June 24, 2012

I woke up to the sounds of birds singing from the numerous trees surrounding the resort property. Nigora had secured a hot plate for my room along with a coffee mug and a spoon so I could have my coffee as soon as I woke up. It was a gorgeous morning as I stepped into the balcony to see some of the students walking or running around the property as part of their physical education component. My bathroom stank of raw sewage and the toilet didn’t flush properly, so I decided to request another room, one where hopefully pipes and electric cables would be enclosed somewhat and not hanging around me.

The students knocked on my door to remind me breakfast was being served at 8:00, and Nigora arranged for me to move into another room after that. We had porridge, something that looked and tasted it like Johnny cakes accompanied by a hot dog and tea. I passed my hot dog on to Gulrukhzor who was happy to eat it. I was introduced to the three other English teachers taking part in the camp: Nigora, Firuza and Gulrukhzor, who had just arrived that morning. Firuza had lost her father a couple of months ago and was wearing all black clothes as a sign of mourning. She approached me with what was a very tentative agenda, and I told her it looked quite different from the one Nigora had sent me previously. Once I checked online, I realized that the one I had received was last year’s and had nothing to do with the one for this camp.

The day had been broken into two huge segments with the English teachers bearing the brunt of the schedule as they were on from 9:00am to 1:00pm with a supposed coffee break at 11:00 that was later eliminated. The topics were as broad as “The Education System in the U. S. A.” and “Holidays in the U.S.A.” and to compound the problem, none of the teachers had brought any resources to cover these topics: no handouts, movies, videos, music, songs, or even posters. I know that if Nigora had asked Tahmina with sufficient time, the embassy would have provided resources to celebrate a Fourth of July picnic for instance. I suggested that we teach a session on the history of the Fourth of July celebration and had Nigora copy the corresponding handout from my electronic resources.

The teachers had no suggestions for any games to enliven the class and make sure it didn’t seem like a drag. All of the games I had brought with me were new to them and they wanted to know the rules for each one, something I was loathe to do then. We sketched the lesson for Monday, did some brainstorming for the one on Tuesday, environmental education, and talked briefly about the educational system in the States for Wednesday. We still need to come up with activities for both Thursday and Friday morning.

The students, meanwhile, had been busy rehearsing for the opening night when some dignitaries were expected to show up. It rained all afternoon and the weather cooled off significantly enough to allow me to snooze for a bit and to require a sweater when I went back to the canteen for dinner. We had lagman soup with nary a sign of salt in it, a smear of mashed potatoes and buckwheat and some tough pieces of beef on top. I was hardly hungry and could forgo most of it despite the ever present pressure to eat more and more. We left the dining room quickly so the students could decorate the place before the visitors arrived. I took a couple of photos of the striking girl that has been our server since we arrived Saturday and who sports eyebrows a la Frida Khalo.  She’s only 17, has beautiful features and the cutest dimples possible, but is scheduled to be married by her parents very soon.

We returned at 8:00 to find the room rearranged, but except for some balloons on the floor, I saw no signs of any decorating efforts. Some bigwigs from the local Department of Education and teachers along with some parents came up and were seated at the front along with me and we all had to say a little spiel about how happy we were to be taking part in  the camp and how we wish our students every success in their future endeavors. We then listened to poems being recited, hardly audible, songs being sang and typical dances performed. Of course, the piece de resistance happened to be the one performed by two girls, one dressed as a boy, of Shakira’s hit “Soy Loca por mi Tigre”, or its equivalent version in English. The students applauded, sang along and tapped their feet while the two danced around each other only twirling once.

It seemed as if every student wanted to have his or her photo taken with me and it took me a while to extricate myself from the place. I was then asked when they would be able to get prints of the photo and I’ll do my best to have them printed by the end of the camp to give them away as farewell presents.