Everyone's a Teacher

I’m still a little shy about going out by myself. I have taken a walk or two just to explore. That’s pretty easy because I don’t have to talk to anyone. It is interesting, though, that sometimes someone will say “Good morning” in English – they just know I’m American somehow. (Must be that sign on my forehead.) There is a walk that is easy to take from our house around a major street back down to the Embassy and our house. One of my complaints about America (Woodbury specifically) is that there are so many like stores so near each other. At last count I think there were six Subway sandwich shops in Woodbury. Well, it is not much different here. Very popular are “Apteka” or pharmacies and convenience marts. The convenience marts are different from 7-Elevens and Super Americas in that they don’t sell fuel. I regularly go to them for bread, sausage, pasta, tomato paste, pelmeni (it’s like tortellini), sour cream (for the pelmeni) and yogurt. I bought a Dove dark chocolate bar there once. They also had some pretty good candy and cookies. The cookies are packaged and laying out in bulk. The bread often is not wrapped.

We are instructed when we arrive to be certain to soak all fruits and vegetables in bleach water. From what I’ve been told, the farmers use very fresh um . . . manure of all sorts and often place it right on the plants. Not only that, the vegetables – particularly root types like beets and potatoes – are very dirty. I was in a grocery store and, after choosing several apples and having them weighed, happened to notice my fingertips were nearly black. It’s worse at the street markets. Today I washed some beets twice in plain water before even putting them in to soak in the bleach water. Dirt was caked on. I came home with potatoes and didn’t even know they were red potatoes until I had washed them a few times! It’s like they’re pulling these things right out of the ground!

I shop with canvas bags to carry home groceries because all they use here is cheap, thin, small plastic bags. In one store I was followed around everywhere I went. I guess they thought I was trying to steal from them. I also embarrassed myself. Have you ever seen fancy chocolates that look like small rocks? They are as decorative as they are tasty. The mother of one of my piano students kept them in her home for her own personal sweet treat. Everything else disappeared. Her kids and husband thought they were just decorative rocks! Anyway, I saw what looked like little egg-shaped chocolates sitting on a counter in the shop where I was being followed. I figured I’d give my tail something better to do so I asked her what they were. She looked at them then blankly looked at me and replied “Eggs” (in Russian, of course). Everyone’s a teacher. I was so embarrassed. Of course they were eggs. I think they’re quail eggs which are popular to serve with plov. Where we are used to seeing milk and eggs and such in a refrigerated case, here they are just left out. The milk is heat treated so it doesn’t spoil as quickly. It tastes different, too. I find I only like it with a good dose of sweet chocolate powder.

Numbers are one of the more difficult things for me to understand orally so that makes shopping tough. The people who regularly see me have different approaches to this problem. One kindly older woman speaks very slowly and uses her fingers if I don’t get it the first time. One nice, though less patient, man pulls out his calculator and types in what I owe him. One younger storekeeper just laughs. He may seem rude to some but I like him. Somehow he puts me at ease. He has this way of laughing that says “Why me?”underneath it all.

There are two guards who regularly engage me in conversation because they know I’m studying and they are willing to listen and help. It’s rewarding when they hear me and understand. It’s more rewarding when I actually understand them – my weakness. Occasionally, after I’ve spoken, they look at me like they’re in a sort of a void searching for what I meant to say. I do appreciate their efforts to teach me by making me talk and listen and by correcting me. One of Doug’s coworkers also engages me in conversation. When I don’t know how to respond in Russian, I just switch to English because I know that he speaks excellent English. He, however, does not abandon the Russian. He makes me listen to it and lets me know he expects my response to be in Russian. Yes, everyone’s a teacher.

Most people are quite patient with my lack of good Russian language skills. Once in a while I get into a little trouble because I may know how to say a particular phrase well so they assume I speak well and proceed to speak accordingly. Once, I went into a market with a note that had butter in Russian written on it. As I stepped to the counter – with the shopkeeper’s attention – I pulled out the note as I began saying (in Russian) “I need to buy butter.” He rapidly asked me something. I excused myself and explained that I was learning Russian but didn’t understand what he said. He stuck his head out like a goose and yelled the same question at me! It was so funny I could think of nothing else to do but shout back at him (in Russian) “I still don’t understand you!” Then we had a bit of a stare off. Then I asked what he suggested. He pointed to one of the butters and I bought it. Maybe not everyone is a teacher.

I do wish I had better language skills, though, which is why I keep working. There is a man who I regularly pass on my way to the fruit and vegetable stand. He sits in a wheelchair because he has no legs from the knees down. I think someone wheels him out there at the start of the day and, at some point, comes and retrieves him. I did see him wheeling himself one day and another day a younger man doing it. I feel sorry for him. He sits alone. Occasionally someone will stop and talk with him, always another man. I think to myself, if he’s lonely perhaps he’d appreciate conversation even if it’s with someone like me. I imagined myself buying an orange and stopping to share it with him. Then I remember that this society is very different than ours. A woman stopping to talk to a man may not be quite right here, even if he is old. I don’t know what to do, if anything. One day we met eyes and I greeted him, he returned the greeting which most people don’t do. That heartened me.

Today when I went to a nearby store in a group of shops that included about four pharmacies I saw a very old woman going up three steps. She pushed with a cane in one hand and pulled on the banister with her other. It was very hard for her so I asked her if I could help as I took her arm and lifted. She thanked me then handed me a note and said something. Half her face was paralyzed so I had no idea what she said. I told her I didn’t speak Russian; I didn’t understand her. She spoke again and held out the list. She wanted help. I took the list and looked at it. I had no idea what it said. I did get her to come into the pharmacy with me. As we waited in line, maybe I looked worried because after a few minutes she gestured for the list. I gave it back to her and left. I felt so bad that I couldn’t help her more.

Different teachers; different lessons.