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Comedy of Errors

Friday, February 12, 2010

You know the advice I should have gotten or heeded or something last night?

“Make sure your class shows up.”

—-

Today was supposed to be the first real lecture section of the first real college course1 I’m teaching: Introduction to Greek Mythology, for the first-year literature students. (Yesterday we met to go over the syllabus. I talked too fast.) I’ve been worrying about it, of course. Although I’m confident that I’ll do a good job [with a lot of worry and the help of my mentors], I still wound up tweaking powerpoint slides and scribbling quotes in the margin of my lecture notes 15 minutes before class time. The topic (”What is myth? What are the origins of myth? What can we learn from myth? What are the ethics of myth? What about myth and art? What are our sources for myth?”) was broad, complicated, and difficult to reformulate into something manageable for my students’ level of English– but I was looking forward to discussing it with them.

So a fourth-year student (A) was dispatched with me to help me find all the projector cables in the classroom. We showed up two minutes late– to a room empty of people and papers except for three students’ books. Oh, no. Truancy is rife here, and it’s quite common for students to skip the first week of class altogether– but I had about a third of the class yesterday, and they knew our first lecture was today. What could have happened? A and I set to work on the projector, with me hoping (albeit pessimistically) that my students were just mysteriously late.

The projector turned out to be pretty mysterious, too. A keyboard, mouse, and remote control were locked inside a metal cage, on top of another cage housing the main body of the computer. I’d forgotten the adaptor necessary to hook my computer up to the projector directly, so we wrangled a bunch of wires and cleared a space to plug in my flash drive, only to discover that the computer wouldn’t turn on. Pressed the button. No luck. Replugged the plug. No luck. Defeated, I went to reattach the projector cable before locking everything up again– and accidentally discovered the exposed wiring with my thumb.

Ow. The casing had come off the core of the projector cable, and something somewhere was carrying enough electricity to give me a pretty sharp shock. So I spent a few seconds dancing around the classroom and biting back my surprised swearing for the student’s benefit, then locked the locks, gathered my things, and headed out of the classroom with A in ignominious defeat.

At the bottom of the staircase, though, I spotted two of my students. “Where were you?” They started to explain– only be interrupted when an unreasonably bright flashbulb went off about ten feet from our collective faces. A photographer, brandishing a big DSLR and external flash, started directing us to cluster together, move up the stairs, move down the stairs. I was not particularly cooperative. “…hoca istemiyor?” Indeed. I escaped to the bottom of the stairs, and waited while my students were asked to troop down the flight together twice, flashbulb going off over and over. Apparently, the English department is the only non-hazırlık department currently in session, and the university needs promotional photos for the Erasmus Programme. Finally, my students escape.

The explanation? Some of their other classes today were canceled due to a meeting, so they thought mine was, too. Whoops.

I guess we’ll make it up next week. What an absurd comedy of errors.

1: I love my hazırlık students, but my English classes are functionally the same as teaching high school; I don’t think even my students– who routinely neglect to bring paper, pencil, or book– consider them university courses.

Filed in Academia, Anecdotes, Teaching, Turkey, Turkish Culture, Turkish Education | Comments (0)

Şanlıurfa’ya Scenes

Sunday, January 10, 2010

[No proper introduction, as I'm on my way to bed, but here are some things jotted down in my notebook while on the way to Urfa this morning, and while at dinner. Other actual Urfa reflections to follow sometime. Short version: it was an absolutely lovely travel day.]

—

On the way to the bus station this morning, the city was unspeakably smoggy– worse than I’ve ever seen it. Gaziantep is a polluted place, unquestionably; when the weather was warmer, I’d find myself getting pollution headaches after anything more than a few hours downtown, and a low pall of dirty smoke hangs over the city at all times. But this was considerably more intense: from the top of the ridge of the Cumhuriyet neighborhood, I could look down sidestreets towards the center and see the whole city obscured, its outlines made uncertain by a grey haze. Downtown, it was difficult to even make out the edges of the castle clearly. Apparently yesterday a factory on the outskirts of the city caught fire, and now the aftermath is drifting through.

—

At the otogar, I got snapped up immediately by one of the where-are-you-going guys– the three or four people from the bus companies who hang out at the entrance to the station and try to gather up anyone incoming for one of the nearer destinations. It’s actually usually the best way for me to get a ticket; still buying directly from the bus companies, and usually for the soonest departure. My where-are-you-going guy today asked if I was German– usually the first question– but, to my surprise, followed it up by telling me (in German) that he’d lived in Köln for two years. Despite my assurances that no, I am not German, and yes, I understand (some) Turkish, the rest of our business was conducted in German. It was kind of sweet, actually; I got the impression he wanted to practice.1 As he was walking me to the bus, ticket in hand, someone called out a joke to him in Turkish; I asked if he was a friend. “Yes,” he said, in Turkish this time, “all friends. But no German friends. And no German wife.” He grinned, and gestured expansively, jokingly. “Neden? Neden?” For what reason, what reason? Then, a little more quietly, without the gestures, neden again.

—

My initial impression of Urfa was dominated by pigeons.

From the otogar, a dolmuş took me into the center of old town through a city center which reminded me of Antep (but with the substitution of palm trees) and a short string of winding back streets, the kind that make you wonder whether the bus driver actually meant to turn this way, or is just enjoying trying to smooth down some of the nearby masonry. I hopped out when we reached the old bazaar (not really being eager to continue participating in the backstreet driving experiment), and, after a minute’s walk, found myself in the courtyard of the mosque built on the site of Abraham’s birth.

Which, as I said before, was full of pigeons. I realize this is a trite observation to be making about a terribly holy place– but it was the first thing that struck me, in any case. Huge clouds of pigeons, settling on the domes, the balconies of the minarets, the ornate architecture of the courtyard’s corners. In the center, a constantly-moving, constantly-disturbed crowd of pigeons cooing on the yellow stones with alternate contentment and indignation, as children threw handfuls of feed and raced through the knots of birds. At the very middle, where the children and pigeons were attending to their respective business, was a short stream set into a channel in the stone: water from the Balikligöl, the lake of sacred fish that supposedly sprang up to protect Abraham from fiery death– which eventually brought my attention back to the ostensible holiness, and away from the pigeons fluttering all around.

—

More writing incoming when it’s not so late after a long day of travel; pictures incoming when I have the correct camera cable again. Tomorrow: grading grading grading, seeing a movie (Yahşi Batı) with a friend and her class, possible dinner plans, personal academic projects. Busy life.

1: For me, hearing German is both lovely and a little strange. I can no longer consciously produce much German without great difficulty, but I understand a respectable amount when it’s spoken at me. What’s much more odd, though, is that there’s no translating going on in my head; what German I can remember just intrinsically means what it does, the same as English. The advantages of learning a language early, I guess.

Filed in Ancient What-Not, First Impressions, Living in Turkey, People, Transportation, Travel, Turkey, Turkish Culture | Comments (0)

We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet

Friday, January 1, 2010

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

It’s a quiet New Year’s Eve here– my plans fell through, and I’m leaving for Istanbul in the morning to see friends visiting from the US, in any case– so I’m sitting in my window, watching the dark street while the clock ticks closer to midnight.

To be a little introspective for a moment (it’s sanctioned at this time of the year, anyway), it’s been a momentous year for me. Writing my thesis, winning a Fulbright, graduating from college, a summer in Americorps, moving to Turkey, and all the changes since that move. It’s been a momentous decade, too; the decade of becoming an adult is pretty neatly framed by 2000 and 2010 for me. I have no idea what the next ten years will bring.

10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

Filed in Introspective, Navel-Gazing | Comments (0)

Written on our hands

Monday, December 28, 2009

When I was in high school, I had a horrible habit of writing notes to myself on my hands– so much so that sometimes the entire back of my hand would be covered, up onto my fingers and curving down onto my palm. (I had not yet discovered planners, and I didn’t have the ubiquitous internet that allows me to organize my life these days.) I’ve been picking it up again lately simply because I haven’t been online much, and haven’t been carrying a paper planner; right now there’s a small, neat note to myself reminding me I have make-up classes with my writing course tomorrow afternoon.

After class today, a student came up to me and, in an apparent nonsequitur, asked if he could show me something. He said, “You know our god is Allah. Look.” He interlaced his fingers, and turned so that I could see the inside of his palms. His friend traced letters on his hands:

Allah, written in the lines on the palms of our hands. I couldn’t think of anything to say (save “thank you”) in response to so lovely a sharing of knowledge.

Filed in Anecdotes, People, Quick Hit, Religion, Turkish Culture | Comments (0)

Merry Christmas

Friday, December 25, 2009

It’s been a crazy few weeks– what with flu and paperwork and friends and teaching and all manner of things– so it’s been quieter here than I intended. But there’s at least a little seasonal spirit in Antep, with Christmas cookies and plans for a few celebrations.

Merry Christmas, everyone, however you observe it.

Filed in Announcements, Personal, Quick Hit | Comments (0)

News and Blogs

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

I’m afraid this is nothing but an exhausted post again– I taught for eight hours today instead of my usual Wednesday four, as one of my partner-teachers was ill and needed a substitute. On the plus side, all of the classes went well, even the Emergency Substitution ones; on the minus side, that is eight hours in the classroom, standing for the entire time.

Meant to write earlier tonight, and take care of incredibly piled-up and overdue paperwork, and finish up the last tallying of attendance and exams– and all I managed was eating a bowl of pasta and reading, and now it’s 1:30 am (how does that happen?). Alas.

(I think I get a pass on the day.)

In lieu of content, have links to a few of the Turkey-related blogs I read regularly:
• Istanbul Calling by Yigal Schleifer– a good source for political news, and especially so for links to serious background and discussion of Turkish issues.
• Kamil Pasha by Jenny White– regular updates on Turkish news and culture (with a nice occasional focus on women’s issues).
• Istanbul Eats– pure gluttonous reading pleasure.
• The Turkish Life by Jen Hattam– updated somewhat irregularly; an interesting expat’s perspective.

And for news, the NYTimes is often useful (more so lately than usual, I suspect, since Turkey’s been in the US news heavily over the last few months), but Hurriyet is a major Turkish newspaper with a daily English-language edition, and if you’re desperate there’s always the journalistic oddity that is Today’s Zaman.

Bitter Lemons International has Turkey-related content sometimes (though I don’t check there regularly) and is an excellent source for Middle Eastern issues, and SETimes has been useful for me for following Turkey’s various European issues (especially the ongoing EU snafu).

There are plenty of other sources I head to, but these are the ones I find myself visiting most often. If you follow Turkish news or blogs, please throw suggestions at me– I’m sure buried in reading material, but that doesn’t mean I’ll avoid adding more to the stack.

Filed in Linkage, Quick Hit | Comments (1)

Paperwork

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

About a quarter of the results of trying to convert my old attendance system to my new attendance system:

Headed to bed.

Filed in Academia, Photos, Quick Hit, Teaching | Comments (0)

Little Things / Big Things

Monday, December 7, 2009

On the one hand (μεν), it was a rough day. I realized in the morning that I had another stack of midterms I’d forgotten to grade, and then found out I was supposed to vacate my office by the end of the day (that didn’t happen, unfortunately), and had to go to a meeting that turned out to be entirely in Turkish, and hglagharghlblaghargh. Nothing bad actually occurred at any point, but most of the day was composed of frustrations and stress and lack of sleep, without feeling like I accomplished much.

On the other hand (δε), my evening class was remarkably successful. This was our first week spending five consecutive hours together, and I was afraid it was going to be a disaster– there are some chronically badly behaved students in the group, and even my best students get worn out and apathetic by the end of the fourth hour, understandably. Five hours feels like begging for trouble. For some reason, though, they seemed invested in the lesson– more so than usual, even. The group that usually leaves after the second hour to go eat actually came back for the end of class.1 We got through all of the material we needed to get through tonight. The idea may even have made sense by the end. So for the last twenty minutes or so, we played Apples to Apples (not the best game in the world, but excellent for teaching, and even directly relevant to the work we were doing on descriptive paragraphs), and everybody left the room happy and chattering. It felt like a minor, merciful miracle.

I am not yet a good teacher, though I aspire to it. Sometimes my activities fall miserably flat, sometimes I forget what I’m doing in class despite the clearly-marked lesson plans in front of me, sometimes I fail terribly at classroom management, sometimes I worry that I’m not giving them anything more to learn from than me talking. I had a tiny bit of experience with this juggling act before coming here, but in very different contexts, and I’d originally expected to actually be doing the work of my title here (English Teaching Assistant). Instead of an assistant, though, I am an honest-to-god classroom teacher all on my own, struggling and winning and failing with maybe less preparation than normal. Day to day, I often have no idea what will work and what won’t, despite seeking out help and poring over resources. I know that’s to be expected, but I feel like I should have more to offer. Two months in, this is not so terrifying. Two months in, this is still so terrifying.

When this post was bouncing around in my (tired, tired) head, the old cliche of the “little things” came to mind at first. Yet even though class only took up a small part of the day, everything else revolved around it. Teaching is the Big Thing, the mass at the center of my life here, shaping the orbits of my social life, my travel, language learning, bureaucratic frustrations, cultural understandings and misunderstandings, and on and on. Whether it’s recognized or unseen at any given time, it’s exerting its pull on the nature and structure of whatever else I do. It has to– I owe it to the work. And besides, I don’t yet know enough about it to be able to climb out of the gravity well.

1: It is very common and totally acceptable in Turkey to just leave class during the ten-minute break between hours, so that you can go eat or hang out with friends or what-have-you. In the US– by my perception, at least– that would be considered incredibly rude. Here, there’s a certain number of state-mandated hours that you’re allowed to miss class, and most students use them to leave early on Fridays or go get dinner during evening classes. It’s been, surprisingly, one of the hardest things to adjust to in the classroom.

Filed in Academia, Introspective, Navel-Gazing, Personal, Reactions, Teaching, Turkey, Turkish Culture, Turkish Education | Comments (0)

Another Photo Post

Sunday, December 6, 2009

It’s late at night and I just realized I didn’t blog; have some photos from my trip to Istanbul (November 13th-ish to 16th-ish, if you count travel time). As I’ve been before and only had a weekend, I went up mostly to see one of my favorite professors from college and the staff member who originally encouraged me to apply for the Fulbright, which was absolutely delightful. We walked around, climbed the Galata Tower, ate Galata fish sandwiches (probably giving me cancer or mercury poisoning but definitely worth it), and talked and talked. On my own the next day, I got a chance to see some parts of Istanbul I’d missed before (walked up to– though did not go into, alas– the Dolmabahçe Palace, and took the ferry across to Kadiköy to eat dinner at Çiya Sofrası), saw friends, did stuff. It was excellent.

And now the can’t-write-a-blog-entry cop-out photos.
(Addendum: including captions with tags broke the entire blog, so here are the intended captions instead:
1: Myself and excellent professor atop the Galata Tower.
2: Excellent professor and awesome study-abroad guru.
3: Istiklal Caddesi, Istanbul's most famous strolling street, at dusk.
4: Looking across at the Galata Tower as a storm rolls in.
Clearly it is time to readjust the WordPress stuff in the background of this blog.)

Scenic

Excellent professor and awesome study-abroad guru.

Istiklal Caddesi, Istanbuls most famous strolling street, at dusk.

Looking across at the Galata Tower as a storm rolls in.

More writing tomorrow, ideally.

Filed in People, Photos, Quick Hit, Travel | Comments (0)

Yesemek’e

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Tired, as I wound up in Yesemek (a village with a Hittite sculpture quarry, nearish to here) today, with a bunch of silly travel frustrations I don’t feel like recounting. Instead, you get two and a half vignettes of good things.

• (1) On the minibus ride from Antep to İslahiye (the nearest town), we started with only myself, a young family (whose son kicked the back of my seat incessantly), and an old man. Generally, while driving out of town, you pick up additional passengers from the side of the road: people waiting on the edge of the highway who live somewhere near the bus route, or who were dropped by a bus coming in from elsewhere. You pass clusters of potential travelers: women in village garb with şalvar and old-fashioned scarves, elderly men smoking and mumbling and clicking their beads, families with high school kids headed home from the big-city dershane, people from town coming back from a day shopping, all standing in little groups at unspoken bus stops. Any gathering at a corner or a storefront is a possibility, so lay on the horn! The bus attendant will open the side and hang out gracefully, one hand clutching the roof of the van, and call, “Hatay-Hatay-Hatay-Hatay-İslahiye-Hatay-Hatay-Nurdağı-Hatay!” (or substitute your end destination and midpoints here). Most of the time, most of the people will just click their tongues and raise their eyebrows to send you on your way. There are so many little groups, though, that by the time we passed the outskirts of the city, the minibus was crammed to the gills, including a three-year-old boy half on my lap1 and two old men on plastic stools in the aisle.
• (.5) In İslahiye, I exercised my Turkish with surprising success– both asking and (mostly) comprehending directions, figuring out where things are going and when, and (though this is not new) giving my standard biographical spiel. My understanding-mumbly-elderly-men skills are improving, too, which is much more of a necessity than I originally expected. We make progress. (Yavaş, yavaş.) This is not really a vignette, of course, and doubtfully exciting to anyone but me, but I am going to broadcast my progress whenever I goshdarn make any. (To be fair, I understand some new everyday utterance every time I leave the house. Today, I finally comprehended what the hell people say to me in shops: “Başka bir sey var mı?” “Anything else?” Retrospective duh.)
• (2) Longer coda to the last: Making friends with people on the bus is not something I’ve ever been skilled at, even in the States. But gradually (yavaş, yavaş, as with everything here) I’m starting to pick it up. Elderly women, little boys, and preteen girls are a social godsend: the first exchange wry smiles over crowded buses or squirmy children, the second try their English2 and crow gleefully when I stammer in Turkish, and the third are curious but now old enough to want to help a lost yabancı. Today, I had the trifecta. The grandmother (presumably) of the three-year-old on the bus smiled at me warmly and clucked her tongue at the boy, though we didn’t exchange a word (I mumbled a polite bir büyük çocuk!, a big boy!, but I don’t think it was even heard). In the dolmuş to Yesemek, a preteen girl (Şennur) and her little brother and I managed a pretty long conversation about where we were from and what we were doing. Yes, some of it was just smiling and nodding on my part. But I catch more (and say more) every time.

Maybe because Americans are so often cautioned to suppress our instinctive smiles at strangers, I worry overmuch about being friendly in public. In Istanbul, or Ankara, or even in Antep, I do feel out of place when I try to make conversation– they’re cities, and people have city things to do. But in the towns and villages, once you have the least opening– the least reason to smile and nod– well, a smile is a smile. Even when I can’t communicate anything more, that connection keeps me from feeling adrift.

1: Other particularly interesting things that have been in my immediate proximity on the dolmuş or minibus in Turkey: 1) four or five large plastic bags of extremely recently butchered raw meat, during Kurban Bayramı last weekend, and 2) a chicken in a cage (the last time I was in Turkey, in 2008). Normally it’s just, you know, two three-foot-long PVC pipes tied together and women carrying enormous metal plates wrapped in newspaper.
2: “WHAT IS YOUR NAME? WHERE YOU FROM?”

And a small-print anecdote: while walking in İslahiye, I came across a sign in messy red paint, hanging from a dingy, windowless one-story brick building. “Sünnet yapılır. [phone number]” Colloquial translation? “Circumcisions done here.”

Filed in Anecdotes, Language, Living in Turkey, People, Transportation, Travel, Turkey, Turkish | Comments (2)