Sipping Water from a Goblet

Oh my, it’s quite possible that entirely too much time got away from me. Let one month go, and then another… and all the sudden, blogging for 2 months seems too daunting, which will obviously be fixed by just waiting longer, right? The plight of the procrastinator right there. So now that I’m sipping water from a goblet in a suite on Santorini, I’ll draw the blinds and write a note to those still hanging around to see if I’ve got another post in me. No worries – the sun has already set, though I was too busy eating mousaka to see it.

Bullet points.
That’s what I get for waiting too long. Rather than embellish, er… elaborate on my latest affairs, they’ll come to you in my best attempt at bullet point fashion.

- Ivan update. Ivan ran away. Well, “moved” may be a more accurate reflection. He’s now a resident of Karaganda. While that hasn’t made the phone calls completely stop, they’re sure getting less and less frequent. I’m bummed that I lost a running buddy, but quite ok with hearing from him less.
- A marathon training schedule I drew out, calendar-style, on 4 sheets of paper slowly got colored in as I successfully completed runs. Some were running dates with Ira. Thank goodness she ran with me some as the weather turned chilly. Running through early morning fog may sound fabulous to some, but on mornings like that, my pillow sounds much more fabulous. Other notable runs: 17 miles through the steppe. 6 with a visiting trainee. 14 around a forest. And 20 beyond that forest onto a road I could confidently retrace (unlike the 17. That run may have included a nagging lost feeling around mile 14. Not the point at which one cares to wonder whether home is straight ahead, or off to the left somewhere …because I swear it’s not to my right… To allay your fears, I’m still alive. I made it back.).
- Letter from the Akimat. Forget this bullet point crap. The story is at the end. :)
- Turns out all that volleyball playing was in preparation for an oblast-wide sports extravaganza. Competitions in volleyball, football, table tennis, and who knows what else. The girls’ team from Shakhtinsk was… half from Shakhtinsk, half from Shahan. Suffice it to say, we made a poor showing. But the practice beforehand with local guys sure was all kinds of fun. I’ll forever be proud of blocking a hard hit from a strong player. Take that, boy-I-was-secretly-admiring! Now you want to know my name, don’t you?? Or… maybe not.
- The big competition was the same day as my first bus trip to the grand city of Pavlodar. Bought the bus ticket (with the help of my host mother) from a woman who informed us the ride would take 14 hours. That meant leaving 8pm and arriving at 10am. Ouch. But those volunteers over in Pavlodar… time with them is more than worth an awful bus ride. So I wasn’t dissuaded. I sure was confused, though, when everyone got off the bus at 4am as though we were in Pavlodar. …which we were. There I was, at the bus station at 4am, having made arrangements to be met 6 hours later. May God pour out blessing after blessing upon Shannon, who, awakened by my phone call, got herself into a taxi to fetch me at the station.
- Back in Shakhtinsk, or, rather, outside of Shakhtinsk, is a quaint little lake called Topar. Twice this summer I made trips with my volleyball-playing friends. We made shashlik, splashed in the water, tossed an American football, and dominated on the sand volleyball court. Don’t judge me for beaming with pride that I made a purely social trip with people who 1) are outside my host family, and 2) do not speak English.
- In August I started Lessons @ the Library! Week 1, I had a group of about 25, mostly adults of varying ages. Attendance has stayed pretty high, with low weeks still between 10 and 15. Oh, what fun times they’ve been. For one short story, again go to the end.
- Celebrated (English teacher) Olya’s birthday. She has crazy friends. One of whom is named Denise. Hasn’t gotten old yet, the pleasure I find in sharing a name with Russian guys. Often goes something like this: “My name is Denise.” “Denise?!” (They’re sure I’ve made some terrible mistake.) “Yes, Denise. It’s a man’s name, yeah?” “Yes!” (I give my sweetest smile…) “I’m not a man.” (On that they don’t seem so confused. :) But I digress… The night ended on a good note, though the next day’s clean-up was a dousy.
- Miner’s Day. Story #3.
- Sometime in early September, I suppose, I accepted an invitation to play table tennis with Ira and a couple Kazakh guys who come to my library lessons. I consider the discovery of “Jaguar” to be nothing short of fabulous. It’s an internet café. A place to play table tennis. A hot spot for aspiring boxers. An option for weight lifting. And the place I plan to go for aerobics classes! Oh, I feel like I hit a gold mine. Table tennis has been terrific. There’s a small room with one table, so we bring music and have a good ol’ time, slammin’ and jammin’. I just might come back with mad ping pong skills… :)
- School Day #1. No question on the date here. September 1 is the first day of school for all schools across Kazakhstan (and Russia, so I’ve heard). “Bell Day” means lots of pomp and circumstance …and an equally minimal amount of learning. So… I ironed a nice blouse, took a walk over to school, watched children parade around. Boys in suits, girls in French maid outfits (just subtract the duster and add larger than life white bows on the tip top of their little heads). An 11th grade boy carried a 1st grade girl on his shoulders as she rang a bell. Little kiddos stumbled over rehearsed Russian and Kazakh lines. Important people said (I assume) important things. And the kids filed in to say hello to their homeroom teacher …and I went home. School day number one, done. The rest of them will only require 30 minutes of my time, too, right?
- Just to clarify… school started September 1. English lessons? September 6. Don’t you dare ask about a set schedule. How could teachers expect such a thing before 2nd quarter?!
- Attended a beauty pageant at the culture center. Entertaining enough to justify the 500T ticket. Introductory choreographed… walk off? dance? runway style stomp? Whatever they did, they did it together. And proceeded to pound out many other steps, in many other outfits, throughout the evening. While they occupied themselves backstage, the audience was treated to some singing dude fancy enough to have his picture printed on the ticket. My favorite was his rendition of Mambo #5. Given that it’s entirely too much English to memorize, I’ll forgive him for butchering most lines. I was entertained, and that’s what he’s going for, right? I also got a kick out of Miss Shakhtinsk’s comments on her victory, which began with something to the tune of, “I would like to thank the judges for making the right decision…” Gotta love girls who know what they’ve got.
- An 8th grade boy came to school with a cast on his right hand. I teased Zhenya about losing a fight, not realizing (or believing) that’s actually what happened. But when the English lesson started, the goal of my teasing was to get him to do more than stare into space. See, he’s right handed, so for the next 40 days, he “can’t write”. Sorry y’all, that’s not gonna fly. There’s a perfectly capable left hand hanging off the opposite wrist. “Zhenya,” I said, “I can write with my left hand.” Oh, no, he insisted, no way could he write with his left hand. “So, how do you eat?” I rhetorically asked. “…with my left hand,” he confessed. “Oh, oh my!” I teased. “You mean, you aren’t going to just not eat for the next 40 days?!” Of course not. That’d be silly. And so is sitting in class pretending like you don’t have to do any work. I gave Zhenya a scrap of paper and asked him to write his name. Two minutes later, he was writing out the assignment his classmates were busy with. With a couple sentences, albeit shaky, written out, he had made the flip from rejecting the idea of writing left-handed to boasting about his newfound talent. Keep it up for 40 days, and that boy will have a unique talent for a lifetime.
- A 24 year-old, decently good-looking guy named Dmitri made a stunning discovery: me. How it takes a year to find the only American in Shakhtinsk is beyond me. (And he has been “trying to meet me” since November 2009.) But I suppose showing up at one of my library lessons is a lot less creepy than, say, waiting for me in the schoolyard. He’s an English translator. Was an English teacher – at my school, in fact, the year before I came. Only taught one year. Goal: English interpreter. (That’d mean vocally translating, rather than writing, as he does for oil companies now.) Asked me to go “on a walk” (read: on a date) right after the lesson he sat through. I was grateful to be whisked away by the Kazakh guys, who often drive me home from the library.
- Teacher’s Day is celebrated on the 1st Sunday of October. Schools celebrate the Friday before with a concert, and teachers continue the festivities at a local café. Enjoyed the concert, put on collectively by schools in and around Shakhtinsk. Then joined my little brother and his friend for a walk home, though I promptly turned around to check out the partying happening at Юност. See Story #4.
- Kaz-22’s arrived!! A fabulous change in PST: trainees were sent to sites around the country to shadow a volunteer for a couple days. They came as far north as the Karaganda area, so I got to host two girls (one at a time). With the first PCT, just to show her a good time, the water and electricity gods wreaked havoc. Electricity but no water. Then water and no electricity. And periods without either. Nonetheless, we put together eggplant parmesan as best we could! Water was spotty the following week, too. Of course we haven’t had any trouble with water except the 4 days we had a guest in the house. But with the second visit, electricity was more cooperative, allowing us to properly bake a Dutch apple pie. Oh yeah.
- Got my Holiday Club up and running with the help of three of my students (two 8th grade girls, one 9th grade girl). Halloween is all that has happened thus far. Thanksgiving to commence upon my return early November.
- October 10, FLEX testing was held in Astana for students in and around Karaganda. Four of my students (2 8th, 2 9th) prepared to take the test, which is the first part of a competition to be sent to the U.S. for one academic year. Three of the four were accompanied by mothers and had places to stay. I served as surrogate mother for number four, who I think (shh!) is the most deserving of a chance to study in the States. She and I traveled with the other 8th grade girl and her mother, going by bus on Saturday afternoon. We got help getting to the apartment where we were hosted by my school director’s goddaughter. Sunday, all four participated in Round 1: 16 written, multiple-choice questions. Two proceeded to Round 2, held later the same day. One was my daughter-for-the-day, so I waited… and waited. Round 2 lasted three hours. Then it was a trip back to the Astana bus station… 4 hours to Karaganda… and another hour to Shakhtinsk… my head hit the pillow somewhere around midnight, with 3 or 4 unplanned lessons scheduled to start about 8 hours later.
- Yeah, so I’ve been teaching. Four groups. 4A, 7Б, 8A, and 9A. I will team-teach 4A and 7Б once Svetlana returns from helping with the Kaz-22 PST. 8A and 9A are with Tatyana. Teaching 4A solo has resulted in more than one lesson where I feel like 9-year-olds have just trampled over me. But they’re getting better, and I’m recognizing the importance of a well structured, thoroughly thought out lesson plan.
- As often as I can, I continue attending church in Karaganda! I’m understanding more and more of the sermons, though translation help from a local Kazakh girl allows for much greater comprehension than I’d get on my own. The church seems to have a rock star core group of young adults. Oh, I yearn to be a contributing member of a church body… someday, someday.
- Might have gone on a walk with Dmitri the night before I flew to Turkey. Might have eaten dinner. Before he might have taken me to meet his mother. And say hello to his sister, who might have been my student last year…

Whew! How’s that for bringing you up to speed? Too bad there’s nothing about this lil’ vacation of mine yet. Cross your fingers for 3 blog posts, all in the span of a week! And if the bullet points weren’t enough, hopefully the four stories below will keep you busy until I post more. Happy reading!


Darn you, Akimat!!
In May, I asked Tatyana about the possibility of renting an apartment. This goes against what I expressed in the beginning, since at that point I was set on staying with my host family for 2 years. But the bug of independence gets into a person, and I wanted to, at the very least, explore my options. Mind you, I wanted to be quiet about this so as to escape the risk of offending my host family. Nothing need be mentioned to them unless a decision were made to move out. So… Tatyana talked to Svetlana. Svetlana talked to the town’s Head of Education. And they all helped me with paperwork required by the Akimat (City Hall). Why all this mess was necessary wasn’t even a question that crossed my mind. Look how well I’ve integrated… or at least resigned to blindly accept all sorts of crazy business. So, the local Akimat is aware that I’m interested in a new apartment. But I hear nothing.

Fast forward to August. My host mother hands off a sealed envelope addressed to me. Puzzled, I open it to find a memo on an official-looking letterhead. Everything in Russian. And not See-Spot-Run Russian. All I can get is that it’s from the Akimat. I head out to the kitchen and give a confused look to my host mother. She reads the letter, now quizzical. “You’re looking for an apartment?” she asks. I gasp, not having had any notion the letter would be about that. “I, uh, I asked Tatyana about apartments, and then I didn’t hear anything.” “Don’t you like living here? Isn’t our home enough for you?” she inquires. “Of course,” I stammer. “I enjoy living here immensely.” Not yet convinced, she continues. “A rented apartment would be no good. It would be dirty. You would have to clean it. And paint it. And buy furniture, a tv, a table, and kitchen utensils.” Mortified, I gave as satisfactory of answers as I could – whatever would grant me leave so I could hide in my humiliation. Thankfully, the topic didn’t surface again, and I’m to the point where I’m content to stay there through the remainder of my service. Oh, and the letter said that it’d be a long, long time until I could move into a new apartment. Perfect.

A Stumble into 20 Questions
To lighten things up, I’ve tried a couple times to include easy 5 minute “lessons” at the end of our scheduled time at the library. Early in September, that meant teaching variations of yes and no. But I was hasty in my planning. No forethought had been given to instructions on how to practice their new terminology. Extemporaneously, I gave them the vague direction to think of yes or no questions. Didn’t tell them who to ask… so of course the questions were aimed at me. The first few were innocent and impersonal enough. Then take note of two fun-loving Kazakh boys in the back, both about my age. One of whom is married, one of whom is self-reportedly single. Of course it’s the single one who stands up with his yes or no question. “Denise, do you have a boyfriend?” Giggles erupt as my face flushes red. Being almost incapable of lying, I fess up to being single and shortly thereafter call a cease to further probing questions. Assuming you’ve read further bullet points up above, yes, they’re the boys with whom I’ve since been playing table tennis, and getting rides home. Believe it or not, though, our friendship seems to be free of the tension of underlying romantic attraction. Let’s hope it stays that way, because I’m quite fond of hanging out with them.

Miner’s Day
In KZ, you know a holiday is a big deal when you hear about it more than a week in advance. And when rumors float around about a printed schedule of events, that’s even more reason to get your hopes up. Miner’s Day, the last Sunday in August, is Shakhtinsk’s biggest holiday. And considering that the town’s economy is completely dependent on the coalmines, it’s more than enough reason to shut down the town for one huge celebration.

I hesitantly invited volunteers from neighboring Karaganda to check out the festivities. To be frank, I didn’t know if it’d be a total flop, so I didn’t put too much pressure on them to come. But with rumor of horse races, intrigue got the best of them, and some decided to make the trip out.

On Friday, the promised schedule came out. Take note: a schedule, in writing, with times(!) almost 36 hours before anything was set to begin. Be amazed. :) Among the listed morning events were soccer matches, relay races, musical performances, tug-of-war, and a powerlifting competition. Baiga (horse races) was scheduled for 1:30pm. And the day was to finish in high fashion with a concert and fireworks (which, I was informed, simply could not be missed).

I made it over to the stadium to see a bit of soccer and witness a couple guys display their brute force, lifting some sort of dumbbells over their head repeatedly. Next, I joined my family for a quick tour of the town square, which was set up with several yurts and a huge stage. Each mine and factory in the area had a yurt set up, inside of which was, I’m told, food and drink. Our next stop was an open field near the bus station, where people and horses were kicking up dust. Wouldn’t you know, the horse races started essentially on time! Four friends indeed did find their way to Shakhtinsk, and soon joined me as race spectators.

The crowd, predominantly Kazakh, watched young Kazakh boys (most of whom rode bareback) whip their horses around a circular track probably close to one mile around. Police officers were working in one-step-forward-two-steps-back fashion, battling to keep people from crowding onto the dirt track. Made me itch for a sorrel quarter horse standing in a small Nebraska pasture.

Leaving the races, we wandered through town to the best café for shashlik …only to be turned away. Bruised but not broken, we paid for sub-par hunks of meat over in the town square before meandering over to my apartment. A plan to go in, use the bathroom, escape the sweltering heat for a minute, and get on a bus back to Karaganda wasn’t exactly agreeable to my host parents. Rather, my friends needed to stay for the evening concert and fireworks, and then sleep in our apartment. None of them had planned on staying, but after much pushing and persuading, three of them agreed to stay.

Out we went to watch the Backstreet Boys of Kazakhstan perform live. Ringo, I think is the group’s name. But the parallel is no exaggeration – they even let us know that Backstreet’s back …alright! A couple hours of music, a decent display of fireworks, and we were all ready to crash. All of us except my host father, that is. He proceeded to drag all of us over to his favorite café, where we tried to look as tired as possible in an effort to hasten the trip home. Sometimes Kazakhstanis are so set on showing hospitality that they fail to recognize it’s actually misery they’re causing. All in all, though, Miner’s Day rocked, and I can’t wait to invite even more volunteers for the 2011 celebration.

Story #4: Teacher’s Day
I walked into Юност about 30 minutes late, so several tables were bustling with teachers from all over town. Closest to the door was a table almost full of younger teachers from my school, with the only empty chair next to …Dmitri. It hadn’t even dawned on me that, because he once was a teacher, he’d spend this evening with former co-workers. But I can’t kid myself into believing it was the former co-workers who lured him to a café he doesn’t like. (The following week, I was informed that he had heard I’d be coming. Something tells me that played a small role in him making an appearance.)

Night in a nutshell: (Well, as nutshell as I get.) He talked to me almost exclusively for …four hours. At these functions, one eats a little, dances a little. Eats some more, dances some more. Which is all fine and dandy, especially when the music is not slow, and people have their own space to bust a move. First slow song that started up, though, he and I were immediately ordered to go dance, as per “Russian tradition.” Funny how “Russian tradition” demanded slow dances throughout the evening. And more than once during these dances, he’d blurt out oddly intense compliments. Fine example: “It’s impossible to be as beautiful as you.” …In the seconds it took the shock to set in, I discerned that he was merely translating lyrics for me. Ha ha!

Ok, nutshell, Denise… Though disappointed at my early departure, he walked me home, where we stood outside talking. We were there long enough for my host parents to come home from their own merry-making. First words from my host mother: “Denise! New …boyfriend?!” Ha! No, no, no… I set her straight and Dmitri tripped all over himself, trying to talk himself out of the awkwardness he was only making worse. My host father can claim the title MVP-of-the-night with his terse fatherly comments. While Denise lives in our house, she’s our daughter, so you best watch yourself, young man. :) Darn right. They stepped inside. Dmitri said more awkward things. A taxi finally carted him off. The end. For now.