Much Ado...

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.