Thanksgiving
Last week I had a great time as the guest speaker at the English club of a local technical university. Every Thursday evening, students of all different skill levels gather to practice their English language skills with the club coordinators, who are both native English speakers. I met one of the coordinators at church, and she invited me to help out. The club is held in a seventh floor classroom (no working elevators) in a grungy Soviet-era building in the old part of town.
After some vocabulary games to warm up, I spoke for 15 minutes on the history of Thanksgiving, and how we celebrate the holiday in modern times (I had to do a little refresher research beforehand-- the last time I studied the details, I was also tracing my hand on brown construction paper to make a turkey for the classroom wall). I stressed that Thanksgiving is rooted in thanking God for our many blessings, including food, shelter, health, family, friends and survival through hardship. I also mentioned that I was a little sad because it would be the first time in my life that I wasn't with my family for Thanksgiving (though I assured them I would still be getting some turkey at a colleague's house).
After this, we had 20-25 minutes for questions and answers. Most of the students were very nervous about asking questions, but finally some of the more confident ones began firing away, and the conversation became a little easier. We talked about other American holidays, Kazakhstani holidays, what kinds of food Americans eat during the holidays, etc. The students were also curious to know if I liked their city, if I liked their president, and if Americans were aware of Kazakhstan (which led to a Borat discussion, though only a few of them seemed to know who Borat was). The most confusing question was “What is the US policy?” I tried to get a little clarification on that one, but never figured out what policy they had in mind.
I love events like this, because I enjoy answering questions about the United States, I feel like I'm helping them develop their English-speaking skills, and I learn from the types of questions they ask. I must confess, though, one additional reason: it's a nice ego ride. The club coordinator told me that they normally get 15-20 students for English club; when word circulated about their guest, almost 40 showed up, and students had to drag in extra chairs or stand in the doorway. Afterwards, I walked over to a few students and complimented them on their English, and 10-15 students gathered around to hear me talk and ask me more questions.
Who am I, that people should be so interested? Of course, it isn't me. It's what I represent. But it's difficult not to enjoy the attention.
During a break, one of the students sat down next to me and introduced himself. We talked for a few minutes, and I eventually asked him what he was studying at the university:
“Computer programming,” he said, followed immediately by “but our program is nothing like what you have in America."
“Well, I don't know anything about—“
“No, I'm sure it is nothing like in America," he repeated apologetically, lowering his eyes.
I politely moved on to another topic, and we didn't dwell on it. But I couldn't forget the touch of embarrassment and resignation in his voice. He wanted me to know that he was pretending to nothing-- that if he must admit his aspiration to an American, he at least was worldly enough to know that it would seem pathetic in my eyes.
I doubt that he feels this shame when he tells his family or friends or grandmother in the village that he is studying to be a computer programmer. Most Kazakhstanis I see work and laugh and play and live with the same appearance of contentedness you might see in the United States. But in almost every relationship I have with a Kazakhstani-- with friends and acquaintances from work, from church, from other social circles—there is inevitably a moment, an often awkward reminder, that I have done and seen and bought and learned "better" things, and been "better" places, than they will ever have or do.
Usually, hopefully, the realization of these differences does not cripple the relationship by making it too "uneven." Most of my Kazakhstani friends and colleagues have an abundance of healthy things in their lives, and they are not consumed by the differences; they express interest rather than jealousy or shame. I, too, try to avoid being consumed by the differences--to feel guilty and apologetic would only separate us further. Instead, I try my best to react with humility and sincere friendship. I'm convinced that there is no end to what I can learn and experience through the people I meet here even though they will never "match" me on paper.
Nevertheless, the encounter at the English club, and others like it, are welcome reminders of what God has given me and what it means to be where I'm from. These reminders are not so easy to get when I'm at home. I will very much miss seeing my family and friends and traditions at Thanksgiving. But in some ways, I can see them better from here.
After some vocabulary games to warm up, I spoke for 15 minutes on the history of Thanksgiving, and how we celebrate the holiday in modern times (I had to do a little refresher research beforehand-- the last time I studied the details, I was also tracing my hand on brown construction paper to make a turkey for the classroom wall). I stressed that Thanksgiving is rooted in thanking God for our many blessings, including food, shelter, health, family, friends and survival through hardship. I also mentioned that I was a little sad because it would be the first time in my life that I wasn't with my family for Thanksgiving (though I assured them I would still be getting some turkey at a colleague's house).
After this, we had 20-25 minutes for questions and answers. Most of the students were very nervous about asking questions, but finally some of the more confident ones began firing away, and the conversation became a little easier. We talked about other American holidays, Kazakhstani holidays, what kinds of food Americans eat during the holidays, etc. The students were also curious to know if I liked their city, if I liked their president, and if Americans were aware of Kazakhstan (which led to a Borat discussion, though only a few of them seemed to know who Borat was). The most confusing question was “What is the US policy?” I tried to get a little clarification on that one, but never figured out what policy they had in mind.
I love events like this, because I enjoy answering questions about the United States, I feel like I'm helping them develop their English-speaking skills, and I learn from the types of questions they ask. I must confess, though, one additional reason: it's a nice ego ride. The club coordinator told me that they normally get 15-20 students for English club; when word circulated about their guest, almost 40 showed up, and students had to drag in extra chairs or stand in the doorway. Afterwards, I walked over to a few students and complimented them on their English, and 10-15 students gathered around to hear me talk and ask me more questions.
Who am I, that people should be so interested? Of course, it isn't me. It's what I represent. But it's difficult not to enjoy the attention.
During a break, one of the students sat down next to me and introduced himself. We talked for a few minutes, and I eventually asked him what he was studying at the university:
“Computer programming,” he said, followed immediately by “but our program is nothing like what you have in America."
“Well, I don't know anything about—“
“No, I'm sure it is nothing like in America," he repeated apologetically, lowering his eyes.
I politely moved on to another topic, and we didn't dwell on it. But I couldn't forget the touch of embarrassment and resignation in his voice. He wanted me to know that he was pretending to nothing-- that if he must admit his aspiration to an American, he at least was worldly enough to know that it would seem pathetic in my eyes.
I doubt that he feels this shame when he tells his family or friends or grandmother in the village that he is studying to be a computer programmer. Most Kazakhstanis I see work and laugh and play and live with the same appearance of contentedness you might see in the United States. But in almost every relationship I have with a Kazakhstani-- with friends and acquaintances from work, from church, from other social circles—there is inevitably a moment, an often awkward reminder, that I have done and seen and bought and learned "better" things, and been "better" places, than they will ever have or do.
Usually, hopefully, the realization of these differences does not cripple the relationship by making it too "uneven." Most of my Kazakhstani friends and colleagues have an abundance of healthy things in their lives, and they are not consumed by the differences; they express interest rather than jealousy or shame. I, too, try to avoid being consumed by the differences--to feel guilty and apologetic would only separate us further. Instead, I try my best to react with humility and sincere friendship. I'm convinced that there is no end to what I can learn and experience through the people I meet here even though they will never "match" me on paper.
Nevertheless, the encounter at the English club, and others like it, are welcome reminders of what God has given me and what it means to be where I'm from. These reminders are not so easy to get when I'm at home. I will very much miss seeing my family and friends and traditions at Thanksgiving. But in some ways, I can see them better from here.
posted by Cosmic Stan at 7:51 PM
