Gracious!
This past weekend, my friend James visited from Batumi.
Together with my family and Michael (the new English teacher in Oni), we had a
supra on Saturday night. It was lovely. Then on Sunday we went hiking in the
mountains, where we found a cemetery and an old collapsed church. I felt a little
silly, because I wanted to ring the bell hanging from a tree amidst the ruins.
I couldn’t reach it, but James could. Then I felt sillier because I asked him
to ring it three times. No, I’m not superstitious. I just read too many folk tales.
Earlier this week, I had a few interesting visits with Keti.
We finished translating a folk song (I posted our translation) and talked about
British punk rock, but we also had a difficult conversation about refugees from ex-Soviet countries whose countrymen and women view them as traitors. I think, of
course, that dissidents/refugees/mothers who flee a regime are never traitors.
The government officials who so mutate the government that their people can’t
breathe are traitors to both their countries and their people…Once upon a time,
a “dictator” was a military leader to whom the people said, “We trust you so
much that we give you total power in this time of trouble. We trust you to do
what is best for both us and our country, and we trust that you will relinquish
power when the crisis has passed.” Now a “dictator” is (typically) a
mass-murderer (openly or secretly) who censors the press, harasses the people,
puts thinkers under house arrest and subjects journalists to prison and
torture. Of course that person is a traitor to his or her people and country.
But a person who longs to run to a place where she isn’t afraid to breathe and
where she can raise her children is hardly a traitor.
On Tuesday, my friend Giorgi (who I thought was in Tbilisi)
called to say he was back for a day. He was, but more than that he was back and
waiting for me in Oni with his friend’s horse. His friend is the older brother
of one of my students, which meant that my student was there too. Jemali and
Irakli didn’t trust me to ride on my own. They let me on the horse, but Irakli
held the reins and led me around like a child. Then Giorgi showed up. He trusts
me somewhat, but not completely (I am, after all, a woman) so he let me on but
then he hopped on behind me. This was a little better; at least I was in
control of steering and halting. But then some men in a car stopped to ask
first what I thought I was doing and then to ask Giorgi where he got such a
girl. He was embarrassed (a response that relieved me, to be honest) and said
that I wasn’t his. Then he said something to the effect of “What the hell, man”
and we cantered away. It was wonderful to be on horseback again, but it was
still a little strange. With a second person whose legs and weight I can’t
control, I can’t steer or ride (at all) the way I was trained to. And here the style of riding involves holding the reins in one hand and a tree-branch-whip in the other. Not quite dressage...
I told Keti about this, and she said that once there were
many horses here. Unfortunately, they all came from South Ossetia, and so now
there are only a few here. She also said that in South Ossetia women ride, but
that here in Oni the women are proper Parisians in manner and proper housewives
in demeanor. So they’re scared of horses almost as much as they’re scared of
each other. I mean…I have reason to be on guard around the men here, but every
time I leave the house someone tells me that it’s a bad idea. Maybe these women
can live their whole lives staying by the fire out of fear, but I really can’t.
Keti tells me that people used to say horrible things about her because she
wore trousers and boots, even though she was really a good girl in every other
way they could want. Lasha said the other day that I should just live like the
other girls here (and always sit at home and get married soon and start having
babies) because otherwise life “won’t be easy and people will talk.” He doesn’t
understand that living that way is also not easy and that people talk no matter
what I do (things I’m learning…) just because they watch J.Lo music videos or
American Pie and assume all American girls are alike. My point, I guess, is
that this has all been a lesson in balance…staying myself enough to stay sane,
but being quiet and docile enough that they somewhat respect me.
So then on Wednesday, Giorgi called to say he was in Oni for
one more day. Alex (another friend) was with him, as well as Guja (a friend),
Jemali (my student) and Irakli (Jemali’s brother). They had two horses, a big
tractor, and some beer. I declined both the tractor and the beer, but I was
delighted to be around horses again. Alex has ridden with me before, so he
knows that I can handle myself. He hopped bareback onto his horse and I was
helped onto Irakli’s. Then—still in my skirt and jacket that I’d worn to
school—I set off at a nice easy trot. Soon enough, Alex was beside me and
asking to race, so off we went down the street. I heard a few old women gasp “Wie
Me!?!” as I went past, but it was glorious enough that I didn’t care. We had so
much fun! And I was being a good girl that day and wearing a skirt and
everything. We galloped to the end of the street, and then we stopped
breathless for a quick minute. Alex smiled and then we turned around and did it
again. Ra magari iqo!!!!
Today I went to my co-teacher’s parents’ house for fried
fish. Then I came home to baby wine and a headache. Eka and I had been planning
to fly to Italy for Christmas. Unfortunately, her visa was denied, so we’re
going to Turkey instead. I’m actually more curious about Turkey, but we had
already bought the tickets to Italy so this has been a bit of a headache. Like,
it’s been a huge headache and everyone (read: my family here) wants me to fix
things and no one (read: the travel agencies, my family here, the government
program I’m here with) wants to help me. And I have no internet most of the
time (hence the post-dated posts). Ugh.
I’ve memorized all the words to Aqvavebula and am ready to
start Suliko. I’ve promised to make
sets with Keti and make French toast with my co-teacher (after the Christmas
fast ends). Alex said we can go riding again soon, and his old high-school
teacher invited me to their village as her guest this weekend (not sure if I’ll
go yet). There’s a chance that a New York/Berlin friend will visit Georgia in
January (although maybe we’ll go somewhere else, because I think the gossip if
he came here with his mom and brother would really be too much for me to
handle). I really miss cooking. I miss my friends, who keep writing nice things
to me. I miss being able to walk down the street without thinking about who is
scrutinizing my hair or my shoes or my jeans. But overall I am very happy here.
I’m so glad that people take time to appreciate fresh fish, new earrings,
pregnancy announcements, oranges, baby wine, and snowy mountains.
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