Back to school! Back to school!

Back to school. My co-teacher was late meeting me at the car station, so I got to stand alone in the snow and think a bit about how much has changed since September. Then she showed up and we slowly made our way up the icy path to school. Our first lesson was third grade and sixth grade together. It was difficult to make that a productive hour, but I had them teach me about Georgian holidays. This way, even the third graders could contribute things like “red egg” to a description of Easter. Then we taught fifth grade, in which we had only two students. I wrote B-I-N-G-O in squares of paper, gave each student one of the posters that came with our workbooks, and we played a kind of modified “I Spy”/”BINGO.” My co-teacher liked it, but she was a bit confused. I called out “Do you have something blue? Do you have two of something? Do you have any monkeys?” and the students raced to use all their letters. It worked pretty well. Our only other lesson was in fourth grade, in which we reviewed the last lesson they did from their textbooks. Then we went to the teachers’ room where we were offered chocolate and shots of whiskey to celebrate the first day back at school. One of the teachers mentioned that she had sent me a friend request on facebook. I could tell she was hurt that I hadn’t accepted it yet, and I quickly explained that between Maguala’s birthday and Eka leaving town I really haven’t had any internet. That seemed to make her feel better. I used the school computer to quickly accept her request and then email a friend while the other teachers were huddled around a fire. When they rose to leave, I did the same and we slowly made our way back down into town.

The government had sent me an email that all schools would be receiving complete sets of the English books. According to the email, I would have to go to my educational resources office, turn in my old books, and sign some papers before picking up my new books. I asked my co-teacher and she said she had already picked up my books. Sure enough, in the back room of her friend’s shop were both student and teacher copies of the books for levels 2 through 6. I already have the level 1 books.

I went to the resource center anyway because Michael and I wanted to talk to the woman there about starting English classes for adults. She’s a sweet woman who understands a bit of English and is very patient with my Georgian. I always enjoy spending time with her and with her kids. Today, though, I’m not sure how the meeting went. Originally, she was the one who suggested that we give adult classes. But suddenly she was asking where and for whom? We responded that we had hoped she knew of a place (this being the educational resource center and all…) and that we were willing to teach anybody who wanted to learn. She suggested a class size of 5 and be suggested 15. She asked what the price would be, and we said that we didn’t want money. She was pretty surprised, but she agreed. Then she used a form of the verb “to write” that I wasn’t familiar with. I think she said she was going to write a list of participants…or maybe she said we should do that…I can’t really do any such thing until Eka gets home or I go back to school on Monday. Maybe I could put up signs…but things around here get done because people use their social networks: they call neighbors, friends, cousins, co-workers and old classmates. It’s a tricky place to live as an outsider. Hopefully these lessons work out…

Teaching with Michael would be very different from teaching at my school. We see each other as equally competent and we can communicate freely. I don’t have to worry about diplomacy, and he understands concepts like re-tests, fill-ins, and modeling. Adult students would be difficult, but the atmosphere could be refreshing. And I do like these books. The books don’t work well in the schools yet because the native teachers don’t know how to intuit the directions or purpose of an exercise. In rural places like Oni, the teachers don’t know English well enough to work effectively from an exercise that says “Ask and answer.” They don’t know what forms to use when asking the questions and they don’t know what answers the students should give. They need more explicit instructions on how to use the books. I’m at a point where I’m thinking about how to make sure my time here has sustainable results. Teaching my teacher will have longer-lasting positive effects than just teaching my students, so I’m going to really focus on that this semester. Reading about Peace Corps volunteers who get 2 months language and teaching method training as well as total control over their classrooms, I wonder if they realize how lucky they are.

When I got home, I sat with the iPad and read more than half of Two Years on the Yangtze. It’s the reason I’m comparing my experience to that of a Peace Corps volunteer; it was written by a man who was a Peace Corps volunteer in rural China in the late 1990s. Sometimes, I feel like he’s describing my life in Oni. Other times, his experience couldn’t be further from mine.

Nona stayed late at work, so Jumberi, Maguala and I were the only ones home. This led to an unprecedented event: we ate dinner together. Even Jumberi. We had fried potatoes and they didn’t talk much and I wondered to myself at how curious a thing marriage is in all of its different forms. The common form here seems to be the “we’re at an age where we’re supposed to marry and we can’t have babies otherwise and that’s the reason we’re alive so I guess you’re pretty enough or a good enough dancer…now whose parents do we move in with?” And then after 40 years or so they run out of things to talk about. Eventually someone dies first (usually the man) and the mother fusses over any grown children and pressures them to do the same thing she did. I know this can’t be the case for everyone, but it seems to be one of the most common patterns.

I read more after dinner until Jumberi came over to the table.

“Let’s play dominoes.”

“Ok.”

“Go get them.”

“Ok.”

“Play well or I’ll kill you.” Then he laughed and we started to play. I had really bad luck, but he didn’t kill me. He just got bored and called Maguala over to play against me instead. She was watching a soap opera and so had minimal interest, but she played a quick game with me and I lost again. She went back to her television and I went back to my reading (I almost said “my book”), and things were quiet again.