Manglisi Moments

My ninth-grade neighbor just left our house, telling me “good morning”.  While my family got a kick out of this, it still made my heart warm.  This is the same girl who after 4 months, will always tell me “hello” but if I ask “How are you?” she responds in Georgian.  My 1^st graders are already beyond that. I still really like her, but tonight was the first time we really got to communicate, generally with my broken Georgian and help from my host family.

I haven’t gone anywhere since my last blog, but village life seems worthy of its own report this week.  I made burritos for my host family on Tuesday.  I had to substitute a few ingredients, but they were still delicious.  And by I, I mean my host mom, neighbor, and I, with my host mom still doing a lot of the work.  Thanks to a recipe I got from my Peace Corps friend, we made refried beans from scratch.   

Beans in progress...we had a lot

Being Georgia, we didn’t buy ground meat.  Instead, my host mom cut some meat off some part of the bull that we have been storing in our house and gradually eating the last week or two.  She then ground the meat herself before I cooked it. 

Freshly ground meat

 It was pretty awesome.  

That's right, cooking on the pechka.

 Once they were cooked, I got to add them, cheese, tomatoes, and sour cream to lavash, which substituted for tortillas.  They had me be the master burrito maker.  In true Georgian, what’s mine-is-yours fashion, they then cut up the burritos so more than one person could have part of each one. We made enough that everyone got their fill.   

Some of the awesome burritos

Everyone from my host grandma to my host brothers to the neighbors liked them.  Hoping to make chocolate-chip cookies tomorrow.

The next invasion of American culture came in the form of a package from my father.  I came home from school on Wednesday to find another package underneath the TV.  My host mom told me that someone had brought it by.  It had come in 16 days, far sooner than most people even in Tbilisi get their mail, and they usually then have to pay a feel.  My village rocks.  I knew that the package contained gifts for my host family that my father had gotten together for me.  He even individually wrapped each person’s gift.  

Potatoes and American care package

 However, only my host mom and grandma were home when I opened the package.  They appreciated the gum and candy, but my mom was too interested in finding out what everyone got to wait for everyone to get home.  So she unwrapped all the gifts by herself. 

This surprised but did not phase me, while my father was shocked when I told him.  I think this is a symptom of a massive cultural difference. Within the family, very few things register as belonging to only one person.  Personal property doesn’t really exist here.  Even my kids at school are constantly sharing pencil sharpeners (normal), erasers (understandable), colored pencils (also reasonable) but also pens and pencils.  When a kid doesn’t have paper, 2 or 3 other kids tear paper out of their notebooks for their classmate.  You might think communism encouraged this, but I think this is far deeper rooted in Georgian culture than that.

I don’t think they ever wrap gifts either.

My host family appreciated the gifts a lot.  I also stuffed myself with Butterfinger bells and felt a little closer to Christmas.  At 6 days, I am definitely counting.  I can’t wait to be home again, much as I love Georgia.

School has also been an adventure.  Today, I read a dialogue for my 2^nd graders for the first time. I was in a good mood, so I hammed up the characters a bit more than usual.  They kept begging me to read it again.  It was one of those moments that TLGers often get where our kids make us feel like rock stars.

That was a big improvement over my 3^rd grade class on Wednesday.  I was flying solo since my co had gone home to take care of her sick husband.  The kids were rambunctious from the start, so I knew it would be a challenging class.  Then one of my girls got a bloody nose.  Nothing like taking care of a sick kid when you can’t really communicate with them.  In all honestly, it was not that bad.  The other kids offered plenty of tissues.  I don’t know why they also offered her “spirt”, which I take as some form of alcohol used for medicinal purposes.  Usually people rub it on an area that hurts. I have no idea why they thought it would help, but I didn’t use it.  I was also intrigued when the kids put wet tissues on the girls head.  We clearly have different ideas about medicine.  She recovered, and I tried to keep teaching.  I’m pretty sure the lesson only got worse from there. I threw one kid out of class and had another who misbehaved in the hope that I would throw him out.  Of course, I didn’t.  The rest wouldn’t sit still and frequently got up to pick fights with each other.  I was very happy when that bell rang.