Letter from Joan to her Mom, 9/9/97
Dear Mom,
I have finished teaching for the day, and have finished doing some
of the chores around the house. Water here, esp. on the 5th floor,
is a bit more unreliable than it was in Kapchagai. More often than
not we have it, but just when we procrastinate and let down our guard
about keeping the buckets full - poof! no more water. It always
seems to happen when I want to bathe, too. Hmmmm.....
Our latest dilemma is the toilet. It seems to be plugged, and is
not interested in becoming unplugged. (Note for the family: I did
not plug it. I have a reputation for this, I know, but since coming
to Kaz and K-O, I have not been, shall we say, capable of such a
feat.) So, gross as it sounds, we have lined a bucket with a plastic
bag and do number two there. R. also seems to have a slight case of
diarrhea, so he has become quite the expert. It is pretty
disgusting, but it is also damn funny. Maybe you have to experience
it to appreciate the humor...
We did manage to get the kitchen sink unclogged, though. That was
funny. R. was sitting on the floor holding part of the rubber-like
pipe while I attempted to scrape it clean without gagging. Paul
just kept coming and going from the kitchen also trying not to gag,
but laughing uncontrollably at our efforts while we were laughing
uncontrollably. I never knew that decayed, moldy food particles
could smell so bad (I understand that sewer smell more clearly now,
as do R. and P.), but that it really can turn neon green.
On the lighter side, I want to tell you more about what our typical
day seems to be turning into, and describe a few things here. On
Mondays I teach all five of my classes, beginning at 8 am and going
until 11:40 am. On Tuesday and Thursday, I only teach three classes
in the morning, and on Friday, four. Wednesday and Saturday are my
big days off. My classes are only 40 minutes long, with a five
minute break between for teachers to go to their next class and for
students to maybe go to the bathroom. There is no cafeteria, per se,
only a small cafe where you may have a small lunch or a cup of tea.
I have yet to try it, but will tell you all about it when I do.
Students either go home for lunch or go hungry. Many of them only
have classes in the morning or afternoon.
I leave the apartment about 45 minutes before I need to teach, just
to make sure I am there on time. The bus route I take begins and
ends at the stop outside our window, so I have no trouble ever
catching the bus. What I sometimes have trouble with is getting off
the bus. People are packed on there like sardines plus a few more.
Usually it empties out somewhat when we get to the old Bazaar, but
invariably it directly fills up again. So I must step over babushkas
in their colorful head scarves and dresses and bags and buckets of
heaven only knows what that they will sell or have bought at at this
bazaar or the New Bazaar; over small children on the way to school;
old men in a variety of dress-suits, usually with flat round caps
called B3tippy-tekasB2; and young professionals and students of
the Institute who all dress to the nines all the time. I feel a
little frumpy and more than a little foreign sometimes, but I don't
mind. The best part about that is that the ticket taker for the
number 2 bus route always knows what bus we want and to wait for us
when he spots us.
From the bus stop downtown I have a 15 minute walk to my school. I
pass by the town square where some of the official government
buildings are and a theater, and also where there is a huge painting
of Pres. Nazarbeyev. There are some large painted placards next to
him in the blue and gold of Kazakstan, but I have no idea what most
of them say.
Once I arrive at school, I change my shoes, and stare at my lesson
plan for my first class. I try to go through in my mind all possible
outcomes, etc. It usually works. A few other teachers may also be
there, and I attempt to speak a little Russian, and they try to
speak a little English. All in all we do fine. They all seem pretty
nice so far. My favorites are the older Russian women who teach
history and Russian. They are big old ladies with colored hair,
gold teeth, and big opinions. But sweet. Oh, I change my shoes
because the streets are quite dirty and dusty, not to mention rough
and uneven due to neglect. Also, my feet are not used to dress
shoes, which are giving me the usual blisters on the back of my
heels.
Of course, I must dress up every day - usually a skirt, blouse,
hose, and suit jacket or my sweater. I'd like to be more casual,
but I think that where I am teaching and the age of my students
requires a stiffer dress code than my normal one. You would be
pleased, mom.
And then I am off to my first class. I mainly teach conversation,
and with some classes it is pleasure and very easy, and with others
it is like speaking to a group of 24 rocks. But eventually, I will
get the hang of teaching and my students. My 11th formers really
want to learn and practice, which makes class most enjoyable. My 8B
class are the rocks I mentioned before, but they are not impossible.
8A is precocious and a little too energetic for their own good
sometimes, but great kids overall. 10A is a little slow on the
draw, but I see great potential in them. 9A, though, those are
children in need of some kind of military training. Yesterday my
class went from 9 pupils to 30. The ones who are very good are now
lost in the shuffle of kids who throw things at each other, talk
incessantly, and are some of the worst disciplined kids that I have
met. I'd like to give them all the boot in the butt and then some.
I'm trying to remedy that situation now. I'll keep you posted on
the little delinquents.
When I finish for the day, I usually head for the Resource Center or
to run errands. The Resource Center has been set up here for the
English teacher's association so they have a place to find out
information, practice English, borrow books and/or tapes for their
classes. One inherent problem though, with the Resource Center and
the association is that most of the teachers are women. What this
means in this traditional society is that these women (who are
overworked and paid sporadically) must not only teach 22 or more
class hours, but go home and and make meals, clean, wash, can and
preserve, and make sure that all is well with their families. Even
though their husbands may be unemployed and there are sons at home,
they must still do the work. Men don't do that sort of thing. They
watch TV, sit outside, talk with friends, or B3go walkingB2 - which
implies drinking or perhaps an affair. To my mind, this makes
sustainability and management of the Center and the Association a
very real issue. It also annoys me then, when Ahmed (Kaz 4 TEFL
volunteer here) says they are all "lazy." Far from it, if you ask
me. (I should point out that not all men here are like that, but it
is the trend.)
My errands tend to take me into the center of town - to the Post
Office (my favorite errand, by far), where I mail letters or visit
with my counterpart's sister, Maria, who is an accountant there. Or
to what we call the Turkish supermarket - the nearest thing to an
American store that we have seen yet, that is owned by Turks. It can
be a bit pricey, but they have canned goods, chocolate chip cookies
from Turkey, loads of tea, beans, margarine, smelly soaps, bug
spray, bathrobes, cosmetics, yarn (should have brought my knitting
needles and "how to" book!), blankets, toilet seats (should have
bought one today), and so on. It is not very big at all, but has
juat a little bit of everything. They also have killer ice cream
and not so bad pastries there.
From there I walk to the Old Bazaar to get some round bread made by
women who make it at home and walk around with bags of them. One
costs 10T (about 15 cents. ed.) and they are our favorite thing so
far - soft, chewy, and very tasty. Usually I only plan to buy one
or two things but end up overflowing. Here when you see it, you buy
it and as much as you can. It will not be there later. The vendors
are in stalls or have their wares spread on blankets on the ground.
It is a loud, crowded place with many voices, people pushing past,
and vendors with huge carts making their way, boom boxes blaring from
stands where tapes are sold, smoke from the shaslik (shash-leek)
stands, and usually a nice hot sun to melt it all together.
And I like it. Sure, they don't have much of a concept of
competetive pricing or product differentiation, but the buffet of
people, colors, smells and sounds is nothing I've ever experienced
before. There are times when I miss the old supermarket with
"Coffee, Aisle 9", but this almost always makes up for it.
Although, I often dream about steaming cups of real coffee and cold
cereal with skim milk. Sigh.
Then I load myself onto bus number 2 for the short but very bouncy
ride home. Then I unload myself from the stalled bus (they almost
always stall when they stop), and waddle home. At the little bazaar
downstairs, I sometimes buy a watermelon, or bread that seems to
have come immediately out of the oven so hot I can't even hold it but
must simply plunk it in my bag. And the watermellon - where do I
begin to tell you of its virtues? Sweet, juicy, pink flesh that
packs the most refreshing taste I have ever experienced, and the
mere mention of which causes all our mouths to water in unison.
Wow, I may get some when I am done here.
And now I am home, back where I started. R. and P. are out
teaching, so I come home to work in peace and quiet. Today I had a
few big slices of bread w/butter and cheese, or butter and honey.
Oh, let me tell you the honey story - P.and I went down to our little
bazaar on Sunday to get some wine and some honey for dinner. We
found the wine, but not honey. So I asked one woman, but of course
I couldn't remember the Russian word for honey. So I said it was
sweet, yellow, and came from bees. I also did not know the word for
"bees", but made a buzzing noise and flapped my arms a little. They
got it right away. They sent us to a neighboring building to the 4th
floor, the door with the light. There a larger Russian woman in her
bathrobe invited us in and had us sit down in her living room. Her
daughter, who Paul for some reason is and was convinced was wearing
a wig, got an empty jar and next thing you know we had a jar of honey
for 80T. Strange but true.
And that is about it for our little adventures so far. We are busy
and happy, and getting settled. We read alot, play chess (even me
now), and play games. I also spend quite a bit of time writing in
my journal, preparing for classes, and working on those articles for
the Register. Things will pick up more soon on the official business
end, but for now we continue to settle in.
Write when you can and fill me in on how you are and what has been
happening. Could you send the rules of "Hand and Foot", by the way?
We've been playing, and P. believes we should be able to pick up
from the discard pile. Can you verify? Also, feel free to send
that yellow kernal popcorn, cinamon, and recipe for applesause?
Miss you loads.
Love always, Joan.