It seemed like a good idea at the time...
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Front Foot leads the back one
I know I've been a bad blogger these past few months, and I really have no excuse for it other than laziness. Sorry. But, my days in the stan of Turkmen are ending tomorrow. I board a plane for India and points unknown. I'll be travelling with a giant backpack for the next three months, and I am super excited about that. I want to thank all of the people who read this, the family, the friends, and the strangers. I could not have stayed here without the support.
There will be a longer blog later about the last days in country and the last months really, but until then I hope to sagaman git!
There will be a longer blog later about the last days in country and the last months really, but until then I hope to sagaman git!
Friday, October 2, 2009
Dancing on the casket, written September 17, 2009
Dancing on the Casket
Written September 17, 2009
This has not been a good week for small creatures of the earth. I have killed two of them, more or less accidentally. The first was a lizard. I stepped on it as I made my way to the outhouse. I was really lost in thought because I didn’t even notice it until there was a weird cracking sound underfoot. I glanced back, saw a writhing thing and quickly walked by. I have a full-blown lizard phobia, and apparently it doesn’t matter if its dead or alive. Its still sends adrenaline flooding my system and freaks me out. I walked all the way around my host family’s central yard so I wouldn’t have to pass it on my way back to my room. When I went out to cook dinner later that day, the lizard was being consumed by a flock of carnivorous wasps. It was a very creepy image.
Today, I killed a mouse. I didn’t intend to kill it, but I did need it out of my room. I was on a quest for my ATM card, which has vanished. The last time I remember having it was in January, coming back from vacation. I thought maybe I left it in the pocket of a winter coat, so I pulled out my winter clothes. I’ve been keeping them in a suitcase under the floorboards of my room. In hindsight, perhaps that wasn’t the best location. The first thing I pulled out was a very nice cashmere turtleneck sweater that was riddled with holes. My first thought was, “how did moths get in here?” My second thought was “MOUSE!” as it scurried from my suitcase into a corner of my room. I checked the rest of my clothes for little mouse babies, but thank god I didn’t have to deal with that too. Then, I set about trying to get my furry invader out of my bedroom. Initially I just left the door open and tried to be quiet. This was not successful. Then I tried to scare it to the door, but the door was apparently less attractive to the mouse than under my desk. It hid under my medical kit, which was precariously balanced on a stack of old Emergency Action Plans. During my shooing with a plastic bottle, I knocked the kit onto the mouse. It died, and then I had a fun two hours of gathering my courage to lift the kit and remove the body.
Number of dead mice in my room: 0
Number of mice corpses in the burn pile: 1
Number of slightly queasy but proud Americans: 1
Written September 17, 2009
This has not been a good week for small creatures of the earth. I have killed two of them, more or less accidentally. The first was a lizard. I stepped on it as I made my way to the outhouse. I was really lost in thought because I didn’t even notice it until there was a weird cracking sound underfoot. I glanced back, saw a writhing thing and quickly walked by. I have a full-blown lizard phobia, and apparently it doesn’t matter if its dead or alive. Its still sends adrenaline flooding my system and freaks me out. I walked all the way around my host family’s central yard so I wouldn’t have to pass it on my way back to my room. When I went out to cook dinner later that day, the lizard was being consumed by a flock of carnivorous wasps. It was a very creepy image.
Today, I killed a mouse. I didn’t intend to kill it, but I did need it out of my room. I was on a quest for my ATM card, which has vanished. The last time I remember having it was in January, coming back from vacation. I thought maybe I left it in the pocket of a winter coat, so I pulled out my winter clothes. I’ve been keeping them in a suitcase under the floorboards of my room. In hindsight, perhaps that wasn’t the best location. The first thing I pulled out was a very nice cashmere turtleneck sweater that was riddled with holes. My first thought was, “how did moths get in here?” My second thought was “MOUSE!” as it scurried from my suitcase into a corner of my room. I checked the rest of my clothes for little mouse babies, but thank god I didn’t have to deal with that too. Then, I set about trying to get my furry invader out of my bedroom. Initially I just left the door open and tried to be quiet. This was not successful. Then I tried to scare it to the door, but the door was apparently less attractive to the mouse than under my desk. It hid under my medical kit, which was precariously balanced on a stack of old Emergency Action Plans. During my shooing with a plastic bottle, I knocked the kit onto the mouse. It died, and then I had a fun two hours of gathering my courage to lift the kit and remove the body.
Number of dead mice in my room: 0
Number of mice corpses in the burn pile: 1
Number of slightly queasy but proud Americans: 1
16 tons and what do you get? Written September 24
16 Tons and What Do You Get?
Written September 24
Turkmenistan’s economy is driven by two very different factors. Internationally, there is the natural gas. With pipelines planned to Iran, Europe, and China, Turkmenistan pumps out a lot of it. Proceeds from this provide the service net around which all Turkmen survive. Without it, there would not be free electricity, salt, flour, and, well, gas, at least until 2020. However, most Turkmen do not see actual money from this part of the economy. They survive on cotton.
During the Soviet era, cotton was brought to Turkmenistan as a cash crop. I am not quite sure I grasp the logic of developing a desert for agriculture, but its here, and it remains. In my welyat, much like the in the old South, cotton is king. Until fairly recently, students were required to pick cotton as part of the curriculum. Now, while it isn’t mandatory, many children still go picking instead of school because they can earn valuable cash income. From a privately owned cotton field, a kilo of cotton earns 1,000 manat; from a government one, 500. If anyone is more math oriented than I am, 14,215 manats equals a dollar.
I went cotton picking last week. It just seemed like one of those things that I probably should do before I leave, and I’m leaving fairly soon. (I am out of Turkmenistan and on to other grand adventures on December 16). I went to Momotay village, where another Peace Corps volunteer resides. I expected it to be difficult, but it was harder than I thought. First of all, it was hot and sunny. Then, the cotton plants are short. It made my back ache. Additionally, cotton isn’t exactly heavy. It takes a lot of blossoms to get a kilo, far more than I was willing to pick. Mostly it was a photo opportunity. So, there they are, above!
Written September 24
Turkmenistan’s economy is driven by two very different factors. Internationally, there is the natural gas. With pipelines planned to Iran, Europe, and China, Turkmenistan pumps out a lot of it. Proceeds from this provide the service net around which all Turkmen survive. Without it, there would not be free electricity, salt, flour, and, well, gas, at least until 2020. However, most Turkmen do not see actual money from this part of the economy. They survive on cotton.
During the Soviet era, cotton was brought to Turkmenistan as a cash crop. I am not quite sure I grasp the logic of developing a desert for agriculture, but its here, and it remains. In my welyat, much like the in the old South, cotton is king. Until fairly recently, students were required to pick cotton as part of the curriculum. Now, while it isn’t mandatory, many children still go picking instead of school because they can earn valuable cash income. From a privately owned cotton field, a kilo of cotton earns 1,000 manat; from a government one, 500. If anyone is more math oriented than I am, 14,215 manats equals a dollar.
I went cotton picking last week. It just seemed like one of those things that I probably should do before I leave, and I’m leaving fairly soon. (I am out of Turkmenistan and on to other grand adventures on December 16). I went to Momotay village, where another Peace Corps volunteer resides. I expected it to be difficult, but it was harder than I thought. First of all, it was hot and sunny. Then, the cotton plants are short. It made my back ache. Additionally, cotton isn’t exactly heavy. It takes a lot of blossoms to get a kilo, far more than I was willing to pick. Mostly it was a photo opportunity. So, there they are, above!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Here Comes The Bride
One of my really good Turkmen friends got married right before my vacation. this is a picture of us with her traditional bridal finery. Its quite beautiful!
Midnight Train
Phonetic spelling is an amazing thing. A casino in Tbilisi hasn't grasped the 'ph' concept quite yet
At the old fort in Tbilisi with the city in the background
the highest point of the fort
View of the biggest cathedral in Tbilisi
The most delicious Georgia peach at Pheasant's Tears vineyard.
Giant amphoras at the vineyard. To make the wine, these jars are sealed with beeswax, filled with wine and buried in the ground. The end result is delicious. Anyone in the greater DC area should got to Potomac Wines and Spirits and buy a bottle or two. Its pretty bombdiggity.
The vineyard through the vines.
Special and delicious grapes at the vineyard
More views of Tbilisi
wine amphoras at the Christian cave city outside of Gori
St. George's Church at the cave city
Some of the rocks around the cave cities
Me at the cave city!
St. George's church at the cave city
St. Georges at the cave cathedral underneath
views of the river by the cave city with mountains in the background
Me at Gori fortress with the Georgia flag in the background
Views of Gori from the fortress.
The Gori fortress.
Strange statue at the foot of the Gori fortress
Stalin's train car. he rode it to Potsdam!
Me and Stalin in front of the Stalin Museum
Rachel and Noah in Batumi
Me at Gonio near Batumi. WooHoo for Roman ruins
More of the Ruins
Pretty flowers and more ruins with the dramatic mountains in the background
More ruins!
Me at the ruins
The harbor in Batumi
Batumi from my hotel room!
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Georgia On My Mind
Written when its actually posted
Its that joyful time again when I get to leave Turkmenistan. Its good to get away to remember why I still like Turkmenistan despite the heat, the camels, the desert, and the myriad of little things that annoy me every day. I'm in Georgia (country not state), and it has been wonderful in the extreme. I'm traveling with two other Turkmenistan PCVs, and we are stalwart travelers, plus Georgia is more developed than T-Stan. So, even though we've largely been staying at hostels, there's been a toilet in each room.
We flew from Turkmenistan to Istambul and from there to Batumi. I made it in fine form, but my baggage disappeared into the void. It was cool though because I was there. We found a hotel on the remodt row. Remodt being the russian term for anything related to construction. (shoe repair is shoe remodt). This was good for price, good for the walking it made us do, but bad for the lack of airconditioning and window facing the street. Apparently people get an early start in the hardware business.
ON the day we arrived, we trolled around looking for bathing suits to replace the ones in the lost luggage. We ate our first Georgian meals. They make this fantastic bread baked with cheese in the middle. One variety even has an egg cracked on it at the end! There was also wine and the cheapest, sweetest peaches I've ever seen. On the second day it was cloudy (boo), so we found the Adjaran Art Museum which had a Picasso exhibition going on. It felt nice to be cultural. We also strolled on the prominade and ate more food. Food has been a fantastic part of this trip. Day 3 involved collecting our bags from the airport, and making our way to Sarpi near the Turkish border. We clambered over a set of Roman ruins at Gonio before finding delightful pebble beaches on the Black Sea. It was nice to frolick in bikinis, surrounded by people wearing skimpier bikinis than I was. More food was also eaten.
We left Batumi on the 4th day, heading for Gori. This town in the foothills of the lesser Caucuses brought forth Stalin, whose museum and statues feature prominently. We spent a few hours at the Stalin museum, where there is a Turkmen carpet on display. It was given to Stalin as a gift. It was way prettier than the Tajik carpet. We slept at the Intourist Hotel, which has remodted itself since soviet times and is a decent (but expensive) hotel. In the morning we took a bus to an anchient set of cave cities. It predates Christianity, but has some wonderful cathedrals hewn out of the stones. It was stunning.
Now we are in Tbilisi where I am being spoiled at a distance by my parents. They splurged for me, and I'm shacked up in the Marriott hotel on freedom square. I am loved. My parents are wonderful. My family is amazing. And I'm only about halfway through my adventure.
More to come
Oh, and this is a photo of me at my clinic with our new ambulance!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Red Dust written June 3, 2009
Red Dust
Written June 3rd
May 30 marked my second and possibly last Mighty Merv campout. I, along with 13 other volunteers representing 3 welyats slept beneath the stars and on top of the dust that was a city. Merv was a major player in Turkmen and world history. It was a Silk Route stop and was sacked and destroyed by such notables as Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great. Merv, in all its incarnations, depended on the Murgap River for water, so as the river’s course changed, the city moved. What remains now is a sprawling set of walls, mosques, icehouses, and mausoleums that covers several miles.
It’s Peace Corps tradition that the Mary volunteers host campouts among the ruins when the weather permits. In preparation for this event, I spent a LONG time baking cupcakes. I have a fantastic silicon cupcake tray, but only one. Usually that is enough, but when cooking 40+ cupcakes, the limits are more obvious. It took about 6 hours from start to finish, although most of that was waiting for cupcakes to bake and cool. My host family was suitably impressed by my culinary prowess, which was nice. They generally don’t like my curries and spicy soups. Chocolate cupcakes are winners, though.
I also brought sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts to mix with a pasta salad that another volunteer created. Little treats from home are wonderful things. We all met at the bus station loaded with carpets, sleeping bags, libations, food, and energy. As we made our way to the site, there was a pretty intense dust storm, but we decided that we live in a desert. It will take more than dust to scare us away. That turned out to be a good decision because while it was annoying to constantly have gritty teeth, the wind kept the temperature bearable and the mosquitoes at bay. Last year the mozzies were biting through jeans. This year they were negligible.
Thanks to the prowess of not one, but two, eagle scouts nature was destroyed with saws, axes, and hatchets. We made the fire pit extra deep so that the wind wouldn’t cause it to spread. Then we cooked vegetarian kebabs on a little grill. The tomatoes in this country are amazing no matter how they are cooked. The cupcakes were a hit, and with music blaring from everyone’s Ipods, merriment was had.
Written June 3rd
May 30 marked my second and possibly last Mighty Merv campout. I, along with 13 other volunteers representing 3 welyats slept beneath the stars and on top of the dust that was a city. Merv was a major player in Turkmen and world history. It was a Silk Route stop and was sacked and destroyed by such notables as Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great. Merv, in all its incarnations, depended on the Murgap River for water, so as the river’s course changed, the city moved. What remains now is a sprawling set of walls, mosques, icehouses, and mausoleums that covers several miles.
It’s Peace Corps tradition that the Mary volunteers host campouts among the ruins when the weather permits. In preparation for this event, I spent a LONG time baking cupcakes. I have a fantastic silicon cupcake tray, but only one. Usually that is enough, but when cooking 40+ cupcakes, the limits are more obvious. It took about 6 hours from start to finish, although most of that was waiting for cupcakes to bake and cool. My host family was suitably impressed by my culinary prowess, which was nice. They generally don’t like my curries and spicy soups. Chocolate cupcakes are winners, though.
I also brought sun-dried tomatoes and pine nuts to mix with a pasta salad that another volunteer created. Little treats from home are wonderful things. We all met at the bus station loaded with carpets, sleeping bags, libations, food, and energy. As we made our way to the site, there was a pretty intense dust storm, but we decided that we live in a desert. It will take more than dust to scare us away. That turned out to be a good decision because while it was annoying to constantly have gritty teeth, the wind kept the temperature bearable and the mosquitoes at bay. Last year the mozzies were biting through jeans. This year they were negligible.
Thanks to the prowess of not one, but two, eagle scouts nature was destroyed with saws, axes, and hatchets. We made the fire pit extra deep so that the wind wouldn’t cause it to spread. Then we cooked vegetarian kebabs on a little grill. The tomatoes in this country are amazing no matter how they are cooked. The cupcakes were a hit, and with music blaring from everyone’s Ipods, merriment was had.
Far Side of the World written June 10, 2009
Far Side of The World
Written June 10
Salams and hos(h) geldin(g)izes to the future T-18s. I did this about this time last year because I imagined the future Turkmenistan volunteers were curious about this mysterious Stan where they might be spending 27 months. I will probably not have the opportunity to know you because I COS in December, but I can answer any questions you have about this place, from packing list to paranoid fears about our proximity to Iran.
First off, all fears about personal safety are kind of paranoid. Turkmenistan is, for a variety of reasons, one of the safest places I’ve ever lived. It was voted a neutral state by a vote in the U.N. It maintains peaceful and cooperative relationships with its neighbors. Private citizens are not allowed to own guns. While there might be one or two old rifles floating around, armed violence is unlikely, unless you somehow involve yourself with the opium trade. That is not recommended. It’s also something of a police state. In all the major cities there are policemen on practically every corner. Furthermore, there is compulsory military service for all boys when they leave school. Many of them are posted to the borders of Uzbekistan, Iran, and Afghanistan. Additionally, while Turkmenistan is a Muslim country, it is not fundamentalist at all in its leanings. As in Turkey, the religious establishment is run by the government, and 80 years as an atheist, community republic has left its mark. Finally, Peace Corps does not put volunteers in areas that are dangerous.
Now that the unreasonable fears are out of the way, I can talk about the reasonable ones. Joining Peace Corps, regardless of where you go is going to be difficult. Turkmenistan has one or two quirks that exacerbate that. First, it is a very closed place. Full coverage of the country, or at least enough coverage that most volunteers have cell phone reception, only came about last year, and it’s expensive. Internet is really only available in the welyat (district) capitals. Although, in the cities, internet in homes is increasingly common. I have a cell phone, and I mostly use it to stay in contact with other volunteers. To talk to people in America I use skype. (If you don’t know about skype check it out before you leave. It’s an internet based phone program that makes calls cheap.) The internet café in Mary has the program and my friends and family know that I am usually online at a specific time each week. It takes work and money to say in touch, but it happens. To be specific, I am online about once a week, and I probably spend about 5%-8% of my monthly salary on my cell phone.
The work situation here is different and can be difficult for both health and TEFL volunteers. I can better speak to the health aspects. Unless you have a really great site, people aren’t really going to understand what your job is. Generally things are run very hierarchically, and in most cases the higher ups tell lower downs that an American is coming to work with them. It can be frustrating to figure out what you’re supposed to be doing, especially at the beginning. It can also be frustrating to work around the hierarchy aspects. Again, unless your site is exceptional, everything needs a permission to get done, and the tendency is to say ‘no.’ Developing good relationships with your co-workers and supervisors can mitigate this, but its definitely annoying to temper personal initiative.
I live in a typical Turkmen village, and socially that can be challenging. It was hard to find local friends because I am just not Turkmen. Most of the girls my age are married with several children. Their concerns and interests are radically different than mine. I have no male friends between the ages of 12 and about 50 because I am unmarried. Although it took a while, I did manage to find a social circle, and surprisingly it consists mostly of 40-50 year old women. In terms of temperament, they are most similar to me. They’ve raised their families and generally have a certain respect and cache in the village, so they have more freedoms than other people. Friendships can be made and be meaningful, but they probably won’t be the types of relationships you’re expecting. Be flexible and curious. (Although things will be different if you are in a city or non-Turkmen area).
Now that I’ve depressed you, on to the positives. Despite the hardships, you can have a rich and meaningful service. First of all, Peace Corps isn’t like dropping off the face of the earth anymore. While expensive, pretty much all volunteers have decided that cell phones are worth it, so we are in touch with each other. Also, a lot of host families do have landlines in their homes, so people in American can call. While, again, expensive (and time consuming), friends and family can get visas and come visit. Off the top of my head, five volunteers from my group have arranged for visitors, my parents included.
Second, if you work to develop (or wind up with a fantastic sites) good professional relationships, you will be able to accomplish things at work. Right now, my favorite part of the week is my Future Mothers’ Club. I run a club for girls that have finished school, but aren’t married. We talk about general health, make cookies, and just hang out together. These girls have become my friends, and I am able to impart information to them. I’ve worked with my counterpart to teach hygiene lessons to families throughout my village. This was done as a part of a grant I wrote to dig a well at the clinic. Other volunteers field baseball teams, teach geography, and build resource centers. I could not be doing the work I’m doing if I didn’t spend months drinking tea, going guesting, and just being really present at my clinic and in my community.
Another great benefit of Turkmenistan is the opportunities to travel. Turkmen Air because we pay local prices for our tickets, is really cheap. Most volunteers go to Turkey, Thailand, India, and London (or onward to other destinations from there). Pretty much all tickets will be under $500, and most substantially cheaper. It is also cheap to travel within the country. Plane tickets are about $20-$30, a taxi from my site to Ashgabat is $10-$15, and a train ticket from my site to Ashgabat is $2. Arranging travel can be an enlightening experience in bureaucracy and poor customer service, but at the end of it, you’re going to Thailand. That thought keeps most of us smiling through.
Anyway, if you have any specific questions about this place, I’d love to hear from you. We’re already speculating and preparing for your arrival. My e-mail is Katheryne.kramer@gmail.com, and I usually check my e-mail Fridays!
Written June 10
Salams and hos(h) geldin(g)izes to the future T-18s. I did this about this time last year because I imagined the future Turkmenistan volunteers were curious about this mysterious Stan where they might be spending 27 months. I will probably not have the opportunity to know you because I COS in December, but I can answer any questions you have about this place, from packing list to paranoid fears about our proximity to Iran.
First off, all fears about personal safety are kind of paranoid. Turkmenistan is, for a variety of reasons, one of the safest places I’ve ever lived. It was voted a neutral state by a vote in the U.N. It maintains peaceful and cooperative relationships with its neighbors. Private citizens are not allowed to own guns. While there might be one or two old rifles floating around, armed violence is unlikely, unless you somehow involve yourself with the opium trade. That is not recommended. It’s also something of a police state. In all the major cities there are policemen on practically every corner. Furthermore, there is compulsory military service for all boys when they leave school. Many of them are posted to the borders of Uzbekistan, Iran, and Afghanistan. Additionally, while Turkmenistan is a Muslim country, it is not fundamentalist at all in its leanings. As in Turkey, the religious establishment is run by the government, and 80 years as an atheist, community republic has left its mark. Finally, Peace Corps does not put volunteers in areas that are dangerous.
Now that the unreasonable fears are out of the way, I can talk about the reasonable ones. Joining Peace Corps, regardless of where you go is going to be difficult. Turkmenistan has one or two quirks that exacerbate that. First, it is a very closed place. Full coverage of the country, or at least enough coverage that most volunteers have cell phone reception, only came about last year, and it’s expensive. Internet is really only available in the welyat (district) capitals. Although, in the cities, internet in homes is increasingly common. I have a cell phone, and I mostly use it to stay in contact with other volunteers. To talk to people in America I use skype. (If you don’t know about skype check it out before you leave. It’s an internet based phone program that makes calls cheap.) The internet café in Mary has the program and my friends and family know that I am usually online at a specific time each week. It takes work and money to say in touch, but it happens. To be specific, I am online about once a week, and I probably spend about 5%-8% of my monthly salary on my cell phone.
The work situation here is different and can be difficult for both health and TEFL volunteers. I can better speak to the health aspects. Unless you have a really great site, people aren’t really going to understand what your job is. Generally things are run very hierarchically, and in most cases the higher ups tell lower downs that an American is coming to work with them. It can be frustrating to figure out what you’re supposed to be doing, especially at the beginning. It can also be frustrating to work around the hierarchy aspects. Again, unless your site is exceptional, everything needs a permission to get done, and the tendency is to say ‘no.’ Developing good relationships with your co-workers and supervisors can mitigate this, but its definitely annoying to temper personal initiative.
I live in a typical Turkmen village, and socially that can be challenging. It was hard to find local friends because I am just not Turkmen. Most of the girls my age are married with several children. Their concerns and interests are radically different than mine. I have no male friends between the ages of 12 and about 50 because I am unmarried. Although it took a while, I did manage to find a social circle, and surprisingly it consists mostly of 40-50 year old women. In terms of temperament, they are most similar to me. They’ve raised their families and generally have a certain respect and cache in the village, so they have more freedoms than other people. Friendships can be made and be meaningful, but they probably won’t be the types of relationships you’re expecting. Be flexible and curious. (Although things will be different if you are in a city or non-Turkmen area).
Now that I’ve depressed you, on to the positives. Despite the hardships, you can have a rich and meaningful service. First of all, Peace Corps isn’t like dropping off the face of the earth anymore. While expensive, pretty much all volunteers have decided that cell phones are worth it, so we are in touch with each other. Also, a lot of host families do have landlines in their homes, so people in American can call. While, again, expensive (and time consuming), friends and family can get visas and come visit. Off the top of my head, five volunteers from my group have arranged for visitors, my parents included.
Second, if you work to develop (or wind up with a fantastic sites) good professional relationships, you will be able to accomplish things at work. Right now, my favorite part of the week is my Future Mothers’ Club. I run a club for girls that have finished school, but aren’t married. We talk about general health, make cookies, and just hang out together. These girls have become my friends, and I am able to impart information to them. I’ve worked with my counterpart to teach hygiene lessons to families throughout my village. This was done as a part of a grant I wrote to dig a well at the clinic. Other volunteers field baseball teams, teach geography, and build resource centers. I could not be doing the work I’m doing if I didn’t spend months drinking tea, going guesting, and just being really present at my clinic and in my community.
Another great benefit of Turkmenistan is the opportunities to travel. Turkmen Air because we pay local prices for our tickets, is really cheap. Most volunteers go to Turkey, Thailand, India, and London (or onward to other destinations from there). Pretty much all tickets will be under $500, and most substantially cheaper. It is also cheap to travel within the country. Plane tickets are about $20-$30, a taxi from my site to Ashgabat is $10-$15, and a train ticket from my site to Ashgabat is $2. Arranging travel can be an enlightening experience in bureaucracy and poor customer service, but at the end of it, you’re going to Thailand. That thought keeps most of us smiling through.
Anyway, if you have any specific questions about this place, I’d love to hear from you. We’re already speculating and preparing for your arrival. My e-mail is Katheryne.kramer@gmail.com, and I usually check my e-mail Fridays!
Friday, May 22, 2009
My Town, My Guy and Me Written May 20, 2009
My Town, My Guy, and Me
Written May 20, 2009
I read in a Newsweek before budget cuts at Peace Corps Washington annihilated our subscription, that Obama means “little beach” somewhere in Japan. I didn’t know I remembered that until outside events brought it to the forefront of my mind. But, before I can explain, here’s a quick lesson in Turkmen and the wide world of suffixes. This may seem like an abrupt transition, but it ties back in eventually.
In Turkmen nouns, verbs, and just about any other grammar construct can be possessed by adding the appropriate possessive ending. There’s a possessive pronoun that can be used in conjunction, but because the endings are specific to each pronoun, they are usually omitted when speaking. ‘Your pen’ in Turkmen is Seň ruchkaň. (ň in Turkmen is pronounced with an ‘ng’ sound). ‘My walking’ is meň yöremegim’. The -ň and the –m endings indicate possession.
Most prepositions in Turkmen are also suffixes attached to words. To say that I bought something from the store, I would say that it was ‘dukandan,’ where dukan means store and –dan means from the. To say in or at, the suffix –da is used, and to say to, as in I am going to, it is simply –a.
I mention this because the third goal of Peace Corps is to educate Americans about foreign peoples and places, but also because the world for village in Turkmen is ‘oba.’ (I hope this is coming together for some of you by now.) When oba is possessed by me it becomes Obam, and if someone were traveling to my village, they would be going obama.
This came to my attention rather belatedly, given all the press and campaign insanity coupled with the frequency with which I use say obama in Turkmen not in reference to the president. But, the other day, I was telling a co-worker (in Turkmen) that Obama went to Kenya. My colleague then asked me if the whole country came and then started laughing. It took me a while, but I got it. Because Kenya already ends with a, the directional ending is much more subtle. I depending on context and interpretation, either said, “Obama (my president) went to Kenya” or “Kenya went to my village.” Maybe it’s my own context and interpretation, but I’m still smiling.
And, if Peace Corps is reading this, can we get our Newsweek back when the new budget is approved?
Written May 20, 2009
I read in a Newsweek before budget cuts at Peace Corps Washington annihilated our subscription, that Obama means “little beach” somewhere in Japan. I didn’t know I remembered that until outside events brought it to the forefront of my mind. But, before I can explain, here’s a quick lesson in Turkmen and the wide world of suffixes. This may seem like an abrupt transition, but it ties back in eventually.
In Turkmen nouns, verbs, and just about any other grammar construct can be possessed by adding the appropriate possessive ending. There’s a possessive pronoun that can be used in conjunction, but because the endings are specific to each pronoun, they are usually omitted when speaking. ‘Your pen’ in Turkmen is Seň ruchkaň. (ň in Turkmen is pronounced with an ‘ng’ sound). ‘My walking’ is meň yöremegim’. The -ň and the –m endings indicate possession.
Most prepositions in Turkmen are also suffixes attached to words. To say that I bought something from the store, I would say that it was ‘dukandan,’ where dukan means store and –dan means from the. To say in or at, the suffix –da is used, and to say to, as in I am going to, it is simply –a.
I mention this because the third goal of Peace Corps is to educate Americans about foreign peoples and places, but also because the world for village in Turkmen is ‘oba.’ (I hope this is coming together for some of you by now.) When oba is possessed by me it becomes Obam, and if someone were traveling to my village, they would be going obama.
This came to my attention rather belatedly, given all the press and campaign insanity coupled with the frequency with which I use say obama in Turkmen not in reference to the president. But, the other day, I was telling a co-worker (in Turkmen) that Obama went to Kenya. My colleague then asked me if the whole country came and then started laughing. It took me a while, but I got it. Because Kenya already ends with a, the directional ending is much more subtle. I depending on context and interpretation, either said, “Obama (my president) went to Kenya” or “Kenya went to my village.” Maybe it’s my own context and interpretation, but I’m still smiling.
And, if Peace Corps is reading this, can we get our Newsweek back when the new budget is approved?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Dream about how to make your life better written May 14, 2009
Dream About How to Make Your Life Better
Written May 14, 2009
I back from a mini-break as the Brits like to say. Last weekend I decided that I needed some mental health days, and I made my way to Balkan. It is the most western region of Turkmenistan, bordering the Caspian Sea and best known for its oil and natural gas. One of my good friends lives in Balkanabat, which is the welyat capital. Before it was known as Balkanabat, it was Nebit Dag, which literally means Gas Mountain. There are actually a few foreigners floating around the city, all employed by the various gas firms in the area.
While it is no doubt good in some respects to have a little cosmopolitan crowd, most of the volunteers in the area are annoyed because they cause inflation. For those on foreign salaries, paying a dollar per kilo of tomatoes is cheap. For the little country bumpkin from Mary, it almost caused a heart attack. (I should mention that my welyat is the breadbasket of Turkmenistan. Our tomatoes are always the cheapest!)
For the most part my friend and I were lame Americans. We hung out in her “cockroach infested Soviet crackden” or apartment. This spring it rained an abnormal amount in Balkan, which is probably good for something besides mosquito breeding, but I can’t really think what. The apartment was infested, and I’ve got the battle scars to prove it. Aside from the bugs, though, great fun was had. We made lots of food. Highlights include chocolate cupcakes with icing made from condensed milk, pasta al diabolo, fajitas with home made tortillas, and a proper Sunday lunch of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy. I also brought a puzzle, and we spent a lot of time sprawled on the floor trying in vain to piece together Van Gogh’s Irises in photo mosaic.
It was really fun to travel and see another part of Turkmenistan. My friend and I did all the silly tourist things that one has to do when going to a new Turkmen city. This includes obligatory photos with the statues. I have to say that the camel statue is one of the better ones I’ve come across. Small, strange children only add to its appeal. And, even though my eyes are closed, the view from the health walk was pretty cool. Once Balkanabat ends, the desert begins and that’s all she wrote. It doesn’t really come out in the picture, but the desert in the distance looks almost like water when the sun hits it. I finally get the desert mirage thing.
Now I’m back in sweet Mary, with renewed enjoyment of my low-cost produce, easy travel between other volunteers, and my routine. Like they say in Kansas, there’s no place like home.
Written May 14, 2009
I back from a mini-break as the Brits like to say. Last weekend I decided that I needed some mental health days, and I made my way to Balkan. It is the most western region of Turkmenistan, bordering the Caspian Sea and best known for its oil and natural gas. One of my good friends lives in Balkanabat, which is the welyat capital. Before it was known as Balkanabat, it was Nebit Dag, which literally means Gas Mountain. There are actually a few foreigners floating around the city, all employed by the various gas firms in the area.
While it is no doubt good in some respects to have a little cosmopolitan crowd, most of the volunteers in the area are annoyed because they cause inflation. For those on foreign salaries, paying a dollar per kilo of tomatoes is cheap. For the little country bumpkin from Mary, it almost caused a heart attack. (I should mention that my welyat is the breadbasket of Turkmenistan. Our tomatoes are always the cheapest!)
For the most part my friend and I were lame Americans. We hung out in her “cockroach infested Soviet crackden” or apartment. This spring it rained an abnormal amount in Balkan, which is probably good for something besides mosquito breeding, but I can’t really think what. The apartment was infested, and I’ve got the battle scars to prove it. Aside from the bugs, though, great fun was had. We made lots of food. Highlights include chocolate cupcakes with icing made from condensed milk, pasta al diabolo, fajitas with home made tortillas, and a proper Sunday lunch of roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and gravy. I also brought a puzzle, and we spent a lot of time sprawled on the floor trying in vain to piece together Van Gogh’s Irises in photo mosaic.
It was really fun to travel and see another part of Turkmenistan. My friend and I did all the silly tourist things that one has to do when going to a new Turkmen city. This includes obligatory photos with the statues. I have to say that the camel statue is one of the better ones I’ve come across. Small, strange children only add to its appeal. And, even though my eyes are closed, the view from the health walk was pretty cool. Once Balkanabat ends, the desert begins and that’s all she wrote. It doesn’t really come out in the picture, but the desert in the distance looks almost like water when the sun hits it. I finally get the desert mirage thing.
Now I’m back in sweet Mary, with renewed enjoyment of my low-cost produce, easy travel between other volunteers, and my routine. Like they say in Kansas, there’s no place like home.
Tell me: are you a badfish too? Written May 13, 2009
Several weeks ago, I was kidnapped. Well, that’s a bit dramatic, I went to a town south of Mary to visit with another volunteer. She had, before my arrival, told some of her local friends that another American was coming to visit. They invited us out. The assumption was that we would eat in the town.
Five minutes later, we found ourselves on the road to Afghanistan. Fear not, though, we didn’t make it quite that far south, although I was wondering. We drove about an hour south to a place in the desert where there was a pretty large canal. In short order, our hosts were identified as frequent patrons, and the red carpet, or at least the gowy klionka (sheet of plastic), was rolled out. Platters of tomatoes, cucumbers, radishes, and herbs were brought out. Fresh bread and bowls of yogurt shortly joined them. Soda, juice, and other beverages were plentiful and fun.
The best part though, was the fish. It was fresh. Generally, at these little roadside fish restaurants fish are caught throughout the day and then kept alive on a line in the canals until customers arrive. The fish was still flapping when it was beheaded. It was fried perfectly, crunchy on the outside and melt-y and white on the inside. Compared to other Turkmen fish, the one that we ate was far less boney than any others I’ve eaten. Delicious! For a while we were the only patrons, but after about an hour of eating we were joined by several other Turkmen. At this point, the management rigged up the stereo to turn the restaurant into an impromptu disco. We danced the kush depe and laughed.
After about three hours we made our way back to the town, slowly driving along a desert road at dusk. We saw the Chinese gas company lights in the distance. We stopped at another nightspot in town, smoked sheesha, and drank instant coffee. Drinking instant coffee at 12:30 was not the best decision I ever made, but it was the right one at the time. It was just a great night. I spoke Turkmen with a mistake-laden fluency, but no one cared. I learned how much it costs to keep a son out of the army. I learned and forgot promptly the local names for the various species of catfish. I sat and watched the desert as the sun set.
Five minutes later, we found ourselves on the road to Afghanistan. Fear not, though, we didn’t make it quite that far south, although I was wondering. We drove about an hour south to a place in the desert where there was a pretty large canal. In short order, our hosts were identified as frequent patrons, and the red carpet, or at least the gowy klionka (sheet of plastic), was rolled out. Platters of tomatoes, cucumbers, radishes, and herbs were brought out. Fresh bread and bowls of yogurt shortly joined them. Soda, juice, and other beverages were plentiful and fun.
The best part though, was the fish. It was fresh. Generally, at these little roadside fish restaurants fish are caught throughout the day and then kept alive on a line in the canals until customers arrive. The fish was still flapping when it was beheaded. It was fried perfectly, crunchy on the outside and melt-y and white on the inside. Compared to other Turkmen fish, the one that we ate was far less boney than any others I’ve eaten. Delicious! For a while we were the only patrons, but after about an hour of eating we were joined by several other Turkmen. At this point, the management rigged up the stereo to turn the restaurant into an impromptu disco. We danced the kush depe and laughed.
After about three hours we made our way back to the town, slowly driving along a desert road at dusk. We saw the Chinese gas company lights in the distance. We stopped at another nightspot in town, smoked sheesha, and drank instant coffee. Drinking instant coffee at 12:30 was not the best decision I ever made, but it was the right one at the time. It was just a great night. I spoke Turkmen with a mistake-laden fluency, but no one cared. I learned how much it costs to keep a son out of the army. I learned and forgot promptly the local names for the various species of catfish. I sat and watched the desert as the sun set.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Radio's playing a tune from the country written April 29, 2009
Radio’s Playing a Tune From the Country
Written April 29, 2009
There are some things that are just great about America, and with out them, my country would just kind of suck. Avocados are one of them because we had the great foresight to invite Mexicans to our land. Among other things, this immigration has improved our culinary lot in life. The interstate highway system is another. It was a Department of Defense undertaking, and I still think if we want to keep American safe from any kind of threat, we should improve at home before going abroad. But, the entire point of this blog, rambling though it is, is NPR (National Public Radio…please mentally say this to yourself with the same diction and intonation as they say on the radio.)
NPR has always sort of been background noise in my life. On so many car rides, going places I don’t even remember, I listened intently to All Things Considered. I probably didn’t consider them all, but I did think about one or two. When I needed white noise in my dorm room to study, it was This American Life. Somehow the quiet cadences were mellow enough to work through. But, when I needed a mental break, all I had to do was tune back in and hear stories of shopping malls and blood banks.
A fellow PCV passed along a huge collection of pod casts of This American Life and RadioLab. I didn’t realize how much I had missed a real sense of public life. They debate, discuss, and inform on topics of policy and importance. They also explain the sexual reproductive systems of ducks. I am now the proud owner of over 150 episodes of each, and tickled pink. I basically can have 4 days of NPR on my iPod at any given moment. It’s awesome.
Being here, where access to NPR is a real gift, I am sort of ashamed to admit that I was (and still am actually) a free rider. NPR depends on the support of listeners who value the service enough to pay for it voluntarily. I should have, and I didn’t. But, when I get back to a land where I can access my bank information online, I am donating enough to get that travel mug and tote bag they keep talking about. To all others out there, who listen to NPR with the same giddy thrill and excitement that I do, donate $20, more if you can.
Written April 29, 2009
There are some things that are just great about America, and with out them, my country would just kind of suck. Avocados are one of them because we had the great foresight to invite Mexicans to our land. Among other things, this immigration has improved our culinary lot in life. The interstate highway system is another. It was a Department of Defense undertaking, and I still think if we want to keep American safe from any kind of threat, we should improve at home before going abroad. But, the entire point of this blog, rambling though it is, is NPR (National Public Radio…please mentally say this to yourself with the same diction and intonation as they say on the radio.)
NPR has always sort of been background noise in my life. On so many car rides, going places I don’t even remember, I listened intently to All Things Considered. I probably didn’t consider them all, but I did think about one or two. When I needed white noise in my dorm room to study, it was This American Life. Somehow the quiet cadences were mellow enough to work through. But, when I needed a mental break, all I had to do was tune back in and hear stories of shopping malls and blood banks.
A fellow PCV passed along a huge collection of pod casts of This American Life and RadioLab. I didn’t realize how much I had missed a real sense of public life. They debate, discuss, and inform on topics of policy and importance. They also explain the sexual reproductive systems of ducks. I am now the proud owner of over 150 episodes of each, and tickled pink. I basically can have 4 days of NPR on my iPod at any given moment. It’s awesome.
Being here, where access to NPR is a real gift, I am sort of ashamed to admit that I was (and still am actually) a free rider. NPR depends on the support of listeners who value the service enough to pay for it voluntarily. I should have, and I didn’t. But, when I get back to a land where I can access my bank information online, I am donating enough to get that travel mug and tote bag they keep talking about. To all others out there, who listen to NPR with the same giddy thrill and excitement that I do, donate $20, more if you can.
Other people's mail written April 28, 2009
Other People’s Mail
Written April 28, 2009
The mail races are sort of in their marathon stage. I care less about how fast a letter arrives and more that it is written. Most of the sprinters have dropped out, finding that pen and paper in an electronic age is just too complicated. I applaud their efforts and to the best of my ability, have tried to remain in contact through e-mails. Now, it’s the endurance correspondents remaining. I have a strong core, and I have no doubt they will pull me through the finish line with their upbeat missives about life, the universe, and, well, everything.
In particular, I must thank Anne from BC who has responded to every letter I sent, Kathy from BC who takes time from med school insanity to encourage me, Kat from BC who rejoins the pack just when I think she’s out of the race, Father Keenan from BC who sends fantastic Christmas cards, Norm from GS because it’s rare that after 7 years we still have so much to say, Moses who is gone but hasn’t forgotten, Sarah who e-mails to tell me there’s a letter in the mail, Aunt Elaine who is generous with photos, family news, and granola bars, and of course the parental all-stars. I think I can count the number of times there hasn’t been a letter from one or both of them in the mail box on one hand.
In addition to my gratitude, there’s another mail race update! Sudan not only joined the mail race, but also did so successfully. After nearly two months of planes, trains, and camel caravans, a letter mailed by my father in Juba (February 13, 2009) arrived at the post office in Mary (April 23, 2009), with a layover in Karachi. I’m accumulating quite the collection of postmarks. No pages were missing, and it didn’t even look to be open. So, faint-of-heart, fear not because wherever it’s from, the mail will go through.
Written April 28, 2009
The mail races are sort of in their marathon stage. I care less about how fast a letter arrives and more that it is written. Most of the sprinters have dropped out, finding that pen and paper in an electronic age is just too complicated. I applaud their efforts and to the best of my ability, have tried to remain in contact through e-mails. Now, it’s the endurance correspondents remaining. I have a strong core, and I have no doubt they will pull me through the finish line with their upbeat missives about life, the universe, and, well, everything.
In particular, I must thank Anne from BC who has responded to every letter I sent, Kathy from BC who takes time from med school insanity to encourage me, Kat from BC who rejoins the pack just when I think she’s out of the race, Father Keenan from BC who sends fantastic Christmas cards, Norm from GS because it’s rare that after 7 years we still have so much to say, Moses who is gone but hasn’t forgotten, Sarah who e-mails to tell me there’s a letter in the mail, Aunt Elaine who is generous with photos, family news, and granola bars, and of course the parental all-stars. I think I can count the number of times there hasn’t been a letter from one or both of them in the mail box on one hand.
In addition to my gratitude, there’s another mail race update! Sudan not only joined the mail race, but also did so successfully. After nearly two months of planes, trains, and camel caravans, a letter mailed by my father in Juba (February 13, 2009) arrived at the post office in Mary (April 23, 2009), with a layover in Karachi. I’m accumulating quite the collection of postmarks. No pages were missing, and it didn’t even look to be open. So, faint-of-heart, fear not because wherever it’s from, the mail will go through.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
As We Peer Into The Great Unknown
Written April 7, 09
So, technically its not really a new year, but I figured now would be a good time to describe some of the changes in my world. Having been here for 18 months (yes, I am 2/3rd done…how weird is that?), I have finally figured out what is normal and routine, just in time for it to change. From new money, cell phone plans, and transportation the foundations of my existence are shaking, but mostly in a good way.
We got new buses in Mary. The president came for a visit in the beginning of March, and he gave a public transportation system to the welyat. There is a system of buses that runs from practically every oba to etrap and regional center. From my village the buses run to Mary City every half hour and cost about $0.20 each way. This is cheaper than the old taxis or mini buses. The buses, though, take a lot longer and stop a lot more. There are always downsides, I suppose.
My clinic got a new ambulance. This is another gift from the president, and it’s pretty cool. I am delighted because I think my clinic is moving towards greater prominence. It used to be a district hospital in the Soviet era, but it fell into disrepir and disuse since independence. In the time that I’ve been here, the government built a new family health clinic, gave them an ambulance, and sent out an engineer to draw up plans to build a new birthing ward. My director and I are working on a second grant to remodel a few rooms to improve the children’s ward. I guess I like feeling like the work I am doing is in conjunction with an integrated plan. I don’t feel as isolated in my projects as some volunteers do.
We got new money. On January 1st, Turkmenistan introduced a new currency. It is much prettier than the old currency. 5,000 old manat is worth 1 new manat. This is slightly annoying for me because not only do I have to do a lot of math on a daily basis, I now earn 500 manat a month. This is psychologically devastating, as I used to earn 2.5 million. Wa Hey (Turkmen expression of regret and commiseration). For the duration of this year, both currencies are accepted legal tender. On December 31st, 2009, the old currency will become worthless.
Our new volunteers have settled into their little worlds, which on occasion (usually Fridays) connect with mine. In Mary, 7 new volunteers came, though 1 left. Peace Corps isn’t for everyone, and I think there are quite a few of us (myself included) that would probably be happier and better adjusted people if we considered ET-ing with more seriousness.* Anyway, the other 6 are doing fine, operating the new buses, currencies, and language with more savvy than me most of the time.
Spring has arrived and summer is taking its time arriving (I still wear sweaters and it’s APRIL!!!!!!!!!!!!! This time last year I was already dehydrated).
*I recently got a letter from my father, and he described being torn between wanting to be supportive when I was struggling and just telling me to come home. I am glad in the end that he chose the former. And, while I am happy being where I and with what I’m doing, it took a lot of heartache, struggles, and diarrhea to get to this point. I hope it will be worth it, but I’ve still got nine months until I’m sure.
So, technically its not really a new year, but I figured now would be a good time to describe some of the changes in my world. Having been here for 18 months (yes, I am 2/3rd done…how weird is that?), I have finally figured out what is normal and routine, just in time for it to change. From new money, cell phone plans, and transportation the foundations of my existence are shaking, but mostly in a good way.
We got new buses in Mary. The president came for a visit in the beginning of March, and he gave a public transportation system to the welyat. There is a system of buses that runs from practically every oba to etrap and regional center. From my village the buses run to Mary City every half hour and cost about $0.20 each way. This is cheaper than the old taxis or mini buses. The buses, though, take a lot longer and stop a lot more. There are always downsides, I suppose.
My clinic got a new ambulance. This is another gift from the president, and it’s pretty cool. I am delighted because I think my clinic is moving towards greater prominence. It used to be a district hospital in the Soviet era, but it fell into disrepir and disuse since independence. In the time that I’ve been here, the government built a new family health clinic, gave them an ambulance, and sent out an engineer to draw up plans to build a new birthing ward. My director and I are working on a second grant to remodel a few rooms to improve the children’s ward. I guess I like feeling like the work I am doing is in conjunction with an integrated plan. I don’t feel as isolated in my projects as some volunteers do.
We got new money. On January 1st, Turkmenistan introduced a new currency. It is much prettier than the old currency. 5,000 old manat is worth 1 new manat. This is slightly annoying for me because not only do I have to do a lot of math on a daily basis, I now earn 500 manat a month. This is psychologically devastating, as I used to earn 2.5 million. Wa Hey (Turkmen expression of regret and commiseration). For the duration of this year, both currencies are accepted legal tender. On December 31st, 2009, the old currency will become worthless.
Our new volunteers have settled into their little worlds, which on occasion (usually Fridays) connect with mine. In Mary, 7 new volunteers came, though 1 left. Peace Corps isn’t for everyone, and I think there are quite a few of us (myself included) that would probably be happier and better adjusted people if we considered ET-ing with more seriousness.* Anyway, the other 6 are doing fine, operating the new buses, currencies, and language with more savvy than me most of the time.
Spring has arrived and summer is taking its time arriving (I still wear sweaters and it’s APRIL!!!!!!!!!!!!! This time last year I was already dehydrated).
*I recently got a letter from my father, and he described being torn between wanting to be supportive when I was struggling and just telling me to come home. I am glad in the end that he chose the former. And, while I am happy being where I and with what I’m doing, it took a lot of heartache, struggles, and diarrhea to get to this point. I hope it will be worth it, but I’ve still got nine months until I’m sure.
Everyone's Changing And I Don't Feel The Same
Written April 11, 09
The president visited Mary in early March. This was when I didn’t have a flash drive so couldn’t describe the festivities. Most school children and nurses had to go to various locations to wave flags and stuff. As part of his trip, the President gave the welyat a public transportation system. There is now a system of buses that links most obas to the regional and district centers. This has some serious pros and cons.
On the pros, its cheaper. I can go from my village to the city for about 20 cents. It used to cost 50. Also, as a result of the cheap buses, the Marshrutkas (personally operated minibus taxis) lowered their prices to be competitive. They cost about 35 cents. It is safer. The buses are big, new, and well made. They drive at reasonable speeds and because they aren’t competing with each other for passengers, they aren’t taking stupid risks to overtake each other.
On the cons, there is an unemployment problem in Turkmenistan. For a lot of people working as taxi drivers is an important source of income, and the buses have seriously undercut them. I doubt that the government has some sort of program to transition these people into this new economy. It also takes a lot longer on the bus. A 40 minute marshrutka ride can take an hour because the buses stop more and don’t take those stupid risks. (they are dangerous, but they do get you to your destination faster.) Finally, the number of people I interact with is exponentially increased. A marshrutka fit at most 15 people, the buses can cram at least 30-50. Most of the time I know someone one the bus who wants everyone else to know they are talking to an American. This in turn incites curiosity in everyone else.
On the plus side, people have recently become slightly less interested in my name, year of birth, salary, and marital status. Those are generally the first 4 questions a Turkmen will ask you. Now, they want to know about Obama. This is a transcription of a conversation I have had more times than I want to count.
Turkmen: Are you really American?
Me: Yes, I lived in Washington DC
Turkmen: Your president lives there.
Me: Yes. Obama lives there. He lives in a white house.
Turkmen: Your president is a (politically incorrect term for African American)
Me: Obama is a black man. We don’t say (politically incorrect term for African American) because it is very rude.
Turkmen: Interesting. Is he Muslim?
Me: No, but his father was Muslim
Turkmen: He is young.
Me: Yes, but he is smart. He studied at ‘Garvard’ (The ‘h’ sound often becomes a G in Turkmen)
Turkmen: really? Where is little Bush? (as opposed to big Bush—the father)
Me: I don’t know.
Turkmen: What year were you born?
The president visited Mary in early March. This was when I didn’t have a flash drive so couldn’t describe the festivities. Most school children and nurses had to go to various locations to wave flags and stuff. As part of his trip, the President gave the welyat a public transportation system. There is now a system of buses that links most obas to the regional and district centers. This has some serious pros and cons.
On the pros, its cheaper. I can go from my village to the city for about 20 cents. It used to cost 50. Also, as a result of the cheap buses, the Marshrutkas (personally operated minibus taxis) lowered their prices to be competitive. They cost about 35 cents. It is safer. The buses are big, new, and well made. They drive at reasonable speeds and because they aren’t competing with each other for passengers, they aren’t taking stupid risks to overtake each other.
On the cons, there is an unemployment problem in Turkmenistan. For a lot of people working as taxi drivers is an important source of income, and the buses have seriously undercut them. I doubt that the government has some sort of program to transition these people into this new economy. It also takes a lot longer on the bus. A 40 minute marshrutka ride can take an hour because the buses stop more and don’t take those stupid risks. (they are dangerous, but they do get you to your destination faster.) Finally, the number of people I interact with is exponentially increased. A marshrutka fit at most 15 people, the buses can cram at least 30-50. Most of the time I know someone one the bus who wants everyone else to know they are talking to an American. This in turn incites curiosity in everyone else.
On the plus side, people have recently become slightly less interested in my name, year of birth, salary, and marital status. Those are generally the first 4 questions a Turkmen will ask you. Now, they want to know about Obama. This is a transcription of a conversation I have had more times than I want to count.
Turkmen: Are you really American?
Me: Yes, I lived in Washington DC
Turkmen: Your president lives there.
Me: Yes. Obama lives there. He lives in a white house.
Turkmen: Your president is a (politically incorrect term for African American)
Me: Obama is a black man. We don’t say (politically incorrect term for African American) because it is very rude.
Turkmen: Interesting. Is he Muslim?
Me: No, but his father was Muslim
Turkmen: He is young.
Me: Yes, but he is smart. He studied at ‘Garvard’ (The ‘h’ sound often becomes a G in Turkmen)
Turkmen: really? Where is little Bush? (as opposed to big Bush—the father)
Me: I don’t know.
Turkmen: What year were you born?
A Thing Called Rain
Written April 14, 2009
First, this is a major thank you to the fantastic parentals (and sibling) who mailed me a new flash drive to replace the one that fried. I will take good care of it, and as a result, the blog is back in business. So here we go…
When I first researched Turkmenistan, I was pretty sure that it was most (up to 90 percent) desert. As I continue my time here, I am coming to doubt that information. This spring has been constantly damp, cool, and most assuredly not desert-like in the least. Since February it’s rained at least once a week and usually more than that.
My Turkmen friends are mostly excited because it bodes well for their tomatoes, eggplants, and cucumbers. Also, it means their gardens will be in better shape this summer when most of the water is diverted to the cotton fields. The Soviets planted huge fields of cotton during their reign, and the logic behind this baffles me. While cotton does well in sandy soils, it is very water intensive crop. To grow it here, the Soviet created the Garagum canal, which basically drained the Aral Sea. The legacy remains; the Aral Sea shrink more every year, and cotton is a major part of the Turkmen economy.
While all this rain is no doubt good for farming, my experience of the village is not much improved by the water. The rain transforms the thick layer of dust that covers everything from the roads to the small children into lethally slick muck and puddles. For someone like me, with no innate grace or balance, this is a very bad thing, especially as I walk just about everywhere. When it rains, most of the roads are impassible on foot. The mud and puddles are just to deep. This leaves just little raised paths on the sides of the roads. They are very narrow and with every step I take, I slide down towards the mucky-muck.
I’ve been waiting for this day for a while; I finally fell. It was cartoon-animation worthy; the only thing missing was the banana peel. I confidently stepped forward, only to find the ground unstable. Both my feet slipped out from under me, and I scissor kicked the air in a futile effort to halt the inevitable. All I thought with my back perpendicular to the ground was “this will suck.”
I land with a massive splat, of course in front of an audience of small Turkmen children. The children were clearly torn between laughter at and concern for the fallen American. To give them credit, they held off the laughter until I had picked myself and my bruised dignity off the ground. It took about an hour to wash all the mud from my hair, and at least that long to wash my dress. The dress will never be the same again.
So, I find myself thinking something I will kick myself for later. Please summer with your unceasing heat and merciless sun, come quickly. Because, while I might be dehydrated and dusty, I’m not washing what might very well be cow poop from my hair!
First, this is a major thank you to the fantastic parentals (and sibling) who mailed me a new flash drive to replace the one that fried. I will take good care of it, and as a result, the blog is back in business. So here we go…
When I first researched Turkmenistan, I was pretty sure that it was most (up to 90 percent) desert. As I continue my time here, I am coming to doubt that information. This spring has been constantly damp, cool, and most assuredly not desert-like in the least. Since February it’s rained at least once a week and usually more than that.
My Turkmen friends are mostly excited because it bodes well for their tomatoes, eggplants, and cucumbers. Also, it means their gardens will be in better shape this summer when most of the water is diverted to the cotton fields. The Soviets planted huge fields of cotton during their reign, and the logic behind this baffles me. While cotton does well in sandy soils, it is very water intensive crop. To grow it here, the Soviet created the Garagum canal, which basically drained the Aral Sea. The legacy remains; the Aral Sea shrink more every year, and cotton is a major part of the Turkmen economy.
While all this rain is no doubt good for farming, my experience of the village is not much improved by the water. The rain transforms the thick layer of dust that covers everything from the roads to the small children into lethally slick muck and puddles. For someone like me, with no innate grace or balance, this is a very bad thing, especially as I walk just about everywhere. When it rains, most of the roads are impassible on foot. The mud and puddles are just to deep. This leaves just little raised paths on the sides of the roads. They are very narrow and with every step I take, I slide down towards the mucky-muck.
I’ve been waiting for this day for a while; I finally fell. It was cartoon-animation worthy; the only thing missing was the banana peel. I confidently stepped forward, only to find the ground unstable. Both my feet slipped out from under me, and I scissor kicked the air in a futile effort to halt the inevitable. All I thought with my back perpendicular to the ground was “this will suck.”
I land with a massive splat, of course in front of an audience of small Turkmen children. The children were clearly torn between laughter at and concern for the fallen American. To give them credit, they held off the laughter until I had picked myself and my bruised dignity off the ground. It took about an hour to wash all the mud from my hair, and at least that long to wash my dress. The dress will never be the same again.
So, I find myself thinking something I will kick myself for later. Please summer with your unceasing heat and merciless sun, come quickly. Because, while I might be dehydrated and dusty, I’m not washing what might very well be cow poop from my hair!
Friday, March 13, 2009
Video Killed the Radio Star
many more apologies from T-Stan. my flash drive has decided that it will no longer work under these conditions, despite my tears, rants, and pleas. This makes it slightly difficult to write blogs because i pay by the minute at the internet cafe. When i figure out a new system, more will come. If anyone wants to know about such exciting events as Flag Day in Lepab, watching a bride sold, the President's visit, the new ambulance, or the mud send me an e-mail or a letter.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Hi Ho the Cheerio
buying meat central asia style...someone's having chorba tonight!
the procedure for camel weighing...
Friday, January 23, 2009
5,025,600
Written January 16th, 2008
I meant to post this blog much closer to Dec. 23rd, which would mark the official end of my first year of service. Unfortunately life and laziness took over, and I find myself somewhat delayed. Apologies.
I’ve passed a milestone, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. Like the Broadway score, I don’t quite know how to measure my accomplishments. Should it be in cups of tea? In tears shed? In camels milked? I probably could concoct a whole Harper’s index on the numbers that have made this year meaningful.
2008: Coldest winter since 1969
14: months I went without seeing my parents
1:5000: ratio of new money to old money now that they’ve introduced new currency
3,000: cost of a liter of gas, up from 300
7,000: cost of a taxi now, up from 4,000 last January
9: number of excellent T-16 Mary volunteers still here
0: number of T-16 Mary volunteers that left
7: number of T-15s who arrived in Mary
3: number who COS-ed
1: marriages in my host family
6: days that I was obligated to do something wedding related
2: vacations I have taken
1: times I’ve had giardia
But, however fun these numbers are to think about, they aren’t real. It doesn’t capture the depression of surviving the coldest winter since 1969, the feeling of numb toes inside 3 pairs of socks, the terror of driving in a Lada on an icy road, or the joy of seeing something, anything, finally turning green and alive. The numbers don’t capture the visceral homesickness that is as debilitating as a real disease. And, there’s no way to explain how fantastic it felt to be hugged after so many months of wanting to be.
There is no number to correspond to the feeling I get when a small child asks to shake my hand on his way to school, when a colleague explains some salacious oba gossip over cookies, when my host brother asks me to play soccer, or when my grandfather lets me watch news in English. I can’t count how many times I took the final curve in my road, saw the water tower in the distance, and thought, ‘thank god, I’m home.’ Equally numerous are the times I saw the same sight and thought, ‘I never want to see this place again.’
I was hoping that after a year I’d have more of a clue, but I don’t really.
I meant to post this blog much closer to Dec. 23rd, which would mark the official end of my first year of service. Unfortunately life and laziness took over, and I find myself somewhat delayed. Apologies.
I’ve passed a milestone, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. Like the Broadway score, I don’t quite know how to measure my accomplishments. Should it be in cups of tea? In tears shed? In camels milked? I probably could concoct a whole Harper’s index on the numbers that have made this year meaningful.
2008: Coldest winter since 1969
14: months I went without seeing my parents
1:5000: ratio of new money to old money now that they’ve introduced new currency
3,000: cost of a liter of gas, up from 300
7,000: cost of a taxi now, up from 4,000 last January
9: number of excellent T-16 Mary volunteers still here
0: number of T-16 Mary volunteers that left
7: number of T-15s who arrived in Mary
3: number who COS-ed
1: marriages in my host family
6: days that I was obligated to do something wedding related
2: vacations I have taken
1: times I’ve had giardia
But, however fun these numbers are to think about, they aren’t real. It doesn’t capture the depression of surviving the coldest winter since 1969, the feeling of numb toes inside 3 pairs of socks, the terror of driving in a Lada on an icy road, or the joy of seeing something, anything, finally turning green and alive. The numbers don’t capture the visceral homesickness that is as debilitating as a real disease. And, there’s no way to explain how fantastic it felt to be hugged after so many months of wanting to be.
There is no number to correspond to the feeling I get when a small child asks to shake my hand on his way to school, when a colleague explains some salacious oba gossip over cookies, when my host brother asks me to play soccer, or when my grandfather lets me watch news in English. I can’t count how many times I took the final curve in my road, saw the water tower in the distance, and thought, ‘thank god, I’m home.’ Equally numerous are the times I saw the same sight and thought, ‘I never want to see this place again.’
I was hoping that after a year I’d have more of a clue, but I don’t really.
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