Short and Sweet

I walked so much today!!! And then I came home to help jam, pickle, and jar things. Cheers!

"Girl, stand up straight like the woman you are!" -Manana

In and of itself, the school day wasn’t anything unusual. But I’m curious to see what comes of it. My first monthly report was due today. I filled it in and emailed it from school because I don’t currently have internet at home. As always with forms, I found I difficult to check “yes or no,” because the questions asked never seem to be the ones I want asked. The first question, though, asked about lesson-planning. I said frankly that my co-teacher doesn’t plan…but that she also doesn’t have books for many of the classes so how could she plan? I sent the form over a break and then went outside to play with the kids. They taught me Georgian hand games and their version of “ninja.” I taught them “London Bridge.” When I went back inside though, my co-teacher looked up and informed me that she had written lesson plans. Then she pulled out a book and showed me pages with graphs written all in Georgian.

I guess she got a phone call (though she didn’t say). Ugh…that makes me wish I had lied on the form. If she’s serious about writing plans, I’ll have to spend another month trying to convince her to let me teach now and again. But while I worry to myself off-line, I should also mention a related side-note. On the form, there were four options offered per question and I had to check which one most closely matched my situation. Interestingly, the supplied “best-case scenario” for teaching style was not team teaching or co-operative teaching or any such thing. It was that the Georgian teacher does most of the teaching while the volunteer does warm-ups and speaking exercises. Just interesting…

After school, I was walking home with the teachers when they told me we were stopping in at one of our student’s houses because his grandfather had passed away. The boy was nowhere to be seen, but we walked into a big room where three women in black were sitting on a couch. The poor dead man was laid out in the middle of the room; we walked a circle around him and then were on our  way again with hardly a “bodishi” whispered.

Then the school’s music teacher took me with her. She’s the one who introduced me to that boy at the folk concert, and she was convinced that he was still in Oni. She’s friends with his grandmother, and so we went to his grandmother’s house. The whole time, she kept telling me how beautiful his eyes and his nose were. She said, “See, you love him” a couple of times, ignoring my insistences that I really am quite happy single. *Sigh* Georgian mothers.

As I thought, the boy had already left for London. So Manana took me to her house for lunch (which we usually eat around 5 pm here). We listened to classical music, she invited a French-speaking friend over to speak to me (though I couldn’t answer), she fried eggs and sliced persimmons and offered me cigarettes and chocolate as we sat under pictures of fishnet-stocking-ed women. It was all rather hilarious. Then she gave me gifts—a pair of purple panties and a couple of roses from her garden—and walked me home…so that she could walk me past her son’s work and introduce us. Oh the persistence!

Eka came home from Tbilisi today, so once I got home we discussed our Christmas plans. “Georgian Christmas” isn’t December 24^th…so we’re going to Italy for my Christmas and then coming back to Racha for hers. If I have travel p’uli left after that, I may go to Berlin to meet up with a friend and possibly head north for a few days. We’ll see…

With English-speaking guests come stories and a translator

For the past two days there have been English-speaking guests staying chez nous. Eka is in Tbilisi for business, and I wanted to stay around the house in case Maguala needed help. What’s actually happened is that I’ve learned a lot from both talking with these women and from listening to their tour guide translate Maguala’s stories. Last night, for example, I learned that in the 2008 bombing of this area, a large bomb was dropped into Oni but luckily it didn’t detonate. The bombing damage I’ve seen is from the smaller bombs that went off…smaller being big enough to break the glass in the windows at Maguala and Eka’s house. Apparently one of the ruined buildings down the street was an old military communications center. Because the Russians built all these towns, they knew where this and other buildings like it were from their old maps…and for some reason they decided it was important to destroy them.

Tonight, I ate with the guests. Aside from relearning that the homemade mixed and black wines I’ve gotten used to are better than any bottled wines, I also had a chance to hear stories from the group’s Georgian tour guide. She talked about watching dubbed Latin American soap operas, now and in the soviet years. She told stories about the patriarch who famously quoted to his soon-to-be torturers: “My heart belongs to my mother and my mind belongs to my God. Do as you will with the rest of me.” She also told a story about a priest in Kutaisi who was approached one day by a ‘Young Soviets League’ boy. The boy said, “Look at what we are doing? If God really exists, why aren’t we being punished?” The priest answered, “You’re already being punished. You’ve gone mad.” These anecdotes book-ended many others about the absurdities of the Stalin Museum, the histories of different Georgian artists, soviet statues and sculptures, and Georgian food. I also learned that NYU may open an abroad site in Tbilisi, that the source of the Rioni river is a glacier within a day’s journey from Oni, that some of the abandoned ‘hotel’ buildings in Tbilisi had private owners who were evicted when the government decided to sell the buildings to international hotels (which then moved out), and that there are Stalin busts tucked into corners of shops around Georgia if you look for them.

One of the women is an American expat who currently lives in Tbilisi. She said that there are many 5-star hotels standing vacant in the city and many high end boutiques that theoretically shouldn’t be able to stay in business. She was explaining how the rich Georgians would rather go to affordable places in Turkey or central Europe than pay absurd amounts for a weekend in Batumi or Tbilisi. Similarly, they would rather shop abroad than in the boutiques in these cities. Her case was that Tbilisi is trying to become Paris, but that they’ve made all the prices too high and so they drive away potential tourists. From the little I saw of the city, I would agree. The cities that are destinations in Europe for many of the people I’ve met are cities like Berlin, Budapest, Zagreb…comparatively cheap places known for their character more than their luxury establishments. Considering that Georgia’s old reputation (when it was the resort destination for Russian oligarchs) was as the Italy of the East, it would make sense for their tourist department to spend time and resources investing in inter-region transportation, emphasizing their beautiful landscapes, playing up their ancient history and their language and their music and their food…essentially all the things that make them Georgia. Instead they built 5-star hotels and have now decided that the solution is to encourage investors to build 3-star hotels.

At school today, I played music for my students and taught them to play ‘ninja.’ Of course I also taught them future simple tense and can/could/would.

Now I’m admiring Sura Melashvili on TV. “Mela-shvili” means “fox-child.” Maguala tried to teach me one of his songs, but I keep laughing. I’m glad she’s so patient with me. I never posted Matsatso’s “90% of a pizza” recipe so I’ll do that before calling it a night. Ready?

In a round shallow pan, layer the following: sliced potato rounds, salt, pieces of meat (beef or ham), salt and pepper, tomatoes, salt, crumbled cheese (the salty almost-feta kind), mayonnaise (the European kind that has enough flavor to go on french fries), pepper and spices…then bake in a bright orange CCCP electric oven. I would leave out some of the salt, personally, but it was delicious. We also had pickled tomatoes with lobiani on that day, and it was a good combination.

Now then, I’m off to bed.

Fall in full swing!

The day after that last post, I brought my laptop to school. In the afternoon, we were teaching both 8^th grade and 9^th grade. Usually when we walk into these classes, we start with my co-teacher writing attendance while I make small-talk with my students. We practice “How are you? Are you tired? What did you do this weekend? What’s the weather today? What day is today?” and other such things. Then I stop whenever she finishes and try to feel out what she wants to do with the lesson, and usually we do pretty well this way. However, when we walked into 8^th grade that day I had my laptop out of the bag before we walked into the class—showing the kids a new toy guarantees that I get their attention for at least the first half of the lesson. I played Justin Bieber (oh forgive me!) while I wrote hole-y lyrics (to other songs) on the board. Then we spent the class doing listening exercises to the tune of “fill-in-the-lyric.” They really enjoyed it, and my co-teacher did too. It was very difficult for them, which re-assures me that it was a productive exercise and one that we should continue. If I can teach them to listen, then that is a learning tool they will keep long after I’ve left. Then we headed off to 9^th grade. My co-teacher was clearly not thrilled. She told me how they are lazy, and I insisted that they’re just shy. We walked into the classroom, and they were talking and jumping on each other and doing all the other things they do. She sighed and sat down…and I started BLASTING music. Again, I had their attention immediately. I’d learned during the last class to write the lyrics for the next song on a side board while letting the kids listen unguided to the first song. Then I would go back and work through it with them. Everybody participated, they seemed to enjoy it…and they even took notes! It’s always nice to have a lesson idea go over the way I planned it.

That was Friday. Saturday, the sun was out and the sky was brilliantly cloudless. It was grape-harvesting day at home. Five young men—relatives and neighbors—came over with ladders and buckets. They climbed and harvested while babua worked in the cellar pressing the grape juice. Eka and I cleaned the yard for most of the day. In the evening, however, I went to a town festival. My students had told me that some of them would be singing in a concert at the end of the festival. In reality, many of them would be singing…and some of them would be dancing! It was great. As soon as I got there, I was mobbed by my students. I love having my co-teacher around, but not having her there meant that they couldn’t rely on her to translate for them. At first they were very shy, but they worked together to build questions and comments for me. I feel like if we could spend a few hours like this every week then many of my students would be conversational by the end of the year. They know a lot of words and abstract rules, but they never get to practice…

When the concert started, I was surprised to see one of the men who had been picking grapes! He competed in a tug-of-war tournament, and then he stepped out in traditional costume as part of a folk singing group. After they finished, the first of the dances started. It was a traditional folk dance, a wedding dance, from this region. Many of my students and their friends were in it, but one of my 8^th graders was actually the male lead. And it was incredible! I took videos, but you don’t get to see them until I get a strong internet connection. Apologies.

One of my fifth graders sang two solos…and for one he accompanied himself on a traditional string instrument. There was another dance for me to marvel over, some tiny children singing and dancing, a few more singing groups…and then a surprise for me. The music teacher from my school pulled me away from where I was standing (much to the dismay of the student who had been playing hostess for me) and introduced me to a woman who greeted me in English! This woman had fled from the war in 1995. She moved with her 5-year-old son to London, and now the two of them were back for the first time in 16 years. She had a son my age and he spoke English, so like true Georgian mothers she and the music teacher pushed the two of us together and then disappeared. At first he was clearly embarrassed by this, but I shrugged it off and he relaxed enough that we could actually have what turned out to be a fascinating conversation. He was born here, taken away when he was too young to know where or why, and now that he was here again (and leaving Wednesday, I learned) he said that people were very “you left; we stayed…you will never understand what we went through.” But they don’t understand what his life has been like either. It’s a story I remember hearing a lot in Prague. I wish we’d had more time to talk, but the concert ended before I could really hear his thoughts. He took my phone number and I kept hoping over the next few days that he would call…of course that was silly of me. Thinking about it, what would probably be best for us both would be if we could get in touch in a month or so—when he’s had time and distance to digest what must have been a very difficult and bittersweet trip for him. Oh well.

Sunday started with church, where one of my students spotted me and came over to offer me a candle. Then I went home and studied for most of the day. Around 4, two grandmothers and one great-grandmother came over to help bebia make…I don’t know what it’s called. I got to help! A few weeks ago, bebia had threaded together nuts and hung them to dry. Saturday, babua took the grape juice that wasn’t being turned into wine and he boiled it with sugar to make a sweet juice. Bebia boiled a big tub of this all morning Sunday. She added flour at some point, and the grandmothers took turns stirring this over the stove until it was candy-coating thick. To be honest, they looked a bit like witches out of a classic fairytale, huddled around the cauldron in their black clothes. I loved it. They added a bit more sugar, and when the mix was ready we began dipping the nut strings into it. Bebia used a wooden spoon to thoroughly coat them, and then we hung them to dry. Yum…“Georgian snickers”…

We went to a mini-supra on Sunday night, and Eka and I agree that it was some of the best wine we’ve had since I got here. The hostess has a daughter who is studying English at the local school. She’s Eka’s goddaughter and she wants speaking practice, so we arranged to meet up for an hour on Tuesday.

Monday at school I taught my co-teacher the word “test” and decided to write some for our 5^th graders…who are now three chapters into their book. I was also delighted when she took over the class of 1^st-3^rd graders (which she usually leaves completely in my hands) and walked them through a picture book. She had shown me the book over a break, but she didn’t want to use it because it wasn’t a textbook. I laughed and said that we know our students better than the book company. Maybe soon she’ll let our older students skip exercises in their rather useless (excuse my frankness) textbooks. I can dream.

After a great game of “Georgian football” with the 9^th graders after school, I headed to my co-teacher’s friends shop. It’s something of a ritual for the three of us to sit together every day and talk for a bit. This time, though, they skyped a friend. Which meant that customers walked in, held out money to me and asked for different things. This was amusing on more than one occasion, but most especially when I knew to reply with “We have no bread/sour cream/ham.”

Then I went home and prepared lessons until Eka came home from work. We went to her grandmother’s house for a three-year-old (cousin?)’s birthday. Annie is a very shy girl. Her mom (who could be my age) brings her and her baby sister over every Sunday. We speak about the same amount of Georgian, and this was the first time she would speak at all. In fact, after a quick game of hide-and-seek she decided we were friends. She sat on my lap in the kitchen until her father steered Eka and I out to join the 8 men around the supra table. We drank a number of toasts to the little girl who was sitting on the couch waiting to be allowed back into my lap. Two other women came with their husbands a little later on. The kind uncle next to me kept asking me to make toasts to him…and this is the only reason the other side of the table figured out that I wasn’t Georgian. My keeping quiet is actually considered rather normal, but when I laughed and asked Eka about traditional form for toasting the birthday girl, her parents, and this kind uncle, one of the men on the other side of the table called out to Eka “You speak English?” We explained my situation. One man kept asking if I spoke French, and when I explained that I have forgotten most of it he fell back onto the one English phrase he knew “I love you!” What could I do but laugh? It was fun, but I was rather relieved to go home and watch “Georgian Idol.”

So today, Tuesday, school went rather well again. One of our boys had a birthday, and his mother is a teacher so she brought in fruit/chocolate/wine for the teachers to celebrate. They taught me their happy birthday song, which means with a little studying I will be able to sing “Happy Birthday” in four languages. I played a little bit of football over a break, but then I left my ball with the kids while I went inside to a lesson. Next thing I knew, there was a fifth-grader at my side. “Abby Mas, bodishi!” (Sorry!). When I asked him why, he held out the ball…and sure enough one of the seams had split. My 9^th graders asked me to sew it back. I told them I would try, but I’m afraid that we’ll just have to play with the broken ball until it goes flat. My 8^th graders mentioned a Georgian folk tale, so I threw out the lesson plan and asked them to explain the story to me in English. It would have worked if my co-teacher hadn’t translated their Georgian…she really needs to learn to let me look dumb so they feel a need to explain. They know the words! I was a little bit frustrated, but even so we made it work. I wrote sentences on the board and asked them questions to guide them in their story-telling; they got up and acted out pieces that I insisted I wasn’t understanding. They were great. Also, the boy who had danced on Saturday was very curious to know who the boy I had been speaking with at the concert was. Then he asked if I had many friends in Oni. At least in order to gossip about my social life they have to use English to ask me! And my 9^th graders are studying conditional sentences, so I got to ask them about what they would do if they were famous or could fly or moved to Tbilisi. They told me that they will be famous. Then we argued about why they would each be famous. And they gave me apples and quince again. Wonderful silly children.

 After school I had to go to the research center and sign second, third, and fourth copies of the form saying I had received my copies of the level one books. Nevermind the fact that my school doesn’t have the books for levels 2 through 6 as they (and I) were promised. Hmmm…priorities…

From there, I went home to drop my books off before going to visit Eka’s goddaughter. We talked about books and music. She knows a lot…we’re going to keep meeting, and I’m looking forward to it. She showed me pictures of Converse sneakers, hipster owl necklaces, and cameras that she wants. I asked her if any of these things are available in Oni or Ambralaouri (not that she could afford them, but what I’ve seen of the shops makes me wonder how I’ll ever get anyone gifts!). She said that they can only be bought in Tbilisi. Which is also the only place to buy wedding dresses and go to a movie theater. Yikes!

Now I’m home. I had peanut butter on bread for dinner in anticipation of the Americans coming to stay at the guest house tomorrow. Eka will be away on business, so for the next few days I’m going to help Maguala and also translate a bit. Hope they’re nice people…and hope my Georgian is good enough for this

Speaking of Absurd

As I was sitting at the kitchen table writing out verb conjugations last night, Nona got a call and immediately gestured for me to put on shoes and follow her outside. We walked to the curb and stopped to wait. I asked where we were going but didn’t understand the answer, and it was a bit cold! I was just starting to wish that I’d brought my coat when Eka drove up. We climbed into the back seat and she introduced me to her friend who was sitting up front with her. Then she explained that we were going to his village. Cool. Sure. Why not!

A bit down the road, we stopped again and Nona gestured for me to move over. I did, and soon I found myself very much squished between Nona and a man whom Eka introduced as “bürgermeister of Oni municipality.” He would ask her questions about me in Georgian, she would ask me in German, I would answer in English and then fill in the parts she didn’t understand in German, and then she would translate back to Georgian for him. It was very silly. She also took the time to explain to me that these men are her friends but “they are not like American friends. They are Georgian friends…we are like brothers and sister…” I laughed and told her that I have American friends who are like brothers and sisters to me…in fact, that’s pretty much what friendship is. I wondered for half a second where this idea that Americans all sleep with all our friends comes from, and then I remembered walking by ads for that “Just Friends” (I forget who was in it) film this summer. Right. Thanks, Hollywood.

I fell asleep in the car on the way home, but once home I had energy for a quick phone call to share the absurdity with a friend and then for some yoga to stretch out after the afternoon’s sporting.

I’m glad it was so exciting, because today was decidedly unremarkable. It was rainy and sleepy and cold. The electricity went out a few times…I sat by the wood stove studying verb conjugations all day. After school, that is, where I caused much excitement by using colored chalk in a few lessons. I thought I rejoiced over small things; these kids were ecstatic and so were my fellow teachers! Also, I’m feeling a little guilty because I taught my ninth graders a game and when one of my shiest students (who’s very bright and good-hearted, actually) didn’t want to play. My co-teacher yelled at him until the principal came, then she yelled at him too. I just stood there…wondering that other students can fight and never do their homework and play with the woodstoves in the classrooms and not one of the teachers blinks, but here was this poor kid getting wrung out over such a small thing as refusing a game.

Kvelaperi kargad ikneba…

So what's new?

Last night, I photoshopped a mac logo to turn it pink. Then we put it on Eka’s phone as her background. We also made a new salad: beets, sweet red peppers, carrots, red beans, and the usual handful of dill/cilantro. It’s very good.

This morning, Matsatso greeted me at the car-station with the question “What’s new?” I laughed. I answered “Nothing” and then we reversed the dialogue. I had the feeling that we were running a practice conversation for class, and at the same time I felt that we would repeat this many times without the ritual reply of “nothing” losing its honesty.

So what’s new and good? (Ra aris akhali da kargi?) I learned how to eat raw chestnuts today. Also, my seventh graders begged me to skip afternoon classes to come play volleyball with them. My co-teacher urged me to go with them, so I played a volleyball game with the 7^th and 8^th graders for one class period. Then I played catch—using my American football—with other students for a second period. This was actually something of a victory; I’ve been trying to get the girls to speak up and be more engaged. I’ve also been trying to compensate for some of the favoritism in the lower grades by working with the kids who get overlooked. During that game of catch, I realized that almost all the participants were girls ranging from 2^nd to 8^th graders. AND they weren’t excluding anyone from the game. They were also working hard to help each other translate things they wanted to say to me. I was really proud of them.

Now I’m home, and I’m actually taking a break from the Georgian studies to work on my Gallatin colloquium. I need an outline, rationale, and booklist…they’re due next October but finishing all the drafts before I get home would be ideal. That will give me time to show them to my advisors and teachers, and then to make any content or format changes that are necessary. It’s a bit daunting to think about doing all this while technically withdrawn from my university. That said, I spend my days watching my students color “Chven da NATO” posters to hang around the school, listening to speculations about Putin’s politics, and teaching from textbooks that are all literally stamped “government approved” inside the front cover. This is really the best place to be doing my work from, I’m sure of it.

As a quick side note, the news here is covering the protests happening in Europe and in New York. Can I just say that I personally find the protests (at least the NY one) rather irresponsible and irrational. My problem with Obama has consistently been that he promises outcomes without specifying the steps of his plans for achieving these things. My frustration with my education reform books is that they all point out the problems of the current system, but they then declare a need for radical reforms without laying out realistic steps for changing anything. During the debt crisis (or the part at the beginning of the summer) everyone groaned and whined, as if they had expected our government would forever be able to spend money that doesn’t exist without consequences. There’s just no sense in any of these scenarios. Now there are protests justifying themselves by this lack-of-logic. It’s beyond absurd and I want no part of it.

A visit from a friend...

Thanks to a church holiday (though I’ve not yet been able to figure out which one), we had no school this past Friday. My friend James—who is teaching in Batumi—decided to take advantage of the extra day and come visit me. Friday morning I helped with cleaning and yardwork, but then around 3 I went to Ambralaouri with Eka and Nona to meet his marshutka. We brought him home, and as soon as he was in the house chemi babua cornered him to remind him “Abi kargi gogo aris.” Diax.

We ate an early dinner and then I took James on a walk up to my school. We were trying to make it up before dark. I wanted him to see the church that’s Sheubani’s landmark, the hike I have daily, and the view of Oni from the top of the trail. We made it to the top just in time, but it was dark before we were back down at street level. I walked him over to the mineral water spring-house so that he could try a sip, and then we went back home. After spending 6 hours in a marshutka, he was pretty tired. We had coffee, watched soap operas/Russian music videos with the family, and made peanut butter cookies. Then we decided to call it a night.

Saturday I got up early to study Georgian a bit. Babua and bebia made fun of me…but I understand more and more of what they say when they tease me at this point! Then James got up and we had breakfast before setting out. The morning was rainy, but he had come to Racha for a break from the city. I love the nature here; even in the rainy weather the mountains are breathtaking. The tree-covered mountains are all glowing with fall colors, and the rain paints all the rocks and tree-trunks black. The river is fast and blue. The far-off snow-capped mountains change daily. Some days they are cloaked in clouds. Some days they stand out against the blue sky. And on days when the sky is that brilliant rainy white, they look like they’re etched into a huge sheet of glass. This is an excellent place to come for a quick break from the city.

The road we walked is actually the road that leads eventually to Ossetia. I live close enough to get there by car in a day, but far enough that there was no danger of us accidentally crossing the border while walking…so off we went. The road follows the river, inclining steadily before leveling off around Pipeleti (mostly because the mountain on the other side of the river rises to meet it). We explored the ruins of an old spa by a mineral spring. It was wrecked during the 2008 war, but the skeleton still stands. There’s an apple tree growing (and bearing fruit already!) in the middle of what must have once been a large bath. There’s shattered glass everywhere and graffiti from other adventurers. James made it up onto the roof, but I wasn’t quite that brave…

Farther down the road, we stopped to sit with some cows on the river bank. James napped in the grass while I watched a beetle and dipped my toes into the cold cold water. Back on the road, we found some waterfalls, frogs, giant rocks to climb (I’ll be the first to admit I was terrified they would fall!), and piglets. At one point, we were talking about being hungry and James suggested that it would be fantastically good luck to stumble into a pear orchard. Not a minute later, we found ourselves next to a huge apple tree! It could not have been better timing. At another point, we were perched on one giant cliff-face and we saw people climbing down the cliff-face opposite us. I waved, and we watched them climb down to the road.

We walked around 10 km. and arrived home rather hungry and tired. In the most pleasant and satisfying way, of course. Dinner wasn’t for an hour, so we sat down in the back room to read for a bit. James promptly fell asleep, and I was rather close to doing the same. Then Eka called us for dinner, and we ate a wonderful dinner with everyone. I forgot to mention that it was Jame’s birthday. Because of the special occasion, Eka pulled out a special glass and we each made a toast to him. I think we had four languages going at one point. Hopefully he was as amused as I was!

After dinner, we went out to walk through the village a bit and to visit Oni’s synagogue. Eka took me when I first arrived here; it was built in 1891 (or ’92…) for the large Jewish population that Oni apparently had at the time. Now there is one family (6 people) and the synagogue is out of regular use. When we asked why the Jews left, we were told that they left for the same reasons everyone else did: the fall of the USSR coinciding with a very large and destructive earthquake that devastated Oni, and then the fighting that culminated in 2008. Fair enough.

There was actually a group of tourists in the synagogue already. This was surprising because it was past 9 pm…But I guess I am glad to know that there’s a definite interest in the history of the beautiful building. We went in and walked around for a bit, and then we left when the other group left. We walked through town to get back home, and when we got home we sat down for coffee and a game or two of UNO (with made up rules because neither of us could remember the real ones). Then  we started reading The Cherry Orchard and continued until we fell asleep.

Today we got up early so that we could have breakfast before driving James to Ambralaouri to catch the 9:30 marshutka (the only one) to Batumi. Since this meant we couldn’t go to church in Oni, Eka and I stopped on the way home to go to a service at Baraku Church of the Virgin. It was big and beautiful, and it’s clearly a church that people come to this area to visit. I have to confess, I like Oni’s small colorful church better…but I’m still grateful to have had a chance to visit Baraku.

Now we’re at home. Bebia’s sister stopped by with her daughter-in-law and young grandchildren. Now a group of the neighbors are here and we’re sitting in the kitchen. They’re all used to me by now, and I can sit in the corner studying/reading/writing…I get called over to the table for coffee and sometimes they call out to me with questions to test my Georgian. I’m figuring out that Sunday is church-laundry-hot shower-neighbor visiting day. I’ll be curious to see if/how things change in the winter.

Supraze

Yesterday in the news (which, by the way, is Imedi news…Hope…) there were actually multiple big stories. First, Vaclav Havel was given an award by Saakashvili in recognition of his fight for (I couldn’t actually understand the details…something about freedom and solidarity for Eastern Europe). Next, Google has updated GoogleMaps to include maps of Georgia. They now have streets in Tbilisi listed, along with the appropriate tourist attractions. Sweet. Third, the US senate announced that they support the “territorial integrity” of Georgia and are considering opening a free-trade agreement between the two countries.

In other news, people are still excited about Sarcozy having visited over the weekend, they are recovering bodies and cars from the site of a massive rockslide that happened last week, and Maria from the favorite Spanish soap opera has survived an arson attack.

Most evenings, I come home from school and sit down in the kitchen with a book. Babua sits reading by the window or watching television. Bebia is in Tbilisi, so it’s been just two of us the past few days. At some point, he asks if I want coffee. I make a cup of instant for myself; he makes a cup of Turkish coffee for himself…then we sit back down. He no longer brings me pears each day—there aren’t any left on the tree—but he does ask as soon as I get home about whether I’m hungry. And he doesn’t take no for an answer, refusing to go back to his book/show until I’ve had tomato salad and some bread at the very least. He often gets up for cigarette breaks.  He smokes a lot; I can always hear where he is in the room because he breathes like his lungs are full of holes. I worry a bit, but he’s healthy enough to chop a forest worth of firewood to store for winter. I do giggle a bit because he always goes outside to smoke, but then he brings his butts into the house to throw into the stove fire. So the house ends up smelling like cigarettes anyway. At least momentarily, each time.

Today at school, I played basketball barefoot. My students were very amused (as was the gym teacher) and they begged me to skip my classes for the rest of the day to keep playing with them. Which, of course, I didn’t…but I have to admit I was tempted. Part of me knows that my playing sports and handgames with the students reaffirms the other teachers’ view of me as a “little girl.” But the other part of me doesn’t mind; my language comprehension is increasing and my students are learning new words (like “pass” and “foul”). I’ve asked them to teach me some Georgian rhymes, but aside from one tongue-twister they haven’t mentioned any. One boy even told me he was too old for such children’s games.

I haven’t said much about the children. I get frustrated at times with how they get pushed through the book-prescribed exercises without anyone caring about whether they actually understand what they’re “learning.” I get frustrated with the lack of consistency, scaffolding, modeling…with the favoritism or [whatever the opposite of it is]. But the reason I get so frustrated is that I’ve come to love these kids. They’re smart, even the ones who don’t care about studying English. They work hard…carrying in firewood, helping their families with the fall harvest, memorizing and reciting dialogues (my job is to explain to them what they’re actually saying…). They play-fight, but they help each other with homework (maybe a little too much at times); if someone falls during a basketball game, without fail someone else helps him or her up and dusts them off. They pick apples for each other and for me. They giggle at my grammar mistakes, but they’re patient as I learn. It also follows that hearing their teacher stammer through verb conjugations has helped give them enough confidence to try to converse with me. It’s hard but fun, on both ends I think.

After school, I went to my co-teacher’s house to learn to make her meatball soup. And her recipe:

Take fresh ground meat mixed with sweet red pepper and mix it in a bowl with moistened (but not soaked) rice. Crack and egg into the bowl and mix it in. From the resulting meat-mix, shape meatballs. Meanwhile, brown some onions with vegetable oil in the bottom of a big soup pot. Add a bit of tomato paste, preferably home-made with hot pepper as well. After this smells ready (now I know why my mom doesn’t have any of her grandmother’s recipes!), pour in a few cups of water. Bring to boil. Salt. Mash some garlic with a mortar and pestle. Add this and the meatballs to the broth and let cook. A few minutes before serving, add handfuls of cilantro and dill. If desired (and on-hand) add potatoes. Serve hot…preferably with fresh bread and salty cheese.

I didn’t actually stay to try the soup. Eka had promised a friend that we would attend a supra at her house, so I went home to change my shoes. When I first asked, we were planning to walk to the supra. Her friend lives in the next village over…the village that my school is actually “in,” though this was going to be my first time in the village part of it. We walked to the sadgurze to meet our hostess, who was just finishing work at her shop. Aside from being stopped for conversation three times by different women as we walked there, we were called over to a car upon our arrival. As we talked to the two men in the car, a police truck pulled up and the three cops joined the conversation. Eka’s friend arrived, but we were waiting on one more person. I couldn’t follow all of the conversation, but I caught that at some point they offered to drive me to school each day in the police truck (I said no thanks…I rather like the walk). One of the other policemen was very proud of himself because he could greet me in English. It was actually really sweet, and I know exactly how he feels.

When our other friend arrived, we piled (literally) into the first car. I deduced that someone had accepted an offer to give us a ride. So much for getting to walk! At the supra, our hostess’ mother came in to kiss me hello and her granddaughter (because all 4 generations live in the house) pulled me outside to tell me about her cat and her house and her grandmother…AND that she doesn’t like big dogs because they bite. She sat on my lap through most of the meal.

I’d been told that the Georgians have a miracle hangover cure in the form of a soup made from pigs’ feet. One thing I learned at the supra was that they actually eat a form of pig feet as a dish at the supra. They start with a few pieces of this salty and fatty meat, and then they proceed to drink pitchers of wine without worrying. I’d also been told that at men’s supras, there is one person who is in charge of toasting. I’ve learned that at women’s supras (although it may just be with this particular group of women), before anyone drinks she is expected to make a toast (even just a short one). Common themes so far seem to be to our families, to the health and fortune (luck) of the host(ess), to the souls of the dead, to our fathers/brother/sons and any men we may love, to our countries, to God, and to children.

When we got home, I burned a few CDs of English music for Eka. Then I went to bed thoroughly exhausted.

ცხენი

Secretly, part of the reason that I wanted to live in a village was the hope that a family with a farm might have a horse. I’ve really missed riding. While I understand that horses are expensive and that, as such, the odds of me ending up in a family that keeps one just for riding were slim-to-none, the absurd optimistic part of me still hoped. Of course, my family doesn’t have a horse. However, I did get a chance to ride!

Yesterday was rainy and cold for most of the day. I sat in the kitchen, writing lesson plans and such, while chemi bebia strung hazelnuts together. She will dry them over the fire for a few days, and then she will dip them into a pot of condensed grape-juice mixed with flour. The result will be a chewy snack for winter that Eka calls “Georgian Snickers.” Which reminds me that I should sometime write about the hilarious Snickers commercial that was on TV this morning. But before I get too off-topic…

Student that I am, I’ve very able to sit for hours and focus on work. Of course. However, after a day or two of this I begin to get antsy. The rain finally let up around 5 last night, and I got a text from my soccer/football buddies. I translated the gist of it: they wanted me to meet them at the bus station. Excited at the thought of a quick game (and actually playing this time!) told bebia where I was going and set off. However, when I got to the station, I saw my friends holding horses. Alex mounted his and cantered off as soon as I walked up, but Giorgi gestured for me to get on his. Since I had no way to communicate that I have a long history as an equestrian, he assumed I was clueless. So he helped me mount and then took the reins to lead the horse along.

We went and sat by the river, talking for a while as best we could. I’m somewhat fascinated by the way we sew together my handful of Georgian words, their three or four English words and a lot of gestures to build conversations that easily last hours. I’m speaking generally, too; it’s the same phenomenon with the teachers at my school. I feel like I learn a lot in these conversations, but I’m also really surprised to be making friends. They’re so patient with me!

When it got dark, I mentioned that I should probably be getting home. Being out is a tricky thing here. For as much crap as Americans get about being fat and lazy, I’m from the Northeast! We’re actually rather active! I’m trying hard to respect the traditional gender roles here and to fit myself to the culture as much as I can. But I need to walk and run and exercise a bit. As a girl, I get strange looks when I go around with all boys…but if there are no girls playing football than who am I supposed to play with?!

But I’m ahead of myself again. We started to slowly head back to my house (Alex and Giorgi live in another village). Giorgi’s horse was giving him problems; Alex got bored so he pulled me up on the back of his and we galloped back and forth across the Rioni bridge while waiting for Giorgi. I’ve always wondered how it would work to fit two people on a horse…in my head I forgot that the back of the saddle would be a problem. But I’m proud to say I didn’t fall (until he ran the horse into the other horse and we both toppled off over its head). At one point we stopped to let some young boys take turns galloping up and down the street. At another point Alex finally understood that I’m capable and independent (and blahblahblah the usual) and let me ride in front with the reins. Then he hopped off, leaving me totally alone, and I was surprised to realize how much I missed challenge of establishing a relationship with a new horse.

I had a quick canter, and then it really was time for me to go home. Giorgi held the horse while Alex walked me to my gate. And that was when the gender thing came up. Alex had cut his hands, and I was trying to communicate to him that he should wait while I ran inside to grab a couple of bandages for him. Chemi babua heard us and came outside to investigate. Alex greeted him…babua didn’t return the greeting. I didn’t catch the whole of the conversation, but I understood “Where are you from?” and “Do you know who she is?” He clearly wasn’t pleased. I wished so much that I had the voice to say “It’s fine! He was letting me ride his horse! None of the girls will come outside to play with me, but I promise these are ‘kargi bitchi’ (good boys). They won’t hurt me and I won’t embarrass you; I just want friends to play outside with!” But of course I still don’t speak Georgian. So instead I darted inside and joined bebia and Nona for tea. Babua came up after me, said something to bebia that included “bitchebi” and their town name, patted my head once and then sat down in front of the TV. I feel guilty for worrying him, for putting Alex in that position…all without actually doing anything wrong other than being unable to communicate.

The women from school all have husbands, parents and children to tend to. I’ve never seen girls my age outside unless they’re at the shop. It’s so nice to have friends and absolutely wonderful to be on horseback! I’ll have to figure out a way to normalize this “freunden von mir” thing. Navigating cultural differences as a mute can be a bit difficult.

And so today I’ve spent the whole day inside. Sitting in the kitchen. Bebia cooked while I studied, then we had coffee together. Then she cleaned while I studied (studying Georgian, of course) and then she went off to visit a friend. Nona came over and did laundry while I studied. Then we had tea together. Then she left. Then bebia came home and insisted I stop working to eat. She fed me, fed babua, and is now doing laundry while I write this. In a minute, I’ll go back to studying. I really want to take a walk, but after last night I don’t know how to propose it without worrying them. I can’t wait until Eka gets home from her business trip…she’ll hike with me!

I’m getting a lot of studying done though. And I wouldn’t worry so much about the family if I didn’t love them…I’ll figure it out…

One last note: I’m trying not to use everyone’s names because I don’t have the language to ask their permission to do so. I’m just going to keep referring to my host-grandparents as “chemi bebia” (my grandmother) and “chemi babua” (my grandfather).

Nakvamdis!

Working for the weekend~!

Friday! I can’t believe I’ve only been here a week. Planning so much for English lessons (and trying to make Georgian friends) has left me with little time for actually studying Georgian. My goal for next week is to make more time for formal study. That said, I’ve been practicing a lot and am slowly improving. In fact, I understood two jokes from my students today. When I asked Giorgi (a different one from my footballer friend) how the weather was on this cold and rainy day, he replied that it was good and he likes rain. Then he said there has to be rain for there to be any chance of a rainbow. In another  class, my co-teacher asked the 2^nd graders what kinds of letters we are studying. One of the girls answered, “Big and little ones.” [Georgian script doesn’t have “capitol” and “lowercase” letters, so this is a new concept for them.]

My co-teacher suggested a trip to her village on Sunday if the weather is nice. Crossing my fingers and pressing my thumbs!Friday! I can’t believe I’ve only been here a week. Planning so much for English lessons (and trying to make Georgian friends) has left me with little time for actually studying Georgian. My goal for next week is to make more time for formal study. That said, I’ve been practicing a lot and am slowly improving. In fact, I understood two jokes from my students today. When I asked Giorgi (a different one from my footballer friend) how the weather was on this cold and rainy day, he replied that it was good and he likes rain. Then he said something about a rainbow. In another  class, my co-teacher asked the 2^nd graders what kinds of letters we are studying. One of the girls answered, “Big and little ones.” [Georgian script doesn’t have “capitol” and “lowercase” letters, so this is a new concept for them.]

My co-teacher suggested a trip to her village on Sunday if the weather is nice. Crossing my fingers and pressing my thumbs!

In the meantime, I'm sitting by the wood stove in my host family's kitchen. I'm marking up the textbooks that the older students are using. They have a lot of typos, misinformation, and social morality reading pieces. One short essay explained that the reasons ants have been able to survive millions of years are that they stick together, share work, and sacrifice for the good of the group. Another essay suggested keeping a journal as a tool for becoming great (as well as making a habit of helping people), but mentioned that mostly girls keep journals. There was an essay on Bill Gates being successful despite dropping out of Harvard. There were two essays presenting religious teachings as national history. There was an essay on the life of an American 7th grader (which sorely needs updating)...In fact, there are many American folk songs and even one essay about how to get a scholarship to study abroad in the US. And I squirmed a bit to find the n-word casually used in one of the end-of-chapter reviews. I re-wrote a few of the essays, and wrote a letter to my co-teacher about derogatory language. 

I just wish I could read the text books used in the other classes! Soon enough, hopefully.