The day after that last post, I brought my laptop to school.
In the afternoon, we were teaching both 8th grade and 9th
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 8th 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 9th 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 8th 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 5th graders…who are now three chapters
into their book. I was also delighted when she took over the class of 1st-3rd
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 9th
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 9th 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 8th 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 9th 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
No comments:
Post a Comment