Monday, January 31, 2005

brilliant solution

On any televised concert or speech (many, I assure you) the camera guys try to get many shots of the audience. Unfortunately, the audience often sit in the dark during concerts. The solution? Attach a blinding light onto the camera. Everyone from the audience glows bright white and has extremely small pupils when appearing on tv.

I am in the process of making up for a youth without much television. When I leave this country, I will never ever watch anything except the Olympics (but not Bob Costas, unless he's with Elfie) again.

another day in the life

We are all in the living room tonight, as usual. I had another day of being trapped in school by visitors, who wanted to observe our lesson at two, when the students (and I) are supposed to have lunch. So the kids missed lunch, but they done us proud. The back row was smiling the whole time, throwing up hands without saying "mozhna." Yay. The class went fairly well, the dignitaries were pleased, and then left the room for lunch. The students rushed the field and crowded around me and the other teacher at the projector (won in an English contest by another teacher) like a giant happy basketball team. "Good class! Good class!" they said, in English.
I came home at 6:40, read the tests (special tests) from the boys who skipped my class last week, and we ate dinner. I have a tendency to zone out and make faces about recent memories, especially to laugh silently while staring at corners, and Damira always sees me and asks what I'm thinking of. I'm not used to people noticing. It's problematic. Maybe I should save my little moments for when I teach 7th grade. Tonight, yesterday's barley was mixed with shell noodles, a dish I haven't ever had before, and my thoughts were in the present, for once.
I intend to study Russian and Kazakh and write lesson plans for the weekends, although I'd had fantasies of bathing and doing laundry - neither is an option now. Damira is studying for the national English test, Shatagoul is sitting at the table ramrod straight, with her notebooks arranged neatly in front of her, pen in hand, watching the soap opera. Damira laughs at Dilda Apai for watching this one, "Amor Del Bueno," which to an innocent bystander (who can't understand Russian dubbing) seems to be about some sort of round-robin co-ed wrestling contest. "This is my cool [strong] serial," says Dilda Apai. "Shatagoul, come massage my arm."

My schedule isn't really very nice, since the school hours here are weird. I teach on Mondays from about 10 - 1:30pm. Tuesdays, from 10 - 2, then lunch, then 4:15 - 6:40pm. Wednesdays, 8:30 - 10 and then from 5 - 6:30, Thursdays 8:30 - 9:15, then 4:15 - 6:40pm; Fridays, from 3:30 - 5. And Saturdays from 8:30 - 12pm. It amounts to about 24 hours (this includes my club) and about as many planning. I also have about 6 hours of tutoring, 4 in Kazakh and 2 in Russian, although my tutors and I are trying to figure out plans that are a bit more helpful for me.

announcement

I've had enough of hotmail. Please do not be offended - only about five people have received successful emails from me this past month. Therefore, please send all emails to susanwunderink@yahoo.com
Sorry - swunderink was taken. Probably by me five years ago but of course I can't remember anything about it now.

Again, my new email address is susanwunderink@yahoo.com

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

laundry in January

Shataghoul and Damira are bringing in the laundry they did this afternoon. I was in my room (my tummy's upset - either I didn't drink enough tea - I'm addicted, you know- or it was the beef blini I had at a cafe.) and I thought they were dropping boxes on the floor. Nope. Just fresh, clean clothes frozen solid. Who thought socks could clunk lilke that? The shirts all look afraid, with the arms all straight up.

The outhouse across the yeard in -20 weather is something new for me.

kids

I've spent a lot of time this week in the presence of three little host kids (cousins) who are finally warming up to me. They used to stare at me from behind doors and laugh uncontrollably when I saw them. It was fun at first . . . . then a bit repetitive. But a couple days ago, the doorbell rang when I was home alone, I opened it, and there stood Amanzhan all alone and four years old, stiff with winter clothing. He walked into the house like a cowboy and stuck a hand out (well, more out) so that I could take off his glove. I took the scarf off his little face first, then his gloves, then his shoes, then (5 minutes later), his mother entered the house, saw that Dilda wasn't home, and bundled him up again.

Ever since, he and his brother have talked to me. It's wonderful! I can ask them "what's this?" as much as I want without annoying them. But I do have to be careful - they're young enough that every animal is a bear, a cow, or a cat. The older boy told me about his chicken mask for New Year's, and asked me if I had an owl mask (I have an owl picture on my wall). No. I don't have an owl mask. I showed him my New Year's mask. "What kind of bird's that?" he asked. "I don't know." He stood looking at it. "Neither of us knows."

The two of them are already expert teachers. They used to speak only Kazakh, and their friend, a neighbor, spoke only Russian. The three boys wanted to play together, so Amanzhan and Bauerzhan took their friend Yuri to their mother. Their mother interpreted the Russian for them, and from that point on, the boys taught each other Russian and Kazakh. Now, Yuri is almost fluent in Kazakh (as fluent as a 4-year-old is in any language) and the two Kazakh boys know Russian. So cool.
They were playing hide-and-go-seek with Camila, their cousin today. They'd count to five or so and then aske "are you done?" and then the kids who were hiding would say "yes."

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

update on the mullet

My mullet (see Dec 7 entry) is not quite so mullety anymore. I could just chop the bottom 2 - 3 inches off and pretend it never happened. Time heals all wounds.

soon i'll be too old (25) to have children

Conversation in October: (Kazakh, with my seventh graders)
"That's a cool necklace!" said Zholoman about my locket. Leonara: "Put a photo of your boyfriend in it." The kids here are obsessed with love. "I don't have a boyfriend. I'm single." "You're single?" Zholoman, Leonara, Azamat. "How old are you?" "You can have a boyfriend in Almaty, in Uralsk, and in America," said Zholoman.

Conversation in December:
"Leonara says you're single!" [Maybe some pink lipstick could help you out with that] said Leonara's mother, trying to sell me Oriflame, the Mary Kay of Kazakhstan.

But it might be time to stop saying I'm single, since it's already been arranged that I will marry a host cousin and the post officer's son.

language group

It's probably time to write about why I began learning Kazakh instead of Russian. It's also probably time I wrote about why I'm doing Peace Corps, but I'll leave that one alone for now. I had received very mixed messages about whether we'd be learning Kazakh, Russian, or both, and it wasn't until about the third day in Kazakhstan (a bit late, if you ask me) that this was finally cleared up for me. For the 42 of us trainees, there would be six spots for people who were not married couples and who did not already know Russian (this was a requirement which our training staff mistakenly thought would prevent lazy trainees, but hopefully they've got it right by now and are simply letting Russian speakers choose which language they want to study.) The spots for Kazakh trainees roughly corresponded to work sites where most people spoke Kazakh most of the time. Someone read us a short essay written by a Kazakh-speaking volunteer, saying that she was glad she'd learned Kazakh. Then, they told us to sign up for one of the two language groups. Vastly overestimating my intellectual abilities (there's no reason I can't learn Kazakh and Russian!), seeing that the Kazakh sign-up sheet was not filling quickly, and thinking that it just seemed very polite to learn Kazakh while in Kazakhstan, I wrote down my name. But these are the reasons I whipped up after I made the decision; I decided to learn Kazakh for inexplicable reasons. I just wanted to.

After I signed up, it turned out to be a great group of people, and when I wasn't writhing in self-loathing, lessons were a lot of fun. We ate a lot of ice cream during our lesson breaks. I felt like I needed it. So, that's what got me started, and by now I'm deep into it, since Kazakh is one of my two effective means of communication. I also grunt and point.

I'm not always glad I did it, because I apparently have very few and very slow brain cells for foreign languages, and I am expending them on the language which a large percentage of Kazakhstanis don't know. There's a lot of political/social stuff that goes on here, involving language, too, but I can't pretend to have untangled it. I often hear people saying to each other "We're Kazakh; speak Kazakh with me," although not all Kazakhs know Kazakh. I asked the Kazakh Kodak guy if he spoke Kazakh when I was having some film developed and he didn't even understand the question. Which is not cool. I can't understand how people who've lived here their whole lives don't know "Do you speak Kazakh?" But my point is that reclaiming the language could easily turn toward exclusivity instead of restoration. So, if non-Kazakhs start to learn Kazakh, since after all it is a national language, they could start to curb that tendency. I'm not the only one who thinks so - there are well-publicised programs that are teaching Kazakh to Russian speakers.

But I am glad I did it because it really has opened Kazakhstan to me. The people I'm with most often really do speak Kazakh most of the time. I can somewhat understand peripheral conversations; I don't have to wait for someone to remember to interpret everything for me. I'm glad because when my students write notes to each other in class, I can take them home and read them, and when they speak to each other, I know whether it's about English or someone's birthday party. And my dear young seventh graders are always talking to me in Kazakh as if I were fluent. People are more favorably disposed towards me. My host mother once escorted me to the public bathhouse and told all the women: "This is my daughter. She speaks only Kazakh," and then the bathhouse ladies were very nice to me and told everyone who tried to speak to me in Russian to switch to Kazakh. Which is nice, because it's surprisingly hard to get people to switch to Kazakh on my own. In the Almaty bazaar, a Russian-speaker offered me the best price, so I asked someone who spoke Kazakh to help interpret. He found it very amusing, so amusing that he completely went off the topic of the purchase and asked me about my educational background and marital and financial status while I was asking him if the sweater was washable. So, politically correct helplessness builds relationships.

But the above are merely side effects. My host sister told me that even people who think in Kazakh have to learn English through Russian, since that's what all the textbooks are written in, and in speaking Kazakh, I'm bringing it a bit closer to them. At 5pm on a bad day in October, I'd started giving my first lesson to the eighth graders, bless them, and the word "hunter" popped up. They didn't know it, so I wrote the Kazakh translation on the board. They broke into applause. Which made teaching from 5 - 6:45 not so bad after all.

I am experiencing Kazakhstan with a greater sense of its history and tradition. Here is an entirely new set of figures of speech, of symbols (a white and black rope means honesty; "black words" are wise words, "Nazgul" means "tender flower," not "horrible LOTR monster-thing"), a different way of thinking. This is the Kazakhstan that goes back way beyond the USSR. The culture here must have been altered a whole lot from what it was, and I get more glimpses of it because I speak Kazakh. While I'm no longer in a deep village site, I've had the advantage of living in two fairly traditional families. It's not everyone who buys half a horse and has a meat party these days. My host family has a second one coming up on Saturday. And people don't play Russian songs on the dombra. I love dombra music.

And now that all of this has been said, I have started studying Russian with a tutor, since it is necessary for communicating with photo boy, taxi drivers who scold me in Russian for wearing too light a coat, babushkas who ask me very nicely which bus I'm taking and if number 12 has come by (I think that's what they're asking), and for shopgirls who don't understand grunting and pointing and the word "snickers." Also, I am very interested in Russian, which comes with a culture and a lot of good literature attached. And as far as I can see, Russian will be more useful in my post-PC life.

I'm seven months into it now, and I get N's and H's, P's and R's mixed up all the time.

beast


You may be asking why I am always getting yelled at for wearing a light jacket. I have two coats: a red polarfleece, and Beast. Beast is a calf-length coat I bought in the gigantic Almaty bazaar on a day when I was horribly sick. I broke into a sweat when I tried it on, and I knew it was the one. Unfortunately, it left gobs of wet fake fur all over my feverish arms and neck. Eww. I got a very good deal on it; it now sells for three times the price I bought it for.

Beast weighs about 50 kilos and makes me a very big person. It has a hood and a waist-tie. It is not something you want to be wearing when you have a lot of walking to do and the weather isn't that cold. In fact, I think it counts as exercise to walk more than a mile in that coat. The temperature here has been between 0 and -10C, which isn't that bad, and it's only on the days when it suddenly dips below that that I really want Beast. Unfortunately, the weather can change quickly from too warm for Beast to cold enough to be scolded.

got chalk?

A boy in my ninth form class came in with a white pasty substance around his lips. I didn't have time to ask him about it, but during the break between classes, he came up to the chalk board, took a piece of chalk, and started gnawing on it. Then, he just up and ate it.

Other volunteers say that when they ask another teacher for a piece of chalk, it has tooth marks.

Some volunteers have so many chalk eaters that they have to take their chalk home with them, or it will all be eaten by the next day. Some don't let their kids write on the board, since it becomes a snack break.

One volunteer was trying to buy chalk from the bazaar (you have to be careful because some kinds of chalk simply won't write on blackboards). "What is this chalk good for?" she asked the saleswoman. The woman mimed eating it. "Yes, but is it good for writing on a blackboard?" " It's good for eating. It's good for calcium." "Will it write?" "It's good for eating." The volunteer decided to try somewhere else.

Saturday, January 15, 2005

night on the town

We actually had a visitor in our corner of the world, the famous Megan, and a couple of us volunteers went bowling and then to an American restaraunt, at which I spent more than I usually spend in a month (right now, expenses are Snickers, batteries, and internet).

I was an absolute rock star at the bowling rink, once hitting the "stop" sign at the end of the lane, and once having to chase my ball through the tables behind me because - surprise! - it had gone backwards. Megan had quite a run of strikes/spares with her perfect granny technique, then she switched to left-handed bowling and still did better than I did. Sometimes I bowl well (Okay, so I've been three times in my life now), so I had had some moderate hopes for the evening. But I'm nothing if not erratic.

potatoes

"Susan, why are you sadly [sitting] not eating your potatoes?" - Host mama to me (in Kazakh, of course) a few nights ago.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

bazaar

I go to the bazaar every two weeks, about, to buy a few supplies and sometimes just because it's interesting. In Uralsk, there are three bazaars, right next to each other. The cheapest - the Kitaiski (Chinese) bazaar, is the easiest to get to by bus. It has the food sections and booth after booth of the same goods. The Turkish bazaar is across the street from the Kitaiski bazaar, and I've only walked past it. Most of the beggars hang out there, and women selling enormous gray pressed-wool knee boots (they're about an inch thick, pure wool. To walk outside in them, you buy rubber slippers to put over the bottoms.) Hidden behind the Turkish bazaar is the Moscow bazaar, which has more expensive goods, rugs, and fur coats, which aren't sold in the other bazaars. You can buy a cashmere scarf for about $5. You can buy batteries for about $2.

Tips on buying from the bazaar:
- Snickers bars are warmer and fresher and the same price in the stores.
- Batteries are less dented and the same price in the stores.
- Every item is more expensive on the edges of the bazaars. You can get a first offer on a sweater - the same sweater - for 700 T cheaper (about $5) in the center.
- Keep your bags in front. All it takes is a swift bump - perfectly normal here - for someone to empty your pocket.
- Wear boots with traction. If it's not covered in ice, it's covered in mud. Snow either can't reach the ground or is quickly trampled into some other substance.
- Don't intend to buy clothing on a cold day, since when you try it on, it will just be little old you and a fabric curtain vs. January.
- The bazaar is scheduled to close at 5pm, but it's more likely to close by 4, if people feel like it.
- Pick your own fruit.
- Check your change.
- Try not to think about finding a particular item, a specific booth, or anything. It's bazaar magic - when you want something it's not there. If you go shopping with a friend who is looking for a nice skirt, however, you will probably fall in love with a bag and two shirts for more tenge than you'd budgeted, and she will find nothing.
- It's all the same. Clothing vendor sells the same clothes as the next vendor. Almost no one specializes in anything, and almost nothing is handmade. This ain't no guild, folks. This is Kitaiski.

Most of the bazaar is outside, of course. The people who work there wear about twenty layers of clothing and the wool boots. At the corners, women and sometimes children sell packettes - plastic bags. If you're smart, you have your own to re-use. The whole country is filled with men and women carrying around carefully chosen packettes they bought last summer and have used ever since. One of the favorites has a picture of children and says in English, "Real Girls, Live Show." Another says "Este Lauder" in Cyrillic. The "Lego" bag was for the funkier sort of consumer, and it was only in circulation for a month or so, and it was a bit more expensive than the others. The current trend in Uralsk is the various colors of the "SpringFields" bag, which has nice handles and can carry heavier goods. Take that, Dominicks.
But for me, trying to find a particular section or stand is like trying to enter Narnia. The harder I try, the more elusive transparency papers, zippers, bananas become. I could spend hours turning corners and walking through the long, barn-like buildings, weaving through the crowds or waiting while I'm pushed along. You can count on lots of human contact, people bumping you hard without flinching, turning your shoulders so they can get past, only to be stopped by a few men who've bumped into each other and realize they know each other. Long, happy greeting rituals follow. The crowds back up and into the booths.
I did once successfully buy what I had intended to: a head scarf for autumn. I found a lady whose scarves varied somewhat from everyone else's and asked to see the red, the beige, and the white versions of it. She liked me and told me I wasn't ignorant, like other Americans (all those Americans she's met). I also got some free fashion advice: the white looked terrible on me because it matched my skin. (Good heavens, am I that sickly?) She showed me the colors I could wear with my complexion: turquoise, lime green, and neon pink. And the red. I bought the red.
The Kitaiski bazaar has a building full of honey and cheese. You can go in and walk down the aisle and all of the saleswomen will give you honey samples, from almost white honey you can pick up and eat like maple candy to golden runny honey. You can buy several sizes of jars. There's another building I've come upon a few times, never when I was desperate for it, that sells fruit and vegetables. This building is your only hope of lettuce, which goes at about 40 cents a leaf. It's warm, with high ceilings and a non-meaty smell. News travels especially fast here. I once bought bananas from one lady and walked across the room in about 7 seconds to a woman who was selling lemons, at least 9 vendors over. The lemon-seller knew that I was American and spoke Kazakh. However, usually I can only find the meat building. Women hand each other raw mutton with bare hands, or stand in front of the glass counters, pointing to animal heads. The only thing I haven't acclimated to is the smell, which is enough to make me wretched.
There are also always the hawkers, who sell camca, tea, and bananas, and go walking through the aisles, yelling alternately in Kazakh and Russian. And sometimes, young men with goods piled high on sledges (or in summer, on wheels) suddenly come around the corner and the crowds either clear out or are plowed under.
Of course, a person could write a whole book on a single bazaar, and all of them are different. There is the taxi section, the car parts section, the places where you can buy candy. And it changes a lot from summer to winter. I guess one should conclude: try very hard to find the meat section, make your heart long for the meat, and then you'll be fine. Or, simply go as a spectator. Buy something fried and stroll around.

update on food

The night after our conference finished, we volunteers were stuck in Almaty, waiting for a couple days for our trains to leave. I went to an Indian restaraunt with five other volunteers, and while we were oohing and aahing over the food, one of the volunteers said, "Think about how well a Kazakhstani restaraunt would do in America: Manti - potatoes and meat in dough, steamed. Pilmeni - meat in dough, boiled as a soup. Perozhki - potatoes or meat in dough, fried. Camca - potatoes or meat in dough, fried and triangular. Beshbarmak - meat on potatoes on boiled dough noodles. Bauerzhak- fried dough. Sometimes, fried potato chunks. For variety, the famous traditional salads: "Herring in a fur coat" - a pile of fish, under a mound of potatoes, all covered in shredded beets." Then there's Grecheski Salad - canned corn, potatoes, canned peas, sometimes sausage, all in mayonnaise. The only condiments are ketchup and mayonnaise. Sometimes, there is broth soup with meat and potatoes, or sometimes borsch. There is always dessert - very dry very sweet very flavorless cookies, sausage, and white cheese (watch out for rock cheese!). And bread. And sometimes jam, but I think most of us have run out of jam by now. And, of course, tea, with or without milk, often with a lot of sugar.

Uh huh. We looked over our table filled with chutneys, Indian nan, lassi, jasmine rice, and spicy dishes and laughed hard.

It's funny to make fun of the diet here, but I must say that I get pretty excited over manti, have actually ordered Grecheski salad at a cafe, and really only complain about the potatoes. I guess I've adjusted or become less demanding of variety, but sometimes I'm almost crazy for a cesar salad or anything spicy, and I will never again order or make potatoes.

new year

I spent New Year's Eve with my host family, minus one sister, and had a nice time. We watched a film, the former soviet republics' Miracle on 34th street, about a man who goes to the wrong city to the wrong apartment, thinking it's his home, and falls in love with the woman who lives there. This plot was plausible because every building and floor plan was the same in Russia. So, I helped make the food, we set the table, ate at 10, set off firecrackers outside at midnight, and went to bed at two. There was a kid in a bunny costume, and my host mother spent the night wearing either the bunny ear cap or my elf hat.

The next day, Tim, Amber, and I went by train to Almaty, a trip that lasted three nights and two days. There was a conference for the new volunteers, which was scheduled so that we were inside during daylight hours (in fact, for three whole days, but I woke up early and took a walk one of them) and busy during most of the swimming pool hours. I was twitching violently by the third day of meetings in a windowless room.

I came back by plane on the 10th, and suddenly everything at my school is okay: the seventh graders did their homework and answered questions appropriately, the vice-principal asked me to split my youngest classes so that they would be easier to teach, I found both a Kazakh and a Russian language tutor in my school (no more going to the city for a tutor!), my unit lesson plans are falling into place nicely, my director was relatively friendly to me, my computer stopped freezing so often, and 15 students came to the first English club meeting yesterday. We'll be learning line dancing next week.

However, hotmail has been making the little windows logo spin in futility for twenty minutes, bless its pathetic little heart. So, all of you for whom I have emails, wait maybe a week until it works again. My apologies. And I also speak for hotmail, which cannot speak for itself, bless its little heart.

Saturday, January 01, 2005

i apologize again i'll write something nice very soon

It's just that I thought it would take a bit longer to write about the other events. By the way, after I was locked out, my host family bought a new padlock with three keys - one for me - the next morning. So that's very nice indeed.

violence

It's common here to kick dogs, and of course, children punch as they do everywhere, but the young men around here seem to be fairly willing and ready for fist fight, any time, any place. For instance, I was on a marshrutka (bus) coming into the city, and two guys hadn't paid. It was very obvious who hadn't paid, but they affected righteous indignance anyway. So one of them paid (about 20 cents). But 15 minutes later when he got off the bus, he punched the guy who collects the money, and then his buddy also began to pick a fight. Which, of course, makes someone right and very cool as well.

i apologize i'll write something real very soon

I had a nice new year, and now I'm leaving for Almaty where all the new volunteers (us) have a conference. Soon - soon I'll make a real blog.