Just call me Madame Ambassador

Okay, don’t actually call me that. I did, however, have my first class at the American Embassy on Monday. Going into the Embassy compound is just like going onto a military base – something I’m very familiar with from my days as the long arm of the law. Of course, back then, my badge would get me in wherever I wanted to go, unescorted. It was an odd feeling to have my things searched and to then be given a bright red MUST BE ESCORTED badge. Amazing how things have changed in my life in just three years. The compound had such an overwhelming US government feel, even though I only spoke with one American, and that was merely to say hello. So many buildings in the former Soviet Union are built of poured concrete, but the buildings of the embassy (at least in the part of the compound where I was) were made of standard US concrete blocks, covered in a thin veneer of bland paint, just like the innumerable government buildings I’ve been in during the course of my life. And it even SMELLED like a US government building: musty, vaguely mildewy, with a stale odor of coffee and that ubiquitous yet indefinable odor which makes one think good enough for government work.

Anyway, about my class: It’s a very low level class (still working on I am / he is / they are kind of stuff). I’d been told that they were very weak, so I’d prepared all sorts of activities to get them talking to one another in English, even if it was simply things like introducing themselves or their friends to each other. Unfortunately, while I’d expected three, possibly four, students, only one showed. He told me that one of the others was sick, and the other was considering dropping the class on account of not having liked the previous teacher. This meant I pretty much had to shelve all my interactive student-to-student activities, but I’d like to think the fellow got a lot out of his personal lesson. He’s the embassy’s plumber. We actually had a good chat (in both English and Russian) about the crackheads stealing my copper pipes, and about how stealing pipes is common in Kyrgyzstan, although here the thieves are usually common criminals, not наркоманки (drug users).

Part of the lesson dealt with nationalities. You know: He is from Germany, he is German. She is from Spain, she is Spanish. That sort of thing. Well, you’d think that He is from Kyrgyzstan, he is Kyrgyz would be a perfectly legitimate thing to say. However, nationalities in this part of the world are a wholly different concept from what we think of back home. I mean, I have grandparents who were born in Europe, but if you ask my nationality, I’ll tell you that I’m American, not Irish or Scottish or Italian or whatever. Perhaps it’s because everyone in the US is an international mutt that makes us all adopt “American” as our nationality; perhaps it isn’t merely the countries of the former USSR which have trouble handling this question. However, I do know that this particular concept is difficult for the entire land of Central Asia. My student and I had just gone over He is from Kazakhstan, he is Kazakh, She is from Uzbekistan, she is Uzbek, They are from Kyrgyzstan, they are Kyrgyz, and I asked him What is your nationality? His answer? I am Ukrainian. Apparently both his parents and all his known ancestors were born in Ukraine, although he was born in Bishkek (and, oddly looked more like an ethnic Kyrgyz than an ethnic Ukrainian or Russian). I didn’t press the issue or try to make him adopt the American point of view, that he is Kyrgyz, since ethnicity is still a big deal in this part of the world. Passports here have your ethnicity printed on them, and there’s definitely a division in the north between ethnic Russians and ethnic Kyrgyz. In the south, ethnic Uzbeks add tension to that mix – I believe the Uzbeks and the Kyrgyz massacred one another in Osh in the early 90s. And of course there are ethnic Uighars, Dungans, Chinese, Koreans, etc all floating around the country as well. Unlike the alleged melting pot of the US, where we all at least dress ourselves in the veneer of American nationality, these groups are far from ready to coalesce into something wholly and intrinsically Kyrgyz.

Burana Tower

On Saturday Kendje, my boss (kind of the Galina Petrovna of The London School, for you AH folks) took me and Austin (the other new teacher) to Burana Tower with some of her friends and family. This is apparently something they do with all new teachers, and it was really a wonderful trip. The weather on Saturday was still warm, sunny and spring-like, with clear blue skies – excellent for photography.

We drove out of Bishkek around 11:00 in the morning, and began our trek eastward along what was once a branch of the Silk Road. Along the way, we drove through many small towns and villages. Every tiny town and village along the way had a brand new mosque, concrete, topped with a shiny steel cupola. We were told that these new mosques were constructed by Saudi Arabians, in an attempt to attract more Kyrgyz to the Muslim faith. Apparently, while the northern part of Kyrgyzstan is predominantly Muslim, they tend not to be overly serious about their faith. (Think about Christians you know go to church only on Christmas and Easter, but otherwise don’t think about it too much. The Islam of northern Kyrgyzstan is somewhat analogous.) In Bishkek, you see headscarves periodically, but they’re nowhere near as common as you might expect. Driving through these small villages on the way to Burana Tower, however, headscarves appeared to be substantially more common. We were also told that many of these mosques preach a fanatical Islam, espousing hatred of not only the West, but of all non-Muslims. I must admit that it made me think of the man in Waycross who invited me to attend a lecture on why the Bible says Muslims are evil. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, fanatics are everywhere.

We also learned that one of the small villages on the way to the city of Tokmok (either Kant or Ivanovka, I don’t remember) is home to a Russian air force base. This is especially interesting when you realize that the nearby village of Manas, home to the Bishkek airport, is also the location of an American air force base! (In fact, when you fly into Bishkek, the first thing you see – before you even see the buildings of the Manas Airport – is a long row of USAF fighter jets and transport planes.) I find it absolutely fascinating and rather mind boggling that here in Kyrgyzstan, not many kilometers from each other, sit both Russian and American air force bases. When I was asked why they were here, I was told the following: In 2000 (this was the date I was told, I haven’t confirmed it or anything) there were terrorist attacks in southern Kyrgyzstan. As a result, the Kyrgyz government invited the Russians and the Americans to set up bases on their territory to provide protection against terrorism. I’m not sure if this “protection” comes merely in the form of a deterrent, or if the Americans and/or Russians are actually involved in trying to root out terrorism here in Kyrgyzstan. I’ll have to try and find out more.

But moving on to Burana Tower... When we reached the city of Tokmok, we turned northward, and drove down a succession of narrow, winding roads until we reached the Burana Tower.


My first view of the tower...

Burana Tower, located about an hour east of Bishkek near the city of Tokmok, is all that remains of the ancient city of Balasagyn, once the thriving capital of the Karakhanid Empire. Apparently, at its height, the city manufactured exquisite glass and ceramics, had an elaborate city-wide irrigation/plumbing/sewer system built with fired-clay pipes, was home to scholars, poets and numerous religions (although in its later years it became a Muslim city), it was home to fierce warriors – male and female – and it was a major stop on one of the Silk Road routes (from the Torugart Pass out of China, past Lake Issyk-Kul through what is now Bishkek before heading further westward. Numerous spectacular archaeological finds have been uncovered at the site, although unfortunately, most were taken to museums in Russia during the time of the Soviet Union. The small museum which remains on the site houses only small fragments of artifacts, which are interesting, although somewhat depressing. Apparently, the entire site has yet to be excavated. There is a large hill, under which (supposedly) are the remains of an ancient mosque. However, there is no money for excavations.

When we arrived at the tower, our first item of business was to break out the food. We had a lovely picnic of hot tea, bread, pastries, cheese, sausage and hardboiled eggs. While we ate, a man rode by on a horse, and another drove past on a cart pulled by a donkey. In fact, while on our way to the tower, I saw many people using both such methods of transport.

By the time we were ready to explore the tower, a marshrutka stuffed with a group schoolboys on an excursion had arrived. While they all immediately ran to climb the tower, we explored the museum and the surrounding grounds.


This picture hangs inside the museum, and shows the tower in the early-1920s, before its restoration in 1927.

This is how the tower appears today.
The grounds surrounding the tower are filled with balbals, stone monuments to fallen warriors of ages past, and to ancient gods and goddesses.


I have no official explanation for what it's, um, doing...

This one looks quite snooty...

...meanwhile this one looks all fat and happy!

One of the few monuments with ancient script

Burana Tower, as seen from across the balbal garden

The Burana Tower museum and caretaker's house

There is also a large collection of ancient heiroglyphs

This photo was taken from atop the hill under which allegedly rest the remains of an unexcavated ancient mosque
Finally, the school kids cleared out, and we took our turn climbing to the top of Burana Tower. (The tower itself served both as a military watch tower for the town of Belasagyn and as a minaret for a nearby mosque.)


From the base of the tower

The winding staircase inside the tower was incredibly narrow and steep. The only light which illuminated it came from the camera's flash - and my headlamp, which I brought at the advice of the students. It put me in mind of the endless stair that Frodo, Sam and Gollum must ascend to enter Mordor. Luckily, this emerged somewhere much more pleasant!

The view from the top was stunning!

A close-up of the distant Tien Shan mountains

More view, with cows grazing below

Me, atop Burana Tower.
We were lucky that we traveled to Burana when we did; today the skies are grey and dreary and winter seems to have returned.

Friday Night Chinese

By Friday, I was feeling mostly better, and was left merely with a sore throat, a voice like an old crone, and a hacking cough. Yes, this was an improvement. Friday night some of the teachers, Jake (an American studying Russian at the London School), Ina and I met at a Chinese restaurant in downtown Bishkek (located roughly behind the circus). Jake used to live in China and apparently speaks fluent Chinese. He had been to this restaurant several times before, and had managed to befriend all the staff. Ina arrived first and was told there would be no tables available for at least an hour (the place *was* packed), but then Jake sweet-talked the employees into essentially kicking some people out of a table and giving it to us! Also, I have no idea how much food actually costs at this place, because Jake apparently got us a huge discount. Six of us shared numerous incredibly delicious dishes and had two to three beers a piece, and the total came to around 1300 soms. For the massive amounts of food and drink we got, that was unbelievably cheap.

Anyhow, when we first entered this restaurant, they were playing Chorny Glaza at top volume. For those of you who have heard the phenomenon that is Chorny Glaza, you know how addictive and wonderful and happy it is. The dance floor was packed with mainly middle aged Kyrgyz dancing away. There was also a small child, probably about two years old, dancing with a ginormous cat. The cat was about as big as she was, and totally placid. I got a photo and a short video (below) – truly one of the most adorable things I have seen in a long while.



Additionally, we all got to take turns dancing with various people, most of whom were nice, but some of whom were sleazy and/or drunk. Sadly, one creepy dude kept dancing with me and Ina (or trying to anyway) and seemed to think it was totally appropriate to stick his hand up the backs of our respective shirts. Boo! Also, I was asked to slow dance with this crazy middle aged Kyrgyz woman. Okay. Here’s a video of Jake, Austin and me dancing with various crazy middle aged Kyrgyz women. Enjoy!

Next month’s schedule

Well, I’ve still got a pretty crappy schedule for next month – although I must admit that I quite like the extra $150 I received this month for having taught said crappy schedule. And I’ve pretty much gotten used to it. Being able to take a two to three hour nap between my morning and afternoon classes helps a lot. So yes, next month I still have my morning class. My afternoon schedule has altered somewhat, however. On Mondays and Thursdays I will now be teaching a class at the American Embassy! My students are Embassy employees, who are at the Elementary 1 level. I’ve told that it’s an incredibly weak class, and that I was chosen for it because I speak Russian. Cool. So on Mondays and Thursdays, my afternoon schedule is as follows:
2:30-3:50, Elementary 4
5:00-7:00, Elementary 1 at the Embassy
7:10-8:30, Pre-Intermediate 1
This is nice, since on Mondays and Thursdays I’ll have an additional break from 3:50-4:45 (when I leave for the Embassy). However, on Tuesdays and Fridays, my 2:30 and 7:10 classes will be the same, but I will be teaching Elementary 3 from 4:00-6:50. I’m not sure if that will be good or bad. Most of the students from that class should be students from this past month – if this is the case, it should be a good group. I’m just hoping that it doesn’t turn into nearly three hours of silent-as-death because my god, that would suck. (No class performance harm!)

Wednesday Warmth and the Whispering Club

A couple of my students have told me that the reason the power keeps going out is because of the severe cold this January. Supposedly, in addition to the sauna-like heat provided by the state-run heating system, people across Bishkek have been plugging in electric heaters to help alleviate the cold. They must not be receiving as much of the state heat as I am; I continually have to open my windows to cool my apartment down. (One senses inefficiency here...) This January has been exceedingly cold by Kyrgyzstan standards. I’ve been told that it’s the coldest January since 1984, and, alternately, the coldest in thirty years. (How is it I managed to land my southern self in Russia during the coldest winter in decades and then managed to do the same in K-stan?) Anyhow, if these electric heaters really are to blame for the frequent power outages in Bishkek, then we may very well have seen the last of them. Maybe. I awoke on Wednesday to blue skies, shining sun and melting snow. And unlike the previous and unbearably frigid Wednesday, I did not spend this glorious day out and about having adventures.


The view out my window on Wednesday
I awoke Wednesday morning utterly unable to utter a sound. For me, losing my voice is often the last stage of any illness, and sometimes my voice will remain absent for many days. I spent Wednesday morning and early afternoon in bed, feeling like hell while sipping mint tea with honey, and then got ready for work. No, we don’t teach classes on Wednesdays, but we do hold a weekly Talking Club late Wednesday afternoons. Teachers alternate as the host of Talking Club, and as such only have to work one Wednesday a month. I would be assigned to host Talking Club on the day I couldn’t talk. Oh, irony. Luckily, Kevin (one of the other teachers here) was assigned to be my partner, so my whispery self wasn’t completely responsible for conducting Talking Club.

I wish I’d felt better – and had had a voice – as the three Talking Club groups were quite talkative. (You might assume this to be always the case, as it is a club for *talking* and all, but quite often we get students who come and just sit in silence.) The first group (pre-intermediate) didn’t like the chosen topic, and instead just wanted to chat. Since they actually were willing to chat (instead of needing to be guided by a specific topic), we let them. The most talkative ones in the group were my students, and they knew I was sick. They did me the favor of directing most of their questions and conversation towards Kevin, so that I didn’t have to say much. The second group (intermediate) wanted to talk to me, however. This was fine... except that by the third group (advanced) I was feeling miserable, craving Nyquil and bed. The topic for the advanced group was marriage, including Kyrgyz marriage traditions (bride kidnapping, anyone?) and I would have loved to have taken an active part in that conversation. Instead it was just about all I could do to sit erect and look as though I were paying attention.

Feeling better. Mostly.

I'll try to update sometime this weekend... I don't really have time right now. Just wanted to let everyone know that I'm (mostly) recovered, and am now merely sneezy.

In sickness and embarrassment...

I suppose that spending so many hours in subzero temperatures last Wednesday was not exactly the best thing for my body, which was still in the process of adapting to strange K-stan germs. I didn’t feel to great Thursday morning, and by Friday I was feeling miserable with a full blown cold. Saturday I actually felt a lot better, just incredibly tired and weak. I made it to the nearest internet café (the slow one, as I didn’t have the energy to walk all the way to the “fast” one) and then meandered across the street to Ramstor to restock my fridge. I’m usually quite good at knowing how much money I have and making sure that the cost of my purchases does not add up to more than I have in my wallet. Unfortunately, the illness that left me feeling completely weak and drained also left me feeling a little spacey. At the checkout, my total came to 100som shy of what I actually had in my wallet. I apologized profusely to the cashier, and fished out 100som worth of things that I figured I didn’t really need. She said she’d have to call her manager to get approval to have those items removed from my transaction. Whoops. I continued to apologize and felt like an absolute ass for making such a mistake... then the guy in line asked me (in English, although he was obviously Kyrgyz – I guess he could tell I wasn’t a native speaker!) how much money I needed. I told him it was ok, that they were going to remove two of my purchases and then I’d have enough. Again he asked me how much I needed. I told him 100som, which he promptly handed to me and insisted I take. Perhaps he was just a really nice guy. Perhaps he didn’t want to have to wait for the manager to show up to void out my purchases. Or perhaps the average Kyrgyz who shops at expensive places such as Ramstor doesn’t stress over the loss of the equivalent of $3 to some random air-headed foreign chick who probably looked a bit ill.

Ripped from the Headlines

The above headlines all came from last week’s edition of The Times of Central Asia (free copies of it can be found at Fatboy’s, among other places), and seem to provide a little bit of background behind why we here in Bishkek suffered extensive blackouts nearly every day last week. Granted, this edition of the Times was published a good week before the Bishkek blackouts began, but obviously energy shortages – both gas and electric – are of big concern in the Stans these days.

We had all assumed that our Monday blackout was a fluke; however, by the end of the week we had all grown accustomed to teaching by candle light, and my students had (mostly) stopped laughing at the absurd sight of me, teaching in my LED headlamp. One of my older students told me that the city of Bishkek is shutting off power to different grids of the city at different times each day, because the electronic generators are overworked. Rolling blackouts, I suppose. Not really what you’d expect from capital city of an allegedly developed country, but I guess the Californians weren’t expecting it back in 2002 either.

While other Stans are suffering from shortages of natural gas – and from the fact that Uzbekistan, which exports natural gas to the rest of the Stans recently upped its prices dramatically – Bishkek at least doesn’t seem to be suffering from gas shortages as of yet. So heat, hot water and cooking-gas are still available in plenty. I’m getting quite accustomed to doing things by candle and LED light!

In my kitchen, by candlelight,
wearing a headlamp and holding a cat.

Wednesday Weirdness

(I’ve been incommunicado for the past few days on account of the combination of sickness and power outages... But here’s my story of what happened this past Wednesday. I’ll try to update on the rest of the week when I feel better.)

We don’t teach classes on Wednesdays, and while I’ve spent the previous two Wednesdays busily engaged in lesson planning, I decided to actually *do* something with my mid-week break this time around.

I awoke promptly at 9am, not thanks to my alarm or my brilliant internal clock, but to the annoying chiming of my doorbell which whines a synthetic Beethoven at an obnoxious volume. After persistent ringing, I stumbled out of bed and peered through the peephole to find Sharipa, the school’s cleaning lady, with my freshly laundered clothes. (This is a service we have to pay for, but in my opinion, it’s well worth the money.) After she left, I managed to convince myself to go ahead and get dressed. The lure of the internet will do that.

After spending some quality time (not to mention soms) at the internet café, I decided it was time to bite the bullet and go buy a cell phone. The whole process was remarkably easy, despite the fact that I conducted the whole transaction in Russian. Woohoo for me. (Additionally, I got to select my own number from a list of options. I ended up with 43-64-51 as my last six digits. Some people might note the significance of these numerical combinations, especially what with 6+4=10 and all. Yeah, old habits die hard.) It’s good to be vaguely wired again, even if it’s not via constant internet access.

A new teacher (he’s actually a student here on an internship, and will only be teaching for one month) arrived on Monday, so we decided to take him out for lunch to get to know him. We went to Fatboy’s (yes, I go there a lot, ok?) and hung out there for about an hour or so.

Before we left Fatboy’s, Ina showed up. She and I decided to make our way to the Osh Bazaar to see what we could find. The journey there, in and of itself, is quite an adventure. Transport in the city of Bishkek consists mainly of marshrutki, or mini-buses. They are somewhere in between a mini-van and a regular van in size, so they are not very big. Additionally, they don’t seem to have any capacity limit outside of how many bodies can be crammed inside. When going to a popular destination – such as the Osh Bazaar – one should be prepared for conditions that make a tinned sardine’s life seem spacious.

The weather was absolutely frigid, and after wandering about the food section of the market for a while, we decided to take refuge in the one large, fancy(ish) indoor part of the bazaar. (For people who’ve been to Vladimir, that section is like Dobryak was before they remodeled it and made it all fancy.) While inside, I managed to buy the most awesome woolen felt slippers ever for myself, as well as a pair of tiny slippers for Melissa and Alex’s soon-to-be-baby. The proprietor of the stall where I purchased the slippers threw in a felt-covered papier-mache yurt for free – probably feeling guilty that I’d simply accepted his price offers without bargaining. Ina and I also spent a long time chatting with a seller in one of the indoor stalls who used to be a Russian teacher. She invited us to come by on Sunday to meet her daughter, whom she claims speaks excellent English. I told her I would come, although as I am currently rather ill, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it.

(Melissa and Alex: I'll try and mail them soon, but given my hatred of post-Soviet post offices, I'm not sure how"soon" that will be!)

We left the cozy indoor part of the market and headed out to the clothing stalls. The people who run these places must be utterly miserable, spending all day outside in subzero temps with no heat whatsoever. While Ina didn’t find what she’d come to the bazaar in search of – a dull yet warm sweater – I managed to come away with a fabulous green and yellow prayer rug. I’d love to hang it on my wall, but as my walls are concrete, I’ve currently got it draped over the side of my wardrobe.

After spending way too much time wandering about the Osh market in the miserable chill, we decided that what we really needed was a nice cup of tea to warm us up. We found a café on the bazaar grounds – indoors and only *slightly* warmer than the great outdoors – and ordered our tea. The interior of the café was thick with cigarette smoke, and cold enough that we could see our breath.

Ina drinks tea.

Only two other tables in the joint were occupied: one, a man and three women, all exceedingly drunk; the other, a group of seven Kyrgyz men celebrating the birthday of one of their group.

Inevitably, the men began approaching us, one at a time to chat. One told us that he owned a nearby restaurant, gave us its name, and said he hoped we’d stop by. Another, the only young one in the group, shyly sat down and asked for my phone number (which I gave him – not sure if I’ll regret that or not). He told us that he lives in Almaty, in Kazakhstan, but that he often travels to Bishkek to work in the market. Then he returned to his friends.

When I’d taken my camera out to snap the photo of Ina drinking her tea, the group asked me to take their picture as well. One of the members of the group was a photographer (as in for a living), but didn’t have a digital camera. After I took their picture, he asked if he could take the memory card to print out the picture, promising to return in ten minutes or less. You know how I covet my electronic goods, and I was not too thrilled by the prospect of lending some strange man my 2GB memory card, but he was persuasive... not to mention that his friends seemed very much to want him to return with photos. He returned with copies of the photo for all of the men, into which for some reason he had photoshopped the Taj Mahal into the background! And, of course, he returned the card to me.

Ina and I were just beginning to contemplate getting on our merry way, when the waitress arrived at our table with three cups of coffee. At first we were quite confused, but then one of the men came over, said they were from him, and asked to join us. This was another creepy-old-dude of the mouth-of-gold-teeth variety. However, the warmth from our tea had worn off and the café was cold, so the coffee was welcome, even if the companionship was rather suspect. The photographer soon joined us. While Gold Teeth pumped Ina for information on how she managed to get from Norway to Kyrgyzstan, the photographer quizzed me about my camera, then offered to buy it. When I turned him down, he asked if he could just borrow it, because it was so much nicer than his. Again, I turned him down, although I doubt he had expected me to agree. Besides, I totally understand camera envy.

Then Gold Teeth suggested cognac. Now, I am fully aware that cognac is pretty much an open door to drunken catastrophe, but for some reason (mainly because he went to great length to express to us the purity and quality of Bishkek Cognac) we agreed to one shot, stressing that by one shot we meant just that: ONE. And of course, instead of bringing us each one shot, the waitress brought out an entire bottle. We insisted again that we would only have one shot, and they didn’t press us. However, after our first shot, Gold Teeth made a nearly successful attempt to kiss Ina, although she quite forcefully pushed him away just in time. He didn’t seem too offended, although he did try to defend himself by claiming a kiss after a first shot is Kyrgyz tradition. Um, bullshit. At that point, we decided it was probably time to leave, and despite their attempts to bribe us into sticking around with more shots of cognac, we refused and ventured back out into the cold.

By this time, the sun had set and it was definitely well below 0F (and I mean 0F, not 0C) outside. Just walking from the café to the nearest place to find a marshrutka van left us cold to the point of pain in our extremities. The marshrutka we took back to the city center was not crowded in the least. Unfortunately, the ones I needed to cart me from the center back to my apartment were all packed to the gills. I squished into one, but only made it about halfway home before desperately needing to get back my personal space and tumbling back out into the freezing night air.

When I finally approached my block, I noticed something eerily familiar: darkness. Yep, the power in my block was out again. Luckily, after Monday’s adventure, I managed to locate my superfabulous LED headlamp, so the next three and a half hours I spent at home were not spent in darkness. Additionally, the state-provided heat and hot water was not out, so my apartment was dark, but not cold – which was excellent, as I was in desperate need of a thaw. The power surged back into life at around 10:15, only to blink off a mere 45 minutes later. Sigh. But I’ll write more about out frequent power outages when I’m feeling a little better.

Twik?

(Monday)
Student: Today you is very... twik.
Me: Excuse me?
Student: Twik.
Me: Quick? Быстро?
Student: No, no. Twik.
Me: [puzzled look]
Student: Maybe I mistake. I at home see in dictionary.

(Tuesday)
Student: Yesterday I not mistake. I see in dictionary. Yesterday I say you twik.
Me: What? Quick?
Student: No. Twik. T-W-I-K.
Me: T-W-I-K? Twik? No, that’s not a word.
Student: Yes it is! I see in dictionary! You twik!
Me: Ummm... как по-русский?
Student: наблюдать.
Me: [I look up наблюдать. It means to observe, to watch, to look after, to supervise. I show this to my student.]
Student: [shakes his head] No, no. [Takes dictionary and tries in vain to locate twik.] This dictionary, bad. My dictionary... twik. Thursday I take dictionary. You see, you twik.

Luckily, whatever the hell twik is, he seems to mean it as a compliment.