. I worked full-time, raised three children, cared for my husband, and managed our household. At times, I felt like the captain of a ship trying to stay on course in rough waters.
Still, I made room for Spanish.
A University Professor Opens Another Door
My studies soon led to an unexpected connection.
During my master’s program, I had developed friendships with classmates, professors, and university staff from many backgrounds. I enjoyed inviting them to dinner and sharing time with them and my family.
At one gathering, I met Zakia, a Moroccan professor. When I told her about my Spanish-learning project, she suggested that I meet Dr. Trice, a Spanish professor at Alfred University who was involved in a correspondence program through Empire State College in New York.
She believed he could help me turn my informal lessons into a structured course of study.
Zakia arranged a meeting, and Dr. Trice evaluated my background and goals. He thought I might be able to pursue a bachelor’s degree in Spanish through the college’s correspondence program.
He soon sent me information about admission requirements, coursework, and expenses. He also agreed to serve as my principal professor and adviser.
The program suited my circumstances. I could receive assignments by mail, complete them at home, and return them for review and grading. My studies included reading, writing, research, grammar, and conversation.
Dr. Trice emphasized that progress required discipline. He advised me to establish a regular study schedule, choose a time I could maintain every day, and approach the work with commitment and enthusiasm.
He also stressed the importance of listening to Spanish regularly.
The university’s language laboratory offered recordings that I could use on-site, and I could borrow cassette tapes to listen to at home. I supplemented those resources with books and recordings of my own.
I even carried tapes in my car so that I could listen while traveling between errands and other daily responsibilities.
Sometimes I became so absorbed in the recordings that I missed my highway exits. I did not mind. Those extra miles gave me more time to listen and practice.
My formal studies began with three credits of introductory Spanish at Jamestown Community College in Wellsville, New York. I continued with conversation, advanced grammar, and composition, followed by courses in Spanish and Latin American civilization, literature, and Islamic Spain.
What had begun as a reluctant experiment was becoming a serious academic pursuit.
A Degree, a Journey to Spain, and a New Career
By early 1986, Jaffer had an opportunity to establish a solo medical practice as an obstetrician-gynecologist in Lowell, Massachusetts.
I was still teaching at Friendship High School and nearing completion of my Spanish degree requirements. One final academic challenge remained: a month in Spain to research Muslim Spain and write a thesis.
We decided to combine the academic trip with a vacation. Rather than have me travel alone, Jaffer adjusted his plans so that we could go together.
We traveled to Spain from June 29 to July 29, 1986. It was a memorable way to conclude our years in Wellsville and prepare for our next chapter in Lowell.
After returning, Jaffer began his new practice on August 17, 1986. I stayed behind to settle our affairs and sell the house before joining him.
Our children were entering new stages of their lives. Tazeen had married in 1985, Ashfaq was pursuing his undergraduate degree at the State University of New York at Binghamton, and Ishtiaq had graduated from high school and was preparing for college.
When I arrived in Massachusetts, Jaffer was still staying in a hotel. We quickly found a condominium in Chelmsford, where we lived during the 1986–87 school year while searching for a house. Although I loved the condominium, our children were concerned that we would have no room for them when they visited.
In April 1987, we purchased land in a small development on Jennifer Road. Our new home was ready, and we moved in on October 2, 1987.
My teaching career, however, still required some adjustments.
Finding the Right Classroom
During the 1987–88 school year, I accepted a fourth-grade position at Reilly School in Lowell. The school had an open-plan design, with classrooms separated by partial partitions. The noise made teaching and learning difficult, and I found the environment overwhelming.
After just one week, I returned to the superintendent, Dr. Flannigan, and resigned.
She was surprised, particularly because she knew that I was still waiting for the certification that would qualify me for other positions. My bilingual Spanish-English certification depended on passing a Spanish fluency examination.
Rather than dismiss my concerns, she offered me another opportunity. She arranged an interview for an English as a Second Language position at City Magnet School in downtown Lowell.
I was hired to work with elementary students who needed additional English instruction. I brought small groups of five or six children out of their regular classrooms for focused lessons. The arrangement suited me much better.
At the end of the 1987–88 school year, budget cuts led to a layoff notice. I visited the superintendent’s office during the summer of 1988 to ask about my future. She advised me to wait for another appointment.
Soon afterward, I received a new contract at Pawtucket School for the 1988–89 school year.
This position brought me closer to the work I wanted to do. I taught ESL to students in grades one through six, with one important condition: I was expected to use Spanish with students who could not yet speak English.
That requirement gave me an additional reason to keep improving.
Friends helped me practice conversation, and one of them, Edith, invited me to her home once a week to spend an evening with her family in a Spanish-speaking environment. It was a valuable form of immersion, allowing me to practice what I was learning in a natural setting.
I continued teaching at Pawtucket School through the end of the 1992–93 school year, receiving new contracts despite periodic layoff notices.
My Spanish studies were no longer simply an educational interest. They were directly connected to my professional future.
When Family Responsibilities Took Center Stage
In 1989, while I was teaching at Pawtucket School, our lives changed again when my in-laws arrived from India to live with us. Two of my sisters-in-law followed, and we found ourselves helping three additional families establish themselves in America.
They were loving and cooperative relatives, but the practical demands were considerable. Finding housing, helping people secure jobs, and guiding them through the process of settling in required time and energy.
In the Indian family tradition I knew, a woman who married into a family was often expected to overlook difficulties to preserve harmony. I did my best to accommodate everyone’s needs and help them establish independent lives.
After about three months, the families found houses and moved out. My in-laws eventually arranged to live with their daughters, and that worked well for a time.
Then my father-in-law’s health began to deteriorate.
Jaffer, a devoted son and a physician, did everything he could to ensure his father received excellent medical care. Even so, his father remained anxious about his condition and continued seeking second opinions. Now that I am the age he was then, I can better understand his fears and his need for reassurance.
His illness progressed to end-stage kidney disease.
He was admitted to Lowell General Hospital on Friday, April 19. His condition worsened rapidly, and he died on Friday, April 26.
The loss was painful, and the family gathered to mourn him.
But I faced another difficult circumstance that day: my Spanish fluency examination was scheduled in Boston for 9 a.m.
The Examination That Tested More Than My Spanish
The examination was an essential step toward completing my professional certification. I feared that missing it could cost me my job.
With relatives gathered for the funeral, my decision to travel to Boston created tension within the family. I ultimately chose to take the examination.
I understood that the timing was painful, but I felt that I could not afford to lose the opportunity after years of study and preparation.
The repercussions were more serious than I had anticipated. Jaffer was outraged and treated me coldly. He ignored me and relied on advice from one of my sisters-in-law while dealing with family matters.
It was a painful period, and I felt unable to defend myself. The family was grieving, and I had to live with the consequences of my decision.
The examination forced me to confront a conflict that had shaped much of my life: the tension between caring for my family and pursuing ambitions that could secure my independence and allow me to serve others. I had spent years adapting to my husband’s career, raising our children, supporting relatives, and rebuilding our lives in new countries. Yet I also had a responsibility to recognize my own abilities and protect the professional future I had worked so hard to create.
Taking the examination did not mean that my family mattered less. It meant that my aspirations were part of who I was, and that personal growth sometimes requires making difficult choices without the approval of everyone around you. The decision carried emotional consequences, but it also taught me that ambition and responsibility do not always exist in separate worlds. Sometimes, honoring one’s responsibilities includes refusing to abandon a hard-earned opportunity.
Looking back, I see those years as a constant balancing act between family obligations, professional ambitions, and personal determination. I did not always achieve that balance gracefully, but each challenge made me more resilient and more aware of the life I wanted to build.
Learning Spanish had started with a suggestion I resented. It grew through Cindy’s weekly lessons, Dr. Trice’s guidance, hours of listening to cassette tapes, university coursework, and research in Spain. Along the way, it became a means of pursuing new professional opportunities and expanding my sense of what I could accomplish.
I had never set out to become a Spanish learner. I had simply wanted a permanent teaching job.
Yet an unexpected suggestion opened a door, and I chose—sometimes reluctantly, sometimes enthusiastically—to walk through it. The examination became one of the clearest tests of that choice. It showed me that growth is not always comfortable, and that pursuing a dream can create conflict even when the dream is rooted in service, family, and a desire to contribute.
That is the adventure of learning Spanish: not just the story of acquiring a language, but the story of persistence, opportunity, family, and the courage to begin something new when life takes an unexpected turn. It is also the story of learning to claim a place for my own ambitions within the responsibilities I carried—and discovering that personal growth could ultimately strengthen, rather than diminish, the life I had worked so hard to build.
