On calling me

I must correct a mistake I made when I wrote about my information here on the lake. First, my number is 03943.52517. I have fixed that other post. I forgot the second "3". I think that, when you call, you omit the initial zero from the number. The country code is 996, and there is a 14-hour difference between the West Coast and my home. You can buy calling cards for the Stans, I'm told, from Middle Eastern and Russian grocers quite cheaply. I hope to hear from you soon. Love and Happy New Year. -MJ

Happy Christmas

I spent Christmas Eve teaching at my school. I am not sure if you can really call it teaching. We finished up talking about a project we were working on and, then, I let the students play games and listen to music. I spent all morning and afternoon cleaning my classroom and organizing the small resource room. Half way through the day, we had a teachers' meeting, which involved a couple shots of vodka and some cold mutton. I returned to my classroom and started dancing. I realized that I am that out-of-touch teacher now, unable to gyrate to the erratic rhythms of the new generation. I am that weird teacher who tries to be the students' friend while the students inquisitively wonder from what 1992 club I have been imported from. I dance to C&C Music Factory when some nondescript (to me), posthuman pop artist drones on in synthetic waves. The classroom was terribly dirty, so I had some help from the emaciated, slightly psychotic janitor, who swept and mopped my classroom while I hung up posters and had a characteristic obsessive fit. It was a nice Christmas Eve. I went into the nearby town, Cholpon-Ata, for some internet and macaroni, cheese, and egg. At the cafe, I started talking to the cook, who coincidentally only speaks Russian and understands a little Kyrgyz. He is called Stanislav, and he is a Pole whose family immigrated here during the USSR's heyday. He was pretty wasted. I was still buzzing from the early afternoon symposium, so I had a beer with him. He chose, on the other hand, to drink another tumbler of vodka, setting him well over the edge. He was convinced (or convinced himself) that he needed to help me get back to my home in Dalinka, "little valley" in Russian. In reality, I was meeting some volunteers who were coming down from the other side of the lake to have a few drinks and head over to my friend and fellow volunteer Roselle's house. Men here are much more affectionate in weird ways than at home. We held hands in the middle of the street as he insisted that I needed to go home. I am still trying to reconcile how the men here can be so macho while simultaneously completely physically lovey to each other. I ended up helping him to a taxi and heading out to a cafe with my friend, Josh. Last week teaching was an improvement. However, students continued to bother me during my class by pounding on my doors. Thus, the "uyat sessions" begin. "Uyat" means shame, and Kyrgyz culture is based on the shame/honor binary (akin to the Golden Age Athenians) and uses it to regulate people's behavior. The "uyat sessions" work as follows. Students, generally in pairs, come to my door while I am conducting class and either attempt to open the door obnoxiously or knock at the door vigorously. They don't suspect that I am able to get to the door and detain them with lightening reflexes. I take them to the director's office, and 15 minutes later, they come back to my room. In front of my class, they are asked why they chose to act in such a way and reprimanded for committing such shameful acts to a guest and volunteer. Then, my students dig into them asking them, "Why?" as well. The sign of shame is to take the index finger and touch the outside corner of your eye and run the finger down like a teardrop. It is all sort of funny if you aren't Kyrgyz, I can attest. Next week, I am on break but will work on the first stages of grant writing with the other teachers and conduct a teaching methodology seminar for interested teachers. At the end of next week is the New Year, which disturbingly resembles our Christmas celebration. My first Christmas away from home in my life. It is strange how today I oscillate from relief that I don't have to deal with the stress to nostalgia about my family and friends. About ten volunteers and I are having a dinner at Roselle's. I plan to take it easy and tuck in after that. It is sunny and crisp today, and I can see the immaculate mountains and the enormous lake for miles in every direction. I wish you a Merry Christmas and will be back before the New Year. With so much love. -MJ

Keeping it real

I finished my second week of teaching. It's getting easier. I think that, despite Machiavelli's convictions, it is important to win peoples' hearts for their respect rather than scaring the hell out of them. I think that my meanness must have been really transparent to the students. This week, we played baseball on Thursday for two hours, which went over really well. I also hosted the first Ecology club at the school, and we walked to the lake. It was a meeting in an attempt to start to raise ecological awareness. Remember when we were kids and we had to learn about recycling and the animals that were disappearing (that are mostly now extinct)? Nothing like that really exists here unfortunately, but I am trying to start an organization at the school. Today, at the teacher's meeting, I asked the teachers to brainstorm what they think the school needs, so I can start researching which grants are available for us. Despite my grandiose expectations for what I would be writing a grant, the school needs basic amenities like hygenic toliets and heat. I am moving in the direction of figuring out how to find money to help the school with these projects. The previous volunteer was called Mikko, so I have an alias now. It is Mikko. All of the kids who don't know me call me Mikko. I have developed a really strong relationship with my family. My host father is rad. Last night he pulled out his double barreled shotgun and taught me how to shoot it. I mentioned to him that my dad has a couple of shotguns at home for when the "bad men" come. He also pulled out his Communist party card from during the Union. He loves the notion of the Union, and I am convinced more and more that it was something special. He talked about how all the different nationalities remained but they were patriotic over their broader Union. Sound familiar to our own? He said that Kyrgyzstan is democratic now. And that if the Communists came around, he would be a Communist again. He is also really Muslim at the same time. Contradictions in people foster their greatness, I think. I have gotten back into the habit of writing letters for everyone. The post office is convienently located across the street from the school, so I can go over on my lunch break. Everyday I sit in the cafeteria and have my tea and fried potatoe bread. I write my letters, read my book, and plan lessons. I am finding my way here. My skin is almost completely back to normal due to a lack of stress and normal digestion. Last night, this old Russian lady needed help to find the main street near my house. She would only speak to me in Russian. She was frightened by the vicious dogs on my street and was disoriented about that much I am sure. She spoke Russian during the ten minute walk and was explaining herself, which was precious. When we made it to the main road, the only road with street lights, she thanked me and we parted ways. Weird things like that happen here. Another comic antecdote happened Wednesday during my third through fifth classes. I had some diarrhea come on, and I had to leave my classes to use the outhouse. The students were really relaxed about it all. I guess that they were used to the teacher leaving for twenty minutes at a time to rip some ass. I wish everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukah! I will be back on by New Years. I got some photographs back that I will scan in as soon as I can. I love you guys. I have received a lot of letters this week. I feel loved. You should feel loved as well. -MJ

Sunday morning brings the dawn in

Regrouping on a Sunday afternoon and actually working on emails and not just evaporating into cyberreality for an hour. I am amazed by how conservative my new family is, especially my host father. He says prayers in Arabic before and after meals. When we drove by a cemetary on the way to the bazaar, he placed his hand over his heart, which is a respectful Muslim gesture. He has this Arabic verse placard hanging from the mirror where the fluffy, hot pink dice would normally go in the United States. I think that my classes were sort of a bust last week. I need to figure out how to make grammar interesting. I'm sure that thousands of years of Latin and Greek teachers (mostly monks) pondered this question standing in front of a room of naughty children. I am making chili tonight at home. Cooking in a Kyrgyz kitchen always requires improvization and imagination. I really like the pool in the nearby village, and I am going back there today. I was thinking yesterday about how where I am living now was restricted to Russians and other Soviet people. It is a hidden paradise. I swim in a pool from the seventies and imagine the hoardes of Soviet vacationers who must have come here twenty or thirty years ago. I was swimming in a pool where no American could have before the USSR fell. Weird, eh? I am running out of minutes on the computer. With love. -MJ

My first week as a teacher

I finished my first week of teaching this morning. I am astonished by how difficult teaching English to people in a language that I only learned three months ago actually is. I talked to Kenneth on the phone this morning, ate some mac and cheese at a local cafe, and checked my email. I received a few messages on Friendster, and I read that E. Darling has moved to Santa Fe. Looking at Friendster further drove home that I am far away from life as I knew it at home. The previous volunteer at my school taught the students words but no grammar. Most of the students are at a first grade level with their English, but not for much longer with my bad ass whipping them into shape. I am also teaching little kids, which I have the most fun doing of all. We sing "Heads, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes," truly a classroom classic. I get to act like an idiot, and I don't have to be dissapointed that they don't know any English. I start my clubs and such next week.
I went to a rocking, Kyrgyz party at my director's house on Thursday afternoon. We drank fortified Moldovan wine (read Night Train) and drank vodka. I hung out with all the old ladies who teach at the school, and we got really drunk and sang songs to each other. We eat "Beshbarmak" which means five fingers. It is a plate of mutton, rice, and carrots that you eat with your hands. This whole custom makes a lot more sense when you are buzzing and ready to eat some meat.
I got pretty homesick this week, but I wrote some letters and felt better. I am going swimming in a pool in a nearby village where Olympic athletes from this part of the world train. I saw the Kazakh bike time riding by on the main road on the North Beach of the lake today. Fantastic. Will write more later when I feel like I have more to say. -MJ

A little freaked out at my permanent site

I finally made it to my final destination in Kyrgyzstan on Lake Issyk-Kul in the village, Kara-Oi. I came down from Bishkek on Saturday. We had our Swearing-In ceremony in Bishkek on Friday. The US Ambassador to Kyrgyzstan and high-ranking Kyrgyz government officials also attended and spoke. We sang a traditional Kyrgyz song and had a reception in the Philharmonic. I was sitting in the front row and felt nervous about all the eyes concentrating on me for an hour. We had a reception in the Philharmonic before heading over to the Ambassador's house for another reception with pizza and "gambugers" (Russians don't pronounce "h"). I met the Afghan Ambassador, hung out with the US Ambassador's secretary, and talked with the man who is in control of the first free press in Kyrgyzstan. He was pretty crazy and talked about aliens and a secret garden in Kyrgyzstan by the lake where the Soviets allegedly planted every plant species they knew about. He also wondered where the booze was and cursed the puritanical Peace Corps regulations. That night, we went out to Indian food, and a few of us sat in the lobby, chatted and drank some beers. That was the last time that we were all together.

The next day, on Saturday, I hung out with one of my neighbors on the lake and visited the Osh Bazaar in Bishkek where she bought a Persian cat. I also talked to my mom the first time since I left the country but only for about ten minutes. A note about Bishkek. I didn't understand how the phone system worked when I was in the Telekom office at first. You buy your credit before you talk and then you dial the number in a booth. I kept getting through to my home in California, but mom couldn't hear me. I asked around in Kyrgyz for help. Although all the people, for the most part, in the office were Kyrgyz, they would only speak to my in Russian, which I don't speak. People only speak Russian in Bishkek and will rarely engage you in Russian even if they are ethnically Kyrgyz-a vestige from the Soviet imperial yoke. Eventually, someone explained to me that you have to dial a "3" on the rotary phone (counterintuitive, huh?) once the other person picks up the phone. On the way down, my friend and I hired a taxi for the three hour ride. Bishkek had received some snow, and the roads were icy. Our ride was going well until we hit the mountains that create a wall around the lake and separate the Chui Oblast from the Issyk-Kul Oblast. The lack of sun on part of the road lead to obscene amounts of black ice. We fishtailed and spun around in the taxi three times. It was fucking scary. I have never done anything like that before and we could have fallen into a canyon about 500 feet below into a freezing river. It was weird because I had an intuition about this before it happened.

I made it home and unpacked my bags. I gave an Uno deck and stickers to some of my siblings. The Kyrgyz were really impressed with Uno. The humor of someone taking a lot of cards and getting skipped over a lot carries over into Kyrgyz culture. I have a nice and large family. I live a ten-minute walk from the lake and a twenty-minute walk from my school. Every morning, I can see the sunrise over the mountains across the lake; the sunrise illuminates the lake with apricot and grapefruit hues. Yesterday, I went to the local bazaar for food and hung out with my director. I also took a banya and washed some clothes. This banya was much warmer and cleaner than mine in Kegety. In Kegety, the animals would get into our banya and shit on the ground where we stand to clean ourselves. A fresh cow patty next to your feet, no matter how much soap you use, prevents you from feeling clean. We eat some plov: rice, carrots, and mutton. We drank some tea and exchanged stories and photos in Kyrgyz. Speaking of Kyrgyz, I think that I have hit one of the so-called language plateaus. I feel like I understan less now that I did two weeks ago, and I get frustated more quickly with the language. I think that in a few weeks I will adjust to the accent and tempo of the Kyrgyz on the lake.

Today, I went to the school and prepared my classroom and wrote up the skeleton of my class journals. I will be teaching four days a week, from Tuesday to Friday. I will be working with kids from the age of 13 to 18. I will also be working with small kids twice a week for thirty minutes. I started working with the little kids today. We played "Heads, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" and read an Eric Carsle book, "Have You Seen My Cat?" I meet with some of the new teachers and ate my lunch that I packed for myself in my new classroom by myself. I start teaching the older students tomorrow.

Even just being here for a few days, my experience has fundamentally changed here. First of all, I am alone. I don't get to speak English to anyone anymore except to my students who will probably not understand me. I have neighbors on the lake, but we are all busy getting our lives in order. Second, I am now an English teacher. I have never had a real job before, like an adult job. I guess that I started my first adult job today. Training was a hybrid of middle-school and a bad summer camp, so it doesn't really camp. Third, I am now living in the village where I will be living for the next two years. I feel a little more patient with getting to know people. I am still a little freaked out. I guess that it's hard to explain how it feels to be the only person like you all the time, an oddity, a side-show attraction as well as a respected member of the community. What are the words that capture a life without any habits and few familiarities. It is difficult to explain how it feels to never feel like you feel communicate what you are trying to say, not explaining what's up in your mother's tongue. I wouldn't say that I am having a culture shock, for it is clearly beyond that term. Culture shock is what happens to people who travel to Cancun or Western Europe for a few weeks with other Americans. I have never felt this way before, but that's excatly why I'm here to feel unlike I ever have before. And besides the head cold I have had for the last few days, I feel happy and productive. By my preceding comments, I am trying to explain this radically different lifestyle and not to cast a negative light on something constructive and worth-while.

I have taken a taxi in for a few hours to search for some more tape to hang up the rest of my maps (A big thanks to Janine!). I am getting caught up in my blog and neglecting my emailing again, but such is life here in Kyrgyzstan. I find that sometimes I lose track of time here working on something or writing. If you don't think that time is cultural conditioned, think again. I live in a place where I measure my time by cups of tea, snacks, and meals. I rarely even look at my watch here. I know that it's no excuse that "I was busy," but I was. As a result, I have neglected letter-writing. I am getting back on track now that I have a "home." I had to leave half of my stuff on the lake a few weeks ago, and I didn't really feel right due to high stress levels and a half empty room to come home to everyday. Like I wrote, I will write more letters now. I met with a German governmental organization that is working on a Preservation of the Issyk-Kul Biosphere project, and I think that I will use them for resources and to start formulating my plans for my grant-writing in my time off during this winter. All of my address and phone information are in a previous entry, and I would recommend that you write the address in Cyrllic instead of the Romanized version. Be sure to help the US post office by writing "Kyrgyz Republic" at the bottom of this address. A volunteer's parents were told that there was no such country as the Kyrgyz Republic or Kygyzstan, so beware of the unprecedented levels of ignorance. The internet office where I am now is quite good, and it will be my new hang out for writing emails. I start studying Russian this week. The school where I am also has two pianos: MOM send me my piano music. Look on the shelves in my room. To all who read this, I wish you the best. Say a little prayer for a smooth transition for me here.