So one of the nice things about being a teacher of English -- instead of, say, Chemistry or Algebra or History -- is that your students' mistakes can be funny to non-English teachers as well. I mean, "Oh man, you won't BELIEVE the silly thing my student did today -- he substituted X for Y in step 4 instead of 5 of the equation and got a TOTALLY bogus answer!" or "Wow, Susie did the funniest thing today...she said that William Jennings Bryan was all for the gold standard -- not the silver! Hahaha" -- those things just aren't as funny to thought outside professional circles (actually, they aren't really that funny within professional circles either...).
But foreign-language teaching -- there's a discipline that provides plenty of fodder for hilarity. And my students have not disappointed me thus far into the quarter. Some of my favorite flub-ups:
* During an 'introduce yourself' activity:
One of my older girls writing about the most interesting thing about her: "I am a black man."
* While practicing past tense, another student wrote the following about what he did yesterday:
" I went to the bazaar. I drank Coca-Cola. I did my sister. I ate dinner." (This one made me laugh so hard I had to excuse myself from class)
Part of the reason that these are so funny to me, of course, is that I've made much more embarressing linguistic mistakes of my own over the past 14 months. Last fall, for example, I realized that what I'd thought was the word for "pig" was actually the word for "little boy's penis" -- and finally understood why my classes would erupt in laughter every time we did a lesson on farm animals. I've also asked cab drivers to "please give me a sugar cube" instead of querying whether they can take me to a city named Kant. I've called trees "shits" and asked whether a dish was made of house meat. As a result, I'm now a little humbler and a whole lot more forgiving of others' language mistakes. But that doesn't mean that I can't laugh at my students, too.
29 September 2007
11 September 2007
Just Another (Manic) Monday
Random intro note: I just got my hair cut -- took like 5 inches off and feel like a new person. I managed to find a salon here with a guy who actually knows what he's doing (although he doesn't serve me chai lattes...or put conditioner in my hair...)
So anyway...I don't teach on Mondays, so was spending a leisurely morning yesterday prepping for the week's lessons and watching old episodes of the West Wing. At 9:30, I hear, "Miss Terri! Miss Terri!" and loud banging on my door. My apa had apparently told her to come get me from the house and tell me to go to school as quickly as I could. I have no idea why I"ve been called, so I frenetically pull on school-appropriate clothes and run out the door. On the way, I juggle thoughts of Apa getting sick, my vice principal dumping some new class on me, some random American coming (maybe from USAID or the like), or -- what seems most plausible at the time -- I've somehow gotten myself into trouble. But then I show up at school and see a 10th form girl and her mom waiting on a bench. Apparently I'd been summoned to give the girl the 3 minute English "entrance exam" (which, since being handed off to me, consists of extremely difficult things like "What is this? (while holding a book or pen)" and "Tell me about your family"), even though there was another English teacher at school that day who could've given it to her. I was a little ticked, and so rewarded myself when I got home with another cup of coffee and 3 additional episodes of West Wing.
So anyway...I don't teach on Mondays, so was spending a leisurely morning yesterday prepping for the week's lessons and watching old episodes of the West Wing. At 9:30, I hear, "Miss Terri! Miss Terri!" and loud banging on my door. My apa had apparently told her to come get me from the house and tell me to go to school as quickly as I could. I have no idea why I"ve been called, so I frenetically pull on school-appropriate clothes and run out the door. On the way, I juggle thoughts of Apa getting sick, my vice principal dumping some new class on me, some random American coming (maybe from USAID or the like), or -- what seems most plausible at the time -- I've somehow gotten myself into trouble. But then I show up at school and see a 10th form girl and her mom waiting on a bench. Apparently I'd been summoned to give the girl the 3 minute English "entrance exam" (which, since being handed off to me, consists of extremely difficult things like "What is this? (while holding a book or pen)" and "Tell me about your family"), even though there was another English teacher at school that day who could've given it to her. I was a little ticked, and so rewarded myself when I got home with another cup of coffee and 3 additional episodes of West Wing.
01 September 2007
Back to School
So today my school held its "First Bell" ceremony this morning, thus officially beginning the school year. Although I can't say that I'm quite ready to deal with apathetic students and surprise 7:30 am meetings, I couldn't help but get that hooray-school's-back! feeling that's hit me every August since that one in 1989 when my mom dressed me in my purple rainslicker and strapped on brand-new backpack and sent me off to kindergarten. Plus, this year, I wasn't the so-green-it's-almost-painful-to-watch new kid and so got to do fun things like rave about how much some of my boys have grown and laugh to myself about some pretty unfortunate new haircuts (the mullet never really went out of style here). It's nice to remember that I have a community here, even if it drives me batty sometimes.
28 August 2007
Postcard 3
Postcard 3: The Magical Walnut Forest
On Sunday, my family – all 12 of us, plus my host sister’s friend from Russia – took a day trip to Arslambob, a gem of a place nestled in the second largest walnut forest in the world. In the park are three waterfalls, huge mountains, lots of scenic outlooks, and, of course, lots of walnut trees. The Kyrgyz national television station uses footage of it in one of its look-at-how-beautiful-our-country-is television spots.
After a three hour long car trip (most of which I spent with a passed-out 4-year-old in my lap), we stopped at a pretty but unremarkable Soviet-era resort village. Underwhelmed, I remember thinking, “Right…so we’re here. There are some mountains and trees…and ooo! A disco!” After wandering around for a half-hour or so, though, my host dad called us over to a couple of ancient Jeep-like vehicles and tells us to get in. Apparently we were going on some sort of excursion…
The closest approximation that I can think of for what followed is something like a real-life Thunder Road, minus the seatbelts and reckless gangsters (for those of you from Tennessee, you’ll recognize this name as that of the 3-D attraction at Dollywood that simulates a wild ride down country roads in Prohibition-era America. Lots of jostling about in your seat with the occasional stomach-drop.). Our driver had a particular affinity for driving through streams of water whenever possible and ‘powering through’ steep banks (although his theatrics also necessitated that he stop and pour water over the overheated engine every 10 minutes or so). My 3 year-old host cousin performed quite an act of napping fortitude on the way – standing up, with her head and arms resting on my lap, she slept nearly the whole rough, bouncy way (even leaving a nice big spot of drool on my knee…).
Anyway, we eventually made it to the base of the hike to the 70-meter waterfall. To bolster our strength, we had fermented mare’s milk, hot tea, and fried bread first. Most of us – including the 3, 4, and 5 year olds – then began our ascent. The trail started out easily enough as a nice paved path. After about 5 minutes, though, the cement gave way to loose gravel and dirt. Kind of scary, actually, especially because, for most of the way, I was helping my 4-year-old host sister along. Hiking with a little girl is actually pretty fun because she got so excited so often – every 50 meters or so, she insisted on turning around and waving to her mom, who was about 100 meters behind us. I was quite proud of her for making it all the way up the increasingly steep hill.
After about an hour of hiking, we made it to the top. The view was spectacular; I was beginning to see why everyone raves about the place so much. And since the waterfall is considered a holy place, it is completely devoid of the tacky graffiti that covers many such sites in America and elsewhere. Just naturally beautiful.
Back at the base of the hill, we quenched our thirst with – what else? – hot tea. We then headed to the site of the other two waterfalls. This time, there wasn’t much of a hike at all, so my baby sister, pregnant sister, and bedazzled-high-heel-shod host mom could join us. And this place was freaking awesome. Two 30-meter waterfalls fell together in a pool at the base of the path, making a great place for wading and, of course, picture-taking. At one point, my host brother grabbed his 4 year-old daughter and sloshed into the middle of the pool so I could take their picture…the result was the definition of ‘Kodak moment’ (my sitemate dubbed it an ‘Anne Geddes wet dream’). Will try to post it later.
At the end of the day, I bought soft serve ice cream for everyone (how I’ve thanked my lucky stars this summer that Kyrgyzstan has soft serve…) and, after a pit stop for lagman (Kyrgyz spaghetti) at a café, we drove back home, exhausted but happy.
On Sunday, my family – all 12 of us, plus my host sister’s friend from Russia – took a day trip to Arslambob, a gem of a place nestled in the second largest walnut forest in the world. In the park are three waterfalls, huge mountains, lots of scenic outlooks, and, of course, lots of walnut trees. The Kyrgyz national television station uses footage of it in one of its look-at-how-beautiful-our-country-is television spots.
After a three hour long car trip (most of which I spent with a passed-out 4-year-old in my lap), we stopped at a pretty but unremarkable Soviet-era resort village. Underwhelmed, I remember thinking, “Right…so we’re here. There are some mountains and trees…and ooo! A disco!” After wandering around for a half-hour or so, though, my host dad called us over to a couple of ancient Jeep-like vehicles and tells us to get in. Apparently we were going on some sort of excursion…
The closest approximation that I can think of for what followed is something like a real-life Thunder Road, minus the seatbelts and reckless gangsters (for those of you from Tennessee, you’ll recognize this name as that of the 3-D attraction at Dollywood that simulates a wild ride down country roads in Prohibition-era America. Lots of jostling about in your seat with the occasional stomach-drop.). Our driver had a particular affinity for driving through streams of water whenever possible and ‘powering through’ steep banks (although his theatrics also necessitated that he stop and pour water over the overheated engine every 10 minutes or so). My 3 year-old host cousin performed quite an act of napping fortitude on the way – standing up, with her head and arms resting on my lap, she slept nearly the whole rough, bouncy way (even leaving a nice big spot of drool on my knee…).
Anyway, we eventually made it to the base of the hike to the 70-meter waterfall. To bolster our strength, we had fermented mare’s milk, hot tea, and fried bread first. Most of us – including the 3, 4, and 5 year olds – then began our ascent. The trail started out easily enough as a nice paved path. After about 5 minutes, though, the cement gave way to loose gravel and dirt. Kind of scary, actually, especially because, for most of the way, I was helping my 4-year-old host sister along. Hiking with a little girl is actually pretty fun because she got so excited so often – every 50 meters or so, she insisted on turning around and waving to her mom, who was about 100 meters behind us. I was quite proud of her for making it all the way up the increasingly steep hill.
After about an hour of hiking, we made it to the top. The view was spectacular; I was beginning to see why everyone raves about the place so much. And since the waterfall is considered a holy place, it is completely devoid of the tacky graffiti that covers many such sites in America and elsewhere. Just naturally beautiful.
Back at the base of the hill, we quenched our thirst with – what else? – hot tea. We then headed to the site of the other two waterfalls. This time, there wasn’t much of a hike at all, so my baby sister, pregnant sister, and bedazzled-high-heel-shod host mom could join us. And this place was freaking awesome. Two 30-meter waterfalls fell together in a pool at the base of the path, making a great place for wading and, of course, picture-taking. At one point, my host brother grabbed his 4 year-old daughter and sloshed into the middle of the pool so I could take their picture…the result was the definition of ‘Kodak moment’ (my sitemate dubbed it an ‘Anne Geddes wet dream’). Will try to post it later.
At the end of the day, I bought soft serve ice cream for everyone (how I’ve thanked my lucky stars this summer that Kyrgyzstan has soft serve…) and, after a pit stop for lagman (Kyrgyz spaghetti) at a café, we drove back home, exhausted but happy.
24 August 2007
Postcard 2
Postcard 2 -- Washing the Car
My host brother has just returned from a 5-month stint working in Russia and, to celebrate his success, has purchased a new car for the family. It's a brand-new Nissan with lovely things like air-conditioning, automatic gear-shift, automatic locks and windows, and a little sensor which tells you if you're about to back into something. In a land full of ancient Russian hunks of metal passed off as cars, this car is really something.
When Kyrgyz people get something new like a car or house or even a television, they invite their friends, family, and neighbors over to 'wash' the new item. This involves making enough food to feed a small army -- Kyrgyz specialities like ash (rice pilaf-esque dish with carrots and meat), boorsok (doughnut-like bits of fried bread), shorpo (can't say I'm a fan of this one -- a broth in which the newly-slaughtered sheep was boiled), and, since it's summer, a plethora of fruits and vegetables. And, of course, the requisite vodka to wash everything down. My host dad, who never drinks, got a little loopy and cornered me, insisting that I join him in a rather large shot. When I hesitated, he told me that I didn't need to worry about being shameful and drunk -- I could just sneak away and have a nice long nap. So he gave a toast to the car and we took our shots -- and, in typical Kyrgyz fashion, chased them with cucumbers. God bless new cars.
My host brother has just returned from a 5-month stint working in Russia and, to celebrate his success, has purchased a new car for the family. It's a brand-new Nissan with lovely things like air-conditioning, automatic gear-shift, automatic locks and windows, and a little sensor which tells you if you're about to back into something. In a land full of ancient Russian hunks of metal passed off as cars, this car is really something.
When Kyrgyz people get something new like a car or house or even a television, they invite their friends, family, and neighbors over to 'wash' the new item. This involves making enough food to feed a small army -- Kyrgyz specialities like ash (rice pilaf-esque dish with carrots and meat), boorsok (doughnut-like bits of fried bread), shorpo (can't say I'm a fan of this one -- a broth in which the newly-slaughtered sheep was boiled), and, since it's summer, a plethora of fruits and vegetables. And, of course, the requisite vodka to wash everything down. My host dad, who never drinks, got a little loopy and cornered me, insisting that I join him in a rather large shot. When I hesitated, he told me that I didn't need to worry about being shameful and drunk -- I could just sneak away and have a nice long nap. So he gave a toast to the car and we took our shots -- and, in typical Kyrgyz fashion, chased them with cucumbers. God bless new cars.
Postcard 1
Hi friends,
I've been crazy busy for the past month with trips and camps and family goings-on. I'm having trouble constructing it all into a cohesive narrative, so have decided to write a series of 'postcards' instead...
Postcard 1: Crowded beach at Lake Issyk-Kul
I helped out at a camp for Russian orphans in early August. We spent the mornings playing with the group of what might be the cutest kids in Central Asia (save my host siblings, of course) and the afternoons lazing around on the beach. Tough week...
Beaches, as we all know, are ideal spots for people watching. Issyk-Kul is the second biggest alpine lake in the world -- it has a slight salinity that means it never freezes (thus its name, which translates as "Hot Lake"). And come summer, it draws legions of sun-worshippers from Russia, China, and the rest of Central Asia. Generally conservative dress norms go flying out the window. Thongs are a particularly beloved swimwear choice; some choose to hike up their full-coverage bottoms so as to simulate the thong effect. Some beach-goers, however, continue to adhere to certain dress codes, even as they completely disregard others. My favorite example of this phenomenon involved portly middle-aged ladies frolicking about the beach in their bikinis -- and head-scarves.
Some other characters:
- Vendors wandering around the beach selling beer, cotton candy, chips, and smoked fish on sticks
- A so-tan-he's-burnt Russian we dubbed "Napoleon" who literally spent hours, chest puffed up and hands on hips, surveying his kingdom -- with a variety of Josephine-like figures by his side
- Naked children cavolling about
- Temporary tattoo artists, one of whom I, on a dare, contracted to put Monticello on my arm
- A very affectionate couple and their third-wheel friend, who occasionally amused himself by embracing his towel with naked-lady illustration
Life in this country just doesn't get old.
I've been crazy busy for the past month with trips and camps and family goings-on. I'm having trouble constructing it all into a cohesive narrative, so have decided to write a series of 'postcards' instead...
Postcard 1: Crowded beach at Lake Issyk-Kul
I helped out at a camp for Russian orphans in early August. We spent the mornings playing with the group of what might be the cutest kids in Central Asia (save my host siblings, of course) and the afternoons lazing around on the beach. Tough week...
Beaches, as we all know, are ideal spots for people watching. Issyk-Kul is the second biggest alpine lake in the world -- it has a slight salinity that means it never freezes (thus its name, which translates as "Hot Lake"). And come summer, it draws legions of sun-worshippers from Russia, China, and the rest of Central Asia. Generally conservative dress norms go flying out the window. Thongs are a particularly beloved swimwear choice; some choose to hike up their full-coverage bottoms so as to simulate the thong effect. Some beach-goers, however, continue to adhere to certain dress codes, even as they completely disregard others. My favorite example of this phenomenon involved portly middle-aged ladies frolicking about the beach in their bikinis -- and head-scarves.
Some other characters:
- Vendors wandering around the beach selling beer, cotton candy, chips, and smoked fish on sticks
- A so-tan-he's-burnt Russian we dubbed "Napoleon" who literally spent hours, chest puffed up and hands on hips, surveying his kingdom -- with a variety of Josephine-like figures by his side
- Naked children cavolling about
- Temporary tattoo artists, one of whom I, on a dare, contracted to put Monticello on my arm
- A very affectionate couple and their third-wheel friend, who occasionally amused himself by embracing his towel with naked-lady illustration
Life in this country just doesn't get old.
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