“¡Profe, se acabó la tiza!” Ten nine-year-olds were shouting at me, a lanky gringo with a half-erased chalk mustache, the day I began volunteer teaching on the north coast of the Dominican Republic. I froze, searching my head for the right comeback. I knew how to ask for chalk in textbook Spanish, yet my brain served up only supermarket phrases about chicken breasts. One kid, noticing my panic, laughed and handed me a fragment the size of a coconut husk. That was the instant I realized that to learn Spanish beyond menus and beach haggling, I had to master classroom lingo and the fine art of discipline, Caribbean style.
First Days in a Dominican Classroom
The Coconut Chalkboard Moment
Walking into that brightly painted room, I expected restless students, but I didn’t expect the linguistic acrobatics required to keep order. Dominican children speak rapid-fire Spanish sprinkled with slang, English lyrics, and island cadence. The verb coger (to grab) is tossed around harmlessly here, while my Colombian friends back in Medellín squirm at its double meaning. Every command—sit down, open your notebook, stop throwing paper airplanes—had to be both culturally respectful and locally recognizable. My survival Spanish suddenly felt as stiff as a starched guayabera.
One afternoon, I tried the Iberian textbook classic, “Siéntense, por favor.” The kids stared, amused, as if I had offered them a formal invitation to a royal gala. The veteran Dominican teacher beside me whispered, “Diles ‘¡Tomen asiento, mis amores!’” The room obeyed at once, even giggling at the affectionate mis amores. That tiny tweak carried the warmth they expect from authority figures here—firm but nurturing, like an abuela who scolds while spooning you extra rice.
The Subtle Art of Classroom Commands
Sounding Firm without Sounding Foreign
Whenever expats ask how to learn Spanish faster, I tell them classroom commands are linguistic push-ups—small, repetitive, and muscle-building. The trick is balancing clarity with the musicality each country favors. In the DR, syllables glide; consonants at the end of words often vanish, so “pueden sentarse” morphs into “pueden sentarseh.” Colombia, by contrast, enunciates crisply, rolling the r as though polishing glass.
Compare a Dominican teacher’s “Guarden to’ eso ya, que vamos a empezar.” with a Colombian’s “Guarden todo eso, que ya vamos a empezar.” Same directive—put everything away—but the island drops letters and injects rhythm. I mimic each style depending on where I am, and doing so has sharpened my ear like toggling two radio stations sharing the same song.
Another must-have phrase is “Presten atención.” In the Dominican Republic the presten often arrives as a quick “Prehta’ atenció’”, while in Colombia you’ll hear the full syllables plus an occasional “por favor” for politeness. When you glide between both nations, your mouth learns flexibility the way salsa dancers master on-beat swivels.
Discipline Vocabulary that Opens Ears, Not Wounds
Dominican Nuance
Discipline in Caribbean Spanish comes wrapped in humor. Threats are rare; teasing and affectionate nicknames reign. If a kid talks back, you might say, “No te me pongas guapo,” literally “Don’t get handsome on me,” but meaning “Don’t get mad.” Tossing in a quick “¿Estamos claros?” (Are we clear?) seals the deal. My initial attempts at scolding felt like courtroom declarations until I borrowed that playful edge. Suddenly, the class respected me as the quirky foreign uncle who had done his homework.
Colombian Counterpoints
Hop over to a volunteer gig in Medellín and you’ll witness softer volume yet firmer boundaries. A Paisa teacher lowers her voice and delivers, “Mi amor, guarda eso ya, ¿bueno?” The affectionate title mi amor is followed by the reassuring “¿bueno?” It sounds like asking for agreement rather than issuing an order. Try that structure in Monte Plata, DR, and you might be read as uncertain. These contrasts taught me that to learn Spanish authentically, you must borrow local melody, not just vocabulary.
Colombian classrooms also lean on “por favor, colaboremos” (please, let’s collaborate). The verb colaborar softens the command, framing obedience as teamwork. My Dominican students laugh at that phrasing; collaboration for them means playing baseball. So I swap in “vamos en equipo” and get immediate traction. Same concept, different cultural wrapper—like serving identical coffee beans as espresso in Bogotá and as sugary café colao in the DR.
Spanish Vocabulary
| Spanish | English | Usage Tip |
|---|---|---|
| Tomen asiento | Take a seat | Dominican teachers add mis amores for warmth. |
| Guarden todo | Put everything away | Shorten to “Guarden to’” in the DR without losing meaning. |
| Pónganse en fila | Line up | Colombians might say “Hagan fila” instead. |
| ¿Estamos claros? | Are we clear? | Conveys authority while inviting agreement. |
| No te me pongas guapo | Don’t get angry with me | Purely Caribbean; avoid in formal settings. |
| Por favor, colaboremos | Please, let’s collaborate | Common in Colombian classrooms to soften orders. |
| Silencio, por favor | Silence, please | Universal, but Dominicans drop to “Silencio, porfa.” |
| Presten atención | Pay attention | Essential everywhere; polish pronunciation per region. |
Example Conversation: Calm after the Chalk Fight
Context: Two students have been throwing chalk. The volunteer teacher (you) must reassert control and keep the lesson flowing. Lines alternate Spanish and English, with notes on regional flavor.
—Profe James: “¡Ey, mi gente, párenla ahí mismo!” (DR slang.)
Teacher James: “Hey, my people, stop that right now!”
—Estudiante 1: “Fue él, profe, yo no hice nada.”
Student 1: “It was him, teacher, I didn’t do anything.”
—Profe James: “No te me pongas guapo, que esto es en equipo.” (Caribbean tone.)
Teacher James: “Don’t get mad at me; we’re in this as a team.”
—Estudiante 2: “Pero él empezó.”
Student 2: “But he started.”
—Profe James: “Guarden to’ eso y tomen asiento, mis amores.” (DR slang.)
Teacher James: “Put all of that away and take your seats, my loves.”
—Estudiante 1: “Profe, ¿vamos a la cancha después?”
Student 1: “Teacher, are we going to the court later?”
—Profe James: “Si todos colaboramos, sí. ¿Estamos claros?” (Used in both DR and Colombia.)
Teacher James: “If we all cooperate, yes. Are we clear?”
—Clase (a coro): “¡Sííí́!”
Class (in chorus): “Yeees!”
—Profe James: “Bueno, presten atención que seguimos con la lectura.” (Neutral Spanish.)
Teacher James: “Good, pay attention because we’re continuing with the reading.”
Sharpening the Ear between Santo Domingo and Bogotá
Switching weekly between Dominican classrooms and Colombian vacations has turned my bilingual mind into an audio equalizer. The more I code-switch, the more I notice micro rhythms: the Dominican habit of swallowing s, the Paisa sing-song that ascends mid-sentence, the playful honorifics that replace last names in both places. Volunteers who bounce between countries soon realize that to learn Spanish is less like ticking off flash-cards and more like learning two jazz standards that share chord progressions but riff in distinct keys.
One Friday I flew from Santo Domingo to Bogotá, trading 35-degree humidity for Andean drizzle. That Monday, observing a school in Envigado, I tried my trusty Dominican command: “Chicos, vamos a darle candela a este ejercicio.” The Colombian teens blinked. Candela (fire) as motivation was foreign to them. A local colleague whispered, “Prueba con ‘pongámosle ganas.’” Same encouragement, new spice. By Wednesday I was flipping seamlessly between phrases, my mind storing regional synonyms like extra batteries in a travel kit.
My biggest takeaway is that discipline words work only when culturally tuned. Barking orders in perfect grammar counts less than delivering them in the emotional language students grew up hearing. Whether you’re wrangling chalk-wielding niños in Puerto Plata or guiding robotics club in Cali, your authority blooms when your Spanish echoes their parents, their coaches, their favorite reggaetón hooks.
If you’re an expat eager to learn Spanish beyond the tourist bubble, volunteer teaching is a linguistic gym—demanding but immensely rewarding. You’ll practice commands dozens of times each hour, discover regional idioms, and test your accent under the chaotic soundtrack of recess bells and rolling desks. No app can replicate that.
Remember, too, that cultures evolve in classrooms. Dominican kids quote TikTok lines in English, while Colombian students mix in Mexican gamer jargon. Staying curious keeps your Spanish current. I jot fresh expressions in a notebook titled “Between Two Caribes,” then challenge myself to use them naturally the next day. Some flop, some soar, but all stretch my voice toward authenticity.
So pour yourself a cafecito or a tinto, replay the conversation above out loud, and visualize chalk dust swirling in afternoon sun. Each shout of “¡Silencio, porfa!” is an invitation to sharpen your ear. When you finally sense that you’re not translating but thinking inside the melody, you’ll realize you didn’t just learn Spanish; you joined a perpetual, continent-wide conversation.
I’d love to hear how hopping countries has tuned your Spanish ear—or which classroom phrase suddenly unlocked respect with your students. Drop your stories and vocabulary gems in the comments, and let’s keep this bilingual chalk fight going, minus the mess.
—James, still dusting white streaks off his sneakers after ten years and counting.
