ARAOM from My Last Week of School

A Random Assortment of Moments from My Last Week of School

 

*

Summer didn’t wait for school to finish. The sun is warm enough to keep the roads from being giant mud puddles even right after a rain, but not so hot that you can’t handle being outside. Cherrie trees are everywhere in the village. One stands right outside of school and has just gotten ripe. I watch out the window while boys climb it, picking off whole branches and sending them down. They like to give cherries to the teachers. We all eat them…even those who yelled at the boys for going up the tree in the first place. 

*

My co-teacher must add up attendance totals before the end of the week, and, being a Georgian teacher, chooses to do so during class time. She tells me I can take the 3^rd grade class outside and play ball. Well, I didn’t know I needed to prepare a lesson, and it is the last week of school, so why not?

When we go outside, we have no ball to play with. A couple of older kids who know a bit of English are outside and help me explain freeze tag to the younger kids, and for a while we play a massive game of it, big kids (including myself) chasing little kids. After that gets old, I try to organize the kids for a game of Duck Duck Goose. Chaos ensues. Most of them aren’t listening and the couple of them who are really aren’t understanding my instructions. By the time I’m trying to think of another game, the third graders have fractured into a number of groups engaging in mini wrestling matches. I give up, sit down, and watch until the bell rings.

*

Second and third classes are outside playing Georgian dodge ball for their sports period. I have a break this period, so I join them.

In Georgian dodge ball, only one team is dodging at a time. The other divides in two and stands on both sides, throwing a ball back and forth at the group in the middle. If you get hit, you’re out. If you catch the ball, someone who got out comes back in. The kids are excited to see me and beg me to play. The weather feels great and I won’t get to hang out with them much longer, so I can’t really say no.

Between their constant begging me to come back into the pit every time they catch the ball and my own lack of athletic ability, I repeatedly experience the excruciating embarrassment of being pelted by an 8-year-old. But I’m also experiencing their affection and happiness. And these are all the things that color my world. It’s in times like these that I know I’m living a life I want to live.

*

 By Thursday, my co has done all her counting, and doesn’t come to school. I don’t really mind at this point…classes have been a bit of a joke this week anyway, and I don’t have to hold them without her. So instead I hang out with the 8^th and 9^th class and everyone else who is attending their “show.” It’s fun little event that all the other teachers show up for, so I guess no one is having class today at all. The two grades form two teams and compete in song/poetry performance, eating spaghetti with no hands, etc. A lot of other students are there to watch as well. I joke and dance with some of my high schoolers while we wait for it to start. I’m thankful for the chance to just enjoy them one last time. I soak in every smile I catch.

*

On Friday, my friend Mariah comes to visit. I’ve decided not to return next semester, but she has agreed to transfer to Khovle when she returns in September. After my host mom gives us lunch she comes to school with me. Most of the students aren’t there. Most of the teachers aren’t even there. But myself and a couple of girls from 7^th class are still determined to carry out plans of surprising a couple of the older boys with a water attack. Mariah agrees to be the camera girl.

It doesn’t take the boys long to figure out what is going on. Especially when I show up with five empty plastic bottles. The surprise attack turns into an all-out war.

The boys got in more attacks. 17-18 year old boys have more strength than me, and I am willing to admit that. They didn’t have much difficulty commandeering our weaponry and using it against us. At one point we tried to escape by climbing a tree, which only ended up trapping us. But whoever won, ALL OF US got soaked, so I can’t say I’m dissatisfied with the outcome.

And besides, it was a fun way to end the day; the week; the semester.

 

 

Even if I come back in a year or two as I’m planning, the kids won’t be the same. They’ll be older, some will be graduated, etc. It’s a bittersweet thing…leaving something behind when you know you can’t ever really have it again. I’ll miss it, sure, but I’m thankful that it happened. I’m thankful I was a part of this community for the past few months of my life. I’m thankful that each of these children was a character in this chapter of my story. And I in theirs.

But the chapter is coming to an end. It’s time for a month or so of adventure in Europe, then a final week or two of Georgia, and then back to America.

Next stop: England.

But do I want to be one of the crazies?

But now I’m waffling. Is this really what I want?

Life in Georgia is hard. I mean, I have a great host family, and I have it good in my village compared to almost all the other volunteers. But that is a very relative “good.”

I am still surrounded by a constant gloom. A constant feeling of hopelessness. Because I know that even though I can help these kids speak better English than if I wasn’t here, it will still be remedial at best when I leave. With this education system, they have to take the initiative to study on their own if they want to succeed, no matter if I can give them a boost or not. And indeed, the students who can have even half of a conversation in English are the students who make an effort on their own time.

And if I go back, I can easily get a job as a sub in Arkansas. Still teaching. Still being a role model. Still encourage dreams. But with the exponential increase in effectiveness that speaking the same freaking language can provide. And with freedom over my own schedule, closeness to my family and friends, and with more opportunities to volunteer for archaeologists around.  

And I’ll also be able to make some money. Here we get a stipend, but saving is next to impossible. In the states I can live with my parents for cheap and save up for whatever adventure is next. AND because I’ll have some money, I’ll be able to have more choice about what that adventure is.

AND because I’ll have both more freedom over my own schedule and more money, I’ll still be able to travel and do cool things, if only in and around Arkansas. But it still might be more than I can do with my current situation.

I haven’t actually signed the new contract yet, so I can still change my mind…..

Anybody wanna give their two cents?

Am I one of the crazies?

I used to call them the crazy ones. To their faces, even. Jokingly, of course…but seriously. But I mean, after only a couple of weeks, most of us felt completely trapped. The language barrier keeps us from expressing our selves on a daily basis, and the cultural barrier is often there to stop us in our tracks should we get past the first.

And to make matters worse, our hands are all tied behind our backs as far as school goes. A bunch of adventurous souls wanting to make a difference abroad…and over half the time our Georgian co-teachers just want us to sit there and watch them lead the lesson, despite the fact that their methods of teaching have been tried and found lacking. And even for our English clubs and extra-curricular activities…organizing anything is a challenge when nobody understands anything you say.

By our mid-term training in April, I was confident that I wouldn’t be coming back for a second semester. I started dreaming up other possibilities for the rest of my year. I won’t be in my early twenties forever, after all. I should do more exciting things while I have this independence.

But then….

After training, I went back to school. Back to not being understood.

But also back to dozens of smiling faces rushing at me with smiles, stickers, candy, “I love you” notes with my name misspelled…anything to make me happy. How hard is it understand a child’s affection? How hard is to understand that as frustrated as I am, that affection is reciprocated?

And I went back to not feeling like I was making much of a difference.

But also back to ideas and possibilities that present themselves throughout the day and don’t ever fully leave my mind until it is asleep. I’m learning a lot about the problems of this educational system. I’m also learning a lot about what it needs. I could really make a difference.

And another semester seems like so long now…especially during this independent phase of my life. I mean, to spend a whole year on one thing….it’s a scary thought for me. But when I’m older, won’t I be happy that I stayed? That I came back and experienced the second semester?

So, what do you know, I became one of the crazy ones. I sent in my request to renew and was approved!

Riding the Roller Coaster

Sunday, March 30^th, 6:00pm

I’ve spent the weekend in Tbilisi and now it’s time to head back to my village. My host father is a marshutka driver so I get on his bus. About halfway home, a rather sociable (and possibly tipsy) woman from my village gets up and starts dancing. She motions for me to join. The next thing I know, I’m having a dance off in a moving vehicle and at least half a dozen camera phones are pointing at me. Our audience laughs and claps us on and a couple of boys from my second grade class even bust a few moves of their own.

Wednesday, April 2^nd, 1:00pm

I have a break during 5^th period on Wednesdays. I decide to spend the time outside chatting with students who are gathered outside, also enjoying a class off. Among them is one of the high school boys who attends English club. But doesn’t really know any English. He tells the students some story about his friend’s belt, then tries to translate to me, despite not knowing English. He keeps motioning to his belt, but I’m still not getting the story. So eventually I make a joke out of it and cover my eyes and say “me mastavlebeli!” Meaning, “I’m a teacher!” Everyone laughs, except for him. He then proceeds to apologize profusely throughout the rest of the day. That was probably not my smartest move.

5:00pm

The Irishman has come to visit and my host siblings, the director’s granddaughter (who can speak English well enough to communicate with) and a few other kids walk us to an old house in the village that has actually been excavated by archaeologists, and then to an old tower and church in a cemetery. It’s all cool to me, since I’m an aspiring archaeologist myself and I love old broken stuff. But in conversation, I learn that the kids weren’t outside because they had a break. They were just skipping. Furthermore, the other teachers assumed I knew this. Don’t get me wrong, a couple of them yelled out the window at a couple of the high schoolers, but teachers yelling at students is exhaustingly commonplace in Georgia, so I had believed the students when they waved it off and said “oh, nothing.”

Thursday, April 3^rd, 11:00am

When I arrive at school that morning, the boy who was telling the story about the belt is at the door. I at once try to confront him about the skipping class issue, and communicate that the teachers think I am a bad teacher because they think I was encouraging the students to ignore them.

2:30pm

As I prepare for English Club, he asks to speak to me outside of the classroom for a minute, and hands me a mislead (albeit adorable) letter that he made the director’s granddaughter write for him, apologizing again about the belt incident and explaining the story more fully, because he doesn’t want me to think as if he’s really rude and bad gue. And he is sorry for the yesterday’s happen and hopes the letter will give me the right opinion about him.

It makes me smile, but still…..it feels like my life is defined by language barrier right now.

6:00pm

The twins are turning eleven today. I’m at a table with them and a few of their friends. Some homemade liquor is brought to the table and we are all poured a shot. Yes, all. We take turns making toasts, but don’t worry, no one gets drunk. To their credit, one refuses refills multiple times just because he doesn’t like liquor that much, and another because he still has homework to do.

Everyone heads outside after dinner to watch the twins light heart-shaped paper lanterns. I’m still upset and frustrated by all of the misunderstandings from the past couple of days, but I force myself to drink this in. Because moments like these-seeing the light from the lanterns flicker over the smiling faces of my host siblings, running around with the kids to see if a lantern is going to land on the roof, and watching each drift further and further until it’s just another star twinkling in the sky-these are the beautiful moments. And they’re a lot easier to miss than the ugly ones.  

Tuesday, April 8^th, 8:00pm

The weekend was kind of relaxing yet kind of exhausting. I went with some friends to the seaside city of Batumi. It was beautiful, but a couple of freshman at their first party got too drunk and needed a lot of taking-care-of. And by freshman at their first party I mean adults who should have known better. But I still got to see my friends and the sea. And was able to speak in English and have people actually understand.

And tomorrow I leave for mid-semester training, which means I get the rest of the week off from school, AND I get to see my friends.

But now I get a call from the director’s granddaughter, the one who speaks English. She was a friend and more or less the English life-line of the volunteer before me, and she understands some of the differences between American and Georgian culture. She warns me that some of the things she has heard the other children and teachers say don’t line up with her perception of me, and that my outgoing behavior is read differently by Georgians, especially in regard to the high school boys. And the one mentioned by name isn’t even the one I made the belt joke to.

Right, I thought this wall seemed really thick. I guess I should have realized it was actually two walls…language barrier AND cultural barrier. Of course.  

It's a Good Day to Have a Good Day

Wednesday, March 5^th

My three-day weekend with friends was definitely as refreshing as I needed it to be.

Then, on the bus ride back to Zovreti from Zestaphoni, I sat beside one of my fifth graders and we taught each other words. He was honestly already one of my favorites. He’s an adorable kid with this girlfriend in sixth grade who is at least a head taller than him. He sits in the front of the class and looks at me with these bright blue eyes and eager smile. I want to huggle him up.


Then, yesterday, I finally got to attend dance class with some of my high school students. It was fun, both dancing and hanging out with them. And the dance teachers are both in their early twenties, which is cool for me.

12:30pm

We are reviewing a reading with the second grade class. It’s simple, but they still don’t fully get it. In traditional Russian-inspired Georgian style, my female co has a few different students read one at a time while the rest of the class listens…or doesn’t listen. Usually the latter. But it isn’t long before she looks to me and says, “shall we do something with them?” I love it when she asks me this. She really does understand that the read and regurgitate method doesn’t necessitate actual understanding, and she has noticed that activities which get the students involved are more effective. I think making these teachers realize that they have to try new methods is half of the battle.

So I end up reviewing numbers 1-10 with them. I hold up however many fingers and a dozen exited little voices scramble to say the correct number in English. They are so cute, we can’t help but grin when they keep getting hung up on the number 5.

Then, something even better happens. My co takes over again and chooses the next activity. This may not seem like a big deal to you, but to me, it means a lot. Getting Georgian teachers to realize that student engagement is more effective than zombie-learning is half the battle. Getting Georgian teachers to experiment with engaging activities is the other half.

1:30pm

Only one student is present in the 12^th grade class today.  After the three of us chat for a while, my co having to translate the whole conversation, I give him a challenge. My co will choose ten words. I will learn them in Georgian, and he will learn them in English. On Friday, she will quiz us to see who has learned more. He accepts the challenge, and the trash talking commences. With frequent pauses to ask for more English synonyms of win, of course.

2:00pm

It’s time for my weekly extra English class for grades 7-9. We do a number of activities, including a couple that my male co suggested.

On the walk home, we chat and giggle and I answer a dozen questions that we reviewed in the lesson. “What music do you like,” “What sports do you like,” etc. I happily let them practice their English with me. And I soak up the interaction.

5:00pm

It's a beautiful day, so I decide to go for a walk. The neighbors stare at me as I pass by, either because I am the new American teacher or just because Georgians are lazy and going for a walk on any day seems silly.

I go to the school, and see one of my students there. He, his mom, and his little sister are cleaning the school. I share a very light-hearted but linguistically limited chat with them and head back down the road. I’m not far before I run into a random village dude, and then some of the kids who live in the houses nearby. I recognize a couple, including a little buddy of mine from the dance studio. I meet their mom and hang out with them for a bit. They bring out their adorable puppy, I get out my camera, and we take a million photos.

7:00pm

At home, when we sit down for dinner, my host mom gives me a normal size plate instead of a big bowl, which is also a victory of sorts. Traditional Georgian hospitality requires that hosts feed their guests to their hearts’ content. In real life, that seems to translate into feeding them a dubious amount of food no matter how realistically said amount can fit into a guest’s stomach.

10:00pm

I even get to take a shower tonight. I don’t get to bathe myself, as the mom holds the shower head for me…again. I’m not really sure how to politely ask to bathe myself. But afterwards I am at least able to convince her that I can brush my own hair this time. It’s a step.

So this is still hard. And I am still thinking that next semester I should find a place where I can be surrounded by other young adventurers who speak English. But right now, all I can do is take it one day at a time. And today, I had a really good day.

Holy catchapuri, what have I gotten myself into?

Wednesday February 19th

It’s my second full day and I am already exhausted.

I like school. One co-teacher is a young man who is motivated and ready to take advantage of having a native English speaker in his lessons. The other co-teacher is an older woman who is very kind to me and lets me speak or do activities when I ask, though she doesn’t plan her use of me beforehand. I absolutely love the students and want to be at school from start to finish instead of just my required classes with the 1^st-6^th grades, but I know that settling into two different co-teaching strategies will be challenging.

And being at home is always challenging. Don’t get me wrong, my host family is great. They are very friendly, the food is delicious, and I have the whole upstairs part of the house to myself. But not having anyone around who speaks the same language is absolutely exhausting.

I try not to stay in my room all day, as Georgian society is traditionally a collective society, and families tend to spend all day together in the common room or kitchen. However, sitting there for hours not saying much or being able to express myself is frustrating. Listening to everyone around me and still not having any clue what is going on is boring. And although my host sister-in-law is fairly good at finding a way to communicate things to me when need be, the process is very tiring. And I don’t have internet so that venue of escape or even communication with my family back home is out of the picture for now.

The only way I can rest or relax is to withdraw to my room and study Georgian or call the friends I made during orientation.

But this worries the family. This evening we are playing cards. Well, I’m not really playing cards, because even though it is a game I know, a Georgian friend of the family is “helping” me, aka playing for me. I think people have a tendency to associate language ability with mental ability. I don’t mean that in a snide way. Back at my university in Arkansas, it was something myself and some other students who volunteered with internationals were specifically warned to be conscious of. But anyway, I get bored, and eventually excuse myself and head up to my room. It isn’t long before the sister who lives in Tbilisi and speaks a little English is texting to ask how I am, which she is obviously relaying to the family. Eventually the sister-in-law comes up as well, brining catchapuri and tea and sympathizing with how much work I have.

Despite all the concerns, I stay in my room as long as I can. I’m not mad at anyone. But already, in my second full day in my village, this experience is kicking my ass. I guess I’m starting to realize what I’ve gotten myself into. There is no escape from work except for solitude. Solitude is rude, however. No freedom to come and go from the house as I please. Nowhere to go, anyway. And there is no way to change the situation. Until I learn more Georgian, at least.

But I also realize that the adventurer in me and the masochist in me are interconnected. In the past, when I heard stories like this from others, these parts, the hard parts, made my adrenaline pump as much as any others. I would always wonder if I could handle it. And how much more badass I would be for it afterward. And after all, there is no great adventure without conflict or hardship. So yes, right now it sucks, but I can handle it, and I’ll get through it. Maybe it won’t get to an easy place, maybe there will be continual struggles this semester. But this is what I was asking for-this is what I wanted. And I can do this.