Halloween, Random Thoughts, and a Dress Code

October 24, 2006

11:30 AM

Tea or dinner with new people in my village sometimes ends up being a battle of hilarious misconceptions and displays of false pride. There are people here who see me as a savior. There are people who see my presence as unneeded (unneeded in the sense that intentionally or unintentionally I bring to the surface their faults). Much like any newcomer to any place or situation, I have the ability to see the normal as beautiful and the common as problematic. The people in my village who have a tough time with my presence feel so because my role here is to help; and in order to help I have to in some way expose some parts of village life and school life that they are struggling with. If I mention that I am writing informative letters to book donation organizations, it could appear two ways to the village and school. One, I can spark a fire in teachers and villagers to want to join the cause and realize they can help just as much as I want to. Two, I could really anger some people because I have brought to the surface an issue with both resource availability and their efforts previously taken to solve the problem.

The balance between savior and an unwelcome outsider is a tough role to fill. In my village, and throughout much of the country, the idea of “manhood” is a big thing. To have it questioned brings out the worst in many people (men, to be specific). There are plenty of aspects of this in the States, but the main difference is that social gender roles are much more split and defined here. In the unwelcome outsider role, I unintentionally seem to question the “manhood” of all of the men who see no reason in having a young American here to do the things they can do (and imagine the role in which some female volunteers have to struggle with). To them, I am taking jobs away from their country and, indirectly, money away from their country. I have had many occasions here where I simply sit back and smile as I was told that just because I am American doesn’t mean I can do more than them.

This is never a point I would argue with because in many ways, I agree. I am not a savior and I will not spend two years in this country and leave as a prophet. But when the conversation turns into a dissertation on why “he” and his country are better than me and America, I sit back and smile and nod in approval. Not having the will or language skills yet to respond saying that it is sentiment like that that has brought many nations and civilizations to the ground.

Somewhere in between the role of savior and unwelcome guest is the role of student and partner. Many people here, the majority I have met, see me in this role; the role of student, listener, helper, and partner in development. I have done my best to patiently observe and learn all while trying to begin to help since I have been here. The majority of Kyrgyz citizens that I have met are wonderful people thriving in a beautiful culture rich which history and tradition. The people in this country here are living, breathing encyclopedias full of a history and culture that dates back to before the beginning of time.

Some of the most incredible conversations I have had here have been with people mutually eager and excited to learn about my culture as I am to learn about theirs. Conversations like these with the eager and wonderful people that I have met are what will make my two years here a time of wonder and exploration that no website or book could ever provide.



October 30, 2006

7:15 AM

I woke up this past Saturday with the knowledge that a few things were going to be happening that day: some way and some how I was going to help the school celebrate Halloween. I must be honest; I had no plans when coming to site to do anything for Halloween. In my head I figured I would work Christmas celebrations and songs into my lessons once December rolled around. By this time I figured I might have the language skills necessary to give a cultural session to my students. But within my first week of teaching at the school, I was approached by students and various teachers about celebrating Halloween.

Apparently a few years ago they had a Halloween celebration and the school loved it. They figured if it was fun without an American helping to organize it, it would a blast now that they had their volunteer willing to bend and mold to their requests. Not really knowing what I was getting myself into, I agreed to help them organize something. Keep in my, I am by no means the definitive source on Halloween. I know that in America we wander the streets at night eating too much candy and either scaring or being scared. Beyond that, I lack a whole lot of knowledge on this holiday.

I started in my English club (the students that were really interested in Halloween and are by far my most intelligent and enthusiastic kids) by using Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven.” I gave them a bunch of words from the poem that we could translate into Kyrgyz and then discuss. After working through the translation session, I then wrote four words on the board: Devotion, Happiness, Love, and Sadness. I told the students that these were some of the major themes (Темалар) of the poem. After grabbing their attention by the fact that this poem could actually be pretty cool, I told them all to come to the board and spend a few minutes writing what came to their head when they thought about each of these words (I told them to think about a synonym—Синоним—for each word). The result is posted up on the photo site. In short, I was floored; they really impressed me with what they wrote up on the board. We then discussed the idea of feelings and briefly got into that this was what the poet was thinking when he wrote this.

Obviously, this veered a bit away from Halloween, but that was fine. I had initially planned on discussing the darkness of the poem and mentioning ghosts and all of the Halloween-type things in the poem. The English club students guided this lesson down and little bit of a different path and I let them. They loved feeling like they had some control in the classroom. I got wonderful feedback from them (non-verbal, but I could tell by how much they got into the lesson). Overall, this was an incredible start for my introduction to Halloween for the school.

We then decided later on that, with my counterpart, that we would have a Halloween party on Saturday, October 28. This would be the last day of the first quarter and the start of a ten day break. We agreed it would be a good day and then set into order setting up plans for what to do that night. Little did I know, this Saturday would hands down be my craziest day at site yet. The following is my best description of the entire day. Excuse me for the jumbled mess that will follow, but that is exactly what they day felt like. Here we go:

I had previously headed into town to make an abnormally large purchase of candy for the celebrations. On the Wednesday before I had decided with the students that we would try and pull off a Trick or Treat type celebration in the morning. They would dress up and then go around to each classroom as if they were different houses. I showed up to school around 8:15 on Saturday and went around handing candy off to various classrooms asking the teachers to give the students candy if they came to their door and said “Trick or Treat.” Insert here the first mess of the morning. I was told by the Zavooch (vice-principal) that the students would be allowed to go around the school at 9:30 and go “Trick or Treating.” I agreed and started going around telling the students (my counterpart and I decided that it would be easier to just have the 9th, 10th, and 11th grades dress up and take part). While I was walking around telling the students I noticed that there were no teachers any where in the school; students were bouncing around the hallways outside their classrooms.

I chalked this up to nothing at first, but started to really question it when a half hour rolled around and I saw a total of one teacher, and she was leaving the school. I decided to make my way up to the teacher’s lounge where I found all of the teachers having an impromptu meeting. Apparently the director of the school’s sister had died the day before. I didn’t know at this point, but would later find out, that my director’s family is hands down the most influential family in the village. They are very well respected and that meant that this day (Saturday) there was going to be a huge “funeral.” Upon finding this out, I pretty much just accepted that the trick or treating in the morning would not happen. But to my surprise, the teachers agreed that we would do that with the students and then cancel the rest of the day of school.

So I frantically went around trying to prepare the students to get ready to go around. In this frantic phase, I saw a bunch of students already eating the candy I had passed around. Problem one: After a little investigation, I found out that the majority of teachers I had given candy to had just given them to their class once I left and then continued their lessons. Problem two: Then once I got the students in order and ready to go around for “Trick or Treating,” I realized that only five students has dressed up and the rest were just going to “watch.” Obviously these weren’t really problems; they just meant that “Trick or Treating” was going to have to be adjusted a bit. At this point I had called the morning a failure and was ready to try and start preparing for the evening’s events to make sure one part of the celebration was going to work. But in true Kyrgyz fashion, things some how found a way to fall into place. Out of no where, my extended counterpart (the English teacher for the lower grades, who knows a little English) showed up and helped get all of the students organized.

Apparently the students had a plan the whole time. Their plan was go around the school and just barge into classrooms and scare all of the little kids and tell them to hand over their candy. Well hell, if traditional “Trick or Treating” doesn’t work, you can always resort to the bullying method (I was just hoping the eggs and toilet paper wouldn’t come out). As we made our way around the school, the scene turned out to be hilarious (a good hilarious). We would sneak up to a classroom door making as little noise as possible. Then on the count of three, the students in costumes would barge into the classroom scaring, literally, the students in the classroom and then demand they hand over their candy. If it sounds like madness, then I am getting the point across. It was pure madness and ended up being pretty fun. We did that for about a half hour, and then agreed to meet at 4:30 later that afternoon to set up the auditorium for the evening Halloween party.

I decided to retreat to my classroom to do some final grading for the end of the term grades. The Kyrgyz school system grades their students using a 1 through 5 (1 = F, 5 = A) scale and then uses a Journal to keep track of the grades. The Journal is essentially a large book for each class in the school (e.g. 11a, 11b, 10a, 10b…) that has a section for each subject. Every teacher is required to keep track of their students in this book. It can be kind of an overwhelming book right off the bat, but it’s not that bad. I personally believe that this system of grading shorts the students of some key feedback and grades that could aid in their development. But when resource availability is factored in, this is probably the most efficient method they may have at this point, using as little resources as possible.

So there I am organizing my practice copy of a journal (that Peace Corps had given us), with the intent of transferring it to the real books this week (October 30, 2006). Then my extended counterpart comes into my room and tells me that we are going to the funeral service. I was not about to turn down this invitation and hopped up to follow her out. We arrived at the house where there was already a good seventy-five people gathered around the house. Apparently, our first visit now was simply to go in and pay our respects to the male relatives who would be standing facing the Bozie (Yurt) crying to reveal their sorrow. We, myself and another man I was told to walk with (whom I had never met before), walked up to the relatives and shook all of their hands as a sign of our respect. I was then guided into the house where we had a few quick cups of tea, and then made our way out. We then headed back to the school where I had planned on resuming my grading and planning of the evening. Little did I know, the day had barely even begun.

After being at the school for a half hour, another teacher came barging into my classroom. This time it was the school’s Kyrgyz teacher (who has begun to give me lessons) telling me that we were all heading back to the house for the “actual” events of the funeral. This time I was kind of skeptical of what I was heading into, but never once considered not going.

Upon arriving back at the house I found myself standing around with the other teachers and now a crowd near one-hundred and fifty people. At this point in the funeral, all of the men were outside the gates, while all of the women were inside taking part in their mourning rituals. We ended up standing outside of the gates for a good hour and a half waiting for something. At that point I had no idea what we were waiting there for. Then all of the sudden I see the body being carried out on wooden planks with a blanket covering her. All of the men quickly drop into a squat and in a matter of seconds the crowd of men turned into a large prayer session.

* As a side note, this crowd of men was incredibly unique. There were “white beards” hobbling around on their canes, stand-out Russians dressed all in leather, and field workers still covered in dirt from their morning work (at this point it was noon). *

We prayed for about fifteen minutes and all rose to make a procession down the road to the cemetery. As the male relatives picked up the wooden planks holding the body and hoisted it to their shoulders, all of the women started their loud wailing to show their sorrow. The whole scene was really surreal, especially when we made our way to the main road (literally walking down the middle of it) and I could still hear the women wailing. We essentially put traffic to a halt; no one was about to try and past seventy-five men walking behind a “casket.” Once we made it to the cemetery there was a large hole already dug out. But what was unique was that they had dug out a tunnel in to the hole where the body was slid into. Once the body safely laid to rest in the tunnel, all of the men then came to the pile of dirt and each man grabbed a handful, said a prayer, and placed the handful into a shovel being held by a relative. In all, their were seven shovels that were ready to start filling the hole. After each man had placed in handful into the shovel, they then began filling the grave entirely. The men started rotating, taking their turns at shoveling some dirt into the grave; eventually the entire grave was filled. We then again got into a squat position for more prayers to complete the grave ceremony session.

Following the prayers, we once again dominated the main road and made our way back to the house, where all of the women were waiting for another session of prayers, this one all together (men and women). Then, like any Kyrgyz gathering, we were ushered into a nearby house for food. While walking to the house we passed the large kazaan (pot) cooking all of the meat and I was taken back by the thirty or so bowls filled with cooked meat and plov. Apparently they had slaughtered a cow for the funeral (a huge honor); there so much meat it was incredible. All of the teachers were grouped together in one room and we then took part in a quick, yet incredibly filling meal of beef and plov. I was really hungry at this point and welcomed a nice meal. Finally, around 2:30 PM, I was herded back to school and told that the events of the day (for the funeral) were completed. I thanked everyone for bringing me along and letting me experience a Kyrgyz funeral for the first time.

I then began to make my way back into school go grab my bag and head home for an hour break before I came back to school to start preparing for evening’s Halloween party. As I was about to enter the school, my phone rang. I picked it up to find my parents and their friends on the other end. They had taken a long weekend trip to Vegas with their “group” and decided that they would pick up a calling card and give me a holler. It was nice to hear from all of them. I talked to everyone (six people in all) for about a half hour hearing about the Circ de Sole (spelling?) show and that the St. Louis Cardinals had won the World Series. After getting in a word with everyone, I said my goodbyes and told them all to have fun.

By now, it was 3:00 and I had time for a quick break (and some coffee) at home. I journeyed home, brewed (poured hot water over instant powder) some coffee and set up a schedule for the evening’s events. After the craze of the morning hours, I had no idea what to expect come the evening and wanted to be as prepared as I could for the worst.

I arrived at the school at 4:30 to find none of the students who told me they would meet me there. I figured they were running a bit late, that was a gross understatement. By 5:30 PM, a half an hour before the festivities were supposed to start, five students had arrived, and none of them had showed up with what they were supposed to bring. I had posted a sign previously in the week near the entrance to the school asking students to bring apples (for apple bobbing) and pumpkins (for a pumpkin carving contest). I knew this was no large task to ask since the majority of students have apple trees in their backyard and pumpkins are all over this village. I was informed endlessly throughout the week that all of the students had collected the apples and pumpkins and they would bring them Saturday night. Well, by 6:00 PM, the time we were slated to start, we had one pumpkin, twenty students, and ten apples (with no buckets). Finally I decided to take a bit more charge and gave the first orders (rather than suggestions) to the students. I sent a group of students to get apples, a group to get pumpkins, a group to get water, and a group to get buckets/bins. At this point, I was hopeful that the party might happen, but still had readied myself to call the evening a failure.

Again, in true Kyrgyz fashion, a theme I’ve come to love, things started to magically fall into place. Both of my counterparts showed up out of no where (a half hour late, but they showed up) and started ordered students to get things into order (they had more power and control since they were able to use Kyrgyz words I don’t yet know). Between 6:00 and 6:30 PM, I found myself running around setting everything up as more and more students arrived with materials, friends, and Halloween joy (cheesy, I know). In the rush to get the apple-bobbing table set-up, the pumpkin carving tables organized and knives in order, and the music system running (an act that could have earned myself and a student of mine a degree in electronics), I had not even noticed the room slowly begin to fill up. Around 6:30 I looked up and saw that the room was filled with two-hundred or so people (students, graduates in town for the weekend, parents, and teachers) all ready to watch the evening festivities.

Eventually by 7:00 PM we got things under way with the pumpkin carving contest (which came naturally to these students who, like most Kyrgyz people, are very skilled with a knife). As the contest was happening, My counterpart and I lined up four students behind four basins of floating apples (five apples in each basin) for an apple bobbing contest.

The kids watching loved it as the students bobbing for the apples struggled and soaked their faces trying to retrieve apples. Eventually, we turned the apple bobbing into game worthy of XGames by placing a bucket on the other side of the room and requiring the students to grab and apple (with their mouth) and run across the room with it (in their mouth) and drop it into the bucket. By the time we finished the apple bobbing game, the half hour I gave for the pumpkin carving contest was up and it was time to judge the pumpkins. Overall, the pumpkins were incredible and very creative (see the photo site for some pictures). I chose a winner and gave the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place prizes (American coins).

Next up was a game of Halloween charades (thank you Tim) where my counterpart and I had one student from each class come up on the stage and act out what we told them. Their classes below were instructed to guess what they were, like any other charades games. But in this case, my counterpart required them all to answer in English (a formidable task when I gave them Goblin. But we let them get away with answering monster—which is an English/Russian cognate). After charades we moved into the final event of the evening, the costume contest. I tried to get all of the students to dress up, but that just didn’t stick with them. Instead, they chose one student from each class to show up in a costume and act as their class’ representative. The costumes, like the pumpkins, were amazing and very well thought out. I chose a winner (again, posted on the photo site) and told her that she could win costume contests in America.

As the festivities wore down, I sat back and watched as the students were allowed a 20 minutes discothèque (given permission by the extra-curricular activities Zavooch). I smiled watching them all awkwardly dance around in groups because it reminded me of my junior high dances. But I also had to smile because some how, some way, things worked out. I learned some valuable lessons in regards to planning and how to organize the students. I will surely take note of some of the things I caught on to (I found some much unexpected leaders among the students) and employ the next time I plan a “culture sharing” event.

The only real sour point in the night came at the very end when a few of the male teachers, who had obviously met before the party to share a bottle of vodka, started screaming at the students to leave, for no real reason in particular. This was really tough to watch because I knew that the teachers making a scene were some of the best the school has. And the saddest part is that it seemed like nothing new for these students to see their teachers drunkenly screaming. It was very hard to watch and ended up being, sadly, the most impressionable moment of the evening.

The teacher-student relationship is a very different one that what I grew up with, and I am still trying to get used to it. All of these students know their teachers personally, they live in a village of just over two-thousand people and see them all of the time. They have seen them drunk, seen them at holiday celebrations, and see them all of the time on the streets. I remember when I was in elementary and high school; if I saw my teacher outside of school I was floored, it was weird to think that my teachers had lives outside of the school. But this by no means is the point that stands out the most for me. Even with my obscure view of teachers outside of the school, I was raised in an education system that tended to avoid at all cost the authoritarian form of teaching. In my village, and I would have to suspect throughout a lot of Kyrgyzstan, the role of teacher and student is a very authoritative one. The students are the subordinates that will have the information driven into them through a dominating teaching giving drills and orders. I do not want to make it sound like a boot camp, but in my opinion I do not believe this to be most conducive way to educate a student. There are some incredible teachers at my school, but they think I am nuts if I shake the hand of a student, or if I ask a student how s/he is doing. It is not that the teachers don’t care about the students, it is just a combination of a culture, where the youth respect their elders, and the remnants of the Soviet style education (which all of the teachers were raised in).

The toughest thing for me to try and get across to the students, and hopefully share with some teachers, it that you can show respect for your elders (in this case, teachers), and still have a very informal and relaxed relationship. I may be miles off base here, but I believe I will be able to get the most out of my students if I make them feel comfortable and accepted in my classroom. I don’t want them to be scared of me, but see me as a person they can confide in. Some of my best teachers (Mrs. Lightfoot, Mr. Bosold, Ms. Awad) still linger in my mind because they allowed me to be who I was and grow in their classrooms. I now know that I was able to see them as a guide, rather than a leader with authority. Because of that, I confided in them and found myself opening my mind up to a world I never knew existed.

I still have a lot of learning and observing to do at my school. But for now, I know that my biggest hurdle to clear is going to be building an environment where both the students and teachers respect what I am doing. And in the level of respect, the students see me as a friend they can confide in and the teachers see me as someone who has a lot of information to share. The challenges are a plenty, but that is what makes it fun!


Random Note:

In honor of Andrew Paul Lewis, Joe Skorczewski, and my father, I would like to inform you all that as of this past Friday (October 27) I have worn a tie to work (school) two weeks straight. This may not be a huge accomplishment for many people, but as the previous three people I honored this comment to know, this is moving at leaps and bounds for me. I have some how found comfort in shoes (the cover my entire feet) and in my casual wear I have all of the sudden found myself wearing jeans, a dress shirt, and a sweater. In two years of this, I might return to the States and appear to be out of high school. APL and Joseph, this moves light years beyond t-shirts from the fifth grade!

Time, Prayers, and Shakespeare

October 18, 2006

7:00 AM

Time flies here because life moves much slower.

Time is an entirely different concept in Kyrgyzstan. The culture, society, and public transportation all combine to create a very unique way in which time functions. In very simple explanation: Because life moves much slower, time seems to move much faster. It sounds like a contradiction, but here me out. As an example, if I want to head into “town”, about 15 Km down the road to the nearest big city, there is a process involved. First off, I need to make a walk out to the main road, a 15 minute walk if I am moving at a steady pace. Once I make to the main road, I essentially become a hitchhiker. The way Kyrgyzstan’s public transportation system works (if you are not in a big city) is that you make your way to the main road and lift your arm. You are either looking for a taxi (which means anyone in a car who stops and is willing to take you to your destination) or a Marshutka (Kyrgyzstan’s version of the mini-bus). Marshutkas keep pretty regular routes and more often than not have their destination posted on the windshield. Taxis are usually the more expensive route, but on the side of the road, you are at the mercy of who stops.

I have waited anywhere from five to thirty minutes waiting for a vehicle to transport me. Sometimes this wait involves a dull thirty minutes of no cars, and then the first one to come by stops and grabs you. Sometimes this wait involves thirty minutes of haggling with different “taxis” for the correct price to your destination. The fact that I am learning Kyrgyz has helped a lot, and gets a lot of respect when a “taxi” pulls over and I ask him (female drivers are very rare here; but there is the occasional one) where he is going and how much it costs, in Kyrgyz.

So to get from my house and into a vehicle, can take anywhere from twenty to forty-five minutes. The ride then from my village to town is about twenty minutes, where I will usually be dropped off in the center of town. From there, it is another fifteen minute walk to any one of my destinations in town (the bank, fellow PCV’s apartment, internet, or bazaar). So for me to go about 17 Km (roughly 10.5 miles), factoring in the distance of the walks, it will take me about an hour and fifteen minutes to an hour and half. It may not seem like a lot, but when doubled (to get home), this ends up being almost three hours simply for transportation.

My weeks here work pretty much the same way. Days seem to move at light speed here. I have been told that this may change a bit come winter, so we will have to see. My prediction is that it may actually speed up a bit during winter, simply because life will become even more deliberate and lengthy once the cold and snow is factored into life here. We’ll just have to see. All I can say is that I have been here for three and half months and time is just one of many things that work in contradiction here.


October 19, 2006

6:00 AM

I woke up this morning to an unexpected partial lunar eclipse. I engaged in my usual morning routine this morning. My alarm went off, I smacked it, for a ten minute “snooze,” and then eventually rolled out of bed after a few minutes. In the dark I searched for my pants, fleece and winter cap, grabbed my flash light, and made my way into the cold morning darkness for a trip to the outhouse. But as I just mentioned, the second I stepped outside I was greeted front and center by a partial lunar eclipse. A beautiful thing no matter where you are, but in the clear mountain air, free of any major city lights, this was breathtaking.

It’s always feels good to start a day well, and at this point I am sitting here typing with a cup of coffee (reheated Dunkin’ Donut’s coffee!) huddled up next to the computer listening to my recent musical fascination, Neil Young. I had a bunch of his music on my computer for a while, but never really took the time to listen to his stuff. This man is a genius; it’s very soothing music with a deep philosophical base to it. Great stuff.

Ok, enough rambling, I haven’t written in a while, and a lot of stuff has happened in the past few days. To start, yesterday was, by all accounts, a very simple day, but left me glowing by the time I went to bed. In the morning I had four classes, my 9th form classes (a and b) and my 11th form classes (a and b). I have been giving my first test this week to all of my classes (Pronouns!), quite an experience in Kyrgyzstan. I am still not sure if I gave my test in a very unique manner or the students have been raised in a very different system than I am used to. I accepted both as the reasoning behind some of the challenges. The first test I gave I found myself fighting the endless battle of cheating. It just seemed natural to the class to share the answers with their partners, and laughed when I asked them to stop.

This naturally was not the response I was looking for. I decided before the end of the first test I gave on Monday that the test was going to be a “test of their testing.” Before every class started their test I had them reread the contract that I had written in English and Kyrgyz on large poster-board and posted on the wall. When I started classes a few weeks ago, I had all of the students sign this contract which included, among many other things, that they will not copy from other students or cheat. Apparently having it written in both Kyrgyz and English still wasn’t helpful to them. By the end of Monday I had given four students “5” for the day (the equivalent of an “A” for the day) and the rest of the students “3” and a few “4.” I knew that this was my first test for them, and consequently the first test any of them have ever been given by someone not raised and trained in the Kyrgyz educational system. The end result was that I told them all that next week we will have a real test, they now know how I give tests, and I told them all to be prepared. We’ll see how it goes.

So back to yesterday, the school day completed with some craziness in giving my first test. I then jumped in my host father’s “taxi” (see the October 18th’s definition of a Kyrgyz taxi) with my counterpart to head to town. We were off to a privately owned bookshop to place an order for English-Russian/Russian-English dictionaries. In Kyrgyzstan it is required by law for the government to give a salary to all teachers at a school, even if they are a volunteer. I knew this before coming to my village, and asked my counterpart and director upon arrival if we could use that salary towards supplies (they were both really surprised that I knew this, and were kind of caught off guard. Thanks to some current PCVs that came to talk to us during PST, I had this stored in the back of my mind). My counterpart was all for the idea, and jumped right on the bandwagon and decided that periodically purchasing dictionaries would be the best action with the money; I agreed.

Once in the bookstore, I was welcomed into the world of Kyrussian. My nickname for the smashing of two languages together in one conversation and creating seemingly the fastest spoken language in history! Ok, maybe not, but it surely seemed liked that. I am still working on my Kyrgyz, but when Kyrussian is used, I am lost in haze of rapid word fire. Eventually, my counterpart figured things out and ordered the books (after having a good laugh with the shopkeeper about the look on my face as I tried to figure out what they were saying. They both got a kick out of the young American displaying his innocence; I thought it was pretty funny too).

After the bookshop we then headed to a veterinarian to find some vaccinations for my dog. This is where the afternoon started getting really fun. The first vet we went to was nuts and really pissed off my host father by trying to charge us four times the price. We walked out of the vet’s shop with my host father telling him he was a shame to the city (a huge insult in Kyrgyzstan). So we then hoped back in the car, and made our way to other vet in town, who much to our liking, was a good man with a lot of information. He got us our vaccinations (viral enteritis, paravirus infection, adenoviruses plaque), for the correct price, and told us where to go for the stuff he didn’t have (an insect collar and a rabies vaccination). All of the information for what vaccinations I needed was provided by one of the Peace Corps medical officers named Nazgul. She was awesome and told me that if I were going to have a dog, she would like to make sure that he got all of the correct vaccinations (for my sake and his). She then found all of the information, and sent me an email, with all of the names in Russian. She was awesome, and without her help initially, I would have gotten no where with which shots I needed to find.

But the hero of the afternoon was my host father. This man is a giant six foot, four inches at least, and build like a logger. But he is a teddy-bear, he is one of the kindest men I have ever met (he reminds me a lot of my own father). And as we all know, teddy-bears can be mean if they need to. He surely didn’t like the first vet, and he let him know so. To find this second vet, we had to go to the bazaar and ask around to see if anyone knew where the other vet shop in town was. We eventually found him, and took care of business.

After searching the city for a good vet, we then talked about how he would head out today to get the rabies vaccination and insect collar for me today. At this point, he was ready to do whatever needed to be done to make sure that my dog and I were taken care of. I have not even mentioned yet how earlier this week he took me on a drive to the outskirts of town to meet the local vet in our village. The local vet was the one who had told us to head into town and pick up the vaccinations (new needle included) and he would be willing to give the dog a look over and give him the shots.

By the end of the afternoon, I was floating, from both happiness and fatigue. My host father was incredible and helped me looked clearly over all of my language difficulties of the day. I thought I was having a rough time with my language before, but when the topic of dog care comes into the picture, I was again, buried with words I didn’t know (in Kyrgyz and Russian). For some reason, Peace Corps didn’t cover animal care in out PST language training. I’ll have to talk to them about changing that. Joking aside, it was an adventure; and an adventure I was glad to have my host father with me for. He was a warrior yesterday, and would have made my parents proud with the “son-like” care he has been giving me. I am a part of this family, they have invited me in as much more than a guest; I am the older brother the siblings never had, the older son the parents don’t yet have. I love it; it has surely been very pivotal in helping me transition to life here in Kyrgyzstan, especially being away from all of my family and friends back home.



October 21, 2006

6:15 AM

So long as men can breathe and eyes can see;
Song long lives this, and this gives life to thee.


My brief ode to Shakespeare is done so in honor of my new English club. My English club is a group of 10th and 11th graders (with some random 8th and 9th graders) who are super enthusiastic about learning English. It may be a combination of me being a new young and hyper teacher or that they really love learning English. Nonetheless, there is a group of about thirty students that are a bunch of fun and have requested that we begin our English club (I had not planned on starting until November some time). So I took their request to heart, and for the past few weeks I have held English club.

As a test to see how much English they really knew, and how far they were willing to go to learn, I decided that we were going to translate Shakespeare’s 18th sonnet (Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day). I read the sonnet to them a bunch of times, and then we went ahead and translated the entire thing, word for word. I admit, I had to use my English-Kyrgyz dictionary a few times; but overall, they loved the translating because it gave them a ton of new words to write in their notebook-dictionaries.

Kyrgyz students love songs and love memorizing them; it’s part of the Kyrgyz people oral tradition and love of singing. Once we completed the translation, I then read the sonnet again, this time with the rhythm and intonation a Shakespeare sonnet deserves (Dr. Westphal would have been proud!). Instantly they caught on to the fact that this was more than just a bunch of new English words, this had song-like rhythm. I do not plan on trying to put this to music, but every club so far I have started the club with a reading of the sonnet by myself and then a group reading. My hope is that this sonnet, if read enough can start to work on their pronunciation of words and the tone of the English language (a hope that I did my best to tell them in Kyrgyz).

We briefly discussed the meaning of the words accent, pronunciation, rhythm, and even got into what a metaphor was (thanks to the Russian word for metaphor being a cognate). They got really excited (oddly excited) when I explained to them the phrase “eye of heaven” in the sonnet could actually mean the eye of God or just the sun. This ended up being incredibly fun for me and with some work, by then end of the school year, we may actually be able to have Shakespeare discussions!


=============Change of Thought Process===============


Two nights ago I took a few huge steps into community integration. Thursday night was a huge night in the Muslim world. We are rapidly approaching the end of the holy month of Ramadan (Orozo in Kyrgyz). Thursday night, as explained to me by my Islam informational source named Tim Brauhn, was the Night of Power. Prayers during Ramadan hold a little more weight than they do throughout the rest of the year, but on Thursday night, these prayers were magnified even more.

We had just completed dinner at my house and I was ready to go head to my room to do some reading and fade away to my dreams to be rested for the 8:00 AM class I had the next morning. Before I did this, I decided to head to outhouse; upon returning from the outhouse I was greeted by my host father, host brother, and a bunch of their friends. They told me to get dressed, find a hat to wear in the mosque, and to do it fast. In true Kyrgyz fashion, there was little explanation of what I was about to go do, which meant that something good was going to be on the other end of the invitation.

I hoped in the car with all the men and boys and we headed off to the mosque. I have previously talked to my host father about how I really don’t have a specific religion. He knows my father’s family is Lutheran (Christian was as far as I got with my Kyrgyz) and that my mother’s family is Jewish. But beyond that, he knew that I had not committed myself to any one religion. He knew that I had a budding interest in religion and that even though I was not committed to any one religion in particular, I still had a lot of faith. He made sure to use all of this information as justification for allowing me to not only enter the mosque, but to sit down and participate in the prayers. I joined the line of men and quickly remembered a Peace Corps tip during training: whenever you are in an unfamiliar situation where you are not sure what to do, search for a person similar to your age, and copy everything they do.

I did this right away and soon I found myself facing Mecca and dropping and rising in unison with fifty other men in the Mosque. They tried to teach me a prayer they all had memorized in Arabic, but I was barely able to remember a 1/3 of it. They didn’t seem to mind, and told me that I just needed to start practicing. I know I have been talking a lot in these blogs about being smacked with the feeling of reality; I don’t think I need to even go there now, it’s kind of a given in this situation.

By the end of the prayers I was fully engaged in all of the activities of the evening. After our prayers, we all hoped back in the car to go take part in a Kyrgyz pastime: eating. We arrived at a house where all of the women were waiting (a part of the evening that still was tough to take, knowing that all of the women stay at home and cooked for all of the men while we were at prayers). We sat down, and then a few of the men, who seemed to be group leaders of some sort, went on to tell lengthy stories about the meaning of the evening (I was surprisingly able to understand a good part of it). Once the stories settled down, the attention naturally turned to the bearded American sitting in the most honorable seat in the house (the seat farthest from the door).

The usual questions began about where I was from, how many siblings did I have, how old were my parents, did I like Kyrgyzstan, and did I miss America. I understood pretty much every question they asked; but when I didn’t, my host father, who has begun to catch on to how my mind works and what words he can use to connect me to the meaning of new words, essentially acted as my Kyrgyz translator, translating from Kyrgyz to the words Jason knew in Kyrgyz. It was quite comical at times, but worked wonders. We talked about Islam in America (a topic I was not qualified to talk about, so did so cautiously), what nationalities lived in Chicago, and what cultural and ethnic background I had in my family.

By the end of the lengthy discussion I realized that it approaching midnight and kindly asked when we might be heading home. My host father smiled and told me that if I were to really participate in the evening, I would not be going to bed until 7:00 AM the next morning. I sat back and prepared for a crazy evening.

We then went through two courses of food, with at least two more to come, when my host father told me that it would be ok if I left. He knew I had early classes the next morning, and knew that this was my first real experience with the Islam faith. We rose and I thanked everyone for their kindness in welcoming me to join their ceremonies. As my host father and I walked across the road (I did not know we eating a neighbors house until we got outside; it was dark when we arrived in a car of 8 people that had room for four), we talked about how I now had a year to study up on the Islam faith and the prayers necessary to participate in the faith and Ramadan. I agreed that in a year, my language would be much better, allowing me to participate a bit more, and that by then I would have a bit more knowledge about the meaning of Ramadan.

He walked me to the door, and wished me a good evening, and then headed back to the neighbor’s house for a evening of eating and multiple trips back to the mosque. Once he left, I immediately called Tim back in Aurora and told him that he needed to call me. He did so, and we talked for nearly an hour. I made sure to fully understand what it was I had just participated in, and the significance of me being allowed to join in the prayers. By the end of our conversation, which eventually moved away from Ramadan and moved around to a bunch of random things, it was 2:00 AM. I decided it was time for bed, and found my way to my bed, still floating from an evening of another huge step into cultural immersion and participation.


It will never stop.

I love it.




====================Weekly Quote=========================



And now who else would I quote but the professor of religion I never had the pleasure of sitting in a class with. My dear friend Martin Forward has become, through written words is his book and articles I now hold onto, my religious mentor. A quote now from Martin, this one from his article ‘God in a World of Christians and Muslims’:

…in a world more closely bound yet more complex than ever before, we need to respectfully learn about the other, not to undermine but to understand. Islam is too important to be left to Muslims, and Christianity too complicated to yield its secrets only to Christians. We can learn from the other, even about ourselves.
We are brought face-to-face with true religion when, just occasionally, we meet a goodly and a godly person, Christian or Muslim or whomever. Then I am reminded of a favorite saying of mine, by William Penn. He was a difficult man, to be sure, hardly saintly, but certainly a wrestler with God. He wrote:
The humble, meek, merciful, just, pious and devout souls are everywhere of one religion, and when death has taken off the mask, they will know one another though the diverse liveries they wear here make them strangers.




Thanks again Martin.

If the Moon Were Made of Cheese, it Would Have Melted by Now

October 10, 2006

7:00 AM

Three months living in Kyrgyzstan.

Nuts.


October 14, 2006

8:00 AM

Nothing long this week, just a few quotes:

First, from Martin Forward’s book Religion: A Beginner’s Guide. Martin was a professor, colleague, mentor, and most importantly, a friend of mine at Aurora University. He spent some time in his early twenties in a small Pakistani village learning the local language, Urdu (spelling?) and studying the faith and religion of the region. In his book, he mentions some of his time in Pakistan, using it as reference to sympathizing and integrating with other cultures and faiths. Taken slightly out of context, but perfectly applicable to my time here, Martin wrote:

“Even if we marry into another culture, speak another language and try out best to empathize, can we really see as others see? And even if we can, what use do we make of it?...My own experiences, including that of living in small Pakistani village, incline me to believe that what one can achieve are friendship, respect and appreciation; these are more easily attainable than insidership and empathy, and arguably more valuable” (Pg 33-34).

Thank you Martin, very well put, a great source of inspiration for myself in my current situation.

And now, onto another connection with Aurora University; a former student, current employee, and personally one of my dearest friends. I know he would hate to hear this, but I love the kid. Very few people in my life have been able to connect with me the way that he has, and it all happened in a relatively short span of time (about two years). I miss him, and he knows that. We formed a very disturbing friendship that scared many people when we arrived in their presence. Tim is currently an employee of Aurora University working as a fellow for one year. His official title is the Wackerlin Fellow for the Center for Faith and Action (http://www.aurora.edu/cfa/index.htm). His unofficial title is the “Hardest Working Man East of the Mississippi.” Before I came here to Kyrgyzstan, he did a lot of work to set up a trip to Turkey for a few of us through a non-profit organization based in downtown Chicago called the Niagara Foundation. Upon returning, he wrote a very long expose detailing our events on the trip. The entire article (titled ‘Love Writ Large’) is posted up on the CFA’s website, but my absolute favorite part of the entire thing is the opening paragraph:

“We learned some time ago that the seat of emotion in the human body was not in fact the heart, but resided somewhere in the brain. Still today, though, we rely on the heart to signify love and tenderness. I’ve often wondered why. Surely there is something that forces us to hang on to the outdated notion of the heart as a “feeling” organ. Those with no poetry (in their hearts) wouldn’t understand, but there is something that stirs in the chest during moments of extreme emotional excitement, and it’s not the lungs. Whether the heart I refer to is the physical lump of muscle that pumps blood or the spiritual force behind love is beside the point here. This is not about Aristotelian anatomy. This is not about finding out the meaning of love. This is about what makes my chest stir” (Pg 1).

Again, this quote is taken a bit out of context, but it still does a wonderful job of describing a lot of what I am experiencing here in Kyrgyzstan. Tim went on to talk about how it was Turkey that was “making his chest stir.” As you already expected, that sentiment can surely be felt and experienced on the other side of Asian continent, with me, here in Kyrgyzstan. Thank you Tim, your words and your thoughts, as always, are cherished. You are light years ahead the world you live in, I just hope that when you find a way to take more people of your exploration of knowledge, love, and human faith, that you find some room in your transport vehicle for me. I will accompany you where ever you choose to go, just tell me when and where.

That’s it from this end.

Be sure to check out the photo site, I’ve added a few new photos for you all to experience, love, and comment about.

Again, if you ever feel the need to call me or send me a package, let me know, I can get you the information needed to do either! Thank you to all who have been sending me emails! I miss and love you all!


WAIT, one more comment! I am currently in the process of working with Tim, from above, on setting up a massive donation drive/project for the school in my project. This is still in the very beginning stages, but it is moving fast along. The reason I am telling you all about this is that I want to drop the line into all of your heads that if you have anything, know of anyone, and can find to get a collection of materials (Books, School Supplies, Electronics, Money donations for shipping, Educational Posters, Random American Culture Posters, etc., use your imagination!), please contact me or Tim Brauhn (tbrauhn@aurora.edu). We are still working on the details of where to collect and how to ship, but for now I am just trying to let everyone know to start keeping an eye out. My school could use anything and everything you can find. We will find a way to get it here to me in Kyrgyzstan, and will let you know soon what to do with the stuff once you find it. But for now, please start looking around and collecting as much stuff as you can, we will keep you informed!

Thank you, and as always:

Peace and Love.

Yours truly,

Jason Andrew Lemberg

Жейсон Андруу Лемберг

Notes and Quick Comments

I apologize for the lack of emails to you all this week.

My system works that if I write a lot in the blog, then I write less in the emails. I will get around to emailing you all soon. It is great to hear from you all, so keep them coming!

P.S. Check out the photo site, I have new pictures up!

P.S.S. If you feel the burning desire to send me packages or letters, find my parents or email me to get my address! Thank you!

This week in the blog:

* More Self-Realization
* Teacher Holiday
* Question and Answer Section
* Equation of the Week
* Morning Rituals
* You Win Some, You Lose Some

Teaching has begun...

October 3, 2006

6:50 PM

There are moments, unforgettable ones, when you are smacked in the face with reality (good and bad). I know that I love the use of this word “reality” these days, but it is really the best way to describe these moments when the world around me suddenly becomes, well, real. The most recent event occurred today as I sat for the good part of ten hours at my school watching/taking part in the ‘Fall Holiday’ festivities Every grade at my school (1-11) is split into two groups (“a” and “b”) that have about fifteen to twenty students in each group.

Today, each group, starting at 10:00 AM, put on their own presentation in honor of the ‘Fall Holiday.’ About half way through the day I realized that the presentation was being judged by a panel (I thought the panel was seriously part of the show). Each presentation was required to have seven components: 1) Opening presentation (costumes and speeches), 2) Poetry reading/Manas Epic recitation, 3) A song, 4) Dancing, 5) Play/Skit, 6) Food and Flower presentation, 7) Overall Performance. I sat there for the first part of the day honestly lost. I watched as class after class walked on to stage and did their thing (90% of which I couldn’t understand, which added to the confusion). By 2:00 PM we had made it to through the first eight grades and I was starving, confused, and considering heading back home to just hang out for the rest of the day. But in true Kyrgyz fashion, I was suddenly whisked away by all of the teachers with the most popular phrase in the Kyrgyz language: “Чай Ич!” (Chai Each)—the Kyrgyz phrase for everything from a tea break to a full meal. But no matter which it was going to be, I knew there would be food, and a chance for me ask to a ton of broken Kyrgyz questions to the staff.

***Speaking of ‘Чай Ич’, it’s time for dinner, I will return in a little bit and get to my moment of realization.***


October 4, 2006

6:30 AM

Ok, so I lied, I ate dinner, and then I was really tired, so I went to bed. But I am back and now ready to continue my discussion!

So I am herded into a classroom that has been converted into a small buffet for the teachers. I make into to the room and seemingly simultaneously I hear another Kyrgyz favorite, “Жейсон, Отур!” (Jason, Otur), which literally means: Jason, Sit! As we move into the eating and things calm down a bit, my counterpart arrives (she speaks English), and I am able to ask a ton of questions about the fall festivities. Essentially, my village is still a very big farming town, and the Fall harvest holds a lot of significance. I found out that there will be a few more “holidays” during October so that the students may head off and help their parent’s harvest. The celebration the school held was long running tradition and seemed to be the highlight of the first quarter for the students who put in a ton of effort on their presentations.

So as I am moving back and forth between asking questions, answering questions, listening to the others talk (and grasping parts of sentences I know), I find myself talking with the schools’ Kyrgyz teacher (intimidating, to say the least, when your Kyrgyz is horrible). He then catches me off guard with a very patient and steady approach to his conversation with me. He allows me time to pick the words I know and ask about the words I don’t. We talk for about ten minutes about everything from Ramadan to World War II, America to Kyrgyzstan. After a very cool conversation, he then asks, with the approval of the other teachers, if I would like to sit on the panel of judges for the final events of the evening (it was 4:30 PM by then). I tentatively agree, and follow them back to the auditorium where grades 8-11 are setting up. The second we arrive, I realize that this is the “real” competition of the day, and the competition that crowns the Fall Holiday champions.

The competition begins and I am now sitting on the panel of judges, and then suddenly it hits me. I start to scan the room and the noise seems to fade out a bit. I glance from students to teachers, children to adults and in that moment my mind is entirely free of thought except for where I am at. I realize that I am the only non-Kyrgyz person in the room of two-hundred plus and, at this moment, I am not the object of attention. I was simply there to participate as everyone else was. This was the first time since I have been in my village where my being there was not an anomaly to the situation; I was just another member of the crowd. I know I still have a long way to go before this can happen in my everyday life here. I have a lot of conversations to be had (where are you from? Are you married? Where are you going? Etc.) and a lot of people to meet before I am accepted in this village and school.

But it was during the celebration that I really saw the possibilities of what my life could become here. I saw the reality of me living here, in a foreign country (a dream come true), for the next two years. The future seemed to be opening its’ arms to me and welcoming me to join her, to take a step into the reality of what I came here for. I was sitting in my “judge’s” chair and watching, what at first seemed like organized chaos, become something beautiful; an odd parallel to most of my time here so far. Adjusting to this new culture was not that difficult during PST (Pillow Softened Training or Pre-Service Training). We are sheltered and cushioned during training to allow us to “adjust” to life in a foreign country through panels and handouts. Don’t get me wrong, PST did it’s best to prepare us for our roles as PCVs. But the second I arrived here in my village, adjustment took on an entirely new meaning. I am doing more than adjusting, I am trying to integrate. This cannot be explained in a panel, read in a hand out, or written on a poster board. Integration must be done in person and must come with the struggles of reality. I now live a life where organized chaos is my norm and some of my best lessons come from taking a step back, watching and allowing myself to grow. I now live a life that I know will be a struggle, and I love it. I live in a foreign country, I am learning a foreign language, and I am teaching; it’s a blessing to have a dream come true for many people, I just happen to have three coming true at once.


October 5, 2006

6:58 AM

It just doesn’t stop, I love it.

Yesterday my school celebrated National Teacher’s Day (it was on Saturday). After a day of morning of classes (and some unexpected twisting of the class schedule), I walked with one of the other teachers to a house on the edge of town.

(Side note really quick: I didn’t find out that almost every teacher at the school stopped by my house to make sure I knew how to get there and, until we all sat down for dinner, did not know this. I truly have a family at the school, a collection of Kyrgyz mothers and fathers looking out for the young and naïve new teacher!)

It turns out that myself and the teacher I walked with were the only ones on time, not very unusual, but I got the unique opportunity to see all of the teachers arrive, and great every single one of them. There really is a large age range at my school, starting at twenty-three (there is a mathematics and computer teacher here my age!) and going all the way up mid-sixties. It was actually very interesting to watch all of them arrive, but even more interesting to see teachers arrive after all of the seats were taken (we were on the traditional floor cushions—tooshicks—and sitting around the lowered table—see the picture site for photos). The more people that arrived, the more required shifting of people was needed; eventually everyone was sitting shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, which added a very surprising close knit feel to the room. Even before people got in the groove of pre-dinner conversation, there was a wonderful aura of comfort in the large room. People were very content in their positions, a wonderful display of the Kyrgyz warmth that can place any heart, of any nationality, at ease.

As we started on the salat (two dishes, one very potato salad-like, and the other a very tasty cold noodle dish with a little kick to it) conversation was in full swing and, not surprisingly I could barely understand any of it. I am getting better everyday with my language, but with forty-five people talking, and doing so very fast, it was time for me to just sit back and relax and watch the show, which I had no problem with. People watching is a love of mine, and this dinner was the perfect setting for it. Once in a while someone would turn to me and ask me a question, slowing their speech down and very kindly being patient with me. I would answer it and then eventually move back into my observer mode. In time, it would be wonderful to be able to interact and joke with all of my new colleagues; but for now, as a newcomer and a learner, it worked out best that I just sat back and listened.

After the salat course, all of the men stepped out side for what I loosely translated as “men talk;” which basically meant all of the men stepped out side to have a cigarette and have a group toast of vodka (toasts were a plenty this evening). I had this desire to stay in the room with all of the women, but I knew that I was expected to get up and join the men outside, so I wandered with. Due to my lack of smoking and vodka drinking, the men agreed to give me a cup of soup (from the boiling sheep in the giant kazaan—large wok-like pot over a fire behind us). After the toast and drink, the conversation began, and having a newcomer, I was the topic of conversation. Every man had a question, and I did my best to answer them all. Here is a sample dialogue with my best transcription as possible:

Teacher 1: Are you from a village or city?
Me: I am from a large city, it is called Chicago.
Teacher 1: I know Chicago, the Mafia!
Teacher 2: What state is Chicago in?
Me: Illinois.
Teacher 2: Where is Illinois?
Me: (Damn, how do I say Midwest) It’s in the middle of the country.
Teacher 3: Do you have farms in America?
Me: Yes we do. My state actually has a bunch, outside of the city.
Teacher 3: What do you grow in your state?
Me: (I have no idea besides corn!) Corn, wheat, potatoes…I am not sure what else.
Teacher 4: Do you have any sports teams in your city?
Me: Yes, we have basketball, baseball, soccer, football, and hockey teams in Chicago.
Teacher 4: Do you like or play any sports?
Me: I like all sports, but I really like to play soccer.
Teacher 5: Big or small soccer (Competitively or for fun)?
Me: Both.
Teacher 4: Do you have table tennis (ping pong) in America?
Me: Yes, I love to play it.
Teacher 5: We have one at school!
Me: Can we play sometime.
Teacher 5: Of course!
Teacher 2: What state are you from again?
Me: Illinois.
Every Teacher: How many states are in America?
Me: 50.
**This is where the “I told you so” and “You just guessed!” comments starting flying around the group. Apparently they were storing this question and waiting to find out the real answer from an American.**
Teacher 2: Is Washington a state?
Me: We have a Washington State and our capital is called Washington D.C.
Teacher 2: (to the other teachers) I knew it!
Vice-Principal (Zavooch): Ok, enough, lets go inside and eat.

So after quelling the argument over how many states the US has, we made our way back into the room for our second course, one of my favorites: Plov! This is a dish of fried rice, carrots, and meat. It sounds incredibly simple, but I love it. It is a bit fatty, but most food here is, I just supplement it with grabbing some tomatoes and cucumbers from another dish and eating those into between every other bite. Once the meal gets into full swing, I was introduced to a Kyrgyz pastime: singing. What happens is that there is a special cup that is passed around. This cup designates who is to sing, but also when you have the cup, you are supposed to pass the cup to a person you like and would like to see again. Conveniently, I was the third person in a group of 40+ to receive the cup. I went right after my Peace Corps taught Kyrgyz song “Kyrgyz Land” (Кыргыз Жере). I got through the first verse and they loved it. But as I was ready to pass the cup, they wanted me to also sing a song in English. So where else would I go, but to my bread and butter: Bing Crosby’s ‘White Christmas.’ The first verse of this song has forever, and will be forever, locked into my brain (I really need to learn the rest of the song!); but I love this song and they loved that I just sang a song in English. For the record, I thought about one of a few songs I know from ‘The Lion King,’ but I was afraid some of them (half the women there have little kids, and people know ‘The Lion King’ in my village) would know the songs. Once finished, I decided to pass the cup to the teacher who picked me up earlier and led the way to the house. Without her, I wouldn’t have been at the dinner (not counting the other thirty teachers that stopped by to pick me up!). Apparently this choice was hilarious and sent a roar throughout the room; I sat there very confused, but did receive a lot of thank yous from the teacher.

The evening wrapped up with gift giving; I still am not sure for what, but I was given one (rose scented air freshener spray). I walked home with a bunch of the teachers and had some small talk, but mostly just starred at the sunset through the clouds covering the mountains. I knew that this was another small step in integration, a tiny step towards acceptance. It all felt very natural, like something that I was meant to be doing. I was at a party where the school’s ‘family’ gathered to have a bit of fun, and I was welcomed in as more than just an observer, I was a participant.

Slowly but surely, life is moving along.

It won’t ever stop, I love it.


October 5, 2006

8:45 PM

Equation of the Week (a new series I am starting right now):

Average cups of Чай—Chai—(Tea) per meal: 4
Meals per day: 3
Average cups of Чай per day: 12
Average cups of Чай per week: 84
Average cups of Чай per month: 2,520
Average cups of Чай expected per year: 30,240
Average cups of Чай expected per two years: 60,480

* I will be drinking a lot of tea *


October 6, 2006

6:45 AM

I have not woken up past 6:20 AM for the past two weeks, there is just too much on my mind. Since being here, I have kept my alarm always set for 6:00 AM. When it went off, I would make the decision if I wanted to get up or not. During PST, that decision was almost always to sleep another hour. Since being in my village, for almost two weeks now, I have taken to a new morning routine. The alarm will go off, I will sit there and think for about ten minutes, and then roll out of bed. I go straight for the warm clothes needed for my inevitable morning trip to the outhouse, being sure to start the water heater before I leave my room. The water heater is the best purchase I have made in this country. It simply is an electric pitcher that plugs into the wall and boils water with the flip of a switch, literally.

In the morning I use this water heater for two main things: coffee and cleaning. I have a small wash bucket in my room where I will wash up a bit in the mornings, a ritual I have taken to since being here in Kyrgyzstan. With a shower/bania once a week or so, the need for morning cleanings becomes essential to cleanliness and the sheer feeling of freshness in the morning. As for the other hot water use, instant coffee is my path here. I guess if I wanted to, I could search for a coffee maker somewhere here (in Bishkek probably); but I do not have the time or the money for something like this. So the instant coffee in the mornings has become part of the ritual. It’s really not all that bad; I have gotten used to it.

My mornings have also started to involve sitting down at the computer to do exactly what I am doing right now. In the mornings my mind is very alive, clear, and wanting to write. Dr. Hanni Taylor (I miss Hanni!) would get mad at me if she knew how little writing, in any form, I did for the past year. I was mad at myself. This has been a great outlet to simply sit down and write, let my thoughts unravel and become words on a page. My mind is stirring and I love it. I know that my present situation has sparked many new thoughts in my mind, but I finally stopped telling myself I would eventually sit down and write, and just did. Sounds simple enough, but for some reason I made it difficult.


October 6, 2006

12:10 PM

It sounds very Peace Corps-ish and cliché to say, but in life, you win some and you lose some. Today was a very tough day at the “office.” Or in this case, English class at the school. Fridays I have two 8th grade classes and two 9th grade classes. They are the youngest groups I have and by that fact alone, they are the toughest to work with. Their English background is minimal at best, and a few of them have already shown signs of really seeing no reason in learning English. Add in my growing, but still very poor Kyrgyz and those classes are going to be greatest challenges for the next few months. But like everything here, and in life in general, if it’s a challenge, that means it’s also will be a wonderful lesson.

I left school today mentally drained and ready for a weekend break. I walked out of the school with the physical education teacher, Бакыт (Bakit) and found out that he moved to my village fifteen years ago. He shared his experiences, in very patient and clear Kyrgyz, about how the village perceived him upon his arrival. A lot of the “on-stage” feeling that I get walking through the village he also received and, even though he is Kyrgyz, he too was asked a thousand questions by every new person he stopped to talk with, including at the school. It was very comforting to hear and, whether he knew it or not, he was ending my time at school today on a very positive and up lifting note.

Conveniently, on the second half of my walk home, after saying good bye to Бакыт (Bakit), I met a local taxi driver named Улуш (Ulush). Overall, our conversation was very similar to most of my conversations since I have been in my village, but it had a big effect on me:

In Kyrgyz:
Улуш: Ассолом алейкум (Assolom aleykum)
Me: Алейкум ассолом (Aleykum assolom)
Улуш: You know Kyrgyz!
Me: I know a little, I am studying it now.
Улуш: Psssh, you know it, you are speaking it right now!
Me: (Ah man, here comes an onslaught of Kyrgyz questions)
Улуш: Why are you here in this village?
Me: I am new here; I have been here for two weeks. I am a volunteer and for the next two years I will be teaching English at the school.
Улуш: Very good! You are Russian?
Me: No, I am from America.
Улуш: Really?!?! Where in America?
Me: Chicago.
Улуш: I know Chicago. So you came here from Chicago to teach English at the school?
Me: Yes, I am a volunteer with Peace Corps.
((**Note, this is where the conversation took a new, very welcomed, and unexpected direction**))
Улуш: We all thank you for coming here; for teaching, for learning Kyrgyz, for living in this village.
Me: (taken back by the change of conversation) You are welcome.
Улуш: Do you like Kyrgyzstan and our village?
Me: Of course, it’s is beautiful and the people are wonderful.
Улуш: What is your name?
Me: Jason.
Улуш: (With a huge smile) My name is Улуш, it’s a pleasure to meet you.
Me: It was a please for me too.
Улуш: Go well, I will see you soon.
Me: The same you the same.

I finished my walked home beaming. This was a very basic conversation, one of many that I will have for the next month or so. But I felt like a million bucks during the remainder of my walk. Celebrate the small battles won (another cheesy Peace Corps sentiment). There was not really a battle won here, just a dose of unexpected appreciation, right when it was needed. Thank you Улуш and Бакыт, I will do my best to repay your kindness. In time, I will do my best the repay the village’s kindness back.