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ქრისტე აღსდგა! (Christ has risen!), ჭეშმარიტად! (Truly has risen!)

Easter this year in Georgia was on Sunday April 15 (the week after the day in America), according to the Orthodox calendar.  To me, it felt as though Easter was as a big of a deal, if not bigger than Christmas is here.  Lint begins around the same time as it does for those who follow those traditions in America.  However, it is not the same as just giving up something one cares about in respect of Jesus’ sacrifice.  It is a more concrete foregoing of certain food products for the duration of Lint that the more devout Georgians observe.  Most of the individuals I encountered said they could not eat meat the entire time, versus only on Friday for Catholics.  Dairy products were also primarily not allowed, and the consumption of alcohol was limited to a few glasses of wine a week (depending on who you asked).  In an effort to somewhat take part in the tradition I abstained from drinking all dark soda (and only drank a sprite twice).  This of course is the Catholic way of practicing Lint, but I wouldn’t be able to survive on potatoes and bread alone for 40 days.

The Thursday and Friday before Easter we were let out of school.  Many individuals went to church on that Wednesday, although I’m not sure I ever entirely figured out why.  Then, midnight on Saturday is the main time to attend church in observance of Jesus’ resurrection. When greeting individuals on Easter Sunday you do not simply say “Hello”, but rather “ქრისტე აღსდგა!” (Christ has risen!), to which one responds with “ჭეშმარიტად!” (Truly has risen!).

Eggs are died red and only red from the branches of a fruit tree, and onion leaves.  The red represents Christ’s blood.  My host mom decorated the eggs the day before Easter.  She made designs, only in a different way than to which we are accustomed.  She took children’s modeling clay and made designs on the eggs with it.  Then she boiled the eggs in the aforementioned produce mixture and wherever the clay was stayed white. It worked much like the white crayon we write with on eggs.

Finished product on the Supra table.

The day or two before Easter, a special cake is made by virtually every woman in the country, called Pasca.  It is only made for Easter, as my neighbor explained to me, that you don’t want it any other time of year.  It was the best treat I have eaten yet in this country- as most people know I am not particularly fond of treats and I ate 5 or 6 pieces in 2 days! It is not very sweet, with a taste comparable to an unsweetened cupcake or panettone.  There are different variations, and one of the other versions I ate tasted quite like a cinnamon roll- again without all the icing.  Some of them have dried fruit pieces throughout, nuts, or both.  I am not keen on dried fruit typically, but I loved it in these little cakes.  There are different ways to make them, but the gist is evidently a large amount of yeast (which I surmise is symbolic of Christ’s rising).  They can be made in a regular oven, but the traditional way is in a large brick oven.  My family has one, so it was a day for us to spend time with the neighbors as they prepared their cakes in our oven.  

1.) First they get a roaring fire in the oven. 

2.)Then, they clean away all of the fire trash, let it cool, and then put the doughy cakes in different metal containers into the oven. 

Ready for the Oven

3.) They cover the opening and let the cakes sit in the oven for about 20 minutes.  My host mom was literally in the oven which hours later was still exceedingly hot putting them into position.  Then 25 minutes later we were able to eat them and they were fully cooked through!

My neighbor and host mom. :)

My neighbor taking the cakes out of the tins (post-oven).

The little cylindrical ones are my favorite.

The larger ones taste somewhat like cinnamon rolls.

In the evening on Easter Sunday, we had a large Supra.  My host dad was the Tamada (toast master) at one head of the table, and I was the Moadgile(literally second place, but essentially I was the Supra’s first mate) at the other end of the table.  Because I am a girl the rules usually don’t apply to me and I can participate as I please in the toasts and the rest of the Supra rituals.  It is an interesting position to be in as an American woman.  We are never viewed in the same way as Georgian women, and very often we are treated as somewhat sort of the guys.  My host dad is very loving and protective of me and eager to share the Georgian culture with me whenever he can.  So, although traditionally women do not attend Supras with only men, with my host father I am able to participate when it is just his friends and him.  At Easter dinner, I was therefore already acquainted with all of the men, and I guess they decided I have graduated to following the guidelines a little more exactly, although I am still a girl.  Every time my host father gave a toast, I was to repeat or reiterate its basic meaning followed by the traditional “Garmarjos” (men typically are the only ones who address the entire table in toasts- women will usually only say them to each other more quietly).  This is their version of “Cheers” and it literally translates to victory.  The Tamada is the first person to drink the wine, and the Moadgili is the second. 

 

My host father Givi at the head of the table.

 No one else at the table is permitted to partake of their wine until these two individuals have taken a drink first.  I was very unaccustomed to this practice, especially since I usually can just do whatever I want at the Supras.  Repeatedly I had other guests prodding me to at least take a sip of my wine so they could drink.  At one point one man for probably the fifth time implored me to drink and then my host mom immediately told me to first wait for my host father.  It was all very confusing, and I was learning as I went along, so I messed up a lot.  Mostly I just provided free entertainment for the guests, and everyone continues to enjoy talking to the Americans at the table.  Despite my repeated flubs, it was my most enjoyed Supra yet.  Perhaps it is because as my language continues to improve so too does my enjoyment of participating in the festivities, but also this was the moment that I felt like one day I will look back on remember I was truly acting as a member of this society.  I wholly felt like a part of the family and not as much as a foreigner or outsider anymore.

My host mother Ketino on the right.

 

My host brother Dato on the right.

Goodloe was a guest at my house for Easter.  For certain toasts, which again I have never fully figured out which ones or why they choose to do this, two individuals will link arms and drink their wine this way.  In a toast that particularly related to Goodloe and me, we were prompted to do this.  We obliged, everyone clapped and all was well.  However, they subsequently all began telling us to kiss.  You have to understand that although at times we now have the language abilities to have the most in-depth conversations, on a dime conversations can turn and the language barrier is as if we just arrived in country.  This was foreign territory and neither of us understood what they were getting at or why.  Many people believe us when we say we are only friends, although male and female friendships, not in a big group, are rare once you are of marrying age i.e. post pubescent.  We both smiled and laughed along and told them no and grew progressively more confused.  Even if they thought we were an item we didn’t understand why they would want us to kiss as PDA is also not common here, even among married couples.   

Eventually my host mother, who was coming and going the whole meal refilling plates and tending to the guests, explained that when friends do such a toast, which has a greater meaning tied to it, then everyone always kisses each other on the cheek 3 times.  People kiss their friends here, male and female, almost every time they see one another so it made sense.  Men and women both young and old are significantly more touchy feely and affectionate with each other all the time here than I have ever experienced in the West.  So while relationshipy PDA is scant, hyper-affection among friends is routine.  We once again obliged and the toast was officially concluded, but not before I blushed more than I ever have in my entire life!

She keeps me on top of the rules of the customs.

I wish you could actually see how red
I was!

The friendship toast with my host papa!

 

I think he's saying "See, it's the tradition."

Last anecdote:  They play a fun little game with the boiled egg where you smack the egg on the egg of someone else’s and the person whose cracks, eats it.  I don’t really know why, but it’s a fun way to crack them nonetheless. :)

 

The Tamada is not to pour the wine, it is actually another designated position, although it usually gets spread around to multiple men.

A Day in the Life...

There is nothing typical about life in Peace Corps Georgia, but here is what passes for ordinary- enjoy.

8:00 - Wake up.  For no reason.  Look at my phone and try very, very hard to comprehend why I would be awake at such an hour. Decide I have no reason to get out of bed before absolutely necessary, roll over, and attempt to go back to sleep.  Something about knowing I have to get up in the next two hours always makes going back to sleep a challenge for me.

9:15 - I finally start slipping into a relaxed sleep.

9:20 - Alarm goes off. The nice British lady, who is inside my phone, politely tells me it is 9:20 and time to get up.  I hit snooze.

9:25 - I know I will get no pleasure out of snoozing this late in the game so I reluctantly roll out of bed before she comes back to tell me it is ten minutes later than the last time we spoke.

9:30 - Get dressed, brush teeth with bottled water, take a baby wipe bath, traipse downstairs to the outside loo (we may not have running water for the next two months, so the upstairs facility is out of commission until further notice- it’s not much fun to lug sufficient amount of water for flushing up and down the stairs everyday- shocking I know), sing some jams while I continue to get dressed upstairs, dawdle, sing some more, use up the rest of my dry shampoo (perfect timing on the water breakdown), add baby powder to my do for good measure, and head downstairs for good.

9:50 – Call Claire.  Part of both of our morning ritual is calling the other as we are frantically make our way from our houses to our schools just in the nick of time.  I refill my water bottle from my filter, and put my two boiled eggs, which are waiting on the table for me when I come downstairs every morning (because my host parents love me, and want to ensure I don’t starve to death after I think they figured out I was never going to get up early enough to cook for myself), and head out the door.  I New York stride to work and got their just in time for the bell, which actually means I’m still technically early as no one is in the classroom until after the bell.

9:55 – I have the pleasure, nay, the privilege of starting my day off every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday with teenagers!  These teenagers are my 10^th graders.  The one thing I have going for me is half of them believe they will be pro footballers some day and thus cannot be bothered to go to class most days.  I do not encourage truancy, but at least it makes the class size more manageable and lends the classroom to an actual learning environment when most of the students there actually want to be, or at least feel it is an important enough use of their time.  Today they are eerily quiet, even though most of the aforementioned students are actually here today.  I think having Monday off yesterday (to commemorate the Tbilisi Massacre) and knowing we only have school tomorrow until Easter break begins must have a subduing effect on them. Today we are working on a surprise for my big sister’s class in America!

10:45 – 7^th grade.  This class is comprised of 31 kids all stuck in the middle.  They are a lot of work, even with two teachers in the room, but I actually greatly enjoy this class.  I feel they are one of the classes where I have the most opportunity to have an impact on the English learning in the future, as well as their true understanding of American culture and work ethic. 

11:35 – “Jana Mas!” “Jana Mas!” “Jana Mas!”  This is their way of saying “Ms. Price”, (Mastsavlebeli is teacher in Georgian) and anytime they have an issue it is all I hear.  Many “one minutes” follow.  Fighting and shoving commences over who is in whose seat.  Tears flow.  The offended students are upset because they want to sit as close to me as possible.  I’m not going to lie, I kind of relish in how big of a deal I am, even if it is to 10 year olds.  Everyone is ordered to the back of the room.  I tell students to randomly choose a number between one and six, the number of rows in our room, and assign seats randomly according to these numbers.  Everyone seems to be happy in the end.  No more tears for the rest of the day.  I realize at the end of the lesson that we do not have a lesson tomorrow, and will thus not get to do our Easter lesson before Easter, but oh well.

12:20 – Seniors’ abilities to stay focused on school is not just a thing in America.  However, senioritis for Georgian students is American senioritis on steroids.  There are few good things to say about a class full of know it all teenagers who pretty much downright refuse to do anything we ask of them.  I use this time to prepare for my after school classes with students who actually want to learn from me.  Word on the street is these students used to be one of the best and most dedicated classes in the school, but I have never seen anything but the exact opposite; like I said, senioritis on steroids.

1:00 – My counterpart and I have a brief meeting discussing the meeting we would like to have tomorrow with our town’s mayor about the project we are trying to kick off.  Fingers crossed it all works out!  Details to follow.  I eat my breakfast finally, as I did not have time during the breaks due to the Jana Mas symphony.

1:10 – I work out a few more activities I will do in my after school clubs and leave school.  I cannot do the collage activity I want to do, because we do not have a classroom pair of scissors and the last time we borrowed some from my director she apparently had very important working that required cutting at that exact moment, and we were later screamed at for using them in our lesson.

2:00 – The adult English class I teach twice a week at an NGO in my town actually begins on time.  I used our class never starting on time as an example last week, just to show the different times to use prepositions in time speech, but it may have been a subtle hint, that I had not even intended.  Subtlety isn’t my strong suit as most of my peeps can attest to, so it really was innocent, but it seems to have worked nonetheless which is O.K. with me.  I look forward to these classes every week perhaps more than any others.  For one, teaching adults is much different than teaching children.  Not that I don’t love the kids in school, but the exhaustion level is much lower after working with grown-ups.  Also, I have about 20% of the number of students in my school lessons as I do in my adult class- fewer students always equals teacher’s relief.  We continue studying daily routines and times, and the glory that is the existence of “do/does” in our language, which has no equivalent in Georgian.

3:00 – Some of the students who come to my youth English club at the organization also attend a computer class at the same facility.  The students come in and tell us the computer teacher did not have lessons yesterday and informed them they are having it today.  Of course no mention of this was made to me prior to the 5 minutes before beginning the club.  Time to begin. No computer teacher after all.  We go on as usual.  Normally there are close to 20 kids in the club, but today there are only 9.  It is a holiday week so I am not too upset by it.  They are all very active and engaged in the class/ activities, which feels nice.

3:30 – 8:00 – I go to a fellow Western English teacher’s house who works for the Georgian program Teach and Learn Georgia.  The program aims to have as many native speakers in the country as possible, I think with the idea that if there are loads of English speakers running about, it is bound to transfer to the country nationals.  He teaches at the 3^rd school in town, and I at the 1^st.  There are rules against the overlapping in organizations of our two programs.  We get to his house and discuss how long we will be able to handle the water shortage with a smile on our faces.  His host mom has everyone in the house round up as many empty water bottles as they can find and sends his host brother to a tap in the park, which apparently still has running water, with a wheel barrow full of said bottles.  We eat beans which may or may not have been made from the illusive tap water, have no immediate side effects, and decide the water might be alright, at least cooked into food.  His host brother, one of my students, after much prodding, begins his English homework for the night.  Close to an hour later, I have helped him write his 10 sentences using present simple tense with two verbs in each.  It is cruel for a teacher to encounter any students after teaching all day long. Cruel.  After being cornered by his host sister, who is in the other 10^th grade class, as to why I do not teach her class, and kindly explaining to her I do not make the schedule which disables me from working with more than one teacher, I decide it is time to head home.

8:20 - The TLG and I stop to say our goodbyes on the main street, as he was kind enough to walk me home in the dark.  Three men approach him and are speaking with him as they have spoken before. We both surmise they have been drinking as they are all stumbling, struggling to keep their eyes open, and not all together making sense with their conversation.  Despite the content of one of the man’s speech not entirely being all aboard the coherent train, his grammar was excellent.  He informed my friend that he does not ever drink alcohol, which can only leave other things to the imagination.  Who knows?  After 5 minutes of rather unintelligible conversation, a fellow local is kind enough to interrupt and we make our get away.  Once we arrive at my house, we discuss what we tried to speak about before on the main street.  Another man comes stumbling up to us asking for the head of the house.  The ether on this one’s breath is unmistakable and is easily detected from 6 feet away.  I understand his Georgian perfectly well, but pretend not to as I have no idea who this questionable character is, and sometimes if I pretend not to understand people in situations like that they will just move along on their merry way.  He is persistent.  When he switches to Russian to say what I have already understood in Georgian, I go get my host father.  Apparently, he was buying something to do with agriculture, but I couldn’t quite work out what my host parents were talking about.

8:25 – I sit with my host mother and have a nice conversation about our days and this and that.  We always end up talking about history in our long talks and how things used to be here.  I continue to be amazed.  We saw Trump on T.V. and his plans to take over this country as well, and discussed the merits of that venture, as well as the continued government push and economic support of all things related to tourism, while people still struggle to get by from month to month on their salaries and pensions.  I am not asserting my opinion on the matter, merely relaying what we were discussing.  It is a complex issue, but I do feel for those still struggling so greatly.

9:50 – Finally make my way back to my room.  Talk on the phone for about 30 minutes doing my daily recap with my BFF.

10:35 – Begin the 15 minute Ab Ripper X portion of P90X.

10:50 – Confirm what I already knew to be true, that Georgian mineral water, while absolutely amazing, is not an appropriate method of hydration when working out, and I must go refill my water bottle.

10:52 – Begin the hour long Arms and Back portion of P90X.

11:52 – Decide my body could not hurt in more places than it does right now.  Have my final nightly recap with Claire.

11:55- Practice the guitar, though not as much as I’d like, but in the interest of typing this here post for you kind folks, I had to cut my time short.

2:00 – Finally finish this literary masterpiece.  Goodnight.