Oh man it has been a LONG time since my last post. I apologize.
Latest news: I have been to London and back!
Last Saturday morning, although it now seems a thing of the distant past, I was on a plane to England’s glorious capital city.
Last Saturday afternoon, Hilary was hugging me like crazy as I emerged from the baggage claim area into the immensity of
Heathrow airport.
Last Sunday, I was riding on the second level of a double-
decker bus, visiting the
eclectic Camden market, eating fish and chips, drinking a big '
ol quality beer, staring up at Big Ben, looking the wrong way down the street, minding the gap, and speaking all in ENGLISH. Funny how people still had trouble understanding me. I will blame this on the funny accents rather than on any kinda of deterioration of my own speaking abilities.
Last Monday, I was taking care of
Hil and her 24 hour stomach
dealio, I felt strangely at home doing so. Stomach
dealios are all too common in T-
stan. I can only thank all those ridiculous dares I took on (ex. chug two cups of Mexican salsa complete with a bunch of lime peals) in my hay days for preparing my stomach for T-
stan bacteria.
Last Tuesday, I went around the world’s largest Ferris Wheel, the London Eye, in a small
capsule with approximately 10 other gaping tourists. Then, we wandered dazed through a fascinating multitude of ancient artifacts in the British Museum, pondered our inability to truly appreciate how old and significant it all was, and dodged enthusiastic school groups on their quest for knowledge.
Last Tuesday night, I was on an airplane
jittering with anticipation for my return home to T-
stan, pining already for Hilary’s companionship, and chatting excitedly with other returnees.
Wednesday morning, I was back in the classroom J. And that was my London trip!
In London, I found myself dangerously repeating the phrase, “In T-
stan, . . . .” to the detriment of quality conversation. However, I thought these little
tid-bits may be culturally interesting for all you readers, so I will try to remember some of them.
“In T-
stan, flushing toilet paper simply
doesn’t happen!” Accordingly, I was at a loss when the obligatory
tp depository was nowhere to be found.
“In T-
stan, the Lexus is, in fact, quite common.” It is the luxury car of choice. However, the streets are mostly populated by
Ladas and by
Toyotas.
“In T-
stan, there is sushi.” That is, in the capital city there are a number of expensive restaurants where eating sushi is a possibility. The closest I have come, however, is a California role.
“In T-
stan, the buses are crazy crowded.” Upon exciting the bus during rush hour (morning: 7:30-8:30, lunch: 1-2, evening: 6:15-7), I check to see if all my limbs have followed my head out of the final threshold of squished people on the very bottom step of the bus. I have been lucky so far!
“In T-
stan, they don’t have supermarkets like this.” I said this one while struggling to choose tea to take back to my family. This took like 30 minutes. I am simply no longer accustomed to this kind of variety. Thank you, Hilary for your patience!
“In T-
stan, we absolutely do not wear shoes inside.” I fought like crazy against my urge to deposit my shoes at the door of the hostel but felt only vaguely out of place wandering the halls without shoes.
Ok, that’s all I can remember for now although I’m sure Hilary could add about fifty million more. Cringe.
If you
couldn’t tell from the above commentary, I both loved London and was glad to get back to my classes in T-
stan. I came back feeling recommitted to the Institute. I am doing really well with the changes I have made to my schedule (I now teach only 2
nd year students, and I see them every week!). I feel as though I have continuity from week to week. I think the teachers are getting accustomed to planning with me the day before I come to their class. Also, the students see me not only as comedic relief, but as an opportunity to enrich their knowledge of the subject(s) they are currently studying through different teaching techniques.
For all you teachers out there, don’t begrudge me this wonderland because it simply does not exist! For one, I have found it difficult to hold the attention of the less motivated students when doing any sort of vaguely communicative activity. Memorization, translation, and repetition are the norms. When I stray from these three outdated methods, some students take this as invitation to whip out their cell phones. With a 12-year old, this
wouldn’t faze me in the least. With a 25-year old, I am a bit hesitant to smack his or her metaphorical wrist. I am learning, however, to smack away because my position of authority is well-enough established at this point to back me up.
Ah!! I made an incredible discovery a couple of weeks ago. My institute has an interactive board. That’s right. In the heart of T-
stan with the Peace Corps, yours truly has access to one of those boards upon which you can project the computer screen and then manipulate the screen (ex. open and close Microsoft Word, select a song to play in Windows Media) by using pointers on the actual board. How did such technology reach my institute? Courtesy of a US aid organization, of course. Upon discovering this absurdity, my original response was indignation. Why in the world do we have one of these ultra-modern machines when most of the chalkboards in my classrooms are useless (read: painted wood with so many paint drips that I feel like a caveman pawing at the rocky ground!). Then, I got over myself. I went home, and prepared a fabulously extravagant PowerPoint presentation on Spanish artists for the fourth year students.
Hahahahah! Oh man. Once again, my Peace Corps experience has defied all stereotypes! Next week I hope to train my teachers to use PowerPoint themselves.
Woot!
Outside the institute, blind class is fabulous. So fabulous, that I wrote an article for Camel Spit (the volunteer newspaper) about it. Here is the article:
Since October 1, I have learned a number of interesting and useful things. I have learned to flatter a “
dayza” by calling her a “
gelneje” and the meaning of 200 grams. I have learned that anything, even tufts from chipper-looking winter hats, can become a game. I have learned that tuft is a real word. I have learned to eat seeds without fearing the disruption of my internal organs by plant growth. I have learned to speak in Peace Corps acronyms and that glorious bus 16 gets me quickly from
Teke to
Impash. Although it took me a while, I have also learned that
Impash is actually spelled
Yimpaş. Finally, I have learned how the blind write. Ah, blind class.
First, the writer snaps a grid-like stencil into place atop a fresh sheet of paper. This stencil divides the paper into letter-sized squares of white. Then the writer fits a short pointed instrument to the knuckle of his bent second finger. The instrument is gripped by surrounding fingers to insure stability. Aiming the instrument into one of the designated squares, the writer applies just enough pressure to the paper to create an indention but not enough to create the much feared hanging chad. These
indentions, in combination, form backwards letters, backwards words, and backwards sentences. When the stencil releases the paper, and the paper is turned over, the author can then slide his finger from left to right along a straight line of raised script. After much practice, the writer can click out sentences rapidly. If the writer is patient with the dictations of a certain T-17, the writer can even record new English vocab and the occasional grammatical structure.
You cannot possibly imagine how calming it is to listen to all this clicking. Twice a week, I rush from Russian lessons to blind class exhausted and generally frustrated by the tendency of Russian words to accommodate the gender of whatever other word they happen to be thrown alongside. What ever happened to integrity? Anyway. I get to blind class and my world slows down. I greet my students.
Bagdan spends extravagant amounts of imagined money to buy deodorant from me, the store clerk.
Leyli recites poetry she has written at home.
Gulalik asserts that if she could meet a famous person, she would meet Enrique
Iglesias and ask him if he is married. Ira snickers about
Bagdan’s girlfriend and produces beautifully knit
ceckas (socks) from mysterious packets. There is no rush, only delight in the learning process and delight in each other’s company. The hour does not fly by, and that’s
ok. I don’t want it to.
Eventually, class is dismissed. My students wipe the smiles off their faces, link arms, and march out into the world with walking sticks tapping. I follow, but I can’t quite wipe the smile off my own face. Chalk it up to my American upbringing. I am ready once more to tackle Russian and commuting and the institute and life. Thank you, Stephanie, for gifting me your class.
That’s all for now, Oh, yeah. April 1st marked 6 months of service. Time flies! I miss you guys but at this rate, I’ll be home before you know it!
Me
