They’ve come to be my favorite days. Other Kaz volunteers will likely know exactly what I’m talking about – the days when people of extreme importance come to visit your school, and you could swear there’s a fire under everyone’s bum. The best is when the visit is unexpected. Like today. It’s more than enough time to go crazy, for sure, but it leaves no time to fret about what to wear to school, how to wear a nametag, how early to come, wear to wait, etc, etc, etc. And now that I’ve given away the surprise, I’ll rewind and begin with us blissfully oblivious.
Dasha is in the resource center with two groups of students, hers and the absent Luda’s. The room is overflowing with rambunctious seventh graders. (Ah, how we love 12 year olds.) Every desk is full, and in the back are two practicum students from a nearby university who have come to observe. (One being Dima’s younger sister. Ha.) I come in for the stapler and wind up sticking my nose a bit too far into the lesson, distracting the kids in the back from causing a distraction in class. Dasha is doing her best to review passive voice when a zavuch (assistant principal) comes in. Channeling Paul Revere, she tells us that someone from the ministry is coming. Enter from stage right: panic. Half of these kids need to be on display with Dasha up in the multimedia room now. The other half stays. Tempering the fire you can see swelling within her, Dasha notes that she is only one person and cannot teach in two rooms at once. I hastily offer to drill these young’uns on the passive voice. Satisfied, Dasha grabs a couple things as the zavuch snaps at the kids to pack up and ship out. With the 10 students I have left, I get to work, borrowing a book and relying on the kids to tell me where they were. Praise the Lord I’ve worked with these kids before, so I know names and general behaviors. We get the ball rolling just in time for zavuch #2. Now they want me to be with Dasha up in the multimedia room. Gracious. Three different teachers within 20 minutes sounds like a grand idea. I work through one last sentence with the kids before handing over the reins to the two in the back. Take it away, Dima’s little sister. Nothing like being baptized with fire.
Upstairs, Dasha’s heart rate spikes again as I step in the room. I give the only explanation I can – just doing what I’m told. We keep things moving, still working through the passive voice. The bell rings. We’re not 100% sure, but chances are that we’re supposed to keep these kiddos here until this delegation makes its rounds. None too pleased, they sit back down and reopen their textbooks. I skip back down to the other group, which appears to have been deserted. Just in time, I rein them in and send them home with work to do, lock up the room, and retrace my steps upstairs.
There ought to be a climax to these stories, but really, things flat line early and drop off without much ado. Being all too passionate about the passive voice, I insist on continuing to instruct them. One boy sputters off, “Я ничего не буду писать.” Perfect. I write his sentence on the board, “I will write nothing.” Now, class… how do we put this in the passive voice?? Hee hee… And just as light bulbs start flickering, the head of the ministry of education in Shakhtinsk walks in. Recognizing him, I offer a warm hello. On his heels is the akim (mayor). We exchange greetings in English. An older man follows, and then there are the groupies. Goes without saying that pressed 3-piece suits are the outfit of choice. The head of the ministry of education is giving this tour, and explains the wondrous technology of School № 1 and the plans to expand it. A few sentences more, and they step back into the hallway. All those pounding hearts for, what, 30 seconds? Gotta love it. :) We manage to convince the students they must wait before herding out the door like elephants, and when we see the group of men step beyond the boundaries of school grounds, the kids are dismissed, and life resumes again.
September
And a few more tidbits from the last month-ish…
Answering my phone on a Saturday morning meant getting the opportunity to play tennis – like, real tennis, in a nearby village. There may have been six participants. There most certainly were no other females. Though I scored points, I mostly spent those five hours getting schooled. But hey- got a certificate at the end of the day for being the best female participant. Let me tell you, competition for that honor was something else.
Chance encounter with our old friend Dima turns into awkward date #2. In case your memory is too sharp and you ask what could get more awkward than meeting the mother on date one, I’ll tell you. Friends playing big brother from two tables away… in an otherwise empty café – that’s what.
With two casualties in late August from a mining-related accident at a mine near Karaganda, Miner’s Day was pushed back a week and renamed City Day. As far as I could tell, festivities were identical, down to people wishing each other a happy Miner’s Day. Horse races in the early afternoon, shashlik and music on the square all day long, and a big concert with a respectable fireworks show at night. A couple PCVs came out in time for the races, and we put up an ice cream cone for the person who could pick the winning horse. A couple more came a bit later, in time to see Dima play the guitar for his rock band. And in the evening it was back down to three PCVs as we snaked our way towards the main stage to see a Russian star of yesteryear. Several minutes of fireworks, and another Miner’s Day (I mean, City Day…) was in the books.
Made it out to Topar on one of the last warm weekends of the season. What I expected to be a few hours at the beach turned into an entire day, with so much delicious shashlik that I couldn’t look at meat for days.
Students from the camp we organized in Rostovka invited several volunteers to go bowling. Many of the kids had never actually bowled. Pretty cool to witness their first attempts, even if the computers malfunctioned and we couldn’t coordinate our rolls with our line on the scoreboard.
And, school has begun! I’m taking a shot at a different approach, focusing more on teachers than students. We’ll see how things progress with that. So for now, the only set lesson at school is a Survey of the USA. Teaching all about America in 35 hours or less. Now that’ll be a trick.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Summer, Take 2
Two weeks down south. A week home. A week up north. A week home. Five days in Georgia. Three weeks at home, followed by almost four weeks away, and summer is gone. My verdict: keep yourself at home if you want to feel whole. Drag yourself around the world if you want adventure. Or try to do both if your goal is a ragged, somewhat confused funk. You can’t have it all, folks. Pausing to consider some highs and lows, I rewind first to…
The Fourth of July
Strangely enough, American embassies celebrate Independence Day. And here in Kazakhstan, some PCVs are invited to attend. I enjoyed my time on embassy grounds last year, and considered doing the same again. As the date drew nearer, we first assumed we could come, but then many were told that we couldn’t come. Rather than wait and cross my fingers for a re-invite, I went to the closest computer and bought myself a ticket to Tbilisi. (The only logical choice. Oh, and the re-invite came a week or two later. ;)
More or less inadvertently, I timed it all so I could enjoy a bit of both worlds. I caught a bus to Astana on the 2nd, where I joined Noelle in the apartment of an incredibly hospitable embassy couple, Craig and Leslie. Oh, the wonders of high-end housing in the capital, paired with impeccable American style hospitality. Ah, *contented sigh*. On the 3rd, we woke up to fresh brewed coffee. A delicious omelet. And fried bacon. Food worth stretching your stomach and clogging your arteries, no doubt about it.
The evening’s festivities were equally wondrous, with a rooftop party where English filled the air. Volunteers, embassy employees, and other Americans working in town congregated for food and fun. Sadly, I could only stay for a bit, as I had a plane to catch at 1am. Craig, who had effortlessly slid into the role of father-for-the-day, insisted on driving me to the airport, saving me from any taxi hassles. (Blessings to parents around the world who care for young adults as they would their own grown children, trusting that other parents are doing the same for their sons and daughters.)
And so, without a hitch, I landed in the capital of Georgia, where I met up with Anna and her friend Jessica. We enjoyed the day in Tbilisi, where we were lucky enough to meet up with a couple Georgian Peace Corps Response Volunteers, one of whom just finished three years with PC in KZ (you rock, Mary!). Traditional cuisine for lunch. American food for dinner. We found our way to a bar with stars-and-stripes table coverings. One look at the menu and the decision was made. Jessica and I split an Obama burger. Happy birthday, America.
თბილისი (Tbilisi)
“Hello, my name is Denise. I’m calling to inform you that I’ll be traveling to Tbilisi, the capital of the country of Georgia.”
The receptionist at my American bank transfers me to another department so I can repeat myself to a woman concerned with such matters. She asks me to repeat the location once more.
“T-bili-si.”
“And you’ll spell that for me?” she confidently requests, not yet wanting to expose how completely confused she is by all of this.
“And Georgia – is that spelled like our Georgia?”
Smiling patiently, I confirm that it is. And then her ignorance is laid bare.
“Is that in Russia?”
“No, ma’am, it is it’s own country.”
And a beautiful country it is. During our time there, we explored Tbilisi’s Old Town and took day trips away from the capital to explore Kazbegi and Gori. The scenery on the way to and around Kazbegi is breathtaking. And on our adventures in and around Gori, we explored a cave city and toured the town’s Stalin museum, complete with the house in which he was born.
Goes without saying that everywhere we went, we stuffed ourselves to the gills. Khachapuri is a food I could eat every day for the rest of my life. While in the country, I averaged 2 orders a day of the deliciously cheesy bread. You’ve also got hinkhali (fist-sized dough pockets filled with meat or mushrooms or potatoes or cheese), lobio (red beans with a fabulous spice blend), and a mouth-watering walnut paste that’s great with eggplant or kidney beans. It took a few days back in KZ to remember what hunger felt like.
Reality Check
Back on the ground in Kazakhstan after my return from Georgia, I was finally looking at more than seven days at site. Only by then, it had turned into close to twenty days with little to do and lots to brood over. I’ll tell you what, deciding to stay a third year feels very different when that reality is months away, your friends are all still in-country, and you’ve got a school schedule to keep you busy. Mid-July, my fellow 21s were prepping to go back, and I was struggling to reconnect with local friends I’d been ditching all summer for week-long stints elsewhere. Suffice to say, it was a rough couple of weeks.
Enough moping around, and I clawed my way out of my funk. An evening with one of my favorite English teachers and a long overdue housewarming brought back the sense that I just might belong here. And an invitation to go to Karkaralinsk put a skip back in my step.
Karkaralinsk (aka Karkaraly)
Quick side note – so, so many towns here have 2 names: the old Russian name and the new Kazakh name. Some new names have stuck. For many more towns, the old just won’t go away. Often, the names are completely different, inevitably causing confusion. Others are just a Kazakh-ified version. Thus, Karkaralinsk (Russian) and Karkaraly (Kazakh).
Either name, it’s a gorgeous place. Many locals vacation there at little… resort centers? Sanatoriums? They’ve got basic hotel rooms, gyms, outdoor cafés, swimming areas, etc. Others stay outside the sanatorium in areas reserved for tent campers. I just assumed the locals I accompanied would stay at a sanatorium, where I could take a shower and sleep in a regular bed. Try again.
As we filled the trunk with our baggage, I spotted two tents. A quick mental check and I confirmed that I was prepared for this little twist. We sped through the steppe until we reached the forested hills of Karkaraly. Next on the list: set up camp. We paid a small fee at a checkpoint and tried to follow the man’s directions to the camping area. That led us to four small cabins. The woman tending to them confessed that they were all full, but for 500tenge, we could pitch our tent on the grass nearby. We mulled this over as we piled back in the car to explore other options. We found nothing but other people trying to talk us out of even more money, so we made our way back.
Before parting with any cash, the five of us checked out the proposed spot again, and admired the forest down the hill. In the afternoon quiet, I could make out the faint sound of music from the trees. Soon we were off to investigate, despite cries from the woman to not stray too far. Five minutes later, we were in the forest talking to tent campers who had set up for free. Heh. We swiftly returned to our car and set up camp where we should have been in the first place.
The weekend turned out to be a wonderful escape, with hikes into the rocky hills and a morning spent sitting around a little lake. Only thing missing was marshmallows to roast over our campfire after demolishing round after round of shashlik. Good thing I have another summer to rectify that. :)
August
All of that excitement closed out July. For August, I was to be away from my site all but 8 days. For over two weeks, I lived out of a suitcase in Almaty, acting as a training assistant for the Kaz-23’s pre-service training, part 2. Gave me a chance to meet the newest group to the country and play my part in keeping an Indian restaurant open for business. Ah, dinner there alone is worth the trip down.
After that, it was off to Rostovka for a 5-day sleep-away camp. I joined 11 other volunteers to teach lessons, play games, and just hang out with kids. Just enough volunteers that we were kept busy, yet had enough down time to maintain our sanity all week long.
Now, back at site, I’m gearing up for school to begin. You know, reading magazines that came in the latest package, going on leisurely runs through the forest, and playing table tennis with friends. It’s going to be a great school year, but what I’m really excited about is Summer, Take 3. :) Something tells me it’ll be here before I know it.
The Fourth of July
Strangely enough, American embassies celebrate Independence Day. And here in Kazakhstan, some PCVs are invited to attend. I enjoyed my time on embassy grounds last year, and considered doing the same again. As the date drew nearer, we first assumed we could come, but then many were told that we couldn’t come. Rather than wait and cross my fingers for a re-invite, I went to the closest computer and bought myself a ticket to Tbilisi. (The only logical choice. Oh, and the re-invite came a week or two later. ;)
More or less inadvertently, I timed it all so I could enjoy a bit of both worlds. I caught a bus to Astana on the 2nd, where I joined Noelle in the apartment of an incredibly hospitable embassy couple, Craig and Leslie. Oh, the wonders of high-end housing in the capital, paired with impeccable American style hospitality. Ah, *contented sigh*. On the 3rd, we woke up to fresh brewed coffee. A delicious omelet. And fried bacon. Food worth stretching your stomach and clogging your arteries, no doubt about it.
The evening’s festivities were equally wondrous, with a rooftop party where English filled the air. Volunteers, embassy employees, and other Americans working in town congregated for food and fun. Sadly, I could only stay for a bit, as I had a plane to catch at 1am. Craig, who had effortlessly slid into the role of father-for-the-day, insisted on driving me to the airport, saving me from any taxi hassles. (Blessings to parents around the world who care for young adults as they would their own grown children, trusting that other parents are doing the same for their sons and daughters.)
And so, without a hitch, I landed in the capital of Georgia, where I met up with Anna and her friend Jessica. We enjoyed the day in Tbilisi, where we were lucky enough to meet up with a couple Georgian Peace Corps Response Volunteers, one of whom just finished three years with PC in KZ (you rock, Mary!). Traditional cuisine for lunch. American food for dinner. We found our way to a bar with stars-and-stripes table coverings. One look at the menu and the decision was made. Jessica and I split an Obama burger. Happy birthday, America.
თბილისი (Tbilisi)
“Hello, my name is Denise. I’m calling to inform you that I’ll be traveling to Tbilisi, the capital of the country of Georgia.”
The receptionist at my American bank transfers me to another department so I can repeat myself to a woman concerned with such matters. She asks me to repeat the location once more.
“T-bili-si.”
“And you’ll spell that for me?” she confidently requests, not yet wanting to expose how completely confused she is by all of this.
“And Georgia – is that spelled like our Georgia?”
Smiling patiently, I confirm that it is. And then her ignorance is laid bare.
“Is that in Russia?”
“No, ma’am, it is it’s own country.”
And a beautiful country it is. During our time there, we explored Tbilisi’s Old Town and took day trips away from the capital to explore Kazbegi and Gori. The scenery on the way to and around Kazbegi is breathtaking. And on our adventures in and around Gori, we explored a cave city and toured the town’s Stalin museum, complete with the house in which he was born.
Goes without saying that everywhere we went, we stuffed ourselves to the gills. Khachapuri is a food I could eat every day for the rest of my life. While in the country, I averaged 2 orders a day of the deliciously cheesy bread. You’ve also got hinkhali (fist-sized dough pockets filled with meat or mushrooms or potatoes or cheese), lobio (red beans with a fabulous spice blend), and a mouth-watering walnut paste that’s great with eggplant or kidney beans. It took a few days back in KZ to remember what hunger felt like.
Reality Check
Back on the ground in Kazakhstan after my return from Georgia, I was finally looking at more than seven days at site. Only by then, it had turned into close to twenty days with little to do and lots to brood over. I’ll tell you what, deciding to stay a third year feels very different when that reality is months away, your friends are all still in-country, and you’ve got a school schedule to keep you busy. Mid-July, my fellow 21s were prepping to go back, and I was struggling to reconnect with local friends I’d been ditching all summer for week-long stints elsewhere. Suffice to say, it was a rough couple of weeks.
Enough moping around, and I clawed my way out of my funk. An evening with one of my favorite English teachers and a long overdue housewarming brought back the sense that I just might belong here. And an invitation to go to Karkaralinsk put a skip back in my step.
Karkaralinsk (aka Karkaraly)
Quick side note – so, so many towns here have 2 names: the old Russian name and the new Kazakh name. Some new names have stuck. For many more towns, the old just won’t go away. Often, the names are completely different, inevitably causing confusion. Others are just a Kazakh-ified version. Thus, Karkaralinsk (Russian) and Karkaraly (Kazakh).
Either name, it’s a gorgeous place. Many locals vacation there at little… resort centers? Sanatoriums? They’ve got basic hotel rooms, gyms, outdoor cafés, swimming areas, etc. Others stay outside the sanatorium in areas reserved for tent campers. I just assumed the locals I accompanied would stay at a sanatorium, where I could take a shower and sleep in a regular bed. Try again.
As we filled the trunk with our baggage, I spotted two tents. A quick mental check and I confirmed that I was prepared for this little twist. We sped through the steppe until we reached the forested hills of Karkaraly. Next on the list: set up camp. We paid a small fee at a checkpoint and tried to follow the man’s directions to the camping area. That led us to four small cabins. The woman tending to them confessed that they were all full, but for 500tenge, we could pitch our tent on the grass nearby. We mulled this over as we piled back in the car to explore other options. We found nothing but other people trying to talk us out of even more money, so we made our way back.
Before parting with any cash, the five of us checked out the proposed spot again, and admired the forest down the hill. In the afternoon quiet, I could make out the faint sound of music from the trees. Soon we were off to investigate, despite cries from the woman to not stray too far. Five minutes later, we were in the forest talking to tent campers who had set up for free. Heh. We swiftly returned to our car and set up camp where we should have been in the first place.
The weekend turned out to be a wonderful escape, with hikes into the rocky hills and a morning spent sitting around a little lake. Only thing missing was marshmallows to roast over our campfire after demolishing round after round of shashlik. Good thing I have another summer to rectify that. :)
August
All of that excitement closed out July. For August, I was to be away from my site all but 8 days. For over two weeks, I lived out of a suitcase in Almaty, acting as a training assistant for the Kaz-23’s pre-service training, part 2. Gave me a chance to meet the newest group to the country and play my part in keeping an Indian restaurant open for business. Ah, dinner there alone is worth the trip down.
After that, it was off to Rostovka for a 5-day sleep-away camp. I joined 11 other volunteers to teach lessons, play games, and just hang out with kids. Just enough volunteers that we were kept busy, yet had enough down time to maintain our sanity all week long.
Now, back at site, I’m gearing up for school to begin. You know, reading magazines that came in the latest package, going on leisurely runs through the forest, and playing table tennis with friends. It’s going to be a great school year, but what I’m really excited about is Summer, Take 3. :) Something tells me it’ll be here before I know it.
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