This new internet cafe has ten computers, and I'm always directed toward the one where the USB port doesn't work. This affects nothing more than my ability to post pre-written blog ramblings, to download NPR podcasts, to get bootleg music, to change my Facebook picture-- in essence, all the important reasons why I would go to an internet cafe. Let's see what happens when I post something written spontaneously and unedited, without checking it over for mistakes or long stretches of uninteresting nothing. To make it easier on us all, this shall be in the form of snippets of conversation from the last 24 hours that I've been party to.
Host Mom: You should have reminded me that you wanted to take a bath! I'm sorry. Can you wait till tomorrow? The water won't be hot until midnight if we start it now.
Me: I don't know... is my hair shamefully dirty?
Host Sister: It's not dirty at all! We don't care. As long as you don't smell bad. (smells me). You're fine.
Me: In America, this would be shameful.
Host Sister: Here it doesn't matter if you go 3 or 5 days without--
Me: 9 days.
Host Sister: You haven't bathed in 9 days? (pause of consideration). Well, let it be 9 days. That doesn't matter, either.
Host Mom: You're not wearing any socks! You'll catch a cold!
Me: My socks are all out on the line, drying.
Host Mom: (rummages through drawer) Wear these.
Host Sister: Those are full of holes.
Host Mom: Who asked you? At least she won't get a cold.
Me: Thanks.
Pickpocket in internet cafe: (puts hand in my coat pocket where my phone is)
Me: Excuse me, what's your problem?
Pickpocket: What?
Me: Your hand was in my pocket.
Pickpocket: Was it?
Me: I saw it.
Pickpocket: You saw it?
Me: Yes. (returns to work. notices pickpocket is still hovering. offers him obscene hand gesture)
Pickpocket: What's your name?
Me: Don't talk to me.
Pickpocket: What, you don't have theft in America?
Me: (pokes head into a store) Do you have phone cards?
Old lady: No.
Me: Okay, goodbye.
Old lady: (follows me outside) How do you like Georgia?
Me: It's very nice. The people are very hospitable and warm.
Old lady: What a darling! When will you return to America?
Me: In July.
Old lady: Ah. And weren't you in America last year?
Me: Yes... I visited home in August. Why do you know that?
Host Mom: You can't go outside with your hair wet! You'll catch a cold! I'll blowdry it for you.
Me: Okay, thanks. (sits and lets host mom blowdry her hair. realizes that the last time her hair was blowdried, it was the previous August and it was her biological mother doing the blowdrying. becomes sentimental and smiles through entire hair-drying sequence.)
Host Mom: There. Did I miss anywhere?
Me: No, it's great. Thank you.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Well, that was fast
If the purpose of leaving the project post up until the funds were raised was to give myself a brief sabbatical from the ceaseless toil of writing blog posts, then it has failed. Here I am, three days later, typing away. Can you guess what that means? A means B, therefore C...
Our project has already reached complete funding.
I just got the call from the grant director, who I was sure was calling to tell me they were pulling the plug because I have too little time left before close of service. Au contraire! She said that somewhere in the universe of generous and development-loving folk, someone had called up the office in Washington and offered to fund our community's project. Whoever you are, THANK YOU. Thank you from Nana 1 & 2, thank you from the students at School #12, and thank you from me. Expect picture-filled updates and letters by the bushel.
As it ended up taking more time to write the project proposal than to get it funded, I have a moment to look around at the fund-raising apparatus I've set in motion and wonder how to reel it in. Tens of you received emails from me, a few more saw the blog post, and there's probably a bunch among you who intended to donate, and among those some who actually had already. To those of you who did donate, I really, really appreciate it and you shall also get thank-you letters. To those of you who intended to, why not divert your already-earmarked funds to another PCPP project? If you're in the English classroom groove already, there's another project here that's trying to create a classroom for village students in central Georgia. And here you'll find the list of all projects in Eastern Europe/Central Asia.
Good work, guys!
Our project has already reached complete funding.
I just got the call from the grant director, who I was sure was calling to tell me they were pulling the plug because I have too little time left before close of service. Au contraire! She said that somewhere in the universe of generous and development-loving folk, someone had called up the office in Washington and offered to fund our community's project. Whoever you are, THANK YOU. Thank you from Nana 1 & 2, thank you from the students at School #12, and thank you from me. Expect picture-filled updates and letters by the bushel.
As it ended up taking more time to write the project proposal than to get it funded, I have a moment to look around at the fund-raising apparatus I've set in motion and wonder how to reel it in. Tens of you received emails from me, a few more saw the blog post, and there's probably a bunch among you who intended to donate, and among those some who actually had already. To those of you who did donate, I really, really appreciate it and you shall also get thank-you letters. To those of you who intended to, why not divert your already-earmarked funds to another PCPP project? If you're in the English classroom groove already, there's another project here that's trying to create a classroom for village students in central Georgia. And here you'll find the list of all projects in Eastern Europe/Central Asia.
Good work, guys!
Monday, February 18, 2008
Got $5?
Click here to help the 12th school create an English classroom! It's tax-deductible!
Today, I'd like to introduce you to the teachers and students of the 12th school of Samtredia (upper right). Attentive readers might recall that my main school is the 3rd school, but even though the other 99% of you didn't notice the discrepancy, I'll just explain that I teach there once a week. Peace Corps calls it "outreach teaching." It's a bit tougher than working at the 3rd school, mostly because the area around the 12th school was destroyed during the civil war in 1993, which caused the local businesses to move elsewhere; thus, the 12th school houses a significantly impoverished student body. Many students can't afford the $7 English textbooks, and most of our classes are conducted in rooms where the majority of the desks are broken, the chairs are backless, and the walls are crumbling. That, and I have to walk 20 minutes in the mud to get there.
But then there's the teachers (who both happen to be named Nana). This is Nana 1. She's a fluent speaker, though she claims to have forgotten everything in her old age. Her dream is to have a full-time Peace Corps volunteer next year so she can learn new teaching techniques. She makes time for lesson planning, and she will try any and all new English activities with her students. Essentially, she's the ideal Peace Corps counterpart.
Example: Projects involving grants are supposed to be initiated and managed by the local community. I hadn't yet mentioned this to Nana, since I didn't plan on writing a grant for a school I only worked with part-time, but then one day she mentioned that the school's students would benefit from an English room. Encouraged but wary of false hope, I explained to her the time-consuming difficulty involved in such a project. When I returned from Christmas break, she had hand-written a manifesto of the 12th school's goals and objectives for this project, as well as an explanation of its value to the community. The next week, she presented me with a detailed budget that included sources of community contribution. I almost cried. The following phone conversation almost occurred:
Me: My counterpart designed a project and set a budget all on her own!
Peace Corps project manager: Yes, they're supposed to do that.
Me: Yeah, I know, but she actually did!
In any case, through Nana's inexhaustable effort and my awakening from jaded disbelief in miracles, we've composed a project. The current situation is that there is no "English classroom" where students can be surrounded by English posters and have access to English books and all that. The English teachers jump from room to room, teaching where space is available; oftentimes, they find themselves without necessary supplies, like chalk or a functional blackboard or students. Nana's project takes an existing room and renders it suitable for learning-- redoing the floors, walls, and ceiling, building a bookshelf, replacing the desks, chairs, and teacher's table, purchasing books and posters, wiring the room for electricity, installing whole windows, et cetera. With a stable learning environment, students will learn English better than they currently are; considering that English literacy is becoming a necessity for finding a well-paying job in Georgia, this is no small feat. The 12th school students are already disadvantaged by their inability to afford private tutors, unlike many of the students at other schools. Through this project, we hope to ameliorate that problem.
Can you imagine learning English here? Picture how much more conducive this space would be to learning if the walls weren't falling apart, and if there were chairs that didn't look like Lenin bought them himself, and if there were happy little English posters all over the wall, and a happy little shelf of English books. Remember the classroom where you took Spanish, and how it said "Bienvenidos" on the brightly-painted wall? That's what we're going for.
Obviously by now, you've guessed that this is a plea for money. Before you run for your wallet, let's add one more fact: despite their poverty, the school and the community have provided 51% of the project price BY THEMSELVES. A local carpenter is going to do the construction and painting for 60% less than he usually charges. The school is going to pay to repair its own tables, desks, and chairs, and is also going to buy a new blackboard.
Those of you who've been here a while may recall last year's link to a web site where you could donate money to our Girls' Sports Camp grant. This is the same kind of grant; the total grant amount is approximately $930, and if you can donate $5, please do! If you can donate $930, please do also! It's tax-deductible. All non-anonymous donors will receive updates with pictures, thank-you emails, and perhaps even thank-you letters (!). Here's exactly what your money is going toward: construction materials and transportation, an audio player, and English resource books.
A final note-- I had to beg and plead to be allowed to submit this grant proposal because I only have 6 months of service left, and since it usually takes a couple months to fund these projects online, Peace Corps is concerned that I won't be able to finish on time. If I can't finish on time, then all the money must be returned, and the 12th school kids must continue to learn English in rooms unfit for broom storage. So, please send the link for this post to ANYBODY you know, preferably with a little personal message so they think it applies to them. My mantra is that we CAN fund this project in 3-4 weeks, and I DO have enough friends to make that a viable goal. More accurately, my friends DO have enough friends to appeal to for donations.
That's all I have. I can only hope that I conveyed how much the school wants this project to succeed, how much support they've given, and how little I had to do with the whole thing. The fate of the English students at Samtredia School #12 rests in your hands! I won't post again until this project is fully funded. See you soon... Remember, donations are tax-deductible.
Click here to help the 12th school build an English classroom!
Today, I'd like to introduce you to the teachers and students of the 12th school of Samtredia (upper right). Attentive readers might recall that my main school is the 3rd school, but even though the other 99% of you didn't notice the discrepancy, I'll just explain that I teach there once a week. Peace Corps calls it "outreach teaching." It's a bit tougher than working at the 3rd school, mostly because the area around the 12th school was destroyed during the civil war in 1993, which caused the local businesses to move elsewhere; thus, the 12th school houses a significantly impoverished student body. Many students can't afford the $7 English textbooks, and most of our classes are conducted in rooms where the majority of the desks are broken, the chairs are backless, and the walls are crumbling. That, and I have to walk 20 minutes in the mud to get there.
But then there's the teachers (who both happen to be named Nana). This is Nana 1. She's a fluent speaker, though she claims to have forgotten everything in her old age. Her dream is to have a full-time Peace Corps volunteer next year so she can learn new teaching techniques. She makes time for lesson planning, and she will try any and all new English activities with her students. Essentially, she's the ideal Peace Corps counterpart.
Example: Projects involving grants are supposed to be initiated and managed by the local community. I hadn't yet mentioned this to Nana, since I didn't plan on writing a grant for a school I only worked with part-time, but then one day she mentioned that the school's students would benefit from an English room. Encouraged but wary of false hope, I explained to her the time-consuming difficulty involved in such a project. When I returned from Christmas break, she had hand-written a manifesto of the 12th school's goals and objectives for this project, as well as an explanation of its value to the community. The next week, she presented me with a detailed budget that included sources of community contribution. I almost cried. The following phone conversation almost occurred:
Me: My counterpart designed a project and set a budget all on her own!
Peace Corps project manager: Yes, they're supposed to do that.
Me: Yeah, I know, but she actually did!
In any case, through Nana's inexhaustable effort and my awakening from jaded disbelief in miracles, we've composed a project. The current situation is that there is no "English classroom" where students can be surrounded by English posters and have access to English books and all that. The English teachers jump from room to room, teaching where space is available; oftentimes, they find themselves without necessary supplies, like chalk or a functional blackboard or students. Nana's project takes an existing room and renders it suitable for learning-- redoing the floors, walls, and ceiling, building a bookshelf, replacing the desks, chairs, and teacher's table, purchasing books and posters, wiring the room for electricity, installing whole windows, et cetera. With a stable learning environment, students will learn English better than they currently are; considering that English literacy is becoming a necessity for finding a well-paying job in Georgia, this is no small feat. The 12th school students are already disadvantaged by their inability to afford private tutors, unlike many of the students at other schools. Through this project, we hope to ameliorate that problem.
Can you imagine learning English here? Picture how much more conducive this space would be to learning if the walls weren't falling apart, and if there were chairs that didn't look like Lenin bought them himself, and if there were happy little English posters all over the wall, and a happy little shelf of English books. Remember the classroom where you took Spanish, and how it said "Bienvenidos" on the brightly-painted wall? That's what we're going for.
Obviously by now, you've guessed that this is a plea for money. Before you run for your wallet, let's add one more fact: despite their poverty, the school and the community have provided 51% of the project price BY THEMSELVES. A local carpenter is going to do the construction and painting for 60% less than he usually charges. The school is going to pay to repair its own tables, desks, and chairs, and is also going to buy a new blackboard.
Those of you who've been here a while may recall last year's link to a web site where you could donate money to our Girls' Sports Camp grant. This is the same kind of grant; the total grant amount is approximately $930, and if you can donate $5, please do! If you can donate $930, please do also! It's tax-deductible. All non-anonymous donors will receive updates with pictures, thank-you emails, and perhaps even thank-you letters (!). Here's exactly what your money is going toward: construction materials and transportation, an audio player, and English resource books.
A final note-- I had to beg and plead to be allowed to submit this grant proposal because I only have 6 months of service left, and since it usually takes a couple months to fund these projects online, Peace Corps is concerned that I won't be able to finish on time. If I can't finish on time, then all the money must be returned, and the 12th school kids must continue to learn English in rooms unfit for broom storage. So, please send the link for this post to ANYBODY you know, preferably with a little personal message so they think it applies to them. My mantra is that we CAN fund this project in 3-4 weeks, and I DO have enough friends to make that a viable goal. More accurately, my friends DO have enough friends to appeal to for donations.
That's all I have. I can only hope that I conveyed how much the school wants this project to succeed, how much support they've given, and how little I had to do with the whole thing. The fate of the English students at Samtredia School #12 rests in your hands! I won't post again until this project is fully funded. See you soon... Remember, donations are tax-deductible.
Click here to help the 12th school build an English classroom!
Friday, February 15, 2008
A Very Tom Schreiber Post
Perhaps you've seen other imitatin' posts about Tom Schreiber. Perhaps one could argue that since this post's creation is derived from the existence and subsequent Google success of that other post, that this is the imitatin' one. No matter. The world of cyberspace is never too full for another post about Tom Schreiber.
Tom Schreiber the Sensitive Intellectual, never too engrossed in his round of Scattergories to give his wife Amy a shoulder to lean on.
Tom Schreiber the Creator and Destroyer, utilizing the laws of physics and geology to bend his surroundings to his will in a raw display of keenly-focused power.
Tom Schreiber the Includer and Uniter, a fair judge and a good listener who brings together people of all races and creeds.
Tom Schreiber, one of the many quality volunteers of the G6 Peace Corps group, standing tall with integrity, patience, cultural sensitivity, and respect. Tom Schreiber, this blog and its 30 viewers per day salute you!
Tom Schreiber the Sensitive Intellectual, never too engrossed in his round of Scattergories to give his wife Amy a shoulder to lean on.
Tom Schreiber the Creator and Destroyer, utilizing the laws of physics and geology to bend his surroundings to his will in a raw display of keenly-focused power.
Tom Schreiber the Includer and Uniter, a fair judge and a good listener who brings together people of all races and creeds.
Tom Schreiber, one of the many quality volunteers of the G6 Peace Corps group, standing tall with integrity, patience, cultural sensitivity, and respect. Tom Schreiber, this blog and its 30 viewers per day salute you!
Monday, February 11, 2008
Volunteers vs. The Cheese Lady
The following tale of woe does not represent the usual pleasant bazaar experience, and it is in fact its departure from the norm that renders it retellable. Feel free to co-opt this anecdote for your own use.
The setting: two male volunteers (shoutout to Nicholas & Seth) and I were strolling through the bazaar looking for cheese to put in the chicken parmesan we were making that evening with 5 other American friends. We successfully found our way to Cheese Row, where a long line of ladies bearing cheese wheels of varying salinity awaited us. We selected a suitably saltless cheese and answered the saleswoman's casual questions about our home country.
Woman: Are you German?
Us: No, we're Americans.
Woman: How nice! Do you like Georgia?
Us: Yes, we like Georgia. The people are very warm and hospitable.
Woman: How nice!
At this point, it usually ends. We buy our cheese, a few extra bazaar saleswomen inch closer to hear our funny accents, and then we leave to the buzzing soundtrack of their pleased chatter. But not yesterday...
We were paying for our cheese when the saleslady next to ours began to rant in Georgian, directing the full power of her scowl against us but clearly under the impression that we didn't understand what she was saying.
"These foreigners, these Americans come to our schools and take our jobs! There's Georgians in the street, and so many Georgians have no jobs, and the government brings in these Americans to do work that we could do. So many Georgians have no jobs!"
It's true, so many Georgians have no jobs. However, part of our presence here is ameliorated by the fact that we work in tandem with Georgian counterparts, so we're not replacing-- or stealing-- anyone's job. Usually I ignore people who rant against me, but the fact that she was so angry due to the lack of one piece of information-- and the fact that none of the rest of the bazaar ladies were backing her up so it was unlikely to turn into an ambush-- not to mention the fact that I'm leaving in 5 months and am thus becoming more brave/careless, led me to try to explain the above caveat to her. Being an idiot, I began with the fact that we're unpaid.
"OH! So the foreigners come in and steal our jobs by working for free! How can a Georgian work for free and still feed their family?!"
I waited for a pause between words, and then I broke in with the fact that we work with Georgian counterparts.
"AND?"
Good point. I made a valiant attempt to explain that we work with counterparts so that we're not stealing any Georgian jobs, but I don't know the word for "steal," so that mostly failed.
"Why do you work with Georgian counterparts?"
I'll mention quickly that this type of interrogation is not unusual, only this is the first time I'd ever heard it delivered in a hostile manner. I told her that we teach the counterparts methodology.
"We have plenty of methodology here! Why do we need the foreigners to come in and make us use their methodology while they steal our jobs!"
Having thus aggravated the problem, we paid for our cheese and left, the woman's diatribe echoing loudly as we tried to get out of earshot. At least we had our cheese.
We arrived home, where my host family was sitting around the woodstove. I mentioned we'd fought with a saleswoman. My host mother, not usually the leaping type, leapt to her feet and demanded to know the whole story, which we relayed with the help of my host sister, the translator. She was a reluctant translator, as she could already tell her mother was getting ready to go on the warpath, which would inevitably lead to embarrassment at school for the 16-year-old daughter of the Crusader. Nevertheless, my host mother pulled on her fightin' boots, threw on a matching black coat, and dragged Nicholas, Seth and I back to the bazaar.
"You're our guard," I said.
"You're a member of my family," she told me, "and I have to be your protector. Who gave her the right to say bad things to you in public? If I don't talk to that nasty woman now, you won't be able to go peacefully to the bazaar again."
We stormed triumphantly into the building that housed the cheese saleswomen. Rather, my host mother stormed while we volunteers debated which expression we should wear. We went for 'solemn,' which seemed more likely to win sympathy and support than did 'proud and offended,' or 'hurt.' The cheese ladies saw my host mom stomping down the aisle, and called out to us helpfully, "The end! The one at the end!"
She approached The Cheese Lady at last. If I had expected that she'd lose her temper and start flailing her arms and making matters worse, I was mistaken. And I had, so I was. My host mother did indeed give The Cheese Lady a forceful piece of her mind, but Nicholas also noted the proficiency she exhibited in persuasive public speaking. She directed her angry statements toward The Cheese Lady, but then she'd swivel her shoulders out to address the gathering crowd of other cheese ladies and meat ladies and pickle ladies, explaining the mission of Peace Corps. As you'll notice, she also threw in some compliments that may seem irrelevant but actually are crowd-pleasers over here. It was a proud moment, and she said something like this:
"This is a member of my family, and who do you think you are to insult her and her guests? You said you're upset that they're stealing jobs. They're not here to steal jobs, they're here to help for no salary! They work in Kareli, in Chiatura, and here in Samtredia for no pay, and they work with Georgian teachers so that your children can learn English. They're good boys and girls-- there's 8 of them at my house right now. There's four very pretty girls, and they know how to make delicious food. They made delicious food for me this morning. They work very hard, and they should be able to come here and buy cheese in peace! Do you understand?"
I've never loved my host mother so much.
In a double-tier attack of both hard and soft power, Nicholas and Seth were simultaneously the subjects of an impromptu press conference, wherein about 10 of the spectators drifted over to bask in their clean-cut glow and ask questions about Georgia. Half the thrill was hearing Nicholas and Seth answer in Georgian, so all the answers were well-received. One woman asked if Nicholas would marry her daughter.
In the end, flushed with triumph, my host mother informed me that I would be able to shop in peace from then on. Waving goodbye to our newfound supporters, we turned heel and followed my host mother home.
I don't know if there is a moral to this story, other than that: 1) Sometimes it's okay to restart an argument, and 2) My host mom really does know what I'm doing here. As she explained to me on the way back, and as I mentioned above, it is a rare occurrence to be on the receiving end of so much hostility here (Asian-American volunteers not withstanding). Using one of my favorite Georgian words, she told me that some people are "blooey" in Georgia, just like some people are blooey in America. So maybe that's the moral of the story.
Some people are just blooey.
The setting: two male volunteers (shoutout to Nicholas & Seth) and I were strolling through the bazaar looking for cheese to put in the chicken parmesan we were making that evening with 5 other American friends. We successfully found our way to Cheese Row, where a long line of ladies bearing cheese wheels of varying salinity awaited us. We selected a suitably saltless cheese and answered the saleswoman's casual questions about our home country.
Woman: Are you German?
Us: No, we're Americans.
Woman: How nice! Do you like Georgia?
Us: Yes, we like Georgia. The people are very warm and hospitable.
Woman: How nice!
At this point, it usually ends. We buy our cheese, a few extra bazaar saleswomen inch closer to hear our funny accents, and then we leave to the buzzing soundtrack of their pleased chatter. But not yesterday...
We were paying for our cheese when the saleslady next to ours began to rant in Georgian, directing the full power of her scowl against us but clearly under the impression that we didn't understand what she was saying.
"These foreigners, these Americans come to our schools and take our jobs! There's Georgians in the street, and so many Georgians have no jobs, and the government brings in these Americans to do work that we could do. So many Georgians have no jobs!"
It's true, so many Georgians have no jobs. However, part of our presence here is ameliorated by the fact that we work in tandem with Georgian counterparts, so we're not replacing-- or stealing-- anyone's job. Usually I ignore people who rant against me, but the fact that she was so angry due to the lack of one piece of information-- and the fact that none of the rest of the bazaar ladies were backing her up so it was unlikely to turn into an ambush-- not to mention the fact that I'm leaving in 5 months and am thus becoming more brave/careless, led me to try to explain the above caveat to her. Being an idiot, I began with the fact that we're unpaid.
"OH! So the foreigners come in and steal our jobs by working for free! How can a Georgian work for free and still feed their family?!"
I waited for a pause between words, and then I broke in with the fact that we work with Georgian counterparts.
"AND?"
Good point. I made a valiant attempt to explain that we work with counterparts so that we're not stealing any Georgian jobs, but I don't know the word for "steal," so that mostly failed.
"Why do you work with Georgian counterparts?"
I'll mention quickly that this type of interrogation is not unusual, only this is the first time I'd ever heard it delivered in a hostile manner. I told her that we teach the counterparts methodology.
"We have plenty of methodology here! Why do we need the foreigners to come in and make us use their methodology while they steal our jobs!"
Having thus aggravated the problem, we paid for our cheese and left, the woman's diatribe echoing loudly as we tried to get out of earshot. At least we had our cheese.
We arrived home, where my host family was sitting around the woodstove. I mentioned we'd fought with a saleswoman. My host mother, not usually the leaping type, leapt to her feet and demanded to know the whole story, which we relayed with the help of my host sister, the translator. She was a reluctant translator, as she could already tell her mother was getting ready to go on the warpath, which would inevitably lead to embarrassment at school for the 16-year-old daughter of the Crusader. Nevertheless, my host mother pulled on her fightin' boots, threw on a matching black coat, and dragged Nicholas, Seth and I back to the bazaar.
"You're our guard," I said.
"You're a member of my family," she told me, "and I have to be your protector. Who gave her the right to say bad things to you in public? If I don't talk to that nasty woman now, you won't be able to go peacefully to the bazaar again."
We stormed triumphantly into the building that housed the cheese saleswomen. Rather, my host mother stormed while we volunteers debated which expression we should wear. We went for 'solemn,' which seemed more likely to win sympathy and support than did 'proud and offended,' or 'hurt.' The cheese ladies saw my host mom stomping down the aisle, and called out to us helpfully, "The end! The one at the end!"
She approached The Cheese Lady at last. If I had expected that she'd lose her temper and start flailing her arms and making matters worse, I was mistaken. And I had, so I was. My host mother did indeed give The Cheese Lady a forceful piece of her mind, but Nicholas also noted the proficiency she exhibited in persuasive public speaking. She directed her angry statements toward The Cheese Lady, but then she'd swivel her shoulders out to address the gathering crowd of other cheese ladies and meat ladies and pickle ladies, explaining the mission of Peace Corps. As you'll notice, she also threw in some compliments that may seem irrelevant but actually are crowd-pleasers over here. It was a proud moment, and she said something like this:
"This is a member of my family, and who do you think you are to insult her and her guests? You said you're upset that they're stealing jobs. They're not here to steal jobs, they're here to help for no salary! They work in Kareli, in Chiatura, and here in Samtredia for no pay, and they work with Georgian teachers so that your children can learn English. They're good boys and girls-- there's 8 of them at my house right now. There's four very pretty girls, and they know how to make delicious food. They made delicious food for me this morning. They work very hard, and they should be able to come here and buy cheese in peace! Do you understand?"
I've never loved my host mother so much.
In a double-tier attack of both hard and soft power, Nicholas and Seth were simultaneously the subjects of an impromptu press conference, wherein about 10 of the spectators drifted over to bask in their clean-cut glow and ask questions about Georgia. Half the thrill was hearing Nicholas and Seth answer in Georgian, so all the answers were well-received. One woman asked if Nicholas would marry her daughter.
In the end, flushed with triumph, my host mother informed me that I would be able to shop in peace from then on. Waving goodbye to our newfound supporters, we turned heel and followed my host mother home.
I don't know if there is a moral to this story, other than that: 1) Sometimes it's okay to restart an argument, and 2) My host mom really does know what I'm doing here. As she explained to me on the way back, and as I mentioned above, it is a rare occurrence to be on the receiving end of so much hostility here (Asian-American volunteers not withstanding). Using one of my favorite Georgian words, she told me that some people are "blooey" in Georgia, just like some people are blooey in America. So maybe that's the moral of the story.
Some people are just blooey.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Overheard at a Supra
Instead of relating anecdotes, let's use direct dialogue from a recent supra to paint a picture of cultural exchange. This supra happens to be the Ormotsi ("Forty") of our next-door neighbor, which marks the end of the official mourning time for his family-- forty days past his death.
Dialogues
Neighbor: Do they have khachapuri [cheesebread] in America?
Me: No, we don't have khachapuri.
Different elderly neighbor: They don't have khachapuri. They don't have khinkali [meat dumplings]. What do they eat?
Familiar neighbor: Where do you want to sit?
Me: Where there's people that I know.
Familiar neighbor: Okay, sit over there next to Mediko.
(sits down)
Me: Hello, Mediko.
Mediko: I invited you to my house last week, and you didn't come.
Me: Um...
Toastmaster: And now a toast to our guest from another continent!
Me: Thank you.
Toastmaster: I know that you'll have a great family because you know not only American culture, but Georgian culture.
Me: Thank you.
Toastmaster: America is over 200 years old. It is a province. Georgia is thousands of years old. Compared to Georgia, America has no culture.
Me: Thank you.
Familiar neighbor: Jeni, you must drink that toast to the bottom!
Me: Fine. (drinks to the bottom)
Familiar neighbor: Good girl. (turns to other neighbors). Do you know what she said the other day? She was at home with her host family, and they made a joke about how the word 'cheese' sounds like the word $%^@# [Georgian swear word]. They said it was okay because Jeni doesn't know the bad word, but then she said, 'No, I know: cheese is good and $@#%#$ is bad.'
All neighbors: (general boisterous laughter)
Me: (blushes)
Me: Something smells good! What is it?
Host sister: [in English] Hen bowels.
Me: Oh... wait, why do you know that word?
Host mother: (sleeping in chair)
Host sister: (takes picture)
Host mother: (wakes up) Oh, I can't sleep yet-- it's not dark.
Me: You need sleep!
Host mother: I know. I baked cakes last night for this supra until 3:00 AM. Then at 3:30, I woke up to start baking khachapuri. I spent six hours yesterday making three atchmas [cheese & butter lasagna], and it was in vain because they didn't even finish eating two of them. But what can I do? We're Georgians, and we always make a ridiculous amount of food.
Me: It was delicious.
Dialogues
Neighbor: Do they have khachapuri [cheesebread] in America?
Me: No, we don't have khachapuri.
Different elderly neighbor: They don't have khachapuri. They don't have khinkali [meat dumplings]. What do they eat?
Familiar neighbor: Where do you want to sit?
Me: Where there's people that I know.
Familiar neighbor: Okay, sit over there next to Mediko.
(sits down)
Me: Hello, Mediko.
Mediko: I invited you to my house last week, and you didn't come.
Me: Um...
Toastmaster: And now a toast to our guest from another continent!
Me: Thank you.
Toastmaster: I know that you'll have a great family because you know not only American culture, but Georgian culture.
Me: Thank you.
Toastmaster: America is over 200 years old. It is a province. Georgia is thousands of years old. Compared to Georgia, America has no culture.
Me: Thank you.
Familiar neighbor: Jeni, you must drink that toast to the bottom!
Me: Fine. (drinks to the bottom)
Familiar neighbor: Good girl. (turns to other neighbors). Do you know what she said the other day? She was at home with her host family, and they made a joke about how the word 'cheese' sounds like the word $%^@# [Georgian swear word]. They said it was okay because Jeni doesn't know the bad word, but then she said, 'No, I know: cheese is good and $@#%#$ is bad.'
All neighbors: (general boisterous laughter)
Me: (blushes)
Me: Something smells good! What is it?
Host sister: [in English] Hen bowels.
Me: Oh... wait, why do you know that word?
Host mother: (sleeping in chair)
Host sister: (takes picture)
Host mother: (wakes up) Oh, I can't sleep yet-- it's not dark.
Me: You need sleep!
Host mother: I know. I baked cakes last night for this supra until 3:00 AM. Then at 3:30, I woke up to start baking khachapuri. I spent six hours yesterday making three atchmas [cheese & butter lasagna], and it was in vain because they didn't even finish eating two of them. But what can I do? We're Georgians, and we always make a ridiculous amount of food.
Me: It was delicious.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Chain Chain Chain...
We all claim to be averse to chain stores in the US. Being occasionally pretentious, I tend to tell people my favorite restaurant in New York is Via Della Pace on 2nd Avenue, a tiny little Italian place that serves shrimp fettucine too delicious for words. Despite its old-world charm at developing-world prices, however, I still frequented Olive Garden. Never-ending pasta bowl!
Why do we do this to ourselves? Don't answer that question if the answer is "I don't," because you're either lying or you're a hippie vegan communist. Chain stores, while devoid of individuality, provide a certain guarantee of quality, not to mention familiarity. You know that whatever Sephora you walk into, the staff are going to be so beautiful that one glance at your reflection in the mirror, and you'll buy their whole stock of $90 foundation. When you enter a Bath & Body Works, the salesperson will immediately tell you which products are 2 for $12, available in Coconut Lime and Juniper Breeze. No matter where that Friendly's is that you bring your family to, you know your service will be slow and indifferent, but that the honey mustard and the Oreo Brownie Sundae will be worth the wait.
If there's a place where chain stores bring glee to the hearts of many, it's Georgia. Let's divide these stores and their respective glees into two categories: 1) International chains that are breaking into the Georgian market, and 2) Homegrown Georgian chains.
The first category generally applies to Tbilisi, though even Kutaisi will have its own McDonald's soon. This glee falls closer to the "relief" end of the spectrum, as in relief from going without the unessentials. Most of the chains in Tbilisi are high-end fashion chains, like Boss and Armani (the latter of which has a Georgian spokesperson, AC Milan footballer Kakha Kaladze), with the occasional mid-range fashion chain, like United Colors of Benetton. While Peace Corps volunteers may find that prices outside the Turkish clothing bazaar are prohibitively expensive, it's nice that the well to-do Tbilisians have some choice. You'll also find electronics retailers like Bosch, Samsung and Sony, selling some of the only computers in Georgia that come equipped with genuine Microsoft programs, rather than bootlegs. The glee of seeing a new Radisson under construction is a distant kind of happiness, a rueful acknowledgement that multi-national corporations will someday own the body and soul of every living being in the world, but a touch of gratitude that real Adidas warm-ups are available, even if you can't afford them.
The second category of glee is a less selfish one, but perhaps equally self-centered. Homegrown Georgian chain stores visually signify the growth of a class of Georgian entrepreneurs, as well as the nation's continued transition from Soviet dependency to capitalism. Any Georgian reading this is going to think I'm being condescending, but I'm not trying to be-- it really is impressive to see successful chain stores with commercials and everything in a nation that spent 80 of the last 90 years with all major industries controlled by the state. Furthermore, it's nice to know that if I buy hair conditioner in a chain pharmacy, it's less likely to turn out to be filled with dish soap than if I buy it elsewhere (that only happened once). Since this is my blog, let's take a brief tour of my favorite Georgian chain stores.
1) Nikora
Nikora is like a deli. While it doesn't sell roast beef, cheddar cheese, tuna sandwiches, or any of the other things I would irrationally expect from a deli, it does have whole frozen chickens and American cheese. The selection of sausages is impressive, and they even have cartons of ice cream. Note: you can buy the hot dogs if you want, just don't expect Ballpark.
2) Aversi
Aversi is a 24-hour pharmacy, in case you wake up with a 2AM craving for Valium, which you can purchase without a doctor's note for a few cents per pill. They have a fine selection of shampoos, shaving gel and toothpaste, and they keep computerized records with access to a nationwide database of pensioners who are entitled to drug discounts. They also sell tea and mineral water, which cures everything.
3) Elit Electronics
It's an electronics store! Most of their stuff is the kind of fancy, energy-saving European appliances with lots of buttons that confuse me but probably serve their purpose better than any 50-gallon washing machine I've ever used. I can't really afford anything at Elit Electronics-- except for the plug-in water boilers for tea-- but it's fun to browse.
Honorable Mention: Populi
Populi is a gigantic grocery store-- and by gigantic, I mean about half the size of an American big-box grocery store, but gigantic and beautiful in comparison to its local compeition-- which would have held all three of the above places on my list of favorite chains if I were certain that it was a Georgian company; somebody told me it's Russian. I still think it's Georgian, but I'll put it down here just in case, and if any passing Georgians could straighten this out for me on the comments page, I'd really appreciate it. Anyway, Populi has everything: foreign cheese, whole wheat bread, frozen premade food, Magnum ice cream bars, peanut butter, ketchup, Haribo gummy candies, spinach, ham, et cetera. They accept credit cards, and their staff are actually trained in customer service. Ten stars.
Why do we do this to ourselves? Don't answer that question if the answer is "I don't," because you're either lying or you're a hippie vegan communist. Chain stores, while devoid of individuality, provide a certain guarantee of quality, not to mention familiarity. You know that whatever Sephora you walk into, the staff are going to be so beautiful that one glance at your reflection in the mirror, and you'll buy their whole stock of $90 foundation. When you enter a Bath & Body Works, the salesperson will immediately tell you which products are 2 for $12, available in Coconut Lime and Juniper Breeze. No matter where that Friendly's is that you bring your family to, you know your service will be slow and indifferent, but that the honey mustard and the Oreo Brownie Sundae will be worth the wait.
If there's a place where chain stores bring glee to the hearts of many, it's Georgia. Let's divide these stores and their respective glees into two categories: 1) International chains that are breaking into the Georgian market, and 2) Homegrown Georgian chains.
The first category generally applies to Tbilisi, though even Kutaisi will have its own McDonald's soon. This glee falls closer to the "relief" end of the spectrum, as in relief from going without the unessentials. Most of the chains in Tbilisi are high-end fashion chains, like Boss and Armani (the latter of which has a Georgian spokesperson, AC Milan footballer Kakha Kaladze), with the occasional mid-range fashion chain, like United Colors of Benetton. While Peace Corps volunteers may find that prices outside the Turkish clothing bazaar are prohibitively expensive, it's nice that the well to-do Tbilisians have some choice. You'll also find electronics retailers like Bosch, Samsung and Sony, selling some of the only computers in Georgia that come equipped with genuine Microsoft programs, rather than bootlegs. The glee of seeing a new Radisson under construction is a distant kind of happiness, a rueful acknowledgement that multi-national corporations will someday own the body and soul of every living being in the world, but a touch of gratitude that real Adidas warm-ups are available, even if you can't afford them.
The second category of glee is a less selfish one, but perhaps equally self-centered. Homegrown Georgian chain stores visually signify the growth of a class of Georgian entrepreneurs, as well as the nation's continued transition from Soviet dependency to capitalism. Any Georgian reading this is going to think I'm being condescending, but I'm not trying to be-- it really is impressive to see successful chain stores with commercials and everything in a nation that spent 80 of the last 90 years with all major industries controlled by the state. Furthermore, it's nice to know that if I buy hair conditioner in a chain pharmacy, it's less likely to turn out to be filled with dish soap than if I buy it elsewhere (that only happened once). Since this is my blog, let's take a brief tour of my favorite Georgian chain stores.
1) Nikora
Nikora is like a deli. While it doesn't sell roast beef, cheddar cheese, tuna sandwiches, or any of the other things I would irrationally expect from a deli, it does have whole frozen chickens and American cheese. The selection of sausages is impressive, and they even have cartons of ice cream. Note: you can buy the hot dogs if you want, just don't expect Ballpark.
2) Aversi
Aversi is a 24-hour pharmacy, in case you wake up with a 2AM craving for Valium, which you can purchase without a doctor's note for a few cents per pill. They have a fine selection of shampoos, shaving gel and toothpaste, and they keep computerized records with access to a nationwide database of pensioners who are entitled to drug discounts. They also sell tea and mineral water, which cures everything.
3) Elit Electronics
It's an electronics store! Most of their stuff is the kind of fancy, energy-saving European appliances with lots of buttons that confuse me but probably serve their purpose better than any 50-gallon washing machine I've ever used. I can't really afford anything at Elit Electronics-- except for the plug-in water boilers for tea-- but it's fun to browse.
Honorable Mention: Populi
Populi is a gigantic grocery store-- and by gigantic, I mean about half the size of an American big-box grocery store, but gigantic and beautiful in comparison to its local compeition-- which would have held all three of the above places on my list of favorite chains if I were certain that it was a Georgian company; somebody told me it's Russian. I still think it's Georgian, but I'll put it down here just in case, and if any passing Georgians could straighten this out for me on the comments page, I'd really appreciate it. Anyway, Populi has everything: foreign cheese, whole wheat bread, frozen premade food, Magnum ice cream bars, peanut butter, ketchup, Haribo gummy candies, spinach, ham, et cetera. They accept credit cards, and their staff are actually trained in customer service. Ten stars.
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