Home Stretch

Shilly-shallying – failing to act resolutely or decisively; a shilly-shallyer.

More than two years have passed in Georgia.  Less than two months until my service ends.  As the end approaches, an anxiousness is enveloping me.  When I sit on my balcony in the evenings and watch the sun go down, I am reluctant to leave.  Each time I visit a store in my village or a trail in the park, I wonder if it will be the last time.  I find myself breathing in the air and smells deeply.  When I look upon the forest, I try to ingrain the images in my mind.  The same with faces, handshakes, kisses on the cheek, and loving embraces.

I’ve never been one for goodbyes.  Though I love her dearly, I will treat Georgia no differently.  I will slip out the back door, run down the lane and click my heels before she even knows that I’ve gone.  I like it best this way.  A goodbye doesn’t change anything. It only saddens a last moment that could otherwise be devoted to making a fine memory.  I’ve never enjoyed a goodbye or felt better because of one.  Eh, that’s what memories are for.

Regarding my emerging anxiety, it’s the unknown of the next step that is causing it.  I’ve spent the last two years learning how to go with the flow, enjoy life by the day, and essentially de-Americanize.  Come 15 July, my income is no more, my guardian Peace Corps angel leaves my shoulder, and I am officially on my own.  It’s a bit shameful, now that I realize what’s happening, that my first instinct is to reverse all this wonderful cultural acclimatization,  transform back into an American, and jump at the first opportunity for a stable, practical job.  Perhaps even a job that I am only partially interested in.  For shame!

Well, now that I’ve caught myself, I might just be able to muster up the good sense to continue the naive, wide-eyed wonderment and mystical pursuit that lured me to Georgia in the first place.  I’m torn, you see.  My family is waiting for me back home with arms wide open and leftovers in the fridge to boot.  I’d love to wrap my arms around them all and never let go.  Two good friends are counting on me to meet them in Thailand for yoga, moon dances and lord knows what else.  A chance like this comes along like a blue moon.  Seemingly half of Georgia is trying to convince me to stick around here and start something “grand.” After all, I’ve long fancied slipping into the life of a Humphrey Bogart character from either Casablanca or To Have and Have Not, though the Black Sea is not quite what I had in mind.  Damn too many options, it seems.  All high class problems, I suppose.

Well, no sense worrying about it.  What will be will be.  The good news is that I’ve gotten most of my affairs in order here in Georgia.  The NESC is being successfully transferred over to Georgians and the next group of PCVs.  We’ve already secured commitments for 2/3 of next year’s funding in a day, and more is sure to follow.  Wow! Thanks to our successful debut, sponsors barely even looked at our budget this time around before giving us the nod, even though it’s more than twice what it was last year.  Sure, we have a great concept, great outcomes and a good team of volunteers, but after working so hard for funding last year, the ease of obtaining it this year was a bit anticlimactic.  Boy, I hope unseen events don’t make me regret counting our chickens before they hatch.

Speaking of success, I certainly learned to appreciate it over the past two years, having shared much more of my time with its grave cousin, failure.  I probably failed at 3/4 of the projects I attempted over here. Actually, I think it was more.  Sure, I learned something each time.  In fact, I learned that even a failure can be a success.  Why, I failed so well on occasion that I was actually proud of myself and those I failed with, believe it or not.  For instance, most recently I helped those young students try to start an English course.  It still has not started, and only four people have signed up for it so far, but those kids are still working hard at it.  Just motivating them enough to try something new gave me a great satisfaction, regardless of the eventual outcome.

Well, I’ve been procrastinating.  I have a final description of service (DOS) to write and it’s not going to write itself, unfortunately.  I might as well slay this beast and ready myself for the home stretch so I can enjoy Georgia right up to the end… or beginning, whichever fate renders it to be.

Oh! I almost forgot. I started studying Spanish. That’s right, Spanish. Just in case I want to keep my options open.   😉

Nakhvamdis! ნახვამდის!

The Three Entrepreneurs

Friday, 12 April 2013

The birds are back.  Not even a week has passed since I knocked the nest down and it’s almost repaired to completion.  I didn’t have the heart to knock it down again.  My tour here has given me a new found appreciation for a minimally comfortable home, or any home, for that matter.

Besides, today was a big day and I’m feeling good.  It was the last day that three students, soon to be entrepreneurs, practiced teaching me English.  On Monday they will register students for their first class and begin teaching for real.  They will collect money for registration, the amount they collectively decided upon to ensure that those who register will attend class the following week; and not so much that it scares away students who would like to try out the class for a week before committing the full payment for 5 weeks of the course.  They decided on the price for the classes, the days and times they will teach, and what levels they will teach.

As of today, the young entrepreneurs estimate that 20 people will show up for their class on Monday. They designed a flier that they spread around town, in the schools and in the main government buildings and they’ve been collecting information from interested parties that have contacted them about the class. Apparently, most of the students will be women.

I am impressed because these young entrepreneurs just created a business for themselves and I have a feeling this business will be successful.  I am also nervous because this new business was my idea and I played a role in developing it.  Finally, I am proud of these three talented individuals because my role was minimal.  It included planting a seed idea, asking guiding questions, offering suggestions and watching three young people work together to put most of the pieces together on their own.

Sure, there were a few keys areas in which my contribution was essential, like course development, rental rate and profit sharing negotiations with the host organization, and an agreement to supervise the facility at night while the courses take place, but these are ancillary.  Believe it or not, I think my best contribution was knowing when to abstain from contributing. It wasn’t easy.  Many course related decisions have been made that I disagree with.  Moreover, preparations have not been made which I have suggested.  I’m still not sure what kind of accounting system will be used.  However, after offering my advice, I choose to keep quiet when it is not taken, even when I see trouble looming ahead.

As much as I want the three to succeed, more importantly, I want the start-up process to belong to them, and I want them to feel that the process belongs to them.  If, as a result, they run into a few obstacles and make a few mistakes, this is ok.  In this way, they will own the responsibility of fixing their mistakes as they go and become confident in their abilities to solve problems and create solutions individually and as a team.  A while back, I was lucky enough to have a boss that allowed me this same privilege.  Though I didn’t know what a privilege it was at the time, it did me a world of good.

So I repeat, I am proud and content.  I am proud of my business associates aged 15, 15 and 16 for what they have already accomplished, and what I am sure they will accomplish in the near future.  And I am proud of myself for demonstrating the acumen to guide and motivate them just enough to get them started, and the good sense and restraint to allow them to do it their way.  I am content because I have helped three young people create their first paying jobs, and I got to witness the wonder and disbelief they expressed when first calculating how much money they stood to earn from their first jobs.

I know the feeling.  It reminded me of the first time I sat with my neighbor and best friend after collecting dues for a paper route we took over from his older brother.  With eyes wide, we carefully counted each and every coin like it was the silver and gold of a pirate’s treasure.  Most of it was not ours, but a small portion of it was.  We ran straight down to the local market with our meager spoils and bought Big League Chew bubble gum.  Then we walked proudly home, chewing loudly and patting each other on the back the whole way.

Today was a good day, the kind of day that makes a person pursue a sentimental rather than a practical approach to nest demolition and zoning, that is, allowing the cheeping birds a permit to nest above my door, even if it does mean dealing with additional hazardous waste.  I’ve had to shake my doormat and sweep the foyer twice already.  Oh brother! There goes the neighborhood… 🙂

NESC Championship: We’re all winners!

NESC finalists and organizers

On 30 March 2013, an audience of about 200 teachers, volunteer organizers, sponsors and parents applauded 34 finalists that competed in Georgia’s first National English Spelling Competition (NESC).  At its conclusion, all interested parties seemed to enjoy the event and the outcome, especially the two champions that left with iPads, English course and Cambridge test prizes. All finalists received T-shirts with the NESC logo, certificates, complimentary gift bags from Cafe Pele and a dinner reception at the Ambassador’s residence later that evening.

I also thought the event was a success.  The jitters I experienced leading up to the championship evaporated the moment the first students arrived on Friday afternoon.  Chattering with excitement and anticipation, the contestants toppled into the hostel one over the other, eyes wide and word lists at the ready to study.  I took my cue from these enthused pioneers for which this event mattered most.  A serene enjoyment filled me as I took my place among the organizers and engrossed myself in the many tasks at hand.  From this point until Sunday morning, when the students left, the proceedings were mostly a blur.  There were moments of respite, however, when I found myself stepping outside of NESC activities and looking on as a proud creator, as one who has spent years designing a monument and is finally watching a construction crew successfully build the monument to the likeness intended.  It was a real Howard Roark moment.

At one point, I remember standing in the back of the auditorium with all else in front of me.  I observed as judges furrowed brows and exchanged conscientious looks while determining if a contestant should be eliminated or granted a chance to continue. Camera crews and photographers scurried to and fro attempting to position themselves in order to capture the moment a champion would spell the winning word correctly.  Parents and fellow organizers leaned forward in their seats anticipating the final moment which seemed close at hand, then leaped to their feet to applaud a champion.  Students rushed the stage to congratulate the winner with hugs and commendation… I smiled, contented, more so than I had been in a long time.

Another highlight from the NESC I remember was sitting at McDonald’s after the contest with a group of finalists.  We had time to kill before the Ambassador’s reception so I offered to take a few of the willing for a walk around our hostel to buy snacks.  Along the way, a few of the contestants exhibited a passive dislike for the need to be accompanied by a chaperone and made it known in true teenage fashion.  However, once we got our ice cream and settled onto the McDonald’s patio, the students relaxed and began to chat eagerly about the whole experience and their interests.  It turns out they really enjoyed it.

The finalists pummeled me with questions about America.  I, in turn, rallied with questions about contemporary ‘cool’ Georgian music. The next thing I knew, this group that had been reluctantly staying within view of its chaperone was now eagerly entertaining me with the latest and greatest music from the Georgian scene.  iPhones blasted and music was exchanged all the way back to the hostel as we discovered that our music tastes were not so different after all.  No longer did I have to corral stragglers or warn wanderers.  Good conversation kept the pack moving together.

The NESC is no longer at the forefront of my thoughts, but there is still a lot of work to be done.  Most importantly, we need to successfully transfer administrative responsibilities to Georgians and incoming PCVs before we leave country.  I wouldn’t say that it’s hard letting go. In fact, most of us are relieved to be handing over the reigns.  It consumed more of my time than any other project during service, much like a full time job (by PCV standards), and two years is a long time to work on a project.  However, having built the NESC, I and others are adamant about making sure we setup the next group of administrators for success, which means tying up loose ends and handing over a well organized operation.

For more pictures and detailed information about the NESC including its financials, media coverage and sponsors you can visit the sites below.

http://spellingcompgeorgia.tumblr.com

https://www.facebook.com/NESC.Georgia

Mors Tua, Vita Mea

Sunday, 7 April 2013

Dominion (noun) – Sovereignty; control.

Mettle (noun) – The ability to cope well with difficulties or to face a demanding situation in a spirited or resilient way.

Today is exceptional in its ease and lackaday.  I’m of the same mind as the day, so we are getting along quite favorably together.  To give you an idea of just how amicably sluggish we are getting along, it’s 13:30 and I’m just now settling down to my first cup of coffee and munching on a bag of tantalizing caramel covered peanuts.  As for the day, it cannot decide whether or not it wants to rouse and burn off the morning mist. Rather, it seems content to allow it to linger and lounge about in a half-hearted haze against the mountains.

Easy as this Sunday late-morning is unfolding into afternoon, I must admit, it did not start out so amiable. I came home from the store, having secured the Cafe Pele coffee that is essential to beginning my mornings – in fact, one of the few stimuli that can draw me out from my dwelling prior to necessity is a scarcity of coffee – to find two miniature birds perched like sentries on electrical wire hanging in my stairwell adjacent to my foyer and entrance to my apartment.  I was surprised by their bravery during my approach. I came within ten feet of them (3 meters) and they did not stir. “Hmmm?” I thought to myself, “What brave little creatures.” My musing must have heightened my vigilance, because only then did I notice the half constructed nest above the threshold of my door entwined with my foyer light bulb and meandering wire. “Aha!” I realized. So this is what the brave little sentinels have been guarding.  And, to boot, this also explained the uncanny fluttering of angel’s wings that I had been hearing intermittently around my apartment at all hours of the day and night.

At first, the part of me that misses my home was warmed by the idea of a newly constructed neighborly dwelling and the family that would soon reside above my door.  “How very Dr. Seuss!” I rejoiced.  “New neighbors.”  But then a dirty, drippy inkling coaxed my eyes downward along a most unlucky and anticipated trajectory, whereupon my inkling was confirmed by little white dollops of birdy-turd that lay unabashedly crusting on my welcome mat and foyer floor. “No,” I resolved. “This simply will not do.”

Reluctantly, and with guilt percolating, I began to enact the sinister task of dismantling the nest.  Just before initiating operation “Innocent Cute Home Destruction,” with stick and broom in hand, I peered over at the two centuries still perched resolutely at their posts.  “It’s nothing personal,” I mumbled pleadingly. “There are plenty more nooks and crannies in this old building for you to build a nest.” They intimated by their stoic stiffness, or so I perceived, that they would not give me the slightest acknowledgement or clemency.  In fact, I rather perceived a snobbish and irreverent “get on with it” attitude in their posture, which I must say, I think was a bit stern for the occasion.  No matter, what had to be done, had to be done.  In retrospect, I think my own guilt may have projected more of an animated participation on the part of the birds than actually occurred. Who’s to say, really?

Regardless, lacking the cool head of hindsight at the time, and finding myself a bit nettled by the seemingly stern and aloof countenances of my would-be-neighbors, I finished dismantling the nest with a sniff in their general direction, intending to reciprocate their less than neighborly conveyances. After all, a tit deserves a good tat.  And, sweeping up the resulting rubbish, I returned to my domicile with head conspicuously high.

It wasn’t long after that my self-preserving indignation tended toward remorse. Now I sit ruminating on the preceding events. Having cooled my emotions, I feel less combative spirit toward the little larky pair of ’em.  Surely, it would have been cute to share residence with a gaggle of chirping cheepers; to have tipped my cap to the lot of them as I came and as I went; but the practical in me knows that I made the right play.  I enjoy my privacy and quietude immensely more than I would have enjoyed the occasional exchange with the Cheepers.  Not to mention, the late night rebel-rousing, the incessant family conflict as the chics became teens, the lack of recycling and proper waste management typical of their kind; all of this would have eventuated in neighborly conflict.  Even now, I believe in my true of trues, I truly do, that both aggrieved parties were better served by the outcome.

Alas, I do not believe this story is over, nor do I now infer that the feathered sentries share my conclusions on the matter.  Even as I type, the fluttering of angel’s wings are upon and over my master door.  Perhaps I underestimated and misread them.  It is apparent that their postures were not condescending. No! On the contrary, they were purposeful and gallant.  However, though I admire their character and determination, I do not intend to quietly acquiesce. Oh no, this contest may be far from over, but as long as I have my stick and broom, there will be no nest above my door, and I stand fast in this, forever more… forever more.

… personification, fantasy, nesting birds amplified to a scale equivalent to the Trojan War.  I told you it was an exceptionally idle and enjoyably easy day.  That was fun.  😉

Delusions of Grandeur

20 March 2013 (Wednesday)

Delusions of grandeur – a false impression of one’s own importance.

Today I completed my second piano lesson.  My host sister is teaching me “Feel (Real Love)” by Robbie Williams.  I love the feeling that rushes through my every morsel of body as I make the giant ivory-toothed wooden monster sing.  Watching myself as I learn to play, ecstatic at hearing the melodic in between the screeching, I think of a baby taking its first steps, arms gesticulating wildly in the air, enormous grin, so proud of itself… and then ‘ploop’, down on its face.  But up again it stands unsteadily, and soon as baby begins taking steps again, the giggles and sputtering come back.  My falls are a bit less dramatic, and probably less fun to observe. Let’s face it – babies are awesome and cute.  I am a thirty-four-year-old sitting at a piano in sandals (wishing I had also worn socks – it’s cold) learning from a seventeen-year-old that would probably rather be watching Robbie Williams on TV or in concert.  Needless to say, I am grateful that Sopo is willing to teach me.  Besides, it might be a little fun watching me grin and sputter as I attempt my first musical steps.

I remember this joyous feeling of making music from when I was young and playing the saxophone.  I am not sure why I let it go.  Never again, this I assure myself. Unfortunately for my neighbors above and below me, I think my newfound zeal reverberates through ceiling and floor alike. I try to keep my iterations of the “C” scale and finger exercises between 10am and 9pm to make sure I do not wake reluctant fans of mine.  Unlikely… the fan part, that is. Not to worry. Give me a month or so and I hope to begin producing music that they will enjoy hearing.  After all, even Robert Johnson had to go down to the crossroads to make his deal with the devil and acquire his musical skills.  I need only make the deal with myself, Crossroads Knudsen. Get it?…  What a great Nubi joke! My sister will be proud of me. Cass, the transformation is almost complete. 🙂

Now, let me put any fears that might be emerging to rest.  As I become a great piano pop star, cause piano is wicked IN right now, I promise to stay just as ‘Shan’ as I have always been.  I have already put in a call to Madonna’s agent (I do not have her number yet) to preemptively decline her inevitable attempts to date me:  She dated Robbie Williams, so the eventuality seems natural to me. The socks and sandals will stay, of course, along with my general disregard for fashion.  I think I will call this provocative apathy toward fashion the ‘anti-hipster’.  If you catch me even once wearing something for any reason other than practicality or comfort, I want you to call me out in the tabloids as a phony.  I might even encourage said attire at my gigs by offering free drinks to anyone I see sporting the “Shan” – socks with sandals.  See how I just coined that? That’s right. Piano pop stars can coin stuff like that, though I know one uncle in particular who will probably fight me for the rights to the “Shan.”  No worries.  I’ll get my agent on this right away.

As I was saying, there will be no delusions of grandeur. Just music, the good company I keep, and the road.  I am looking forward to it. Family, make sure to learn the words to “Feel (Real Love)” so you will be ready to sing along with me at our next family gathering. Partridge Family, look out!

Ciao for now,

Crossroads

Solitude

16 March 2013

 

Solitude (noun) – the state or situation of being alone.

 

I returned to Georgia after three weeks in America and went straight into our close of service conference and ceremony.  Strange, I thought, because I still have four months of service to go.  It felt premature and surreal.  I don’t think that I am ready for my service to end.  I am also still anticipating the culminating event of my Peace Corps service, the National English Spelling Competition championship, which is to take place on 30 March.  This project is the highlight of my service, and frankly, I don’t have much else in the way of projects to speak of.  When the championship has run its course, perhaps then I will feel a sense of closure relating to my work in Georgia. On the other hand, we have already begun planning for next year, and I intend to continue supporting the NESC in an advisory capacity at minimum, regardless of where my future plans take me.  We shall see.

 

Realizing that I have only three months left to wrap up my service, I’ve decided to take a different approach to serving as I go down the home stretch.  Partying and celebrating with friends and locals is fun and often a big part of integration, but I’ve had my share.  I’ve decided to abstain from drinking entirely.  “Why?” you might ask. And most Georgians certainly ask why and consider me half mad for even considering the idea.  The answer is that I want to attain a higher level of clarity and deliberateness in all that I do from here on out.  I want to make the most of these last three months.  Consequently, this involves choosing my activities more carefully.  Rather than drifting wherever the wind blows me, I am trying to identify personal goals that I wish to accomplish before I leave, and devote myself entirely to their pursuit.  Language proficiency is one of these goals.  Another is helping Georgian friends begin viable business plans, which involves delving into Georgian business law and current market trends. Finally, I wish to develop an idea of what I want to do after Peace Corps.  Along these lines, I am applying to the Foreign Service.  I am also planning to participate in a month long yoga course in Thailand for beginners.  I hope the former does not interfere with the latter.

 

Unfortunately, my search for greater clarity and purpose in my daily routine has meant having to sacrifice time and fun with friends.  It has become apparent that reflection requires solitude, at least, more alone time than I usually secure for myself. Though unfortunate, I find solitude necessary to focus on the results that will give me satisfaction with my service.  Already, I’ve increased my blogging and improved my third goal activities.  Not only does this help me communicate my experience to friends and family back home.  It also helps me better recognize and reflect on my past accomplishments and failures through retelling them.  As a result, I believe I am becoming a more self-conscious and effective volunteer.

 

As a young David Copperfield resolved to stay the course before me, I must now “take my woodman’s axe in my hand, and clear my own way through the forest of difficulty…” (513).  What a great book!

 

 

Today’s activities: I woke around 7:30, ate breakfast and watched the last of “Taxi to the Dark Side.”  War is a terrible thing and the movie brings up a great question: “What is more important, winning a war or holding firmly to the ideals that one defends?”

I made my way to my old host family around 10am. I had promised the night before to help with chores around the yard.  Upon entering the gate I noticed what appeared to be a hundred pairs of shoes arranged neatly in rows on the driveway.  Mounds of clothing lay on tables and on a bench.  It looked like a giant yard sale.

I entered the house and walked in on breakfast.  I always knock as I enter, even though most Georgians just enter a home without knocking when they are close friends.  It’s one of those America etiquettes I cannot seem to shake, like saying please before or after any command.  In Georgian, or when a Georgian speaks English, it is common for someone, even a stranger, to say to me, “Come here… Go there… Give me [something],” without the slightest hint of a please to soften the command.  After almost two years, I am finally able to receive such commands without bristling in offense. That’s just the way it goes in Georgia. Georgians often wonder why we use please and thank you so often.

Of course, a plate of macaroni was placed immediately in front of me, because no one goes without eating when others are eating.  I decided it was easier to partake than to resist.  Breakfast concluded and Giorgi and I headed passed the yard sale to the yard to begin our work.  As usual, I had no idea what we were to do.  As usual, when Giorgi is in charge of leading our merry band of two pranksters, I am often curious if we will actually engage in the work that his mother intends for us to do. After all, a boy of 14 is easily led astray. Not this time! We raked, we dug, we cut down bad trees.  I, mistakenly, may have dug up good plants as well.  Who’s to say? Only Giorgi was present to check my work and after a slight intrigue at why I chopped up a particular plant, he seemed to move on nonchalantly to our next task.

The curious thing about working with Giorgi, and forgive me if I have mentioned this in past accounts, is that he seems to gravitate to exactly what I am doing.  I begin to dig a hole for a plant and he decides that he would rather be digging the hole.  I move on to sawing and clearing a designated tree and Giorgi decides that this is now the object of his passion, along with the tools that I am using.  This eventually results in me yelling at Giorgi to “Bugger off!” as I clutch my currently held tool for dear life, as he likes to take them from me.  Reluctantly, he’ll mope about for a bit before finding some other fascination to occupy his restless energy. If I’m lucky, it’s some task that draws him away from my immediate workspace. Don’t get me wrong, I love the kid, but I prefer to work alone rather than with him because of his aforementioned idiosyncratic work habits.

Three hours later I retired all the tools to the shed, having accomplished what I believed to be my mission, raking away dead leaves in the courtyard below the guestrooms.  Giorgi had disappeared about an hour earlier.  I lingered to check my email and mingle with my host sister, mother and a few passerby that were perusing the clothes and shoes on display. They busily saw to the activities of documenting any clothing that patrons wished to procure.  I think that the event was part of my host mom’s organization’s activities to supply clothing to people in need.  However, it seemed more like a yard sale open to anyone in passing.  I could be wrong.

I headed to the center of town to shop for dinner around 3pm.  On the way into my favorite store I passed a group of guys drinking on the sidewalk.  For some reason one of them called strongly to me and so I turned around to give him my attention.  He was probably in his late teens or early 20’s. He began asking me if I knew how to say “hello” in Georgian.  He seemed irritated at me for some reason. At first I thought that perhaps I knew him, and I had walked past him without acknowledgment in my hurry.  However, I soon realized that he was unfamiliar to me, and that his irritation was aggression spurred on by intoxication.  Perhaps he had tried to say hello to me and I had missed it. No matter. I knew where this encounter was heading. Though not too common in Lagodekhi where I spend most of my time, I’ve been around long enough to recognize when a group of young men are drinking and looking for trouble. I quickly uttered “I don’t understand”, wished them well in Georgian without engaging, and entered the store without looking back as I heard them calling after me. After my business was complete in the store, another member of the group commanded me to come over to them as I exited, but I wished them well in Georgian again and headed quickly down the street toward the vegetable market. Early in my service, I would have engaged out of fear of being impolite, but experience has taught me that it is often better to be firm and rude and gone, if necessary, to avoid entanglements with a group of intoxicated young men.  And so, without a bruised ego or body, I write this blog in the comfort of my apartment.

Earlier this evening, I made a delicious chicken soup with carrots, rice and tomatoes for the first time in my service. I’ll never be a chef, but at least I know I won’t go hungry. Lagodekhi.. over and out!

 

Persistence

 

Thursday, 14 March 2013

 

Persistence (noun) – firm or obstinate continuance in a course of action in spite of difficulty or opposition.

 

So remember that friend of mine in Tbilisi I was telling you about that wanted help writing a grant for her organization. Well, I had promised myself that I would find a way to motivate her to work on the application I had given her. Today I called up her daughter and offered to work on the grant with them in the evening.  I called the daughter because I need her help to translate between her mom (my friend) and me. Also, my friend does not like or feel confident typing the grant application, so she tends to rely on her daughter and son to do the typing while she dictates. Furthermore, she doesn’t particularly like performing internet searches so she usually asks her kids to do this for her. I am trying to convince her that she needs to learn these skills, and I hope that gradually she will see the merit in them while watching her children.

 

The daughter had told me that she would not be free until later in the evening, but I decided to show up early at the house so that I could chat with the family a bit before beginning our work.  To my surprise, the daughter was there and free, but that lasted about 10 minutes before she was called away on an errand of some kind. Not to worry, I was in no hurry, and two neighbors happened to be visiting my friend as well, so we chatted while waiting for the daughter to return.  After half an hour, the neighbors took their leave to the delight of my friend and we decided to sit down to begin working on the grant, just the two of us.

 

Long story short, I sat back and tried leading my friend through internet searches and introductory grant writing.  We ran into trouble with one of the first questions, which asked about the mission and goals of her organization.  I tried to work with her through the question and answer. We discussed possible ways to reach an answer, which proved interesting because our greatest challenge involved translating between Georgian, Russian and English.  Needless to say, we were both relieved when her daughter returned. From this point on, I mostly worked with the daughter to answer questions on the grant application as my friend popped in and out of the kitchen preparing Olivia Salad, homemade juice and kiwi fruit for us.

 

After two hours of work we answered three or four questions on one page of the grant application.  I believe the application is about six pages long. We’re moving slowly, but I think the process will speed up as the daughter starts to understand the process better. It’s also neat to see the brother get involved, though the daughter, who is older by some years, “shushes” him whenever he tries to participate.  Go figure. Even my friend, who would rather work in the kitchen than take part in the grant writing process, seemed to be grasping the basic grant writing and project development concepts as the night progressed.

 

So, I consider tonight a success. I know we have a long, slow grant writing adventure ahead of us, but I think we just might finish this thing. Imagine how rewarding it will be if we actually win money for the project, which by the way, is shaping up to be quite a wonderful undertaking.  If I understand correctly, we are looking for money to create a special school environment that will be customized to fit the needs of children with disabilities.  At the moment, this kind of school does not exist in her community.  Until next time, I’ll keep you posted.

Georgia to America and Back

2013-02-21

Back in America…

I am excited about waking up tomorrow.  At precisely some time – I am not sure which time exactly – the coffee maker will turn itself on and begin to brew coffee. The smell will waft from the kitchen, through the TV room, under my door and directly into my nostrils.  It will likely shape whatever dream I am having at the moment. I will probably order a cup of coffee, look down at my watch and see wavy lines or numbers that do not coincide with a normal reality. And then I will gently realize that I am dreaming, the imagery will fade and a great white light will begin to open on the horizon. At this moment, I will transition from dreaming to waking and realize that my eyes are opening, and I will deeply inhale the aroma of coffee brewing. Yummmmmmmmm.

It happens this way every morning. It’s been nearly 10 days and the timer on the coffee brewer still awes me.  It took only a year and seven months to bring me to this state, to a state of wonder at household appliances like dryers, central heating, plush carpeting, doors and windows that seal, and so on and so forth. I wonder how long it will take me to lose my preoccupation with these mundane conveniences. I give myself three months.

Luckily, there are aspects of my time in Georgia that will not fade with time. I am sure of this. For instance, whenever a car stops at a crosswalk to let me cross, I am eternally greatful not only to the driver, but to the culture that makes this a norm. As I cruise along the GW Parkway, car affixed to one lane between the lines, other faster cars passing on the left and slower cars (most of the time) trolling along in the right lane, I revel in a sense of equilibrium and consistancy. My head leaning against the window, allowed to do so without a knocking and bruising because of the smoothness of the road, I follow along the waters edge and I can count on one hand the articles of trash that I see.  Clean, kept, cared for.  In a past life I would probably consider the banks along the Potomac dirty because of the five pieces of trash that I witnessed. No longer.

Politics… The best of Georgian politics is that I cannot understand what Georgian politicians are saying.  I cannot discern them disparaging each other, flip flopping or talking around questions.  Whether I watch CNN, the Jim Laehr Hour or ABC Nightly News, I am forced to leave the room whenever partisan debate begins.  I become disheartened, disenchanted and apathetic.  What a broken system we have, I think to myself.  And yet, all that I see around me, the infrastructure, the cleanliness, the order, is because of this broken system that I rail on time and again.  Wow… Maybe I’m only just beginning to appreciate how unbroken our system really is. Here, in DC, noone asks me to turn off my cell phone and hide it in another room before telling me their true opinions of the government.  Here, no one waits for the next election before thinking it safe to start a business.

…

I just walked out of Prozac Nation the movie, having seen it already but not really remembering the details until about 30 minutes in.  I get the sense that America has a lot of high-class problems. Well, at least a lot of the Americans that I know.

I arrived in the States for a visit to see my family on the evening of 11 February.  Since my arrival ten days ago, not once has electricity, hot water, or the internet service been interupted.  I already gladly take these consistencies for granted.  I don’t shiver when I go to bed at night or wake up in the morning, even though it is often below freezing outside the house. For that matter, I have not once seen my breath while indoors. I think I am the only one that notices these small wonders on a daily basis.  For example, I catch myself marveling at the icemaker, the option to select crushed ice, or cubed ice, or water from the fridge, hopefully before anyone else notices me gaping and smiling like a fool.

2013-03-01

On my way back to Georgia…

I am on a plane from Istanbul to Tbilisi.  I will land in about an hour.  I was not ready to leave the States, but I was ready to return to my life in Georgia. I have spent twenty one months cultivating projects and making friends and I am eager to return so that I can see many of them to conclusion.  Some of these projects I have not yet begun. So little time to do all this, yet I understand that I can do so much more with each passing month that I remain in Georgia compared to how helpless I felt when I first arrived.

This has become the question: Do I stay in Georgia and test the potential of new business start-ups and business connections… or, do I return to the safety and normalcy of the States and all that I knew prior to my service in Georgia?  I’m reading a book now entitled “The Way of the Superior Man,” which encourages one to listen to the deep truths within oneself and follow the path that is most fulfilling and in line with one’s talents.  At this point, Georgia and those I know here seem to want me a lot more than employers in America.  In fact, I often think that I have more to offer friends and business partners in Georgia than I do USAID contractors and corporations in the States. Of course, I could have said the exact opposite at the onset of my service in Georgia.  It is often the case that the linear nature of career progression and experience, that is, way leading on to way, A connecting to B and then on to C, makes it such that career opportunities connected to Georgia are now more fitting than those connected to an earlier stage of my career.

Luckily for me, I have always been a fan of Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Not Taken.” This, of course, lines up well with the adventures that await me if I am to pursue business development in Georgia.  Somehow, someway, the environment in Georgia better matches my skill sets and my style of project development and implementation. The informal nature of networking and project brainstorming; the higher level of access to big players in the business community; the jack-of-all-trades roles that I am allowed to fill on a project, the willingness of the people to gamble on success and new ideas; these all match my personality and development style so much better than the specialized, methodical and risk averse nature of many of the positions that seemingly would be available to me in the States.  It seems like a no-brainer.

On the other hand, I am also quite fond of my family in the States and I love being around them on a regular basis.  Since living in Georgia, I’ve strengthened my resolve to nurture my relationships with family and friends.  The priority that I now place on friends and family and work-life balance has increased tremendously because of the influence the Georgian culture has had on me.

So there you have it.  I’m at a crossroads.  I’m struggling to commingle my professional calling with my desire to keep family close to me.  Friends of mine with a strong faith tell me that everything happens for a reason and one need only pay close attention to the signs and one’s true inner pull.  I wish I had this confidence in the divine and destiny. Practical individuals I know recommend that I pursue the markets and positions in the States with the most stability and future potential.  This path also makes sense because I want to meet someone special and start a family sooner than later. However, I’d rather not settle for a career that is safe and fails to challenge me.

Regardless, I plan to hit the ground running upon my return to Georgia and see where destiny and practicality take me.

2013-03-02

Back in Georgia…

My good friend and his friend met me at the airport with a car at 4:20 early in the morning to bring me back to Tbilisi.  Though I tried to talk him out of picking me up, as I believed it was an inconvenience to him, I am grateful for his persistence because of the convenience it allotted me compared to waiting for a bus or hailing a taxi.  In his persisting argument to pick me up despite the early hour, my friend explained to me that it is Georgian tradition that a person must be met at the airport by friends.  Funny, I thought, because my father’s family adamantly follows this same tradition in the States.  He took me back to his apartment, guided me to safe passage passed his bear of a dog, Balu, offered me tea and something to eat, and then we went to bed.

I awoke later the same day in a fog, having slept odd hours on the plane and not very well that morning due to desynchronosis (jet lag – got it from wiki), but I hit the ground running, as I had intended.  I immediately accepted an invitation to an event at the American Friendship Club (AFC) from the director, Ilia Zukakishvili.  Upon arrival I learned that the event was a workshop entitled “Martin Luther King Jr. – Orator of Talent or Leader of Civil Rights Movement.”  (An interesting aside about Georgian culture that I’ve noticed is that people are apt to accept invitations to events based on friendship rather than interest related to the topic of an event, which is why it is not uncommon to learn of the details of an event only after one arrives, naturally, because it is not thought necessary to offer or ask for details when extending or accepting an invitation.)

The workshop was organized by two postgraduate students and one graduate student with the support of the AFC to celebrate African-American History Month in the USA.  A Georgian professor of American History had been invited to lead the introduction to the workshop and facilitate a good deal of the discussion.  The audience included mostly Georgian university students interested in the theme of the workshop who had applied to attend and were selected based on their merits.  A few interested community members also attended.

I did not understand most of the introduction because it was delivered in Georgian, but then a documentary film about the history of the Civil Rights Movement and Dr. King’s role in the movement was shown in English.  I was impressed that most of the students in attendance understood English well enough to follow and appreciate the documentary.  Secondly, I was struck by the strong emotional reaction evoked in many of the Georgian students and the professor by the footage.  Of course, I noticed the reaction of others as I tried to mitigate my own emotional reaction, which is often strong when watching footage about the civil rights movement, but this is beside the point.

After the footage ended, the teacher raised a very interesting question to the audience.  She asked how Dr. King’s “Dream” and his struggle in America in his time related to and could be applied to contemporary Georgia.  She then asked audience members to identify issues in Georgia that they thought were salient and explain why.  Students took turns identifying issues that included political segregation and practices, discrimination based on sexual orientation, religious discrimination, racial discrimination and a few others that have slipped my mind. (At this point you may be wondering how I understood the conversation which took place in Georgian language. Well, after I asked a few questions of interest, realizing that I could not understand Georgian, one of the hosts was nice enough to sit next to me and translate the discussion for me.) The professor then asked the audience members to describe what they thought was the Georgian “Dream”, in reference to Dr. King’s “I have a dream” speech. The discussion that ensued was lively.

Some things occurred to me during this workshop that impressed me and reinforced general truths that I’ve come to believe through my Peace Corps experiences in Georgia.  One, a good understanding of the English language was necessary for the Georgians in attendance to fully appreciate and benefit from that workshop.  It allowed them to understand, absorb and reflect on documentary footage of American History provided in English, and then relate it to personal experiences through discussion in their own language.  So much international history, science and culture that is considered great and enlightening is available in English, and yet so little of the same is available in Georgian.  For Georgians who do not understand English, but who wish to experience and participate in the international sphere of culture and events, there is a great obstacle and it is language.  My belief that the impetus for Georgians to learn English is shifting from one of advantage to necessity.

My second revelation concerned the message of Dr. King.  I am impressed how his message is as relevant and powerful today as it was when he spoke it.  Sixty years later, in a country half way around the world, students listen to the message of Dr. King in a second language and it reverberates in them, it evokes passions in them, and it inspires them as it did Americans in the past and as it continues to inspire Americans today.  Of all the messages I’ve heard that can be associated with or construed to be the American message, I feel Dr. King’s to be on par with the best of them.

Sitting in the audience that was watching and learning and being inspired by events from my country’s history, I felt quietly special and proud.  It made me want to share more and receive more and it made me appreciate the cross-cultural aspect and impact that good workshops like this could have on interested audiences in Georgia and elsewhere.  I think this was one of those “Reality Bites” feel good moments for me.

Inertia

Thursday, 7 February 2013

Inertia, for better or for worse, makes it hard to start the world spinning, but helps keep the world spinning once you get it going.

Just got back from an interesting conversation with a Geogian friend. She’s starting a non-profit organization in Tbilisi that helps invalid children.  I’m not sure exactly what the organization does for these children.  I’ve asked my friend to write a summary of the organization’s mission, objectives and activities for the past two months.  My request is typically a mechanical response to a request to help raise money for the org, to which I respond, “I need to know what your org does and plans to do first,” thus, the request for a summary. I even went so far as to print out a generic grant application with questions in Georgian and gave it to her (after giving it to her twice in soft copy) to help my friend along.  Twice, I offered to go over the questions with her.  “No time right now,” she said both times.  “Мы сделаем потом (We will do it later).”

Not to rant, but this is a common challenge I encounter in Georgia. Generally, acquaintances like to discuss ideas and talk about doing things, especially when it comes to starting a business or applying for a grant, but when it comes time to delve into the details and begin work on an application or a business plan, progress seems to falter.  Suddenly, it is time for lunch, or it is agreed that such work will be started tomorrow, or even more often, at a non-determined date in the near future.  More often than not, that date never comes.

At first this bothered and frustrated me.   Now, I cordially go through the excitement of the brainstorming process without an expectation for follow through.  I make sure not to begin or commit myself to any activities in the serious development stage of a project until I observe steps initiated by counterparts.  Instead, I enthusiastically offer my services, but make them contingent upon a counterpart beginning or completing a necessary activity first.  For example, “Sure, I’ll help you complete that application, but I need you to write down the activities that will need to be performed to achieve that outcome. Sure, I’ll help you think up those activities. I’ll sit right next to you and discuss the matter while you write them down, but I’ll need you to commit half an hour of your time today to do this with me. No, unfortunately I cannot do this without you.”

If an idea motivates an individual or a team enough that they begin to conduct actual research on a problem or outline the project on paper, then I know I am working with serious counterparts and I enjoy investing my time and energy in the project. This has become my litmus test, and safeguard against wasting time.

Now back to my friend.  As I mentioned, she has asked me for help no less than ten times in the past two months. Each time I’ve asked her to write down her organization description and its needs on paper (in Georgian) so that I can translate them into English and more clearly understand what her organization is about – we have a bit of a language barrier between us and I understand about 50% of what she describes verbally.  Each time she says ok.  Then we meet the next time and we perform the same song and dance.  This last time, without being rude (I hope), when she asked me for help, I asked about the grant application I gave her. (Pause) No she had not begun to complete it. I said, OK. I will be happy to help you, of course, but I cannot help until you complete the grant application I gave you.  When you do this, I will know that you are serious about wanting my help.

Well, she was taken aback by this last comment, about being “serious”.  She literally sat back in her chair. Her eyes opened wide and her eyebrows rose.  Then after a moment, she proceeded to say that she did not know how to complete the application and that I needed to help her do it.  I said it is simple.  You answer the questions in writing as if I were asking them of you and you were telling the answers to me.  I will then be able to use an online translator to translate your answers, evaluate your answers and give you feedback.  Only after you do this will I attempt to help you. She said that she could only answer some of the questions. I said that that was a good start and that we could go over the difficult questions together after she completed the questions she could answer.  We agreed, though I sensed frustration from her side, and we moved on to more congenial topics, like my trip back to the States to visit my family.

 

Now, to put matters into context, this whole conversation took place in Russian. Her first language is Georgian and I speak Russian like a 2nd grader… which might be an insult to second graders.  I mention this, because I’m willing to attribute a tiny bit of this recurring obstacle to the language barrier, but only a tiny bit.

So now I wait and see.  I won’t waste any time doing research on the matter. I won’t even ask questions of a mutual friend related to the project because I just don’t have enough info.  Some might think my obstinance counter productive and that perhaps by taking action I could encourage reciprocal action, but I’ve been down this road enough to know that it is never a good road to begin walking alone.  From experience, I only begin when I have willing company.  I truly am curious, will this friend ever complete this application?  Or will we forever go back and forth with our song and dance?  For both our sakes, I hope she eventually completes the damn thing… Then we can begin a new conversation. 🙂

Friday, 8 February 2013

I changed my mind. I’m not just going to wait and see. I’m going to find a way to motivate this friend of mine to complete this grant application… by hook or by crook.  It’s too easy to allow the status quo to play itself out again and again. I’ll make myself a nuisance to her of the best kind. She’ll thank me later, I’m sure of it.

Stay tuned…

 

Snapshots

Friday, 1 February 2013, Lunch

Eating alone in a cafe my coworkers introduced me to once before. Sitting in the seat closest to the wood stove with my back to the wall and the entirety of the cafe before me for my viewing pleasure. It’s cold and rainy outside. I’m warm and cozy inside, me, the wood stove and a few fellow Georgians.  I’m waiting for a lobiani and hot dog perozhki, the latter topped with ketchup and mayonnaise. Yum!  A peace and contentment washes over me. I hardly know why. It’s Friday. Back when my Swiss volunteer buddy was in town, Danishvili, we would enjoy a “Non-traditional Friday” on Fridays like this one.  We’d leave work around 4 or 5 and make our way to a quiet cafe, bar, or picnic location. Once situated, we’d shed all the usual in-country constraints and even directly rebel against a few of them. For instance, we would drink beer with our left hands, which is forbidden, sip chacha rather than shoot it, as is the Georgian custom, and make toasts other than the usual sort willy-nilly.  At each non-traditional act we’d have a good laugh and poke a bit of fun at our surroundings, inconspicuously and in good taste, of course. All in all, I think we needed Non-traditional Fridays to decompress and feel normal, even if only for one evening out of the week. Dani would have liked this cafe. I raise my juice glass (in left hand) and give a non-traditional toast in his honor. It’s not customary to toast with juice. All the more reason for it. 🙂 Here here, Dani boy! … The hot dog pirozhki with mayonnaise arrives… delicious!

Saturday, 2 February 2013, 9AM

I walk into my new apartment. This is where I will live until my Peace Corps service ends in July. The landlord is bustling about, hanging curtains, last minute cleaning, trying to get the place just right for my arrival. Rag tied about her head like a bandana, hands rough and worn, she talks a mile a minute as she tugs me to and fro, pointing out in a mix of Georgian and Russian what has been completed, what’s still to be done and what I need to know about the place. I understand about 80% of what she’s saying. Mostly my eyes keep drifting to the view out my 4th floor balcony window of the snow-capped border mountains in my backyard that separate me from Russia.  I was supposed to move in Friday but refurbishments did not progress as planned. This does not surprise me or upset me. After living in Georgia for almost two years, I’m accustomed to delays and no-shows. So much so that many of us PCVs have coined GMT to mean “Georgian Maybe Time”. When a good Georgian friend of mine tells me that he’ll meet me in ten minutes, I usually ask, “Georgian time or American time?” We both have a good chuckle and then I make sure to bring a good book along with me in case I need to wait an hour or more for my friend to show. Today is different though, I’m in no mood for delays. The apartment is beautiful by PC standards. I want to move in and begin to enjoy my solitude and peace. I’ve asked for one thing, and one thing only since the security check of the apartment was completed by PC staff – please have a certain door lock fixed before I arrive so that I can move in officially.  I was promised it would be done before yesterday. I was then promised yesterday evening upon finding it not fixed that a handy man would come early this morning to fix it. I stand here now looking at the door and see that it has not been fixed. “No problem, no problem,” insists my landlady to alleviate my concern. Then she tells me that the handy man will come in two hours to fix the door. Again, I’ve been here long enough to know that “no problem” is not to be trusted.  To show good faith, and against better judgement, I hand over my rent to the landlady in exchange for the key. The little voice in the back of my head sniggers at me, “I’m so going to tell you I told you so.” I again emphasize the importance of the lock being fixed so that I can officially move in. The landlady promises that the master will come. Two hours go by, I sit, no phone call, no handy man. Another hour, two more hours. I finally place a call. I’m told the handy man will arrive this evening. Evening comes. Handy man does not. I make another call. Now I am told that the handy man will come the following morning. Unacceptable I respond. I say that I must have my money back. When, and only when, the handy man makes the repair, then I will be able to pay the rent. A flourish of calls…  long uncertain moments of waiting… and then the landlady and a coworker arrive with a friend who is a new handy man. I am told the original handy man shirked his commitment. I feel a bit of relief. I remind myself again never to give money until a deed has been performed and I hope this maxim takes hold once and for all. After struggling with the lock for about a half hour, the handy man discovers that the lock actually works – my coworker is locked out on the balcony for about 10 minutes during this experimental process – and that it is simply a very unorthodox lock that requires a series of jiggles, turns and jolts to activate and deactivate it. A collective sigh of relief is given by all parties in attendance. The unreasonable American is placated and all can return back to their business as usual. Exit everyone but me through the door of my new sanctuary. I close the heavy, metal door and turn the large key four times. With each turn the heavy steel bolts burrow into the metal door frame and lock the world outside.  I sit on the couch smiling, hands interlaced and cupped at the back of my head, looking out my balcony window at the black that is to be my morning mountain landscape portrait, etched quietly into being by the dawning sun on the morrow, and many morrows hence. At last… Thank you, Georgia.

Sunday, 3 February 2013, 17:20

Sitting on the stoop in front of my office waiting for my coworker to bring a key to the office. The Man in Black, Johnny Cash, starts crooning from a car radio across the street. He’s singing, “I’m going to Jackson… Gonna mess around.” I close my eyes and for a moment I’m a drifter in Texas. The sun is hot and dust swirls at foot level with each movement or breeze.  Roads lead long into horizons of optimism and good fortune over yonder hills in every direction.  Skies are pure blue.  Airs are crisp and clean. Johnny Cash has a way of making me feel at home, like I’m in the America of old, the America I’ve never really known. Cash ends, something Europa top 40 begins and my imagining is no more.  Whistles, loud shouts in a foreign tongue and car horns honking bring me back to my surroundings.  The Texas I’ve never known dissipates and I’m back in Lagodekhi sitting on my stoop waiting for a key. I am content for now, but I do look forward to seeing you again, America… the America of Westerns and hopeful immigrant flicks, carved into color by Steinbeck and London. I look forward to really seeing you, perhaps for the first time.