What shall we talk about today, I asked them. Blank faces stared back at me. I had nothing prepared, they had no suggestions. After Monday’s lesson about introductions, I took them on to describing their families. “His name is, her name is, he is and she is.” Riveting stuff.
Another Elementary Talking Club, another discussion about people’s brothers and sisters.
And, in case I needed more practice, I then had another Elementary Talking Club, i.e. another discussion about people’s brothers and sisters. My brain was turning to mush, but I did notice that today’s students were mostly the same as Monday’s. Maybe there is some pattern here.
The morning Intermediate class, who had been the highlight of my Monday morning, were nowhere to be found. Maybe there is no pattern here. As far as I could gather, the class had been disbanded, and the few remaining students moved to different classes at different times of the day. Instead, I had another Elementary Talking Club… Followed by Little Miss Sunshine herself, Selena. The vampire was on form today, explaining that she doesn’t like her neighbours and that she doesn’t like homosexuals. I wonder if she likes anybody; I know she doesn’t like me.
The afternoon classes were like Monday. The 5.40 class were again the only highlight, although the last class of the day, from 8.30 to 10.00, are showing signs of being a good class. It’s hard, I really don’t want to teach them, I don’t want to like them, but they do seem to be a likeable class.Picture: Some of the local currency, with a $10 note which I was unable to change as it was apparently "too crumpled."
Today was the birthday of one of the girls who works as a secretary, Tanja. There was to be a celebration that evening, but of course Ulan first had to deal with all the students’ problems and pay the staff who weren’t staying, so there was some time to kill. Empty classrooms have a strange feel to them, especially when the cleaning girl stacks all the chairs on the tables so that she can clean the carpets. Today, however, she wasn’t doing this; she was standing alone in an empty room, crying her eyes out. What do you do in a foreign country when you find a girl crying but can’t communicate with her in any way? Nobody else seemed to be particularly concerned, and she managed to indicate to me that she didn’t want any assistance so I sat her in a chair and left her covering her mouth with the dirty towel that hangs by the basin.
Ulan was still busy in his office with a gentleman; he said yes, he knew there was a girl crying, and he would deal with it later.
Gradually it became apparent that she had been walking to the school when she’d been attacked. She’d been hit in the mouth and had her purse stolen; this girl who doesn’t even come up to my shoulder had been mugged by a gang of eight youths just a few minutes’ walk away on Toktogul Street
Ulan was none too pleased by events. The debate was in Russian and Kyrgyz, but there seemed to be some consensus to go after the youths and to teach them a lesson. Danny, the short Canadian teacher with the shaved head, bushy eye-brows and muscle-bound body offered to phone some friends to come and help. Ulan went off alone and returned minutes later with half a dozen teenagers whom I presumed were either students or passers-by he’d rounded up to come and help. I was quite puzzled when instead of setting off to find the attackers, Ulan led them into one of the classrooms. I followed, but Ulan turned to me, muttered something about ‘guarding the doorway’ and disappeared. Assuming this was some misunderstanding I was trying to work out what he’d actually meant when he returned wielding a large kitchen knife and it finally dawned on me that these young men weren’t going to help us, they were the ones who’d attacked the girl.
Up till now the youths had been full of themselves; suddenly they
were very scared. Ulan herded them into a corner and some angry words were exchanged and the knife was waved around a bit. The girl was summoned but she could not identify any of them: it seemed the one who’d actually hit her in the mouth and taken her purse had then run off. I never did find out if these were the youths who’d been with him or if they’d just been passing by. Eventually the situation calmed down and Ulan let the boys go.Picture: the street where I work; note the Kyrgyz and Russian versions of the same street name.
After driving the cleaning girl home, Ulan rejoined us and the ‘party’ finally began. There was beer and kirieshki (like small hard croutons with a strong flavour, they go well with alcohol), and a very sugary birthday cake. I was puzzled why Tanja was celebrating with us in the school, but she seemed happy enough. It was her 18th birthday: legally in Kyrgyzstan this means you can vote, buy cigarettes and alcohol, and get married.
The man I assumed was her boyfriend turned out not to be, though he didn’t try to hide the fact that he would clearly like to be. Instead, Tanja’s boyfriend waited for her in the car –the ‘party’ lasted a good couple of hours and he just sat in the car waiting. I found it odd that she was celebrating with us in the first place, odd that her boyfriend made no effort to join in… in fact, I found the whole situation very odd.
But it was good to relax, to drink some beer, to make jokes and swap stories, and to do something other than just going home, eating and sleeping.
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