December 15, 2008
We just got back from our Mid-Service Training in Almaty, and while it was not strictly a vacation, it was a very worthwhile break. As was the case with IST it was just nice to hang out with the other volunteers and get some new ideas about classroom games and community projects. More importantly however, MST allowed me to compare general experiences with other volunteers. From my last couple of posts you may have noticed that I have been a bit frustrated with life here. Little things kept piling up and I just got angrier. This really bothered me because I genuinely like living here, and I considered myself open-minded and culturally sophisticated. Furthermore, while Kyzylorda is not gorgeous to be sure, it is a nice enough city, and I’ve got local friends and very supportive colleagues. Why then, did everything that I liked about those people for last year suddenly begin to drive me crazy? I think it was because somewhere along the line I forgot that just because I understand and respect a culture does not mean I have to like all of it. There are many things that I love about Kazakhstan, particularly the food, the close-knit family, and the bazaars. However, I do not have to like the fact that young men live with their parents well into their 20s and often cross the line between respectful sons and “mama’s boys,” or that it is perfectly ok to cheat on an exam. My mistake was to try to force myself to like everything about the country, even those things that were antithetical to my own upbringing and values. Since MST however, I have come to realize that I can be a lot more Zen about it. I will continue to respect Kazakhstan’s opinions about education and gender relations, but I do not have to give myself an ulcer trying to see those opinions as correct or equally valid. I guess what I am trying to say is that I have definitely given of hope fully integrating, but I am perfectly happy here going along with the idea of live and let live.
среда, 17 декабря 2008 г.
The Crazy Weather of Kazakhstan
December 3, 2008
I do not think that Al Gore has ever visited Kazakhstan, but in November we have had enough crazy weather to definitively prove his global warming thesis. I was struck at the intensity and implausibility of the weather witnessed. Furthermore, the speed at which the weather transitioned from one type to another was incredible, often taking only one day or even a couple of hours. The first week was five days of heavy, sometimes even torrential rain. This would be nothing unusual if Kyzylorda was not located in the desert/steppe of Kazakhstan, but I bet that we got our due of rain for an entire year. The following week brought a dense cold fog in the mornings that slowly disappeared in the mid to late afternoon. I figure that this could have been the result of the warm afternoon sun sucking water up off of the river that was then trapped near the earth as the temperature quickly dropped at sundown. The fog was so thick that I thought I was walking through a humidfier, and it was sometimes hard to breathe. In a city so flat that I can almost see my school from my apartment two miles away I could barely see five feet in front of me. Next came the Indian summer. When I went to work in the morning it had been in the high 30’s Farenhiet, but by the time I walked back to my house for lunch it had gotten up the high 50’s. As I mentioned before these weather patterns moved in with astounding speed, but the November heat week developed the fastest.. I have to admit that I was so caught off guard that I first thought I had caught a cold and had a fever. This “heat wave” has persisted even into the first week of December with no end in site. It looks like one of the coldest winters on record will be followed by one of the warmest.
I do not think that Al Gore has ever visited Kazakhstan, but in November we have had enough crazy weather to definitively prove his global warming thesis. I was struck at the intensity and implausibility of the weather witnessed. Furthermore, the speed at which the weather transitioned from one type to another was incredible, often taking only one day or even a couple of hours. The first week was five days of heavy, sometimes even torrential rain. This would be nothing unusual if Kyzylorda was not located in the desert/steppe of Kazakhstan, but I bet that we got our due of rain for an entire year. The following week brought a dense cold fog in the mornings that slowly disappeared in the mid to late afternoon. I figure that this could have been the result of the warm afternoon sun sucking water up off of the river that was then trapped near the earth as the temperature quickly dropped at sundown. The fog was so thick that I thought I was walking through a humidfier, and it was sometimes hard to breathe. In a city so flat that I can almost see my school from my apartment two miles away I could barely see five feet in front of me. Next came the Indian summer. When I went to work in the morning it had been in the high 30’s Farenhiet, but by the time I walked back to my house for lunch it had gotten up the high 50’s. As I mentioned before these weather patterns moved in with astounding speed, but the November heat week developed the fastest.. I have to admit that I was so caught off guard that I first thought I had caught a cold and had a fever. This “heat wave” has persisted even into the first week of December with no end in site. It looks like one of the coldest winters on record will be followed by one of the warmest.
пятница, 14 ноября 2008 г.
Not Broken But Certainly Cracked
November 13, 2008
Teaching here in Kazakhstan has been a very enriching experience, however as I said before it has not been without its problems. What bothers me the most is not the problems themselves, but that many of them seem so fixable. For example, the source of much of my classroom frustration can be directly traced to Kazakhstan’s educational system that forces university and college students to determine their profession/major before they have even taken their first class. I guess doing this makes sense from a bureaucratic standpoint, because it makes it easier to assign students into neat, manageable groups. From a teacher’s standpoint however, it is a ridiculous idea. In Kazakhstan students begin college when they are around fifteen or sixteen years old, right after the 9th grade, and most of these kids are not prepared to make that kind of irrevocable decision. Hell, I was not prepared to make that decision until I was twenty, and I am still second guessing my decision. If I had been stuck with my first choice of major I would be a miserable seminary student right now instead of a happy-go-lucky Peace Corps volunteer. Furthermore, the major written on your diploma carries much more weight in Kazakhstan than it does in the United States. For example, I have been here for a year, and I am still explaining that while yes, I did study art history at university, that does not necessarily make me an art historian.
When I discuss this with other teachers they say that its not that big a deal, if a student decides later that they do not want to be an English teacher or psychologist, they will just finish their college or university studies and then go to another University and study something else. This frustrates me to no end because not only is this a huge waste of the student’s time and money, but it is also a major waste of the teacher’s time. I cannot tell you how tired I am of teaching a class of thirty students where at least a third of them cannot speak any English and have not interest in learning it. They will never be teachers or translators, they just sit there doodling or text messaging their friends, waiting for the college to give them an unearned diploma and send them into the ranks of taxi drivers, waiters, and housewives. Most days I do really enjoy teaching, but having to stand in front of a class of thirty students when fifteen of them are totally apathetic is really depressing. I know that there are lazy students at American universities, but there are far fewer totally apathetic ones because they are able to wait and see what sort of subjects they are good at and interested in before making a decision.
According to my colleagues, Kazakhstan is planning a major educational system reform to be initiated in 2010. The plan would have students attend school for ten years followed by two years of general education at a college after which students will choose their professions in preparation for four years of university study. This is a good start, but only time can tell if it will mean smarter and happier students. Perhaps all this is partly nostalgia for the American Education system, but I still think that major changes need to take place if Kazakhstan is going to be a nation of successful fulfilled students; a nation ready to take its place among developed nations by 2030.суббота, 18 октября 2008 г.
Why Am I Here?
October 14, 2008
Lately, I have been asking myself “what am I doing here?” It is not that I am tired of living in Kazakhstan or that no longer enjoy what I am doing, it is just I have not been finding as much fulfillment regarding the reasons that I joined the Peace Corps in the first place. I joined the Peace Corps because I thought that I was providing the Peace Corps and Kazakhstan with important service, and would figure out who I am and what I want to do with my life at the same time. Unfortunately, I am beginning to realize that my presence is not really that necessary and I am more confused than ever as to my life’s vocation.
To be honest, Kazakhstan does not really need Peace Corps Volunteers. There are plenty of local English teachers, and most of them are quite skilled in both language and pedagogy. I may have a sunnier view of Kazakhstan’s education system because I work at a truly excellent college, but in general the local teachers do just fine. I know that as a Peace Corps volunteer and a native English speaker, I provide an important source of alternative and modern teaching methodologies, critical thinking, and English practice, but Kazakhstan’s education system will certainly not collapse without us. That said, both the people of Kazakhstan and Peace Corps volunteers get a lot out of our work together, and Peace Corps should remain present in Kazakhstan as long as possible. The fact remains however, that Kazakhstan will soon be developed to the point that we are no longer necessary, or more to the point, it is no longer financially feasible for the U.S. Government to support the program.
Furthermore, Peace Corps service has not yet been enlightening experience I expected it to be when I joined. I hoped that serving in the Peace Corps would provide me with some direction regarding my future profession or even just life in general, and while I have had a few personal and professional realizations, my future seems just as uncertain as it was before I came. I guess the problem is that I was expecting a burst of clarity, and instead have only been given a few cracks of blue in an otherwise very cloudy sky. For example, I have come to realize that while I enjoy some aspects of teaching, many others I do not. For example, I am not a huge fan of teaching new vocabulary words or giving grades, but I like leading my students in discussions or asking them questions that make there heads hurt. Thus, while perhaps teaching is not my ultimate vocation, if I could find another profession that involved asking people difficult questions that they did not want to answer and did not require living in a cardboard box or somewhere with ivy-adorned columns, it would be great. Still, as important as this little bit of self-awareness was, I am still totally undecided on a future graduate program or career path, and given that my service will be over in a little over a year, this is a worrisome problem. I cannot go back to Waco, TX with absolutely no idea what I want to do next.
Perhaps this sounds as if I have become disenchanted, but that is not the case. I do really like working as a volunteer, and believe it or not, most days I think that I make some kind of difference. I also enjoy living in Kazakhstan. The culture is very different to be sure, but I find it very interesting and attractive. At the same time there is much about my site, Kyzylorda, that reminds me of the city where I grew up. I think that it is this combination of the new and exciting with the familiar that has allowed me to achieve the self-awareness that I mentioned before. It is as if I am seeing my everyday life through a slightly tinted lens that allows me to recognize those things about myself that I was oblivious to before. So perhaps I know why I am here after all. I do not know if I will leave a lasting impression on Kazakhstan, but it is certainly leaving a lasting impression on me.
Lately, I have been asking myself “what am I doing here?” It is not that I am tired of living in Kazakhstan or that no longer enjoy what I am doing, it is just I have not been finding as much fulfillment regarding the reasons that I joined the Peace Corps in the first place. I joined the Peace Corps because I thought that I was providing the Peace Corps and Kazakhstan with important service, and would figure out who I am and what I want to do with my life at the same time. Unfortunately, I am beginning to realize that my presence is not really that necessary and I am more confused than ever as to my life’s vocation.
To be honest, Kazakhstan does not really need Peace Corps Volunteers. There are plenty of local English teachers, and most of them are quite skilled in both language and pedagogy. I may have a sunnier view of Kazakhstan’s education system because I work at a truly excellent college, but in general the local teachers do just fine. I know that as a Peace Corps volunteer and a native English speaker, I provide an important source of alternative and modern teaching methodologies, critical thinking, and English practice, but Kazakhstan’s education system will certainly not collapse without us. That said, both the people of Kazakhstan and Peace Corps volunteers get a lot out of our work together, and Peace Corps should remain present in Kazakhstan as long as possible. The fact remains however, that Kazakhstan will soon be developed to the point that we are no longer necessary, or more to the point, it is no longer financially feasible for the U.S. Government to support the program.
Furthermore, Peace Corps service has not yet been enlightening experience I expected it to be when I joined. I hoped that serving in the Peace Corps would provide me with some direction regarding my future profession or even just life in general, and while I have had a few personal and professional realizations, my future seems just as uncertain as it was before I came. I guess the problem is that I was expecting a burst of clarity, and instead have only been given a few cracks of blue in an otherwise very cloudy sky. For example, I have come to realize that while I enjoy some aspects of teaching, many others I do not. For example, I am not a huge fan of teaching new vocabulary words or giving grades, but I like leading my students in discussions or asking them questions that make there heads hurt. Thus, while perhaps teaching is not my ultimate vocation, if I could find another profession that involved asking people difficult questions that they did not want to answer and did not require living in a cardboard box or somewhere with ivy-adorned columns, it would be great. Still, as important as this little bit of self-awareness was, I am still totally undecided on a future graduate program or career path, and given that my service will be over in a little over a year, this is a worrisome problem. I cannot go back to Waco, TX with absolutely no idea what I want to do next.
Perhaps this sounds as if I have become disenchanted, but that is not the case. I do really like working as a volunteer, and believe it or not, most days I think that I make some kind of difference. I also enjoy living in Kazakhstan. The culture is very different to be sure, but I find it very interesting and attractive. At the same time there is much about my site, Kyzylorda, that reminds me of the city where I grew up. I think that it is this combination of the new and exciting with the familiar that has allowed me to achieve the self-awareness that I mentioned before. It is as if I am seeing my everyday life through a slightly tinted lens that allows me to recognize those things about myself that I was oblivious to before. So perhaps I know why I am here after all. I do not know if I will leave a lasting impression on Kazakhstan, but it is certainly leaving a lasting impression on me.
суббота, 20 сентября 2008 г.
A Ecke Aly for My Grandmother
September 16th, 2008
Despite the physical distance California and North Carolina, I had a very close relationship with my grandmother, Ruth Mulllally (1913-2008). I was usually only able to visit twice a year, but thanks to phone calls, pictures, and email, she was constantly tuned into what I was doing, and my vast collection of Ninja Turtles only speaks for a fraction of the love and affection I received from her. Still, I think that it is almost unavoidable for a grandson to not know his grandmother as well as he might want to or should. Inevitably, I often viewed my grandmother through the prism of our relationship and so missed out on many important aspects of her character. I know that I have far from the whole picture, and I knew her for only a brief span of her long, wonderful life, it is clear to me that my grandmother was a remarkable woman.
My grandmother was still doing the New York Times Crossword puzzle well into her 94th year and was better informed about politics and world events then most people half her age. She was active in charitable projects throughout her life, and even took part in protesting against the Vietnam War when she was in her fifties. Finally, she went halfway around the world with my grandfather on numerous difficult journeys, and closer to home she calmly faced challenges that would have broken many others. She taught our family that if you are willing to take a risk and work hard, then good things will happen, and that the safe path inevitably leads to failure. While I may have gotten the idea of the Peace Corps from my aunt, it was from my grandmother that I got the courage to actually do it.
Ruth Mullally may not have been famous, but she left an indelible mark on all who met her, and presented a model of a life well lived. She had a loving marriage, three successful children, and the knowledge that she made a difference in the world. I can only hope to be so lucky. I dearly miss my grandmother, and in many ways I am still coming to grips with the fact that she is gone and I will never see or talk with her again. Fortunately though, I still have her memory and her example, and I hope that by living a life that she would be proud of, she will always be with me.
Despite the physical distance California and North Carolina, I had a very close relationship with my grandmother, Ruth Mulllally (1913-2008). I was usually only able to visit twice a year, but thanks to phone calls, pictures, and email, she was constantly tuned into what I was doing, and my vast collection of Ninja Turtles only speaks for a fraction of the love and affection I received from her. Still, I think that it is almost unavoidable for a grandson to not know his grandmother as well as he might want to or should. Inevitably, I often viewed my grandmother through the prism of our relationship and so missed out on many important aspects of her character. I know that I have far from the whole picture, and I knew her for only a brief span of her long, wonderful life, it is clear to me that my grandmother was a remarkable woman.
My grandmother was still doing the New York Times Crossword puzzle well into her 94th year and was better informed about politics and world events then most people half her age. She was active in charitable projects throughout her life, and even took part in protesting against the Vietnam War when she was in her fifties. Finally, she went halfway around the world with my grandfather on numerous difficult journeys, and closer to home she calmly faced challenges that would have broken many others. She taught our family that if you are willing to take a risk and work hard, then good things will happen, and that the safe path inevitably leads to failure. While I may have gotten the idea of the Peace Corps from my aunt, it was from my grandmother that I got the courage to actually do it.
Ruth Mullally may not have been famous, but she left an indelible mark on all who met her, and presented a model of a life well lived. She had a loving marriage, three successful children, and the knowledge that she made a difference in the world. I can only hope to be so lucky. I dearly miss my grandmother, and in many ways I am still coming to grips with the fact that she is gone and I will never see or talk with her again. Fortunately though, I still have her memory and her example, and I hope that by living a life that she would be proud of, she will always be with me.
среда, 10 сентября 2008 г.
I Think It's the Glasses
September 8, 2008
School started last Monday, but like in American schools, not much got done during the first week. Partially this was due to the fact that the new students were still being introduced to the way the school works, but the main culprit in the huge waste of time was that we did not have a schedule for the first week of class. Instead, we taught ad hoc classes to whichever group happened to be free in whatever classroom was available. After about four days though, we got the permanent schedule and I was very pleased with it. I got all the classes I requested, including my comic book course and my American culture course and in great time slots too. I only have to come in super early two days a week, and my classes are back to back so I will not have to sit around for hours at a time between classes. As happy as I am though, I am kind of wondering why they were so accommodating. Do they really think that those courses are a good idea, or do I somehow exude some aura that makes people think I know what I am doing? If there is any trick involved, I would have to say it is the glasses. They must somehow make me look older and more experienced, because sometimes I feel like to my collegues I appear to be a 28 year-old M.ED with five years teaching experience rather than a 23 year-old with an art history degree and one year of experience. I mention this because whereas I got everything I wanted, my site mate who does not wear glass is having a hard time getting a schedule, much less a good one.
This sounds great I know, but before you any of you future PCVs out there go and buy a pair of specs, this quick acquiescence is not always great. It often hides misunderstanding or even disagreement, but they feel that it is more polite to do something else behind your back than say anything to your face. The reason I say this is that the other day I suggested to the chair of the department that the students elect their student dean this year, rather than the teachers choosing her as in years past. She said, “makul”, or ok, but that the dean would need to be from the third course instead of the fourth because they had responsibility for maintaining the room. That sounded fine to me, so I went ahead and began to prepare for elections. Yesterday, however, as I am putting up the sign up sheets and going up around to different classes encouraging kids to enter the race, two third students came up to me and said that the chair had already chosen them to be the Dean and Vice-Dean of the department, and that when the chair was discussing elections she thought they the students would just elect “helpers.” I guess the students could be lying, but I doubt it. It just drives me a little bit crazy, because if she did not like the idea in the first place she could have said so, it would not hurt my feelings. Also though, I feel like these kids should get a little practice running for office and electing leaders on the off chance that they actually get the chance to do it for their political leaders on the one day. Still I guess it was a good example of Kazak politics for me, because just as the chairmen appointed the student dean, the President of Kazakhstan appoints the Akim or Governor. Maybe one day this will not be the case, but it is hard to envision any alternative when young people only know the one system, and they are not even trusted enough to choose someone among them as a representative.
In all fairness, it is not that huge a deal. The dean does nothing except organize a few holiday parties during the school year. I guess I was just hoping that I could help transform it into a legitimate way for the students to bring the students’ grievances to the faculties’ attention and exercise some corporate responsibility. Also though, I am not a huge fan of the chair’s choice, and I was hoping that another girl would be elected. The girl I had in mind speaks better English, but also just seems more intelligent and responsible. I guess this is to be expected though; she wears glasses.
School started last Monday, but like in American schools, not much got done during the first week. Partially this was due to the fact that the new students were still being introduced to the way the school works, but the main culprit in the huge waste of time was that we did not have a schedule for the first week of class. Instead, we taught ad hoc classes to whichever group happened to be free in whatever classroom was available. After about four days though, we got the permanent schedule and I was very pleased with it. I got all the classes I requested, including my comic book course and my American culture course and in great time slots too. I only have to come in super early two days a week, and my classes are back to back so I will not have to sit around for hours at a time between classes. As happy as I am though, I am kind of wondering why they were so accommodating. Do they really think that those courses are a good idea, or do I somehow exude some aura that makes people think I know what I am doing? If there is any trick involved, I would have to say it is the glasses. They must somehow make me look older and more experienced, because sometimes I feel like to my collegues I appear to be a 28 year-old M.ED with five years teaching experience rather than a 23 year-old with an art history degree and one year of experience. I mention this because whereas I got everything I wanted, my site mate who does not wear glass is having a hard time getting a schedule, much less a good one.
This sounds great I know, but before you any of you future PCVs out there go and buy a pair of specs, this quick acquiescence is not always great. It often hides misunderstanding or even disagreement, but they feel that it is more polite to do something else behind your back than say anything to your face. The reason I say this is that the other day I suggested to the chair of the department that the students elect their student dean this year, rather than the teachers choosing her as in years past. She said, “makul”, or ok, but that the dean would need to be from the third course instead of the fourth because they had responsibility for maintaining the room. That sounded fine to me, so I went ahead and began to prepare for elections. Yesterday, however, as I am putting up the sign up sheets and going up around to different classes encouraging kids to enter the race, two third students came up to me and said that the chair had already chosen them to be the Dean and Vice-Dean of the department, and that when the chair was discussing elections she thought they the students would just elect “helpers.” I guess the students could be lying, but I doubt it. It just drives me a little bit crazy, because if she did not like the idea in the first place she could have said so, it would not hurt my feelings. Also though, I feel like these kids should get a little practice running for office and electing leaders on the off chance that they actually get the chance to do it for their political leaders on the one day. Still I guess it was a good example of Kazak politics for me, because just as the chairmen appointed the student dean, the President of Kazakhstan appoints the Akim or Governor. Maybe one day this will not be the case, but it is hard to envision any alternative when young people only know the one system, and they are not even trusted enough to choose someone among them as a representative.
In all fairness, it is not that huge a deal. The dean does nothing except organize a few holiday parties during the school year. I guess I was just hoping that I could help transform it into a legitimate way for the students to bring the students’ grievances to the faculties’ attention and exercise some corporate responsibility. Also though, I am not a huge fan of the chair’s choice, and I was hoping that another girl would be elected. The girl I had in mind speaks better English, but also just seems more intelligent and responsible. I guess this is to be expected though; she wears glasses.
Fitting In
September 4, 2008
Well, it is that time of year again; school is back in full swing. I definitely enjoyed the summer vacation, but I have to admit that towards the end I was beginning to look forward to getting back to work. Frankly, I was getting a little bored, there is not much to do in Kyzylorda during the best of times, and with all of our local friends in their villages or visiting different parts of the country, it was becoming increasingly difficult to fill the days. Thus, on September 1st, Knowledge Day her in Kazakhstan, I eagerly put my suit on and headed off to school, grateful in the knowledge that the city population had returned to normal, and that I now had something to do for at least five hours a day. Of course, since September 1st is a national holiday, all we did that day was introduce ourselves to the new students and hold a small concert, but I still consider it to have been a momentous occasion because I realized that I was finally one of the gang. At last year’s ceremony the director of the Shamalgan gymnasium singled out the volunteers, and I kind of expected something like that to happen again. However, when the director came through with the Oblast Director of Education, they just walked right on by without a glance in my direction, and I realized that I was no longer special! I talked to my counterpart about this afterwards, and she laughed and said that I was no longer just the American volunteer, I was considered a member of the staff just like everyone else. No longer would I be paraded around on holidays and when special guests came to visit! I admit that this realization was a bit disappointing at first. I mean, those special guest parties were awesome, but I soon came to the conclusion that it was for the best. For one thing, my classes might actually run normally now because I will no longer be called out for so many special events nor be required to do so many pointless “open lessons” on the active board. Also, I am hopeful this means that I have integrated enough to gain a measure of public invisibility or at the very least inconspicuousness. Who knows, maybe now I can walk down the street without people yelling “hello!” every fifteen feet. I was hoping that it would happen sooner. After all, I stopped wearing the bright yellow backpack six months ago, but I guess these things take time.
Well, it is that time of year again; school is back in full swing. I definitely enjoyed the summer vacation, but I have to admit that towards the end I was beginning to look forward to getting back to work. Frankly, I was getting a little bored, there is not much to do in Kyzylorda during the best of times, and with all of our local friends in their villages or visiting different parts of the country, it was becoming increasingly difficult to fill the days. Thus, on September 1st, Knowledge Day her in Kazakhstan, I eagerly put my suit on and headed off to school, grateful in the knowledge that the city population had returned to normal, and that I now had something to do for at least five hours a day. Of course, since September 1st is a national holiday, all we did that day was introduce ourselves to the new students and hold a small concert, but I still consider it to have been a momentous occasion because I realized that I was finally one of the gang. At last year’s ceremony the director of the Shamalgan gymnasium singled out the volunteers, and I kind of expected something like that to happen again. However, when the director came through with the Oblast Director of Education, they just walked right on by without a glance in my direction, and I realized that I was no longer special! I talked to my counterpart about this afterwards, and she laughed and said that I was no longer just the American volunteer, I was considered a member of the staff just like everyone else. No longer would I be paraded around on holidays and when special guests came to visit! I admit that this realization was a bit disappointing at first. I mean, those special guest parties were awesome, but I soon came to the conclusion that it was for the best. For one thing, my classes might actually run normally now because I will no longer be called out for so many special events nor be required to do so many pointless “open lessons” on the active board. Also, I am hopeful this means that I have integrated enough to gain a measure of public invisibility or at the very least inconspicuousness. Who knows, maybe now I can walk down the street without people yelling “hello!” every fifteen feet. I was hoping that it would happen sooner. After all, I stopped wearing the bright yellow backpack six months ago, but I guess these things take time.
четверг, 28 августа 2008 г.
Kazakhstan: Year One
August 24, 2008
I am writing this entry to celebrate the fact that as of yesterday, I have survived one year in Kazakhstan. Furthermore, rather than being the worse for wear, I am better than ever. There were tough times to be sure, but overall the experience here has been a rather positive one. My organizational skills have improved, and I am much more comfortable in large groups. I now really do like teaching, and what’s more I think that my students are actually learning. Also, when I lived in America I hated studying new languages; I never thought that I was good at it, especially when it came to speaking. In only one year however, I am reasonably conversant in Kazak and am looking forward to starting to study Russian. Another positive change is that I am even healthier than I was before I left. My allergies have calmed down significantly, and while it might just be the fact that I live somewhere without much plant life, I like to think that the bad air was just the shock to the system I needed. The diet may also be somewhat responsible. Before I got to Kazakhstan I worried about eating so much meat, especially because I only at chicken and fish. While the diet is high in red meat and can be heavy, however, the massive increase in protein consumption, coupled with the fact that it is fresh food has done wonders.
That said, I think that the biggest change has been in my ability to understand and empathize with the people around me. There are things that drive me crazy about Kazak culture; men are often spoiled, women are sometimes overly submissive, and “cooperative learning” is second nature. Still, I have done my best to not let my aggravation seep into my personal friendships. I have come to realize that these flaws are not the fault of the individual, but the culture, and that if I had grown up in such a culture, I would probably behave in much the same way. When I first got to Kazakhstan, everything, the people, the clothing, the language, seemed so different that it was at first hard to imagine forming such close friendships and working partnerships with the local community. After a year among them however, while I have not totally mastered the language or the dress code, I am getting closer, and it is now easy to see that our similarities far outweigh our differences. This is the most important function of the Peace Corps. While much emphasis is put on quantifiable achievements like number of students taught, or liters of water purified, etc., the most important thing that Peace Corps does for both volunteer and host country national is that it forces each other to recognize their mutual humanity. We all have similar ambitions and dreams of success, we celebrate the same milestones, and we mourn the same losses. Perhaps we might do certain things in different ways, but that does not deny the fact that we both do it. I think the moment that this realization truly broke was a few months ago when I was at the wedding of one of my “cousins.” The bride was about to leave to go to her husband’s house and all the family was gathered to say goodbye. I looked over and I saw that the father of the bride, my “uncle”, a pretty stoic guy, was weeping. It was then, watching my uncle say good-bye to his daughter, and remembering similar scenes from past weddings, that I realized how universal our emotions and thoughts actually are. Think about it, what parent, no matter what country, does not cry at their kids wedding? Some people, including some fellow volunteers may believe that I am being to sympathetic to the locals and their often corrupt and chauvinistic behavior, but again I remind them that I do condemn that behavior, and I certainly do not emulate it. Furthermore, I know that one of my main responsibility as a PCV is providing a different example. Still I refuse to condemn the individuals themselves.
I am happy that I have done and seen so much in my first year here in Kazakhstan, but I am also a bit worried because I realize that I have so much left to learn and only one year to do it! I have several goals and projects that I want to see completed before I go home, a departmental newsletter, and an “American Corner” for starters, and I wonder how it will all get done. Ultimately though, if I have had half as much personal growth as I have had in this past year, I think it will still turn out to be a successful year. Just to let you know, I do miss you all, although I am no hurry to return to the States. I will just remind you that this past year flew by, and I know that this next year will go even faster. So do not worry. I will be back before you know it, and maybe even before you want it!
I am writing this entry to celebrate the fact that as of yesterday, I have survived one year in Kazakhstan. Furthermore, rather than being the worse for wear, I am better than ever. There were tough times to be sure, but overall the experience here has been a rather positive one. My organizational skills have improved, and I am much more comfortable in large groups. I now really do like teaching, and what’s more I think that my students are actually learning. Also, when I lived in America I hated studying new languages; I never thought that I was good at it, especially when it came to speaking. In only one year however, I am reasonably conversant in Kazak and am looking forward to starting to study Russian. Another positive change is that I am even healthier than I was before I left. My allergies have calmed down significantly, and while it might just be the fact that I live somewhere without much plant life, I like to think that the bad air was just the shock to the system I needed. The diet may also be somewhat responsible. Before I got to Kazakhstan I worried about eating so much meat, especially because I only at chicken and fish. While the diet is high in red meat and can be heavy, however, the massive increase in protein consumption, coupled with the fact that it is fresh food has done wonders.
That said, I think that the biggest change has been in my ability to understand and empathize with the people around me. There are things that drive me crazy about Kazak culture; men are often spoiled, women are sometimes overly submissive, and “cooperative learning” is second nature. Still, I have done my best to not let my aggravation seep into my personal friendships. I have come to realize that these flaws are not the fault of the individual, but the culture, and that if I had grown up in such a culture, I would probably behave in much the same way. When I first got to Kazakhstan, everything, the people, the clothing, the language, seemed so different that it was at first hard to imagine forming such close friendships and working partnerships with the local community. After a year among them however, while I have not totally mastered the language or the dress code, I am getting closer, and it is now easy to see that our similarities far outweigh our differences. This is the most important function of the Peace Corps. While much emphasis is put on quantifiable achievements like number of students taught, or liters of water purified, etc., the most important thing that Peace Corps does for both volunteer and host country national is that it forces each other to recognize their mutual humanity. We all have similar ambitions and dreams of success, we celebrate the same milestones, and we mourn the same losses. Perhaps we might do certain things in different ways, but that does not deny the fact that we both do it. I think the moment that this realization truly broke was a few months ago when I was at the wedding of one of my “cousins.” The bride was about to leave to go to her husband’s house and all the family was gathered to say goodbye. I looked over and I saw that the father of the bride, my “uncle”, a pretty stoic guy, was weeping. It was then, watching my uncle say good-bye to his daughter, and remembering similar scenes from past weddings, that I realized how universal our emotions and thoughts actually are. Think about it, what parent, no matter what country, does not cry at their kids wedding? Some people, including some fellow volunteers may believe that I am being to sympathetic to the locals and their often corrupt and chauvinistic behavior, but again I remind them that I do condemn that behavior, and I certainly do not emulate it. Furthermore, I know that one of my main responsibility as a PCV is providing a different example. Still I refuse to condemn the individuals themselves.
I am happy that I have done and seen so much in my first year here in Kazakhstan, but I am also a bit worried because I realize that I have so much left to learn and only one year to do it! I have several goals and projects that I want to see completed before I go home, a departmental newsletter, and an “American Corner” for starters, and I wonder how it will all get done. Ultimately though, if I have had half as much personal growth as I have had in this past year, I think it will still turn out to be a successful year. Just to let you know, I do miss you all, although I am no hurry to return to the States. I will just remind you that this past year flew by, and I know that this next year will go even faster. So do not worry. I will be back before you know it, and maybe even before you want it!
вторник, 19 августа 2008 г.
A Note on Peace Corps Fashion
August 18, 2008
I know that it is a little late for this note to be of much us to the incoming Kaz-20 group, but maybe it will offer a brief example of how the Peace Corps gives pretty useless advice. I remember going around to REI, Eddie Bauer, and Wal-Mart this time last year to get the clothes the Peace Corps said I needed for Kazakhstan. Now, I know that part of the problem may have been my own images of what a Peace Corps volunteer should look like, but following that list, I ended up with lots of khaki’s, a couple of collored stripped shirts, and no blue jeans. Basically with the clothes I brought with me I look like I am either ready to go hiking or ready to go to the country club, neither of which helps me a whole lot. Kazakhstan may be a developing nation, but the people here have a fully formed sense of fashion. People here dress really nice, and not just on certain days and occasions, but everyday. At my university in America it was normal to see my female classmates role into class in sweatpants and a t-shirt, but here in Kazakhstan no girl would be seen wearing that outside the house. In fact, clothes like that are explicitly referred to as house clothes. All of my students come to school in the latest styles, and I often feel underdressed next to some of my male co-workers, many of whom wear a suit and vest to everyday. Ultimately, the only real good piece of advice PC gave about clothes was the suit. It is indeed a necessary piece of equipment. However, in their haste to include such items as zip off pants and boots, they forgot to mention that you are probably going to want your stylish jeans and leather jacket too. While it is true that after two years of hand washing those clothes are going to be shredded, but I promise you that the sense of wellbeing you get from fitting it just a little bit more will be worth it.
I know that it is a little late for this note to be of much us to the incoming Kaz-20 group, but maybe it will offer a brief example of how the Peace Corps gives pretty useless advice. I remember going around to REI, Eddie Bauer, and Wal-Mart this time last year to get the clothes the Peace Corps said I needed for Kazakhstan. Now, I know that part of the problem may have been my own images of what a Peace Corps volunteer should look like, but following that list, I ended up with lots of khaki’s, a couple of collored stripped shirts, and no blue jeans. Basically with the clothes I brought with me I look like I am either ready to go hiking or ready to go to the country club, neither of which helps me a whole lot. Kazakhstan may be a developing nation, but the people here have a fully formed sense of fashion. People here dress really nice, and not just on certain days and occasions, but everyday. At my university in America it was normal to see my female classmates role into class in sweatpants and a t-shirt, but here in Kazakhstan no girl would be seen wearing that outside the house. In fact, clothes like that are explicitly referred to as house clothes. All of my students come to school in the latest styles, and I often feel underdressed next to some of my male co-workers, many of whom wear a suit and vest to everyday. Ultimately, the only real good piece of advice PC gave about clothes was the suit. It is indeed a necessary piece of equipment. However, in their haste to include such items as zip off pants and boots, they forgot to mention that you are probably going to want your stylish jeans and leather jacket too. While it is true that after two years of hand washing those clothes are going to be shredded, but I promise you that the sense of wellbeing you get from fitting it just a little bit more will be worth it.
One Last Interlude
When I got back to Kyzylorda, I was glad to be home. It had been almost a month since I had left for Ust-Komen and I actually like my desert city, most of the time at least. Once I got there though, I realized that I should have been careful what I wished for. It had been pretty hot in Kyzylorda when I left, but once I returned the heat quickly became almost unbearable. The temperature was regularly in the mid 45 degrees Celsius, and the wind did nothing to help the situation. All it would do was just blow dust everywhere and make the heat even worse. Luckily, Kyzylorda has a nice big river, the Sidaria that has a man-made beach where we all go swimming every afternoon. On a side note, the locals call this the “Jewish Beach” because, and this is a direct quote, “its free.”
Still, as much fun as I was having staring at the ceiling and cooking in my own juices, I was glad when my friend from Zhezkazgan invited me to come up to one last camp before classes started up again. Unfortunately, he only gave me the heads up a few days in advance, but it was all right because a bus goes from Kyzylorda to Zhezkazgan daily and it was not that hard to get a ticket. The bus was an old soviet type school bus, although an all-terrain vehicle would have been more appropriate. The bus did not so much follow a road as a really bumpy dirt path, and it was even forced to leave that at times and just drive across the open step. To make matters worse, the bus kept stalling outwhich not only extended the trip from eight hours to twelve, but was rather scary because there was absolutely no sign of life between Kyzylorda and Zhezkazgan, and if we had gotten really stuck it would probably have been a full day until a replacement arrived. Ultimately however, all of the trouble was worth it I guess. Zhezkazgan was hardly the hole in the ground that I expected after hearing Robert complain about it for eight months. In fact when I finally got there, the second thing I said to Robert was “what the hell were you complaining about?” Zhezkazgan had, unlike my beautiful Kyzylorda, clear evidence of urban planning, and a fully functional downtown. Zhezkazgan has its drawbacks to be sure, even disregarding its isolation. Zhezkazgan also has a great deal of air pollution due to all of the copper mines and processing plants in the city. In fact, some days it was so bad that when I blew my nose I thought pennies were coming out.
The camp in Zhezkazgan was a lot of fun and a great success. It was a nice middle ground between the crazy schedule and counterparts of Alga and the apathetic students of Ust-Kamen. The camp schedule was busy but not super overwhelming, and the kids were interested and active in both lessons and sports. In fact, it turned out that I had four students in my class who showed considerable talents in Ultimate Frisbee. Another great thing about the camp was that it was one another chance to meet and hang out with other PCVs. Not only did I get to see my friends from training one more time before school started, but I also got to meet Robert’s site mates from the Kaz-18 group, Dusty and Valerie. Both were really nice, and it was good to see that all of the Zhezkazgan volunteers got along pretty well. Of course, with the next nearest volunteers being eight or twelve hours away, they had better right?
All in all, it was a great two weeks and I was glad I had that one last trip. I feel that I have fully recharged my batteries and am ready for the coming year. Also, I am happy that I got the chance to see a lot of Kazakhstan has to offer. It is kind of funny actually, despite their similar size, it took me much longer to see as much of America as I saw of Kazakhstan this summer. My family traveled a lot to be sure, but it was usually on the East or West coasts, rarely the middle. Now though, I am back at site, this time for keeps. Summer is officially over, but I have to say it has probably been one of the best ever.
пятница, 18 июля 2008 г.
Summer Vacation Pt .2
July 1-16, 2008
The second part of my summer vacation took me to the small village of Kalbatau, formally known as Georgivka in the Northeastern part of Kazakhstan. Getting there nearly killed me. It took two days by train, and while I was seated with some very nice people, and I have gotten pretty used to the amount of time it takes to travel around Kazakhstan, it was a long time to spend on a train. When I got there though, I saw that it was worth it. I had left a flat endless expanse of brown sand and scraggly trees, but in Kalbatau there was green grass, healthy trees, and actual hills! Anyway, as for the purpose of my visit, I went to Kalbatau to meet back up with my fellow Kazak speakers for another camp. Unlike the camp in Alga, the camp in Kalbatau was only one week instead of two, there were fewer students because most had gone on vacations themselves, and there were no counterparts, so at the end I was only moderately tired instead of completely exhausted. Like in Alga, the camp was split between class time and sports, and we also did cross-cultural work with different countries in addition to normal English lessons. Rather than designate each group as a different country however, every class worked with a different country every day. For example, one day we talked about Jamaica and made collages, another day we talked about Japan and made origami, and on a third day we talked about Brazil and made beaded jewelry. These cross-cultural activities were great, but my favorite part of the day was when we got to go outside and play sports. My site mate, Chris, was particularly into this part of the camp as he never passes up the opportunity to teach someone how to play baseball. I mostly stuck with football and ultimate Frisbee because I kept hitting a brick wall trying to explain to the kids that they could not throw the kickball at the members of the other team, they needed to throw them to their teammates at the bases. The entire week was great, although a little stressful sometimes because we literally could not get away from each other. All six of us were camped out in Kimi’s two-room apartment and there was barely room to walk around. Kimi was a great hostess, but I know that when we all went our separate ways she was probably glad to have some personal space back.
After the camp was over we all went our separate ways. Three people went to Tajikistan, Chris headed off to Italy to meet his folks, and I headed to Ridder a small town near the Altau Mountains to do some camping. The journey to get there was not too bad because Ridder and Kalbatau are in the same Oblast, but it still took awhile because the area is so mountainous and there are no through roads. On the day we all left, I went down to Ust-Kamen to meet Tony, Robert and some other Kaz-18s who were planning to do some camping as well. Robert needed to head to Ridder early, but Tony suggested that the rest of us head to a village a couple of hours away that was going to have a volunteer in the future. When we got there, we met our host Raxat, as well as a local friend of Tony’s named Vladimir who was in charge of activities for the few days we would be there. The area around the Altau Mountains is still very much a Russian enclave, and our host Raxat was not only one of the few Kazaks in the area, but also one of the few Kazaks in the area who actually understood Kazak. He thought it was an absolute riot that I spoke Kazak and actually took us to the river near his house one afternoon just so I could meet some of his friends and speak Kazak with them. Besides its use as a party trick though, speaking Kazak was a pretty useless skill to have up there, and I was glad I was with Tony and the others. The week really showed me that while Kazak is great as a tool of diplomacy and in showing that you are interested in the culture, outside of the south it does not have that much practical purpose. Wednesday morning we got up and Vladimir decided to take us Paragliding. After a short hike we got up to the hills around Raxat’s house that Vladimir said would be a good place to go from. In the end we did not actually get a chance to Paraglide because there was not enough wind, but the view made the walk worth it anyway. Even if I had gotten the chance to go Paragliding though, what we did later that afternoon would still have been the high point of my trip. That afternoon for the first time ever I got to go horseback riding. They just handed me the reins, gave me a few instructions, and I was off. The horse was a little hard to control at first, but he was very patient and very forgiving at my initial efforts. He never tried to buck me off or bite me, if he was irritated or I was not sure where I wanted to go next, all he would do was stop and eat grass.
The next morning we got up and headed back to Ust-Kamen. Ridder was only sixty kilometers a way as the crow flies, but as I mentioned earlier there are no roads that go through so we had to go back to Ust-Kamen and catch another bus to take us to Ridder. When we got to Ridder, we met Robert who took us back to his place so we could get cleaned up and re-pack for the weekend up in the mountains. Robert reminded us that though there was a base camp where we were going, the bus was going to drop us off three miles away from it and so packing light was a must. After a nice pizza dinner at a café, we went to bed early so that we could get up and catch the first bus out to the base camp at 7:30. The woman in charge of base camp was Tony’s Counterpart, a hard-nosed, but soft-hearted middle-aged Russian woman named Natalya. She was not that happy to see us arrive because base camp was totally full with a group from Petropolvisk, and so we ended up having to stay at a campsite a short ways up the trail. I actually liked where we stayed a lot better than the actual base camp. Our campsite had a nice fire pit, plenty of shady trees, and a river full of fresh glacial water right next to it. That afternoon another group of PCVs arrived, nine Kaz-19s, which of course made Natalya even madder. We got up the next morning around seven and got ready to go, the two girl Kaz-18s were not wild with the idea of dragging all of their stuff with them so we decided to do a day hike instead of a full on camping trip. Tony had told us that there was a series of lakes up at the top made from the remains of glaciers, which at least to me sounded like a place worth seeing. After two and a half hours of hiking we passed the tree line and entered the rock field, a field covered with the shattered rocks from when the mountains first rose out of the ground. It was a stunning site, but made for some extremely difficult hiking. We had to jump from rock to rock making sure we did not trip, and even though we had passed the tree line we knew we still had at least another hour or two of hiking before we got to our destination. On and on we climbed over one small hill after another, but each time we thought we had made it, we saw that there was yet another hill. After about two hours of this, the girls decided that they had about had enough, so we sat down for lunch, and they got ready to go back down the hill. I decided though, that I wanted to make one more push. I knew it could not be that much farther and we had gone so far that it seemed pointless to go back before we got to the end. I kept climbing and about forty-five minutes after we had split up I made it to the top to find…nothing. All that was there was a shallow depression with some ice that maybe had the potential to become a large puddle if it got warm enough. It turned out that where we needed to go way to the right we had instead gone straight, and so we went up to the wrong peak. I was a little disappointed, but it had not been a total waste of time. For even though there was no lake, the fifty-foot sheer wall of volcanic rock that we had thought was the side of a large rock bowl was still pretty impressive. After taking a few pictures, I began to make my way down. I was not looking forward to the long walk down by myself, but luckily the others were going slow and I caught up to them before they had gotten back to the tree line.
Dinner that night was spaghetti, which was surprisingly good considering all we had was tomato paste, a few onions, half a kielbasa, and some cheese spread to make sauce. After dinner we called it an early night. The girls’ feet were hurting, and they wanted to head back to Ridder on the morning bus. I on the other hand, was planning on doing some solo hiking and camping of the next couple of days and heading back to Ridder on Tuesday morning and then getting the Tuesday night bus out, but unfortunately when Natalya found out about this plan the next morning as the others were preparing to leave she said, “I don’t think so.” I did not have my stuff ready to go with the guys so there was no chance of catching the early bus with them. It looked like I was going to have to hang out at the base camp until the Kaz-19s and Tony came down the mountain from their campsite and catch the afternoon bus out with them. I was really bummed because I had wanted another crack at finding the lakes and I was not looking forward to sitting there for six hours with nothing to do. Then fortune shinned upon me once again. Natalya told me that another group was heading up to the lakes and I could go with them and rendezvous with Tony and the others. She threw me into a young Russian couple’s all-terrain vehicle with two guides and another couple and we sped off up the hill. I know it was sort of cheating, but riding in the vehicle was almost as much of an adventure as walking. The thing could not only power of rocks and through streams, it could nearly drive straight up. Sometimes the car was driving on such a steep slope that I was almost afraid that I was either going to fall out or the thing was going to tip over backwards. Still, even it could only go so far and at the tree line we had to get out and start walking. Once we started walking I realized where we had made the mistake yesterday. We had needed to be on the other side of the river and a large hill, but we did not realize this because the two peaks looked almost identical. We did not find Tony and the others, but after three hours we did manage to find the lakes! The first two were amazing, beautiful oases in the middle of desolate rock. I had never tasted water so naturally cold or fresh before. The best was yet to come, however. After spending a couple of minutes resting we continued on up and over the top of the mountain and entered into a small sun-covered valley where there were even more lakes. I had made it! In all honesty, the site was literally breathtaking. Not only was there no way to tell such a place was there from the bottom of the mountain, you could not even tell it was there until right when you got to the top.
After lunch we started down the mountain, and I quickly came to realize that it was probably just as well I was no longer planning on staying a few extra days. My feet were killing me! I worried a little that we were going to miss Tony and the bus because the hike up, including using the car part way had taken four hours and it was nearly two, but gravity lent us speed and we made it all the way down the hill on foot in two hours flat. After we got back to site we had a small tea with Natalya and then she put us all in the company bus to take us back to town. Once again, I split off from the Kaz-19s because I had to go get my stuff from Robert’s place. That, and I figured they would probably have a pretty late night. They had not actually done that much hiking, but I was dead on my feet. The Kaz-18s were already packed up to go and relaxing when I got there. They had to get back to their site and were on the noon bus from Ust-Kamen to Astana. I decided to go with them and buy a ticket for the 7:30 bus to Almaty. Unfortunately, when I got to the bus station it turned out that there were no tickets for that bus and I would have to wait until tomorrow. I made arrangements to stay with another volunteer who lived in a nearby village over night and then checked my bags at the bus station before around the city for a few hours. We had a fun night making quesadillas from scratch and hanging out, but clearly we were not yet recovered from Ridder, we all passed out in front of a movie by 11:30.
The next day we went to back to the city around noon and hung out for a few hours before I had to get on the bus. My friends asked me why I was taking the bus instead of the train, and I said I was doing it because it was cheaper, and there were no seats on the trains for the next couple of days anyways. I should have waited for the train. First, the bus was packed, and I got seated in the window seat of the very last row next to four incredibly obnoxious Russian guys. Then I found out that rather than taking seventeen hours as I was told earlier, it was going to take twenty hours to get to Almaty. I tried to settle in as best as I could but the guys were four of the biggest assholes I have met in any country, and did not seem to understand that I did not understand them, did not want to take shots with them, nor was I their pillow. I spent half the time trying to keep one of them from crushing me against the window when he passed out after doing shots. If I was not already heading that way before I think that bus trip made me a Kazak nationalist. Thankfully, unlike the real thing, this hell ended eventually and I stumbled off the bus around five p.m. the next day. After getting off the bus I got a ride to the Altin-Orda bus station where I caught a marshootka to Chamalgan, and I am happy to say I am now happily relaxing at home with my first host family. They are in the midst of remodeling the house and making it bigger because they believe that my brother Acxat will get married in the fall, so I am trying to help out or at least stay out of the way. No rest for the weary right?
The second part of my summer vacation took me to the small village of Kalbatau, formally known as Georgivka in the Northeastern part of Kazakhstan. Getting there nearly killed me. It took two days by train, and while I was seated with some very nice people, and I have gotten pretty used to the amount of time it takes to travel around Kazakhstan, it was a long time to spend on a train. When I got there though, I saw that it was worth it. I had left a flat endless expanse of brown sand and scraggly trees, but in Kalbatau there was green grass, healthy trees, and actual hills! Anyway, as for the purpose of my visit, I went to Kalbatau to meet back up with my fellow Kazak speakers for another camp. Unlike the camp in Alga, the camp in Kalbatau was only one week instead of two, there were fewer students because most had gone on vacations themselves, and there were no counterparts, so at the end I was only moderately tired instead of completely exhausted. Like in Alga, the camp was split between class time and sports, and we also did cross-cultural work with different countries in addition to normal English lessons. Rather than designate each group as a different country however, every class worked with a different country every day. For example, one day we talked about Jamaica and made collages, another day we talked about Japan and made origami, and on a third day we talked about Brazil and made beaded jewelry. These cross-cultural activities were great, but my favorite part of the day was when we got to go outside and play sports. My site mate, Chris, was particularly into this part of the camp as he never passes up the opportunity to teach someone how to play baseball. I mostly stuck with football and ultimate Frisbee because I kept hitting a brick wall trying to explain to the kids that they could not throw the kickball at the members of the other team, they needed to throw them to their teammates at the bases. The entire week was great, although a little stressful sometimes because we literally could not get away from each other. All six of us were camped out in Kimi’s two-room apartment and there was barely room to walk around. Kimi was a great hostess, but I know that when we all went our separate ways she was probably glad to have some personal space back.
After the camp was over we all went our separate ways. Three people went to Tajikistan, Chris headed off to Italy to meet his folks, and I headed to Ridder a small town near the Altau Mountains to do some camping. The journey to get there was not too bad because Ridder and Kalbatau are in the same Oblast, but it still took awhile because the area is so mountainous and there are no through roads. On the day we all left, I went down to Ust-Kamen to meet Tony, Robert and some other Kaz-18s who were planning to do some camping as well. Robert needed to head to Ridder early, but Tony suggested that the rest of us head to a village a couple of hours away that was going to have a volunteer in the future. When we got there, we met our host Raxat, as well as a local friend of Tony’s named Vladimir who was in charge of activities for the few days we would be there. The area around the Altau Mountains is still very much a Russian enclave, and our host Raxat was not only one of the few Kazaks in the area, but also one of the few Kazaks in the area who actually understood Kazak. He thought it was an absolute riot that I spoke Kazak and actually took us to the river near his house one afternoon just so I could meet some of his friends and speak Kazak with them. Besides its use as a party trick though, speaking Kazak was a pretty useless skill to have up there, and I was glad I was with Tony and the others. The week really showed me that while Kazak is great as a tool of diplomacy and in showing that you are interested in the culture, outside of the south it does not have that much practical purpose. Wednesday morning we got up and Vladimir decided to take us Paragliding. After a short hike we got up to the hills around Raxat’s house that Vladimir said would be a good place to go from. In the end we did not actually get a chance to Paraglide because there was not enough wind, but the view made the walk worth it anyway. Even if I had gotten the chance to go Paragliding though, what we did later that afternoon would still have been the high point of my trip. That afternoon for the first time ever I got to go horseback riding. They just handed me the reins, gave me a few instructions, and I was off. The horse was a little hard to control at first, but he was very patient and very forgiving at my initial efforts. He never tried to buck me off or bite me, if he was irritated or I was not sure where I wanted to go next, all he would do was stop and eat grass.
The next morning we got up and headed back to Ust-Kamen. Ridder was only sixty kilometers a way as the crow flies, but as I mentioned earlier there are no roads that go through so we had to go back to Ust-Kamen and catch another bus to take us to Ridder. When we got to Ridder, we met Robert who took us back to his place so we could get cleaned up and re-pack for the weekend up in the mountains. Robert reminded us that though there was a base camp where we were going, the bus was going to drop us off three miles away from it and so packing light was a must. After a nice pizza dinner at a café, we went to bed early so that we could get up and catch the first bus out to the base camp at 7:30. The woman in charge of base camp was Tony’s Counterpart, a hard-nosed, but soft-hearted middle-aged Russian woman named Natalya. She was not that happy to see us arrive because base camp was totally full with a group from Petropolvisk, and so we ended up having to stay at a campsite a short ways up the trail. I actually liked where we stayed a lot better than the actual base camp. Our campsite had a nice fire pit, plenty of shady trees, and a river full of fresh glacial water right next to it. That afternoon another group of PCVs arrived, nine Kaz-19s, which of course made Natalya even madder. We got up the next morning around seven and got ready to go, the two girl Kaz-18s were not wild with the idea of dragging all of their stuff with them so we decided to do a day hike instead of a full on camping trip. Tony had told us that there was a series of lakes up at the top made from the remains of glaciers, which at least to me sounded like a place worth seeing. After two and a half hours of hiking we passed the tree line and entered the rock field, a field covered with the shattered rocks from when the mountains first rose out of the ground. It was a stunning site, but made for some extremely difficult hiking. We had to jump from rock to rock making sure we did not trip, and even though we had passed the tree line we knew we still had at least another hour or two of hiking before we got to our destination. On and on we climbed over one small hill after another, but each time we thought we had made it, we saw that there was yet another hill. After about two hours of this, the girls decided that they had about had enough, so we sat down for lunch, and they got ready to go back down the hill. I decided though, that I wanted to make one more push. I knew it could not be that much farther and we had gone so far that it seemed pointless to go back before we got to the end. I kept climbing and about forty-five minutes after we had split up I made it to the top to find…nothing. All that was there was a shallow depression with some ice that maybe had the potential to become a large puddle if it got warm enough. It turned out that where we needed to go way to the right we had instead gone straight, and so we went up to the wrong peak. I was a little disappointed, but it had not been a total waste of time. For even though there was no lake, the fifty-foot sheer wall of volcanic rock that we had thought was the side of a large rock bowl was still pretty impressive. After taking a few pictures, I began to make my way down. I was not looking forward to the long walk down by myself, but luckily the others were going slow and I caught up to them before they had gotten back to the tree line.
Dinner that night was spaghetti, which was surprisingly good considering all we had was tomato paste, a few onions, half a kielbasa, and some cheese spread to make sauce. After dinner we called it an early night. The girls’ feet were hurting, and they wanted to head back to Ridder on the morning bus. I on the other hand, was planning on doing some solo hiking and camping of the next couple of days and heading back to Ridder on Tuesday morning and then getting the Tuesday night bus out, but unfortunately when Natalya found out about this plan the next morning as the others were preparing to leave she said, “I don’t think so.” I did not have my stuff ready to go with the guys so there was no chance of catching the early bus with them. It looked like I was going to have to hang out at the base camp until the Kaz-19s and Tony came down the mountain from their campsite and catch the afternoon bus out with them. I was really bummed because I had wanted another crack at finding the lakes and I was not looking forward to sitting there for six hours with nothing to do. Then fortune shinned upon me once again. Natalya told me that another group was heading up to the lakes and I could go with them and rendezvous with Tony and the others. She threw me into a young Russian couple’s all-terrain vehicle with two guides and another couple and we sped off up the hill. I know it was sort of cheating, but riding in the vehicle was almost as much of an adventure as walking. The thing could not only power of rocks and through streams, it could nearly drive straight up. Sometimes the car was driving on such a steep slope that I was almost afraid that I was either going to fall out or the thing was going to tip over backwards. Still, even it could only go so far and at the tree line we had to get out and start walking. Once we started walking I realized where we had made the mistake yesterday. We had needed to be on the other side of the river and a large hill, but we did not realize this because the two peaks looked almost identical. We did not find Tony and the others, but after three hours we did manage to find the lakes! The first two were amazing, beautiful oases in the middle of desolate rock. I had never tasted water so naturally cold or fresh before. The best was yet to come, however. After spending a couple of minutes resting we continued on up and over the top of the mountain and entered into a small sun-covered valley where there were even more lakes. I had made it! In all honesty, the site was literally breathtaking. Not only was there no way to tell such a place was there from the bottom of the mountain, you could not even tell it was there until right when you got to the top.
After lunch we started down the mountain, and I quickly came to realize that it was probably just as well I was no longer planning on staying a few extra days. My feet were killing me! I worried a little that we were going to miss Tony and the bus because the hike up, including using the car part way had taken four hours and it was nearly two, but gravity lent us speed and we made it all the way down the hill on foot in two hours flat. After we got back to site we had a small tea with Natalya and then she put us all in the company bus to take us back to town. Once again, I split off from the Kaz-19s because I had to go get my stuff from Robert’s place. That, and I figured they would probably have a pretty late night. They had not actually done that much hiking, but I was dead on my feet. The Kaz-18s were already packed up to go and relaxing when I got there. They had to get back to their site and were on the noon bus from Ust-Kamen to Astana. I decided to go with them and buy a ticket for the 7:30 bus to Almaty. Unfortunately, when I got to the bus station it turned out that there were no tickets for that bus and I would have to wait until tomorrow. I made arrangements to stay with another volunteer who lived in a nearby village over night and then checked my bags at the bus station before around the city for a few hours. We had a fun night making quesadillas from scratch and hanging out, but clearly we were not yet recovered from Ridder, we all passed out in front of a movie by 11:30.
The next day we went to back to the city around noon and hung out for a few hours before I had to get on the bus. My friends asked me why I was taking the bus instead of the train, and I said I was doing it because it was cheaper, and there were no seats on the trains for the next couple of days anyways. I should have waited for the train. First, the bus was packed, and I got seated in the window seat of the very last row next to four incredibly obnoxious Russian guys. Then I found out that rather than taking seventeen hours as I was told earlier, it was going to take twenty hours to get to Almaty. I tried to settle in as best as I could but the guys were four of the biggest assholes I have met in any country, and did not seem to understand that I did not understand them, did not want to take shots with them, nor was I their pillow. I spent half the time trying to keep one of them from crushing me against the window when he passed out after doing shots. If I was not already heading that way before I think that bus trip made me a Kazak nationalist. Thankfully, unlike the real thing, this hell ended eventually and I stumbled off the bus around five p.m. the next day. After getting off the bus I got a ride to the Altin-Orda bus station where I caught a marshootka to Chamalgan, and I am happy to say I am now happily relaxing at home with my first host family. They are in the midst of remodeling the house and making it bigger because they believe that my brother Acxat will get married in the fall, so I am trying to help out or at least stay out of the way. No rest for the weary right?
A Little Pomp and Circumstance
While the traditions and trappings of it may change from country to country, the graduation ceremony is indeed universal. Yesterday was my college’s graduation, and while there were several differences between this ceremony and my own graduation ceremony, other parts of it reminded me just how universal it is as a rite of passage.
The most notable difference I saw was the one that I was happiest about. No Caps or Gowns! Like in America, the students and teachers were all dressed to the nines, but unlike us they did not do something as silly as then covering themselves up with a cheap polyester robe. This decision may have been functional as well as stylistic however, seeing as how it was 92 F in the shade that day. If the students had been wearing American graduation regalia there would have been several cases of heat stroke.
I also liked that the fact that the ceremony was much shorter than the typical commencement ceremony in the U.S. This was partly due to the size of the graduating class, but even taking that into account, things moved along at a nice clip. For one thing, only the students who received the top or “red” diploma from each class group went up individually to receive their diploma, otherwise the head of the department just read out their names and gave the diplomas out by class group. The lack of a valedictory speech also helped in cutting time. Instead of one long speech, three of the best students gave short speeches thanking their teachers, parents, and fellow students, and each of the three speeches was in one of the three official languages of Kazakhstan, either Kazak, Russian, and English.
You might wonder how, even if the grading system is a sham, the administration could fail to recognize a valedictorian, but the fact is that departments and even to some extent is class groups are rather autonomous. Students pick their “major” when they first arrive at the college and are then sorted into different course groups with whom they take all of their classes, even those classes outside their department. Furthermore, after their first and second year, students take fewer and fewer classes outside their specific department. These factors, alongside the endemic cheating, makes choosing a valedictorian an exercise in futility, although I am sure that the P.E. department wishes they did as the award would then be for sale.
The ceremony was not the only thing that was different about graduation at my college. Even the diplomas are different. Unlike in America where all diplomas look pretty much the same unless you look inside, in Kazakhstan you can tell who the high achievers were at a glance. The best students received literal red diplomas while everyone else received regular blue ones. I was pleased to see that my two best students got red diplomas, and I was also happy to see that they did not hand them out like they were happy meal toys. In fact, I only saw one student from the English department get a red diploma who I did not believe deserved it. She is a nice girl, but her English skills are mediocre at best. Apparently however, she tested very well. Another contributing factor no doubt was the fact that in Kazakhstan you lose your diploma rather than earn it. For example, at our college you can have no more than thirty fours in four years to get a red diploma. The student managed this because she was out of school for several weeks after suffering a miscarriage. The assignments and tests she missed were of course not counted against her, nor was she required to make them up. At end of the year, when all the tallying was done, she only had twenty-seven fours, and thus the school deemed her worthy to receive the red diploma.
Those differences aside, I could tell that my students were just as excited as I had been when I finished school. Just as I was, they were preparing to enter into the real world, a world made even realer by the fact that several were already bearing adult responsibilities like marriage and children. It was just like at Wake, though perhaps a tad bit more chaotic because there was no special parents' seating section and no security personnel.
That night my counterpart’s group 4D threw a big party at a restaurant. Despite it being very similar to the Kazak dinner parties I had been to before, I had a surprisingly good time. At first I ate with the other teachers who attended the party, but after they left go visit the other grad parties I hung out with the two of the young husbands. They are always a fun group to hang out with because they are the only local people I have met so far that I would refer to as my peers. We are all between the ages of twenty-two and twenty-five, and even though they are married and have kids, they still have the sense of humor of a college student. Anyway, we had a great time, making toasts and chatting. We drank to the student’s success, danced a little, and then like all of the other twenty-something men in the city went outside to watch the Euro Cup match.
All in all, it was a great day, and I am sorry that it is over. None of those girls are my students anymore, and they were by far the best class I worked with. Still, I am happy because now they will be my colleagues, and hopefully they will be a part of a real effort to change and improve the education system of Kazakhstan. Also, this means that my summer vacation can officially begin!
пятница, 27 июня 2008 г.
Reading List Update
21. Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt
My mother read this book several years ago, but as strange as it is to say, this Irish-American only read Angela’s Ashes for the first time a couple of weeks ago. I think what was great about this story was that it was both about the unique Irish experience and the universal struggle against poverty. McCourt’s book also offers a powerful indictment of the forces that conspire to keep people in poverty, even more potent because he does it without hitting you over the head. He does not point out the corrupt government workers who demean those who come to ask for charity or the cruel priests who refuse to admit into their school the those that need it the most. Rather, McCourt simply tells his story and allows the reader to see how often the forces of the church and the state often join forces to oppress the very people they are supposed to be helping. Ultimately however, it is a story of great courage, of what is possible if you are willing to go for it, and perhaps to those of us that are more fortunate, the question of why have we not done more?
22. Dreams From My Father by Barak Obama
23. The Audacity of Hope by Barak Obama
I read these two books pretty much back to back, and while many people have said that his second book, the Audacity of Hope, is better due to Obama’s maturation as a both a statesman and a writer, I think that I actually like the first book more. Everyone has tried to understand their parents are, not just in relation to ourselves but also as individuals, though this is undoubtedly more difficult when the parent is not there. This search for knowledge and connection with another part of his family mirrored Obama’s more personal search for a fulfilling life and career.
Still, even if I liked Dreams of My Father a little bit more, Audacity of Hope was still and excellent book. The book is a powerful political treatise about what needs to be done n our country and how Obama intends to accomplish these goals. His political opponents may claim that he is inexperienced or naïve, but then I guess so am I as well as the several million other people who have found in his rhetoric a clear path to change and a better America.
24. The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien
The Things They Carried is an interesting book that is both a collection of short stories and a memoir. The meaning of the title is two-fold. First, it refers to those objects, both mundane and significant, that O’Brien and his fellow soldiers carried with them during their service in Vietnam, and secondly it refers to the emotional and psychological damage that O’Brien and the other survivors carry with them. My favorite story was the one about O’Brien came to the army. He talks about he was set against the war and seriously considered going to Canada when he was drafted, but in the end he decided to serve anyway because he was more afraid of shaming himself and his family than losing his life for a cause he did not support or understand. Our country is now engaged in a similar military debacle, although at least service in this one is voluntary. Still, reading O’Brien’s book is great for not only getting a clearer picture of the Forgotten Generation, but also for gaining understanding about what members of my own generation are experiencing during their wartime service.
25. The Pig Did It by Joseph Caldwell
26. Oil by Upton Sinclair
Not many books written on such a specific subject retain their timelessness and authority. For example, The Jungle, another of Sinclair’s works, no longer packs quite the punch that it used to thanks to the efforts of the FDA. Oil however, remains just as interesting and relevant today as it did when it was first published. Unfortunately, this timelessness is due as much to the lack of progress in the Oil/Energy Industry as Sinclair’s writing. The book starts off a little slow, mostly because the main character, Bunny, is so milquetoast and wishy-washy, but eventually he does get a backbone when faced with financial and physical costs of his father’s work and the mind-blowing fact that in certain cases more money was spent on the drilling than the oil was worth. What was great about the book however, was that Sinclair did not focus solely on the industry, he also examined the complicity of those that lived off the earnings. Sinclair shows just how far into politics and society the oil man can reach, and why it will prove so difficult to remove him from our system so that we can make progress on alternative energy sources.
27. Imperial Life in the Emerald City by Rajiv Chandrasekara
28. Apples Are From Kazakhstan by Christopher Robbins
In one of the most interesting travel guides I’ve ever read, Robbins goes all over Kazakhstan to see some of its most important sites and examine Kazakshtan’s lost past, its present, and its uncertain future. Most of the book is a very clear and rational examination of the country and its people, but after he begins to travel with the president he clearly loses some objectivity in regards to the political and education systems of Kazakhstan. For example, he praises the country’s nearly 99% literacy and high number of students who complete secondary school, but he declines to mention that cheating in school is widespread or that bribes on big exams or for diplomas are still fairly common. Still, the picture he draws of Kazakhstan as the birthplace of apples and legendary horsemen is fascinating and makes me want to explore my new home even more.
My mother read this book several years ago, but as strange as it is to say, this Irish-American only read Angela’s Ashes for the first time a couple of weeks ago. I think what was great about this story was that it was both about the unique Irish experience and the universal struggle against poverty. McCourt’s book also offers a powerful indictment of the forces that conspire to keep people in poverty, even more potent because he does it without hitting you over the head. He does not point out the corrupt government workers who demean those who come to ask for charity or the cruel priests who refuse to admit into their school the those that need it the most. Rather, McCourt simply tells his story and allows the reader to see how often the forces of the church and the state often join forces to oppress the very people they are supposed to be helping. Ultimately however, it is a story of great courage, of what is possible if you are willing to go for it, and perhaps to those of us that are more fortunate, the question of why have we not done more?
22. Dreams From My Father by Barak Obama
23. The Audacity of Hope by Barak Obama
I read these two books pretty much back to back, and while many people have said that his second book, the Audacity of Hope, is better due to Obama’s maturation as a both a statesman and a writer, I think that I actually like the first book more. Everyone has tried to understand their parents are, not just in relation to ourselves but also as individuals, though this is undoubtedly more difficult when the parent is not there. This search for knowledge and connection with another part of his family mirrored Obama’s more personal search for a fulfilling life and career.
Still, even if I liked Dreams of My Father a little bit more, Audacity of Hope was still and excellent book. The book is a powerful political treatise about what needs to be done n our country and how Obama intends to accomplish these goals. His political opponents may claim that he is inexperienced or naïve, but then I guess so am I as well as the several million other people who have found in his rhetoric a clear path to change and a better America.
24. The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien
The Things They Carried is an interesting book that is both a collection of short stories and a memoir. The meaning of the title is two-fold. First, it refers to those objects, both mundane and significant, that O’Brien and his fellow soldiers carried with them during their service in Vietnam, and secondly it refers to the emotional and psychological damage that O’Brien and the other survivors carry with them. My favorite story was the one about O’Brien came to the army. He talks about he was set against the war and seriously considered going to Canada when he was drafted, but in the end he decided to serve anyway because he was more afraid of shaming himself and his family than losing his life for a cause he did not support or understand. Our country is now engaged in a similar military debacle, although at least service in this one is voluntary. Still, reading O’Brien’s book is great for not only getting a clearer picture of the Forgotten Generation, but also for gaining understanding about what members of my own generation are experiencing during their wartime service.
25. The Pig Did It by Joseph Caldwell
26. Oil by Upton Sinclair
Not many books written on such a specific subject retain their timelessness and authority. For example, The Jungle, another of Sinclair’s works, no longer packs quite the punch that it used to thanks to the efforts of the FDA. Oil however, remains just as interesting and relevant today as it did when it was first published. Unfortunately, this timelessness is due as much to the lack of progress in the Oil/Energy Industry as Sinclair’s writing. The book starts off a little slow, mostly because the main character, Bunny, is so milquetoast and wishy-washy, but eventually he does get a backbone when faced with financial and physical costs of his father’s work and the mind-blowing fact that in certain cases more money was spent on the drilling than the oil was worth. What was great about the book however, was that Sinclair did not focus solely on the industry, he also examined the complicity of those that lived off the earnings. Sinclair shows just how far into politics and society the oil man can reach, and why it will prove so difficult to remove him from our system so that we can make progress on alternative energy sources.
27. Imperial Life in the Emerald City by Rajiv Chandrasekara
28. Apples Are From Kazakhstan by Christopher Robbins
In one of the most interesting travel guides I’ve ever read, Robbins goes all over Kazakhstan to see some of its most important sites and examine Kazakshtan’s lost past, its present, and its uncertain future. Most of the book is a very clear and rational examination of the country and its people, but after he begins to travel with the president he clearly loses some objectivity in regards to the political and education systems of Kazakhstan. For example, he praises the country’s nearly 99% literacy and high number of students who complete secondary school, but he declines to mention that cheating in school is widespread or that bribes on big exams or for diplomas are still fairly common. Still, the picture he draws of Kazakhstan as the birthplace of apples and legendary horsemen is fascinating and makes me want to explore my new home even more.
понедельник, 16 июня 2008 г.
Summer Vacation Pt. 1
June 16, 2008
I know that it has been a long time between updates, but I hope that these recent posts will satisfy. For the last two weeks I have been working at a summer camp in Alga, a small village in the northwest of Kazakhstan that is located near the city of Aktobe. The weather was wonderful, and the people very friendly, but unfortunately internet was scarce, so I had to wait until I returned to the big city of Kyzylorda before I could share my experiences.
The camp was great because it was a kind of reunion for my training group. Two of our friends from other sites came down to Kyzylorda first, and then the four of us went together to Alga. The train ride was hell. We were in Platzcar because it was cheaper, but this turned out to be a mistake. Our window would not go down so we just lay there and baked for nineteen hours, all while being stared at by every other occupant of the car. Seriously, I think sweated for at least twelve hours straight before nighttime finally brought relief. Eventually though, we made up to Alga where our friend Emiko was their to meet us with her counterpart Roman. The sanitorium we would be staying at was not quite ready yet so we first went to Emiko’s house to shower and have tea. A big bonus was that Emiko had somehow made Chocolate Chip cookies that unfortunately disappeared within three hours. We were soon settled in the sanitorum, and then were given the grand tour of the village that took all of 45 minutes. The school that Emiko works at was very nice, and conveniently located, and while it was definitely not the social scene that Kyzylorda was, Alga had everything that was necessary, including a rather nice bakery. The next day was Sunday, and it was the day we were to meet our host country counterparts and begin preparations for lessons. My counterpart was named Larissa, a middle aged Russian woman who was very friendly but not very active in planning or in class. At first I thought that maybe this was because she did not like me or that her English was bad, but I eventually found out that neither was the case. Rather, she simply wanted a native speaker to do most of the talking and enjoyed seeing what a young person like myself could come up with. The camp began that Monday with an opening ceremony and presentations by the volunteers. I was obligated to perform my fake Irish jig and fortunately no one was the wiser, and we also performed some demonstrations about the sports we would teach the kids during the subsequent two weeks. We then got together in homerooms, made introductions and chose which countries we wanted to be for the next two weeks. The kids at first were more inclined towards Canada, but I was able to convince them that Ireland was cooler, and they quickly became very nationalistic Orangemen.
The camp days were very long and tiring, but a lot of fun. Every morning we taught two hours of English class followed by two hours of American sports and games. All of us volunteers quickly found our niche. Some found a home making friendship bracelets, others teaching kickball. I myself, became head dodgeball instructor and spent the last two weeks happily instructing the students on the finer points of Battleball and teaching them how to properly use your shoulder to throw the power ball. Unfortunately, as good as my students did in class, they did not earn that many points in the competition for points, and so at the end of the two weeks we found ourselves near the bottom in the Camp Olympics. Still, I was very proud of my kids, who not only made a great deal of progress in class, but were also very enthusiastic about being Team Ireland. Besides teaching the students we were also expected to spend some one on one time with our counterparts after lunch. Most of this was spent lesson planning, but we also gave presentations on games and activities and instructed some of them on the use of the communicative teaching method. We also usually found ourselves busy in the evenings as well, either with pick up basketball games or Konocks at Emiko’s parent’s and counterpart’s house. Thus, when bedtime finally arrived I slept like a log.
Still, the vacation was not all work. Over the weekend we got to go into the city of Aktobe, which like Kyzylorda is an oil town, only even more so due to its proximity to the big oil fields in the northwest. While in many ways it has a similar appearance to Kyzylorda, it definitely was a lot bigger and we had to take the bus almost everywhere we went because the distances were so great.
Eventually however, the camp came to an end I was sorry that it would mean saying goodbye to all of my friends and all of my students. Still, parting was not too bad, because I know that I will see them again soon. On the 26th I am going to head up to Ust-Komen where we are all getting together again for another camp, and afterwards there might even be an opportunity for us to do some responsibility free sightseeing around Kazakhstan. Also, I must admit that I was a little homesick for Kyzylorda towards the end, and I was happy to see my desert outpost again when I got off the train yesterday. I stepped off the train, breathed in the scorching hot air, began to sweat like crazy and realized that a great summer was only beginning.
I know that it has been a long time between updates, but I hope that these recent posts will satisfy. For the last two weeks I have been working at a summer camp in Alga, a small village in the northwest of Kazakhstan that is located near the city of Aktobe. The weather was wonderful, and the people very friendly, but unfortunately internet was scarce, so I had to wait until I returned to the big city of Kyzylorda before I could share my experiences.
The camp was great because it was a kind of reunion for my training group. Two of our friends from other sites came down to Kyzylorda first, and then the four of us went together to Alga. The train ride was hell. We were in Platzcar because it was cheaper, but this turned out to be a mistake. Our window would not go down so we just lay there and baked for nineteen hours, all while being stared at by every other occupant of the car. Seriously, I think sweated for at least twelve hours straight before nighttime finally brought relief. Eventually though, we made up to Alga where our friend Emiko was their to meet us with her counterpart Roman. The sanitorium we would be staying at was not quite ready yet so we first went to Emiko’s house to shower and have tea. A big bonus was that Emiko had somehow made Chocolate Chip cookies that unfortunately disappeared within three hours. We were soon settled in the sanitorum, and then were given the grand tour of the village that took all of 45 minutes. The school that Emiko works at was very nice, and conveniently located, and while it was definitely not the social scene that Kyzylorda was, Alga had everything that was necessary, including a rather nice bakery. The next day was Sunday, and it was the day we were to meet our host country counterparts and begin preparations for lessons. My counterpart was named Larissa, a middle aged Russian woman who was very friendly but not very active in planning or in class. At first I thought that maybe this was because she did not like me or that her English was bad, but I eventually found out that neither was the case. Rather, she simply wanted a native speaker to do most of the talking and enjoyed seeing what a young person like myself could come up with. The camp began that Monday with an opening ceremony and presentations by the volunteers. I was obligated to perform my fake Irish jig and fortunately no one was the wiser, and we also performed some demonstrations about the sports we would teach the kids during the subsequent two weeks. We then got together in homerooms, made introductions and chose which countries we wanted to be for the next two weeks. The kids at first were more inclined towards Canada, but I was able to convince them that Ireland was cooler, and they quickly became very nationalistic Orangemen.
The camp days were very long and tiring, but a lot of fun. Every morning we taught two hours of English class followed by two hours of American sports and games. All of us volunteers quickly found our niche. Some found a home making friendship bracelets, others teaching kickball. I myself, became head dodgeball instructor and spent the last two weeks happily instructing the students on the finer points of Battleball and teaching them how to properly use your shoulder to throw the power ball. Unfortunately, as good as my students did in class, they did not earn that many points in the competition for points, and so at the end of the two weeks we found ourselves near the bottom in the Camp Olympics. Still, I was very proud of my kids, who not only made a great deal of progress in class, but were also very enthusiastic about being Team Ireland. Besides teaching the students we were also expected to spend some one on one time with our counterparts after lunch. Most of this was spent lesson planning, but we also gave presentations on games and activities and instructed some of them on the use of the communicative teaching method. We also usually found ourselves busy in the evenings as well, either with pick up basketball games or Konocks at Emiko’s parent’s and counterpart’s house. Thus, when bedtime finally arrived I slept like a log.
Still, the vacation was not all work. Over the weekend we got to go into the city of Aktobe, which like Kyzylorda is an oil town, only even more so due to its proximity to the big oil fields in the northwest. While in many ways it has a similar appearance to Kyzylorda, it definitely was a lot bigger and we had to take the bus almost everywhere we went because the distances were so great.
Eventually however, the camp came to an end I was sorry that it would mean saying goodbye to all of my friends and all of my students. Still, parting was not too bad, because I know that I will see them again soon. On the 26th I am going to head up to Ust-Komen where we are all getting together again for another camp, and afterwards there might even be an opportunity for us to do some responsibility free sightseeing around Kazakhstan. Also, I must admit that I was a little homesick for Kyzylorda towards the end, and I was happy to see my desert outpost again when I got off the train yesterday. I stepped off the train, breathed in the scorching hot air, began to sweat like crazy and realized that a great summer was only beginning.
How to Survive a Kazak Dinner Party
June 5, 2008
I have talked about going to parties before in other posts, but I do not think that I have gone into enough detail to give a true picture of the fascinating social institution that is the Kazak dinner party. Kazak dinner parties are also known as Konocks or Dasterhans because Konock is the Kazak word for guest and Dasterhan is Kazak for table cloth or spread. These parties always follow the same formula. The first course is the salad, which is usually my favorite because there are at least three different kinds, and you are guaranteed to have fresh vegetables other than potatoes. This is followed by the main course which is usually either Beshparmak or Plov. Then, there is sometimes a short break for digestion and to clean the table before tea with desserts and fruit. Of course, it would not be a Kazak party if drinking was not involved. Throughout the dinner, eating is occasionally interrupted by a series of toasts, and these toasts can really lengthen the evening because every person has to give one. Like the dinner party itself, toast giving is pretty formulaic. You thank the host, offer him general wishes for good health and happiness, tell everyone that you are drinking for friendship or peace, etc. and then take a shot of vodka. If you have a good toast master that keeps things moving along, toasting can be kind of fun, but it can be real stressful when you are still learning Kazak and struggling to come up with something original to say, a process made even more difficult if your toast comes late in the festivities. Also, guests are often expected to give some sort of performance like singing a song or maybe even dancing. After everyone has toasted and had enough chai the meal draws to a close, but not before the oldest male guest at the table has performed the prayer. Even then, the party is not necessarily over, and many konocks are followed by dancing in the living room or even in some cases, Karaoke.
Having laid out the general formula then I offer the following advice for surviving the Kazak dinner party.
1. Skip lunch. You will eat so much food at the Kazak dinner party that not only will you make up for not eating earlier, but you might not even need breakfast the next day. Not only are the main courses gigantic, but there are tons of other things to nibble on throughout the evening, like nuts, salads, cheeses, meats, and fruits so I guarantee that you will be full.
2. Eat a lot. Do not worry about eating too much, the food is delicious, healthy, and you can always go to the gym tomorrow. Furthermore, your host will continuously tell you to eat, eat, and you risk hurting their feelings if you do not. Finally, the fuller the stomach the less likely you are to get embarrassingly drunk of the seven or eight shots you will be expected to take.
3. Learn a little Kazak. Even if you are fluent in Russian, Kazak toasts need to be made in Kazak. You do not need to learn that much though. As I mentioned, toasts are formulaic and going with the standard often goes over a lot better than trying to speak from the heart.
4. Have a talent
As I mentioned before, guests are often expected to sing or offer some other entertainment, and it is best if that skill is genuine. For example, last week in Alga, my so-called friends told everyone that I could do an Irish jig, and so I was then obligated to perform a farcical imitation. Fortunately, thanks to the fact that they had never seen the genuine article, and their belief that everyone of Irish ancestry knows how to do it, my Kazak audience bought it hook, line, and sinker. Still, it would have been much better if I could actually perform the real dance, or if, like one of the other volunteers in attendance, I could sing beautiful Kazak and Russian songs.
I hope people find it helpful, even if they might never have need for it. Hopefully though, you will have the chance to put it into use, because while the toasting can be tedious, the food is delicious, and the Konock or Dasterhan is one of the most interesting and important cultural experiences to be had in Kazakhstan.
I have talked about going to parties before in other posts, but I do not think that I have gone into enough detail to give a true picture of the fascinating social institution that is the Kazak dinner party. Kazak dinner parties are also known as Konocks or Dasterhans because Konock is the Kazak word for guest and Dasterhan is Kazak for table cloth or spread. These parties always follow the same formula. The first course is the salad, which is usually my favorite because there are at least three different kinds, and you are guaranteed to have fresh vegetables other than potatoes. This is followed by the main course which is usually either Beshparmak or Plov. Then, there is sometimes a short break for digestion and to clean the table before tea with desserts and fruit. Of course, it would not be a Kazak party if drinking was not involved. Throughout the dinner, eating is occasionally interrupted by a series of toasts, and these toasts can really lengthen the evening because every person has to give one. Like the dinner party itself, toast giving is pretty formulaic. You thank the host, offer him general wishes for good health and happiness, tell everyone that you are drinking for friendship or peace, etc. and then take a shot of vodka. If you have a good toast master that keeps things moving along, toasting can be kind of fun, but it can be real stressful when you are still learning Kazak and struggling to come up with something original to say, a process made even more difficult if your toast comes late in the festivities. Also, guests are often expected to give some sort of performance like singing a song or maybe even dancing. After everyone has toasted and had enough chai the meal draws to a close, but not before the oldest male guest at the table has performed the prayer. Even then, the party is not necessarily over, and many konocks are followed by dancing in the living room or even in some cases, Karaoke.
Having laid out the general formula then I offer the following advice for surviving the Kazak dinner party.
1. Skip lunch. You will eat so much food at the Kazak dinner party that not only will you make up for not eating earlier, but you might not even need breakfast the next day. Not only are the main courses gigantic, but there are tons of other things to nibble on throughout the evening, like nuts, salads, cheeses, meats, and fruits so I guarantee that you will be full.
2. Eat a lot. Do not worry about eating too much, the food is delicious, healthy, and you can always go to the gym tomorrow. Furthermore, your host will continuously tell you to eat, eat, and you risk hurting their feelings if you do not. Finally, the fuller the stomach the less likely you are to get embarrassingly drunk of the seven or eight shots you will be expected to take.
3. Learn a little Kazak. Even if you are fluent in Russian, Kazak toasts need to be made in Kazak. You do not need to learn that much though. As I mentioned, toasts are formulaic and going with the standard often goes over a lot better than trying to speak from the heart.
4. Have a talent
As I mentioned before, guests are often expected to sing or offer some other entertainment, and it is best if that skill is genuine. For example, last week in Alga, my so-called friends told everyone that I could do an Irish jig, and so I was then obligated to perform a farcical imitation. Fortunately, thanks to the fact that they had never seen the genuine article, and their belief that everyone of Irish ancestry knows how to do it, my Kazak audience bought it hook, line, and sinker. Still, it would have been much better if I could actually perform the real dance, or if, like one of the other volunteers in attendance, I could sing beautiful Kazak and Russian songs.
I hope people find it helpful, even if they might never have need for it. Hopefully though, you will have the chance to put it into use, because while the toasting can be tedious, the food is delicious, and the Konock or Dasterhan is one of the most interesting and important cultural experiences to be had in Kazakhstan.
воскресенье, 1 июня 2008 г.
Birthdays and Changes
May 26, 2008
I used to think, as many people probably do, that turning twenty-three is nothing special. After all, no milestone like the right to vote or to purchase alcohol accompanies a person’s twenty-third birthday. However, I have recently decided that the twenty-third birthday has been grossly undervalued and that it might actually be the most important birthday of all. A person’s twenty-third year is usually the first time that they really do anything that is unique or expresses their individuality. In America at least, learning to drive, voting, and even graduating from high school are all achievements that are based on societal expectation rather than personal choice or ambition. At twenty-three however, people truly begin to live their own lives. They decide what it is they want to do and set out to do it. Whether that means entering the workforce or going onto graduate school, the choice is one’s own.
You may disagree with my argument for the importance of the twenty-third birthday, but I would just like to say that for me it probably was one of most important and fun birthdays I have ever had. First, it was celebration of my first major individualistic decision of my adult life, joining the Peace Corps. This was also, the first time that I have ever celebrated my birthday outside of the United States or away from my parents. Fortunately however, I was able to celebrate with twelve of my newest best friends, both volunteers and host country nationals, and my Kazak host family. My birthday marked nearly six months at site, and looking around the table I realized how lucky I was to have so many local friends and such an awesome host family. My family held a traditional Kazak dastarhan/birthday party with lots of food, including Zhanat Apa’s monte and toasting. Then I found out that my friends had dedicated a music video to me on the local television station. On purpose, they had chosen my least favorite Kazak song, but I was still touched. Also, I know that in four months I will have my chance for revenge.
As I mentioned previously, turning twenty-three has brought with it a major change. I am now living by myself! Last Monday I agreed to rent this very nice two-room apartment about six blocks from my college and I moved in yesterday. This is the first time that I have really lived by myself. I have to admit that at first I was a little worried about moving out. I was a little concerned about upsetting my host family, but my biggest worry was definitely about food. I am glad to say however, that my worries have so far proven to be unfounded. I have so far successfully made both stir-fry and Denver omelets, and am beginning to feel much more confident around the kitchen. The apartment itself is beautiful. I really lucked out. I have two rooms of a four-bedroom apartment because the landlady lives in Astana and uses the other two rooms as storage, but still it is a really great situation. The rooms are big and well kept and I even have a washing machine. In fact, the only real drawback is water. Due to the state of the infrastructure in Kyzylorda and the fact that I live on the third floor apartment I only get water between 11:00 PM-1:00 AM and then from 6:30AM-9:30 AM, so I keep several five gallon jugs for the other times. Unfortunately, this lack of water means that my washing machine is useless most of the time, but I have gotten it to work a few times. So friends, if you are in the neighborhood please drop by, my couch is very comfortable and you can tell me what you think about my cooking.
I used to think, as many people probably do, that turning twenty-three is nothing special. After all, no milestone like the right to vote or to purchase alcohol accompanies a person’s twenty-third birthday. However, I have recently decided that the twenty-third birthday has been grossly undervalued and that it might actually be the most important birthday of all. A person’s twenty-third year is usually the first time that they really do anything that is unique or expresses their individuality. In America at least, learning to drive, voting, and even graduating from high school are all achievements that are based on societal expectation rather than personal choice or ambition. At twenty-three however, people truly begin to live their own lives. They decide what it is they want to do and set out to do it. Whether that means entering the workforce or going onto graduate school, the choice is one’s own.
You may disagree with my argument for the importance of the twenty-third birthday, but I would just like to say that for me it probably was one of most important and fun birthdays I have ever had. First, it was celebration of my first major individualistic decision of my adult life, joining the Peace Corps. This was also, the first time that I have ever celebrated my birthday outside of the United States or away from my parents. Fortunately however, I was able to celebrate with twelve of my newest best friends, both volunteers and host country nationals, and my Kazak host family. My birthday marked nearly six months at site, and looking around the table I realized how lucky I was to have so many local friends and such an awesome host family. My family held a traditional Kazak dastarhan/birthday party with lots of food, including Zhanat Apa’s monte and toasting. Then I found out that my friends had dedicated a music video to me on the local television station. On purpose, they had chosen my least favorite Kazak song, but I was still touched. Also, I know that in four months I will have my chance for revenge.
As I mentioned previously, turning twenty-three has brought with it a major change. I am now living by myself! Last Monday I agreed to rent this very nice two-room apartment about six blocks from my college and I moved in yesterday. This is the first time that I have really lived by myself. I have to admit that at first I was a little worried about moving out. I was a little concerned about upsetting my host family, but my biggest worry was definitely about food. I am glad to say however, that my worries have so far proven to be unfounded. I have so far successfully made both stir-fry and Denver omelets, and am beginning to feel much more confident around the kitchen. The apartment itself is beautiful. I really lucked out. I have two rooms of a four-bedroom apartment because the landlady lives in Astana and uses the other two rooms as storage, but still it is a really great situation. The rooms are big and well kept and I even have a washing machine. In fact, the only real drawback is water. Due to the state of the infrastructure in Kyzylorda and the fact that I live on the third floor apartment I only get water between 11:00 PM-1:00 AM and then from 6:30AM-9:30 AM, so I keep several five gallon jugs for the other times. Unfortunately, this lack of water means that my washing machine is useless most of the time, but I have gotten it to work a few times. So friends, if you are in the neighborhood please drop by, my couch is very comfortable and you can tell me what you think about my cooking.
суббота, 24 мая 2008 г.
What's in a Name?
May 12, 2008
A name is one life’s most valuable possessions. Our names are the foundation of our professional and personal reputations, and are an important part of our personal and professional identities. You might be Mr. Smith at work, but John with your friends, and your behavior subtly changes to fit the alias. Furthermore, names are often an important part of one’s cultural heritage, and thus Kazak names are very different from American ones in regards to the structure and the names themselves.
First, when introducing yourself in Kazakhstan, you give your last name first rather than the American custom of giving your first name first. Also, while in America people have at least two to three given names, in Kazakhstan there is only one- the first name. The “middle name” is just a patronymic. For example, had I been born in Kazakhstan, my name would not be McKenzie Lawrence Mullally Clark, rather it would be Clark McKenzie Daviduli, as “uli” means “son of”. Thus, it is probably much easier for parents to name their children here in Kazakhstan since two of the three are just “fill-in-the-blank.”
The structure is not the only thing that is different about Kazak names, however. American names like John, Sara, or Kimberly do not usually mean anything, even if they do have a long cultural or family history, but Kazak names can actually be translated. Some common names are Aigarum which means “splendid moon”, Temirzhon or “iron soul, Karakoz which means “black eyes” Tolganai or full moon, and Bakhyt, which means happiness. In class, when I am not struggling to say the name in the first place, I often like to think about what it means, and if they have actually live up to their name. Still, even if there are not “iron souls” in my class, I count myself lucky that none of my students deserve the name Akhmak, which means stupid.
A name is one life’s most valuable possessions. Our names are the foundation of our professional and personal reputations, and are an important part of our personal and professional identities. You might be Mr. Smith at work, but John with your friends, and your behavior subtly changes to fit the alias. Furthermore, names are often an important part of one’s cultural heritage, and thus Kazak names are very different from American ones in regards to the structure and the names themselves.
First, when introducing yourself in Kazakhstan, you give your last name first rather than the American custom of giving your first name first. Also, while in America people have at least two to three given names, in Kazakhstan there is only one- the first name. The “middle name” is just a patronymic. For example, had I been born in Kazakhstan, my name would not be McKenzie Lawrence Mullally Clark, rather it would be Clark McKenzie Daviduli, as “uli” means “son of”. Thus, it is probably much easier for parents to name their children here in Kazakhstan since two of the three are just “fill-in-the-blank.”
The structure is not the only thing that is different about Kazak names, however. American names like John, Sara, or Kimberly do not usually mean anything, even if they do have a long cultural or family history, but Kazak names can actually be translated. Some common names are Aigarum which means “splendid moon”, Temirzhon or “iron soul, Karakoz which means “black eyes” Tolganai or full moon, and Bakhyt, which means happiness. In class, when I am not struggling to say the name in the first place, I often like to think about what it means, and if they have actually live up to their name. Still, even if there are not “iron souls” in my class, I count myself lucky that none of my students deserve the name Akhmak, which means stupid.
воскресенье, 4 мая 2008 г.
Some Things Change, Some Things Stay the Same
April 24th, 2008
Living in a different country with a very different culture is all about personal growth and making adjustments. There are adjustments to the food you eat, to the types of clothes you wear, even to some extent your personal values. Furthermore, you would be surprised at which ones do the shifting. Some, which back home seemed immutable, are molded to fit the situation at work or at home, while others, which in familiar territory were vague suddenly become much more resolute.
An example of such a shift is my views regarding cheating. After growing up in America, and attending a University with a very strict honor code, I was a firm believer in the idea that cheating is wrong under any circumstances and that students who engage in it should be harshly punished. However, things are quite different in Kazakhstan. Students openly “help” each other on tests and assignments even if it is a major test and the teacher is standing right in front of them. At first I tried to maintain my strict philosophy, but I soon realized that the problem was endemic and nothing I did or said would change my students behavior. Thus, I began to adapt and compromise. I still do not accept my students’ cheating on assignments, but I now only give assignments that they have to work on cooperatively to complete. In this way, I can teach without feeling like I am compromising my integrity. Some may feel that I surrendered to the status quo rather quickly, and they are probably right, but my acclimatization was made easier by the fact that I have come to realize that the almost forces the students to cheat if they want to be successful. As the year draws to a close, some students face ten major exams on top of portfolio preparation, a workload that inevitably leads to cheating or a nervous breakdown.
On the other hand, since coming to Kazakhstan I have become even more firm and outspoken in my views on women’s rights and gender roles, rather than adjust to the more patriarchal views held by many in this country. One of the biggest influences on this evolution has been teaching at the college. First, nearly all of my students are women. In fact, of the 150 students I teach during the week, only four are men, and I find statistic a little troubling as it reveals that many in Kazakhstan still hold onto the notion that gender is an important factor in a person’s occupation. Still, the boy-girl ratio or my classes has only been a small factor in my becoming a bigger fan of Gloria Steinam and bell hooks. A much larger reason has been hearing some of the things that come out of my students’ mouths. For example, a few weeks ago I taught a class on jobs and occupation. After the vocabulary and sentence exercises, I thought a little cross culture activity would be fun. I put a venn diagram up on the board and had my students decide what jobs were for men, what jobs were for women, and what jobs were for both. Some choices, such as putting nurse with women, and policeman and with men were not unexpected and were similar to points of view held by many Americans. They were even good about putting doctor, lawyer, and politician in the both column. Other choices though were baffling, such as their claim that women could or should not be engineers, electricians, or soldiers to name a few. I was particularly surprised with their stance about soldiers, given the fact that the school is named after a famous woman soldier from WWII and there is a giant bust of her out in the courtyard. I asked them to explain their reasoning and they said, “Girls should not be out doing dangerous or dirty jobs, and are better off doing nice clean jobs and taking care of their children.” Now, that is not to say that it is a bad thing if a young woman sees marrying and having children as the ultimate aim in life or wishes to avoid occupations that are messy or physically demanding, but to make that claim for all women seemed a little much.
Life is the Peace Corps is certainly never boring and it requires a bit of personal transformation and adjustment in order to work effectively in one’s adopted community. Still, the last six months have served to remind me that one cannot, nor should they yield on everything. To be sure, in regards to certain things, it is important to hold as open and as pluralistic a mindset as possible. However, on other issues, one must hold firm to their values lest they risk losing themselves in the cause of cultural acceptance. It is this judgment of which issues to compromise on and on what issues to hold firm that makes the two years of service in the Peace Corps the single most defining experience for it’s volunteers. It is a singular time of discovery and growth when, using another culture as a mirror, we become aware of our true selves.
Living in a different country with a very different culture is all about personal growth and making adjustments. There are adjustments to the food you eat, to the types of clothes you wear, even to some extent your personal values. Furthermore, you would be surprised at which ones do the shifting. Some, which back home seemed immutable, are molded to fit the situation at work or at home, while others, which in familiar territory were vague suddenly become much more resolute.
An example of such a shift is my views regarding cheating. After growing up in America, and attending a University with a very strict honor code, I was a firm believer in the idea that cheating is wrong under any circumstances and that students who engage in it should be harshly punished. However, things are quite different in Kazakhstan. Students openly “help” each other on tests and assignments even if it is a major test and the teacher is standing right in front of them. At first I tried to maintain my strict philosophy, but I soon realized that the problem was endemic and nothing I did or said would change my students behavior. Thus, I began to adapt and compromise. I still do not accept my students’ cheating on assignments, but I now only give assignments that they have to work on cooperatively to complete. In this way, I can teach without feeling like I am compromising my integrity. Some may feel that I surrendered to the status quo rather quickly, and they are probably right, but my acclimatization was made easier by the fact that I have come to realize that the almost forces the students to cheat if they want to be successful. As the year draws to a close, some students face ten major exams on top of portfolio preparation, a workload that inevitably leads to cheating or a nervous breakdown.
On the other hand, since coming to Kazakhstan I have become even more firm and outspoken in my views on women’s rights and gender roles, rather than adjust to the more patriarchal views held by many in this country. One of the biggest influences on this evolution has been teaching at the college. First, nearly all of my students are women. In fact, of the 150 students I teach during the week, only four are men, and I find statistic a little troubling as it reveals that many in Kazakhstan still hold onto the notion that gender is an important factor in a person’s occupation. Still, the boy-girl ratio or my classes has only been a small factor in my becoming a bigger fan of Gloria Steinam and bell hooks. A much larger reason has been hearing some of the things that come out of my students’ mouths. For example, a few weeks ago I taught a class on jobs and occupation. After the vocabulary and sentence exercises, I thought a little cross culture activity would be fun. I put a venn diagram up on the board and had my students decide what jobs were for men, what jobs were for women, and what jobs were for both. Some choices, such as putting nurse with women, and policeman and with men were not unexpected and were similar to points of view held by many Americans. They were even good about putting doctor, lawyer, and politician in the both column. Other choices though were baffling, such as their claim that women could or should not be engineers, electricians, or soldiers to name a few. I was particularly surprised with their stance about soldiers, given the fact that the school is named after a famous woman soldier from WWII and there is a giant bust of her out in the courtyard. I asked them to explain their reasoning and they said, “Girls should not be out doing dangerous or dirty jobs, and are better off doing nice clean jobs and taking care of their children.” Now, that is not to say that it is a bad thing if a young woman sees marrying and having children as the ultimate aim in life or wishes to avoid occupations that are messy or physically demanding, but to make that claim for all women seemed a little much.
Life is the Peace Corps is certainly never boring and it requires a bit of personal transformation and adjustment in order to work effectively in one’s adopted community. Still, the last six months have served to remind me that one cannot, nor should they yield on everything. To be sure, in regards to certain things, it is important to hold as open and as pluralistic a mindset as possible. However, on other issues, one must hold firm to their values lest they risk losing themselves in the cause of cultural acceptance. It is this judgment of which issues to compromise on and on what issues to hold firm that makes the two years of service in the Peace Corps the single most defining experience for it’s volunteers. It is a singular time of discovery and growth when, using another culture as a mirror, we become aware of our true selves.
понедельник, 28 апреля 2008 г.
Getting Around Town
April 17, 2008
In regards to what makes a city a city, Greensboro, NC and Waco, TX are superior to Kyzylorda in several ways. They have taller buildings, more people, and an actual working public sanitation system. There is one important area however, in which Kyzylorda has them beat, reliable public transportation. In Kyzylorda, from 6AMto 8PM you have two main choices for getting around, buses or marshootkas. Marshootkas are basically slightly larger than normal minivans and are extremely uncomfortable. The conductors pack far more people in than there are seats so you are usually forced to stand and often find yourself awkwardly squished against several other people. Furthermore, you cannot even stand up straight and are forced to contort yourself just to fit inside in the first place. The crazy thing though, is that even though marshootkas are more awkward to ride in, they are actually more expensive than buses! In Kyzylorda, Marshootkas cost 35 tenge per ride, but the buses only cost 30 tenge! I know that they cannot fit as many people in as a bus can, no matter how hard they squeeze, and that the extra five tenge is supposed to make up some of the difference, but I figure that if I am going to subject myself to that sort of punishment willingly, they could at least give me a price break. One may wonder why I take Marshootkas if the buses are roomier and cheaper, but unfortunately buses do not frequent the outskirts of the city where I live, so usually I just have to bite the bullet and ride the marshootka.
Still, these cramped rides to work are not all bad and have had a few positive results. Primarily, I think it has made me more comfortable in large crowds and more willing to speak to complete strangers. Perhaps due in part to of geography and manifest destiny, but American’s are generally accustomed to and seek open spaces. Even in crowded cities, people try to maintain at least three feet of personal space. In Kazakhstan, though this idea of personal space does not really exist there is, it is measured in inches rather than feet. Thus, over the last few months I have been forced to get over my own personal space needs and as a result I now find myself more comfortable with new people both in regards to physical proximity or in making conversation, and while I have yet to make a lasting friendship with any of my dance partners on the number 15 bus, I would like to think it has perhaps made me a bit more outgoing.
In regards to what makes a city a city, Greensboro, NC and Waco, TX are superior to Kyzylorda in several ways. They have taller buildings, more people, and an actual working public sanitation system. There is one important area however, in which Kyzylorda has them beat, reliable public transportation. In Kyzylorda, from 6AMto 8PM you have two main choices for getting around, buses or marshootkas. Marshootkas are basically slightly larger than normal minivans and are extremely uncomfortable. The conductors pack far more people in than there are seats so you are usually forced to stand and often find yourself awkwardly squished against several other people. Furthermore, you cannot even stand up straight and are forced to contort yourself just to fit inside in the first place. The crazy thing though, is that even though marshootkas are more awkward to ride in, they are actually more expensive than buses! In Kyzylorda, Marshootkas cost 35 tenge per ride, but the buses only cost 30 tenge! I know that they cannot fit as many people in as a bus can, no matter how hard they squeeze, and that the extra five tenge is supposed to make up some of the difference, but I figure that if I am going to subject myself to that sort of punishment willingly, they could at least give me a price break. One may wonder why I take Marshootkas if the buses are roomier and cheaper, but unfortunately buses do not frequent the outskirts of the city where I live, so usually I just have to bite the bullet and ride the marshootka.
Still, these cramped rides to work are not all bad and have had a few positive results. Primarily, I think it has made me more comfortable in large crowds and more willing to speak to complete strangers. Perhaps due in part to of geography and manifest destiny, but American’s are generally accustomed to and seek open spaces. Even in crowded cities, people try to maintain at least three feet of personal space. In Kazakhstan, though this idea of personal space does not really exist there is, it is measured in inches rather than feet. Thus, over the last few months I have been forced to get over my own personal space needs and as a result I now find myself more comfortable with new people both in regards to physical proximity or in making conversation, and while I have yet to make a lasting friendship with any of my dance partners on the number 15 bus, I would like to think it has perhaps made me a bit more outgoing.
четверг, 10 апреля 2008 г.
A Quick Note About Food
April 8, 2007
For those of you who worry about whether Peace Corps volunteers are starving to death or suffering from malnutrition because we only eat meat potatoes, I hope that this post will set your minds at ease. While the Kazak diet is primarily meat and potatoes, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and carrots, are also important fixtures in any Kazak meal. Furthermore, Kazak food is not the only thing we eat. Here in Kyzylorda, we also have the option to eat Uzbek, Korean, or Russian food too. To be sure, the Uzbek, Korean, and Russian cuisines have been Kazakized to some extent, but they still maintain most of their unique qualities, which is good because as they say, “variety is the spice of life.”
My two favorite Kazak dishes are definitely besparmak and Monte. besparmak, or “five fingers”, is a dish made of meat, potatoes, and onions, spread out on a large plate of wide, flat noodles. It is called “five fingers” because you eat it with your fingers, with everyone reaching out and grabbing pieces of meat, noodles, and onions from the shared plate. To wash this delicious and healthy meal down, you drink a concoction called sorpa, which is basically just piping hot meat broth. I know that this meal does not sound very healthy, but I swear that you feel 100 percent better than you did after eating it. Also, if you are thinking of ever coming to Kazakhstan, you are going to need to like it, because it is the national dish and at any party or “konnak” there is a fifty/fifty chance that besparmak will be served. Monte is my other favorite Kazak dish, probably because my host mom makes the best monte on the planet. Monte are basically steamed dumplings, but they are folded up differently and are usually larger. The monte are usually filled with meat and onions, and you eat them by the dozen with either ketchup or mayonnaise, delicious.
Besides besparmak and monte, the next most popular dish in Kazakhstan, at least here in the south is definitely palay, also known as plov. It is actually an Uzbek dish and is particularly popular here in the south because we are so close to the border. I do find it interesting and a little confusing that Kazak people will make derogatory remarks about Uzbeks while downing their food by the pound, but I guess that is one of those mysteries that has not yet revealed itself to me. palay is made of rice, carrots, and of course meat. Like besparmak, palay is eaten off of one collective plate but this time at least they give everyone large spoons. If I have one bad thing to say about palay it is that it is often kind of bland, as is the case with a lot of Kazak/Uzbek dishes, but with a bit of hot chili sauce mixed in, palay goes from ho-hum to awesome.
As one would expect after over 70 years of Soviet occupation, Russian food is also plentiful and popular in Kazakhstan, even in the south. My two favorite Russian foods are borscht and belashsee. I imagine everyone knows what Borscht is, a sort of beet stew with cabbage and potatoes, but there may be a few people who have never heard of nor tasted the belashee. Belashees are kind of like meat donuts. They are simply dough wrapped around a small roll of ground meat that is then dipped in oil and fried. A heart attack waiting to happen I know, but when eaten with a bowl of borscht they are part of a perfect lunch. Anyways, I usually work out in the afternoons, so I do not think I am too much at risk.
Finally, a cultural cuisine that is surprisingly popular here in Kyzylorda is Korean food, particularly the dish Kukci. It is a soup made up of noodles, diced meat, carrots, cabbage, tomatoes, and cucumbers, all simmering in a soy sauce broth. It quickly became one of our favorite dishes because it was the one way we could get fresh vegetables in our diet during the winter. It is also one of the spicer and saltier meals available. I was definitely was not expecting to get such a steady diet of Korean food in Kazakhstan, especially in Kyzylorda, but apparently area has a rather sizable Korean population, and in fact you cannot find Kukci outside of the Kyzylorda or South Kazakhstan oblasts.
Thus, as you can see are, we are not suffering from a lack of culinary choices at all, but in fact have a large variety of food at our fingertips. So if you come to visit, prepare to eat hardy that is, unless you are a vegetarian, and in that case you might starve.
For those of you who worry about whether Peace Corps volunteers are starving to death or suffering from malnutrition because we only eat meat potatoes, I hope that this post will set your minds at ease. While the Kazak diet is primarily meat and potatoes, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and carrots, are also important fixtures in any Kazak meal. Furthermore, Kazak food is not the only thing we eat. Here in Kyzylorda, we also have the option to eat Uzbek, Korean, or Russian food too. To be sure, the Uzbek, Korean, and Russian cuisines have been Kazakized to some extent, but they still maintain most of their unique qualities, which is good because as they say, “variety is the spice of life.”
My two favorite Kazak dishes are definitely besparmak and Monte. besparmak, or “five fingers”, is a dish made of meat, potatoes, and onions, spread out on a large plate of wide, flat noodles. It is called “five fingers” because you eat it with your fingers, with everyone reaching out and grabbing pieces of meat, noodles, and onions from the shared plate. To wash this delicious and healthy meal down, you drink a concoction called sorpa, which is basically just piping hot meat broth. I know that this meal does not sound very healthy, but I swear that you feel 100 percent better than you did after eating it. Also, if you are thinking of ever coming to Kazakhstan, you are going to need to like it, because it is the national dish and at any party or “konnak” there is a fifty/fifty chance that besparmak will be served. Monte is my other favorite Kazak dish, probably because my host mom makes the best monte on the planet. Monte are basically steamed dumplings, but they are folded up differently and are usually larger. The monte are usually filled with meat and onions, and you eat them by the dozen with either ketchup or mayonnaise, delicious.
Besides besparmak and monte, the next most popular dish in Kazakhstan, at least here in the south is definitely palay, also known as plov. It is actually an Uzbek dish and is particularly popular here in the south because we are so close to the border. I do find it interesting and a little confusing that Kazak people will make derogatory remarks about Uzbeks while downing their food by the pound, but I guess that is one of those mysteries that has not yet revealed itself to me. palay is made of rice, carrots, and of course meat. Like besparmak, palay is eaten off of one collective plate but this time at least they give everyone large spoons. If I have one bad thing to say about palay it is that it is often kind of bland, as is the case with a lot of Kazak/Uzbek dishes, but with a bit of hot chili sauce mixed in, palay goes from ho-hum to awesome.
As one would expect after over 70 years of Soviet occupation, Russian food is also plentiful and popular in Kazakhstan, even in the south. My two favorite Russian foods are borscht and belashsee. I imagine everyone knows what Borscht is, a sort of beet stew with cabbage and potatoes, but there may be a few people who have never heard of nor tasted the belashee. Belashees are kind of like meat donuts. They are simply dough wrapped around a small roll of ground meat that is then dipped in oil and fried. A heart attack waiting to happen I know, but when eaten with a bowl of borscht they are part of a perfect lunch. Anyways, I usually work out in the afternoons, so I do not think I am too much at risk.
Finally, a cultural cuisine that is surprisingly popular here in Kyzylorda is Korean food, particularly the dish Kukci. It is a soup made up of noodles, diced meat, carrots, cabbage, tomatoes, and cucumbers, all simmering in a soy sauce broth. It quickly became one of our favorite dishes because it was the one way we could get fresh vegetables in our diet during the winter. It is also one of the spicer and saltier meals available. I was definitely was not expecting to get such a steady diet of Korean food in Kazakhstan, especially in Kyzylorda, but apparently area has a rather sizable Korean population, and in fact you cannot find Kukci outside of the Kyzylorda or South Kazakhstan oblasts.
Thus, as you can see are, we are not suffering from a lack of culinary choices at all, but in fact have a large variety of food at our fingertips. So if you come to visit, prepare to eat hardy that is, unless you are a vegetarian, and in that case you might starve.
пятница, 4 апреля 2008 г.
Reading List Update
April 4, 2008
16. Gentlemen of the Road by Michael Chabon
Gentlemen of the Road was written by the same guy who wrote the novel Cavileer and Clay, the fictionalized history of Jerry Seigel and Joe Shuster, so I knew ahead of time that it was going to be good and it did not disappoint. This is one of those rare books that is not only a good airport reader, but also an interesting, complex novel. It is really short so a person can easily finish it in about 6-8 hours, but you are likely to spend the next four hours thinking about it. The novel follows two honorable yet criminal highwaymen as they travel around the fictionalized nation of Kazaria. Just as they finish another scam they are roped into escorting and protecting a “prince” of Kazaria whose father was deposed and murdered, and the two “gentlemen” who prefer solitude and anonymity become entangled in palace intrigue and war.
17. Born Standing Up by Steve Martin
This memoir follows one of Waco, TX’s favorite sons, Steve Martin, from his early life and career as a small time magician and comedian to America’s number one stand-up act, and explains why, at the top of his game, Martin left stand-up comedy forever. Martin is a great writer, and he paints a vivid picture of life as a stand-up comedian and the struggles that one faces in achieving success in that field. I have to admit that before I read this book I generally thought that stand-up comedy was mostly a mixture of talent and luck, but this book shows just how much work it actually is and how success can bring with it the depression, drug use, and addiction that prematurely ends careers and lives as was the case with other great comedians John Belushi and Chris Farley.
18. Fiasco by Thomas E. Ricks
If you have ever turned on CNN and wondered what the hell is going on in Iraq and why are we even there in the first place, this is the book for you. It follows the War in Iraq from the lead up to war in early 2003 to the surge of 2007 and details how a the machinations a few key political figures, conflict between the military and the Bush Administration, and the inability of our generals and political leaders to a new type of warfare led to a “fiasco” in Iraq and has landed us in a quagmire that threatens to be the most embarrassing and damaging foreign policy action in United States history. What was great about this book was that as the author goes through all of the mistakes that had been made, such as Bush’s false claims of WMD’s, Rumsfield’s insistence on fewer troops, Gen. Tommy Franks’ lack of overall strategy, and mistreatment of detainees, the author does not engage in partisan attacks but lays blame where it is due, regardless of political party. In fact, early on in the book he condemns democrats and the “liberal media,” for refusing to investigate the administrations claims more thoroughly and rolling over because war was “inevitable.” The book also was interesting in that it lays out the most likely end results of our actions in Iraq, civil war or, even more worrisome, the rise of a new caliphate.
19. Heartfire by Orson Scott Card
20. Shadow of the Hegemon by Orson Scott Card
I may not like Orson Scott Card’s political and social ideas, and he is a bit of a jerk in person, but I have to say that I still really like his books. This is the second time that I have read each of these novels, and they were just as much fun the second time around as they were the first. Heartfire is the fifth novel in the “Alvin Maker Series” that takes place in an alternate early America where people have special powers and abilities. Furthermore, the United States was never created; rather the continent is made up of various small states like the Crown Colonies, Apalachee, and New England. I think what I like most about this series is comparing the true history of the United States with Card’s version and seeing how if certain events had played out differently our country would indeed look and feel much different than it does today.
Shadow of the Hegemon is nearly the complete opposite. It is part of the “Shadow Series,” a spin-off from Card’s “Ender Series.” Shadow of the Hegemon continues the story of the super intelligent child general, Bean, and his efforts to save his friends, defeat his greatest enemy, and bring peace to a fracturing world. The one thing I do not always like about this series is that Card’s ideas about International Relations are not usually that accurate and always run too conservative in my opinion. Overall however, I have no big complaints. After all, Card has my hometown of Greensboro, NC still going strong in 200 years!
16. Gentlemen of the Road by Michael Chabon
Gentlemen of the Road was written by the same guy who wrote the novel Cavileer and Clay, the fictionalized history of Jerry Seigel and Joe Shuster, so I knew ahead of time that it was going to be good and it did not disappoint. This is one of those rare books that is not only a good airport reader, but also an interesting, complex novel. It is really short so a person can easily finish it in about 6-8 hours, but you are likely to spend the next four hours thinking about it. The novel follows two honorable yet criminal highwaymen as they travel around the fictionalized nation of Kazaria. Just as they finish another scam they are roped into escorting and protecting a “prince” of Kazaria whose father was deposed and murdered, and the two “gentlemen” who prefer solitude and anonymity become entangled in palace intrigue and war.
17. Born Standing Up by Steve Martin
This memoir follows one of Waco, TX’s favorite sons, Steve Martin, from his early life and career as a small time magician and comedian to America’s number one stand-up act, and explains why, at the top of his game, Martin left stand-up comedy forever. Martin is a great writer, and he paints a vivid picture of life as a stand-up comedian and the struggles that one faces in achieving success in that field. I have to admit that before I read this book I generally thought that stand-up comedy was mostly a mixture of talent and luck, but this book shows just how much work it actually is and how success can bring with it the depression, drug use, and addiction that prematurely ends careers and lives as was the case with other great comedians John Belushi and Chris Farley.
18. Fiasco by Thomas E. Ricks
If you have ever turned on CNN and wondered what the hell is going on in Iraq and why are we even there in the first place, this is the book for you. It follows the War in Iraq from the lead up to war in early 2003 to the surge of 2007 and details how a the machinations a few key political figures, conflict between the military and the Bush Administration, and the inability of our generals and political leaders to a new type of warfare led to a “fiasco” in Iraq and has landed us in a quagmire that threatens to be the most embarrassing and damaging foreign policy action in United States history. What was great about this book was that as the author goes through all of the mistakes that had been made, such as Bush’s false claims of WMD’s, Rumsfield’s insistence on fewer troops, Gen. Tommy Franks’ lack of overall strategy, and mistreatment of detainees, the author does not engage in partisan attacks but lays blame where it is due, regardless of political party. In fact, early on in the book he condemns democrats and the “liberal media,” for refusing to investigate the administrations claims more thoroughly and rolling over because war was “inevitable.” The book also was interesting in that it lays out the most likely end results of our actions in Iraq, civil war or, even more worrisome, the rise of a new caliphate.
19. Heartfire by Orson Scott Card
20. Shadow of the Hegemon by Orson Scott Card
I may not like Orson Scott Card’s political and social ideas, and he is a bit of a jerk in person, but I have to say that I still really like his books. This is the second time that I have read each of these novels, and they were just as much fun the second time around as they were the first. Heartfire is the fifth novel in the “Alvin Maker Series” that takes place in an alternate early America where people have special powers and abilities. Furthermore, the United States was never created; rather the continent is made up of various small states like the Crown Colonies, Apalachee, and New England. I think what I like most about this series is comparing the true history of the United States with Card’s version and seeing how if certain events had played out differently our country would indeed look and feel much different than it does today.
Shadow of the Hegemon is nearly the complete opposite. It is part of the “Shadow Series,” a spin-off from Card’s “Ender Series.” Shadow of the Hegemon continues the story of the super intelligent child general, Bean, and his efforts to save his friends, defeat his greatest enemy, and bring peace to a fracturing world. The one thing I do not always like about this series is that Card’s ideas about International Relations are not usually that accurate and always run too conservative in my opinion. Overall however, I have no big complaints. After all, Card has my hometown of Greensboro, NC still going strong in 200 years!
IST-Almaty
March 31, 2008
We got to Almaty early in the morning of the 24th after a long and sleepless bus ride. To be sure the bus was definitely cheaper and faster than the train, but I definitely wondered if the ability to lie down might have been worth the 1000 tenge after all. The first stop when we got to Almaty was the Peace Corps office, which promised free Internet, a shower, and drinking water that did not require a three-hour distillation process. A few hours later after checking email and a breakfast of Ramen noodles we were ready to head out again. IST did not start until the 25th so we had a full day to explore the city as we saw fit, and for the Kazak Language group that meant heading home to Chamalgan to visit our families for the afternoon. I had a great visit with my “mom” and “dad.” I think they were impressed with how much better my Kazak had gotten, and they were interested to hear what I had been doing and Kyzylorda and how much I liked it. I also met a few new relatives. An elderly Russian aunt came over and for a minute she actually thought I was a “blond” Kazak of the North who because of my fair complexion and the fact that I spoke Kazak. Just to give a bit of background, many people in Kazakhstan think that the ancient Kazaks of legend were blond haired and blue eyed before the first Mongol invasions gave everyone more Asiatic features. Thus, my aunt was saying that I reminded her something akin to the Lost City of Atlantis or maybe Troy. After the visit we headed back to the city to check into the Sanitarium and to get ready for long three days of meetings.
Most of the meetings during IST were pretty good, but nothing special. There was however, one session that everyone agreed was pretty mind-blowing. Andrea Schneider, who helps American teachers working in Central Asia, talked about our purpose here in Kazakhstan and our most important responsibilities, to speak English in class as much as possible, to hold our students accountable to higher standards. She argued that we were not just to provide schools with a native speaker, but also to present students and teachers with a grassroots example of and alternative education system. The Kazak system is good but it has a few fundamental flaws. First, cheating is widespread. Students regularly engage in “cooperative work” on tests and important assignments. The bigger problem however, is that far too much responsibility for a student’s success is put on the teacher’s shoulders. If for some reason after cheating on their test a student still fails, the teacher gets yelled for not teaching them properly, rarely does anyone blame the student for simply not studying. Thus, teachers often give students higher grades than they deserve simply because they do not want to get into trouble. The cheating and misplaced responsibility may not seem to be a huge problem like such a big deal, but the unfortunate result is that the diplomas become extremely devalued. I do not know how easy it will be to follow Ms. Schneider’s advice. We are often treated more like guest lecturers than real teachers, and giving grades is almost impossible since we are not allowed to write in the books and the teachers rarely accept the grades we give them. Still, I was definitely affected by her talk and am going to try to turn over a new leaf in the classroom as soon as possible. I believe that making real change is much more possible by making my students accountable than by doing grammar drills and role-playing exercises, and as a bonus I will not be insanely frustrated at the end of two years.
We got to Almaty early in the morning of the 24th after a long and sleepless bus ride. To be sure the bus was definitely cheaper and faster than the train, but I definitely wondered if the ability to lie down might have been worth the 1000 tenge after all. The first stop when we got to Almaty was the Peace Corps office, which promised free Internet, a shower, and drinking water that did not require a three-hour distillation process. A few hours later after checking email and a breakfast of Ramen noodles we were ready to head out again. IST did not start until the 25th so we had a full day to explore the city as we saw fit, and for the Kazak Language group that meant heading home to Chamalgan to visit our families for the afternoon. I had a great visit with my “mom” and “dad.” I think they were impressed with how much better my Kazak had gotten, and they were interested to hear what I had been doing and Kyzylorda and how much I liked it. I also met a few new relatives. An elderly Russian aunt came over and for a minute she actually thought I was a “blond” Kazak of the North who because of my fair complexion and the fact that I spoke Kazak. Just to give a bit of background, many people in Kazakhstan think that the ancient Kazaks of legend were blond haired and blue eyed before the first Mongol invasions gave everyone more Asiatic features. Thus, my aunt was saying that I reminded her something akin to the Lost City of Atlantis or maybe Troy. After the visit we headed back to the city to check into the Sanitarium and to get ready for long three days of meetings.
Most of the meetings during IST were pretty good, but nothing special. There was however, one session that everyone agreed was pretty mind-blowing. Andrea Schneider, who helps American teachers working in Central Asia, talked about our purpose here in Kazakhstan and our most important responsibilities, to speak English in class as much as possible, to hold our students accountable to higher standards. She argued that we were not just to provide schools with a native speaker, but also to present students and teachers with a grassroots example of and alternative education system. The Kazak system is good but it has a few fundamental flaws. First, cheating is widespread. Students regularly engage in “cooperative work” on tests and important assignments. The bigger problem however, is that far too much responsibility for a student’s success is put on the teacher’s shoulders. If for some reason after cheating on their test a student still fails, the teacher gets yelled for not teaching them properly, rarely does anyone blame the student for simply not studying. Thus, teachers often give students higher grades than they deserve simply because they do not want to get into trouble. The cheating and misplaced responsibility may not seem to be a huge problem like such a big deal, but the unfortunate result is that the diplomas become extremely devalued. I do not know how easy it will be to follow Ms. Schneider’s advice. We are often treated more like guest lecturers than real teachers, and giving grades is almost impossible since we are not allowed to write in the books and the teachers rarely accept the grades we give them. Still, I was definitely affected by her talk and am going to try to turn over a new leaf in the classroom as soon as possible. I believe that making real change is much more possible by making my students accountable than by doing grammar drills and role-playing exercises, and as a bonus I will not be insanely frustrated at the end of two years.
Nauryz!!
March 23, 2008
After seven months and Kazakhstan and four months at site, I was in serious need of a vacation, and “Spring Break” arrived just in the nick of time. On Monday, I am headed to Almaty to meet with the rest of the Kaz 19’s for five days of meetings and hopefully, bonding. This weekend though, several of us came to Shymkent, the second largest in Kazakhstan for the annual festival of Nauryz. Nauryz is the traditional Kazak New Year and is the biggest holiday of the year, especially in the Shymkent, where Kazak culture is dominant. We decided to take the bus from Kyzylorda because it was only seven hours vs. nine hours on the train, but now I can see why people like to take the train. The bus was comfortable and definitely faster, but we probably would have been much quieter on the train. We ended up sitting right next a young family with a baby that would scream every few minutes. That would not have been a problem except for the parents’ inability or unwillingness to shut the kid up. One of the female volunteers who has become rather disillusioned with the Kazak male said that this was because Kazak families spoil their sons rotten. Anyway, we eventually got there at around 8 P.M. and headed to the café to meet up with the rest of the volunteers and figure out where we would be staying for the weekend. After a few hours at a small café, reconnecting with fellow volunteers that we had not seen in the last several months, we headed back to the apartments to get over the super long bus ride.
The next day we went to Aksu, a small village next to Shimkent, where Eric, a fellow Chamalgan trainee, is living and working, and unlike many other Kazak sites, Aksu is predominantly Uzbek. The Kazakhstan/Uzbekistan border is only 50 miles away, so at first I thought that the Uzbek majority might be due to recent immigration, but it turns out that in fact the Uzbeks have been there for generations, and the only reason that they are living in Kazakhstan is due to the way that the Russian’s drew the borders! Even though it is a village, Aksu is nicer than most Kazak cities I have seen. It is certainly more beautiful than Kyzylorda! Most of the streets were paved, there was green grass, and it was amazingly clean. Eric took us to his college and introduced us to a few of his best students. The students were very friendly and clearly liked “Mr. Eric, so it was obvious that Eric was doing a good job. After the visit to the college we went to meet Eric’s family. Eric lives with an Uzbek family, and their house reflected their background. They live in a huge compound that the grandfather had built room by room with his own hands. Furthermore, unlike the typical Russian or Kazak house that is usually square, Eric’s Uzbek house is u-shaped. After a late lunch, we headed back to the city and then headed out for a night on the town.
The next morning was Nauryz, the traditional Kazak New Year, and as Shimkent is the largest predominantly Kazak city, it was ground zero for the festivities. At 11:00 we went to the hippodrome, which was five times the size of the hippodrome in Kyzylorda and settled in for an exciting day of traditional Kazak activities! First, we sat down for a light lunch of pilaf, shashleak, and Shimkent beer. Then we settled in to watch Kyz Kou, Kokpar, and some good old-fashioned horseracing. Kyz Kou is a game where a pair of riders, one man and one woman, chase each other on horseback. The first time they race, the man chases the woman trying to kiss her before they get to the end of the track. They then turn around and the woman chases the man while trying to hit him with a whip. It was pretty neat looking, and the female volunteers were particularly entertained. Kok Par is a lot like polo, but instead of using a ball and mallets they drag a goat carcass around by its hair. Don’t worry, they cut the head and legs off and sew it up before hand to make a kind of a goat suitcase, so it is not that gross. After such a large dose of Kazak culture, many of us were looking for something a bit for familiar and as fate would have it, Shimkent provided that too in the form of the Mega Center. The Mega Center is just like an American Mall, complete with ice rink, food court, grocery store, expensive clothing boutiques, and even an apple store. Needless to say, it was a rather trippy experience, but very enjoyable nonetheless. It was also nice to know that whenever I get homesick, I can just take the bus down to Shimkent for a weekend of retail therapy and I will soon be put to rights.
The last day in Shimkent was rather low key. We just packed up and got ready to leave for Almaty. Some of us went back to the Mega Center to do some shopping or in my case play video games, and then finally at 8:00 PM it was time to go to the bus station and catch our bus for the 12-hour ride to Almaty. I will not go into details but let me just say that between other bad movies, infrequent rest stops and other volunteers getting car sick, it was not that much fun, but at least we had memories of Nauryz to sustain us.
After seven months and Kazakhstan and four months at site, I was in serious need of a vacation, and “Spring Break” arrived just in the nick of time. On Monday, I am headed to Almaty to meet with the rest of the Kaz 19’s for five days of meetings and hopefully, bonding. This weekend though, several of us came to Shymkent, the second largest in Kazakhstan for the annual festival of Nauryz. Nauryz is the traditional Kazak New Year and is the biggest holiday of the year, especially in the Shymkent, where Kazak culture is dominant. We decided to take the bus from Kyzylorda because it was only seven hours vs. nine hours on the train, but now I can see why people like to take the train. The bus was comfortable and definitely faster, but we probably would have been much quieter on the train. We ended up sitting right next a young family with a baby that would scream every few minutes. That would not have been a problem except for the parents’ inability or unwillingness to shut the kid up. One of the female volunteers who has become rather disillusioned with the Kazak male said that this was because Kazak families spoil their sons rotten. Anyway, we eventually got there at around 8 P.M. and headed to the café to meet up with the rest of the volunteers and figure out where we would be staying for the weekend. After a few hours at a small café, reconnecting with fellow volunteers that we had not seen in the last several months, we headed back to the apartments to get over the super long bus ride.
The next day we went to Aksu, a small village next to Shimkent, where Eric, a fellow Chamalgan trainee, is living and working, and unlike many other Kazak sites, Aksu is predominantly Uzbek. The Kazakhstan/Uzbekistan border is only 50 miles away, so at first I thought that the Uzbek majority might be due to recent immigration, but it turns out that in fact the Uzbeks have been there for generations, and the only reason that they are living in Kazakhstan is due to the way that the Russian’s drew the borders! Even though it is a village, Aksu is nicer than most Kazak cities I have seen. It is certainly more beautiful than Kyzylorda! Most of the streets were paved, there was green grass, and it was amazingly clean. Eric took us to his college and introduced us to a few of his best students. The students were very friendly and clearly liked “Mr. Eric, so it was obvious that Eric was doing a good job. After the visit to the college we went to meet Eric’s family. Eric lives with an Uzbek family, and their house reflected their background. They live in a huge compound that the grandfather had built room by room with his own hands. Furthermore, unlike the typical Russian or Kazak house that is usually square, Eric’s Uzbek house is u-shaped. After a late lunch, we headed back to the city and then headed out for a night on the town.
The next morning was Nauryz, the traditional Kazak New Year, and as Shimkent is the largest predominantly Kazak city, it was ground zero for the festivities. At 11:00 we went to the hippodrome, which was five times the size of the hippodrome in Kyzylorda and settled in for an exciting day of traditional Kazak activities! First, we sat down for a light lunch of pilaf, shashleak, and Shimkent beer. Then we settled in to watch Kyz Kou, Kokpar, and some good old-fashioned horseracing. Kyz Kou is a game where a pair of riders, one man and one woman, chase each other on horseback. The first time they race, the man chases the woman trying to kiss her before they get to the end of the track. They then turn around and the woman chases the man while trying to hit him with a whip. It was pretty neat looking, and the female volunteers were particularly entertained. Kok Par is a lot like polo, but instead of using a ball and mallets they drag a goat carcass around by its hair. Don’t worry, they cut the head and legs off and sew it up before hand to make a kind of a goat suitcase, so it is not that gross. After such a large dose of Kazak culture, many of us were looking for something a bit for familiar and as fate would have it, Shimkent provided that too in the form of the Mega Center. The Mega Center is just like an American Mall, complete with ice rink, food court, grocery store, expensive clothing boutiques, and even an apple store. Needless to say, it was a rather trippy experience, but very enjoyable nonetheless. It was also nice to know that whenever I get homesick, I can just take the bus down to Shimkent for a weekend of retail therapy and I will soon be put to rights.
The last day in Shimkent was rather low key. We just packed up and got ready to leave for Almaty. Some of us went back to the Mega Center to do some shopping or in my case play video games, and then finally at 8:00 PM it was time to go to the bus station and catch our bus for the 12-hour ride to Almaty. I will not go into details but let me just say that between other bad movies, infrequent rest stops and other volunteers getting car sick, it was not that much fun, but at least we had memories of Nauryz to sustain us.
воскресенье, 9 марта 2008 г.
A Public Citizen
March 6, 2008
The other day at Contact Club’s weekly conversation club we were discussing media in Kazakhstan and America and Britney Spears was brought up. Someone said that the American media was hounding her and invading her privacy, but I pointed out that while the media is definitely contributing to her mental collapse, her lack of privacy is as much her fault as it is the media’s. Britney Spears is a public citizen and as such has lost of the right to privacy that ordinary people take for granted. Furthermore, at least until recently she constantly sought attention. In fact, that attention was the foundation of her financial success, from her music career, to her perfume, clothing, and other endorsements deals. As I made my argument however, I realized that now, due to my Peace Corps experience, I too am a public citizen.
Here in Kyzylorda, actions that would be considered trivial in the United States are newsworthy. For example, last month I visited a school and sang a Kazak song, and this was considered a newsworthy event important enough to be on TV and in the newspaper. I am no longer simply McKenzie Clark and teaching English is just a small part of the role I play here. I am now Mr. Clark, American Volunteer, and thus everything I say or do reflects not only me personally but also on my organization and my country. The opposite is also true. I was even asked one time to explain George Bush and American Middle East policy as if I represented the entire American electorate or came up with the policy myself. Furthermore, all three of us, at least to a certain extent, watch what we do and say and think, and so our trips to the sauna are important not just for cleanliness, but it is also the one place where we can let everything out. It is definitely tiring to be a symbol of America twenty-four hours a day, but it is also very rewarding, not only in regards to interviews and autographs, but also because I know I have a chance to really influence how people see America and Americans, especially at a time when many of our international relationships are strained. In the end, on those days that are hard, I just remind myself that I chose this and remember that this will be excellent training if I ever want to have a career in politics.
The other day at Contact Club’s weekly conversation club we were discussing media in Kazakhstan and America and Britney Spears was brought up. Someone said that the American media was hounding her and invading her privacy, but I pointed out that while the media is definitely contributing to her mental collapse, her lack of privacy is as much her fault as it is the media’s. Britney Spears is a public citizen and as such has lost of the right to privacy that ordinary people take for granted. Furthermore, at least until recently she constantly sought attention. In fact, that attention was the foundation of her financial success, from her music career, to her perfume, clothing, and other endorsements deals. As I made my argument however, I realized that now, due to my Peace Corps experience, I too am a public citizen.
Here in Kyzylorda, actions that would be considered trivial in the United States are newsworthy. For example, last month I visited a school and sang a Kazak song, and this was considered a newsworthy event important enough to be on TV and in the newspaper. I am no longer simply McKenzie Clark and teaching English is just a small part of the role I play here. I am now Mr. Clark, American Volunteer, and thus everything I say or do reflects not only me personally but also on my organization and my country. The opposite is also true. I was even asked one time to explain George Bush and American Middle East policy as if I represented the entire American electorate or came up with the policy myself. Furthermore, all three of us, at least to a certain extent, watch what we do and say and think, and so our trips to the sauna are important not just for cleanliness, but it is also the one place where we can let everything out. It is definitely tiring to be a symbol of America twenty-four hours a day, but it is also very rewarding, not only in regards to interviews and autographs, but also because I know I have a chance to really influence how people see America and Americans, especially at a time when many of our international relationships are strained. In the end, on those days that are hard, I just remind myself that I chose this and remember that this will be excellent training if I ever want to have a career in politics.
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