Valentine’s Day is a day I’ve always enjoyed more in theory than in fact. The idea of a day where you express the love you feel for the people around you with cards and presents, giving full voice to the emotions you have all year but never make the time to say, is a great idea. It’s thoughtful and kind and considerate and challenges people to delve into their hearts and appreciate just how important love and relationships are for a healthy and satisfying life. Before coming here I read about how a volunteer up in the far reaches of Dashaguz was assigned to a village which had never heard of Valentine’s Day. She organized a large and lavish Valentine’s Day lesson with red and pink construction paper, stickers, glue and glittering sprinkles, and heart-shaped cookies and chocolates. In the following days she saw knowledge of the holiday spread and become celebrated by young and old alike exchanging cards and expressions of love in English and Turkmen. It was a lovely story and as Single’s Appreciation Day approached, I kept thinking of it and if I had the enthusiasm to do the same.
Now I’d love to say that I threw a Valentine’s Day carnival with a parade, flowers, and a spectacular spread of joy and love. I’d love to say that I introduced a previously unknown holiday into the lives of the Turkmen people and taught it in its purest form devoid of the CVS plastic accruements and relationship anxiety now integral to celebration in the states. The reality was a little less impressive (perhaps a curse on the holiday worldwide to always not quite meet expectations). I tacked on to the end of my fourth-grade lesson on city vocabulary, “hey, kids, it’s Valentine’s Day and you should make a card for your mother.” I taught some key English phrases and relationship-vocabulary, summarized the story of St. Valentine and the legendary origins of the holiday and how it’s celebrated in the United States (give chocolate to everyone you don’t want to offend), and let them go.
My cute Valentine moment came, however, not from a lavish lesson plan but rather an hour later when two of my fourth-grade boys hesitantly tapped on my classroom door. They entered giggling and blushing, thrust their notebook-paper cards into my hand, and scampered off. As I read their messages I could hear them giggling and pushing each other in the hallway. On identically misspelled cards they’d written on the outside, “I love you Annine.” Inside, both wrote: “Hellow Annine. I love you. You are excellent. Friend, boy friend? I like you. You are my best friend.” A moment later they peeked their heads through the door, chorused “Goodbye, Annie!” and sprinted down the hallway. I doubt they stopped running until they were off school grounds. When I passed one on the street earlier this evening he blushed so red I thought he might faint. When I think about the kids here I wonder how anyone can have the heart to leave early.
Now I’d love to say that I threw a Valentine’s Day carnival with a parade, flowers, and a spectacular spread of joy and love. I’d love to say that I introduced a previously unknown holiday into the lives of the Turkmen people and taught it in its purest form devoid of the CVS plastic accruements and relationship anxiety now integral to celebration in the states. The reality was a little less impressive (perhaps a curse on the holiday worldwide to always not quite meet expectations). I tacked on to the end of my fourth-grade lesson on city vocabulary, “hey, kids, it’s Valentine’s Day and you should make a card for your mother.” I taught some key English phrases and relationship-vocabulary, summarized the story of St. Valentine and the legendary origins of the holiday and how it’s celebrated in the United States (give chocolate to everyone you don’t want to offend), and let them go.
My cute Valentine moment came, however, not from a lavish lesson plan but rather an hour later when two of my fourth-grade boys hesitantly tapped on my classroom door. They entered giggling and blushing, thrust their notebook-paper cards into my hand, and scampered off. As I read their messages I could hear them giggling and pushing each other in the hallway. On identically misspelled cards they’d written on the outside, “I love you Annine.” Inside, both wrote: “Hellow Annine. I love you. You are excellent. Friend, boy friend? I like you. You are my best friend.” A moment later they peeked their heads through the door, chorused “Goodbye, Annie!” and sprinted down the hallway. I doubt they stopped running until they were off school grounds. When I passed one on the street earlier this evening he blushed so red I thought he might faint. When I think about the kids here I wonder how anyone can have the heart to leave early.
1 comment:
Keep up the good work over there. You may not have showered for five days, you may not speak their language perfectly, but remember, you are the face of America to these wonderful people in your village.
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