Peace Corps Journals

Mid-Service!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

2012-02-08 01:19:12

Mid-Service Conference has come and gone. Yes, MID-Service, as in half way done. Bananas. But before I go spiraling into memories of the past year, I just want to say that I had the chance to present at our conference with the lovely assistance of my Turkmen counterpart, Tazegul. It was a true pleasure to [...]

Long Time, No Blog

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan You're going where?: A Peace Corps Blog

2012-02-03 13:10:00

I’ve decided on a new system of blogging, where instead of waiting for inspiration to hit me for a REALLY GOOD entry, I’m just going to collect a handful of interesting things per month and throw them together into one mashup, and then post all the entries whenever I get the chance. Somehow, right now this goes as far back as September.

The first entry, however, really happened in August, but since nothing else interesting occurred then (except for my family trip to Europe) I’m simply going to lump it in with September.

For a while, we had been hearing rumors that the president was going to come to Serdar. I think the earliest he was supposed to come was in March. Then it was May, maybe. He had to come sometime, though. Ever since I arrived in Serdar there was this fenced off area in the middle of downtown, and in order for it to open, the president’s visit was necessary.

Finally, on August 22^nd, he did. Casey and I weren’t entirely sure if we’d be allowed to go, because we’d hear that foreigners were discouraged from attending events involving the president. (I’m not actually sure where we got this notion from.) But if there was any chance of our being able to see the president in person, we were going to do it.

As it turned out, I wasn’t able to sleep in my own house that night because some of my host mother’s brother’s colleagues were staying the night at our apartment. Since we would have to get up pretty early in order to be in place for the President’s visit in the morning, Casey and I decided that was best for me to sleep over at his house. We would wake up early (6, I think, or 6:30), have a quick breakfast, and then head into the center of town, although we didn’t exactly know where the gathering was going to be.

What we really SHOULD have done, though we had decided against it the night before, was to go to Casey’s school and spend the night there. His students (and mine, although I wasn’t going to spend the night in Janahyr) were going to be camping out along the highway heading itno town, forming a human corridor to welcome the President. But August was still pretty hot and I guess we weren’t Peace Corps enough to want to wake up at 4 am (That’s how early the kids and teachers were being bused out to their spot in the human corridor) and then wait for the President to come for hours. We chose to take the slightly less adventurous rote of waking up a few hours later.

If we hadn’t, I bet this would be a more exciting entry. I could tell you about the sense of togetherness that probably comes out of waiting with a group of people for hours at the side of the road, waiting for an exciting event to happen. (Although given that the group was mostly made up of sleepy school children, who knows?) Instead, I get to tell you about walking from Casey’s house towards the new part of town, because we figured that if he would be anywhere, he would be near the new buildings that he was supposed to open.

Unfortunately, we left the house way too late, although it was only 7:15. We got ALMOST to the new section of town, when we were turned aback by someone running security. Not that easily deterred, Casey suggested that we try crossing over the railroad tracks and going around. Since the security guard had already herded us in that direction, it seemed like a good plan.

But we were foiled in that too, a few minutes later, when another security guard at the tracks turned us back. We actually contemplated making a break for it and spent about 15 minutes crouched out of sight with another guy, but in the end we were herded into the courtyard of a house – at least, it might have been a house – and were forced to wait there for about 45 minutes with its residents (who were unlucky enough to have an outhouse somewhere outside the courtyard so they weren’t able to go to it for the entire 45 minutes). I’m not sure what thread we actually posed, but at one point we were actually instructed to wait out of sight of the crowds around a corner, even though we could hardly see THEM. We weren’t even sure exactly when the President showed up because we were too far away, and as far as we could tell, the crowd was practicing its cheering. Unless, of course, the president came and went about 6 or 7 times.

Finally, the President moved on to another town, and we were free to go. As a consolation, we went to the newly opened square, where we were pleased to find fountains which were at the time still running. (They’re not anymore, although two of them still have water in them. The other now houses a really REALLY large fake New Years tree.) Also, it has benches. There aren’t usually many places to sit down outside in Turkmenistan. Since it’s opened (and before winter came on), I’ve gone there a couple of times with a book, and people use it as a place to gather and socialize in the evening.

Thus passes what could have been something really exciting (or really devastatingly awful) and is instead something only mildly amusing. I’ll know better next time.

-----

Next, something that really did happen in September. One of the volunteers in my welayet has her birthday in September, and the weather not being devastatingly cold yet, decided she wanted to spend the day in Awaza.

Awaza is Turkmenistan’s sea-side resort, full of lots of tall white hotels (mostly empty), restaurants, and even a man-made river. Or canal, really. And sandy beaches, lots of sandy beaches. The sand isn’t even half-bad either. It’s all about a 20 minute ride out from Turkmenbashi, one of the major cities of Balkan welayet.

Casey and I arrived in Balkanabat, where the birthday girl lives, FAR too early in the morning for politeness, especially as we were staying with the aforementioned birthday girl. Later that day, we took a minivan from Balkanabat to Turkmenbashi (about a 2 hour ride) where we met up with the volunteer who lives there, and bought lunch.

September isn’t really a peak season for Awaza, so the beach wasn’t very crowded. Still, I think we may have offended at least a few Turkmen sensibilities when we started stripping down to our bathing suits in the gazebo by the beach that we had requisitioned for the purpose of eating lunch. There were other people in bathing suits though, and let me tell you, it is a little weird to see Turkmen women in bathing suits, even one piece ones. It’s a far cry from ankle length dresses.

Even though it was getting colder, I couldn’t help but swim at least a little. I mean, I had recently been on vacation in Italy, where I had swum a bit, but come on, I’m from California! Water is kind of irresistible. (If you have evidence to the contrary, just remember that

I now live in the middle of a desert.)

It was freezing. Pretty much as bad as the Pacific Ocean. But it was fun to swim around a little and even more fun to enjoy a nice, warm drying-out period back on the sand with a book. What with the cold water and the book and the sand and the sun, it was almost as if I was back on Stinson Beach in California.

There was even a whole lot of wind.

-----

I have this family in Janahyr that I call my “not host family”. They’re the family that I was originally supposed to live with, and I’ve kept up a pretty decent relationship with them. I used to visit them about once a week to have tea and now I tutor one of their daughters twice a week in English. (In a quick but touching detour, I recently received a dress from this friend. Previously I had asked her sister-in-law to sew me a dress, so they already had my measurements. I really only have a handful of dresses, so new ones are always welcome. Anyway, when she gave it to me, I hugged her. She hugged me back, and then asked me if we were friends. She’s always been really sweet to me, but it made me really happy because I already felt as if she was my first local friend, and having her affirm it was awesome)

This family’s main occupation is in making carpets. (The father also cleans his neighbors’ wool, as well as teaching at my school.) The girls who have graduated do it most of the day, (the exceptions are one daughter who works in Serdar and another who is going to college in Ashgabat.) and the one daughter who is still in school now helps out when she gets home.

The Turkmen method of making carpets is like nothing I have ever seen before. They’re not woven at all. In fact, I’d liken them to close-shaved shag carpets. Learning how to make a Turkmen carpet is incredibly difficult. When I first visited this family, back when they were still my host family, I was offered the chance to help them with the carpet. Of course, I wildly screwed up the one single piece of yarn I tried to add to the carpet.

You see, to make a Turkmen carpet (at least, the traditional way, though there are carpet-making factories too), you start with a horizontal loom. The one my not-family has is HUGE and takes up most of their second-story room, with is not small either. Metal pipes form the frame of the loom. Between the two end pipes, strong string is strung, (try saying THAT five times fast) looped around each end so that it crosses itself in the middle of the loom. This creates and upper and lower layer of string. This string is called erş (pronounced ersh). About halfway down the loom, there is another metal bar, which can be pulled or pushed with a rod. One of these is called the kuji (koo-ji) and the other one is the darti, and I can never remember which is which. I THINK the purpose of this bar is to further to compress the two layers of string.

Now that we’ve got the loom frame explained, it’s time to get to the actual making. (I keep wanting to call it weaving, but that’s really not what it is.) The girls used yarn (jupe, pronounced ‘yoop’) to make these carpets. But instead of weaving the string together, they tie small pieces around the string of the loom. They do this by inserting the yarn between the two layers of string, and wrapping it around both the upper and lower layers.

After they have completed a certain amount of carpet – I’m not sure how much, but it usually takes about fifteen minutes of finger-flashing speed – they pull another piece of string (different from the string the loom is made of, thinner and called argac, pronounced argach) between the two loom strings. They then proceed to compress it, and the yarn, against the previously completed carpet with an implement called a darak (pronounced…well, like it looks: dah-rahk) bringing it down against the yarn violently. The darak has these evenly spaced metal teeth, so it slides between the loom strings. When that’s done, they cut the extra yarn off with scissors that look like scissors turned on their side. The finger holes are still vertical, but the actual blades are horizontal. Those are called syndy, which I believe is pronounced a lot like Cindy. And they are a lot harder to cut with than they look like, especially when they’re not exactly brand new and therefore probably pretty dull.

As I said, the one time I was invited to participate in Turkmen carpet making, I didn’t do such a good job. In the first place, the yarn is way more fragile than I expected it to be. I’m a knitter. I knit a lot, and mess up an equal amount, so I’m used to yarn being pretty hardy stuff. Not this yarn. No, this yarn breaks the first time I try to tie it around the string. And the second time. So much for string tying. What about darak using? No, not much good at that either, judging by the fact that I caught thee string between two of the metal teeth and managed to break the string, which my host sisters then had to fix. And as I mentioned, it’s pretty damn hard to cut the string to the proper length with those scissors.

So it turns out I’m pretty much a failure at Turkmen carpet making. However, I intend to press-gang either these not-sisters of mine or my host mother into teaching me over the summer. I probably won’t be able to make one, but at least I think I can learn not to break EVERYTHING.

Some interesting tidbits to leave you with about Turkmen carpets:

- Every Turkmen girl, according to my friend, receives a Turkmen carpet. I’m a little fuzzy on the when and from whom (I’m guessing from her own family), and am not sure if this is a universal thing, but that’s what she tells me.

- Tying the loom strings around your head prevents headaches

-----

I think I may have mentioned once before that I sometimes take taxis from my hose to my school. I called it ‘short distance hitch-hiking’ and I think I’d like to briefly return to that subject.

Now, hitch-hiking isn’t something you’re supposed to do, right? I’ve never done it in America. I probably never will, because I’m not that brave. So, why do I fell so comfortable doing it in Turkmenistan? I mean, it’s the same thing, except payment is (usually) mandatory, instead of merely the polite thing to do.

In fact, gypsy cabs are pretty much the rule in Turkmenistan. I’m not sure how it is in other Central Asian, Soviet-influenced countries, but gypsy cabs were also a very common form of transport when I studied in Moscow for a summer. Whenever a restaurant or club was just too far from a metro station, or we were getting out late from said club, we stood by the side of road, stuck our hands out, and waited for a helpful citizen (who wanted some quick cash) to pick us up and take us to our destination.

Of course, in Moscow there was also the possibility that a legitimate, licensed cab might also have picked us up. Moscow does have them, being a cosmopolitan city. Turkmenistan has no licensed cab company in the entire country. (That I know of. I think they’d be prohibitively expensive if they did exist.) So the options are either to take a bus (in my village), or walk. Or, stick out your hand.

Of course, because everyone does it, it’s a lot safer than hitch-hiking in America. There are some precautions to take, of course. Girls should probably not sit in the front seat, or get into a taxi with more than 2 guys, especially after dark. Both of these are from the obvious safety reasons. Other than that (and the somewhat suspect state of Turkmen roads, especially out in the country) the only real danger is from a speedster driver. Then again, bus drivers have the tendency to drive just as fast, and that’s a LOT more uncomfortable.

-----

So, what is it like to be a Peace Corps volunteer, living in Turkmenistan, teaching at a small village school, and living in an apartment with a small host family? I’m glad you asked, because it’s time for A Day in the Life, with your friendly neighborhood Ilana.

Unfortunately, at the time of this entry, my schedule is a lot less full than it was a few months ago. But I want to be honest with you, and what follows is a general sense of my life as it is now.

I don’t go to work until the second shift at school these days (Turkmen schools are mostly taught in two shifts, with the younger grades going to school from 8:30 to 1:30, and the older kids from 12:45 to 5:40) because I had been doing an extracurricular English club in the morning three days a week. Right now, in my incredibly crowded tiny little school, there is just no extra space. So I only work in the classroom with my teachers.

Generally, I now try to wake up at 9:30 to do yoga. It used to be that my family would wake me up to have tea with them in the morning, but my host mother wakes up WAY earlier than me now. A couple of times, I faked being asleep when they called for me and now they’ve given up. It’s a little bit sad, but waking up at 8 when you don’t have to be at school until 12 or 1 seems silly. The result is that I’m on my own for breakfast now. Which isn’t that great a loss, given that breakfast in Turkmenistan is often just bread and tea at my house. There was a while there where I wasn’t eating anything for breakfast (I’ve never been a breakfast fan, honestly, at least not during the week day). Now, however, I hard-boil five eggs every Sunday and have one a day, washed down with a few gulps of whatever juice I have on hand. It could be a little bit more lush, but it does me fine.

Work is between 12 and 6, depending on what day it is. Sometimes the day is shorter, sometimes longer. I teach between two and four classes a day, and twice a week I tutor the young girl I mentioned in a previous entry. (I have also JUST picked up a second student for tutoring, but we haven’t actually started lessons yet.) In class I usually contribute about 15-20 minutes of a 45 minute lesson, always accompanied by one o0f the four English teachers at my school. School can be kind of exhilarating but often, and usually at the same time, the most frustrating thing I have ever experienced. Sometimes the students seem like they’re being willfully ignorant, and sometimes I know they’re trying their hardest and I’m still not getting through to them. Weirdly, whether or not I’ve truly succeeded, as long as I’ve TAUGHT and TRIED, I always feel good about my time in the classroom. (Except when the students are being little haywans, little (wild) animals.) I don’t…really have a lunch period. There are no cafes, restaurants, cafeterias or prepared food stands anywhere NEAR my school, and I don’t think a diet of soda and candy from the stores would be healthy, so I have to bring my own food. At the very beginning of service, I tried making sandwiches, but I’m not fond of most of the cheese or meat here. Now, I eat crackers and cheese wedges, and sometimes fruit for lunch.

Then it’s back home, where I usually unwind with an episode or two of whatever TV show I’ve got on my computer (currently completely addicted to Dexter) or a book. I tend to do most of my reading at school, though, between classes or when I’m not actively teaching in the classroom. Sometimes I go out and drink tea with my family before dinner, but usually I want some time to myself after work. That’s actually not the norm in a Turkmen family – they spend very little time alone – but my family understands now and I hope they don’t think I don’t like them.

Dinner is between maybe 7 and 9 and not really my favorite meal of the day. Turkmen used a lot of oil. In everything. Always. There are some dishes that I think I would enjoy a lot were it not for the inexplicable dose of oil. My favorite dish is now palow (rice, carrots, onions; meat, fish or raisins) which is funny because I used to hate eating more than a few spoonfuls of it. Then again, my family when I was in training used cottonseed oil, which tastes disgusting. Now my family uses sunflower-(seed?) oil, which is much more appetizing. My host sister (who does most of the cooking) will sometimes make potato somsa or manty (steamed dumplings) which are delicious. The meat kind are NOT. Also she has this tendency to pair fried potatoes and pasta, which is way, way too starchy. (And sometimes she fries pasta. No. Just no.) Turkmen also don’t usually drink anything with their meals, something I’ve had to get used to.

After dinner, I relax with my family if they’re watching TV (we get Russian MTV, and usually one of the other Russian channels will be showing some dubbed English-language show or movie. I’ve watched Vampire Diaries, Bones, True Blood, Merlin, Lost, Castle, Mentalist, Fringe, Project Runway, and the whole host of MTV reality shows that make me ashamed of American media), or help my host mother with her lessons. Otherwise, I read or prepare lessons in my room. I’m asleep by 12 or 1 in the morning. (Well, I DO get up at 9:30, so I still get plenty of sleep.)

Also twice a week, I do my shopping at the market and check the post office for mail. This is not a subtle plug for more letters at all.

Pictures From Training or Tardiness, I Know

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2012-01-22 22:01:00

My room in Dar, before I actually entered Tanzania during homestay.

Notice the super safi western toilet. Just ignore the fact that later a large piece of my ceiling fell onto my toilet seat lid.

My CBT at Halloween

The Mutant Ninja Turtles made an appearance, too.

Cate and Jamesy so excited about getting chocolate that they could shit their pants.

My favorite picture of my CBT.

My homestay mama at a harusi (wedding).

A really sassy woman dancing at the wedding. This was so much because it was just women, and I got to see them all let loose and dance and sing.

The giant spider with fingers I found in my room one night. Its dead now.

The Maandazi Mama holding me.

Me holding my baby dada in fron tof my homestay house.

Cooking peanutbutter pancakes Tanzanian style at Safi's house.

My baby dada, Edisi. I love her.

Ringing In The New Year!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Philosophizing Camels: Sam's Life in Turkmenistan

2012-01-22 18:42:00

Catching Up

Happy belated holidays to all. It’s safe to say that quite a bit has happened since new words last graced this page. Half a year has passed, and with it a good chunk of my service:

- In August I vacationed with my family in Germany and France. I estimate that we spent about 60% of our time in local cafes or restaurants sampling the local delicacies and enjoying each other’s company for the first time in ten months. The rest of the time we spent wandering ancient castles or looking for said restaurants and cafes.

- In September I began teaching my second full semester at School #16 in Sakarchage. My semester schedule has included co-teaching four regular English classes and teaching five English club groups. Also, in September Peace Corps celebrated its 50th anniversary with a big shindig in Ashgabat that was well attended by the international community.

- In October I traveled to Balkan weleyat (think “province”) to visit my friends in the western part of T-stan and then (kind of) witnessed T-stan’s 20th anniversary of independence.

- In November everyone threw their coats on and prepared for an extraordinarily cold winter as it began snowing at the beginning of the month. I celebrated the Muslim holiday of Gurban Byram (“Eid-al-Adha” for Arabic speakers) with my family in the village and Thanksgiving with the American community in Ashgabat.

- In December I celebrated getting yet another year older with my students, friends, and family in Mary. The last week of my semester culminated in yet another “English Week”, this year’s aptly themed “Christmas and New Year’s Celebration”. And, of course, it has come with another story to tell.

“Kevin!” and Other Selections

In America the Holiday season opened with a two-way glut of Thanksgiving eating and Black Friday shopping. In my little village in T-stan, the holiday season opened with a dearth of Holiday-themed materials and ideas. As a post-Soviet Muslim-majority country the people of Turkmenistan don’t celebrate Christmas. Instead, interestingly, the people of Turkmenistan enthusiastically celebrate New Years’ with many of the same symbols and traditions that Americans associate with Christmas. For example, last year’s New Year’s celebration concluded with what appeared to me as Santa Claus and his granddaughter dancing around a Christmas tree. In fact, the scene would directly translate into English as Grandfather Frost and the Ice Princess dancing around a New Year’s tree. This unique mixture of holiday traditions likely first arose when the Soviets decided to continue celebrating a winter holiday without its previously religious connotations, thus reversing the ancient Roman’s incorporation of the then-new Christian religion into the pagan winter solstice celebrations. All of this combining and separating has resulted in a wonderfully post-modern winter celebration in Turkmenistan: a majority-Muslim country celebrates a secular holiday, New Year’s, with an avowedly Christian main character, Santa Claus. So while the students of my village do not know much about the Christian history of the holiday, they do recognize many of the same symbols, songs, and traditions as their own.

As a result, though my school community was enthusiastic about celebrating the holidays, we had few Christmas-themed materials to work with at first. Luckily, the unlikely combination of the internet, my mother, and Macaulay Culkin came to the rescue. In early December I copied dozens of Christmas songs from my friends and then scoured the internet for their lyrics. In the end, students performed hits ranging from the Chipmunks’ “Christmas Don’t Be Late” (with yours truly as Dave) to Frank Sinatra’s rendition of “Jingle Bells”. In yet another lifesaving package my mother sent me gads of decorations to hang all around my school. My own students added to the atmosphere with dozens of their own drawings and decorations.

With songs and decorations under control, my advanced club needed a play worthy of ending the “big show”. We found the answer in the holiday movie that crosses all cultures, Home Alone. Whereas my students knew very little about Christmas, they all immediately recognized Home Alone, or “Kevin!” as they call it. It turns out that one of the national Turkmen channels plays Kevin! every holiday season, and all of the kids love it. So we went about casting and rewriting the classic for a small stage and intermediate English speakers. What we ended up with was a stark reproduction that left a lot (including the fire) up to the imagination. Hoping that hundred rowdy students in attendance would recognize our efforts we began in haste. Kevin’s loneliness proved difficult to reproduce with no house or even curtains to hide the backstage actors. However, the audience really enjoyed the final battle sequence, with Marve (played by Lukman) and Harry (played by Sherip) hamming it up with fake ice and nails. When Kevin’s family finally returned home (from across the stage) we all let out a sigh of relief as we led the crowd in a final rendition of “Jingle Bells”. My school had withstood yet another riotous English Week, and I escaped to Ashgabat with my dignity and nerves intact.

My Swollen Holiday Hand, or The Gift That Kept on Giving

My holiday in Ashgabat started out auspiciously with good Chinese food and another American football victory against the marine/embassy team. However, as the weekend progressed, my right hand began swelling quicker than the Secret Santa bag. Earlier in the week I had noticed a small bite on my right middle finger, but it had escaped my attention until it began to noticeably swell on Christmas Eve. By Monday, my whole hand looked as though it might float away. Instead of going back to my village I went to the Peace Corps doctor. She opened up the wound, and found a huge infection. I’ll spare you the details, except to say that there was not a nest of baby spiders in there as some people had suspected.

All told I spent the next week and a half in Ashgabat nursing my hand back to health and its original size. Unfortunately I missed the last school week of the year with all of its parties and good cheer. Still, I lived pretty well in Ashgabat alongside my friend Tim who was hobbled with a sprained ankle. We played host to several other friends and had a memorable New Year’s. It was an unexpected but much appreciated break from village life. I was also able to get to know Ashgabat much better. I ate at some of the best restaurants in the country and soaked in the incredibly over-the-top holiday decorations across the city. There really is no city like Ashgabat anywhere else in the world.

The Beginning of the End

The time away from my village has also allowed me to begin thinking about the future. I will finish my service in about ten months. Time moves in two very different registers here. In many ways life in my village is timeless. Everything has a rhythm and that rhythm rarely changes. Class schedules never change, and every Turkmen toy (“party”) begins to look the same. Sometimes days just never end. Every time I leave the village, however, another week has slipped into the past, and the world has changed in some fundamental way. The clock of my service does not tick and slide, it readies itself and leaps forward. Before I know it this clock will leap with me around the world again, and my life here will be like a dream.

Peke Yangu in Tanzania or Take That VSA!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2012-01-22 16:40:00

I have been at site for just over a month now, and have delivered three babies, regularly take blood samples to test Malaria- of which, none have been positive, which makes me suspicious of either the test or the supposed prevalence of malaria in my area- and I just learned how to give shots, which I am really bad at. I work every day at the zahanati (clinic), and am truly gaining experience that I never would have been able to get with my biology degree in the States. Other than at the zahanati, my friend who charges my phone at his duka (shop) wants to start a chicken project. We started by talking about how his son is in school, and he has no money, and I told him that I wanted to start community groups that could make money. Was he interested? Well, yes he was! And he wants it to be a chicken group, and then he told me all about his chickens and everything he knows about them. I have never seen this man so excited! He is finding five other people- because he said that five other people would make a good size group- and my hope is that he will take over this group and make it productive with little to no influence from me. I even know a man that can come and teach this group about raising and selling chickens for profit.

My site continues to impress me with how beautiful it is, and how perfect it is for me. There have been a couple of days cold enough that I have worn my fleece in the middle of the day- and this is supposed to be the end of the hottest season. The dominating colors of my site are green and red. The grass and the leaves of trees are green, and on the days when it rains, the light filtered through the clouds makes everything look greener. But contrasted against this green is the red of the dirt and the trunks of the papaya and banana trees, which burns a brighter red on jua kali days when the near-equatorial sun is merciless. I have a beautiful view of hills from my front porch, and for the past several nights I have watched as lightning flashed in the clouds over the surrounding hills. Its like fireworks, but better.

Here are pictures of my house!

Jikoni (kitchen). Um, I will do something with this. Someday.

Choo. Very important.

Courtyard.

My favorite view sitting on my porch.

The zahanati and my garden.

Pretty flowers in front of my house.

Meniň Köýneklerim

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Sen nireden?

2012-01-16 03:59:55

The way you fit so perfectly around me; constantly hugging me as I move about the room. Catching the chalk dust as it flies off the blackboard and refusing to remain wrinkle free. Keeping me warm on the chilly days but allowing a cool breeze to relieve me during the heat of the summer. Flattering [...]

Pipi: Swahili for Candy, English for Urine

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2011-12-25 14:45:00

I have made it to site! I am a sworn in Peace Corps Volunteer, I live in a village on a mountain, and its great!

Right now I am celebrating Christmas with fellow PCVs in town. We had a secret santa gift exchange, where the presents included peanut butter, cookies, pasta, and plastic buckets. Its funny what you come to appreciate most living in this country. You can never have enough buckets. Never. You need as many as you can get in order to hore water, wash dishes in, shower out of, wash clothes in, sit on, store food in, make bucket wine in... Its also really useful to keep a bucket in your room in case you have to pee in the middle of the night and your choo is too scary to use after dark. This happened during homestay, only I didn't have a bucket. I used a candy container instead. Peeing in your room is an interesting experience.

I have become so much more aware of my water usage, and how much fuel it takes to cook my food or heat water. Taking a hot shower is such a luxury. I haven't taken one since I came to Tanzania. A cold shower is super safi, because it isn't out of a bucket.

Before joining the PC, my friend told me a story about a Volunteer who, early on in her service, had to deliver a baby, and ever since then I have been so certain that that would happen to me. I researched how to deliver a baby, what to do in the case of certain complications. Its all written down in my journal. So, on my first night at site, when a woman came to my door speaking rapid Swahili that I couldn't understand, I should not have been surprised to find a woman in labour at the clinic and me expected to help her deliver the baby. Let me tell you, its completely different when its in Swahili. There I am, alone with this woman, and I am stuck on the fact that I can't tell her to breath, because I don't know how to say that in Kiswahili. Luckily, she had done this before and was very calm. Eventually, the nurse for the clinic arrived, and the immediately the baby came out! I stand there, see the baby slide out, hand the nurse the clamp, string, scissors, then I'm wiping the baby down and rubbing its chest to get it to cry. The nurse is helping the mother to deliver the placenta. I am holding this floppy new born baby. Oh my god. Birthing a baby is disgusting.

So, everything else at site has been normal and slow and after that. I go on walks. Talk to people. I have already gotten really good at staring out my window for entertainment, or watching the cows and goats eat out of the garden in front of my house. Things are pole pole (slow). I'll let you know if I deliver any more babies.

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

One More to Go

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Sen nireden?

2011-12-06 17:18:04

Sometimes I find myself daydreaming about what life will be like once I am back in the States. This may be premature considering that is still a year off but let me comfort you in saying that the amount of ‘thinking’ time I have available is in excess so I can spare a few thoughts [...]

Cranberry Sauce…round two

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Sen nireden?

2011-12-06 17:18:59

Last year, everything was new and I was thankful for the excitement that the newness lent. I was thankful for the other Volunteers and the appearance of a family that they provided while we just barely began to acquaint ourselves. I was thankful that training was going well and that I could see myself being [...]

Shadow Week or Maisha wa Voluntia

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2011-12-02 08:56:00

I'm not sure if that is proper Kiswhili, but I am shadowing a PCV this week in Mbeya region, in southern TZ. Mbeya could not be more different from Tanga- cold, mountainous, evergreens. I have gotten to see what life as a volunteer looks like. Some highlights:

I met a man named Flamingo Body and a girl named I don't know.
Full grown men and women sat on me during a 4 hr bus ride.
I baked 3 loaves of bread on a charcoal jiko using pots in one day.
I watched a Tanzanian drama, which is surprisingly similar to Asian dramas, just in Swahili.
I saw a pig be born.

Shadow has made me much more excited about living at my site. Living with a host family is a good experience, and the best way to learn about Tanzanians, but it is not indicative of what life will be like at site, so, future PCTs, if you are having a hard time in training, know that things will change. If you are in Turkmenistan and stay with a home stay family for 2 years, pole sana.

Some other recent habari is that we got our site announcements! I will leave the process of site announcements shrouded in mystery and anticipation, as it was for me, but I will tell you that I am going to be in central TZ, in Dodoma region, near Kondoa. Dodoma is a desert, but my site is in the foothills, so it should be a little cooler, I will be by a health clinic, and should have solar power to my house, which is a BFD. Swear in and installation is in about 2 weeks!

My cross country trip to Mbeya from Tanga for Shadow enhanced how grateful I am to be in this country. It is beautiful and diverse here. Every PCV I have talked to has emphsized the importance of not making generalizations, how every village is different, how culture can change across just a few kilometers. In the States I think we make broad assumptions about other peoples and countries, especially about "Africa." The people- and landscape- in Tanzania are so diverse, with different languages, religions, clothing, food... there is no way to make bblanket statements about an entire continent. This is something that I have to work on- I catch myself talking "Africa" based on what I have seen here, but I don't know anything about "Africa." I barely know anything about Tanzania. I know I am in the right place when my coworkers tout diversity over generality.

I also find it strange to be in the midst of development work. I was a biology major, I know nothing about development, yet I find that I have very strong opinions about how development should be done, especially in this place where development is such a hot topic. A man came into the village of the PCV I am shadowing a month ago and built a bunch of pump wells, which is great, except that now they are all broken, and no one knows to fix them. Where was the education or training for the villagers? Why didn't he contact the other American living in the village? Electricity is slowly working its way up the mountain to her village now, too, which will improve life and is great, but why not bring supplies for using a renwable energy resource instead, like solar? It probably would have been easier to carry a bunch of solar panels in a truck than build giant poles all up the mountain for electrical wires, which still need to be connected to each house.

I read this National Geographic article on how the Earth's population is at 7 billion, and how fertility rates and population density correlate to amount of resources used. Much of the Earth's population is condensed into developing countries, but it is the devloped countries- which have fewer people and lower fertility rates- that are taxing Earth's resources most. Most devloping countries are reducing fertility in an effort to increase economic development- or maybe decreased fertility is a byproduct of development, kind of like the chicken and the egg. There aren't necessarily resources sufficient to support 7 billion people, and counting, but people also shouldn't continue living without sanitation and infrustructure when other people have private jets and yachts.

Development is interesting, and frustrating, and difficult, and there is definitely a better, more sustainable, way to do it. I hope I can do it the better way.

PST or Why Am I Doing This?!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2011-11-04 13:05:00

I have been at my CBT (community based training) site for two weeks now. I live in Kilulu, a village near Muheza town in Muheza District. I live with a host family, who speak no English, have no running water and no electricity. The night I got to my host family, I was terrified. I was soooooo nervous. I had spent the last week in Dar, spending every moment with my 40 other PCTs, speaking English, enjoying electricity, drinking beers in the gazebo in the evening, and really having no interaction with Tanzania at all. My mama came out to the car when we pulled up, a tiny worn woman, and carried my bags in for me- bags that I have trouble carrying, and I have multiple inches on this woman. She walked me through her dark little house to the courtyard in the bag, sat me on a stool, and continued making dinner on a wood fire in a hut outside, in traditional TZ style. I was immediately surrounded by silent children, staring at me. I know how to greet in Swahili at this point, that's it. One little girl hands me a baby she's holding, so now I am holding someone's baby, being stared at, with nothing to say. That was basically my first night in homestay.

In TZ, people use the choo, which is a structure usually unattached from the house, with a hole in the floor, where people do their business and shower. Its basically a bathroom. Choos are terrifying places. And I have a nice choo. The top of the structure is roofed by some kind of dried veggitation, and spiders like to inhabit it. I don't like spiders. I don't like little spiders in the States. Spiders in TZ.... you could put a leash on them and take them for a walk. There are seven in my choo. My solution is to crouch as low as possible without actually crawling on the floor so as to put as great a distance between me and the giant spiders.

I have a very nice room. I actually feel really bad because I have a huge room to myself, and the rest of the family- mama, baba, kaka, and dada wawili- all sleep in one room. I have a lock on my door and bars on my window, to PC standards, and I have an insecticide treated net over my bed- which I religiously keep tucked to keep bugs off of my bed. There are cockroaches. We cohabitate very well I have found. I found one of the giant spiders on my wall though one night. I walk into my room, see it, and stop. I can't just leave it there. I am not going to sleep with that thing on my wall. But I cant squish it either because it is bigger than my shoe. So I got the kids. I bring them into my room and point at the spider, and they look at me, like, whats the big deal? They eventually killed it, which caused me to scream, and everyday they make fun of me for my fear of ndudu, bugs.

I go to shule Monday- Saturday with my 3 CBT mates to study Kiswhili. Our language instructor is a brilliant Tanzanian nicknamed Big Boy, and he knows more American slang than I do. I read on a blog once about how PCVs talk about three things: sex, shit, and food. Its true. There isn't any real habari (news) so we just make it up, hypothesizing on who will hook up with whom, who already has, what the drama in other CBTs is. Everyone knows when someone has the runs, or when someone hasn't pooped in a week, color, consistency, etc. And we talk about American food and Tanzanian food constantly. About how much we hate ugali. About how we are always full. About how salty the mchicha is. About how much we are craving peanut butter and pizza.

On Sundays I do housework- TZ style. I wash my clothes by hand. I walk ten minutes to get water, and carry it back in a bucket on my head. I cook on a wood burning stove, and by stove, I mean three large rocks arranged in a circle. I have seen my mama pluck and tear apart two chickens with her hands already. These are chickens from our front yard. I think that when I get to my site, I am going to be a vegetarian. The inside of a chicken is disgusting. I would, however, eat my rooster. I would eat every rooster in Kilulu, because roosters do not just make their screaming cockle-doodle-doos when the rises, but all night, and all day. I really hope we eat the rooster someday.

Really, I am living the idyllic American in Africa fantasy. I am surrounded by barefoot children, who follow me everywhere, yelling my name. They pronounce it like "caught," but very sharp and short. It is beautiful and lush and green, and everyone is friendly, and everyone knows everything I do.

Just Put A Khanga Over It or Tanzania's Multitool

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2011-11-04 12:32:00

In Tanzania, knees are very provocative, so to ensure maximum coverage women will wear an extra piece of fabric over their skirt, called a khanga. This is not the only use for a khanga, however, so it is essential that one must have multiple. I have two, and its a struggle. These uses include, but are not limited to...

skirt, dress, shirt, swimsuit cover, shawl, towel, sunshade, yoga mat, cushion, pillow, rug, hat, curtain, wall decoration, table cloth, water filter, bag, scarf, and I have even seen khangas used to keep a car's hood attached to the rest of the car.

Personally, my mama insists that I have an indoor khanga, an outdoor khanga, and that I wear two khangas to the choo when I shower.

Khangas are more multi functional than my Gerber.

I will post a picture eventually, promise.

How to be in one place at one time

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Anniestan

2011-10-29 23:34:00

They make speak quickly, but they don't bite!

I was recently asked, "Annie, is it possible for these foreign students, who do not speak a word of the local language to live in this community and manage to communicate with people?" I honestly believe that half of communication is just being mentally and physically present. Anyone can do this, but few put conscious effort into it. Am I really here? Do the people around me really feel like I am 100% here? In an age of multi-tasking, we are used to stretching ourselves across different times, places or responsibilities. Sometimes the hardest part is to just be. You share a lot in common with someone when you are physically present, sitting with them, eye to eye, without saying anything. Maybe the words around you make no sense, but you are there, and this is half the battle.

I was at a birthday party. I love celebrations, but at this point in my life I dreaded the large gatherings because I had a hard time following a fast conversation. I kept turning my head right and left, trying to look at the ladies who were speaking, trying my best to piece together words in the hopes of understanding what they thought was so funny. While they were laughing, my eyebrows moved towards each other as if a scowl could help me comprehend this new language. One of the ladies noticed that I was the only one not laughing, patted my leg and said slowly and definitely, "Annie, you will soon understand. You are here. Listen and you will laugh with us soon." So, I continued to attend the birthday, wedding and baby parties, looking forward to the day when I would laugh at the jokes and chime in with my own. About six months later I was attending another birthday party and I had my "ah-ha" breakthrough moment. The ladies were laughing again and this time I understood.

"The other day I saw the funniest thing," the story began, "two cows were running down the street with their ropes broken. I knew the cows belonged to our neighbor..."

And then I understood where the story was going. The week before I was in the banya doing my laundry when my host-family's cows broke free from their ropes and ran out into the street. I immediately threw on my dress and ran out into the street without shoes or a headscarf over my hair. I was yelling at the cows in English, cursing under my breath as I realized that all the neighbors had come out to watch me try to herd the cattle.

"And instead of Rahat, guess who runs out onto the street? Annie! Annie was running around without shoes, up and down the street, yelling Masha, Dasha at the cows. Cows don't know their names!"

As the women around me started to giggle, I could feel my face turn hot and red. I understood the story, and now I was aware that everyone was laughing at me. What progress!

"But," the storyteller interjected. "She caught the two cows as they were eating Baygul's flowers and lead them home. See, she understands our language, and she can catch our cows!"

The lady sitting next to me turned to me and said, "You are now Turkmen and you can never go home to America because you don't have cows there!" With that everyone, including me, laughed. They laughed at this new Turkmen Annie, and I laughed at the absurdity of thinking we don't have cows in Idaho!

If you take it a step at a time, focusing on where you are right now, at home or far, far away, your energy and presence speaks for itself. This aspect of communication is cross cultural and transcendent. Don't be too hard on yourself if you struggle in the present, because with time communication becomes easier and the bridges of cultural, linguistic and philosophical differences can be crossed, even if they think cows don't exist in America.

STAGING!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2011-10-11 04:17:00

I am in Philidelphia for Staging, which is one long day of ice breakers, meeting other future volunteers, and final preparations for leaving for service. The most comforting and affirming thing we covered today was the PC mission statement. Being my cynical self, I have frequently questioned my going oversees as a representative of the US, sent to spread democracy and promote how fantastic the US is, not feeling comfortable with that role. By covering the mission and goals of the PC, though, I decided that the intention of the PC really is to promote peace by increasing understanding between different peoples. I like peace, I can be a proud PCV.

My fears of not being able to make friends has been assuaged- everyone wants to make friends, and I must have a lot in common with these people if we all decided to give up running water and electricity for two years of bucket showers and eating caterpillars! But really, we talked about how to deal with people feeding us caterpillars. It could happen.

I had my final dinner in the US tonight with my burgeoning group of friends at a fancy Italian returant, complete with calamari and the best Riesling wine I have ever had- I had not only two sips, but two glasses, are you proud of me, Brandy?

The real excitement will begin after my 18 hour flight tomorrow, when I finally land in Tanzania! Get ready for Traaaaaaaainiiiiiiiiiinnnnggggg!!!!!!!!!!!!!

BTW, no worries if there is no word for a while; I will not have internet access imediately after landing in country.

A Grand Adventure or You Don't Have to be Rugged to be Accepted to the PC

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2011-10-09 07:09:00

Two days before departing for Staging, I return from a 3 day camping trip in the Grand Canyon. This was my attempt at being outdoorsy and "roughing it," while accomplishing something on my Photo Scavenger Hunt of My Life List.

In case of flash floods...

At Mooney Falls, named after a prospector that fell the 200 feet when his rope broke and died...

Yeah, I climbed that.

This trip also provided an opportunity for growth as a budding backpacker...

Lesson learned: you do not have to be rugged or outdoorsy to be accepted to the Peace Corps. Wink wink, Phanny.

In closing, here is a PSA from Brandy (aka Goose):

I am Packed! or I Swear It All Fit Before!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2011-10-09 07:30:00

I have finished packing! Which is good, since I leave tomorrow morning and, whereas other departing volunteers have no doubt been working on packing for the last month, I started this afternoon.

The useful information: I have one carry on backpack, one large duffel bag, and one large hiking backpack. Everything is labelled with my Tanzanian address, and they are just shy of the cumulative 80 pound maximum. Now to hoping US Airways doesn't charge me a fortune to check my bags. This is why I love Southwest (shoutout!)

The not so useful information: I am pretty sure the bulkiest thing in my pack are the 40 pairs of underwear I am bringing. Overkill- mayhaps- but I refuse to budge on underwear. I can't manage to get laundry done more than once a month when I have a washing machine, I most certainly won't do it more often when I have to do it by hand. I left socks at home to make room for the undies, instead. I also bought a bug hut before making sure it would fit, but its pretty boss, so I made some room for that by leaving out some clothes and shoes. East Africa is a giant thrift shop, right? I will be fiiiine.

Now that everything fits into my bags, the next hurtle is seeing if I can can actually carry all of it to Tanzania. Bon voyage!

365

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Sen nireden?

2011-10-05 00:02:17

Old Navy is hands down one of my favorite places to shop. The clearance section is unmatched by any other store and Old Navy tends to suit my I-just-want-to-be-comfortable approach to fashion. So, the place that usually brings me such joy brought on by the purchase of a three dollar tank top was also the [...]

Baclayan Basket Project

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Anniestan

2011-09-29 21:02:00

This project is what has kept me busy for the last three months, and what will continue to bring me back to the Philippines for many more years to come. I wrote this article on the project's developments for Stairway Foundation, the sponsoring organization.

For years now, Stairway Foundation (SFI) has been reaching out to the local indigenous Iraya Mangyan in an effort to help uplift the community from poverty. In 2009, SFI purchased some land in one of the local Iraya communities called Baclayan. During the time of purchase, we observed a community that was struggling on many levels. Because of this, Stairway Foundation has since started several community development to partner with the community in creating positive and sustainable change, especially for the young generation, the children.

Stairway Foundation volunteers recently jumpstarted a long-term project in Baclayan that focuses on working with the local basket weavers. Basket weaving has been a part of Iraya Mangyan culture for many generations. Traditionally, girls learn to weave baskets when they are 7-8 years old, beginning with simple pieces and working their way up to complicated designs. Both men and women know how to weave baskets, but it is more common for women to use basket selling as a means of livelihood. For many years, Stairway Foundation has invited the women of Baclayan to come to SFI to sell their baskets every week. SFI has become one of the most consistent purchasers of baskets in the community, but the Foundation was looking for a more in depth way to work with the Iraya women to help them learn practical business and marketing skills in order to more successfully sell their baskets at large.

The first goal of the project is to create a community of empowered women who possess self-esteem and a desire to change their community. Volunteers conducted several life-skills sessions in the hopes of identifying local women leaders, who can become future life-skills trainers. There was a noticeable change in the women, a “sparkle,” as one person described it. They became more outspoken, gregarious and assertive. They displayed a keen desire to learn more about smart marketing practices, and to use their creativity to create new products to give them an edge in the market. They took great pride in the new knowledge and skills that they were acquiring, and have expressed an interest in teaching more local women what they have learned.

The second goal of the project is to have a community of women who have the capacity to successfully market their baskets. A volunteer facilitated sessions on product diversification, organizational skills, and marketing strategy, with the long-term goal of capacitating the women with the ability to market and sell their baskets domestically and internationally by themselves.

One very exciting development that happened was the creation of new product—hand-woven earrings. By using their creativity and innovation, the women designed several styles of earrings, from hoops to circular spirals. The women attended a short training on attaching the metal earring hooks and rings, and soon were producing large quantities of beautiful earrings. All of the earrings were quickly bought by customers, amazed by the craftsmanship and detailing.

In order to start labeling their products, the women learned how to create tags for the baskets. They first attended a training to learn how to make hand-made paper from banana stem fibers and indigenous cogon grass. While perfecting their paper-making skills, they participated in the design stage of a tag, creating a label that features a photograph of an Iraya woman and the story behind the basket.

Although this project is very long-term, and will hopefully develop for many years to come, it is off to a successful start and has already generated positive feedback from the women. Stairway Foundation is dedicated to working closely with these talented artisans, capacitating them with valuable skills and knowledge, thereby putting them in a more empowered position to stand up for their rights as women and as Indigenous Peoples.

My Summer Months

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Anniestan

2011-09-29 18:58:00

I was so busy in the Philippines with work and playing at the beach, that I did not have time to update my blog. What began as a two-month committment extended to a six-month period of volunteer work at Stairway Foundation, Inc. Despite not writing on my blog, I was busy writing several pieces for the Stairway Foundation website.

Stairway Foundation has a residential program for former street kids from Manila. I had the opportunity to care for one of the Stairway boys after jaw surgery. Having gone through jaw surgery myself, I was eager to help him in any way I could post-operation. The following is the story that I wrote about this incredible little boy:

"A New Smile, a New Voice, a New Taste"

A big part of my summer was working with Stairway Foundation's local scholarship students. Click here for a description of the program that I wrote for the website. I was in charge of preparing a curriculum of tutorial sessions for students struggling in English and Math. I taught several groups of students in different municipalities. At the end of the summer, we invited 25 of the most motivated and active scholarship students to attend a leadership camp entitled, "My Right to be a Leader." The following is the article that I wrote about the summer camp experience:

"We Should Not Judge Other People, and Discriminate Them." -Stairway Scholar

Stairway Foundation is located in Puerto Galera, Oriental Mindoro. The property faces the ocean and backs up against the mountains that rise straight from the sea. It is a place of not only beauty, but serenity and acceptance. Life sometimes takes you exactly where you need to go, even if you don't know it yourself. I learned this lesson when I stumbled upon Stairway completely by chance, not knowing what I was getting myself into, and found a truly magical place where I could connect with people, learn a lot about myself and dive into work that is extremely meaningful to me. I hope that everyone has the opportunity to stumble upon their own oasis.

Nirede? Where?

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Sen nireden?

2011-08-29 23:06:19

As I prepare to leave, the first question I seem to face is where? Where am I going? Where is Turkmenistan? Giving you a geographical location, however, does not sufficiently answer that question and in all honesty I don’t have an answer that will suffice. Instead, more questions just continue to pile up. What will [...]

Beautiful Bus Ride

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Sen nireden?

2011-08-29 23:20:01

I have wanted to write about this for a few days but have been trying to avoid being cheesy and the “oh-so-eye-opening-moment” but I guess I cannot avoid it, and why would I want to? Wasn’t it moments exactly like this that I was hoping for when I signed my life away, I mean committed [...]

Can I Tell You Something

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Sen nireden?

2011-09-12 04:37:57

There are still so many days that I wish I could write about. Days I wish I had the talent to properly describe to you what I have seen or experienced. I find that I lack the words, no matter what language I am communicating in. I can tell you that I was sitting enjoying [...]

Bubble Boy…er, Girl

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Sen nireden?

2011-09-12 04:39:56

With my 23rd birthday just a few days away, I think, “dang that’s old.” Ok, so obviously it’s not horrendously old but still I think it’s old. For one thing, I don’t look 23. That might be because I still wear my hair the same way I did in high school, or due to the [...]

Oh, ya…well you ugly anyways.

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Sen nireden?

2011-09-12 04:44:50

Have you ever been dumped by some dude you didn’t even like but you were trying to be polite and give him the benefit of the doubt? You thought there was no way the second date would be as disastrous as the first so you graciously accepted the invitation? At the very least, you figured [...]

All in Lurve

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Sen nireden?

2011-09-12 04:46:07

Things here inTurkmenistanhave been rocky over the past few weeks, leaving the majority of Volunteers feeling drained and discouraged. Whether it has been problems with host families, struggling for cooperation at work or the constant battle in the outhouse, it seems we have seen better and more regular times. Well, our new and fabulous Volunteer [...]

50th Anniversary!

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Sen nireden?

2011-09-18 03:53:28

This year, Peace Corps has been celebrating their 50th Anniversary. To me this meant one thing: party! And Peace Corps Turkmenistan did just that. After a fairly formal kick off event back in March, we opted for a more casual culmination event. We held a Peace Corps fair with booths that highlighted our work, our [...]

Summer Slumpin’

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Sen nireden?

2011-09-18 04:05:44

Recipe for a great California summer: Giants games, trips to the lake, tanning, barbeques, road trips to San Diego, reading, beaching, more tanning, even more beaching, swimming (either done while beaching, going to the lake or in Kait’s pool) and dancing. Turkmenistansummer: sweating. See the difference? I have always been accustomed to summer being a [...]

One Month And Counting

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2011-09-13 19:59:00

Travel arrangements have been made, overwhelming email about travel logistics and the first few days in country received, and bike helmet purchased! I have less than a month now before I finally get this show on the road!

I have spent the past month perusing the Tanzania Facebook group, http://www.facebook.com/groups/121447591273117/?id=159690090782200&notif_t=group_activity, and talking to people currently in TZ, where I have procured lots of information and advice that I have then used as an excuse to buy really cool things like solar chargers and a Kindle, which I have no idea if I am actually going to use while in TZ. I'll let you know if such purchases were a good idea or not.

After making my travel arrangements to get from Arizona to Philadelphia for staging, PC was kind enough to send out an email with documents describing just how inappropriate all of my clothing is going to be in the predominantly Muslim Dar es Salaam, how the first two weeks in country are going to a whirlwind of not knowing what I am doing, and that I have to bring a bike helmet with me. I really think that bringing a bike helmet is a very American concern that people living in Tanzania do not think about- which is probably why I have to bring one with me instead of buy one there- but seeing as I found it necessary to bring my non stick frying pan- even though I don't really cook- I guess I have no room to judge. So, I have one hideous white, very safe helmet to pack. Unfortunately, the cute pink one with the pandas didn't fit. It did say it was a child's helmet.

My excitement and anxiousness is increasing as time draws near. My plans for passing the rest of my time in the States include watching as much television as possible on a daily basis, eating ice cream and chocolate everyday, going back to the wonderful Bay area for a final farewell to my friends and family there, and camping in the Grand Canyon (yeah, I can be outdoorsy, too, environment volunteers, just watch me!). I really think the Grand Canyon might kill me, though. I built a set of shelves the other day, and was sore for the next two days. Me thinks this does not bode well. Also, I am hiking out of the canyon, and driving back home, two days before leaving for staging. Poor choice? Mayhaps...

My greatest concern going into this is how am I going to make friends with people?! Truth be told, I have not made a friend for a year. I got lazy my last year in college and just stopped talking to people I didn't already know. I joined this Facebook group and would timidly add my questions to the page- how am I supposed to interact with people when the anonymity and distance of the internet even makes me nervous! So, we'll see how that goes....

In closing, I want to apologize to the man who I stole this picture from, but this is basically what I want to spend my time in Tanzania doing. I am bringing lots of candies to make the babies love me. Is that really so wrong?

P.S. Dear Peace Corps Journals, could you put my blog under Tanzania for me? I can't figure out how to change which country its under. Kthxbai.

Trouble, In-Transit

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan From Turkmenistan

2011-09-01 00:17:43

The trouble was I’d lost my ticket. It was somewhere between Siemreap and Chiangmai – a distance of about 800 kilometers. I wasn’t going to find it again. Turkmen Air officials told me repeatedly that it didn’t matter that I had my passport or that my name was on their list. The one in the [...]

Turkmenistan Closed

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2011-08-15 19:41:00

I hope my ominous title sends chills down your back, especially considering that I am now melting in the Arizona heat and would love to feel some chills.

August 9 I receive a call from the Peace Corps- that familiar 202 number that I so looked forward to seeing on my phone 3 months ago while waiting for my invitation. This call, however, is the opposite. Turkmenistan has closed, and I will no longer be going there.

Uhhh??????????

But I will go somewhere. Apparently in situations like this, when a country closes, the future PCVs are given a new placement, but they may have to wait up to 6 months, or even longer- you know how it is- especially considering the recent budget cuts Peace Corps has experienced. Luckily for me, though, this will not be the case...

I will be leaving for Tanzania, in Sub Saharan Africa, still as a health volunteer, only a couple weeks later than planned. Forgive the religious reference, but Hallelujah, because I don't want to wait any more! This does, however, mean that I will need to change some things, and the past three months of preparation have turned into only two months left to prepare for Africa, a place I never expected to go. My blog name will have to change, I won't need thermals anymore, the Turkmen that I haven't really studied will no longer be useful, my dreams of marrying an oil sheikh have been banished and I will have to depend on Sean and Meghan to pay for my vacations and lavish lifestyle in the future. Africa seems so much more outdoorsy than Central Asia.

I really was kind of disappointed at first. I was glad that I still got to go somewhere, and I didn't even have to wait too much longer than I had expected, but I had never wanted to go to Africa. I don't know anything about Africa. But I researched Tanzania and considered it more. Tanzania has a tropical coastal region, is surrounded my giant lakes on its inland borders, is home to giant national parks for all of its wildlife- including giraffes (my favorite), monkeys, and wildebeests- is not a desert, has an Arab influence, and I actually know a lot more about the health issues in Tanzania than I thought I did. Or maybe Tanzania just has more health issues than Turkmenistan does, so there is more for me to know. I think I can do this.

Now to start preparing....

living among the insane and the deeply unfortunate

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan From Turkmenistan

2011-07-31 12:26:55

It’s hot – that’s everyone’s excuse. It’s why kids don’t come to club. It’s why the lights welter in and out, steady as the Caspian. It’s why we eat only melon. It’s why My White City Ashgabat is only almost utopia. All the silence, the myriad fountains, statues, ambitious building projects of white marble, the [...]

Wordle of my T-stan experience

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan The Turkmen Chronicles

2011-07-06 15:09:00

http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/3828619/Turkmenistan_Peace_Corps_Volunteer_blog

Interestingly, the Wordle document of most commonly repeated words in this blog, "miss" comes up the most. A better summary of the Peace Corps experience would be hard to find. Happily "good" and "like" came up often as well.

The Last Bell, Structure of a Turkmen Dance Party, & Summer Fruits

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Philosophizing Camels: Sam's Life in Turkmenistan

2011-07-03 16:04:00

An Explanation, Not an Excuse

OK I admit it: I'm not very good at this whole blogging thing. Blogging just doesn't fit neatly into the guiding forces of my life. Three forces guide me through life (aside from love and all that mushy stuff): guilt, deadlines, and laziness. (A few people may want to add or subtract from this list, but it will do for my present purposes.) Freud may have had his eros and thanatos forever battling within us, but I have my guilt and laziness. My laziness arises in large part from an essential contentedness with life and its wonders: I have lived a charmed existence (knock on wood) and the people I know continue to astonish me with their creative thoughts and passionate deeds. As a result, I often want to simply lull about in the better parts of life. However, the other part of me realizes that I have done little to earn the contentment that I feel with life. (In fact, I often find myself doing my best to sabotage what I have.) From this part arises the guilt, the duty to do right so as to feel that I can earn my keep on this planet. Deadlines then exist on the axis between the settled resistance of laziness on one hand and the unsettling duty of guilt on the other. If I have a deadline I know what I need to get done and when it needs to be finished so as not to disappoint anyone. Deadlines produce a harmony between my spheres, and a purpose in me.
This blog doesn't have any fast-and-hard deadlines. There are no professors to enforce the deadlines, no referees to blow the whistle. It's just me, this old laptop, and a world of ideas floating around in my head. I know: an explanation, not an excuse.

The Last Bell and the Structure of a Turkmen Dance Party

Spring has turned to summer here in Mary, and school is out til September. Classes finished a couple weeks ago with a "Last Bell" ceremony and an afternoon dance party in the school courtyard. The Last Bell ceremony was an all-school assembly that primarily celebrated the graduation of the tenth form (think 'grade)' students. After the teachers asked, prodded, and forcibly moved the rest of the school into place, each of the three tenth form classes paraded in with their teachers in tow and made a circle surrounded by the rest of the school. A village elder and local police commissioner as well as many retired teachers attended and presented awards to different students and teachers. First form pupils (i.e. students but smaller) then presented flowers to the tenth formers, and the tenth form students gave a ceremonial big key to the first form pupils. Then a couple of first formers grabbed bells, the biggest tenth formers lifted the kids with bells onto their shoulders and the whole form ceremonially exited the school grounds. Once outside the school gate each class released a dove and the assembly broke into chaos/celebration.
In the heat of the afternoon most of the kids returned for a school-sponsored dance party. In the six months that I have lived in the village I have attended quite a few of these dance parties, and there are a couple of constants involved. First and foremost, there is always monotonous Turkmen dance music interlaced with impromptu speeches about favorite educators. Turkmen dance music usually involves a tacky techno beat overlaid with repetitive love lyrics. The song may change, but the beat doesn't. Although all of the music is recorded, there will always be a young man lip-syncing the performance, more interested in dancing than in accurately reenacting the lyrics. I can't be sure when or where this ubiquitous lip-syncing tradition arose, but I suspect that it may have arisen during the years that recorded music performances were outlawed by the Turkmen government. Whatever its genesis, the lip-syncing can be quite entertaining, especially when the music switches from Turkmen to Russian or some other sampled language.
The second constant: there is always a surplus of bulky 90s-era video cameras hovering about the crowds capturing every last moment from multiple flattering angles. Four such cameras hovered around and dove through the Last Bell party, one rented by each tenth form class and a fourth of unknown origin or purpose. The raw footage of this three hour dance party will not be so much edited, but more spliced, repeated, and montaged so that every brilliant dance move may be analyzed, every shining smile framed, and every poignant moment captured for years to come. This "editing" process will result in VHS tapes with three hours' worth of footage sold to the students and watched marathon-style by family and friends (and poor English teachers) alike. On a personal note, this lack of editing configures the cameras as my enemies or, more specifically, as opposing spies: entities to be avoided at all cost, except when directly confronted. If confronted, one must put on a show of confidence and coolness to surpass all shows of confidence and coolness. Thus, I tend to hide in the shadows during these parties only to emerge momentarily to throw down some underappreciated dance moves and retreat to the shadows before the cameras can get a second shot. Still, the cameras almost always find me in some cringeworthy pose with eyes half shut or sweating like a pig. Maybe I need to become better friends with the cameramen.
The third constant: there are always girls dressed to the hilt in shiny koyneks (full length dresses) and big hairdos. Traditionally, long hair is synonymous with beauty in Turkmen society, so Turkmen girls receive one very short hair cut when they are young, and then they let their hair grow for the rest of their youth. So there's a lot of hair to work with. Many of the girls spend the entire preceding night waiting for one of the few village hairdressers to do their thing. The result is something akin to the big hair of the 1980s (not that I was there to see it), with much more hair. The girls also spend significant amounts of time finding mata ("dress material") and choosing a tikimchi ("seamstress") to make their dress koynek. The koynek is the standard piece of clothing for all village women in Turkmenistan. It is always full length and has short or long sleeves. All koyneks tend to be colorful, but dress koyneks are straight up bright. This year's most popular colors were mustard yellow and scarlet red, usually in a silk or cashmere-like material. Though they spend hours getting ready, the preparations do not stop them from dancing Turkmen-style in a circle under that afternoon sun.
The whole thing is quite a sight. And the thing is, even if I forget, somewhere there's a VHS tape that has the whole experience.

Summer Fruits

I finished school a month ago, and teaching has been wonderful ever since. I started three new clubs this summer, which brings me fifty new students. I do all of my teaching in the morning because the afternoon's are so hot that everyone sleeps the day away. As a result, I have a lot of personal time to read books, watch movies, and do yoga. A couple health volunteer friends turned me on to yoga, and I still do it most days. If I can make it through the morning classes, the rest of my day is pretty relaxing.
Better still, I have become a lot more comfortable in the classroom, especially with younger students. Part of it is time: I've now been teaching for the last six-month full time, and I've learned an awful lot. I know how to teach better, and, more importantly, I know how to act like I can teach much better. Secondly, I'm teaching three of my clubs the same beginner material that I have taught to the older groups. As you can imagine, going back through the second time is much easier, especially with a full set of customized lesson plans. Most interestingly, I have found that I real enjoy teaching younger students. My favorite classes are my two young groups, with kids ranging in age from ten to thirteen. They are eager to learn, and easily amused with the same set of grammar games. Of course, it's always more rewarding to work with beginners, because you can actually see their progress. Whatever the reasons, I am really enjoying teaching for the first time in country.
I'm also looking forward to my vacation to Germany and France in a couple of weeks. I'll meet my family in Frankfurt, and then we'll tour the vineyards and beer-yards (?) for a couple of weeks. Luckily, I've been able to speak with my family almost every week (they skype my home phone). However, nothing can replace actually seeing them for the first time in ten months.

Life: Keeping Afloat

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Not Quite what I Expected

2011-06-30 04:10:00

I know it's been a while since I wrote, but I really just have been so busy. I know everyone says that as an excuse, but I honestly feel more busy now than I think I ever felt at school. I'm sure that's not true, but it sure feels like it. I spend three days a week leaving my house sometime between 5:30 am and 9 am and not getting back till 2 am. Between work and school, I feel like I'm losing a bit of myself. Ugg, enough griping.

I had a great day today. I met up with a Peace Corps returner from Turkmenistan. We sat over lunch for 2 hours and I still feel like I have more questions than answers. The bottom line I took away though: this is going to be one crazy adventure.

My favorite part of the conversation was the KGB. She had been there in 2003, when the last dictator had created a country that was named "worse country to live in". She told me stories of the KGB reading her mail, opening her packages (which she only got a 1/3 of the time) and living with a constant KGB agent tail on her. Not openly of course, although she said that some of them were pretty obvious. She told me hilarious stories of being on the phone with family back home and as soon as she said something about the government, her phone line cut off. Her friend, who would call home and speak Chinese, would get cut off immediately because the guy tapping and monitoring her phone couldn't understand what she was saying.

Honestly, I feel like this is something out of "The Lives of Others", an amazing German movie about the restricted rights in West Berlin before the wall fell.

She told me horror stories of her host family stealing from her and hilarious stories of being stopped by customs because what was the equivalent of 5$ in manat looked like more than 10,000$ because it was so many bills. She painted this amazing picture for me of like and what it will be like there. But the first thing she said to me when I sat down was "Get rid of all expectations. You'll be lucky if you manage to even start a project, let alone finish one." Between the country being a bit behind the times and the government, I should expect to make no visible difference while I'm there.

This news was kind of shocking, my first question was about well, why would I go if I can't make a difference, but as we continued talking I understood. I shouldn't expect to leave Turkmenistan having made life better for people or having changed the way the health care system works or women's rights. What I think I can count on is making a dent in people's lives with presence, attention, and education.

It's always been my belief that it is possible to save the world with a smile. If someone had smiled at Hitler at just the right time and made him feel just a little bit more loved, maybe he wouldn't have that hate so deeply ingrained to start the movement that he did. If I can make one person's day a little bit better with a smile, why not? It doesn't cost me anything, except maybe a few calories which is all the more reason to. Katie's been walking around the house all evening practicing her Public Speaking speech for her final tonight and what kept jumping out at me was this story:

A man walked down to the Golden Gate Bridge and walked around for a few hours before jumping off and killing himself. When people went to his house later that day, they found a note that said "If one person smiles at me, I won't do it." He must have walked around that bridge and seen hundreds of people, and apparently not a single person smiled at him.

The point I'm getting at is that while I might not be changing the world one giant step at a time, I hope that I can impact a few people's lives, by befriending them, or showing them a new game, or teaching them something new that can improve their lives. I don't have these glorified ideas of what I can accomplish there. But maybe I can just make one person smile, who in turn makes another, who in turn makes another, and so on and so forth. Maybe I can help make one village one inkling happier.

As I'm writing this, I'm thinking, how cliche and naive I must sound. But, you know, I really do believe in a little going a long way. Maybe I am naive. Maybe this will be a good opportunity to learn about the world and how it "really" works. Who knows.

However, this is still months away. Right now, I'm sitting at my computer, MCAT books on either side of me, with an AMCAS book in front of me. I need to keep my perspective, Peace Corps is just a stepping stone. I have med school to prepare for, and the MCATs to study for.

And on that note, I look at the time and realize how late it is. MCAT class in the morning. I'm leaving this post feeling not entirely satisfied that I've finished it, thought it all the way through. Maybe I'll have more complete thoughts by the next time I post (much sooner hopefully). To all a good night and a smile.

Superman: Ride of Steel

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2011-06-27 02:53:00

I spent this past weekend visiting friends in So Cal and spending a day at Six Flags. There were five of us, including two of my beloved housemates, all of us preparing for two year stints abroad in the near future. One girl is leaving for Kenya in two weeks, another for Senegal at the end of August, I am leaving for Turkmenistan in September, and two girls are in the latter half of the PC application process.

The weekend provided an opportunity to reflect on our individual preparations with each other, and at the end, we said good bye. One observation made last night was that none of us are old enough to be saying these kinds of good byes. None of us have any comprehension of what it means to leave everything that is familiar for two years. We said what could amount to permanent good byes to people who have shaped our development over the past four years. I do not regret my decision to join the PC and I am excited for the challenges and opportunities for growth it will provide, but I was reminded of how young I am this weekend, and how little experience I have in the world. I have never left my friends and family for such a long time before. I do not know what it will be like to not see them for possibly two years.

We also talked about how this is an experience that will force us to confront who we are. All five of us consider ourselves to be adventurous, exploratory people, but travelling by ourselves to a new country will test that, and we have to be ready to accept it if we can't make it, if we really aren't what we have always thought ourselves to be. Which would be a huge blow to one's pride.

But this is the point of going. To test myself, to see who I am, to grow, to be challenged, to have an adventure. I am little, I am inexperienced, and I will probably be scared, but I want this, and I am grateful that I have friends that are going through this experience with me, however far away they might be.

Also, thank you to Tiffany for being a pansy with me on all of the roller coasters, and to Rachel for making me open my eyes on Superman even though you were terrified, too. You should become a crisis counselor.

A Plethora (Read: 3) of Entries

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan You're going where?: A Peace Corps Blog

2011-06-24 09:30:00

I promised a blog post about my adventures in a mostly furniture-less existence, so let’s make that the first new update.

The entire (furniture) inventory of my 4-room apartment is as follows: 3 large cabinet/shelf units (one for each bedroom, and one smaller one in the kitchen area, 1 sewing machine, 1 accompanying chair, 1 TV stand, and 1 former TV stand that is now my combined beside table, bookshelf and pantry. Other volunteers have varying amounts of furniture, of course. My sitemate has a bed and a desk (and a piano, but I guess that isn’t really furniture). As I type this, I’m sort of curled up on my floor. Pretty much every action in my house takes place on the floor. We eat on the floor, we sleep on the floor, we curl up (on the floor) in front of the TV. In training, it was a little different, because I had a bed, and in that family, they used a very low table at dinner. We still sat on the floor, of course, but at least our food wasn’t right on the ground. In the kitchen, we also have a square of counter between the sink (which has a working faucet, except letting water go down the drain is verboten, for reasons I’ve never actually been able to ascertain) and the stove, which is okay for small food preparation, but if you need more space than that, food preparation takes place on (all together now!) the floor.

Talking about adjusting to this change in the altitude of tasks is more difficult that I thought I was going to be, mostly because I think I’ve adjusted, so it’s hard to remember a point at which all of this floor-inhabiting was hard. Except for one thing. I do still recall my initial reaction to sleeping on the floor. It’s not, of course, right on the floor. I sleep on a mattress that’s about 1 (1 ½?) inches thick, called a dushek. (Actually, now I sleep on a dushek AND thermarest camping mattress donated to me by my sitemate, who is fortunate enough to be sleeping in a bed.) But still, in those first few weeks of camping out on the floor, an inch of mattress felt like nothing at all. I swore I could feel the floor through both the mattress AND the cushy carpet, so much so that they might as well not exist at all. I still got to sleep (and slept just fine) but it was a little bit more difficult.

Now, my cushy rug has been traded in for this big, brown thin carpet that looks like someone did home repairs or changed the oil of a car on it (I’ve had it for a few weeks, and I originally thought it was just supposed to be a temporary thing until they cleaned my rug. Guess not?) and has no insulating value whatsoever. The past week, I’ve been too lazy to pull out my dushek, so I just sleep on the Thermarest. I don’t even register the hard floor below me that’s probably closer to my body than when I started sleeping on the floor 6 months ago. I’ve stated more than once that by the end of my service, I am going to be fully capable of curling up just about anywhere to fall asleep. (I did it once a few weeks ago. I was watching something on my computer about mid-day, and suddenly got really tired. I rolled over, figuring I’d just shut my eyes for a few seconds and then get up and get a pillow and blanket out. And then I woke up hours later.) Maybe not a hardwood floor, okay, but pretty much anywhere.

The only thing I haven’t gotten used to, floor-wise, is managing to eat noodles out of soup without raining little droplets of soup everywhere. Guess it’s time to start picking up the bowl.

-------

I think that I’m really learning how to finesse people, or at least starting to think less straight-forwardly about how to go about things. It’s the end of the first half-week of my first Turkmen (working) summer, and so far it’s been pretty disappointing, to be perfectly honest. I was so excited about summer before I started. Working in the classroom is a totally different beast than working in smaller groups for my newly-formed clubs, and while I like working in the classroom as part of modeling techniques for the three teachers I work with, as an actual teacher it is less than satisfying because due to circumstances, it’s not easy for me to gauge how much I’m actually teaching the students. The Turkmen textbooks don’t have too much build, so I end up jumping from one topic to another.

So I was excited for summer. I would have my clubs, and I would be teaching English to any teachers at my school who wanted to learn, and I wasn’t planning anything grand, but it would be satisfying. I informed my club kids of the next club day (a week later, due to their end of year tests and my mini-vacation to Mary), put up an advertisement in the teacher’s room about the lessons for teachers, and went off to have fun in Mary.

Except, I came back to a sign-up sheet that was still empty a week later (I had asked in my advertisement for teachers to sign their name if they were interested, so that I could get an idea of how many students I would have) and no club kids showing up on the first day of club. Today, two of my 15 regular kids came to club. As you can imagine, that stung a bit. My students had all agreed (or at least, in my mind they had agreed) to come to club. I knew I wasn’t going to get ALL of them to come, and I honestly didn’t really expect the younger ones to come, but my six 8th form girls? Yeah, I expected better from them, especially this one girl named Ayzada who is smart and seemed motivated. I came home feeling defeated. It was like everyone was saying ‘We’re really not that interested in what you have to offer us. It’s interesting enough when it’s convenient, but we’re not going to make the effort when it becomes more work’. And then I thought ‘If I can’t get a group of 15 kids to come to club, how am I going to get ever get people interested in larger projects that take more effort?’ It was really disheartening, and it seemed like one of those moments where I could really imagine terminating my service early. I’d had a couple of those moments before (“If this continues, if this behavior happens all through my service, I don’t think I’m going to make it”, which had previously been mostly about my teachers not giving me enough time to teach in class, or enough of their attention when we were lesson planning), but this was a little bit more serious.

However, every time I actually think about terminating my service, about going back to America early, it just doesn’t seem like a viable course. I know I COULD do it, if things got really bad or I just didn’t think I was making a difference, but the idea of not finishing service when it took so long to get in is (almost) unthinkable. So I had my self-pitying little moment, pampered myself with little treats (which IS my coping mechanism almost entirely), and then sat down to think about how I could rectify the situation.

My plan is this: making this personal. Reaching out to people instead of waiting for them to come to me. For the teachers, I plan to try to talk to everyone that I feel comfortable talking to, and asking them if they plan on coming to lessons. If they say they’re not, then I intend to ask them (in a lighthearted manner) why not. Basically, I plan on bullying them into coming, but in the nicest way possible. With my students, I’ve decided to give up on the younger kids for this summer, but getting the remaining four girls out of six to come back to club sounds like a decent goal. My plan is to find out where they all live, and go visit each one personally to find out why she isn’t coming to club. My guess is that most of the girls either just don’t feel like coming (in which case a light dose of badgering will come in handy) or their parents have given them chores which prevent them from coming (in which case I plan to present an argument as to the usefulness of English in getting into university and getting a good job). Tracking all the girls down is going to be the hard part, but I figure between my counterpart, and the two girls who DID show up to club, I’ll manage to find them all.

ETA: At the end of the month now, this plan of attack didn’t work entirely. I HAVE started teaching my teachers, but a couple weeks later than I’d hoped. As for the girls and the club, that didn’t go off at all. The next club day, no one showed up at all. I learned from one of the girls who had come the day before that the other girl had gone to a celebration, and that the first girl was embarrassed to come to club alone. Neither of them have shown up again, but I’ve since moved on, and will hopefully have a new set of students to teach in July, as rounded up by my counterpart. It’s all about adjusting.

------

It’s somewhat humbling when you find yourself getting a lesson in cultural acclimation in the pages of a well-known young adult fantasy book.

I was rereading Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy again for the first time in a while, and on page 114 of The Subtle Knife, I found this paragraph: “Looking for something she could do, Mary went to the net-makers and offered to help. When she saw how they worked, not on their own but two by two, working their trunks together to tie the knot, she realized why they’d been so astonished by her hands, because of course she could tie knots on her own. At first she felt this gave her an advantage – she needed no one else – and then she realized how it cut her off from the others. Perhaps all human beings were like that. And from that time on, she used one hand to knot the fibers, sharing the task with a female zalif who had become her particular friend, fingers and trunk moving in and out together.” Mary, for those who have not read the books in a while, or at all, is a human who finds a portal from our world into another world, where she encounters these people (who happen to look something like small elephants, and have a diamond-shaped skeleton structure, and ride around on wheel-pods, but that’s all sort of beside the point), and spends time with them, learning their language and observing them and slowly learning how to fit in.

What it brought home to me, living in a completely different culture, and doing my own language learning and observing and trying to learn how to fit in, is that I don’t think I’m doing a good enough job on the last one. It’s not that I don’t WANT to fit in. I know that I have to, and I want to, because feeling as if you’re an outsider in the place that you live for two whole years is TOUGH. The thing I honestly think is getting in my way is my Americaness.

I don’t even mean my outward Americaness. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m not going to look Turkmen. At best, I pull off Russian, but I’ve been here long enough that most people already know me as the American. It’s not entirely a bad thing, because then I get to have conversations about America, and fulfill Goal 2 of Peace Corps, which is to teach host country nationals about my home. What I mean is my inward Americaness, that part of me that has been brought up believing that being independent is a really good thing, and that having alone time every day is a necessity, and that doing things because you enjoy them is something that you have every right to do (and I’m talking about harmless little things here, obviously).

That’s not what Turkmen culture is, though. Turkmen culture is about helping people out and being part of the group and spending time with people and fitting in. Eastern vs. Western culture, basically. And it’s really hard for someone coming from Western culture to adapt to that, especially if part of you still believes that the way that you do things is…better.

It was hard for me to type that last word, and I winced while doing it. Because I’m pretty sure that when I first got here, cultural sensitivity or no, I kind of thought of my American independentness as not just a good thing in its own right, but a better thing. And even months and months into service, there were still things that I was doing that showed that I wasn’t completely willing to integrate into Turkmen culture. They were little things, but I think they were really symbolic of that unwillingness. In Turkmenistan, EVERY woman wears her hair up, all the time, at least in my small town. (Russians are sometimes the exception). For a while, my hair was too short to do anything with, but for the past two months, it had been long enough to put up. I just didn’t LIKE it like that, so I left it down. It got blown around in the wind, and I ended up coming to work every day with my hair doing crazy things. I combed it with my fingers before class, but I still was presenting myself to my co-workers like that.

Another thing that I was doing that no other Turkmen around me does was using a small, long-strap-over-the-shoulder (I bet there’s an actual fashion word for that kind of bag) purse instead of a handbag. When I actually needed to carry a bunch of things, I used a tote bag AND my purse. I am positive that I was the only woman in Serdar walking around like that. But I kept wearing my hair down and my purse+tote combo because…well, because they were they way I liked to do things. My purse was a present from my mom, and my hair REALLY didn’t look good up in a ponytail. It wasn’t harming anyone, right?

In the long run, it probably hasn’t done my image that much damage anyway. But after reading that, and seeing Mary recognize that maybe this “advantage” of being alone and sticking out might not be all the advantage that she thought it was, I considered these little things I was insisting on doing that made me noticeably separate from the people around me. And I decided to make small changes. So now, although it isn’t a pleather handbag, I carry all my stuff around in my tote bag. And I toyed around with my hairstyle, and found that I don’t mind it so much if I pull SOME of my hair back in a ponytail, but leave the rest of it down. (I immediately got complimented on that the first time I stopped by my favorite shop, and got told that I looked like a Turkmen. Which I find hard to believe, but it just goes to show you. Now, I just need to work on the suggestion that the shop girl made, and remember to start wearing earrings.)

A Slowly Peeled Band Aid

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2011-06-23 06:41:00

I am leaving California for Oregon next Friday, so I am trying to see as much of my family and friends as I can in my last week and a half here. I went back to my hometown to visit my sister, niece and father today, which entailed Americanized Chinese food, playing skee ball at Chuck E Cheese's, and swimming in a blow up pool in my sister's back yard. As I said good bye to my father tonight- whom I will see in a week, granted- I realized how much I am going to miss him when I go to Turkmenistan.

We have had a turbulent relationship during most of my life, but over the past two years it has turned into what I would imagine constitutes a healthy father-daughter relationship. I ask him for advice, he gives me restrictions, I break said restrictions, and he adjusts his expectations in order to deal with me. Last summer, he explicitly told me "You can leave the state [for work, school, etc.] you just are not allowed to go to the east coast or leave the country." I was applying for the Peace Corps at the time. With time, he has grown to be surprisingly compliant concerning the plans I have for my life, which are so terribly different than the plans he had for me.

This lead me to consider how this experience would have been different had I accepted my other invitation option to leave in June. I would have been so busy, consumed in rapid preparations after finals and graduation, that I wouldn't have had time to reflect on anything, or think about my family at all. I would have had to be focused on my departure, and probably would not have even thought about my family or friends until I arrived in country and finally had some down time. Not leaving until September has allowed me to take time to visit everyone I love, but it has also given me time to fester over the changes that will ensue, like slowly peeling off a sticky Band Aid. I know that I already made my decision, and there is no going back now- and I don't want to, really- but which would have been better? Ripping the Band Aid off quickly by leaving in June, or this anticipation allowed by the slow peeling that is leaving in September?

This is my dad. If he ever learns how to use the internet and finds this blog, he probably won't love that I put this picture of him on here, but he is such an adorable man, I couldn't resist.

Feel Free to Contribute: Avant Garde

Thu, 01 Jan 1970 00:00:00

Turkmenistan Little by little...

2011-06-10 05:41:00

The other day Fuh returns to the apartment to find me cooking - a rare occurrence. I was heating a frozen chicken breast that I had drizzled with honey mustard salad dressing in a pan with thick slivers to red bell pepper. Why I thought this was a good idea, I don't know, it's what we had in the fridge. She remains in the kitchen with me so we can determine if I have created a masterpiece or monster, and identifies my strange concoction as what must be considered "avant-garde food."

"Avant-garde" is French for "advance guard" and has come to refer to artists that push the boundaries of what is normally socially accepted. I would imagine that what is considered to be avant-garde must change with time, since something that could have been avant-garde could be assimilated into popular culture, making it not avant-garde anymore. Possible examples: Picasso and Cubism, shipping container homes (I am so in love with these), Lady Gaga.
In film, something is avant-garde if it breaks from commercial films.
In architecture, you get buildings that look like this...

One Wikipedia article (I know, I shouldn't use Wikipedia as a source, but, honestly, this is a blog) described avant-garde as a "hallmark of modernism, as distinct from postmodernism." I have forever been perplexed at the differentiation of modernism and postmodernism, regardless of Alfred's definitions, so I researched...

Modernism consists of modern thought and character, rejecting and revolting against tradition and old ways with the changing times and new economy. In its heyday as an artistic movement, Modernism rejected the existence of an all knowing and compassionate god, Enlightened thinking, and the reservations of Realism.
Postmodernism identifies how ideas are social constructs, influenced by language, power dynamics, binaries. It says that reality is multidimensional, plural, and argues against the meta narrative.

My red bell pepper honey mustard chicken was delicious.
Here is a list of other avant-garde foods that are delicious that are not actually considered avant-garde:

Ici's black pepper corn ice cream
pork buns with pineapple crumbly bits on top
more items need to be added to this list....feel free to contribute.