Everyday is Learning Day, In Kyrgyzstan

Hello. I have a new blog entry and here it is.

So what’s up with this country Kyrgyzstan? I’ve never even heard of it? Kyrgyzstan is located in Central Asia and borders Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and China. It is a small country about the size of Nebraska and is famous for not only its gorgeous mountains but also its Lake Issyk-Kul (the second largest alpine lake in the world). The geography and scenery in this country is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Some of the most spectacular sunsets I’ve every scene have been from my outhouse! Kyrgyzstan’s capital city is Bishkek and is home to a variety of ethnicities. Since I’ve learned Kyrgyz, I find it difficult getting around this city since many speak Russian here. Kyrgyzstan is divided into seven oblasts (similar to states in the US); Chui, Talas, Issyk-Kul, Naryn, Jalalabad, Osh, and Batken. The people of Kyrgyzstan are very friendly and extremely welcoming to visitors. I’ve never had people bend over backward for me to make me more comfortable when guesting at their home. Kyrgyzstan is a fascinating place with a fascinating history. According to historians, the Kyrgyz are ancestors of a tribe from the Tien Shan Mountains in Eastern Kyrgyzstan and North Western China who migrated to the Yenisei River Valley (Kind of near modern day Novosibirsk in Siberia) between 500 and 800 AD. From 800 to 1000 AD the Kyrgyz migrated from the Yenisei River and settled in Semirechiye (Modern day South Eastern Kazakhstan and the Chui, and Issyk-Kul Valleys of modern day Kyrgyzstan). In the early 1200’s the Mongols, lead by Genghis Khan, swept across Asia and by 1207 the Kyrgyz were absorbed into the Mongol Empire. With the death of Genghis Kahn in 1227 the Mongol Empire was split leaving the Kyrgyz to Chagatai Khanate (Genghis Kahn’s second son). Between 1200 and 1500 the Kyrgyz tribes moved into present day Kyrgyzstan. During this time the Kyrgyz developed their nomadic lifestyle (Vertical Pastoral Nomadism) of living in the lowlands in the winters and moving to the mountains in the summers. Fast forward a bit to 1800’s. The Kokand Dynasty was part of a trio of khanates, (the other two from Khiva and Bukhara) established in 1747. These three khanates were the last of the pre-Russian dynasties to dominate Central Asia. During the 1820’s the Kokand khanate was making their way into the Tien Shan’s, the Chui and Talas Valleys, Issyk-Kul, and the Alay Mountain Range in southern Kyrgyzstan. The Kyrgyz sought the help of their newly formed allies, the Russians, to rebel against the Kokand. In 1862 Kyrgyz and Russian forces destroyed the Kokand fortress in Pishpek (modern day Bishkek). The Russians then pushed the Kokand back which lead to the invasion the Kokand Khanate and seizure of Tashkent (capital city of modern day Uzbekistan). From here the Russians establish the Turkestan Government. Fast forward again to 1917 when the Bolshevik Revolution in Moscow and St. Petersburg. This revolution hits the Turkestan government and in 1918 it became part of the Soviet Socialist Republic. Come 1921, Central Asia was declared by Soviet Congress to be a resource to feed its economy and in 1924 the Nationalities Policy was created to divide Central Asia into 5 countries. By dividing the region into five countries, the Bolsheviks could more effectively rule the area. Doing this could minimize the chance of an Islamic uprising against the Bolshevik government. Unfortunately, the division of these nations has created the ethnic relation problems of modern-day Central Asia. By the 1940’s, with the help of Stalin, the Kyrgyz became a more settled people, leaving the nomadic lifestyle they had lived before. Prior to the Bolshevik revolution, the Russians in Kyrgyzstan had confiscated land from the Kyrgyz. This land that was once occupied by Russians was given back to the native Kyrgyz to suppress any anti-Soviet hatred. Soon the quality of living in Kyrgyzstan rose dramatically. Streets, cars, modern –day technology were introduced in Kyrgyzstan and soon Soviet-style schools opened up. Kyrgyzstan was moving from the old nomadic lifestyle into one of modern-day technology and ideals. Kyrgyz even fought alongside the Soviets during World War II. As Kyrgyzstan continued to develop more and more jobs opened up and more Russians migrated. With the collapse of the Soviet Union in August of 1991, Kyrgyzstan found itself as an independent nation: The Kyrgyz Republic.

The Kyrgyz Family Life

I’ve been living with my permanent site host family now for about 6 months now and it’s been an experience, to say the least. At first it was pretty rough. I’m the second volunteer to live with this particular family so the only basis of comparison for them was the previous volunteer. I would constantly be compared to the previous volunteer; especially when I would do something they didn’t like. For instance, “(Previous volunteer’s name) always had milk and sugar with her tea. Why don’t you?” Or “(Previous volunteer’s name) never ate lunch like you do.” Etc. Etc. So it wasn’t just me who had to do some cultural adjusting to do, my host family needed to adjust as well. For example, the previous volunteer never ate lunch. I on the other hand get pretty hungry by mid afternoon and need something to eat other than bread. I would have to explain to my host mom that I get pretty hungry mid day and need some food to keep me going. It’s not uncommon for Kyrgyz people to go for days just living on bread and my family found it strange that I was such an eater. After attempts of cooking buckwheat and carrots for myself at lunch, my host mom started cooking it for me, since she finds it culturally offensive that a boy would cook food for himself. So my host family and I came to an agreement that she would cook for me everyday which took some adjustment on her part. Now every day after my morning classes I got some lunch waiting for me at home! Thanks host mom. My host father and I have had a couple battles in the past. I won’t go into detail about it but it was about money for food. We did eventually come to a reasonable agreement on money for food but it did take some explaining that I only get a modest living allowance. We’ve had a few scuffles but now things are going very well between my host-family and I. We now have conversations at meals which, at first, were difficult for me. Now we joke around quite a bit about stupid stuff. I help my host dad shovel snow and help my host bother chop wood. I’ll go outside to the well and fill buckets of water for my host mom. I help my host sister with her homework and play cards with her almost every day. Even my host brother’s one-year old daughter who lives with us and she has taken a liking to me. I’ll be in my room reading a book and she’ll come running in my room with no pants on wanting attention! Good times good times. So things now are going very well with the host family, however, it did take some big time adjusting and learning on my part. Getting used to life at the dinner table (actually we eat our meals on a short table and sit on the floor) was an adventure in its own. The magical “Mom’s spit” takes on a more practical use here in my host family. My host mother will clean dishes by wiping them with her fingers and licking them clean. At first I was pretty disgusted but now I hardly notice. My older host brother’s one-year-old daughter will vomit every so often at the dinner table. Cleaning the puked up potatoes off of her little face is cool in my book, but cleaning off her face and then eating the puked up potatoes that were just semi digested in a foreign stomach is, well, um… yeah…. Even if it’s just from your one-year-old daughter, that’s still pretty wild. Eating with my bare hands has taking some adjusting as well. Whenever there’s meat on the table it’s usually still attached to the bone. Watching my adorable little 10-year-old host sister gnaw a sheep bone clean would leave anyone in awe! Getting used to eating at the dinner table took some time getting used however I now feel pretty comfortable eating around the host fam. Probably the most difficult thing, something that I’m still struggling with a bit, is lack of privacy. During the intense cold of December and January my room would get pretty cold. So in order to keep my room warm I would have to leave my door open to get warm air into my room from the furnace. By leaving my door open in the evenings often lead to unexpected intrusions from fellow host family members. This can make things pretty stressful given that your only place of privacy is being invaded. However since leaving my door open my family seems to be much happier. I can understand this since it must be weird for them having a guest in the house with the door shut all the time. Privacy is an interesting thing here in the village. As a matter of fact, there really is no such thing as privacy here. In Kyrgyz culture the family operates as a unit; a collective culture. Families sleep together in the same room in their homes. It’s not possible to walk through the village without greeting someone and having a small conversation. It’s pretty cool seeing the same people every day and saying hello and chatting for a few minutes, however, on bad days when you really don’t want to talk to anyone it’s almost impossible to avoid conversation. Here is something I’ve learned. When it was too cold to go jogging outside I would often jump rope in the sports hall at school for exercise. The sports hall is adjacent to main, and only, hall at my school. While I’m jumping rope, children would hear me and want to see what’s going on, so, they would poke their little heads in and watch me. Children will stare and whisper to each other as if they’re at a zoo watching monkey’s eating bananas or something. It’s pretty awkward having people watch you like that. Pretty soon more and more kids will come into the room just to watch me jump rope. Before I know the whole sports hall has erupted into a party complete with local boys playing ping-ping! Just when you thought you had some time to yourself for a little jump rope, think again. The first few weeks of exercising in the sports hall were pretty awkward. I’ll be doing stretches on the wrestling mats and students and teachers would poke their heads in and watch. Despite the extreme awkward feeling of being watched I kept doing my thing. Pretty soon people stopped watching me. They walk by minding their own business knowing that what I’m doing in there really isn’t all that exciting. They’re probably thinking, “oh it’s just Mike doing his thing in the sports hall. Whatever.” Even when local boys my age come into the hall to play ping pong I’ll just continue minding my own business. Before, I was pretty self-conscious about people watching me exercise. Now I’ve figured that since this is such a collectivist culture why try and hide what I do? So now I just go with it. Even when they ask what I’m doing I just tell them I’m just having fun and exercising.

The English Club
I mentioned earlier that I had started an “English club.” There was a pressure from the students and school director for me to start and English club right off the bat when I was only a month in site. I was pretty opposed to this idea since I was still trying to figure out school, let alone life in a completely different world than my training site. So I took my time and started my English club the following quarter. I created three English clubs; one for 6th and 7th formers (Wednesdays), one for 8th and 9th formers (Mondays), and one for 10th and 11th formers (Tuesdays). Each club was to meet for one hour at 3:00. Thanks to the previous volunteer I have all I need to make an awesome English club. There is a television with a DVD player and a book shelf filled with children’s books with authors like Dr. Seuss. So looks like I got what I need to have an awesome club. Alright now that I got everything I need it’s time get down to work. So it’s the first week of the new quarter and all the interested children have come (about 15 of them, 6th and 7th formers) and are sitting there with their winter coats on because it’s freezing in this room. Alright so let’s uh…Wait… Hmmm…. So what am I doing? What do we do in English Club? I’ve got a DVD player with some movies like Shrek but there’s no electricity so that’s out. How about I look in the bookshelf? I grab the most colorful book of the bunch: One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. I turn back to face the students sitting quietly and waiting for me to entertain them. “How about we read a book today?” The students look at each other, yawning a bit. I start to read and already the kids are getting bored. When I finish the book the children perk up and ask if we can play a game. “Alright, let’s see what we got.” I ruffled through all the cabinets and pulled out a deck of Uno cards. “Uno anyone?” The previous volunteer had already taught them how to play so we got right down to playing and they seemed to perk up. A half hour into it they’re having a ball but at the same time I’m thinking ‘is this what I should be doing in English Club?’ The hour is up and the students head for the door. Weeks go by and I find myself getting very lazy about doing something productive in this so-called English club. On the days we have electricity I pop in a DVD and the students are glued to it for an hour and then they leave. On days without electricity we’ll play Uno or Go Fish. My counterpart and I spend hours teaching together, making lesson plans, and coming up with new ideas for class and this leaves me with little motivation to do any more English-teaching type work. So lately I’ve just been cruising on this whole English club business. Then one morning at school I was having a chat with my 9th graders before class started. I asked why only 3 students showed up for English club yesterday. The kids didn’t answer. I turned to my counterpart telling her that I was hung out to dry yesterday and she asked the students what was up. The kids, thinking I wouldn’t understand them, told my counterpart that my club was ‘uninteresting and boring and all we do is play cards.’ This struck me in the heart pretty hard. I figured the things we do in club are kind of boring but the students get a chance to hang out with me on a more casual level. So I took it kind of personal. I thought I was much more of a cooler guy to hang out with than these kids actually thought. I beat myself up about this for a bit. I figured I deserved a little rejection for being so lazy about club in the first place and came to the conclusion that I’m going to have to step it up if I want to get these kids interested in English club and maybe even getting them excited to learn English. I’ve been talking to my counterpart about ideas on how I can get this club rolling. She suggested that I make club somewhat similar to class but always throw something fun in there. I figure I should having about ¾ of the hour based on learning English and the last quarter just be hanging out or watching a movie. This would motivate the children to work towards their fun time. We’ll see. As usual, it’s going to take some trial and error but I’ll figure out some way to get these kids going.

On the Receiving End

I was hanging out with some volunteers in Naryn the weekend before and I caught a pretty nasty cold. On this day I woke up not feeling so hot; still sick. I got ready and walked outside to go teach class. To my dismay it had started snowing again. It sucks becuase when you think it has stopped snowing for the year you get dumped on some more. It was really early in the morning and I just wanted to go back to sleep and feel better but before I knew I was in the classroom teaching. No turning back here. I pushed through the day and crunched some lesson plans out with the counterpart. I went outside for a breather in between classes when I saw a large van parked outside the school. Anarbek, the school’s history teacher, and the van driver were unloading box after box from the van into the school. I didn’t think much of it when I came back inside the school and saw the long line of students coming out of the sports hall. Lots of excited chatter amongst the students illuminated the building. I’ve never seen these kids so excited before. I pushed through the crowded hallway to see what was going on and peered in through the doorway. From the large brown boxes students were handed shoe box-sized packages. Each package was labeled either ‘for a girl’ or ‘for a boy’ and ages 5-9, 10-14, and 15-18. I asked the school director what was going on and she said that these boxes were full of toys, candy, and clothes sent from America. Young students from America prepared these packages and donated them through a world-wide relief organization who gave care packages such as these to young underprivileged students around the world. “That’s pretty sweet,” I thought and not thinking much about it, I went to prepare for my 8th form class. My counterpart and I were giving a test today and we needed some time to write it up on the board. My counterpart and I were writing the test up on the board as each student came inside. Lots of noise and jumping around were going on behind me; a typical day. I turned around to greet my 8th formers but they were too busy opening up the packages they just got. Students pulled out everything from scarves, to colored pencils, super balls, and bubble gum. We managed to get the children to finish the exam without too much distraction from the gifts but when I was teaching my 7th formers the following hour it was no use trying to keep their attention. Every time I turned my back to them to write something on the board the students would crowd around each other to compare gifts. I kept trying to hold their attention to English lesson but it really was no use. With ten minutes left in the class I sat down at the teacher’s desk and let them play the rest of the period. I watched one of my students spinning a top on his desk thought about when I was really young and the letters we used to write in school to students my age around the world. At the time I never thought about how a kid from Africa might react to a letter from a boy in America. I don’t recall ever mailing any packages full of toys to children but I do remember donating old toys and clothes to organizations that gave them to underprivileged around the world. Again I never thought what kind of impact it would have made but today in front of my eyes I could truly see what it could do for someone. I’ve never seen these kids so excited before since I’ve been here and it truly was remarkable. Later that afternoon the elementary school students received their boxes of toys. This was a sight to see. A familiar 2nd form girl who’s a neighbor of mine walked passed me with her box, half opened and streamers spilling out the side of it. She walked very upright with her head held high and smile from ear to ear. “Hello Mike!” she said. What a day. On my way out to go home that day the sun was shining like none other. It was warm enough for me to keep my jacket off the whole walk back. Snow had actually melted a bit, revealing the muddy dirt paths in my village. It was a taste of the spring that is soon to come! It was a magical day nonetheless.

The Snow that Humbles You

Here in Kyrgyzstan, especially here in the Naryn Oblast, we get a bit of snow. This winter we’ve had a little over a half-meter (two feet or so). I grew up and lived in California and Oregon so I’m not all that familiar with this snow. Though when I was in Oregon we did get a little snow but it’s nothing like the snow fall here. I bought a decent pair of snow boots at the Naryn bazaar for about 1800 Som and they seem to work fairly well. With these boots I don’t slip and fall as much as I would when I would be wearing my normal shoes. I’ve taken a number of spills on the frozen sidewalks of Naryn wearing my Nikes. These boots are fairly water proof so my feet aren’t soaking by the end of the day. Don’t think that this is just about me complaining about the cold and snow here. There is more to my experience here this winter than simply battling this brutal cold and annoyingly wet snow. We had a little winter break at the end of December. Me and some fellow volunteer friends went to Karakol, in Lake Issyk-Kul, for a few days to hang out with some fellow volunteers. After a good time I came back to my village I found that I had nothing to do. There was no school and it was too cold to do anything real active. I tried to go jogging but the snow had covered the paths pretty deep and my eyelids would get frozen shut! Scratch that. Because of the cold few cars were travelling to and from Naryn. I didn’t want to wait more than 20 minutes outside in the freezing cold weather at the bus stop to get a car to Naryn to hang out. My counterpart and I had finished writing lesson plans for the first week of school in January so there wasn’t really any planning that had to be done for school. I had about 10 days of nothing to do in my village. I planned I would try my best to entertain myself before In-Service Training in Bishkek. In-Service Training is an extension of Pre-Service Training, only it’s after you’ve been at your working site for 5 months. IST consists of team-teaching seminars, living in Kyrgyzstan life skills like cooking with limited appliances, and health lessons. Plus it’s also a great time to see all the other volunteers you hadn’t seen since PST. I have some friends in the south (Osh and Jalalabad) who I’d never usally see working in the field. The easiest way to get to Bishkek from the South is by flying. There is a road from Bishkek to Osh/Jalalabad but it can take up to 12 hours to travel by taxi. I hear it’s a pretty beautiful ride... Anyway, I’m stuck in my small isolated village with nothing really productive to do. I had a fun New Years with the host family. We drank Bozo and ate Besh Barmak, from cow meat this time (not sheep), and it was pretty good. Still, though, I had eight more days to myself and I needed to do something. So I read quite a bit and studied Kyrgyz but still you can only do that for so long. We had an optional language test at IST and I wanted to score pretty high so I would talk with my family for practice. By day five I hit a hard low. The cold was at its lowest,-40 C (which is -40 F). I was stuck in my room and a depression sunk in. It was either a hard depression or extreme boredom but none the less I felt awful. It was really just too much time in my head and I really needed to something going. The next morning was a cold but sunny one and I decided to lend my host father and host brother a hand with shoveling the snow that had covered the walkway to the outhouse. I had never shoveled snow before in my life but I figured since I was an NCAA Division one wrestler a couple years back that this snow shoveling business would be a joke. My host dad had already pushed the snow creating a pathway to the toilet and it was now our job to hurl these piles over the fence into the next field over. So he handed me a shovel and we got to work. He showed me how to carve out chunks with the shovel and scoop them out from underneath and then hurl them over the fence. I started out slowly. Carefully carving out the frozen chunks and, being extra careful not to spill, tossed ever so gently over the fence. Once I caught on to the groove of this I picked up the pace and before I knew it I was a snow shoveling machine! You should have seen me go! I had the sequence down and I felt nothing could stop me. When my arm that I held the shovel in the front would get tired I would switch hands and get going again. Before I knew when had finished the work for the day. We locked up the shovels and went in for some tea and fresh baked bread that my host mom had made. My mood had lifted and I felt great. The next day I got up eager to do some more snow work. I looked out the window and saw that my host father and brother were walking about outside, dressed, and ready to do some more shoveling. I threw my jeans on, bundled up, and jumped outside; ready for another day of shoveling snow! I approached them offering a hand. They definitely didn’t look as excited as I was to shovel snow but they were glad I was willing to help. We got started right where we left off the previous day on a different set of large piles. Again I started out slow and gradually picked up my pace; while still carefully balancing blocks of snow on my shovel and tossing them over the log fence. We continued this for some time when we stopped to take a breather and to look at the progress we had made. I was pretty tired by now and noticed that we still had two more huge long piles to take care of; more than what we did the previous day. I began thinking “man this is gonna be a long day.” We got back to work; carving, scooping, and tossing. We were about half way through the second pile when I started feeling pain in my back. My shoulders and arms were pretty sore as well and I was growing tired. I told my host brother that I was going to go back inside. I was calling it a day. I felt bad that I had left my host brother and my host out there to finish the work but at the same time I didn’t want to hurt myself over something like this. The next day I was feeling better and decided to help out again with the snow. I was able to finish a couple piles with my host brother. Still just carving out chunks of snow from the piles and hurling them over the fence. I got a really good technique down where I would squat with the shovel handle against my back leg. I would pop up, bending the shovel over my back leg (like a teeter-totter), scooping the block up off the ground ease. This helped me not only shovel snow faster but it was also putting way less stress on my back as well. By the end of the week we had completely removed all the extraneous snow that was piled about my host family’s property. It was a pretty cool feeling getting work like this done however my next snow shoveling experience was a bit different. With Spring just around the corner the weather has been getting warmer lately. The sun is starting to shine much brighter that it has in the past few months and this means that the snow is starting to melt. The next job to do with this snow is to remove it off the roof of our homes before it melt completely and floods everything. So two weekends ago I offered to help my host father shovel the snow off the roof of the small barn behind our house. We climbed to the top and began scooping and tossing. I was eager and excited to get back into shoveling snow so I didn’t start off slow as I had done the previous times. Thinking back I really should have started off a little slower because I felt a painful strain in my back when we were just getting started. Not to mention I hadn’t shoveled snow in month so I was a bit out of shape. I stretched out a bit and we finished getting the snow off of the roof and into the sheep and goat pen. Now we had to get the snow out of the pen and over the fence into the field bordering the property. We got the sled out and started trucking piles of snow next to fence. Once we had all the snow against the fence we started scooping and hurling it over the fence. We were about halfway through when the pain in my body grew more. I pushed myself and I started to feel sick. It was strange; something about shoveling snow this time around got to my head. It was probably because I had strained some muscles in my back. Sure it was stressful on the body but more than anything it was the monotony of it all that got to me most. Doing the same thing over and over got to my head little bit. Thoughts like “Mike I thought you were tougher than this! This should be kid-stuff compared to what you used to do!” Oh man it was bad. We finished the work after a couple of hours and headed back inside for some tea. I got a pat on the back but I headed to my room with my tail between my legs and a sore back. I got my sweaty clothes off, lay down on the floor of my room, and thought for a bit; staring at the ceiling. Still sweating I thought to myself, “This is how it is living the real rural village life. This is how people out here live day in and day out. It sure isn’t easy. And it hurts!” I don’t like to admit it but had thought I was tough for being a wrestler and all, but I had never done work like this before. I had gotten a small taste of real manual labor. My mind continued to process the experience. “This is just shoveling snow too. This isn’t even the hardest of work to do out here! And to think that all I do out here is teach English. Man I got it easy.” What got to me most is that this is the kind of work that young boys in my village to everyday. They go to school and then come home to shovel snow, herd cattle, feed cows, and chop firewood. That’s how they live out here! The thought of how easy I had it growing up compared to these boys is humbling. I woke up the next morning, still feeling crumby about my hard realization the previous day and did my laundry (I do it every other Sunday or so). I’ve gotten pretty used to washing my clothes by hand but nonetheless it still is a difficult and tedious task (much like shoveling snow). Since then I’ve continued to help with the shoveling and have gotten used to it. Though I have to admit, it still is a pain to do.

Thinking Outside the Classroom

What’s cool about working out here is that I’m not just limited to teaching English. I can start all kinds of clubs, help other volunteers with projects, and get involved in community activities outside the classroom. I’ve decided to take on a small project of my own. I want to have a sports camp and health seminar for students at my school this upcoming June. I’ve started taking requests from students on what they would like to do for a short camp this summer. I’ll be heading up to Bishkek in the middle of March to learn how to write grants and make projects. I’m looking forward to having this camp with the kids. I really like my kids and I think this would be a great opportunity for them to learn more about their health and have a good time.

In Conclusion

Time goes by fast. I really haven’t been here that long but it kind of feels like I’ve been here a very long time. At the same time, though, it goes by fast. I guess it’s the fact that a lot has happened since I’ve gotten here. Certain moments here in country make you think and reflect how you’ve changed as a person since first getting here. Take, for example, my last visit to my PST host family in Kant last December, just before In-Service Training. Upon our arrival in Kant, some fellow Naryn volunteers and I went to the old internet café in Kant to check our E-mail. I would come to this same place to send emails and upload blog entries during PST. I remember feeling very stressed out while I was here. I’d be waiting in line to use the internet and at the same time being crunched for time because my bus heading back home to my village would be leaving soon. I’d be exhausted from a very long day of seminars and language training. I would wait in line longing to hear back from my parents in the emails they would send me but at the same time I just wanted to go back to my village and chill out. Everyone around me would be speaking such a foreign language and there was no real way for me to communicate to them. With foreign pedestrians, crazy drivers, hot weather, and cows about, the madness ensuing out in the streets outside the building makes you afraid to even get back out there. There were some pretty stressful times here in this place of internet, however, that was over five months ago and here I am at this very same café. After living here for a bit I’m patiently standing in line waiting for my turn to use the internet. I’m not stressed out. Not one bit. In fact, I feel more relaxed then I’ve felt in a while. Not much of a language barrier anymore since my Kyrgyz has gotten much better since I was last here. I had a long ride in with some friends and now I’m ready to use the internet (haven’t used it in two months). Afterwards I’ll catch the 5:30 bus into my old training village and kick with the host fam. The streets of Kant are still pretty wild but it doesn’t bother me. In this moment I feel like this is now home for me. The chaos of living here is just part of everyday life and I’m starting to feel more and more accustomed to it. I’ll even catch myself sometimes. I’ll just going along with the chaos of things and accept that it’s just a part of everyday life here in Kyrgyzstan. The lack of privacy, how dirty I am and how much I smell, random children running into my classroom while I teach, or the wailing and crying of 1-year-old sister in the middle of the night. I’ll think to myself “man, I would not have been able to live like this nine months ago. I’ve really changed as a person.” I’m not saying that’s I’ve grown accustomed to all and am never stressed out about anymore. It still bugs me sometimes when kids approach and stare at me in the sports hall while I jump rope. There are plenty of things that I haven’t yet gotten used to. I see it like this. The more I learn and the more I grow accustomed to, the more I learn that there is more to learn and more to accustomed to. It’s like learning this Kyrgyz language. The more I learn how to speak it, the more I learn that I really don’t know a whole lot. Just when I think I have figured something out, I learn that I’ve been doing something wrong the whole time and I have to reevaluate my behavior or attitude. You definitely get put in your place quite a bit. I’m not saying that each time that I find I’m making a mistake I’m back to square one in figuring out how to live here. I am a bit closer, though, than I was before. That’s the challenge of living here and that is what seems to be making me come back for more every day.

Pictures:

Me and some fellow volunteer/buddies having a snowball fight at the stadium in Karakol.

Some local village boys getting water from the nearby well.

My host brother’s one-and-a-half year old smooching on our neighbor’s little daughter on New Years.

My host mom filling sheep lungs with milk to make “uhpkuh.” It pretty tasty, actually. Kind of like cheese…

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