The reason I have a friend in the Republic of Georgia is the Georgian government’s education reform project called Teach and Learn with Georgia (“TLG”). It’s the brainchild of the pro-west President Mikhail Saakashvili. This year—the pilot year—brought almost 700 native speaking English teachers to Georgia and placed them in public schools throughout the nation to help teach English. My friend James is one of those teachers.
Originally placed in the capital Tbilisi, James was moved out to the western town of Samtredia. Luckily, I got to spend a few days at Samtredia Public School 2 and his previous school in Tbilisi to see the Georgian school system and the current reforms in action.
To say the least, Samtredia PS 2 was a strong check on my reality.
The building. It’s old and it’s dilapidated. It has no lights, few if any electrical outlets and a manual electric bell that is sometimes rung on time. The building is unheated. Some classrooms have the reminisce of where a wood burning stove used to sit, but those have been removed in all but one classroom for the youngest students. The ceilings are tall; the floors are wooden and well warn. While the building smelled of fresh paint, it was clear that it hadn’t seen a new coat since Brezhnev. There is no plumbing.
The classrooms had doors, but many did not shut fully or were damaged by use and time. Most had makeshift locks. The chalkboards came in two varieties: one that resembles the memory of a chalkboard and the other that no longer functions as a one. Chalk itself was a prized commodity; it was never left in the room and always held protectively by one of the teachers. Where there would be clocks in American schools, there were clusters of Orthodox Icons. The only student art that hung in classrooms at PS 2 was by proactive students looking to brighten their otherwise drab learning experience.
Chickens roamed the courtyard. It was unclear to me whether these were the school’s chickens, neighborhood chickens or just free range, urban chickens. Whatever the case, they congregated on the opposite side of the campus from the outhouses and aged basketball hoops.
The students were very warm and inviting, if not uncontrollable. Until James arrived in March, these students had never met an American. I was their second. The classes were rambunctious, and the teachers did little to reprimand them. In any given class, only one or two students had their books and at best one would’ve completed their assignment. To say the least, at times I was very happy to have left my teaching days behind me.
The teachers are left with a small 8x10 foot sanctuary on the second floor. The room had two desks, two cupboards, some chairs, a bench, a picture of David the Builder—a successful 12th century Georgian ruler and saint—and what I assumed was an out of tune piano. I was only able to speak to the English and German teachers, but they were all welcoming and interested in my stay in Georgia.
In fact, there are really only two things Georgians are concerned about when meeting a foreigner. In all of the classes I visited, James allowed for a Q&A of the new American. After they asked where I was from, I was inevitably asked one other question about myself: “Are you married?” I explained to them I had a lovely girlfriend back home at which point they demanded a picture. Laura Horton’s photo is now quite famous in Samtredia. Beyond that, students only cared to know my thoughts on Georgian food, music and dance—all positive, of course. I’ll elaborate on this more later, but Georgians are very proud of their culture and nation and want to make sure that their visitors feel the same.
It may sound as if I am being needlessly hard on this school; certainly, there were high points. The sixth grade class had more or less intact wallpaper, a new chalkboard, a working clock and most surprisingly an electrical jack. The upgrades were funded privately, I believe by concerned parents. We played Simon Says with them to teach new vocabulary. It was the most engaged class I saw in Samtredia and the only one I saw taking notes. I grew fond of this class on account of their excitement for learning English and because a few of the guys worked hard to imitate my fauxhawk. I tried to work with them to mold their little, dark heads of hair with varying degrees of success.
A week later, I visited Public School 87 in Tbilisi. This was a great contrast to Samtredia. The students were orderly, classes started on time and students had done their work. The teachers were also significantly better at English and at controlling the classroom. The other thing that PS 87 had, that was greatly missing in Samtredia, was lots of art and projects by students hung on the wall. Some of the classes had doves painted with the words “Stop Russian Aggression.” This was a stark reminder that only three years ago Russia had violated Georgia’s sovereignty and was shelling not far from PS 87.
During my visit to both schools, testing had begun of the graduating class. Every school in Georgia at this time has people from the Ministry of Education whom are part proctor, part bureaucrat and part state specter called Mandaturi. It is assumed that if given the chance students and teachers would cheat rampantly. A fact readily admitted to by both teachers and students. The Mandaturi are one of the many current reforms to try and improve Georgian education and make it more honest. In practice, the Mandaturi are two Western looking Georgians that sit behind a desk, listen to their iPods and drink mineral water while making sure no one crosses their desk and potted fern demarcation of the second floor.
On account of the Mandaturi’s presence at PS 2 in Samtredia, a concert a student had planned for me was cancelled. She wanted to play the panduri. No matter how much I support the reforms in Georgia, I will never forgive the Mandaturi for taking away my panduri concert. The consolation to this travesty was that one of James’ students sang a Georgian folk song and two other students did the traditional dance that accompanied it. It was no panduri concert, but the ad hoc folk dance was greatly appreciated.
If there is one common thread that I saw at these two schools it was that improvements have and are being made. The government isn’t sitting on its hands expecting the problem to solve itself. They are taking proactive and sweeping steps to enhance the facilities, teachers and quality of education (the TLG program is a great example).
In the spirit of reform and modernization, this fall’s first year students will each be given a laptop computer from the State. Georgia is hoping to create a tech savvy work force in light of the nation’s lack of industry and natural resources. I support the sentiment and believe that Georgia’s workforce will benefit from a greater use of technology, but in schools like Samtredia’s PS 2, they are going to need electrical outlets first.
Originally placed in the capital Tbilisi, James was moved out to the western town of Samtredia. Luckily, I got to spend a few days at Samtredia Public School 2 and his previous school in Tbilisi to see the Georgian school system and the current reforms in action.
To say the least, Samtredia PS 2 was a strong check on my reality.
The building. It’s old and it’s dilapidated. It has no lights, few if any electrical outlets and a manual electric bell that is sometimes rung on time. The building is unheated. Some classrooms have the reminisce of where a wood burning stove used to sit, but those have been removed in all but one classroom for the youngest students. The ceilings are tall; the floors are wooden and well warn. While the building smelled of fresh paint, it was clear that it hadn’t seen a new coat since Brezhnev. There is no plumbing.
The classrooms had doors, but many did not shut fully or were damaged by use and time. Most had makeshift locks. The chalkboards came in two varieties: one that resembles the memory of a chalkboard and the other that no longer functions as a one. Chalk itself was a prized commodity; it was never left in the room and always held protectively by one of the teachers. Where there would be clocks in American schools, there were clusters of Orthodox Icons. The only student art that hung in classrooms at PS 2 was by proactive students looking to brighten their otherwise drab learning experience.
Chickens roamed the courtyard. It was unclear to me whether these were the school’s chickens, neighborhood chickens or just free range, urban chickens. Whatever the case, they congregated on the opposite side of the campus from the outhouses and aged basketball hoops.
The students were very warm and inviting, if not uncontrollable. Until James arrived in March, these students had never met an American. I was their second. The classes were rambunctious, and the teachers did little to reprimand them. In any given class, only one or two students had their books and at best one would’ve completed their assignment. To say the least, at times I was very happy to have left my teaching days behind me.
The teachers are left with a small 8x10 foot sanctuary on the second floor. The room had two desks, two cupboards, some chairs, a bench, a picture of David the Builder—a successful 12th century Georgian ruler and saint—and what I assumed was an out of tune piano. I was only able to speak to the English and German teachers, but they were all welcoming and interested in my stay in Georgia.
In fact, there are really only two things Georgians are concerned about when meeting a foreigner. In all of the classes I visited, James allowed for a Q&A of the new American. After they asked where I was from, I was inevitably asked one other question about myself: “Are you married?” I explained to them I had a lovely girlfriend back home at which point they demanded a picture. Laura Horton’s photo is now quite famous in Samtredia. Beyond that, students only cared to know my thoughts on Georgian food, music and dance—all positive, of course. I’ll elaborate on this more later, but Georgians are very proud of their culture and nation and want to make sure that their visitors feel the same.
It may sound as if I am being needlessly hard on this school; certainly, there were high points. The sixth grade class had more or less intact wallpaper, a new chalkboard, a working clock and most surprisingly an electrical jack. The upgrades were funded privately, I believe by concerned parents. We played Simon Says with them to teach new vocabulary. It was the most engaged class I saw in Samtredia and the only one I saw taking notes. I grew fond of this class on account of their excitement for learning English and because a few of the guys worked hard to imitate my fauxhawk. I tried to work with them to mold their little, dark heads of hair with varying degrees of success.
A week later, I visited Public School 87 in Tbilisi. This was a great contrast to Samtredia. The students were orderly, classes started on time and students had done their work. The teachers were also significantly better at English and at controlling the classroom. The other thing that PS 87 had, that was greatly missing in Samtredia, was lots of art and projects by students hung on the wall. Some of the classes had doves painted with the words “Stop Russian Aggression.” This was a stark reminder that only three years ago Russia had violated Georgia’s sovereignty and was shelling not far from PS 87.
During my visit to both schools, testing had begun of the graduating class. Every school in Georgia at this time has people from the Ministry of Education whom are part proctor, part bureaucrat and part state specter called Mandaturi. It is assumed that if given the chance students and teachers would cheat rampantly. A fact readily admitted to by both teachers and students. The Mandaturi are one of the many current reforms to try and improve Georgian education and make it more honest. In practice, the Mandaturi are two Western looking Georgians that sit behind a desk, listen to their iPods and drink mineral water while making sure no one crosses their desk and potted fern demarcation of the second floor.
On account of the Mandaturi’s presence at PS 2 in Samtredia, a concert a student had planned for me was cancelled. She wanted to play the panduri. No matter how much I support the reforms in Georgia, I will never forgive the Mandaturi for taking away my panduri concert. The consolation to this travesty was that one of James’ students sang a Georgian folk song and two other students did the traditional dance that accompanied it. It was no panduri concert, but the ad hoc folk dance was greatly appreciated.
If there is one common thread that I saw at these two schools it was that improvements have and are being made. The government isn’t sitting on its hands expecting the problem to solve itself. They are taking proactive and sweeping steps to enhance the facilities, teachers and quality of education (the TLG program is a great example).
In the spirit of reform and modernization, this fall’s first year students will each be given a laptop computer from the State. Georgia is hoping to create a tech savvy work force in light of the nation’s lack of industry and natural resources. I support the sentiment and believe that Georgia’s workforce will benefit from a greater use of technology, but in schools like Samtredia’s PS 2, they are going to need electrical outlets first.
