GNJB Glossary of Terms

I’ve been wanting to get up a glossary of terms for quite some time, but am now only getting around to it. I realize some readers may not be religiously following this blog, and that I often use a term or a phrase that may feel like second nature to me, but is not easily definable to the casual reader. So here it is, the GNJB Georgian Glossary.

Lasha – Host-father – I don’t really know how to define Lasha, since he’s certainly not old enough to be my father as he’s probably only about thirty-five. He feels more like a watchful older brother, but Rezo (my host-grandfather) looks too old to be considered a father. It’s quite the conundrum.

But Lasha is hilarious in every way. He’s short, stout, has extremely short arms, and a square jaw that makes him look like a rock’em-sock’em-robot. He works on the family farm doing anything and everything (including acting as midwife to the pregnant cows), but also makes a living (or lack thereof) through sports betting, or as I like to call it, Georgian day-trading. He knows very little English, but loves to use the few phrases he does know as much as possible, including telling me good evening when I see him first thing in the morning.

Lasha also loves to keep up with current events, particularly politics, and he has no problem telling me how much of a liar, deceiver, or fibster Saakashvili is despite the fact that I continually tell him that Misha is my defacto boss. But despite these objections, I love to humor him by responding with boghzi when he yells out Saakashvili’s name to me, which in Lasha’s Georgian-English dictionary translates to fornicator or adulterer, but more accurately means bitch.

Ira (Irina) – Host-mother – Ira is Lasha’s Russian bride, and my host-mother. Ira is from Moscow, and they met when Lasha was working there in the mid-ninety’s. She definitely feels more like a mother than a sister, since she does everything for me (cooking, laundry, and cleaning my room when I go away on weekends). She knows a little more English than Lasha, is absurdly kind and patient with me, and is always busy doing something (cooking, cleaning, or even helping out on the farm). I almost never see her eat, and if I do, just like for the mother from A Christmas Story, it’s never a warm or fresh meal.

Ira speaks both Russian and Georgian; strictly Georgian with me, but a mixture of Russian and Georgian with the boys. Probably my favorite part about Ira is when Lasha says something funny or goofy (usually about Saakashvili being a fornicator of some sorts), she just chuckles sweetly and says, “Oh, Lasha.” It’s so damn cute and endearing.

Rezi (Reziko) – Host-brother  – Rezi is the oldest boy (fifteen) and is named after his grandfather (Lasha’s father) Rezo. Rezi is much more like his Mother in that he’s an extremely hard worker, but does it without complaint. He’s the quieter of the two boys, and I love him for that. As I’ve had times where I’ve wanted to throttle Luke (who I’ll get to), I’ve never had anything but admiration for Rezi. He’s an especially good kid, despite his sneaking up on me while I’m at the computer and scaring the bejesus out of me.

Luka – Host-brother – Luka is the younger brother (twelve), extremely smart (too smart for his own good), and drives me crazy. He works hard, but never stops complaining about it. He’s also developed a terrible whiney tone when he wants to let people know about his displeasure (and he is often displeased). But Luka is also terribly funny, because he’s full of energy and loves to put on a show. He’s a bit odd; as one moment he can be singing and dancing to a Lady Gaga song, and then the next moment he’ll turn into a fifty year-old man by slapping his knee in an uproar over something funny on the TV.

Rezo – Host-Grandfather – I’ve already gone into much detail about this man they call Babua, but I still can’t really put my finger on what he thinks of me. Sometimes I see him and he’s all smiles jabbering at me in Megruli (the official dialect to our region, of which I only understand a few phrases), and then the next time I see him he looks at me in wonderment like he’s never seen me before. But he’s still highly entertaining to observe nonetheless.

Leila – Host-Grandmother – Leila is extremely warm and loving, much like Grandmothers the world over. She’s also led a pretty interesting life as she worked at the pharmacy in Martvili for over thirty years, has traveled to India, and is currently visiting her daughter’s family in Belgium. Not your typical Georgian grandmother, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still milk the cows in the morning and go around pinching every young boy’s cheek.

Tamari (Tamrika) – Bandza School’s English Teacher – As some TLGers have been calling them, Tamari is my counterpart. She speaks and understands English very well for someone who has never had much contact with native English speakers. She is absurdly easy to get along with and definitely more open to progressive ideas than others. I feel like for some other TLGers, their Georgian-English teachers have really been the make or break for them, so I’m extremely thankful to be working with someone like Tamari.

Bandza – The name of my village, which is located in the Martvili district of the Samegrelo region. Bandza is fairly large for a village, as there are several markets in the center of town, a hotel, and a Sunday bazaar. Many other TLGers who are in villages don’t have nearly as many amenities as I’m afforded in Bandza. But that doesn’t mean I still don’t get the business from anyone and everyone about living in Bandza. Most people know Bandza because it’s at the crossroads between four somewhat substantial towns in Samegrelo (Khoni, Martvili, Senaki, and Abasha). But the adjective bandzi is the Georgian equivalent of lame. So it would compare to me living in an American town named Lame-o.  Never ceases to entertain any Georgian when I tell them I live in Bandza.

Martvili – Martvili is the town ten kilometers up the road from me. It’s a legitimate town, with a supermarket, a café, my bank’s local branch, a park with a fountain, and a beautiful Monastery that sits atop the hill in the middle of town. Friend of the blog and fellow TLGer Ian teaches at one of the three schools there, while No-Problem David is from a village a few kilometers outside of town. Martvili is usually where I go when I want to unwind or do some shopping. As I tell Ian, it’s the Paris  of the Martvili district.

Samegrelo – The region in which most of the TLGers from my group are stationed. Half in the mountains, half in the only low-lands of Georgia, Samegrelo affords some pretty impressive views of the mountains to the north and south thanks to plains that run through the southern half of the region. Samegrelo also has it’s own language Megruli, which I mentioned above. People from Samegrelo love it when a foreigner can spout out even the smallest amount of Megruli, so even the few phrases I know come in handy when meeting a Megrelian. Mutcherek (how are you)?

TLG – Teach and Learn Georgia – My program that is run from the Ministry of Education in Tbilisi. You can read more about it by clicking on the link in my sidebar, but basically it’s a government program that’s goal is to make English the official second-language of Georgia within five years. They plan on placing upwards of one thousand English speakers throughout the schools of Georgia  by next year. I’ve already said more than I should on a public forum regarding TLG, but it’s an extremely aggressive plan and endeavor that has given us TLGers every opportunity to shape and mold the program to whatever we deem necessary given our situations.

Now I know many of you may not have learnt anything within that post, but it had to be done. I promise another post sometime this week regarding Georgian men and their cars (I know, I’ve been promising that for quite sometime, but this time it’s for real). But I’m still really busy, especially since Ian and I are planning and playing in a Bandza/Martvili basketball game on Thursday. This time, it’s for blood.

Unfortunately, no pictures for the time being since my internet is acting woefully slow. Soon, though.

Sakartvelo Phekhburti, Western Music, & No-Problem David

Meat's meat, man's gotta eat. Which includes a nice boars head from time to time

It’s pretty much been raining the last two weeks, but out of nowhere the weather turned immaculate the past two days. So the entire family has been out on the farm trying to make up for the work they’ve lost, while I had my buddy Bill visit the house to drink their wine. If I can just make it to winter without growing a conscience, I think I’ll be okay.

Ati – The people of Georgia are proud of almost everything Georgian. I’ve heard things that are crazy (Georgian men are twice as strong as other European men [that was a scientific fact by the way]) to the insane (there were Migrelians [people from Samegrelo] in the New World before Columbus discovered it). Georgia, much like all European countries—or any other country in the world for that matter—is nationalistic beyond comprehension.  Sa-kart-velo, ga-mar-JOS!

These may have been the Georgians that made it to America before Columbus, or they could just be a couple religious dudes

Otsi – The only aspect of Georgian culture that native Georgians love to bash is their phekhburti (football). There’s a common joke in Georgia that goes like this: football was born in England, grew up in Brazil, and died in Georgia. Anytime I bring up the Georgian National Team, the common sentiment is, “The Georgian team is very… bad.” There are a few exceptions to their scorn. Kakha Kaladze has been a team staple for the past dozen years and played in a Champion’s League Final with AC Milan, while Levan Kobiashvili is well regarded and has been their number ten for quite a few years. But everyone else sucks; a claim that I tend to disagree with (although I’m a Pittsburgh Pirates fan, so I can find the positives in even the most dire of circumstances).

This is a picture that I believe I've used before on this blog, but it's a shot of the Bandza team playing another village. Bandza's  team is even worse than the Martvili team, and any Bandzan will tell you so.

Otsadaati – I’ve now watched two games (their match against Israel on my birthday [0-0, a complete snoozer], and their match against Latvia in Riga this past week [1-1, with Latvia snatching a point with a magnificent equalizer in the 90^th minute]), and if anything, Kabiashvili and Kaladze look past their prime, while the brightest spots have come from 18-year old Jano Ananidze (tiny and sickly looking, but fast with quick feet and a amazing understanding of the game at such a young age) and Gogita Gogua (the Georgian Arjen Roben; young but already bald, nifty with the ball at his feet, can’t defend worth a damn, and loves to milk a dive). Despite blowing a prime opportunity to help their chances of qualifying for Euro’12 by conceding a point to Latvia this past week, Georgia still hasn’t lost a game in it’s group while picking up draws against group favorites Israel (in Tbilisi) and Greece (in Athens, which was an even bigger point). They have to face ultimate group favorite Croatia twice, who I still think is living off the overrated hype of its triumphs over England in the Euro’08 qualifiers. The long short of it is, four games into qualifying, Georgia has a legitimate opportunity to qualify for Euro’12 (they currently sit third [with six points in four games] behind Croatia and Greece), which would be their first ever FIFA qualification… and it feels like no one cares but me.

This is a nice picture of tourist Max outside the national stadium in Tbilisi, which acts as the home stadium for Dinamo Tbilisi (the best, biggest, and most popular club in Georgia) and is usually packed to the gills for any Euro qualifying matches (including Saakashvili who watches from his Presidential box)

Omotsi – I think it’s because most Georgian football fans are front-runners to begin with. They don’t want to support a loser, and the Georgian National Team has done plenty of losing in its brief history. And though most of the locals will go to Martvili (the town up the road ten kilometers north of us) to watch F.C. Marani play every now and then, they will also freely admit that the team isn’t any good (they play in the second division of Georgian football, so it’s a pretty fair statement). If I ask my students which team they support, it’s always one of four clubs: Barcalona, Real Madrid, AC Milan, or Manchester United. There are a few Liverpool fans (although they don’t even understand that I hate L.F.C since I support Everton), and I see jerseys of Chelsea and Arsenal (one of my students has a pretty sweet blue Henry kit circa ’05), but usually they keep it to the international big four. I understand why, as the only matches they are able to watch on the weekend usually involve one of those four clubs. Needless to say, no one really understands why I follow a club that struggles to make the Europa League (the poor man’s Champions League).

This is Ian's host brother Tsotne, who usually rocks this Barcalona Messi jersey, but he also has a full Kaka Real Madrid kit. Talk about a confused kid.

Ormotsdaati – When I was watching the Georgia/Latvia match with Lasha (my host-father), he never got all that excited like I tend to when watching soccer. For me, it’s the perfect build-up sport; you see the play unravel slowly and can just feel a scoring opportunity coming to a head, but even if the play ends with a shot into the stands, I tend to swell into a frenzy with each subsequent pass. Basically, viewing a game with me is like watching soccer with a teapot. But Lasha just sat back and looked disgusted the entire time. Even when Georgia scored following a set piece in what was, admittedly, kind of a weak goal for Latvia to let up, Lasha looked disappointed in that it wouldn’t win goal of the week. Anytime a Georgian player would misplay a ball, or send an errant pass as the intended target darted the opposite way (something that happened quite frequently, but—to be fair—tends to with national teams because of how little they play together), Lasha would tilt his head to the side and fake spit in disgust. It was hilarious; like out of a Pop-eye cartoon. Amazingly, when Latvia did score in the 90^th minutes off a beautiful scissor kick volley in the box, Lasha didn’t show any disgust by spitting air to his side, but instead had a feint smile of admiration towards one of those plays that gives the sport it’s nickname—the beautiful game. It was an astoundingly levelheaded reaction; something that I could probably learn from, because I’m not even Georgian and my heart sunk to the floor realizing that one lapse in defense could have squandered any chance of qualifying. So maybe it isn’t the team at all; maybe it’s the way in which they play that matters most to Georgians.

And this is Tsnotne's little brother Luka, who is always rocking his Gerrard Liverpool jersey, which is probably why he's such a pain in the ass

Samotsi – Speaking of Lasha, I’ve successfully weaned him off of using the n-word when describing someone of African descent. This tends to be a common problem for volunteers, especially those who are of African heritage (if I think its weird to be stared at because I wear button-down shirts and have long hair, I can’t even begin to imagine what some of the other African-American volunteers go through on a daily basis). It’s not the Georgians’ faults, as they aren’t trying to be ignorant or disrespectful, they just consider the word a common term in our vernacular. I’m not exactly sure why they assume that; maybe they show a ton of Tarantino movies and Spike Lee joints on TV here. Or, if my host-brothers affinity for DMX tells me anything, it probably more likely comes from the music they listen to.

Fellow volunteer Tomas, a diehard Newcastle supporter, with his host brother who is a Chelsea suppoprter despite seen here with a Harry Kewell Liverpool jersey. None of it makes any sense...

Samotsdaati - Much like football clubs, Georgian teenagers only listen to three musicians: Eminem, Shakira, and K’naan (and with the latter two, they really only like their World Cup Anthems). Some know The Beatles or a few Rolling Stones songs, but their knowledge of western music is limited and bizarre. The last two weeks, my friend Ian and I have been hanging out with a Georgian buddy of ours named David who is from a village outside of Martvili (where everyone has the same last name as David). David represents the typical 21^st-century younger Georgian as he’s always fashionably dressed, has spent a few years living in Tbilisi, and understands English pretty well. Usually younger people who have spent some time in Tbilisi are more cognizant of current trends, and although I wouldn’t deprive David of that, his penchant for bad music could rival any other citizen of Bandza or Martvili. He loves We Are the World, but the song that really gets his juices flowing… Shania Twain’s Man I Feel Like a Woman. There’s nothing funnier than seeing the entire crowd in the Martvili café react to the opening lines of that horrid tune. It’s like when you put on The Electric Slide at a Bar Mitzvah; people go bat-shit crazy.

This was the lead man for the band that played at the festival in Martvili. The band is pretty well known from Tbilisi and their name translates into The Travellers. I respect any leading man who will spark up a cig in the middle of a religious holliday concert.

Otkhmotsi – When I say David understands English well, I really mean that he knows a few phrases but is eager and willing to learn more. One of his favorite phrases is he is stupid. We were hanging out in the café (the only place to socialize in Martvili outside of Boom, which is the supermarket) with David, his brother Levan, and one of their friends named Nica. I taught them how to play shoulders (a counting game that goes well with drinking), but despite it being a pretty simple game and playing with Georgian numbers instead of English numbers, Nica would constantly mess up, after which David would crack his giant smile and roar out, “He is stupid!” Almost as if that were the only explanation possible: he is stupid, he was born that way, so there’s nothing we can do but laugh.

This is David taking down some beer at the cafe in Martvili. Another possible nickname for this man, David the Drinker

Otkhmotsdaati – David can use the phrase in a serious way as well. Last week we were driving around Martvili and he pulled up next to a younger looking guy in his early twenties. Once they began talking, it quickly escalated to where the conversation only lasted about sixty seconds. After pulling away at a break-neck speed, I asked David what that was all about (as I’ve previously noted here, when Georgians raise their voice, it’s not exactly indicative of an argument), and he basically told me that guy and himself had gotten in a fistfight at the café the week before. When I asked him for what reason, he turned to me with a stern look and said, “That boy is very… very stupid.”

Myself and no-problem David

Atsi – The phrase that David uses the most, even more than he is stupid and it is very bad (with bad emphasized; often used to describe the Georgian National Team), is It is no problem! It usually comes in a sequence like this, “David, can I get a ride home on your motorcycle?” To which David replies, “You need a ride home?” Then his forehead scrunches up like he’s contemplating a math equation, followed by a face one gets when inspiration hits, while answering with a wide smile, “It is no problem!” Ian describes David as the happiest man on earth, which is a pretty fair title, since you almost never see him upset or not smiling like he’s got the run-around on you. But I like to call him no-problem David, because no matter what we want (a ride home, more beer, a meeting with the President) it is always no problem! This is a common attitude that many Georgians have, especially towards guest’s needs, but no one I’ve met encapsulates the pure joy in pleasing someone than no-problem David.

Daily Schedule, 'Have You Got', & Why My Latin Sucks

A picture from the monastery in Martvili, the town just ten kilometers away from me where they had a celebration this past weekend in honor of the famous teacher of David the Builder, who was apparently, a pretty big deal back in the day.

Here come the sweeping judgments I promised just a week ago: it’s backwards, all the students are ignorant, and no one speaks English. Happy? Well I’m not, so here’s a little more introspective thinking.

Ati – Before I go on, no matter what I say or write about my experience of teaching at the Bandza School, it will be unique from other TLG volunteers’ own circumstances. We might share similar problems, but for the most part, everybody has a different situation. Some teach more hours, some have less reasonable co-teachers, some have more structure, etc. My situation is my situation, and does not represent the TLG experience or the education system in Georgia. It’s like the Jersey Shore; those highly entertaining deadbeats do not represent the people of the great state of New Jersey, just the riffraff that go down the shore in the summers.

This is Ian's Grandpa Giorgi, who resembles my own Grandpa in that he's always smiling and looks way past his due date

Otsi – Let me take you through a typical day of teaching in Bandza. I wake up at around 7:30 a.m., check my email and see how much the Pirates lost by in the previous night, take a shower, and eat with the boys at around 8:15 a.m. If I have a lesson in the first period (which starts at 9 a.m.), I leave right after breakfast as it takes me about twenty minutes to walk to school (a little over a kilometer). Sometimes I get a ride from Lasha if it’s raining or someone recognizes me as the new American English teacher in town and stops to give me a ride, but then on those really special occasions I hitch a ride in a horse and cart (true story; it was like going to the prom in your Dad’s antique Porsche, except the complete opposite). Each lesson is forty-five minutes, with ten minute breaks in between. There are seven periods in each day, but I’m not sure why because no one has class in that seventh period. So my day generally runs from 9 a.m. (but only on Monday and Thursday do I have a first period lesson) to 2:20 p.m. On any given day, I will have between three and five lessons that I sit in on, but I am only the head-teacher for eleven lessons a week. I bet you’re wondering what the hell a head-teacher is?

Ian's neighbor V, who is a perverted old man, which also means he is hilarious

Otsdaati – When we started school, I had agreed with Tamari (one of the two English teachers in Bandza, and my main means of communication) that I’d sit in on all the classes and after a full week of observation, we’d figure out what was the best way to use me. See, I’m like a new toy that the Ministry of Education handed to this school, but with zero instructions on how to be used. Which is fine by me, since that allows me to dictate the terms of my teaching. So I sat in on classes for a little over a week (and no, I didn’t just sit there; I brought in my computer to show them pictures of Pittsburgh and the fam damily [including a few pictures of my father asleep on the couch with the cat resting on his belly; everyone really liked those], while I also took control of the class a few times when I wanted to diagram a grammar point). And at the end I decided it’d be best if I took complete control of three of Tamari’s classes and one of Eka’s (the other English teacher). That means I plan and run the lesson, while the other teacher is there to translate if necessary (more like a safety net than anything). As for the other classes, I will still attend them and help when needed, but I won’t be counted on to run or plan the lessons.

My neighbor and I at the monastery; I was waiting for a marshrutka by the side of the road and he picked me up. Doesn't speak a word of English but treats me like his own son...

Ormotsi – So I’m teaching the year XI’s, X’s, V’s, and one of Eka’s classes to be determined. That may not seem like a lot (it’s only eleven lessons a week, which at forty-five minutes a lesson comes out to just over eight hours of actual teaching a week). But considering the time I put into planning the lessons along with sitting in on the other lessons (probably another twelve hours of class time), I’ll still have a relatively busy schedule. I also set up office hours where the students can come to me if they are having problems (a sort of defacto English Club; I have a feeling no one will come, so I’m planning on having Pepsi and cookies by the second week. I remember what it was once like to be a student—Free food? I’m there) while also presented an option to the other teachers that I’ll give them a lesson of English once a week (they all seem eager to learn the basics of English, and receptive towards the idea).

From a mural inside the monastery in Martvili; I have zero idea who these guys are, but they look important...

Ormotsdaati – So that’s the boring schedule stuff; now to the good shit. The first thing I want to bring up, which tends to be a popular subject here at GNJB, is my stupidity. In the midst of the first lesson I taught during my TEFL course (Teaching English as a Foreign Language; a certification course I took in Florence, Italy which qualifies you to teach English anywhere in the world), I misspelled apartment by putting an extra p in there for some reason. It was quite embarrassing, but hardly the last time I will misspell a word when teaching. Thanks to the computer, spell-check, and acronyms, my generation has been forged on the inability to spell, and I of course am no outlier.

The grounds of the monastery we visited on Saturday (not the one in Martvili, this one was farther up in the mountains near a town called Salkino [spelling?]); there was a suphra being held for all the big wigs and for some reason, us teachers were invited. The tables can be seen in the background and there were a few of them; probably seated about 200 people all in all

Samotsi – But the shortcomings in my grasp of the English language don’t only lend themselves to spelling; Pittsburgh, as proud as I am of my hometown, has caused me to come off as an ignorant simpleton quite frequently. I’m fond of using a double negative from time to time (a Pittsburgh staple) while also forgetting an article or extra preposition every now and then (I’m heading down the stadium; is there supposed to be a to somewhere in there?). So it didn’t surprise me when I assigned the fifth graders a home task that involved them using the phrase have you got? I blame the student who asked me the day before, “Have you got a sister?” I lapsed back into my old self like I was casually talking to some guy named Vito at Penn Mac on a busy Saturday morning, “Hey, you got any of ‘at prosciutto left?” Needless to say, I ain’t no English scholar.

Georgian Folk Singers at the suphra on Saturday. I need to get me one of them outfits...

Samotsdaati – Speaking of my TEFL course in Italy, it was one of the better academic experiences in my life. Pound for pound, that was the most knowledge I acquired in such a short period of time. The course melded a crash course in English grammar, lesson planning, teaching tactics, and the actual act of teaching (nothing equips you to accomplish things in life like actual experience). After those four weeks, I felt like I could teach anyone English anywhere in the world. And though I’m not about to retract that belief, coming here and teaching is definitely a bit of a reality check. But it’s good for me, knocks me down a peg or two because contrary to popular belief, I am not Socrates.

The kids of the Martvili district showing us some Georgian Folk Dancing, which is amazing... Sure beats the hell out of So You Think You Can Dance

Otkhmotsi – Let’s start with the alphabet. It’s easy to teach Italians because they have the same alphabet, but Georgians have a completely different Cyrillic alphabet of 33 different letters and sounds (similar to Italian, they pronounce every letter the same way and don’t have silent letters like us crazy English speakers), while the English alphabet has 26 letters and 35+ sounds. So that’s the first thing that all students must learn, but unfortunately, due to the ever-changing environment of the Georgian educational system, not every student knows the alphabet (there’s some students in my year VIII class who don’t know the alphabet, and even a few year X’s and XII’s). Part of the reason for TLG is that the government wants to make English the second language of Georgia, so the students that were learning Russian, German, or French before (the three most popular other foreign languages) are now thrust into an English classroom. But it’s not all on the system, because many of the students just don’t care, or think they can start taking an English class midway through high school. But it’s not like it is back in the States; students aren’t split into classes by ability, instead just ushered along with the rest of their year. But despite my vast intentions, I cannot single-handedly change the system. I have to do the best with what I have.

This gent was like that one guy at a String Cheese Incident concert who took one too many hits of acid... except this was a children's dance recital

Otkhmotsdaati – This brings up another thought I’ve had rumbling around my head for quite some time. Learning a language is a lot like learning math or the sciences. You need to build a solid foundation if you’re ever going to succeed at the higher levels. You can’t understand calculus if you don’t know multiplication just like you can’t understand the perfect tense if you first don’t understand how to conjugate to have. I often come to this realization when thinking about my English degree and how I didn’t come to literature or writing until much later in life. You don’t need to have read Shakespeare to enjoy Hemmingway. All you have to do is know how to string words together (also known as reading) and have an open mind. That’s why I became an English major when I just started to enjoy learning and being a student while in college; my previous laziness and apathy don’t really come back to bite me when it comes to literature. Yeah, it’d be nice to be a little more well-read, but I have the rest of my life to devour James, Tolstoy, and Faulkner.

David the Dancer taking a drink the Georgian way; doing a split, picking it up with your mouth, and then tipping it up all without the help of your hands.

Asi – But every time there’s a Jeopardy answer with a reference to Latin, I think, “Wait, why don’t I know this? I took seven years of Latin… Oh yeah, it’s because I didn’t give a shit so I don’t remember anything.” I didn’t exactly flourish in Italian while in college either, but I blame that on my professors more than anything (I know, lame, but they were really quite terrible). But in acquiring a language, it’s so important to build a solid foundation, or else you’ll have nothing to build on later (yeah, I used the foundation/building metaphor… what of it?). So I’m trying to keep that in mind when teaching the younger kids, because there’s nothing worse than seeing a year XI zoned out while looking out the window because five years earlier they didn’t understand how to conjugate to be.

This was the contraption they used to get water from the river at the monastery where the suphra was held. It flung a bucket down about fifty meters to the river, filled itself up, and then was wound back up to the top. Water tastes so much better when you have to fetch it with an ancient pulley system.