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.
Friday, March 14, 2008
You'd Better Get Right Before You Get Left
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…
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…
Friday, March 7, 2008
Pictures Don't belong in Frames
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
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?
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!
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