January 9, 2012

As I walked to the Teacher’s Training Center I thought there was one advantage to having the ground covered with snow: I didn’t have to look at the gobs of spit usually adorning the sidewalks and pavement. I could also admire the graceful way young Tajik women seemed to glide over the icy sidewalks in their stiletto boots without, apparently, ever falling. I, on the other hand, had to assess each surface first to determine where there would be some snow that had not been trampled into a reflective mirror waiting for my derriere to plunk into it.

Zhulejo didn’t have the key to the classroom once again and we were relegated to the library with no blackboard or even markers to use the flipchart. Playing games in the classroom must be such an alien concept that most teachers at the workshop seemed to have a very difficult time grasping the rules and the fact that they were expected to compete as teams against other teachers. They kept shouting the answers whenever they felt it like, especially to show off their knowledge. Even when being told to keep the answer to themselves, it was impossible for them to remain quiet.

Vocabulary constituted a major obstacle to almost any game we tried. Caroline was more pessimistic and wanted to do very low level vocabulary words while I, the optimistic one, wanted to challenge them into learning at least a few new ones. When the turn came for them to play “Have you ever…” using their imagination to concoct a story, they were unable to do it and complained that their students would not be capable of doing it either for as we know, they are only trained to memorize stuff and not to use their creativity. The power went out once again, but at least Zhulejo brought us some piroshkies and weak coffee to warm us up. I had to keep my coat on the whole time.

When the session was completed, I met Corrie in front of the post office so she could inquire on my behalf about the package my friend Stephanie sent me from Seattle. The clerk said if and when such package arrives, it’ll be delivered to my doorstep and left there if I’m not home. I couldn’t tell if there was note of sarcasm on her voice.As we approached the PedInst, we noticed that municipal workers were taking down the billboard encouraging teachers not to accept bribes. Did anyone complain so vociferously as to have it removed?  We had soup at my favorite cafeteria across from the PedInst and then I went on to my conversation class at Caritas International. The topic was money and I found that out of four members of the class, all professionals, only one had a bank account and a debit card. The rest were paid in cash once a month and one woman carried all her money in her purse at all times. She stated not being afraid of pickpockets or being robbed.

I stopped at the PedInst and spoke to the dean who immediately handed me my salary for the month of December. I practically felt bad accepting for I have certainly done very little teaching there this past month. He gave me the key to my new classroom, but suggested I find a better lock to secure the whiteboard and space heater once I buy those. He’ll help me find a used cabinet I can lock and leave my stuff there instead of ferrying everything I need on a daily basis. I’m to return to the institute on the first of February. He had received the email listing the upcoming workshops at the American Corner and was extremely solicitous and very accommodating.

I walked all the way home feeling the warm sunshine on my face after so many days of confinement to either the hotel or flat. It was practically balmy at 45F this afternoon. Still no water when I got to the apartment. I boiled some water and made myself a strong cup of tea.

I watched a sorrowful documentary on RTD, the Russian documentary channel, that dealt with the drug traffic taken place from Afghanistan through Tajikistan and then on to Russia. It stated that a kilo of heroin cost $4,000.00 in Afghanistan, $50,000.00 in Russia and 80,000.00 once it got to Europe. It focused most of the air time on the mules from Tajikistan carrying pellets of heroin in their stomach and the clever ways the drug dealers were using dried fruit to encapsulate the heroin inside. It was like seeing a rewind of the Colombian/Mexican drug trafficking into the United States. The commentator never alluded to the fact that in the absence of demand, and extreme poverty in Tajikistan, there’d not be any supply.