Holistic Doctors in Malishka! Say WHAA?!?

Sorry for the delay between postings, folks. I know you have all been anxiously awaiting some new tale from the world of yours truly. I imagine when you see this posted into the FB feed that you will feel your heart rate quicken and a stirring in your belly similar to that of when you were on the precipice of your first kiss.

Last week there were two Armenian holidays, so including my off-day on Thursday, I only had two days of school. One of those days, my program manager came to visit. She met with my Principal (or Director), myself and my counterpart. Interestingly, as I met her at the school's front steps and we entered the school, she informed me that it is a direct insult to the Principal if upon her immediate arrival she did not go see him first. He had only wonderful things to say about me, that I show up for meetings I don't understand, that I understand more Armenian than the volunteer before me and that I am 'cheerful'. It's uncommon here in Armenia to smile at others for something unwarranted. Most people are typically frowning or neutral when greeting one another. This is because they regard smiling as foolish or childish, and they want to be taken seriously. This is also the thinking behind their mean mugs in photographs, no matter how exciting an occasion.

I am not sure what the exact details are behind the holiday on Monday, but I tagged along with my family to the village church. There we each lit three candles, admired the grounds which over look the ruins of the original Malishka. Afterwards, we headed to the first graveyard where Siranush's father is buried. I hadn't realized that he only passed away two years ago, which is really no time at all when you are close to a person. As she approached the tombstone she greeted him, "Barev, Pop" (Hi, Dad). Her husband Samvell prepared a small little fire in the appropriated silver bowl behind the gravestone as Siranush and the twins cleaned the tombstone and surrounding area. They wiped the stone down, pulled out weeds and burned incense in the fire when the area was ready. They didn't say much throughout the process, but it was certainly emotionally intense. There were many other families in the graveyard doing the same thing.  We went to a second graveyard for another family member but it wasn't quite as emotional.

Afterwards, we went to the home of the two residing holistic doctors here in Malishka. They live on the side of the mountain overlooking the rest of the village. They have an amazing view and home. The wife is Russian and the husband looks like Santa Claus. They were very cool people. I even got an energy balancing treatment while I was there! It was so awesome to know that I have access to holistic treatments while I am here. The Russian wife is trained in Tibetan understands of health and medicine, and I am not too sure about the husband. They are the godparents of Siranush, and I am welcome there for free treatments at any time.

Last Friday was the 21st Anniversary of Armenia's Independence Day. Oddly, no one did much of anything at all. We went to go see Samvell's parents who reside in this tiny little shack in the mountains during the summer months. It's a place that looks like somewhere I THOUGHT I would end up before I actually got here.

The next day I went to Yerevan to meet with the co-organizer of the National Poetry Contest that I am helping put together. After our meeting I went shopping with my friend Joy for some new shoes, but couldn't find anything that I liked and or fit me AGAIN. That night a big group of us went out to experience the nightlife of the capital. Things were... interesting. The entire night I kept thinking,"This is Peace Corps?" It's definitely weird to have vices available to me that I was hoping to not have the temptation of for two years. Oh, the irony!

I will post again over the weekend hopefully to fill in little awesome tidbits, but for now I am sick in bed with a bad a cold and want to close my eyes. I wrote only because I know how you've longed for a slice of my life!

"Sometimes, when I'm at home alone... I blow my nose." Joy Roberson

Song of the Week: Afro Celt Sound System: Listen to Me

Class Decorum

School is finally in full swing here in Malishka. Apparently though, the schedule could still potentially change up until September 15^th. There is a lot about my day-to-day life that reminds me of being in college (minus my extra curricular activities).  For instances, on Thursdays I don’t have class and my schedule is different everyday. Sometimes, I have a 3 hour break in between classes and if I don’t have a class until 3^rd period, I arrive for 3^rd period. At the moment, my busiest day is Monday, when I have five classes. Luckily though, on that day, I do not also have my least preferably behaved class.

At the moment I am teaching 3^rd-12^th grade, with the exceptions of the 4^th,7^th, and 9^th grades. My school was recently renovated and does not have the same broken down old-soviet-times feel as that of other schools I have visited. The view of the mountains in some classrooms is just breathtaking. Interestingly enough, I have yet to catch any of my students (okay – maybe the 5^th graders) staring out the window daydreaming. I remember getting lost in the beauty of the field hockey field day after day in my high school.

Being on the other side of the classroom has opened my eyes to my not-so-awesome behavior back in the dizzle. I had the tendency to vacillating between daydreaming, messing around with peers and actively participating in class. I guess I thought, because I did well and was (mostly) prepared for class, that I could get away with the bullshit. Well, I know now, that it doesn’t make a difference. No matter how well a student does, being disruptive in the classroom is THE most frustrating thing on the planet. It’s even more frustrating when you realize that you have no power or authority to control the behavior.

Just a glimpse of some of the ridiculous shit I would pull in high school: In 9^th or 10^th grade I had this history teacher whom had travelled the world and taken a lot of photographs. Her lessons consisted of 5 page outlines and a slideshow. It bored the shit out of me, so I employed my friend that sat behind me to play with my hair for the hour. I would actually lay my head backwards and take a nap during this woman’s class. It happened nearly every class and for some reason she left it fly. One day we had a substitute, so I went about my business and I remember this guy being so annoyed; especially since I acted like it was my god given right to have my hair played with during that hour.  Jesus…

Anyway, in my village’s school there are a lot of grandmother-grandchild, parent–child relations. As you can imagine, it doesn’t help the behavioral problems. It is also very uncommon to fail a student, or for a student to repeat a grade. I am not positive, but I doubt that there is one person in that school not heavily interwoven within the fabric of the community. It would shame a family if a student was to fail, and it would hurt the relationship if a teacher failed a student. The students are obviously aware of this and, aware of the fact that at the end of the day, they truly can treat me however they want and it will not affect the outcome of their grades. It's something that I am trying to figure out... and will later become a talking point in interviews.

Next week my program manager is coming for a visit and I look forward to discussing some frustrations with her. In the meantime, I continue my routines of writing, yoga and running (though it's been more difficult to center around the school schedule). I will start up my clubs in October and am looking forward to the Wine Festival in three weeks or so.


Weekly quote: "You let her eat our cookies, THE COOKIES?!?!" - Yours Truly

In the Beginning...

Hey gang,

Sorry for the lapse between blog postings. I have been busy getting ready for school to begin and, with it’s actual beginning! And lordy lord, am I glad to finally get the ball rolling.

Here in Armenia, Sept. 1^st is considered a holiday. No matter what day of the week it is, students and teachers alike show up in their Sunday best to congratulate one another on the start of the new school year. Every school differs in their actual celebration of Sept. 1^st, but my school had a small awards ceremony to recognize student’s efforts from the year before. The event was held on the steps of the school, with the teachers standing behind the Director as he spoke and the students and parents watching from down below. (For some odd reason, it felt sort of like the opening scene of Hunger Games).  Once the Director was finished the students, overwhelmed with joy, ran into the school.

Afterwards a great majority of the staff gathered in the teacher’s lounge to sit around and shoot the shit about the upcoming year until the marshutni came, about two hours later. There was no teaching, no talk of schedules… it was interesting to say the least. I joined about 10 other teachers for a mini celebration complete with pizza and coffee at the café in Yeg., where I am normally throwing back beers with my site mates. It felt a little odd, but one of the things that I am getting pretty good at here is simply sitting back and going with the flow. For some of my acquaintances that might seem a little odd, that Carolyn Rodgers needs to learn how to go with the flow - but being here has opened my eyes to the fact of a certain little factor that assisted in my general 'go with the flow' attitude. I do not have access to it here and well, it has certainly changed things for me. One of the things that the Peace Corps application always talked about was flexibility. Now, it has come to take on a very, very different meaning.  Sometimes, that means getting over the union of your personal and professional life.

Monday was the first legitimate day of school, with bells and classes and everything. My counterpart had decided that I would be the focus of the day, which I was unaware of until after the first bell. Just a quick re-cap: In the Peace Corps Armenia TEFL program, PCVs (Peace Corps Volunteers) are paired with HCNs (Host Country Nationals) for two years in an collaborative effort to further develop the English skills of students and community members alike. I am to be working in conjunction with my ‘counterpart’ in the classroom, on a daily basis. I had previously thought it might be to my advantage that she had just spent the last two years with a different volunteer. This hypothesis remains unproved.

I am doing my best to reserve judgment and be open-minded. Yet, it has proven very difficult in the face of my day-to-day reality. I’m sure I have said it, maybe not on here – but definitely to friends and family- that while I am in an amazing post; one where I have daily access to internet, running water, the food groups I am accustomed to, and a taste of western life should I choose a 3 hour drive away – there is still much that is challenging about being here. I always need to remind myself to never forget why I choose to come here: to be challenged and to experience the sort of growth that can not take place back home inside the box.

So, you could say that I’m getting what I asked for.

 “So, you mean, I bucket bathed for this?” Jesse ‘Ger-a-lee-eh’ Garrison

This Is How We Do It

Hey Hey Hey

Things have finally picked up a bit here in Malishka. This past week, I went to the school with Siranush (new h.most) to ‘go and see what’s up’. Essentially, teachers went back to school this week to see one another and get their classrooms organized. I joined Siranush two different times for the two-hour visit to the school.

I got in touch with my counterpart on Sunday but have not heard from her since. I’ve decided that, either I will see her there and it will be awkward, or I won’t and I have an opportunity to look through the resources left behind for me from the previous volunteer without any distractions. It has ended up being the latter, for which I was grateful. I was also given a key to the room, which is even more exciting. Now, I will be able to access the room without having to go through several different people.

I also had a meeting with the five other volunteers in my area to discuss safety and security issues with our go-to-guy, Vahagn. He’s THE most popular member of the Peace Corps Staff in Armenia. He’s more or less a living legend: the women want to be with him (he even gives the lesbians a tingle!) and the men want to be him. It could be the baby blues, it could be the beer gut, it could be his somewhat dark sense of humor, or it just might be the fact that he went to a Jimmy Buffet concert this summer.  No one can really explain this phenomenon, it is simply accepted.  In the meeting I thought it myself, “ Well, when the A-bomb hits, we’re definitely making it out of Armenia.” Just to make you jealous: If need be – we have access to a helicopter airlift. It’s these things that put to me sleep with a big ‘ole grin on my face.

The rest of the week has been spent integrating with my family, or as the Armenians call it, ‘hor-o-vatz-ing’. Everyone (and by everyone, I mean the women) rush around the house gathering everything together: the water, the meat, the utensils, the blankets, the coffee and coffee cups, the freshly gathered vegetables, the candy, and of course the bread! The little children run around giddy with excitement, and the men sit smoking cigarettes waiting to chauffeur everybody down to the river.

It’s really nice to be a part of this big family. There are nine grandchildren between the ages of fifteen and three. The baby girl, Gohares, is so dang cute and utterly fearless! The grandchildren belong to my amazing new Tatik I wrote about last post. My host mom has two brothers, one older and one younger. One is the father of five and the other of four. It’s difficult to describe what it’s like becoming a part of this family. I had something similar growing up and at times it feels very surreal to be on the other side of the world, with a once alien language being spoken, chicken and fish smoking over a fire, with Tatik’s arm around my waist as she points her fields out to me.

As we sat and looked out on her lands, the river rushing past us, she asks me if I want the same for myself...the family, the grandchildren. I get this a lot, so I respond with my autopilot response of, “Yea, maybe - one day”. She continues searching deep into my eyes the way she always does and says, “Two children for you, one boy and one girl, I have seen it.”  I hope that when the day comes, I will be sending her pictures of this possibly right or wrong prediction.

One week left before school starts and two weeks until all my friends and I get back together for a weekend at Lake Sevan. This past week I downloaded the most absurd mixture of songs from 1995. I cannot wait to bump ‘This Is How We Do It” with an Armenian backdrop and a bunch of weirdos from America. 

I am going to start a new tradition. Just like back home, but maybe more so, my friends and I have catalog of absurd quotes that we recite to one another. Most of them are going to be completely out of context and misunderstood. But for my PC friends and maybe your entertainment too, I am going to start ending my posts with hilarious quotes. Thank your for your attention.

“I have been there on my personal vehicle several times, it is okay…” Vahagn 

Week 1 in Malishka

As most of my darling readers will have already known, I got sick the night before I was meant to depart for my permanent site. It’s taking my body a little while to fully adjust and acclimate to being here. I am totally exhausted by the end of each day and I’m not doing very much, but…

In short, everything is great here. My new host family is definitely a different flavor of Armenian than the last, but in a good way. I’m almost certain they come from a longer line of edumakated folk. (I don’t know why I wrote it that way but that’s what was in my head, so like, deal with it). They have a piano; on which one of the twin sisters was playing My Heart Will Go On the other day during my daily afternoon yoga session. Armenians f-ing love Celine Dion and in particular, that song. I have yet to meet a young Armenian girl who didn’t know the chorus by heart.

In my last host family, there was no residing Tatik or Papik (Grandma or Grandpa). Typically these folks just putt around the house doing whatever extent of housework they can manage. In this house, they call him Poppy (which is what we were trying to get my niece Soleil to call my father, but she went with Tim instead). Poppy messes around in the garden for an hour or two in the mornings in his Adidas sport pants pulled up to his ears, ripping cigarettes. He really digs watching the T.V. and has an impressive ability to hear. I actually saw him turn the volume down the other day.  I guess Poppy’s room is too stuffy at the moment, because he’s been sleeping on the old bed outside the house. It sort of reminds me of Grigor, who would sleep in the kidnapper van…

Anyway, Poppy fucking hates the cat that hangs around here. He yells at it the moment one of its paws hits the inside of the house. It’s a tiger cat (for my close friends and family, he looks just like Darryl Strawberry) and Poppy calls him the equivalent of ‘ginger’ in Russian, when telling him to scram. A few mornings ago, I was internet-ing while Poppy was screwing around in the garden and my little buddy was twirling around my feet, eating up the attention and the fact that he was in the forbidden zone! After a little while, he was pooped from the excitement of it all and laid down for a nap on the carpet a couple of feet away from where I was sitting.  Poppy came in, kitty doesn’t move, and so Poppy shuffles over to him, winds up and gives kitty a swift ‘ole kick in the ass. It’s really not funny, but it sort of is, in that ‘oh, old people’ way. Come to think of it, most of Poppy’s words per day are directed at the cat.

I also have acquired a new Tatik since moving to Malishka. Unfortunately, she doesn’t live with us, as she is the mother of Siranush (new host mom). Here in Armenia, when a couple marries, the wife moves in with the husband’s family and then they live out the rest of their days. Sometimes though, if you have more than one son, the older son is allowed to move out on his own – I think. Anyway, this lady is really amazing. When I first came for my site visit at the end of June she, above everyone else, made me feel welcome and relaxed. There is something about the way she peers into my eyes that makes me feel at home. It’s difficult to explain, but for example, she was asking me whether or not I call home to talk to my mom. I said that I did, but only once a week because, once we talk I miss her more. As she was getting ready to leave, she gave me a big hug and said, “Don’t miss your mother, I am your mom now”.

Two days ago, I was walking home alone from the post office in the middle of the afternoon and I hear someone call out my name. I turn to look and who is it, but Tatik! She yelled for me to wait for her, as she was a little way down the block. I’m not exactly sure how old she is, but she moves around pretty good for a woman her age. Anyway, we walk and talk, she asks me where I’m coming from and is totally surprised that I can remember the way home. As we near her house she invites me over (well really, commands me). I know that this means coffee, fresh fruit and cakes, so obviously, I agreed.

Once at her house, she shouts for her daughter-in-law to entertain me while she washes up quickly. Soon coffee is ready, and Tatik returns from her garden with fresh grapes, peaches, apples and hazelnuts.  She then tells me to follow her into the back room, where she wants me to try on some of her other daughter-in-law’s clothes. She picked out a navy blue polka-dotted full-length dress. Coincidentally, I left a dress back home with the identical pattern. After trying it on, she took some measurements and started to tailor the dress for me. An hour or so later, we walked back to Siranush’s house together, dress and all. She was very proud of her work, and rightfully so, the dress does look good on me. Of course, I had to give a mini fashion show for the twins and Siranush, while Tatik beamed proudly at me.

That was not the end of my day, but I will save the other part of that afternoon for a different post.

I hope you are all happy, healthy and enjoying the wind-down of the summer season!

It's Official, I'm a PCV

75 days later and I am still here.

When I first left home, I told myself I would just try. I definitely had doubts and concerns about the decision to come, but felt it was important that I took the opportunity for which I’d worked hard. I did a pretty good job of putting aside most of my fears and anxieties prior to leaving. Life in Armenia was an illusion to me, so it was easy.  Now, after having been here for the last seventy five days, living with my host family, learning the language and culture, I am know this is where I will for the next two years. And yet, those fears and anxieties have become real.

I have been able to get a small glimpse of where it is I am headed and I know things are about to change drastically. There is a great expectation of me within my next community. The previous volunteer was active, well liked and successful in his assignment. In essence, he left a legacy that I will not fulfill. When I first returned from my site visit, this prospect was scary. My fear of failing, in this attempt at boldness and courage, started to creep it’s way into my head. Was I capable?

The last month has been spent mentally preparing for, what is now, right in front of me. Tomorrow morning I will leave my host family and head for another. I will be truly alone for the first time since arriving. My time will be my own again (to a certain extent) and I have three weeks to get my bearings in the new community. It’s interesting to realize that in two months time I have just started to get in a groove here, with my family, my extremely scheduled life, etc. I will have to start all over again. This time though, it is up to me to have a purpose.  So, I am going to start writing more letters and mapping out my village as a start. I am going to recharge the batteries so that by the time school begins my mind is once again open to a whole new experience.

I will be ok. I will succeed. And my life at home will always be waiting for me but Armenia will not always open in this way for me. I miss home and I miss my friends, but I am excited about the new friendships I have here. Mostly, I want to press on and see what awaits me. It’s not yet time to go home, there is still so much to learn...

After drafting this post, I got violently ill the night before my scheduled departure from Akunk. My family was really concerned for me and insisted on calling my LCF (language teacher within in the village) to say there was no way I was leaving. Luckily, Peace Corps obliged and allowed me one last ( albeit sick) day in Akunk. I slept on and off throughout the afternoon, was advised to eat nothing at all and drink only tea. By the next morning I was good to go so I took off in a white Peace Corps Toyota truck. The door to door service was excellent in my weakened condition, but I also felt like the queen coming into town... so that was sort of awkward.

I've been in my new home with my new host family for two nights now. I have a lot more privacy this time around. The area's terrain is completely different from where I was. You can look up my site Malishka, Armenia on Google maps! I'm in the valley of a mountain range, from where my house to located there isn't much view but it's still very beautiful. Glimpses of the beauty are too be had and I was really wanting to get out and walk around the neighborhood to see the view. Yesterday, with my new family I went over to their Tatik's (grandma) house just up the hill. She has this beautiful balcony that overlooks the community. It was so gorgeous and breathtaking. As I sipped my coffee and ate some of the freshest fruit of my lifetime I simply took in this view. It was a lovely afternoon.

School starts on September 1st. My Armenian counterpart will return from a translating job in Yerevan on the 18th, so I am looking forward to getting together with her and beginning to prepare for the school year to come. In the meantime: yoga, writing, singing my guts out, walking around town, yoga, writing, meeting other volunteers in the nearby town and studying my Armenian!!

Oh, and I may or may not have picked up Season 2 of The Wire in the PC library...

Chicken Testes

I apologize for the delay between postings. Two weeks ago we started our teaching practicum. There has been very little free time with lesson planning on top of homework. At the beginning of the month everyone switched language teachers in an effort to … I don’t actually know. But, there is definitely a disconnect between the language people and the TEFL people. It feels like I am in school again sometimes, when the one teacher doesn’t really give a shit that your workload is already great, because their assignments are far more important than the rest.  To say the least, I have been busy.

I have also not known what I wanted to write about…the re-built ruins we visited, my stress, the fact that I don’t want to leave Akunk yet, how much I appreciate my host family, my anxiety about going to site, the flies, the heat, my friends? Or maybe even the food? Then yesterday, as I was walking my dear friend Debra out after finishing up our final lesson plan, I decided to go and talk to my h.mom Silva about the noxious smell outside and where it might be coming from. I had just seen her out of the corner of my eye, going to the part of the house in which I shower and where she has been preparing the winter preserves. Remember the dungeon I mentioned? Well, this is the same place.

These three rooms are the original house and have their own separate entrance. The immediate room after the entrance is the old kitchen; and then a window through to the shower area, which is just tile, a weak light and a shower head; and the other room off to the side is a mystery to me because I find it terrifying and I’m pretty sure a ninja or a monster awaits me there. The old kitchen has no light except for whatever natural light comes through the door. When you first poke your head in, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust. 

Anyway, I poke my head in and ask Silva how her grocery shopping in Abovian went. As she tells me that her head was spinning, I notice the large knife in her hands with some blood spatters, and the dark wet thing in the pot full of steaming hot water. As I got closer, I realized the dark wet thing is one of the chickens from the yard. I was so stunned and excited! I was going to get to watch her prepare our dinner from the moment it’s neck was broken!

The whole process was fascinating. The boiling water was for pulling the hair out faster and easier. It was as simple as… well I can’t actually think of an appropriate comparison, but she did it with ease.  The feathers on the wings were more difficult and took some muscle. She turns to me with one in her hand and says, ‘Columbus’ pen!’. After removing as much of the hair as possible, she turned on a burner (which is really more like a torch) and passed our dinner through the flame several times, burning away the remaining hair. After the chicken was bare she removed his neck, arms and legs; first by breaking them and then sawing through the remaining muscle with her knife.

She began to clean out the internal organs and other gunk inside the frame of the body; first opening the chest up with her skilled bare hands as I simply stood there with my mouth open - the whole time. At some point, my English speaking sister Angela comes over and tells me she loves eating the eggs. I was so confused! Did she mean eggs, eggs, or the two testes that were now visible inside the carcass? She meant the two testes in the carcass, which was carefully explained to me by mother as she referenced her sometimes naked grandson Vartancheek and motioned her hands in a manner I would understand. I couldn’t think of the words testes or testicles, so I just said “Oh, you mean the balls?!”. Which my two host sisters and mother each repeated in turn ‘balls?’. After a minute or two I remembered testicles and shouted out this word, which they also repeated. My h.mom said ‘testicles’ about five times during the rest of the dinner preparation. It was awesome.

For dinner I ate a testicle and some lung in my chicken potato soup. Narine had forgotten to add salt to the fresh bread, which we all had a laugh over. Grigor came to sit down, throw back two shots of vodka and then leave.  Silva gave him grief about how fast he eats, because he always complains that his belly hurts afterwards.  Armenians use a lot of motioning and moaning to get their point across. I am a huge fan of this communication technique. There is no point in my trying to write them out here, you will just have to wait until you see me and I will give you an impression.

So, one week left to go, three more official days of Pre-Service Training. I honestly can’t believe how fast the time has gone. Do I say that every post? Oh well, it’s the truth. I am simultaneously excited, nervous, tired and energetic. I pass through nearly every possible emotion on a daily basis. As you might imagine this involves the occasional cry, but it’s not the end of the world.  At this point, I just need to push through the next week with the remaining fuel I’ve got left.

I’ll tell you what: I am seriously looking forward to having three weeks of rest before school starts on September 1^st.