Funner and Lighterer

(Matt)

Thanks everyone for your encouraging and thoughtful responses to my last post about the pervasive "gravity" here in Moscow. I was uplifted in reading your comments and I'd like to continue thinking "out loud" about this topic--but in future posts, not now.

Since it's now 10:06 and I wanted to go to bed at 10, I have -6 minutes to present a topic I've been wanting to present for a long time: survival tips for Moscow. I think it's worth the time. Here are some of my most important pieces of advice for living in the big city:

• Dress in the height of fashion. You all know how thoroughly I pay attention to my wardrobe ("City Creek" is my trademark style, according to fashion experts), but I look like "late 90s boy" (I really wanted to write "City Geek") here in the crowd at the metro stations. If you're not wearing "Rave Girl" or "Jump Flight" brands (or at least carrying a bag from these stores), then you're just not cool. It also seems fairly common to wear jeans with some kind of "white-out" looking writing on them. Occasionally, the writing will present recognizable words (mostly English), but more often Russians seem to like white shapes on their blue jeans (stars, triangle, etc.). I'm not yet sure why, but I'll keep you posted. Oh, and they LOVE Cosmo, GQ, and all the other fashion magazines, so those of you who read these (and you know who you are!) would feel right at home here.
• Know how to give directions. I was proud of myself today when someone asked me where the "Leninski Prospekt" station was and I was able to point and tell him "to the left" (it was actually to the left and THEN to the right, but I'm sure he managed OK). Before today, I have usually been overwhelmed when someone starts barraging me with Russian words, and in such situations I usually just nod and point somewhere with my eyes. I suspect that such actions have left many a frustrated Muscovite jumping out of the Metro train only to find that, in fact, they were NOT at "Pushkinskaya" station, and I am quite sure that other direction-seekers have, on the confidence of my nod and eye-point, happily trudged off in the complete opposite way of their destination, unsuspecting of my treachery. Also, I have until recently confused the word "na-prava" ("to the right") with "ne-pravda" ("not true"), which has resulted in some very stilted conversations:
  UNWARY DIRECTION-SEEKER: "Tell me please: where is Tverskaya Ulitsa?"
  ME: "Ne-pravda" ("not true")
  UNWARY DIRECTION-SEEKER: "How can a street be 'not true'?"
  ME: "Oh, I meant 'na-prava' ('to the right)"
  UNWARY DIRECTION-SEEKER: "No, let's take up your earlier thought--are you trying to suggest that, epistemologically, the 'street' in Russia today is radically different from what it was twenty years ago and, thus, essentially unknowable?"
  ME: "I lament the day that someone decided to forge the common phrase 'to the right' and the inevitably complicated phrase 'not true' out of the same words. Aaargh."
  (Many of my conversations end with an audible or inaudible "Aaargh.")
• Obtain the balance of a ballerina. As far as I can tell, the Metro trains are operated by 15-year old videogame addicts who get a sick pleasure out of watching people fall down. Just when you think you can predict the next motion of the train, steeling yourself at the perfect angle to absorb the shock, the train moves in a completely unexpected direction on a different axis, precipitating an inevitable and inevitably embarrassing tumble. Just last week, a sudden jolt sent me flying into the arms of the man behind me, who, with the appropriate amount of tenderness, shoved me back aright and cautioned me with an unmistakable glance not to fall in his direction again. For you see, Russians NEVER fall--this is one national operation they use to identify foreigners. While I have my feet spread apart, knees bent, at the ready, the passengers around me are (impossibly) standing flat footed, vertical, and feet together. I think they wear special magnet boots that keep them locked to the floor. There's no other way to explain it.
  (Oh, actually one Russian did fall into ME yesterday, but it was because the train made about a 60-0 mph stop, and this young man's fall was compounded by the falls of four other people behind him, who flew into him, domino-style. I happened to be holding onto a nearby handrail, and was able to absorb the tremendous force of all 5-10 people launched into my ribcage. I was proud of myself afterwards. A man of steel, I thought).
• Get to like "кефир" ("keefeer"). I'm not sure what it is, other than some kind of milk-product drink. But Russians love it, and Makinzie's Russian teacher told her very sternly that it must be good for you, since Russians have been drinking it forever and have (characteristically, I guess) very good digestive systems. We haven't tried it yet. I'm afraid it's liquid sour cream.
• Get to like new varieties of potato chips. Yes, Lays here come in the usual flavors (sour-cream and onion, cheese, and "natural") as well as in "Bacon" and "Crab" flavors. The Bacon Lays were immediately palatable; the Crab Lays not so immediately, but now I find them quite tasty. Just be sure not to talk to anyone for awhile afterwards (if you thought "dorito breath" was bad . . . Oh, and one more small comment, "честер" (as in "Chester the Cheetah") is very popular here.
• Don't wear Dallas Cowboys paraphernalia. (Sorry, Dad!) A student informed me that "cowboy" translates most literally in Russian to "smelly manure stable boy"--hardly fear-inspiring or laudable. The Russians I've encountered don't really know anything about the NFL anyway, so any attempts to remind them of the glories of Aikman, Emmit, Landry, Dorsett, etc., only meet with blank stares. Best to just stick with soccer jerseys, or Reebok (which seems to be very popular here).

OK, now 50 minutes later I really need to go to bed. I hope these tidbits of advice help demonstrate something my last post tended to overshadow: that there is still much to laugh about and enjoy in the city.

--Matt

Bedtime Stories

(Matt)
It's 11:30 on Saturday night and I should have gone to bed an hour and a half ago. But I have so many things I ought to share with you first, and truth be told I drank a cup of tea tonight after 7 pm against my better judgment, which (as those of you who are familiar with my intolerance towards caffeine well know) has given me enough jolt at least to make it through this post.

Reading your comments to our latest posts has made me realize two certainties: (1) I miss all of you and wish you could teleport out here for awhile to share our experiences; and (2) apparently I need to include more candid descriptions of bodily ailments in my posts, since Makinzie's revelation of her bout with ringworm now stands as the single most "commented upon" post to date. I see how it is--my painstaking literary craftsmanship apparently is far less interesting than my wife's skin fungus. OK, I can play the part of the author fading into obscurity, but let me say only this: be careful where you cast your favors; you may not want to encourage Makinzie any further in her decision to use turn our blog space into WebMD . . .

To tie up loose ends from my last post, I should announce the uncontested winner of the "name the instructions on Matt's barley porridge box Contest", which was expertly solved by Liam (did anyone doubt?). Four smiley faces, as Liam rightly determined, represents four happy people-- made so, apparently, by the correct measurement of 1 liter of water boiled along with the barley flakes they are to be enjoying. Liam, for your excellence in determining this enigma, I am recommending you for a prestigious post in the Department of Symbology at Harvard University. The rest of you need to read more folk remedy books and watch Mary Poppins again.

Many things have happened in the last few days that I want to tell you about, including:

• A trip to the Great War of the Fatherland Museum on Friday with our combined Russian language classes. We forgot our camera, but you can get a general idea of the museum from the pictures on this site:(http://www.peachmountain.com/5star/Museums_Great_Patriotic_War_Museum_Moscow.asp). I wish I had time to give an exhaustive account of the museum and its beautiful and moving dioramas of the WWII "beatvah's" (battles) on Russian soil, but it would take more words than I can spend right now. Only, when you imagine this trip in your mind, be sure to account for the full setting of a two-hour trip through a Russian museum where nothing is written in English, accompanied by a teacher who speaks only in Russian.
• Another "Student Night" at our house on Friday evening. This time, a new student named Alexander (Sasha) brought his guitar and we spent a great deal of the evening singing praise songs in both English and in Russian. Some of the songs they know surprised me, such as "Amazing Love", which seems still modern to me. The students also sang some very old Slavic church songs--beautiful, majestic, and sad. We took about twenty minutes of video during the night, so we can share some of these songs with you when we return.
• We found out that water is apparently back "on" in the northern area of Moscow, which means that the expected events Makinzie described in her previous post might not affect us. It seems that the Floridians will be staying in another part of the city as previously planned.
• I bought a "piryohg" today all by myself at a local kiosk. This is a big deal for me because I've been scared to engage in the transactional language of buying and selling so far. The little pastry was quite good but I was later a little sick in the stomach.

And while I could expand on these items and more, I really wanted to share two other concerns that have been on my mind throughout the day--thoughts about Russia and our purpose here. Just a warning: these thoughts are not "light" or "happy" reading.

First, I've been reading a book about the political changes in Russia during the late 1980s and the profound impact these events had on the people of the country. (The book is Lenin's Tomb by David Remnick.) Remnick is very forthright about the terrors initiated by Josef Stalin in Russia during the first half of the twentieth-century and includes interviews with hundreds of people who watched as their loved ones were kidnapped, imprisoned, or murdered without little cause. One particular passage relates a man's account of life in Magadan, a town on the far northeastern seabord of Russia where political prisoners were shipped to be killed: "Even in late spring, the ice was thick near the shore. It was on days like those that the tramp steamers could not make it through to the docks. The prisoners, many of them barefoot and dressed in rags, had to walk on the ice for the last mile to shore. [...] In a way, arrival was a relief, the journey had been such hell. The train trip to the far east from Moscow and European Russia was in cattle cars, and it took a month at least." This is one of the least depressing passages of the book--I'll spare you others. Remnick explains that 19,800,00 people were arrested in Russia between 1935 and 1941: 7,000,000 were executed.

Seven million! Now, I admit that this is not "news" and I am willing to grant that many of you already know much more about the history of oppression here in Russia than I do. But as I'm reading the details here on my own I'm thinking, why isn't this history taught in American schools? It would be unthinkable to leave out teaching the nightmare of the German concentration camps during the 40s, but we don't really seem to take much interest in the details of Soviet history, and I don't know why. My reaction here is less one of condemnation than incredulousness at my own ignorance.

But today a missionary friend here told us that they have a problem with finding Americans who are willing to stay in Russia long-term--people seem to come and go in somewhat rapid succession. Perhaps I'm forcing a connection, but I was left wondering if our lack of knowledge about Russia is partly a cause for the disinterest that this friend was describing. I know that I certainly was unprepared to find that the tragedy of Russian history is still manifest in the daily lives of the citizens around us. I have been slow to face the reality that life in Russia is still very, very hard, whatever the outward trappings of the society may betray. I see the evidence everyday as I watch the people in the metro--there's a national sadness and "weight" that I am only now beginning to recognize. I feel a responsibility to bear witness of these perceptions to you, even though I realize that it makes for rather uninspired bedtime reading.

"Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season" (T.S. Eliot). That's what happens when a post is finished at 1 in the morning.

I promise to write next time about "Rave Girl" (so far my favorite brand of clothing in Moscow) and the curious state of "djeenees" (jeans) in the city!

--Matt

Home

As I got to the university today, rode the bus over here with a student, I realize that this is my home right now. I feel this sort energy around me and in me as I come closer to the end of the 1 1/2 hour journey out here and am encouraged and blessed with joy as a result of my interactions with people today. I thank God for Nelly, a babushka (grandmother) who speaks only Russian, who tries so hard to have a 3/4 sentence conversation with me (acting out words so that we can connect). And, Vlad, a student whose liveliness is contagious and who is the spreader of so much joy in my classroom. And, Lily, a sweet 16 year old who is here from Siberia and has a spirit of peace that I am touched by. I am sweetly reminded that, for now, this where my energies and spirit should lie, which brings a smile to my face. This is my home.

There was an explosion at a sewage plant, which cut off water to some suburbs of Moscow. Three students are without water and will be staying with us tonight. Starting Sunday, we will have 5 people from a church in Florida that are going to help out with the student retreat this next weekend. I pray and am reminded that this flat that we have out here is not ours; I pray that I will gratefully give it over to His service and be a spreader of love as He touches those that enter our home.

-Makinzie

Roots and Rings

As I sit down to update on the goings on of the week so far and having every intention of doing so, I'm struck with this weight on my heart. . .with this sense of not belonging anywhere. After a not so productive/positive time in my Russian class (feeling a little confused as to whether or not I came out/should be out here to spend a part of my time each day in study and frustrated,, because of the time spent on language, with feelings of not being as productive/having this tangible object that I can see/touch as a result of my time out here) and being in the middle of this whole job hunt thing for Matt, I'm feeling that I don't belong anywhere. Granted, this is what I desired for my life. . .I want to not have things that hold me down to a particular location/way of thought just because that is the way it's supposed to be done. I'm wrestling with the effects of that idea of thought, though, and am questioning myself and wondering if that is an essentially good concept or were my desires flawed. Comments/thoughts anyone? Give it to me straight and honest. I can take it. I'm a tough girl.

-Makinzie

P.S. Here's an item of news (I'm looking over my shoulder to make sure Matt's not around; we all know how he doesn't appreciate the gross things in life, which I, on the other hand, find quite amusing). I very proud of myself after, what I hope, is a successful diagnosis my last ailment. . .ringworm. I managed to escape several outbreaks of it at school this past year but come all the way out to Russia to get this nasty little circle rash thing on my forearm. Luckily, I had been personal witness to the fungus (isn't that so gross? as I'm laughing to myself) so I new what the first signs of it were. I was able to go to the Apteka (pharmacy) and, in my limited Russian, successfully find an antifungal cream. Sorry if that was too much information for y'all. Let's hope I was correct in my diagnosis and am not harming my body with this mysterious Russian cream. I miss you guys.

Long Day

Today, as part of our Wednesday schedule, we went together to Makinzie's Russian lesson near the metro station, about a 15-minute walk. I have to admit that I was overwhelmed with the language for the first time today. As I listened to various Russian conversations along the way to the station and as I sat observing Makinzie's lesson today, I felt the burden of having learned so little so far and having so much further to go. It's frequently frustrating to have so much to "say" to people--from expressing kindness to asking questions--and to not be able to communicate except in short, simple phrases. The experience of being forced to communicate with the language capacity of a three year-old is certainly humbling, whatever else it may be.

For more positive news today, I tried to get ahead of my teaching last night by reading Edmund Spencer's The Faerie Queen, a work which I have somehow avoided until now. Having completed the first "book", I can highly recommend it to any of you who have been in an "epic" drought since the last Lord of the Rings film. I'm sure that if Peter Jackson was around in the 16th century, he would have directed a screen version of the epic (probably completing filming of all six "books" at once).

One other lighter note: after class today we went to the "universam"--Western-style grocery store--and among other things purchased a type of hot breakfast cereal made out of barley. When we arrived home, I decided to try to make a quick batch of it as a snack and also so that I would be familiar enough with the instructions that I could make a batch even at 6:00 am when I groggily step into the kitchen. Anyway, I turned over the back of the box to look at the directions, and was met with this enigmatic picture:

Of course. I thought. The picture obviously indicates the well-known measurement, "four smiley faces equals one jar". After a productive and well-needed period of laughter, I finally figured out the hieroglyph and successfully made my barley porridge. (Actually, I tried to make it without boiling the water for three minutes--only adding already-boiling water instead--so it wasn't very "successful" or, for that matter, good.) Can you figure out what the instructions meant?

OK, off to screen the first two acts of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing before I show them tomorrow in class. And then bed.

--Matt

Student Night

On Friday night (Sept. 15), Makinzie invited her introductory English classes over to our apartment for coffee, cakes, conversation, and a chance to get to know us better. We didn't know how the students would receive the invitation, but as it turned out they were very excited to come and stopped along the way to buy all kinds of Russian (конфети) "konfetti" (candy) and other goodies to bring with them. Far from reserved, the students practically burst into our home, wanting to know everything about every room in the apartment and hardly restraining themselves from jumping on the big master bed (maybe beds aren't typically as fluffy in Russia?). Overall, we had a wonderful and rewarding time with the students, learning some helpful Russian slang and in exchange providing essential American vocabulary such as "roasting marshmallows" (they've never done this) and the verb phrase "to kick out" (they wanted to know how to ask 'at what time will you kick us out?'). Below we will provide a list of some of the more interesting conversation topics.

• Moscow does not stand as an accurate representation of "Russia" in the students' minds. Moscow is sad, and busy, and difficult, they say. The students assured us that in other places in Russia people actually smile and are more welcoming as well.
• Americans speaking English to one another sound "like dogs barking" to the average Russian student. Makinzie in turn explained that rapid Russian conversation sounds like "bla bleddy bla zwa bla".
• "Xav'la", a Russian dessert made with sesame seeds, looks somewhat like a pile of regurgitated hay but in truth is quite yummy.
• In Moscow, it's OK to purchase and light off fireworks at just about any time of day. We found this out when several loud booming sounds startled us from our conversation--the students quickly explained that wealthy families in Moscow sometimes put on their own fireworks displays to entertain themselves in the evenings.
• If you go camping in Russia, you must be wary of the ritual of "Queen's Night". The first ones to fall asleep are properly punished with toothpaste and any other available cosmetics applied to their face and hair. (Not sure where the "queen" part comes in--perhaps from the excessive makeup of Queen Elizabeth?).
• "Mocha"--a familiar word in any American Starbucks--must be carefully applied in the Russian language. In our apartment we have coasters with a coffee theme on them, and the students kept pointing out to one another the one labeled "mocha" and laughing. They were reading it as "Mahch-A". Let's just say that a cup full of "Mahch-A"--also brown--is not something you would want to be drinking in Russia.
• These students have hard lives and busy schedules. All were amazed at the size of our apartment (enormous for Moscow standards) and several explained that they live in one-bedroom apartments the size of our entryway here (often with families of 4, 5, or more). On many weekends the students travel outside of Moscow to see their families. It's not unusual for the weekend to be taken up with a twelve-hour train ride each way, which must leave them exhuasted on Mondays. Many of Makinzie's students postponed trips because they were excited to be able to practice their English in conversation.
  

Altogether, a very enjoyable night for us as well as the students. Before they left, the students were adamant about planning the next time we could all meet, and in their excitement I'm not really sure that they could tell how grateful we were to host them. They left the house laughing as loud as they were coming into it!

(Picture, from left: STANDING--Makinzie, Malika, Igor, Matt; SEATED--Aska, Natasha, Vladimir, Laura Hill, Lily, Dasha).

“Droogha”: Part II of Matt’s account of the first days in Russia.**

Sept. 16

(Events of Sept. 4, 2006)

**Note: This “Part II” account of our first days in Moscow will be the last “novella” post I’ll add—from this point on I’m going to try to keep the posts shorter and more focused. (Makinzie’s comment: “people don’t want to read all that”).

When the phone rang at about 9 am on Monday morning (Sept. 4), I could not for the life of me remember where I was or what I was doing there. For a moment I felt as though I was in another world, until I remembered . . . yes, I was indeed in another world. The voice on the phone--Dr. Broersma the provost of RACU--said that someone was coming to help us navigate the subway to the university for this first time, since the route was a little tricky. The “guide” would be by in one hour. (Or in 30 minutes, depending on the busy-ness of the Metro). Struggling to remember the most basic functions of using motor skills and speaking primitive languages to one another, Makinzie and I scrambled to shower and prepare for our first real day in Moscow.

Andrey Timofyaev actually arrived in about 25 minutes, calling from our “Domaphone” (“Dom” means “house” in Russian) downstairs to let us know that he was ready whenever we were. We managed to gather all of our things and head out the door, but here we encountered our first problem. Our door apparently had, at first glance, about thirty-five locks. Later we narrowed this down to just three, but on that first day we spent close to ten minutes trying to figure out how to lock our door. We finally got one of the three locked, which was good enough for the time being, and then we moved on to . . . another lock. Yes, our apartment opens into a very narrow “lobby” with four other apartments, and this lobby also had a lock to be navigated. Done, we made it downstairs to the ever patient Andrey and headed off to the first stage of our journey—the Metro (subway) station.

Andrey was very kind to speak in English with us during the ten-minute walk to the Kon’Kovo metro station. In the Metro, it was another matter. First of all, getting down into the actual station is an adventure that reminds me of the trip down into the Sonora Caverns in Texas. If Andrey hadn’t been with us, we probably would still be meandering the underground chambers of the station. There are eight exits/entrances at each station, and in the tunnels connecting each exit to the main platform there are hundreds of little shops selling jewelry, magazines, school supplies, and—I took special notice—really cheap video games and DVD’s (more on this later). It’s a fun little place once all the unfamiliarity has gone away.

Second of all, we quickly learned that there are very clear if unstated rules about how one behaves on the Metro. If you would like to talk to Andrey Timofyaev about the route to the Metro, do you? No—keep silent and keep your head down. If you are bored during the one-hour trip from station to station, are you allowed to look around at the other people riding to work? No—again, head down and eyes stationary. Can you smile? No. Can you wear bright clothes? No. More importantly, can you read something to pass the time? Well, maybe—but only if you can read standing up, and don’t mind other people reading along with you.

After the one-hour subway ride, we found ourselves scurrying out into daylight again near a familiar sight—a Makdonald’s (be sure to pronounce the “o” long)—which proved to be a helpful route marker. Passing up the comforts of beef-fried potatoes for the time being, we made it to the bus stop, hopped a “marshutka” shuttle bus, and at last arrived at the “temporary” RACU campus. One and half hours later.

Because RACU is moving buildings while a new campus is being built, the state of the school when we arrived on Monday morning was somewhat chaotic. This chaos, while no doubt lamentable for the RACU staff, was actually a boon for two Americans with no idea about what was going on. As it turned out, many people at RACU were in the same state of mind for a few days. The picture posted along with this text documents the situation quite well. Before moving on, I should describe the present “campus” of RACU. The school has taken over a mid-size “cultural center”, which also houses an Evangelical Church, some kind of video library (maybe connected with the church?), and a small bistro that so far has intimated me. The complex is not without beauty, and the walls and floors are some kind of white marble, with a large stained glass mural as you enter the lobby. A large room in the center of the complex serves as the church sanctuary (and also apparently the RACU honors program, although I’ve never seen the latter), and long hallways flanking the sides of this central room offer several classrooms and also office space for the RACU staff. The building has two floors and also an enormous basement and attic. I’ve only peeped into the attic, but it was creepy enough (a dark space in an old, ceremonial building) to make me want to come back and explore. The “prepodovatyilskaya” is on the second floor in the far northwest corner of the building, and two floors below (in the basement) is a small computer lab with about 15 computers. (In between is a room whose function I haven’t yet been able to divine—at one time the copier machine was located in it, but now I think a Russian-Christian rock band practices there !?).

To continue with the narrative, I’ll say that I had the pleasure of being able to teach Sociolinguistics at 15:30 (we use “military” time in Moscow) on my first day in Russia. Those of you who had encounters with me before I left California remember that I was slightly nervous about teaching this subject since I had never taught it before, and eventually I had to concede that the first day would be less informative than I would have hoped for (mostly since I first had to learn what sociolinguistics actually was). After a laughable attempt to find lunch at a bistro near the school, Makinzie and I sat down in the “prepodovatyilskaya”—roughly, a teacher’s lounge—and tried to focus on getting ready for the week’s teaching. In addition to the Sociolinguistics class on Monday (at about 4 pm), I had British Literature on Tuesday at 10 am and then an advanced Shakespeare class at 10 am on Monday. Three brand new classes in another country, and I was feeling a little nervous about the preparation.

Imagine my surprise, then, when an elderly Russian woman came up beside me and emphatically tried solicit my attention (in Russian):

WOMAN: (Something unintelligible in Russian, pointing toward my papers)
ME: Excuse me? (in Russian)
WOMAN: (Something else unintelligible in Russian, more emphatically this time)
ME: I’m sorry, I don’t understand (in Russian)
WOMAN: Your lesson is now (in Russian, pointing to the clock)
ME: No, it’s only 14:10. (in broken Russian, very confused)
WOMAN: No, the clock has died (in Russian, showing me her watch, which indicates the *correct* time of 15:40)
ME: Aah! (in Russian, although it sounds the same in English)

(At this point the woman signaled me to follow her, and I obediently trailed her down the hallway, around the corner, and through a door where seventeen Russian students were trying to suppress smiles as their teacher excused himself sheepishly for coming in ten minutes late.)

So, my teaching career in Russia began with slight humiliation and embarrassment—maybe the best way to begin, overall, since it put me closer to the students.

The first class went pretty well, aside from the fact that I had to navigate between what to call the two Ksenia’s, two Natalya’s, two Anastasia’s, two Evgenia’s, and two Olga’s (17 students, 12 with the same combinations of names). I could tell immediately that the students were very bright and very eager to learn. Most of them had completed several courses in linguistics and thus were excited about adding a “social” element to what they had already studied; moreover, all of the students readily, enthusiastically, and unashamedly entered a discussion about why sociolinguistics was important in a Christian university. I was both surprised and pleased at their preparedness.

In our letter announcing our trip, I had suggested that one of our primary reasons for going to RACU was to involve ourselves in the lives of students who would eventually become leaders in Russia and in their communities. How exciting to be in my first class, tired after a long journey, and be able to reflect that our vision to encourage the faith of Russian students was already beginning to be realized. Class ended comfortably, and I was excited at the end of the evening to be part of these students’ lives.

That first night, as Makinzie and I followed Oksana, our “student escort”, homebound through the maze of bus terminals and subway tunnels, I witnessed another sign that we were indeed supposed to be here in Moscow. Walking slightly behind Makinzie and Oksana, I watched as the Russian student tenderly took Makinzie’s arm and put it through her own, the two of them continuing silently together, arm in arm, along the subway platform.

The Russian word for friend is “droogha” (друга), and it is reserved for close, personal friendships. I don’t know if we have been called “druzhya” yet by any of the Russians we know, but after the first day I knew that the possibility for being allowed into these students’ lives was real.

--Matt

"Next time I want talk to you about . . . birth control"

The past few days, after a not so successful time during the last few minutes of class on Tuesday, I've been struggling with the idea of how/if to fit in with the culture here. I think out of a nervousness regarding the police and our perception of how Russia as country treats foreigners, Matt and I the first week strove to blend in with the people as much as possible. We would not make eye contact with people, be silent on the metro, be cautious as we do our daily living outside of our apartment, yada, yada, yada in order to not be noticed.

That brings me to our metro trip to the university today. . .Sitting in my seat trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, reading my book, keeping my eyes down, I felt these eyes staring at me (you know, how you can tell when someone is looking at you). I looked up at met the gaze of Russian man--he stared at me for like ten minutes straight until I got off to change subway lines. When I got on the purple line going to the university, I encountered the same situation again--fifteen minutes of awkward meetings of eyes and me looking down as the guy continued to stare. Visually, I don't think I stand out in comparison to the average Russian person, which made it all the more strange to be the focus of gaze for minutes upon end.

Both of those instances on the subway brought to the forefront the issue I had been wrestling with all week. As a person trying to be about and share love, can I/should I be happy with just blending in?

I think I mentioned before that I've been meeting with students individually and in small groups outside of class to practice English, talk about life, etc. One of my meetings earlier today with Bogdan, a student who is always either asking questions or laughing this great, big, Santa Claus, jolly kind of laugh, (the time) went really well in terms of English acquisition. He is starting to feel more comfortable speaking English, and then, he said this statement that floored me . . . "next time, I want to talk to you about . . . birth control." Did I hear that right? Did he really want to talk about the many ways to prevent pregnancy? Did he want details, information about different methods? I was cracking up as all these thoughts were going through my head. I regretfully asked him to explain himself to make sure I understood what he was talking about which was followed by a much too much graphic gestural and vocal pantomime of a woman giving birth. It turns out he just wanted to have a discussion about whether I agree or disagree with actually using any form of birth control (which is a point of talk for another time). Bogdan went to class right after that; I was just sitting in some seats in the university lobby, feeling really raw and exposed.

I realized at that point that this is what I had been avoiding all along as I tried to blend in. Why, though? I normally don't shy away from being "real." Why is it so different out here? It just kind of hit me at that point--how silly I had been for this past week. I feel called to help facilitate this strong push out here; I shouldn't be hiding/blending in. It took staring eyes and awkward questions to realize that.

Anyhow. . . those have been my thoughts these past few days. We're having our first group of students over tomorrow night and are hoping to make it a weekly thing; we're not sure the format--I feel like we need to just be open to want the students are craving and wanting. Your encouragement through prayer would be much loved for tomorrow night.

We love y'all-
Makinzie

Awake at 6:07 pm

I just read Kinzie's post from last night (actually this morning). Guess who's NOW dreaming happily in the other room? To bed at 4pm. Must be nice, huh? :-)

The weather-beaten ride into clouds of unknowing, darkness, and fear: Part I of Matt’s account of the first days in Russia.

(Events of Sept. 2-3, 2006)

Most of you last saw us physically sometime around 10 pm on Friday, Sept. 1. You probably thought that we would be wanting to hurry off to bed to rest for our big journey the next day, but you would be wrong—well, sort of. One of us (I’ll let you guess which one) really wanted to go to sleep as early as possible that night; the other thought that a good night’s rest was overstated as a prerequisite to safe and pleasant travel. End result: we went to bed at 2:00 am and got up at 4:00 am to get to Ontario airport (thank you, Liam!). What better way to begin a 20+ hour flight than with two hours of sleep?

Made it to our Ontario flight with at least seven minutes to spare—no problem. We had flown this leg about eleventy-billion times, so we cruised into DFW airport having rested a little bit and plenty ready for the real “start” of the journey. We were met at DFW by Mom and Dad Conley and, as a surprise (or the result of deliberate subterfuge) also Marci and Melinda (Kinzie’s twin sisters). We had good times using our four hours of layover in Dallas to eat a last American meal at Bennigans (monte cristo’s are GREAT for pre-flight food) and to completely repack our four 50 lb. suitcases. There’s no living like having your most private possessions strewn all over the in-row airport benches as onlookers stroll by. We could have had a sale and made some money, I think. In the end, because British Airways only allowed one “notebook-sized” bag per traveler as carry-on baggage, we had to make some fast and tough decisions (which Kinzie, you know, is very good at making). Makinzie really had the worst of it, having packed enough clothes and shoes to begin a little “magazine proezhda” (clothing store) in Moscow when we came, but I also had to sacrifice a few pairs of underwear in order to bring a full-size jar of peanut butter, which of course I was terrified to do without.

After a tearful goodbye, we found our gate and had time to snag a last Ben&Jerry’s coffee drink before we boarded the plane and waited with anticipation for the engines to take us away from America. The night before, Liam Vega, Tavo’s son, had been excited that Makinzie and I were going to get to fly a “rocket ship” to Russia. I tell you, as I sat watching the landmarks of Dallas growing smaller and smaller, I really did feel like I was leaving familiar earth.

***

I have decided that I like London and I like British Airways: London, because it’s green and noisy and somewhat mysterious and proper and just how I imagined it ought to be; British Airways because they give passengers blue dress socks to wear and a little toothbrush kit that—ironically—one can’t really take off the plane if one is continuing on another flight. They also have personal TV screens and a nice selection of classical audio channels, as well as noisy British rock music. We had no problems at all with our nine-hour flight from DFW to London; we slept pretty well and I even was able to successfully put off studying Sociolinguistics by watching a wonderful documentary on the world’s deepest caves and mines (did you know that TauTona in South Africa goes about 3.6 km below the earth’s surface? If any of you are planning a trip I want to come too.) The “brits” staffing this flight weren’t particularly warm, and I had quite enough of the orange juice man who, for some reason, brought a tray around at during the early hours of the morning, but my opinion of the BA staff would change later (ooh, foreshadowing—exciting!). The bus drive from Gatwick to Heathrow turned out to be painless, and in fact, I was enchanted the entire time by the South London scenery. For an English major who has never seen England, this was a memorable hour. I queried Makinzie about the possibility of relocating our mission to London—perhaps an internet-class in Russia facilitated through England—but she pointed out the important reminder that there might be really cheap video games in Russia, and I was willing to go forward.

In Heathrow airport we had a more significant reminder of purpose. Navigating through the various elevators and stairs of Heathrow, we happened to meet a young man named Charlie Cahill, who had been on our flight from DFW and who was heading to Germany to study the language. After speaking with Charlie for awhile, we found out that he was a believer from Oklahama and that he was hoping to use his time in Germany to build relationships and strengthen his faith. We had a good prayer time together in a little corner of the airport and found a reluctant British gentleman to snap a picture of us all (which should show up alongside this text). It was heartening to find another pilgrim along the way, and we hope that Charlie is doing well in his first days of language study. (He didn’t know where he was going to sleep that night when he arrived in Germany!).

We wearily arrived at the terminal in plenty of time for our next flight, which had been delayed because of problems with the crew finding a bus to the airport (c’mon! A flight crew can’t drive their own bus!), and we steeled ourselves to stay awake for the flight so as to be able to sleep soundly once we arrived in Russia. Ah!—The naivety of youth! I was helped in my resolution by reading Sociolinguistics so as to actually know what to talk about on my first day of class on Monday; Makinzie was helped by “Nacho Libre”, which was the only in-flight movie for the four-hour Moscow leg. No blue socks and no personal TVs this time! In fact, as we chatted with a (much friendlier) flight attendant—Maria, who we won’t soon forget—during this leg, we found out that the Moscow flight is one of the more “primitive” that British Airways flies: unlike other cities, Moscow will not allow British Airways crew to stay overnight in the city, and so they have to fly back home immediately after the plane is re-fueled! I felt like we were being dropped off on a remote island (the sound of the plane engines dying away in the distance as we cry, “wait! wait!”).

Now, if any of you last Sunday or Monday were wondering “Why haven’t Matt and Makinzie called?” or “Why haven’t they updated their blog?”—here is the reason why (and the best part of the story so far).

Sunday evening, about 7 pm Moscow time: The flight into Moscow is preparing to commence landing. Nearing the arrival time and destination, the captain of the aircraft announces that we are beginning our final descent (a scary phrase, no?) into Moscow Domededovo airport, adding that there is stormy weather and that everyone should be in their seats and buckled in. Maria, our new flight attendant friend, sits in the jumpseat facing us (we’re on an exit aisle) and stows her things in preparation for landing. A light conversation begins, in which we inform Maria that we’re coming to Moscow for the first time, and in which she informs us of the “no stay over” policy of Moscow as detailed above. Suddenly, the plane rocks to the side a little bit. I notice Maria glance at the other side of the aircraft, where another flight attendant, also seated, has looked over towards Maria with an expression that makes me feel uncomfortable. I look out the window of the plane and am a little worried because we’re heading downward and I can’t see the ground. No problem. They’ve done this many times before. No worries. The conversation starts up again. Maria explains that she likes to fly to Switzerland the most, and that she’s not really fond of the Moscow flight because she gets in late. We hear a normal plane sound, and Maria says (with a BBC British accent), “That will be the undercarriage.” The landing gear has been released, and Maria looks a little relieved. She explains that she was worried before that we wouldn’t be able to land, but now that the landing gear is out we should be down in a minute or two. So, I realize, she is willing to sit here and talk about Switzerland in order to distract me from recognizing the sure doom of the aircraft. I look out the side of the window and am suddenly terrified. The sky is pitch black and the clouds so thick that I cannot even see the light on the edge of the wing some tens of feet away—the ground below us is nowhere in sight. We are racing noticeably downward, and my heartrate accelerates to about the same speed as the plane. I ask Maria if most plane crashes are survivable. No actually I didn’t—this was just a good way to keep up the continuity of the drama with a touch of humorous understatement.

But I do ask Maria if this is the worst storm she’s ever been in, and while I’m asking, we hear the landing gear go BACK UP! I catch another glance from Maria to the other flight attendant, and this time she looks even more worried. I immediately keen that Maria knows we are facing certain death. Maria says that she’s worried we’ll have to be diverted to another airport, which is bad for her because she will be delayed even further from returning home and she has forgotten to feed her cat in London. Not to be fooled, I recognize this statement as confirmation that the plane is about to burrow into the ground at 700 miles per hour. The captain comes on the intercom and says (basically), “There’s a really bad storm right now at Domedodovo airport, and we have decided not to risk your lives by trying to land in a tornado. We’re diverting from Domedodovo to the other airport in Moscow. Sorry I couldn’t talk before, but we narrowly avoided smashing the plane into thousands of tiny bits and I had to concentrate.” I am not consoled so easily. However, as we make the extra trip to Sheremetyevo airport, I notice the sky becoming gradually clearer. By the time the landing gear comes out again, I can actually see a lighted city below the aircraft, and I am much more at ease. Maria assures us that the airline will arrange for our travel to the other airport, and we in turn assure her that her cat will be OK. Makinzie, by the way, has been disappointingly unphased by any of the preceding drama of death and aircraft destruction: she is in “go mode” to find our ride and get “home.”

An interesting story, that of our ride “home.” Whenever one plans to fly into an airport on the extreme southern side of a metropolis and then ends up flying into an airport on the extreme northern side of that same metropolis, great problems arise. Planes can fly this distance in minutes. Apparently, it takes a ground vehicle significantly more time to make the same journey. I’ll save the story of the airport waiting for the next time we meet, but you should know that it was filled with attempts to force connections between us and random people holding up signs in the new airport (no, “H” was not waiting for us, nor was “McKinsey and Company” or “University”) as well as a trip to a scary and near-deserted bar on the seedy fourth floor of the airport in search of an internet connection. Makinzie apparently is right in EVERY tense situation, for her advice to wait for our ride to make it from one airport to the other (countered by my suggestion to attempt to call her mom so that she could look up our number for our contact in Russia which we didn’t have) was ultimately right. Dr. Broersma, provost of RACU where I would be teaching in just a few hours, picked us up sometime around midnight Moscow time and we walked—or stumbled, rather—into our new “home” at about 1 am.

As for what happened next, you’ll just have to wait for the next episode . . .
Unless all of this text absolutely bored you, in which case you may not ever be reading my posts anymore . . .

Awake at 4:39 a.m.

So . . . I'm sitting here in the study (we got internet at home, by the way) awake at almost 5 in the morning while Matt is peacefully dreaming in the next room (must be nice, huh?). . .I realize I haven't posted since last Tuesday.

A few informational points. . .I have begun taking Russian in an intensive language program that is located just a 10 minute walk from our flat (the instructor made one of the students cry on the 3rd day--she's really a nice lady, though). . . We have a 1 1/2 hour each way metro/bus trip--on which I have tried to do as the locals do and read during my 3 hour journey (can y'all believe it? I'm actually trying to read for enjoyment. . .who'd have thought) I've picked up The Voyage Out by Virginia Woolf, partly because I like the title and the sentiment it entails and partly because Matt's a huge Woolf fan. . .The most exciting news is I have had my first week of classes--where true connections are starting to form (thanks for lifting us up).

I have been struck by some words a dear friend gave as we were leaving. It was something to the effect of encouraging us to have wisdom and creativity to partner with what God is doing out here. I have been focusing in on being creative as we partner with the current work being done out here but don't really know how to do or rest in that. I see this desire and yearning on the part of the students to see Jesus in those around them and to make true connections with people at the school. I'm sorry I'm just rambling. Anyhow, I pray for blessings and openness on the individual time I've set up with the students to work on English and to just share, as well as a continued strengthening of the bond of community we are working towards in the classroom. Since the class I'm teaching is an English Listening and Speaking class and I wasn't given a real guideline of what to follow, we've taken the last few minutes of class to praise and encourage eachother in our walks. We had a time of prayer at the end of class--I was touched to hear beautiful prayers in Russian spoke as well as students earnestly, in their broken English, lift their hearts to God. At the end . . .there were tears. I pray His hand on those precious minutes, that language barriers would continue to be broken on both ends and that we would continue to laugh.

Goodnight (hopefully I'll be able to sleep)-
Makinzie

Foreshadowing

I'm writing right now from the RACU computer lab, which is where all of Kinzie's posts have come from and is also where, intermittently and at apparently random times, we are booted out of the room so that classes can take place. Consequently, I have not had time to share with you the stories and anecdotes that are already mounting up. The lovely DSL that was promised for our apartment is not yet working, and so we are only able to catch a few minutes of time in the computer lab every day to do internet stuff. Hopefully our Internet situation will be solved today or at least by Monday, and then you can expect several tomes of "first" posts from Russia from me (this one doesn't count).

OK, I'll type for a few more minutes as everyone in the lab seems to be occupied. I'm here right now to begin lessons in Russian with Nelly Roslyakova (always use first names and patronymic "middle" names to be respectful in Russia; my students informed me that my respectful Russian name is "Matvey Patrickovich", while Makinzie's is "Makeenzy Steevovna"). I had assumed that many of the faculty would be learning Russian also. No. I think that Makinzie and I in fact are the only ones in Moscow who don't know the language. Actually, there is another--Laura Hill, daughter of Intervarsity president and chief executive officer Alec Hill. Laura knows more Russian than I do, but we're close to the same level and so we're going to meet with "professor" Nelly a couple of times a week.

Oh, I've been told in Russian now to pack up and head out. At least I think that's what was said--spoken Russian frequently sounds angry and urgent. This weekend we'll be inputting email addresses and sending out an update via email. But please let everyone who would be interested know about our blogsite, as this is the easiest way for us to communicate with most of you.

Stay tuned for a full account of our first five days in the motherland.

--Matt

Address

Here's our info while we're out here. . .

ul. Akademika Artsimovicha dom 9, kor 1, kv 81
Moscow 117437 RUSSIA
Phone number (from the US): 011-7-495-779-3916

I feel so lost at times. None of the signs are in English and all the words sound so foriegn. When Matt and I walked down the streets yesterday to find a place to eat, I felt like a child. I was looking around at all of the signs in Russian, trying to sound them out and pick out words I understood; after yesterday, I can recognize 24 hour bank, metro, and cafe. . .That's a start, right?

As we travel to and from the flat, to and from the market, to and from the school, I am trying to get a grasp on the people here. Everyone crams into the metro, bodies squished together, and no one speaks or looks at eachother--if they do, they turn away quickly. I wrestle with how to connect--I feel this urgency because we are here only for a few short months.

As I begin my first class in just a few hours, I hope to truly connect with the students even within this first class setting. That is my prayer, Father, that you grant me opportunities to touch and to be touched today.

-Makinzie

27 hours later . . .

After 27 hours of traveling, we've made it! Our flight to London was actually refreshing, and we were able to get some much needed sleep. My favorite line out of Matt's mouth was when we landed in London was, "I love it." We were touched and encouraged by people we met along the way of our trip out here and felt the Spirit holding our hand and we made this journey. As I reflect on our first 12 hours here, I am a bit overwhelmed by the lack of my knowledge of the language and request prayers for knowledge of how to prepare for this Listening/Speaking class I will teach tomorrow. I sense this real need to be bold (maybe that is because of the short time we have out here). Better get to work. . .

-Makinzie