Feeling like a celebrity is a pretty awesome feeling, and that’s pretty much how I feel being an English teacher in this small village. During my first week here, I visited the houses of a multitude of neighbors and other teachers. At each house, I was offered food, wine, and coffee, and received a ridiculous amount of unnecessary praise. Due to the constant force feeding and drinking, I was buzzed almost all day, every day. I’m glad they forced mostly fruits and vegetables down my throat and not cheeseburgers, otherwise I’d be didi (big) by now. The first week consisted entirely of tsurva (swimming) in the Black sea (zghva/sva) or river, fishing, eating, and chillaxin. My family liked the gifts I brought them, minus the Tabasco sauce, which they thought was too hot. They especially love the Tony Chachere’s, and put it on almost everything. This is probably because they’re obsessed with salt; some people even put it in their beers. They were a bit confused as to what to do with the Mardi Gras beads, so they just strung them over a mirror as a decoration. In all honesty, that is probably the best place for them. I adore my host family, and really appreciate all the work they’ve done to make me feel comfortable. Upon noticing all my crap in the bathroom, my host father installed a shelf so I’d have a place to put everything. Both deda Eka (mother) and mama (father) have been learning some English phrases, and Nino and Nana have greatly improved their proficiency in English. They even ask me to teach them Spanish words, and now say “porque” instead of “why.”
My host sisters, Nino and Nana, are 12 year old twins, and they’re absolutely amazing and probably the cutest girls at school. Actually, scratch that. They are the cutest girls at school. Today was the first day of skola (school), which consisted of an assembly outside where the students names were called. The ones who were called out received certificates of excellence, awards for their outstanding performance for the prior academic year. Of course my twins received this award (they later showed me that they’ve gotten one every year). When their names were called out I yelled “You go Nino, woo hoo that’s my girl Nana!!!” Needless to say, they got the loudest applause, and everyone started roaring with laughter after I showered them with congratulatory remarks. I had no clue why people thought this was funny, until my English co-teacher leaned over and whispered into my ear “they aren’t used to showing their emotions so much like you, you are a good example.” Both the twins are exceptionally intelligent. They figured how to fully work my iPhone in a matter of seconds, and have remembered the password after only using in once. Mom, if the twins, who speak barely any English can learn to use an iPhone, you can too. Just sayin. It’s also nice to have “sisters.” We get to do girly things, and they love when I do their hair, put makeup on them, or let them use my perfume. They’ve grown fond of the Chanel scent, and are quite appreciative of my Lancôme lipstick. Mariel, if you’re reading this-they would do you proud.
Since my Georgian is horrible and the family barely speaks any English, we’re forced to be creative with our mode of communication. To get my point across, I employ several techniques. If I don’t know the word in Georgian, I try English. If no one understands, I point to a word or phrase in my translator book, which has essentially become my lifeline. If that still doesn’t work, I act out what I’m trying to convey or mimic a sound (especially if it’s an animal I’m talking about). Basically, I’m going to be unstoppable at charades when I get back to the States. Challenge me only if you dare. Living in a village is like living in a mixture of time periods: there’s the 60’s, and late1800’s, with the interspersion of modern day 21st century technologies. Most things are communal and everyone always seems to unnervingly happy-this is why it feels like the 60’s. Horse or donkey drawn carriages are a familiar sight, there’s outhouses, and farms are ubiquitous, which adds the to the 1800’s feel. On top of that, there are 21st century luxuries like electricity, indoor plumbing (if you’re lucky), television, and internet (also, if you’re lucky; I’m not). For the most part, I’m genuinely enjoying my time here, there’s little trouble in paradise. Since I have yet to complete a bitching post, I decided it’s fair game to complain a tsota (little). Because I’m not a negative Nancy, I’ll point out all the hilarious/strange/interesting points about my experience thus far as well. Also, I’ll try to describe life happenings here as much as possible, to paint a picture of what it’s like it to be living in a village. I’ll have to do it in a pseudo list form, because there’s just so much to say. Really, I could go on for pages and pages, but I’m no Stephen King so I’ll try to be brusque.
First off, here are some negatives:
- They’re always telling me to “tchame, tchame, tchame (eat, eat, eat).” Then, they bring out all this food and pile it on my plate. Seriously? How much do you think I can possibly eat in one setting? Is this a competition? Sometimes it feels like a Hansel and Gretel situation, and I fear they might be trying to get me didi (big) so they can eat me later on. Nino constantly brings plates of grapes to my room, or loaves of bread. The majority of the dishes are bread based, so I’m committing MAJOR carbicide.
- Little white caterpillars and green bugs, which smell foul if you crush them. They’re everywhere, and always crawling on me.
-People speaking to me in Georgian or Russian and honestly expecting me to give them a legitimate answer. The worst offender is my host uncle. He’s a nice guy and he means well but it’s gotten pretty old. At first, when he would ask me these rambling questions in aforementioned languages, I would do my best to reply by looking through my translating book. Now, I just reply with a smart ass answer like “Oh really, go on!” or “Dude, I have no idea what you’re saying, but sure.” Even if I reply back in English, he still gives me that ‘now translate to Georgian or Russian look.’ I can only come up with two explanations as to why he does this: he either thinks I’m fluent in his native tongues and am feigning ignorance for whatever reason, or, the much better explanation is that he just does it for shits ‘n gigs.
-Everyone litters. They just throw their trash wherever they see fit.
-My boots. My host family is forever giving me shit whenever they notice me wearing my brown leather boots. “Ren, Ren, why? It’s hot?” No, it’s actually warm, not hot. I get how temperature works. I’m fine, just let me be. I want to wear the damn boots.
-Not allowing me to go anywhere by myself. I’m not sure if they think I’m going to get lost or jumped, but I’ve found my way on my own before and violent crime is virtually non-existent here in Guria. One day I wanted to catch a marshutka and go to Lanchukti (which is about 10 minutes away) to use the internet. The twins told me I wasn’t allowed, because their parents weren’t home and their dad and principal said I couldn’t go by myself. I pointed to the word ‘adult’ and then ‘25’ in my little handy dandy book, but still, they said “you may not.” I’m only allowed to venture off by myself if I say I’m going to meet a friend.
-Harvesting hazelnuts. This task never stops, and hazelnuts just keep coming and coming and coming. I helped my host family out with this process several times, and when you look for hazelnuts, foraging for them on the ground and in the trees, you can’t help but feel like a squirrel. I also developed a rash in the foraging process, but it quickly dissimilated after a few hours.
 |
| Hazelnuts, after they're peeled. Enjoy your nutella people, I worked hard |
 |
| Hazelnuts, before they're peeled |
Now, onto the positive points:
-Homemade, 100% organically farmed-made-from-scratch food. My host mother makes this jam which is absolutely delish, and I don’t even like jam. She brews it from tangerines and plums.
-Riding horses. I get to do this a lot, especially since most people in my village own one and enthusiastically let me ride.
 |
| Riding a horse in the village |
-No traditional breakfast food. Breakfast foods suck, and I’m glad they have whatev for nom nom’ing on in the morning. We usually have cake (sweeeeet!), khatchapuri, or bread and jam.
-Breakfast in general. Back home, breakfast is almost always a mundane experience. This is not the case in Georgia. Each morning, we sit down to eat while listening to Russian techno blaring from the television. Everyone’s heads and bodies sway back and forth to the rhythm of the music. I’ve even joined in on the fun. If the techno doesn’t do it for you, then the chickens will. The horrible grey one, who I posted a picture of earlier in a previous post, is always trying to break and enter into the house. The hen occasionally gets in through the window, interrupting our meal to shoo her off. Sometimes, after she’s been kicked out, you hear a loud squawking. Then, Nino and Nana run out of the house like bats out of hell, and come back with an egg. “Look,” they say upon their return, “chicken gave us food!”
-My host family gave me keys for both my private balcony and my bedroom.
-The gender relations aren’t so bad here with my host family (a.k.a. my host dad’s not a dick). Marmuni (host father) helps with the hazelnut foraging, peeling fruits/veggies and other meal preparations, sews, and always says thank you to Eka, my host mother, after meals.
-The stars at night here are stunning. Back home, the sky is so different. Since the nearest major cities are several hours away and all of the lights are turned off at night, the sky is lit up with millions of stars. It’s fantastically beautiful.
Here are some ‘things’ that I find amusing, strange, different-plus, other various musings….
-There’s never any chocolate to be found, except at the market which is a good 2 mile walk. I buy chocolate candy in bulk, so I can be lazy and avoid having to walk back to the market soon. I’ve been on a bit of a Snickers binge, and I might be worse than the self-professed chocoholic Aussie Adam.
-Beeping while driving here is a perfectly acceptable way to say ‘hey!’ I remember one time when I was in Georgia with Kris, and I had my POS Chevy Aveo rental car, which drove like a go-kart. Just to be idiotic, Kris and I would ride around and beep at people, and they would look at us like we were mental. Not so here.
-Instead of saying “I love (insert noun)” they say “I love you (insert noun).” For example, one of the neighbors always says “I love you Easy E.” I’ve tried to correct this but they still keep it up.
-Playing beach volleyball against all guys in Ureki. And winning.
 |
| The black sea in Ureki. The black sand is supposed to be good for your health, due to its magnetic properties |
-The obsession with fire. Several of the kids in the village are definitely pyromaniacs. Once, a 14 year old set a tree on fire. I stood around thinking ‘uhhh, is someone going to put this out or do we just walk away? What’s happening?’ Sure enough, we just walked away, and I guess someone put it out since the village didn’t burn down.
-They crack hazelnuts with their teeth, which would explain why so many villagers are in severe need of some dentures.
-They point to words or phrases in the translating book that make absolutely no sense when it comes to conveying a message. The other day, Nino pointed to the word ‘extension cord’ and then to the sky. Maybe she’s just really metaphorical and deep in a way I don’t understand, as if the word extension cord would be synonymous with a ladder, as in a ladder to heaven.
-Their shirts. I know Africa gets all the pre-made Superbowl shirts from the losing team. Maybe there’s a similar situation with Georgia, except they receive a giant shipment of Goodwill clothes. One of my neighbors typically wears a shirt that reads “Krenshaw, for Lt. Governor of Louisiana.” I appreciate that he’s repping my state, but where in the hell did he get this shirt from?
-Everything is called coke. My first night here, my host mother served me a green drank which was flavored with tarragon and tasted like licorice. It was called coke. Occasionally, we’re served this hot, gooey, pepto bismol pink substance which is also called, as you might have guessed, coke.
-Animal sex. The animals are constantly getting it on, and no one seems to think its funny, except me. We once drove to a neighbors house for dinner, and as we pulled up, there were two dogs going at it right in the front yard. This happens all the time; I’m so tired of animals humping. Actually, it’s no longer funny.
-My family is always surprised at what we have and don’t have in America. They couldn’t believe we have santanzaro (watermelon) and actually eat it fairly regularly. Also, when showing off their school supplies, Nana pulled out whiteout and asked, “America, yes?” I replied, “Yes. America. We have whiteout and sooo much more; our office supplies are vast. It would blow your mind.” She only understood the yes and America part.
-My host family had no idea what contacts and invisalign were. They still can’t understand why I have contacts. For the invisalign, I grew tired of trying to explain what it was for so I just lied and said I have a bad jaw. That seemed to do the trick. Now they always ask me if my jaw hurts. When the twins saw me put my contacts in, they cringed as if I was in horrible pain, and asked “why, why you need this?” “Well,” I said, “because I can’t see.” This explanation wasn’t sufficient, and they proceeded to suggest that I don’t need them because I have glasses. I just let that one go and shrugged my shoulders. You have to choose your battles wisely.
-Our next door neighbors. They’re shenanigans are always amusing, it’s like a never ending sitcom. One night, while attempting to find the twins, I walked next door. There, on the porch, was the 12 year, stark naked and bathing in a bucket. Nino and Nana saw me and invited me in. As soon as I walked in, I saw the father sitting on the couch, who was also naked, except for a short towel covering his junk. Let’s just say he’s lucky he has a gut. Was I told to leave? No, this is Georgia people. I was invited in and given some corn and beer. The whole time, bebia (grannie) just sat there, in her all black ensemble, just smiling and staring at nothing. While I’m on the subject of the neighbors, I’ll mention the nighttime picnic we had…I came over to find grannie stark naked and outside taking a bath in a bucket. The neighbors don’t have indoor plumbing. That was a sight to behold. We laid outside on the rug which normally covers the living room floor. Eleni, the 12 year old, went to the market to buy some crackers and beer, for her parents of course. When she came back, she attempted to drink some of the beer, but her parents told her no. She wasn’t forbidden to drink because of her age-it all had to do with timing. Since it was late, she wasn’t allowed to drink. Grannie creeped over to our picnic spot, and tried to get some crackers. Eleni pulled the plate away from her, and said something about medzineba (sleepy) and chen, chen (you, you). Poor Grannie had put so much effort into trying to grab some grub; it was sad. Nobody gives a f*** about grannie. When Eleni wasn’t looking, I took some crackers and brought them to her, and her wrinkled face lit up like a firefly.
-The graves here. I always thought New Orleans had awesome graves, but Georgia does as well. On the tombstones are engravings depicting what the dead looked like while they roamed the Earth. Nice to have a face to go with a dead body.
 |
| Tombstone. |
-Coffee. They serve Turkish coffee here, and no one owns a coffee maker, that is, except for Madonna, the computer teacher. We ventured to her house for lunch one afternoon and she pulled out this box, which turned out to be a coffeemaker, and told me “make, make.” So I made coffee. American style. Everyone else drank it black, but I put milk and sugar in mine, which they thought was weird. Even though she doesn’t have a coffeemaker, my host mother kindly tried to make coffee American style after she saw how much I liked coffee at Madonna’s. The result was some congealed coffee like substance, which was more akin to a coffee slushy.
-No one can pronounce my last name. They just say ‘Sharon.’
-The stuffed animals here. For starters, every household has a giant stuffed animal somewhere, and you just may find it wrapped in plastic. Also, most of the stuffed animals are nailed against the wall. WTF?
 |
| Caitlitn's sister teddy bear is crucified to the wall |
-Our Little Miss Sunshine van, which also reminds me of a vehicle in another movie, a classic at that: Ace Ventura II, Call of the Jungle. You know that scene where Ace is in the monster truck and driving through the jungle and the ride is incredibly bumpy? That’s what riding in our van feels like. Yeah, just like that.
-Jesus shrines in the most obscure of places. One minute you’re just wondering about, minding your own business, and then…. BAM! Jesus shrine!
 |
| Jesus shrine |
-Caitlin’s shower experiences. The poor girl can never have a shower in peace. I’ll provide some examples to illustrate: once, her host sister started furiously banging on the door as if a fire was in progress. Caitlin stopped her shower and threw a towel over herself, opened up the door, and in came her host sister---she simply unplugged something and left. If it’s not the host sister, it’s the aunt, who knocks on the door every time she’s cleansing asking “no problem? No problem?” Lastly, Caitlin thought she had a peeping Tom problem, as she spied someone looking in on her showering from a hole in the roof. Turns out it was just her host mom repairing the roof.
-Nino says bird just like Thumper in Bambi. It’s super cute.
-Kids drink beer and smoke cigs like it ain’t no thang. I was at the market one day and observed the store owner give an 11 year a can of beer. The 11 year old then proceeded to chug it like he was a seasoned college vet.
-At the end of the day on my first day of teaching, my English co-teachers told me I had to go to Gumati, at 10 a.m., nature. Those were the only instructions I was given; they couldn’t have been more vague. As it turned out, “Gumati, 10 a.m., nature” developed into picking up trash, since there’s an infinite quantity of garbage on the side of the road. Most of the students from school showed up, including all of my 12th graders. Why were we picking up trash? It was Earth Day, Georgia style. After all the trash was collected, I was under the assumption that we were going to place it in proper trash receptacles. Instead, the trash was put into several piles, and then they lit each pile on fire. Happy Earth Day. The fire caused giant black clouds to rise up, due to all of the plastic bottles and bags. Picking up trash was extremely counter-productive: not only did it make things worse by dispersing noxious pollutants into the air, but it doesn’t matter. By next week, the streets will once again be filled with litter. Total waste of time.
-I had my first suphra (which is essentially a Thanksgiving style meal with ridiculous amounts of food, drinks, and numerous toasts) with my fellow teachers and principal. They all encouraged me to keep doing shots of cha cha, which is homemade vodka, cultivated from grapes. This stuff is as strong as Everclear, and tastes like it too. After my 5th forced shot, my lungs and throat were on fire. I had to complete my 6th and final miserable shot because it was, as they told me, a toast to love. Then they did a 7th one for my family back home and I just pretended to do that one too…sorry guys. I tried to just pour it out, you know, for my homies, but they didn’t get that. I left the suphra with my pants twice as tight as they were before I came, and walked the 3 miles back home, burning off some of those calories.
 |
| Suphra. The picture doesn't do all the amount of food justice |
-At the above mentioned suphra, all the attendees made me get on the scale to get my weight. I have no idea why, but it really helps to support that Hansel and Gretel hypothesis. And in case you’re wondering, I’m not making this up. It really happened.
-One of the 14 year old boys in the village loved Justin Bieber (loved being the key word). When he asked me if I liked him, I said no, and when he asked why, I explained that Justin Bieber was for little girls. He freaked out and his friends started making fun of him, so he asked what he should listen to. My reply: “I don’t know. Lil Wayne. Try that.”
-The seatbelt law here, which is new, requires people to wear their seatbelts. No one listens. They simply just throw it across their chest but don’t plug it in.
-Even my host parents get the twins names confused, and call Nino Nana, and Nana Nino. I’m the only one who gets it right.
-They don’t need lawn mowers…they use cows.
-Everyone constantly tells me to sit down, take a seat. Sometimes I feel like I’m on To Catch a Predator.
Lali Bebia
Lali Bebia gets a whole section devoted to her in paragraph form because she’s that awesome. On my first night here, I was a bit nervous. Here I was in another country, living with a family who speaks practically no English. Then, just like the magical little language fairy that she is, in walks Lali Bebia, and the first thing she says is “hello my dear, how are you?” Holy shit I thought, there’s someone in this tiny middle of nowhere village who speaks English. Lali then took me on a tour of the house, and told me she would only be in Nigvziani (my village) until September. Then, she would go back to Tbilsi, where she lives permanently. Staying in the village was essentially camping for her.
Each day, I would walk over to Lali Bebia’s house and chit chat with her for a bit. She always served me cookies, coffee, and amazing wine (by the way, the wine here is the best I’ve ever had, and it’s all entirely 100% homemade). After one glass of wine, Lali would be drunk. Basically, Lali Bebia likes to get crunk. Here are some of my favorite Lali quotes:
“Aren’t you drunk? No? Uh-oh, I did it again. I’m a drunkard. I love wine, very much.”
“You see him? That is my husband. He used to be cute. Now look at him. What a mess he is.”
“Do you have a boyfriend? No? Good. You don’t need one. See all the problems they cause? They are no good my dear.”
 |
| The mother in law of Lali Bebia. She's 96 and still does the hazelnut thing |
Farming
I’ve tried my hand at a few farming activities, and most have been major fails for me. Milking cows was fail number one. I was horrible and my host mother laughed at me. My second fail came with harvesting corn. Recently, I’ve learned a bit of these food magician’s secrets. Almost every family in rural Georgia has a farm, albeit a small one. They only let you in on a little bit of their food secrets, but I caught a glimpse into the larger picture. A few days ago, my family drove about 15 minutes out of our village, to somewhere even more remote than where we live. We drove to a vast expanse of farmland, with acres and acres of crops stretching further than the eye could see. Lo and behold, I discovered the corn jackpot---there was so many corn stalks that it felt like Children of the Corn. It was kind of creepy. Also, I managed to get lost at one point in the fields, and I freaked out a little bit. To determine if the corn was ripe, you had to feel it up a bit, there’s a technique to it, and I couldn’t master it. Somehow I succeeded in completely destroying several stalks of corn in the process, so I just gave up and walked back to our Sunshine/Ventura van. There has been one farming endeavor, however, that I’ve dominated: picking berries. After the corn was collected, Nino told me we had to pick berries, which were mostly hidden in the shrubs. I found a batch pretty quickly, and tried to eat what I discovered. Before the berries went in my mouth, Nino screamed “Nooooo, will kill you.” So I dropped them, and demanded to know why we were collecting poisonous berries. “They are for Coke,” Nino said, “for hurt stomach.” O.K., we can’t eat them, but we can drink them…how does that work?! Not to boast, but I ended up picking these berries like a true champ, a professional. I owned it. They can hate on my boots all they want, but I’m glad I wore them harvest corn and berries, otherwise I would have been pretty scratched up (my feet that is). At the end of the food gathering process, we headed back towards the van. Before we could get there, an elderly man popped out from the undergrowth with a dead rabbit in his hand. And then he just walked away, as if his presence wasn’t strange or anything.
“It’s so hard to get old without a cause. I don’t want to perish like a fading horse. Youth is like diamonds in the sun, and diamonds are forever. So many adventures, couldn’t happen today. So many songs we forgot to play. So many dreams are swinging out of the blue. I let them come true.”
