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 Kyrg
yz 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
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 Kyrg
yz 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
