Behind the Scenes

In the nutshell version of the Peace Corps Carnival I wrote and posted, so, so much of the story was left untold. So in an effort to amuse you, or at least hold your attention, here is a closer look at our successfully chaotic day.

The Morning Of…
Hordes of volunteers had arrived, and I couldn’t have been more pleased with the numbers we had. Yet, with all those helping hands, I still couldn’t dream up any work to put them to. Games were almost all ready. Booth posters had been painted. Fingers were crossed for rolls of tickets to come that day in a package from home. One remaining task – collect advertising posters that had been displayed in different schools.

Anna and I took off, walking across town to School #1. Plan was to take down 3 posters and do a 180. Who would dress up for that? Certainly not Denise. To my credit, at least ½ of my outfit was not pajamas. (If you’re good at detecting foreshadowing, you know this isn’t going to turn out well.)

The hick-up came about a quarter after 9, just as we ran into my counterpart at school. The Country Director is coming at 10, she explained, and my school director insists I stay and meet him. I’d never met the man before, and here was my chance to make a shining first impression …looking like I had just rolled out of bed. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and stared at Anna for solace of some sort.

Finding two befuddled girls standing idly in the hallway, my favorite maintenance man tapped me and motioned for me to follow him. I fell in step behind him and obediently waited outside as he entered some mysterious room I knew nothing about. A quick peek provided the obvious answer – maintenance men’s workroom. Now the question was, why in the world was I waiting outside of it? Less than a minute later, he came back out, holding a hand behind his back. Then, with suspense hanging in the air, he revealed a …hedgehog!

I’ve never seen a hedgehog up close. Probably never seen one at all. Heck, I don’t even remember seeing pictures of them. Stuffed animals, sure. Cartoon drawings. But never something in the flesh. I definitely whipped out my camera and madly snapped pictures of the terrified little thing. Then the maintenance man suggested I hold it. My turn to be terrified. They sure are spiny guys, and they curl up into a ball when they’re afraid. So when I mustered enough guts to hold him, he tensed into a ball, but as I stood there steadily, he eventually felt safe enough to unfurl a bit, and then paw at the air, much like a turtle on his shell. And that’s about the point at which some of my ninth grade girls came skipping down the steps. Seeing me fearfully holding the little animal, they squeezed into a circle around me, daring themselves to inch a finger closer and closer until he (or she?) made a reactionary movement, at which they’d jump back.

Soon enough it was time to relinquish the hedgehog. I handed him over to the janitor, who was intent on releasing him outside. I rejoined Anna and we went outside together, where she got her turn to pose for pictures with a hedgehog before he burrowed under a tree in the schoolyard. All proof that I never can know what a morning will bring. Good thing I carry my camera most days.

Anna carted the posters back to my apartment, and I wandered back inside, waiting nervously for our guest to arrive. I sat in our little tearoom with Tatyana, and when we saw strangers walking up, we went to the front doors to properly welcome them. Though I can say nothing for first impressions made of me, I like to think things went pretty smoothly. Gathered in the director’s office and people from school and I took turns praising each other. Went to the resource center to admire the work of volunteers before me. I almost hit the road before I got a picture of my teachers with the Country Director and his translator. With sufficient photos snapped, both of small animals and important people, I could hustle back to my apartment to anxiously make last-minute preparations. Whew. What a start to the day.

Guest(s) of Honor
In the days leading up to the carnival, I was stoked about the expected attendance of three people. And two of them actually did come! Not a bad hit-rate, especially in these parts. The three included my dear friend Marina, Bob Cone (the Country Director of Peace Corps-Kazakhstan), and the Akim (Mayor) of Shakhtinsk.

I often visit Marina, and our time is mutually beneficial for language acquisition. She improves her English; I pick up a couple Russian words. Marina’s vivacity and good spirits constantly impress me. See, she’s confined to a wheelchair, and she lives with her mother and grandmother on the fourth floor of a building without an elevator. Needless to say, she rarely gets out. So when Ira, the friend who introduced us, suggested that we take her to the carnival, I was elated. Ira had an SUV to transport both Marina and her wheelchair, and we could depend on Sergei to do the grunt work. And just as things were getting started on Saturday, I saw Ira, Sergei, and Marina shooting the breeze in the foyer of the Culture House. All the festivities were on the 2nd floor, so we recruited a couple more guys to carry the wheelchair as Sergei took Marina on up. Ira stayed by her side to the bitter end, faithfully helping her move from place to place to take in as much as possible. Post-carnival report from Ira is that Marina thoroughly enjoyed herself. I’m pumped that she got to join us and meet many of the visiting volunteers.

The second honored guest was our Country Director, Bob Cone. Peace Corps-KZ just changed CDs (PC staff all work on time-limited contracts.), and this event provided a great chance for him to see another site and meet more volunteers. Add to that a rocking celebration of Peace Corps’ 50th Birthday, and you’ve got an opportunity that simply cannot be missed. Given his extensive experience within the public school system in the States, he felt right at home at our crazy carnival, and offered wise suggestions to smooth operations. He led us in “Happy Birthday” to kick things off, and shook hands with certificate winners at the end. What an honor it was for us to have him join in on the fun.

And your deductive powers will tell you that our akim was the no-show. Such a shame. The guy speaks English well and seems rather friendly. Don’t worry, the first chance I got, I put my hand on my hip and berated him for not being there. (…because it’s my place to scold the mayor? Open mouth, insert foot, anyone?) And yet, my silly comment was made in such a way that I think he’ll happily help us out with any future projects. What a fine display of a skill passed on from my father… ;) (Hee hee, thanks Dad.)

So instead of his presence at the carnival, I’ll add a note about a different guest. Dig around in my blog archives and you’ll read about Ivan, aka Ivan Running Guy. That’s right, Ivan came. It’s my fault, really. Err, entirely. Days before the carnival, I saw I missed a call from him. Rather than ignore it as I have dozens of other calls, my exuberance for the carnival overtook my better sense. “I can invite him to my carnival!!” Right. Invite a grown man to 3 hours of mayhem in which little kids play silly games and I run around like a beheaded chicken. Excellent idea. And as you already know, the poor guy showed up. Worse yet, he came from Astana. A few PCVs knew he might come, and so they instantly understood when a young man came in asking for Denise. Oh, what a silly thing I had done by inviting him… his coming was surprising, yet I appreciated the trouble he went to to get there. But showing my appreciation was hindered dramatically by my beheaded-chicken state. So I talked to him for, oh, about 2 minutes. Got a few pictures with him. And continued scurrying around. Reflecting on it is quite embarrassing, to be honest. But hey, we’re living and learning here. Living and learning.

Television Debut
In a last quick note… that’s right, the carnival was on the news. Karaganda news. (Big city nearby broadcasting to tens of thousands in the city and probably just as many in outlying towns and villages.) Having a television camera recording the chaos of the carnival is one thing. Being interviewed in Russian is quite another. Marly and I couldn’t weasel out of it, though. I put it off as long as I could. All that did, however, was give me enough time to get my internal speed up to an easy 100mph. At breakneck internal speeds, I race from place to place, knowing something must be done, but not really sure what it is. So I do something possibly productive, not likely well thought-out, and race on to whatever comes next. Perfect state to give an interview in a language I can’t speak well when all cylinders are firing.

The questions were easy enough to understand, though answering them proved more difficult. Words jumbled together and escaped from my tongue, most of them making some sense, and only one answer being found humorous by locals who giggle as they tell me they saw me on TV. Good thing it takes a lot to embarrass me. I’ll thank my dad for that one, too. ;)