Monday, December 3, 2012

Friday, November 17th to Monday, December 3rd: Georgian wedding

At the far end of my village lies the home of my friend, Shorena. Her Sister, Salome was to have a wedding in Batumi. Georgian weddings are a big deal, and I was invited to come. In a addition to a free night of delicious food and ample drink, Shorena, being a dancer was to perform at the wedding reception. I told her my involvement in ballroom dancing, and was willing to teach it to her. Soon after learning this, Shorena requested that we dance at Salome's wedding. I imagined doing tango or cha-cha, but could see the guests forming all sorts of misinformed opinions of our otherwise platonic friendship. We decided to dance the jive. being that it is a light hearted dance, I felt it was appropriate for a wedding.

The request that we dance at Salome's wedding was made a two weeks before the date. I had to: teach Shorena jive steps, introduce to her the styling particular to that dance, and create a short choreographed routine to a song. Shorena had me come over to her house and we would practice on a covered porch on a smooth mosaic floor at the entrance to her house (after being royally fed). Miraculously, Shorena learned the dance quickly; obviously due to forte as a dance instructor, and partly due to her already being a dancer. Georgian dancing is highly energetic and there are kicking motions that are similar to jive. Within the first week, we had danced a number of moves to an array of songs. By the second week, we had just finished a routine to the tune "Why do fools fall in love?" Our last practice, I was notified that we were to have 500 spectators for this humble performance!

When it came to be the day of the wedding, my family demanded that I look my best. Donning my only suit, I walked to meet Shorena. I arrived that morning at Salome and Shorena's home. I brought with me Sir Walter Scott's Ivanhoe, which was a great asset in providing entertainment while waiting for the wedding to start. During this period, family and guests showed up to the house. After some greetings, pictures and toasts, we left in a column of cars, honking horns to announce the marriage. The first stop would be the church. 

Inside the parish's church, there was an orthodox priest who gave the wedding services. It was all in Georgian, but you could get the gist of it. At this wedding it was not all that important for people to be in attendance. Some were loitering outside the building and others were just casually standing in watch of the ceremony. It was surprising to me how light the actual ceremony was. At one point, the priest had to shush some of the more noisy of the crowd. On another occasion, the priest's I-phone went off; he simply handed it to his assistant, who answered the phone for him! From there, our caravan sped off to Batumi, wafts of dun air rotated ellipsoidal above as tires tore through the dirt road from the parish.

I had a really bad time at this point. Part of Georgian weddings consist of driving around town, honking horns, announcing to the world their flourishing matrimony. I didn't mind the gloating on an otherwise private event, what upset me was the bad driving. Georgian drivers already take risks, but this was too much. The driver who's car I was in was more fervent in his display of driving. He would tailgate, run red lights, go into opposing traffic, etc. Witnessing this on a daily basis, I am somewhat used to risk-taking, and for the most part, am able to tolerate a moderate amount. Our driver was much more avid on showing off, which I can not stand. I never felt the need to punch anyone in Georgia before now.

Once out of the car, the caravan stopped and got on a small ferry in Batumi harbor. We took off and went on a short trip along the Batumi shore. The boat traveled on a mirrored surface, the Black Sea was very calm this day. Opaque jellies swam just below the water's surface. We took pictures of the couple, and simply enjoyed the sunny day along the Black Sea coast. The boat ride lasted no more than forty minutes and the group once again piled into their cars. I went into a separate car this time. Thankfully not all of the drivers were so eager to die with their passengers.

The restaurant we arrived at was a banquet hall. Every table was filled with the rest of the guests. Up until now, our group was no more than twenty five people. The square hall contained the 475 other guests, already sitting on purple and white decorated tables, feasting and toasting to the newly arrived guests. At the end was an elevated platform where the bride and groom sat themselves, away from the other guests. Adjacent to their right were 4 singers and a keyboard. The group was hired to sing polyphonic Georgian music, as well as provide recorded music for dancing.

Right away we sat and ate among the revelers. It was Georgian traditional dishes, and a white wine especially made for weddings. The restaurant had a designated toast master, or Tamada. my neighbors applauded his eloquence and said he was a good tamada. By the way he was tosting, I imagined the message he carried sounded like this "Go forth and have lots of Georgian babies, which will strengthen our country against our sworn enemies! Meanwhile, we shall have yet another excuse to get really drunk!" It may be that I am just getting homesick or, I have become jaded to the whole supra tradition.

Having to constantly refuse alcohol being thrust upon me is a downer. Seriously, I'm don't like the feeling of drunkenness all that much. To many Georgians, getting drunk is the greatest feeling in the world. What is more, hospitality is tied into drinking. Men would hound me for not drinking, like that of a high school party. I was not going to be pressured to drink. Firmly refusing, however politely will inevitably leave most of them satisfied. Though with some, I have to just refuse several times, consequentially bringing on offence. In my mind, these hosts just want to see how an American gets drunk. I no longer care for offending, Their opinions I simply ignore.

Towards the end of the night, on of the children left an impression on my opinion of Georgian culture. I felt a tap on my shoulder. Spinning around on my chair, I faced this boy. His eyes were polished brown spheres wiggling in their sockets. His began to sway and stumble, holding himself up with tables and chairs. By then he and his sister had been swooping up the untended glasses of wine, in imitation of their elders. Trying to dissuade children to stop guzzling wine was an even bigger downer. I wish they knew what they were doing to themselves, but unfortunately they have few role models to look after. That being said, I am so thankful for my host family, who are much more moderate towards drinking. They are a beacon of moderation in a society that boosts of its dipsomaniac behavior.

Not all of the wedding was bad. I enjoyed spending time with my friends Nino, Shorena and Mari. Those gals are great! I feel deep friendship are more obtainable with Georgian women than with Georgian men. They do not thrust drinking upon me, or behave chauvinistically. Seriously, some men don't know how to act around foreigners! Puffing out their chests, driving erratically and pouring drinks down their guest's throat is not helping my opinion of them. Plus, women generally speak better English. Communication flows and friendships ensue .

We were able to dance to pop music, as well as traditional dancing. I am slowly getting the gist of Georgian dancing. The encouragement from my dance partners bears my courage to try it some more, and am ready to try again when the situation calls!

Towards the end of the night, I was able to witness justice upon the most wicked. The dipsomaniacs who professed their prodigal tolerance to drink could be seen in the parking lot, pouring onto the sidewalk all the night's toasts in jerking cathartic gestures.

Watching drunk uncles and cousins hit on my lady friends made me laugh. Watching drunk uncles and cousins fight in the parking lot at the end of the event (partly due to rejection) was a jewel of a memory!

After waking up at Shorena's house, my head awash with yester night's events. I was entreated to breakfast. Before I realized what was going on, we were returning to the banquet hall, for another round of reckless abandonment! I was thankful for Ivanhoe, and its remedy for my boredom.

I am so thankful for being included in events such as this wedding, and will note the good points as time passes, but I am starting to harbor ennui for my life here. I have had burst of homesickness during the wedding.

With only a few weeks left, I have the temptation to live on autopilot, and wait for the rest of my time to pass as quickly as possible. Living this way is rotten, and to combat this mindset, I remember what I came to Georgia for.

What has been helping my attitude are some of my students. Getting to learn from them and to see them communicate gives meaning to my work. There has been so much improvement in my students, and I can see that my influence on them shall continue in my absence!

Another activity which I have been enjoying is harvesting mandarins. This month, the mandarins, which provides as a source of income, to the homesteads of Gorgadzeebi, have ripened. A great amount of, picking, carrying, sorting and storing the citrus fruit has taken place in the village homesteads. Including my host family. I have been actively helping in the harvest. At first arrival, I was dissuaded by my family. I persisted my offers to help and they relented, there was far too much work to be done to pass any offers of assistance. Clippers were handed to me. Short instructions were given (the stem should be cut precisely where it attaches to the peel, so as to prevent the stem from puncturing neighboring fruit.) Next, I was with my family in our mandarin grove. My favorite part of the work is climbing the trees for the largest and juiciest mandarins on the high boughs . Being the most expensive, it is appropriate that they are the hardest to obtain. Up top, I am exposed to the warming sun, and to fantastic views of the valley. Although the work is long, I am warm in the sunny weather, and enjoying spending time with my family.

I didn't expect to get along so well with the Zoidze family, and it is going to be difficult to leave them. I never wanted my presence here to hurt anyone, and I never expected my leaving to cause pain. They want for me to come back and visit. I reciprocate their affections and wish to return, perhaps with friends or family of my own. I do not even have any plans for when I get back to the states, much less any plans on when to come back to Georgia. I am left with an uneasy feeling of the future, that nothing is settled and set.
Land lubbers on the Batumi cruise.


This picture was taken before our dance.

This little girl and I were so bored, we would make faces at each other through out the evening.

My brother, Levani

My sisters, Shorena to the left, and Khatuna to the right.

Shorena and I at Khatuna's birthday party.

My mother Naira.

We kept one of the kittens, now named Kato. This cat now spends its time crying and being pampered.

A fraction of the mandarin harvest.

Near my house, I found a perfect spot to read. On this rock, you are surrounded by falling leaves, under a canopy which block both wind and sun. 


Jellyfish!

Saturday, December 1, 2012

October 31st Halloween

As part of a cultural exchange, I felt inclined to show the children the customs of Halloween. Some of the other volunteers had designs of their own, mostly including pumpkin carving, and candy. I decided to so something similar. Firstly, I had to gather the materials. Luckily, the Bazaar had the required paper supplies for masks and spooky decorations. Although the paper was in small demand, it was still quite expensive in Georgian terms, at 20 pages per Lari. Candy however was inexpensive and readily available. The best candy shops and stalls were located in a half cylinder warehouse of corrugated steel, near the bus station. A kilogram of hard candy was sufficient, and would prove useful for my other designs. The pumpkins were more difficult matter of obtaining. The regular, rounded pumpkins so necessary for carving were in short supply. Instead, of being orange and round, they were ellipsoidal and pale green. The flesh was much too thick for any carving, even with the proper knife and I had only a pocket knife with a smooth blade. Luckily, after a further digging into other areas of the market, I did find two perfect specimens, and purchased them at the asking price. With two pumpkins, matches, candles, 80 sheets of paper and a kilogram of candy, I had the supplies needed for the holiday.


My family was quite curious about why I had bought two pumpkins, when there we had a garden of ripe pumpkins already at home. I explained by drawing a pumpkin on a piece of paper, followed by an arrow to a new drawing of a pumpkin of identical shape and size, with the standard Jack-o'-lantern face. In all respect, they probably didn't understand, but just accepted that they will find out in time.

Before Wednesday October 31 rolled around. I notified my students and co teachers of the Halloween event, my students were enthusiastic on learning. I told them to bring paper for mask making, unsure if I had enough. That day, I brought colored pencils, crayons, scissors string, and of course two pumpkins. My first class, the 6th graders were very excited on learning about Halloween. I had planned on having an impromptu meeting with interested students after the school lessons were over. Instead, my co-teacher thought would be better for the 4th grade to spend their time making masks. With the knowledge I know now, it was better that I celebrated Halloween with a limited number of students. The contents of this post will reveal why.

With multi-colored paper in their hands, my 4th grade class was ready for mask making. I drew on the board: a bear mask, a mummy mask, a fish mask, a scarecrow mask, a cat mask, and a dog mask. A few had chosen a mummy for a face; most however, were quite taken with the bear. The class time was spent making these masks. I hovered around, providing advice, encouragement, and input. When it came time for the string, I cut into 18 inch long strips, the twine required to fit the masks to their faces. A simple double knot through two small holes, cut into the sides of the faces, just under the eyes did the trick. Some students were independent, the majority was not so independent. I had to do a lot of knot tying that day!

With the masks complete I had to show them how to trick or treat. I had them don their many-colored bear masks, and a few mummies and dogs. I wrote on the board "Trick or Treat" and had them pronounce it. Then, I kicked them out of the classroom and into the hallway. The door closed. I waited for a knock. The knock never came. I again, opened the door and told them to knock. This time, I herd a rattle. When I opened the door, I opened it with a kilogram of candy in my hands. A few students greeted me with a "Trick or Treat!" but most just glared at the bag of candy held in my arms. I wish I had taken a picture of all the masked faces staring at me. I partitioned the candy out to the children and had them enter the classroom. By the time the students each had a piece of candy, the class was over. My reward: an enormous applause and "Thank You."

I had another class that day, it was with the 2nd graders. The co-teacher and I decided that it wasn't best to have the same treatment. The classroom was too ill managed, and we didn't find it correct. I would have liked to do the same with them, but I didn't push the motion any further. The second grade class was shorter anyways. To make masks and hand out candy in such short time...impossible.

With the my daily classes at an end, it was time to carve the pumpkins. I gathered the two pumpkins, stored in the room. My staff didn't know what I was doing, they kept on telling me it was food, and that we should cook them up and eat them. I had to ignore them, it would become clear to them once they see the spooky faces leering projected candle light towards them. With my pocket knife and the two pumpkins, I withdrew to the front of the school. In the open air, I proceeded to carve. From the start, I could tell it wasn't going to work. The knife was much too soft. I need a carving knife to use. What is more, the students watching became too riled up. They didn't know what I was doing, and like the staff, tried to explain to me that these were for food. They crowded around me, getting too close to the blade. I didn't want to cut anyone! They didn't understand, and didn't have the patience to just watch. Some students even took the pumpkin I wasn't working on, and were tossing it up into the air and catching it! The plans and Ideas I was making were quickly failing. I am trying to make a fun lesson for them, but once again, they proved too unruly. This is why there isn't an English club. This is why I don't attend the older students' classes. They act like clowns when together. I wasn't going to tolerate it any longer. I gave up. I put the knife in my pocket, and gathered my two pumpkins. I was to retreat into the teachers lounge and from there, carve a pumpkin to show them. They could just wait or go home, from the behavior of the worst I no longer cared.

At that moment of dejection, my 8th grade class came to the rescue. My 8th grade class, had me come into their classroom. Giuli was teaching her English class at that time. With the help of my Co-teacher I explained what I was doing and were able to understand what was going on. Giuli and I decided to have a Halloween party similar to earlier that day. In addition mask making, we were pumpkin carving. From that class, one of the students had got a large knife from a nearby house. The 10 inch blade was just what was needed for carving. I was able to make two small trapezoidal eyes, a triangular nose and a mouth with a few square teeth. You couldn't do these things in America, bringing a knife into a public school is considered a notch down from an act of terror. While I was carving one jack-o'-lantern, I had the students scrape guts out of the other. In that 45 minutes, We managed to carve two pumpkins make masks, and enjoy another round of trick-or-treating.

It is amazing how plans in this country can go from failure and frustration to a startling success. You can not plan on anything working as you hope. One can only put faith in its people and hope for something unexpected to ensue, it always does.

The pumpkin with Cote.