A year in Kazakhstan

Andrew Sheehan was the British Council ELT consultant in Kazakhstan from 1995 to 1996, and discovered that, where friendliness and hospitality are concerned, Kazakhstan is unrivalled.

Where on this planet would teachers travel for 40 hours - in each direction - just to attend a weekend ELT conference? Where does every ELT seminar or workshop, or even a visit to a classroom in a local school, end with a feast of home-prepared local specialities, entertainment in the form of a teacher or pupil playing the dombra, and the inevitable singing of the Beatles' 'Yesterday'?

Where could you fly for several thousand kilometres, land on a bumpy airfield, walk with your breath steaming in the minus 25 degree air across the runway and into the terminal, to be met by someone who was not sure if they would understand you, or if you would understand them, because although they had taught English for 30 years they had been totally isolated and had never spoken to a native speaker?

Where else, when they knew you were leaving, would the teachers serenade you with ballads they had written themselves, and cry unashamedly because you had done something to help them?

The same day I landed in Kazakhstan to take up my new post in Almaty, I was invited to one of the local schools where English was taught. The students proudly recited all the details of Britain's geography, history, culture (British English, definitely not American, was the preferred version). Thus I learned the height of Ben Nevis, the length of the Thames, and that "Manchester is the cotton capital of England", and "the east end of London is the poor end and the west end is the rich end". I discovered that the schools were using books printed, re-printed and re-printed yet again in Moscow, with little pretence at updating the information they contained. And the teachers spoke beautiful, delightful English, which often sounded quaintly Victorian.

The first thing I did was to introduce a program of weekly methodology and language development workshops for the Almaty English teachers. We began with a weekend seminar, each day beginning with a huge breakfast of dishes the teachers had prepared at home. I also realised that it was important to establish connections with English teachers throughout Kazakhstan, so I travelled extensively in that vast country, giving workshops in methodology centres, in universities, and to the teachers of English associations: the TEAs. Flying Kaz Air was an adventure; each time I flew my fingernails became shorter, and my faith in the pilots, not the planes, the mantra in my head.

My arrival always had something of the surreal about it. There would be a reception committee, and for a few awkward seconds, as we introduced ourselves, I could see (and they would confess, later) that they were wondering if I would understand them, for they had never spoken to a native speaker before.

The hospitality of the Kazakhs has to be experienced to be believed: even with the most severe deprivations - of resources, heat, power - or perhaps because of them, they remain the most generous, warm and exuberant people I have ever encountered. Wherever I went, every visit to a school, to a teachers' centre, or a university, became a festival of eating, drinking, laughing, of celebration.

When I organised the first national ELT conference (in co-operation with a colleague from the United States Information Service), and paid the travel and accommodation expenses of those who presented a seminar or workshop, teachers travelled by train from far-flung corners of Kazakhstan to be there. For many of them, the journey lasted longer than the conference.

This was followed by a national conference for the directors and heads of department of the teacher-training universities and methodology centres; over 50 participants attended, all full of enthusiasm and optimism. But they all said the same thing: they had no resources, not even a photocopier; they hand-wrote the handouts for their students; they had no audio cassettes (not to mention videos).The teachers had not been paid.

No wonder that when they came to the British Council's resource centre for the weekly methodology and language development seminars, they behaved like children in an expensive chocolate shop; it was too overwhelming - they had never seen so many up-to-date books and cassettes.

When the Ministry of Education's advisory team requested the British Council's advice on implementing foreign language teaching reform, I persuaded the Deputy Minister to initiate innovation by designing an appropriate standardised examination for pupils leaving secondary school, and arranged for the Deputy Minister and the team of test experts to visit evaluation centres in the UK, and to liaise with UK test design experts.

I will not forget my meetings with the Deputy Minister; we sat in her small office and discussed educational policy over coffee and sandwiches and small cakes. She and my translator talked in Kazakh; although Russian had dominated the country for many years, Kazakh was re-emerging from its hibernation. For this reason, I had all my proposals translated into Kazakh, not Russian, and it was appreciated.

Leaving Kazakhstan was one of the most difficult decisions I ever had to make. Nowhere had I met English teachers with so few resources, who were so genuinely grateful for the help they received. Although Kazakhstan is geographically isolated, and may still be outside the ELT mainstream, modern communication and the media are connecting it to the rest of the world. But in one respect it leads the world. Many countries boast of their hospitality, but Kazakhstan has no equal.

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