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
Friday, March 7, 2008
If I could fame my mind, where would it hang?
If a picture is worth a thousand words, I’m being verbose.
Give Me The Words That Tell Me Everything
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.
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
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
I Got 99 Problems...
...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!
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!
Friday, February 8, 2008
Video Killed The Radio Star
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.
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
Written February 7
As the previous post mentioned, February is turning out to be a rocking awesome time in the short span of KT in the Peace Corps. Each day just seems to get better than the last, which is weird. I use weird a lot these days. I keep bracing myself for a crash—to be lonesome, homesick, frustrated, and wretchedly ill—and it hasn’t come. That partially worries me, but for the moment I am enjoying the settled feeling I am starting to get.
I have a routine that I like and I, rather than Peace Corps, am responsible for creating. Also, I am getting to a point where deviations from the routine aren’t causes for stress and panic but new adventures. I embrace the weddings, the summons from neighbors to kiss babies, and the lingerie parties that happen periodically in the clinic. Some of the nurses have side jobs buying things at the bazaar and reselling them at work. It’s a sweet deal and someday I will figure out how the Chinese size bras.
I am making friends. I am teaching the pharmacist at my clinic English; he is incredibly bright and already knows about as much English as I speak Turkmen. His wife is Uzbek, and I’ve been invited for better palow when the official restriction on my whereabouts is lifted. Peace Corps whereabouts is less strict that GS, but still, I am Nyyazow bound for the next month or so. It chaffs a bit because people do want me to come visit, and in this land of hospitality an invitation to dinner usually extends to breakfast. That’s a rare quality of kindness.
I am also being included a bit in the medical discussions at my clinic. People have started to discuss symptoms and treatments when patients come it. Also, I have been taking a fair amount of blood pressure readings for the Hypertension project that I am not really implementing. I feel a bit bad about it, but despite my strides in language, anything more complicated than a discussion of Hilary versus Obama is beyond me. American politics are an interesting topic here.
As the previous post mentioned, February is turning out to be a rocking awesome time in the short span of KT in the Peace Corps. Each day just seems to get better than the last, which is weird. I use weird a lot these days. I keep bracing myself for a crash—to be lonesome, homesick, frustrated, and wretchedly ill—and it hasn’t come. That partially worries me, but for the moment I am enjoying the settled feeling I am starting to get.
I have a routine that I like and I, rather than Peace Corps, am responsible for creating. Also, I am getting to a point where deviations from the routine aren’t causes for stress and panic but new adventures. I embrace the weddings, the summons from neighbors to kiss babies, and the lingerie parties that happen periodically in the clinic. Some of the nurses have side jobs buying things at the bazaar and reselling them at work. It’s a sweet deal and someday I will figure out how the Chinese size bras.
I am making friends. I am teaching the pharmacist at my clinic English; he is incredibly bright and already knows about as much English as I speak Turkmen. His wife is Uzbek, and I’ve been invited for better palow when the official restriction on my whereabouts is lifted. Peace Corps whereabouts is less strict that GS, but still, I am Nyyazow bound for the next month or so. It chaffs a bit because people do want me to come visit, and in this land of hospitality an invitation to dinner usually extends to breakfast. That’s a rare quality of kindness.
I am also being included a bit in the medical discussions at my clinic. People have started to discuss symptoms and treatments when patients come it. Also, I have been taking a fair amount of blood pressure readings for the Hypertension project that I am not really implementing. I feel a bit bad about it, but despite my strides in language, anything more complicated than a discussion of Hilary versus Obama is beyond me. American politics are an interesting topic here.
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