Interupted Service

My 27 months in Kyrgyzstan, ended after 22 months. On May 8th I left Kyrgyzstan with one way ticket in hand. A few weeks prior to that day, Peace Corps had issued me an "Interupted Service". Interupted Service means that due to circumstances out of the volunteers control, they can no longer serve in their assigned country. Let me explain the details of my Interupted Service.

On April 7th political riots broke out all over Kyrgyzstan and the president was overthrown. The following day Peace Corps flew all the volunteers from the southern part of the country to a safe location just outside of the capital. We waited there for 3 weeks not knowing if we were to go back to our sites, move to a different part of Kyrgyzstan or if we were going to be sent home. I'm still not allowed to publish my whereabouts during that time, but shoot me an email and I'll tell you all about it and all the trouble I got into there! : )

Eventually Peace Corps Headquarters decided to keep the country open but volunteers from my group who were living in Jalal Abad and Talas were to return home. A total of 10 of us were told to leave, five more took the optional Interupted Service.

Upon recieving the news, I was heartbroken. When I left I had two fully funded projects for that summer and I was mid-training in two different seminars. I was not allowed to return to collect my things or say goodbye to the friends that I had made over the course of the two years.

On May 8th, at 5 am I flew out of Bishkek. I extended my layover in Turkey once again and spend 10 days exploring Istanbul and the Aegean coast with my mother.

After an amazing time seeing ruins, laying on the beach and recouperating, I landed in Houston and will be staying with my parents while I look for a job in the financial industry.

Please feel free to contact me at MarthaGeneva@gmail.com. I would love to answer any questions about my experience in Kyrgyzstan or my plans for the future. Good luck to you all and thank you for following this blog

Women's Day

Last year I spent the Women’s Day educating people on the history and significance of Women’s Day with my NGO. This year the same group changed melody and hosted a private party at a local restaurant with everyone from the organization and several individuals with whom they work with. When I received my invitation I accepted under the conditions that I could bake a cake as the evening’s desert and I could bring a friend. These may seem like strange requests but both are crucial to my survival of any Kyrgyz celebration. The reason why I insisted on baking a cake is that nobody here makes deserts but instead they buy a cake from the bazaar. These cakes make Wal-Mart’s sheet cakes taste like a gourmet desert! The second request was made because I knew that vodka and cognac would be flowing and having somebody there with you is never a bad idea.

So with Peter, a volunteer who lives about 6 hours away from Jalal Abad, I showed up with a chocolate cake and half a dozen roses for all the women who would be there. Upon sitting down I was poured a shot of vodka and encouraged to eat some of the many salads placed in front of me. The night began formally with introductions and small talk but as people became more liquored up, the night became more interesting.

The pentacle of the evening was when we started playing games. Over the course of the evening we played four games, the first one was a relay race and went something like this. Two groups of four lined up on either sides of a hall way in front of a table with two settings of a flask of vodka, a shot glass and a salad. The first person of each team ran up to the table and opened the bottle and then ran to the back of their line, the next person ran up and poured the vodka into the shot glass and they ran to the back of the line, then the third person ran up and took the shot, then the fourth person ran up and took a forkful of salad and the cycle start all over again until the bottle of vodka was gone. It really set the mood for the evening.

The second game we played was when things started to get a bit racy. This game required six volunteers; three of the men and three women. The men were told to sit down and were give a piece of A4 piece of paper that they were to hold on their laps. Next the women were told to each sit in one man’s lap and tear the paper…not using their hands…there was a lot of wiggling and squirming in laps. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing!

In the third game we were all instructed to write down a line from 5 different songs, then a scenario was read out and we were to answer with our lyrics. For example one of the scenarios was “How would you describe your wedding night?” my corresponding lyric was “I get by with a little help from my friends…” Unfortunately because most of the guests were quoting Kyrgyz songs I couldn’t understand most of the jokes but apparently some people had an absolutely hilarious taste in music.

The last game that my counterpart directed was with only two players. Each person was given a spoon that was attached to their waist by a piece of string and dangled down between their calves. Then a ball was placed at their feet which they had to move to the other side of the room by hitting the ball with their spoons. The main technique used was hip thrusting!

The rest of the night was filled with dancing, toasting and eating. It will probably be the wildest women’s day I have for the rest of my life!

Protesting the Protest

Earlier this month my counterpart turns to me and tells me that the following Friday I must turn off my phone for an entire day in protest of rising prises for calling units. I resisted the urge to say, "you're kidding me, of all the problems that people face here, Kyrgyzstan is protesting the rise in price for talking on their cell phones?"

I wanted to ask her why they didn't protest last fall when all of southern Kyrgyzstan was without gas, which I would like to add is our main heat source for cooking, for a month because the gas company had fallen US$2m behind in their gas payments to Uzbekistan?

Or what about the fact that on January 1st this year, the coldest time of year, the electricity prices DOUBLED. And still we have regular power outages and electricity cuts from midnight to dawn every day?

Or what about the time honored tradition of bridekidnapping?

But I resisted and I guess at the end of the day its easier to protest a rise in cell phone prices than it is to fight such over whelming battles against machines that don't want to change. That Friday I tried calling my counterpart, just to see if she was really protesting...she picked up.

The Banya

Having whined profusely about the winter in my last blog I would like tell you my favorite part of winter; the banya. The banya is a building where people bathe. Volunteers and I have also adapted this noun into a verb. For example; I banya-ed today. This is a much used word in my vocabulary.

If you recollect, in my last blog I mentioned that I had to bundle up just to go to the bathroom so bathing isn’t really an option in my apartment. But one still has to bathe so I go to banya once a week. There are two grades of banya; public and private.

The public banyas cost about $1 for an hour. The process is a simple one, what you do is you gather up all your supplies (i.e. shampoo, soap, razors, flip flops, ect.,) go to the banya, change and then go into a giant room where you grab a bucket, wait in line with other naked women to fill your bucket up and then you find a spot along the wall and start bucket bathing. The first time at the banya was intimidating to say the least, but I have come to love those steamy rooms! I usually go with other volunteers and we make a day of banya-ing and a girls day out. Its better than a day at a spa!

Then there are the private banyas, these can range in price any where between $2 and $20. The nicest banya I have ever been in was with my NGO. This place was amazing! The first room you enter is the place where you change, I remember meeting my NGO there for the first time and thinking “well I’ll probably never do this with my in co-workers in the states!” The changing rooms led into two rooms, one a dining room where there was fried rice, chicken and vodka waiting to be eaten, and the second room the shower room where my entire NGO was standing completely naked. On my first banya with my NGO, I remember meeting this scene with hesitation but I quickly realized that I really didn’t have any other choice but to drop my towel and join the party!

Once I walked into the bathing room, I saw there was a forth room which was like a sauna. One thing that I hadn’t mentioned was by the time I arrived at the banya my co-workers had already been there for about 4 hours. They had made a whole afternoon of it, I’ve never been able to last more than an hour in a banya! After I got over my initial shock and started to relax, I got all uncomfortable again because my director offered to scub the dead skin off my back with her loofa… there is nothing that can prepare somebody for that!

After that point, the evening became a whole lot easier and I even managed to have fun. That night I was dropped off at home with a tummy full of fried rice, very clean and a different view of my NGO.

Its cold over here!

Despite the seemingly warm weather during the end of January and beginning of February, Jack Frost has returned to Kyrgyzstan and for the last two weeks we have had regular snow storms and lots of cold weather. The freshly fallen snow was beautiful but with every snowflake that fell all I was reminded of the frozen hell that was to follow.

Unlike in America, buildings here are not heated and streets are not cleared of snow and ice. This makes leaving my warm bed very, very hard. The only source of heat I have in my apartment is an electric heater which keeps my bedroom warm but leaves the rest of my apartment so cold that I have to bundle up just to go to the bathroom. I can even see my breath while I cook! The other day I woke up and went into the kitchen to make coffee and when I went to look out the window I couldn’t see anything because my window was covered in a sheet of ice…on this inside!

In spite of these discomforts, I am one of the luckier volunteers in Kyrgyzstan for two reasons; first is that I live in Jalal Abad which is the warmest place in Kyrgyzstan. We don’t see our first snow till December and spring sets in during the beginning of March. People who live in Naryn, the most mountainous and coldest part of the country, start seeing snow in October and don’t see spring till late April.

The second reason that I consider my situation significantly better than most people is that my office is heated. Many volunteers still have not returned to work since the winter break because their schools or offices are so cold that their sites have been closed till it starts warming up. I went by my site mate’s office the other day and the entire time I was there I wore my jacket and could see my breath. Props to him, if it were me I don’t know if I could find the motivation to go to work under those conditions.

Even with these luxuries I will still complain! For me, the worst part of winter is after the snow when everything turns to ice. The sidewalks become runways of death and the bazaar is a frozen hell! In addition to the fact that about the only thing you can find in the bazaar is carrots, cabbage and onion, shopping in the bazaar is awful because you still have all the pushing and hassling of the bazaar but its on ice. Knock on wood I haven’t fallen this year, but last year I fell and walked out of the bazaar with a cold, wet butt and mad as hell!

Right now, everyone is cranky because of the weather but everyday I remind myself that we are a little bit closer to my favorite season in Kyrgyzstan; spring.

P.S. As of today I have exactly six months till I C.O.S. (Close of Service) and leave Kyrgyzstan.

Transit Trip through Turkey *Pics added*

Istanbul is a very common transit station for flights coming from the West to Central Asia, the first time I traveled to Kyrgyzstan I waited impatiently at the airport for 9 hours between flights. This last time I took advantage of my layover by extending it by 4 and half days so I could see Istanbul’s notorious sites, get my fill of seafood and temperate weather before I returned to Kyrgyzstan for my last 8 months of service.

Prior to this trip, September had brought a change of events that allowed my dad to accompany me during my stay in Istanbul. Initially I was excited to experience Istanbul with him but it wasn’t until the plane left American tarmac that I realized just how much I needed him next to me. I hadn’t been ready to leave my family or friends to return to Kyrgyzstan and having him there for the long flight back and those few days before I returned to Kyrgyzstan made the journey significantly less painful.

Upon arriving in Istanbul, the first thing we did was drop our luggage off and have lunch. While walking through Old Town looking for a place to eat I distinctly heard someone scream “Martha!” When I turned around a saw three Peace Corps Volunteers who were also on their way back to Kyrgyzstan and had taken advantage of their 9 hour layover and gone into the city for a bite to eat and a quick tour of the Blue Mosque. Upon seeing them there were a flurry of words about America, Kyrgyzstan, New Years, Christmas, and the ending of service. Eventually I excused myself and Dad and I continued our search for food. Not long after we found a small café on one of the main streets and had freshly squeezed orange and pomegranate juice, Turkish coffee and crepes.

That first day all we saw was the grand bazaar. We had not even walked through the entrance gates before we were caught completely off guard and dragged into a carpet shop where we were served hot apple tea and the shop owner shared the history of carpet making in Turkey and showed us carpet after carpet. Let me tell you, if I had the money he could have sold me ten carpets within the first 8 minutes! They were beautiful, but as I am a Peace Corps volunteer and my dad is not in the market for a carpet, he dragged me out of there before the shop owner could show us the other half of his stock.

Once we were in the bazaar we were approached by carpet salesman after carpet salesman. Each one had a different phrase to catch our attention, it varied from; “Let me help you spend your money,” to “You walk like you want to buy a carpet.” It was amazing; they all spoke excellent English, had at least one relative and one friend somewhere in America and they all had a carpet specifically for you! Between beating down salesmen and fighting our jetlag, the two of us lasted all of two hours in the bazaar before we retired back to the hotel.

The next day, much refreshed from a good night sleep, we started our day with a lovely cappuccino and headed to Hagia Sophia. The entire time I was guided by my dad who read aloud from our guide book, Istanbul by Rick Steves. I highly recommend his travel series as it is very thorough and filled with fun facts like Paris’ Notre Dame could fit inside of the Hagia Sophia and the statue of liberty could do jumping jacks within the walls of the Hagia Sophia….graphically described, Rick. We filled the rest of our day with the underground cisterns, the Blue Mosque and a dinner at a lovely little seafood restaurant which we only discovered by getting lost while in search of the Spice Market.

The next day we continued our newly developed routine of waking up a late, enjoying a leisurely cappuccino (or two) and eventually site seeing. The first item on our agenda was the Topkapi Palace. In addition to the beautiful architecture and well manicured courtyards there was a huge collection of precious jewels, emperor’s clothing and ancient artifacts including the Islamic prophet, Muhammad’s footprint, a couple of his beard hairs and the hand and forearm of St. Peter in a gold cast. While looking at these artifacts there was a imam (Islamic priest) singing excerpts from the Qur’an giving the gallery a very eerie atmosphere. As I walked amongst the collection I continuously peered around corners looking for Indiana Jones!

That day, two of my best friends in Peace Corps, Fritz and Ginger, were meeting their children in Istanbul for a family vacation. When we realized that they would be in Turkey the same time my dad and I would be we decided to spend the day together. So the following day, my dad and I trekked over to their hotel and I had an opportunity to meet their children who i had heard so much about and my dad had the opportunity to meet them. After breakfast we took a cruise along the Bosporus River all the way to the Black Sea. The cruise took all day so after we got off the boat, I had to go back to the hotel to pack for my return to Kyrgyzstan.

Saying goodbye to my dad was really hard but once I got to the airport I had calmed down and bumped into another Peace Corps volunteer going back to Kyrgyzstan on the same flight. Having that time in Istanbul with my dad made that last flight into Kyrgyzstan infinitely easier, now I'm hoping on my way back to the states, I can meet my mother there and see the rest of Turkey!

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!!!

I've been evicted

I used to assume only junkies, frat boys and the broke were evicted from their homes. But this week that stereotype was shattered when I became an evictee.

Last Sunday evening I was walking up to my apartment building when my landlady called me over with concern in her voice. After inquiring how my family was, she began to tell me that the owners of my apartment were returning to Kyrgyzstan. She explained to me that after almost three months in Russia they had been unable to find work because of this global crisis and were financially forced to come back to Jalal Abad. They would be arriving the next day and wanted their apartment back. At this last statement my jaw dropped. Finding a furnished apartment in Jalal Abad within the price range that Peace Corps had allocated was difficult and with the time crunch I didn’t know what I was going to do. Images of sleeping on my suit cases in other volunteer’s homes or me curled up on my office floor started running through my mind. My landlady must have seen the alarm in my face because she immediately started telling me that she has started asking her friends if they knew of any apartments and that all would be fine!

Since there is no Craig’s List to go look up apartments online in Jalal Abad the only thing I could do was call the other city volunteers and my NGO to let them know that starting the next day I would need their help to find a new apartment. From Monday through Wednesday, I got in touch with everyone I knew, went to real estate agents- who were located in stalls in the bazaar- and prayed for just one more day before the family began banging on my door and kicked me out.

On Thursday morning my landlady told me the family didn’t want to stay with the father’s family any longer and wanted to move in that day. At that moment, all the sympathy I had for the unemployed family disappeared. I told my landlady to tell them moving out wasn’t possible, I hadn’t started packing and I had nowhere to go; I needed one more day.

As I walked out of my apartment, I felt the week’s exhaustion hit me right in the face. I had finally found two apartments to look at and now I would be forced to take one of them. The first apartment I saw was over my price range by 1000 som (that’s a lot of money for a volunteer) and the second apartment was in my range but the only furniture in it was an old sofa that reeked of mildew!

That evening, as I was walking home to call my site mates and ask if I could sleep on their couch, I ran into my landlady once again. She looked about as tired as I did, seeing as we had both been looking for apartments for three straight days. She told me she knew of one last apartment and we could look at it in 20 minutes. Two hours later, she called me and told me we could finally see it. Conveniently, the apartment was just across the street, so the two of us walked over in our slippers to find a fully furnished apartment within my price range!

We walked back to the apartment relieve to have finally found an apartment and then said goodnight. But right as I had sat down and taken my shoes off, my landlady started knocking on the door again. Now she didn’t look so relieved, rather she looked quite mad! She told me she would help me start packing because the family was coming that night. With both of us mad as hell, we took a shot of rum and started throwing things into suitcases. She called a neighbor’s son to help me carry things across the street as she continued to pack up all my things. Over the course of the move I taught my two helpers a commonly used English phrase; “This is bullshit!” Believe me, I gave them plenty of examples to incorporate it into conversation!

Until ten o’clock at night this poor boy and I lugged bags from one apartment to the other, dumped out the suitcases and went back to the apartment for another load. The entire time I was moving, I kept going over in my head all the things I would say to this owner if I saw her. I wanted to ask her why she didn’t call me two weeks ago, I wanted to tell her how inconsiderate she was, and as I prepared the last suitcase I saw her pull up in her SUV! At that point I was so tired, all I could manage to say was that it had been a terrible week. With that said, I said goodnight and went home.

Ode to Volunteers

My Peace Corps service thus far has been an excellent one; I am working at an amazing NGO, I live in a city that fits me to a tee and I have a cute little apartment to go home to every night. But for me, the element that has comforted me in the most difficult of times, has inspired me to work harder at my job and has taught me about life as a volunteer is the Peace Corps Volunteer community.

Unfortunately, this Friday four of my fellow volunteers were asked to leave the country. Not only have these four people helped shape my experience in Kyrgyzstan but they were also excellent volunteers who contributed greatly to their sites and their community.

Each of them brought something special to this country but the only one that I was able to visit at site was Joe. Although I know Kelly, James and Alex are being missed by their communities, I got to see, first-hand, how large of a presence Joe had at his site. Just two weeks ago, when I finally made the journey up to Toktogul to see him, it was made obvious immediatly that he was adored in that town. While hosting a tour of his site for Ian and I, he was greeted by almost everyone we passed. When we arrived at his house and walked into his room, we were welcomed by a giant American flag, posters of JFK, Frank Sinatra, Obama and pictures of his family posted all over his wall. I remember think that a walk through Joe’s room was probably the best reflection of America one could find in Kyrgyzstan!

Unfortunaly, despite all the work that Joe and the other three volunteers did in their nine months of service, they were still asked to leave. So with their absence constantly in the back of my mind, I have had to keep reminding myself that as one door closes, another one opens. Hopefully for the four volunteers, once back at home, they will find their stride and land on their feet. And as for me and Kyrgyzstan, this week our K17 group is arriving. Who knows what they bring with them, but for now, all I know is that our volunteer community will be expanding greatly!

Nooruz

Last Saturday, the spring equinox, all of Central Asia celebrated Nooruz. English club students had talked about this holiday all year, families had been preparing for this day all month and while all this was taking place, I had been trying to figure out what the hell this day is about. Every time I inquired, I received a different answer; some would say it is a Muslim holiday, others would tell me it is a Central Asian holiday and many didn’t even know what the holiday was about!
Eventually I gave up on asking people and researched the holiday myself. From what I have read, Nooruz is an ancient holiday that dates back to Zoroastrian traditions and is celebrated all over Central Asia. Over time it has been adopted into shamanistic practices and the Islamic religion to celebrate the coming of spring. During the Soviet period not only was the holiday discouraged but at one point it was officially banned. But now the Kyrgyz celebrate the holiday proudly with family and friends over pots of samolok at home or at games of Ulak tartysh.

For the evening of Nooruz I was in Osh with Ian. Tired from a day of walking around the city, we were hesitant when his former host family called us to join them for a Nooruz celebration at the last minute. But curiosity and love for his family dragged us off the couch and to his family’s house. As we walked through the gates we were greeted by a host of children and his family who led us to a huge pot of boiling goo called Samolok. It is made up of five ingredients; wheat, flour, water, oil and rocks!

Yeah, that’s right rocks! According to the legend, once upon time in the land of Kyrgyzstan a poor mother was desperate to feed her children a special dish for the holiday but all she had was water and stones. So that night she boiled the stones in water and the next morning she woke to a pot of sweet soup, Samolok.

Since then a few ingredients have been added to the recipe but the tradition has held and every year the rock soup is made. This year, Ian and I were invited to stir the samolok. I really appreciated being included, plus as you stir you get to make a wish! Because the samolok is suppose to cook all night long and we were not able to spend the night we were given a spoonful that evening. It had a sweet but subtle taste to it, not something I could eat a whole bowl of but it was an enjoyable spoonful!

Next year I’m hoping that I’ll have the opportunity to watch a game of Ulak tartysh, a competition played throughout Central Asia. The game originated long ago when shepherds would be watching their herd on horseback and would defend their livestock from wolves. Now instead of knocking out a wolf, a group of men will get together and attempt to throw a headless goat carcass into a goal. I can only hope that during my time in Kyrgyzstan I will have an opportunity to watch this game.

The Never Ending Journey *Pics added

So last Sunday and Monday, rather than celebrating Women’s Day, I was attempting to make it to Bishkek for the K16s ‘Project Design and Management’ Training. All of the Jalal Abad volunteers and I decided that we would drive up to Bishkek since everyone has said the drive through the Tien Shan Mountains is so beautiful. Plus, we wanted to save a little extra money!

The conference started on Tuesday, but Ian and I wanted to begin our trip a few days early so we could stop about half way to see Joe, our friend and fellow volunteer who lives in Toktogul. So early that morning we went to the bus station to catch a cab to Toktogul. This turned out to be a little bit more complicated than expected seeing as Toktogul is a small town about four hours away, not exactly the most traveled to spot. Eventually we worked out a deal with a driver who said he would drive us halfway to Toktogul and then arrange for another taxi to take us the rest of the way. As promised, our driver lined up the taxi that would take us to Toktogul. Unfortunately it was an empty taxi and because we did not want to buy out the other two seats in the taxi, we had to wait for it to fill up with passengers who were also on their way to Toktogul. After waiting for over an hour without any luck of finding additional passengers, a huge tour bus stopped at the bus station and we were able to work out a deal with them. It turned out that this was a lucky turn of events seeing as the bus was pretty empty so we got to stretch out and -the best part of all- we got to watch some Thai fighting movie dubbed in Russian on a small TV at the front of the bus!!! I really had no interest in the movie so I stared out the window the entire time snapping pictures of the amazing scenery. The drive was really beautiful, for a large portion of the trip we were driving along the Naryn River which is a brilliant blue and amongst some of the most intimidating mountains I have ever seen.

Even though we ended up getting stuck at the half way point for about two hours, we managed to get to Toktogul by mid-afternoon. Once in Toktogul, Joe gave us a tour of the town’s bazaar, park, the school he works at and the stadium. It’s a beautiful town that is completely surrounded by mountains and is on the edge of the country’s largest reservoir which feeds a hydroelectric plant that produces a large amounts of energy for Central Asia. That evening we had dinner with Joe’s host family where we learned from his host father that earlier in the day there had been a huge avalanche that was blocking the road to Bishkek. At that point there wasn’t anything we could do but hope it magically cleared up by morning. It didn’t.

The next morning Peace Corps instructed us to turn around and go back down to Osh where we could buy a plane ticket to Bishkek. Unfortunately we were not the only ones who were trying to get to Bishkek so by the time we were back in Jalal Abad all the tickets had been sold out until Thursday. We were all trapped in the south! But because we are all health wardens and had additional trainings on Friday, we were instructed to buy a plane ticket out of Osh and just get up there as soon as possible. Later we found out that Joe’s counterpart, who was also attending the training, out witted us all by taking a taxi to the avalanche, climbing over and catching a cab from the other side!!!

With nothing to do up wait for our flight we took advantage of our time and wandered around Osh city for the day. The weather was absolutely amazing, flowers were starting to bloom and the city was as beautiful as ever. On Thursday we finally made it to Bishkek and were able to attend one of the four days of training. By Sunday the avalanche had been cleared and I took a taxi back down to Jalal Abad. Unfortunately I slept most the way down and missed the remains of the avalanche; I was told it was pretty spectacular!

Women's Day

Two weeks following Men’s Day is Women’s Day. This holiday, much like Men’s day, has turned into a ‘hallmark holiday’ for Russia and its former Soviet Union. Originally founded to recognize the development of women’s rights and to encourage further achievement, Women’s day has turned into a national holiday where sons, husbands, brothers and boyfriends thank the women in their lives for all their hard work. Over decades of this flattery and gift giving, the holiday’s true meaning has been lost in the flurry of flowers and chocolate.

Between the two organizations that I have been working with, I have witnessed two very different viewpoints of this holiday; one being the progressive, feminist approach from my NGO in Jalal Abad and the other being the sweet, appreciative sentiments of our beauty and sweetness from the bank in Osh.

This topsy-turvy week began when my NGO hosted their Women’s Day event. This event was actually a dinner that took place about a week before the holiday in a restaurant in the center of the city which they had rented out. To create atmosphere; on one wall we created a photo gallery of active women in the community, on an adjacent wall we hung a giant poster stating “Женщины могут Всë,” (which directly translates to “Women can do all!”) and in the center we built a mini-theater where we were to present our event. To add to the excitement, my director invited several local government officials, community leaders and even the governor’s wife to watch this event. We began the dinner by introducing why Women’s day was founded and why we shouldn’t forget the historical significance of this day amongst the gift giving and celebration. From there starters were served and a video that portrayed the global progression of women’s rights and development of women’s right in Kyrgyzstan was shown. After the movie, some students came up and gave presentations on the history and relevance of women’s rights in Kyrgyzstan and as the evening began to wind down some guests started standing up and giving speeches, including two diplomats, a representative of the President’s party and the governor’s wife. The dinner went really well and after all the guests left and we had removed our decorations, we took the remaining party to the back of the restaurant where we shared a bottle of vodka and toasted to the success of the evening.

In a different city, at the end of the week, I celebrated Women’s Day over cakes, juice, and wine with the Microcredit Company. That afternoon, with the day’s work done, all the men gathered in the main office, gave toasts to “the most beautiful women in Osh” and handed out gifts. I received a pretty “yurt hat,” it’s called a yurt hat because it is a traditional piece of Kyrgyz headwear whose shape closely resembles that of a yurt. The full-time female employees of the office received a big gift basket with a set of towels, set of glasses and a juice pitcher.

This day definatly reminded me that I am a woman who was raised in an American culture. I have certain perspectives and ideas and many of them do not correspond with life in Kyrgyzstan, but as a volunteer I am learning where the fine line of sharing my opinions and accepting life as it is in Kyrgyzstan. Happy Women's Day to all, let us be thankful for all the progress towards human equality that we have made, and be aware of all the issues we still have to confront.

More pics!

I have finally had a chance to put up some more pictures. These are from Christmas 2008 to the winter camp in the beginning of February. And believe me it was a cold as it looked in these pictures, but thankfully things have really started to warm up! Enjoy!

Guesting

To Guest n. 1, To visit friends and family; a common Kyrgyz tradition that typically consists of hours of eating, drinking and gossiping.

Upon arriving in this country I was very quickly introduced to the practice of guesting. During PST, trainers warned us of this lengthy custom and by living with host families I became very familiar with the guesting experience! Not that it is a bad tradition, but for volunteers guesting is particularly difficult seeing as the primary activity is speaking in Russian or Kyrgyz, we are often forced to muddle our way through toasts and there is always the never relenting host who will continue to fill your plate with more food, pour more vodka, and pressure you to eat more after hours of consuming food and drink!

Initially I would tense up at even the thought of guesting but now I really appreciate the custom. In my past life, I was always so busy with school, work, going to the gym, and hanging out at restaurants and coffee houses that I would never invite people over to my house for a meal. Only with my closest friends would I go to their house for dinner and it very rarely would that last longer than two hours! But over the months of being in Kyrgyzstan, guesting seems to be one of the Kyrgyz traditions that I have truly embraced.

In the last two weeks I have hosted volunteers from all over the country, all the staff from my NGO and have been doing quite a bit of guesting myself! Most recently I had my NGO over, since I moved into my apartment I have been meaning to invite my office over for dinner for multiple reasons. In addition to offering a gesture of friendship and transparency, I wanted to thank them for finding my apartment and having been so supportive of me, for a little cultural exchange (American cuisine in a Kyrgyz setting) and finally to put their hearts to rest by proving to them that I am surviving quite well on my own. There is an assumption that, as an American, I am so depended on technology that I will surely starve without my microwave dinners, I will live in filth without Swifters and vacuum machines and my clothes will never be cleaned as I am unable to function without a washing machine. To be honest, initially their fears were not unjustified; but I have learned a lot since I have been here!

Last Monday after work, four of my co-workers and my director’s daughter came to my apartment. I had decided on spaghetti for dinner, it’s quick, easy and was a hit with my host families when I would cook for them. In my opinion dessert is a crucial part of every meal so the night before I baked a large chocolate cake with vanilla frosting. Right as I finished dinner my co-workers arrived with juice, a bottle of vodka and diet coke- they have seen me chugging diet coke more than once- what can I say, it’s a rare and joyous occasion when I find diet coke and can justify spending money on that sweet, sweet beverage!

The dinner went well, we all made toasts. Everyone seemed to enjoy the meal and took my leftovers home to share with their families. My director surprised me with a pair of earrings which the whole group had pitched in for! They had bought them for me last Christmas and had finally found an opportunity to give them to me. I was so flattered!

Nights like that one are one of the reasons that I truly love being a Peace Corps volunteer. Even though that evening was no school built or large community project, I was still filling my role as a volunteer by making friends and sharing cultures.