Written February 4
These are actual questions that I have been asked in Turkmenistan:
Will 50 Cent sing at my wedding?
Have I met Kevin McAllister from Home Alone?
Are all people from Chicago gangsters?
Do all Americans hate black people?
Are all black people rich?
Why does America like wars so much?
I’ve decided that Peace Corps is entering a new phase in its mission. In this globalized world, people already see ‘America’. It is there on Music Videos sold bootlegged at the bazaars, in the news beamed via satellite from Russia, in the Johnson’s & Johnson’s Baby Shampoo, and from countless other sources of varying levels of reliability. I may be the first American that some Turkmen have met, but I am defiantly not the first interaction they have had with America. That happens daily.
But, it is a flat interaction. The TV doesn’t talk back, and so much is left out of the sound bytes. More and more I am coming to understand my role here as contextualizing America—to take the images and understandings that are already here and give them history and meaning.
It’s hard though, to compete with the wonders of the media, and at times I think I am a disappointment. When you are expecting a combination of Home Alone and the Pussy Cat Dolls, a Peace Corps Volunteer is a bit of a let down. But, I deal with it. I am not trying to convince people here that Americans are like Turkmen because we are both distinctive breeds, but that most things go deeper. America as seen on TV may be exciting, glittery, and fascinating, but my version of America is in Nyyazow, making friends, talking back, and I hope that’s enough.
Friday, February 8, 2008
You’d Better Start Swimming Or You’ll Sink Like a Stone
Written February 7
As the previous post mentioned, February is turning out to be a rocking awesome time in the short span of KT in the Peace Corps. Each day just seems to get better than the last, which is weird. I use weird a lot these days. I keep bracing myself for a crash—to be lonesome, homesick, frustrated, and wretchedly ill—and it hasn’t come. That partially worries me, but for the moment I am enjoying the settled feeling I am starting to get.
I have a routine that I like and I, rather than Peace Corps, am responsible for creating. Also, I am getting to a point where deviations from the routine aren’t causes for stress and panic but new adventures. I embrace the weddings, the summons from neighbors to kiss babies, and the lingerie parties that happen periodically in the clinic. Some of the nurses have side jobs buying things at the bazaar and reselling them at work. It’s a sweet deal and someday I will figure out how the Chinese size bras.
I am making friends. I am teaching the pharmacist at my clinic English; he is incredibly bright and already knows about as much English as I speak Turkmen. His wife is Uzbek, and I’ve been invited for better palow when the official restriction on my whereabouts is lifted. Peace Corps whereabouts is less strict that GS, but still, I am Nyyazow bound for the next month or so. It chaffs a bit because people do want me to come visit, and in this land of hospitality an invitation to dinner usually extends to breakfast. That’s a rare quality of kindness.
I am also being included a bit in the medical discussions at my clinic. People have started to discuss symptoms and treatments when patients come it. Also, I have been taking a fair amount of blood pressure readings for the Hypertension project that I am not really implementing. I feel a bit bad about it, but despite my strides in language, anything more complicated than a discussion of Hilary versus Obama is beyond me. American politics are an interesting topic here.
As the previous post mentioned, February is turning out to be a rocking awesome time in the short span of KT in the Peace Corps. Each day just seems to get better than the last, which is weird. I use weird a lot these days. I keep bracing myself for a crash—to be lonesome, homesick, frustrated, and wretchedly ill—and it hasn’t come. That partially worries me, but for the moment I am enjoying the settled feeling I am starting to get.
I have a routine that I like and I, rather than Peace Corps, am responsible for creating. Also, I am getting to a point where deviations from the routine aren’t causes for stress and panic but new adventures. I embrace the weddings, the summons from neighbors to kiss babies, and the lingerie parties that happen periodically in the clinic. Some of the nurses have side jobs buying things at the bazaar and reselling them at work. It’s a sweet deal and someday I will figure out how the Chinese size bras.
I am making friends. I am teaching the pharmacist at my clinic English; he is incredibly bright and already knows about as much English as I speak Turkmen. His wife is Uzbek, and I’ve been invited for better palow when the official restriction on my whereabouts is lifted. Peace Corps whereabouts is less strict that GS, but still, I am Nyyazow bound for the next month or so. It chaffs a bit because people do want me to come visit, and in this land of hospitality an invitation to dinner usually extends to breakfast. That’s a rare quality of kindness.
I am also being included a bit in the medical discussions at my clinic. People have started to discuss symptoms and treatments when patients come it. Also, I have been taking a fair amount of blood pressure readings for the Hypertension project that I am not really implementing. I feel a bit bad about it, but despite my strides in language, anything more complicated than a discussion of Hilary versus Obama is beyond me. American politics are an interesting topic here.
Today is the Greatest Day I’ve Every Known
February as a month (one week into it) is the most awesome month ever. It is totally rocking my socks off. I mean that figuratively because I’m in Turkmenistan. If my socks were literally rocked off bad things—disease and possible infertility—would come of it. Wearing socks is a big deal here.
So the brilliance of this month began on the first when I got PAID! I am 2.5 MILLION manat richer. That amounts to roughly $100, but 2.5 million sounds way better, right? Money is always a good thing, very liberating. I also went to Mary City to collect my salary from the bank and ran into some other volunteers so there was English being spoken. English again is an awesome thing. It is fabulous for the world to be understood without being translated.
On Saturday (Feb. 2) I went to a wedding of one of my host family’s myriad of relations. I think my host father has 7 siblings. There was dancing, eating, hanging out with relatives, and showing off my new koynek. Yeah, its yakaly! I love my host fathers sisters. They are a combination of council, tribe, rivals, and gossips. They are warm, irreverent, welcoming, and just so much fun to be around. I am super excited for the days when I can ditch Lenin for overnights so I can go guest with them. I’ve been invited.
On Sunday, I hung out with my neighbors who have suddenly began to accept that my Turkmen is nominally functional Its exciting. The kids are bright, curious, and smart. I also watched High School Musical dubbed into Turkish. Oh, the drama of being a pre-teen in the world as created by Disney. It was still pleasant to see something that I had a connection to back home. High School Musical used to be my cousin’s favorite film. Although for all I know, it still is.
On Monday afternoon and this afternoon I chatted with a collegue in English. He speaks a little bit and wants to practice more because he is going to Canada in December. I just feel like I’m making a few friends. He invited me to eat Uzbek palow with his family on Saturday. I have to tell him that I can’t stay overnight for the next month. Silly rules.
This is a stupendous thank you for the people whose letters, postcards, and thoughtful inclusions of crosswords and Sudoku made it easy to remain positive when things were tough. Every scrap of paper is saved, reread, and cherished.
So the brilliance of this month began on the first when I got PAID! I am 2.5 MILLION manat richer. That amounts to roughly $100, but 2.5 million sounds way better, right? Money is always a good thing, very liberating. I also went to Mary City to collect my salary from the bank and ran into some other volunteers so there was English being spoken. English again is an awesome thing. It is fabulous for the world to be understood without being translated.
On Saturday (Feb. 2) I went to a wedding of one of my host family’s myriad of relations. I think my host father has 7 siblings. There was dancing, eating, hanging out with relatives, and showing off my new koynek. Yeah, its yakaly! I love my host fathers sisters. They are a combination of council, tribe, rivals, and gossips. They are warm, irreverent, welcoming, and just so much fun to be around. I am super excited for the days when I can ditch Lenin for overnights so I can go guest with them. I’ve been invited.
On Sunday, I hung out with my neighbors who have suddenly began to accept that my Turkmen is nominally functional Its exciting. The kids are bright, curious, and smart. I also watched High School Musical dubbed into Turkish. Oh, the drama of being a pre-teen in the world as created by Disney. It was still pleasant to see something that I had a connection to back home. High School Musical used to be my cousin’s favorite film. Although for all I know, it still is.
On Monday afternoon and this afternoon I chatted with a collegue in English. He speaks a little bit and wants to practice more because he is going to Canada in December. I just feel like I’m making a few friends. He invited me to eat Uzbek palow with his family on Saturday. I have to tell him that I can’t stay overnight for the next month. Silly rules.
This is a stupendous thank you for the people whose letters, postcards, and thoughtful inclusions of crosswords and Sudoku made it easy to remain positive when things were tough. Every scrap of paper is saved, reread, and cherished.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Mail Race Update
Internal Turkmen mail.
Dashoguz to Mary: 12 Days
Ashgabat to Mary: 2 Days
That would make, so far, the average travel time for a letter in Turkmenistan a week. Isn’t it funny the games you can play with numbers?
Dashoguz to Mary: 12 Days
Ashgabat to Mary: 2 Days
That would make, so far, the average travel time for a letter in Turkmenistan a week. Isn’t it funny the games you can play with numbers?
‘Cause I’ve Cried A River Over You
Written Jan. 25th
I have found myself reading a lot recently. It is one of the few ways I have to interact in my own language. The other of course is watching the first 6 episodes of 30Rock over and over again (thanks Hilary). And, I’ve been reading widely. It’s strange to suddenly have the freedom to pick up a book without also picking up a highlighter and scribbling down the publishing information in APLA or Chicago format.
It’s hard too, though because with freedom comes choice. Do I like fiction or non-fiction? Contemporary or historical? I have never read all of War and Peace; should I? What about James Joyce? Do I even want to read great literature at all or shall I read dime store romances and legal thrillers? These are the questions that raced through my mind at the Peace Corps ‘library’ which is a collection of books left behind by 16 years of volunteers. It is ramshackle, but there isn’t exactly are Barnes & Noble with a Starbucks around the corner.
I took with me a plethora of books when I came to Mary in December, although it doesn’t seem to be enough. They run the gamut from biographies of former slaves to a history of the meter to novels of the Indian community in Trinidad. Surprisingly, I have found that some of these books have a great deal in common. If I were in an English class, I would write papers on the human condition—its frailty, its ambition, its adaptability, it’s endurance, and its persistence. If I were in a politics class I would write about immigrants, movement, and assimilation in the making of states. But, I am not in those classes anymore, so instead I will write about these books and my life in Turkmenistan.
About a week ago (by the time I actually get around to posting this; it happened yesterday or the day before at the time of this writing), the President of Turkmenistan declared some sort of emergency in the Lebap region of Turkmenistan. This is the welyat or district to the East which has a really long border with Uzbekistan largely formed by the Ama Dariya river.
This winter has been the coldest since 1969, or so I have been told by old men in my village. I actually don’t know if that’s true, but it is freaking cold right now. Because it is cold, the Ama Dariya River has frozen more than it usually does and the weight of the ice caused the level of the water to rise dangerously. The president’s measures include provisions for strengthening dykes and levees, particularly in the industrial canals, to make provisions for evacuations if necessary, and to train special military units to respond in case of a disaster.
I write about the river because in the two most recent books I’ve read, characters have spoken about rivers, waters, and the steps people take to hold them back. They also both spoke of the futility of these actions. The following are little excerpts.
First, The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pitman by Earnest J. Gaines, speaking about a flood in Louisiana in 1927:
Now he’s built concrete spillways to control the water. But, one day the water will break down those spillways just like it broke through the levee. The Frenchman was long dead when the water broke the levee in ’27, and these that built the spillways will be long dead, too, but the water will never die. The water the Indians used to believe in will run fee again. You just wait and see.
Second, The Hungry Tide by Amitave Ghosh speaking about the tide lands in India near the Bay of Bengal.
“My friend, not only could I happen again—it will happen again. A storm will come, the waters will rise, and the badh (levees) will succumb, in part or in whole. It is only a matter of time.”
“How do you know, Saar?” he said quietly.
“Look at it my friend, look at the badh. See how frail it is, how fragile. Look at the waters that flow past it and how limitless they are, how patient, how quietly they bide their time. Just to look at it is to know why the waters must prevail, later, if now sooner…Now ask yourself: how long can this frail fence last against these monstrous appetites-the crabs, the tides, the winds, and the storms? And, if it falls, who shall we turn to then comrade?”
“Who, Saar?”
“Who indeed, Fokir? Neither angels nor men will hear us, and as for the animals, they won’t hear us either.”
“Why not, Saar?”
“Because of what the poet says, Fokir. Because the animals “already know by instinct/we’re not comfortably at home/in our translated world.”
The Ama Dariya River used to be one of the feeders to the Aral Sea, but its course was diverted to irrigate cotton fields. The Aral Sea has receded by kilometers. I don’t really know where I am going with this, other than it raises questions about pride. We have done impossible things to control our world—roads, dams, and levees—but can we control it forever?
I hope the emergency measures keep the river at bay, but at the same time I am inclined to think that if the river wants its freedom, it won’t be held back. And, if anyone is inclined to be generous, send books. You can send them on tape/CDs if you check out books on tape from your local library (I think they still exist somewhere in America)!
I have found myself reading a lot recently. It is one of the few ways I have to interact in my own language. The other of course is watching the first 6 episodes of 30Rock over and over again (thanks Hilary). And, I’ve been reading widely. It’s strange to suddenly have the freedom to pick up a book without also picking up a highlighter and scribbling down the publishing information in APLA or Chicago format.
It’s hard too, though because with freedom comes choice. Do I like fiction or non-fiction? Contemporary or historical? I have never read all of War and Peace; should I? What about James Joyce? Do I even want to read great literature at all or shall I read dime store romances and legal thrillers? These are the questions that raced through my mind at the Peace Corps ‘library’ which is a collection of books left behind by 16 years of volunteers. It is ramshackle, but there isn’t exactly are Barnes & Noble with a Starbucks around the corner.
I took with me a plethora of books when I came to Mary in December, although it doesn’t seem to be enough. They run the gamut from biographies of former slaves to a history of the meter to novels of the Indian community in Trinidad. Surprisingly, I have found that some of these books have a great deal in common. If I were in an English class, I would write papers on the human condition—its frailty, its ambition, its adaptability, it’s endurance, and its persistence. If I were in a politics class I would write about immigrants, movement, and assimilation in the making of states. But, I am not in those classes anymore, so instead I will write about these books and my life in Turkmenistan.
About a week ago (by the time I actually get around to posting this; it happened yesterday or the day before at the time of this writing), the President of Turkmenistan declared some sort of emergency in the Lebap region of Turkmenistan. This is the welyat or district to the East which has a really long border with Uzbekistan largely formed by the Ama Dariya river.
This winter has been the coldest since 1969, or so I have been told by old men in my village. I actually don’t know if that’s true, but it is freaking cold right now. Because it is cold, the Ama Dariya River has frozen more than it usually does and the weight of the ice caused the level of the water to rise dangerously. The president’s measures include provisions for strengthening dykes and levees, particularly in the industrial canals, to make provisions for evacuations if necessary, and to train special military units to respond in case of a disaster.
I write about the river because in the two most recent books I’ve read, characters have spoken about rivers, waters, and the steps people take to hold them back. They also both spoke of the futility of these actions. The following are little excerpts.
First, The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pitman by Earnest J. Gaines, speaking about a flood in Louisiana in 1927:
Now he’s built concrete spillways to control the water. But, one day the water will break down those spillways just like it broke through the levee. The Frenchman was long dead when the water broke the levee in ’27, and these that built the spillways will be long dead, too, but the water will never die. The water the Indians used to believe in will run fee again. You just wait and see.
Second, The Hungry Tide by Amitave Ghosh speaking about the tide lands in India near the Bay of Bengal.
“My friend, not only could I happen again—it will happen again. A storm will come, the waters will rise, and the badh (levees) will succumb, in part or in whole. It is only a matter of time.”
“How do you know, Saar?” he said quietly.
“Look at it my friend, look at the badh. See how frail it is, how fragile. Look at the waters that flow past it and how limitless they are, how patient, how quietly they bide their time. Just to look at it is to know why the waters must prevail, later, if now sooner…Now ask yourself: how long can this frail fence last against these monstrous appetites-the crabs, the tides, the winds, and the storms? And, if it falls, who shall we turn to then comrade?”
“Who, Saar?”
“Who indeed, Fokir? Neither angels nor men will hear us, and as for the animals, they won’t hear us either.”
“Why not, Saar?”
“Because of what the poet says, Fokir. Because the animals “already know by instinct/we’re not comfortably at home/in our translated world.”
The Ama Dariya River used to be one of the feeders to the Aral Sea, but its course was diverted to irrigate cotton fields. The Aral Sea has receded by kilometers. I don’t really know where I am going with this, other than it raises questions about pride. We have done impossible things to control our world—roads, dams, and levees—but can we control it forever?
I hope the emergency measures keep the river at bay, but at the same time I am inclined to think that if the river wants its freedom, it won’t be held back. And, if anyone is inclined to be generous, send books. You can send them on tape/CDs if you check out books on tape from your local library (I think they still exist somewhere in America)!
The Suns a Circus Clown and The Moons a Lemon Pie
Written on January 18th
Today was a phenomenal day; you have those sometimes in the Peace Corps, where things just seem to fit and you feel like you are doing the right thing. It is funny because today didn’t start out like it would be a good day. I was supposed to leave at 7 for a bazaar to buy material and a yaka (embroidered collar) for a party dress. There are several upcoming social events for which I did not have proper attair. The leaving at 7 was so that I would be back at my work by 9. We didn’t leave until 8:15 and didn’t get back until about 10:30. But, I do have everything I need to have a dress sewn up this week, so little victory # 1.
I wanted to be on time to work so that I could go with one of the nurses making their rounds. Turkmenistan is moving to an almost Cuban-style system of health care, where the emphasis is on family physicians and preventative healthcare. There are some gaps in the system (some of which I’m here to fill), but they have, in many cases, the numbers. There is supposed to be one nurse for every 1,000 people, and they go around and visit these people periodically to tell them things like “vaccinate your children tomorrow” or “breastfeed, and don’t give your baby tea.” Its funny because I can’t imagine that working out so well in America. (We will vaccinate our children if our rugged invidualism feels like it and who cares if whooping cough and measles are making a comeback.)
I missed the patronage (doing the rounds) with one nurse, but I stumbled upon my counterpart—a woman who is beyond fantastic and so amazing I could cry—going on her own rounds. This was a vaccination round. This week at my clinic, they are vaccinating new babies against polio and hepatitis B, and giving tetanus boosters to people born in ’83 and ’93. Anyway, I had a good long converstation with my counterpart about everything from swaddling babies (she’s against it, but understands tradition) to the words for snow in three languages (Turkmen—Gar, English—Snow, and Russian—Snek).
I went home for lunch and had an awesomely delicious pumpkin soup, and they let me put my own amount of pepper in a bowl. SO FANTASTIC!!!!!!!! And, then my host mother, recognized that I was tired and put me in a corner by the pech (stove). It was a good day too because the gas was flowing freely and the room was warm. I had a blanket and a pillow and an hour and a half before I had to be back at work. Nap times are owadan (beautiful).
I toddled off to work at 1:45 have woken up in time to play a few games of Alty Cart with the host siblings. I didn’t lose once. That is a big accomplishment because everyone cheats a little bit at cards here. (My mom used to say something about bridge and a peek being worth two trumps or something to that effect; same goes here.) I sat with Myrat who is a doctor for a bit, had some tea because I’d only had about 12 cups by that point. Then I went and sat with some other nurses. We chatted at length about my new dress, about their families, and how disappointed we were that it was snowing again. It hasn’t been above freezing for more than 2 consecutive hours since Christmas. Its exciting when I have feeling in my toes.
At about 4:00 everyone left my clinic except for the vaccination specialist. Everyone told me to go home, but I stayed to watch babies cry. That’s mostly what vaccinations are. In between the crying babies I spoke for an hour with the specialist. He knows all about my family, the prices of gas and other commodities in America, and I know how old his children are. I just felt a little bit like I was getting it.
At home again, we ate palow, which is usually not my favorite dish, but this one had minimal oil. Also, my gelen-eje remembered that I prefer carrots to meat, and whenever we have palow we also have picked tomatoes. I am in the perfect place for me. Turkmen actually encourage the drinking of pickle brine. I am super psyched about summer because a) it won’t be cold; it will be 130+ degrees and b) I will learn how to pickle tomatoes.
After dinner I did my little English/Computer lesson for my host family. Thank you to whoever wrote Learning English Through Guided Conversation. My siblings were getting pronouns like it was their job. This was exciting because for the past three days its been “No, He is one person, are is for many people.” And, they remembered at least half of the locations and verbs we were using. ROCK ON!!!!
Now its to bed, but que rico today was a good day!
Today was a phenomenal day; you have those sometimes in the Peace Corps, where things just seem to fit and you feel like you are doing the right thing. It is funny because today didn’t start out like it would be a good day. I was supposed to leave at 7 for a bazaar to buy material and a yaka (embroidered collar) for a party dress. There are several upcoming social events for which I did not have proper attair. The leaving at 7 was so that I would be back at my work by 9. We didn’t leave until 8:15 and didn’t get back until about 10:30. But, I do have everything I need to have a dress sewn up this week, so little victory # 1.
I wanted to be on time to work so that I could go with one of the nurses making their rounds. Turkmenistan is moving to an almost Cuban-style system of health care, where the emphasis is on family physicians and preventative healthcare. There are some gaps in the system (some of which I’m here to fill), but they have, in many cases, the numbers. There is supposed to be one nurse for every 1,000 people, and they go around and visit these people periodically to tell them things like “vaccinate your children tomorrow” or “breastfeed, and don’t give your baby tea.” Its funny because I can’t imagine that working out so well in America. (We will vaccinate our children if our rugged invidualism feels like it and who cares if whooping cough and measles are making a comeback.)
I missed the patronage (doing the rounds) with one nurse, but I stumbled upon my counterpart—a woman who is beyond fantastic and so amazing I could cry—going on her own rounds. This was a vaccination round. This week at my clinic, they are vaccinating new babies against polio and hepatitis B, and giving tetanus boosters to people born in ’83 and ’93. Anyway, I had a good long converstation with my counterpart about everything from swaddling babies (she’s against it, but understands tradition) to the words for snow in three languages (Turkmen—Gar, English—Snow, and Russian—Snek).
I went home for lunch and had an awesomely delicious pumpkin soup, and they let me put my own amount of pepper in a bowl. SO FANTASTIC!!!!!!!! And, then my host mother, recognized that I was tired and put me in a corner by the pech (stove). It was a good day too because the gas was flowing freely and the room was warm. I had a blanket and a pillow and an hour and a half before I had to be back at work. Nap times are owadan (beautiful).
I toddled off to work at 1:45 have woken up in time to play a few games of Alty Cart with the host siblings. I didn’t lose once. That is a big accomplishment because everyone cheats a little bit at cards here. (My mom used to say something about bridge and a peek being worth two trumps or something to that effect; same goes here.) I sat with Myrat who is a doctor for a bit, had some tea because I’d only had about 12 cups by that point. Then I went and sat with some other nurses. We chatted at length about my new dress, about their families, and how disappointed we were that it was snowing again. It hasn’t been above freezing for more than 2 consecutive hours since Christmas. Its exciting when I have feeling in my toes.
At about 4:00 everyone left my clinic except for the vaccination specialist. Everyone told me to go home, but I stayed to watch babies cry. That’s mostly what vaccinations are. In between the crying babies I spoke for an hour with the specialist. He knows all about my family, the prices of gas and other commodities in America, and I know how old his children are. I just felt a little bit like I was getting it.
At home again, we ate palow, which is usually not my favorite dish, but this one had minimal oil. Also, my gelen-eje remembered that I prefer carrots to meat, and whenever we have palow we also have picked tomatoes. I am in the perfect place for me. Turkmen actually encourage the drinking of pickle brine. I am super psyched about summer because a) it won’t be cold; it will be 130+ degrees and b) I will learn how to pickle tomatoes.
After dinner I did my little English/Computer lesson for my host family. Thank you to whoever wrote Learning English Through Guided Conversation. My siblings were getting pronouns like it was their job. This was exciting because for the past three days its been “No, He is one person, are is for many people.” And, they remembered at least half of the locations and verbs we were using. ROCK ON!!!!
Now its to bed, but que rico today was a good day!
Thats the Way It Happens On the Far Side of The World
January 10, 2008
It’s been a while, so there will be several posts full of fun facts from the life and times of Katheryne in Turkmenistan. Today is First order of business; it is cold in the Stan of the Turkmen. This is a fact that I think I knew but didn’t fully process back in November ’06, when I blithely cast aside a Pacific Islands post because I might get cabin fever. It would be cabin fever, but in a bikini.
It is so cold in fact that the main gas pipeline to our little town burst. It has sort of been fixed, but gas flowing is barely enough to keep the peches lit. To give you a sense of the temperatures, I am in my sleeping room, which is probably the warmest in our compound because it has an electric stove that is kept on and my little Peace Corps issue space heater. I am wearing 3 pairs of socks, not including the tights I am also wearing, sweatpants, a koynek (Turkmen dress), and tank top, a long sleeved cotton shirt, a wool turtleneck, and a sweater. I also have a scarf wrapped around my head and I’m in my sleeping bag (REI Sub-Kilo 15+F), and I wouldn’t exactly call myself warm. It is cold enough that my clinic is operating on half days. (There’s no gas there either). The half days are a combination of it being freezing, and the roads being unplowed and unsalted. Most of my clinic staff lives in other villages between Mary City and mine. The road is usually well served by these minibus taxis or marshrutkas. The unplowed, unsalted road is not, so everyone gets to leave early to be sure that they get home. It works for me because bundled in my sleeping bag, in front of a space heater; I can actually feel my toes. It’s a beautiful sensation.
There is also about 3 inches of snow on the ground outside although in many places its been trodden down, driven over, and melted slightly on the rare occasions its been above freezing this week. And, it has been, on rare occasions, above freezing this week. That has mostly made everything more treacherous, because instead of snow, there are patches of sheet ice. I took a pretty horrific spill this morning. It was very slow motion cartoon animated, where both feet slipped out from under me, and I suddenly found myself staring up at the sky wondering how I had gotten down there. I also have an aching back and a sizable lump on my head. It serves as a valuable lesson to watch where I am going.
I meant to, last Saturday (Jan. 5), make it to an Internet location and get something up on the blog, mostly to let people know I am still alive. One would hope, though, that if I were not alive Peace Corps would be prompt about that sort of thing. Anyway, that did not happen. First, the American Corner (US Embassy program to foster civic mindedness and democracy) was mysteriously closed. Everyone around us (I was also having my first visit with a fellow volunteer and joyously speaking in English) spoke Russian, so we didn’t really understand why it was closed. And, the Internet café is probably the only thing in Mary City that keeps to an American Monday through Friday workweek.
Instead, I sent a lot of mail that people will hopefully begin receiving over the next couple of weeks. Think E-mail before Al Gore invented the Internet. I assume everything still leaves from Ashgabat, and I haven’t a clue how much time the additional 400 km from Mary City will add on.
In the interest of inspiring more people to drop me a line, I have decided to provide some excerpts from letters received so far. Also, for those of you (mostly of the younger, internet-dependent generations…basically me three months ago) who expressed qualms about the postal system. Your basic letter will cost $0.90, and I think you can even order stamps online these days.
My life is rather boring; it just so happens to be boring somewhere exotic—this one is actually something I wrote, but the letter was returned to sender.
Because you know American have more important things to worry about [than where Turkmenistan is on a map] like who will be eliminated next on America’s Next Top Model—keeping it all in perspective for me…
You might be amused to know that we’ve had a big infestation of head lice on campus these past three weeks—Yes head lice—Hurray for problems I don’t have!
Well, my personal life sucked this letter. I will try to spiced it up—For me, thanks
…Now it seems like I am at the starting line of “real” in my life—I know the feeling
Hope all is well and you’ve reached the first plateau in language, (“can you please tell me where I can find the bathroom?” “I’ll have a Cuba libre”, “Oh, sorry wrong country,” “I’ll have a scotch, make it a double,” “Oh, still wrong country,” “Beer?”)—In this post-soviet state they ask for vodka
I am anxious to here where your site will be so I can put a pin in the map—it will make my dreams of visiting more real if I can Google Earth your town—the internet does weird things to you
What’s the food like in Turkmenistan? IS THERE FOOD? ARE YOU STARVING? —I know famines and the like do happen here (its 80% desert), but given the warmth, hospitality, and generosity of everyone I’ve met, starving in Turkmenistan seem like a difficult proposition.
How fast I forget that you, too, were once a demanding adolescent—Have I grown out of that?
Since you’ve gone to Turkmenistan, I’ve met or heard about lots of people who served in PC Turkmenistan and all loved it. I also saw a friend whose daughter graduated college last year and is working at a Starbucks in Oregon and hates it. You have clearly made the right choice—Always nice to have one’s actions validated!
It’s been a while, so there will be several posts full of fun facts from the life and times of Katheryne in Turkmenistan. Today is First order of business; it is cold in the Stan of the Turkmen. This is a fact that I think I knew but didn’t fully process back in November ’06, when I blithely cast aside a Pacific Islands post because I might get cabin fever. It would be cabin fever, but in a bikini.
It is so cold in fact that the main gas pipeline to our little town burst. It has sort of been fixed, but gas flowing is barely enough to keep the peches lit. To give you a sense of the temperatures, I am in my sleeping room, which is probably the warmest in our compound because it has an electric stove that is kept on and my little Peace Corps issue space heater. I am wearing 3 pairs of socks, not including the tights I am also wearing, sweatpants, a koynek (Turkmen dress), and tank top, a long sleeved cotton shirt, a wool turtleneck, and a sweater. I also have a scarf wrapped around my head and I’m in my sleeping bag (REI Sub-Kilo 15+F), and I wouldn’t exactly call myself warm. It is cold enough that my clinic is operating on half days. (There’s no gas there either). The half days are a combination of it being freezing, and the roads being unplowed and unsalted. Most of my clinic staff lives in other villages between Mary City and mine. The road is usually well served by these minibus taxis or marshrutkas. The unplowed, unsalted road is not, so everyone gets to leave early to be sure that they get home. It works for me because bundled in my sleeping bag, in front of a space heater; I can actually feel my toes. It’s a beautiful sensation.
There is also about 3 inches of snow on the ground outside although in many places its been trodden down, driven over, and melted slightly on the rare occasions its been above freezing this week. And, it has been, on rare occasions, above freezing this week. That has mostly made everything more treacherous, because instead of snow, there are patches of sheet ice. I took a pretty horrific spill this morning. It was very slow motion cartoon animated, where both feet slipped out from under me, and I suddenly found myself staring up at the sky wondering how I had gotten down there. I also have an aching back and a sizable lump on my head. It serves as a valuable lesson to watch where I am going.
I meant to, last Saturday (Jan. 5), make it to an Internet location and get something up on the blog, mostly to let people know I am still alive. One would hope, though, that if I were not alive Peace Corps would be prompt about that sort of thing. Anyway, that did not happen. First, the American Corner (US Embassy program to foster civic mindedness and democracy) was mysteriously closed. Everyone around us (I was also having my first visit with a fellow volunteer and joyously speaking in English) spoke Russian, so we didn’t really understand why it was closed. And, the Internet café is probably the only thing in Mary City that keeps to an American Monday through Friday workweek.
Instead, I sent a lot of mail that people will hopefully begin receiving over the next couple of weeks. Think E-mail before Al Gore invented the Internet. I assume everything still leaves from Ashgabat, and I haven’t a clue how much time the additional 400 km from Mary City will add on.
In the interest of inspiring more people to drop me a line, I have decided to provide some excerpts from letters received so far. Also, for those of you (mostly of the younger, internet-dependent generations…basically me three months ago) who expressed qualms about the postal system. Your basic letter will cost $0.90, and I think you can even order stamps online these days.
My life is rather boring; it just so happens to be boring somewhere exotic—this one is actually something I wrote, but the letter was returned to sender.
Because you know American have more important things to worry about [than where Turkmenistan is on a map] like who will be eliminated next on America’s Next Top Model—keeping it all in perspective for me…
You might be amused to know that we’ve had a big infestation of head lice on campus these past three weeks—Yes head lice—Hurray for problems I don’t have!
Well, my personal life sucked this letter. I will try to spiced it up—For me, thanks
…Now it seems like I am at the starting line of “real” in my life—I know the feeling
Hope all is well and you’ve reached the first plateau in language, (“can you please tell me where I can find the bathroom?” “I’ll have a Cuba libre”, “Oh, sorry wrong country,” “I’ll have a scotch, make it a double,” “Oh, still wrong country,” “Beer?”)—In this post-soviet state they ask for vodka
I am anxious to here where your site will be so I can put a pin in the map—it will make my dreams of visiting more real if I can Google Earth your town—the internet does weird things to you
What’s the food like in Turkmenistan? IS THERE FOOD? ARE YOU STARVING? —I know famines and the like do happen here (its 80% desert), but given the warmth, hospitality, and generosity of everyone I’ve met, starving in Turkmenistan seem like a difficult proposition.
How fast I forget that you, too, were once a demanding adolescent—Have I grown out of that?
Since you’ve gone to Turkmenistan, I’ve met or heard about lots of people who served in PC Turkmenistan and all loved it. I also saw a friend whose daughter graduated college last year and is working at a Starbucks in Oregon and hates it. You have clearly made the right choice—Always nice to have one’s actions validated!
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