Back online!

Over the last nine months I have been horribly negligent of my blog. I wish I could attribute it to some exciting change of events or even a busy schedule but in reality the only excuse I have is laziness and lack of imagination.

As I have been here for over a year and a half, life in Kyrgyzstan is no longer a new adventure, rather it has simply become life as I know it but I must remind myself that despite the fact that I find my daily activities mundane it is still a foreign world to people who read this blog. So my one of my (many) New Year’s resolutions is to maintain this blog for the next 7 months of service which remain for me.

Since I have last written I have developed a series of professional development classes for local university students where we have developed their professional skills, resumes, practiced filling out applications and addressed many other practicalities which they are not taught in school but are crucial for a successful career.

Last November I finally witnessed the Central Asian game of Ulok, an ancient game where two groups of men ride horseback and attempt to throw a decapitated goat carcass into one of two barrels. It was FACINATING!



More recently, after a year and a half in Kyrgyzstan I took my first out-of-country vacation back to Texas. Flying out of Kyrgyzstan, through Turkey and over the Atlantic Ocean, I feared reverse culture shock of reentering American society. I imagined the shock I would have when my electricity never turned off or the over-whelming amount of peanut butter and pork I would eat. I had heard horror stories of other volunteers returned feeling so out of touch with American pop culture that they could hardly follow their friends’ conversations on the recent reality shows or celebrity gossip, but within my first days back home I realized, rather anti-climactically, that everything just seemed as it should and I felt at home immediately. Although the development of Twitter, Snuggies and the overwhelming number iPhones did seem very bizarre to me…

During my month back home I spent a lot of time with my family, I even had a chance to swing up to Missouri and see my grandma, uncles, aunts, cousins and my roommate from my freshman year of college. Four of my best friends flew/drove into Houston to spend New Years with me- which I would like to note, I spent hours agonizing over for two reasons; first I was combining high school friends and college friends, and secondly we were celebrating New Years and I hadn’t been to a bar, let alone a club in a year and a half. Despite all of my anxieties the weekend went beautifully. I am truly blessed to have such amazing friends and family.

By the end of my time in the states I had gained six pounds, illegally downloaded more music and books then I know what to do with and recharged my (metaphorical) batteries for my last 7 months in country.

Horseback ride *Pics added*

Kyrgyzstan is famous for its beautiful, untouched landscapes and up until this summer I had never taken advantage of my proximity to these huge mountains and had only enjoyed short hikes around the mountains. So when Fritz and Ginger, my two site mates, invited me to accompany them and three other volunteers on a four day horseback ride through Arslenbob I gladly accepted.

On the first Thursday of August we all drove up to a little mountain town called Arslenbob. I had been there once before the previous winter when it was covered in snow but arrived this summer to find the snow to be replaced by wild flowers. That night we all sat around over dinner with a couple bottles of wine laughing about how sore we were going to be and how delusional we were to think that we could make the trip comfortably. I know I was not the only one who went to bed that night anxious.

The next morning we were picked up at our guides house by 8 horses and 6 guides. It took about thirty minutes to arrange all the bags and supplies onto the horses before we could leave. That day we rode until 7 o’clock that night, only stopping for lunch and a few short stretching breaks. It had been a hard day. There had been terrifying cliffs, steep slopes and rocky trails so you can only imagine the distress we all felt when we realized there had been a miscommunication and the three tents we ordered for the group were not there. As we all stood there looking at each other unsure of what to do, a faint rumble in the not-so far-distance put a little more angst into our stares. After much discussion and insistence, the guides convinced us to take their tents as they had brought tarps and mats to sleep on and insisted that they were used to sleeping under the open sky.

Before dinner had even been made, it started to hail so all the Americans piled into one tent with a bottle of wine and the guides piled into the other. Thankfully for the entire group it turned out to be just a brief rain and we were able to continue on with dinner. It wasn’t 10 minutes after I ate before I crawled into my sleeping bag and fell asleep.

The next morning we woke up surrounded by skyscraping mountains behind the small valley which we had slept in. Compliments to the brief rain and hail the night before, the air was crystal clear and mountains that were 30 miles away were clear enough to look 5 miles away! Sitting over breakfast, I ate in silence just taking in the absolute beauty of the view. Immediately after breakfast we packed up our stuff and resumed our ride. By lunch we had made it to our final destination, the Holy Lake. The Holy Lake was a small alpine lake which was nestled amongst snow capped mountains. The water was pristine blue and crystal clear, looking at it all I could think of was a glass of icy blue raspberry cool-aid as that was the only memory I could liken to that color.



We set up camp and had lunch on one of the smaller lakes just a mile away from the main lake, and after we had all eaten we rode around the lake just admiring the beauty. On one side of the lake there were groups of people camping and enjoying the lake as we were. They welcomed us to their country and offered us the fattiest sections of their mutton and large bowls of kumis (fermented horse milk) demonstrating great hospitality. Only because of the tremendous kindness they showed us were we able to choke down the meat and chug the kumis.

Unfortunately the next morning Brock woke up sick because of the meal and spent the rest of the day walking behind the horses. That same morning Fritz had us all worried as he woke up so dizzy that he was unable to stand for the first half hour of the morning. As the day progressed they both started feeling better and we decided to continue with the original schedule rather than take a short cut to get the two men home. That day we were all pretty eager to get Fritz to a lower altitude in hopes that his vertigo would ease but it didn’t. It was only after we returned to Jalal Abad and one MRI test later did we find out that Fritz’s dizziness was due to misguided crystals in his ear.

The night before our last day on horseback I slept outside under the stars. It was outstanding. The next day I arrived back into town tired, dirty, sore and absolutely inspired by the trek.

The Water Master

The Water Master is a jerk. He’s the guy that my NGO calls whenever there is a problem with the office pluming, so naturally he is the guy that they would call when I am having problems with the water in my apartment.

Ever since I had moved into my apartment last April I have had a dripping faucet, compliment from my cheap landlord. Despite the complaints I left with my NGO they never found it necessary to call this water master, so it dripped all through April and May. Finally the week before I left the little, old, Russian lady below me hiked up the staircase to tell me that the pipes had rusted through and that the water was leaking into her bathroom. At that point I was a day away from leaving for PST and decided that I would just turn the water off and deal with it when I got back. Well after three weeks of being in the north I return to work and had to coax my NGO into calling the water master so he would fix the faucet and pipes. Despite my NGOs daily claims that he was coming the following day, he never came. For two weeks I waited patiently, constantly reminding my NGO about the problem. During this time I was forced to go to my downstairs neighbor with buckets to fill so I could flush my toilet and clean my dishes. After those two weeks I left for a five day camp in the north only to return and find that still no progress had been made on the water problem.

At that point my water had been turned off for over a month and I could see no reason that the water master had not come. So I handled it in the most passive aggressive (and the most effective) method I knew of. I threatened to call the water master myself! The same method worked out months earlier when I told my NGO that I was going to start knocking on doors to find an apartment to live in! I guess they figured that it wasn’t that big of a deal till I threatened to take care of it myself.

The following Saturday morning, the 4th of July, a woman from my office shows up at my door with a man in tow. They spend about twenty minutes poking around my bathroom and then report to me that he will go to the bazaar, buy all the supplies he will need and return within the hour. Despite my hesitation, my coworker paid him the expenses and left, that had me worried immediately but I figured it wasn’t my money so it wasn’t my place to say how he should be paid. That same day some volunteers were throwing a 4th of July party in a neighboring village, I was still hoping that I would have time to swing by the party.

So for the next three hours I got lost in a book, when I finally pulled myself to reality and realized just how long it had been I got on the phone with my office inquiring on the water master’s where-a-bouts. They seemed just as confused at his delayed return and called him immediately, when they called me back they told me he was on his way and would be there in 15 minutes. Another hour passed. During that hour, I went from impatient to pissed to FURIOUS. Initially I was annoyed because it became clear that I would miss the party but as I dwelled on his absence it the anger outgrew the offence. It was about follow through, being honest, basic respect, and a sense of courtesy. I was turning red as I redialed my office to, once again, ask for his where-a-bouts.

While I was on the phone there was a knock on the door. I opened the door to him and his assistant and was greeted by a faint smell of vodka. I went into interrogation mode. I ask what had taken so long, where he had been, why he smelled like vodka and ended the conversation by instructing him to work fast and to stop wasting my time. Now on a regular day I go out of my way to be a nice, accommodating person but I had been pushed over the edge, I was RUDE to that jerk, water master.

Once again I settled down to read and once again I got lost in my book. After two hours had passed I started to notice the assistant packing up his bags so I got up and asked him if they had finished. Right then the water master stumbled back into my apartment, whatever doubt I had that they hadn’t been drunk before vanished.

I could feel my whole body filling with red, hot anger. I wanted to spit in his drunk face, I wanted to throw his bags out the window, I wanted to punch him- don't worry Mom, all I did was stand there and glare at him. It took me a moment to snap out of the trance and ask him if they had finished. It was hard enough to understand his slurred Russian but it became impossible to understand him as he would unconsciously slip back into Kyrgyz. Through gritted teeth, I would remind him to speak in Russian but within half a sentence he would switch back into Kyrgyz. As I watched him stumble around my bathroom I reminded him for the third time that I don’t speak Kyrgyz but this time I lost it! I was screaming in Russian, cursing in English and shoving him out the door.

As I slammed the door in his drunk face I looked around at my apartment to see piles of pluming that they neglected to bring down and rubble all over my floor, all I could do was cry at that point. I cried and cried and cried. Eventually my coworker swung back by the apartment to see what progress was made and found me red-faced and teary-eyed. As I explained to her why I was having a break down I realized that it had been a year to the day since I had last seen my mom, dad and sister. It had all been too much for one day. She promised to take care of everything the next day and that I just needed to rest.

The following morning she came back with the water master- I could tell by his face I had scared the shit out of him by my little tantrum from the day before. My coworker sat with me while we waited for him to finish, naturally it took one more visit before I had water again. Unfortunatly my toilet still runs, my water heater doesn't work and I have no shower but I have decided to live with the inconviences before I spend another day with the Water Master.



This is all the rotting pipes from soviet times that they pulled out of my wall and left in my apartment for me to clean up. Its still sitting just outside my door!

K17 Pre-Service Training (PST)

PST lasted a total of eleven weeks which had been divided into three training groups, I worked the final three and a half weeks with three other volunteers from across the country. During our time there we were responsible for giving trainings, assisting their group with their practicum, general Q &A, and wrapping up training so the new group could be sworn in as volunteers.

Unlike my work in Jalal Abad, my time was very structure during those three weeks. I started at 8 am Monday through Friday and finished at 5 pm. I had deadlines to be met and paper work to be filled out on a daily basis. By no means was this a bad thing, I really enjoyed the structure in my life! Another bonus was that everyone spoke English. I was amazed at how efficiently I was able to work when I understood and could be understood!

On the weekends I had time to see friends from the Chui region who I rarely got to see during the year because of the distance between the north and the south. Its funny, when you look on the map Kyrgyzstan in no larger than the state of Virginia but because of the massive mountain ranges running through the country it takes approximately 20 hours to travel from one side of the country to the other.

These mountain ranges also hinder the sharing of the northern and southern Kyrgyz cultures so over time two very distinct lifestyles have developed. The three major differences I notice are the food, language and dress. All of these factors are very much influenced by the surrounding countries. The food, for example, in the south has a much heavier Uzbek influence which means more spices and flavorful food, plus due to the fact that we are on the edge of the Fergana valley, we have more access to the fresh fruits and vegetables that do not grow in the north. The language in the south is also heavily influenced by the Uzbeks and is spoken much slower, while the predominant language in the north is Russian. In fact many of the Kyrgyz speakers struggle in the Bishkek metropolitan because Kyrgyz is the second language to most families. Finally the dress, this was by far the most shocking difference for me. In Jalal Abad I regularly see women in burkas, head covering and minimal amount of skin being shown. The men wear more traditional clothing and particularly in the summer you see men walking around with Kalpaks, a traditional hat of Kyrgyzstan. Upon arrival in Bishkek the first thing I noticed was women wearing tank tops, shorts and more western style clothing and the absence of traditional Kyrgyz clothing. I can only imagine the shock I will have the first time I go to an American bar!

All in all the three weeks of training was good; I met a lot of cool K17s, I saw old friends, I learned more about the Peace Corps administration and the people in it, and I got lots of shopping done but I was ready to return to Jalal Abad!

Getting to PST

Last March a new group of Peace Corps volunteers came to Kyrgyzstan, like my group, they spent the first three months of their service studying the language, culture and programs. For their last few weeks of PST (Pre-Service Training) I was brought up to their training site as a trainer for the SOCD group (Sustainable Organization and Community Development.) My role was to share my experiences as a volunteer in Kyrgyzstan, answer their questions and present sessions on culture and business.

Seeing as I had never left Jalal Abad for longer than a week, my director thought it fit to invite me my co-workers over for dinner the night before I left and to send me off in a proper Kyrgyz manner. The evening started out wonderfully, we sat outside on a topchan (an elevated platform with cushions and a small table where people eat) chatting about our families and work. Eventually dinner time came around and as the food was placed on the table, the glasses were filled with vodka. Throughout the meal we went around toasting to one another, to life, to family, to health, to happiness, to Kyrgyzstan, to America and to the world.

I was having a blast! That is until I went to the bathroom and my phone fell down the toilet. Now this is no western style toilet where your phone just plops into a bowl of water, no this is an outhouse where your phone falls down a deep, dark hole and sinks into years worth of shit. There was no way in hell I was getting that phone or SIM card back (although I have known more than one volunteer who has…) But this occurred late enough in the evening that I didn’t really care all that much and returned to the table unfazed to continue toasting with my co-workers.
I wake up the next morning at home with a splitting headache, a revolting taste in my mouth and the horrifying realization that I had to buy a phone, pack for three weeks of training and get to the airport all within the next three hours. That was a very painful morning.

Waiting for me at the airport was the new group of volunteers who had just spent a week visiting their new site, I did my best to hide my excruciating hang over, but several volunteers commented on the lack of color in my face. As I recounted the events of the previous evening, I reminded them all that this was the perfect example of how Kyrgyz parties got out of hand very quickly. I hadn’t even gotten on the plane and I was already showing them the ropes!
After check in, as we are waiting for the one and only flight out of Jalal Abad that week, an air traffic controller comes into the sitting area alerting all passengers that not only was the flight delayed but we were going to have to make a quick stop in Batkent (a restricted area where Americans are prohibited to go for safety reasons.) Seeing as I thought the Peace Corps security officer should know that we were going to the one prohibited place in Kyrgyzstan, I immediately started fumbling through my bags to find her phone number- which had been programmed into my phone that currently sat at the bottom of five feet of crap. I thought my head was going to explode.

Once the security officer cleared the situation we all boarded the plane for Batkent/Bishkek. At this point I am still in a very fragile state so when the turbulence began shaking the plane and the lady next to me started puking, it was really just a matter of seconds before I started puking as well. When we finally landed and got off the plane, I immediately noticed it was about 15 °F cooler in Bishkek that it had been in Jalal Abad, I was freezing in my sundress. After almost 2 hours of riding in marshrutkas from the airport to the training village, I finally arrived in the apartment where I would be staying for the next few weeks. After a bowl of spaghetti it was just a matter of minutes before I called it a night and crawled into bed.

Back in Jalal Abad

After a long summer of working around Kyrgyzstan I am finally getting back into the grove of life in Jalal Abad. Coincidently, I am just in time for my one year anniversary as a Peace Corps volunteer! Naturally at this point in my service I have started to reflect on all the things I have accomplished, what I have learned and what I want to come out of the second half of my service.

In a nut shell, I have learned that things never happen on time, to always have a backup plan, to not count on electricity and to carry hand sanitizer and toilet paper in your purse at ALL times!

In regards to my accomplishments at my NGO, I have found a nitch in the youth development area where I am working with local high school and university students. Although not the path I had anticipated, it has turned out beautifully as I have come to find the younger generation is comprised of the most optimistic, curious and inspiring people in the country. With my place at the NGO developed, this next year I will strive for larger trainings, bigger camps, at least one seminar and multiple learning activities for students of all ages.

For the next couple of blog entries I will be catching up on all the activities of the summer. Thank you for your patients as I have been absent for such a long period of time.

The Sacrifice

Currently I host three English clubs a week; Monday, Wednesday and Thursday. Last Monday the English club subject was the different holidays celebrated in Kyrgyzstan, this includes Christian holidays, Muslim holidays and non-religious holidays. Over the last nine months I have come to discover that the Kyrgyz love to celebrate and they will beg, borrow and steal holidays from other cultures just to have a good time! They even celebrated April fool’s day this month!!! Included in this hodgepodge of Kyrgyz holidays are some shamanistic celebrations.

Since I have been in Jalal Abad, I have witnessed many forms of a shamanistic lifestyle including fortune telling, superstitions and even sacrifices! I’ve only seen a sacrifice once, and it just happened to be right outside my kitchen window! The day I witnessed the sacrifice was a quiet Sunday afternoon, I was cleaning up the kitchen after several volunteers had left and I happened to glance out the window. Right at that moment two men, who were standing right outside my window, slit the throat of a tied-up goat! Believe me that was the very last thing I was expecting to see! I had never seen an animal killed before, given that whenever my former host family was killing an animal I made a point of being on the opposite side of the city!

The killing of the animal and the cleaning its carcass was actually very fast! There were four people working on the one animal; two women and two men. As soon as all the blood was drained into a large basin, the carcass was hung from its ankles and skinned. The intestines and stomach were the first things removed. They were handed over to the two women who immediately started rinsing out all the undigested and half digested food. Typical, the women were left cleaning up the shit! ; )

Anyway, as the women were running water and cleaning out the guts, the two men were standing over the carcass, which is still hanging from a nearby tree, and cutting the flesh off of the animal. As they cut off a piece of meat they would throw it into a kazan, a huge pot, where they would cook the meat and make besh barmak- directly translated besh barmak means Five Fingers. This is a traditional Kyrgyz dish which consists of noodles and meat which you eat with your hands, thus its name.

That afternoon I stood at my kitchen window for over 20 minutes and just watched this family strip this animal until it was nothing but bare bones. It was so methodical, I just couldn’t pull my eyes away. They must have thought I was a complete nut!!! As soon as the process was done, I went along my way- not quite as merrily as I had been prior to the killing but none the less I went about my day. For the rest of the evening I assumed that my neighbors had just wanted some fresh meat and so killed their own sheep but was corrected the next day by another neighbor who informed me that it was actually a sacrifice to god. That was fun to get across as sacrifice and ritual are not a part of my daily language.

So with the chosen topic as Kyrgyz holidays this week, I tried to ask the students if there were any shamanistic holidays which they celebrated, all I got was blank looks. I guess shamanism is slightly above their English ability, I know that it is several leagues beyond my Russian level!!!