Hi everyone and welcome to the second installment of my Russian chronicles. So much as changed since I last wrote- the novelty of Moscow has faded, the first few snows have fallen and I’ve made some good friends. So what am I actually doing with myself? A question I frequently ask these days… I am continuing with Russian classes (grammar and Silver Age literature) and I’ve added Arabic, classical Indian dance and Russian sign language. I moved to a new apartment, completed a whirlwind tour of St. Petersburg and become an avid fan of the Moscow theatre scene (14 plays in two months!). I will keep with the blurb format, so you can skip around and read whatever interests you.
All things deaf
So I used to smirk and look down on those weakling Fulbrighters who through some character flaw failed to complete their projects. Let's just say my attitude has changed a bit and while I'm not abandoning my project, I'm accepting that things are not going to happen as quickly or quite exactly as I expected.
I will start with what progress I have made… I the most inspiring of meetings with Vladimir Bazoev, a brilliant deaf Russian who actually got a Fulbright to go to the US ten years ago. Meeting him, talking for an hour in a mix of American Sign Language, Russian, English and Russian Sign left me with the impression that this man already is my Fulbright project walking around on two legs. He's the head of the Moscow City Branch of the All-Russian Organization of the Deaf and as such edits laws to make them more deaf friendly and oversees a lot of services for the deaf. He invited me to the 80th Anniversary of their organization which was a lot of official speeches (during which deaf people easily carried on their own conversations) and then a talent show ranging from fashion to acrobats and magic.
While at this party I met up the staff of the Center for Rehabilitation of the Deaf where I went a few weeks ago. They do psychological and developmental analysis and counseling as well as hearing aid fitting, calibration (a rather complex process that can take weeks) and repair. They are really a very warm bunch of people, all fluent in sign and into being deaf. We sat over tea, cakes, salo (Ukranian salted pork concoction) and discussed most everything. They expressed frustration with Americans come to Russia with this high-handed attitude towards sign language. They criticized the one school that uses sign language, saying they overemphasize sign and lose reading, writing and any hope of integrating into mainstream culture. It was a good reminder not to oversimplify the issues and not to project some foreign agenda onto a group, claiming to represent them. It was also a good lesson in how to do things in Russia, namely drink tea and be willing to make personal connections.
My major frustration has been trying to get in touch with Anna Kamarovna, a very important figure in the deaf world who I have been counting on to introduce me to some deaf schools. I have made some progress- namely I got the numbers of both her cell phones and have talking and textmessaging with her for over a month, trying in vain to meet her. There is another NGO contact I've been emailing since September who I swear doesn't spend more than three days at a time in Moscow. I think perhaps it's good that I have this time to get a grounding in sign language and learn some more background information about the issues, however, I do look forward to moving forward with my original idea of working in a school.
Meanwhile I did get interviewed on a radio program randomly through a Fulbright tip off. It was a Russian state radio station (Voice of Russia), a Canadian program with a British host. The situation at the station has recently taken a dive- they have been relocated to not very nice studios and salaries have been cut. It was fun to talk through my whole project again and pretend that I was on NPR.
Why Arabic?
I actually have a lot of reasons to studying Arabic- but my favorite is my "chopping block" metaphor. It's like the kung-fo mentality that to smash the board or brick with your bare hand, you must aim for some point beyond your target. So, extending the metaphor- to feel comfortable in Russian, go through Russian to another language. After squiggle, squiggle, gargle, guttural hairball for a few hours you'll begin to see just how friendly and safe those once foreign Cyrillic letters and lilting arbitrary stresses have become.
It all started when I saw a girl in the library doing Arabic- I thought, geepers, that looks fun. I was already planning to go to Egypt in January. Then I told this all to some random Midd alum I ran into who gave me a teach-yourself-the-Arabic-alphabet book. Then I put it all together and joined myself to a group of first year Arabic students under the tutelage of a fabulous young Russian woman. To be totally honest, it's not my first priority and at the moment my skills are not all that impressive, but there are lots of small victories and some good times.
The great paradox of bureaucracy
There is a saying that nothing is possible in Russia and everything is possible. This is a daily reality for anyone trying to navigate the official and unofficial ways of doing things here. On the one hand, you face an intricate hope-massacring bureaucratic monster who demands properly filled out forms and official stamps, seals, signatures and small black and white photographs that come at the end of endless lines. On the other hand, there are the unlegislatable personal exemptions, the "get out of bureaucracy free cards", which sometimes fall from heaven and at other times can be purchased with chats over tea, connections, chocolates and, when necessary, money.
Getting my metro card was one such battle containing the carrot, stick, carrot, stick, stick, stick bureaucratic schizophrenia. It began as all good bureaucratic adventures should, with hope ($5/month for unlimited metro riding) and lots of paperwork. I filled out forms, got pictures, got stamps, waited in line and searched for metro stops for about 2 days. I ended up at the right booth at the correct station with all my paperwork together at about 10pm one night after a play (thinking I would avoid the horrific lines I'd noticed during my previous searches). The woman at the window pointed out the hours of work (10-12, 2-6) and told me that I would have to go to yet another station if I ever wanted to get the pass, as the lines at this station formed out the door. At this moment I felt particularly vulnerable to the spirit-crushing gears of the machine and I physically couldn't retreat from the window. I just stood there, feeling like a smooshed little bug and so as to have something to do, I started copying down the working hours. Then the woman looks at me and says, "let me just look at your forms and make sure they're in order". Then she starts asking me questions, handing me whiteout to fix some mistakes and asks if I have my passport and student ID with me. At this point, I hastily threw them all at her through the little window, realizing that I was to be granted the favor of one with bureaucratic power. She fills out everything and says she will post it for me as if I'd dropped it off the next day. When I return two weeks later I was processed along with the other peons, standing for over an hour (reading Dovlatov). The woman behind me was standing in line for her daughter, who didn't have the hour to wait. She called her more and more frantically as we approached the window and I think her daughter never did show up. I must say I could not have been more thrilled with that card than if I bought it with a few ounces of my flesh.
Impressions of Konkovo
I have kept my ears open for cheaper housing situations while enjoying my time living in the center in a posh apartment. I rediscoverd my friend Deanna, a singer-songwriter working as a high-end oil business travel agent. My housing query coincided with the departure of one roommate and the arrival of another, Tanya. Both Deanna and Tanya are from Ulan-Ude but have lived in Moscow for 4, 6 years respectively. The apartment itself has a strange story. An elderly American woman missionary occupied it while in Russia some seven years ago. She left about five years with plans for an eminent return. Deanna gradually assumed the rent of the apartment, still quite full with the previous occupants belongings. With time, the 1980s Americana has been partially regulated to the closets making room for various guests. The apartment itself is wonderfully light, clean and feels like home. I feel so lucky to be living with Russians around my age that are great to talk with.
I also have become acquainted with a new sector of the city, Konkovo, the outskirts to the south, by the reckonings of Moscovite-purists, arguably not even part of the city which sprawled here some thirty years ago, replacing dacha communities. At first, the 45 minute commute to the University seemed like an unbearable waste. But to be honest, I sort of like it so far. It's a great time to read the newspaper, think, do Arabic flashcards or review sign language. It's also very close to the University where I am taking sign language and perhaps might get more involved at. Living on the edge is actually a much more authentic Russian experience. I have yet to meet a single Russian student or young person who can afford to live in the center of the city.
Here are some things I have noticed at Konkovo. Beside my metro entrance there are two women, old and wrinkled. Their faces ironically brown and red not from sun and warmth but wind and cold. They sit behind a table of seeds, a small alter to domestic agriculture. There is an open briefcase filled with faded packets- cucumbers, tomatoes, onions. I wonder if business is very high with the ground already frozen. Around the corner I see what looks like a pile of coats- the cheap synthetic seudes and furs, strewn into a pile and inert. On second glance I realize these are the homeless people that inhabit the underground passageway along with a handful of very docile dogs.
The view from our 10th floor apartment is surprisingly beautiful. We look east across a thick forrest of Krushkovkos, (apartment buildings built during the Krushov days, already looking the quite worse for wear) and some factories. I have begun photographing it in different lights, you can see for yourself once I figure out how to get the images to you, as the facebook seems to have stopped letting me post links to photos. You cannot see from the window a small forrested park which makes from a great run (thanks yak tracks).
I can receive packages and phone calls to this address (if you have sent something to me previous address it will also find me eventually, no worries):
Russia
Moscow
117279
Profsouznaya ul. D. 1, korpus 1, kvartira 67
Elizabeth Zane
Telephone: (495) 336-26-75
I send you warm greeting and many thanks for your emails. Please feel free to send any nagging questions and don't hesitate to stop by for tea.
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