Teaching in Ashgabat

Much has been said about the crumbling education system of Turkmenistan, where elementary and high school education has been cut from 10 years to nine, and I'll try not to rehash that.

Instead this post will deal with my time teaching English at the Azady World Languages Institute in Ashgabat, starting in the fall of 2002. Azady was know as the "premier foreign language school" in the country and had recently taken over most of the English studies from Ashgabat University.

The above picture is of the main entrance to Azady, a sprawling complex that included several buildings, one or two state-of-the-art classrooms (where students generally weren't allowed), and lots of old, drab cubicles with chalkboards you couldn't write on and chairs that might or might not hold your weight.

The strength of an educational system, of course, is not determined by the opulence of the school buildings. But, considering all the new construction that as going on in the capital, it was indication of the priority education received in the country.

I took over two classes of 17-to-19-year-olds who were being taught by a highly qualified English as a Foreign Language (EFL) teacher who was working under a special U.S. government contract. His real job, however, which I freed him up to do, was to work with the teachers there.

Unfortunately, by the time I arrived, he was already pretty burned out on the assignment, believing that the school really didn't want to improve. He was right. But, when I got there, I was still incredibly optimistic and excited by the concept of teaching and had not yet become a cynic.

In any case, it's not my desire or purpose to rewrite the education laws of Turkmenistan, simply to sort out a few of my impressions on paper (well, cyberspace) and give my readers an inkling of what it was like living and working in this admittedly strange corner of Central Asia.

So, back to the story ... I took over two rather small groups of students, 104-A and 105-B. The first class had nine students: Suray, Margarid, Laily, Murat, Begench, Azat, Maysa, Jennet, and Ejesh. The second group had 10 students: Kakajan, Deryaguly, Arslan, Kurban, Assasapar, Bahar, Chynar, Lyubov, Bairam, and Irana. At right is a picture of two of girls (Maysa and Jennet) in 104-A.

Surprisingly, the small class sizes didn't lend themselves to building terribly strong relationships, partly because the English-language skills were generally pretty low and partly because the free exchanges of ideas (or, even, close friendships with foreigners) could get you into trouble in Turkmenistan.

The one exception was Lyubov, a student from 105-B, who earned a scholarship to study in America and has since earned a degree in psychology, gotten a job, and married to a fine young man here in the U.S.
A few quick stories from my time at Azady:

The first is when one of the local teachers, Gulshat (It means beautiful flower in Turkmen) offered me a cup of tea one day. I pointed out that I had just consumed a full pot and was no longer thirsty. She looked at me like I was socially retarded and pointedly explained, "It's my job to offer tea. It's your job to drink it!"

The second is from my student Murat. We had been working for several days on adjectives to describe clothing and decided to try out our skills by getting out of the classroom and walking around the block. I would point to someone on the street, and a student would try and explain what they were wearing. (Example: He is wearing a big, black leather coat.)

Well, there was this girl walking toward us, and I asked Murat to describe her clothing. (It should be pointed out at this point that the Russian girls often dressed quite differently from their conservative Turkmen counterparts.)

Murat said, "She is wearing a skirt." I told him he was correct, but that I wanted more details. As she got closer, he continued, "She is wearing a short, blue skirt." I told him that was much better, but that I wanted even more details, expecting him to describe her blouse or shoes.

"She is wearing a very tight, very short, very sexy dark blue skirt." Well, I sure couldn't argue. He had described it to a tee.

The final story is of one of my most embarrassing teaching moments and one that I wish I could do over. It involved Ejesh, a very shy girl who was just beginning to break out of her shell and speak in class.

It was a warm day, and the students were particularly unfocused. I had been working on modal verbs, or some such thing, and was getting a bit frustrated when the students kept making the same mistakes over and over.

"I'm going to throw this at the next person who gets this wrong," I announced, brandishing an inch-long piece of white chalk. Well, I called on Ejesh, and, sure enough, she got it wrong.

So, I gently tossed the chalk in her direction, and it did a swan dive down the bodice of her Turkmen dress. She immediately turned red and ran from the room. I could have shot myself. It took a week before she spoke in class again.