Chapter Eleven: Edumacation
On an educational note, I wanted to express my feelings towards our rayon's English festival held this past week. Me and three other PCVs were the judges of about 35 schools or so from Tuesday through Thursday. While my school and the other PCVs' schools all finished towards the top in regards to their grasp of the English language, many schools provided plenty of entertainment that made the hours and days fly by and on other occassions pass like a camel in the desert. If I never hear the songs "We Shall Overcome" and "My Friends are Your Friends and Your Friends are My Friends" ever again, I shall die a happy lady and have overcome.
But I should admit that many schools and individual students impressed me with their fluency of one of the more challenging languages in the world. The enthusiasm and willingness to get on stage in front of peers and judges was impressive. If there's anything to say about the people of Kyrgyzstan, they sure "dance like no one is watching."
Oh, and a friend of the family, who I'll refer to as M.B.H., came through BIG TIME, sending me an "M Bag" full of educational materials. I'm talking real ESL textbooks and workbooks and wall art. The hours I've been spending worrying about what to teach and how to present the topics have been signifincantly reduced to simply minutes. I am in awe of educators in this part of the world, or really anywhere I guess, who lack adequate books and materials to use in the classroom.
Now if I could just get my students to retain the knowledge and come on a regular basis, I'd be a pro.
This is my classroom. They really like that blue paint.
And this is me, The Educator.
Chapter Ten: OK, you're right.
Camping last week, while a good decision has been the direct cooralation of what Sheila would call post-nasal drip and intense blowing of the nose. I think taking not one but two Benadryls last night on the other hand, was not such a good decision. All morning I've felt as if in a haze. And I don't even have allergies.
On my way back home after camping in Cholpon-Ata, which entailed singing Disney classics over a struggling fire, I rode the Kyrgyz version of America's finest nation-wide bus travel company, Greyhound. The major difference I'll say is that here in Krgyzstan, you never run out of seats. Well you do, but that doesn't stop the driver from pulling over to the side of the rode, and letting everyone and their donkey come on in. I wanted to die. My saving grace were my headphones and the ironwill I possessed to keep my eyes closed, pretending I was lying in a hammock on the southern shore of somewhere beautiful.
I made it back to Karakol, and despite the blisters on the back of my heels from hiking, I walked up to the bazaar and got in the last cab available back to my village. Anticipating a quiet drive back to the J.O., I was surpised when I was attacked with the game 20 Questions by the Apa sitting beside me in the back seat. Within minutes of finding out where and what I studied in university and where my family orginates from, she all but destroyed any shred of self-confidence I possessed, telling me that I didn't read enough, and that if I ever wanted to be a journalist, I better start soon. Maybe if I had been able to argue in my mother tongue, I would have been able to express that in fact I can and do read. And while it may be hard to believe, I have heard of John Steinbeck and read Russian literature. And just because my family comes from Ireland, that does not mean that I am obligated to know and have read every Irish author in the history of mankind. She told me I wasn't a patriot. Whatever that means.
It's a good thing the parental units knew enough to give me a call later that night, reinstilling my confidence. I guess it's ok and normal for not everyone I meet to treat me like a goddess. I can live with that.
Now that the weather is getting nice, my students are opting out of school more frequently. I only had one lesson this morning, but no one came, so instead I sat at my desk, studying my Kyrgyz. I was learning how to say, "I can play volleyball, but I don't want to." Complex sentences. Tomorrow is my rayon's volleyball tournament, but I'm not really feeling it. I'd rather hit up the fields and help plant potatoes.
I wanted to post random pictures, but there's two, now three, other PCVS over my shoulder, waiting for me to finish this, so that we can all grab something to eat.
Hope things are well with you all. I send my love.
Chapter Nine: Poof!
There’s no easy way to put this, so I’ll just throw it on out there.
My sister got herself married, kidnapped, however you want to say it, two Sundays ago.
Yeah. That’s what I said.
But word has it that the guy was her boyfriend, so I'm not suppossed to be too scared for her. She told me before that she really liked this one, so I'll try to be happy for her. It's just that I don't know when I'm going to be able to see her again.
I have to tell you, I actually am pretty bummed about it because now it’s just me and the boys, and I have a sneaking suspicion that to make things easier on my apa, I’m going to have to pick up the slack around the house.
See, I guess when Aidena’s husband’s family came over on Sunday and handed over the “bride price” and my ata accepted the money, it was official. I’m not really sure how it all went down, but I’ll give you the play-by-play I have in my head.
Friday: Aidena comes home from university.
Saturday: I wake up to the sound of Aidena cleaning the house like mad. I participate out of obligation. There’s sweeping and dish washing and clothes cleaning and the whole 9 yards. My apa comes home from Bishkek to a clean home and a meal of plov, ready to be eaten as a family. I suspect nothing.
Sunday: I leisurely get up and find out that my apa and ata went to the city for a day at the bazaar. When they get home my apa comes up to me, crying, and tells me that Aidena left. She is not coming home anymore. This is not her home. She has a husband now.
“Whaaaa?”
Yeah, there were tears and awkward hugs and about an hour of me hiding in my room, scared to make conversation. Eventually my ata called me out to tell me that soccer was playing on TV. As if nothing happened, he expected me to plop a squat and enjoy the match. I tried to. I really did. That lasted for about 20 minutes. When he got up, I got up, and I returned back to my room. Then a few hours later, I was called out to help make borsock. I was confused. My apa switched from mother-whose-daughter-just-got-kidnapped to mother-who-needs-to-throw-a-party-for-her-wedded-daughter. Within a few hours, everything was ready, guests were arriving, and I was trying my best to not be the center of attention. I had to drink tea with the groom’s male relatives. It may have been the most uncomfortable 2 hours of my life. Anyway, I randomly retreated back to my room, like the hermit I have become, but would emerge sporadically, playing the role of “fun foreigner.”
Monday: I went to bed around 2:00 a.m., but the party had just begun. Occasionally, I’d hear the voice of a familiar relative, but I’d just turn over in my bed, waiting for the party to die down. It never did. At 11:00 the following morning, I come out of my room wearing the exact same outfit I went to bed in, only to be welcomed by 20 new faces, mostly neighbors and children. This went on for the entire day.
At about 6:00 in the evening, I finally decided that it was time for me to put my party hat on and really celebrate. This was a bad decision. I cannot for the life of me hold my vodka. I just can’t. I am a shame to Russians and Kyrgyz everywhere.
All that celebrating and I still don’t have Aidena back.
This was taken a while ago before my first Siberian winter. She's the one on the left. And that's not me next to her in case you thought it was.
Anyway, I taught school this week. It’s the 4th quarter, and there’s only two months of school left until summer vacation. Then I am “off” for three months. When summer is up, I will have been in country for an entire year. Already I have had a hard time accepting the reality that almost a year has gone by since I graduated college. I can’t even believe it.
Right now the neighborhood kids are playing a game where they pass a ball around in a circle, hitting it like a volleyball. They play this game every night for about two and half hours. It’s right outside my bedroom window, so I can hear everything. Only sometimes do I get the desire to run out there like I’m seven and play along with them. As of yet, I haven’t joined in the fun, but I sense the day emerging.
My mom sent a soccer ball from home, so I occasionally play “Who Can Score 5 Goals First” with Beknazar. He’s 11. I’m better at kicking than he is, but I let him win sometimes. I think he thinks he’s better than me, and that bothers me, so maybe I’ll up the ante, and put him back in his place.
American music plays all day, everyday on this one radio station my family listens to. It’s really hard getting through a meal when all I hear is, “My lovely lady lump. My hump, my bump, my lovely lady lump.”
Oh, and I should also mention that Angelina Jolie is a huge success here. Not in terms of her acting or humanitarian work, but just the reality that her dome-piece is on the bottle of some cheap, red wine. Actually, I don’t even know if people know who she is, but I got a good kick out of it anyway. There she was, lips everywhere.
I’m in Bishkek now on medical. Nothing serious, just a knee thing. My computer is broken-broken, so I have to get that mailed home via FedEx or DHL while I’m here. My mom and I were actually on a 3-way phone conversation with the guy at Apple while I was at some Russian restaurant last week. Since I’ve been in-country, that was the yuppiest I have felt. But I’m still not a Cubs fan, so no worries.
