buying meat central asia style...someone's having chorba tonight!
the procedure for camel weighing...
Saturday, January 31, 2009
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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