The Volunteer Experince

Hear Ye Hear Ye

Here is something that I would like all readers to know before reading this next blog. This blog entry was written around late October and early November. So... the weather was A LOT warmer at the time that this blog was written. I would have posted it earlier but the internet was down last time I was in Naryn. I’m sorry to say but as far as the frequency of blog entries being posted go, they are going to slow down a bit. As we venture further into the upcoming winter months the electricity situation in the Kyrgyz Republic is only going to get worse. But not to worry, the blog entries will continue to roll. So keep checking and I’ll keep posting. Enjoy

Just a Ride in a Taxi

With the completion of the first quarter of the school year, school was closed for a week for autumn break. Though there are no classes to attend or homework to complete, work does not cease in rural living. During this time children are collecting autumn dried tree branches for fire, running errands via donkey for parents, picking last minute potatoes (harvest time for potatoes was a month ago), sweeping floors, and rounding up goats for the Friday livestock bazaar. The school playground, as well as the soccer field, is empty for all the village children are hard at work. Fathers continue their daily routine of herding sheep and cattle while wives are cleaning freshly picked wheat for baking bread, making noodles, and brewing Bozo. If you haven’t read my previous blog entry, Bozo is a fermented beer-like beverage made from wheat and water. Nothing like a cold tea cup of Bozo after a hard day’s work! I take that back. There’s no way Bozo could possibly replace a fresh Ninkasi Total Domination India Pale Ale locally brewed from Eugene, Oregon. I’m sorry but no way. Anyway, with a whole week on my hands there was a lot that I could do. There were books to be read, lesson plans to create, and even time to get some travelling in. However, lesson plans were a definite priority. If you come to class full of Kyrgyz children unprepared, you are in for a long day of fights breaking out, swearwords, explicitly offensive hand gestures, girl’s hair being pulled, loud cell phone music being played while you’re trying to teach, sharpened pencils potentially impaling fellow students, students getting up and out of their chairs, jumping jacks, and burps. So for the first few days of break I was working hard; making lesson plans for the following week when school starts back up again. Getting this work done first thing freed up the rest of my week do what I want. I made plans with some volunteer buddies from another part of Naryn to come stay a day and night. The plan was for them to come over, hang out in my village for a day, go to Naryn and hang out the next, and get up super early Friday morning to get to Bishkek. All the volunteers from Talas, Issyk-Kul, and Chui were going to be in Bishkek that weekend. It sounded like it would a good time. Not only was I excited to meet up with some friend volunteers that I hadn’t seen since PST but I also having a big time craving for a finely ground Turkish coffee and hamburger. We were to spend two nights in Bishkek. I had called my old host family from PST earlier that week and they said that they would love to have me that first Friday night. Nick, a Peace Corps volunteer, and Masa, a JICA (Japan’s version of Peace Corps) volunteer, came that Wednesday morning and we spent the day climbing hills and drinking tea. Nick said something that has been sticking with me ever since. We had just hiked to the top of one of the taller peaks surrounding my village. We sat down on the dried grass and gazed out at the breathtaking scenery; red, snow covered, mountain peaks towering over the huge Naryn river gorge. The sky was an incredibly clear blue with a low sun making its’ high noon directly behind us. Days are much shorter here in Kyrgyzstan than they are back in the states. We sat there admiring the unique topography of this spectacular country. We got to talking and about our experiences here thus far. We weren’t even an eighth into our service and the experience here thus far has been much like a roller coaster. You think you’ve figured things out but you really don’t have a clue. You’ve heard that a marshrutka passes through Naryn on its way to your village but it doesn’t come and you’re stuck walking up the road out in the cold trying to hitch a ride back. You think you’ve adjusted to the food but you get food poisoning again the next weekend. We came to the conclusion that we are done trying to figure things out because they really cannot be figured out. During training Peace Corps staff told us that it’s best to just go along with the chaos because it is not in your control. This is starting to make more and more sense as I’m acclimating to this new and completely different way of life. I recall mentioning in an older blog entry about PST and feeling like a child. Well I’m getting well into my service and I still do feel much like a child trying to figure life out. Being child and a teacher at the same time is an interesting dynamic. Though I am a teacher when I step into the class room, however, I must be a student when I step out. That is I am a student of the Kyrgyz way of life. I must pay attention, listen, take notes, and even take exams (real life Kyrgyz encounters), on Kyrgyz culture, language, and behavior. This is most definitely one of the hardest classes I’ve ever taken. Keeping an open mind is only the beginning. That evening we made a big bonfire down at the river bank during sunset a talked more about our times here so far in Kyrgyzstan and how different Kyrgyz life and culture is. We watched the evening sun go down over the mountains and put the fire out; we were hungry. My host family was excited to meet some fellow volunteers and Nick commented that my host mom’s bread was the best he’s ever had in Kyrgyzstan. I have to say my host mom does make some damn good (naan). So my host family made ???? (Plov) that night. Plov is a Russian dish of carrots, rice, and sheep. We stuffed ourselves sillly and hit the sack for the night; we were beat. We retreated to my room aтв talked for a while before we passed out. The next morning I awoke to use the outhouse, only to find that everything around me was covered in snow.

English Teacher in Kyrgyzstan (Question and Answer Time)

There have been quite a few details that I’ve been leaving out in these blog entries that I’m sure friends, family, and readers alike are curious about. I feel that it is very important that these questions be addressed for not only satisfying readers’ questions but for my future well being as well. That sounds kind of strange but it is true. I don’t want to come home and approach my family and friends and have a void between us. I would have just spent a significant amount of time in such a foreign land with newly acquired knowledge and life experience and everyone around me would have little or no idea of what I went through. I would feel lonely with no real solid way of explaining the time here. That is where this blog comes in. I can update friends and family live right here in Kyrgyzstan through my writing. Brilliant! You all will have an idea what I’m going through during the good and bad times out in the field here. I can share stories with friends and family live as they unravel before my eyes. So what I’m trying to say is read my blog! Read it for the sake of entertainment, learning of Kyrgyz and Central Asian culture, Peace Corps life, and for me.So, what are some details about life out in the field here? Questions of my casual encounters with fellow villagers, daily routines, weather, etc. A basic question may be something as simple as “What the Hell are you doing out there Mike? I know you are teaching English but can’t be doing that all the time.” Or how about questions like; “How hard is it learning the language? Is it awkward around people when you can’t understand them? Do you get to clean yourself often? How dirty are you? Are you gaining or losing weight? How is it living in such an isolated area? Are you homesick? Do you get sad or lonely? Making new friends? Just to name a few. These are questions that I would be asking myself if were at home and someone I knew was on the other side of the planet. These are questions that you as a reader may have not been curious about but I want you to ask them to me anyway. So what are the nitty-gritty details of living out there Mr. Mike? Well first off, I am DIRTY. I clean maybe once every three weeks at most. My host family has a ???? (Banya) or ????? (Mohn-cho) which is a sauna made out of clay that is heated using a fire made from sticks and cow pies (manure); lovely indeed. No electricity necessary. The Banya heats up as you splash cold water from a bucket onto the hot stove to steam up the place. You can make warm water by mixing the cold water with water from the hot bucket that is located on top of the rocks. Using the warm water and the ladle you can give yourself a nice bucket bath. I’ll tell you after a month of no Banya you feel pretty dirty. After you Banya after not Banya-ing for a month you feel good. Damn good. Damn is feels good to be clean. Cleaning clothes is a major pain especially if your host mother makes you wash and rewash your socks three times. One night a few weeks ago I was washing my socks while my host mom and my 10 year-old little host sister were making strawberry jelly with strawberries from the Osh bizarre in Bishkek. My host mom had made the long journey up to Bishkek just to buy strawberries to make this jelly. No such thing as strawberries in Naryn. So I sat there scrubbing my socks while they cleaned and ate strawberries not bothering to offer me any. Just when I thought I was finished, my host mom said “????,” or “again.” I was like “are you serious? Again? Alright, I’ll do it.” It took me almost an hour to scrub all my socks the first time around and I didn’t want to do it again. So I kept scrubbing. My little sister kept smiling at me with her face full of strawberries. I was growing irritated so I scrubbed harder. Thoughts like “I am strawberry deprived. I, seriously, need some strawberries. Just one will do. Strawberries are so amazing.” were going through my head. My family still didn’t offer. I cooled off as I was nearing the end of scrubbing my last pair and when I finished my host mom said, “??? ????,” or “one more time.” I couldn’t believe it. Three times she wanted me to wash my socks! I wanted to dump my dirty sock water over my little sister’s head but then the Red Hot Chili Peppers song “Can’t Stop” came on the television. I’m not lying. The only American music that Kyrgyz people hear, or are at least enjoy, is 50 Cent or Brittney Spears. Red Hot Chili Peppers playing in Kyrgyzstan? A Miracle. It was on a Russian television broadcast from Moscow or something and there was some sort of fashion show going on and the song “Can’t Stop” from their album, By The Way, was playing in the background. Then I thought; “I can’t stop scrubbing now. The Chili Peppers are telling me not to stop.” I took it as a sign so didn’t stop and I kept scrubbing… one more time. It was getting pretty late so I sped through this last cycle. By now the family was dumping buckets full of sugar onto the strawberries. It’s about one cup of sugar to every cup of strawberries; a sugary overload. After I had wrung out all the water from my socks I cleaned up my little splashy mess that I made on their floor. I was still feeling pretty frustrated when I went outside to hang them up. The cold air was stinging and I knew for sure that the next morning my socks would be frozen solid. I hung them up and returned inside. I was just getting ready to go to bed when my little sister asked me to come join the family for tea. I sat down and they gave me a cup of tea and a bowl of fresh red strawberries. I thanked them greatly and they said it was nothing. Then I ate them… the strawberries, not the family.

We bundled up and had a Chai and bread that morning. We slept in and missed the 7 am ride into Naryn so we stuck around for the 1:30 marshrutka. We were silent on the walk to the bus stop on the main road outside my village; nodding our heads to locals as we walked through the frigid air. I was sniffling a bit; still trying to battle off a little cold that I caught a few days back. The snow had melted a bit but none the less it was still snowing weather; high, dark grey clouds and dry air. I had my fat jacket on and two pairs of gloves on. I gave one pair to Masa because his hands were frozen red. We waited at the stop for a half hour or so for the ride to show. We piled in the rickety orange colored van and took our “seats.” The ceiling was real low so I sat bent over next to an old Kyrgyz woman wearing a colorful headdress with her young girl who must have been six or so. The little girl had scratches and spots on her face and lay like a rag doll in her mother’s lap. It was a disturbing sight. The vehicle got on its way and before I knew it we were bouncing up and down on the road. The road to Naryn from my village is poor one loaded with pot holes. Cows and sheep were being herded their way back home from their morning grazing out in the pastures at this hour in the day. The driver would slow down but wouldn’t stop to let the animals pass so we’d be driving through these herds barley touching them. You feel like you’re in Jurassic Park or something while you’re in a car and huge cows are all around you. We’d be on our way and would just keep looking out the window. The road hugs the barren foothills of a mountain range that I don’t know the name of. To the North you can see the huge snowy peaks of the Moldo-Too mountain range and just below that is the wide basin of the Naryn River. Seeing nothing but mountains, barren fields, sparsely placed trees, and the occasional village or mud hut you realize how far away you live from everything. It is both a wild and lonely feeling. The bench in the van I was sitting on was very hot and the whole van was just too warm and stuffy. I think the only thing separating my bench from the marshrutka’s engine was a sheet of metal. It was warm and crowded the whole ride over so I shed a few layers. I looked around the vehicle taking notice of the others in van with me. Nick and Masa were fast asleep. There were couple children staring as usual and a man praying as we passed by the graveyards on the sides of roads. It’s customary in Kyrgyzstan to wipe your face with both hands as you pass by a grave site to honor the dead. We were another 30 mintues or so away from Naryn city when the lady with the little girl told the driver to stop the vehicle. The mother stood up, with her daughter in her arms still, and shuffled past me to get outside. The door opened and the rush of cold air from outside lifted my spirits. They got out of the car and just started walking. I don’t know where they were headed. I couldn’t make out any homes in that field. They kept walking into the field as we pulled away. Where were they going? We got to Naryn city and I leaped out of the car for some instant fresh air and a quick stretch after being smashed in like sardines in that marshrutka. We paid our driver, got some cafй food, and headed to our friends apartment to hang out. As the day winded down the snow began to fall. I went to bed early that night; unaware of the madness that was soon to ensue in the next 24 hours on that unforgettable taxi ride through the Dolon Mountain pass.

How’s the food situation out there?

This is problem that I’ve been trying to deal with since my arrival here in Naryn. What will take some serious trial and error is proper eating. Throughout the day I drag and lose focus; body mainly running mostly on bread, tea, and buckwheat. Then at night I’ll have dinner with the host family where it’s potatoes, potatoes, and more potatoes (I don’t know how the Kyrgyz people can live off of nothing but potatoes and sheep for all these winter months. Then again, they’ve been doing it for thousands of years.) I’m an active person who goes running, climbs hills, does pull-ups, and wrestles with the kids during wrestling club and doing this on this diet is not good. The food selection is quite the downgrade from the fresh produce, beans, chicken, eggs, and fish I used to cook for myself everyday back home. The fruit and vegetable selection in Naryn is extremely limited; true seasonal eating in this part of Kyrgyzstan. Root vegetables like carrots and beets are all that’s available this time of year here. In the Peace Corps it’s typical of men to lose 10 to 15 pounds of body weight and women to gain 10 to 20 pounds. This is characteristic of Peace Corps volunteers in most countries Peace Corps serves and it’s very characteristic to the seasonal diet of Naryn. Most of the male PCVs have lost a significant amount of weight, including myself, here but it’s not a healthy way of losing weight. A lot of weight that is lost is muscle because of the lack of protein in the diet. Volunteers living in Jalal-Abad or Osh Oblasts in the south of Kyrgyzstan you can buy a variety of fruits and vegetables all throughout the year for a more balanced diet. Osh and Jalal-Abad are located in the lush, fertile, soil of the Fergana Valley stretching from the Kyrgyz Ala-Too mountain range and well into Uzbekistan. Bazaars in these parts are loaded with exotic fresh fruits, vegetables, beans, and walnuts year round, however according to my host-family, pesticides are rampant. Valleys in Naryn and Issyk-Kul oblasts have a drier climate and too of hard soil to grow such variety. The Chui Valley, the Oblast where Bishkek is, gets a variety of fruit and vegetable imports from Uzbekistan and China. Oranges, plums, and apricots adorn the bazaars here. When I was in the Osh Bazaar in Bishkek last month I purchased a kilo of walnuts for 250 Som (about US $6) and a half kilo of oranges for 55 Som ($1.75). I hadn’t had an orange since I was back in the states! Ecstasy! No oranges in Naryn; no imports at all for that matter. It’s just Naryn-grown food here. Before my move to begin my service in Naryn I knew about the whole seasonal eating and that it was going to be hard but doable. Easy to think when you’re near Bishkek, living the pre service training life and you got fruits and vegetables at every meal. Now that I’m experiencing it firsthand it’s a lot harder than I imagined. There are times where I’ll be walking around and I’ll think “Damn I could REALLY go for a tomato right now,” however no tomatoes in my village. They went out of season a couple months ago. Don’t think that Naryn volunteers are completely deprived of fruits and vegetables. Naryn bazaars have plenty of all vegetables that are in season. My dilemma is that there is no bazaar in my village to buy these sorts of food. The closest bazaar is in the Rayon center 45 minutes away and, unfortunately, it’s only open Fridays: a working day for me. As important as these vegetables are they are not in comparison to the importance of protein; especially in upcoming winter months. My family and I will eat sheep with our potatoes maybe once a week which is good but not enough. With help of good ol’ mom and dad I get peanut butter, assorted nuts, and protein powder in packages from home. Nonetheless it is still a limited supply. Boiling eggs and taking them to school would be amazing but, according to my host mother, chickens don’t lay eggs this time of year. Not all volunteers are as critical of the foods they eat as me. For me it’s an issue that deserves a serious effort to solve. Figuring out how to get enough food is going to take some time. Much of it relates to the dynamic of how life is lived out here. This much slower pace of life is hard to adjust to. If I wear in America and I wanted an apple I could probably get one in 5 to 10 minutes. Here it’s much different. I’ll have to wait another week for the bazaar to be open and take a taxi forty five minutes away using the limited language I know. Just like any other problem here it’s going to take some time and effort.

What’s a typical in day like in the Peace Corps?

The first thing I do is I wake up around 6:30 and take my calcium and multi-vitamin. The electricity would have most likely gone out in the middle of the night so it is very cold in my room. I’ll quickly bundle up and make my way outside my room to the tea table. Do to the cold my family has moved the floor table to the little hallway outside my room where it’s the warmest in the house. At night I’ll be in my room writing lesson plans while rockn’ out to some Steely Dan or something and they’ll be sitting on the floor at the table drinking tea right outside my room. They must think I’m so weird. I’ll wash my face (It’s customary to wash your face every morning right when you wake up) then sit down and heat up some hot water and make tea while I eat my “breakfast” of bread. That’s one thing that deserves some serious work; I’m on a mission to find the perfect breakfast. I’ve heard of oatmeal in the Naryn bazaar… “Ohmeeen,” I’ll say, and grab my backpack full of lesson plans, put on my shoes, and head outside for the walk to the school. Walking in the frigid air on the dirt paths, now partially frozen, it is still dark for 7:15 in the morning and from what I hear it only get darker. To stay warm I wear long-underwear and wool socks along with a long sleeve dress shirt and a fleece sweater over that. On my head I got an awesome beanie my mom sent me and if it’s really cold I’ll throw on this fat winter coat that was a hand-me-down from a volunteer who just served in this a very area and COS’d (Completion of Service) this past summer. It’s a sweet jacket and as much as I want to keep it after I feel it will me my duty to hand it down to the next volunteer who serves here. As I was saying it’s pretty dark here for this hour. It’s interesting because lately nights have filled with bright moonlight. The moon rises to the middle of the sky and rains light. It’ll be 12 at night but you can see for miles and miles and even make out faces. There’s an enormous snow covered peak about 15 or so miles away but you can still see it perfectly. So I’ll be making the 10 minute walk to my school, dodging cows, sheep, manure, and frozen water streams. I’ll greet sheep and cattle herders every morning as I pass by them on my way to class. “Asalom-aleikom,” I’ll say. “Ah Mike! Aleikom-asalom,” they’ll reply. Everyone in town knows the volunteer’s name. Almost to the school now, I make past the last of the vicious barking guard dogs. I actually got bit pretty hard by one of these ferocious beasts one Monday morning. I was walking when a lady was pulling a barrow full of buckets of water crossed my path. Her guard dog stared me down and I stopped and stared right back= Big mistake. The dog came around me and just as I was making my way out that situation the dog came up from behind and nipped me right in my left calf and trotted away. The lady kind of had a frightened look on her face but I turned away and angrily and stormed off to school. Luckily I had my long underwear under my pants so there were no puncture wounds. I came across this lady again a few days ago, with her guard dog. “God-damn it not this again,” I thought. This time she herded the dog around me to avoid another confrontation. Had I blown up in her face the first time maybe she wouldn’t have protected me this second time? I don’t know but I’m running late for my sixth form class. I’ll get to school and children will just crawling all over the place; scrambling to get class. “Salamatsus-buh! Salamatsus-buh! Salamatsus-buh!” Children will say to me as there passing by in the hall; racing to their homerooms. I’ll walk down the nicely painted light blue, red, and white hallway (the same color and pattern I have right here on my blog) passing plaques of accomplished students. All the pictures of the students are a full on frontal mug-shot with no smile. Some of the pictures are downright freaky looking. There’s one of my little host sister and she totally looks like a dude. I’ll be approaching my 6th form classroom and already I can hear the madness that’s ensuing inside. First off school is a difficult, wild, and stressful ride; an emotional rollercoaster, so to speak. Now it’s different every day. Some days my counterpart (the school’s English teacher that I work with) will have gotten their first and would have calmed the children down but on this day I’m the first to arrive. It will barely be eight in the morning and fight has already broken out. With other students climbing around on top of desks and boys pulling girls hair, the classroom atmosphere takes on that of a scene from The Lord of the Flies. Fighting among students is common and when it happens right in front of me there really isn’t much I can do. I’ll peel kids off each other but right on after they’ll just keep fighting. Not losing your temper on these kids is a difficult thing to do. I’m getting pretty angry and I’m just about to lose it and then my counterpart shows up and says the magic words I don’t understand to get their attention. After a couple minutes of some fiery arguing between the teacher and students, the children calm down and take their seats. I’ll take a seat for a minute as well to cool off from that whole episode. I’ll take a deep breath and start the class. It’s important to start lessons off with a game or some sort of “warm-up” to get the kids interested. We’ll play grammar and vocabulary games like “hangman,” among many others. Then either my counterpart or I will present the day’s topic. If you have a good, solid, warm-up the kids tend to respond better and be more eager to participate during this part of the class. After the information has been presented we’ll usually read together or play another grammar activity. Then we’ll wind down with some more independent type work where students will either read or write on their own. After this activity we’ll give the students their homework and they’ll get ready to go to their next class. After each lesson, students who feel they deserve a grade for the day can receive one. Students bring their own grade book to class everyday in hopes of earning a 5 for that particular lesson. The teacher will give a student a grade on a scale from one to five, depending on the student’s performance. All grades must be filled in with blue ink. Failure to comply with these rules results in a talk with the assistant principal. I’ve heard of horror stories of volunteers getting absolutely chewed out by their principals because they put the students’ grade in the wrong section of the notebook. I’ve heard principals will actually scrape the blue ink off the page in order to correct it. This strict grading system is residual of the old method that the Soviet Union administered before its collapse in the early 90’s. Once the grading is completed the students will leave and I’ll usually have two or three more classes following and then it’s time for a little mid day break. This doesn’t happen all the time but on some days I’ll be getting my stuff together for the walk home and the vice-principal will approach me asking for something. Most recently she asked for a whole years worth of lesson plans for English club. I’ve just started English club and really have no idea what to do in it. I tell her I’ll work on it and I’ll make it on my way home feeling pretty beat up about the confrontation. I’ll go home eat some bread and tea, throw on some warm gear, lace up, and for a run down the dirt road outside my village. Having this time to run is great. It’s the middle of the day, the sun is usually out, and the scenery on these trails is incredible. It’s a great time to get away, forget about what happened at school, collect my thoughts, and mentally prepare for the rest of the day. I’ll come home do some push-ups and stretch out a bit. By then my host mother will have prepared either rice or buckwheat for lunch. I’ll devour this meal and get ready for my fifth form class in the afternoon. I’ll bring with me a snack of some peanuts and bread for I won’t have time to come home after this final class. Right after class I’ll have my Kyrgyz language tutor for an hour. I’ll work with the school’s Kyrgyz teacher to help improve my Kyrgyz language skills. Afterwards I’ll have my English club, which I’ve very recently started. I put on three English clubs per week; each one hour and divided by grade. We have a television and DVD player that the previous volunteer got so I’m thinking about playing some serious movies like Napoleon Dynamite. I’m still trying to figure out what to do for English club but at the moment I’m just playing UNO with all my students for the hour. It’s a pretty good time being able to hang out with these students at a different, more casual level. It feels like serious business in the classroom but at club I can just hang out with the students, relax, and be myself. It’s funny because at club none of the students are rowdy or out of control. Maybe by forming this kind of relationship with the students they’ll respect me more in class. After club there will still be a little bit of light out and some local farm boys my age, who’ve also finished their work for the day, will be playing a pick-game of volleyball in the schoolyard. I’ll role up the sleeves on my teacher clothes, kick it, and play some sets with the guys for a bit. The sun will soon start to set in the mountains queuing that it’s time to go home for it will be dark real soon. The evening sky will be purple and orange as I walk with a few of my students down the dirt road on the way to the small village store (built into the side of someone’s house). I’ll have gone through two Nalgene bottles of distilled water by now and I’ll still be pretty thirsty so I’ll go to the store to see if they have any water on sale. Because of the altitude and dry weather it’s pretty easy to get dehydrated out here. I’ll get inside and from behind the counter, I’ll ask for a bottle of water. “Sorry Mike,” the 10-year-old girl working at the store will say, “but no water right now. Would you like a liter of Coke or Sprite instead?” That’s probably how it goes 75% of the time. I’ll say goodbye to my students and I’ll head on home. When I get to my house I’ll go to my room and get my lesson plans for the next day out of the way. I’ll have dinner with the host fam and talk with them for a little while about my day. I’ll brush my teeth and retire to my room for the night. By then I’m pretty beat so I’ll read a book, type on my blog, or chill out to some Barry White on my iPod and pass out soon afterwards. And that, my friends, is what I do on a typical day in here in Kyrgyzstan; truly a buffet line of unpredictable emotions, stresses, highs, and lows.

Old-Soviet style Kvartieras (apartments) line the streets of Naryn. We spent the night in one of the Naryn city volunteer’s apartments and overnight snow had blanketed everything in sight. We got up that next morning to catch an early ride out to make it to Bishkek at a decent hour. Masa decided to stay in Naryn that weekend but Gene, a fellow Naryn volunteer, was going to join me and Nick. We were talkative; excited to meet up with the others and eat some tasty burgers at the American ex-pat hangouts in Bishkek. We got a taxi with ease, though, many of the drivers wanted 500 per person. The usual fare from Naryn to Bishkek is about 300 or so but today drivers upped their prices because of the weather conditions. We managed to get a ride for 400 som per person which was good. It was me, Gene, Nick, the driver and another young Kyrgyz lad in this taxi on our way to Bishkek. We loaded our backpacks and sleeping bags in the trunk of the beat up station wagon and then “BA-A-A-A-AHH!” There was a goat in the trunk tied up to its neck in a potato sack. I carefully slid him aside and placed my backpack down. Not uncommon in Kyrgyzstan to share a ride with livestock. We paid our fair and piled in and we were on our way before we knew it. We sped on the road through the once grassy and flowery fields outside Naryn city. The land had now turned completely white; very different from the summer pastures I witnessed here in September when I came here after PST. I pressed my face against the cold glass window and stared into infinite fields of pure white hills and mountains. We were approaching the mountain pass. “Dude, Nick, if you were to tell me I was on Planet Hoth from Star Wars Empire Strikes Back, I would totally believe you.” “We might as well be. I got no phone service out here and I don’t think this driver has got any chains.”He was right, we didn’t have chains. We were about a quarter away up the mountain pass when our car began to slide. We got of our idled vehicle and. “Oh no,” I thought. “We’re stuck. It definitely looks like we’re not getting to Bishkek tonight.” The driver lifted the hood and out came a cloud of steam. Not only was the car unable to drive on this icy road but the engine had over-heated. It turned out that the driver had been using water to keep the engine cool, not coolant. I stared at the long snowy steep mountain road ahead and thought for a long second. Up the road from us I could see the pile up of cars that continued all the way up the mountain’s switch backs. A very disconcerting feeling was coming over me. It was the inconvenience of it all and the possibility of us having to turn around to go back home was bringing me down. Even worse was thought of possibly sliding off the edge of the cliff in the car on this mountain tundra. The freezing cold wasn’t helping either. It was the middle of the day but the sun had been completely blotted out from the dark clouds and it was snowing. I looked over at Nick who was looking at the ground kicking the snow around. Both Gene and Nick had some frustrated looks on their faces as well. I had my little mental hissy fit but I soon realized that this is the Peace Corps. This stuff happens in places like this. You might a swell just go with it and not kick and scream about something that is entirely not in your control. “Soo barbuh?” The driver asked me. “Do you have any water?” I handed him my Nalgene and he emptied it into the coolant tank of the car. He fired up the engine again and had me, Nick, Gene, and the other dude start pushing the car. “Man, THIS is Kyrgyzstan… Well we might as well give it a shot,” I thought. We starting pushing the car and we actually got it going pretty fast. Our feet kept sliding on the icy road as we pushed. Some relief came over me as we were picking up more and more speed along the road; passing stuck cars and stranded people sitting on the side of the roads. Pushing harder and harder we gained more momentum up the road. “Reminds me of wrestling practice back in the day!” I said. The others looked at me with a “whatever, Mike”-type look. We came around a large switchback and had to stop. Cars were piled up even more and this time huge Chinese semi tucks were jack-knifed in the snow blocking the way. The driver put the emergency brake on and got out of the car to take a look at the hood. He opened it and again the engine was overheating. Using empty water bottles we must have refilled them eight times down at the creek on the side of the road. My hand felt frozen solid as I dipped them in the stream to fill bottle after bottle. I was feeling pretty miserable and things looked bleaker than before. We sat in the cold here for a while when it started to pour snow. A blizzard was upon us. Road maintenance dudes in bright orange vests, shovels, and, yes, Kalpaks on their heads were making their way up the road shoveling dirt on the ground in front of car wheels for traction. The road guys shoveled us some dirt and we managed to get the vehicle moving again. This time Gene and the other Kyrgyz passenger were sitting on a Tushuk (a thick, comfortable, rectangular, Kyrgyz traditional carpet that you sit on the ground with for picnics and such) on the hood of the car. The purpose being (Certainly not sure if even helps) is that gives traction to the front wheel drive. We started pushing; slowly but surely at first but gradually picking up speed. As we pushed the driver maneuvered the vehicle around the jacked semi. We continued up the road weaving around stalled vehicles and passing others who were pushing their cars up as well. Snow continued to fall; stinging my face and making it hard to see in front of me. As I pushed I looked down through the rear glass window into the drunk and could see the goat just hanging out in its’ little potato sack. I was running and getting pretty warm. I wanted to take my jacket off and slide through the passenger window but we were going too fast now. I kept pushing alternating looking at the ground and at the sheep tied up through the trunk window. We were really moving now I knew in my heart that we were going to make it up this God-forsaken mountain. “I’m getting in the car,” yelled Nick. He was getting pretty out of breath. “Alright, I’m right behind ya,” I replied still pushing the car, getting pretty tired myself now. Nick slid in through the right side passenger door and I followed. Gene was still sitting pretty on the hood of the car getting her kicks watching us. I ran faster pushing towards the open door. “Almost home free,” I thought. Then the driver switched gears and the vehicle started to pick up more and more speed and slowly the car was distancing itself from me. My heart began to sink as it was well ten feet in front of me and gaining speed. The driver wouldn’t stop to let me in; his car would get stuck again. Before I knew it the car was a good football field in front me.

What do you do in your free time out there?

Free time is something that I do have a lot of out here. I only teach, maybe, 18 hours a week, not including English club and wrestling club. So I’ll have free time in between teaching classes, evenings at home in my room, and weekends in my village. So what do to do with all this free time? That’s a good question since I’m living in the middle of nowhere in a rural village of 800. There aren’t movie theatres, bars where I can grab a brew, Americans/people who speak English, or coffee shops. It may sound pretty boring but in fact there aren’t really that many dull moments if you keep yourself occupied. There is actually PLENTY that can be done. Probably what keeps me the most occupied is exercise. I go running every other day or so here. To my surprise the locals are pretty cool with me going on runs around here; just as long as I shake their hands and say hello as I pass by. One time a neighbor came up to me asking why I didn’t go running the other day. “Mike, it’s been two days since you last went running. What’s going on?” There are some awesome running trails out here and even better hills to climb with spectacular views. Many times I go out exploring I find something new; a new valley, a new stream, a new path around the river, a new sight, a better view. Saturday morning trail runs can easily turn into three to four hour treks. It would take four years of Peace Corps service to fully explore and see all the natural beauty this land has to offer. At the school yard there usually is a pick-up game of soccer or volleyball going down. I’ll hang out with my students and do pull-ups with them on the old Soviet style playground equipment. And of course there always is wrestling clubs on Friday and Saturday afternoons. As far as work goes there is always a lot of work that can be done. I’ll spend about an hour to two hours a night writing lesson plans for school. Every lesson requires a different lesson plan so I’ll make about 18 plans a week which is pretty time-consuming. There is also sometimes work around the house that I’ll help out with.. They don’t say why but I’m pretty sure they think I’m incapable of certain tasks like cooking. I’ll fill buckets of water from the well outside the house or help my host brother chop firewood. During times when I’m in my room there’s always books to be read. Oh man the books! There is actually an American resource center at Naryn State University in Naryn City that has all sorts of books that volunteers can borrow. I’m a VERY slow reader but since I’ve been here I’ve gone through three fairly large books. Honestly, I’m a horrible reader (Seriously, I sometimes wonder how I graduated college) but here I’ve got plenty of time to get good at it and read what I want. Some fellow volunteers have already burned through fifteen to twenty or more books. If there is ever a time to read a book that you wanted to read but didn’t for some reason, this would be it. If I’ve done enough reading there is always more language to study, episodes of Arrested Development to watch, or music to listen too. Music sharing among volunteers is big and there is quite a collection of CD’s at the American center in Naryn. In my village I’ll go walking and talk with locals. It’s great talking with the kids; they’ll correct my Kyrgyz when I say something wrong which is good for my language skillz. Or sometimes I’ll hang out with my little host sister on a weekend day and eat ???? (Gee-duh) berries from the trees out in plantation outside our house. I’ve taken up playing the ????? (Ko-moos). The Komuz is the Kyrgyz national instrument; small and guitar-like with three strings. I’ll attend the music club, taught by the math teacher, every Wednesday evening after my English club. I’ll be sitting there in my little chair learning the Komuz along with 20 other sixth and seventh form students. As basic as some of these songs we’re learning it is still a very difficult instrument to play. I’m actually starting to make some friends out here with locals my age. My neighbor ?????? (Chingiz) if he’s not working is usually down to hang out. We’ll drink Bozo and he’ll help me with my Kyrgyz and I’ll help him with his English. He said he’ll help me learn Russian if I teach him English. I’ll help him learn English but I don’t know about Russian. Russian is a whole new ball game. That would be like trying to learn Chinese.

How’s the language coming along? Is it a hard language to learn?

I would say the language is coming along; slowly. It’s a difficult language but not the hardest to learn. If you take the time to study when you have free time you’ll learn the language pretty well. Studying goes along way when you’re living in it all the time. The Kyrgyz language is a Turkic language, similar Uzbek, Kazakh, Turkmen, Azerbaijani, and of course Turkish. Kyrgyz is mainly spoken in Kyrgyzstan but is also spoken in Kazakhstan, parts of Uzbekistan, and parts of Uyghur province of North East China. Kyrgyz, especially in Naryn, is spoken very fast by locals. When I came down here in September on my site visit from PST and I could barely make out a word of Kyrgyz that was coming out these folks’ mouths. The language struggle is a challenge to pretty much all volunteers. I’ll get pretty frustrated when I can’t communicate the things I need. It can also be pretty frustrating for host-family members and co-teachers alike when they can’t fully communicate to me. Nonetheless, though, I’m working on it. I have a tutor (the school’s Kyrgyz teacher) that I see twice every week and I talk pretty often with locals. My Kyrgyz for sure has come a long way since I first got here, however, I still have a very long way to go. Kyrgyz, man, what a trip of a language to learn…

The car had whipped around a switchback and it was completely out of sight by now. Snow kept pouring down, biting my face but I had a fire in my eye; I was going to catch that car. I was breathing harder than I’ve ever in a long time and my legs were burning. I made it around the switchback, looked up, and saw that the car had slowed a bit because of traffic. Maybe 20 meters now the car is front of but this only motivated me more to catch that. I was on a mission! My lungs were burning by now; the elevation was starting to get the best of me. I kept going and the car was getting closer and closer. The road took a dip and I flew down that hill and got within 10 feet of the car. By now we were above the clouds and the blue sky was in sight. I was passing people walking up the road. Probably because their rides had taken off while they were pushing their car. They yelled at me in Russian thinking I was some crazy Russian tourist. “Orooscha beeilbeim,” I yelled back. “I don’t know Russian!” Gene looked back and saw me sprinting towards the car. “Hey it’s Mike!” I was gaining on it big time. My lungs and my legs were on fire now but I was too close to quit. The driver kept weaving side to side avoiding potholes and ice. Nick still had the right passenger door slight open. “Yo Nick! Open that!” I yelled. “Oh shit,” he yelled, and opened the door all the way. Then, with everything I had left, I came into a full sprint and pushed toward the taxi. I wasn’t even thinking about the pain in my legs, or the burning in my lungs. Forward I went! Full stride now closer and closer and finally I was at the door! Nick moved down a seat and I grabbed the roof of the car with my left hand and door with my right, jumped, slid into the moving vehicle, slammed the door and I was in! Yes! I sat back huffing, puffing, and what felt like coughing up blood. It felt great; like I was in an action movie. “Damn, Mike, I thought you were a goner.” The driver kept driving up and over the mountain to other side where there was no snow; just dry rocks and sunny skies. I don’t know what would have happened to me had I not caught up with that car. We pulled to the side of road at the bottom of the pass on the other side to fill the engine with water again. The picture posted is of me and Nick after that whole ordeal. It’s definitely a memory that I won’t forget.We made it to Bishkek in one piece after that. I met up with my PST host family and had dinner with them and caught them all up on life down in Naryn. The next day I met up with everyone else who came to Bishkek. We cruised the city and stuffed ourselves with burgers and pizza. I’ll tell you this kind of food has never tasted so good before in my life! Mind blowing. I had no idea it would feel that good to get out of the village life for a while. It was a real vacation. Just so you know, the ride back to Naryn wasn’t nearly as treacherous as the way up. The next time I go back to Bishkek will be in January for In Service Training. Mind you this was Dolon Pass in November; not even winter yet.

I’m coming up on five months here in country and what a ride it’s been. There have been ups and downs and only more of that is expected. I’d say the hardest part thus far is not getting what I want NOW. I know it sounds like I’m spoiled but that’s because, compared to the Kyrgyz, way of life, I am. In the States if I want something I’ll just drive to the grocery store, whether it’s winter or not, buy my eggs and oatmeal, and have it minutes after getting home. That, my friends, blows my mind. Here I must wait a couple weeks before I can get a ride to the bazaar and buy my vegetables (from a very limited selection), buckwheat, and whatnot. I’m going to have to continue eating bread for breakfast for a while, while I wait for the opportune time to get to the bazaar or to the city. Even something as simple as a bottle of water is hard to come by in these parts. I’ll wait for a month and a half for those blessings of packages full of peanut butter, protein powder, almonds, coffee, Yogi Tea, books, magazines, apparel such as wool socks, and dark chocolate. Food, cell phone service, internet, rides back to the village and even contact with friends and family etc… These are things that I’ve taken for granted because they were at my disposal exactly when I wanted them. I’m realizing that life without these things is hard. I’ll have something that’s been bugging me on my mind but no one really to communicate it to with. The same drunk guy will bug me and want to talk even though I can’t understand a word coming from his mouth. My cell phone will have cut out in middle of a conversation with my parents. I’ll be dying for an apple or even a cup of coffee but nothing of the sort around. During times of frustration, when I’m not getting what I want and when I want it, I feel it’s important to realize the things I do have. I’m not sick, at the moment, no classes to teach right now, it’s cold but the sun is out, I can go play volleyball with the boys at the school yard, I can read a book, I can go for a run, I can climb a hill or skip rocks down at the river, or I can listen to some Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers on my iPod. Thank God for Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers on my iPod. Alright, that is it for now. Later

Welcome to The Peace Corps

Той Story (Part I)



I will never forget this bright sunny day here in Naryn. It was only the second day I had been fully moved into my permanent residence and it was the day that I had my first actual Kyrgyz party, or Tой (pronounced Toy). It started a little something like this. My host family had told me the previous night that we would be killing a sheep the next day and that we would have some guests over to eat it. My host father wanted to celebrate his purchase of a used Volkswagen that he had bought in Bishkek a month ago and had waited for me to be present before throwing the celebration. Early the next morning I had just come back from a run and my host parents and six other family friends gathered around to slaughter the animal. While my host father and his younger brother sharpened the knives and tied the animal’s feet together, the fellow onlookers said a prayer. Оомийин! (oh-meen), they said, and the deed was done. I stood and watched; it’s not so bad watching my second sheep slaughter but this time Бозо (Bozo) was brewed and passed around. Bozo is an alcoholic beverage made from wheat and has a similar effect to that of a high gravity malt liquor. I was given a cup and had few big gulps and passed it along. It tastes like a fermented bread-tasting beverage; kind of difficult to explain. Mind that this area has little Islamic influence so alcohol is culturally accepted everywhere here. The others downed whole glasses of this wild beverage in seconds while they sliced, diced, and gutted this animal. Blood, guts, and fat where tossed about as I stood in the sun watching in my sweaty buzzed stupor. The women were working hard ringing the feces out of the intestines and braiding them tightly. Magically delicious! A little sneak preview of what was soon to grace my innocent belly. On the side, the head with a stick through it was being cooked on an open fire. Large bowls were filled with guts and prepared for cooking. A pool of blood on the ground was getting lapped up by our family dog. Meanwhile classic Russian accordion music was being played in the background on the radio. It was quite a sight for 9:30 in the morning. My mother took me in for some rice and Чай (Chai, or tea). It was only a little hard to eat food after such a sight. I soon retired to my room to reflect.



Welcome to the Real World



Life is much different now that PST is over. Things have significantly slowed down compared to fast paced life of PST. No longer are there 4 hour-a-day language lessons and cramped marshrutka rides into town for health and technical training sessions. Going through the day mostly speaking English is not an option now that I’m separated from my fellow volunteers. I have a lot more time on my hand to kill which is a good and bad thing. I have more time to do the things I enjoy like exercise and reading, however, life in Kyrgyzstan now is real. Thinking about life in PST and life in real Kyrgyzstan is much like the transition between life in college and life out of college in many ways. As tedious as PST was with its constant technical and language training, you still had a lot of security. With the Peace Corps headquarters and medical office not far away, it was really easy to get the treatment you needed. I had an intestinal issue going on in the middle of PST and I was able to get the treatment I needed in a couple hours. Now that the headquarters is an 8 hour marshrutka ride away that sense of security has significantly lowered. I ate WAY too much sheep meat the other weekend (did I mention the Kyrgyz like their meat?) and ended up with some food poisoning and had to miss a day of teaching. Things can seem pretty dreary when you’re sick so far away from everything. Every day for lunch during PST we would rotate different host family homes and get awesome cooked lunches with loads of vegetables and fruits. That once delicious meal has now been reduced to lunch of bread and tea. During training all of our finances were taking care of. Peace Corps directly paid our host families during training for the room and food. Now that we are on our own we pay our host families on our own with the money Peace Corps provide for us, which is (due to severe budget cuts) not a lot. My host family is demanding too much money for food and rent, partly because of the amount of coal they’ve been buying for heat in the winter. Too much money for the modest living allowance Peace Corps gives us per month. We should be able to come up with some sort of deal. I have moved to my permanent site here in the Naryn Oblast of the Kyrgyz Republic and have begun teaching English at the school. I teach 5th through 11th forms in a school of about 200 students. The school is very small so class sizes range from 8 to 20 students. Children’s behavior ranges from Heavenly Angel to complete Minions of the Devil Himself. Getting through to these children is going to take some serious work. I have one 6th from student is much slower than the rest, and thus, get made fun of quite a bit. Children, especially the older teenagers, will make fun and mock my limited Kyrgyz. Students are constantly getting up out of their chairs and yelling. It can be very frustrating trying to discipline these children when your Kyrgyz language is so limited. Luckily, I have a Teacher-counterpart that I’m teaching with who disciplines these children when they act up. Unfortunately her method of discipline includes beating the children; a method that I’m rather unfamiliar with and choose not to practice. I’m working on ways on how to properly discipline these children. Nonetheless, it’s going to take some time and trial and error to figure out ways of handling these little demons. Just a side note while I’m on the topic of children. In the Peace Corps (and this isn’t just in here in Central Asia. It’s in Africa, South America… everywhere Peace Corps serves) children are everywhere. Every day in yo face! I’ll be walking around town or on my way to teach class and BAM! There’s a 4 four-year old with no pants. It’s impossible to go one minute without having interactions with kids in the neighborhood. They are very curious and love to talk and will follow you anywhere. Oh man if you have a camera these kids go nuts. Warning: when using flash photography around children in the Kyrgy Republic do so with caution. Children will want at least ten to fifteen pictures of themselves. Be prepared for a full on photo shoot with these little rascals. Madness. Now, I have been very fortunate in that I have many useful teaching tools to teach with including a CD player and television with a DVD player. The previous volunteer at my site did an excellent job of getting enough money raised through grants to purchase this equipment. The other day I played “I Get Around,” by the Beach Boys to all my classes. This just left the students confused and perhaps distasteful of real American rock and roll. No appreciation, or for that matter even knowledge or understanding, of the classics. Students have never even heard of the Beatles! Other than traditional Kyrgyz music, the only music that these children are aware of is Kyrgyz, Russian, and American pop music: the kind of music MTV plays. 50 Cent is real big here. It’s not uncommon for small children to ask what certain lyrics of American pop music mean. “Hey Mr. Mike, what does it mean to ‘Superman that ho?’” Mind blowing.



Living the Peace Corps Life



I’m living in a very remote area in Central Asia. Luckily the other volunteer in my Rayon is only a half hour car ride away from me, so I’m not completely by myself out here. Nonetheless, the inhabitants of this part of the country have very little contact with the outside world and resources for learning at the school are scarce; the school still uses textbooks from the Soviet Union era and even basic teaching materials like paper are in short supply. No such thing as internet here. My village has no food store. There is a small shop on the north side of the village but only vodka, candy, and tea can be bought here. Many families living here are self-sustained and live off their farmland. The only option for buying food is at the outdoor bazaar at the Rayon center and open once a week. Here foods can be sold, purchased, and even bargained for. Unlike Oblasts like Osh and Chui where people can purchase fruit and vegetable imports from Uzbekistan year round, here in Naryn only foods that are in season can be purchased. For example potatoes are in harvest right now thus they are pretty cheap to buy. Pretty soon carrots and cabbage will be available at a descent price. Last week I made a trip out here to visit my fellow volunteer and buy some tomatoes, carrots, rice, and buckwheat: the essentials. I’ve recently picked up eating buckwheat. Buckwheat looks like tiny brown pebbles (like Grape Nuts) and cooks the same as rice. It’s cheaper than rice and fills you up almost as well. Cruising through the aisles of the bazaar you feel like you are in a movie. Fruit and vegetable stands, Shyrdaks (traditional Kyrgyz carpets) for sale, and all the sheep, chicken, and cows you can buy make you feel like you’re in a different world. The dry air and yellow clay buildings give this a real Wild West type feel. Being the only one of two white people (the second being the other volunteer) in this area makes you really feel like an outsider. However, people here are stunned to learn that a white person can speak their local language. The Kyrgyz people really find it interesting, and at times downright hilarious, that a white person can speak Kyrgyz.”100 Som for a scarf?” I asked. “Too expensive, I’m going across the street where I can get one for 85.” “Wait,” they say, “90 okay?” “Alright, 1 scarf for 90 Som.” That is bargaining and it can be fun. As a rule of thumb you can’t bargain more than 20% off any item. I bought my goods and hung out the rest of the morning in town. One major part of being a Peace Corps is, obviously, you get to learn a completely different culture. A few weekends ago I got to witness an interesting Kyrgyz cultural tradition. It’s called ‘Tooshoo Kesoo’ and it’s a baby’s 1st birthday. My older host brother’s baby girl was turning one year old. This is how it goes. The baby’s feet are tied together by a string and about 100 meters up the road children ages six to twelve line up and get ready to run. The children could be family, neighbors, or friends. The goal for the children is to race each other to the baby’s feet, pick up the knife that has been placed near the baby’s feet, and cut the rope. After words children are given candy and prizes and cups of Bozo and shots of vodka are passed about. It’s a pretty cool site to see. I’ve got an action shot of the children running posted up. Learning the culture is both stimulating and challenging which brings me to my next point. Peace Corps life is very difficult. The consumption of vodka is very poplar out here. At festive holidays or even everyday on the streets, alcohol, especially vodka, is being consumed. Having the same drunk guys come up to you every day wanting to talk can be very annoying. What they’ll do is they’ll shake your hand and never let go and then you’re stuck. Out in these parts people speak the language much faster so at times it may seem like they aren’t speaking Kyrgyz at all. The language barrier is still very difficult but I’m working on it. The school director, or Principal, will be telling me something very important and still won’t understand. This can be very frustrating at times. I’ve gotten the Kyrgyz teacher at my school to be my tutor, so that’s good. For 50 Som an hour it’s definitely worth it. Just living with a Kyrgyz host family is huge challenge. A challenge I never really expected. I’m fresh out the college life-style of living kicking it with my buddies and living with a family (a Kyrgyz family nonetheless) is much different than what I am used to. I believe that they compare me to the previous volunteer who lived here. I might be making assumptions but my behavior is most likely different than the previous volunteer and my family may take offense to it. For example, I don’t think they like the fact that I don’t like sugar in my tea. Simple things like that can build up. This brings me to another major challenge; trying to figure out what is culturally acceptable. The Kyrgyz have a very indirect culture. They won’t tell you to your face if you are acting, dressing, or doing something inappropriately. If you are dressing or acting in an inappropriate manner you are acting ‘ooyat,’ or disrespectful. I’m trying my best to be polite and for all I know I could be wearing something culturally offensive and not even know it. Just figuring out what to do here is also a big challenge. Coming up with lesson plans and activities for class is no easy task. Students and faculty keep asking when I’m going to start an English club. I have no idea what an English club is. Teaching 5th through 11th forms takes up a good portion of the day. Finding time in the middle of the day to eat is a challenge. Simply getting transportation is an issue in itself. Out here not many buses, taxis, or marshrutkas, run. When I have to go to Bishkek or Naryn City for whatever reason I might have to wait a few extra hours (or even might have to wait until the next day) to get a ride. Hitchhiking is the main source of transportation out here. Electricity is going to be a huge issue pretty soon. Electricity is already hard to come by but come winter it’s going to be very scarce. If I’m not mistaken, major power lines run from Kazakhstan through Uzbekistan and then finally to the Kyrgyz Republic. Uzbekistan has control over those power lines, thus, they have much control over how much electricity we get. This winter is predicted to be very harsh. Schools that are heated by electricity, mainly large schools, will be closed for three months. This poses a problem for English Teaching volunteers because there will be no work during these winter months. Rumor has it that Peace Corps will have all TEFL volunteers come up to Bishkek for training or take annual leave (vacation) for these few months. My school, however, is small enough where it can be heated by coal, thus, school will not be closed and I’ll be working which is a good and bad thing. I’ll have school and other activities to do but I might be the only volunteer down here in the freezing cold and that’s a little scary. Isolation is one challenge, but in the snow and dark could make things a lot harder. However, if it comes down to it, I am up to the challenge. These are the kinds of challenges that the Peace Corps volunteer must face. From the very beginning (as early as the application process) we’ve been warned time and time again of challenges that will be posed and now they are finally real. Some problems are out of my control and I have to learn how to properly cope. Others are simple problems that can be fixed with proper planning and time management. Acknowledging and addressing these problems individually will take time and effort but are essential to success in living in this part of the world. This is only the first month of my Peace Corps experience and already it’s pretty overwhelming. Other problems and challenges will come and go. It’s a very interesting time right now. We shall see what happens.



The Move from the Other Side of the World



One day last month, after my fifth form class my counterpart showed me to the sports-zal. This is where Ulukman, the PE teacher, teaches his indoor sports. He teaches soccer, volleyball, weight lifting, and wrestling. Yes, he teaches wrestling and on this day I sat in on his sports club which is mainly 6th through 9th form students. 11th form students (18-year olds) are way too cool for sports. The room is cement, cold, and the mats aren’t real wrestling mats but you can wrestle on them. I sat and watched Ulukman show some judo-looking throws. While I sat I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was wrestling right in front of me! I had talked to Ulukman earlier that day and I had told that I have quite a lot of experience wrestling from a young age and all through college. Well during my sit in everyone asked me to show some moves. “I’ll do one,” I said. I took off my shoes and stepped on the mat. Ulukman matched me up with a kid who was a little smaller than me. Mind you, I was still in my teacher clothes but I couldn’t turn this down. I was a little nervous that I would do the move incorrectly since I hadn’t wrestled in a year. I grabbed him and got low into my stance and everything instantly came back to me. I set the move up, shot in, and executed an almost perfect fireman’s carry. The children were very impressed. Ulukman had a pretty big smile on his face as I did one right after another. They asked for another! I showed a lateral drop which is type of throw. Ulukman asked me to come the next day to help out on the mat again. It’s a pretty good feeling being able to wrestle with the children in my community. It’s been very difficult trying to relate with Kyrgyz people. There’s a language barrier, totally different culture, different norms, gender roles, tastes in food; so much NOT in common. It’s as if wrestling is a different form of communication; a universal language. We have something in common. It’s like a skill or trade that can be exchanged, regardless of the language barrier. When I’m on the mat with them I feel like we are at the same level. That day I connected with my community in a very different way and it felt awesome. Plus it feels really cool flipping a Kyrgyz person in the air for some reason. I’ve been helping Ulukman on the wrestling mat ever since then.



Той Story (Part II)



Phone service is hard to come about in these parts. Later that morning I went up in the hills that surround village in search of some solid phone service. I managed to get a pretty good cell high up and had a disconcerting chat with the parents; learning of the serious financial crisis back in the states and that my sister’s car had been broken into. Climbing that huge hill just to get a decent cell to talk to mom and dad back home makes you really feel how far away you are. This put me in a sour mood. Not in the kind of mood for what was yet to come. I made it home and, seriously, standing five feet away from my house I could hear the voices and SMELL the bozo being passed around. I stepped inside and my host mother instantly snatched my arm and dragged me into the living room where the festivities were taking place. Two large knee-high tables lined the room and about 20 or so loud Kyrgyz men sat on the floor pounding Bozo. It seemed that half the village had showed up to celebrate my host father’s purchase of a brand new vehicle. The women quietly sat on one table and the men, who proudly sported their Kalpaks, on the other and at the head of the table sat some really old serious Kyrgyz men with long white beards. Everyone stopped what they were doing and it got real quiet. “Sal-a-mat-sus-dar-buh,” I sheepishly (ha-ha) said and squished my way to a spot at the table. “Sal-a-ma-cheh-luk!” They replied. Then the staring began. It just so happened that I sat right in between the two drunkest guys at the feast and the pressure was on! This drunken dude next to me poured me a fat glass of bozo and got real close to me, telling me “eech eech,” or “drink drink!” The older man next to me was probably just as intoxicated kept prodding and asking questions. “Who are you?” “Are you married?” “Why aren’t you married?” “Who’s you’re mom and dad?” The pressure to drink and questions kept coming from all directions. This was quite a step up from my previous host family who swore against drinking. The drunken man next to me would not give up! Before I knew it he got even closer and was lying on his side and was whispering in my ear to me to drink as if I were some sort of date he was trying to get drunk. I was like “whatever dude” and I held my ground and didn’t give in. Way bizarre. While all this was going down men kept running in and out of the room refilling everyone’s china glass with bozo. The party was just getting started. My host father came in and said a few words and we shuffled outside to check out his new ride. I snuck back into my room for a little breather while everyone examined the precious new machine. Before I knew the food was about ready and we all made it back to the feasting room and sat back down; this time next to a somewhat sober guy who actually turned out to be one of my fellow teachers at school. Tea was served and next came out the food. People were louder than ever. Chaos ensued. Huge bowls of cooked organs were plopped right in my face. Plates of the animal’s intestines were passed around. The smell turned my face green. Drunken hungry hands came in from all directions grabbing, pulling, ripping, and feeding famished faces. The sounds of slimy, grey, organs sliding around and plopping onto plates made me dizzy. One lady cut a few pieces of intestines for me slapped the plate near my face. I oh so reluctantly grabbed a piece and popped it in my mouth. It was like chewing a rubber balloon and tasted like on too. I kept trying to chew and it just wouldn’t break and the taste was too much to handle. No spices or flavoring of any sort are included in Kyrgyz cuisine; just pure animal flavor. I swallowed it whole, felt it go all the way down, and moved onto another piece. I was certain I was going to spend the afternoon in the outhouse. I started to sweat. I thought I was in the clear but then it got worse. A lot worse. I was presented with the sheep head. The sheep head on a plate was just placed right there in front of my face and my heart raced. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this thing? It’s the head of a sheep! How do you EAT the head of a sheep?” My host father gave me a knife and said “Eat Eat!” My heart raced faster. The man next to me helped me guide the knife from the top of the head down to the nose and the skin split open Independence Day style. I pulled the skin away revealing the eyes. The man gestured to cut the eyes out. Oh man, are you serious! Apparently the eyes are the delicacy and it’s a real honor to eat them. My hands were shaking as I struggled to cut the right eye’s attachments out with one hand and pulling it out with the other. I pulled the eye out and held it in my hand while it sat there, giggling, staring back at me. “When in Kyrgyzstan,” I thought and took a bite. It actually didn’t taste all that bad and I ate the rest. Next, the man told me I had to cut the other eye out and give it to a girl in the room who I thought was attractive. Now the only women in the room were all teachers at my school and were much older than me. I ended up giving the eye to a Kyrgyz woman Kyrgyz with blue eyes. Yes there are Asian people here with blue eyes. She thanked me and I sat back down feeling pretty good that I stomached that eyeball. Little did I know that I would soon subject my stomach to, yet, another stomach churning Kyrgyz dish. Plates of steamy Беш Бармак (Besh Barmak, which literally means five fingers) were brought in and passed around. Besh Barmak is the Kyrgyz main national dish and consists of about 30 percent noodle, 10 percent sheep meat, and 60 percent sheep fat. I almost passed out at the combination of both the site and smell of this dish. The smell of greasy fat is unlike any smell, but when you smell it, you want to throw up. I can’t figure out how to describe it. Using only their hands men and women swooped in left and right scooping huge handfuls and stuffing their faces with this stuff, slurping and burping. Then the vodka came out. Vodka shots left and right were getting poured like crazy. Using that fat as a chaser, men drank shot after shot. I drew the line right there and refrained from drinking the substance. One man stood up, with a mouth smeared with animal fat. He stumbled next to me to give a toast and spilled vodka all over the table splashing and stinging me in the eye. My host mother excitedly placed a large plate of Besh Barmak down in front of me. “Je! Je!” (Eat! Eat!) She said. The room was getting very warm and very loud and people began to gesture to me to eat. I stared down at the hot steamy plate of fat, noodle, and little bit of meat. The atmosphere was extremely festive and people were really enjoying themselves. So I figured “Why the hell not…” and I dug my fingers in. After putting this stuff in my mouth, I learned that this stuff tastes almost as good as it looks. I winced as I swallowed. Though as bad as this stuff tasted, (along with the shear thought of what I was actually eating) I kept on eating. Everyone around me was having such a great time I forgot how bad this stuff tasted. I started laugh and I kept on eating! My host parents saw me and started laughing as well. Either they were drunk or they were perhaps they were relieved that ate they’re oh so disgusting food. I don’t know how but I was having a good time. Vodka bottles were opened and finished within minutes. Plates of Besh Barmak were downed within seconds. More plates were brought out and this time it was just meat. Devoured. I sat back and watched as people hooted, hollered, and threw back cups of Bozo, Chai, fat, vodka. It was madness. It was 3 pm and it was Kyrgyz culture at its greatest. As the party began to wind down we started to make their way outside to say goodbye to the guests. One inebriated older man came up to me, gave me a fat kiss on the cheek, got on his rickety bicycle and rode on home. I retreated to my room and passed out for a solid two hours after that. It was an intense experience: a classic, stereotypical, cross-cultural, Peace Corps experience. It was funny turning such an uncomfortable situation into a fun one. I found that trying to resist was harder than giving in. During training we warned time and time again about the culture and strategies on how to deal with these sorts of situations. The trick is to stay culturally sensitive but still have a respect towards your own personal values. The pressure to drink was strong, but I resisted. However I made up for it by eating all the food, including the eye. I sat in my room and felt pretty proud of myself for how I dealt with the situation. The rest of the week we continued to eat the rest of the sheep. Here in Kyrgyzstan they don’t just eat the meat; they eat everything. I had lungs stuffed with milk that had solidified over night. Tasted kind of like cheese. The following weekend we had the Tooshoo Kesoo festival and had two more sheep slaughtered and consumed! That’s, like, a sheep a day. Oh man, this time I got food poisoning. Not fun. The following Wednesday was a holiday called Orzo Ayeet. It is a Muslim holiday that celebrates the completion of fasting for the month of Orzo. On this holiday it is traditional to visit up to fifteen different houses and just gorge yourself with food. Feast after feast, house after house, it’s a little like Halloween. I was still recovering food poisoning so I stayed at home while my host family engaged in the festivities. However, I was still feeling sick that night when I was called to dinner. I sat down and my host mother brought in an enormous plate of something that smelled like something that definitely should not be eaten. She placed this right in front of my face. It was the stomach of the sheep my family had slaughtered the past weekend. My host mother sliced the stomach open and out poured sheep intestines, cabbage, potatoes, and fat. I ALMOST passed out.



In Conclusion



This has been a very eventful past month; lot of culture, a lot of new, and a lot of challenge. So far I’ve gotten a glimpse of both the lows and highs of being a Peace Corps volunteer. The culture, language, slow pace of life, and other challenges are going to be difficult. Improving my language is going to be key. Carrying conversation in foreign language is an incredible feeling. Wrestling with these kids has been unbelievable. It’s a great way to connect with the kids in village and also stay occupied. The kids here LOVE to wrestle. Getting used to food is going to take time. Getting along with the family is going to be interesting. Figuring out proper etiquette is going to take time. Creating daily structure is going to be hard. Getting through to students in class is difficult and frustrating and will take some work. The isolation is tough. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to use the internet once a month when I make it to Naryn City. I’m interested to see what happens next. Now I’m going to kick it for the weekend with some fellow volunteers here in Naryn City and have some fun. Later! Mike

On to bigger things

PST has finally begun to wind down. The weather over here is starting to turn to fall and it really feels nice outside. Chilly, sunny mornings followed by breezy afternoons with early sunsets here in Kyrgyzstan are very nice. With only one week left we volunteers still have much work to get done. Each training group is required to do a community project in their training host village. My group and I repaired and repainted some of these strange, run-down, gazebo-type structures the elementary school has in their playground. Each structure is made of wood and look like small houses except they have only three walls. Where a fourth wall should be is a huge opening for children to freely run in and out of. They really don’t look like that much fun but they do have some cool paintings of wolves and other sweet animals on the wall. Unfortunately these wall paintings have been scribbled over with Kyrgyz and Russian profanity. We actually had a full language lecture day of Kyrgyz and Russian swear and profanity words so we can now understand what these hooligan teenagers are trying to say when the tag the poor elementary school kids’ play equipment. For the record, there are A LOT of Russian swear words. Plenty for any occasion! Now back to the community project. Our job was to paint over this sick scripture and repair the damaged wooded floor boards on the ground. It appears that Kyrgyz children get some great kicks out smashing their play equipment into oblivion. So the female volunteers of the group, who outnumber us guys (9 girls, 3 guys) teamed up and told us boys to get working on the floor boards while they scrape paint of the walls. When you are outnumbered by that many girls you really have no choice but to do what they tell you to do. I was especially not feeling it because I was still recovering from a nasty cold I got down in Naryn during my permanent site visit (which I will talk about in a bit) a couple weeks ago. I’m pretty sure that the girls thought they were getting out of some serious work when they told us to work on the floors while they scrape paint. They spent the whole two days staring at a wall and scraping paint off the walls while we boys got some great exercise and serious work done! Although I must give them props for doing that work; they did a good job and scraping paint sucks. At first we stood there not knowing what the hell to do. We looked long and hard and thought. Then we got down on our hands and knees and started doing what we could and after an hour or so we figured it out. With no previous carpentry work before we actually did a kick-ass job repairing those wood floor boards. We were giving permission to tear down a neighboring gazebo thing and use parts to repair the other three. Using saws, hammers, and large crowbar, we stripped that gazebo down and laid some serious floor boards. We were unstoppable. None of our host families had any new nails so we had to straighten and reuse the rusted nails we pulled out from the other gazebo. We started last Saturday and worked for about four hours and on Sunday we worked the whole day starting at 10 and ending at 5! We were killing it! This one local Kyrgyz man came out of nowhere and lent a huge hand. He was a nail-hammering machine! Chris, a fellow volunteer and great buddy, had his little 10-year old host-brother (Samat), to help us out as well. Boy could he take it to those old floor boards! Get em’ little man! Now the girls kept on scraping while we were running around back and forth stripping boards, nailing nails, sawing boards, cursing, sweating; having an great time. We finished replacing all forty-one broken floor boards, stood back, and as the sun started to set, felt nothing but greatness. We stayed and worked an hour and a half longer than the paint scrapers. I think they got seriously bored and called it an early day last Sunday. We still got a full weekend of more scraping and painting coming up which should be a little easier than replacing those floorboards. We volunteers had finally gotten our first taste of actually getting something done this past weekend. Just living here and learning the language, attending countless safety and health lectures, and trips into Bishkek have seemed just so tedious. After two months of self-focus, it felt good to do some real work. Being in the Peace Corps and all this may sound clichй but it was definitely rewarding. Adjusting to the culture, food, language, and way of life is very stressful and realizing our purpose here through this work experience was refreshing. As I mentioned earlier we all got the opportunity to visit our permanent sites last week. We first had another matching ceremony similar to the first one where we met our training host family. Accept this one was a lot less awkward since we could somewhat speak the language. Nonetheless it’s very intimidating. Especially when your new host mom has beefier hands than you. My host mom for the next two years is VERY strong and VERY Kyrgyz. A very kind and welcoming lady in her 50’s, she’s like a lot of Kyrgyz from Naryn. Her skin is dark and weathered; probably from the intense sun, dryness, and wind Naryn experiences. Myself, my host mom, Micah and her host mom (Micah is the only other volunteer in my area), and Dan (the volunteer who just finished his service and is being replaced my Micah) all hoped a marshrutka in Bishkek and started our 8 hour journey. Dan served his two years in my Rayon and had quite a bit advice to give The whole way down Dan and I chatted about life in the Peace Corps, certain challenges, and places to check out here in Kyrgyzstan. Dan, whose face is weathered from the dry Kyrgyz air, had a lot to say about this place. He told me about ways to cope the cold and isolation and to always to keep in touch with fellow volunteers. Straying focused on teaching, getting exercise, reading, and language mastery are essential. It’s a difficult area to serve. The drive down to Naryn is absolutely incredible. From Bishkek you head east on the road through the Chui Valley until you hit Balykchi on Lake Issyk-Kul. From there we went south into Naryn. Northern Naryn is green with huge mountains and enormous rolling hills. Further south past Kochkor you notice Yurts at the foothills near rivers where Kyrgyz families spend their summers with their horses. Vast fields of purple flowers and green grass scatter the countryside. STEEP mountain passes on dirt roads with sharp switchbacks would make anyone wet their pants. Kyrgyz men on horses sporting their Kalpaks are a common site. This is real Kyrgyz country. Dan pointed out the huge semi trucks on the road that come from China delivering goods. Sitting in the rickety van smashed in between Kyrgyz children, time flew by as Dan and I chatted. We had a quick stop in Naryn city and then it off for a couple more hours to my site. Night had fallen and my new host mother and I were dropped off at the village. Before I knew it I was eating radishes, potatoes, and drinking tea with my soon-to-be new host family. “This is where I’ll be living,” I thought. It was a lot to take in. I have a younger sister who’s ten who seems pretty cool. I helped her work on a 500 piece puzzle while I was down there. I have a 27 year old brother who’s married and has a 8 month year old and another along the way. My brother is a school teacher and lives with his wife in another village nearby. He’s a pretty cool guy. He showed me around the village and took me down to the river that flows close to the village. It’s a huge river and apparently has a ton of fish. He said he’ll take me fishing down there when I move in. He’s also got a horse that he rides and he’s a pretty stellar rider. Horses here in Kyrgyzstan are a very sacred animal. Horse riding is HUGE. My host father seems like a funny guy who likes to have a good time. He plays the Komus which is a traditional Kyrgyz guitar-like instrument. My host mother is a kindergarten teacher at my school while my father works the fields. My mother cooks all meals outside our house on an open fire; no electric or gas stoves in this village. Like most homes in the village, my home is made from clay and looks similar to that of a Mexican pueblo. I wonder how warm it is in there in the winter? The outhouse is far away: I have to walk across a small field to get to it. This can be a pain in the winter when I have to pee in the middle of the night; which I do almost every night here. Waking up in the middle of the night and having to trudge through some serious snow just to take a piss sounds tough. Maybe I’ll just pee outside? We have a well out front that has some of the freshest tastiest water I’ve ever tasted. The water is runoff from the nearby mountains that engulf the Naryn oblast. My village is surrounded by orange and yellow hills and jagged rock faces. A lot of Naryn is fairly vegetated but the part of Naryn where my village is it looks more like the Wild Wild West. I am out there. Far away -way out there. The isolation combined with the cold and simple diet is going to be difficult. Right now there are a wide variety of fruits and vegetables available. Come winter Naryn is limited to potatoes, rice, cabbage, carrots, beets and sometimes meat. Yes, sometimes, meat. The Kyrgyz/Central Asian stereotypical diet of meat is true but it’s eaten every once in awhile. Meat is very expensive here in Kyrgyzstan and is usually enjoyed during celebrations and guest events. The other week I had the ‘honor’ of witnessing the slaughter a sheep. Our neighbor next door did the deed. After tying the helpless animal’s legs up he grabbed the sheep by the snout, pulled its head back, slit open his throat, and drained the blood into a bowl. However the sight of this was not as intense as its sound. The sheep was making some blood-curdling groans and desperately gasping for air. Then, with a crunch, slaughter guy finally snapped the animal’s neck back. The sheep was cooked and we ate it for dinner and it tasted pretty descent but I’m still trying to get used to its strange taste. During my site visit I had the opportunity to participate during the first day of school. We had an opening ceremony where the entire faculty and all 200 students gathered out front of the school. Students, who are all required to wear uniforms every day, lined up according to form (Kyrgyzstan still uses the old Soviet method of grade classification: forms). Boys sport all white long-sleeve dress shirts and black pants while the girls wear a black dress and white shirt. Girls also have pigtails and have these giant white fluffy bow things in their hair and it looks pretty funny. During the opening ceremony the principal, or director, said a few words then the Zavuch, or vice principle had a few words to say. The Zavuch talked and mention my name. She told the school that there will be a volunteer from America to teach English for two years. Then she said the volunteer was very handsome but his hair was too long. Just kidding. She really did say I was very handsome though. I do need to get a haircut though. Now it was show time. I was required to give a speech in Kyrgyz and then say it all over again in English. Good thing I prepared a solid speech. Besides a few children laughing at my accent the speech went real well. I said the speech over again in English and it was pretty awkward because out of everyone there only my English teaching counterpart could understand me so there were a lot of confused looks. My counterpart is pretty cool young lady and has a son. Unfortunately we had a rough time communicating in English. I sat in on her fourth form English class (10-year olds) and expected to sit. She gave a quick introduction to the class and then turned to me and said ‘now what?’ What? You want me to teach? I was definitely expecting not to be teaching this trip. But I guess I have mad English skills so why not? I had a pretty bad cold at the time; probably from picking my nose so much from the way dry weather. So I really wasn’t doing any work. I did some improvisation and pulled off a decent little lecture of introducing our names to each other in English. After that we went over some future lesson plans together. Her English isn’t perfect so I’ll have to step it up with my Kyrgyz. This morning I had final language examination and scored an intermediate medium which is pretty good. With Kyrgyz being the only language spoken in these parts of Naryn I should be speaking Kyrgyz fairly well after only a few months. Things should be pretty interesting these next few months. I head to Naryn to start my service next Friday and the real adventure begins. I start teaching with my counterpart on Monday! I’m definitely going to miss my host family that I’m living with right now. My younger host sister is still up to her mischief. My other host brother who I actually just met for the first time is back in town. He’s my age (I’m actually only 2 days older than him) and he’s been working at a grocery store in Moscow. He’s a pretty cool guy and likes my music. I showed him some Allman Brothers Band and seemed to dig it. My host mother seems to be pretty irritated these days. Because my host family practices Islam they are fasting this entire month for Ramadan. My host mother and two brothers wake up at four to eat and don’t eat again until the sun is completely down at 7:45 or so. Having my host mom cook delicious meals for me every day is going to be something of the past pretty soon. She has done a lot to help get used to life her in Kyrgyzstan. She’s showed me how to wash my clothes and properly act at the dinner table during a traditional Kyrgyz meal. I will definitely be missing her. I don’t get good cell phone service where I’m going. Apparently they recently got their first cell phone service tower in the larger town forty-five minutes away. Still phone service is a tossup. Internet is three hours away in Naryn city. I plan on making it out there at least once a month so look for updates every month. I’ll be sure and put an update up next month or so. Also if I’m leaving out any details, be sure and post a comment and I should answer most questions. Keeping in touch with family and friends is pretty essential. I get to talk to my parents at least once a week. They got a pretty sweet calling card deal. Getting emails has never been so enlightening. Just hearing what going on back home is awesome. I was having a rough day not long ago and I got an awesome Facebook message from a good buddy and it totally revitalized my spirits. Truly incredible. I wrapped up my site visit with a day and a night in Naryn city to hang out with some current and new Naryn volunteers. Naryn city is cool place. Not a big place but big enough. The city has got a few great restaurants which should be good for a break from the huge quantity of potatoes and cabbage I’ll be eating. That last night we went out to a cafй for dinner and kicked it. It was the K-14’s last night together and they wanted to make it a good one (their service was almost over and they were getting ready to head home). We went to a small club and I had a few vodka shots. Then I did the worm on the dance floor. A young drunk pregnant Kyrgyz lady came up to dance. Only a little bit disturbing. Well that is it for today. I will do my best to keep the stories rolling on here. Emails are magical. mikechalfin@yahoo.com. Later, Mike