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.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
I know that You’re Leaving, You Must Have Your Reasons written July 26, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
We’re The Kids in America written July 13
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!
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!
Friday, July 11, 2008
All Apologies: written July 6 2008
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
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!
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!
Sunday, June 8, 2008
I Was Out There And You Found Me June 3, 2008
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
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
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)