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.