First Bell

Today was my 19th first-day-of-school. And though by now I'm an old hand at starting school years, I still woke with the same excited and nervous energy—Oh boy! Classes! Books! Homework! Will I like the teachers? Will I like the other kids? Will they like me? Did I remember everything? Is this dress ok?—that has characterized the beginning of each September (actually mid-August in Albuquerque) since I was 5. Each year my dad would arrange my brother and me, with backpacks and back-to-school outfits and smiles, in front of the front gate for a first day of school photo. (The front gate is important here, because how else are you supposed to know how big we've grown since last year?) This year, I'm half a world away from that particular front gate, so for comparison's sake I stood by my 6 year old host brother. I think I've grown a lot, don't you?

September 1st marks the first day of school for every child in the former Soviet Union. (It seems the USSR was big on consistency…) On this "Day of Knowledge" in Kazakhstan, schools literally ring in the new year with a "First Bell" ceremony. Darling 1st form students in little suits, black and white school uniforms, and poofy, white hair ribbons are welcomed to school; 11th form students in bigger suits, more fashion-conscious uniforms, and the same poofy, white hair ribbons are celebrated and reminded that much is expected of them in their last year. (Kazakhstani schools only have 11 grades—most of their 11th grade year is spent preparing for national tests that will determine whether and where they can attend university.) And teachers are applauded and given bouquets of flowers that are sometimes bigger than the children giving them.

At my school, the First Bell ceremony as well as weekly school assemblies take place on the front steps of the school. Students stand with their home-room classes around three sides of a large square in the school's front yard, and from a podium on the steps they are addressed by the school director, teachers, and any other dignitaries that happen to be in attendance. Today two 1st form girls performed songs they had obviously practiced (with hip-swinging choreography) all summer, and other 1st formers recited wishes for the school year in the strong lilting rhythm characteristic of all Kazakh recitations and toasts. At the end of the 40 minute ceremony, four 1st form students, carried on the shoulders of 11th form boys around the square, proudly rang the first bell of the year (the rest of the school bells will be rung electronically, but this first one gets a personal touch).

The rest of the day was spent in a bustle of activity that is largely opaque to a foreigner like me—no real lessons to speak of, but lots of getting books, checking schedules, changing schedules, sitting and talking, etc. Peace Corps training has taught us that flexibility, above all, is a volunteer's most valuable skill, and I am fortunate to have it in abundance. So, with a smile, I left my American expectations of a planned, productive, and structured first day of school behind, wrote down the schedule of classes for tomorrow, noting to check back in the morning because they will likely have changed, hung a world map in my classroom, said "Hello" and "How are you?" to at least 20 students, and sat down to tea with three English teachers. All around, a successful day. Tomorrow maybe I'll even get to teach.