Thursday, April 28, 2016

A Great Week; A Sobering Ending

January 24, 2009

A Great Week; A Sobering Ending

What a week! My best one in Kyrgyzstan. Where do I begin? (Thank you, Love Story) One of the most beautiful women I've seen in Bishkek greeted me at the bus station, where there's not a bus to be found, just taxis and marshrutkas. Her name is Kseniya and she works for American University of Central Asia (AUCA). (Pictured with Kostya, an AUCA student and my guide and translator for the week). She whisked me away to campus where I ate the first of several great tasting, familiar looking free meals from the U's cafe. Then I met my hostess for the week. Her name is Elvira and she's the top stage director for the Russian National Theatre in Bishkek. She directs for other local theatres and teaches at a couple local universities, including AUCA. I stayed at her apartment with her and her dachshund, a chubby 12-year old diva of a dog. Elvira's primary language is Russian. We each know about 20 words of each other's language, yet we were able to communicate effectively all week with the help of my newly purchased Russian-English dictionary. Kostya said, “Elvira's a little bit famous in Bishkek.”  Elvira, in her best English said, “Elvira, in Kyrgyzstan, popular, Jennifer Lopez." Okay, so I spent the week with two divas. She also likes to play mother. One night I wanted a cheeseburger for dinner and she wouldn't let me, saying it wasn't healthy. So, Kostya and I went to a pub the next day where I had one. She served me salted raw bacon this week and it tasted great. I guess pork fat qualifies as health food to her.

The Playwriting Workshop reminded me why I like teaching college students. The motivated writers that came all three days, which amounted to about 8 of the 36 who showed up on day one, were extremely interesting, and wrote a nice mixture of funny and poignant scripts. They also agreed to write a 30-minute play. I'll come back in April and we'll have another reading series. There may have been more interested students, but maybe they didn't think they could fit writing a 10-minute play into their schedules. Totally understandable. And it also whittled the class down to the 10 student level I asked for from day one. From my days as a resident playwright in Charlotte I remembered how the high school students had to be there whether they wanted to or not, so you're forced to deal all levels of enthusiasm.

I also agreed to hold a one-hour master class with some of Elvira's acting students.  I needed a translator for this one and it went pretty well considering one guy in the audience hogged all the Q&A time because my translator was too timid to tell him to shut up. I spoke about how theatre is produced in America and a little about my style of directing. I think they were expecting an acting coach as they kept asking to do exercises. In the audience were two actresses I'd seen perform the night before in a play at the Russian National Theatre, directed by, of course, Elvira. The play was a comedy and very entertaining even though it was in Russian and I understood very little. Kostya, who attended with me, gave me a brief explanation of the plot and the character relationships to help me along.

That would have been activity enough, but there was more. The school paper interviewed me. The national television station interviewed me after the master class. I took part in a press conference sponsored by NTS, with you know who on the panel with me, which, if you care to view it, can be found at www.kabar.kg.  The home page gives you a choice of languages and on the next page, far right, is a link to their recent press conferences. I also met the director of the station, a very nice man named Naryn.  He said next time I'm in town to let him know and we'll do this again.  Anyway, Kostya told me I didn't smile enough. There was a reason. The Peace Corps had to approve all these media events (I don’t think we got approval for all of them) and there's a laundry list of topics I can't mention or discuss, government and religion topping the list. I was thinking so hard, making sure I didn't misspeak, I forgot to smile. If there's a next time I will try to smile more. All this and taxi rides everywhere I went all week, I kinda felt like a celebrity. Got to admit, I liked it. For four days. Certain I couldn't take a steady diet of it.

On the ride back to reality, I mean Talas, my fantasy week came to an abrupt end.  

Early in the trip, my driver engaged in a playful back and forth, who can pass who and get to the top of the mountain first contest with another driver, one I believe he knew. I say that because all of these drivers seem to know each other. Anyway, the other driver won. Later on we had to slow down because of an accident; a gray car on the right side of the road and a red one on the left. It was a head on collision at very high speeds based on the conditions of the cars. When I saw that red car, well, half a red car, I knew it was the same one I'd seen in the passing contest. As we passed I saw the driver. He was dead, still pinned behind the wheel, his head lying on his shoulder. How many times have we seen someone speed past us and wonder, 'if that guy doesn't slow down, someone might get killed.' Not sure if he was alone in the car and/or if anyone else died (these taxis usually have at least 5 people in them). I can't believe anybody in either car survived but I couldn't tell either way. My driver, a very capable one, drove slower for a while but then went back to his usual high speed. You know I've written about the drivers in Kyrgyzstan before, but this was the first horrendous accident I've seen. The kid that died couldn't have been more than 25. My condolences go out to his family and to any other victim's families, if there were any.

In the book: what I used to inspire the students to write their plays; some information on Nikolay Shulgin, the man who allowed me to conduct the workshop and why I didn't return for another one; most eligible bachelor in Kyrgyzstan.

Monday, April 25, 2016

Dealing With the Age Gap

January 19, 2009

Hey,

I was in Bishkek last week for PC meetings and didn't have access to a computer, nor time to write. Back in Bishkek this week for a drama workshop at American University of Central Asia. As you might guess, it's a treat to be here because everybody at the school speaks English. Well, almost everybody. More on that when I write the recap this weekend

In-Service Training (IST)

Last week I didn't have access to a computer because I was at IST, one of the mandatory trainings of our service. The first two days we worked with our counterparts (CP), our teaching partners. Since I'm at a new school, with a new CP, a school that's never had a volunteer, it was essential she attend. I can always use more teacher training and she definitely needed it because the PC system was totally foreign to her. She left on Wednesday and I wish I could have gone with her.

If I were never to see my fellow volunteers ever again, save two or three, it would be all right with me. I'm kidding, but being around them is like taking a trip to 30 years ago. I see them and I'm looking into a human mirror. I've written about this before, but their behavior, well maybe I'm just gettin' old and cranky. Actually, it's hard to admit that I know now what I was like at 22. I was doing the same stuff they are. Ain't pretty now and I'm sure it wasn't then, either. For example, I walked past the same volunteer every morning, on purpose, just to smell if he reeked of the previous night's revelry. There wasn't a single morning he let me down. At least he wore a sport coat and tie every day in an effort to distract people from looking at his Rand McNally eyes. I really do like most of my peers and had some wonderful conversations last week; and as long as they don't intrude into my space with their youthful frivolity, I say let them live and learn like I did. Hopefully, it won't take them as long as it took me.

That said, maybe this puerile behavior has its plus side. Both our Country Director and Program Training Officer mentioned we are a special group of volunteers, having lost only 3 since swearing in. Outside of medical or disciplinary separation, I don't see us losing many more over the next 19 months. In truth, I'm proud to be a part of such a group; the service part.


Holy man, another entry related to age. Reading these emails for the first time since I wrote them, I’ve been repeatedly surprised at the frequency with which the subject affected my PC life, not always in a negative way, but to the point I felt the need to write about it. I’m suffering from serious brain strain in an effort to stay original regarding this topic as I lost copious amounts of cerebral matter when I was the age of my young compatriots. Well, let me have a try, anyway.

Also in the book: what being around young volunteers taught me; why we were one hotel away from sleeping in tents.

President Obama

By the time many of you read this we will officially have a new president. There has to be an optimistic aura enveloping the entire country. As one volunteer, who's been away from America since 2005, told me, “For the first time in four years, I don't have to pretend I'm Canadian.” Now, if he can create good paying jobs for all those who have lost theirs recently, including some people close to me, I'll be a happier man. The eyes of the world undoubtedly will monitor Obama's first 100 days with more scrutiny than any president in my life time. I believe he's up to the task, although as my students say, “Time will show.” And just in case you think I'm not doing my job over here, they used to say that. Now they say, “Time will tell.”

Barack Obama has less than a year left in his second term as I write this and it’s pretty incredible that he has accomplished so much in the face of unprecedented obstruction from an opposing party. Hail to the Chief!

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Six Months In, Lookalikes and Rumors

January 3, 2009

Hi All,

Life is a bit slower in January as we have no school.  We might not have any in February if it gets real cold, but so far it's been pleasant as mountain winters go.  Pretty amazing, one month and I'm an expert of mountain winters.

PC meetings and a drama workshop at AUCA will help January fly by.

Gotta run (not really, but I want to sound busy)

Michael

A Milestone of Sorts

Tuesday, January 7th marks six months in Kyrgyzstan. (December 20th was my 3 month anniversary as a volunteer.)  Of the 63 trainees that landed in Bishkek on July 7th, 54 of us are still here.  We lost 6 during training and only three since swearing in. Granted we don't live in the middle of nowhere in thatched roof huts with no electricity—actually the no electricity thing we do have—but, still, there are difficulties and adjustments have to be made.  Health, both physical and mental, is the key to survival in my opinion.  I'm not discounting homesickness, less than ideal work environments or any of the many other valid reasons for leaving, but if you're not healthy you're not going to be able to work through any of those other issues.


The next month will be a real test as the weather will likely be very cold and there is no school.  That means lots of down time that must be spent indoors.  Keeping myself busy with writing, extra classes for my students and a drama workshop at American University in Bishkek will help me navigate my way to February when it's rumored school will resume.  If not, we'll have another month of even less to keep us busy.  It would be easy to fall into a depressed state and/or drink more than usual.  That could result in more volunteers going home.  Let's pray that doesn't happen.

In the book I talk more about what I did to avoid getting too depressed, a good decision, and how my background helped as well.

January 3, 2009

Bits & Pieces

Throughout my life I've had people tell me I remind them of somebody, none of whom I would have chosen.  There was an actor in the 70s named Bradford Dillman and a basketball player named Brian Winters; I was told I resembled both and they look nothing alike.  Not to mention no one knows who the hell they are.  But, during my recent meetings in Bishkek, I realized I'm definitely moving up, prestige-wise, on the “You look like” ladder.  On successive days I was told I looked like Kevin Kline and Robert DeNiro.  While I was flattered I could make no sense of the choices. 

Winter in Kyrgyzstan 

On Christmas morning, just another Thursday for most Kyrgyzstonians, I awoke to a foot of snow. Gorgeous as it was, I was mildly cursing the heavenly powder as I had to shovel a hundred feet of it to get to the outhouse. Yesterday, it was warm enough that some of the Xmas snow was beginning to melt.  Then today it snowed again.  I'm thinking we might have snow on the ground until the spring thaw because of our elevation (4000 ft.); that every time some starts to melt it will snow again.  Not sure what's worse, all that sloppy slush or ice hidden under the snow.  Either way, walking has been quite an adventure in itself the past ten days.

In the book: details on the fall and how fortunate I was not to suffer a serious injury.


New Year’s in Kyrgyzstan

New Year's Eve in Kyrgyzstan fairly resembles the States with a couple of variations.  We have Christmas trees, they have New Year's trees.  Both are decorated and presents are exchanged in some houses.  I didn't see that in ours, but maybe they did it when I wasn't looking.  House parties are the norm with lots of food and plenty of champagne and vodka.  At midnight people revel outside and there are fireworks.  The major differences are 1) Most of the house parties involve only the family.  Friends and neighbors gather earlier in the day or on New Year's Day.  We had people over at 3pm on the Eve.  2) Fireworks are legal as they are sold at the bazaar and I'm not talking fire crackers and sparklers.  Everybody shoots off smaller versions of the kind you see in major displays.  It's colorful, loud and fun to watch, but I gotta think it's dangerous.  My host brothers, 9 and 11, were firing away and even though my host parents were watching, something could have gone wrong.

Rumors

A fellow volunteer overheard me talking on the phone to a Peace Corps staff member and the next thing I hear is that we are an item.  I had heard the Volunteer rumor mill was creative but this was a stretch even for them.  Today I was going to visit a fellow volunteer in his village, but my body decided I needed some exercise instead and had me running to the outhouse all morning. In a text message he said his host family knew a little about me from a family friend or member.  According to him, I said I have a wife and children in America.  I have declared myself the Center for Misinformation in Kyrgyzstan.  

In the book: the same rumor under different circumstances in China. 

Monday, April 18, 2016

The Kyrgyz Education System Explained

December 24, 2008

The Kyrgyz Education System and Me

This could be a long one, ladies and gentlemen, so go to the bathroom, grab the beverage of your choice and a snack and enjoy.

I've been wanting to write about this for quite some time, but thought better of posting it to my blog because I was trying to be sensitive to the citizenry of Kyrgyzstan.  We know what good that did me.

The other day I signed an agreement to teach at a new school, beginning January 5th.  The reasons for my move are both personal and professional.  Obviously, one of the reasons was the blog issue.  I didn't like having to censor myself, nor did I appreciate being told I was the individual who had to change, with no effort put forth by my young Kyrgyz co-workers to try and understand my point of view or offer any compromise regarding the blog.  Still, I was willing to take one for the team and stay because I really like my students.  But, when a teammate invades my privacy, the entire ball club can kiss my behind.  On two occasions I gave my flash drive to my counterpart, the one person I felt I could trust, to copy our class syllabi.  Weeks later, upon seeing the desktop of her laptop, I discovered she had helped herself to all the files on it.  These included some of my plays and personal documents.  What shocked me more than seeing them was the fact that she didn't even hide them in a folder.  I didn't even take the issue to my department head.  I immediately called my PC Program Manager and told her to please find me a new school.  Initially, she wanted to transfer me to a new site, but I like Talas, have made some good friends and didn't want to leave.  She also explained to me that privacy is not taken as seriously here as back in the US of A.  Okay, so those are the personal reasons.

Professionally, I wasn't being challenged enough at the U.  I felt this way even before the reasons stated above.  If you're going to teach in the PC, the university is the ivory tower.  You live in a city which means amenities like a decent bazaar, Internet connections, and cafes and stores that carry a wider variety of foods than if you lived in a village.  You're surrounded by people who speak English and people who want to learn it.  The levels of competency run the scale, but I speak English about 99% of the time.  If I lived in a village, I'd be forced to learn a language I'm not too keen on and won't do me any good once I leave here, simply because they don't have very many English speakers.  (Beginning in January I'm taking Russian classes.  Finally, I'll be able to read the menus in the cafes.  And if I ever get down to Brighton Beach...) I teach Conversational English, if you can call sitting around chatting teaching.  It's like having my own talk show, albeit with the same guests every day.  Yeah, it's the good life, relatively speaking, but it's not enough.  I was asking the universe if it thought I would be more effective in a different environment and voila!

My new school is called a college.  In the States it would be most like a community college.  Maybe this would be a good place to describe the educational system in Kyrgland.  Much of it has been held over from Soviet times.  The first section of a student's career is a combination of primary and secondary school, from Forms 1-11, equivalent to the same grades in America.  All 11 years are spent in the same building.  After 11th Form, students can move on to a university, which is 5 years (years 12- 16 in our system) so they graduate at 22.  Or, they can leave secondary school after the 9th Form and attend a college for 3 years.  My college offers agriculture, bookkeeping, veterinary medicine and a couple other disciplines, but I forget what they are.  After this, students usually move on to university for their final four years.  There are also stand-alone technical and medical colleges. The young woman who lives with us attends the medical college and is studying to be a pharmacist.

Why will my new job be more challenging?  Simple.  At the university, most (no, not all) of the students in the English department spoke it at some level of being able to communicate.  At the college, the reverse is true.  There is no English Department at my new school.  And the students only take it their first two years.  The third year is spent on their specialization.  Three teachers make up the department.  They each possess one copy of a 20 year old text book from the Soviet days from which to teach.  There are 3 computers in the entire school and no Internet.  My desire to teach younger students with fewer English skills was granted.  And I can't wait to begin.  At the U, maybe two or four students came to my extra classes.  At the college, 40 have signed up.  They are hungry for some English.  At the university, although I love my students, they think they're God's gift to English speakers simply because they're in the English Dept.

I mentioned that all 11 grades are taught in the same building.  Well, the students also take all their classes all 11 years with the same classmates.  It's the Group mate system (another Soviet holdover).  It stems from the collectivist culture of Kyrgyzstan; one for all and all for one.  The problem is it doesn't foster individual thinking.  The same system holds at the university.  For example, my 5th course students are divided into two sections of about 12 students each.  These 12 students all take the same classes all five years.  When I asked a student a question and they either didn't understand or couldn't think of the words to respond in English, 8 group mates are whispering the word or response in Kyrgyz so the student isn't embarrassed.  Sounds good, but how is that student going to learn if their group mates are always feeding them the answers.  And this is why some students reach 5th course and can't answer “What is your favorite food?”  Their listening skills are non-existent because they've never had to listen.  Their group mates listen for them.  I hope I can have a positive impact with the younger students so that when they get to 5th course they can hold a conversation with someone in English.  Alone.

Two more things and I'll wrap this up.  One, there is no such thing as an elective.  If you decide to enter the English Department, you will study English, a second foreign language (most take Russian or German) and how to become a teacher.  That's it.  The students have no other options.  The curriculum is set for their entire 5 years.  I understand this is going to change in the near future, but “near” in Kyrgyzstan could mean years. Two, grades don't mean squat in this country for several reasons.

Living in New York I learned that everything is available for a price and if you're willing to pay it, it's yours.  (I had a boss who wanted to see The Lion King so badly—back when the performances were sold out months in advance—paying $500 a ticket to see it within two weeks was worth it to him.)  Same thing takes place here, but on a smaller scale.  I've heard of students who never attended a SINGLE CLASS for five years, but were standing on the stage on graduation day after their fathers visited the school.  If the teachers were paid a decent salary, they wouldn't have to supplement their income, if you know what I mean.

The grades here run from 1-5, with 5 being an A.  Get a 3 or above and you pass.  Translated into numbers, the bottom of the 3 range (a C in the States) is 56 (78 in the States back when I was in school).  So, you only need to know half of the material to pass.  I had students that didn't reach that level so I gave them a 2.  By the time that grade reaches the official grade book, that 2 will take on a new shape:  3. Like it even matters.  One student's appearance at the final—a 5 minute oral exam—was her first since the first class of the semester.  I had no idea what grade to give her, zero was out of the question, so I asked her.  She said, with a straight face, “A three.”  Okay.

Many female students get married while they attend university, some as young as 18. They usually have a child fairly quickly.  When they do, they quit coming to school.  Example. I had a student who dropped out two years ago because she got married and gave birth.  Then she had another child.  This semester she decided to return to school.  Did she pick up where she left off? Nope. She left in 2nd course, her group mates are now in 4th course, and so is she.  She lost 3 semesters of schooling and will never recover those lost classes.  That's because of the group mate system.  I must ask someone what logic is behind this practice.

So, between group mates feeding answers, not having to make up for courses missed and (allegedly) paying for grades, you can understand how someone in the English Department can get to graduation day without being able to hold a simple conversation in English.  On the other hand, the system works well for the motivated students, just like anywhere.  I have met several legitimate highly educated, multi-lingual graduates in my short time here.

What I've tried to do is describe the Kyrgyz system so you can compare.  Nothing I have written has been fabricated or exaggerated.  And lest you think I'm letting the United States off the hook, we all know there are schools in America that are grade factories and teachers will give students grades they don't deserve for various reasons (you know what I'm talkin' about), and we have plenty of unmotivated students, etc.  No system is perfect, but some are better than others.

The move to the new school definitely improved my teaching skills. I learned to be more patient and realized the students almost always knew less than I thought they would; even the simplest words and phrases confounded them. ‘What is your favorite (color, food)?’; ‘How old are you?’; ‘Where do you live?’ are just a few. By the time I began teaching in China I was well-prepared to start with basics, as in a few classes I felt the room was full of primary school students instead of English majors. That said, their English was miles ahead of my Chinese.



Thursday, April 14, 2016

Youthful Indiscretions

December 21, 2008

Oh, To Be 22 Again—Not!

My senior year in college was the perfectly written script.  I had a cool apartment; an eclectic group of friends; our basketball team won the national championship; the star player was my roommate; and I loved a woman who has yet to have an equal in my life.  I used to say, only half-jokingly, that I wished I could be 22 forever.  That was before I joined the Peace Corps.  I am watching me be 22 all over again.  And it's not pretty.  It wasn't back then either, but I was too blind to see.  At times, literally. (Remember the Notre Dame game, dad?  I don't.)  It's not that they're bad kids, they're not.  They just like to enjoy themselves. Problem was, they did it when the rest of the hotel guests were sleeping.  Hey, some of the rowdiest ones are the best volunteers we have.  But...

During our training in Bishkek this past week, a guy I really like a lot had a few too many one night. Now, I don't know what he was doing in the hotel lobby at 1:30am because there ain't nothing down there, but he was and when he left to go to his room, he left his jacket behind.  The next morning it was given back to him by the front desk attendant, minus 2000 soms (about $50) and a digital camera that were in the pockets.  Guess you never know when you'll want to capture a Kodak moment in the lobby of the Issy-Kul Hotel.  He knew he screwed up and I said it was just another in a long line of life lessons we all have to learn.  I think he felt better when I told them it took me 'til I was about 35 before I began to take heed.

Yes, after all these years, youth is still wasted on the young.

Another common topic that appears in many missives, consciously or not, is age. Less than 10% of us in the K-16 class were over 40. We stood out. Being an older volunteer had its pros and cons. 

Also in the book, my advice to my young friend that went unheeded and the pros and cons of being an older volunteer explained.


Designer Footwear—Kyrgyz Style

Shoes are not worn in Kyrgyz households. Most of the time I wear socks but now that winter is nigh, I was told it's okay to wear house slippers. So, off to the bazaar I went. Finding a pair in my size was no easy task. When I finally did I was surprised to see they were a brand I knew, complete with the logo. PUMA. And what a deal. About $3. So, I put them in my bag and went home. Later that evening I thought I'd wear them. That's when I saw they weren't exactly what I thought they were. Seems I had purchased PUMA's Central Asian line of designer footwear. POMA. (See Photo) But, they keep my feet warm and that's what really matters.

Monday, April 11, 2016

Looking at Life Through New Eyes

December 21, 2008

Is it the Economy or the Adventure?

This past week I was in Bishkek for a 3-day training seminar on Winter Camps which I and 21 other volunteers are coordinating throughout the country for February.  During dinner one evening, the conversation turned toward what we want to do after September 2010.  I learned I am not alone in my desire to see some more of the world before returning to the States.  While I am looking for a neat way to cruise into retirement—Samoa is looking darned good—the other two volunteers in the conversation are 22.  One wants to teach English in Italy and the other in the Philippines (The latter vol doesn't want to return to the US until she's 30.)  There's also a 33 year old vol who wants to teach in Brazil after this.  Somehow I don't think we're the only four over here who feel this way.

So, is it the state of the economy, the adventure of living abroad or a sense of wanting to do more with your life than “working for the man”?  None of us knows what the economy will look like in two years, although we're all hopeful, and somewhat confident, it will be better.  Even so, I got the distinct feeling that even if it is, the three of us would still feel as we do today.      


“The Economy or the Adventure” illustrates vividly how deeply and immediately the PC had impacted my life and that of many of my peers. You will also notice a thematic overlap in many of my scribblings, especially living abroad, how it seeped into my being, and age as it related to my fellow volunteers. Being immersed into Kyrgyz culture confirmed a desire that began in college and had never left me; indeed, it only served to intensify it.

In the book: cultural immersion and how it affected my thoughts about living abroad; what part of cultural immersion I never grasped; and where are the four people I mentioned in the email today?

What the Holidays Mean to Me

December 18, 2008

Christmas

I’ve lived for 54 Christmases counting next week; the first fifty-three with my family.  (Two were celebrated in January. 1995 and 2001.)  This will be the first one I will not celebrate with them at all.  I will phone, but it won't be the same.  No Christmas music.  No kapusta or Polish sausage or ham.  No laughter.  (For 50 years that I can remember my father has told us to save the wrapping paper from the gifts. We do save the ribbons.) 

I am obviously not one for sameness in my life, but the one event that has been almost identical—save for the passing on of family members—has been Christmas.  And that's been just fine with me.  But, now, I'll miss two in a row.  No matter where I live after the Peace Corps, I'll do my best to resume the one tradition that has meant so much to me.

To everybody on this list, I truly hope you're able to share the holidays with your family, or close friends, at the very least. Happy holidays and may 2009 be your best year yet!

So many things we vow to do throughout our lives, only to see them unfulfilled for years. My string of Christmases away from my family stands at eight and counting.

In the book: what holidays mean to me and how I felt when I spent Thanksgiving with my family in 2015, only my 2nd in over 20 years. 

Thursday, April 7, 2016

To Volunteer at Home or Abroad

December 8, 2008

International Volunteer Day

December 5th was International Volunteer Day.  (How come no one sent me a card?     ;->) Last Spring someone asked me why I was joining the Peace Corps when there were so many Americans who needed help?  My initial response was I wanted to experience another part of the world while helping others.  A valid reason, I thought, but was it enough?  Was there more to my decision?  Or did I look at this opportunity as a two year working vacation?  Any thoughts that the PC was somehow going to be part holiday were dispelled soon after my arrival in Kyrgyzstan.  Anyway, it took me a few weeks of internal debate before I came to the following conclusion.

Millions of people need help, in America and around the world.  And millions of Americans volunteer every year.  For those of us in a position to travel abroad, that is where we should be, because not everyone's circumstances allow them to do so.  They, then, are the people who will volunteer at the local level.  Just because I am in Kyrgyzstan doesn't mean I'm doing anything more valuable or nobler than, say, my father, who drives cancer patients to their chemotherapy appointments.  We are both helping those who need it, just in different parts of the world.  Granted, I reap the benefits of experiencing a new culture and fight the battle of learning a new language, but I also live without heat and electricity for 12 hours a day.

So, to volunteers everywhere, be proud of what we do and may we continue helping others as long as we are able.  For those who would like to volunteer, but haven't yet, it's never too late to start.

A Different Kind of Internal Debate

After the meeting with my fellow teachers last week, I started to think that many Kyrgyz people, especially those who have traveled or lived in the States or Europe, must struggle mightily with the concept of one day living in a Kyrgyzstan that is “just like America.”  Their economy is free market.  They profess to have an open society.  This desire has many benefits and attendant costs associated with it.  One of the benefits is freedom of speech.  My experience tells me the Kyrgyz definition of this is “say what you want as long as it's what we want to hear.”  They seem to live by the “only we can criticize our own” philosophy.  Here is what I see as their internal debate: New World aspirations vs. an Old World mentality.  Until the latter can learn to co-exist fully with the former, Kyrgyzstan will never be “just like America.”

When I encountered a Kyrgyz (and later, a Chinese) person who had traveled or lived abroad, I jumped at the chance to ask them what they thought of the west. I had a few such discussions with two Kyrgyz students who took part in the Erasmus Mundus program. One of them studied in Belgium, the other in Spain. After their year-long experience abroad, they both expressed a desire to live in a western country but neither thought they would have the opportunity. I joked that they should find a foreigner and get married.

My stock question was always, give me your impression of the country you visited/lived in in a few words. Some people would say the availability of goods and services, others would mention the beauty of the countries, but they all talked about freedom. These two students talked about availability and freedom.

They were stunned by how much of everything they could buy, whether it was clothing, foods, technology, you name it. This might not have been such a big deal to a Chinese student, but for a Kyrgyz girl, it was eye-opening. Even in Bishkek, there wasn’t the variety of stuff that they saw in Europe. One girl saw a restaurant that served food from Senegal or Ethiopia, I can’t remember clearly. She had never heard of the country. The availability of everything they wanted and so many things they never knew existed overwhelmed them until they were settled in. Because of this abundance, the girls thought everyone in the west was wealthy. I told them it just seemed like that because poverty is often hidden in developed countries and their new friends wouldn’t be inclined to show the negative side of their countries.

No matter what people from developing countries think about the US, it’s been my experience that they all envy the freedom we’re allowed. Initially, these students were wary when told they could speak their minds freely. It took them a while to open up about Kyrgyzstan to their newfound friends. I used to do an exercise with my Chinese students where they would write the first three words that came to mind when I said United States. Freedom often topped the list and made the top three in every class. Other popular words were rich, NYC and Hollywood. Then I asked to do the same thing for China. Modest, hardworking and intelligent described their country most accurately according to them. Freedom was rarely written on any students’ list.

My most interesting discussion took place in an airport waiting for a flight. A Chinese woman who had grown up in a small village near Nanchang, where I taught, was returning to visit her family. She had married an Irish fellow, lived in Dubai and South Africa and presently resided in Singapore. It soon became very evident this native Chinese woman had an adverse opinion about her native land. She felt in general that the people were rude, boorish and inconsiderate, all traits that I had encountered as well, but I didn’t have the cultural connection so they were easier for me accept. She was basically telling me she felt ashamed. When I asked how long she would be in Nanchang, she replied, “For one very long week.”

Monday, April 4, 2016

Packages from Home; Thanksgiving and Our Dog

December 6, 2008

Mail Call

Back in August several trainees began receiving packages from home.  There'd be a crowd around them for the carton's Grand Opening.  You could hear the oohs and aahs as items were pulled from the box; candy, mac & cheese, Kool-Aid.  At the time I thought, 'How nice.  They're young.  You won't see me acting like that over a silly package.'  Yeah, right.  Yesterday I received a text from a fellow volunteer saying I had a package at the Post Office.  Given the trouble I've had receiving anything from the States, I was skeptical.  Still, I was up and out the door very early this morning.  When the lady actually gave me the package, I felt like someone had just handed me my newborn child.  I was the proud daddy of a package from my folks.

When I got home, I wanted to open it, but didn't really want to do it alone.  I wanted my own crowd ooh-ing and aah-ing. Fortunately I didn't have to wait long.  Two of my students were coming over this morning to give me some potatoes.  I ushered them into the living room and made them watch as I pulled each item and explained it in detail.  “Now, this is thermal underwear.  For when it gets really cold, ya know?”  Like they've never seen any before.  They were happy to eat some Twizzlers, though.  So was I.  'Twere not a Twizzler that saw the light of Sunday morn. (I'm typing this Saturday night.)  The winter clothes are being worn as I type.  One of the packages of tuna will be dinner after I finish this email.  And the DVDs of 20 Hitchcock films will get me through many a cold winter's eve.  Yes, I was a child today, full of joy and appreciation, thinking how lucky I am to have such a great support system.  Two more packages are on the way.  When they arrive, I'll be texting my students, telling them to get over here for more Grand Openings.  Oooooh, yeah!

Let Me See Your Passport

As I was putting my newly purchased persimmons in my backpack, I was approached by a guy.  He said hello and asked for my passport.  I asked, “ким?” (Who are you?)  He showed his police ID.  I showed him my Peace Corps ID.  He was satisfied and walked away.    He was working in plain clothes at the bazaar.  Must be where all the foreign subversives hang out, I don't know.  We get approached on occasion, but usually only in Bishkek.  Oh well, first time for everything.

Our Dog

The attachment named Lyka is our dog.  He's as friendly as can be and as I'm the only person that pays him any attention, he goes crazy every time he sees me.  I feel bad for him as he's on a leash that can't be more than 10 feet long.  And no matter how cold it gets, he has to sleep outside in his dog house.  I mean, I know they're built for the weather, but still.  I'd let him sleep in my room, but I'd have to give him a bath first.

Thanksgiving Dinner

Two pics from our dinner held at a local cafe.  Great food.  A turkey and chicken and everybody brought a dish to pass.  My deviled eggs vanished very quickly.  I promised to make them again at our Xmas dinner.  We all said what we were thankful for. I said I was thankful my family was healthy.  It was the first time all 14 of us from the oblast were together.  I split after a couple of hours when the vodka made its appearance.  



Relief accompanied the giddiness I felt upon the receipt of the CARE package from my folks. I never received the first one they sent. That doesn’t mean it didn’t reach Talas, because to this day, I believe it did. One insurmountable obstacle stood—sat, actually, as the lazy cow couldn’t be bothered to move—in my way of ever knowing the truth: the bulwark that commanded that section of the post office. For over a week she continually denied it was my package. I had one of my students ask if I could just go into the backroom and check the address label. No. This lady was the bane of many volunteers' existence, not just me. Based on her tremendous girth, it was thought that cookies and candies from the bazaar would find her more accommodating. Nope, it just found her in a larger dress. Actually, after several months she would occasionally get out of her chair and look in the back room, but the only real progress I was able to make with her was when she’d yell ‘jok’ (no) across the long room the second she saw my face in the doorway saving me the walk to hear it at the counter.

Also in the book, more postal horror stories, the joys of receiving packages and why I felt uncomfortable at large social gatherings.