buying meat central asia style...someone's having chorba tonight!
the procedure for camel weighing...
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
5,025,600
Written January 16th, 2008
I meant to post this blog much closer to Dec. 23rd, which would mark the official end of my first year of service. Unfortunately life and laziness took over, and I find myself somewhat delayed. Apologies.
I’ve passed a milestone, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. Like the Broadway score, I don’t quite know how to measure my accomplishments. Should it be in cups of tea? In tears shed? In camels milked? I probably could concoct a whole Harper’s index on the numbers that have made this year meaningful.
2008: Coldest winter since 1969
14: months I went without seeing my parents
1:5000: ratio of new money to old money now that they’ve introduced new currency
3,000: cost of a liter of gas, up from 300
7,000: cost of a taxi now, up from 4,000 last January
9: number of excellent T-16 Mary volunteers still here
0: number of T-16 Mary volunteers that left
7: number of T-15s who arrived in Mary
3: number who COS-ed
1: marriages in my host family
6: days that I was obligated to do something wedding related
2: vacations I have taken
1: times I’ve had giardia
But, however fun these numbers are to think about, they aren’t real. It doesn’t capture the depression of surviving the coldest winter since 1969, the feeling of numb toes inside 3 pairs of socks, the terror of driving in a Lada on an icy road, or the joy of seeing something, anything, finally turning green and alive. The numbers don’t capture the visceral homesickness that is as debilitating as a real disease. And, there’s no way to explain how fantastic it felt to be hugged after so many months of wanting to be.
There is no number to correspond to the feeling I get when a small child asks to shake my hand on his way to school, when a colleague explains some salacious oba gossip over cookies, when my host brother asks me to play soccer, or when my grandfather lets me watch news in English. I can’t count how many times I took the final curve in my road, saw the water tower in the distance, and thought, ‘thank god, I’m home.’ Equally numerous are the times I saw the same sight and thought, ‘I never want to see this place again.’
I was hoping that after a year I’d have more of a clue, but I don’t really.
I meant to post this blog much closer to Dec. 23rd, which would mark the official end of my first year of service. Unfortunately life and laziness took over, and I find myself somewhat delayed. Apologies.
I’ve passed a milestone, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. Like the Broadway score, I don’t quite know how to measure my accomplishments. Should it be in cups of tea? In tears shed? In camels milked? I probably could concoct a whole Harper’s index on the numbers that have made this year meaningful.
2008: Coldest winter since 1969
14: months I went without seeing my parents
1:5000: ratio of new money to old money now that they’ve introduced new currency
3,000: cost of a liter of gas, up from 300
7,000: cost of a taxi now, up from 4,000 last January
9: number of excellent T-16 Mary volunteers still here
0: number of T-16 Mary volunteers that left
7: number of T-15s who arrived in Mary
3: number who COS-ed
1: marriages in my host family
6: days that I was obligated to do something wedding related
2: vacations I have taken
1: times I’ve had giardia
But, however fun these numbers are to think about, they aren’t real. It doesn’t capture the depression of surviving the coldest winter since 1969, the feeling of numb toes inside 3 pairs of socks, the terror of driving in a Lada on an icy road, or the joy of seeing something, anything, finally turning green and alive. The numbers don’t capture the visceral homesickness that is as debilitating as a real disease. And, there’s no way to explain how fantastic it felt to be hugged after so many months of wanting to be.
There is no number to correspond to the feeling I get when a small child asks to shake my hand on his way to school, when a colleague explains some salacious oba gossip over cookies, when my host brother asks me to play soccer, or when my grandfather lets me watch news in English. I can’t count how many times I took the final curve in my road, saw the water tower in the distance, and thought, ‘thank god, I’m home.’ Equally numerous are the times I saw the same sight and thought, ‘I never want to see this place again.’
I was hoping that after a year I’d have more of a clue, but I don’t really.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Picture Perfect
Me at Merv
Sultan Sanjar's Mausoleum, restored by the Turkish government
Mummy, Daddy and I at a wishing tree. I'm wearing my favorite koynek in case you wanted to know
An anchient and impressive fortress at Merv with very tiny looking German tourists
Seeing Sultan Sanjar's Mausoleum from inside the above fortress at Merv
Some more anchient things in Turkmenistan
The offerings at Talkuchka Bazaar...
Somewhere around the really big mosque...please note the rocking awesome sunglasses...high five kabuldan
An offering for fertility at the mosque ruins in Annew
the parentals and I in ashgabat with tea because that's my life
Friday, December 19, 2008
She Knows It’s To Late As You’re Walking Away written December 8, 2008
This has been a season of change and turmoil, which is one of the reasons that I’ve been a bit absent as a blogger. I didn’t—and still don’t—quite know how to explain how my world his being reshaped around me. I know I’m making this more melodramatic than it ultimately is, but it really does feel like everything is crashing down about my ankles, with something unknown emerging from the rubble.
The crashing down bit refers to the departure of the T-15s. In Mary, it was ultimately 3 out of an original 7 that managed to close their service. This means they were successful in their 2-year bid. For me, the 15s were this combination of friends, teachers, leaders, and gods. By the time we arrived at site, they had it down. They could find the post office, the cheapest beer, and a taxi to the airport at 4 am. Over this past year, some of the stardust and glamour has worn off as I have become more ept at being in Turkmenistan, but my admiration and awe at them has grown. Dave, Jess, and Mo were just amazing. Now, they are gone. They left in the first week of December, and I’m left with this strange combination of emotions. I am so proud that they made it, but despondent at their departure. I am happy for their futures, but jealous that I’m not there with them. Saying goodbye is part of this experience, but that doesn’t make it an easy one.
As far as emerging from the rubble, the new volunteers (the T-17s) have arrived at site. In Mary, there are 7 fresh-faced teachers—3 health and 4 English, 3 girls and 4 boys. They arrived at site yesterday. I wish them all the best, but I can’t help being apprehensive at the new dynamics that they will bring. The 16s in Mary have bonded during the past year. We may not be the best of friends always, but we fit in this comfortable, familiar way. New people may change that. I don’t doubt that this change will ultimately be for the better, but change—regardless—makes my stomach hurt.
So to the 15s when and if you read Turkmen blogs—you are sorely missed. No body can replace you, and I hope that only great things are happening right now. You deserve them all. To the 17s, who may have time and money to waste at the internet café, welcome. I really am excited to get to know you guys, and despite my irrational nervousness and fear of the unknown, I think this year will be great in large part due to you.
The crashing down bit refers to the departure of the T-15s. In Mary, it was ultimately 3 out of an original 7 that managed to close their service. This means they were successful in their 2-year bid. For me, the 15s were this combination of friends, teachers, leaders, and gods. By the time we arrived at site, they had it down. They could find the post office, the cheapest beer, and a taxi to the airport at 4 am. Over this past year, some of the stardust and glamour has worn off as I have become more ept at being in Turkmenistan, but my admiration and awe at them has grown. Dave, Jess, and Mo were just amazing. Now, they are gone. They left in the first week of December, and I’m left with this strange combination of emotions. I am so proud that they made it, but despondent at their departure. I am happy for their futures, but jealous that I’m not there with them. Saying goodbye is part of this experience, but that doesn’t make it an easy one.
As far as emerging from the rubble, the new volunteers (the T-17s) have arrived at site. In Mary, there are 7 fresh-faced teachers—3 health and 4 English, 3 girls and 4 boys. They arrived at site yesterday. I wish them all the best, but I can’t help being apprehensive at the new dynamics that they will bring. The 16s in Mary have bonded during the past year. We may not be the best of friends always, but we fit in this comfortable, familiar way. New people may change that. I don’t doubt that this change will ultimately be for the better, but change—regardless—makes my stomach hurt.
So to the 15s when and if you read Turkmen blogs—you are sorely missed. No body can replace you, and I hope that only great things are happening right now. You deserve them all. To the 17s, who may have time and money to waste at the internet café, welcome. I really am excited to get to know you guys, and despite my irrational nervousness and fear of the unknown, I think this year will be great in large part due to you.
Gather the Grain and Share the Wine written December 9, 2008
This is a belated account of perhaps the best thanksgiving I have yet celebrated. Thanksgiving has always been a favorite holiday of mine. It is a holiday to celebrate being together with friends, neighbors, and family. It can be religiously based, but not necessarily. There is a basic menu (turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and biscuits), but the trimmings and fixings are left to whim and tradition. No one’s thanksgiving is ever quite the same as anyone else’s, which makes it a fantastic holiday to share and reinvent.
So, thanksgiving in Turkmenistan…we had the basic menu. Halley raised and slaughtered with the aid of Clemens two turkeys. We had at least 4 kilos of mashed potatoes, and enough stuffing to stuff both turkeys and two casserole dishes. I baked the biscuits and they didn’t entirely suck. I was pleased with this, as it was the first time that I had made biscuits that didn’t come from a Pillsbury tube. We also had salad with real ranch dressing, beets with walnuts, carrots, squash, pretzels, pumpkin pie, brownies, and molasses sugar cookies. It was a feast for the ages.
A fun aside about the turkey slaughter—the actual death of the birds took place at dawn on Thanksgiving Day. I know dawn sounds melodramatic, but with dawn is at about 7:45 at this point. If we wanted thanksgiving at all, the turkeys had to die before the sun came up. I was not actually present at the event. Watching things die causes infertility, plus I had to work. Clemens was the chief executioner, and Halley his able-bodied assistant. Apparently the death part went well. There was a sharpened blade, and a mercifully quick deathblow. Halley and Clemens then took the carcasses to defeather them. They were working on the larger of the two birds when Halley’s host mom came out and said, “Halley-jan, where’s the other turkey?”
Yes, the dead bird had vanished. Clemens and Halley—I imagine—started running around like chickens with, well, their heads cut off. That image is sort of a cross between a bad pun and poorly placed irony, but it’s the best I can do. Finally, a small child who had been watching the Americans tells them that the dog has the bird. Yes, a dog stole our turkey. Clemens stepped up and did some serious battle and managed to wrest most of the bird from the jaws. In the end we lost most of the neck and one of the breasts. Rabies does die when you cook it at 420 degrees for four hours, right?
The meal was also the fond farewell for the T-15s all of whom left for greener pastures the following week. Angela made the most amazing tribute DVD. It was clips, music, and photos of a year’s adventures together. We had scenes at Merv, Ashgabat, conferences, and just hanging out. I cried a bit by the end. It’s hard to see friends go, but it really hard when they are as amazing as the 15s.
So, thanksgiving in Turkmenistan…we had the basic menu. Halley raised and slaughtered with the aid of Clemens two turkeys. We had at least 4 kilos of mashed potatoes, and enough stuffing to stuff both turkeys and two casserole dishes. I baked the biscuits and they didn’t entirely suck. I was pleased with this, as it was the first time that I had made biscuits that didn’t come from a Pillsbury tube. We also had salad with real ranch dressing, beets with walnuts, carrots, squash, pretzels, pumpkin pie, brownies, and molasses sugar cookies. It was a feast for the ages.
A fun aside about the turkey slaughter—the actual death of the birds took place at dawn on Thanksgiving Day. I know dawn sounds melodramatic, but with dawn is at about 7:45 at this point. If we wanted thanksgiving at all, the turkeys had to die before the sun came up. I was not actually present at the event. Watching things die causes infertility, plus I had to work. Clemens was the chief executioner, and Halley his able-bodied assistant. Apparently the death part went well. There was a sharpened blade, and a mercifully quick deathblow. Halley and Clemens then took the carcasses to defeather them. They were working on the larger of the two birds when Halley’s host mom came out and said, “Halley-jan, where’s the other turkey?”
Yes, the dead bird had vanished. Clemens and Halley—I imagine—started running around like chickens with, well, their heads cut off. That image is sort of a cross between a bad pun and poorly placed irony, but it’s the best I can do. Finally, a small child who had been watching the Americans tells them that the dog has the bird. Yes, a dog stole our turkey. Clemens stepped up and did some serious battle and managed to wrest most of the bird from the jaws. In the end we lost most of the neck and one of the breasts. Rabies does die when you cook it at 420 degrees for four hours, right?
The meal was also the fond farewell for the T-15s all of whom left for greener pastures the following week. Angela made the most amazing tribute DVD. It was clips, music, and photos of a year’s adventures together. We had scenes at Merv, Ashgabat, conferences, and just hanging out. I cried a bit by the end. It’s hard to see friends go, but it really hard when they are as amazing as the 15s.
Friday, December 5, 2008
All Apoogies
To all my loyal readers. I know that many of you rely on this blog to keep track of my life, and I'm sorry it's been bland as of late. These past few months have been insane with work, life, and trying to take the first steps out. I'm taking my LSATs on Sunday. Anyway, this is a solemn promise that there will soon be blogs on thanksgiving, UNICEF, and a very kenyan christmas
KT
KT
Friday, November 14, 2008
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