The Other Side of The Staff Room Door

This week started off with Independence Day here in the capital. Most public houses have been on lockdown post 11pm for the past few weeks, leaving us to enjoy the odd bevvy in the dark and in relative silence from wandering policemen outside. The celebrations of the actual day were scarce and apparently on a need-to-know basis. Thus, we wandered around until we found the most activity. This was centred around a punching machine with 50 men taking turns to prove their worth to future female potential via a rigged game. That is literally all there is to say about this apparent day of celebration; just severe lack of celebration.

Artistically placed flags

The streets were adorned for Independence Day

Feeling so free

Feeling free in front of Independence Square completely surrounded by policement

Wednesday was our 1^st official day of school with the children. Pre-nursery had quite a vibe going to it. On the big screen we have cartoons and nursery rhymes going - mainly to distract the ones crying from lack of mother presence.But at least they’re too distracted by this lack of parentage to start weeing all over the floor like the others. The rule is supposed to be that they’re potty trained and, to my obvious disgust and dismay, none of them are. Considering this not to be my responsibility, I take it upon myself to push them in the direction of another teacher once I notice the puddle around their legs. Combine that with the sand-play corner we’ve constructed and it’s pretty much just carnage with interludes of “happy and you know it” where no hand clapping or foot stomping comes from my direction. However, I have enjoyed taking a proactive role in nap time, utilising my motto of “lead by example.” Taking the bullet and offering to be the one that looks after the children during this crucial time of rest has led to me having basically every afternoon off, awaking just in time to sneak biscuits off their snack tray.

A ride on this sketchy cable car to forget the troubles of life

Too high and too rickety

Artsy shadow photo

This second week I took it upon myself to send a few strongly worded e-mails and have found myself loitering around year 5, pretending to help, when really they have more than enough staff. I amuse myself by letting the kids get away with everything and getting them to teach me derogatory Russian words. There’s nothing quite as satisfying as being allowed to skip the queue at lunch (like C YA suckers), whilst hurling these learnt terms back at them.

At least payday makes us feel like ballers

In other news, the hot water in the city is “being repaired.” Lord even knows what this entails, but the coming month shall have us awaiting a surprise ice shower that will last a week until they switch our district back on to the 21^st century. It must be remembered that they allowed a viber call of mine to go through last night after rejecting my Whatsapp, Facebook and Skype connection; and thus, I shall accept a sponge bath out of a kettle for a week in exchange for such Uzbek kindness.

Friday night saw us enter the Irish Pub rather early in the afternoon (straight from school, after a quick change to enhance that slut aesthetic). Who should we meet there but our lovely headmaster and a few colleagues. A few drinks later and the head whips out a nice shiny discount card that took him 2 years of excessive beer bills to acquire. Needless to say, my sassy inner self saw this and took the opportunity to win. Casually strolling inside the dimly-lit and smoky establishment, I approached the counter and asked to be introduced to the manager. Along he saunters, eyes widening as I extend my hand for an excessively aggressive handshake, never yet seen from a woman wanting to get married around these parts (stay in the kitchen, ladies). I explain that I’ve been in there spending millions of Som for weeks now and he nods and agrees as I stutter in neither Russian, nor English, nor any recognisable form of dialect. I’m not sure why there was agreement because it was all nonsense. Never-the-less, he leaves me making what I thought was interesting, but realistically, awkward conversation with the bar staff for a few minutes until he returns brandishing a loyalty card with me. I took it with joy, brandishing it in the faces of all those who doubted me outside, relishing in the challenge of having to attend a pub gathering 4 times a week in order to rack up points and fulfil my promise. I also impressed and-or embarrassed my new boss so it was kinda win-win all evening.

Loyalty share fare us well

Referring back to the title, the other side of the staff room is not much to be excited about. It’s small and the smell of burning laminate ruins the calm of lack of children. Good luck getting a computer, but what’s even worse, is the luck you’ll need to grab a samosa when someone brings some in “to share”. I say “to share”, because it’s like an episode of The Hunger Games.

So many illegal metro photos, it shan't be long now

Mandatory photo day; not as traumatic as actual school days