My fellow PCVs and I started celebrating halloween this past weekend. We had a pumpkin carving contest at Theo's NGO on Saturday afternoon and I won for the category "most prettiest." That was fun. I'll upload some photos maybe tomorrow.
Saturday afternoon we spent making costumes and hanging out with some village volunteers. Saturday evening Megan made a pasta extravaganza for us all and then we went to a Halloween party at a local cafe. It was a very busy and fun day. Some people got very creative with their costumes. Kelly, Erica, and I were the 3 blind mice. I used my creativity to construct us some mouse ears out of trash bags and tissue papper. Pretty funny.
Lots of photos to post (but can't from this computer). Soon, I promise. I even took some of the apartment.
Anyways, Halloween is actually on Wednesday so Happy Halloween!
Monday, October 29, 2007
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Big Thanks
Thank you Auntie Martha, Auntie Carol, Mom, Ben, Brenda, and Sue for sending me packages! I am very appreciative and thankful that none of them were pilfered en route! You guys are wonderful. Thank you for your support.
SOCD Volunteers
This is a photo taken on swear-in day of the SOCD (Sustainable Organizational and Community Development) Group.
Explainations...
The last couple of photos are from my per. site. The one at the bazaar is me and my fellow PCV Meg. The pic of the mountain is a famous maountain right near my house. Meg, her husband Theo (pictured below), and I climbed it a few weeks ago.
Monday, October 15, 2007
I got an apartment. I’m still in shock; I can’t believe it. I actually have my own place in Kyrgyzstan. The location is amazing. It’s located on a street that connects the two main streets in the city. Located right next to the State University and in the same building as my favorite internet café and favorite restaurant. It’s right in the center of the city. It’s a five-minute walk to the grocery store, and a two-minute walk to 4 other volunteers’ apartments. It’s a twenty-five minute walk to work, but there are trolleys that take less than 2 minutes. I’m so excited!
My apartment is on the 4th (top) floor with windows facing south. I have a bathroom, a bedroom, a kitchen, and a small balcony. Water, phone, and trash removal are included in the rent, which is 3,000 som/ month ($89). Electricity and gas are extra but usually no more than an extra 200 som. The walls are painted light blue. There is a bed, a wardrobe, two small tables, 2 chairs, a mini-stove, and a kitchen cabinet thing. A hot water heater (for the shower) will be installed December 1st. I will need to buy a fridge, but not right away seeing how it is cold already. I’ll just keep things in a box on the balcony.
I found a couple to sublet it until I can move in in December. In the end I will only be spending an extra $47 to get the place now and hold it. I couldn’t pass up such a good opportunity.
Meg, Theo, and I spent the weekend buying cleaning supplies and scrubbing the place down. It was mostly just dusty – it’s an old building. It looks a lot better already.
It’s not that I don’t like my host family; I’m just ready to have my own space. For peace and quiet (no TV constantly blaring!). To not have to tell people what time I’ll be home. I want to leave my toiletries in the bathroom and my food in the fridge knowing that no one will use them. I want to walk from the bathroom to my room in a towel, instead of having to put my clothes back on before I leave. I want to be able to have friends over for dinner and actually cook (without being criticized). I want to feel like I can settle in and relax, without thinking about moving again for 2 years. And most importantly, I want to be able to walk everywhere – especially in the winter when the marshrutka’s are unsafe.
So I’m counting down the days, looking for things I’ll need to buy and making lists. And if anyone is planning on visiting you can stay with me!
My apartment is on the 4th (top) floor with windows facing south. I have a bathroom, a bedroom, a kitchen, and a small balcony. Water, phone, and trash removal are included in the rent, which is 3,000 som/ month ($89). Electricity and gas are extra but usually no more than an extra 200 som. The walls are painted light blue. There is a bed, a wardrobe, two small tables, 2 chairs, a mini-stove, and a kitchen cabinet thing. A hot water heater (for the shower) will be installed December 1st. I will need to buy a fridge, but not right away seeing how it is cold already. I’ll just keep things in a box on the balcony.
I found a couple to sublet it until I can move in in December. In the end I will only be spending an extra $47 to get the place now and hold it. I couldn’t pass up such a good opportunity.
Meg, Theo, and I spent the weekend buying cleaning supplies and scrubbing the place down. It was mostly just dusty – it’s an old building. It looks a lot better already.
It’s not that I don’t like my host family; I’m just ready to have my own space. For peace and quiet (no TV constantly blaring!). To not have to tell people what time I’ll be home. I want to leave my toiletries in the bathroom and my food in the fridge knowing that no one will use them. I want to walk from the bathroom to my room in a towel, instead of having to put my clothes back on before I leave. I want to be able to have friends over for dinner and actually cook (without being criticized). I want to feel like I can settle in and relax, without thinking about moving again for 2 years. And most importantly, I want to be able to walk everywhere – especially in the winter when the marshrutka’s are unsafe.
So I’m counting down the days, looking for things I’ll need to buy and making lists. And if anyone is planning on visiting you can stay with me!
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
The President is in the Building...
Not until I had passed at least 50 “Militcia” from my short walk from the bus stop to my office building, did I remember that the President of Kyrgyzstan was visiting my city today. Apparently he was not only visiting the city, but also the Oblast Administration building where my office is situated. Police officers were everywhere – conglomerated in groups of eight on every street corner within a mile radius, standing on every step leading up to the building, in the bushes, in the hallways – everywhere! There were even a few K-9 dogs on thick ropes. The street on the side of the building was blocked off and the sidewalk was reaming with politicians. I tried to spot the President while walking painfully slow past, but I assume he was already inside. I didn’t get questioned when walking into the building on the opposite side, but later when I went to the restroom I got asked for my ID and I had left it in my office. That was an interesting Russian conversation.
“Militcia” describes these guys so much better than “policemen.” They wear dark blue suits with big, wide, flat, stern hats. Their shoulders are adorned with red stripes and stars are embossed on their chests. They are intimidating – although much more so three months ago then today.
Last night Rachel Waldstein, Foreign Affairs Officer from the Office for the Near East and South Central Asia – US Department of State – Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labor, along with Political Officer Dustin Bickel from the Embassy of the US in Kyrgyzstan took us out for dinner. We met at our favorite local restaurant and ate and chatted for a few hours. It was very interesting to learn about their backgrounds, how they got the jobs they have now, and what they do for and in Kyrgyzstan. Coincidentally, Rachel used to work for World Learning, which is what The School for International Training (my grad school) is part of. And Dustin is a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer from Uzbekistan. Small world.
Bought some amazing Kyrgyz slippers yesterday. So pumped. I kept seeing them every time I went to the bazaar, and my host mom was nagging me on a daily basis to get some – so I finally splurged and boy was it worth it. They are woolish – multicolored with embroidery and leather soles. So cute and so warm.
Kelly’s boyfriend who is visiting gave us a website design tutorial (he works for Microsoft) so that was helpful and interesting.
Cameron visited again this past Wednesday, which was fun. Took him to the bazaar and he was blown away. Introduced him to my favorite soy salad vendor and we each bought 40 som worth for lunch. I’m addicted to this soy salad it’s so good: soy medallions (yea I said it) with shredded carrots and cabbage soaked in a spicy vinegar sauce. I crave it. I bought half a kilo thinking it would last the week and I finished it in one day! I couldn’t restrain myself. This one spot in the bazaar has a whole row of these vendors that only sell this salad and other variations of it – some with meat, some with fish, and others with different veggie and noodle combinations. I love it. One of these days I’ll take some pictures.
“Militcia” describes these guys so much better than “policemen.” They wear dark blue suits with big, wide, flat, stern hats. Their shoulders are adorned with red stripes and stars are embossed on their chests. They are intimidating – although much more so three months ago then today.
Last night Rachel Waldstein, Foreign Affairs Officer from the Office for the Near East and South Central Asia – US Department of State – Bureau of Democracy, Human Rights and Labor, along with Political Officer Dustin Bickel from the Embassy of the US in Kyrgyzstan took us out for dinner. We met at our favorite local restaurant and ate and chatted for a few hours. It was very interesting to learn about their backgrounds, how they got the jobs they have now, and what they do for and in Kyrgyzstan. Coincidentally, Rachel used to work for World Learning, which is what The School for International Training (my grad school) is part of. And Dustin is a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer from Uzbekistan. Small world.
Bought some amazing Kyrgyz slippers yesterday. So pumped. I kept seeing them every time I went to the bazaar, and my host mom was nagging me on a daily basis to get some – so I finally splurged and boy was it worth it. They are woolish – multicolored with embroidery and leather soles. So cute and so warm.
Kelly’s boyfriend who is visiting gave us a website design tutorial (he works for Microsoft) so that was helpful and interesting.
Cameron visited again this past Wednesday, which was fun. Took him to the bazaar and he was blown away. Introduced him to my favorite soy salad vendor and we each bought 40 som worth for lunch. I’m addicted to this soy salad it’s so good: soy medallions (yea I said it) with shredded carrots and cabbage soaked in a spicy vinegar sauce. I crave it. I bought half a kilo thinking it would last the week and I finished it in one day! I couldn’t restrain myself. This one spot in the bazaar has a whole row of these vendors that only sell this salad and other variations of it – some with meat, some with fish, and others with different veggie and noodle combinations. I love it. One of these days I’ll take some pictures.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Wish List Update:
My amazing Auntie Carol sent lots of items from the wish list already, so I thought I’d add some more things:
Tequila and Bailey’s nips (don’t declare; wrap and hide in a tampon box – I really need to make margaritas, help a sister out)
Mascara
Eye-makeup remover
Long-underwear/ thermals
Just add water rice and pasta packs
Green bean casserole ingredients – minus the green beans
Hot coco mix
Warm clothes (I can buy here if you really want me to dress like I’m 74)
Apartment decorations (yes I found one! - More to come...)
Also, if I haven’t sent you and you would like mailing labels that you can just print and stick, let me know. It’s best to label in both English and Russian. Draw the Muslim crescent moon symbol, or crosses if you feel so inclined (another theft deterrent). And don’t forget to make an inventory list on the inside of the box in permanent marker (this is what Carol did and nothing was stolen!)
My amazing Auntie Carol sent lots of items from the wish list already, so I thought I’d add some more things:
Tequila and Bailey’s nips (don’t declare; wrap and hide in a tampon box – I really need to make margaritas, help a sister out)
Mascara
Eye-makeup remover
Long-underwear/ thermals
Just add water rice and pasta packs
Green bean casserole ingredients – minus the green beans
Hot coco mix
Warm clothes (I can buy here if you really want me to dress like I’m 74)
Apartment decorations (yes I found one! - More to come...)
Also, if I haven’t sent you and you would like mailing labels that you can just print and stick, let me know. It’s best to label in both English and Russian. Draw the Muslim crescent moon symbol, or crosses if you feel so inclined (another theft deterrent). And don’t forget to make an inventory list on the inside of the box in permanent marker (this is what Carol did and nothing was stolen!)
Thursday, October 4, 2007
It’s All Smoke and Earthquakes…
I was in bed reading the other night when I smelled a strange perfume…like incense burning. Then, creeping in under my door I noticed the smoke. I wasn’t alarmed. Moments later my host mom billows into my room in a cloud holding what appears to be a baking sheet. Piled atop the baking sheet, a small mountain of twigs and herbs were burning – the source of the fragrant smoke.
Dancing around my room in her pink nightshirt, my mom is murmuring something about “no flu.” She asks if I mind, like I have a choice at this point. But I think, “heck no I don’t want the flu! Bring it on lady! Go to town!” At this point, with my positive response, she floats over to my bedside, stooping down to blow the smoke directly into my face. I close my eyes and let the smoke roll over me. It smells like lavender, pine, and freshly dried laundry. A few more swirls and she dances out of my room, closing the door behind her, trapping me in the cloud. I have to wave my hand between my face and my book to clear the air to see the words on the page. The smoke lingered for hours. It was nice, but looking back it was a little strange.
The next night, again, in bed reading I hear what sounds like rolling thunder. Low and loud. Gently, at first, the apartment starts vibrating, seconds later it’s trembling violently. I look to my desk then the doorway. Climbing out of my bed I see some kids in the hall so I go to my doorway – this is the safest place I think. My eleven-year-old host brother is sitting on the floor with his hands raised and eyes closed. His lips move silently – in prayer. I see my host mom’s reflection in the kitchen door. She continues chopping vegetables unaffected. By the time I notice my fourteen-year-old host sister, the earthquake has stopped and she is smiling at me from the other room.
Nothing fell off the walls or crashed and broke, so it must not have been a very big earthquake. Perhaps being on the fourth floor in an old apartment building exaggerated the vibrations. But what a rush! I experienced my first earthquake! Apparently these small earth trembles happen all the time. Maybe in 2 years I won’t stop cooking for a quake either.
Hey Cam!
Yesterday my Cameron (training village BFF) came down from a smaller city just over an hour north of here. He said he came for our weekly SOCD Volunteer meeting. He said he came to see the city. He said he came to get some new project ideas. But I really know he came to see me.
I gave him directions to and he was actually able to find my office – good navigational skills, on the list of reasons why I love my Cam. I gave him the grand tour. Introduced him to giant Lenin out front. Showed him my worktable and my comfy wooden chair. We brainstormed for a few about how to spend the day “working,” and decided that it would be beneficial to see Kelly’s office.
So we walked 15 minutes to Kelly’s office and got the grand tour there. Then we hit up a Russian café for lunch. After lunch we showed Cam our bank (so exciting), the street corner where we sometimes meet, the theater that hasn’t worked since 1970, the nice Samca lady who sells the hard to find pumpkin ones, the American Corner Library, and then the plane in the park. I think he was impressed. At 2:30 we met up with the others at the popular (delicious but expensive) expat café. Kelly’s boyfriend, who is visiting, along with some of the teacher volunteers, and some of the older volunteers all joined us. In all we filled up 3 tables with about 15 Americans. It was overwhelming and nice. The “meeting” was supposed to end at 4 but we ended up staying until almost 7. We ate pizza and brownies and drank coffee and beer. The bill was over 1,500 soms! Oops.
When I got home I pulled out the ‘Details’ magazine that Cam had given to me to read. I was all excited. I should have known it was a gay men’s magazine by the article headlines that read, “The ultimate guide to wearing jeans,” “Who says all gay men are stylish?” and “Accessories! Totes are in!” Hey Cam, because you honestly believed I would find pleasure in the glossy pages of a gay men’s mag is just another reason why I love you. Did you see all those beautiful and “proper” Tequila ads?!
Tonight Sarah is making falafel for everyone. Tomorrow there’s a cook-off at Meg’s.
A phone call I’ll never forget…
If I had any doubts of being here or making some small impact, I just got a little dose of hope to remind me I can do this. My first host family just called to see how I was doing, if I was okay, to see if I like my new location and my new family. I talked to Aselia, the oldest daughter who’s 15, my mom, and Eliza the 3 year old. I didn’t start choking up until my mom said that Eliza still cries when they tell her I’m not coming home. She doesn’t understand why I left. Though she never talked to me much, the last night I was there we played tag and hide and seek and had so much fun. She asked me if I was eating enough and if I am healthy. That phone call not only made my week, but it was a reality check. The text messages I get from Aselia every other day that say, “Hi and I love you! Are you watching Tanya?” help too. Just my being here, by meeting people and making meaningful relationships, I am fulfilling part of the reason why I joined PC in the first place. The work part is important too, but I have to keep reminding myself that it isn’t everything. I should try harder with this family.
Why’s everyone spitting?
Tomorrow I’m going to attempt to count the number of times I see or hear someone spitting. It seems like, to be cool here (if you’re a real man), you gotta know how to hack a lugie and spit with attitude. I swear I thought someone was spitting on me a few times today. People spit while walking, while squatting, while talking; they spit out the windows and doors of moving marshrutkas, they spit everywhere! I had to stop looking too carefully at the sidewalk while I walked down the street because it was too dangerous. The spit grenades made it so I couldn’t walk in a straight line. No wonder why everyone leaves their shoes outside. It’s all making sense. Well, not the spitting part…
A small Comparison…
I’ve been thinking a lot about how 3 year olds here compare to 3 year olds at home. In the village the 3 year olds are different because they squat to pee, they play in the dust on the side of the main road, they think old cans and empty coke bottles are magical. Clothes are optional. Bedtime, for my sister anyway, was whenever and wherever she passed out – usually around 11pm. 3 year olds drink coffee and tea everyday. And knowing and using both Kyrgyz and Russian is just the way it is.
In the city 3 years olds are different because they play in the gravel between the apartment buildings without adult supervision. They go to kindergarten if the family can afford it. They too drink a lot of tea and speak two languages.
I was in bed reading the other night when I smelled a strange perfume…like incense burning. Then, creeping in under my door I noticed the smoke. I wasn’t alarmed. Moments later my host mom billows into my room in a cloud holding what appears to be a baking sheet. Piled atop the baking sheet, a small mountain of twigs and herbs were burning – the source of the fragrant smoke.
Dancing around my room in her pink nightshirt, my mom is murmuring something about “no flu.” She asks if I mind, like I have a choice at this point. But I think, “heck no I don’t want the flu! Bring it on lady! Go to town!” At this point, with my positive response, she floats over to my bedside, stooping down to blow the smoke directly into my face. I close my eyes and let the smoke roll over me. It smells like lavender, pine, and freshly dried laundry. A few more swirls and she dances out of my room, closing the door behind her, trapping me in the cloud. I have to wave my hand between my face and my book to clear the air to see the words on the page. The smoke lingered for hours. It was nice, but looking back it was a little strange.
The next night, again, in bed reading I hear what sounds like rolling thunder. Low and loud. Gently, at first, the apartment starts vibrating, seconds later it’s trembling violently. I look to my desk then the doorway. Climbing out of my bed I see some kids in the hall so I go to my doorway – this is the safest place I think. My eleven-year-old host brother is sitting on the floor with his hands raised and eyes closed. His lips move silently – in prayer. I see my host mom’s reflection in the kitchen door. She continues chopping vegetables unaffected. By the time I notice my fourteen-year-old host sister, the earthquake has stopped and she is smiling at me from the other room.
Nothing fell off the walls or crashed and broke, so it must not have been a very big earthquake. Perhaps being on the fourth floor in an old apartment building exaggerated the vibrations. But what a rush! I experienced my first earthquake! Apparently these small earth trembles happen all the time. Maybe in 2 years I won’t stop cooking for a quake either.
Hey Cam!
Yesterday my Cameron (training village BFF) came down from a smaller city just over an hour north of here. He said he came for our weekly SOCD Volunteer meeting. He said he came to see the city. He said he came to get some new project ideas. But I really know he came to see me.
I gave him directions to and he was actually able to find my office – good navigational skills, on the list of reasons why I love my Cam. I gave him the grand tour. Introduced him to giant Lenin out front. Showed him my worktable and my comfy wooden chair. We brainstormed for a few about how to spend the day “working,” and decided that it would be beneficial to see Kelly’s office.
So we walked 15 minutes to Kelly’s office and got the grand tour there. Then we hit up a Russian café for lunch. After lunch we showed Cam our bank (so exciting), the street corner where we sometimes meet, the theater that hasn’t worked since 1970, the nice Samca lady who sells the hard to find pumpkin ones, the American Corner Library, and then the plane in the park. I think he was impressed. At 2:30 we met up with the others at the popular (delicious but expensive) expat café. Kelly’s boyfriend, who is visiting, along with some of the teacher volunteers, and some of the older volunteers all joined us. In all we filled up 3 tables with about 15 Americans. It was overwhelming and nice. The “meeting” was supposed to end at 4 but we ended up staying until almost 7. We ate pizza and brownies and drank coffee and beer. The bill was over 1,500 soms! Oops.
When I got home I pulled out the ‘Details’ magazine that Cam had given to me to read. I was all excited. I should have known it was a gay men’s magazine by the article headlines that read, “The ultimate guide to wearing jeans,” “Who says all gay men are stylish?” and “Accessories! Totes are in!” Hey Cam, because you honestly believed I would find pleasure in the glossy pages of a gay men’s mag is just another reason why I love you. Did you see all those beautiful and “proper” Tequila ads?!
Tonight Sarah is making falafel for everyone. Tomorrow there’s a cook-off at Meg’s.
A phone call I’ll never forget…
If I had any doubts of being here or making some small impact, I just got a little dose of hope to remind me I can do this. My first host family just called to see how I was doing, if I was okay, to see if I like my new location and my new family. I talked to Aselia, the oldest daughter who’s 15, my mom, and Eliza the 3 year old. I didn’t start choking up until my mom said that Eliza still cries when they tell her I’m not coming home. She doesn’t understand why I left. Though she never talked to me much, the last night I was there we played tag and hide and seek and had so much fun. She asked me if I was eating enough and if I am healthy. That phone call not only made my week, but it was a reality check. The text messages I get from Aselia every other day that say, “Hi and I love you! Are you watching Tanya?” help too. Just my being here, by meeting people and making meaningful relationships, I am fulfilling part of the reason why I joined PC in the first place. The work part is important too, but I have to keep reminding myself that it isn’t everything. I should try harder with this family.
Why’s everyone spitting?
Tomorrow I’m going to attempt to count the number of times I see or hear someone spitting. It seems like, to be cool here (if you’re a real man), you gotta know how to hack a lugie and spit with attitude. I swear I thought someone was spitting on me a few times today. People spit while walking, while squatting, while talking; they spit out the windows and doors of moving marshrutkas, they spit everywhere! I had to stop looking too carefully at the sidewalk while I walked down the street because it was too dangerous. The spit grenades made it so I couldn’t walk in a straight line. No wonder why everyone leaves their shoes outside. It’s all making sense. Well, not the spitting part…
A small Comparison…
I’ve been thinking a lot about how 3 year olds here compare to 3 year olds at home. In the village the 3 year olds are different because they squat to pee, they play in the dust on the side of the main road, they think old cans and empty coke bottles are magical. Clothes are optional. Bedtime, for my sister anyway, was whenever and wherever she passed out – usually around 11pm. 3 year olds drink coffee and tea everyday. And knowing and using both Kyrgyz and Russian is just the way it is.
In the city 3 years olds are different because they play in the gravel between the apartment buildings without adult supervision. They go to kindergarten if the family can afford it. They too drink a lot of tea and speak two languages.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Creepy-Stalker-Man
So I was in the office Friday morning, getting ready to hunker down for a long day of translating my NGO’s informational brochure – word for word, from Russian to English, looking up every other work in my pocket-sized dictionary when…I heard my counterpart’s voice in the adjourning room; she was talking to my director. And then, I heard something unfamiliar and strange sounding. A third voice. A man’s.
Patiently, but curious, I continued my self-assigned task in the back corner of the small room that contains my desk as well as the office manager’s, the library, the safes, one computer, a very loud and constantly ringing old school telephone, a coat rack, 2 buckets of water, a cleaning lady who is always making me lift my butt of the chair so she can dust it, and 2 wooden chairs. This room is, no lie, no bigger than my room at my mom’s house (the one that used to be 2 closets). I reasoned with myself that they put me here – along with the other valuables, to keep me safe and hidden, for dangerous situations that arise like this current one. Plus, out of site, out of mind.
An hour or so passed, I was half listening and half working. I kept hearing my name and “Korpus Mira.” I knew they were talking about me. My ears were ringing. I wanted to see the man.
(This is really ironic. You’ll never believe this. Just a minute a go my director and her daughter walked into my house. It’s Saturday night. 8 pm. Just found out my director is my host mom’s sister. People keep coming in, looking into my room, staring at my weird – futuristic computer, and me then go. My director came all the way into my room, looked at my things, asked me about the “man” (I’ll get back to this part later) and is now sitting in the other room: Guesting, along with 7 or so others. I’m not included.)
Anyways, so finally I get summoned, “Reeebeekkka!!” I take two steps from my desk and am in the adjourning room face to face with the man. He’s wearing a grey suit. Looks about 25 years old. He’s holding a soft pleather briefcase. It looks empty. His resume is lying on my director’s desk in front of her. My counterpart stands up and introduces me to this man. He’s going to help you out, she says. I think, okay but I thought that was your job. I’m confused but not surprised really. Weirder things have happened in Kyrgyzstan. My director asks me what I want, and although I understand her question – both my counterpart and the man repeat it to me in English. I feel like they think I’m dumb. What do I want? Did she mean did I want a coffee? Did I want to go home? A list of wants races through my head, but I’m trying to put her question in context.
10 minuets later I’m walking through a muddy park with the man. This is not what I wanted. We’re headed to a film festival about trafficking and other issues in Kyrgyzstan. He keeps accidentally bumping into me, asking me to tell him about myself, asking me what food I like so when we picnic he knows what to bring. He asks me why all Americans like to talk about Jesus (apparently he’s only met American missionaries). He asks me what my dreams are, then proceeds to tell me all of his. His mother is Russian. He is still in school. He sells tires. He’s missing class right now, but that’s okay because he’d rather be in a park talking to me (gag!). I should have brought my whistle, I think to myself, but feel he’s pretty harmless. He’s skinny I could use my self-defense skills on him if I had to. I’m more creeped out than anything else. And still confused. He says my director hired him to translate for me 9-4 Monday through Friday. Excellent. What a waste of money, I think to myself, and how am I supposed to learn Russian.
It takes about an hour to locate the film festival. It was in the movie theater, not the park. The schedule is off. The man is hungry so we go to the gamber stand. I brought my own lunch. I go to buy a coke and he won’t let me pay, or carry it to the table. When I sit down he pours my coke into a glass. He keeps insisting I try a bite of his gamber. I explain I’m a vegetarian. He keeps insisting. I keep refusing. I feel like I’m on a really horrible blind date that will never end. But my boss is paying him.
For the next two hours he follows me around – to the film festival, to the American Corner Library. And every time I say, “Okay, See you Monday!” He replies, “I will escort you.” Finally, when it was time for me to meet up with Meg for our first Women’s Club, I sternly told him I wanted to, and knew how to go alone. When he went in for a hug I ran like hell.
So that’s the story of Creepy-Stalker-Man aka my translator. I’m dreading work on Monday. And the film that I saw was about Africa, not Kyrgyzstan and not about trafficking.
Friday got a lot better after I ditched Creepy-Stalker-Man. Meg and I ran our first Women’s Leadership Club. Our objectives are to give female students the space and the opportunity to practice speaking English, while discussing topics that are important and relevant to their lives – topics such as career skills, marriage, politics, global issues, women’s rights, and health. Five girls 15-20 years old showed up for our first meeting. I think it went well. This club will meet every Friday from 2:30-4. A good way to end the week, and the best part is: no men allowed!
Afterwards we met up with Theo and a gangle of his coworkers who were showing him apartments. We saw one apartment that cost 6,000 som a month (approximately $160), fully furnished, 1 bedroom. Great location. Way out of our price range.
Then we saw Theo’s office – which was an incredible mansion, complete with a rose-filled courtyard, the organization’s acronym spelled out in plants, a guest quarters, kitchen, 2 conference rooms, chandeliers, internet, couches, and a lively staff. It was beautiful and clean.
A K14er had told us of this beer garden that they all go to every Friday night, so we went, but no one was there. Megan invited us to her place, so we bought some veggies, noodles, and beer and headed over. A few others were there, so there were about 10 of us altogether. We cooked a fabulous and healthy stir-fry and relaxed. Decided it was unsafe to travel after dark so Kelly, Meg, Theo, Erika, and I all spent the night. We made popcorn and watched Zoolander and laughed our faces off. Megan made us all cozy with mats, blankets, and pillows. I got the couch. We all slept in our work clothes.
This morning we made scrambled eggs with fresh veggies and toast with jam. A lot of times Kyrgyz families place big dishes of food in the center of the table and everyone just takes a spoon and digs in. Last night and this morning we ate “Kyrgyz Style” to minimize the dishes we would have to wash. I laughed out loud thinking about what a germ freak I used to be. This practice would have totally grossed me out 3 months ago.
We checked out the one “laundry mat” in town. It was a small room with a washing machine and one lady. 35 soms a kilo to have her wash your clothes. Outside there was a sign for a second hand store, which we inquired about and she took us outside and pointed to a few lines of hung clothes. This is what happens to your clothes apparently, if you don’t pick them up on time.
Down the street there was another second hand store, which was actually the basement of an apartment building. It was full of coats and that’s it. No purchases were made.
So now it’s nine and many people are still here. I really have to pee but I’m holding it because the bathroom is right near the room where everyone is eating.
Saw a Kindergarten…
So last Wednesday I didn’t have to work so my counterpart invited me to see the kindergarten where she works. The building itself was nice, big, and clean. When she started the tour I was surprised to see indoor and outdoor swimming pools, a dance class, Russian, Kyrgyz, and English language classes, a math class, a sleeping room full of mini beds, and a huge kitchen. The kids ranged from 2 – 5 years old and rotated classes every 20 minutes. When we peaked into the dance classroom, we saw 2 and 3 year olds coupled up and dancing along to the rhythm of an old man playing the accordion, while the instructor sang. It was unreal.
While my counterpart taught 7 English classes in a row, I sat in a little yellow chair in the back of her classroom and leafed through the photo albums she piled onto my lap. From the photos it seemed as if the school was really into teaching the kids about cultural traditions and holidays. There were photos of events and concerts, of teachers dressed up in costumes, and plays. Then, there were pictures of children outside in the middle of winter in their undies, pouring buckets of water over their heads. There were photos of naked kids running and laying in the snow. When my counterpart was done teaching, I asked her about these (disturbing) photos and she looked at me like I was crazy. It’s a science, she explained, that makes the kids healthy and strong.
During her 7 lessons I heard the same Beatles song about 300 times. Okay, maybe just 21 times, but still. The little ones knew how to say hello and goodbye and a few other basic phrases in English. It was impressive.
Hot Damn!
So I’ve been cooking for myself, or at least trying to. I’ve got the buying part down. I can go to the bazaar or the store and find the ingredients. The other night I thought I’d try to make something other than ramen. I though stir-fry would be quick and easy. The hardest part would be lighting the stove. Well, I successfully lit the stove; found a pan, chopped up my veggies, threw some olive oil in a pan to sauté the onions. I walked backed to the kitchen and before I could even grab the bowl of chopped veggies, heard a nasty popping and sizzling sound. I ran back to the stove closet, flinging open the door in a panic, just in time to snatch the sparking pan off the flames. I came within seconds of starting a house fire – with my luck the whole stove would have combusted and blown out the side of the building. I waited till the pan cooled, and the smoke disappeared to find my host mom. Then I asked her to show me how to light the stove – I thought maybe she knew how to sauté without flames.
Eventually, my stir-fry was finished – though according to my host mom I didn’t use enough oil. Half way through eating my finger tips start tingling then ease into a painful burn. What the heck did I touch, I kept thinking while staring at my hands waiting for blisters to appear. But there were no blisters, just redness. I tried everything to make the burning sensation stop for 2 whole hours. I washed my hands in cold water, I smothered them with lotion, I even popped some aspirin. I tried showering, then reading, then anti-itch cream, and finally elevation. Nothing worked. I called Karen; she always knows how to cure things naturally. She asked me what chemicals I had been playing with and when I replied that I only cooked – she found the culprit: Chili peppers. I remember fishing the little seeds out with my fingers and chopping the pepper to add some spice to my stir-fry. I didn’t think I was allergic, but I certainly wasn’t careful.
Afterwards, when the burning subsided I felt so silly for having panicked over something so stupid. But hot damn, what a good story. And for future reference: lemon juice stops chili pepper burns.
Monday, October 1, 2007
My translator quit!!!! No more creepy-stalker man! Wooohoooo!!
I was sitting at my desk, watching the minutes roll past 9am, then 10. By lunchtime he still hadn’t showed. While walking to a little café for lunch with my director she informed me that he called this morning asking for more money. I guess he decided over the weekend that he wanted more money to follow me around. When my director refused to increase his pay he said he didn’t want to work anymore. Thank You Jesus!
Walking to lunch I kept repeating the 3 Russian sentences I knew how to say that would show my gratitude for this miracle: “We don’t need him,” “His English was bad,” and “I do not like him.” My director agreed and said in 1 month I will speak Russian well enough to work. I’m so happy right now.
Climbed a Mountain…
Yesterday I climbed Solomon Mountain with Meg and Theo. There were stairs leading all the way to the top, and admittance was only 3 soms. There was a mosque at the top and many people think this is a very sacred and holy spot because King Solomon used to sit up there. I was surprised how many old men and women were at the top, praying. The view was amazing – the city seemed so much bigger from up there. I could see my house, my office building, the parks, and universities. I could see the whole city cradled by mountains all around.
We found a Turkish café and ate mouth-watering baklava. Afterwards we walked around the bazaar and found sun-dried tomatoes. Theo bought slippers. Meg bought paper for her classes. I bought vinegar, basil, tomatoes, and this delicious cabbage and soy meat salad. After that we ran into a volunteer that has been here for a year already and she showed us her apartment. It was dirty, but had potential. I borrowed some DVD’s from her.
So I was in the office Friday morning, getting ready to hunker down for a long day of translating my NGO’s informational brochure – word for word, from Russian to English, looking up every other work in my pocket-sized dictionary when…I heard my counterpart’s voice in the adjourning room; she was talking to my director. And then, I heard something unfamiliar and strange sounding. A third voice. A man’s.
Patiently, but curious, I continued my self-assigned task in the back corner of the small room that contains my desk as well as the office manager’s, the library, the safes, one computer, a very loud and constantly ringing old school telephone, a coat rack, 2 buckets of water, a cleaning lady who is always making me lift my butt of the chair so she can dust it, and 2 wooden chairs. This room is, no lie, no bigger than my room at my mom’s house (the one that used to be 2 closets). I reasoned with myself that they put me here – along with the other valuables, to keep me safe and hidden, for dangerous situations that arise like this current one. Plus, out of site, out of mind.
An hour or so passed, I was half listening and half working. I kept hearing my name and “Korpus Mira.” I knew they were talking about me. My ears were ringing. I wanted to see the man.
(This is really ironic. You’ll never believe this. Just a minute a go my director and her daughter walked into my house. It’s Saturday night. 8 pm. Just found out my director is my host mom’s sister. People keep coming in, looking into my room, staring at my weird – futuristic computer, and me then go. My director came all the way into my room, looked at my things, asked me about the “man” (I’ll get back to this part later) and is now sitting in the other room: Guesting, along with 7 or so others. I’m not included.)
Anyways, so finally I get summoned, “Reeebeekkka!!” I take two steps from my desk and am in the adjourning room face to face with the man. He’s wearing a grey suit. Looks about 25 years old. He’s holding a soft pleather briefcase. It looks empty. His resume is lying on my director’s desk in front of her. My counterpart stands up and introduces me to this man. He’s going to help you out, she says. I think, okay but I thought that was your job. I’m confused but not surprised really. Weirder things have happened in Kyrgyzstan. My director asks me what I want, and although I understand her question – both my counterpart and the man repeat it to me in English. I feel like they think I’m dumb. What do I want? Did she mean did I want a coffee? Did I want to go home? A list of wants races through my head, but I’m trying to put her question in context.
10 minuets later I’m walking through a muddy park with the man. This is not what I wanted. We’re headed to a film festival about trafficking and other issues in Kyrgyzstan. He keeps accidentally bumping into me, asking me to tell him about myself, asking me what food I like so when we picnic he knows what to bring. He asks me why all Americans like to talk about Jesus (apparently he’s only met American missionaries). He asks me what my dreams are, then proceeds to tell me all of his. His mother is Russian. He is still in school. He sells tires. He’s missing class right now, but that’s okay because he’d rather be in a park talking to me (gag!). I should have brought my whistle, I think to myself, but feel he’s pretty harmless. He’s skinny I could use my self-defense skills on him if I had to. I’m more creeped out than anything else. And still confused. He says my director hired him to translate for me 9-4 Monday through Friday. Excellent. What a waste of money, I think to myself, and how am I supposed to learn Russian.
It takes about an hour to locate the film festival. It was in the movie theater, not the park. The schedule is off. The man is hungry so we go to the gamber stand. I brought my own lunch. I go to buy a coke and he won’t let me pay, or carry it to the table. When I sit down he pours my coke into a glass. He keeps insisting I try a bite of his gamber. I explain I’m a vegetarian. He keeps insisting. I keep refusing. I feel like I’m on a really horrible blind date that will never end. But my boss is paying him.
For the next two hours he follows me around – to the film festival, to the American Corner Library. And every time I say, “Okay, See you Monday!” He replies, “I will escort you.” Finally, when it was time for me to meet up with Meg for our first Women’s Club, I sternly told him I wanted to, and knew how to go alone. When he went in for a hug I ran like hell.
So that’s the story of Creepy-Stalker-Man aka my translator. I’m dreading work on Monday. And the film that I saw was about Africa, not Kyrgyzstan and not about trafficking.
Friday got a lot better after I ditched Creepy-Stalker-Man. Meg and I ran our first Women’s Leadership Club. Our objectives are to give female students the space and the opportunity to practice speaking English, while discussing topics that are important and relevant to their lives – topics such as career skills, marriage, politics, global issues, women’s rights, and health. Five girls 15-20 years old showed up for our first meeting. I think it went well. This club will meet every Friday from 2:30-4. A good way to end the week, and the best part is: no men allowed!
Afterwards we met up with Theo and a gangle of his coworkers who were showing him apartments. We saw one apartment that cost 6,000 som a month (approximately $160), fully furnished, 1 bedroom. Great location. Way out of our price range.
Then we saw Theo’s office – which was an incredible mansion, complete with a rose-filled courtyard, the organization’s acronym spelled out in plants, a guest quarters, kitchen, 2 conference rooms, chandeliers, internet, couches, and a lively staff. It was beautiful and clean.
A K14er had told us of this beer garden that they all go to every Friday night, so we went, but no one was there. Megan invited us to her place, so we bought some veggies, noodles, and beer and headed over. A few others were there, so there were about 10 of us altogether. We cooked a fabulous and healthy stir-fry and relaxed. Decided it was unsafe to travel after dark so Kelly, Meg, Theo, Erika, and I all spent the night. We made popcorn and watched Zoolander and laughed our faces off. Megan made us all cozy with mats, blankets, and pillows. I got the couch. We all slept in our work clothes.
This morning we made scrambled eggs with fresh veggies and toast with jam. A lot of times Kyrgyz families place big dishes of food in the center of the table and everyone just takes a spoon and digs in. Last night and this morning we ate “Kyrgyz Style” to minimize the dishes we would have to wash. I laughed out loud thinking about what a germ freak I used to be. This practice would have totally grossed me out 3 months ago.
We checked out the one “laundry mat” in town. It was a small room with a washing machine and one lady. 35 soms a kilo to have her wash your clothes. Outside there was a sign for a second hand store, which we inquired about and she took us outside and pointed to a few lines of hung clothes. This is what happens to your clothes apparently, if you don’t pick them up on time.
Down the street there was another second hand store, which was actually the basement of an apartment building. It was full of coats and that’s it. No purchases were made.
So now it’s nine and many people are still here. I really have to pee but I’m holding it because the bathroom is right near the room where everyone is eating.
Saw a Kindergarten…
So last Wednesday I didn’t have to work so my counterpart invited me to see the kindergarten where she works. The building itself was nice, big, and clean. When she started the tour I was surprised to see indoor and outdoor swimming pools, a dance class, Russian, Kyrgyz, and English language classes, a math class, a sleeping room full of mini beds, and a huge kitchen. The kids ranged from 2 – 5 years old and rotated classes every 20 minutes. When we peaked into the dance classroom, we saw 2 and 3 year olds coupled up and dancing along to the rhythm of an old man playing the accordion, while the instructor sang. It was unreal.
While my counterpart taught 7 English classes in a row, I sat in a little yellow chair in the back of her classroom and leafed through the photo albums she piled onto my lap. From the photos it seemed as if the school was really into teaching the kids about cultural traditions and holidays. There were photos of events and concerts, of teachers dressed up in costumes, and plays. Then, there were pictures of children outside in the middle of winter in their undies, pouring buckets of water over their heads. There were photos of naked kids running and laying in the snow. When my counterpart was done teaching, I asked her about these (disturbing) photos and she looked at me like I was crazy. It’s a science, she explained, that makes the kids healthy and strong.
During her 7 lessons I heard the same Beatles song about 300 times. Okay, maybe just 21 times, but still. The little ones knew how to say hello and goodbye and a few other basic phrases in English. It was impressive.
Hot Damn!
So I’ve been cooking for myself, or at least trying to. I’ve got the buying part down. I can go to the bazaar or the store and find the ingredients. The other night I thought I’d try to make something other than ramen. I though stir-fry would be quick and easy. The hardest part would be lighting the stove. Well, I successfully lit the stove; found a pan, chopped up my veggies, threw some olive oil in a pan to sauté the onions. I walked backed to the kitchen and before I could even grab the bowl of chopped veggies, heard a nasty popping and sizzling sound. I ran back to the stove closet, flinging open the door in a panic, just in time to snatch the sparking pan off the flames. I came within seconds of starting a house fire – with my luck the whole stove would have combusted and blown out the side of the building. I waited till the pan cooled, and the smoke disappeared to find my host mom. Then I asked her to show me how to light the stove – I thought maybe she knew how to sauté without flames.
Eventually, my stir-fry was finished – though according to my host mom I didn’t use enough oil. Half way through eating my finger tips start tingling then ease into a painful burn. What the heck did I touch, I kept thinking while staring at my hands waiting for blisters to appear. But there were no blisters, just redness. I tried everything to make the burning sensation stop for 2 whole hours. I washed my hands in cold water, I smothered them with lotion, I even popped some aspirin. I tried showering, then reading, then anti-itch cream, and finally elevation. Nothing worked. I called Karen; she always knows how to cure things naturally. She asked me what chemicals I had been playing with and when I replied that I only cooked – she found the culprit: Chili peppers. I remember fishing the little seeds out with my fingers and chopping the pepper to add some spice to my stir-fry. I didn’t think I was allergic, but I certainly wasn’t careful.
Afterwards, when the burning subsided I felt so silly for having panicked over something so stupid. But hot damn, what a good story. And for future reference: lemon juice stops chili pepper burns.
Monday, October 1, 2007
My translator quit!!!! No more creepy-stalker man! Wooohoooo!!
I was sitting at my desk, watching the minutes roll past 9am, then 10. By lunchtime he still hadn’t showed. While walking to a little café for lunch with my director she informed me that he called this morning asking for more money. I guess he decided over the weekend that he wanted more money to follow me around. When my director refused to increase his pay he said he didn’t want to work anymore. Thank You Jesus!
Walking to lunch I kept repeating the 3 Russian sentences I knew how to say that would show my gratitude for this miracle: “We don’t need him,” “His English was bad,” and “I do not like him.” My director agreed and said in 1 month I will speak Russian well enough to work. I’m so happy right now.
Climbed a Mountain…
Yesterday I climbed Solomon Mountain with Meg and Theo. There were stairs leading all the way to the top, and admittance was only 3 soms. There was a mosque at the top and many people think this is a very sacred and holy spot because King Solomon used to sit up there. I was surprised how many old men and women were at the top, praying. The view was amazing – the city seemed so much bigger from up there. I could see my house, my office building, the parks, and universities. I could see the whole city cradled by mountains all around.
We found a Turkish café and ate mouth-watering baklava. Afterwards we walked around the bazaar and found sun-dried tomatoes. Theo bought slippers. Meg bought paper for her classes. I bought vinegar, basil, tomatoes, and this delicious cabbage and soy meat salad. After that we ran into a volunteer that has been here for a year already and she showed us her apartment. It was dirty, but had potential. I borrowed some DVD’s from her.
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