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!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
My Town, My Guy and Me Written May 20, 2009
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?
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?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Dream about how to make your life better written May 14, 2009
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.
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
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.
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.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Radio's playing a tune from the country written April 29, 2009
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.
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.
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