Hard Lives in a Collective Society

July 30, 2008

I want to write about the life of the average non-urban Kyrgyz family, but if I may digress for a minute...today was a scorcher. It had to be at least 100 degrees and dry heat or not, that is flippin' hot. When I arrived home from my all day session with all the other volunteers, I was beat. I went to my room to lay down and escape the sweltering heat (and this is 5pm I'm talking about). I wasn't there five minutes when a knock on my door brought me an ice cream bar. Was my family reading my mind?! I tore open the package and saw chocolate-coated vanilla ice cream. And the chocolate coating had what looked like crispy bits in it. Until I took a closer look. Sesame seeds. Interesting. I bit into the bar and saw what looked like small dots of a vanilla bean scattered throughout the ice cream. Nope. Poppy seeds. Neither of these surprise ingredients altered the taste too much and I enjoyed every last drip of my unexpected treat.

Okay, like I said, I want to tell you about life at my family's house. (I know they are not my real family, but I have been so totally accepted by them, that I call them my family. I already know that I will cry the day I leave for my permanent site.) We live in a village of about 7,000 people. There are 22 nationalities represented here. (Per PC rules regarding safety, I can't tell you exactly where I live.) Many of my family's relatives also live in the village. Family comes first in this culture. Three and four generations living together under one roof is the rule, not the exception. Elders are given the utmost respect. Everybody keeps an eye on everybody's children and will discipline them, if necessary. This is the guiding principle of a collective society. People will share even if they don't have anything to spare. It's truly an eye-opening experience. Yeah, Americans are generous, giving people, but not in the way it exists here. We're more after-the-fact generous. We write checks after a disaster. We volunteer if there's any time left in our schedule. We take our parents in if the assisted living complex is full or unaffordable. I wouldn't be surprised if there isn't a senior citizens home in the entire country. 

Okay, about my family. First of all, almost everything we eat is grown in the big garden out back. Tomatoes, onions, eggplant, corn, peppers and other things I'm probably missing. Milk comes from the two cows; eggs from the chickens who prance around the yard freely; the chickens eventually find their way to our dinner plates, like tonight for example. I'm glad I haven't witnessed an execution, although I have seen a slaughtered cow being divvied up in someone's back yard. The beef we eat, well, you know...

In addition to working his small farm, my ata (ah-tah, father) is some sort of policeman or military security guy. All I know is when he leaves for work he's wearing a uniform and packin' heat. My apa (ah-pah, mother), in addition to milking the cows by hand and selling it for extra cash (35 som/dollar, in case you're wondering), is the seamstress for the village women. Money is hard to come by, which is why almost every house has a garden and many have some sort of animal as well. It’s is said that everyone in Kyrgyzstan, no matter what other job they may have, is a farmer. Last week I helped my host brother braid a length of rope to secure one of the calves for grazing. Actually, I just held the finished end of the rope while he did all the braiding. Yeah, I know, I'm a real cowboy, right? And like many American moms, my apa also has a house to manage, although Aijan, eighteen and the only daughter, is a big help in that regard, just as Aibeck, sixteen and the oldest son, is a tremendous help to his father. Nurbek, eight, is deaf. He's not asked to do much yet, but he does have one very important job. He calls me to meals.

Things are changing in the country, though. As Kyrgyzstan struggles to develop a successful market-based economy, this generation of teenagers are more likely to attend university than previous ones. The Harvard of Central Asia is located in the capitol city of Bishkek. It's called American University of Central Asia, stocked with American professors, and the graduates secure jobs with international corporations. Both Aijan and Ibeck will be college students, studying finance and engineering, respectively. They will not be at AUCA, but will still have a brighter future than their parents had at the same age. It's a weird mix, this agrarian/urban mixture that's propelling Kyrgyzstan into the 21st century, but very interesting, too.

We were told that we’d be calling our host parents mother and father, in Kyrgyz. When I first laid eyes on my host family, I thought, ‘No way.’ They were ten years younger than me, maybe more. I was wrong. It didn’t take me long to get in the habit of doing so, because I quickly felt a part of the family.

Also in the book, an update on the lives of my host family. So much has changed for them since 2008, all good I'm pleased to say.

Permanent Site Interview

July 29, 2008

Permanent Site Interview

This afternoon all the TEFL volunteers (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) had a chance to voice their concerns and preferences, and ask questions concerning our permanent site placement. I was interviewed by the Program Manager from the North region of the country, as were two of my peers; the fourth trainee in the university group was interviewed by the PM from the South. It lasted about 10 minutes.

The importance of this interview is based entirely on whether or not the Peace Corps already knows where they're going to place us. Many trainees have said this interview was just a formality because the Program Managers have already seen our resumes and read our aspiration statements, so they have a pretty good idea of where they want us. I mean, what more could we tell them? The cynical side of me tends to agree with this sentiment. Still, I reiterated my two main desires: to be placed in a university that has a drama club or is open to starting one; and live in an area where fruits and vegetables are plentiful (that is code for South Kyrgyzstan). Which of these desires takes top priority, you ask? Well, for the sake of discussion, let's say my permanent site has not been decided. I believe it's more important to be in a good working situation than have a cornucopia of fruits and veggies, because a bad work environment will make for a loooooong two years, while I can work with the local food supply. I also want to be in an area where independent living is an option and being in a city (where all the universities are located) will afford me that. Now, it's the waiting game with everybody putting out their positive vibes to the universe in the hopes of landing in the best situation possible. For those that don't, I can see our numbers dwindle. (After almost three weeks, we've only lost 3 of 63. While there will be others that leave early, I think we're doing amazingly well!) 

“Complete waste of time” aptly described my Permanent Site Interview, because the Peace Corps knew where they wanted to place me months before I left the states.

Also in the book, the Peace Corps interview process, How I came to be placed as a University TEFL, and the story behind why one of our village trainees left after only a couple of weeks.

Keepin' Kleen Kyrgyz Style

July 28, 2008

Keepin’ Kleen Kyrgyz Style

There was a time when I would go crazy if I didn't shower every day. How could I put on clothes without a thorough scrubbing and hair washing? And shave with cold water? Unthinkable. Put on socks over feet with dust ingrained in my heels from walking the dirt roads of the village? Are you kidding me? While it seems longer, that time was only a few weeks ago. Suffice it to say, since arriving in Kyrgyzstan, my acceptable standards of hygiene have shifted downward. This does not mean I traipse around my village looking like Pigpen from Peanuts. Far from it. But, two sun showers a week are a treat and daily (cold water) bucket baths are the norm for starting the day. A sun shower is washing with water from a small barrel, suspended above my head, which has been heated by the sun. They're actually pretty neat. Oh, and did I mention I may wear the same clothes a few times before washing them? Yup. And it doesn't matter, because while they may have some miles on them between washings, they're pressed and really don't smell so bad, at least not to me. Of course, one thing I learned is that if you wear the same pair of pants for too many days in a row, when you take them off they will take a few additional steps on their own. And it’s convenient to put them back on because they are standing where you left them. There are other reasons for multiple donnings (is that a word?!). I brought three pairs of pants and only slightly more shirts and since there's not a laundromat for miles, I have to wash my clothes by hand. It's damn hard work and not something I want to do more than once every ten days or so. I'm not sure why I'm writing about this except that I have an altered perspective on life ever since I began brushing my teeth every morning, standing in the backyard, while gazing at majestic snow-capped mountains. 

How well did I adapt to showering daily after my PC days? Also, in the book, why I never want to hand-wash clothes again.

Cultural Dfferences

July 19, 2008

Cultural Differences

Learning a new culture is hard enough. Learning it while trying not to insult our host country families, well, it's just not going to happen, no matter how hard we try. Today after language class, we had lunch at the house of our teacher (moo-galeem). Her host mother prepared a Korean salad and there were these teeny deep purple grapes that I found so delicious, they were all I wanted to eat. So, when she brought my bowl of borscht to the table, I let it sit. After my fifth helping of salad and grapes, my language teacher told me her mother thought I didn't like her cooking because I wasn't eating my borscht. She was insulted. How could I explain that it wasn't my dislike of one dish (I actually like borscht.), but that I found two others more to my liking? I thought that by eating as much of the salad as I did, she'd be pleased. I could have eaten two spoonfuls of the soup and left the rest, but that would have been wasteful. By not eating any of it, she could have thrown it back in the pot. And it would have been really impolite to tell her beforehand that I didn't want any soup. So, there I was, stuck in a culturally sensitive situation with no good way out. I decided to tell her how much I loved the salad and she proceeded to refill the dish, which meant I had to eat more, even though I was stuffed (toi doom). And those grapes were the sweetest I've ever tasted. Seriously. When I went into town this afternoon, I bought some at the outdoor market (75 cents a pound. Stuff is pretty cheap here by American standards, but maybe not compared to local incomes. More on that in a later post.). Once home, the grapes lasted about ten minutes. It made me feel good that I could treat the family since they don't let me lift a finger to do anything around here. When I offer, they act like they don't hear me. I know my Kyrgyz isn't very good, but I know they understand what I'm asking.

The PC gives host families a nice chunk of change every month to house and feed the trainees. For this reason I imagine the number of families interested in this undertaking far exceeds the slots available. Becoming a host family may be harder than becoming a volunteer. I don’t remember all of the requirements, but I vaguely recall ticking boxes on a checklist that listed them. The one I remember most vividly is that the volunteers’ rooms had to have a lock so family members couldn’t just pop in whenever they wanted. Although I spent a lot of time with my family, I needed privacy once in a while and the lock was the key to getting it. (haha) Not being vigilant about locking my room could also mean the loss of personal items. 

In the book, I talk about how some volunteers wondered about the distribution of the money and the benefits of eating lunch as a trainee group.

The Big D 1, Probiotics 0

July 16, 2008

The Big D 1, Probiotics 0

Warning: This post is not for the faint of heart.

Last Sunday evening my karindash (kah-rin-dahsh), my host family’s daughter, took me guesting. This is where you visit friends or relatives and, of course, you eat food. Nobody cares that you may have just eaten a huge meal two hours ago. You will eat again. I had met this cousin and was excited to see him because he speaks English fairly well. All the food was familiar and tasty. But, by midnight, I knew something was wrong. So, I grabbed my trusty flashlight and headed to the outhouse. It was the first of at least fifteen trips that night. It got so bad that I slept outside on a rusty old metal bed with a thin pad so I would be halfway to the outhouse when nature called (which was about every ten minutes). By morning I had eliminated everything I had inside, solid and liquid. Next on the agenda would have to be internal organs. As an encore to the evening, as I was walking to wash my hands after another visit to the loo, a bird decided to drop a bomb as it flew overhead and it landed on my arm. From the amount of the you-know-what, I determined it came from a condor. I was also so weak, I felt like I'd just gone a few rounds with Ali in his prime.

I called the PC doctor. He said to drink 2 liters of rehydration salts and chew Pepto Bismol tablets. I hung up from him and promptly threw up. Where that came from I don't know. Some reserve tank, I guess. Same thing happened an hour after I drank the rehydration salt powder. I knew this was going to be a blue, blue Monday. Maybe now is the time to say I may have been misinformed about the effectiveness of probiotics, because they got hammered by whatever caused my GI troubles. On the flip side, the best advice I received before arriving here was to bring black underwear. ‘Nuff said.

My entire solid intake for the day was a slice of nan (bread) and ½ cup of boiled rice. The next day's diet would be a repeat. By Tuesday evening I began to feel some hope. My movements now resembled a soup made by Campbell's that you can eat with a fork. Let me tell you this was real progress. By Wednesday morning I was feeling human again.

Wednesday afternoon found me at a gathering of all the PC trainees. I learned the PC grapevine works like broadband internet. Everybody knew I'd been sick. I also found out that in the past five days about 40 other trainees had suffered from the same malady I had, some even worse (I can't imagine what they must have endured!!!). In New York, I often heard people ask new acquaintances, What's your neighborhood? or What do you do for a living? In the PC it's, Hey, I heard the news, man. How bad was it?

This was my first “What the hell am I doing here?” moment. But, now that I am healthy again, I know what I’m doing here and I can't wait to get started.

For the curious amongst you, my torture was caused by some mayonnaise in an appetizer that was overexposed to the heat. 

The Peace Corps' diet for volunteers suffering from diarrhea consists of BRAT. This is not the German sausage. Also will tell about a couple of volunteers that had gastrointestinal problems worse and longer than me.

Kyrgyz Language Lessons

July 10, 2008

Kyrgyz Language Lessons

Six hours of class today and my head was fittin' to explode. One volunteer left the room in tears because of frustration, but returned a short while later. Beginning next week the classes trim back to 3 hours, six days a week. Our teacher is a sweetheart. She’s tough, but patient and understanding. We'll get it, I'm sure, but it ain't gonna be easy.

At chai today I met the grandmother (chong apah). I think she was upset I didn't arrive in Kyrgyzstan fluent in the language so she started picking up objects like candy and a cracker and telling me the names. I'm telling you, everybody is in help mode over here. It’s quite refreshing, actually.

I live life in a fishbowl in my village. Everybody in the neighborhood learned a few weeks ago that the American was coming, but I'm still a major curiosity. People stare from the moment they recognize I'm not from around here and hold the gaze until I'm out of sight. (I'm told the African-American volunteers have it even worse. People will approach them and touch their skin and hair.)

Still, I'm more comfortable than yesterday and will become more so with each passing day. That's good enough for me.

NOTE: I may only get to post once a week while in training, on Wednesdays. Additional postings will be bonus material. 

Within a few weeks one the trainess made these classes the worst experience of my entire two years and kept the rest of us (3 others) from realizing our full potential with Kyrgyz. I also tell how the PC capitualted to this trainee when they could have easily solved the siuation. Learn how and why in the book.

The Road to Bishkek

July 8, 2008

The Road to Bishkek

We sat at the gate for an hour before we finally took off for Kyrgyzstan. Nine hours later we touched down in Istanbul. The first leg of our journey was complete. Many people were surprised that the airport was so modern. My roommate was surprised his pint of beer cost him $15. After our 7 hour layover it was on to Bishkek. About 30 minutes before landing, we hit some major turbulence. You could hear the gasps and everybody was thinking, this really sucks. Well, since I'm writing this you probably guessed that we survived. The biggest surprise, though, was everybody’s luggage made it to Kyrgyzstan. We had heard horror stories about lost/stolen luggage.

Safely tucked into our hotel (15 hours in the air and 11 time zones after leaving JFK), it took Lee and me 15 minutes to figure out how to work the lock on our door. Those ingenious Russians. As soon as I flipped the switch for the bathroom light, the bulb blew. Off to a great start, wasn't I?

To no one's surprise, the one constant is that every meal contains meat. Even the petit fors at break have a meat based option among the muffins. To be fair, we've also eaten some wonderful fruits and veggies. I drink my plain yogurt like milk and their oatmeal is the best I've ever had.

Today we received our first immunization shots. The dogs are very dangerous in this country because they get treated like dirt by their owners. Hence, we will receive three separate rabies shots during the month.

Tomorrow we meet our host families. Mine is a couple with teenagers. They've never hosted a volunteer before, so we'll all be undergoing an adjustment period. I'll spend the next 11 weeks living with them in a village about 30 miles outside of Bishkek. It is at once exciting and scary as hell. This is where I finally feel I'm in the Peace Corps even though that doesn't officially happen until September.

Finally, I experienced my first major disappointment yesterday when I learned I would be studying Kyrgyz instead of Russian. I’ll get over it.

May only have internet access on Wednesdays, but will post more often if I can. Wish me luck.

Okay, I'm posting this from an internet cafe in Bishkek. We arrived here on a marshrutka (VW Bus-like vehicle). Who knew you could fit 20 people into one of them? The good news is it only cost 25 cents. 

In the book: The secret to unlocking the door. What to do when a dog starts chasing you. First trainee left after only three days and why. Russian vs. Kyrgyz.

Off to Philly

July 2, 2008

Off to Philly

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go. Yup, by Saturday I'll be leavin' on a jet plane. Don't know when I'll be back again. Well, I have an idea about when, but am clueless as to where. Lots of time before I have to worry about that.

Tomorrow morning I hop a train for Philly to engage in two days of "staging." I'll meet my 59 fellow classmates, hand in some forms and get some valuable information about surviving Kyrgyzstan. Personally, just tell me what I should avoid doing so I won't get spit on, thrown in jail and/or killed.

So, I hope you tune in occasionally to see what's going on with me in the Kyrgyz Republic. (I will post as often as I can, given my access to the internet and time may be limited.) 

Five minutes after I met my roommate, he revealed something unexpected. Also, in the book I write about who the troublemakers would be based on their behavior during Staging.