Where did the month go?

March is over already. Here, people are discussing (aside from the usual political and social gossip) their plans for Easter. Among the other foreign teachers, there is talk about post-contract sight-seeing trips. Part of me feels like it would be nice to go around the country for a week after contract…but life is speeding up as it always does this time of year, so I’ll be leaving as soon as the contract is up. I have a bit of ausilebeli travelling to do in the US before classes start in July.

The weather has been strange. We had a snowstorm yesterday morning and two earthquakes yesterday afternoon. Today started out sunny and warm, but now it’s raining. Eka and I have started walking to the mineral water spring each morning again (we stopped during the record-breaking cold of the past few months); usually the weather at 8, when we set out, is totally different from the weather at 10, when I’m walking to school.

Matsatso and I are planning a talent show at school, modeled off the popular television show “Nitchieri/Talented.” One of the third graders informed us she could write poems about presidents, and then she gave a poem to Matsatso as proof: “Misha is our president. Eduard is not, because Eduard did not win. And it didn’t happen with blood. It happened with roses.” That’s an approximate translation from the Georgian, with “Misha” being Saakashvili’s nickname and the “roses” being an allusion to the Rose Revolution. I remember when I was little and my parents would take me along to the firehouse where they voted. They always commented to me and my sisters that our elections were amazing because the president always stepped down and let the new president take power.  I didn’t quite understand what the big deal was; my teachers told me that we lived in a democracy and that this was how it worked, so it seemed obvious to me that elections should lead to peaceful transitions of power. If not, I thought, we obviously wouldn’t be able to keep calling ourselves a democracy, could we? Now I’m living in a country where the election is slated for “sometime in September or October,” where human rights groups have already accused (correctly) the ruling party of persecuting members of the opposition, and where a third grader praises the last peaceful transfer of power for being a bloodless revolution (though a revolution nevertheless).

Other classroom conversations this week were equally interesting. A 7^th grader asked me if the words “big bang” mean anything in English. His peers insisted that he must mean “Big Ben,” the clock. I did my best to explain big bang theory, and when they were still obviously confused I asked what they study about the beginning of everything. They were still confused, as was my co-teacher, but eventually they caught on. They told me that in the beginning humans were made from red earth by God. They also told me that they’ve heard some crazy people think we came from monkeys, but this can’t be so because 1) we’re superior and 2) how could there still be monkeys if we came from them (and there’s no way today’s monkeys could turn into people) so the theory is absurd. I asked if they had heard about other theories, and one girl pulled out a textbook with an old Indian creation story in it. But that was it. I did my best to explain about creationism and intelligent design and evolution-ism. If the partially theocratic state wants to educate children only about creationism, it can and will, but I don’t think it’s fair to neglect to inform them that other theories exist and that dismissing an idea as nonsense is only fair if you actually understand what the idea proposes.

That “We are superior because we have exclusive access to truth” attitude some religious groups have always rubbed me the wrong way. Shouldn’t religion be about compassion and brotherhood rather than fighting over who’s the favorite child? When a teacher learned today that we don’t dye eggs red on Good Friday where I’m from, she asked, “What kinds of Christians don’t know to dye eggs? Do they know nothing? What do you do on Good Friday?” I thought for a moment and just answered, “Pray.”

The Georgian Orthodox tradition is very interesting, and I’ll write more about it when “Adgoma” is actually here. What I’ve been told is that families dye eggs red on “Red Friday” (or “Good Friday”). Sunday they have big parties, and then Monday they have big parties in the cemeteries where their family members are buried. The dying of the eggs comes from a story about Mary putting eggs in Christ’s blood while he was on the cross. When she learned that he was resurrected, she took the eggs around to show people as she spread the news. Actually not a story I’ve heard before, but it would explain why we associate eggs with Easter (I always just thought it was a ‘new life’ thing, though the rabbit I still don’t understand).

Some slightly disturbing news: one of my students has herpes. My co-teacher explained, “It’s a virus. It’s common for kids to get it, but it’s still a little scary.” Sometimes I think that it must have been the study of places like this that led to the idea of genetics. In Oni, I’ve noticed both twins and diabetics to be unexpectedly common. There also seem to be quite a few alcoholics, people with blood-pressure problems, and people with hormone problems. There are few blue-eyed people, though the few I’ve met are all relatives. And a non-genetic trend has to do with more psychological factors: earthquake and bomb related phobias. A friend told me the other day that she can’t shower with the door closed because she wants to be able to run out quickly if there’s an earthquake. Sometimes it makes my heart heavy.

Then again, sometimes conversations are hilarious. It’s very normal for people to ask me if I’m bored here. When I reply that I’m not, they act surprised and tell me that I must be lying because they’re bored. When a grandmother complained to me that she’s bored with keeping house all day and always doing the same thing, I asked why she doesn’t try something new. She’s a talented musician, artist, and cook; I asked if there isn’t somewhere in Oni where she could join one of the choirs or ensembles or buy some paints. She laughed and shook her head. I suggested she play around with new recipes, since she’s mastered the ones she has. Again, she shook her head. Later, her young niece also complained to me that she’s bored. As a mother of two toddlers, I’m not sure how this is so, but again I asked why she doesn’t draw or write or knit or play piano (every house seems to have a piano, but not many people seem to play). She just shook her head. Confused, I asked my 9^th graders if they’re bored in their village. They answered that they’re bored in school, but that they’re never bored in their village. I asked what advice they have for the women whom I had been talking with. Their suggestions? Watch television, garden, sleep, drink vodka, go fishing, play with children, go fishing with children, walk in nature, ride horses, hunt birds, hunt bears, play football, and play computer games.

My to-do list is slightly different: study Georgian, read, prepare for my colloquium, walk in nature, and sometimes study Georgian cooking. Like “potato pies” or “piroshkies” (not pirogies, apparently). Matsatso and I went to her parents’ house yesterday so that I could fix her computer and she could teach me to make “potato pies.” Her mother had made dough in the morning. The dough is simple: flour, salt, yeast, and warm water or milk (water, now, because they are fasting). When we arrived at the house, we rolled the dough into balls and set them in a warm place to rest for just over another hour. Meanwhile, we boiled potatoes in a big pot. When they were boiled, we mashed them with salt and oil. We boiled rice in mushroom broth in another pot. When that was ready, we drained the rice, added black pepper and a little salt, fried some onions, and added in the onions. These were our two different stuffing options for our “pies.” They weren’t quite pies; they were too long and thin to be dumplings, but maybe they were like potato pockets? And rice pockets, too, of course. We filled the pockets and sealed them, and then we fried them lightly in sunflower oil. They were delicious.

Matsatso told me the Georgian name for them, but she used the Russian word when talking. It’s interesting. Georgians call the use of words from other languages “barbarianism.” I’ve been lectured on how English is difficult because our phonetic rules aren’t anywhere near consistent, while the Georgian alphabet has only one sound per letter. I have to remind them that the Georgian alphabet only is used in the Georgian language, and that (mostly) they (claim to) resist appropriating foreign words. I say ‘mostly’ and ‘claim to’ because they have lots of old Iranian words and Russian words and even some Turkish words that they use every day. Regardless, English uses an alphabet that they share with many other languages. Each language has slightly different phonetic rules, but English-speakers like to take words from other languages when it seems practical to do so. Thus we have ‘karaoke’ and ‘sushi’ and ‘kamikaze’ and ‘bon appetite’ and ‘borscht’ and lots of others (why can I only think of food words right now?).