December 7, 2011

Got to the PedInst before 9:30am as Pariso had told me her class began at that time. I couldn’t find the students anywhere and had to request the assistance of some of my colleagues only to find out her class didn’t start until 9:50am. While waiting in the hallway for this class to end, Sadat, another colleague approached me to request I teach a conversation class for his group of third year students. I told him I didn’t have anything prepared, but could introduce myself and have them carry out an introductory game. He was delighted,

Group 112 was very pleased with the practice exam we’ve been carrying on for the last week for even when they are able to select the right answer from the multiple choice selections, they are unable to explain the grammar rule involved or why the other choices are incorrect. I’m glad I was able to find the resources online so I didn’t have to create the questions from scratch.

The third year students were horrified to find out that they were expected to speak in English in front of their classmates while introducing their partners. Just as with the other third year students, they were unfamiliar with the vocabulary, couldn’t use the proper pronoun for a male or female and had no idea how to pronounce most of the words. I promised to bring them a handout to clarify the use of personal, possessive and adjective pronouns next week.

I rushed to my apartment as Elisabeth was coming over for a cup of tea and to vent about the way her job was going. My place was a mess and I had had no water in the morning to do dishes. I still had no water when I got home and did the best I could to tidy up the place before her arrival. Spent some time preparing materials for my upcoming teacher training workshop this Saturday. I took a trip down memory lane by reviewing the booklet I had created while serving in the Peace Corps as I had been able to include a collection of speaking activities that didn’t require any additional materials. It’s been almost ten years since I worked on that project.

Elisabeth came in looking dejected and threatening to quit her post if her supervisor continues to be so unreasonable in his demands as he keeps adding additional classes to her schedule. She’s also disappointed to be working with the police force and drug trafficking investigators although this was part of her job description and she knew exactly what she was getting into before coming here. I tried my best to remind her that we were all here because we thought this assignment was better than whatever else was available in the States. I told her how sometimes I feel that I’m on a paid vacation interrupted occasionally by some teaching duties.

December 6, 2011

I was glad to see the sunshine, but a bit worried to see that the piles of snow still on the ground. The sidewalks were now covered with a thin layer of ice, difficult to see in some areas, and treacherous to negotiate. I was not able to get the classroom with the whiteboard for either one of my classes and ended up covered in chalk. Between classes, I went to eat a bowl of soup and scoped out another bathroom possibility near the girls'  hostel building, but had turn away for although this one sported a half door to provide some privacy, it still reeked of urine and feces, was dark and extremely cold. I ended up heading to the British Councils to use their bathroom and discuss what program they might be able to provide for students at the PedInst.

Given how miserable I had been the day before when I was out in the snow without the proper clothing, I decided to head to the bazaar and buy what I needed even in the absence of someone to help me translate or bargain for me. The bus took me through parts of the city I had never seen, mostly residential areas guarded behind gates or the ugly apartment blocks built during the soviet era. I passed by at least two places that looked like the Khourbon Market, but other passengers reassured me I wasn’t there yet. Despite the cold weather, the market was overflowing with throngs of shoppers. I exchanged $100.00 and set out to shop to heart’s content. Here’s a list of my loot:

1.   A pair of black leather (?) gloves lined with some kind of fur material.

2.   A black beret to keep my ears warm

3.   A black and white scarf to protect my throat

4.   A white turtleneck sweater, very thick and fuzzy

5.   A thick black sweater to wear under my coat or by itself in the coming spring

6.   A black cardigan to layer over my lighter turtleneck sweaters

7.   A cutlery tray

8.   A set of four teacups

9.   A paring knife

10.                A canister to store my muesli

11.                A plastic basket to store my multiple bags of seasoning

12.                A soup ladle

I paid a total of 325.00 somoni or about $67.00 and even though I’m aware I might have been overcharged by some of the vendors, it’s still a lot less money than I’d have paid in the States for similar quality items. I went home very happy indeed

Tonight I was due to attend the local Dushanbe reading club meeting and the organizers had turned it into a dinner celebration because of the holidays. I bought five pieces of flat bread and dressed as warmly as possible with my new purchases to meet Yoomie at her house and then walk to the hostess’ house. Such outing was  a complete departure for me as I prefer to stay home at night, especially when it’s so cold and I don’t even know where I am going or how to return home. After taking a mini-van to Rudaki, I took a taxi to Yoomie’s house. The driver claimed not to have any change and didn’t return the two somoni due to me. I decided to let it go as he obviously needed them much more that I did. Yoomie claimed to know the way, but we got lost anyway and walked in the dark, icy side streets off Rudaki for about fifteen minutes before she called someone and got the proper directions.

We entered another gorgeous house occupied by yet another embassy employee. She had mulled wine waiting for us and the house was relatively warm given the ample rooms and high ceilings. Gaia had set out the dining room table with a variety of chips and salsa, quiche, cheeses, and sweets. Rebecca came in and brought a full bottle of vanilla for me as she’s going to the States in a couple of weeks and won’t be needing it. I gave her a big kiss.

The format for this book club is to have each guest comment on the most recent book they have read and, if possible, donate the book to the club’s collection. I had brought two books pilfered from the embassy’s library and was the last one to speak. I loved the company of other readers and got to meet people such as Theo, a son American and Taiwanese parents, who grew up in India and China and now works as an architect in Dushanbe.  Rebecca, Theo and I shared a taxi and I walked by myself to my apartment finding quite a few people out at 10:00pm.

December 5,

Another snowy morning and very cold temperatures. I had no choice but to bundle up and trudge through the snow because I had failed to pay my Internet bill on time and the service had been suspended. I also needed to pay my electric bill. At Megaphon, the same woman who has helped me for the last two months took care of my payment and even led the way to another floor to show where a bathroom was available for customers. One thing I certainly like about Dushanbe is that I hardly ever have to wait in line for anything. Even at the supermarket the most I might have is another person in front of me. It was one the same for the payment of the electric bill as I got behind a woman and I presented my bill, the clerk directed me to the next window and there was only another woman in front of me.

I walked all the way to the bookstore getting progressively more and more wet as the snow doesn’t really stick around. The clerk did have the book and made out a receipt very quickly. I made it to my 11:00 class and told the students the topic of the day was “Growing up” and listed eight questions for them to answer before we could discuss them. Student didn’t know the meaning of “curfew”, “getting along”, “being grounded” and “arguing”. I learned from one of the female students that they are expected to return home immediately after classes are finished and thus they didn’t have a curfew per se.

Pariso fulfilled her promise, took me back to the clinic, and after my payment of 20.00 somoni walked out with a health certificate. I was freezing as my coat, my gloves and bag were now wet and I pleaded for her to have a bowl of soup with me and we went to nearby hole in the wall. The ragman noodle soup was more substantial than the other ones I had had  in the past, but the new dish I tried, something called kurtov, was almost vile. It’s made by soaking flat bread in some kind of yogurt or buttermilk and then piling fried onions and other seasonings on it and finished with some chopped basil. This is not to be eaten again. Pariso now begged me to change my schedule once again to accommodate her need to teach at another school in the early hours of the morning, so that now instead of coming in at 11:00am, she wants for me to teach her class beginning at 8:55. I really hate having to leave my flat so early in the morning, but also know she needs the income from both places to make ends meet and so caved in and said yes.

It was now time to stop an international school nearby that Caroline had visited the previous week and whose owner, an Iranian woman from the Baha’i faith, was interested in having a seasoned teacher conduct observations for her teachers. I got slightly lost and was about to call the school when a man came around and pointed in the general direction. As soon as I opened the door to the school, I was in heaven as the place was light, airy, warm and well-organized. I was directed to the second floor to meet with Nazila, a gorgeous woman stylishly dressed who took me into her office and gave me the background story on the school. As a professional woman, she had tried to enroll her two kids in the local international schools, but found them wanting in either the discipline or standards area and decided, even though she wasn’t an educator herself, to open her own school.

At this point, she has two American teachers, Meghan and Kristina, working there alongside three other Tajik teachers. She related to me who she has interviewed numerous graduates from the PedInst as possible candidates for assistant teacher positions and hasn’t hired any due to the poor quality of their English and their paucity of knowledge about classroom management. I couldn’t help it but concur with her. She’d like to see me do some observations of the Tajik teachers and offer whatever suggestions seem appropriate.

Back outside to face the continuously falling snow and the low temperatures. Luckily, I was able to board a mini-van the minute I got to the intersection. I bought some flat bread and milk at the corner store and made a beeline for my apartment. Caroline confirmed I’ll be doing my first teacher training presentation outside of Dushanbe this coming Saturday. That’s great news as it will be the first time we get to travel outside the city and meet with other teachers. I’m really looking forward to it.

The power went out at 7:00pm and I hunkered down under my blankets. I heard a loud knock on my door and decided to ignore it to see if they’d go away. It continued and I got up to find Jamshev standing on the landing carrying some contraption I could not see even with the help of his cell phone light. I had sent a message to him through the realtor asking if I could buy a propane cylinder for my stove and he had gone to buy something similar and brought it in this bestial weather. He wanted to show me how to use it and requested matches, something I haven’t bothered to buy yet. I told him to forget it for now and that I’d get someone else to show me how to use. Mercifully, the power came back within the hour and I could feel my hands again.

December 4, 2011

Ryan called at 10 to invite Elisabeth and me to lunch at his house. I told him she was out on a hike and I was expected to join Caroline and Peter at the new Turkish restaurant and asked to join us instead. Peter bailed out, nothing new, and Caroline wasn’t there when I showed up. The place was really smoky, not from cigarettes, but from the two roasting pits they kept going all the time. Many families with small children seemed to be on a Sunday outing and enjoying the food. Caroline didn’t want to eat anything, some of the dishes pictured around were not available, and the staff spoke little English. I settled for a salad, flat bread and coffee.

We encountered two other Americans on their way to the Ismaili Center and walked with them the rest of the way. They are both very young and studying Farsi under the sponsorship of different State Department grants. They commented on how proud Tajiks were to be able to speak Russian even if their Tajik was very poor. The arts and crafts exhibit was smaller than I expected, this is only the second time it has been put on, and since I didn’t intend to buy souvenirs to take home for Christmas, found little of interest. Most ex-pats I’ve met so far here paraded up and down looking for things to buy. Caroline bought three purses made of goat leather, something I had never seen.

                               
                                                 Here's a collection of several vendors' displays

Nigina and Ryan had gone to the Hyatt Hotel for refreshments and returned for the musical performance, I had indeed missed the traditional dances that had taken place on Saturday. She introduced us to Jack, an American staying here for a month to provide interrogation techniques for the local police. The musicians were from the Pamir region, a Shiia community that insists they are not Tajiks and speaks a different language. The music was slow and there were no singers, so I felt like I was about to fall asleep. To add to my annoyance, there was a woman behind me talking on her cell phone the entire time. I told Nigina I was ready to go home and Jack suggested we go to the Hyatt for pizza. I knew this hotel is the most expensive one in the city, but decided to take a look around.

The lobby is several stories high and full of floor-to-ceiling windows. Expensive wood covered the columns, archways and massive desk at the reception area. We were informed they had just finished serving brunch and dinner would start in another hour, so left. After much discussion of possible places to eat, we settled for Delhi Darbar on Rudaki. The place was empty and very cold. After ordering a Tali plate for both Nigina and I and tika chicken for Jack, it took almost an hour for the food to arrive. Everything on my plate was either cold or lukewarm, the lentils had nothing but salt for seasoning, the vegetables had been cooked in a tomato sauce (no Indian spices whatsoever) and the lamb was swimming in a brown sauce with nary a hint of curry. Even the raita turned out to be plain yogurt and not the cucumber and onion mix I’m used to. To add insult to injury, they brought a piece of fried dough, gulabjamun, without the syrup in which it’s supposed to steep to give it some flavor. I left it untouched. Nigina felt the food was “tasty”, and Jack, from Boston, said his food was good. I remained the only one skeptical one as I knew nothing we had eaten had been authentic Indian food. Another place to cross off my list. Jack commented on how cold it was at the restaurant and then gloated about having heated floors in the apartment his renting which is located in a brand-new building. I was green with envy.

It was only 6:00pm when we left the restaurant and it felt like it was 9:00. It was starting to rain/snow and I walked home the rest of the way.

December 3, 2011

This was the much anticipated day to begin our teacher training workshops at the American Corner and Caroline had offered to go first. I, in turn, volunteered to be present for moral support in case no one showed up. It was gratifying to see five teachers in the waiting area at 9:45am as the American Corner coordinator, Baktyor, hadn’t showed up on time as previously agreed. I had brought my electric tea kettle so we could offer instant coffee and tea along with some biscuits, cakes and juices. Caroline herself showed up at ten, something inexplicable, but I didn’t ask any questions so as not to add to the pressure she must have already being feeling.

A total of ten teachers showed up, including one from the PedInst and a fourth year student from there as well, which was much appreciated for the day was very cold, 30 degrees and very foggy. The topic was when, why and how to teach vocabulary in the classroom and the teachers had many insightful answers to these questions. Caroline had prepared several handouts on matching synonyms, doing a scavenger hunt, using crosswords puzzles and word searches. All in all, I think it went very well and the evaluation/feedback forms indicated they had enjoyed the activities and found them useful.

                                Teacher training at the American Corner

Daroush and his friend were waiting for us outside to take us to one of his favorite Afghan restaurants. We picked up Peter along the way. It must have been located out in the boonies for we drove for a long time before getting there. I immediately had to ask for a bathroom and was disappointed to be told to walk on a muddy alleyway until I found the appropriate place where the server was pointing. I guess there was no need for that as the smell would have led me there anyway. It was the typical squat toilet with a tiny sink on the side, but I had to go.

I rejoined the group and found that only men were sitting at the tables nearby, something I had noticed at other restaurants in Dushanbe. Daroush explained that this restaurant is close to a market and most of the patrons were shop owners. I asked him if no women sold things at this market and he said yes, but women went home to cook and eat. I still found this explanation flawed, but didn’t pursue anymore. We were served some kind of clear, watery soup with no flavor whatsoever, so I set it aside. The next dish was a mixture of one small meatball and some chopped carrots in an indistinguishable sauce. I had a taste of it, and contrary to Peter’s opinion, didn’t find it spicy or even savory. A single plate of tomato and lemon slices, covered with shredded radishes, was also on the table. The pilau rice came next and it was indeed very good with tender chunks of beef, lots of shredded carrots and plump currants. Next, we had a round of shish kebabs that were juicy, tender and very flavorful. Two bottles of soda had been left on the table, but no tea, so I ordered some and was served the transparent hot water they take here for tea. And no sugar, of course.

                                       Afghani meal, almost identical to the Tajik

Daroush left the table for a minute and didn’t realize he had gone to pay the bill in secret so we wouldn’t raise a fuss. He’s only a medical student and insisted on contributing to the cost of such an expansive meal. Caroline countered that we could all do our part to reciprocate his generosity: Peter would take him out for a drink, I’d cook a meal for him and she would offer companionship. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but left it at that.

The police flagged our car on the way back and harassed the driver, another Afghani, until Caroline insisted that Daroush and Peter get out of the car and intervene. It did the trick and the police officer returned the driver’s documents, which he was planning on retaining, and let us continue.

Caroline’s landlord was coming by to collect the rent and Peter and I offered to stay so Peter could help interpret for her. She is threatening to move out at the end of the month for the heating system does not work, her front door has a wide gap through which the cold air gets in, the satellite cable box wasn’t working, the kitchen window wouldn’t close and so on ad infinitum. The landlord fixed the window somehow, called on a technician to look at the satellite dish, and promised to return tomorrow with two new space heaters. I had to tuck my feet under my coat to keep relatively warm.

Peter offered to show me where I need to go to pay for my electric bill, but it was already closed. I just hope it won’t be shut off if I’m late. I stopped at the cobbler and picked up my boots with the new heels. I’m ready for that snow predicted for Monday. I wish I had a really bulky hat to protect my ears though.

December 2, 2011

A cold and foggy day greeted me. The square at the PedInst was almost devoid of any students as they tried to stay warm indoors. As I waited for my classroom to be vacated, my group of students started to gather in the hallway. Aziz, one of the most fluent students in this group, said: “Yesterday was a sad day for us.” I asked him why thinking that maybe something horrible had happened to the group as a whole; however, he replied that they all had felt very bad about having to discuss HIV/AIDS in the classroom. When I probed further as to the cause of the discomfort, he wouldn’t go into any details. This was the group where one of their teachers had helped facilitate the discussion and I still lean toward the hypothesis that his presence contributed to their unease.

I had cobbled together a series of beginner/intermediate grammar quizzes from online sources and started to review with the students in preparation for their upcoming final exam. In the midst of it, Mr. Boroni, the teacher that had accused me of teaching the students “air”, walked in with a portable heater for the classroom. Students were delighted, but it doesn’t really make much of difference to me as I always stand and walk around as I teach and don’t tend to get cold.

Fridays tend to be dreadful days for me as I have to teach for three hours back-to-back thus not having a chance to use the bathroom. I had scheduled a visit to the American School at 2:00pm that same day, but had to bail out because my bladder would not put up with waiting another 2.5 hours after I was done teaching. When I walked outside, rain was beginning to fall and it was so cold that snow seemed to be afoot. I had to wait quite a while to find a mini-van with an empty seat and barely made to my apartment before the rain started in earnest. It was good to relieve my bladder, get the heating going and eating a hot bowl of soup. Mariam came in about four and brought me four slices of a fluffy cake dusted with confectioner’s sugar she had just baked and was still warm. I think it was the answer to my prayers for something sweet, delicious and warm.

I think that for the first time in my adult life I feel that I can eat joyously and with total abandon knowing all the calories consumed will be quickly burned during my long and arduous walks all over the city. Hooray for that!

December 1, 2011

The entire day remained overcast and very, very cold. It’s a good thing that at least there are no high winds affecting the city and so the low temperatures are still bearable. I went to the Resource Center to make photocopies of the handout I had prepared to use as a launching pad to discuss World’s Aids Day as the embassy had suggested. Shahlo was already there showing a videotape to one of my groups. I told her I’d be quiet, but she came to my side and started chitchatting, so I showed her the handout and asked her if she’d talking about it. She had no such plans as she knew nothing about it except that the disease was brought to Tajikistan by the men going to work in Russia. On the other hand, she was very enthusiastic about the conversation classes I’d be offering to the teachers in the same room.

When I got to my classroom, I found two students there that didn’t belong to my group, but who informed me they were fourth year students and wanted to observe my class. I thought it was the perfect set up as they could help facilitate the discussion when language became a barrier. The first class was informed about the topic and told a handout with statistics on the disease pertinent to Tajikistan would be given to them so they’d have a chance to discuss the issue with family, friends and classmates. I started by defining the terms HIV and AIDS and eliciting what they knew about it. Most expressed the opinion that men who went to work abroad brought the disease into the country and another mentioned drug users as a source, but no one wanted to mention the words homosexuality, prostitution or condoms. Some of the girls covered their faces when the subject came up about sexual relations between men and men. One girl asked why men were homosexual and looked none too convinced when told they were born that way. Most of them gave me effusive thanks at the end of the presentation.

                                          Some students do not want their photo taken.

For the second class, I sought the help of a colleague to facilitate the discussion, which was a mistake on my part. The colleague in question, a male, took every chance he got to, instead of just translating my statements; demonstrate his knowledge on the subject as he went on and on. He must be one of those teachers who loves the sound of his own voice and cares little about the opinions of his students. Moreover, the students seemed to be intimidated by being in the presence of one of their regular teachers and no spontaneous questions came about. One student, Zoir, who I know is a devout Muslim, came out and said there was no homosexuality in Tajikistan. I almost smiled as I had gotten the same response when I taught in Nepal. The entire class looked on somber and still. Not a topic to be repeated here.

                          This is Oigul(meaning flower),one of my best students, standing next to me.

I stopped at the bookstore, and low and behold, they had the right teacher’s manual for me, but not the additional copy of the student’s book I still need. I congratulated the two clerks on getting at least one right. I was asked to return tomorrow, of course. I then remembered Rebecca mentioning that there was a supermarket nearby that stocked a lot of Western-style groceries and went there. A student from the institute recognized me and came along. I regret now having asked him to go with me for I shopped for quite a few things not available at the supermarket near me and my bill came to over 100.00 somoni or a little more than $25.00. This action must have cemented in the student’s mind the idea that all Americans are rich and he started dropping hints that he wanted to go to America and would I facilitate such transaction. Ah, he also needed shoes for the winter, a computer, a better coat and so on.

He insisted on asking how much money I was making while working here and what sort of a place I lived in while in the States. I was disappointed in his approach and decided it was best to make it clear I was only here to teach and not to adopt a child, marry a Tajik man or endow someone with money for all their personal needs. He was obviously hurt by these statements and then relented and asked for help with the TOEFL so he could apply to study in the States. I asked him to provide me with a flash drive and I’d transfer some of the materials on my laptop.

I shut myself in the bedroom as the rest of the apartment felt icy and even then I could not get warm enough to be comfortable. I took the laptop to bed and got under the covers and watched two movies, “The Reader”, ponderous, too slow to develop, characters too shallow for the viewer to care about them, and “Mean Girls” an all too true reflections of the teen culture these days.