A word on the Georgians: Never before have I met a people quite so aggressively, relentlessly, unabashedly, generously, at times annoyingly but most of all lovingly hospitable.
I know in my last two posts, as well as in the many needy emails most of you have had the misfortune to receive, my outlook has been less-than-rosy (as always, pardon the cliche). But blame it on the change in weather, blame it on the vino, blame it on the endless amounts of khachapuri that seem to apparate onto every table in Georgia...but for the first time in a while, I'm feeling really optimistic about the next four months.
I attended my first honest-to-goodness Georgian 'supra' last night, and as I sat eating my third/fourth/I -stopped-counting-after-fifth plate of food, I forced myself to take everything in, every heartfelt toast to the birthday boy (poor kid just wanted to play Resident Evil 4 on his computer), every traditional folk song, every poem and joke and rant, each one longer as the night went on and the wine glasses emptied.
It took a month, but I finally realized last night that this is why I'm here. There is work to be done and I don't expect my time here to be easy, but I can't let the frustrations distract me from all of the truly beautiful and unique experiences to be had. And maybe it was indeed the wine, but last night, I was all googly-eyed for this country and this culture and these people, who, from my colleagues to my neighbors to my neighbors' neighbors and all their friends and relatives, are insistent that I am part of their family, and that I should have a sixth plate of food.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
I Will Sing, And You Will Be Mine
So said one little unibrowed eighth-grader who apparently intends to win my heart at the spring concert. At least, this is what I understood...so much gets lost in translation here. (Note: Many thanks to the anonymous tipster who pointed out my use of a very bad cliche in my last post. There's another one for you.)
I have to keep reminding myself that the primary reason I am here is to teach English. Some days, school seems to be no more than a minor inconvenience, just a break in a routine otherwise filled with reading, sleeping, and eating. I didn't come here with any grandiose ideas about touching lives or impacting whole communities, but some days, when I can't seem to shake an ounce of understanding into the students' tiny brains, I want to shout, "Do you ungrateful brats KNOW what I've given up back home to be here?! Do the words 'Real Housewives of Atlanta' mean anything to you??"
I broke a cardinal rule of teaching today: I stormed out of the classroom. My mom, a substitute teacher herself, told me to never, ever lose my patience in front of students, and I did, in a most spectacular fashion. I couldn't shush them anymore, couldn't tell them to put away their phones one more time, couldn't keep yelling the same instructions over their clatter. And so I grabbed my bag, said, "Fine, class is over," and walked away.
Immediately, I knew I'd screwed up. For 40 minutes a day, I am responsible for those kids; abandoning them is not an option. So after a few minutes of decompressing in the teacher's lounge (god, to have had a cigarette at that moment...and I don't even smoke), I went back to the classroom, accepted the students' apologies, and gave my own. Class resumed, and for ten minutes the students smilingly put up with my goofy food game, then, still smiling, handed me my things, opened the door, and chimed, "Goodbye, Ms. Nadya!"
Days like today, I do find myself wishing my work here were more appreciated. I think it's only natural that when we invest our time into anything, we want to know that it's for a good reason. We want to know we're making a difference with whatever we do.
I don't kid myself into thinking I'll make a difference with every student. I know that when I leave in June, the majority of them still won't speak two words of English, and most will forget I ever existed--they certainly don't owe it to me to do so. But my little eighth-grade admirer proved to me today that there is at least one student who likes having me around, and I can't ask for more than that.
Although a statue in my honor would be nice...
I have to keep reminding myself that the primary reason I am here is to teach English. Some days, school seems to be no more than a minor inconvenience, just a break in a routine otherwise filled with reading, sleeping, and eating. I didn't come here with any grandiose ideas about touching lives or impacting whole communities, but some days, when I can't seem to shake an ounce of understanding into the students' tiny brains, I want to shout, "Do you ungrateful brats KNOW what I've given up back home to be here?! Do the words 'Real Housewives of Atlanta' mean anything to you??"
I broke a cardinal rule of teaching today: I stormed out of the classroom. My mom, a substitute teacher herself, told me to never, ever lose my patience in front of students, and I did, in a most spectacular fashion. I couldn't shush them anymore, couldn't tell them to put away their phones one more time, couldn't keep yelling the same instructions over their clatter. And so I grabbed my bag, said, "Fine, class is over," and walked away.
Immediately, I knew I'd screwed up. For 40 minutes a day, I am responsible for those kids; abandoning them is not an option. So after a few minutes of decompressing in the teacher's lounge (god, to have had a cigarette at that moment...and I don't even smoke), I went back to the classroom, accepted the students' apologies, and gave my own. Class resumed, and for ten minutes the students smilingly put up with my goofy food game, then, still smiling, handed me my things, opened the door, and chimed, "Goodbye, Ms. Nadya!"
Days like today, I do find myself wishing my work here were more appreciated. I think it's only natural that when we invest our time into anything, we want to know that it's for a good reason. We want to know we're making a difference with whatever we do.
I don't kid myself into thinking I'll make a difference with every student. I know that when I leave in June, the majority of them still won't speak two words of English, and most will forget I ever existed--they certainly don't owe it to me to do so. But my little eighth-grade admirer proved to me today that there is at least one student who likes having me around, and I can't ask for more than that.
Although a statue in my honor would be nice...
Sunday, February 6, 2011
It Is Problem
I can't tell you how many times a day I hear this. It must be one of the first phrases, after "Good morning" and "My name is," that Georgians learn when studying English.
The school has no water or electricity: It is problem.
Students have no coursebooks, notebooks, or even pens and pencils to write with in class: It is problem.
80% unemployment rate in Georgia: It is problem.
Every time I hear this, I can only sigh and agree, and maybe shrug my shoulders, because like the rest of the people here, I don't know what to do about all of these problems. I'm about three weeks into my stay here, and I'm only just now wrapping my brain around the fact that Georgia is essentially a third-world country. My pre-departure preparations consisted of buying a few flashcards at Target and reading a WikiTravel article on Tbilisi; maybe if I had done a bit more research, I would have been prepared to encounter the Turkish toilets, pitiful spit baths, dismal heating, stray dogs and beggars, and so many frustrations, small and large, that I had successfully avoided for 22 years in America. But after a particularly pathetic and very public meltdown on the busiest street in Tbilisi, I have dusted myself off and I'm ready to move ahead. As America's #1 boss, Michael Scott, advises: "React, adapt, re-adapt, act."
But enough on that. As you may have noticed, I had to scrap my previous blog after it was compromised by some pesky Georgian students of mine (my own fault, really, for making it so public). While I suppose I admire their English skills and am flattered by their interest, my students, colleagues, and host family members are not my intended audience; I don't want to have to censor myself or worry about hurting anyone's feelings. You, dear friends and family, deserve the truth, and the truth you shall get! We'll see how long this one can fly under the radar.
-Nadya
The school has no water or electricity: It is problem.
Students have no coursebooks, notebooks, or even pens and pencils to write with in class: It is problem.
80% unemployment rate in Georgia: It is problem.
Every time I hear this, I can only sigh and agree, and maybe shrug my shoulders, because like the rest of the people here, I don't know what to do about all of these problems. I'm about three weeks into my stay here, and I'm only just now wrapping my brain around the fact that Georgia is essentially a third-world country. My pre-departure preparations consisted of buying a few flashcards at Target and reading a WikiTravel article on Tbilisi; maybe if I had done a bit more research, I would have been prepared to encounter the Turkish toilets, pitiful spit baths, dismal heating, stray dogs and beggars, and so many frustrations, small and large, that I had successfully avoided for 22 years in America. But after a particularly pathetic and very public meltdown on the busiest street in Tbilisi, I have dusted myself off and I'm ready to move ahead. As America's #1 boss, Michael Scott, advises: "React, adapt, re-adapt, act."
But enough on that. As you may have noticed, I had to scrap my previous blog after it was compromised by some pesky Georgian students of mine (my own fault, really, for making it so public). While I suppose I admire their English skills and am flattered by their interest, my students, colleagues, and host family members are not my intended audience; I don't want to have to censor myself or worry about hurting anyone's feelings. You, dear friends and family, deserve the truth, and the truth you shall get! We'll see how long this one can fly under the radar.
-Nadya
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