Essay #11 (Two Meetings)

I got up early this morning to prepare mentally for a planned meeting with Svetlana, the Bull of the Education Department. Our permission begins and ends with this woman whose personality can be felt in the sharp, ear-piercing whistle she makes when she says the letter "s". She's always in high heels, and her hair is in a beehive. Her work revolves around a 50 cent plastic phone into which she screeches out her plans. I come into the office to ask how to receive permission to work in the music school to which she conveniently responds, "You have no permission to do anything!" She accepts my plans for clubs at School #15 (her idea) with a whistle and remarks, "I see you have plans for 3 clubs. Good. Three clubs here," and then manages to mutter "not a third or fourth, just three" under her breath. Her office is plastered with maps from classrooms and plants from teachers' offices and still she asks when I can write grants for computers. I see she is without one. Eventually I leave the meeting with a vague concept of the theme of our conversation and a fresh reminder of my childish Russian skills.

While I am pondering how I can sneak my way into the permission-holding world, a woman notices my violin and asks if I'm the girl who plays at the music school. I reply that I am, checking over my shoulder for permission-hoarding Svetlana. Apparently this woman has been told that the violin program has been closed for years, and she is hoping her daughter can study with me. I tell her that I only take students with instruments, explaining that I'm a volunteer from America. She looks surprised and gushes over my Russian. This of course leads to the subject of English lessons--could her son learn? I discover that her son is in 5th grade at my school. "Well, I work there, too!" I say. I tell her to have her son sign up for my clubs. She tells me that both clubs and a violin are too expensive, and then she almost has a fit when I tell her the clubs are free. All this takes place on the street at a normal rate of speech . She practically pinches my cheeks right there, realizing a new hope for some education for her kids. She doesn't even realize that she's giving me a reason to stay and teach.

Each day my self-reflection goes from one extreme to the other. The higher level the person is, the less they want my presence. I didn't know until today how my presence can help one family in so many ways. I ignored Svetlana because of this mother. I teach secretly without the official stamp, and no one is the wiser. The mother saw that someone was willing to teach for free, and whether or not her kids take advantage of my presence, she knows there are people who want to help. I'm here to keep her spirits up as much as anything else.

And, in turn, I came home and studied Russian, understanding that if someone wants to make language difficult for you, they can. It's those who WANT to communicate that make language worth learning.