A Puzzling Bus Stop

February 17, 2011

 

In honor of Black History Month, my English Club reenacted the Montgomery Bus Boycott of 1955.  I thought it was fool-proof American history, but even this history lesson had a way of making itself Kazakh.

 

The stage was set.  There was a bus complete with a driver and segregated passengers.  My 7^th grade police officers were standing ready in the wings.  As the narrator read the story, he paused to let the actors catch up.  "Rosa Parks was tired after work. She got on the bus and took a seat."  Pause.

 

I looked at our Rosa.  Her arm was flailing and she was pointing along with some of the other soon-to-be-passengers.  I didn't understand what the confusion was about.  Then they boarded the bus as if nothing was wrong.  I was puzzled, but they seemed to have it together, so I went with it.

 

It wasn't until the next "bus stop" when the white passengers got on that I realized what was happening.  Again, the soon-to-be-passengers flailed their arms and started pointing.  Then it struck me: They are hailing a bus Kazakh-style.  Put out your arm and point your finger.  Otherwise the bus won't stop.

 

I smiled to myself.  In all my directorial genius, it never even occurred to me that they don't have formal bus stops in Kulan.  My little actors were doing such a thorough job they even made sure the bus knew where to pull over for new passengers.  So yes, Kazakhstan has revealed a little known fact: Rosa Parks hitchhiked her way to that legendary bus ride.

My Best Student

February 9, 2011

 

My best student is a 1-year-old.  Her name is Aidana, to be exact, and she lives with me.  If I've written or talked to you, I'm sure you've heard me mention her.  She is a live-in playtime-pal and she never fails to make me giggle.

 

When we play, I speak English.  She doesn't talk anyways, so it doesn't make a difference. Why not use the language I'm more comfortable with, right?

 

I guess she has picked up a thing or two.  Now she wags her finger and says "No, no!" when she knows she's doing something wrong, just like I wag my finger at her. 

 

What really made me smile was story time tonight.  Her grandma told me they were toddling down the street this afternoon and anytime someone passed Aidana would raise her palm and say, "Hullo!"

 

If I ever have doubts about the sustainability of my work, I can just look at Aidana and know that long after I'm gone, she will be teaching the neighbors English, one "hullo" at a time.

A Recipe for Success

January 27, 2011

 

I found the key to a successful English club. 

 

Last week I twisted my 9^th graders' arms to come to my English club.  At first, enthusiasm was tepid, but when they walked in an the boys saw some of the pretty girls from a neighboring village suddenly even my least motivated learners were eager to show off their fluency.  Everyone was chatty and left in a twitter.

 

This week, the pretty girls didn't come.  No one tried to show off their English skills and my dear 9^th grade students were some of the first out the door.  After all, what's the point in English club if you can't get the chica's digits?

 

Well, I learned my lesson. If you want an active club, first invite the pretty girls.  If they come, the 9^th grade boys will follow and suddenly what used to be a lackluster gathering has evolved into one electrifying English party. 

 

It's nice to know some things are universal.  Teenage boys, for example. J  

The Zoo

January 24, 2011

 

I now know what it feels like to be a monkey in the zoo.  The family I live with owns a little shop that was built right off the kitchen.  Day and night people tap on the door asking for bread, milk, and cigarettes.  Well, tonight as I sat down for a glass of milk a new request echoed through the shop and into the kitchen: "We came to see the American." Of course, my ever-hospitable host mother let them in!!!  Apkie (Auntie), we don't know these people!  Why did you just let them in your house?!

 

I sat and I was a good little monkey.  I ate my banana, did a few tricks, and answered their questions with a polite smile.  After twenty minutes, they were on their way. Then the monkey got to go back to her room to plan tomorrow's lessons.

 

It's fun being in the zoo, and at least I'm a monkey- an exhibit people actually want to see.  That's much better than being a lizard in the reptile house where everyone just walks by and doesn't notice. But after hours it's nice when the visitors go home.  

Ay Carramba, I’m Turning Kazakh!

January 21, 2011

 

What a day.  It was "go, go, go" the whole time.  Teach classes, lead English club, lead another club, teach an Adult Learning Class, teach more students. Go home.  Whew! 

 

I was so tense the whole time just trying to fit everything in.  Publicly, I probably handled it with poise.  But inside, I was strung out and one step away from loosing it. 

 

When I finally walked into my house, I shrugged off my coat and let my bag lay where it fell.  I didn't have energy to do a single thing.  Not even reading a book or listening to music sounded appealing.  All I wanted to do was sit down and drink tea. Wait, drink tea?!? Since when is that a way to unwind? Since I came to Kazakhstan, that's when.

 

I sat and drank tea with Besikul and amazingly, all the day's stress was washed away.

To Me, It’s an Adventure…

January 16, 2011

 

For the past five months I've told you about my exotic adventures abroad.  I'm sure plenty more of those will follow, but my day today gave me a startling reality check.

 

Last week my friend's mom was in a car accident.  For the driver of the car, it was fatal.  My friend's mom was hospitalized and I visited her today.  For someone who is young and healthy, two years here can seem like a glorious expedition.  But today I set foot in a dirty, poorly lit hospital.  The doors to each room were flimsy and people popped their heads in randomly.  My friend's mom did not have a hospital gown.  She wore her own clothes.  And a broken leg was suspended in the air using a coat rack and a rusted piece of machinery acting as a counter-weight.  Heating and cooling was unreliable and I wondered at the professional status of the people in the scrubs.

 

I've heard (and voiced) plenty of complaints about the sterile hospital environment in America.  But today I longed to see fluorescent lights and smell that chemical-clean hospital aroma.  The thermostat is set at a comfortable 68 degrees and each patient has access to every modern convenience the 21^st century can provide.

 

For two years, I'm living out an amazing adventure here.  I observe and partake in all sorts of cultural eccentricities.  Then I can go back to the life I know and to which I'm well accustomed.  But for most people, this isn't like a movie where you ogle over the extraordinary contrast, then walk out of the theater.  This is life.