Christian Blackburn and Britt Mobley 
are Fulbright English Teaching Assistants. When Christian signed up to spend a year at the Technical High School in Liberec, and Britt at a Vocational High School in Tábor, they knew they were in for the adventure—but they couldn’t have imagined just how much this year would teach them. As two Southerners from the Carolinas, they came with their accents, traditions, and a hope to bring a piece of home into our classrooms. What unfolded, though, was something deeper and far more rewarding: "Spending a year as Fulbright English Teaching Assistants in the Czech Republic gave us the chance to reflect on who we are, where we come from, and how we connect across cultures. From the mental labor of language learning and lesson planning, to navigating the paradox of American pride and cultural humility, to sharing sweet tea and pork belly on a football field, this year reminded us that true exchange happens in the everyday moments of showing up—again and again—with curiosity, vulnerability, and heart."
“The Labor of Learning” by Christian Blackburn
Fulbright is full of surprises; a particularly odd one being the number of naps I ended up taking this year. When I first came to the Czech Republic, I remember feeling so exhausted. I arrived a month early for a Czech language course in Prague, and the first few days were rough as I overcame jet lag and adjusted to the time change. I thought maybe it was worsened by the August heat combined with the lack of air conditioning, or having to walk twice as much as I did back in the U.S. Nothing I did nor how much I slept seemed to shake this fatigue. I realized, though, that being in this foreign environment, surrounded by a new culture and language, was going to be more of a mentally laborious challenge than I had anticipated.
The language course gave me a basic foundation of Czenglish (Czech + English); but it also gave me a better understanding of what my students would soon feel as they entered the English classroom led by a native speaker. Just like breathing or blinking, we don’t have to think too hard about how we casually communicate ideas to others, it just happens. When learning a new language, however, this challenge of expressing ourselves in an authentic and natural way becomes an immense challenge. In my attempts to adjust to the Czech language and culture, I tried listening to songs with Czech lyrics or writing my grocery list in Czech. Although this often led me to wandering around Albert screaming to myself “Kde je syr?!,” I wanted to fully immerse myself and soak up all that the Czech Republic had to offer. However, doing so quickly becomes tiring. In a new country, the world becomes your oyster, but you can get sick if you eat too much.
I could also feel the toll the Czech winter had on myself and my students alike. Coming from the southern US where there’s at least 11 hours of sunshine per-day all year, I was not prepared to go each day to and from school in the dark. My students and I both knew we would rather be cozied up in our warm beds. Yet I knew I wanted to fully show up for these students. Equipped with a half liter of coffee in my thermos, or a Tiger Energy drink on those tougher mornings, I was committed to giving my students my all. I continued planning creative and engaging lessons, conversing with them when the opportunities arose, and tapping into the enthusiasm I began the grant with.
As the days got longer and the students became more comfortable around me, I witnessed the fruits of my labor. They began choosing to show up for me the same way I chose to show up for them during the first part of the grant. Students I had not heard from all year began raising their hand, eager to demonstrate what they knew. They initiated conversations with me before and after class. During prom, many of the shyer students told me how much they had grown in their English confidence and how lucky they felt to have me on their team before the final exam. They opened up about their personal lives, sharing pieces of themselves and their Czech heritage.
“The Patriot’s Paradox” by Britt Mobley
People say that when you move to another country, you often find the space to truly find yourself. We’re always taught that asking questions is a good thing, but we rarely make the time to ask the simplest ones: Who am I? Who do I want to be? Why am I here?When I accepted my Fulbright grant to teach in the Czech Republic, I knew I was taking on the role of a cultural ambassador. It sounded exciting and important—this idea of sharing "American culture" with students and colleagues who had never been to the United States. It’s a title I don’t take lightly, but one that has challenged me constantly. What parts of America do I share? What parts do I leave out? What parts do I celebrate? And what parts do I critique?
Being American abroad always comes with some level of expectation and contradiction, but being a Black American adds another layer of conflict. I am proud to be an American, however, my identity carries a more complicated relationship with patriotism. There’s a tension between love and critique, pride and pain. I love my country deeply—because of what my people have built, how we’ve resisted, how we’ve redefined what “American” even means. But I’m also honest about the parts of my country that have not and do not always love me back. Being Black in America means living in a space where patriotism is often conditional, where history is both beautiful and bruising.
So how do you explain that to someone who’s never set foot in your country? How do you talk about American values when you're not sure those values have always protected you? That’s been the most challenging part of this year—carrying all those truths and still showing up every day to share. To translate. To humanize. To represent.
And yet, this cultural exchange hasn’t just been about what I give — it’s also been about what I receive. There’s a paradox in feeling pride for my country while humbling myself enough to fully embrace a culture so different from my own. I’ve learned to slow down and immerse myself in the rhythms of Czech life — from joining village festivals to savoring the many varieties of Czech beer. I’ve worked hard to learn the language, stumbling through tricky grammar and unfamiliar sounds, making many mistakes along the way. But I’ve welcomed those moments — they’ve been opportunities for my students to become teachers themselves, helping me with new phrases, vocabulary, and the hardest part: Czech grammar.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been abroad—I once spent a semester circling the globe with Semester at Sea (shoutout SAS 130!). But this time was different. This time, I had to stay still. I had to build relationships. I had to teach. This year has tested my patience and my perspective. It’s taught me that being American doesn’t mean I have all the answers. Sometimes, being American means asking better questions — and listening carefully to the answers. And in doing so, I found myself thinking more deeply about what it means to represent a place that has brought me simultaneous shame and pride.
“Carolina Culture” by Britt Mobley & Christian Blackburn
One of the highlights of our grant year was hosting American Football Day — a celebration we designed to bring our students a slice of our home culture. Drawing inspiration from the southern-style tailgates we grew up with, we planned an afternoon centered around food, games, and good old-fashioned football. But as with most things in Fulbright, the day didn’t unfold exactly the same in both of our towns — and that’s what made it special.
In Tábor, the weather was on our side. The sun was out, the grill was fired up for a full hog roast, and the air was filled with laughter, music, and the sound of cornhole bags thudding onto boards. Students played hard during the flag football tournament and cheered each other on with pork in hand. Even some teachers joined the fun. It felt like a summer day back in the States — only now with a Czech twist. Watching our students toss footballs and sip sweet tea under the clear sky was a surreal reminder of the power of cultural exchange. We weren’t just telling them about America — we were living it together.
Meanwhile, in Liberec, Murphy’s Law came in full force. The forecast flipped from sunny to soaking, and rain clouds covered the skies. The field filled with puddles, and we struggled to get our charcoal grill going for sausage sandwiches. The other teachers were not very optimistic about how the students would react. To their surprise, these young men arrived in full force. They recognized how eagerly we wanted to share this piece of our home with them, so they gave it their all: slipping, sliding, and diving into the flag football games with reckless joy. Covered in mud and smiles, they reminded us that cultural exchange isn’t about perfection — it’s about presence. Again, I saw them show up for me just like I had shown up for them.
No matter the city, the forecast, or the food, our American Days reminded us why we’re here. This year was about more than teaching English or explaining the U.S. — it was about building memories, creating joy, and honoring the messy, beautiful act of showing up for one another. Whether over a muddy football or a perfectly grilled pork sandwich, our students met us halfway.
In the end, Fulbright was never just about teaching English — it’s about learning how to listen, how to adapt, how to connect. It was about navigating fatigue, language mishaps, homesickness, and muddy fields, and still choosing to show up — for our students, for our schools, and for ourselves. Through naps and flag football, butchered Czech and honest conversations, we discovered something deeper than cultural exchange: we discovered mutual trust, laughter, and the quiet power of presence. From North and South Carolina to Tábor and Liberec, we carried pieces of home across the Atlantic — and found new pieces of ourselves in return.