Cultural Expectations and Mirror Images

I have been here in Adygeya for over a week. It's been an eventful week... fun, for the most part, and interesting, and also somewhat exhausting. I was never really jetlagged, and I haven't even started my running again yet (that is scheduled for tomorrow, 7:30 am); it's only that every day seems so... full.

Also, this dormitory requires some getting used to. My doorlocks have a tendency to try to eat the keys that lock them. The stove mysteriously turns on after I turn it off. The light sockets destroy lightbulbs within two days. Fire alarms go off in the middle of the night, one of which lasted for over an hour and caused someone to run to the ground floor completely naked. I live on the ninth floor (which I appear to have entirely to myself), but the elevator is terrifying. Twice this week it actually broke, and, having somewhat of a fear of elevators and having already been in a broken elevator three times in my life, I avoid it whenever I can. Last time I took the elevator, it stopped at a floor but refused to open it's doors, and a large Chechen seventh-floor neighbor had to kick it open.

Ahh, yes. My neighbors. The seventh and eighth floors of the building seem to be entirely Chechen. I know this, because I recognize the Chechen language and their particular clothing style. For the most part, they don't bother anyone (not that anyone should think they would!) but a lot of their men seem to like to blast music from their rooms and dance Lezginka late into the night, and blast more music from their cars, while playing some kind of invented game, which from what I gather, involves driving a car as fast as possible around the courtyard, screeching to a stop, getting out of the car to wrestle someone, screaming something in  Chechen, and allowing the next... contestant to jump from an above window and repeat the process. It's both annoying and entertaining. The dormitory, which I affectionately refer to as "Little Grozny", is growing on me.

This brings me to my main thought: Stereotypes, or rather, cultural "expectations." I am not referring to often-false assumptions about someone from another place (actual stereotypes), but rather what someone hopes another to be, or how someone wants to see someone else from another culture act like. All right, enough pronouns, I will be more specific, starting with myself.

It is no secret to those who know me that I love, or at least am fascinated with, everything to do with the Caucasus. It is a politically, culturally, and linguistically complex (read: unfathomable) region which makes it interesting academically speaking... and I say with complete honesty that I enjoy, from the bottom of my heart, Lezginka, xinkali, shashlik, Kindzmarauli, cherkesski, Azamat Bishtov, Nalmes, Islamei, LKN, Tamara Nakhai, Ossetian pies, and, obviously, ridiculously enormous mountains. This being said, a number of those things (some more than others and certainly not all) are considered base, lowest-common-denominator, "kitsch" to many.

Last Sunday, while meeting with my old friends at cafe Te Tiy (Adyghe for "Our house"), I expressed my disappointment of having missed Adyghe Republic Day, which was exactly the day before I arrived. This festival was to feature almost all of the above things I mentioned. My friends responded that no actual local ever attends this festival, that they all run home to the auls to get away from it. I wondered why. In Chelyabinsk, the City Day was attended by everyone I knew. When traditional Adyghe music started to play at the restaurant, I asked one of my friends to tell what the songs were about. She slightly rolled her eyes and said something along the lines of "Oh, you know, it's about a boy meeting a girl and well, about the same as any other song." Later that evening, some young men started to dance Lezginka out on the main square, and all my friends advised me to stay away from these people. Apparently, this kind of act is NOT normal; the dance is reserved for actual festivities.

I had a sense that my eagerness to interact with all things "Caucasian" came across as annoying, stereotyping, and/or insincere. No one said anything to suggest this; it is just a self-conscious feeling I have.

In contrast, new students and faculty I have met seem more than willing to share with me everything of "Adyghe culture." A second-year student of mine, a Kabardian girl named Roza, went with me to a concert (which had advertised with flashy signs all over the city saying "Kavkaz! Mega-hits!") of all the music I like and my other friends apparently can't stand: Magamed Dzybov, Anzhelika Nachesova, Murat Tkhagalegov... a lot of what plays out of whatever car I drive at home in the summer. I loved the concert, apart from a few sound technicalities. Today, I attended a concert with a schoolteacher in the daytime that featured Ensemble Oshten, a group of young singers who put Adyghe lyrics to electric guitar music. I also thought this was awesome, especially when in the audience a Georgian danced with an Armenian (both students of the teacher I was with and both guys) a Chechen dance to the Adyghe music.
In addition, there are plans to attend with a friend of Roza's a lesson on Caucasian dancing, as well as more plans to go to the Republic's famous scenic places Xadzhokh and Lagonaki.

I appreciate these opportunities, and I hope that my interest comes across as sincere, and not just merely because everything is "exotic."

I mention this, because these kind of cultural "expectations" come up very often as an American English teacher. For many students, I am the only native English speaker, and therefore the only American, that they have ever met. Naturally, these students would want to ask me about typically (sometimes stereotypically) "American" things. My favorite/least favorite question I was asked last year was, "So, how does our McDonalds compare with the McDonalds in America?" to which I answered, "I could tell you if I had eaten McDonalds in the last ten years!" and lightly laughed. Having a bit of a sensitive streak, I could have easily snapped "Do I LOOK like someone who eats a lot of McDonalds?!" but obviously, one has to hold back and be understanding. In the classroom, I honestly enjoy these kinds of questions. I like how simple stories about my childhood, about road trips on highways, about yellow schoolbuses and Girl Scout Camp, about college parties and internet meme humor are so appreciated by students.
At the same time though, being a "token American" can be very irritating when I step outside the classroom. There are many things that one my associate with America that absolutely do not apply to me. I hate fast food, I'm not usually up on the latest TV shows or movies, I'm not a huge fan of American political influence on other parts of the world, and the majority of my music collection in not American music (I really cannot stand rap, hip-hop, and R&B). Sometimes, for these reasons, I feel like a bit of a disappointment to the people who meet me, like I am not the perfect specimen of American culture they might have hoped for. Even minor things, like my appearance, seem to be disappointing. In reference to my new hair color, one friend said, "I liked the blonde better, we were used to you that way". Another friend, who asserted that she could spot any American in a crowd of hundreds, said that I had "become so Russian, I didn't even recognize you!" in reference I guess to my clothing and mannerisms. Such "changes" may be a concern, that I might be "trying too hard" to blend in with my surroundings and not "be myself", when as a matter of fact, they are just a result of a changing lifestyle and evolving interests. If one grew up with a certain style, but then becomes introduced to another that one likes more, why not simple choose that which one likes best?

Thinking about my friends here, and about this last week, it seems that we are in a way, mirror images of each other. Our friendship started purely out of curiosity and appreciation for the other's culture and nationality. As we find that our "cultural expectations" of the other are not exactly met, we become slightly disappointed. We also tend to have more knowledge about the other's pop culture than about our own, and are a bit bewildered by this fact. True friendship, however, is more than just liking someone because you happen to like where they are from. Hopefully, the matters of Azamat Bishtov and R&B will be something to joke about, as we move on to more important topics in our lives. The fact that we cannot expect and predict what the other feels about a certain topic is interesting, not disappointing or annoying. I will at least think of it as so.

Meanwhile.... the Chechens outside my window live up to every cultural expectation and stereotype. Another car crash accompanied by a Lezginka.

How I got here.

It is a long way to get to the Caucasus.

Yet somehow, after years of unlikely coincidences, unexpected decisions, a few twists of fate,a bit of luck, and a lot of patience... I ended up here, as a foreign language teacher, in a region that is already full of its own languages.

For the next academic year, I will be working in the small southern Russian city of Maykop, Republic of Adygeya, as a teacher of English and Spanish, at Adyghe State University. Adygeya is one of the smallest regions in the Russian Federation, an autonomous ethnic republic with its own President (or Head), at the north-western foothills of the Caucasus Mountains. Unlike the more...shall we say, infamous locations in the North Caucasus, Adygeya is relatively calm and stable and retains a fairly peaceful relationship with Russia.

Even though more than half of the population of Adyghe Republic is actually ethnic Russian, this place immediately feels and looks and sounds different from other parts of the country that I have lived in (I studied in Moscow for one semester in 2009, and the previous academic year I taught English as a Fulbright fellow in Chelyabinsk). Here, there is a different mentality, climate, fashion sense, pace of life, overall appearance of  people and surroundings... and many other differences, that will become more apparent as this year continues. At the far northern and western edge, a long distance from the conflict zones of the region that we hear about in the news, Adygeya is sometimes even excluded when others talk about "The Caucasus". This is deceptive, however, because Adyghe Republic is absolutely, without a doubt, very North Caucasian.

So, how did I get here?
I could talk about how I arrived here by three days of transport, or by six months of bureaucratic processes, or by four years of, well, life's journey. I might as well start at the beginning.

It was August, 2008, and one of those very hot, last few days of freedom before classes would start at Oberlin College, where I studied. I was signed up for a class called "Nationalism and the State in Post Soviet Politics." We were already emailed and asked to read about the then-recent conflict between Georgia and Russia over South Ossetia and Abkhazia. I figured this class was going to be difficult. I decided to read Hadji Murad, a novella by Tolstoy, to get at least some literary background about this area. The story (that first time I read it) was interesting, but confusing for me to say the least. I had of course heard of Chechnya, but had no clue what an Avar or a Lezgin was.

The class that semester was as difficult and confusing as expected. I think I may have only received a B+ in it. By the time it was over, I thought I would be finished with listening to lectures or writing about any Kadyrov, Basayev, Dudayev, Kokoity, Saakashvili, Shevardnadze or any of these cast of characters. I was obviously, very wrong.

The following spring, a friend of my Russian teacher at that time arrived from the Republic of Adygeya to give a presentation about her region. Adygeya seemed stunning, breathtaking... but of course, everyone asked, "Isn't it dangerous?" It was then explained to us that, of course it wasn't, Adygeya was "on the complete opposite side" and "has nothing to do" with conflict zones such as Chechnya.

During the fall semester of 2009, I had studied abroad at the Russian State University for the Humanities in Moscow. My Russian at this time... well, let's say it left much to be desired. Everyone else in the program probably spoke much better. We were all given the opportunity to go travel during our week away from classes, and did not agree on a place to go together... so I decided to visit the teacher, Madina Marzakanovna, in Adygeya.

Thinking she would be very busy, I figured we would meet once and she would point me out some things to do around town. I was very wrong, and experienced what the region is known for... Caucasian hospitality. With Madina, I made two trips to the mountains, got to know some of the foreign language faculty at the university, spoke with some of her students, and out of them, made lasting friendships.

Two years later, I returned to Russia on a Fulbright fellowship to Chelyabinsk. (See, Stories from the South Urals) Naturally, as part of the winter break, I decided to come back to Adygeya for a visit. Through one of the friends who had graduated from Madina's class, I learned that there was a position at the university for the next year to teach English and Spanish, and that they would love to have a native speaker.
So I took the job.

That was the process of deciding to come here came along. Actually getting here was a process in of itself.

In March of this year, I learned that they were ready to hire me. My friend said she was in charge of the documents and that I "wouldn't need to worry." I made the faulty assumption that everything would be done on time. Even so, I asked if I could start getting my documents in order, but I was told it was too early.

At this time, I already had a hurdle to jump... to maneuver around the Chelyabinsk bureaucracy to make sure  I didn't get banned permanently from the country because of an expired registration. As described in the previous blog, I got out of this problem unscathed, with only a relatively small fine and a big scare.

At the beginning of June, I was asked for a copy of my passport, and told that was all that they'd need. I sent it, and the Letter of Invitation (a document needed to obtain a Russian visa) would be ready in 30 days.
(Enter voice of Cenk Uygur) Wrong again, Bob.
A few weeks later, I was told that I'd need to send my diploma (or at least a scanned copy, bringing the original with me) with an Apostille and a certified translation into Russian. Not even knowing what an Apostille was, I panicked. Would they be able to start the Invitation-making process while I figured out how to get these other documents? Of course not! Luckily, my father found a service that could put all these things together online. The documents were sent within the week.

I figured, since the office received what they needed by the end of June, I would get a Letter of Invitation at the end of July, get the visa in August, and be in Adygeya before the beginning of the academic year.
"Wrong again, Bob."

Waiting for the Invitation was a torturous process. Neither I nor my friend knew how the process was going, or if I would be suddenly "rejected." Apparently, the documents I had sent waited for two weeks without anything happening, and the Migration Service took longer than usual to actually process the Invitation. By mid-July, it was finally ready.

Then there was the matter of getting it in the mail. I had recommended DHL, the service most people use to mail items from abroad. The people in the office agreed, and I figured it would be there the next week. Again, wrong.
Two weeks later, I found out that they could not use DHL, because it was too expensive, and they had to choose another service. I finally got the Letter of Invitation on September 13th... only two weeks already late.

The following Monday, I traveled to New York, having already booked a flight (it is required to have proof of a return flight to get a visa), assuming that I could expedite the visa process by paying extra. Guess what...  I was WRONG yet again.
"Invitations with itineraries in the Northern Caucasus region do not qualify for visa expedition, because of security reasons."
Another week and another $300 later, I finally had a visa and a flight.

After all of this hassle, I had the actual journey to look forward to. Everyone knows I love to travel, that is, to be in different places, but the actual traveling part is far from enjoyable. I would be flying from Boston to Munich and then to Moscow, and then by train to Krasnodar (I decided to take the train because it would save me hundreds of dollars and allow me to sleep) and then by some kind of taxi to Maykop. I expected this to be exhausting and stressful... but as a matter of fact, it wasn't. The entire journey went rather smoothly.
During most of the plane ride I slept or watched a movie, and sat next to a girl who was going to a wedding in Croatia. I shared my train compartment with a self-described Cossack Babushka named Raya, who had more than enough advice for me about things such as stockings, boots, fur coats, floor cleaning products,  laundry detergent, and Chechens.
So far, all of these things have become fairly relevant settling in.

Two students and a taxi driver met me at 6 am in Krasnodar to drive me to Maykop, both of the students very eager to use their English. The general consensus was they were surprised and that I was not what they pictured to be an American. I don't look anything like my passport picture they were given to identify me with, I was wearing a skirt and heels, I have dark-colored, no-longer-blonde hair in a typically Russian haircut, I speak Russian pretty much fluently with a неопределённый (basically, non-placeable) accent, I'm slender and petite, and I guess after the three days of traveling, missing the Big American Smile.

Right now, it's been a week since I left the US, but it seems like longer. Not because it's been particularly difficult (apart from some minor inconveniences in my dormitory and some very rowdy neighbors, which I will get to another time), but because SO much has happened. I am now completely settled in, I have seen old friends and met some new ones, made my simple, 9th floor room look beautiful, and started my university classes. After a painfully slow-paced summer full of waiting at my parents' house, I feel like I have settled into my new home in the blink of an eye, and am already witnessing new dimensions of a place that had already become familiar. As soon as I open my window, I know I'm in a different place. I hear Lezginka (the kind of music that, in America, is only heard from the windows of a car that I am driving) from the cars on the street and a room on the floor below, and the sounds of young men yellling accented, colloquial Russian, Adyghe, Chechen and who knows what else.
One thing has already become certain to me... despite what my old friends tell me, who often complain that there is nothing to do in this tiny republic... this place does not seem to have a dull moment.