And I don’t mean just for me. Today it seemed like the entirety of the Peace Corps staff in Almaty were descending on Saimasai; that can’t have been easy. I was teaching eighth grade today – the same grade I will be teaching for my unit plan – and I was being observed by Natalya (one of the Peace Corps regional managers and one of our technical trainers in Saimasai) who came here along with Ufilmalik to observe classes. Thankfully, this lesson was one of the smoothest I’ve had yet, with some of the best-behaved students; I got through my entire lesson plan, as James Taylor might say, ‘like a Swiss watch’. Natalya had some very positive feedback for me: the only real criticisms she had were my use of Russian in the lesson and my lack of clarity in giving instructions for one of the practice activities. But the students were enjoying themselves and doing the work gladly (I saw no reason not to give every one of them a daily ‘5’ – the highest grade possible – though one Qazaq girl was doing so well with the exercises that she should have gotten a ‘6’).
Secondly, Dr Viktor arrived from Essik and decided to pay me a visit, just to check up on my mental health status. His visit was also generally useful – I think he was able to understand me a bit more, and it seemed like he could identify with some of my hangups, he himself being a perfectionist with regard to his own actions. Thirdly, Paul and Ekaterina arrived to do site placement interviews. Paul took my interview, and we had a pretty long chat about pretty much everything, from Qazaqstani history to education to life in С— to paranoid rumours about Peace Corps’ modus operandi. (And we got around to site placement somewhere in there, too.) Basically, I had two major requests for site placement: that I be at a site where both Qazaq and Russian are spoken, and that I have access to a young, inexperienced counterpart who wasn’t set in his or her ways (and would thus be more open to new ideas). I had thought I wouldn’t be able to cope with not having full access to running water before coming here, but a couple months in С— disabused me of that misconception about myself. I mentioned this to Paul, and he basically told me that people can adapt to pretty much any kind of situation – and we’re going to be in places where people live and enjoy relatively happy existences. I think it goes to illustrate Bill McKibben’s point that up to a certain point, affluence and development correspond positively with happiness, but beyond that point there is zero correlation. We also discussed the rumours that occur with Peace Corps – I told him about one in which Peace Corps assigns sitemates whose personalities don’t match in order to facilitate better site integration, and Paul laughed and said that that consideration was incredibly far down the list of factors, and that even if there were such a consideration, the end goal would be the same: to ensure a successful service for the Volunteer. He said there would be no point in the Peace Corps staff screwing Volunteers over to make their service more difficult, because all that would do in turn would be to make the jobs of Peace Corps staff more difficult.
I’m still curious to find out where I’ll be placed, but that won’t be decided for at least another week yet. I’ve got some suspicions on where I might be placed, but I won’t talk about those here – at least, not for another week or so. Suffice it to say that I’m not setting any unrealistic expectations.
30 September 2009
28 September 2009
No, you live, you teach and you screw up. Then you learn.
I just delivered my first lesson for the week. I can’t honestly say it was a good lesson insofar as it went according to the lesson plan – actually, it felt like that first scene in The Incredibles where Mr Incredible is trying to save everyone all at once and not succeeding very well: first the thwarted suicide attempt, then the vault robbery by Bomb Voyage being interrupted by Buddy and then the bomb exploding on the train track with an oncoming train. First, I wasn’t as prepared as I should have been – I didn’t have tape or markers handy. Secondly, I rushed through my presentation, so the students didn’t get it as well as they could have. Thirdly, my practice activities (one of which was taken straight from the class’s Ayapova textbook) all seemed to be well above the class’s proficiency level, to the point where one poor girl seemed on the verge of tears when I asked her to participate, because she didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing. But, I knew the material I was teaching and I was feeling more at ease at the head of the class than I was during my first week, and that gave me some leeway to step back and try it again, bringing the lesson back to the presentation and seeing what mixture of explanation, mime and Russian translation the kids needed to see and hear in order to grasp the grammar structures and vocabulary and use them effectively. (Actually, my thanks to Aggie Goldsmith at BAE are due here in spades; taking her course made my life here a lot easier than it would have been otherwise.) ‘Flexibility’ and ‘humour’ were the operative words here: Peace Corps weren’t screwing around when they said those traits would be keys to success. I knew this hadn’t been my best lesson to date, but Emiko told me that it demonstrated my growth as a teacher, that I was becoming more flexible and more aware of my surroundings. Interestingly enough, Emiko also told me that since I am a man at the head of a Qazaqstani classroom, I should have far more leeway to be authoritarian than I would have in an American classroom, and I should take it since the students are much more used to an authoritarian teaching style. (Given the opinions expressed in my post a couple weeks back, I’m feeling both incredibly eager to take this advice and a bit fearful that I might take it too far.)
Indeed, the more I think about it and the more I actually do it, the more I am convinced that those who make education their profession are routinely under-appreciated and under-valued in American society. The platitude ‘if you can’t do, teach’ is in every way a lie: teaching is all doing, even if it is something as (apparently) simple as teaching English. A teacher must be a writer, a director and an actor. A teacher must be an observer, a participant and a leader, often all at once. A teacher must be a judge, an entertainer and a therapist. A teacher must be a disciplinarian and a hell-raiser. A teacher must be a nitpicker without ever losing sight of the larger picture. And the fruits of a teacher’s hard labour are never really his own: ultimately, what he does can only be demonstrated in what his students can command.
(And here, a teacher is heavily encouraged to always dress like he works for an insurance company. At least until he can reach a phone booth.)
That was ‘humour’, by the way: requirement number one.
Site announcement comes at the end of next week. It will be interesting to see where I will be placed: I had a lot of comments, but my only real stated preferences were for a site where both Qazaq and Russian are spoken (to get an opportunity to learn both languages) and for service in higher-level English classes (since that is where most of my experience is). But, wherever God (through Paul and Ekat at Peace Corps HQ) sees fit to send me, there I will go gladly.
Indeed, the more I think about it and the more I actually do it, the more I am convinced that those who make education their profession are routinely under-appreciated and under-valued in American society. The platitude ‘if you can’t do, teach’ is in every way a lie: teaching is all doing, even if it is something as (apparently) simple as teaching English. A teacher must be a writer, a director and an actor. A teacher must be an observer, a participant and a leader, often all at once. A teacher must be a judge, an entertainer and a therapist. A teacher must be a disciplinarian and a hell-raiser. A teacher must be a nitpicker without ever losing sight of the larger picture. And the fruits of a teacher’s hard labour are never really his own: ultimately, what he does can only be demonstrated in what his students can command.
(And here, a teacher is heavily encouraged to always dress like he works for an insurance company. At least until he can reach a phone booth.)
That was ‘humour’, by the way: requirement number one.
Site announcement comes at the end of next week. It will be interesting to see where I will be placed: I had a lot of comments, but my only real stated preferences were for a site where both Qazaq and Russian are spoken (to get an opportunity to learn both languages) and for service in higher-level English classes (since that is where most of my experience is). But, wherever God (through Paul and Ekat at Peace Corps HQ) sees fit to send me, there I will go gladly.
27 September 2009
Ups and downs
Anyone who has gone abroad at the behest of an educational or service organisation will be very familiar with the culture-shock ‘W’, a graph that shows that culture shock tends to take a sine-wave form: the honeymoon phase descends into initial shock, and an initial adjustment is made, after which come further shocks and further adjustments. I’d say this week I hit my first real trough on the ‘W’ - though oddly enough it wasn’t the local culture to which I’ve had trouble adjusting so much (that comes in different ways and produces different reactions) but the Peace Corps culture and my fellow Trainees. It is vastly different from what I experienced of AmeriCorps (though I’m sure if I had been in AmeriCorps from the beginning, since North Carolina, I might have thought differently). Even though I wasn’t particularly close with my fellow college guides during my AmeriCorps service, there was a palpable sense of camaraderie in that group – we faced similar challenges, we had a common outlook on our service and we trusted each other with our problems (even though we routinely only saw each other once or twice a week). I still consider my fellow (former and current) NCAC college guides to be my friends; I expected that I would get along as well with my fellow Trainees in С—, but I haven’t found that to be the case at all.
Part of the problem, of course, is the time limitation. We spend a lot of time studying, preparing lessons or just preparing ourselves for the next task ahead of us, so there isn’t a lot of social time full-stop. Another part of the problem is that our reasons for serving in Peace Corps seem to be wildly different, and our attitudes toward Peace Corps service and toward the people we’re working with seem to be wildly different, to the point where it is sometimes completely incomprehensible to me exactly why they are here. It was a culture shock of a much different nature than I was expecting, and perhaps that’s why it hit me so badly: I’m not in Providence anymore, I’m not in AmeriCorps anymore, and my fellows in my language group aren’t at all the intellectual, idealistic, open-minded Yankees I’m used to dealing with – like Leah, Afshan, Miranda and David – around whom I could more or less be my normal self and needn’t beware being sized up, judged and belittled. So I withdrew and didn’t talk about my problems with anyone in the group – until I went outside, lost my temper along with my Mennonite upbringing and punched a schoolyard tree over a relatively minor problem. In hindsight, I am quite ashamed I did it, and it will never happen again, because a.) I gave my word on it to Nagima, b.) my right hand really freaking hurt afterward and c.) I know there are far more positive and effective ways to relieve stress.
I’m not trying to say that they’re bad people, on the whole. They’re not. I think it’s simply that I wasn’t expecting fellow Americans to be more deeply alien to me than my local hosts, trainers and neighbours. (Of course, there are other factors to consider, such as the fact that the lack of a language barrier lends itself to a kind of ‘uncanny trench’ in which relatively minor cultural differences within American culture can be grossly exaggerated.)
So yeah, it’s been a rough week. But talking with Nagima about the problems I’d been having really helped, and I feel much better now – more secure, confident and positive. My lessons are getting progressively better and my relationship with my counterpart is good - our teaching styles are drastically different, but I think given some more time and experience we could complement each other well. Also, I've got an awesome host family and an awesome language teacher watching my back; I've got a lot to be thankful for. As the Qazaqs say, ‘жақсы сөз, жарым ырыс’. (Literally translated: ‘a good word is half your fate’.) And the local flora can breathe easy now; they’re safe from me. Instead, I’m following up on my theological interests: I checked out Dame Julian of Norwich’s Revelations of Divine Love from the Peace Corps HQ's library in Almaty and am currently reading it. So far, so good – but I’ll write some more about it later. Көріскенше, folks.
Part of the problem, of course, is the time limitation. We spend a lot of time studying, preparing lessons or just preparing ourselves for the next task ahead of us, so there isn’t a lot of social time full-stop. Another part of the problem is that our reasons for serving in Peace Corps seem to be wildly different, and our attitudes toward Peace Corps service and toward the people we’re working with seem to be wildly different, to the point where it is sometimes completely incomprehensible to me exactly why they are here. It was a culture shock of a much different nature than I was expecting, and perhaps that’s why it hit me so badly: I’m not in Providence anymore, I’m not in AmeriCorps anymore, and my fellows in my language group aren’t at all the intellectual, idealistic, open-minded Yankees I’m used to dealing with – like Leah, Afshan, Miranda and David – around whom I could more or less be my normal self and needn’t beware being sized up, judged and belittled. So I withdrew and didn’t talk about my problems with anyone in the group – until I went outside, lost my temper along with my Mennonite upbringing and punched a schoolyard tree over a relatively minor problem. In hindsight, I am quite ashamed I did it, and it will never happen again, because a.) I gave my word on it to Nagima, b.) my right hand really freaking hurt afterward and c.) I know there are far more positive and effective ways to relieve stress.
I’m not trying to say that they’re bad people, on the whole. They’re not. I think it’s simply that I wasn’t expecting fellow Americans to be more deeply alien to me than my local hosts, trainers and neighbours. (Of course, there are other factors to consider, such as the fact that the lack of a language barrier lends itself to a kind of ‘uncanny trench’ in which relatively minor cultural differences within American culture can be grossly exaggerated.)
So yeah, it’s been a rough week. But talking with Nagima about the problems I’d been having really helped, and I feel much better now – more secure, confident and positive. My lessons are getting progressively better and my relationship with my counterpart is good - our teaching styles are drastically different, but I think given some more time and experience we could complement each other well. Also, I've got an awesome host family and an awesome language teacher watching my back; I've got a lot to be thankful for. As the Qazaqs say, ‘жақсы сөз, жарым ырыс’. (Literally translated: ‘a good word is half your fate’.) And the local flora can breathe easy now; they’re safe from me. Instead, I’m following up on my theological interests: I checked out Dame Julian of Norwich’s Revelations of Divine Love from the Peace Corps HQ's library in Almaty and am currently reading it. So far, so good – but I’ll write some more about it later. Көріскенше, folks.
24 September 2009
Photo post
From 1 September (First Bell Ceremony):
Our school; rear view...
... and front. This is, of course, during the ceremony itself; it took up the whole parking lot. As you can see, people are dressing to the nines for this.
It's just not a party without the dombyra players.
From Almaty Entry:
Biggest mosque in Central Asia. Impressive as it is here, it's actually even more impressive inside; I'll try to get the photos from the inside uploaded later.
Panfilov Park and the WWII memorial - known as the Great Patriotic War here. WWII history is a really big deal here, since (as bad as Western Europe had it) the Soviets bore the greatest brunt of it in terms of casualties and long-term economic loss.
The Russian Orthodox church at Panfilov Park. Not a bad view of it here - this was the best photo I got of the outside.
Our school; rear view...
... and front. This is, of course, during the ceremony itself; it took up the whole parking lot. As you can see, people are dressing to the nines for this.
It's just not a party without the dombyra players.
From Almaty Entry:
Biggest mosque in Central Asia. Impressive as it is here, it's actually even more impressive inside; I'll try to get the photos from the inside uploaded later.
Panfilov Park and the WWII memorial - known as the Great Patriotic War here. WWII history is a really big deal here, since (as bad as Western Europe had it) the Soviets bore the greatest brunt of it in terms of casualties and long-term economic loss.
The Russian Orthodox church at Panfilov Park. Not a bad view of it here - this was the best photo I got of the outside.
22 September 2009
Айт қабыл болсын!
Wow. Twenty-three years old as of yesterday – I’m getting old.
My local host family threw a big birthday party for me, but since my birthday falls on the second day of Ait, which marks the end of Ramadan on the Muslim calendar, the joke among the Trainees was that it was just the food they’d prepared for Ait that they were using for my birthday dinner. For Ait, the Ramadan fast is broken and all households make or buy tonnes of fried food (like bauyrsaq бауырсақ, which are round or diamond-shaped puffs of fried dough, shilpek шілпек, which bears a striking resemblance to Navajo fry-bread, fried eggplant and chicken and beshbarmaq) and buy tonnes of candy (marmalade and chocolate seem to be favourites), put out tea and keep their doors open for any guests who might come by and drink and eat with them. After eating, usually an older man will recite the Fatihah, which is the opening prayer (or Exordium) of the Koran: ‘Praise be to God, Lord of the Universe, the Compassionate, the Merciful, Sovereign of the Day of Judgment: You alone we worship, and to You alone we turn for help. Guide us to the straight path, the path of those whom you have favoured, not of those who have incurred Your wrath nor of those who have gone astray.’ Then they will take their leave and move on to the next house. The women all wear headscarves and dress up, and the men wear skullcaps and formal attire (at least on the first day of Ait).
But the joke regarding my birthday dinner and Ait is only half-true, since Bota and Quanysh really pulled out all the stops – they got me a really nice cake, and put out lots of juice, and invited all my fellow Trainees in Saimasai, as well as Nagima, Asem and Emiko, and some of the extended family of my generation (Dariya, Laura and Quat). My stomach is thankful that they cooked pumpkin manty instead of beshbarmaq for my birthday dinner.
I got some really nice gifts from everyone who came, including a very high-quality dress shirt (neon green) from Quat, a book of Qazaq folktales and a towel decorated with the Qazaq emblem from Dariya and Laura, some caramel-filled chocolates and a pair of sunglasses from the trainees and some good markers and a binder from the training staff (very useful). My host family got me a toothbrush holder and an umbrella (also very useful, the latter particularly around here and at this season).
Second week of teaching has begun, and it’s getting really stressful since I have to bum textbooks off other people (both other trainees and local teachers) in order to prepare my lessons. On the other hand, though, the computer teacher at school has promised us some level of free access to the Internet (if we can find him), so I won’t have to go all the way to Essik or Almaty in order to post to my blog, check my e-mail and all that other jazz. Also, my lessons are steadily improving, which boosts my confidence and causes my lessons to be even better (like an anti-death-spiral or something).
I feel somewhat isolated here, but my family is telling me that’s probably a good thing, since the news from home (particularly the ugly temper-tantrum the Republicans in general and Joe Wilson in particular were throwing recently over health care) would just make me angry, and they’re probably right about that. In Qazaqstan, all the stuff that used to make me upset I simply can’t afford to pay attention to anymore – but then again, I don’t really have to, on my government-sponsored, government-run health-care plan which every American ought to have. The downside to my isolation, though, is the lack of The Daily Show, which I think would help improve my mood from time to time – generally, I make time to entertain myself watching movies or writing in my journal (some of which is posted here). But I'm keeping busy, and I enjoy my work, so that helps immensely.
My local host family threw a big birthday party for me, but since my birthday falls on the second day of Ait, which marks the end of Ramadan on the Muslim calendar, the joke among the Trainees was that it was just the food they’d prepared for Ait that they were using for my birthday dinner. For Ait, the Ramadan fast is broken and all households make or buy tonnes of fried food (like bauyrsaq бауырсақ, which are round or diamond-shaped puffs of fried dough, shilpek шілпек, which bears a striking resemblance to Navajo fry-bread, fried eggplant and chicken and beshbarmaq) and buy tonnes of candy (marmalade and chocolate seem to be favourites), put out tea and keep their doors open for any guests who might come by and drink and eat with them. After eating, usually an older man will recite the Fatihah, which is the opening prayer (or Exordium) of the Koran: ‘Praise be to God, Lord of the Universe, the Compassionate, the Merciful, Sovereign of the Day of Judgment: You alone we worship, and to You alone we turn for help. Guide us to the straight path, the path of those whom you have favoured, not of those who have incurred Your wrath nor of those who have gone astray.’ Then they will take their leave and move on to the next house. The women all wear headscarves and dress up, and the men wear skullcaps and formal attire (at least on the first day of Ait).
But the joke regarding my birthday dinner and Ait is only half-true, since Bota and Quanysh really pulled out all the stops – they got me a really nice cake, and put out lots of juice, and invited all my fellow Trainees in Saimasai, as well as Nagima, Asem and Emiko, and some of the extended family of my generation (Dariya, Laura and Quat). My stomach is thankful that they cooked pumpkin manty instead of beshbarmaq for my birthday dinner.
I got some really nice gifts from everyone who came, including a very high-quality dress shirt (neon green) from Quat, a book of Qazaq folktales and a towel decorated with the Qazaq emblem from Dariya and Laura, some caramel-filled chocolates and a pair of sunglasses from the trainees and some good markers and a binder from the training staff (very useful). My host family got me a toothbrush holder and an umbrella (also very useful, the latter particularly around here and at this season).
Second week of teaching has begun, and it’s getting really stressful since I have to bum textbooks off other people (both other trainees and local teachers) in order to prepare my lessons. On the other hand, though, the computer teacher at school has promised us some level of free access to the Internet (if we can find him), so I won’t have to go all the way to Essik or Almaty in order to post to my blog, check my e-mail and all that other jazz. Also, my lessons are steadily improving, which boosts my confidence and causes my lessons to be even better (like an anti-death-spiral or something).
I feel somewhat isolated here, but my family is telling me that’s probably a good thing, since the news from home (particularly the ugly temper-tantrum the Republicans in general and Joe Wilson in particular were throwing recently over health care) would just make me angry, and they’re probably right about that. In Qazaqstan, all the stuff that used to make me upset I simply can’t afford to pay attention to anymore – but then again, I don’t really have to, on my government-sponsored, government-run health-care plan which every American ought to have. The downside to my isolation, though, is the lack of The Daily Show, which I think would help improve my mood from time to time – generally, I make time to entertain myself watching movies or writing in my journal (some of which is posted here). But I'm keeping busy, and I enjoy my work, so that helps immensely.
18 September 2009
More cultural notes, and first week of teaching
Well, my classes for the first week are finished. Muhabbat gave me one sixth-grade class to teach solo (this past Monday), and one tenth-grade class to team-teach (on Wednesday). Actually, when I was in Есік last (when I made my last blog post, that is), I hadn't gone for the Internet; I had been accumulating teaching materials for my Monday class: more paper, some scissors, a grade-book and a cheap (50╤) plastic ball for communicative games.
At first, I felt that my Monday class was a perfect demonstration of Murphy's Law – we ended up having to switch classrooms, I ended up having about twice as many students as I thought I would and all but four of them came in late. My visual aids were far too small and I ran out of tape and Asem had to lend me hers. In addition, whatever I'd learned in my TEFL training at BAE seemed to have leaked out my ears and I got a bad case of stage fright such that my voice ended up being about twenty decibels too quiet and far too fast – and I ran out of time during the second class activity (of five planned!). However, by the end (miracle of miracles), the students were fairly comfortably using the new vocabulary – which went to show that the students had a good attitude about the class and were capable of learning from even the greenest, most disorganised teacher they could possibly have for it. I'm also grateful that I have such supportive fellow-Trainees and staff at my back: Nagima, Asem and the Trainees who observed my lesson had some good criticisms for me (that I need to work on my voice and be more aware of time), and also were keen enough and sensible enough to remind me that the lesson hadn't been a complete disaster, and that the students had been learning – since my personality is unhealthily perfectionistic almost to the point of masochism, I often tend to beat myself over the head with my own failings while ignoring what I do well. This is a trait I suspect I come by honestly, but it's also one I'll have to deal with if I want to be an effective Volunteer (let alone a happy person!).
Wednesday's lesson went a lot better, though. I was sharing with Muhabbat, and I was doing grammar (future continuous tense). It was a small class: five very well-behaved tenth-graders (four girls and one boy). I had my eye on the clock, so we didn't run over as badly – though I still ended up having to assign the 'use' portion of the class as homework, we got through the guided activities to the point where it was clear the students would have little trouble asking and answering questions in the future continuous tense. I tried to explain the use of future continuous tense visually (remembering the timeline charts from BAE), and I was glad to see that the students were picking up on the use of it by the end (though Asem had to do some explanation in Qazaq). Also, I still need to work on my Scotch tape-tearing alacrity skills. Muhabbat seemed impressed by the lesson's execution, which was a significant boost to my self-esteem as a teacher, I have to say. I just hope my next lesson goes as well, if not better.
A few more cultural notes about classroom etiquette: when a teacher enters a room or even appears in the doorway, all the students are expected to stand and greet the teacher. This appears to be a seniority rule: as junior teachers, we are expected to do the same for our local counterparts and for the local Peace Corps staff. Also, even when local teachers say something that is wrong, we are not to correct them in front of the class – only after class when all the students have left. Teachers enjoy a social and institutional position of high respect in Qazaqstani culture (both Qazaq and Russian), and they are expected to dress their best: neatly-pressed button-down shirts, nice slacks, a belt and dress shoes at the very least, and preferably a jacket and tie.
Please allow me to indulge my social-conservative streak for a moment: to be honest, in some ways this is actually quite a refreshing and admirable change of pace from the United States, where teachers are not respected in the culture, by either their students or by the students' parents and where there exists an atmosphere of confrontation and resentment between the teaching staff and the taxpayers who are supposed to be supporting the school system. (Indeed, it often seems that the entirety of American society has become poisoned by this culture of incivility – witness the recent insult by an elected official, unprecedented in our history, to the President of the United States during his address to Congress.) As a result, teachers feel the need to defensively position themselves within the same marginalised social space as wage labourers, and form teachers' unions (which are often at odds with parent organisations). It needs to be stressed that student-centred communicative methodologies cannot work to effect in such a toxic social atmosphere in which communication has already been compromised, in which civility, authority and social discipline no longer play decisive roles and in which parents and teachers feel the need to get one-up on each other (and in which the real losers are the students). Though a system in which everyone knows his or her place obviously has its problems (hence, why we're here), on a number of levels it avoids many of the problems that plague our over-individualistic system in the United States (and, in some respects, actually makes our jobs as Volunteers – being at once effective teachers and integrated members of the community – significantly easier).
On the other hand, however, the system itself seems to be more resistant to the very methodologies for which it provides the appropriate space: teacher-centric methodologies still seem to be the norm here, rather than the student-centric methodology we are being taught. It will be our job to attempt to introduce these new methodologies (where they are effective and rational) while at the same time adapting to and respecting Qazaqstan's cultural norms – it is a challenge to which I'm looking forward.
In fact, I wanted to discuss this with my Peace Corps staff, but at present I lack the resources. I've already mentioned Qazaqstan's very visible culture of hospitality and some of the values motivating that culture, and I was wondering whether I might be able to make use of Henri Nouwen's work here to (somewhat subversively) integrate some of those values into the way teaching is done. One way a communicative approach to teaching might be made more palatable to Qazaqstani sensibilities might be to draw an overt parallel between the teacher and the head of a Qazaqstani household, and between the student and the guest of a Qazaqstani house. Just the way the attention and effort of the host family seems to be very deeply and very intensely bent on satisfying the needs of the guest within the household (making sure they are comfortable and making sure they have eaten enough and drunk enough tea), perhaps it might be useful to suggest that the teacher's efforts and attention should be to an analogous degree bent on satisfying the intellectual and spiritual needs of his students within his 'household' (that is to say, within his subject). Of course, I am aware that my understanding of Qazaqstani culture is still extremely limited (I've been here less than a month, after all) – so I want to run this idea by Nagima and Asem to see what they think of it.
At first, I felt that my Monday class was a perfect demonstration of Murphy's Law – we ended up having to switch classrooms, I ended up having about twice as many students as I thought I would and all but four of them came in late. My visual aids were far too small and I ran out of tape and Asem had to lend me hers. In addition, whatever I'd learned in my TEFL training at BAE seemed to have leaked out my ears and I got a bad case of stage fright such that my voice ended up being about twenty decibels too quiet and far too fast – and I ran out of time during the second class activity (of five planned!). However, by the end (miracle of miracles), the students were fairly comfortably using the new vocabulary – which went to show that the students had a good attitude about the class and were capable of learning from even the greenest, most disorganised teacher they could possibly have for it. I'm also grateful that I have such supportive fellow-Trainees and staff at my back: Nagima, Asem and the Trainees who observed my lesson had some good criticisms for me (that I need to work on my voice and be more aware of time), and also were keen enough and sensible enough to remind me that the lesson hadn't been a complete disaster, and that the students had been learning – since my personality is unhealthily perfectionistic almost to the point of masochism, I often tend to beat myself over the head with my own failings while ignoring what I do well. This is a trait I suspect I come by honestly, but it's also one I'll have to deal with if I want to be an effective Volunteer (let alone a happy person!).
Wednesday's lesson went a lot better, though. I was sharing with Muhabbat, and I was doing grammar (future continuous tense). It was a small class: five very well-behaved tenth-graders (four girls and one boy). I had my eye on the clock, so we didn't run over as badly – though I still ended up having to assign the 'use' portion of the class as homework, we got through the guided activities to the point where it was clear the students would have little trouble asking and answering questions in the future continuous tense. I tried to explain the use of future continuous tense visually (remembering the timeline charts from BAE), and I was glad to see that the students were picking up on the use of it by the end (though Asem had to do some explanation in Qazaq). Also, I still need to work on my Scotch tape-tearing alacrity skills. Muhabbat seemed impressed by the lesson's execution, which was a significant boost to my self-esteem as a teacher, I have to say. I just hope my next lesson goes as well, if not better.
A few more cultural notes about classroom etiquette: when a teacher enters a room or even appears in the doorway, all the students are expected to stand and greet the teacher. This appears to be a seniority rule: as junior teachers, we are expected to do the same for our local counterparts and for the local Peace Corps staff. Also, even when local teachers say something that is wrong, we are not to correct them in front of the class – only after class when all the students have left. Teachers enjoy a social and institutional position of high respect in Qazaqstani culture (both Qazaq and Russian), and they are expected to dress their best: neatly-pressed button-down shirts, nice slacks, a belt and dress shoes at the very least, and preferably a jacket and tie.
Please allow me to indulge my social-conservative streak for a moment: to be honest, in some ways this is actually quite a refreshing and admirable change of pace from the United States, where teachers are not respected in the culture, by either their students or by the students' parents and where there exists an atmosphere of confrontation and resentment between the teaching staff and the taxpayers who are supposed to be supporting the school system. (Indeed, it often seems that the entirety of American society has become poisoned by this culture of incivility – witness the recent insult by an elected official, unprecedented in our history, to the President of the United States during his address to Congress.) As a result, teachers feel the need to defensively position themselves within the same marginalised social space as wage labourers, and form teachers' unions (which are often at odds with parent organisations). It needs to be stressed that student-centred communicative methodologies cannot work to effect in such a toxic social atmosphere in which communication has already been compromised, in which civility, authority and social discipline no longer play decisive roles and in which parents and teachers feel the need to get one-up on each other (and in which the real losers are the students). Though a system in which everyone knows his or her place obviously has its problems (hence, why we're here), on a number of levels it avoids many of the problems that plague our over-individualistic system in the United States (and, in some respects, actually makes our jobs as Volunteers – being at once effective teachers and integrated members of the community – significantly easier).
On the other hand, however, the system itself seems to be more resistant to the very methodologies for which it provides the appropriate space: teacher-centric methodologies still seem to be the norm here, rather than the student-centric methodology we are being taught. It will be our job to attempt to introduce these new methodologies (where they are effective and rational) while at the same time adapting to and respecting Qazaqstan's cultural norms – it is a challenge to which I'm looking forward.
In fact, I wanted to discuss this with my Peace Corps staff, but at present I lack the resources. I've already mentioned Qazaqstan's very visible culture of hospitality and some of the values motivating that culture, and I was wondering whether I might be able to make use of Henri Nouwen's work here to (somewhat subversively) integrate some of those values into the way teaching is done. One way a communicative approach to teaching might be made more palatable to Qazaqstani sensibilities might be to draw an overt parallel between the teacher and the head of a Qazaqstani household, and between the student and the guest of a Qazaqstani house. Just the way the attention and effort of the host family seems to be very deeply and very intensely bent on satisfying the needs of the guest within the household (making sure they are comfortable and making sure they have eaten enough and drunk enough tea), perhaps it might be useful to suggest that the teacher's efforts and attention should be to an analogous degree bent on satisfying the intellectual and spiritual needs of his students within his 'household' (that is to say, within his subject). Of course, I am aware that my understanding of Qazaqstani culture is still extremely limited (I've been here less than a month, after all) – so I want to run this idea by Nagima and Asem to see what they think of it.
13 September 2009
Qazaq cultural comeback + give you the finger (or, how not to behave in a Russian classroom)
I apologise to my gentle readers that I have been most unfortunately remiss in my blogging. I'm going to have to play some catch-up first before I can begin to make any sense, so please bear with me, if you can, for a few paragraphs.
I am doing quite well, and have for the most part settled into a steady routine here. I am currently taking full advantage of my day of rest, sleeping and playing TES3: Morrowind before I head up to Есік to buy some supplies. However, our workload has ramped up considerably over the past week, and from what I understand we are going to be expected to do yet more. Up until now it has been mostly language, cultural training and lesson observations, but tomorrow will be my first delivered class – thankfully, Asem quickly approved my lesson plan, and after I prepare everything later this evening I should be all set.
The interesting thing about interacting with my host family and with the members of the community here, of which I have been aware for quite awhile intellectually but am only beginning now to deal with on a personal level, is the extent to which Qazaq is still very much a secondary language here, despite its status as the national language. My host brother Quanysh speaks much more readily in Russian than he does in Qazaq, and many of the non-Qazaqs speak little to no Qazaq at all. Indeed, some Russians are proud of the fact that they have not learned Qazaq. Nagima informs me that this is a remnant of the Soviet Era, which bears a sad and unfortunate resemblance to the history of the American West: the Soviets tried their hardest to stamp out Qazaq culture, teaching only Russian language in the schools and privileging the Russian ethnicity over the Qazaq. The nomadic Qazaqs were forced into sedentary living; since they were not accustomed to a sedentary style of agriculture and herding, many of them starved to death. The Soviets apparently also had an informal racist hierarchy in place – Nagima told us that during Soviet times, Qazaqs were commonly disparaged as 'black asses'.
I think the Big Bread has to be given a great deal of credit here. President Nazarbaev is very much interested in rebuilding the Qazaq national identity, culture and language: he has even commissioned a Qazaq Language Academy which is bolstering and modernising the Qazaq lexicon by adapting from other existing Turkic languages. On the other hand, he has managed to put an effective damper on interethnic resentment and chauvinism through his Trinity policy, so as to avoid the ethno-linguistic tensions faced in post-communist Yugoslavia and (to a lesser extent) in the Baltic states.
It is complex, though, and I am merely drawing parallels with what I know from America's history, which may or may not be useful. To be fair, neither the Soviet Union nor the American government of the mid- to late-1800's was entirely bad (as our good Doctor Victor would doubtless point out), though we are still seeing some of the lingering effects of their more problematic policies (in both the United States and in Qazaqstan).
Classroom culture has been another point I've been struggling with. It has been interesting to see how the schedule has been sorted out in the first two weeks of school, from the students not having enough textbooks to the classes not even having teachers the first couple of days. I think it has been mostly sorted out by now, though; the school seems to have settled into a consistent routine. I am working with Muhabbat, a young local teacher not much older than I am (still in her twenties), and we are going to be teaching English classes together in the sixth and seventh grades (11- and 12-year-old children). Though С— has a mixed-language school, the students in our classes seem to be mostly Russian, and Muhabbat speaks mostly Russian in the classroom, even during English lessons (even though her English is excellent and she doesn't even have that strong an accent).
On Friday I introduced myself to one of the classes, and on Monday I'll have my first real class (sixth grade). One of the things I have a great problem with is pointing with my finger. It is considered RCSU ('rude, crude and socially unacceptable') by most Russians to point at something, particularly at a person, with one finger – but it's something that Americans don't usually pay that much attention to. (Though it is rude to overtly point one's finger at someone in public, it doesn't carry the same social stigma it does here.) In classes, teachers are expected to use pointers – but during our introductions, Emiko (our PCVTA) noted to our entire cohort that we all pointed with our fingers. This is a habit that I'm going to have to overcome, even if I have to tape my fingers together during lessons.
I also have to get used to referring to myself and hearing myself referred to as 'Mr Matt' or 'Mr Cooper'. Students are not on a (solely) first-name basis with their teachers here (though to be honest, I wasn't really on a first-name basis with any of my teachers in the United States during grade school, even if they were good friends of the family like Mrs Loichinger or Mrs Pils). Another interesting point of Russian culture is that it isn't common to refer to someone by their surname – if you want to be formal and polite, you use both the given name and the patronymic: 'Elena Yurevna' or 'Vladimir Vladimirovich'.
Anyhow, please wish me luck, and I'll be sure to be better about keeping everyone posted. Сау болыңыздар for now!
I am doing quite well, and have for the most part settled into a steady routine here. I am currently taking full advantage of my day of rest, sleeping and playing TES3: Morrowind before I head up to Есік to buy some supplies. However, our workload has ramped up considerably over the past week, and from what I understand we are going to be expected to do yet more. Up until now it has been mostly language, cultural training and lesson observations, but tomorrow will be my first delivered class – thankfully, Asem quickly approved my lesson plan, and after I prepare everything later this evening I should be all set.
The interesting thing about interacting with my host family and with the members of the community here, of which I have been aware for quite awhile intellectually but am only beginning now to deal with on a personal level, is the extent to which Qazaq is still very much a secondary language here, despite its status as the national language. My host brother Quanysh speaks much more readily in Russian than he does in Qazaq, and many of the non-Qazaqs speak little to no Qazaq at all. Indeed, some Russians are proud of the fact that they have not learned Qazaq. Nagima informs me that this is a remnant of the Soviet Era, which bears a sad and unfortunate resemblance to the history of the American West: the Soviets tried their hardest to stamp out Qazaq culture, teaching only Russian language in the schools and privileging the Russian ethnicity over the Qazaq. The nomadic Qazaqs were forced into sedentary living; since they were not accustomed to a sedentary style of agriculture and herding, many of them starved to death. The Soviets apparently also had an informal racist hierarchy in place – Nagima told us that during Soviet times, Qazaqs were commonly disparaged as 'black asses'.
I think the Big Bread has to be given a great deal of credit here. President Nazarbaev is very much interested in rebuilding the Qazaq national identity, culture and language: he has even commissioned a Qazaq Language Academy which is bolstering and modernising the Qazaq lexicon by adapting from other existing Turkic languages. On the other hand, he has managed to put an effective damper on interethnic resentment and chauvinism through his Trinity policy, so as to avoid the ethno-linguistic tensions faced in post-communist Yugoslavia and (to a lesser extent) in the Baltic states.
It is complex, though, and I am merely drawing parallels with what I know from America's history, which may or may not be useful. To be fair, neither the Soviet Union nor the American government of the mid- to late-1800's was entirely bad (as our good Doctor Victor would doubtless point out), though we are still seeing some of the lingering effects of their more problematic policies (in both the United States and in Qazaqstan).
Classroom culture has been another point I've been struggling with. It has been interesting to see how the schedule has been sorted out in the first two weeks of school, from the students not having enough textbooks to the classes not even having teachers the first couple of days. I think it has been mostly sorted out by now, though; the school seems to have settled into a consistent routine. I am working with Muhabbat, a young local teacher not much older than I am (still in her twenties), and we are going to be teaching English classes together in the sixth and seventh grades (11- and 12-year-old children). Though С— has a mixed-language school, the students in our classes seem to be mostly Russian, and Muhabbat speaks mostly Russian in the classroom, even during English lessons (even though her English is excellent and she doesn't even have that strong an accent).
On Friday I introduced myself to one of the classes, and on Monday I'll have my first real class (sixth grade). One of the things I have a great problem with is pointing with my finger. It is considered RCSU ('rude, crude and socially unacceptable') by most Russians to point at something, particularly at a person, with one finger – but it's something that Americans don't usually pay that much attention to. (Though it is rude to overtly point one's finger at someone in public, it doesn't carry the same social stigma it does here.) In classes, teachers are expected to use pointers – but during our introductions, Emiko (our PCVTA) noted to our entire cohort that we all pointed with our fingers. This is a habit that I'm going to have to overcome, even if I have to tape my fingers together during lessons.
I also have to get used to referring to myself and hearing myself referred to as 'Mr Matt' or 'Mr Cooper'. Students are not on a (solely) first-name basis with their teachers here (though to be honest, I wasn't really on a first-name basis with any of my teachers in the United States during grade school, even if they were good friends of the family like Mrs Loichinger or Mrs Pils). Another interesting point of Russian culture is that it isn't common to refer to someone by their surname – if you want to be formal and polite, you use both the given name and the patronymic: 'Elena Yurevna' or 'Vladimir Vladimirovich'.
Anyhow, please wish me luck, and I'll be sure to be better about keeping everyone posted. Сау болыңыздар for now!
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