Sometimes being an American abroad is pretty humorous. I
can’t tell you how many people were involved in trying to find a turkey for me
to cook for Thanksgiving, but I can tell you that I didn’t ask for a turkey
because I knew it would be a problem. Since it was my holiday, though, I was
allowed to cook. I knew I would have no turkey, cranberries, or sweet potatoes.
I also knew that my Christmas would be a non-event here. So I decided to take
my family’s traditional Christmas dinner, modify it based on the ingredients
that are available in Oni, and cook it up for Thanksgiving. We had sausage and
peppers, latkes, cheese, beer bread, lobio (Maguala’s, not mine), brownies, and
sweet baked apples. My co-teacher came over for a bit to taste the “American
food” (ironic considering the main dishes were Italian and Jewish), and bebia
liked the apples so much that we’re making them again tonight so I can teach
her. To be able to cook, I had to go grocery shopping (always daunting). Bebia
took me to the market in the morning and helped me find ingredients. Thank God
Thanksgiving fell on a Thursday, because otherwise there would have been no
market and things would have been a bit more difficult. I’ve also learned that
Georgian “sausage” is not sausage but hot dogs, and that the cheese we have in
Oni doesn’t melt unless it’s in khachapuri. Cooking was fun, though. Next time,
I want to make pancakes or a pie…it’s so fun to see how surprised everyone is
when food I make tastes good. Rusudani’s reaction to the dinner was “You can
cook! So when do you want to get married?”
School on Friday was fairly uneventful. Before school, my
co-teacher’s husband had car-trouble. She was very late meeting me, as a
result, and I stood in a shop to be out of the cold. I don’t usually go into
this shop alone, but Lasha likes it because they have good candy. We’ve been
going together often, and the shop-keeper knows me now. So yesterday morning
she sent her daughter outside to invite me in. I sat with them by the fireplace
behind the counter, and we ate sweets together as we attempted to converse. The
shop-keeper was putting on her make-up and a man was waiting by the window for
a car. I was struck by how different this shop is from the stores at
home…something I had known when I first arrived here but had since stopped
noticing.
Today we’ve been cleaning. I had a bit of a panic-attack
when I walked in on my host-mother cleaning my room. I try to keep it clean so
that this doesn’t happen, but she was going through my drawers organizing my
clothes. I wasn’t sure how she would react to the bag of tampons (TMI warning:
I brought a year’s supply because I had heard—correctly—that they aren’t sold
here) in my bottom drawer. I kept insisting that I could clean everything
myself, but she said she wanted to clean for me. So I stood there and held my
breath, wondering if she would stop thinking I’m a “good girl” once she opened
the bottom drawer. Thank goodness, she’s a rather open-minded lady, and she
wasn’t phased at all. But I’ve never been so stressed over tampons before! It
seems silly. But it’s a reminder that I’m still figuring out how to be a woman
here. How to women view each other? How am I supposed to act (I think I’ve got
that mostly figured out)? How do I act like enough of a foreigner that they
feel I’m a worth-while investment, but still act Georgian enough that I don’t
upset or offend anyone (or put myself in danger)? It’s the same situation I
face with my students: how to I make sure they respect me as a teacher but also
help them feel comfortable enough that they approach me to practice casual
conversation (because that’s what they actually need)? I love this, but it sure
isn’t easy.
Eka’s work-friends just stopped by for coffee. A
football-friend of mine rode by on a horse, and I really wanted to go outside
and call to him that I want a quick canter…but we had guests so I didn’t. Kargi
gogo var.
I almost forgot! Another English teacher arrived yesterday.
Everyone is asking if I’ve met him yet. I know his name is Michael, he’s 27,
and he’s “small” (though I’m not sure what they mean by that). He’s living with
the (crazy) librarian. I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about having a
colleague here. There’s another new teacher in the next village over, too.
Smart of the government to put so many of us here—near the Russian and South
Ossetian borders—just in case. I’m a bit nervous about meeting these people.
Two of the six people from the group of sixty that I came over with have run
into my ex while vacationing. I’ve heard a few hilarious stories (apparently a
Georgian told him to bride-nap me, and he told my friends this, not knowing
that they were my friends), but this small-country “of course I know such and
such!” makes me a little nervous.
But I won’t say more until I actually know anything. No
sense worrying over what isn’t a problem yet.
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