Alpha Males

October 30, 2008

Alpha Males

Every country has them. Some more than others. We were told during training that every man in Kyrgyzstan between the ages of 15 and 70 is an alpha male. That was an exaggeration, but this country certainly has its share. You can see it in the way they walk, the way they spit on the sidewalk (seemingly every ten feet) and especially in the way they drive. Part of their behavior is, I’m sure, cultural as this is a male dominated society. The other part, God only knows where or how it was developed. It’s amazing how they must take the lead in everything. Kyrgyz women have told me there is no such thing as holding a door for a lady. Guys just bust right through. (A view that was refuted by a few of my female students when I asked them about this. I was told there are polite men in Kyrgyzstan, but you have to train them.) They walk on the sidewalk in a line that never veers a centimeter. Everybody has to move for them. I’ve been in stores and at the bazaar trying to buy something when a Kyrgyz dude will walk up and start asking questions of the person to whom I’m talking. As for driving, I’ll be surprised if I don’t see someone hit (and most likely killed considering the speeds at which they drive) before I leave this country. Since I’ve been in my city—a little over a month—I’ve already come upon three dogs that never made it to the other side of the road. Not sure if the drivers have the right of way over here but it really doesn’t matter because they take it anyway. They drive through intersections without stopping, half the time without even slowing down. Forget about looking for pedestrians. In fact, pedestrians must look in all directions before crossing the street or take the risk of getting nailed. I imagine the big fun starts this winter when they see how fast they can drive on icy roads without losing control. Today I was already halfway across a street when this guy gives me a double honk on his horn. He was turning behind me and none too happy that I had the audacity to start my cross when he was a half block away. I stopped in the middle of the street just to look at him. This meant he actually had to stop his car—which is usually only a condition when the machine is parked and turned off—and he was sooo pissed. As he sped away, he gave me a look in his side view mirror and one last honk, just so I’d know who’s boss the next time we meet. I’ve decided that for safety reasons, I can’t spend a day over two years in this country even if the PC started paying me my NYC salary.

November 3, 2008

Note: I don't claim to be psychic, but I do have feelings about certain people or events from time to time. Some of my friends think I’m a little loony when I talk about being in harmony with the universe, but check this. The day I wrote the above post, my host mother traveled to Bishkek for her sister-in-law’s funeral, returning yesterday. Last night I asked her how old her sister-in-law was. Forty-six. Then I asked if she had heart problems or cancer. In her limited English vocabulary, she told me, “She died in a car catastrophe.” A driver in Bishkek blew through an intersection killing both the sister-in-law and her passenger. The sister-in-law left a husband and six children behind, five still at home. 

Emotions were running high during the writing of this email because my desire to leave Kyrgyzstan as soon as I could after my service vanished quickly. In fact, up until the turmoil caused by the overthrow of the government, my plan was to extend for a third year, live in Bishkek, and teach playwriting seminars at universities and for international NGOs, UNICEF being the one of them. I’ll reveal more later as to why the third year plan never materialized, but let’s just say it’s difficult to move a mountain.

Learn more in the book about the episodes I wrote for a Domestic Violence project for the radio station a full year after I left Kyrgyzstan, and the two polite Kyrgyz men I met in Talas.

I Just Ate What?!!

October 18, 2008

I Just Ate What?!

Okay, I’m not going to make a big deal out of this or drag it out like a suspense novel. I’ll just tell you, because it’s really no big deal. I mean, everybody eats it over here. Mostly at celebrations and special occasions, I’ve been told. Don’t ask me why it’s only eaten at celebrations and special occasions. Maybe it’s too expensive to eat on a regular basis. I know it’s not a big deal because I thought I was eating something else. In fact, what I was really eating tasted just like what I thought I was eating. Well, maybe not exactly, but very, very close. Close enough that I didn’t know what I had eaten until hours later when my host mother asked me if I had tasted it. I said yes, and it was very good. That’s when she told me it was only eaten at celebrations and special occasions. Again, I don’t know why. Okay, like I said, I’m not going to string this out like I know I could, I’ll simply tell you I have a new favorite red meat; leaner than beef and tastes just as good. It’s horse. If I only had some A-1 Sauce to top it off. Mmmmm.

On a related topic, I’ve been wondering if my 20 lb. weight loss is the result of my Kyrgyz diet (fruits, vegetables, horse meat [did I mention they usually only eat it at celebrations and special occasions?]) or because, for the past four months, I’ve not had a drink? I think it’s the latter, because the last time I lost this much weight (1992, grad school) I didn’t have a drink for, hey, whadya know, four months. Also, in both situations, I was living at or below the poverty line. I’m sure that has nothing to do with it, but it is another similarity.

At least half of the pleasure I receive from living and traveling abroad comes from tasting new and unexpected foods. Some countries offer more choices than others, with China being the one with the most, and my favorite.

Also in the book, other interesting foods I've eaten in other countries, the only food I've been offered that I didn't eat and the most weight I've heard that a volunteer lost. She lived in Talas near me. 

Living With a Family vs. Living Alone

October 13, 2008

Living With a Family vs. Living Alone

New volunteers must live with host families for a minimum of three months. After that we can move into an apartment. In my case, this will be December 20th. I was of the opinion I would move on that day or shortly after. As with any decision, I must consider the pros and cons of each alternative. I like living alone and apartments are virtually the only domiciles in my city with indoor toilets. During winter, when it’s zero or lower outside, that’s a huge plus. Still, it’s not the only factor to consider. Other positives include eating what and when you want (Out of respect for their values, I won’t cook pork in my host family’s house because they don’t eat it for religious reasons) and doing what you want, whenever you want. The negatives of apartment living? They can be very cold if the electricity is out for any length of time. (I hear rumblings of no power for 8 hours each day this winter.) If you need something fixed, the wait can be weeks. Also, it can be awfully quiet as I don’t have a TV. (I have to watch my DVDs on my computer.) As much as I like my solitude, living in a foreign land can be a lonely existence. 

What are the advantages of living with a host family for two years? Well, in my case, there are several. I live two blocks from the university. Moving would mean a 20 minute walk (see winter weather above). Company (also see above). My family has a washing machine (huge plus), a banya (what better than a hot sauna bath in the middle of winter), power all the time (we live close to the hospital), and four tons of coal (heat, heat and more heat). Even though I told them I will cook for myself, they still insist in feeding me occasionally (and won’t accept any money from me). In my present situation, I spend much time in my room reading books and writing, but when I tire of that it’s nice to have someone around to talk with, even if the language barrier is a struggle. And this morning, I saw firsthand how much I think they would like me to live with them for my entire two years. An eating table with chairs was delivered to the house. My host mother said she decided to have it made when she agreed to have a volunteer from America live in her house. In other words, the table was made for me. Well, not just me as it seats ten, but you get the idea. I told her since arriving in Kyrgyzstan, I’ve really come to like sitting on the floor to eat, but I will gladly take a seat at the new table. To break it in, I even ate a second breakfast. Now, how do I tell them that I might be moving in December after they had furniture made on my account? I’d feel awful.

One of the favorite phrases of my students is “time will tell.” Well, time will tell if I stay or if I go. It will not be an easy decision. It will be especially difficult to tell them I’m leaving if it’s done while we’re sitting at the table.

I became attached to my second family as quickly as I did my first, yet I still couldn’t wait to live in an apartment. Some people would say that I was missing out on the full PC experience by not living the full two years with a family. I disagree. The full experience should be multi-faceted and living on my own, seeing how I could survive under that circumstance, added another facet to my volunteer life. Okay, so having a flush toilet was quite an incentive, too.

The end of my mandatory three months coincided with me leaving the university, but I didn’t move at that time for a few reasons. First, I had two months winter holiday because of the expected electricity shortage I wrote about earlier. I also didn’t know where my next assignment would be. I could have been moved to another oblast as I worked at the only university in mine. I had to see how that played out. No sense moving only to have to move again in a couple of months. Unbeknownst to me, the technical college in town also employed English teachers, so I transferred there. I was happy, because I liked Talas and didn’t want to leave. Once I knew where I’d be working second semester, I could have moved, but it was December and my family had that four tons of coal to keep me warm. That pretty much decided my fate until March when more springlike weather arrived. 

Also in the book, more on the plusses and minuses of this issue and, for the first time, I talk about being a crime victim in my own house.

Culture Day Photos

These are from Culture Day in my training village. It took place on August 16th. One photo is me in traditional Kyrgyz clothing. Another photo is my host family sister (isn't she cute?), my host mother and the daughter of another host family. And the third pic is all the trainees dancing at a reenactment of a Turkish wedding. You can see the bride dressed in the white veil in the rear of the crowd.

I saw many, many photos of Kyrgyz people during my service and I can't remember a single person who smiled in their photo. Just last week I sent my host sister a message asking her why this is. Her reply, "I really don't know." 

I'm not sure how many other photos I can include in this book, because shortly before my service ended, my computer crashed and I lost everything. I thought I had lost these emails, but thankfully, my sister and my niece had saved them. I took that as a sign to write about my experiences.

Livin' Large

September 20, 2008

Yes, That’s Right, I’m Now a Peace Corps Staff Writer

Well, not exactly, because I’m guessing a staff writer would actually collect a salary, but I have been asked/chosen to journal my experiences here in Kyrgyzstan. This is in addition to this blog. I think the other gig will be for the PC web site. I’ll know more in a few days when I receive a detailed email. I’m guessing my writing style will have to change somewhat for the PC journal. More straightforward and less of what I think. Or maybe not. More to come.

Livin’ Large

I’m guessing a lot of folks might be wondering, now that Michael’s a full-fledged volunteer, how much is he being given for a living stipend? Good question. And it was answered yesterday when they gave me my money. I’d love to tell you how much my host family gets each month for housing me, but I think that might get me in trouble. I’ll say this much. It ain’t a lot. As for me, I’m told my monthly living allowance is enough to cover my food, toiletries, any clothes I might need, my time at the internet cafe and other incidentals. And I’m supposed to do this on less than $5 a day. Since I’m not drinking over here, I should be able to get by. And I was actually thinking I’d be getting less som than I am, so I’m kinda happy, feeling like I’m awash in Kyrgyz cash. I wasn’t too in love with money before entering the PC. I’m likely to be less so when I return to the States (which may not be in two years).

A thousand people would give a thousand definitions of what living large means to them. If I compared my monthly stipend to my host family in Talas, my income to theirs, we’d match up pretty well. They had two salaries, the small convenience store and a few dozen sheep to sell. They were considered middle class. In another comparison...

The Reality of a Dream

September 18, 2008

The Reality of a Dream

1977. That was the year I first expressed a desire to become a Peace Corps Volunteer. 2008. I AM A VOLUNTEER!!! I’m tempted to write all the platitudes that come to mind, like, patience is a virtue, and good things come to those who wait, but I won’t. Instead, I’ll simply say it feels great to live the realization of a long-held dream.

I experienced more emotions today than any day in my memory. This morning: sadness and loss. I followed my usual morning ritual, but as I sat at the breakfast table with Aijan, neither of us spoke a word. There was no need. We both knew that when I walked out of the house, I was not coming home this evening. As I made my way down the dirt lane on my way to the marshrutka, I glanced over my shoulder. My host mother and Aijan were both standing outside the gate watching me. I waved and the first tears of the day streamed down my cheeks.

Mid-morning: anticipation, excitement. I waited excitedly for my counterpart from the university. I had so many questions about my assignment, my classes and the university. All left unanswered because she didn’t show. Instead, she sent a first year teacher because as head of the department, she wouldn’t have time to team teach. How exciting can this get? A new volunteer and a first year teacher (fresh out of college, I may add). I can’t wait!

Mid-afternoon: pride, relief and a deeper sadness. The swearing-in ceremony began at 2pm. After some singing and dancing, performed by what is a seemingly endless supply of local talent, we took the stage. Sitting in my chair, gazing at the mostly filled auditorium, it finally hit me that I was about to accomplish something special. I was proud to have survived traveling halfway around the world, a bout of illness I thought was going to kill me, learning a new language and adapting to a new culture. And after the new U.S. Ambassador to Kyrgyzstan swore us in, the pride was joined by a sense of relief. No more training; I could begin my job. We attended a short reception after the ceremony and then were driven to our hotel where we’d be staying until leaving for our permanent sites the next morning. Before I left, though, a difficult task lay before me. I had to say good-bye to my host mother and Aijan. It’s difficult to explain just how much this family means to me, so I won’t even try. Suffice it to say that I will visit them every opportunity I have over the next two years.

This evening we attended an outdoor reception at the Ambassador’s residence. Let me just say that this looks like a pretty nifty gig what with the huge house, indoor pool and enough security to defend a small country. Tomorrow morning my counterpart and I hop into a taxi and head off to begin what promises to be an adventure-filled two years. Of all the challenges I’ve undertaken in my life, this could be the best one yet. Stay tuned. 

There is little to expound on with this email. ‘You had to be there’ says it all. I don’t mean to belittle what this day meant to the young Volunteers, but I’m certain the ceremony touched me more deeply. Hell, I'd wanted to be a PCV longer than most of them had been alive. 

I learned later on through discussions with many of them that they joined the Peace Corps for several reasons; as a way to kick-start their career, an adventure in a foreign country, and because they couldn’t find a job in their field. Valid reasons all, but none that would make them feel as proud about the accomplishment as I did. 

Also in the book, making my first connection to aid me in my secondary projects and seeing my training family again.

Transitioning to Talas

September 9, 2008

Transitioning to Talas

The big day, one I’ve been hoping would arrive for 30 years finally does. On September 18th, I, along with 57 fellow trainees, will be sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer. A PCV.

As much as I look forward to living in Talas for two years, leaving my training family will cause some tears to be shed. I have come to think of them as my family here in Kyrgyzstan. I only hope they enjoyed hosting me as much I as I enjoyed being hosted. And I also hope I left a positive impression of what an American citizen is. I believe I did because my host father (ата) has invited me for dinner the next time I am in the area. I know they wonder how I survive on the little amount of food (тамак) I eat. Actually, I do eat an ample amount. I just don’t have a Kyrgyz appetite. And part of the reason for that is I don’t work hard enough to generate one. Yeah, I can live with that.

The challenges that lie ahead will not be so overwhelming because of the education, care and nurturing given me by my host family. They helped in so many ways. Language, cultural adaptation and, most of all, accepting me as a member of their family so I wouldn’t miss mine quite so much. How do I thank them for that???

These past 10 weeks have conjured memories of graduate school. Learning, being challenged, living small. Real small. And having fun in spite of limited funds. Ah, the good ol’ days. This evening I sat outside and watched the sunset while playing with the dogs. Simple pleasures.

September 10, 2008

We lost two more trainees this week. (We’ll swear in 57 out of 63. That’s a pretty good percentage of survivors.) One I knew pretty well and the other I would have as they were both assigned to my Oblast (An оьласт is like a state in America) and I believe would have been solid volunteers; that they ET-ed (Early Termination) surprised me. I’ve heard that N (a male) left because he was sick throughout much of the training period and didn't know if anything would change going forward. I'm not sure if I would have survived as long as he did. The irony here is that he had the sweetest deal of any new volunteer in our group. His new host family would have been a young couple, both of whom speak English, no children, and a nice house, so his sick days were probably behind him. Another version had it that he had work opps in the film industry back in the States and had to take them. Probably a little truth in both. The other trainee, J (a female), was homesick. I got to know her because she was in my TEFL technical training class. We had a NY connection (she’s from a city upstate) and I was looking forward to having her as a fellow volunteer. She leaves tomorrow. I said good-bye today, wished her well and told her I wanted to meet in NYC in two years. When people left 10 weeks ago, it was not such a big deal because I didn’t know them that well. Now, and going forward, anybody who leaves will have a bigger impact due to our time together.

This led to a question. The PC policy is to match the skills of the volunteer to those of the country. Would the ET rate be less if the volunteer could choose his/her country? Or if not the country, maybe choose the continent? Who knows? I mean, if J were in Columbia instead of Kyrgyzstan would she not have succumbed to homesickness? But, N would have had enough with the sickness no matter where he was, right? The best of intentions are often thwarted by the realities of life.

Statistics in 2008 showed that across every Peace Corps country the average ET rate (Early Termination) after two years is 33%. Some leave voluntarily, others don’t.

I think we all played the “who would go and who would stay” game. I certainly did and would have lost money had I wagered on my selections. 

In the book, a surprise ET and my journey to a life of "living small."

Permanent Site Visit, Part 2: In Talas

September 5, 2008

Permanent Site Visit, Part 2: In Talas

Before I begin let me say y’all in trouble now, because I’ve learned how to type in Cyrillic on my computer, so the Kyrgyz words will be flying fast and furious. That is as soon as I learn where the letters are on the keyboard.

Okay, I’ll try to be brief as you’ll be hearing a lot about my work over the next two years, but all signs look good. My counterpart seems nice and speaks almost fluent English. Only English can be spoken in the school. So much for my Kyrgyz getting better. I’ll be teaching Conversational English to 3rd, 4th and 5th Course students. University here is five years, but students still graduate at 22, so they must start a year earlier. In the Spring I’m slated to teach a brand new course entitled Introduction to Modern Linguistics. When I asked if there was a text book for the class, my counterpart said I should look for info on the Internet. Good thing I have until March. I will also conduct an English class for the teachers once a week. Most speak competently, but want to speak better. I’ll hold outside classes on listening skills for the students and, yes, I get to start a Drama Club. That should be extremely interesting.

My family is nice. My new host mother is a German teacher at the school, in the same building, on the same floor. Not sure how I like this set-up, but I know why it was made. She lives two blocks from the school and they didn’t want me walking too far in the frigid winters. My host father is a doctor. A neurologist, if I understood my mother correctly. He’s also 65 so I don’t know how much doctoring he does these days. Mostly he mans the counter at the little magazine they own in the front of their house. (A magazine is the Russian term for a convenience store. Mostly, they sell candy, cigs and booze.) I believe my father’s career took a downturn after the break-up of the Soviet Union. Once Moscow quit paying everybody’s medical bills, who can afford a neuro guy? Average wage in KG? About $300/year, although it’s much higher in the cities. Still...

I’m a 20 minute walk from the bazaar, the cafes and the other city volunteers. The group that’s been there a year was very helpful this past weekend showing us the ropes and around. I also met the village volunteers yesterday at a group picnic by the river. Quite pastoral and the food was delish!

Now I’m back in Kenesh, wondering what the hell I’ll be doing for the next two weeks. Swearing in is September 18^th. I know I’m getting a week of Russian lessons, but beyond that, I’m not sure.

It wouldn’t take me long to discover that, once again, most of what I was told about my stay in Talas differed from reality. I won’t say the PC lied to me, because each statement contained a grain of truth. The most egregious one had to be “only English is spoken in the English Department.” HA! The only times I heard English were in my class and when the teachers spoke to me. That’s it. Every other word came out Kyrgyz or Russian. Students repeatedly told me that the most common language in their other English classes was Kyrgyz. That was probably due to the students’ poor English skills.

In the book there is further explanation on the other points that were oversold to me.

Permanent Site Visit – Part 1: Getting to Talas

September 4, 2008

Permanent Site Visit – Part 1: Getting to Talas

On Saturday, August 31, at 9am, I hopped into a taxi with a trainee I’ll call K, and our new host fathers for what was to be a 4 ½ hour ride to Talas. It took us seven. Here’s why. We hadn’t even left the city when we changed taxis. Let me preface this account by saying our host fathers arranged the ride even though they had never met before last Saturday. Oh, and neither of them speaks a word of English. The reason for the switch, we learned, is that our first taxi was a city taxi. We needed a long distance driver. Well, we did upgrade from a VW to a Benz, so K and I weren’t complaining. (K is a female who is assigned to a village about 40 minutes outside Talas and will be teaching English. She also just finished at NYU so maybe that’s why the universe put our fathers together.) Then K realized she was out of units and needed a SIM card for her cell so she could text during the trip. We stopped. While there, my father bought some bananas. He was scoring points in my book cuz they’re expensive over here. Back in the taxi we drove for about 10 minutes when we realized the fathers also wanted watermelon. We stopped. They didn’t see any they liked. We drove a half mile. We stopped. They found a couple kinds of melons they liked and loaded them into the trunk. Finally, we were sure the open road was ours for the taking. And it was. For 15 minutes, when we pulled over to the side of the road and waited. For what, K and I were clueless. After a few sentences from my father, I knew we were waiting for someone. Finally a car pulled in front of us and six people piled out. Relatives of K’s host father, on their way to Talas for the Independence Day celebration on Sunday. We said hello, they chatted a while and we all got back in the cars. K and I are finding this rather amusing but figure we’re finally going to hit the road for good. Wrong. A few miles up the road we pull over at a cafe and get out of the car again. This time to eat. The other car had bread, cookies, a dessert, a box of juice and a bottle of vodka. It’s a little after 10am. They toast me and K, I make a toast, then someone else does. All these toasts have to be because the bottle must be finished. In Kyrgyzstan, there’s no such thing as “let’s have a shot and save the rest for later.” Thank goodness it was a small bottle. (I had none as I’m still sticking to my vow of no alcohol for two years.) K and I realized we’d left the hotel about two hours ago and we were barely out of Bishkek. Well, I can tell you we drove a few hours without incident. Through the most beautiful mountain pass I’ve ever seen, even better than I remember Colorado being. And the rain we drove through on the way to the top of the pass was pellet sized hail when we got there. Not sure how high we were, but we were up there. The snow-capped peaks were almost eye level. Pretty amazing. Now it was time to make our way down the pass and could envision being in Talas in a little more than an hour. Until we got the flat tire. Yup. Open the trunk, take out the luggage and the melons (remember them?). On the positive side, he had it in a beautiful setting. Tire changed, back on the road. Everybody’s relaxing; I mention to K that through it all, our driver was doing a pretty good job. That good job must have tired him out because he fell asleep at the wheel. Literally. The sound of the gravel on the shoulder roused him or we’re down in a ditch. I won’t exaggerate and say it was a 5,000 foot drop, although I was tempted. K’s father took the wheel and drove the rest of the way to his house. We were all invited in for some food, which was a good thing because it gave our driver a chance to nap. We still had 30 minutes left to Talas. At 4pm we pulled in front of my new home (well, it will be starting September 19). Seven hours, but truly a Peace Corps experience.

Cool as my trip was, it doesn’t top the 10-hour ride of my friend C (scheduled drive time: 6 ½ hours). Among other unnamed things, her driver stopped at a mountain waterfall, stripped off his clothes and went swimming. All while his passengers waited in the car. This must have tired him out because a while down the road, he pulled over and slept for an hour. Jeez, I wish our guy would’ve thought of that. 

Let’s talk taxis. The only time I felt afraid in Kyrgyzstan involved transportation. The two main types of transport were mini-buses (marshrutkas) and sedans, usually Mercedes, VW or Toyota. You could take either for short trips across town or distant cities; most people used marshrutkas from village to village, but not always.

Marshrutkas were (re)designed to hold about fifteen people comfortably. As I recall, two seats on one side and one on the other like a small commuter jet’s seating. Often they held more than twenty on the village to village routes. And that didn’t include the bags the passengers brought with them. We had to take them to our afternoon sessions as they weren’t held in Kenesh. Some of these vehicles didn’t seem fit for the road. Balding tires and enough klinks and klanks made one wonder when the engine would drop to the road. One flat tire or broken axle meant serious injuries or worse for all aboard.

The long distance taxis held different concerns, but the one that scared me the most was being placed in a car with the steering wheel on the right hand side. Nearly all of the cars in Kyrgyzstan came via Russia, stolen I was told, and the price was cheap. Poor buyers aren’t picky buyers. Anyway, since the roads were two-lane this meant that a driver who wanted to pass had to put the passenger half of the car into the opposite lane to get a view of oncoming traffic. Passengers would often be his eyes and shout, “machina” which if I recall correctly, was the word for car. I never felt more like a sitting duck in my life. The road from Talas to Bishkek is littered with memorials of fatal crashes.

I only took such a car once. After that, if one was offered to me at the taxi station, I’d wait. This could make for a long day because taxis needed four passengers before they would start out. If it was a slow travel day, I could wait for over an hour for a car to fill up. If I wanted to leave before the car was full, I’d have to pay for the empty seats. I only did this once, from Almaty, Kazakhstan to Bishkek after my trip to Turkey. Waiting for what could have been hours in a country I didn’t know didn’t suit me, so I talked my travel partner into each of us buying two seats. It was costly, but we made it back to Kyrgyzstan quicker and we had lots of room during our trip. The driver had his money so he didn’t care.

Culture Day

August 19, 2008

Culture Day

While it wasn't what I expected, it was still a lot of fun. The trainees live in 8 different villages and each of us portrayed a piece of Kyrgyz or Central Asian culture. Our group performed a skit about bride kidnapping, which, although against the law today, has been a part of Kyrgyz culture for centuries. We added some humor to it to lessen the “controversy effect,” and I added a disclaimer before my introduction saying this was one of several scenarios that could be portrayed and we are in no way condoning this practice. (I was the narrator for our skit.) We must have passed the test, because we received “no complaints” (oigo-good-ai).

Kyrgyzstan considers itself the Central Asian capitol of artistic talent, the land of artists, musicians, singers and poets. From the local talent that performed this morning, I would agree. They were phenomenal.

For lunch we ate plov, a very popular dish and some melons. I don't know how to spell “andeleek,” but I know how to eat it. Lots of it. It's shaped like a watermelon and tastes like canteloupe, only much, much sweeter. It's definitely my favorite discovery to date, food-wise. Second place goes to the homemade yogurt, called airan (eye-rahn). Some people add sugar to it, but I like it straight. Oh yeah, you drink it. Next time I'm going to add fruit to it.

Bride kidnapping. This occurs whenever a girl is taken against her will—sometimes it’s consensual—and forced to marry. Occasionally she knows the guy, but most times she doesn’t. She can call her father to come and get her, but he'll rarely come to the rescue. Several of my students were victims, at least five that I can remember; there were most certainly more. Why do boys, with assistance from cousins and friends, continue this outdated and humiliating practice? A few reasons. Some families can’t afford to pay the dowry to the girl’s family; a lot of boys lack the self-confidence to find a girlfriend the way most of the world does; I’ve also been told they do it because it’s a cultural tradition, although many Kyrgyz argue that it’s not and never has been.

In the book I tell the stories of three of my students, how they were kidnapped and how one escaped.