Send Lawyers, Guns, and Money

I Fought the Law

2010-09-15T05:55:00.002+03:00

I'm resurrecting the blog...and it now becomes the life and times of the law school student by day and New Orleans explorer by night. (But not too late at night. This law school thing is kind of intense.)

Topics to be considered: BP oil slicks from all sides, indoor whistling and other malingering oddities of my T-stan days, my love affair with kitchen appliances, people I know doing things cooler than me, the gym, the bars, the food, the friends, and all that jazz (probably literally as I am in New Orleans.)

I Got My Head Shaved

2009-12-29T07:21:00.005+03:00

It seemed like a good idea at the time...

Front Foot leads the back one

2009-12-15T09:50:00.002+03:00

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!

Dancing on the casket, written September 17, 2009

2009-10-02T15:06:00.000+03:00

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

16 tons and what do you get? Written September 24

2009-10-02T15:02:00.002+03:00

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!

Here Comes The Bride

2009-08-23T21:41:00.002+03:00

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

2009-08-23T21:16:00.011+03:00

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!

Georgia On My Mind

2009-08-19T19:36:00.003+03:00

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!

Red Dust written June 3, 2009

2009-06-14T02:18:00.000+03:00

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.

Far Side of the World written June 10, 2009

2009-06-14T02:14:00.001+03:00

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!

My Town, My Guy and Me Written May 20, 2009

2009-05-22T23:01:00.000+03:00

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?

2009-05-19T03:54:00.001+03:00

Me Mike and camel close up

Balkanabat from health walk

2009-05-19T03:46:00.002+03:00

Camel status from a distance

Dream about how to make your life better written May 14, 2009

2009-05-19T03:45:00.001+03:00

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.

Tell me: are you a badfish too? Written May 13, 2009

2009-05-19T03:43:00.000+03:00

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.

Radio's playing a tune from the country written April 29, 2009

2009-05-01T14:50:00.000+03:00

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.

Other people's mail written April 28, 2009

2009-05-01T14:49:00.000+03:00

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.

As We Peer Into The Great Unknown

2009-04-23T10:30:00.000+03:00

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.

Everyone's Changing And I Don't Feel The Same

2009-04-23T10:29:00.001+03:00

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?

A Thing Called Rain

2009-04-23T10:24:00.000+03:00

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!

Video Killed the Radio Star

2009-03-13T07:20:00.001+03:00

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.

Hi Ho the Cheerio

2009-01-31T07:43:00.002+03:00

buying meat central asia style...someone's having chorba tonight!

the procedure for camel weighing...

5,025,600

2009-01-23T06:59:00.000+03:00

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.

Picture Perfect

2008-12-29T10:37:00.006+03:00

Me at Merv

Sultan Sanjar's Mausoleum, restored by the Turkish government

Mummy, Daddy and I at a wishing tree. I'm wearing my favorite koynek in case you wanted to know

An anchient and impressive fortress at Merv with very tiny looking German tourists

Seeing Sultan Sanjar's Mausoleum from inside the above fortress at Merv

Some more anchient things in Turkmenistan
The offerings at Talkuchka Bazaar...

Somewhere around the really big mosque...please note the rocking awesome sunglasses...high five kabuldan

An offering for fertility at the mosque ruins in Annew

the parentals and I in ashgabat with tea because that's my life

She Knows It’s To Late As You’re Walking Away written December 8, 2008

2008-12-19T09:05:00.001+03:00

This has been a season of change and turmoil, which is one of the reasons that I’ve been a bit absent as a blogger. I didn’t—and still don’t—quite know how to explain how my world his being reshaped around me. I know I’m making this more melodramatic than it ultimately is, but it really does feel like everything is crashing down about my ankles, with something unknown emerging from the rubble.

The crashing down bit refers to the departure of the T-15s. In Mary, it was ultimately 3 out of an original 7 that managed to close their service. This means they were successful in their 2-year bid. For me, the 15s were this combination of friends, teachers, leaders, and gods. By the time we arrived at site, they had it down. They could find the post office, the cheapest beer, and a taxi to the airport at 4 am. Over this past year, some of the stardust and glamour has worn off as I have become more ept at being in Turkmenistan, but my admiration and awe at them has grown. Dave, Jess, and Mo were just amazing. Now, they are gone. They left in the first week of December, and I’m left with this strange combination of emotions. I am so proud that they made it, but despondent at their departure. I am happy for their futures, but jealous that I’m not there with them. Saying goodbye is part of this experience, but that doesn’t make it an easy one.

As far as emerging from the rubble, the new volunteers (the T-17s) have arrived at site. In Mary, there are 7 fresh-faced teachers—3 health and 4 English, 3 girls and 4 boys. They arrived at site yesterday. I wish them all the best, but I can’t help being apprehensive at the new dynamics that they will bring. The 16s in Mary have bonded during the past year. We may not be the best of friends always, but we fit in this comfortable, familiar way. New people may change that. I don’t doubt that this change will ultimately be for the better, but change—regardless—makes my stomach hurt.

So to the 15s when and if you read Turkmen blogs—you are sorely missed. No body can replace you, and I hope that only great things are happening right now. You deserve them all. To the 17s, who may have time and money to waste at the internet café, welcome. I really am excited to get to know you guys, and despite my irrational nervousness and fear of the unknown, I think this year will be great in large part due to you.

Gather the Grain and Share the Wine written December 9, 2008

2008-12-19T09:00:00.000+03:00

This is a belated account of perhaps the best thanksgiving I have yet celebrated. Thanksgiving has always been a favorite holiday of mine. It is a holiday to celebrate being together with friends, neighbors, and family. It can be religiously based, but not necessarily. There is a basic menu (turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and biscuits), but the trimmings and fixings are left to whim and tradition. No one’s thanksgiving is ever quite the same as anyone else’s, which makes it a fantastic holiday to share and reinvent.

So, thanksgiving in Turkmenistan…we had the basic menu. Halley raised and slaughtered with the aid of Clemens two turkeys. We had at least 4 kilos of mashed potatoes, and enough stuffing to stuff both turkeys and two casserole dishes. I baked the biscuits and they didn’t entirely suck. I was pleased with this, as it was the first time that I had made biscuits that didn’t come from a Pillsbury tube. We also had salad with real ranch dressing, beets with walnuts, carrots, squash, pretzels, pumpkin pie, brownies, and molasses sugar cookies. It was a feast for the ages.

A fun aside about the turkey slaughter—the actual death of the birds took place at dawn on Thanksgiving Day. I know dawn sounds melodramatic, but with dawn is at about 7:45 at this point. If we wanted thanksgiving at all, the turkeys had to die before the sun came up. I was not actually present at the event. Watching things die causes infertility, plus I had to work. Clemens was the chief executioner, and Halley his able-bodied assistant. Apparently the death part went well. There was a sharpened blade, and a mercifully quick deathblow. Halley and Clemens then took the carcasses to defeather them. They were working on the larger of the two birds when Halley’s host mom came out and said, “Halley-jan, where’s the other turkey?”

Yes, the dead bird had vanished. Clemens and Halley—I imagine—started running around like chickens with, well, their heads cut off. That image is sort of a cross between a bad pun and poorly placed irony, but it’s the best I can do. Finally, a small child who had been watching the Americans tells them that the dog has the bird. Yes, a dog stole our turkey. Clemens stepped up and did some serious battle and managed to wrest most of the bird from the jaws. In the end we lost most of the neck and one of the breasts. Rabies does die when you cook it at 420 degrees for four hours, right?
The meal was also the fond farewell for the T-15s all of whom left for greener pastures the following week. Angela made the most amazing tribute DVD. It was clips, music, and photos of a year’s adventures together. We had scenes at Merv, Ashgabat, conferences, and just hanging out. I cried a bit by the end. It’s hard to see friends go, but it really hard when they are as amazing as the 15s.

All Apoogies

2008-12-05T12:18:00.002+03:00

To all my loyal readers. I know that many of you rely on this blog to keep track of my life, and I'm sorry it's been bland as of late. These past few months have been insane with work, life, and trying to take the first steps out. I'm taking my LSATs on Sunday. Anyway, this is a solemn promise that there will soon be blogs on thanksgiving, UNICEF, and a very kenyan christmas

KT

white wedding

2008-11-14T07:14:00.003+03:00

my host sister as a bride

Like a Horse and Carriage

2008-11-14T07:12:00.000+03:00

Written November 12, 2008

My host sister has been engaged for as long as I’ve known the family. when I arrived for my site visit last November, I was told her toy (wedding) would be held in March, right after her 17^th birthday. I was a little askanced at the age, but different times, places, and cultures. At any rate, the wedding was postponed several times. Weddings here are expensive and it takes time to gather up the funds.

As I left for turkey, I was told that the wedding would be held on the 20^th of October. I was a bit skeptical, as this was about the 4^th date I had been given. So, I went off to Turkey with my parents expecting to hear of another reason why the wedding would be delayed. Instead, I got back to Mary in the middle of a massive preparations.

For the girl’s toy, 400 people were coming to my house in the village to eat, drink, make toasts, and dance. On Sunday, I spent at least 4 hours stuffing peppers and cabbage leaves for soup. Pretty much all the relatives were enlisted. Neighbors were preparing Russian salads. Two cows were being slaughtered and a singer was brought in from the city. I was frankly overwhelmed. The festivities began about 7 pm. We ate, and I took lots of photographs. The dancing lasted until about 1 a.m. and then we did dishes until the wee hours.

The next morning was the Gelen Algy. This is a ritualized ‘claiming’ of the bride. The groom’s family and friends form raiding party. I’m sure in days past this was on horseback through the deserts, but now it’s done in Ladas and Camrys. The bride’s family meets the groom’s and tries to obstruct them from reaching the bride. The groom’s people have to bribe their way foreward with gifts of money, candy, hankerchiefs, and other such things. Also, there is a band playing.

Then the groom comes out with the bride. A Turkmen bride traditionally decked out is a site to behold. She wears an elaborately embroidered coat, covers her head completely, and has silver brooches and jewelry (weiging up to 20 kilos) all over her. She doesn’t speak. The groom’s family has to buy the bride’s shoes. My host sister’s cost 200,000 manat. I am told this is quite expensive, but my host sister’s worth it. The night of the Gelen Algy is the Groom’s toy. This party was held in a restaurant in Mary City, but it had the same food, fun, dancing, and photographs. Good times rolled. I made a toast to a bright future, many children, and good health, and I do wish that for Leyla and Dowlet.

That concluded the direct wedding related festivities, but a week after the wedding I had to attend a Gelen Cagrygy. This is a meal that the bride puts on in her new home for her unmarried female relatives. It gives us a chance to check in on her and make sure she’s alright. It was a lot of fun, and I could tell my host sister enjoyed being mistress of ceremonies. I took more photos. If the internet is moving fast enough I will be posting them, but we shall see. There will be another Gelen Cagyrgy at my house sometime next week or the week after. I am told that will be the end of the wedding related events.

It’s been a bit of a head trip, but one that I’m glad I got to take.

So Baby Close Your Eyes To the Lullabies On the News Tonight

2008-11-14T07:07:00.000+03:00

Written November 12

I’ve been a very bad blogger and profuse apologies to those who look to Lawyers, Guns, and Money for up the minute updates on life in Turkmenistan. Life has been busy for the past month. Many milestones have been passed.

First, new volunteers arrived. There are currently 43 new volunteers trucking through training and stepping up to fill the spaces that will be left when the T-15s leave.

Second, my parents came to visit. This was fantastic on many fronts. I saw my mommy and my daddy for the first time in more than a year. We spent a week trekking around Ashgabat, Mary, and my oba. Yes, the American parents spent 2 and a half days in the village, meeting my friends and seeing where I live. It was great!

Third, I went on a vacation! I took my first vacation out of country. Mummy, Daddy, and I spent 6 days in Istanbul and Antalya. It was really nice to have a breather for a few days. Plus, Turkey is a fantastic country and I totally suggest that other people visit. There is much to do and more to see.

Fourth, my host sister, who has been engaged as long as I’ve known her, got married upon my return from vacation. There was a wedding party for 400 in my yard. You can imagine, I’m sure, the huge amount of peppers that have to be stuffed to feed 400. It’s a lot, in case you can’t. The Turkmen wedding takes up a fair amount of time, money, and effort. But, it was fascinating to see a whole deal from start to finish. I’ll probably write a complete blog about this when the last of my wedding related obligations are completed. There is still another dinner deal I must attend.

Fifth, and final: those new volunteers that were mentioned way back on the beginning came to Mary for their site visits. Of the 43, 7 are coming to my welyat and we rolled out the red carpet for them. Due to budget cuts and whatnot, training has been cut by two weeks, so the new volunteers arrive at site permanently around December 8^th. I continue to wish them the best in traning. I’m excited to get to know them later.

Anyway, that’s my deal…I’ve been busy. It’s been cold and I promise to do better. Upcoming events include: Thanksgiving with organic turkeys, LSAT and adventures in Ashgabat, and a holiday trip home!

Photograph just for a laugh

2008-09-20T06:34:00.004+03:00

High fives at the baseball game

World's biggest flag and tallest flagpole

Melon Day festivities...there wasn't much besides a melon

Shake It Like A Poloroid Picture

2008-09-18T05:55:00.004+03:00

My birthday...Woot Woot

Build A Little Birdhouse in Your Soul

2008-09-18T05:55:00.001+03:00

Written September 10

I’ve found that it’s much easier to get through time here, if it’s broken up in to chunks with little victories and treats to look foreword to. For example, this month will end with my parent’s visit! After that, the next major event on the horizon will be thanksgiving.

It may seem early to be considering Thanksgiving, but being here invariable means that things take three to four times as long as they would otherwise. But, planning ahead will ensure we can gather all of our fixings and celebrate to the fullest. It does require a lot of arranging. People are begging for their favorite goodies, and don’t worry, I’ll be joining their ranks by the end of this e-mail. There aren’t cranberries here, nor sage for stuffing. One volunteer is dead seat on bacon bits and mini marshmallows for green bean casserole and sweet potatoes respectively. Then there is the Turkey; it simply wouldn’t be thanksgiving without it.

After much deliberation and debate, we decided to raise our own. Actually, we aren’t raising them, She is. (Peace Corps has this thing about using names of people without permission; she probably would say yes, but I haven’t ask. This is my cover my bases in a litigious society.) She lives in a tiny village—the oba of the obas, and she decided that the only way we could get a turkey that had been fed more than watermelon rinds was to feed them herself. So, she went to the bazaar and spent about 5 dollars on two chicks. We hope they will fatten up in the next few months.

She also made this interactive, by leaving messages and photos of the chicks in our mailbox. We have questions to answer and points to ponder. For example, right now their names are either Bill and Ted or Pepe and Juanita. My vote is for Bill and Ted because they are both boys. Apparently boy turkeys are more delicious than the girls. I would have assumed the reverse, but you learn new things every day. We are also encouraged to submit diets. So far, the best has been to force feed them onions and garlic so as to imbue them with flavor even before they get close to the oven. I wonder if that would work? At the moment, though they have corn and wheat germ.

We already have the executioner lined up. He killed some birds last year, so he has the experience. I am just so thrilled at how we will create an all American holiday in the midst of what is decidedly not America. There will be more updates on the Turkeys from time to time, so keep reading. Stay tuned for such riveting information as color, age, weight, and perhaps even photos if I can steal them from her!

Now for the begging part…you knew it was coming and read on anyway! If anyone wants to contribute to operation thanksgiving we would appreciate any or all of the following.

All Spice (a jar)
Bacon Bits (2-3 packages)
Those thin fried onion things (2-3 packages)
Canned green beans (2-3 cans)
Cranberry sauce (jellied and with fruit)
Pie pans (2)
A meat thermometer (one—I’d rather not get salmonella)
Mini marshmallows (one package)
Brown Sugar (2 packages)
Sage
Packaged gravy mix for next day sandwiches (3-4)
Muffin Pan (1)

If you send something, please make a note of it in the comments section and the amount sent. I will appreciate everything that comes, but I have a fear of endless cranberry sauce. Please read the comments before sending.

Keep It Light Enough To Travel

2008-09-18T05:55:00.000+03:00

Written September 3, 2008

This is my dreadfully (In)exhaustive Packing List. I tried really hard to remember what I like/wanted/hoped for in training, but it does seem pretty far away from where I am no. Pretty much, you should only be packing for the first three months. Once you’re here and know you sites, you can get a better feel for what you will need.

Slip on-shoes: a dressy pair for work and croc-like shoes to make banya/outhouse runs.

Rechargeable batteries: they have weird AA batteries from China that aren’t the same size as American ones

Spices: Turkmen food is on the bland side

Computer and flash drive: saves time and electricity is pretty reliable

Favorite books, movies, and TV shows: mostly I want to borrow them from you, and sometimes you just need stuff in English

An album of family photos: practice saying talking about the photos using the Turkmen CD “Bu meng ejem” etc.

Camera: there will definitely be some memories you want to last a lifetime.

Good crayons and markers: you will come to hate crap office supplies from China

Gifts for 2 host families: be generous in your estimate of how many people are in a family. We don’t do it nuclear here.

Long underwear: I doubt you will suffer through the coldest winter since 1969, but it’s still good to have something under your koyneks.

A good sleeping bag: ditto on the winter, but you will crash on floors, trains, and my sleeping bag is the best thing I brought to this country.

Clothes: don’t overly stress about what to bring; be sort of conservative. Mostly, I recommend bringing stuff that’s durable. You will be hand washing and wearing and tearing. For training (girls) two or three below the knee skirts and some shirts will keep you in good stead. But if you have a pair of red shoes or a little black dress that you can’t live without, bring it. At any rate you can wear them in Ashgabat.

And The Walls Came Tumbling Down

2008-08-26T08:24:00.001+03:00

Margus Photos...yeah they've been a long time in coming

Can You Take My Picture

2008-08-26T07:56:00.002+03:00

Wasting My Time in The Waiting Line Written August 1, 2008

2008-08-23T16:48:00.001+03:00

The Aero Kassa or Howa Yollary brings the strongest volunteer to their knees. A trip to there creates that sick ball of dread that lodges uncomfortably under the diaphragm. It is a miraculous combination of every bureaucratic inefficiency, unnecessary obstacle, and waste of time. It is also the only (affordable) way out of the country.

The Aero kassa is the ticketing office for Turkmen Air. Turkmen Air is heavily subsidized, particularly internationally. For $500 or fewer volunteers—who pay local prices—have their choice of destinations: China, India, Thailand, England, UAE, Turkey, Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and even Mecca during the Hajj. The last one is not, of course, for infidels. We rationalize that the Aero Kassa is a necessary evil; it is the purgatory before paradise. Its only saving grace is the air conditioning.

I had my first experience there today. I bought my ticket to Turkey! I’m really going on vacation! And, while I’m delighted and excited now, the actual purchase was an ordeal. It began with the disruption of my master plan. The Aero kassa is first come, first serve, so I hoped to get there as the doors opened at 9. Unfortunately, my director needed to sign something for my grant. I told him I would meet him at 8 at the clinic. He rolled in at 10. This put a monkey wrench in my timing. I didn’t make it to the kassa until about ten past eleven. I was somewhere between 13 and 15 in line.

Like many developing nations—and even some developed ones—Turkmenistan has never fully grasped the queue. The ‘line’ in front of the international window was a jumbled mass of dyzas, students, Russians, and people planning to work abroad. Everyone is carrying large bags of money because you pay for the tickets, between 3 to 6 million manat, in cash. People are jostling, arguing, kidney punching, cutting, and describing—forcefully—where they belong in line. People wander in and out of line as the mood strikes, content that they will be able to return to their spot, behind the boy in the white shirt.

The line moves incredibly slowly. The tickets are written out by hand, each page stamped individually, and passport copied in triplicate. I stood, uncomfortably, for 2 hours, and that’s way below the record. I was afraid to get out of line because my queuing without a queue skills are sadly lacking. I met some nice people who yelled as people tried to cut in front of me.

I was handling it well, I thought. I wisely brought my iPod and even made a soothing and relaxing play list for the occasion. I brought a big book of Sudoku. I didn’t fidget overmuch, and I made every effort to be civil and courteous. When it was almost my turn at the window, only one man ahead of me, a dyza pushed her way to the front. She insisted that she had been here at 9; the boys she was behind, she said, had obviously left. She further explained that she had been waiting for three days for her ticket; broken computers thwarted her earlier attempts.

The line rallied around me, explaining that I had been there for two hours, that I was the nice visitor from America that I knew Turkmen, and that no one believed her story. The woman behind the window was annoyed and fed up with the disruption. I’m sure she was also a bit catty because it was almost lunchtime. The dyza sensed her cause was not being well received, so she moved to the next window…the manager’s window.

She began gesticulating and crying. She was sick! He son was a brilliant student in Turkey! She had been to the hospital, which was why she had left her place in line! The man counting the money recognized her! Her mascara smeared and ran down her cheeks in crocodile tear tracks. Low and behold, right as I’m placing my passport in the window, the manager demands that the dyza be helped first. Those were the 15 minutes when I was sure I was going to lose it. To be so close to victory and have to wait was brutal. I wanted to cry, even felt by eyes burn in frustration, but I kept it together.

I got my ticket at 1:45 and booked it to the café where I was meeting friends for lunch. I had intelligently called one of them and asked them to order food in advance. I stopped to get a coke because I needed a pick me up. I walked slowly, trying to release the tension in my lower back and balls of my feet and forget the whole experience. Despite the anger, bitterness, and frustration, I told myself, I had the power to leave. Just when I was making peace with the situation, I opened the door to the café and the first person I saw was that dyza. IRKSOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Away We’ll Go Sailing in a Race Among the Ruins Written June 24, 2008

2008-08-23T16:46:00.000+03:00

There is a rich and varied history in Turkmenistan. Going backwards, there has been the invasion of Afghanistan—launched from my very own sweet Mary. There was the valiant stand at Gokdepe, where the Russian forces finally brought the Turkmen tribes of the desert to heel. There were the countless acts of banditry and violence that kept the Russians out until the last stand of Gokdepe. There were the Silk Roads and the pashas, shahs, and merchants that commerce brings. This was the age of the later versions of Merv and the Sultan Sanjar. Earlier still was the conquering by Alexander the Great. He, too, built at Merv back when the Ama Daryia flowed to the Caspian. Before this still, when the Sumerians were experimenting with cuneiform, there was Gonor Depe.

Gonor Depe is the ruin of a city that is 5,000 years old. There are mysterious allusions to it in less ancient history text, but it remained unknown until 1979. I went with another volunteer and some of his English students. It was carefree and careless, but incredible. It is an ongoing excavation, and the ground is littered with pottery shards and metal tools. They—an amorphous collection of scholars—believe that Gonor Depe is a civilization rather than a settlement, and I’m inclined to agree.

The king’s palace had indoor plumbing. They have uncovered a series of ceramic pipes that run through the palace. There was also advanced metalworking, both for tools and for pleasure. We were taken around by an excavator, who proudly showed us both ax heads and hairpins. They also had massive pottery kilns capable of great heat. They had copper based glazes, whose remains are still caked in the inside of the kiln. The pots they made where everywhere, and stunning. They also had an advanced and possibly monotheistic religion. They—again amorphous scholars—see links between the religion practiced in Gonor Depe and Zoroastrians. The role of fire—eternal and sacred flames—was prominent. Water was also sacred. They had an advanced filter system to purify water to be used in religious rituals. Traces of a hallucinogenic drink, along the lines of Absinthe have also been found. They were found in a massive brewery. It is speculated that this drink was used in religious rituals.

The coolest thing, though, and the most awe-inspiring was the burial of the king. Like the Egyptians, the king was buried with all of his worldly goods. They have found the bones of a horse, decorated with silver amour. Also with the king were gold and silver chalices and plates. There was a chariot; the oldest wheeled cart ever found in Central Asia.

It was fantastic to be there, but the trip was an ordeal. We left from Garagum at 7 a.m. and spent 2 hours driving through the desert in two soviet mini-vans. There was less of a road than tracks in the sand. Both minivans got stuck on several occasions, and we were left wondering how we were going to get out. Never underestimate the strength of young Turkmen when faced with such ordeals. We were routinely pushed free. The desert is spectacular in its sparse way. There is more aliveness here than in the deserts I’ve seen in Namibia, but it’s still not somewhere I want to be indefinitely.

We hike around the site for about 2 hours. It was HOT! But completely worth it. I drank 3 liters of water in those two hours. We went back to the excavators’ station to have lunch. The girls of Garagum had prepared a feast for us. There were somsas, cakes, cucumbers, and tomatoes. I don’t think I will eat a tomato like an apple anywhere else in the world. There were also, at the station, of all things, Americans. There were tourists. The kids were excited because they got to practice their English. The Americans were excited because they got to speak it and interact with real Turkmen. We laughingly jested after the fact that they would return to America thinking all Turkmen could speak English.

Guesting in a koynek

2008-08-23T16:39:00.002+03:00

And Was Everybody Dancing On The Casket Written July 29, 2008

2008-08-23T16:35:00.000+03:00

DABDA lingers in some shady corner of my memory as the stages of death and dying. As far as I recall, the acronym stands for Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and finally Acceptance. These stages are though are for the individual dying. I wish I had at some point learned the stages for grief and mourning.

Although death is universal, I’m coming to discover that the way people approach dying and the dead is culturally specific. I’ve found myself getting frustrated and annoyed even at the way a death in Turkmenistan seems to linger on. For the first 40 days there are weekly gathers to mourn; after 40 days the gatherings are monthly; after a year the gatherings are held indefinitely on the anniversary of the death. I’ve been to a 6-month anniversary and an 11-year anniversary to remember people that I’ve never met. I resented the time that I had to dedicate to people no longer living.

The social organization surrounding death in Turkmenistan is just so foreign. Widows don’t remarry if their husbands die. To remarry is to “forget” their first husband and to dishonor the family. A widow who remarries must leave behind any children from her first marriage. I contrast that in my head with the lines from American movies where the widow’s family tells her that “it’s been (some amount of time); he wouldn’t want you to stop living your life.”

This resentment did give me the opportunity for a learning experience, though. I suppose I should be grateful; that’s ostensibly one of the reasons I came. I was sitting with my host grandfather discussing the differences between Turkmenistan and America. I, still annoyed, brought up how we deal with death. To him, my description came off so callous and unfeeling. We put a body in the ground, and sometimes we simply burn it and throw the ashes to the wind. There is no ceremony to recall and remember.

It’s impossible, though, with my Turkmen to explain that the memory of the dead exists outside of these ceremonies. I remember my grandmother every time I sign my name. I may never go to her gravestone and pray there, but I won’t forget her. I don’t really know where I’m trying to go with this, but its strange and obviously made and impression. I’m still thinking about it.

I know that You’re Leaving, You Must Have Your Reasons written July 26, 2008

2008-08-23T16:32:00.001+03:00

It’s always sad to say goodbye because while the world is small, it is also fickle. There are some people who seem to live their lives alongside mine. They appear constantly in the same restaurants, schools, and airport lounges. I never fear losing touch because they will be ordering a cappuccino ahead of me in some starbucks at some point. Then, there are those people that vanish. Saying goodbye for the first time is hard because I never know if I’m saying it for the last time.

A volunteer from Mary ET-ed this week. He had 4 months left of his service but a better offer for a job. This brought the total of old volunteers here to 3. I feel sort of strongly that is a low number, and I hope the T-16 struggle on with a bit more valiancy and fewer diseases that get them medically separated. I didn’t know the boy who left very well, and I regret that a bit now. I think he would have been a great friend. So, it goes…if he’s ever bored in The America where internet is fast and largely free and finds my blog, I wish him all the best for whatever comes next. If you ever need anything, let me know.

Before the descent into the maudlin gets too steep, the point of this blog is the send off. The bon voyage extravaganza almost made me wish more people left early. There were burgers, sloppy joes, barbeque sauce, green bean salad, Greek salad, nominal oversight from the man, and delicious deserts. We also made a watermelon punch that was out of this world.

Turkmenistan has this thing about melons. They have an entire day to celebrate them. Right now, by the side of the roads, there are piles of melons for 2,000 manat per kilo. At that price, I can practically eat my weight in watermelons weekly. Sometimes I do. They are juicy and bursting with seeds. Unlike the America ones, they kept the seeds and the flavor. Another volunteer brought lemons back from her vacation, so all was set for the punch. The hardest part was the juicing of the watermelon. We didn’t have a blender. We had a hand held masher and dedication. We didn’t even have a t-shirt or cheesecloth to squeeze the pulverized flesh. Tragic! But, it was worth the effort expended.

Beyond the food, which is always amazing at volunteer gatherings, it was nice just to get together. I hadn’t left my sight for an overnight since coming back from the conference. Plus, because someone was leaving for FOREVER, people came from all over. The only welyat not being represented was Dashoguz. The ache of missing friends that are far away is kind of constant. I push it aside and ignore it because I do have great friends in Mary, but it’s there. It was just so relaxing and so rejuvenating to be with other PCVs again.

Again, to the dearly departed, I hope your travels where safe, and you will be missed.

I know that You’re Leaving, You Must Have Your Reasons written July 26, 2008

2008-08-23T16:32:00.000+03:00

We’re The Kids in America written July 13

2008-07-20T17:32:00.000+03:00

It was like entering the twilight zone. The oba seemed the same. The streets still ran uneven and a little bit crooked. There was still the faint acrid smell of burning from the tamdors along the way. I was walking to a Turkmen friend’s house because earlier that day, a small child had invited me to dinner. I was expecting perhaps a family dinner of some persuasion. Instead there were Americans eating palow in my village.

There is a definite comfort in expectations, in the familiarity of routine. I like knowing that my life and the oba is much the same day to day. On the way to Atajan’s the man at the little dukan still said hello to me in Russian, and we had the same 5 minute discussion on why I don’t speak Russian. Although this conversation annoys me—I have it every time—it represents continuity. If he says “kakdela,” clearly the sky is not falling and the sun will rise tomorrow.

Still expecting a family dinner of some persuasion, I screamed as a dog ran up behind me. I hate Turkmen dogs. I entered the compound and took stock of the company. Three man plus Atajan stood in a circle by a minivan. Two were clearly Turkmen, as expected. They were chatting in Turkmen, and I salaamed accordingly. The third was not Turkmen—maybe Russian I thought—until he responded to my Salam with a southern accent and a hello. He was a former institute teacher from ’94 back for a visit.

The rule governing foreigners and the oba had always been outlined as such: all Americans in the obas are PCVs; if Americans are in the oba, they must be PCVs. Faced with what I had assumed impossibility, my mind warped. We chatted outside in English for a few minutes. Periodically, I would have to glance around to reconfirm that yes; this was still my village. That was a clearly a chicken coop, and I was clearly speaking English with a native speaker.

We went into the house to eat. This was another deviation from routine. I made to sit with the women outside because I’m a girl. Turkmenistan can be pretty gender separated, and while it can irk, I’ve become used to that. So, off I went to be the lone creature in a koynek amidst these men. Inside I was thrown for another loop. There were three other Americans, students from universities in Tennessee watching Al Jezeera. I think I just stood in the entry for a minute blinking—once then twice. Four Americans—not volunteers—were eating palow in my oba. OK, so I took this in as much stride as I could handle, and had a great time.

Food was Turkmen spectacular. I loved the salads and soups. I did make the faux pas of eating my palow with my hands. Apparently in such company I was supposed to eat it with a spoon, but everyone knows that it tastes better from the hands. I gave the why I was in Turkmenistan speech, which is much easier to give in English than Turkmen. There is a joy in saying what I mean rather than what I can. Who knows, maybe there will be three more applicants in the next few years?

There were two moments of interesting comparison in where I was versus where I am now. First, one of the students brought up the subject of religion. Actually, I accidentally brought it up in discussing the swinging away of sins on Gurban Byram, but it was continued into an interesting debate on personal relationships with God in Islam and Christianity. Or, it would have been interesting if I wasn’t inwardly cringing. I was sure the KNB was watching this unprecedented event and that in a few days I would get a call from Steve about proselytizing. I laugh now and say it was paranoia, but I’m still going to be jumpy when my cell phone rings. The second was during the prayer at the end of the meal. The teacher and I quickly broke off conversation and into the routine. The students looked a bit confused and didn’t react. It’s a reminder that the life I have now is a life that I learned. 9 months later, I’m still making mistakes, but I’ve got some things down.

And, I wonder a bit what the other Americans made of me. What did they think of this girl in a koynek who ate with her hands? Were they told about me or was I as much of a surprise to them as they were to me? Paths cross for these weird instants in this country. If you guys are reading my blog; this totally made my month. I have the awesomest story to tell the other PCVs when I see them on Friday. Thanks, and don’t forget to e-mail the photos!

All Apologies: written July 6 2008

2008-07-11T12:38:00.001+03:00

So there’s been a bit of a delay in blogs. Apologies—profuse ones—I’ve been a bizarre combination of lazy and busy. The busy came about because I had to create about 7 posters for my clinic. The president of Turkmenistan has declared a war on drugs, alcoholism, and cigarettes. As a result the nurses in my clinic needed to have posters, and enter the otherwise marginally occupied PCV. Actually the marginally occupied is a lie; I was really stressed with the posters and the English lessons that are going swimmingly. The lazy was when I came home, I just wanted to crash and ignore my computer. I’m also in the midst of some good books, but that will be another entry later. So this is my solemn promise to try and do better with the updates.

Come Together Right Now July 8, 2008

2008-07-11T12:36:00.000+03:00

I’ve recently returned from my second in-service training, which was the All-Volunteer conference in Ashgabat. This is the only time that all the volunteers in country in a given year will be in one place at one time. Well, there were a couple who were absent; there were some vacation extensions and cancelled flights. It was socially fabulous. I was able to see friend that I hadn’t seen since we left for site back in December. There were also a few people that I had never met at all. Outside of welyats and border zones, we are actually quite spread out. It was funny to be introducing ourselves to each other after being in country for 9 months.

This was also deeply exciting because I had a shower with a real faucet and water poured down without the aide of a bucket. I hadn’t had a real shower since the middle of April. I averaged about 3 per day. We got to stay at the Ak Altyn hotel, which is fabulous mostly because of its breakfasts. They have delicious Iranian cream cheese. Delicious things in Turkmenistan tend to come from Iran—pistachios, long grain rice, and cheese.

Day 1 (May 30th) was actually just the evening. I left work a bit early and went to see another volunteer. She trimmed my fraying ends from my hair. It was rather frightening; I hadn’t cut my hair since September. My ends are looking far tidier. Then we went to a restaurant to wait for the train. The 9 Mary volunteers who weren’t on vacation decided to take the train, and ostensibly we all bought tickets together so we could be in the same compartment. But, the joys of developing world travel obstructed those plans. Three people got on the train at a town before Mary. We got on to find that one of our cabins had been occupied by some renegade Dyzas. We were told by the conductor to just find seats other places, but we were ejected from the other cabin we found by a slightly intoxicated pair. Eventually, we convinced the conductor that the women in our compartment didn’t have tickets and needed to leave. He was shocked that his suggestion of sleeping 9 in a cabin for 4 was not met with approval. Crazy Americans and our insistence that we get what we pay for!

Day 2: We rolled into Ashgabat the next morning two hours late, but not really the worse for wear. We made it to the Peace Corps lounge where we ran into about half of the PCVs in country. The Dashoguz train had arrived at 6 am. They had a 20 hour train ride. As annoying as the 11 hours I had to spend was, I’m glad not to be them. I went to the Russian bazaar for my levash. It’s sort of like a gyro, but less delicious. As far as the street food of Turkmenistan goes, it’s probably the best thing out there. I also tried ineffectually to find a travel agency, but did go on a crazy trek of the city which the taxi driver didn’t charge me for. He felt bad that I didn’t get to where I wanted to go. I also spoke to my parents. At night we ordered pizza and watched a bootlegged copy of Sex and The City that someone had procured from Thailand. At this point, I’d like to give a huge shout out to the people on the American Embassy 4th Floor room. They were fantastic, and let us watch the movie on the projector even though it meant staying open late.

Day 3 was the official start of the conference. It started like most do with the ubiquitous ice breakers and team building exercises that are fun until they start getting annoying. I mostly stood there, but as most others were doing the same thing, I was in good company. We had I’m sure very informative sessions on important Peace Corps things, but I don’t really remember them. I did like the health session. My table team won the Jeopardy game and I got an honest to god root beer. It was deliciousness in an A&W can. That night was the Embassy 4th of July party. I think the PCVs are invited out of pity. It was fun in that sort of fourth grade field trip kind of way. We were all told to be on our best behavior, surreptitiously watched, and bused in and out. We were also told not to make a beeline to the buffet until the dignitaries ate. I did my best, but it was taco night.

Day 4 was called open space, and it was probably the best part of the conference. We got to meet in small groups with PCVs presenting on a range of topics that were pertinent to their work in the field. I attended two on social marketing because a lot of what a health volunteer does is market healthy and lifestyle behaviors. The first session was more theory; the second was the practical applications. Then I went to a session on Turkmen health beliefs. It was also fun! I wish I could have gone to working with health counterparts and the beginner’s English curriculum. Too much I need to know, and so little time.

Day 5 was traveling back to site. We were kicked out of the hotel early because of the Russians. The new president was doing his official state visit to Turkmenistan and apparently the Russian media outranks PCVs. We had to check out by 8 am. Pretty much everyone went to the PC lounge, so that was rapidly overrun, and the three computers seemed paltry. I did make it to a travel agency, so nesip bolsa (god willing) my parents will have their visas and will visit! 6 of the Mary volunteers all decided to leave in the early afternoon. We decided to try for a marshrutka, and did get one. For 80,000 manat per person, we were able to get a minivan to take us to Mary. Ultimately I think the 30,000 more is worth the 7 hours we didn’t have to be traveling. I have to remember that in the future.

So, now I’m readjusting to life in the oba again. After a week of shaved legs, constant showers, and no koyneks, it’s harder than I thought it would be. I am a little bit worried about how I’ll fare after a real vacation!

I Was Out There And You Found Me June 3, 2008

2008-06-08T14:30:00.000+03:00

Dear T-17,

Salam and Hos(h) Geldin(g)iz. This has about a 40% chance of coming off normal and a 60% chance a bit creepy. I’m hoping for the former, but I’ve been here for 8 months. I’m socially awkward. Our country director said 10 of you have already accepted your invitations. Good on you!

It was at this time last year that I finally got my invitation; my breath was bating. When it came, I remember thinking “Turkmenistan, huh?” as my synapses struggled for any recollection, settling on post-Soviet, Central Asia, gas, and possibly bordering the Caspian. I was clearly not well informed. Then, I scrambled to find out all I could. I’m assuming that’s how you stumbled onto my blog. You probably want to know something personal, tangible, and meaningful about this place where you may be spending the next 27 months. All I can promise is honesty.

Food will be an adventure in “gastric calamities” and general confusion (wait…cow udders and goat heads are edible?!?!). Actually, Turkmen cuisine is pretty straightforward and some is even good. Special dishes include palow (rice, oil, meat, carrots, and onions), dograma (bits of bread in broth with onions sort of like stuffing), manty (steamed dumplings filled with meat, pumpkin, or spinach), gutap/somsa (fried or baked pies with the same manty fillings), and, of course, tamdor nan/corek (bread baked traditionally in an outdoor oven).

Food is seasonal for the most part. This means in the winter, there will be meat—in Turkmenistan meat means meat, chunks of fat, and bone—oil and whatever root vegetables can be scrounged up. There will also be jams and pickles. In the spring, summer, and fall there will be a cornucopia of delicious fruits and vegetables—cherries, apricots, melons, grapes, pomegranates, cucumbers, carrots, and tomatoes. Meals will be eaten communally on the floor with hands unless you live somewhere like Ashgabat or other Russified bastions. Peace Corps request that host families give volunteers their own plates and silverware. If you can handle it, I recommend dumping your plate into the communal bowl at the first meal. It’s a really easy step to integrating that can be done with no Turkmen words.

Hygiene can be a little bit spotty, so be prepared for some madcap dashes to outhouses. The Peace Corps Medical Kit comes equipped with plenty of pink pepto pills, and you will make use of them. And, as my parents told me, PVCs talk about 3 things: the foods they ate, the diseases they’ve had, and the number of times they’ve crapped their pants. It’s kind of true; it doesn’t take long to revert to the fecal stage of conversation.

Although this is not really a food, I thought I’d bring it up here anyway. Turkmenistan is ostensibly Muslim, but it did have 80 years as an atheist Soviet republic. Shots of vodka will make an appearance in your life, for better or worse, especially if you are boy. While vodka is a big deal, being drunk is frowned upon—great how that happens isn’t it? —So if you think you will be drinking with Turkmen socially, it might be a good idea to find out what your vodka limit is before you come. Although, you can usually say that you don’t drink; there are enough good Muslims that it won’t be too strange.

Turkmen people are hospitable almost to the point of rudeness. Strangers will ask you on the street, in taxis, and in the bazaars to come to their house to eat and drink tea. As a guest, you will be prized and fed like the fatted calf they are probably slaughtering in your honor. “Iy, Iy” (eat, eat) will become a constant refrain, and while it can rankle, it really comes from a place of incredible generosity and openness.

The Turkmen culture is a strange mix of soviet, Islamic, and Turkmen. As a people, they are still defining themselves in their own context, away from communism and the USSR. It is also fairly diverse. There are pockets of Uzbeks, Baluch, Russians, Azeris, and Iranians. Mary is my welyat and Nyyazow is my oba; it’s a pretty standard Teke Turkmen world. Gender relations particularly before marriage are sort of segregated. I do get some leeway for being American. Girls in the oba (village) don’t’ drink, smoke, or cut their hair. Weddings and marriages are the bedrocks. Be prepared to fend off marriage proposals (girls) and offers to arrange a marriage to a nice Turkmen girl (boys). Family is the cornerstone of Turkmen society. Everyone will be deeply curious about your family and proud of theirs. You will see endless photos of weddings, birthdays, schools, and New Years. I recommend that you put together a family album before you leave. Include extended family and special events in particular.

Work is different; the workplace is different; the work ethic is different. This can be frustrating, especially at the beginning when language is still rocky. A fifteen-minute presentation on hypertension maxes me out, and I’ve been here for 8 months. Also the pace of work is different and seasonal. Tea breaks and mysteriously vanishing for weddings, funerals, and guests is common. As a volunteer you will probably have to set your own schedule and define your own role. Your colleagues, unless you are really lucky, won’t know exactly what to do with you, or (equally bad) they will see you as the goose that lays golden eggs. But, once you hit your stride, its really indescribable.

As far as PCV life goes, it is fun like a barrel of monkeys. The friendships and support you will find within your group, within your training groups, and ultimately in your welyats are amazing. I see other volunteers once or twice a week. I am lucky in Mary because all the volunteers live less than one hour from Mary City. Other Welyats are a bit more scattered. I have gone camping in Merv, had a southern Barbeque with pork ribs, celebrated women’s day and Memorial Day, had a super bowl party, and hung out on tapjans. In July, there will be the All-Volunteer Conference, which is the first--and only time--all the volunteers will be in one place at one time.

So my advice to you, unsolicited and unwanted is to relax. The Lonely Planet guide to Central Asia that you are thumbing through won’t help that much; its outdated (you get a better exchange rate at the bank now). Buy some good slip on shoes. You will be toeing them on and off pretty frequently. Start writing letters and sending postcards so that people get used to this new method of communication. E-mail and phones are getting better, but it’s far from good. When you get the address, send it to people immediately and tell them to write even if you haven’t left yet. It is good to have mail waiting during training. Practice the language tapes that Peace Corps will send you. When you are starting from zero, being able to introduce yourself counts for a lot. Bring little gifts for host families. Key chains are nice, and don’t be conservative in your estimates of family size. Turkmen often live in extended families. (You should also bring enough for 2 families: training and host). Hang out with family and friends and gorge on American television. Take a vacation or do something to pamper yourself in the month before you leave. The first six months are hard, and you probably won’t go on vacation until June or July 2009. Burn favorite movies and television shows to take with you. Eat avocados because they’re not here.

If you have specific questions or concerns, I would be more than happy to answer them. I am online about once a week (Katheryne.kramer@gmail.com), so the reply won’t necessarily be speedy, but it will come.

BE EXCITED! I can’t wait to meet you.

KT

Pop It Like It’s Hot June 2, 2008

2008-06-08T14:29:00.001+03:00

I have a point of contention with colloquial expressions in English. In particular, I don’t buy it when people say, “but at least it’s a dry heat” because at a certain point, probably the third straight week of temperatures above 105 F, it doesn’t seem to matter. Wet or dry, it is miserable, unbearable, and unfortunately enduring. It’s the beginning of June, and I’m being driven out of my mind. It’s a rather unfortunate state considering the worst is still to come.

My biggest annoyance at the moment is the difficulty sleeping. When it is this hot, I get restless. Although the nights are cooler than the days, there is a plethora of mosquitoes, and my window are unscreened. Every night I am forced to ask a lady and a tiger type question. Do I leave the windows open and wake up with vicious and itchy welts, or do I leave them closed and sweat? Sometimes, I leave them open and wear pants and a long sleeved shirt, but this defeats the purpose of the open windows. Condundrums…

I am thankful, though, that the Turkmen have a developed a sensible approach to the climate. Pretty much the entire village sleeps from about 12 until 3. Even at my clinic, everyone sort of stretches out on the patient beds and turns off the lights. Architecture is also geared for this. The high ceilings that drove me bonkers all winter are amazingly innovative now. Rooms are always cooler than the outside. Hopefully it will stay that way.

I’m Going To Write You A Letter written May 27, 2008

2008-05-30T18:40:00.000+03:00

Mail racing is an endurance sport, much a long the lines of a decathlon or a spelling bee (It’s aired on ESPN; it qualifies). It crosses continents, yet at the same time, seems impervious to the logical dictates of distance. For example, a letter from Afghanistan (4 hours south) takes between 10 days and 2 weeks to arrive. The same is true of a letter from Kenya, South Africa, Italy, and America. A letter from Dashoguz Welyat in Turkmenistan can arrive in as few as 2 days or as many as 2 months. At the moment, Nigeria is still in the lead of the international mail races. The
8 day is hard to beat, and it makes me wonder what scam the Nigerians could possibly be running in Turkmenistan. America and Afghanistan are tied for 2nd place with 10 days, although the American 10 day was a package. It is worth some brownie points that way.

In a side event, I ran a trial to see if Via Istanbul was really faster than Via Moscow. We were told that sending letters with Via Istanbul written under the airmail would make the letters travel faster. I send two letters on the same day to two friends sharing an apartment. Imagine my surprise when both letters arrived on the same day! I doubt that would have happened had I sent them both via Istanbul or Via Moscow. So, at least for me, writing Via Istanbul seems a bit irrelevant, but I will continue to do so. First, it’s only been one test; that could have been a fluke. And second, I like writing Via Istanbul on my letters. I even do it on the domestic stuff. Via Istanbul sounds like a sticker you see on a steamer trunk about to depart on the Orient Express; even Via Moscow has a Siberian gulag sort of charm about it.

Finally, in a sweet victory of me over the world, I got a package from Africa. So far letters have been making their way here, but the packages got lost in the mysterious byways and highways of international parcels. It arrived a bit battered and bruised, with torn corners and a missing customs declaration, but I am now the owner of new Woolies tanks (vests as they say in RSA) and a Hello! Magazine because I somehow fell behind in my peerage gossip. (Lord Jones is dead…when was he alive?!?!) THANK YOU MOMMY!

So loyal readers and letter writers who read this, keep writing. Letters, post cards, and the occasional package keep me sane and connected. I decorate my walls with the owadan (beautiful) things you send to me. Also, Brock Kramer is currently the (mail) MAN!

‘Cause That’s My Fun Day! Written May 25, 2008

2008-05-30T18:38:00.000+03:00

In general I live the oba-riffic life 5 and sometimes 6 days a week. The oba life is village, and should be spoken when that same mixture of pride, resignation, and toughness with which one says, “I live in the ghetto, the projects, or northern New Jersey. The oba life without running water and other amenities. It is shockingly familiar with livestock. (A baby cow appeared in my compound and the stork did not deliver it, I assure you.) The oba is Turkmen in language and mentality, and to keep sane, sometime I have to leave.

Thankfully, there is Friday club. It was dubbed Freedom Friday by another volunteer, but that sounds a like a Homeland Security program, so Friday Club we remain. It is between 4 and 6 volunteers that go to Mary City on Friday to do all those things that can’t be done in the oba—internet, post office, bank, and lunch. It is rejuvenating to speak in English, to wear western style clothes, and to talk to people who grew up with the same cultural cues and tendencies. It all goes beyond the language. Even if my Turkmen were flawless, I would still need to interact sometimes with people who understand the sarcasm, the difference between American Apparel and American Eagle, and the sad decline of SNL since the 1990s. I am so lucky to have them!

All Fridays are memorable, but last week was particularly so. In addition to the general Friday brilliance, I saw TOURISTS! They flooded the internet café, typical Germans with their knee socks and sandles, fanny packs, and ruddy cheeks. In the midst off the germans were 2 brits and a Dutchman. There were 30 something of them all together and they were driving 17 campers from Venice to China and back. Boggles the mind, right? We were dazed and giddy with this onslaught of English and foreigness that was Peace Corps. It was also nice to feel like we were slowly getting it. We suggested restaurants to eat at, gave general taxi prices, and costs for things at the bazaars. We spoke about our experiences in the villages and generally had a good time. They unfortunately did not treat us to a fantastic meal, but they were great fun nonetheless. At the end I passed on a copy of Three Cups of Tea*, wished them the best and then had a beer.

*This will probably get its own blog in a little bit. Everyone under the sun thinks I need to read it. I have 3 copies. At this rate it will beat out the Ruhnama as the most common book in Turkmenistan.

Incompetent blogger forgot to add titles for photos, Nairobi May 16

2008-05-16T09:14:00.002+03:00

I think this is fun!

Photo 1: PCVs destroying nature
Photo 2: Expat brats do Peace Corps
Photo 3: The mervolous walls
Photo 4: the resting place of Sultan Sanjar

Not so proficient blogger fails to upload photos with correct post, in Nairobi on May 16

2008-05-16T09:01:00.003+03:00

Here are the photos that go with the previous post.

The Battle Outside Raging Will Soon Shake Your Windows and Rattle Your Walls

2008-05-16T08:51:00.001+03:00

Last Saturday was the inagural Merv camp out. Well it was inagural for the T-16s. Merv is one of those cultural heritage type places, and rightly derserves to be. It was sacked by all manner of mauradering hordes including Ghengis Khan, the Mongols, and the Russians. It was strong hold of Sultan Sanjar who used to dictate the Persian caliphat from his desert. Even though it now stands in ruins, the place is awe inspiring. The old walls of the city loom up like mountains. The area where towns and houses used to be look like immense valleys, and it is littered with thousand year old pottery shards. Conservation is a bit behind.

We rolled up, 19 altogether, in two vans with carpets to sleep on, kilos of meat to cook, and a burning desire to “destroy some nature.” We had to hack our own firewood with axes whose heads were liable to fly off the handle and clear the sleeping area of vicious desert thorn plants. When that was done, we toasted the night (Merv bolsun), and cooked shashlik. I overcame my distates, fear, and repugnance of raw hamburger in order to make beautiful skewers.

As I stood on top of one of the walls, I saw a tour bus in the distance. Turkmenistan is wary of foreingers being in their country unsupervised. Generally to travel here, you need to be on a tour or have an approved travel ‘minder’ at all time. As we waved from our sentinel positions on the wall, I was really that I have this chance to see Turkmenistan at a different level. Those on the bus were guided among the stones, while I slept among the ruins!

The Line It is Drawn, the Curse it is Cast

2008-05-16T08:49:00.000+03:00

This is a testing of the indirect blogging system. Access to blogger has been denied for the past month or so from the internet café in Mary. So, everyone should give a big shout out to my mom who grandly offered to post my blogs and photos from Kenya. THANK YOU MUMMY!

“Restraints shan’t hold me. Power is nebulous. Control is an illusion.”

~~some dead philosopher!

We Built This City

2008-04-20T07:37:00.002+03:00

Written TODAY!

This is being beamed speedily from the Peace Corps office satellite internet line because I am in Ashgabat. I ran away for a weekend of not being in the oba and not being in Mary. It's a refreshing recharge.

I took the train with the Friday Club. Four of us meet on Fridays in Mary City and hang out while conducting important personal business. The train was the best possible combination of hectic, dodgy, and mindblowing awesomeness. It is far cheaper than a taxi, but it does take 11 hours, but overnight so you can sleep. With four of us we had the whole cabin to ourselves and had far ranging discussions on Enrique and the falling price of tomatoes. SWEET!

Ashgabat looms larger after the oba. There are shops and streets and buses and monuments to the late great Turkmenbashi. Its expensive though. We took a taxi to a restauant on Friday night and it cost 15000 manat!!!!!!!!! That would from my oba, to mary city and back. Oh, and the plummeting value of the dollar is wreking havoc with my travel plans. The Government is probably going to lower the exchange rate from 20,000 to 15,000. Since coming to this country, I've lost a whole snickers bar on the exchange; when we came in october it was 23,000. BOO!

Wow, Look At You Now, Flowers in The Window

2008-04-18T07:27:00.001+03:00

Written April 10, 08

I have quasi-begun actual work with Peace Corps. With improved weather and language skills I have embarked on a low-key, but I hope effective anemia awareness campaign. When I say anemia awareness campaign, it makes it sound much larger and strategic than it is, but such is the joy of semantics.

My campaign is actually stolen from another volunteer’s, but imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. It is the Çigit Card. Çigits are sunflower seeds and eating them is both an art form and a national pastime in this country. People stroll around with a handful (they are dirt cheap, too) and eat them as they go, leaving a scattering of discarded shells in their wake. They also have a graceful, dare I say elegant, way of eating them. The shells are cracked down the middle with two or three gentle cracks of the teeth and the seed popped into the mouth. It takes practice, and I am not yet a master.

Another fun fact about Çigits is that they are nominally iron rich, as they have 2 mlg. of iron per cup. I am quite sure most Turkmen eat a cup of Çigits daily. Anyway, the campaign involves me going on home visits with my nurses to see pregnant women, who are generally at risk for anemia. A pregnant woman needs 30 mlg of iron per day, as opposed to 15 mlg for women and 10 mlg for men and children. I hand out a flyer detailing important information and preventative measures for anemia (if you are anemic or pregnant eat spinach…it has 6.5 mlg of iron per cup, vitamin C which helps the body absorb iron, and folic acid. It’s a triple threat.) Along with this flyer, I hand out a little bag of Çigits because people always like you more when you come with presents. I also rattle off a 5-minute lesson about the dangers of anemia and try to get the women to promise to cook an iron rich dinner.

So far, it has gone well. People like me showing up, perhaps because I am the American, but they listen with good grace as I butcher the language. My nurses are also great, after the first few visits, the nurse I was with got the blurb down herself and began rattling it off and elaborating on it. I have to do my first report to Peace Corps in the sort of near future, and while I am pleased with my project, I don’t really know how to tabulate results as far as behavior changes go. That will be something to puzzle over later.

So, wish me luck on further campaigns!

You Won't Need A Camel When I Take You For A Ride

2008-04-18T07:16:00.002+03:00

Written on April 7th

My neighbors recently bought a mommy camel and a baby, and this is exciting for several reasons. First, how often does anyone live next to a camel? Yeah, that’s what I thought; it’s pretty cool. Second, they make this nifty beverage called chal from camel’s milk. I am a fan, and now it is next door! Finally, I got to see a camel being milked and man did that blow some minds.

Chal is not necessarily the most appealing thing ever. It’s vaguely fermented, so it has a bit of a soda water vibe to it. It’s also got bits of camel yogurt floating around in chalky colored water. I find it delicious though, and horribly appropriate for the summer. It is cool, a bit salty, and probably calorie rich for a drink. This will be necessary when it’s 120 degrees and eating anything beyond a watermelon will be impossible. It’s also dairy, and I probably need calcium.

Upon witnessing my first camel milking, I was shocked that you milk it standing up. I can’t really say I ever thought about milking a camel, but if I did, I probably pictured milking stools, only a bit taller. (Camels are really quite big). Instead, a person stands with a bucket slung around their necks, nestled against the back legs of the camel. It all seemed rather dangerous given the size of the animal, but it wasn’t me doing the milking.

Other fun camel facts from this the stan of Turkmen: a camel costs about $1,000 so my dream of owning one will have to be put on hold for a bit longer. No camels can be kept in the town of Yoloten, which is a Soviet bastion about an hour from Mary; I don’t know why.

And, a test for all those of you who are bored and have access to the internet. In English, is there a word that connotes baby camel the way calf, lamb, and kid connote baby cows, sheep, and goats? It’s come up on several occasions. I say no, but I really have no clue.

Like a Horse and Carriage

2008-03-28T08:41:00.001+03:00

Written March 25

Weddings are a major part of Turkmen social, political, and economic culture. Socially, everyone loves a wedding. They love to get out the nice koyneks, to shine shoes, and see neighbors resplendent in finery. Politically, marriages are family affairs. Parents often arrange marriages and the bride price paid can sometimes double or triple a yearly income. Money is always political. Economically, it seems like one out of ever three businesses is some how connected to weddings. There are the banquet halls that are rented. The seamstresses that make the cupcake confection-like wedding dress. There are the wedding singers that will roll up into your oba and make a concert arena out of a flat bed truck. There are the caterers, the emcees, and of course the hordes of photographers and other media experts. No wedding would be complete without a souvenir photo with the bride and groom!

I went to the wedding of a college’s daughter on Saturday (March 22). Practically my whole clinic showed up, and we all rode together. The bride was beautiful, and she was the first Turkmen bride that I saw in a Turkmen wedding ensemble. It was red and embroidered. Most brides opt for western style dresses that wouldn’t look out of place on Barbie.

It was really nice to socialize with my clinic staff outside of the clinic. We got to talk about yakas (embroidered collars) and the cost of our dresses. The men got to smuggle vodka from the restaurant as they left. (The women don’t drink.) And, it was also a “water cooler” or “cay (pronounced chay) chat” subject this week. We get updates on how she’s settling in as a married woman and details on how the bride price will be spent.

I’m told that in a few months I will never want to attend another toy again. I will stand fast against bad chorba (soup) and mysterious meat dishes. I will reject the dancing and the poorly sung renditions of Turkmen pop. Maybe that’s true, but for the moment, it’s still a good time.

Photographs Just For A Laugh

2008-03-28T08:37:00.004+03:00

This is what i do with my life in turkmenistan

A Lady Doesn’t Wandering All Over the Room and Blow On Some Other Guy’s Dice

2008-03-28T08:35:00.000+03:00

Written On March 22, 2008

We are in the midst of a byram (holiday). It’s the spring holidays. It is three days, well two days and a Sunday, and surprisingly refreshing. The sun is shining, edging to hot (but it’s a dry heat)! Flowers are blooming, the onions and spinach are ready for harvesting.

I went into Mary on Friday to play backgammon with a fellow volunteer. He’s the closest volunteer to my site (about 20 minutes by death cab), and a good person to have in close quarters. He’s sophisticatedly crude and erudite, plus he can play backgammon, which is AWESOME!

I’ve been a fanatic backgammon player since my dad taught me to count points. I baffle and amaze because I don’t have to count the points anymore. I like backgammon because, while it’s best to have some skill, it often depends on the roll of the dice. It’s a heady combination of strategic risk and stupidity.

Friday, though was my day. We played 10 games, 7 in my favor. I was on a hot streak. I had a massive run on doubles, particularly 5s, that made it really hard to mount a defense. I was particularly pleased because when I played him before (in December), I couldn’t catch a brake. It was an embarrassing set of defeats, but I have redeemed myself.

9 of the games we played were of the strategic ones. We both tried to make points, to block boards, to well, win. But the last game was way more fun. We were both a bit like the black knight in the Holy Grail. We were sacrificing limbs, hobbling around, and still demanding that our victory was iminient. Any open man was a target, regardless of how vulnerable a position it left you in. It got to the point where both of us had more of our men in each others’ back board than we did in our own. It was pure ridiculousness and way more fun!

I also ate chicken! And apologies to people who don’t play backgammon, but it’s a highlight of my life.

Could You Take My Picture

2008-03-14T08:54:00.003+03:00

He's my turkmen sweetheart...

Because It's Root, Root, Root for the Home Team

2008-03-14T08:52:00.001+03:00

Written March 10

Missing, I think from my blogs of late, so focused as they are on Turkmenistan, are the other volunteers. I may mope about being alone and lonely in my oba (and at times I am), but I am far from alone or lonely in the country. There are probably about 60 or so volunteers at the moment. I could get a specific figure, but I’m lazy.

Fifteen of them are in Mary, and we are at most 2 hours away from each other. We are inconveniently connected by marshrutka routes and the first of the month (we all get paid at the same bank). Peace Corps warned (occasionally harped) on the need for balance between the time spent in your communities with the time spent with other volunteers. But, even they acknowledged that cultural immersion cold turkey is a recipe for failure.

The point of all this, is of course (American) FOOTBALL.

On Sunday, 12 of the 15 gathered to watch the Patriots snatch defeat from the jaws of victory (shameless stolen from a New Yorker column I think…I like it’s literary aspirations). Someone’s mother sent them a TiVo of the game, complete with beer commercials and other nifty doodads. There was a feast of Mexican food—or as close an approximate as can be expected given the lack of avocadoes—American cookies, and just being normal. SO FANTASTIC!

Some of the volunteers that were there I hadn’t seen since the fateful December van ride that took me here. We’ve all weathered the winter, dealt with the nuances of Turkmen work and culture, and had great stories to share. Most of the stories included taxis because that’s just where stuff goes down.

It was also great to have some time to chat with various voices of experiences. It put my emotions, paranoia, and vulnerabilities in perspective. Also, it soothed fears and gave me something to look foreword to in the future. WooHoo camping in the most ancient and impressive city of Merv.

Oh, and the game was cool too!

If I Could Change The World

2008-03-14T08:11:00.001+03:00

Written March 7, 08

I’m in the Peace Corps; questions of poverty, of development, of change, and of well, saving the world are part and parcel of my existence. And, when I came, I thought I had a handle on them. If a liberal arts degree is good for anything, it must be saving the world, right?

Maybe it’s the time, the place, or perhaps even me, but the longer I’m here the less I feel like I know. Poverty for me has largely been defined as Africa. Dire poverty—defined as a person living on less than a dollar a day—is readily apparent in the sweeping slums of Kibera and in the subsistence farms with its maize and mchicha. There is a decided lack of things—health care, electricity, water, food, and education.

The poverty that I am discovering here is no less dire, in the sense that people are still living on less than a dollar a day, but it’s masked in some ways. The government provides free natural gas, electricity, salt, and flour. Gasoline is heavily subsidized as well. The health care and education systems may not be perfect, but they are here. On Thursday, a child came into my clinic after drinking gasoline. The children’s specialist at the clinic was able to flush his system, and he’s doing fine. I’m not sure that would happen in Africa.

These things, though good (I wouldn’t have wanted to spend this past winter in the absence of free heat), mask a lot of problems. In Turkmenistan, a person living on less than a dollar a day, will live in a house, probably of pretty strong construction; they will likely have a television and satellite dish; and they may even have a car. What they probably don’t have is a job because they don’t have the connections to get one or they don’t live where the moneys going. It’s frustrating and a bit sad.

In terms of development, the ideas are stuck in concepts of toys and trappings than in meaningful sustained growth. My director, for example, has told me repeatedly that the only thing the clinic needs is a computer (no one in my clinic knows how to use one and the power surges frequently). I had almost discounted him, thinking I’d have to work around him rather than with him. Then, on my programming site visit, my program manager gently and gracefully steered him away from the computer. She asked him what was needed, and he laid out a very thoughtful proposal for a water system that would bring running water to the maternity ward. My director is smart, observant, and knows what’s needed, so why did he prioritize the computer first?!?!

Of change: A fellow volunteer is fond of this joke. ‘How many Peace Corps volunteers does it take to change a light bulb?’ ‘None, Peace Corps Volunteers never change anything.’ I hope that’s not true, but at the ground, where I am, so much seems impossible. I know I’m not supposed to change things, I am supposed to empower others to change (sustain), but that seems much harder.

In rereading, I find myself coming off as discouraged, marginally depressed even. I’m not; I’m mostly taking stock of where I find myself almost 6 of my 27 months in this country. The rose colored glasses may be fading, and that’s probably even a good thing. They make things pretty, but they make it hard to see clearly.

You'd Better Get Right Before You Get Left

2008-03-14T08:10:00.001+03:00

Written on February 21th

Last Friday, it was brought to my attention that I was in the midst of Lent. In the absence of faux Mardi Gras parties and ash crosses on foreheads, Ash Wednesday was just another day. At George School, the day would be marked by countless people asking me if I knew there was something on my face. At BC, there would be 200+ masses and a sea of students and professors anointed. Dust we were, and dust we will become.

In Turkmenistan there is one Catholic church 400 km from where I live. There was no morning mass, no prayers, and I mostly forgot about the whole thing until another volunteer mentioned it on Friday. I usually do try to give something up for Lent. In America, it seems amazing now the amount of things that I thought I couldn’t live without, that would be a sacrifice. I gave up make-up, Late Night Chicken Fingers, vending machines, and VH1. The shocking part was how easy it was, after about a week, to live without those things.

I am not in America now, and there are two interrelated problems. While my life isn’t stoicly hermetic, it isn’t rife with unnecessary frill. Secondly, to sacrifice the few frills I do have, is to court insanity. I would give up coffee, but I only drink it when I am inches from tears and homesick. I would give up my iPod, but that’s the daily connection I have with English. I would give up alcohol, but I’m an unmarried girl in a Muslim country and it’s a bit of a mute point anyway. I can’t even do, as was suggested by some Archbishop somewhere to give up carbon emissions because it is cold and my only source of heat is currently a natural gas flame.

I am welcoming of suggestions…

Pictures Don't belong in Frames

2008-03-07T08:48:00.003+03:00

Hey I probably should give a bit of a run down on photos.

1: my host mom and sister baking bread in a tamdor

2: Me in front of a fountain in Ashgabat celebrating 16 years of soviet-syzlyk (the state of being without soviet)

3: Me as a turkmen bride.

4: A camel because i'm exotic like that. There's a great story about that photo and one of these days i'll get around to posting it

If I could fame my mind, where would it hang?

2008-03-07T08:35:00.004+03:00

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I’m being verbose.

Give Me The Words That Tell Me Everything

2008-03-07T08:35:00.001+03:00

Language immersion is always a difficult prospect. It is frustrating, infuriating, and often hilarious to struggle between saying what you can and saying what you mean. In my own experience at the moment, I am at an intermediate level of Turkmen. This means I speak in sentences rather than paragraphs. It also means I have some distinctive language quirks.

For example, I can never remember the word for different, so things that are different are “not the same” when I speak. Turkmenistan and America are not the same. I wore a dress yesterday that “was not the same.” I had Uzbek palow and it “was not the same” as Turkmen palow.

I also annoyingly can’t remember how to say “I remember.” This is complicated in part by the Turkmen phrasing for “I forget.” In Turkmen, to forget something is to literally have it leave your memory. (Yadamda Cykdy), so I am forced to say literally that it hasn’t left my memory. It’s a cumbersome phrase. In general cumbersome is how I describe my speech. I speak and then have to return to correct myself as I go along.

This is made more complicated by the Turkmen word order. The verb is the last thing spoken, so everything needs to be in place before that. Translating in my head from English to Turkmen doesn’t work because often in English the verb is the second or third thing spoken. I dangle prepositions and hang clauses with abysmal regularity.

But I’m speaking and everyday, I understand another phrase. Slowly I’m gaining clarity, insight, and there is no better feeling than to have a string of words snap together into a thought.

Turn And Face The Strange

2008-03-07T08:30:00.000+03:00

Written February 12, 2008

Cultural adjustment is strange. Day by day nothing seems to change; you don’t feel any different, but things are slowly shifting. I get water from a well, and for the longest time I couldn’t get more than a half bucket of water up at a time. It’s a weird combination of wrist, forearm, and shoulder muscles. It rankled and frustrated because I’m sure the average Turkmen six year-old could do it blindfolded. Now, I can, with one hand in the dark, pull up the full pail. And it doesn’t seem possible that I didn’t know how before.

So, I think I’ve adjusted. I can eat rice with my bare hands like a pro, complete with the thumb flick. I can use the outhouse in the dark. I can wear a koynek, and I was shocked when I saw my host mother outside without socks. In my head I’m good; I’m in a place where things make sense most of the time.

And then, suddenly and without warning, I’m not. I was doing rounds one of my clinic staff and saw a baby given an enema. I don’t know the particulars of the situation, but I am pretty sure that was not the correct solution. There are just times when I feel completely out of my depth. These are the kind of issues I am here to address, to educated on, and I am clueless.

I Got 99 Problems...

2008-03-05T12:59:00.002+03:00

...and most of them have to do with latent to lacking technology. I have lots of blogs written out, but the computer feels abivalent about reading my flash drive. So it goes. I am back in Mary on Friday and hope to finally put up more stuff.

This is just to let my loyal fans and avid readers know that I am alive--having surivived the coldest winter since 1969. I am well, and that spring is on the way.

Special shout outs:

Aunt Elaine: I got you letter with photos. SO GREAT!!!!!!!!!! Made everyone in my clinic smile. They all aspire to be like you with so many grandchilden about. And, on the topic of cookies, a fellow volunteer gets them from home. Tupperware is a magical substance, so if you are willing to give it a shot, send them to the Mary address

Turkmenistan
Mary welyaty, mary saheri
Merkezi pocta Abonent 24
Parahatcylyk Korpusy
Katheryne Kramer
TURKMENISTAN

KAT: I got you magazine package and your valentine. You are the cat's meow and the cat's pajamas. I adore your news of the world and I am writing back as we speak (figuratively).

Lauren: Mindblowing...your letter made me smile, think, grin, and envy.

Tanya: Two letters from you!!!!! I was beginning to think you didn't care. Keep the world safe for money!

MATT FAIR: If i only had one CD in the world it would probably be Bo Diddley the Gunslinger. You are awesome!

Love to everyone and then some!

Video Killed The Radio Star

2008-02-08T09:26:00.001+03:00

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.

You’d Better Start Swimming Or You’ll Sink Like a Stone

2008-02-08T09:22:00.000+03:00

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.

Today is the Greatest Day I’ve Every Known

2008-02-08T09:19:00.000+03:00

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.

Mail Race Update

2008-02-01T09:24:00.000+03:00

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?

‘Cause I’ve Cried A River Over You

2008-02-01T09:08:00.000+03:00

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)!

The Suns a Circus Clown and The Moons a Lemon Pie

2008-02-01T09:04:00.000+03:00

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!

Thats the Way It Happens On the Far Side of The World

2008-02-01T08:49:00.000+03:00

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!

Mail Again

2008-01-16T14:15:00.000+03:00

If you are sending me letters from the US...please write TURKMENISTAN as the last letter of the address. The little computers that control us all don't seem to realize that the rest of the world has different addressing policy. For example, in Turkmenistan, the country destination goes on the top where the name of the addressee goes in America.

PST Wrap Up

2008-01-16T14:13:00.000+03:00

Three Months In and Here are the Numbers:

Katheryne is an intermediate-mid level Turkmen speaker which means that I babble nonsensically in almost complete sentences about some topics and stare blankly a lot of the time.

Katheryne has seen the following livestock slaughtered:
2 Cows
2 Goats
2 Ducks (one of which she de-feathered…not as hard as one would think)

and she waits with restless anticipation for the death of that goose.

Katheryne Has Developed the following phobias

Geese because they are shockingly territorial and their “territory” happens to be the path going to the outhouse. They hiss, flap their wings, and could probably do serious damage with their evil, capitalist beaks. I take great pleasure in the fact that they are kept for food because some day they will die and probably make a delicious soup.

Handshakes from small children because quite frankly I have heard some horror stories about giardia and other gastric calamities and hope to avoid them. You never know where small children’s hands have been.

Three-in-ones because it is most definitely not coffee and I die a little inside every time I drink one.

Miscellaneious animal fat served all by itself, which is I think I relatively valid fear. So far I have eaten and not enjoyed the following:

a. Camel hump fat with bits of minced meat and parsley. In the words of Turkmen…Tagamly dal.
b. Sheep fat soup which is pretty much sheep fat and water, also salt, you know for flavor, also tagamly dal
c. Fried goat fat: it might just be me, but it seems that deep frying cubes of fat is unnecessary and also tagamly dal
My pec: A pec is a natural gas stove that generates as much heat as it probably does carbon emissions. I’d be sorrier about the enviroment if it didn’t keep me toasty and warm at night. The other thing about peces is that they are the most frightening jerry rigged devices that can be found. If I die in Turkmenistan, it will probably be because my pec killed me.

Mail Race Updates and Such

2007-12-22T13:10:00.000+03:00

OK, I found out that I can still recieve mail/packages at the old address:

Turkmenistan, Ashgabat 744000
Merkezi Pocta
Abonent 258 Krugozor
Parahatcylyk Korpusy/Turkmenistan
Katheryne Kramer, PCV
Turkmenistan

If its something you really want me to recieve, you are marginally better off sending it to Ashgabat.

Otherwise:

Afghanistan 1
USA 1

My dad sends letters via the APO and through the local Afghan systems on the same day. Afghanistan beat USA the first time around by 5 days. The second letter arrived from America first. He must write again for the tie break.

Africa is still holding strong, although sans packages. I am told not to worry overmuch, as a package recently arrived here nine years late. I got a bonanza of letters last week and want to say a GIANT thank you to the following people who rocked my socks.

Howard and Nora
Mummy
Daddy
Uncle David
Kathy
Anna
Anne
Kat
Norm
Father Keenan

Making those connections is amazing! Its also the end of PST and tomorrow I will be sworn in as a real peace corps volunteer. More letters to get me through what everyone swears will be the longest three months of my life...alone in my site and dealing with life in Turkmen.

New Address

2007-12-19T14:59:00.001+03:00

Turkmenistan
Mary Welyaty, Mary Saheri
Merkezi Pocta, Abonent 24
Parahatcylyk korpusynyn Meyletinciler
Kramer, Katheryne

WRITE ME LETTERS. Make my life

Oh, and the 9 cool things post...probably not going to be finished

2007-12-06T06:26:00.003+03:00

if you are at all interested in them, send me a letter!

Just Because I've Been Silent Doesn't Mean Nothings Been Happening

2007-12-06T06:07:00.000+03:00

So, just about every small village in kenya has an enterprising young man with a 10 year old laptop and a wireless signal. This is decidedly not the case in Turkmenistan where communications are just getting off the ground. But, as the title suggests, exciting things are happening here.

1. I got my permanent site. I am in Mary Velyat (google Merv) in a town called Nyyazow (formerly lenin, but we're not red anymore). I work at a house of health that has its own little childrens hospital and birthing room. So far it seems like a good deal. I also have a pretty chill family, and I am moving up in the peace corps world. I still have an outhouse, but I've got a real shower, hot water from a boiler, a washing machine (no dryer...bummer), and a sauna. Really, a sauna. It is a wood panelled room with three levels of benches, a natural gas heater surrounded by stones...its a sauna. Although, my family uses it to dry shoes and clothes. They will be given some cross cultural education on that.

I spent most of last week (wednesday-monday) in Mary getting to know where I will live, work, and function for the next two years. It was strange to be out of Yalkym and by myself. I didn't speak English from Wednesday morning until Sunday, and my Turkmen is really not that good. So it goes. There was a lot of charades going on.

On Sunday we bonded with the rest of the Mary volunteers, and they showed us the useful sights (American corners where internet lives, bars, and restaurants). They seem like a pretty good group, as are of course those of my group who are going.

2. Returned to Yalkym to a family that is amazingness personified. And, exciting family going-ons were happening. there was a saddakah and a new baby, both of which required much festivities and goats dying. One took place last night in Ashgabat which means I have a sweet hour on the internet before my Hub day. I love handy little coincidences.

Ipod Flash Drive Failure or 9 cool things KTs done in Turkmenistan

2007-11-11T07:19:00.000+03:00

So, still the ipod doesn't want to do its thing. Thats fine. I will try to write it from memory, or as close as I can. Here are 9 COOL THINGS KTS DONE IN TURKMENISTAN in no particular order.

1. Death Moo: My family a few weeks ago slaughtered a cow. I am way closer to my food here than I have every been before. So, back to the cow slaughter. I got to help (in that sort of way that a two year old helps to bake a cake. I mostly cleaned up). It began the day before with the digging of a giant pit for the cows blood because we are in a muslim country here. Then the morning of, (vegetarians might want to go to peta.org now) the cow was trussed up and its throat cut. I did not actually witness the death blow because I am a woman and according to Turkmen supersition, seeing the cow die would cause infertility. I did hear the death moo though. And, I learned several important things, namely that a cow has large stomachs and an amazingly large portion of the cow is edible, despite my thoughts to the contrary. Since death moo, though we've had more meat and more things cooked in beef fat. I'm not above steak; bring on the next cow. (Actually I think the next death will either be our thanksgiving turkey or a ram that will be killed for a muslim holiday in december.)

2. Toys: Turkmen love having a party. I have been to a party for the purchase of a new car, for the return of a relative from the army, for the 41st day since the death of a relative, and for weddings. Weddings are a big deal here, and generally a rocking good time. Here is the break down of most of the weddings that I have attended. Hour 1 is spent testing the band, deciding if we like it, and waiting for the bride and groom to arrive. Hours 2-3 are spent on food. Wedding food goes all out. There are delicious plates of russian salads, bread, sodas, olives, and cookies. Also, usually stuffed peppers or cabbage leaves. Delicious all of it. Hours 4-5 are dancing. Wedding bands and singers can be like rock stars, and weddings are their concerts. I lack the graceful delicacy of most turkmen dance steps, and I have a terrible propensity toward a hip swing (not cool here), but I have a good time. Also when you dance, they hand out hand towels, plastic bags, fly swatters, and occasionally money. Yay for party favors that are actually useful!

OK, so running out of time on the computer so the other 7 cool things I've done in turkmenistan will have to wait, but a sneak preview: 3) Kow Ata, 4) Garasslyk, 5)Freedom 6)ECA 7)Technical Training 8)Other People 9)Something Else that I will remember later.

Oh, and for those who are interested: Kate and Noah are the best site mates ever and Lale greatest most adorable teacher on earth.

Things to Send

2007-11-04T14:20:00.000+03:00

There has been some mentino of fun and exciting things that I will need from the states. I am keeping a list on the right of the blog of things that will be useful and if people want to send them, great. Otherwise letters and best wishes are the best thing ever.

Disclaimer

2007-11-04T09:42:00.001+03:00

last post irrelevant as i moved my disclaimer to be more prominent

Prominent Disclaimer

2007-11-04T09:35:00.000+03:00

Please scroll down to the bottom of the page to read my prominent disclaimer and take note

Slowly Updating and Early Mail Race Results

2007-11-04T09:31:00.001+03:00

There will be a much longer and indepth post of my life and times in turkmenistan when I can figure out how to get my Ipod to be a flash drive. But lots of cool stuff has happened. There have been weddings, cow slaughters, bat guano, and beer! Stay tuned.

Thanks to everyone who wrote to me, and please keep doing it. Letters make my life. We sit around at our site and read them to each other. It is nice to know that somewhere in the world, two weeks before someone sat down and thought of me. I am loved in the world.

On to mail race results: Nigeria is the surprise front runner. 8 days from lagos to Ashgabat. Freaking weird. Kenya averages about 10 days, so does most places from the states. I still havent recieved any packages and I am pretty sure that I was supposed to have a few. Anyway, keep sending stuff.

Turkmeni Where?!?!?!?!

2007-10-12T13:23:00.000+03:00

I am writing from Turkmenistan, from the peace corps office which is basically the only time I will get internet for the next few months (next three months to be exact). I am mostly at my training site, which is a crazy small village. (I dodge and angry sheep on my way to the outhouse.)

Langauge is still slowly coming and increasinly frustrating. I have the skills of a drunken mongoose at the best of times, but my host family has the patience of many many saints. They seem to get that the American is a little bit "special" and needs to be coddled. I am definatly outclassed by both my host sisters, given that I can't get a full bucket of water out of the well. I also can't mix dough properly, wash my clothes, or generally anything else that makes turkmen women the "pearls of the east."

Of particular note, I slightly illegally went to the bazaar with my family. Peace Corps didn't want us to go. But i bought some material for my koinek (traditional dress with rockin' awesome embroidery around the collar). The bazaar was crazy. There were russians, Iranians, and carpets that spill out of stalls. I was in way over my head, but it was pretty cool.

Otherwise all is good. WRITE ME LETTERS

Welcome to Miami...

2007-09-24T00:35:00.001+03:00

Its that crazy time when I feel like something has ended and something else has not yet started. I'm in a mixed up world of limbo, purgatory, and Elysium fields with a frightening mix of Target thrown in. Its weird to shop for things to need in a place I've never been. I decided to buy sharpie pens, but did not take the jumbo box of dryer sheets.

I've mostly just been drifting with my sister for the past few days. I want to go back to college where the most difficult challenge of the day is where to find 3 more girls to play intermural dodgeball. I know I am selling my sister short because she is amazing and is one of those people who does absolutely everything and then some (currently she is an active member of 3 intramural teams, is an engineering major, works at the gym, tutors calculus, and still has time to train puppies), but I'm feeling nalstalgic for college. It was a place I understand, though it would be strange to still be there when all my friends have moved on.

I'm off to New Jersey tomorrow for some extended family bonding. I will be in the city on Tuesday (probably sipping mango mojitos at Papillon with Mikey if anyone cares to join) Then its off to DC on the 27th in preparation for Peace Corps craziness.

The Speedy Forces of the Bureaucrat

2007-09-21T20:30:00.000+03:00

Peace Corps just sent out a little e-mail detailing what I should do to ensure my mail gets to me during training. It is however different than what they sent out earlier this summer, so everyone who is getting the awesomely nifty change of address card has it slightly wrong. If you want the correct address, e-mail me or check it out on Facebook.

Born in the USA

2007-09-18T15:56:00.000+03:00

Actually the title of this post is a lie. I was not born in the USA, but coming back is still a real homecoming. I am currently at la casa fenbine, where I share surrogate daughter responsibilities with my sister. It is also a reassuring stop off before peace corps because the fen of Fenbines was Peace Corps Venezuela with my father. They have been amazonian river rafters, compatriots and good friends for longer than I've been alive. Its impressive and a strong reminder of the good things I can get out of this experience are worth it.

Now I am off to do battle with the bureacrats fo of the world. I have a machete to cut through red tape, so I have high hopes. The schedule for my stateside stay is DC today, Shepherdstown and Miami tomorrow, NYC on the 24th, and back to DC on the 27th. Turkmenistan on October 3.

Oh and Kenya had a promising start on the mail races. it took less than a week for a package to go from Nairobi to California. I will have to stop insulting the Kenyan postal system.

I Miss the Rains Down in Africa

2007-09-16T15:57:00.000+03:00

Toto was half right with his song. I will definately miss Africa generally and Kenya specifically, although I could have done without the weeklong thunderstorms. But I am leaving tonight, perhaps forever or until I can find a way to come back again. It is time for new adventures and insanities.

I celebrated my bon voyage in proper expatriateness with Hilary, who I will thank endlessly for being in Nairobi, being a friend, having gentleman callers, and our shared obsession with Jack. (She also gave me some mystery CDs to get me though Turkmenistan). Friday was a rocking evening at Havanas where we stumbled into the SA versus England Rugby Match. For the Americanos amoung us, the Rugby World Cup, which is kind of a big deal, is ongoing. New Zealand are the strong favorites, but SA did it in '94, so I have high hopes. The beers were excellent, the crowd loud and rowdy, and victory to the RSA. It was actually an anihillation (20 something to zero).

Saturday was a proper night on the town. Mercurys to start because we like to pretentd we are swanky and classy. They also make an excellent Manhattan Jack with bitters. Too fabulous for words and its pink. Then we went to Gypsies because boxes of bars can never be a bad thing. We ran into macedonians and generally made a ruccus of ourselves before heading to Casas. I will miss sheesha bars, bonfires, and sandpits. Lenana road is definately where its at.

So, I'm off to pack my carry on bag, get a last supper (Sierras), and leave on a jet plane. Little tragedy to be sure.

Ciao Kenya and Farewell Nairobi

Mail Races:

2007-09-07T18:14:00.001+03:00

This is largely just a shameless ploy to get addresses of friends and family, but also for my own amusement. I am planning to race mail to see how fast mail gets from turkmenistan to various points across the globe. So far destinations are kenya, uganda, ethiopia, USA, and potentially Nepal. There will be no prizes other than the joy of recieving an actual piece of mail (you know with a stamp).

If you want to compete, please send me your address at katheryne.kramer@gmail.com

Matatus, Pedestrians, and Exhausters, Oh My

2007-09-07T11:15:00.000+03:00

I have never driven in the first world, and i am terrified of what to do in a situation where you simply trust that everyone will drive according to the rules at 70 miles per hour. Driving in Kenya requires an incredibly cynical nature. You must take as given than no one has insurance, a driver liscense, their vision, or brakes.

The most violent offenders are the matatus. These are 14 seater vans that barrel along predetermined routes, racing to collect the greatest number of passengers. It is not atypical to see a matatu cut across two lanes of traffic and then immediately stop. They also tend to drive with their indicator lights (sometimes even their hazard lights) on all the time. I am assuming it is to warn other drivers that they may pull over unexpectedly.

The indicator light is another of my pet peeves in African driving. It indicates many things, but rarely does it indicate an actual turn. As i mentioned, the matatus constantly indicate a turn, but it becomes irrelevant after a while. You have to look ahead to see a possible passenger to figure out where and when they will turn. Many drivers use an indicator light to indicate that you may pass them; however, other drivers use it to indicate the reverse. I've also been behind a truck that used his hazards whenever he pressed the brakes, because his brakelights were out. It took me a while and a near collision to figure that one out.

Riding a New Wave

2007-08-30T19:19:00.000+03:00

My first experience with couchsurfing involved neither my own couch nor my own surfer. I was staying with a friend in DC, crashing on her couch. She went to work, casually saying, "oh, and if a french guy with a backpack comes. Let him in. He's my couchsurfer." Ummmmm...Whatever I thought and watched yesterday's rerun of the daily show. Sometime later that afternoon Juls shows up. He is French and does have a backpack. Washington DC is his first stop on a 5 week cross country train trip. Lauren's other roommates showed up and decided that every frenchman needs to eat proper southern barbeque with hot sauce until your eyes water. So we all piled into cars and went to Rockland. At Rocklands Juls tried chili potato salad, briskit, and the ubiqitous rice crispies treat. Fine dining to be sure.

I was hooked on the idea of couchsurfing. There is something great about someplace where someone, especially a stranger, is waiting for you. There is a undeniably a level of sketch to it. Strange people connect with you over the internet (Music from the twilight zone plays onminously in the background), and they stay in you house/apartment/cardboard box under the interstate overpass. Explaining the security was a big selling point to my mother, who graciously agreed to let me host travelers this summer (yay for mommys). Mostly its on you to read profiles carefully and question references. But I've been a member since the middle of June, and I have hosted about 12 people and shown 4 or 5 others around Nairobi.

In terms of being a host, there really is no better place than Nairobi. It is everyone's transit point and nobody's destination. This basically means I never have to worry about the length of time people will stay with me. Everyone is always too excited about safaris and trips to the coast to bother too much with Nairobi. This is also good because most of worth seeing in Nairobi as a tourist can be done in a day and a half. (Nairobi is a great place to live, and a good place to visit if you have access to a car.) It is doubly good for hosting because the kind of people who spend their holidays in Africa are kind of by defintion people that I would want to know. If they aren't safari trekkers, they go off and volunteer in parts of kney I've never heard of.

Everyone that I've hosted has been phenomenal. Many of them brought me little gifts (not required) and left proper thank you notes. They've cooked me dinner and done dishes. They are neater and more polite than I am. They've taught me about everything from demographics in Scandanavia and its impact on education policy to the going rate for medical experiments in Argus. (I also learned that Canada grows wine. Who knew?) It can still seem a little bit creepy, but hospitality is a trait to be nurtured. I fully plan on surfing couches during my peace corps travels, and I only hope that I can be as good a guest as mine have been.

I encourage everyone to check it out: couchsurfing.com

WTF South Africa?!?!?!?!

2007-08-29T08:23:00.000+03:00

I love South Africa. I spent a blissful year in Cape Town studying and experiencing a part of Africa that seemed to get it. There was rule of law, nonviolent protests, and an energized economy. This is not to say I was blind to the flaws. There was rampant poverty and incredible wealth next to incredible poverty. A friend in Cape Town said it was a microcosm of the world where the first and the third world mix. (I refrained from telling him that it didn't really matter if the capitalists and nonaligned mixed anymore, but his point was well made.)

For the past few weeks, though, it seems that South Africa has gone slightly round the bend. Mbeki fired his deputy Minister of Health ostensibly because she went to an AIDS conference in Madrid. Hallelujah for that...a health minister from South Africa doing something about AIDS, besides of course curing it with beetroot and garlic. I'm sure there were more particulars kept out off the media, but its ridiculous. The current Minster, manto tshabalala-msimang is a crackpot nutcase, and possibly an alcoholic who got a new liver thanks to presidential connections. (http://www.guardian.co.uk/southafrica/story/0,,2152333,00.html). Currently 5.5 million people in south africa have HIV/AIDS, life expectancy is 47, and less than 1/3 of the people who need treatment can access it thanks to the Comrade Coffin (Mbeki) and Dr. Beetroot (Tshabalala-Msimang). South Africa only started providing ARVs after being taken to court by the Treatment Action Campaign.

The Deputy minister who was fired for her unauthorized trip to Spain recognized there was, in fact, an epidemic and responded. Her 5 year plan for HIV/AIDS is quite brilliant and focuses on getting treatment. With her gone, its back to the quagmire of AIDS denialists, no drugs, and raising death rates.

Adding insult to injury (but with a silver lining), Jacob Zuma is back in court. Hopefully this time the charges will stick. Zuma was accused of raping a family friend. Ultimately he was found not guilty, but not until he explained that he consensual sex with an HIV+ woman but was safe because he took a shower. Zuma is a presidential hopeful in the highest levels of the ANC. Now he and his lawyer are trying to avoide facing corruption charges in relation to an arms deal with French Arms manufacter Thist.

And for the grand finale, several million of the government distributed condoms are being recalled. A health inspector was bribed to approve substandard condoms for distribution. I want to smack that guy. How much money is it worth for millions of people to get infected with an incurable disease that will leave 10 million orphans, kill 14 teachers a week, and basically destroy the social fabric of your country?

Score One For The Tree Huggers and Non-Insecticide-Treated Bed Nets

2007-08-26T16:51:00.000+03:00

As a health consultant, particularly one focused on simple and effective preventative health measures, I have the deepest and most profound respect for mosquito nets. They are the primary reason that I have never had malaria despite more than 8 years in rabidly endemic areas. Insectide treated nets are seemingly a pancea. They give pregant women and children under five the best chance for good health. And they are an incredibly marketable commodity. Check out more at WHO.

Although bed nets are altogether fantastic, mozzie nets have a new role in the Kramer/Loughran household. Kenya is joining the ranks of countries that have banned or will soon ban plastic bags. In Kenya sometime in December or January, using plastic bags will be illegal, and good for them. The ubiquitous plastic bag is a blight practically everywhere you go. They litter sidewalks and trash heaps across africa. Kenyans make thses fantastic, durable, and beautiful woven baskets out of grasses and sisal. They are way more economical and fashionable. We use reusable bags for most of our shopping. The main exception, however, was the green grocer. The shop attendants put the veggies into their individual plastic bags to make it easier to weigh them before putting them in our eco-friendly baskets. In response, my mom commissioned re-usable mesh bags out of mosquito netting. Yesterday was their first test run and they were an unmitigated success!

"Intergenerational Sex Stops With You" and other life lessons from Uganda

2007-08-21T15:49:00.000+03:00

It seems strange that after 9 or so years in East Africa this was the first trip ever to Uganda. I largely went for work related reasons. The WORTH program has some savings groups in Mbale, Uganda and that was my first destination. Henry, the Salvation Army driver, collected me from the airport and drove me the three hours to Mbale proper. I had the beginings of what would become a raging head cold, so i was not the best company one could imagine. Henry didn't seem to mind, though.

Once in Mbale, I was introduced to Meddi and Dorothy, who are the assistant WORTH coordinators for Uganda. They are both the most amazing and creative women. great fun was had, minus my fever, head ache, and stuffy nose. I checked into the sunrise hotel at with a fantastic view of Mt. Elgon and promptly slept through the night.

Thursday morning saw my first site visits. These women mean business. Its amazing watching 25 women bring what amounts to pennies to their meetings and watch them accumulate. I was also audience to the generosity and hospitality of Ugandans. Getting visitors, particularly of the mzungu variety, was special for them. The women were delighted to read drafts of my dialogues and give me input, although I think there were a bit taken back by my desire for their input. I need to practice my pre-tests. Malaria for children and STI for women are the big concerns in these areas. We stayed with the first group for several hours and then heading further up the mountain ridges for the second. Again, the women saved together, made some loans, and told me how exciting it will be when the loan cycle ends. At the end, the women divide up the interest paid on the loans as 'dividends.' The chairwoman at this particular group refers to herself as the Bank Director because she says thats what she's doing. It had rained during the meeting, and our truck was stuck in the mud. They wouldn't let me help push and eventually the car got going. Mud driving is not my favorite activity.

Friday morning I went to one savings group and then I drove back to Kampala, where i was meeting up with my study abroad roommate. She is working for an NGO in Kampala for a year, and when far away friends find their way to not so far away places, its best to track them down. We were supposed to go out to dinner, but that was rudely interrupted by a purse snatcher, who grabbed my bag. I lost all my money, my cell phone, and my passport. Part of it is on me for being absent minded and forgetting that the passport was in there, but mostly it was on bastards who steal other peoples property.

Thus began my stay in Kampala. After the robbery, we went to the Jinja Road police station where I had to make a statement. The first officer taking my statement had terrible handwriting and a slightly lacking grasp of English. He spelled my name Katherhain Krachmher and said i was 42 years old. He also said I lost my UK passport. it improved when they were taking my statement, probably because my blond host attracted the eye of the officer in charge of the station. After all this went on, we were trying to get out of the jinja road police station, which was harder than we thought it would be. Eventually, the officer in charge told us some transport was coming. Shortly thereafter, a chinese man drove up in an electric blue beetle, followed by another chinese man in a pick up truck. Thus our ride had arrived. Ten minutes of chinese pop music and stilted conversation later, we arrived at the house and i went to bed.

Saturday morning began the round of chores that needed to be done in order to get my life together enough to leave. I had to get an official report from the Jinja road station. The consulate was closed until monday, so i had to change my flight out of Uganda as well. I also went and got several US Visa sized photos taken. Then we went and got touristy. We took boda bodas (small motorcycle/scooter taxis) to the Buganda tombs. Its the worlds largest thatched hut and a world heritage site, and then we went to the craft markets. Craft markets in africa are suprisingly homogenious. Most of what was in Kampala could be bought in nairobi for around the same price. We had lunch at an indian restaurant nearby and ran into two other ex pats. they were in town for the release of the ugandan demographic and health survey. it is like my bible. We had a lazy, lazy lunch that stretched for hours. I learned from them that 84% of ugandan women thought that wife beating was acceptable, and that a journalist at a workshop thought that deserved the headline "Women Like to be Beaten." I think he missed the point. Health and such in Uganda is a seemingly big thing. it pioneered ABC, but people say now that low prevelance rates have more to do with fewer people being tested. There are also adds all over the place warning against sugar daddies and IG sex. The radio spots are great if you are ever in the region. the day ended with a run to the internet cafe that was quickly aborted because the internet is lazy and slow and bootlegged DVDs.

Sunday was brunch at the serena, expensive but well worth it considering I didn't need to eat for two days following. We lazed around by the pool at the serena, gawked at the security measures, and watched the Aga Khan fly in on helicopters. Monday I went to the consulate and basically want to thank god and my parents that i am an american citizen. I was placed at the head of the cues and was generally hustled though the whole process. I got a brand new (temporary) passport in less than 30 minutes and was free to leave the country, which I did at 8 pm that night, following some eating, some television, and the 45 minute drive from Kampala to Entebbe. All in all, I am delighted to be home.

Trachoma, Masaailand, Company Towns, and Technical Difficulties

2007-08-14T10:22:00.000+03:00

This trip actually happened a while ago, but I just got the photos today. Magadi is a region of kenya known mostly for its alkaline soda lake (Lake Magadi which was featured in The Constant Gardener as Lake Turkana). I went out for work to visit some AMREF self-help groups in the Masaailand of Magadi. It was quite cool. They have a great community health component which focuses on the control, treatment, and eradication of trachoma in the area. trachoma is passed through flies and contaminated water. AMREF supports the women by training them as community health workers, teaching them to build VIP latrines, and changing water behavior uses. Visiting the groups was probably the best part of the day.

Then we toddled off to the town of Magadi. Magadi has one industry of note, a soda bottle factory. They use some of the salts from Lake Magadi in the processing. Magadi town is entirely owned by the Soda Factory. it has a very odd west virginia coal mining vibe. I kept hearing "15 tons and what do you get, another day older and deeper in debt" as we wandered around looking for food and water. It was sort of strange to see old masaai mzees sitting by a heated swimming pool.

Our last site invovled a 2.5 hour drive through hell to the more inhabited part of magadi. In the foothill of the mountains there is lots of water (not so in the rest of magadi which is unbearable dry and dusty), and there is a very nice clinic nestled up there. Although the clinic was very nice and a very good place to go if you ever find yourself ill in Magadi, it was not quite worth the bumps, dust, and bruises sustained on the drive out there. The roads were made worse by the repair work. Every 20 feet or so we had to offroad around a culvert repair. it would have been fine had we been warned to take the 4 wheel drive vehicle. We got stuck on the way back. The effort in the image was ultimatly unsuccessful. We dug out the tires with our bare hands, jacked the car up to put rocks under the tires, and eventually escaped. I haven't been that dirty in a long, long time.

Its Hard to Be An Ass on Lamu: The Adventures of Captain Mango, Pineapple, and Kikoy

2007-08-13T09:16:00.000+03:00

Nairobi is cold! Damp, gray, drizzling, and cold, so I was beyond delighted when some friends suggested that we run away to Lamu for the weekend. Lamu is a pole pole type island off the kenyan coast. It has 40 some mosques and about 2 cars. Our entire point for being there was to sit in the sun, shop for silver, and eat fish in as many varieties as possible.

We flew down because otherwise its a 9 hour bus to mombasa and another 6 hours to the mainland by lamu. We landed at Manda airport, which is so laid back that its scary. Thatched roofs and a sand runway. its a short walk to the jetty and then a 10 minute ride on a "ferry" or anything that potentially floats with an outboard motor. On our flight, I met Coconut, a fisherman with a dhow. He arranged ferries and took us into the morass of Lamu town to find a cheap hotel for the next few days. Ultimately we stettled on the Archipelago Hotel by the waterfront. Lamu is fantastic for the lack of real pricing. "3500 for 3 people" says the proprieter. We gasp in shock and outrage and the price is lowered a bit. Then the haggling begins. We get the room for 3000, which is a bit more than we wanted to pay, but the sun is setting and there is wandering to be done. To fit in, we dubbed ourselves with Lamu-style nicknames. Captain Mango, Pineapple, and Kikoy were born.

We wandered into and out of sliver smiths (2 rings), tropical boutiques (yet more kiloys and kangas), and cafes (mango-passion juice, and chai tangawezi). Prices were given and negotiated, and compared to the shops of mombassa, everyone was very chill. If you didn't want to buy, you walked out and the proprietor said, "come again." its a refreshing change. we also found our way to the hotel Bahari at the far end of Lamu town. The rooftop verandah was spectacular, the lamu beds were beautiful, and the price was cheaper. We made arrangements to stay there the next night.

Dinner was had at Miraa, a rooftop restaurant with swahili food and swahili prices. Prawn curry and coconut rice was great; less so was the TV blaring an old episode of charmed, so we left shortly after getting food. Then we wandered back via Petley's Landing, for a beer. It is muslim island almost exclusively. So beer, wine, and booze can only be bought from some select locals. Petleys din of inequity was our haunt. We wrapped up the night with the wine we brought from Nairobi and an entertaining game of Kings.

Day two was our adventure with Coconut and his crew. Its a typical tourist adventure, but one definatly worth it. we set sail on the dhow at around 10 and set off for the channels. We were going fishing. I managed to catch a juvenile yellow snapper, which was beautiful, but hardly worth eating. It was fun. Then we were off to the beaches on Manda island for the more sun, sea, and sand. Coconut, et all cooked up a lunch for us. Coconut rice, salad, fruit, and fish cooked in hot coals. It was a basically perfect day. We came back and some more tuskers at petleys. More fish for dinner, and a lazy evening sitting on the roof of the Bahari. We saw scorpio and the leonids star shower.

Day three was our last day. how sad! We wandered and ambled for a bit. Found a man who swore his wife did the best henna on the island. So I got my hands done. I will have the memory of heat and tropics on my hands for the next two weeks. Eventually though, we had to make our way back to Manda airport. Upon arrival we were told that the plane was delayed for an hour. Captain mango and Pineapple changed into swim suits and went off for a swim. I wandered around a bit and read. There is not exactly a whole lot to do on manda island, particularly on that end. Also, I got rabidly sunburned on my shoulders on the dhow trip. So any sun was painful.

Unfortunately the plane was only delayed and not cancelled. We went off at 4:00 and were back in Nairobi at 6. Que barbaridad! Nairobi is slightly warmer than a remember, but that might be the heat that my shoulders are generating. Pictures will be forthcoming!

The Blogging Begins

2007-07-30T11:24:00.000+03:00

In preparation for my peace corps departure, the blogging begins. Easier I suppose than mass e-mails, where invariably i will forget someone, and better for Turkmenistan where internet is rarely available, I have high hopes for this endevor.

Currently, i am an international consultant, which sounds far cooler than the glorified intern that I am, writing health materials for a women's microsavings and literacy program in Nairobi. Its fantastic to be home with the mother, the dog, and Africa. Its a refreshing break between the hectic demands of academia and the future demands of Turkmenistan.

I will be heading back to the states on the 15th of September for two frantic weeks of good byes and then to Turkmenistan on the first of October.