So I’m done with my first week of class. The experience varied very much from group to group. So far, all of my students are in the second year, but each group seems to be on a drastically different level as far as English is concerned. Some have been very bashful and timid, too afraid to speak in front of everyone or in front of me. Others have no problem going on endless tangents or grilling me with all sorts of questions. These groups have been a lot of fun.
As of last week I had been given 8 groups, each of whom I see only once every two weeks. They arranged it this way so that as many students as possible could have interactions with a native speaker. I realized what a big deal this is when one student told me after class, “You’re the first foreigner we’ve ever met.” It’s funny, though, ‘cause I seem to be constantly surrounded by foreigners. Anyway, so far I’ve been doing the same class over and over again. My theme for these two weeks is entertainment, and so I just blab on and on about what’s it’s like to entertain yourself as a young person in America. I tell stories from college, show pictures of my friends, and try to draw them into a comparative discussion of American and Russian entertainment. Depending on the group, this can either be all too easy or impossible.
The students are all (mostly) really great. Even those with lower language skills are genuinely interested in hearing what I have to say and listen attentively. I explain to them what it means to be from a suburban area and then from a rural area and talk about what it’s like to try to amuse yourself in a place where there aren’t so many obvious solutions (Gambier). I try to show them that in a rural place like Kenyon, you often resort to more original forms of entertainment. Usually, by the end of the presentation, they’re thoroughly convinced: my friends and I are unusual. They are often amazed that we have the free time to do all of the things we do. Looking back, I’m kind of amazed too. Then again, I think people at Kenyon tend to squeeze as much as possible into every day.
I also gave a talk at the American Center at TGU, the main state university. The topic was liberal arts education in America and student life. For this reason, it was sort of similar to what I have been teaching in class. I explained to them all of the obvious differences between state and private schools, along with a lot of the values and educational ideals emphasized at liberal arts schools. One of the things I try to emphasize is how drastically different it is to live on a small, isolated campus, to be a separate, academically oriented entity. In Russia, most students live with their parents at home, since it would be way to expensive, not to mention difficult to find an apartment. Only students who were raised very far from the city (and I mean very far… many students explained that they live close to the city… just a quick 400 km train ride away) live in dorms. To live on a small campus with everyone you know, a lot of your professors, and everything you need in your daily life is something totally foreign to Russian students. As a result, the experience of studying in an American college is very, very different.
One thing that’s surprised me about teaching in a Russian classroom is the professors. The first part of the surprise is that they sit in and watch me teach the class. At first I was uncomfortable about this, as I didn’t want to have someone watching me do my job and didn’t want to filter what I was going to say, but it turns out that most of these professors are very young. One I know for sure is only a year older than me. They must be encouraged to teach as they are working on their masters and doctorate. I soon became completely comfortable with them in the room, as I realized they are just as genuinely interested in what I have to say as the students. I’ve even started asking them to introduce themselves like the students. They are curious, ask questions, and are just as enthralled as the students. I know at least one of them has recently spent time in America, doing a work and travel program, and she had some interesting stories to share about American entertainment as well.
So far, organization is not something I’ve found to be typical of a Russian university. Half of my classes so far have been in different places than they were supposed to be (as written on my schedule). On top of that, more and more classes seem to be trickling in, as representatives from countless departments all around the campus slowly get their act together and decide it’s time to pencil me in. At first I was disappointed that I had only been given 4 classes a week, but now it’s turning out that I might have way more classes than expected (that is, more than Fulbright recommends). From the way people have been talking, they seem to think that I should have 9, 90-minute classes a week. This wouldn’t be quite so bad if each building wasn’t 20 minutes away from the next. They also all seem to think that it would be most convenient for me if I have 4 back-to-back classes in one day. I wonder, when am I supposed to eat?
Then there’s the whole business with TGU. Fulbrighters are all recommended to volunteer at the local American Center. The AC in Tomsk happens to be affiliated with the TGU library. I have been there a few times, and they are wonderful. It is through Nataliya Nikolaevna at the AC that I went to make shashlyk, that I went bowling, and now, that I have a wonderful apartment (more on this in a bit). I did the presentation at the AC, and it went very well, except that I spoke very quickly (as I always do), and as one friend reports, even some professors didn’t understand what I was saying. Anyway, the English professors there liked my presentation and have decided that I should start teaching classes there too (I heard this first through a student). At the same time, they decide to offer me free Russian classes at the university (an employee at the AC told me about this offer). It turned out though, that as soon as I met with them and agreed to the free classes, they announced their plans for me to begin working at TGU. I was sort of offended. They had devised a plan to trick me into working for them. They said that because of some Fulbright rules, I couldn’t pay for classes and then couldn’t pay me, so in order to return their gracious favor, I should begin teaching classes for them. Apart from my being offended at this underhandedness and, as of that day, already having a packed schedule, Fulbright strongly warns against volunteering to work at different universities. These local universities compete for Fulbrighters. TGU had the Fulbrighter last year, but this year TPU won the bid. TGU was disappointed and now seems to be trying to steal me away. I have a really bad feeling about it.
Apart from this bad feeling, I’m a little anxious about the sort of work I’ve been assigned in these last two days. As of now, I’ve been asked to conduct 4 separate English clubs, three within TPU and one in TGU. On top of that, both universities want separate monthly presentations. One department of TPU (they divide my total number of working as sparsely as they can amongst every conceivable department of this polytechnic university) wants me to teach one class per week, each time with a different group of students, each time at a different location, and each time at a different time. That is going to be a real pain. On top of that, some of what they want me to do is to just read business and technological texts for the students, because they have few opportunities to hear native speakers. Business and technological English are not exactly my cup of tea, and I really feel like, as a recent graduate of literary and philological programs, I have more to offer than the ability to read. Maybe I can just make some recordings of myself and drop off CD. I had been looking forward to my classes at IMOYAK, which I had convinced myself was the most straightforwardly philological department of the polytechnic university. It turns out that most of the classes they want me to teach there are simultaneous translations classes. This means I read a text while Russian students try to translate what I’m saying and their professors correct them. Not exactly fulfilling work. All in all, I am feeling like I have more to offer than tales from my college days and the ability to read English aloud. I’ll give these classes a shot, but I’m a little disappointed.
Okay, I’ll tell you a bit about my apartment, but this entry’s already 3-pages long, single-spaced. So I decided to move in an apartment downtown with a friend from the dorm. He’s from Belgium, but he has a conspicuously Russian name: Dmitrii Voronov. Anyway, we’re renting the place through my friend at the American center, and so we avoided paying an agency. It’s also been great, because this woman already treats me like a son and wants to be sure that we’re nice and comfortable in the apartment. Th apartment would have been too expensive had I not found a roommate, but now it’s quite affordable by American standards. By Russian standards, it’s unheard of that I should have my own apartment, and I’ve heard an earful from about 5 of the employees from the dorm and a few others, about how what I’m paying is more than their monthly salary. It is true, and I feel a little guilty about it, but I’ve decided that it’s worth it to have a more normal, human existence. I want to live here, to have neighbors who aren’t students, to be able to invite people over, to see what real Russian life is like. I realize that real Russian life for a young person does not involve an apartment, but I’ll just pretend that I live with my parents, and that they’re never home. When I’m in the dorm I can’t help but flash back to my college existence, which was nice, but in a way, not the real world. It’s hard to explain. Anyway, I moved. I signed an agreement in technical Russian that I did not understand, by candlelight, in my own, freezing-cold apartment.
What was that last bit you say? Yes, I moved in and the electricity went out. It flickered on and off all day, and then gave out for the night. My landlady and her son came to fix it to no avail. The city hasn’t turned the heating on yet, and so we couldn’t use our freestanding heaters. It was cold. At that moment, signing the incomprehensible contract with the aid of a candle, I had moment of doubt. I had a day-long series of doubts. These were resolved only when my landlady’s mother came over while I was at the university. This aged, venerable Russian babushka instantly figured out the problem and fixed it. She then waited around in my apartment all day for me to come back so she could tell me. What a woman! Pyotr got scolded for being a man and not knowing how to do it.
So now one problem was solved, but we still had now gas for our gas stove (and oh, were we hungry). The landlady called the gas company to come and change the “balon” as it’s called. So me, a Russian friend, Dima the Belgian, and a whole posse of international students anxiously awaited the gas men. Hours later when they hadn’t come, Natalya Nikolaevna (landlady) decided to call in a specialist, her good friend Dmitrii Denisovich. We waited a few more hours, and the Russian Mr. Fixit arrived. We tinkered, prodded, poked, and conjectured, all to no avail. Dmitrii Denisovich made rounds to all the different neighbors, asking them for gas keys or a bigger wrench, interrogating them about their own ovens, polling them about their preference: gas or electric. The results were mixed: some neighbors insisted on upgrading to electric, others still prefer gas. Some had some wrenches, some had deceased grandfather’s who left the gas keys at the dacha. After Dmitrii Denisovich had finished his recon mission, he resumed his battle with the gas tank. Finally he got it loose and tried the reserve tank. It was also empty. He made a big speech in which he insisted that we beg the landlady for an electric oven, and then tried to fix our doorbell, which had been disconnected because of the obnoxious bird sound that it made. It, however, was broken, and Dmitrii Denisovich took it with him to tinker with at home. He left 3 hours later, and though he didn’t fix anything, we were sure glad that he tried. Hopefully we’ll have gas by Monday, or if Dmitrii Denisovich gets his way, maybe we’ll get an electric stove.
Other than these problems, the apartment is great. It’s very old and so it has high, lofted ceilings and is remarkable spacious in comparison with the later Soviet apartments. I have my own room with a beautiful, old, wooden wardrobe. My bed is two beds in one, but isn’t very comfortable. Dima’s room is somewhat smaller, but has the most incredible collection of Russian literature stacked on a shelf that covers an entire wall. SO BEAUTIFUL. I’m planning to raid it all year long. I’ve now done my second load of laundry, and am so happy that I will soon have clean clothes. We do have a general lack of furniture. Dima and I might look into a writing desk and some extra chairs.
Now I will quickly detail two other stories of interest:
1. I missed Russian class, I arrived late and couldn’t find the classroom (it moves every day). I was stressed and hot, and so I took off my sweater and scarf. As I was leaving the building, and oldish, female professor chased me down. “Young man! Young man! Who’s things are those? Where did you get them? Young man! Whose things are those?” She was accusing me of having stolen somebody’s sweater and scarf. I was really not in the mood and couldn’t think of anything clever to say, so I just said “Mine” and sulked away. Thanks lady.
2. I learned of this story way after the fact, but it is surprising and worth telling. It turns out that our French friend Joan (I don’t know how that’s spelled but it’s not Jean, and it’s a boy) was walking at 4 o’clock in the afternoon on the main street, Prospekt of Lenin, on a Sunday. So this is broad daylight on the busiest street in the city. A girl approached him and started asking him questions, where’s he from, etc. I’m guessing she was flirting. Anyway, all of the sudden, five men jump out and beat him up. They stole his passport, his cell phone, all his money, and left him beaten on the street. One man offered to take him in a cab to the police, but it turned out later that this man was with the other assailers. Somehow, thank God, the police call three days later, saying they tracked the girl down, because she had been using his cell phone. They called back an hour later and said that they had recovered the cell phone, his passport, and his wallet, and that they had caught 3 of the men. Apparently, they’re going to be locked up for years. What an experience. This is his first time abroad, and he almost got sent back. All the Russians I know where just as surprised that this happened in broad daylight on the busiest street. They insist that this sort of thing is a rarity in Tomsk. It is a good lesson for us international students though. We had come to understand Tomsk as a safe place, where, unlike Moscow and Petersburg, you don’t really have to worry. We know now that there are always exceptions.
Okay, hate to end on that note, but I really should wrap this up. I swear I’ll get some more pictures up soon.
Love,
Jason
