November 27, 2007
One of the things that struck me as odd when I first got to Kazakstan was that whenever someone asked me where I was from, and I would answer, “America, they would then reply, “no, where are you from? I am Kazak. What are you?” To them it was not a satisfactory answer to say I am an American, they wanted to know my family was from. To the people of Kazakstan ethnic identity the idea of belonging to a place is very important. There are dozens of ethnic groups living in Kazakstan and they more or less get along very well, however, unlike in the United States where everyone says they are American, they always identify themselves by their ethnicity and cultural traditions be it Kazak, Korean, Russian, Chechneyan, Uzbek, Krygyz, Chinese, or Ukrainian. They all belong somewhere, even if they are no longer there. For an American this is somewhat difficult to understand, but to use me and my fellow Irish as an example, on those standardized tests white would not be an adequate choice, and St. Patrick’s Day would be more than just about drinking beer and a fun parade.
You might wonder how all of these groups that refuse to accept a common identity get along so well, and I will admit there are tensions, but they are not nearly as high as the tensions in the United States between groups that claim the same cultural identity. Actually, some of the most noticeable tension I have noticed was between groups of the Kazaks, those who stayed in Kazakstan during the upheaval of the 1990s and those who left to live in Uzbekistan but have now returned. As I mentioned previously, the idea of a homeland is very important to the people of this country, especially the Kazaks, and many have a hard time fathoming that anyone would want to abandon their homeland, even in the face of starvation. Those who stayed derisively refer to the group who left and then came back as the Auromai, or “the deserters” and accuse them of opportunism. They say that they abandoned Kazakstan when it was in trouble, but now that the tables have turned and it is Kazakstan that is doing well and Uzbekistan they have returned. That might be true for some, but for many of those that I have met, they truly missed Kazakstan and simply wanted to come back now that they felt it was safe to return.
Anyway, as I was saying earlier, when I first got here I found this line of questioning to be strange and uncomfortable, kind of like when people in Texas asked me what church I went to three seconds after getting my name. Over time though I have become used to it and it has made me think, where is it that I belong? Maybe my love of travel is a sign that I have long since ceased to feel at home where I grew up, and I have yet to find a new place. My students and friends here often ask me if I am ever homesick, and I can honestly reply that I am not. To be sure, I miss my family and friend, but when I finished college I was ready to get out and go. I had no desire to stay in North Carolina or Texas, and I certainly have no desire to return. I cannot speak for other Peace Corps Volunteers, but for right now Kazakstan is my home and I like living here. Furthermore, while I do not imagine myself “going native” as some RPCVs have done, I also do not imagine myself staying in the United States. Who knows, I might even take the advice of my Kazak friends and return to the homeland. After all, as the Auromai show, we never stop missing it no matter how long we are gone.
среда, 28 ноября 2007 г.
воскресенье, 25 ноября 2007 г.
An Unorthodox Thanksgiving
November 25, 2007
This year, for the first time ever, I did not celebrate Thanksgiving, though in my defense there were a couple of good reasons for my not participating. First, I in a foreign country where very few people know that the holiday exists, much less celebrates it. That said, I still celebrated with my classmates while I was studying abroad in London for a semester a couple of years ago. This brings me to my second reason for not partaking in Turkey Day, numbers. In London there were at least fifteen of us to get a dinner together, but here in the entire Kyzylorda region there are three Americans, and none of us is a very good cook. Still, just because we did not participate in the traditional feast does not mean that we did not sit down and take time to reflect on our past few months and give thanks. We just did it over beer instead of turkey. Chris and I went out last night with his host sister to a café and then the local nightclub Edem to hang out and go dancing. The early t part of the evening at the café was rather typical of my Saturday nights in Kazakh, relaxing, talking, and having a few cold beers. Even the club was what I expected at first, guys and girls dancing at least three feet apart, doing the offbeat shuffle that one often sees at high school dances. Later on though, things took a strange turn. After we had been at the club for about an hour, the DJ says something in Russian that neither Chris nor I understand, and everyone clears the dance floor. At first I thought that maybe the song they were playing was really unpopular, but what actually was happening was that it was time for a series of three striptease performances. Furthermore, while two of the dancers were female, the third was male, I guess so the ladies in the audience would not feel so left out. At first I was shocked, this was definitely the last thing I expected to see in Southern Kazakstan, where Folk Islam is a very important part of the social fabric of the community. Of course, the dancers were Russians, not Kazaks, but it definitely strange to see such a performance in a pretty sleepy and conservative city. The best part of the whole thing was looking around at the audience reaction. Rather than look as if they were being excited, everyone had the same detached expression, as if they were watching the ballet and not pole dancing. Granted, the dancers were certainly more talented and skilled than the typical stateside stripper, but my studies of Pop Art aside, I never thought to consider a striptease even close to high art, nor watch it the same way as I do an opera. I guess Kyzylorda really does have it all, friendly people, modern conveniences, and even a bit of Western debauchery when you need your fix.
This year, for the first time ever, I did not celebrate Thanksgiving, though in my defense there were a couple of good reasons for my not participating. First, I in a foreign country where very few people know that the holiday exists, much less celebrates it. That said, I still celebrated with my classmates while I was studying abroad in London for a semester a couple of years ago. This brings me to my second reason for not partaking in Turkey Day, numbers. In London there were at least fifteen of us to get a dinner together, but here in the entire Kyzylorda region there are three Americans, and none of us is a very good cook. Still, just because we did not participate in the traditional feast does not mean that we did not sit down and take time to reflect on our past few months and give thanks. We just did it over beer instead of turkey. Chris and I went out last night with his host sister to a café and then the local nightclub Edem to hang out and go dancing. The early t part of the evening at the café was rather typical of my Saturday nights in Kazakh, relaxing, talking, and having a few cold beers. Even the club was what I expected at first, guys and girls dancing at least three feet apart, doing the offbeat shuffle that one often sees at high school dances. Later on though, things took a strange turn. After we had been at the club for about an hour, the DJ says something in Russian that neither Chris nor I understand, and everyone clears the dance floor. At first I thought that maybe the song they were playing was really unpopular, but what actually was happening was that it was time for a series of three striptease performances. Furthermore, while two of the dancers were female, the third was male, I guess so the ladies in the audience would not feel so left out. At first I was shocked, this was definitely the last thing I expected to see in Southern Kazakstan, where Folk Islam is a very important part of the social fabric of the community. Of course, the dancers were Russians, not Kazaks, but it definitely strange to see such a performance in a pretty sleepy and conservative city. The best part of the whole thing was looking around at the audience reaction. Rather than look as if they were being excited, everyone had the same detached expression, as if they were watching the ballet and not pole dancing. Granted, the dancers were certainly more talented and skilled than the typical stateside stripper, but my studies of Pop Art aside, I never thought to consider a striptease even close to high art, nor watch it the same way as I do an opera. I guess Kyzylorda really does have it all, friendly people, modern conveniences, and even a bit of Western debauchery when you need your fix.
среда, 21 ноября 2007 г.
The Truth Really is Stranger than Fiction
November 21, 2007
When I was in high school my favorite book series were the Dune Chronicles by Frank Herbert. I even read the “prequels” by Herbert’s son and Kevin J. Anderson that came out while I was in college. The novels’ focus is on the desert planet Arrakis where the addictive spice Melange is produced, and Duke Paul Atreides. Paul’s family is exiled to Arrakis, where they fall in with the native “Free Men” or “Fremen”, and it is while living among the Fremen that Paul truly discovers his destiny. The reason I even bring this up is because lately I have begun to think that my life has become a little like the Dune books. True, unlike Paul, I cannot see the future, but my uncle does call me “Duke” every now and then, and I am currently living in the desert among Kazaks, and believe it or not, Kazak translates into "Free Man." As, for addictive substances, everyone develops a serious chai habit within two months of getting here. I drink at least 15 cups of chai a day, and they have even started my 6 month old host niece on the stuff. The only thing left to do is discover my destiny and take over the world with the aid of my Kazak comrades. Maybe then I too will be a Kwizatch Hadarach, or One Who is Many Places at Once.
When I was in high school my favorite book series were the Dune Chronicles by Frank Herbert. I even read the “prequels” by Herbert’s son and Kevin J. Anderson that came out while I was in college. The novels’ focus is on the desert planet Arrakis where the addictive spice Melange is produced, and Duke Paul Atreides. Paul’s family is exiled to Arrakis, where they fall in with the native “Free Men” or “Fremen”, and it is while living among the Fremen that Paul truly discovers his destiny. The reason I even bring this up is because lately I have begun to think that my life has become a little like the Dune books. True, unlike Paul, I cannot see the future, but my uncle does call me “Duke” every now and then, and I am currently living in the desert among Kazaks, and believe it or not, Kazak translates into "Free Man." As, for addictive substances, everyone develops a serious chai habit within two months of getting here. I drink at least 15 cups of chai a day, and they have even started my 6 month old host niece on the stuff. The only thing left to do is discover my destiny and take over the world with the aid of my Kazak comrades. Maybe then I too will be a Kwizatch Hadarach, or One Who is Many Places at Once.
There is no ASPCA in Kazakstan: Take Two
November 19, 2007
For the past few weeks I am afraid I was in danger of becoming somewhat numb to the plight of animals in Kazakhstan. Their neglect and maltreatment such a regular site, that it no longer evoked a visceral reaction of sadness and anger. That however, was before I turned on the news last night. On the television screen were two of the best-groomed dogs I have ever seen in this country. Their coats were brushed, their teeth were clean, and they marched smartly at their masters’ side, and I thought for a second, “this is a nice change, a dog show.” At that moment though, I began to understand a little bit of what the news reporter was saying, and the screen changed to reveal what was actually going on. It was no dog show, but rather a dogfight and those two well-mannered Mastiffs were in the process of tearing each other to shreds. To give credit where it is due, the story was definitely portraying dogfighting in a negative light, but it was still rather shocking. For example, when the football player was indicted on animal cruelty charges there were no images of the illegal sport, but in Kazakstan the dogfighting appeared to be taking place in broad daylight. Also, there were several spectators who stepped forward to defend it as a legitimate part of Kazak history and culture. That, however strikes me as someone in the United States defending racist behavior because it is a legitimate part of American history and culture, but just because you have always done something bad does not mean you need to keep doing it. In many ways I like working toward cultural integration. Learning the language and trying to fit in with my Kazak neighbors is both challenging and a lot of fun, but I do not think I will ever understand the way they treat pets, nor do I want to.
For the past few weeks I am afraid I was in danger of becoming somewhat numb to the plight of animals in Kazakhstan. Their neglect and maltreatment such a regular site, that it no longer evoked a visceral reaction of sadness and anger. That however, was before I turned on the news last night. On the television screen were two of the best-groomed dogs I have ever seen in this country. Their coats were brushed, their teeth were clean, and they marched smartly at their masters’ side, and I thought for a second, “this is a nice change, a dog show.” At that moment though, I began to understand a little bit of what the news reporter was saying, and the screen changed to reveal what was actually going on. It was no dog show, but rather a dogfight and those two well-mannered Mastiffs were in the process of tearing each other to shreds. To give credit where it is due, the story was definitely portraying dogfighting in a negative light, but it was still rather shocking. For example, when the football player was indicted on animal cruelty charges there were no images of the illegal sport, but in Kazakstan the dogfighting appeared to be taking place in broad daylight. Also, there were several spectators who stepped forward to defend it as a legitimate part of Kazak history and culture. That, however strikes me as someone in the United States defending racist behavior because it is a legitimate part of American history and culture, but just because you have always done something bad does not mean you need to keep doing it. In many ways I like working toward cultural integration. Learning the language and trying to fit in with my Kazak neighbors is both challenging and a lot of fun, but I do not think I will ever understand the way they treat pets, nor do I want to.
воскресенье, 18 ноября 2007 г.
Hitting the Trail
November 18, 2007
This morning I realized that after a week in Kyzylorda, my allergies had begun to abate, signaling that I am finally getting used to the polluted air. To celebrate this accomplishment, I figured I would test my limits a little bit and so I went for a run. This was the first time in a solid month that I had done any strenuous physical activity whatsoever, so I was a little worried that it would not go well, but in the end I was not nearly as out of shape as I feared. Furthermore, I know that forces from on high were smiling down on my endeavor as I saw not one, but two camels during my jog. I interpreted this sighting as sign that I will go far and be successful in all of my various professional and personal endeavors during my two years of desert life, after all, the camel not only survives but thrives in nature’s harshest environments and symbolizes stamina and strength. That said, it could be that I just happened to see camels. They are pretty numerous in this area of Kazakhstan, although they are rarely seen this close to the city from what I understand. The run also gave me the opportunity to see Kyzylorda from a different angle, because for the past week I have not had a chance to do much walking besides around the center of town . On my run however, I followed the river that goes along the edge of the city. The contrast between the city on one side of the river and the desert on the other is incredible. The city with all of its tall buildings goes right up to the river bank, but on the other side of ther river there is absolutely nothing as far as the eye can see. It made me really aware of the environment I now live in, because when you are in town, it is often difficult to distinguish what makes Kyzylorda distinct or special, but now I realize that in fact Kyzylorda is, for all of its problems, an oasis.
This morning I realized that after a week in Kyzylorda, my allergies had begun to abate, signaling that I am finally getting used to the polluted air. To celebrate this accomplishment, I figured I would test my limits a little bit and so I went for a run. This was the first time in a solid month that I had done any strenuous physical activity whatsoever, so I was a little worried that it would not go well, but in the end I was not nearly as out of shape as I feared. Furthermore, I know that forces from on high were smiling down on my endeavor as I saw not one, but two camels during my jog. I interpreted this sighting as sign that I will go far and be successful in all of my various professional and personal endeavors during my two years of desert life, after all, the camel not only survives but thrives in nature’s harshest environments and symbolizes stamina and strength. That said, it could be that I just happened to see camels. They are pretty numerous in this area of Kazakhstan, although they are rarely seen this close to the city from what I understand. The run also gave me the opportunity to see Kyzylorda from a different angle, because for the past week I have not had a chance to do much walking besides around the center of town . On my run however, I followed the river that goes along the edge of the city. The contrast between the city on one side of the river and the desert on the other is incredible. The city with all of its tall buildings goes right up to the river bank, but on the other side of ther river there is absolutely nothing as far as the eye can see. It made me really aware of the environment I now live in, because when you are in town, it is often difficult to distinguish what makes Kyzylorda distinct or special, but now I realize that in fact Kyzylorda is, for all of its problems, an oasis.
среда, 14 ноября 2007 г.
I Think I Would Prefer Being Dropped on My Head
November 14, 2007
One of my favorite things about my time in Kazakhstan so far has been living with a host family. After, all you can only so much learn so much about a culture or society through its art and literature, and being part of a Kazak family really brings those cultural lessons and seminars “home” so to speak. One of the most interesting thing about Kazak families I have seen is the way they raise children. In the United States it seems like every kid by the time they are five months old goes to day care, but in Kazakhstan parents take their kids everywhere, and if they do have to leave their child somewhere, they leave them with a relative or close family friend. Parents are also more often visibly affectionate with their children, even after the child is more or less grown-up. I know that in my Chamalgan family, both of my host parents still regularly hugged and kissed their 24 year-old son. In contrast, American parents often stop the PDAs with their kids by the time they are teenagers, or at least that is often the case between father’s and sons. Furthermore, I have seen that this difference in the way children are raised has a profound effect on children’s behavior. My friends and I have remarked several times that is rare to see a Kazak child have temper tantrum, and their classroom behavior is noticeably better than that of American children as well.
That said, I do not think that we need to follow every bit of Kazak parenting methodology. One of the stranger things I have done to their children is the way they put their infants to sleep. The oldest daughter in my new host family has a five month-old infant so I have gotten to see this first hand. Unlike in the States where when they put the baby to bed, they just put the child down under a blanket, in Kazakhstan they strap the child down so that she can hardly move except for her head. Also, they do not put the baby in a diaper when she is in the bed, instead there is a little wooden tube that goes from her crotch through the bottom of a bed and into a plastic bottle. I assume that this is some remnant of the not so distant nomadic past, of mothers strapping their children to their back while they are riding along the steppe or setting up the Yurt, and that it keeps her from falling out of bed during the night. Stillб I think I would prefer falling.
One of my favorite things about my time in Kazakhstan so far has been living with a host family. After, all you can only so much learn so much about a culture or society through its art and literature, and being part of a Kazak family really brings those cultural lessons and seminars “home” so to speak. One of the most interesting thing about Kazak families I have seen is the way they raise children. In the United States it seems like every kid by the time they are five months old goes to day care, but in Kazakhstan parents take their kids everywhere, and if they do have to leave their child somewhere, they leave them with a relative or close family friend. Parents are also more often visibly affectionate with their children, even after the child is more or less grown-up. I know that in my Chamalgan family, both of my host parents still regularly hugged and kissed their 24 year-old son. In contrast, American parents often stop the PDAs with their kids by the time they are teenagers, or at least that is often the case between father’s and sons. Furthermore, I have seen that this difference in the way children are raised has a profound effect on children’s behavior. My friends and I have remarked several times that is rare to see a Kazak child have temper tantrum, and their classroom behavior is noticeably better than that of American children as well.
That said, I do not think that we need to follow every bit of Kazak parenting methodology. One of the stranger things I have done to their children is the way they put their infants to sleep. The oldest daughter in my new host family has a five month-old infant so I have gotten to see this first hand. Unlike in the States where when they put the baby to bed, they just put the child down under a blanket, in Kazakhstan they strap the child down so that she can hardly move except for her head. Also, they do not put the baby in a diaper when she is in the bed, instead there is a little wooden tube that goes from her crotch through the bottom of a bed and into a plastic bottle. I assume that this is some remnant of the not so distant nomadic past, of mothers strapping their children to their back while they are riding along the steppe or setting up the Yurt, and that it keeps her from falling out of bed during the night. Stillб I think I would prefer falling.
Awkward Moments in Teaching: Take 2
November 12, 2007
So I thought that after Pre-Service Training I would not have quite so many awkward moments in teaching, but that was not the case, as today clearly demonstrated. Today for my 4D class there was a short reading from Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and because of this as well as the accompanying vocabulary I decided that today would be the perfect day to talk about Slavery. I figured that it was a great opportunity for cultural exchange, and I had a great idea for an activity that I was sure would help my students get the message of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Still, you know what they say about making assumptions. We were barely halfway into the lesson when my counterpart reveals that not only the N-Word in the text of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, it’s a vocabulary word complete with translation into Russian. I told my class that it was a very bad word that we never say in English and they understood, but I still could not believe that it had been put in the book in the first place. I could understand it being in Stowe’s narrative, but for the text book to pick it out specifically boggled my mind, or at least it did until I flipped through the book some more and found several stories celebrating British and American citizens who had defected to the Soviet Union. The best part of the lesson was still to come though. I thought that the students might better understand what it meant to be a slave if they made their own “For Sale/Wanted” signs, and as a bonus it would help me learn names. I wanted them to draw a small picture and then write a few descriptive sentences about themselves. However, despite my slow concise instructions and even some translation from my counterpart for a few students, there was still some miscommunication. Rather than present me with something akin to the Osama Bin Laden “Dead or Alive” I got something more like ads in the personals section. They were all in first person and none of them sounded particularly upset that they were for sale or wanted. They all cheerfully told me how old they were, what they liked to do on weekends, and that they were good at cooking and cleaning. I can only assume that Uncle Tom and I have not yet gotten across to them the concept of human bondage, or that in patriarchal society that still practices bride-napping from time to time, they have just gotten used to the idea.
So I thought that after Pre-Service Training I would not have quite so many awkward moments in teaching, but that was not the case, as today clearly demonstrated. Today for my 4D class there was a short reading from Uncle Tom’s Cabin, and because of this as well as the accompanying vocabulary I decided that today would be the perfect day to talk about Slavery. I figured that it was a great opportunity for cultural exchange, and I had a great idea for an activity that I was sure would help my students get the message of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Still, you know what they say about making assumptions. We were barely halfway into the lesson when my counterpart reveals that not only the N-Word in the text of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, it’s a vocabulary word complete with translation into Russian. I told my class that it was a very bad word that we never say in English and they understood, but I still could not believe that it had been put in the book in the first place. I could understand it being in Stowe’s narrative, but for the text book to pick it out specifically boggled my mind, or at least it did until I flipped through the book some more and found several stories celebrating British and American citizens who had defected to the Soviet Union. The best part of the lesson was still to come though. I thought that the students might better understand what it meant to be a slave if they made their own “For Sale/Wanted” signs, and as a bonus it would help me learn names. I wanted them to draw a small picture and then write a few descriptive sentences about themselves. However, despite my slow concise instructions and even some translation from my counterpart for a few students, there was still some miscommunication. Rather than present me with something akin to the Osama Bin Laden “Dead or Alive” I got something more like ads in the personals section. They were all in first person and none of them sounded particularly upset that they were for sale or wanted. They all cheerfully told me how old they were, what they liked to do on weekends, and that they were good at cooking and cleaning. I can only assume that Uncle Tom and I have not yet gotten across to them the concept of human bondage, or that in patriarchal society that still practices bride-napping from time to time, they have just gotten used to the idea.
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