On Friday I returned from a 10 day summer camp extravaganza in the wonderful sea-side town of Turkmenbasy. To give you a sneak-preview of my experience, I did the following during my time there:
Caught a craw-dad with someone else’s shoe.
Celebrated the Fourth of July with delicious veggie burgers and homemade French fries.
Saved an old man’s flotation device from drifting off into the horizon. Mad lifeguard skills!
Slept on the front porch of my friend’s house to take advantage of the sea breeze (ie I looked like a hobo)
Took 1.5 real showers in ten days.
Took a really incredibly slow train overnight there and back during which I answered approximately 3.5 million questions put to me by inquisitive Turkmen.
Learned to cook eggplant.
Made awesome looking crowns (for camper of the day) out of trash.
Danced the cupid shuffle. Repeatedly.
Invented a sport: Bottle Hockey.
Paid only 3000 old manat (20 cents) per Taxi. So cheap!
Walked and walked and walked on the beach.
Swam with snakes.
Had an extravagant sea-weed war.
Ok. Perhaps that list was not a good idea. I feel like I’ve told you the punch line before the joke! Anyway, those were the highlights. Now, let me follow up by saying that Turkmenbashy is a whole different world from Ashgabat. The sea-blown neutral tones of Turkmenbasy were a welcome change from the busy streets and white buildings of Ashgabat. T-bashy fills in three little niches in the hills that line the banks of the Caspian Sea. To get from niche to niche, you flag a taxi and pray as your taxi (inevitably a old, white Lada) attempts to hall you up and over the lip of each niche. Travelling tip: Lean forward. Then, your taxi driver kills the ignition to cost down the other side. Travelling tip 2: Lean backward.
The town is sprawling. Although there are a number of high occupancy apartment complexes, there are many single family houses that climb up the sides of the low mountains. Malory, the volunteer who invited me to teach in Tbasy, lives up toward the top of one of these hills. It is quite picturesque. And yes, I will try to post pictures soon!
As I said, I rode a a very, very slow overnight train to get to Tbashy. I doubt very seriously that the train ever hit 40 miles per hour for the entire 14 hour trip. I was told later that it must go slow or the sand from the Garagum desert that blows on the tracks will derail the train. I was also told that the train is obligated to stop for anyone anywhere in the desert. I don’t know if this one is true but this would account for the innumerable inexplicable stops along the way.
Finally, I arrived and was met at the train station by the smiling faces of Malory and Chase. Megan, the fourth volunteer working this camp, was waiting for us when we arrived at Malory’s house.
Camp began on Monday June 29th and went through July 8th. We soon settled into a routine. I was the first to wake up each morning. My first duty was fetching water from the outside faucet in a metal bucket. J Despite its location, Tbashy has limited clean water and we had to ration while we were there. Hence the 1.5 showers. With water from this bucket, I cooked up either oatmeal or rice pudding and stirred up some Nescafe.
The others trickled into the kitchen and we groggily did last minute planning. We walked down the hill to catch a Taxi from the main street to the language center where Malory works. Around 9, our forty campers, ages 9-14 began to trickle in. Day 1, we divided them up into four teams and they competed throughout the week in an English World Cup. The teams included the US, England, Canada, and Ireland because collectively we knew how to draw these flags from memory. Each volunteer generally worked with one team at a time and the teams rotated. Chase and Megan did activities at the pool and Malory and I stayed at the center.
At the center, we kicked of the day by announcing camper of the day and playing some game we dredged up from our collective childhoods. These included but were not limited to: Mother May I, Charades, and Red Light, Green Light. Then we split the kids by team. Over the 10 days, I taught Yoga, played kickball, did all sorts of relay races, helped organize a paper quilt project, played Bingo, created and held a scavenger hunt, and lost my voice completely.
Ah! And the sport I invented! In T-stan, as in many other countries, drinks such as fanta, coke, sprite, and fizzy lemonade are purchased in one liter plastic bottles. Malory, like many good Turkmen, saved her bottles for buying milk and yogurt. Towards the end of the week, our bouncy ball had deflated and we pondered worriedly what sorts of sports were possible that we hadn’t previously played. And it struck me, bottles + deflated ball = bottle hockey! With the older kids, it was a definite success. Kids, feel free to try this one at home. J
So to sum it up, all of you who have been waiting for the typical Peace Corps experience, there it was.
Now I’m back in Ashgabat. I am spent this past weekend helping my host mom can everything from tomato sauce to cherry liquor, going to a magnificent wedding were again I was required to give a toast, hanging out with my friend Annie who is in town from Lebop (region in T-stan), and looking forward to Thailand!
Yes, that’s right. I’m going to Thailand next weekend. Thailand!
Till next time, I miss you guys and stay cool (literally and figuratively)!
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Summer in the City
Yesterday I saw the most amazing thing. First, I’ll set the scene. I now live in a Soviet style apartment complex. Read: big, square, and concrete with brightly decorated clothing lines extending from all floors in all directions. I live on the first floor of this building. The first floor has a number of perks. Most importantly, we have a deck. If any one is interested in exporting some cracker-barrel rocking chairs, please let me know. We also have a small yard. Here my two host sisters spend the evening hours concocting delicious meals of mud and grass. The gate to this yard is one in a long line of green gates belonging to other first floor apartment dwellers.
Outside of this line of green metal, gobs of neighborhood kids play endless games of soccer in the street. Inevitably the boys play and the girls watch. At best, the girls are assigned to the unsavory role of goalkeeper (never goalie because goalie=naked in Russian!). The sidelines are delineated by the older boys who sit in their pristine Ladas or Toyotas, with the windows down, blasting Russian rap. Leaving my house feels at times like running the gauntlet. So yesterday, I emerged from my green gate as usual into a game of soccer. My presence, however, went unnoticed for perhaps the first time. In the middle of the field a woman towered over the kids. She, like nearly all Russian and Turkmen women in Ashgabat, was perfectly done up. Her tunic style blouse was powerfully striped with red, yellow, and blue and belted in the middle. Underneath black tights hugged her skinny legs. Her blond hair was pulled back and the gold molding of her sunglasses flashed in the sun. Her heels lifted her a full five inches off the ground. This 40 year old woman hung for a second over the soccer ball and then streaked forward. Her shot was strong and true. GOAL!!! Watch out USA! When Turkmenistan does eventually put together a women’s soccer team, they will be a powerhouse. Years of wearing high heels does wonders for your leg muscles.
So, I apologize for the belatedness of this post. Perhaps because I feel pretty assimilated, my life generally seems less noteworthy than before. Not in the negative sense but rather in the sense that I have settled into daily and weekly routines. So here is a quick update on the big events in my life during the last couple of months.
I have begun to do Yoga. Yup, that’s right. I never did it in the US but now I go twice a week to Yoga class in Turkmenistan. One of the wives of the Peace Corps staff holds free Yoga class in the office every Tuesday and Thursday. I was convinced to go and now am hooked. It is so freakin’ relaxing! For any of you out there who need some stress relief or who have been pondering how to fill your summer months, I really do recommend it.
Two weeks until finals. I’m excited because I need a mental rest but a tad disappointed because I feel like I was just beginning to really bond with the students in some of my classes and now they will move on to become third year students. As I teach only second year classes, I won’t see them as often after the summer holidays. My hopes rest on the fact that they will come back to attend my after-school clubs. During finals I hope to daily or maybe tri-weekly computer trainings for my teachers.
I moved! In case you didn’t catch that from my first little anecdote, I have changed my domicile. I now live with a single mom (her husband lives in the US) and two girls, Mahre and Nabot, ages 6 and 10. This new place is more spacious and much closer to my work. I also have much more freedom to cook for myself. Most importantly, I now have a 20 minute bus ride to work instead of a 45-1 hr bus ride. I am quite content.
In other news, the summer is a coming. I am frightened. Ok, that is a slight understatement I am scared for a number of reasons. First and foremost, the heat. URGH. The heat is already pretty intense and promises to creep up to 115 F before too long. During a 15 minute bus ride, I made the mistake of sitting down. The hot of the plastic seat seeped quickly through the cloth of my skirt made the sweat roll down my legs. I have learned that it is far better to have even the possibility of air circulation on all sides. Other things I have learned/am learning about summer in Ashgabat:
1) It is absolutely necessary to gravitate towards the shade. I now plot my path to and from the bus stop, to and from the bazaar, to and from anywhere and everywhere, by following the irregular splotches of dark on the sidewalk.
2) One must choose the side of the bus that will receive the least amount of direct sunlight over the course of the ride. This can be difficult to calculate because buses have this little habit of turning.
3) Choose articles of clothing by comparing thickness of material. I have been encouraged to buy transparent material for summer but can’t quite bring myself to do this. Wait a couple months and check back on this one.
4) It is never too hot to drink tea.
5) Purple sandals are all the craze.
6) If I run after 7 am, I turn a deep shade of red. This frightens any and everyone that happens to see me. I generally try to avoid this.
In parting I will entice you with my summer plans. June, as I have said, I will hopefully be doing some teacher training. The first half of July, I hope to help another volunteer out with her Water Camp on the Caspian Sea in Turkmenbashy. All those years and years of teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding seemed to have earned me a place at this dream of a camp. During the second half of July, I hope to head over to Thailand. This seems to be one of the more popular vacation spots for Peace Corps volunteers from Central Asia. It is close, plane tickets are cheap, living expenses are cheap, there are mountains, there are beaches, and there is Bangkok. August will be intensive Russian training, lesson planning and gathering resources for the new school year, and potentially traveling some within Turkmenistan. Then September will be back to school! All of these plans, however, hinge on my ability to withstand the heat. Wish me luck!
Write me or e-mail me! I miss you guys!
Outside of this line of green metal, gobs of neighborhood kids play endless games of soccer in the street. Inevitably the boys play and the girls watch. At best, the girls are assigned to the unsavory role of goalkeeper (never goalie because goalie=naked in Russian!). The sidelines are delineated by the older boys who sit in their pristine Ladas or Toyotas, with the windows down, blasting Russian rap. Leaving my house feels at times like running the gauntlet. So yesterday, I emerged from my green gate as usual into a game of soccer. My presence, however, went unnoticed for perhaps the first time. In the middle of the field a woman towered over the kids. She, like nearly all Russian and Turkmen women in Ashgabat, was perfectly done up. Her tunic style blouse was powerfully striped with red, yellow, and blue and belted in the middle. Underneath black tights hugged her skinny legs. Her blond hair was pulled back and the gold molding of her sunglasses flashed in the sun. Her heels lifted her a full five inches off the ground. This 40 year old woman hung for a second over the soccer ball and then streaked forward. Her shot was strong and true. GOAL!!! Watch out USA! When Turkmenistan does eventually put together a women’s soccer team, they will be a powerhouse. Years of wearing high heels does wonders for your leg muscles.
So, I apologize for the belatedness of this post. Perhaps because I feel pretty assimilated, my life generally seems less noteworthy than before. Not in the negative sense but rather in the sense that I have settled into daily and weekly routines. So here is a quick update on the big events in my life during the last couple of months.
I have begun to do Yoga. Yup, that’s right. I never did it in the US but now I go twice a week to Yoga class in Turkmenistan. One of the wives of the Peace Corps staff holds free Yoga class in the office every Tuesday and Thursday. I was convinced to go and now am hooked. It is so freakin’ relaxing! For any of you out there who need some stress relief or who have been pondering how to fill your summer months, I really do recommend it.
Two weeks until finals. I’m excited because I need a mental rest but a tad disappointed because I feel like I was just beginning to really bond with the students in some of my classes and now they will move on to become third year students. As I teach only second year classes, I won’t see them as often after the summer holidays. My hopes rest on the fact that they will come back to attend my after-school clubs. During finals I hope to daily or maybe tri-weekly computer trainings for my teachers.
I moved! In case you didn’t catch that from my first little anecdote, I have changed my domicile. I now live with a single mom (her husband lives in the US) and two girls, Mahre and Nabot, ages 6 and 10. This new place is more spacious and much closer to my work. I also have much more freedom to cook for myself. Most importantly, I now have a 20 minute bus ride to work instead of a 45-1 hr bus ride. I am quite content.
In other news, the summer is a coming. I am frightened. Ok, that is a slight understatement I am scared for a number of reasons. First and foremost, the heat. URGH. The heat is already pretty intense and promises to creep up to 115 F before too long. During a 15 minute bus ride, I made the mistake of sitting down. The hot of the plastic seat seeped quickly through the cloth of my skirt made the sweat roll down my legs. I have learned that it is far better to have even the possibility of air circulation on all sides. Other things I have learned/am learning about summer in Ashgabat:
1) It is absolutely necessary to gravitate towards the shade. I now plot my path to and from the bus stop, to and from the bazaar, to and from anywhere and everywhere, by following the irregular splotches of dark on the sidewalk.
2) One must choose the side of the bus that will receive the least amount of direct sunlight over the course of the ride. This can be difficult to calculate because buses have this little habit of turning.
3) Choose articles of clothing by comparing thickness of material. I have been encouraged to buy transparent material for summer but can’t quite bring myself to do this. Wait a couple months and check back on this one.
4) It is never too hot to drink tea.
5) Purple sandals are all the craze.
6) If I run after 7 am, I turn a deep shade of red. This frightens any and everyone that happens to see me. I generally try to avoid this.
In parting I will entice you with my summer plans. June, as I have said, I will hopefully be doing some teacher training. The first half of July, I hope to help another volunteer out with her Water Camp on the Caspian Sea in Turkmenbashy. All those years and years of teaching swim lessons and lifeguarding seemed to have earned me a place at this dream of a camp. During the second half of July, I hope to head over to Thailand. This seems to be one of the more popular vacation spots for Peace Corps volunteers from Central Asia. It is close, plane tickets are cheap, living expenses are cheap, there are mountains, there are beaches, and there is Bangkok. August will be intensive Russian training, lesson planning and gathering resources for the new school year, and potentially traveling some within Turkmenistan. Then September will be back to school! All of these plans, however, hinge on my ability to withstand the heat. Wish me luck!
Write me or e-mail me! I miss you guys!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
London Pics!
5. Me and Hilary in the London Eye Ferris Wheel.
4. Camden Town markets and bazaars.
3. Houses of Parliament
2. Hilary and I waiting for the tube.
1. London Eye!
4. Camden Town markets and bazaars.
3. Houses of Parliament
2. Hilary and I waiting for the tube.
1. London Eye!
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Six Months and Going Strong!
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 2nd 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
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 2nd 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
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Flexibility and Acquisition of German Wanderer
I started my day, as usual, at the institute. I showed up an hour or so early for my first lesson to print out some ‘Oh Crap!’ materials. ‘Oh Crap!’ materials are necessary for those moments when you finish the entirety of your planned lesson in the first forty minutes of class and have a full 40 minutes left to go. I greeted the teachers in the lounge on my way in and immediately noted that something was up. Far too many teachers were lounging.
“No students today!” I was informed with smiles.
“Not any?” I asked.
Yesterday, I had taught two classes of only boys. The girls were busy rehearsing for their part in the upcoming national concert held in honor of Flag Day. I had enjoyed both of these lessons. As it turns out, boys focus much better when the girls are absent. You have to tip your hat sometimes to gender segregated education.
“No,” I was assured. “No students today. They have all been taken. “
I had a small moment with myself as I fantasized about bad lines from horror movies. Then I went to the resource room to study Russian. I have been neglecting my Russian. Strong words of chastisement are warranted and even welcome. If interested, please note the comment box below this post.
About 10 minutes later, I was called back into the teacher’s lounge. The teachers had a great idea. They would consolidate all the remainders. You know, all those ½ and ¾ that somehow avoided evolvement in the concert. So I held an eighty (80!!!!) minute lesson concocted purely from ‘Oh Crap!’ materials with a wide assortment of students. For all of you who watched me tediously over-plan for my summer school classes, YES, I have learned to wing it.
During the break between classes, I was invited to attend a Valentine’s Day production put on by the third year students. I walked to the next building over arm and arm with one of my co-workers. We learned about various love themed holidays around the world, we were wooed by an excerpt from Romeo and Juliet, we were serenaded by Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On,” we observed (read: participated illegally by providing answers with poorly concealed gestures) a riddle-solving competition. The riddles included some oldies but goodies:
What always keeps two hands in front of its face?
What goes up and down at the same time?
What can run all day without getting hot?
What word has five letters but when you take away two, one is left?
What word is always pronounced wrong?
After all of this, we were served tea and candies in true Turkmen fashion.
I left the institute at 1:30 and delighted in the fact that my day had been absolutely unpredictable thus far and that I had adapted to this unpredictability.
Then I spent a frustrating but productive couple of hours acquiring a cheap plane ticket to London for vacation. Woot! I made good friends with a dayza (literally aunt but figuratively any woman over 45 with a headscarf and a turkey/peacock sweater) waiting in line. She, like so many dayzas before her, simply shook her head and gave me a wide-eyed “Tuweleme, tuweleme” (Rough translation: Let it continue to be so) when she discovered my country of origin.
Then. THEN. And this is perhaps the best part of my day. I was walking home from the bus stop when I encountered this kid. My walk home from the bus stop is about 15 minutes through a winding, fountain-filled park. I was enjoying the weather and my ipod when I saw him. He was about 4 years old and bundled up like crazy. His face was squashed by a tightly tied beany. Turkmen protect their children well against cold. He was tottering along at a break-neck speed about 15 full paces in front of his young mom with a huge smile on his face. He looked me straight in the face and gave me a quick ‘Zdrastvitze!’ (Russian hello spelled phonetically). Then he was past me. I did not have time to react. I did not have time to respond to his greeting or to the fact that he had a plastic ak 47 under his right arm. This is the only kind of gun allowed in T-stan. The huge smile hit my face only as I was passing his mom. She was startled by my huge smile.
Anything else to report??
Oh yes. The German! We acquired a German yesterday. This German did more than my unpredictable days to convince me that I am adjusting to life here. We acquired him at one of the bazaars where he stuck out like a sore thumb with his backpack and messy hair. No Turkmen would be caught in public with messy hair or dusty shoes. The first time Maya-my Russian teacher, Gary-another A-bot volunteer, and I passed this guy, Gary attempted a greeting. He didn’t have time to react and we were swept passed each other. So Gary went after him.
Once contact was made, the German claimed he had thought we were all Turkmen.
1 point for blending in.
He was looking for the independence monument. We looked at each other. This must be either bas or sekiz ayak (5 or 8 legs).
1 point for only knowing the nicknames of monuments.
We got him a beer and got him on a bus headed the right direction.
2 points for knowing the cheapest place to get the beer and 1 point for knowing the bus system.
As we accompanied him on the bus and to the monuments, we listened to his commentary. All the white buildings! All the interesting Turkmen-Soviet architecture! All the lights! We looked at each other in condescending amusement. Our stomping grounds. These things no longer seemed worthy of exclamation. They are simply permanent fixtures in the backdrop of our daily lives.
5 points for feeling comfortable with our surroundings. -1 point for the condescension.
Thank you, oh wandering German, for making my day!!
Total: 9 adjustment points! Almost a perfect 10!
Hope you are all doing well! Thank you so much for all the winter wear you have sent me. I have survived the worst part of the winter with all my fingers and toes intact. I miss you guys. Shoot me an e-mail whenever!!
Me
Note: Today I feel adjusted. Tomorrow I won’t. This is the glory of living abroad!
“No students today!” I was informed with smiles.
“Not any?” I asked.
Yesterday, I had taught two classes of only boys. The girls were busy rehearsing for their part in the upcoming national concert held in honor of Flag Day. I had enjoyed both of these lessons. As it turns out, boys focus much better when the girls are absent. You have to tip your hat sometimes to gender segregated education.
“No,” I was assured. “No students today. They have all been taken. “
I had a small moment with myself as I fantasized about bad lines from horror movies. Then I went to the resource room to study Russian. I have been neglecting my Russian. Strong words of chastisement are warranted and even welcome. If interested, please note the comment box below this post.
About 10 minutes later, I was called back into the teacher’s lounge. The teachers had a great idea. They would consolidate all the remainders. You know, all those ½ and ¾ that somehow avoided evolvement in the concert. So I held an eighty (80!!!!) minute lesson concocted purely from ‘Oh Crap!’ materials with a wide assortment of students. For all of you who watched me tediously over-plan for my summer school classes, YES, I have learned to wing it.
During the break between classes, I was invited to attend a Valentine’s Day production put on by the third year students. I walked to the next building over arm and arm with one of my co-workers. We learned about various love themed holidays around the world, we were wooed by an excerpt from Romeo and Juliet, we were serenaded by Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On,” we observed (read: participated illegally by providing answers with poorly concealed gestures) a riddle-solving competition. The riddles included some oldies but goodies:
What always keeps two hands in front of its face?
What goes up and down at the same time?
What can run all day without getting hot?
What word has five letters but when you take away two, one is left?
What word is always pronounced wrong?
After all of this, we were served tea and candies in true Turkmen fashion.
I left the institute at 1:30 and delighted in the fact that my day had been absolutely unpredictable thus far and that I had adapted to this unpredictability.
Then I spent a frustrating but productive couple of hours acquiring a cheap plane ticket to London for vacation. Woot! I made good friends with a dayza (literally aunt but figuratively any woman over 45 with a headscarf and a turkey/peacock sweater) waiting in line. She, like so many dayzas before her, simply shook her head and gave me a wide-eyed “Tuweleme, tuweleme” (Rough translation: Let it continue to be so) when she discovered my country of origin.
Then. THEN. And this is perhaps the best part of my day. I was walking home from the bus stop when I encountered this kid. My walk home from the bus stop is about 15 minutes through a winding, fountain-filled park. I was enjoying the weather and my ipod when I saw him. He was about 4 years old and bundled up like crazy. His face was squashed by a tightly tied beany. Turkmen protect their children well against cold. He was tottering along at a break-neck speed about 15 full paces in front of his young mom with a huge smile on his face. He looked me straight in the face and gave me a quick ‘Zdrastvitze!’ (Russian hello spelled phonetically). Then he was past me. I did not have time to react. I did not have time to respond to his greeting or to the fact that he had a plastic ak 47 under his right arm. This is the only kind of gun allowed in T-stan. The huge smile hit my face only as I was passing his mom. She was startled by my huge smile.
Anything else to report??
Oh yes. The German! We acquired a German yesterday. This German did more than my unpredictable days to convince me that I am adjusting to life here. We acquired him at one of the bazaars where he stuck out like a sore thumb with his backpack and messy hair. No Turkmen would be caught in public with messy hair or dusty shoes. The first time Maya-my Russian teacher, Gary-another A-bot volunteer, and I passed this guy, Gary attempted a greeting. He didn’t have time to react and we were swept passed each other. So Gary went after him.
Once contact was made, the German claimed he had thought we were all Turkmen.
1 point for blending in.
He was looking for the independence monument. We looked at each other. This must be either bas or sekiz ayak (5 or 8 legs).
1 point for only knowing the nicknames of monuments.
We got him a beer and got him on a bus headed the right direction.
2 points for knowing the cheapest place to get the beer and 1 point for knowing the bus system.
As we accompanied him on the bus and to the monuments, we listened to his commentary. All the white buildings! All the interesting Turkmen-Soviet architecture! All the lights! We looked at each other in condescending amusement. Our stomping grounds. These things no longer seemed worthy of exclamation. They are simply permanent fixtures in the backdrop of our daily lives.
5 points for feeling comfortable with our surroundings. -1 point for the condescension.
Thank you, oh wandering German, for making my day!!
Total: 9 adjustment points! Almost a perfect 10!
Hope you are all doing well! Thank you so much for all the winter wear you have sent me. I have survived the worst part of the winter with all my fingers and toes intact. I miss you guys. Shoot me an e-mail whenever!!
Me
Note: Today I feel adjusted. Tomorrow I won’t. This is the glory of living abroad!
Monday, January 19, 2009
Recollections of Early (1.5 months of service) Turkmenistan
Anyone from good ol' Memorial Middle School catch the above reference????? If so, you will be less than tempted to read on!!!
Sunday! The glories of “dync gun” (rest day) aka “bazaar gun!” This morning I began to wake up naturally around 8:30 and finished around 9. From the western most window of my bedroom, I have an incredible view of the Kopet Dag (mountains). On clear mornings, like this morning, the view is absolutely breathtaking. Thanks to last week's light snow, they are wonderfully accentuated by white. Perhaps because I’ve lived in mountain-less Houston for so very long, the mountains surprise me every morning. I am, thanks to both Mendoza, Arg. and Asgabat, T-stan, doomed to be a mountain person (Hilary, this doesn’t me I can’t enjoy the beach!!). I stared out the window for a good long time before donning my running gear.
The running has become a common occurrence. Only on Sundays, though, do I have the luxury of waiting until daylight. Daylight runs are entertaining. I generally pass a good number of bus stops on these runs. The individuals waiting at these stops and I have a healthy give-and-take relationship. I provide them with high quality entertainment, and they in turn, encourage me to pick up my pace. I am determined to show them not only that girls can run, but that they can run fast! As soon as I’m out of sight, my pace slows down, and I click my ipod to a faster paced song in an effort to stay inspired.
After my run, I give my face a good long time to return to its natural color, take a quick shower, and figure out what to make for lunch. Lunch on Sundays has become my responsibility. While my host parents re-stock for the coming week at the Bazaar, I use my trusty Peace Corps-issued cookbook to come up with an “American” meal. So far, I have made French toast, spaghetti, enchiladas, fajitas, fried rice with eggs, and today a quiche. The fact that none of these dishes are strictly American does not seem to faze my family in the least. Cooking, as I mentioned before, is wonderful. Talk about instant gratification. You cook something, it’s done, you eat it, and it tastes good (generally speaking). Dishes are also good for instant gratification. You start with a big pile and when you finish you (ok, maybe not you, but I) have a great sense of accomplishment. Yes, I realize I am conforming to traditional gender roles, but I can only hope the running balances this out a little bit!
Dync gun afternoons are quiet. I read and plan semi-productively for the next week. My weeks, however, are not quiet. Since my last post, my days have continued to fill up. In the morning, I spend my time at the institute reading, bonding with my teachers, and preparing for next semester. My students are busy with exams so I’m not currently teaching. After the institute, you may find me learning Russian (twice a week), prepping a friend for SAT (twice a week), or teaching an English class for the blind at a nearby community center (twice a week). This class was gifted to me by a previous volunteer, and each time I go, I’m crazy thankful. My students are so patient and eager to learn. Also, this past Saturday, I held my first girls soccer practice and went wonderfully. We worked on passing (with the inside of the foot!), stopping the ball, and learning the positions on the field. The participants seemed to enjoy learning and the novelty of being female and playing soccer. This will hopefully become a weekly occurrence.
Other random observations from the past few weeks:
1. Chocolate is magical. Dark chocolate is a stronger magic than milk chocolate.
2. Russian is intimidating. Also, ‘may I’ (phonetically: mojno) in Russian should not be confused with ice-cream (phonetically: morojno) in Turkmen.
3. Turkish grocery stores (or rather, store b/c there is only one) have everything except good soccer balls. This includes a small bowling alley, a Turkish bakery, cinnamon, escalators, wall hooks, and Christmas/New Years decorations.
4. Tucked-in turtlenecks count as professional clothes.
5. Monthly bus passes are God’s second greatest gift to man after dark chocolate of course.
Hope everyone is doing well and staying healthy!!
One day ‘till Obama!
Me
Sunday! The glories of “dync gun” (rest day) aka “bazaar gun!” This morning I began to wake up naturally around 8:30 and finished around 9. From the western most window of my bedroom, I have an incredible view of the Kopet Dag (mountains). On clear mornings, like this morning, the view is absolutely breathtaking. Thanks to last week's light snow, they are wonderfully accentuated by white. Perhaps because I’ve lived in mountain-less Houston for so very long, the mountains surprise me every morning. I am, thanks to both Mendoza, Arg. and Asgabat, T-stan, doomed to be a mountain person (Hilary, this doesn’t me I can’t enjoy the beach!!). I stared out the window for a good long time before donning my running gear.
The running has become a common occurrence. Only on Sundays, though, do I have the luxury of waiting until daylight. Daylight runs are entertaining. I generally pass a good number of bus stops on these runs. The individuals waiting at these stops and I have a healthy give-and-take relationship. I provide them with high quality entertainment, and they in turn, encourage me to pick up my pace. I am determined to show them not only that girls can run, but that they can run fast! As soon as I’m out of sight, my pace slows down, and I click my ipod to a faster paced song in an effort to stay inspired.
After my run, I give my face a good long time to return to its natural color, take a quick shower, and figure out what to make for lunch. Lunch on Sundays has become my responsibility. While my host parents re-stock for the coming week at the Bazaar, I use my trusty Peace Corps-issued cookbook to come up with an “American” meal. So far, I have made French toast, spaghetti, enchiladas, fajitas, fried rice with eggs, and today a quiche. The fact that none of these dishes are strictly American does not seem to faze my family in the least. Cooking, as I mentioned before, is wonderful. Talk about instant gratification. You cook something, it’s done, you eat it, and it tastes good (generally speaking). Dishes are also good for instant gratification. You start with a big pile and when you finish you (ok, maybe not you, but I) have a great sense of accomplishment. Yes, I realize I am conforming to traditional gender roles, but I can only hope the running balances this out a little bit!
Dync gun afternoons are quiet. I read and plan semi-productively for the next week. My weeks, however, are not quiet. Since my last post, my days have continued to fill up. In the morning, I spend my time at the institute reading, bonding with my teachers, and preparing for next semester. My students are busy with exams so I’m not currently teaching. After the institute, you may find me learning Russian (twice a week), prepping a friend for SAT (twice a week), or teaching an English class for the blind at a nearby community center (twice a week). This class was gifted to me by a previous volunteer, and each time I go, I’m crazy thankful. My students are so patient and eager to learn. Also, this past Saturday, I held my first girls soccer practice and went wonderfully. We worked on passing (with the inside of the foot!), stopping the ball, and learning the positions on the field. The participants seemed to enjoy learning and the novelty of being female and playing soccer. This will hopefully become a weekly occurrence.
Other random observations from the past few weeks:
1. Chocolate is magical. Dark chocolate is a stronger magic than milk chocolate.
2. Russian is intimidating. Also, ‘may I’ (phonetically: mojno) in Russian should not be confused with ice-cream (phonetically: morojno) in Turkmen.
3. Turkish grocery stores (or rather, store b/c there is only one) have everything except good soccer balls. This includes a small bowling alley, a Turkish bakery, cinnamon, escalators, wall hooks, and Christmas/New Years decorations.
4. Tucked-in turtlenecks count as professional clothes.
5. Monthly bus passes are God’s second greatest gift to man after dark chocolate of course.
Hope everyone is doing well and staying healthy!!
One day ‘till Obama!
Me
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