The day started early, with a quiet ride on the high-speed rail to Taoyuan. By 7:20 AM, I had joined a small group at Exit 4 of the station, ready to take a taxi to a nearby factory. This was the kickoff for One-Forty’s paThWay Program, a partnership with VF Corporation—the company behind brands like Vans and The North Face—designed to support Southeast Asian factory workers in Taiwan. The program provides lessons in Mandarin, financial literacy, and personal development to help workers make the most of their time in Taiwan and beyond.
The entrance to the factory where the paThWay Program workshop was held.
A Factory Transformed
The factory itself was a typical industrial site, reflecting the quiet efficiency of a global supply chain. Inside, the meeting room had been neatly arranged with six tables for participants and spaces for teaching assistants to join each group. The day’s agenda included lessons, discussions, and activities aimed at helping participants learn and connect.
Participants trickled in, some still shaking off the fatigue of a night shift. VF provided breakfast, which helped everyone settle in. The group was mostly men in their 20s and 30s, seated at four of the six tables, while the other two were women. There were teaching assistants for each table, mostly young Taiwanese volunteers, and I was one of the only two Indonesians among One-Forty’s staff in the room, aside from the lead teacher.
We started with an icebreaker—brainstorming as many circular objects as possible. It was a fun and light activity that got people chatting and eased them into the session. From there, the lessons began.
Learning Mandarin: Practical Lessons
The Mandarin lesson moved quickly, covering basic phrases, numbers, and conversational structures. Most participants already knew a little Mandarin—enough to handle simple tasks at work—but rarely used it in their daily lives. Many lived in dormitories with other migrants, speaking their native languages most of the time. At my table, a couple of learners asked detailed and practical questions. One asked about the difference between certain Mandarin sounds, specifically 幾 (jǐ, meaning “how many”) and 七 (qī, meaning “seven”), explaining that he often couldn’t tell if his boss was instructing him to go to machine number 7 or asking for a quantity.
Another learner asked how to say “today,” “yesterday,” and “tomorrow,” and mentioned that he had learned Mandarin from Depnaker (Indonesia’s Ministry of Manpower) training. He was curious if it was acceptable to say “我的名字是 Bimo” (wǒ de míng zì shì Bimo, “My name is Bimo”) instead of “我叫 Bimo” (wǒ jiào Bimo, “I am called Bimo”), as taught in One-Forty’s materials. I explained that both were correct but that jiào is more commonly used in conversational Mandarin and that One-Forty’s classes often focus on native, practical phrasing. These exchanges highlighted how eager participants were to make the language immediately useful in their specific contexts, whether for work instructions or daily interactions.
Financial Literacy: A Game of Budgets
The financial literacy module was equally engaging, with a case study about budgeting that sparked group discussions. Each group was presented with a question: “Why did Putri have to borrow money at the end of the month, and how should she allocate her budget?” Participants analyzed this using a board game-style activity. The screen showed the progression of Putri’s wallet: starting at NTD 21,800 on day one, it steadily decreased—NTD 13,200 by day 13, NTD 1,600 by day 25—until she ultimately had to borrow NTD 10,000 on day 27. Teaching assistants laid out a large visual representation of a wallet alongside cards representing spending categories like toiletries, clothes, beauty products, emergency funds, and remittances.
Discussions immediately took off. In my group, a participant from Jakarta confidently offered an observation: “Well, Putri is a girl, and you know what girls are like.” His comment drew chuckles from the other men at the table. Another chimed in, “They have a lot more spending,” and someone added, “Yeah, those skincare products aren’t cheap.” I felt uncomfortable with the gendered assumptions and responded, “Let’s try to think of it not based on Putri’s gender.” The participant raised his hands in mock surrender, saying, “Oh, a feminist!” In hindsight, I wish I had framed my response differently—perhaps with a question like, “I can see why you would say that, but are there expenses that would be similar between you and Putri?”
Interestingly, during the group share-out later, this same group initially avoided their earlier gendered observations. Perhaps they had adjusted their approach after hearing another group’s presentation, which focused on family demands and obligations. That group speculated that Putri might be part of the “sandwich generation,” balancing her earnings with responsibilities to send money home while managing other fixed expenses (tagihan wajib). The speaker even joked that perhaps Putri had to top up her mobile games, a comment that drew knowing laughter from the room and prompted someone to murmur that the group’s analysis felt very Gen Z.
My group’s creativity stood out in other ways—they added their own hypothetical spending cards and asked questions about potential investments. Curious, I asked them, “What kind of investments do you make?” One participant, a 23-year-old, said, “Like buying a house.” Another added, “Or crypto,” prompting giggles. Surprised, I asked if anyone actually invested in cryptocurrency. The quietest member of the group, who had been jotting insightful notes throughout the class, said, “Yeah, I invest in crypto.” This sparked a conversation about investment platforms, and I shared that I use Bibit for my own investments. The participant from Jakarta chimed in, saying he uses Bibit too, and the crypto investor mentioned that Bibit now supports cryptocurrency. This exchange left me wondering how many other participants in the room were exploring investments and what this says about the financial savviness of this group.
During the share-out, a women’s group also presented their perspective, emphasizing that money should first be prioritized for family. They added that, ideally, they would also like to give amal (charity) each month, a sentiment met with nods and the hopeful, “Inshallah,” from others in the room. These discussions reflected the diversity, as well as commonalities, of priorities and perspectives among the participants.
The Factory Context
The factory setting added to my understanding of these workers’ experiences and the diversity within Taiwan’s migrant workforce. Unlike caregivers, who often need to use Mandarin in daily interactions with their employers, factory workers live and work in more insulated environments. Their dormitories are usually located close to the factory, and they interact mostly with other migrants. As a result, their need for Mandarin is functional rather than social, more about navigating work instructions than integrating into the broader community.
Details within the factory itself highlighted this diversity. Next to the stage where the workshop was held, there was a sign above a fire extinguisher written in multiple languages—Mandarin, Thai, Vietnamese, English, and Indonesian. Nearby, a row of fabrics lined the wall, a visual representation of the work these participants contribute to the global supply chain.
The workers in this session were also noticeably different from the usual participants in One-Forty’s financial literacy and Mandarin classes, which are often attended by women caregivers—informal labourers working in the domestic sector. In contrast, the factory workers we met were formal labourers, likely high school or vocational school graduates or diploma holders. Most were Gen Z or millennials, young men in their early 20s to mid-30s, with tech-savviness that reflected their age group.
Connections and Boundaries
At my table, the shared use of Sundanese added a unique layer of connection. Unlike most One-Forty in-person classes I’ve facilitated, which are usually dominated by Javanese participants, this class had many Sundanese workers. My table was majority Sundanese, and we occasionally slipped into conversations in our shared language. One participant even wrote in the “I Like, I Wish” feedback activity, “More Sundanese teachers,” as a tongue-in-cheek comment. These small moments of familiarity created a sense of ease, but they also highlighted the need for boundaries.
Towards the end of the class, some participants took a more personal interest in me, asking questions about whether I was a student or worker, where I studied, and when I planned to return to Indonesia. One participant joked about liking me and flirted lightly during the session, while another outright asked for my number. I found myself navigating these situations carefully, reflecting on how my identity—a Sundanese woman who knows a little Mandarin—may have made me more approachable. At the same time, it raised questions about how to balance familiarity with professionalism in these roles.
I also wondered how the other teaching assistants—all young Taiwanese women who didn’t speak Indonesian languages—handled similar dynamics. Without a shared linguistic or cultural background, they likely relied on different ways to build trust and engagement. I should ask the other teaching assistants about their experiences.
Looking Ahead
The session ended with participants sharing feedback. Many appreciated the interactive approach and hoped for more in-person classes. Unfortunately, the rest of the program will take place online. Still, the day clearly held value, offering a space to learn, connect, and explore opportunities.
This session provided a glimpse into a different side of migrant workers’ lives in Taiwan. It reinforced how varied their experiences are depending on their demographics and labour migration schemes, and it left me curious to learn more.
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