Thankful

In true Thanksgiving fashion, here is a picture of Lasha doing something old fashioned and manly: choppin' wood.

This horribly busy month of Movember is almost over (oh yeah, remember to MOnate while you still can!), so I should get back to more regular posting when the relaxing month of December roles around. Although I head off to Southeast Asia for four weeks on the 20^th, so I don’t know what I’ll be doing here during that excursion. But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, as promised, here’s a list of things I’m thankful for this Thanksgiving. Yeah, I know Thanksgiving is over, but deal with it.

Teachers – Mostly I’m thankful for teachers everywhere, as now that I’m finally a card-carrying member (at least to some degree), I understand how much of a thankless and rough occupation it is. Particularly, I’m thankful for my fellow teachers at the Bandza School, who don’t resent me despite the fact that I make more money while doing far less with little experience to back it up. I’m especially thankful for my wonderfully understanding co-teacher Tamari, my fearsome dance instructor Vephkhvia, and the ever-watchful Soso (who told me last week that Coca Cola causes cancer; I didn’t know how to respond in Georgian with What doesn’t cause cancer?)

Hospitality – The word that defines Georgia. I’m thankful for my host family in particular (which I’ll get to later), but also to all the other families who have provided a roof over my head and enough food to supply a small army. Particularly Ian’s host family in Martvili who has never hesitated to force khatchapuri down my gullet and wine down my throat. Dato and Lali are like my second host-family here and I’m thankful for that trait of hospitality they share with the rest of this country. Just last night I was given another taste of Georgian hospitality. I was in Martvili trying to watch the Real Madrid vs. Barcelona match that started at midnight, but when Dato’s satellite dish couldn’t get the channel that the game was on, he drove us over to his friend’s house to watch the game at 1 a.m. Then when we left after watching Barca put on an absolute clinic, the host gave Ian and I each a bottle of wine. Only in Georgia can you invite yourself over to someone’s house in the middle of the night and leave with a gift.

Autumn – I don’t know if this has to do with global warming (also known as man-bear-pig), but the weather in the past two months has been incredible. I’ve always loved Fall, which specifically comes from growing up in Pittsburgh, where the only season you can really appreciate is Fall (Spring feels like it’s only two weeks long, Winter sucks, and Summer is just three months of miserable humidity). But the weather in Samegrelo for the past three months has only reinforced my belief that Fall is where it’s at; with the brisk but light air, changing of the leaves, and clear skies that have reminded me just how wonderful Autumn is.

BaNdza – Say what you want about Bandza (and not many people say much because it’s pretty non-descript besides the name), but it’s my home and I love it. The village has accepted me into their community without hesitation and as long as I’m here, I never have anything to worry about. I can’t walk to town without being bombarded with gomarjoba’s and rogora khart’s.

SaaKashvili – Despite humoring Lasha by responding with boghzi when he yells out Misha’s name, I’ll repeat in saying that I don’t know all that much about the man or his politics. All I do know is that I wouldn’t be here without him. There’s a reason all TLGers are referred to as ‘Misha’s Teachers’ throughout Georgia. So despite Lasha’s attempted brainwashing, I’m still thankful for Saakashvili.

Students – Some more than others of course. But in all seriousness, they’re all good kids. I’m especially thankful that they are patient with me being impatient with them. I’m also thankful that at such a young age, they already understand that things will get better with time.

Georgia – This is a given, but just to reiterate, I’m thankful for everything this small but incredible country has afforded me so far. But I have a feeling it’s just the tip of the iceberg I’m talking about. Here’s to hoping my last six months will be just as memorable as my first four. I’m also thankful for Sakartvelo giving me something interesting to write about.

Ira – Special thanks to my host-mother Ira, who, as previously mentioned, does everything for me. Without her I’d be lost, sustaining on a diet of chips and coca-cola, constantly wearing dirty clothes, and probably sprawled out dead at the bottom of an empty pool somewhere. She is incredible.

Volunteers – Yeah, I know I said I wouldn’t use this as a term for my fellow TLG teachers, but it fits too well in this spot not to be used. I never thought I would make this many good friends so quickly. There’s a reason I never get homesick, and that’s because I’ve got friends in Georgia that make it tough for me to ever feel complacent. Thank you all for your constant help and support; I’ll be missing a ton of you who are leaving in December, although I feel as if that won’t diminish the friendships we’ve built since we were packed into that dorm in the ghetto of Kutaisi. We’re a motley crew, but I wouldn’t trade you for anything.

XI Class – By far my most enjoyable class (it’s actually a shame I only get them twice a week). Even if I am convinced that two of my students show up high to class (the only two kids in school with long hair), they still enthusiastically participate. I’m especially thankful that all of the girls do their homework, which also gives me a chance to heap guilt and embarrassment on all the boys. Mostly I’m thankful to know that whenever I teach this class, I’ll never have to raise my voice.

Nino’s – I’m thankful for our program group-coordinator Nino who did everything in her power to prepare us and put us in a position to succeed; she still remains a good friend (despite her incorrectly comparing Bandza to some heaven on earth Utopia and leading me to some initial disappointment). Also for my music instructor Nino and her putting up with me and my once a week attempt to learn a musical instrument (plus taking time out of her own schedule to fix my family’s piano at the house—a painfully tedious undertaking); she doesn’t even get mad when I laugh after she says now you must do it with no mistakes. And finally for all the Nino’s at my school, who unlike all the boys named Torniqe, are the picture of perfection and good behavior.

Gabunia’s – I can’t beat this drum consistently or hard enough, but I am so thankful for my host family and everything they do for me. They’ve given me so much while I feel as if I’ve given so little. There’s no request they’ll turn down and no extra mile they won’t go to make me feel as comfortable as possible. One hell of a family. I really can’t do it justice in words.

Charity, Volunteering, & Contracts

A look back at the mountains of Samegrelo after a long day of hiking in the foothills. Now I understand when someone told me before I came that the views are reminiscent of Colorado

So I’m going to try something a bit different in this post. Instead of restricting myself with bullets, I’ll just write until I’ve exhausted the topic (or I’m tired of writing). Recently, I’ve felt myself filling space just to reach a quota of ten points, and though I think at times that’s led me to stumbling upon some fairly healthy realizations, for the most part the expectations have made writing feel like more of a chore than a joy. So we’ll see how this works, but it should make my posts briefer and more to the point, which may feel like dumbing things down a bit (more Dan Brown than James Joyce), but since this here ain’t no democracy, there’s little you can do about it. 

In correction to a previous post, this fruit is actually called Khumro and is strung up outside the house until January at which point it is deliciously frozen and shriveled. Also makes for a nice ornament

I was discussing charity with my students today during our weekly English Club (I really need to find a better title, as the current one is a bit bandzi [lame]). I was trying to explain Movember while also raising the idea of starting our own charity at the school (I told them that we had to establish a goal that would be useful [new chalk boards, a community garden, cleaning up the school grounds, etc.] and not what some of the boys suggested [TV-satellite and flat screens]). I’ll let you know how it goes (I told them to come back next week with some ideas), but a majority of the EC members are clever girls (in Georgian English, people are not smart or unintelligent, they’re clever or stupid).

During the discussion, I brought up the term volunteer, which I think is an exceedingly useful word in Georgia since everybody here seems to be so giving and welcoming. Originally it stemmed from talking about donating, and what we can donate. I explained to them that along with donating money and old clothes, we can also donate our time, and that when we do, it’s called volunteering. Of course they understood all of this. They just needed me to help them navigate through this fairly specific topic. In fact, a few of my students had volunteered before in a program that reaches out to kids who don’t have a family (that notion amazed me, since everybody is family in Georgia, including people who are not blood relatives).

This is a group of guys who hang out on the main drag in Martvili and play nardi all day long; this picture was taken at 9 in the morning and they were out there at 9 in the evening

But I ran into trouble when I told them that our program refers to us as volunteers, even though we get paid. It wasn’t that they didn’t get it; it was that I didn’t get it. I stood at the front of the class for a second trying to figure out how that made sense. When I was first reading about the program and coming to Georgia, I was a little startled at how little the monthly salary was (I will not bring up how much it is; if you’re really interested, you can find out on your own). But after I got to Georgia, and realized how low the cost of living is (not to mention that our food and housing are taken care of), all of my previous reservations vanished.

I’m hesitant to say I live like a king here, but compared to my fellow teachers, I think that’s a fair statement. I make much more than them despite the fact that they have families to worry about (most of them are women whose husbands work, but that doesn’t take away from how little they make). If anything, they’re the volunteers. 

This is where I'm heading when I die, supposedly.

So, needless to say, I’m hesitant to refer to myself as a volunteer, although if you’ve noticed before, I usually refer to other members of the program as “fellow volunteers.” I think it’s a term I picked up from TLG, since that’s what they call us in any official communication. But again, I wouldn’t call any of us volunteers. When my Mother and Father met in the early-eighties as Visa Vista Volunteers, they were much more deserved of the title, since they made next to nothing and had to pay for their own housing (my Mother at first shared an apartment with another volunteer for $80 a month). My parents were downright poor then, while right now in Georgia, I’m practically middle-class.

Quite often, Georgians have asked me why I came to Georgia. I usually tell them some bland answer about teaching and seeing the world. There’s definitely some truth to that answer, but the real reason lies being what I told other members of the program (I am already tring to wean myself off of calling ourselves volunteers) when we discussed the topic. The actual specifics behind me coming to Georgia go like this; I was looking at a few places (Kyrzgstan, Indonesia, and half of Southeast Asia) but the opportunity in Georgia was moving the quickest while I was also broke, unemployed, and itching to get going. Yeah, I did a little bit of research, and Georgia seemed interesting, but I had no burning desire to come to Georgia specifically. In fact, I had never really heard much about it before I started researching during the process, but even then, I read about the terrain and wine and that was all I needed to know.

Fellow TLGer Darryl, Temuri (random Georgian kid), and myself outside the entrance into the Monastery at Balda

All of my fellow TLG members have their own reasons for coming here, but a majority of us fit the same mold: mid-twenties, college educated, but with little idea of what we want to do. A few of us like to joke that since the program is funded mostly through foreign financial backing (read: United States), that this was in fact just a way to lower the unemployment rate back home. But the point is, many of us came to Georgia in search of something.

I have little idea of what I want to do with my life, but if I had any aim at all in coming to Georgia, it was to find out if I’m cut out for teaching. Now TEFL is certainly a specialized form of teaching, and even if I do love or hate this experience, that sentiment may not carry over to, say, teaching English Literature to high school students in Pennsylvania. But I think it’s a fair litmus test.

Saw this kid at the tolerance concert held in Senaki; he was fifteen at the most, but had a better Mo than me... Oh yeah, Donate!

But here’s the twist. Many of my fellow TLG members only signed up for the six-month contract (and really, it’s more like a four-month contract [mid-August to mid-December]) or they had originally signed the ten-month contract but opted to reduce it. Everyone has their own reasons for this (I don’t know specifics, but if I were to guess it’d be frustration, better opportunities, or just being uncomfortable and missing home), and I’m not about to pass judgment or disparage my colleagues.

Again, I can only speak for myself, but three months doesn’t seem like a long enough time to really make any significant change or impact (school starts in mid-September while we are flown out in mid/late-December, making it just over three months of actual teaching). My mother has been working abroad for the past five years, and on her first assignment in the African country of Liberia, she had initially signed a one-year contract but eventually extended it to two years. Her reason being that she felt one year was simply not long enough to make a substantial impression.

A nice shot from my Saturday hike up from the Balda Monastery showing off much of the Samegrelo flatlands in the distance

Now there are definitely some differences between our circumstances (my Mother gets paid a whole lot more, while working under intensely pressurized conditions), but I have the same concerns over leaving early. But really, what it comes down to is why I’m staying rather than why I’m not leaving. There’s two glaring reason, with the first being that I have nothing better to do. I know that sounds like a really bad reason, and maybe it is, but the other presentable options don’t seem nearly as interesting. I could go back to graduate school, but experience always beats education in my eyes. I also might be able to find a better paying TEFL job somewhere else, but I’m not in massive debt and therefore have little monetary motivation. Most important, if I do go elsewhere, there’s no guarantee I would like it as much as Georgia.

Saw this in the hallway at the school in Senaki; hey, at least they're using the language (plus I learned a new Georgian word)

Which brings me to the second reason, I love it here. I really am convinced that the place I was looking for when I bought a one-way ticket to Firenze this past summer was here in Georgia and not in Italy (a topic for another time). I love the customs, the people, the unwarranted friendliness, and the natural beauty (something that’s become more and more obvious as the air has thinned and the views have cleared up). Probably the most compelling reason to stay is my host-family, their devotion, helpfulness, and willingness to let me be me. Yes, there are and will be some trying times, but those are everywhere and I doubt there’s a place on Earth where we can hide from them. But adversity makes us stronger and, to be honest, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere perfect, as I’d learn little from myself in such a place.

I doubt I’ll stay in Georgia past a year, mostly because I’m young and there are tons of opportunities out there. I left Charleston because I was convinced that five years in one place at a young age is four too many, and I’m sticking to that theory. I never want to be too sedentary or comfortable because at my age, I have the blood and attitude to be a bit transient. But really, who knows? Just as soon as I’m set on putting an expiration date on something, I remember that I’m also at the age and have the mind frame where I can’t put restrictions on myself. Just go with it.

This was the bonfire they had outside the school in Senaki immediately following the tolerance concert. Some of the students were jumping over it, which would normally be cause for alarm, but in Georgia it's just chalked up to boys being boys

Prologue: So I guess that was kind of similar to my previous posts, as I went from charity to volunteering, to contracts, and right back to my love of Georgia. But at least I didn’t need to insert any abrupt expressions like, and now I’ll be changing directions… But I promise I’ll soon get back to ignorantly tearing apart Georgian culture. Next up: A post on Georgian men and their cars.