October 18, 2011

On my first day of classes, I decided to try and take the local transport from my apartment to the PedInst and gauge how long my commute would be. In addition to English textbook, my notebooks, and a book to read during my break, I was also carrying a heavy textbook on the Tajik language that Corrie had brought from the States to make copies of some pages. I asked a young man waiting at the corner what route would take me to the intersection with Rudaki Avenue and he pointed the obvious to me: I could walk to the intersection as it was only three long blocks to it. He looked at me as if I were the laziest person on this planet, but I was carrying a heavy satchel, the sun was hot and I simply didn’t feel like walking. After two marshrutkas passed by fully loaded, I had no choice but to walk nonetheless.

Saw a sign for a printer and stopped to inquire about the possibility of having business cards made. This business didn’t, but they made copies. I pulled out the Tajik language book and asked about copying portions of it. The guy suggested that I have the entire book scanned at a cost of one somoni per page. At 361 pages, the cost would have been $76.00. I turned down his offer and told him I’d select the pages needed and have them copied.

Pariso suggested a Tajik restaurant for our meeting, but even at 12:30pm, the selection was quite sparse. Mashed potatoes, possibly meatballs, French fries, and other fried items were offered. I opted for the mushroom soup with noodles and bread and contrary to the one the day before, this one even lack sufficient salt. Pariso could not understand the gist of most of my questions, but I was able to elucidate that she had just graduated from the PedInst in 2010 and had started teaching the same year. She studied for five years and had a practicum that lasted three. When I asked her about the guidelines for the exams, she told she had never heard the word “guidelines” and didn’t know what it meant. The conversation was painful as she kept apologizing for not being able to understand me. I did learn that there had been another ELF at the PedInst, named Bruce, prior to Beth.

On to my first class where the students had not been informed of my arrival and kept asking me if I was going to teach them grammar. I responded that yes, eventually.  I wrote several statements about myself on the board and the students drew blank stares at the words “masters”, “TESOL”, “Peace Corps” and so on.  It’s pretty obvious that many of the students do not speak English at all and have been able to conduct their studies entirely in Tajik or Russian. I had them start on the “What’s in a Name” activity to introduce each other to the rest of the class and they were barely able to copy the questions, but could not answer them in either affirmative or negative form. The story was repeated with the second class where I had one student refuse to even copy the questions and told his classmate in Russian that he didn’t speak English at all. My retort was to ask him why on earth he was studying to become an English teacher. He looked at the ceiling and refused to answer. I realized then that I had failed to take attendance at my previous class and no one had pointed out to me how to carry out this task. When Pariso popped in to retrieve something from the classroom, I asked her about it and her response was: “I’m sorry. I don’t understand you.”

During my break between classes I went back to the dean’s office to ask where the office space was that I could retreat to do lesson planning and rest. He pointed to the table next to his desk or the waiting area outside his office where several benches were available. He also informed me that he had an ancient computer and an all-in-one copier/scanner/printer in case I needed to print something for my classes and had brought a jumpdrive along. At that time, a young woman was henpecking at his computer and he sat by her side directing her. I had to seat in the waiting area while students in the hallway pointed at me and other teachers came to ask me when I’d start offering workshops for them. I’m sure this is not what the embassy agreed to when they said I was to get a space of my own to work. I asked the dean about the attendance policy and he said I could mark the students present or absent in whatever manner I found easier and needed to sign the register at the bottom of the page. I pointed out to him that I had yet to see a list of students and was informed that each class has a student who acts as a class monitor and takes attendance.

My last class was extremely noisy as obviously they were not used to being able to talk freely. When I asked who the class monitor was, another student pointed to a young woman who had a pink register in front of her. She was so embarrassment at not being able to answer my questions that she refused to look me in the eye. She spoke no English at all. Although the students had confirmed that everyone was present and I could sign the register, twenty minutes into the lecture, two female students showed up looking strangely at me and possibly wondering if they were in the wrong classroom. It’s evident to me that the class monitor is not really verifying attendance, but insuring that all classmates are marked present regardless.

My number 1 trolley took forever to arrive and I got off at the wrong stop and had to walk much farther than usual to reach my apartment. I desperately needed to use the bathroom and was famished after having just soup for lunch. Caroline offered to come over so we could go over our respective days and was appalled at what had transpired. 

I was deep in sleep when one of the neighbors downstairs pounded on the door about 11:00pmto let us know that water was leaking from my apartment and into her ceiling. I was dazed with sleep and tiredness and could barely get my bathrobe on. The hallway rug was completely saturated with water as the pipe leading into the toilet tank had separated and water was pouring onto the floor. Corrie was able to talk to the landlord, but even with his instruction, we couldn't the specific knob to turn off the water completely. A neighbor came in and just unplugged something from the wall and the water stopped. The landlord's son, and perhaps a handyman, came in to look at the scene and indicated all stores were closed and they couldn't get the part until the next morning. The son retrieve the the soaking carpet and took it with him promising to bring another one later one. Finally, back to bed.