Lessons Learned, Tremors and (a Little) Lingering Anger

December 3, 2008

Cheap is as Cheap Does

Okay, so I try to be a smart shopper because I'm on a limited budget.  Valuable lessons are being learned in the process. Lesson #1.  Don't buy cheap in a developing country (at least not this one).  My father has always said to buy quality shoes. And while I took his advice in the States, I seem to have forgotten it over here.  My $12 winter shoes have already sprung a leak where the leather meets the sole (well, it looks like leather) and we've yet see any winter weather to speak of.  When I told a couple of students what happened and what they cost, I was advised, after they quit laughing, that I need to spend at least 2000 soms if I want a good pair of shoes.  That's $50.  That's also a hefty chunk of my monthly living allowance.  Still, if I don't want to lose a few digits to frostbite this winter, I'd better pony up the dough and buy some shoes that don't split at the seams after 2 months.  Lesson #2.  Don't buy Chinese anything.  I was with a student at the bazaar the other day when I was looking for a much needed extension cord.  The one made in China was 100 soms.  The one made in Russia was 280.  Of course, I bought the Chinese one, against the advice of my student.  I told her not everything made in China is crap.  She just smiled.  I got home, plugged the cord in the wall and turned on my computer.  The next day I'm back at the bazaar buying the Russian cord.  The only time it's good to buy cheap is if you're planning on losing whatever it was you bought.  But, who does that, right?  I should have with my gloves.  You may recall I shelled out $5 for my winter gloves. Today, I left them laying somewhere at school and they're gone.  In a city where everybody wears the “$1.50 made in China” kind, it's no surprise mine quickly found a new owner.

Don't Worry, I Survived the Earthquake

This morning during a break in class, my counterpart asked me if I felt the earthquake during the preceding student presentation.  Earthquake?  Maybe one of her desk legs is shorter than the others.  Then my cell rings.  It's a volunteer who asked if I was okay after the earthquake we just had.  Man, that presentation must've been really engrossing.  This makes two earthquakes I've experienced (the other was in Carbondale back in 1995) and I barely felt the first and completely missed the second.  I guess that's not a bad thing.

File This One Under....

“Did you read your job description?”  

Students are busy writing essays and completing the application form for a chance to study in America for a year.  The deadline is December 10.  I am personally helping four of them with their grammar.  Each student needs two letters of recommendation; preferably one from a teacher with whom he/she has a fairly long history.  The other should be someone who knows them fairly well.  I am writing two letters, but, in reality, should only be writing one.  One of them is for my friend, Aijamal.  I feel comfortable writing hers because I know her well enough outside the classroom.  The other student has her outside letter, a volunteer from Australia who helps her with her English and has known her two years.  So, I was quite surprised when she asked me for one, too, because she had told me her other letter was coming from the teacher that knew her best.  Turns out, this teacher (one of my detractors) said she was too busy to write it.  This task takes 20 minutes, tops.

Maybe this teacher is too busy still looking for offensive words in my blog, I don't know, but isn't a teachers job to help their students in any way they can? And what's bigger for a 20 year-old Central Asian student than a chance to live and study in America for a year?! Not much, let me tell ya. This is not a Kyrgyz thing. This is a teacher thing. I have a theory as to why she didn't want to write it. The student already speaks English as good as or better than the teacher (Not much thanks to the teacher. The student lives with a native English speaker and attends two of my extra classes every week.), so there might be some jealousy involved.  Of course, I wrote her letter, but I hope having two outside recs, and me having known her for only 2 ½ months, doesn't hurt her chances of going. She is totally qualified.

As result of changing from a blog to a mass email form of communication, you’ll notice a new formatting. The blog was more suited to a single topic structure; emails allow me to address multiple ideas in a single missive. Not sure yet how to format them in the book. Should each topic be a separate entry or should the topics be grouped under a single email entry?

I caught some misinformation from a previous post by reading this one. It wasn’t intentional; I simply didn’t recall from memory the exact details of what happened. This may happen again due to a decision I made before undertaking this project. I read and write about one communication at a time. I don’t read ahead. Not sure why I decided to do it this way, but I like it. Maybe it was to test my memory. I’m not going to have perfect recollection of events from eight years ago, but at the same time, I’ve amazed myself on more than a few occasions for remembering the smallest fact or correlating incident. That illustrates the lasting effect the PC has had on me.

Also in the book: additional tremors I've felt since 2010; my theory on why the taecher didn't write the letter of rec; missionaries in Kyrgyzstan--they're illegal and how they get in. 

Closing the Blog: My True Feelings

November 30, 2008

Scribblings of a Peace Corps Volunteer Redux

Hello and welcome to the new blog, almost the same as the old blog.  I know I won't get fooled again.  For some of you there is no change as you were sent an email every time I posted an entry.  For others, you'll no longer go to the blog and see there hasn't been any action.  All my news will come to you via personal email.  In many ways, this will be better.  It's sorta like an investigative reporter going from a major network to PBS.  You'll see and read things here that never would have made the public blog.

Many of you may wonder what caused the closing of the blog.  Well, it was basically one post from way back at the beginning of November; the one about the party on Teachers Day.  Seems some of my non-drinking co-workers (the royal English staff) took offense to being lumped together with some of their counterparts (the vodka guzzling proletarian Russian teachers).  They thought everybody who read that post would automatically label them alcoholics.  This led to me not being invited to any function where they'd be present for fear that I'd write something libelous or sleazy about them.  Then they didn't want to be in the same room with me at school because they found other posts which offended them.  It became a bit of a witch hunt.  There was one about the end of Ramadan where I omitted an important fact—a fact no one told me about when Ramadan was being explained to me, yet I was somehow supposed to miraculously know about it anyway when I wrote my entry.  In a couple of posts I mentioned how cool it was that so many Kyrgyz people know so many songs.  I meant it as a compliment.  Well, it wasn't according to the cultural sensitivity patrol.  They said when people read about how many songs Kyrgyz people know, is it because of their cultural pride or because they drink vodka at so many parties.  (During the two-hour meeting we had the other day to clear up these misunderstandings, i.e., my blatant insensitivity, everything always found its way back to the teachers Day post.)  I'll admit that I made some mistakes in a couple of posts.  I should have asked the extra question.  That I didn't was negligence on my part.  Was it intentional?  No.  Did it matter to my detractors?  No.

I don't want to ramble forever about this, although I could, but I knew I was going to lose this battle from the start when one of my peers—They're not my peers, dammit.  They speak and teach incorrect grammar.  I'm better than they are!  Now, that's insensitive.  And I would never write anything like that.  However, I honestly believe they feared I would.  Sorry for the digression.—when one of my peers said that upon returning from visiting another country, she only relates the good things she experienced.  Yeah, I knew victory was out of the question after hearing that.

Lose the battle, win the war.  I deplore censorship and now I don't have to adhere to it.  That said, I'm not out to expose all things bad in Kyrgyzstan, although as a developing nation there is no shortage of negatives.  I will continue to educate and entertain in a professional manner, highlighting the positives whenever I have the chance.  And also rest easy knowing the eyes of a small group of educators won't be looking.

Finally, I want to say two things.  First, if you don't want to receive these emails, simply let me know and I'll remove your name.  Second, please DO NOT forward these emails to anyone.  Read and delete is what I hope you will do.  The more people that see them, the greater chance the wrong person will see them.  Did you know the Peace Corps tapes some of the phone calls their staff makes to volunteers?  We're not supposed to know that but the Country Director's assistant is a good friend of mine and she told me.  Who knows what they'll do to keep an eye on us.  The Kyrgyz PC folks know I've shut down my blog and they know why.  Basically, I ain't trustin' nobody but a few.

All my Best,

Michael

If two of my family members had listened to my “read and delete” desire, I would not be sitting at my laptop writing this book. Why? Because shortly before I left Kyrgyzstan my computer crashed and I lost everything, blog posts, emails, photos. My niece and sister had saved them. I’m eternally grateful.

Also in the book: more indepth analysis of why I truly believe the attack on my blog was personal and how it changed the way I interact with people I've just met, both home and abroad.

The Silver Lining

November 27, 2008

This Blog is Closed

To save my Peace Corps career (if a two-year stint can be called a proper career), it is imperative I no longer post entries to my blog. I have learned the hard way that cultural sensibilities—no, a better word is sensitivities—cultural sensitivities exist which I can't avoid no matter how innocuous I believe my words to be. Honestly, I am not used to, nor have I been happy censoring myself, but was willing to do so. When that wasn't enough, I realized it was time to pull the plug. I wasn't being true to myself as a writer and to what I wanted to accomplish through the blog, which was to educate and entertain. Now I can write what I want. That's got to be the sliver lining I take away from this mess.

To my family, close friends and interested parties, you will still hear from me. If you don't fall into that category but would still like to hear about my exploits via email, simply post a comment to this entry with your email address. If I feel you won't turn me into the PC authorities, I'll add your name to the list. To everyone else who read Scribblings of a PC Volunteer, I thank you. I only wish we could have spent more time together.

Although blogless, I still have a lot to be thankful for. Happy Thanksgiving!!! 

Without question the most difficult task I undertook as a volunteer involved closing my blog, even though it wasn’t hitting the audience I had hoped it would. I had a country counter widget on that blog and it surpassed 25 countries, maybe even 30, but not all of my target audience—friends and family in the states—was reading it. Some didn’t have time; a few told me going to the blog was too much trouble. Obviously, some of my friends were lazier than I thought.

When I set up the blog, Blogspot allowed me to notify some people every time I posted an entry, but only ten. I wanted to have about 50 people notified. This impeded the path to full enjoyment as many folks likely didn’t even know the blog existed.

The next email explains in detail the reason for closing the blog. I never exceeded the level of anger I felt when writing it, prior to or afterwards. In fact, I can’t remember another time I was angry at all in Kyrgyzstan. Disappointed often, but I learned to live with that.

Relationship, Michael? Sure, uh, Maybe, um...

November 25, 2008

Dating in Kyrgyzstan

Dating like we know it in the States is on the rise in this country, but it differs in one significant way. The term “casual dating” does not exist. Yes, girls have boyfriends, but my students tell me the end desire is always marriage, at least for most Kyrgyz girls. I hear the Russian girls tend to have more of a Western outlook when it comes to boyfriends. You'd be hard pressed to find an over-30, never-been-married, single Kyrgyz girl in this country. Hell, over 25 isn't very common, although I do know a couple of 27 year-olds in Bishkek. They both have masters’ degrees from American University of Central Asia and their families think they will never find a husband. Also, the men of Kyrgyzstan want their wives to be virgins. And I believe many are when they marry. 

Personally, I'm petrified of asking a woman to something as innocent as dinner at a café for fear her father will show up at my door the next day saying his daughter costs 100,000 soms and 20 cows. Yes, dowries, or whatever they are called here, are still paid in this country. If the groom's family doesn't have the financial wherewithal to pay, they simply kidnap the girl. It's a practice called “bride kidnapping.” It can be a pretty complicated affair. Google it. 

The most important thing my two years in Kyrgyzstan taught me, as far as lifestyle was concerned, was that I liked living abroad and wanted to continue to do so. As an English teacher I could live virtually anywhere I desired. This would be more easily accomplished alone. I’ve always preferred the freedom of movement to long-term commitment. I married once and almost tried twice after that, but could never pull the trigger.

I was 55 when I finished with the PC. I stood on the threshold of realizing another long held dream; I wanted to see some of the world on someone else’s dime. My time in China allowed me to enjoy my two loves, teaching and traveling. My students used to kid me by saying teaching was my hobby and traveling my full-time job. Being a husband, most likely a father, and having to work harder than I wanted to support my family held little to no appeal.

Would I like to be in a relationship again? Sure. On my terms. This sounds selfish, but I’m not hurting anyone by standing by them, except maybe myself. First, I want someone who possesses the time to travel, someone like a teacher, with winter and summer breaks. Second, marriage is not a priority, but certainly a possibility.

Will I find someone to meet these two conditions? Maybe, but not until I settle in one place, find my base point. By the time I’ve been in Mexico six months, I will have looked at three cities as possible homes. I’d like to look at a couple more countries before I finally decide. The nice thing about this is that I’m perfectly happy living sans “that special lady.” Perhaps I’d be happier with her, perhaps not. As a loner by nature, I find peace in solitude and I almost never argue with myself.

Living Without What I Once Took for Granted

November 25, 2008

What’s Missing in My City?

We take so many things for granted in the States. I don't take anything for granted over here. What I know we don't have is a phone book. How do people learn the number of the bank or the bakery? I doubt that 411 exists. And I'm almost positive there is no 911. As far as I know my city has no fire department. Maybe there's no need because all the houses are made of cement. I know we don't have regular electricity. Most days it's off for 12 hours; six in the afternoon (which makes no sense from a business standpoint, only an economic one as in cost savings for the country) and six at night (usually midnight to six; I can live with that). Indoor plumbing is found only in apartments and some commercial buildings. My school building does not have it. Early on, volunteers learn where the indoor toilets are and which ones we are free to use. I used to have that same problem in Manhattan once in a while, especially before Starbucks. Something else you won't find in my city is a garbage can, but I won't get into that. Let's just say that street side landfills are all the rage. 

Approximately 30,000 people call Talas home, so I was able to find everything I needed to live comfortably, even if not everything I was used to. I have a feeling my expectations fell below those of my younger peers making my satisfaction level easier to achieve. That said, living wasn’t always convenient. Obviously, I had access to the Internet but was at the mercy of the electric company. Often my postings were delayed a day when the power was out. 

Also in the book: If I wanted to eat something besides Kyrgyz food, what were my choices? Why do Kyrgyz people use empty lots to dump their trash and who benefits from it? 

My Best Friend in Kyrgyzstan

November 20, 2008

My Best Friend in Kyrgyzstan

Based on my two months at my permanent site, best friend options are limited to fellow volunteers, the few people I meet through them, colleagues and students. The fifth choice is “none of the above” and given that I'm a solitary man (Neil Diamond) by nature, it is a viable option. But, I have found someone with whom I can laugh and joke, serve as a mentor and ask for help in just about any situation. She is an 18 year old student at the university and her name is Aijamal. We met when she asked if she could attend one of my extra classes for English conversation. I said yes even though I wasn't accepting second year students because her English was so good. Better than some of my 5th year pupils. She accompanies me when I need a translator; gives me advice about anything Kyrgyz; she's a writer in the drama club; and I'm helping in her efforts to get accepted to a program (Erasmus Mundus) where she can study in the States next year. (Sometimes I think I shouldn't be such a help. Who wants to lose a best friend?) She has a great sense of humor and a hunger to learn that is rarely seen in a student of any nationality. She is the most unlikely candidate for “best friend of a 53 year old American man”, but unlikely candidates sometimes win the race, right? 

Most girls in Kyrgyzstan seemed to be married by twenty or shortly thereafter, either by their own volition or bride kidnapped. If a girl marries under twenty she was almost assuredly kidnapped. I saw it many times in Talas over two years. Once wed, they had no time for a social life. Newly married women are called keilins (kay-lins), which means they have to cook, clean, bake and anything else their mothers-in-law ask of them; tell them is more like it. I liken them to indentured servants. A Kyrgyz friend of mine, who is a keilin, calls herself a slave. As an example, this friend, S, performs all of the duties listed above and teaches full-time at a university. Her usual day runs from 6 am to midnight, sometimes later.  

More in the book regarding the availabilty of friends, cross cultural marriage in Kyrgyzstan and I answer the question, "Did Aijamal study abroad and where?"

My Best Friend in Kyrgyzstan

November 20, 2008

My Best Friend in Kyrgyzstan

Based on my two months at my permanent site, best friend options are limited to fellow volunteers, the few people I meet through them, colleagues and students. The fifth choice is “none of the above” and given that I'm a solitary man (Neil Diamond) by nature, it is a viable option. But, I have found someone with whom I can laugh and joke, serve as a mentor and ask for help in just about any situation. She is an 18 year old student at the university and her name is Aijamal. We met when she asked if she could attend one of my extra classes for English conversation. I said yes even though I wasn't accepting second year students because her English was so good. Better than some of my 5th year pupils. She accompanies me when I need a translator; gives me advice about anything Kyrgyz; she's a writer in the drama club; and I'm helping in her efforts to get accepted to a program (Erasmus Mundus) where she can study in the States next year. (Sometimes I think I shouldn't be such a help. Who wants to lose a best friend?) She has a great sense of humor and a hunger to learn that is rarely seen in a student of any nationality. She is the most unlikely candidate for “best friend of a 53 year old American man”, but unlikely candidates sometimes win the race, right? 

Most girls in Kyrgyzstan seemed to be married by twenty or shortly thereafter, either by their own volition or bride kidnapped. Girls under twenty, as I learned over my two years in Talas, were almost universally kidnapped. Once wed, they had no time for a social life. Newly married women are called keilins (kay-lins), which means they have to cook, clean, bake and anything else their mothers-in-law ask of them; tell them is more like it. I liken them to indentured servants. A Kyrgyz friend of mine, who is a keilin, calls herself a slave. As an example, this friend, S, performs all of the duties listed above and teaches full-time at a university. Her usual day runs from 6 am to midnight, sometimes later.  

More in the book regarding the availability of friends, cross cultural marriage in Kyrgyzstan and I answer the question, "Did Aijamal study abroad and where?"

Is This the Same Guy?!

November 21, 2008

Is This the Same Guy?!

Two photos. Terrible photos, as usual, but the best this face can do. The first was taken the other day. The second one, the fat slob, was taken in May for my Peace Corps passport. (Thank the heavens you can't see it so well.) If that's how I looked in the States, no wonder I left. How embarrassing. When I showed the second one to my students they broke out in unrestrained laughter. They did not believe it was me. Neither did I. If it takes living abroad to stay in shape like this, y'all may never see me again. :)

We Be Bakin'

November 16, 2008

We Be Bakin’

Pizza. Chicken. Chocolate chip cookies. Pot roast. Muffins. Squash. My mouth waters at the thought of these foods. And they will be a reality now that I have my brand new oven. I think this replaces my radio as “best purchase since I've been here.” It will not fulfill all of my culinary cravings because, out of respect for my family, I will not cook pork in it, but it will expand my menu to the point I won't think I'm eating only potatoes and carrots all winter.

It carries a 2 year warranty which is useless in Kyrgyzstan. The reason? It's made in China. Like that was supposed to explain everything. When told that in America the warranty would be in effect, the saleslady didn't believe it. One of my students said the reason merchants don't honor the warranties on products is because they don't have to. The consumers don't demand that they do. Help Wanted: Consumer Advocate for Kyrgyz Republic. The way I look at it, if it breaks after two years, what do I care? I'm outta here.

My host mother, Gulmira, was thrilled that I wanted to buy an oven. She accompanied me to the bazaar to be my bargainer and make sure I bought a decent one. I have been trying to remember what I paid for it. I want to say about $40, but that might be a little high. I recall being happy with the price Gulmira negotiated and after learning that the 2-year guarantee was worthless, we found a taxi and headed home.

Also in the book: what ingredients make up a Kyrgyz pizza; the battle for my oven when I left the PC; and the hierarchy of quality in goods sold in Kyrgyzstan (based on country of manufacture).

Kazakhstan? But, I live in Kyrgyzstan. Oh, no.

November 13, 2008

You Won’t Believe What I Did!

Mostly because I don’t make episodes of my life like this public. But let me begin with yesterday. I was in Bishkek to visit AUCA (American University of Central Asia), hoping to secure a master class gig in January when we’re on holiday break. It’ll give me something to do for a few days during a cold, cold gray winter and it should be loads of fun. During lunch with the director of the student theatre, said gig was secured. Later, I attended a student dance performance at the city’s Opera House, an old ornate building that dates back to the Soviet era. Earlier in the day I visited a public school and worked with high school seniors (11th Form). That was a blast. I gave them a fictitious headline and, from it, they created characters and a storyline for a short play. They also had a gazillion questions about NYC and Barak Obama. I’m telling you the world is abuzz with Obama-mania. Yesterday was a great day. And then there was today.

I should have known it was going to be rocky when the receptionist at my hotel had a hard time getting me a taxi. I ended up riding with a driver who dropped off another fare, not the cab she reserved. He wanted 180 soms for a 100 soms ride. We settled on 120. He took me to the bus station where I would catch a marshrutka home. He pointed me to the waiting area and I hopped in to a waiting vehicle. In Kyrgyzstan marshrutkas don’t leave until they are full, so I had to wait about an hour for this to happen. That’s not really very long and I had a book to read. I thought the fare was less than it should have been but didn’t question it. The van was big and held lots of passengers. We took off and I immediately realized we weren’t going back the way I came. Then we hit the Kazakh border, but I still didn’t blink because a) sometimes in the winter the drivers go through Kazakhstan to get to my city because there is too much snow in the mountains and b) I have a Kazakh visa. Let me tell you, getting across the border was an ordeal. Not for everyone. Just me. To leave Kyrgyzstan, the lady soldier took my passport and wrote all my information on a piece of paper, then called someone. I was finally allowed to leave. Then I walked a hundred yards and had to go through it all again as I tried to enter Kazakhstan. This time all the info was punched into a computer and my photo was taken. Meanwhile, I’m hoping the bus doesn’t take off without me. I’m also hoping by this time next year the world has a higher opinion of America and Americans and life will be easier for us overseas. (Do your thing, Barak!)

Back on the bus I sit back until we stop again. Now we’re in Taraz, Kazakhstan and everybody is getting off the van again. I think it must be time to go back into Kyrgyzstan so I get off with them, but I’m getting a funny feeling because Taraz isn’t on the border. It’s close, but that doesn’t count. I ask the driver if I need my passport again and I figure out that this is the end of the line. Then I look at the sign in the front window of the marshrutka, the one I didn’t look at before boarding. Sure enough, I took the wrong one. You see, it all goes back to that taxi driver from the hotel. I told him I needed a marshrutka to Talas and he thought I said Taraz. Damn those language barriers. I’m really not panicking yet, but wondering how the hell I’m going to get home that day, and more importantly, how much is it going to cost me. I had about 1500 soms on me, but there was no guarantee that would be enough to get me home. And it almost wasn’t. Not to be overly dramatic, although I am wont to do so at times, but let me tell you the scariest part. I looked around that bus station parking lot and there was no one around me. I was the lone tree in the field. I saw a waiting area full of folks, but what was I going to do, walk up to each of them until I found someone who spoke English even a little bit? I realized/decided since I was totally on my own in communicating with anyone who could possibly help me, I’d start with my driver. And if I couldn’t get through to him, who knew what I would do. As a last resort I’d probably start asking anybody I could find, but only then. If that’s not motivation to improve my Kyrgyz, nothing is. 

Talking to my driver, who helped me back at the border crossing into Kazakhstan, I found vocabulary I didn’t know I knew. Amazing what desperation does to the mind. Anyway, he was nice enough to help me find a ride back to the right country. We waited until we saw a shrut (gettin’ tired of spelling the entire word) heading for Talas. I thanked him about six times, got on the bus and was ready to get home. That lasted about two minutes. I was told to disembark off for some reason having to do with my passport. Not knowing Russian, I had no choice but to obey. Then this weasel looking taxi driver started spouting more Russian to my shrut guy. My “street” antennae activated. I’ve seen this guy’s cousin driving a cab in Brooklyn, if you know what I mean. Like alpha males, every country also has its crooks and con men. Still he says that he can get me across the border and home for 500 soms. Steep, but again, what choice did I have? He also wanted the money upfront, which goes against what the PC told us, which is to always pay at the end of the ride, but this guy wasn’t moving until I handed him the cash. I did. We took off and he’s talking like I understand every word he’s saying, trying to be all friendly-like. Next thing I know we’ve pulled into this back lot where I see a few more taxis. Our trip took 5 minutes. I knew I’d been had. He points me to another car and says that’s my taxi home and it will cost me 500 soms. I said, “I just gave you 500!” Then he drew his finger across his throat while saying something I figured to mean “Fugidaboutit” or close to it. One thousand soms, the amount I just shelled out in the last 10 minutes, is about $25. Not much by American standards, but I’m not making an American standards salary. And I don’t have access to my American standards bank account. My newest, and third driver of the day, must have figured out the Russian weasel cheated me because they started yelling at each other. I didn’t get any refund, but I appreciated his saying something.

Settled into what I’m praying is my final vehicle of the day, I realize why I’m paying this guy 500 soms. In Kyrgyzstan, every taxi has a flat rate based on distance traveled. So, from Taraz to Talas it’s 500. If there’s only one passenger, he pays the whole fare. Two passengers split 500 and so on, until you get 4 people max. Since the other three passengers were the driver’s wife, infant son and a relative, it was like having just one passenger aboard, hence my 500 soms fare. But I finally felt safe because I didn’t think this guy would try anything with his wife in the car unless they were the Kyrgyz version of Bonnie and Clyde. Actually, they were very friendly, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I was too pissed at myself for not looking at the window sign back in Bishkek. For all of my survival instinct, at times, I’m the CEO of Airhead, Inc. I’ve slammed into walls and plate glass doors because of a preoccupation with a new play idea or some such thing. Anyhow, after only a couple minutes of self-flagellation, I decide to make the most of what’s left of my trip. I actually had a good Kyrgyz conversation with Samatbek and his wife. They are very nice people. Before taking me home, he dropped his wife, child and cousin at his father’s house. A crowd of people were there and all wanted to stare at the American in the car. One older dude actually got into the car and began speaking, I mean, slurring something in an unintelligible language. His bad breath and cigarette smoke gagged me. I needed fresh air. When I got out of the car, he got the hint and left. Then, after all the crap I’d endured today, I realized once again how the universe puts us right where we belong. A couple comes up to the car and apologizes for all the attention I’m getting. And they said it in English. And they live in Brooklyn! Sheepshead Bay. They’re Kyrgyz and back here for the sad occasion of the husband’s father’s funeral. They go back on Sunday, but said they were glad to talk to a fellow Brooklynite and I said likewise. We chatted for a couple minutes, I recapped my day and we said good-bye. Then I realized Samatbek was trying to tell me about this couple for several minutes but I couldn’t understand who he was talking about. All I could understand was that someone from Kyrgyzstan came from New York. Nothing more. Anyhow, what a nice way to end a long and hectic day. 

What a day that was!!! It ranks at the top of the list as the singularly most interesting day of my service. Everything I wrote happened, but some of what happened I didn’t write. I’m ready to reveal now, because the embarrassment associated with that day passed long ago. It's all in the book. : - )

Me and Barak? Yeah, We're Tight

November 5, 2008

Me and Barak? Yeah, We’re Tight

First, let me just say, YIPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thanks to my shortwave radio, I was able to catch election returns this morning, on the BBC and CRI. Hearing, live, that PA was projected for Obama and Obama has a sizable lead in FL. It was closer to the action than I thought I’d be. I must admit, I would’ve liked to channel surf, listening to the pundits. I did hear Eleanor Clift on BBC. Anyway, my radio was easily the wisest purchase I’ve made in Kyrgyzstan. Thanks to the Brooklyn Board of Elections, I was not able to vote. My absentee ballot never arrived. Of course maybe they didn’t have time to process my request. I mean I only applied for it in June. Proof again that everything in New York City is more difficult than it should be. As much as I wanted to vote in this historic election, the outcome was more important, which leads me to explain the title of this post.

In the fall of 2002 I was the executive assistant to one of the top black executives in Chicago. One day the phone rings and I ask, “Who’s calling, please?” The man says, “This is Barak Obama.” I told him I’d have to take a message as my boss was out of the office. Since I’d never heard of him, I asked him to spell his name. Later that day I asked my boss about this Barak fellow. I learned he was beginning to raise money to run for the U.S. Senate in 2004 and since my boss was a brother with money, he got a call. If memory serves me correctly, he wrote Obama a check for $1000. I was also told to keep an eye on this guy because he was a rising star. And I have. I spoke with our new president twice again after that first call. I remember the third call clearly. Perhaps sensing I might be a potential vote one day, or maybe it’s just his nature, we actually chatted for about two minutes. He asked me how long I’d been working for the company and I told him, but that it was just to pay the rent. My true love was playwriting. He wished me luck and that was that. Not a big deal, but I can say I’ve spoken to a president of the United States. I’m thinking maybe I’ll shoot him an email now that he’s got some pull in Washington. I’ll ask if he’ll work on increasing the Peace Corps’ budget. After all, we have a history. 

Obama pledged to double the number of Peace Corps Volunteers to 16,000 by 2011. In 2007, 8079 Americans were serving as PCVs in 75 countries around the world. By the time I entered, the number had risen to 75. This was an ambitious endeavor and he wouldn’t come close to achieving it; the Peace Corps did receive more funding in subsequent years, but not nearly enough to double its size. The numbers were revised later to 11,000 volunteers by 2016. That goal won’t be reached either. In 2010, the number of volunteers stood at 7,616 and by 2013 only 6,919 volunteers and trainees were part of the PC. To be fair, the number of countries with a Peace Corps presence had decreased to 65 countries. Why couldn’t the president’s goal be reached?

Securing additional funding for such budget items as NPR, the NEA and the Peace Corps usually fails. In fact, efforts to defund PBS and the NEA take place yearly, or they did several years ago anyway. The vital organizations may receive small incremental bumps in their budgets, but it’s never enough to achieve all they desire. As you may know, Republicans are the main stalwarts in these efforts.

Another digression. During my service I only met one volunteer who publicly admitted to being a Republican and he received his fair share of ridicule and abuse, warranted or not. Hollywood has been called the Celluloid Closet regarding homosexuality; that’s not a problem in the Peace Corps. The Peace Corps’ closet if full of Republicans. Well, maybe not full, hell maybe not crowded at all, for all I know. I’d love to know how many volunteers, a percentage, would admit to an affiliation with the GOP, because everybody know the vast number of us are bleeding heart liberals. I’d be shocked if it were even 5%. I’m guessing more like 1-2%. Young republicans are too busy interning with Goldman Sachs or Citi. Chris Dodd and Chris Matthews are two of the more well-known RPCVs (Returned Peace Corps Volunteers). I can’t name a single republican of similar stature who served.

Why has the number of countries fallen over 10% in the past eight years? Safety and civil unrest, which go hand-in-hand, would be my guess. In 2014, the PC suspended the program in Kenya because of civil unrest. Volunteers were likely given the option of leaving the Corps’ in good standing if they were close to completing their service or being relocated to another country. That would be a pain, because they would probably have to go through Pre-service Training (PST) again, learn another new language and hear the same health and safety information. Personally, I would ask for a transfer if I were less than 18 months into my service; more than that and I’d ask to be sent back to the states. Sometimes the Peace Corps is asked to leave, as was the case in Russia. The Russian government was convinced that the volunteers were CIA spies, or at least that’s the story I was told several times. I checked the PC website and was surprised to see that volunteers are still serving in The Ukraine given all the fighting going on there. My guess is they are all stationed in the western section of the country away from all the turmoil.

The financial crisis impacted the Peace Corps in a positive way for a while. With few jobs available to new graduates, the PC became a viable alternative. It would give the economy time to hopefully improve and pad their CV. Applications jumped to the highest levels in years in the first couple of years of the crisis, but that didn’t last long. One obstacle the Peace Corps needed to overcome was the arduous task of applying. I’m sure many potential volunteers said to hell with this after five hours of trying to complete the forms and seeing they were nowhere near completion. In 2013, only 10,000 people applied to the PC. The leadership finally realized something must be altered and they began by streamlining the application process. Now, the process took about an hour. Applicants could select their preferred country and specialization. In the past your recruiter told you want you would do and where you would do it. As a result of these changes, applications spiked to 23,000 in 2015. This didn’t mean more people would become volunteers, but the quality of volunteer should increase as the pool increased so dramatically.

Since 1961 approximately 220,000 Americans can say they have completed their Peace Corps service. As I’ve mentioned several times, I know this is not for everyone, but I wish more people would join. It really is the adventure of a lifetime.