The First 3 Weeks

The first 3 weeks of this semester have been…a familiar sort of strange. I am no longer surprised at each turn like I was a year ago. Sure, I still often pause in disbelief. I still question the logic of…well, too many things to list. I’m just thankful it’s now and not a year ago. In many ways, Mongolia, Darkhan, my school, is more “normal” than what I imagine America being like.

So far, it has gone like this:

My school again declared that the first day of classes would be one week before the generally accepted day of the opening of all Mongolian schools, 1 September.

The opening day ceremony was held one week after classes were supposed to start. I gave a speech in Mongolian. Of the 2,000 students our school has, 100 or so came.

I taught my first class 2 weeks after classes were supposed to start. Half of the students were there.

Many students have not shown up for classes, citing various reasons for their absence. Even more have not finished registering for their classes, citing various reasons for their indolence.

My teaching schedule has changed 5 times.

We have 3 new English teachers this semester. One is Malaysian. She is part-time. She started last week. One is Mongolian. She is part-time. She started last week. One is Russian. She is full-time. She hasn’t come yet.

I am now team teaching. This is new for us all. I am teaching 3 different classes with my 3 main counterparts: Technical English with Khugjmaa, Grammar and Vocabulary with Suvda, and General English with Uyangaa. The first 2 are with the above-mentioned seniors. The 3rd class is one section of (dare I say) upper level general English students. The planning sessions were great. The actual teaching together has been great.

I am learning how to teach English to an entire class of very beginner English students. Surprisingly, I haven’t had to do that yet. It’s like being back at host site during training. It’s been a lot of fun.

After one week of classes, all the 4th course (senior) Interpreter Engineering students (the group of 15 that I taught the most last year), are now on a two-week break. With no preparation, they are doing Teaching Practice. They will be teaching English to various schools around Darkhan. 1 student has very limited teaching experience. The others...well...

I put a new sign on the door above which reads: “please knock on the door before you enter” on our English office. I also switched desks with one of my counterparts. I was getting really annoyed by all the students opening our office door, peeking in for no apparent reason and closing the door again. How many times can a person say “khaalag togshoroi” (please knock on the door)? It’s one of the few things I still haven’t gotten used to. The project has had mixed results.

I have found a new way to commute to school. It’s a great 15 minute trek. While I walk, I read and listen to music. With the way some Mongolians look at me, you’d think I’d just stepped out of a space ship. He’s not looking ahead while he’s walking. He’s reading…a book. Crazy white man.

I have been “interviewing” students starting for an English club that will begin on 1 October. The club will be for good speakers looking for an outlet to improve their abilities. About half of the interested students have been stumped by: “Please talk about yourself for 1 minute.” Many, though, have been rather impressive.

I met a new and fascinating Mongolian. His name is Buren Scharaw. He lives and works in Germany. He has been there for the last 34 years. He speaks amazing English (and Mongolian and German)…with a thick German accent. Many Mongolians I talked to think he is very un-Mongolian. He manages a water supply and treatment project in the UB/Darkhan area. He comes to Mongolia every month or 2. On his next visit to Darkhan, in mid-November, he has promised to bring bratwurst and perhaps even sauerkraut for a grill-out at our place. Pardon me as I drool.

I am an English teacher in Mongolia. By my calculations, since school “began” 22 (well, 16, if you don’t count weekends) days ago, I have taught 10 classes. I “should have” taught 33 by now.

I wonder what the next 3 weeks will (or won’t) bring. Hmm…

Thankfully Some Things Don’t Change

Brett Favre may not be our quarterback anymore, but round 2 of Peace Corps/Mongolia Green Bay Packers football is definitely on! I knew it was back because last Tuesday for the first time in months I was back at it, in my Darkhan office glued to the computer watching little moving green and yellow and purple and yellow lines moving back and forth across the screen. Monday Night Football. Packers. Vikings. Lambeau Field. Last second victory. Rodgers, the hero. 24-19. Relief.

Last night I went to bed with that familiar nervous itch. This morning I woke to the I-just-gotta-knows. I had set my alarm for 8 a.m., but at 7:14 I decided I could wait no more. I got up, got dressed and got myself to a computer. Another familiar feeling: the all too long computer loading process. Logging in. Typing nfl.com. Loading nfl.com. Waiting. Nervousness. Scanning the scores. Jubilation. Packers 48. Lions 25. But, of course. Rodgers is the hero once again.

It amuses me to think that this is the most “normal” thing I will experience in my office or at my school all day long. Thank God for the Packers.

I Hate Mosquitoes

It all began when I was a trainee. I had this funny thing about flies. I hated them. I invested time, effort and even money to kill as many as I could. And, I didn’t have to go out of my way to find them. They found me. Mongolia, and my host family’s house, has more than its fair share of the winged fiends. Even as I write now (I am in my office at my university) there are 3 buzzing about making this entry all the more appropriate. Anyway, every night last summer I had a ritual. I would encircle the room, swatter in hand and vengeance in my heart, looking for the next opportunity to strike! I circled the room dozens of times for up to an hour each night before lying down for bed. For keeping me up and waking me early in the morning all too regularly, I learned to kill with precision and with what is probably an unhealthy sense of excitement and satisfaction. It kept me going, kept me bloodthirsty. I had the time and I certainly had plenty of motivation. Over the course of the summer I got quite good at it…and talking about it. My site mates recall numerous days and one particular evening when I carried on with a drunken diatribe about flies, how they knew what they were doing, that they enjoyed messing with me and how my battles with them were nothing short of epic. To this day, I get somewhat regular text messages from people sharing their own displeasure for and encounters with flies. I console them and give advice. You might say I’m somewhat of an authority on the subject. Sadly…and amusingly…flies are one of the things I remember most about my time as a trainee.

Moving forward...

Since moving to our new apartment I’ve found a new foe. Sure, there are still flies, but their numbers hail in comparison and they don’t keep me from sleeping. I see it like this: the game is the same, the opponent has changed. I still encircle the room but now I am looking for mosquitoes. They’re smaller. They hide better. They bite. And when struck they sometimes explode (can you see the smile spread wide across my face?).

The other night, I had a particularly epic battle with the skeeters in our bedroom. I was a man obsessed, spending countless hours staring at walls and ceilings in hopes of finding those vampiric little freaks. I was now well beyond a before bed ritual. I was now well beyond hoping for colder weather that would kill them all. I had now been woken from my sleep several times, thinking each time that I had assassinated the last one. It was as if they had either risen from the dead, popping off the walls and ceilings, or they were waiting in line, the next one waiting 15 minutes until I’d turned the light off again and gone back to bed to make his strike. More likely, of course, there was an entry point I had since left unaccounted. When I first turned off the light and laid down it was 11:00 p.m. I’d spent a half hour making sure the room was clear of mosquitoes. In the last 2 hours, then, the stats were as follows:
30 minutes of bad sleep
90 minutes of trying to calm down and fall back asleep
4 times getting up, turning the lights on and clearing the room
11 dead mosquitoes
1 pissed off insomniac.

I’d had enough.

You might be asking, Why did he let it get so bad? Why didn’t he get up sooner and figure out a better plan? Well, in previous nights it has sometimes taken 2-3 rousing to extinguish the threat. And, in my delirium, I didn’t know what time it was or how long I’d been at this.

In 2 and half hours I was over the double digit mark. 11. That’s just too damn many in one night, in one room.

I killed 2 more. 1 on the wall behind the bed. 1 on the ceiling near the door.

At 1:30 Custer made his last stand and decided to change history. I opened the bedroom door (moving the stool that is there at night to keep the door closed…yup, ah huh) and retrieved a roll of scotch tape and a scissors. I came back in, returned the stool to its post and threw open the curtains. I proceeded to tape up the windows, taping every conceivable entry point. As I taped I could see my reflection the window. A dark smirk stared back.

Just then 3 mosquitoes swarmed me. The jig is up! I’ve never seen mosquitoes move like that (I exaggerate not…well, a tiny bit, but it was crazy how they encircled and swooped around me). My training in the fly wars came back to me. I retaliated. I located my holstered swatter, unsheathed it and took to combat. 1 down! 2 down! Ha, ha, take that! 3 down!

I finished up the taping, double and triple checking my work. The perimeter was secure.

Next, I checked every wall and the whole ceiling for more access points. Nothing.

By 1:58 a.m. the bleeding had stopped.

I went back to my side of the bed (oh, Cady was asleep in the living room...we both had colds and didn't want to make the other sicker...I probably should have mentioned that earlier...anyway), placed the tape and scissors on the end table and the swatter just beside the bed on the floor (its nightly locale…always at the quick and ready). I sat down and looked at my pillow. To my chagrin, but more so to my satisfaction, there was a bloodstain on my pillowcase. I thought back, smiling, Yeah, I remember killing that one.

I took out a pad of paper and a mechanical pencil (they’re the only ones I’ll use…just a side note). Before I would forget the night’s events I sat down and wrote a few details. I’m definitely writing a blog about this.

I looked at my alarm clock. It read 2:18. I got up, turned off the light and climbed back into bed.

I slept soundly for the remainder of the night…dreaming of conquest, I’m sure.