Michael Jacobs in Kyrgyz Republic

The Sun Never Sets on My Empire

2005-07-18T06:52:00.000-07:00

I just passed a girl on the street who had a striped white and black shirt with a hot pink collar and the words written over her breasts, "NO TURNING BACK." I don't know how my eyes found their way looking at them (the words and breasts), but I find the breasts significant nevertheless.
There is no turning back for me. I will be on a plane in about seven hours heading first to Armenia, then London, then Chicago, then to a Geo.-Eliot-gone-wrong province of Northern California. I shaved my head this morning and bought a few Kyrgyz things at the bazaar that I will miss. I passed in all my paperwork to the bureaukrats, and I only owed the government $10.15 in the end. I thought, for whatever reason, that it would be more. I had my medical examination. I was deemed healthy, clean, and ready for reimmigration.
I talked to Ms Holly Pattenden on the telephone from her desk in London. Although she will be unable to visit me, she insists that I can still stay with her there when I am able and ready.
I have no sense of time. I have a flourescent, pulsating aether in my brain where only a few days ago I had a static resolve. Too many things have gone wrong/right to have brought me to this point. It's not a question of good or evil as much as letting life work itself out while I readjust and enjoy the things that I left behind when I came to Kyrgyzstan.
My time here ended before I thought it would. What continues is my inherent magnetism toward adventure, my curiosity in the world, and a naturally Epicurean propulsion. My strength is infinite, I have learned. I am not as insane as I once thought. I even might have something to say. I am convinced that I have something to do. To find out what happens, read the next blog which I will entitle in the air on the way back to America. I hereby retire this blog. Die young and stay pretty. -MJ

Don't Worry About The Government

2005-07-17T19:27:00.000-07:00

I see the clouds that move across the sky
I see the wind that moves the clouds away
It moves the clouds over by the building
I pick the building that I want to live in

I smell the pine trees and the peaches in the woods
I see the pinecones that fall by the highway
That's the highway that goes to the building
I pick the building that I want to live in

It's over there, it's over there
My building has every convenience
It's gonna make life easy for me
It's gonna be easy to get things done
I will relax alone with my loved ones

Loved ones, loved ones visit the building,
take the highway, park and come up and see me
I'll be working, working but if you come visit
I'll put down what I'm doing, my friends are important

Don't you worry 'bout me
I wouldn't worry about me
Don't you worry 'bout me
Don't you worry 'bout me

I see the states, across this big nation
I see the laws made in Washington, D.C.
I think of the ones I consider my favorites
I think of the people that are working for me

Some civil servants are just like my loved ones
They work so hard and they try to be strong
I'm a lucky guy to live in my building
They own the buildings to help them along

It's over there, it's over there
My building has every convenience
It's gonna make life easy for me
It's gonna be easy to get things done
I will relax along with my loved ones

Loved ones, loved ones visit the building
Take the highway, park and come up and see me
I'll be working, working but if you come visit
I'll put down what I'm doing, my friends are important

I wouldn't worry 'bout
I wouldn't worry about me
Don't you worry 'bout me
Don't you worry 'bout ME

Got a ticket for my destination

2005-07-15T05:55:00.000-07:00

I resigned from my Peace Corps service today. This decision was motivated by personal as well as professional considerations. I will be back in California on Monday night late. If you are interested in contacting me there, call 916/723-3894. I will be extremely busy in the next two days preparing everything and saying my goodbyes. I will look at emails during the weekend but won't have much time to respond. I am sad but am eagerly looking forward to the next step. I will write more about the (thought) process and circumstances leading up to this sometime soon. My plan is to wait for my money in California for a month and recuperate. I will then move to New York, find and work a job, and prepare for law school applications. If you have any housing or work leads, feel free to contact me. Madonna used to work at Dunkin' Donuts. I am in Bishkek now and need to get back to my village. This decision in some ways is as shocking to you as it is to me. With love. -MJ

Another method for contacting me

2005-07-07T22:47:00.000-07:00

First of all, I would like to express how deeply saddened I was by the news of the bomb explosions in London. My heart goes out to the Londoners affected by this tragedy.

I wanted to give you all another way to get ahold of me. You can text me from the internet for free. I can't text you back, but it's a great way for you to get in touch with me quickly. Here's how you can do it:

1. Go to www.bitel.kg
2. Click on a button that says "SMS Gate"
3. Type 482663 into the smaller box
4. Type your message into the larger box
5. Click the button that says "ОТПРАВИТЬ"
6. You have just sent me a text.

It could be fun for you when you are drunk and near a computer. Random text messages at three in the morning always entertain me. Love. -MJ

The CD player keeps causing my batteries to explode

2005-07-05T23:18:00.000-07:00

Natasha returned to the camp two days after the ankle injury. She also made a friend. For some reason, our group kept attracting "uncommunicatives" (as Nicole characterized our girls). The uncommunicatives kept to themselves and avoided talking to the other girls. I was excited to see that Natasha had returned; the camp didn't feel the same without her.
My CD player keeps causing my batteries to explode. The inside battery compartment is coated with a thin layer of battery acid. I guess that one shouldn't expect much more from buying a knock-off CD player in a market in Bangkok. It worked for awhile. I think it might still work with the adaptor it came with when plugged into a wall.
Again, my director has screwed the pooch and given my monthly salary away to my previous host family. As you might remember, she gave it to my "cooperating" teacher last month. I only lived at the first house for two and a half months, and I am approaching five whole months at my new house. This decision is confusing on the director's part. My host family has decided to try to resolve the situation on their own, calling the school administration a "mafia." Yet again, I wonder how am I meant to work on a grant projecct with someone who can't even get $20 to the right place every month despite hours of conversation. I am beyond the point of thinking that this is just a cultural confusion/miscommunication. She's just manipulating her power. I told her that, if there were any more violations of the contracts, I would be leaving the school. I am not planning to leave the school. I am put in a difficult situation to follow through with my threat from before and still maintain some sembalance of credibility in the school's eyes. I have heard from other teachers that there is a coup d'etat being planned by the collektiv in response to the director's continual failure to perform her job professionally at the school.
I had an excellent birthday. I hung out on the lake. Then, some volunteers and I went to my host mother's sister's Uighur cafe and had dinner on the grass under a bending canopy of trees in the summer cool. The food was delicious. Everyone gave a toast. I recited some random lines of Greek and Latin that came to my mind at the time. They brought us out a boombox so that we could dance. Delightful.
For the Fourth, we put together a BBQ on the beach. Even though I cooked all day, I was so excited to host everyone in my village. My plans were to enjoy my birthday and keep it relaxed and bust ass to make everyone comfortable at my house for the Fourth. My host father was freaking out on the Fourth. He actually fired all of the workers, including the Tajik baker, Amiraka. He later rehired them. I couldn't figure out if he was pissed off at me or not, so I decided to avoid him and cook. Later Amiraka and the worker came down to the beach for dinner. We had a small fire on the beach and ate. It was a magical Fourth far away from home.
I feel like I have been running around a lot with the camp, my birthday and the Fourth, and now preparing for the upcoming UN seminar and working with the Center. I am meeting with the Bishkek Director of the Biosphere to talk about my idea for the public education seminars this afternoon. I'm starting to work with a Fulbright scholar who works on agriculture on the south shore of the lake to bounce my ideas off her and see what she thinks.
Right around the time of my birthday, I got some packages, letters, and calls which made me feel special. Now I have most of my former music library that I foolishly left at home when I came here last September.
I have been working for half of the day and relaxing on the beach in the sun for the other half. I need to get some rest in this summer after the long span of stress that extends as far back as I can remember. I have found that I sleep a lot better if I take in two or three hours of sun a day. I also get a tan. I can practice my Russian on the beach because the wealthy Kazakhs and Russians never think that I'm American perhaps on account of the revealing Lycra with which I cover my loins.
My patience with absurdly ignorant people with whom I have to interact here is waning. I find myself more likely to completely ignore people who shout at me, treat me like shit, or attempt to overcharge me. I held out for nine months of trying to be a nice guy. I feel harder (maybe meaner) than before. In some ways, the summer here couldn't be better, but now that the tourists are here I am treated like a tourist. It doesn't exactly have the home feel to it that it had before tourists came pouring in.
At home, we eat outside under a gazebo. Our kitchen has also moved outside. It feels more like something you would see in SE Asia. We eat on tushuks and eat off a short table. Our rose bushes erupt in the background and compliment our conversations over tea. I got some photos of the original Kegety clan that made me emotional. There was such a delay in getting the photos of Thanksgiving through the beginning of December developed. It reminded me of how positive and exciting things were when we were getting ready to go to site. The photos made me lament that most of the people with whom I trained are now gone. My mom sent me photos of my brother, who was Junior Prom king, in the crown and with a sceptre (maybe I'm making the sceptre part up). I got a great photo of me right after I had slaughtered the turkeys holding them up with my first host family. I really need to make it out there to see his new baby.
The elections are coming up on the 10th, Sunday. You should check out the news if you're interested in what's going on here. I am sure that there will be coverage. A Kyrgyz translator for elections observers will be staying at my house, which should be fascinating. I must move on to write some emails. All the best. -MJ

In memoriam: Natasha

2005-06-28T09:31:00.000-07:00

Today was the beginning of the Girls’ Development Camp in Karakol, on the side of the lake closer to China. This camp was organized by two of the volunteers with whom I trained (and now revere), Mahima and Amy. Their camp includes various discussions of topics that relate to being a woman in Kyrgyzstan and other activities like the arts, sport, and healthy cooking. I am working with a volunteer, Nicole, who has come all the way out from Talas, as a counselor; it takes nearly ten hours to get here with a quality marshrutka. I have rarely seen Nicole since training, and we had similar interests for using ecology in the classroom during training. Spending time with Nicole has been a nice opportunity to catch up.
We started the camp today with three of the alleged 11 girls with whom we were supposed to work. We also had a translator and her friend show up. The morning consisted of mostly getting to know each other and introducing the camp. We had a third girl show up, whom Amy found in the hall of the school where we are working this week. Her name is Natasha. Whereas the other two girls possess a remarkable command of English, are extroverted, and Kyrgyz, Natasha took pride in her “modesty” and consciously avoided making eye contact with me during the first few hours. Natasha was wearing a yellow t-shirt that features the two protagonists of the Brazilian import soap opera (that recently ended) but over which people continue to obsess, “Klon.” She seemed intimidated by the group from the start, but I tried to use some of my Russian to ease her social awkwardness to no avail.
We had a photo scavenger hunt. We walked around the city and tried to find unique ways to fulfill the objectives of the hunt. This lasted an hour. We took a couple of interesting shots, including one of Natasha making a forced, funny face and giving the yuppie pistol fingers to the camera. In another one, I was “Flashdance” kicking while holding one of my camper’s hands in order to represent Equality. I can’t attest to the artistic integrity of the photos, but I can to how much fun it was to walk around a Kyrgyz city with a digital camera and solicit strangers for weird favors.
After lunch, our group of three was assigned to play sports. Our group is the smallest. We even had more translators and counselors than campers, but we played mean kickball. That was until an unfortunate, though perhaps feigned, sports injury occurred. We were up on the other team by at least three points deep into the third inning. Natasha approached the plate with more resolve than I had noticed in her before. She seemed confident despite her platform heels, which she wore with red socks. I have never seen women in Kyrgyzstan without wearing socks with sandals and open shoes such as those Natasha was wearing. When her foot hit the ball, the left shoe shot up into the air at a height of at least seven meters. She waited for the shoe to return to the ground before, powered by adrenaline, she bolted for first. Having arrived at first, she indicated “modestly” that she had hurt her ankle. We quickly ushered her off the playing field. She was taken upstairs and examined before being put into a taxi and sent home for the day. There were, I must report, some doubts about the seriousness of the injury, but the injury was treated with all seriousness. Then we were two.
The rest of the day went as we had expected. We all made our way to the kitchen where two male volunteers, Andy and Nick, had taught some of the girls how to make salad and dessert. We all ate together and reflected on the day. We took a group photograph shortly after and made our way home.
Over the last couple of days, I have gone out with volunteers hiking. We went on a hike outside Karakol for about five hours on Saturday. Nicole remarked how similar Kyrgyzstan’s wilderness compares to Switzerland. Yesterday we went to Jeti Oguz. “Jeti Oguz” means seven bulls, which the red crags at one time must have resembled, a congruity long gone or best understood riding on a horse having drunk a bottle. After hiking in for about two hours, we made it to the Valley of the Flowers where yellow wildflowers were exploding from under the moist earth. We also saw a traditional Kyrgyz yurt with a Jeep parked in front of it. We spoke to the residences, and a few courageous volunteers with refined palates managed to imbibe “komyz,” fermented mare’s milk. We sat under the sun and ate a simple lunch. It was good.
Today I have a wicked, wicked sunburn. I foolishly forgot to wear sunscreen and exposed myself to the sun for most of the day. It feels really different seeing the volunteers for me this time. Being around fewer volunteers than during our recent training, I have had a better chance and more time to understand where people are coming from, their experiences, problems, and successes. I see parts of myself in the other volunteers. I am filled with a sense of comfort. Sometimes it becomes really clear that there aren’t many Lisa Frank unicorns and cupcakes in Kyrgyzstan. I notice a juxtaposition of a few good things in everyone’s lives against a trying, at times hostile, backdrop. Those few students, families, landscapes, conversations, and realizations continually feed our souls and keep us here.
For my upcoming birthday, we are going to have shashlik (kebab) on the beach for the Fourth and my birthday. My host family wants to spend this day with me. The Tajik baker wants to drink some wine and dance to European techno as we did on my little host sister’s birthday. We will probably swim and play games in our swimming suits while consuming, celebrating. I don’t really mind having my birthday abroad. Maybe when I come back, people will forget that I aged at all (not likely). In the last year, I had a potential long-term relationship disintegrate, wrote a 300-page thesis, took a degree, tried out some other not-so-long-term relationships, stopped using products, was evicted from a hippie community, stopped buying Diesel, lived through a revolution in a small, post-Soviet Central Asian republic, had scabies for three-quarters of the year, learned two new languages, and traveled around the world into the unknown to live for two years.
For the entire next year of my life, I will be living in Kyrgyzstan. Maybe last year was the year of transitions. I wish that I could call Ms Cleo to know what’s next. Love. -MJ

A Call to Arms

2005-06-19T02:51:00.000-07:00

Friends, family, and readers:

I know that you are all extremely busy with the demands of the developed world. You all have many responsibilities to maintain your professional lives and everything it takes for you to live in your hectic, urban space. This is not patronizing as much as it is a preface. However, if any of you are interested in working with me on some small-scale projects, I would be more than open to your help. The following are simple projects that will have huge impacts for my community:

1. Reading Glasses Drive
This project would require you to place a box at the register at your local supermarket where people could place their used reading glasses. Many of my students as well as the general public here really need glasses, but they are unable to afford them. You can also place the receptacles in your church, temple, yoga studio, gym, &c. If you would like me to make a flyer that you could print out for the box, I would also be willing to work on this. I got this idea from a Peace Corps manual for community development. I could arrange to get money for postage to Kyrgyzstan once you get enough pairs together.

2. Oral History Project
The goal of this project is the preservation of a disappearing history by recording the life stories of the elderly member of my community. Many of the elderly have lived during a time before the Soviets, through the Soviet period and are now watching the transition toward democracy. The Kyrgyz take great pride in their history and culture. Often when you sit down with an elderly person, they will try to tell you their life story anyway so I might as well have a tape recorder. I want to work with my students to put the project together and donate it to our school’s “museum” or the Cholpon-Ata library. If anyone has background in oral history projects, please email me. I would probably just need some cassette tapes and to track down a tape player.

3. Postcard Scrapbook
I had mentioned this idea in a previous blog entry. You send me a postcard from where you live. Postcards generally feature fantastic photographs, which the kids really enjoy. I will put your postcard in a scrapbook so that the students can see where my friends live. It also works as a motivation for learning English to see places where people speak English. I will have my students write notes back to you, too. My students will feel more globally connected through your simple act of sending them a postcard. It’s significant but small.

4. Music Library
I will be writing a grant during this summer for a Technology Initiative for my school. I am hoping to get a television, one good computer for my classroom for work related to English, DVD player, some sound equipment, and a digital camera and, then, teach the teachers how to use these multimedia devices in their classrooms. I would love to develop a CD music library for the English classroom. I naturally am attracted to English-language music because I can use it in my class, but classical, opera, and world music should be included as well. I know that it doesn’t take that long to burn a couple of CDs and send them out (with a postcard, for example). Please include a playlist for the next volunteer who comes to my school or in case I do not recognize the music.

I am really busy with work now. I am helping with the United Nations Development Project on developing an ecological program. I will be away from my site from the end of July until sometime in the middle of August. I will work with UNDP volunteers and members of the community to show them techniques for living more ecologically aware and sustainable lifestyles. I will be showing them how to compost horse and/or cow manure in one of my lessons to enable them to use the fertilizer on nutrient-drained soil. I will be a camp counselor, starting next week for a week, with female youth at a Gender Development Camp for a week. In July, some of the volunteers who serve near me and I will be hosting a Healthy Lifestyles Camp twice each time for two days before I go to Bishkek for training for the UNDP project.

Outside of work, things are coming together as well. I have been in good health long enough to not be interrupted on concentrating on my work. In our garden, bouquets of vibrant red roses hang in clumps off the rose bush. The snow has melted off the mountains and brought green to the Central Asian steppe. We have started taking tea and our meals in an outdoor gazebo where we sit on Kyrgyz rugs for hours and converse in the dark, refreshing night. We have watermelon, strawberries, and cherries. My host father will take me to a waterfall tomorrow, and we will drink mare’s milk, komuz, in the mist of the waterfall. When my host father’s friend came from somewhere in the Middle East and saw the waterfall, he apparently fell into an ecstatic prayer session, quoting passages of the Koran impromptu. The sand on the beach is warm by eight in the morning and invites my pale, skinny being to lounge under the repressive strength of the Alpine sun. The water of Lake Issyk-Kul, though still slightly cold, is swimable. Some tourists from Europe, mostly Germany, have arrived. I’m excited for the summer and the upcoming projects and finally feel like my service has a direction. I have a clearer vision of where I am going with my work than before and the confidence and courage to make my mental image a reality. I feel strong and motivated.

I would like to remind everyone about my contact information:
Kyrgyzstan
Issyk-Kul Oblast
Issyk-Kul Rayon
722314 c. Kara-Oi
Sovietskaya 245
Michael Jacobs

Кыргызстан
Иссык-Кульская Обл.
Иссык-Кульский Рн.
722314 с. Кара-Ой
Советская 245
Майкл Джэйкобс

michaelljacobs@hotmail.com
tel. 996502482663 (cell) and 996394354068 (home)

If you are interested in helping me with those projects, I would really appreciate anything you would be able to do. With love. -MJ

Michael Jackson is not a child molester

2005-06-13T22:38:00.000-07:00

I spent the morning translating a document for probably the most important local ecologist in my area. His name is Azat Konurbaev. He called me this morning while I was having my coffee and asked me to help him. He has the charm of an Oxford tutor. He is constantly distracted by his 1950s rotary phone, doesn't hesitate to light up a cigarette in a room with no ventilation, and wears tweed--a lot of it. He was honored with a UNDP grant to expand a dwindling fish species' population in our lake. He has been studying some of the species in the lake for the last 25 years without a pause. He has written more books than any other ecologist on these fish species as well. He is amazing and so are his glasses, which are probably six to seven centimeters thick.
Then, I went over to the ecology center and pushed my idea for a public education project at the center. I want to host a series of seminars at the center that would be open to the public. The first would be an open house to the public with food and speakers and games for the kids. It would be mostly for publicity of the center and a time when we could introduce the center to the public. We will also talk about the lecture series at the center at this time. Over the following six to eight months, we will host talks at the center on a variety of themes that are accessible to the public on flora, fauna, conservation, ecosystem management, and personal responsibility for environmental issues. These are a few of my ideas. I talked to some people at the office today with the booklet on project management. I told them that I would return when they are ready to talk more seriously about these ideas.
I have been doing a lot better than I have been for the last month. I have been able to cook a lot more for myself. I have been studying Russian more seriously again now that I have time to sit down with my book. The sun is out; it inspires me to run and lay on the beach. Tourists have slowly begun to trickle into Cholpon-Ata mostly from Germany and other European states. At the end of the month, I will be working as a camp counselor at a youth development camp. I applied to work with the United Nations at the end of the summer for development project on the lake for the month of August.
I haven't really been inspired to write entries for my blog lately. I haven't even written letters that often lately. I have been trying the best I can to reach out and find projects and social connections in my community, a task that requires a lot of work I have found. On my off-time, I watch Russian MTV in my living room with my little brothers. We recently watched Terminator 2: Judgement Day on Russian TV. I started salivating after watching so many of the characters in the movie drink Pepsi products. I explained to the youngest brother that, if we have problems in California, Schwarzenegger will become the terminator and take care of business. For a four year old boy who believes in dragons, California became way cooler. I must say that I was glad to hear about M. Jackson's acquittal for his alleged child molestation charges. I was not, however, as glad as the woman who apparently released a white dove outside the courtroom after the decision. Jackson fans are truly vanguards.
I made Biryani rice for my family last night, which originates from Northern India. My host father loves it when I cook yoga food for everyone. Because it's always vegetarian, I can manage to feed everyone affordably. My host father shared some of his massage therapy stories, including a humorous one about an obese man who couldn't actually feel the touch of my host father's massage. I really want to post photos on my website, but the computers I use can't support the program, so I apologize for this perpetual deficency on my site. I will try to find somewhere in Bishkek where I can post photos for you all.
I am looking into taking the LSAT and GRE within the year. If anyone is interested in helping me get some of the preparation books and materials, please email me. It would be greatly appreciated. Much love. Hoorah for a free Wacko Jacko! -MJ

Summer adjustments

2005-06-02T03:24:00.000-07:00

Summer has arrived, and I am trying to find some viable projects aside from working on my tan on the beach. I have started showing up at the Ecology Center in order to show my interest in working with them. Unfortunately, they are not clear on what they want me to do. Typical Kyrgyzstan. You offer someone or an organization your undivided attention and help, but the people aren't really sure how to use me as resource. It's really the same way at the school. I have brought the information on grant-writing and grant applications to my director, but she hasn't really followed up with me. I understand that development must come from the community members. The project must be initiated by the community, and the volunteer should only function as a facilitator for the writing process. If the volunteer leaves and has done all the work, then the community members don't know how to organize development projects on their own. It's of the highest importance that the members of the community take initative in the process or else the grant becomes something closer to a handout.
This problem represents one of the walls that I have come up against during the first week of summer. I also have the issue that the people at the center only want me to teach English and translate their documents from Kyrgyz and Russian to English. When we had talked earlier, the programmers at the center wanted to include me on trips to see the different pilot projects set up by the German government. They suggested that they wanted to help me learn about the lake so that I could start to teach the kids on the lake about environmental issues utilizing the center. I have some work ahead of me to see if they will follow through on the story that they were telling me before. I have to remember to be patient as well and stop holding Kyrgyz people to an American work ethic.
I am trying to set up the GLOBE environmental education project at my school and have had more success with this. This project allows students to explore environmental issues using equipment provided by the GLOBE fund. The students measure such things as water and air quality and report the data onto a website where the statistics are registered with other students' statistics from all over the world. I think that it would be a great way to extend the work I have done with the students over the last seven months. Free science experiments are awesome especially when they help the kids to feel part of a larger community of students. I have our school's registration in the works now, and next time I get to Bishkek I will meet with the country coordinator for the project.
It was great to reconnect with volunteers during training. I felt like I came away with some new information about teaching. I actually participated in the Russian language sessions, which was a personal achievement for me since my formal training was in Kyrgyz. I also got a better sense of what other volunteers have been up to. It was a positive week, and I came out of it feeling energized and ready to change directions for the summer.
I have been thinking about grad school at the GRE over this week, too. I will have to go to Kazakhstan to take the GRE, which I would like to take before the end of the summer. My friend, Joyce, and I are studying with some books that she has. Tonight we are going to make mac and cheese and start our studying. I am looking at programs in Social Ecology, which is an intersection between Developmental Economics and Environmental Policy. I have already found some great programs. I am undecided if I will apply this December for the following September or wait until next December. I am leaning toward waiting because of financial considerations (applying to grad school is expensive), my wanderlust for after service, and possible getting a job or taking some classes before I jump back into school. If I were to start in the following Fall that would mean straight from Kyrgyzstan to (hopefully) an Ivy League campus, a culture shock to say the least.
I am still waiting for all those fantastic burned CDs to come in the mail. I have already got a couple. My host family are really into Janis Joplin and the Beatles right now. I am working on teaching them about Soul music, but my collection is regretfully slim right now.
This weekend a volunteer is hosting a huge festival for Children's Day. We are heading down to help her manage a hundred children for the day. I will report back how it goes. I have still be frustrated but my head is lighter now that school's out. I can think more about matters outside of the difficulties in classroom management or administrative problems. I guess that this entry relates more to the business side of things with me. I will try to write something more anthropological in my next entry.
I have another telephone number from a cellphone someone left me. You can always get ahold of me on it: 996502482663. It's cheap to have a phone here and makes me feel safer. Most volunteers have them. Pakkah. -MJ

School's out forever

2005-05-20T22:19:00.000-07:00

I am back in Bishkek by the grace of god and school's out and am riding the wave of my bliss from not having to teach English for three whole months. I found out that I have lost five kilos since I came to Kyrgyzstan, slightly more than 10 lbs. I have resolved to eat three fried eggs a day for the next month in an effort to regain some of this weight, yet I may be fighting a battle that I have already lost due to circumstances outside of my control. God give me the strength and so on.
I made my cooperating teacher cry, the lady who stole my salary from last month. Motivated-agitated by three cups of Nescafe coffee, a definite vice, I stormed into my director's office to get to the bottom of why my cooperating teacher had not given my Kyrgyz family their money. I also yelled at her about other violations of my contract and how I am never informed about anything that's going on at the school. In Kyrgyzstan, productive interpersonal communication occurs somewhere near 50 decibels louder than normal speech. She called the teacher in to her office in the middle of her class. The teacher claimed that she had given my host father the money in front of the director, a zavuch (an administrator), and me. She lied. She's supposed to be my primary point of contact and advocate but has fallen short. When I returned home after teaching my next class, my host family informed me that they had never gotten the money that she said she gave. Then, another English teacher brought the money to our house and inquired into the reasons for my cooperating teacher's mild psychological breakdown while at school. My director apparently tore into her after I left about stealing from me and not doing her job to keep me informed and help me with any issues I might have. The teacher who brought the money thought that my mother had caused the ruckus when it was actually my anger channeled through the director's completely inane way of relating to her kollektiv. Later that afternoon, the teacher who cried saw me cleaning up my classroom and preparing for the end of the year. She acted like nothing was out of sorts. She never apologized.
I can't wait to have an open schedule for the summer. It will be good for my spirit to work with the ecology center this summer and develop skills that will help me with my professional life. Last night I went out with some volunteers I had not seen in five months. I drank someone else's vodka and danced with the high-class prostitutes who cater to the expats. I am a magnet for prostitutes and free alcohol when I go out places now. It was nice to shake my ass and celebrate finishing a stressful, long haul of teaching with minimum training and inchoate lesson plans. Teaching English, actually working to help kids develop a better sense of self-identity, creativity and global perspective, is stimulating, but I am craving a change of pace. Learning Russian and working on ecological issues will allow me to shift out of the eternal recurrence of the same that has been going on for the last five months.
POSTCARDS. I really want to do a project for next year classes. I want you to send me a postcard from where you live in the States. If you are traveling this summer, please send me postcards from where you are as well. I want to compile them into a book so that my students can see different photographs of places in America and elsewhere where my friends and family live. Don't worry about what you write on the back of the postcards because most of my students can't read well enough to understand high-brow quips or sexual innuendo or words like fuck and shit. Kids here love to see photographs from all over the world. Also, you should send me mixed CDs and albums that I don't have with me here.
Final phase of scabies treatment will begin on Monday. The livestock parasite oral medication has arrived. This medicine combined with a topical treatment and a laundry service should rid my body once and for all of my bugs. I am looking forward to knowing that there's no possiblity for scabies to persist. A doctor came from America who does our medical consultation, and she explained to me in extremely technical terms that my skin is apparently "very tasty" to the bugs that live in my bed. We all have bugs that come out of our mattresses at night and feed on our flesh. Even you softies in America have them. I read about this in a Bill Bryson book during the winter. Every night when you warm the bed, the bugs crawl out and feed on your dead skin cells. Apparently the bugs that eat my skin here also irritate it.
I'm looking forward to hearing about other volunteer's lives during training and sharing our experiences. I think this will be the most worthwhile part of the next week: this and the hot showers and free food. I read a NY Times article written by a Reed alum who I remember meeting. He was reporting from Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan. It's comforting to know that I am never far from another Reedie anywhere I go in the world. I hope that I can meet up with him and hear about how he scored a job with a major newspaper to write about Central Asia.
I'm developing a roll of film and will make every effort to post photos on my website so that you can see how I live here. -MJ

Frustrated yet not in Uzbekistan luckily

2005-05-16T03:51:00.000-07:00

My head has been heavy the last few days. Violently throwing up in the night air brought on something of a sinus infection. I left out the story of how my salary was stolen from my host family. The teacher who is supposed to support me told my host mother to give her half of my salary because she gave my classes while I was in Thailand. My host mother, the lovely Zuchara, of course handed the money over without questioning this teacher's basis for requesting the money. According to our contract, no one else may take a volunteer's salary from the school except for the host family. Additionally, the teacher did not work the hours according to the school administration. I became frustrated insofar as the one teacher at the school who is meant to help me and know my contract took advantage of the situation. The school administration and Peace Corps have come to some arrangement, but the money still hasn't made it to my host family. I have been left without a primary point of contact at my school. This teacher is another English teacher who cannot even speak to me in English. She never functioned within her role as my counterpart. This scenario is completely typical of the Kyrgyz professional world unfortunately.
I am generally fairly frustrated with things as they are right now, which probably explains why I have been less communicative lately. As I wrote before, the veneer of living here has worn off. Now many aspects of my life not only feel remarkably slow but also completely irritating. I have spent a lot of time reading in my room over the past couple weeks. I managed to read, "God Lives in St. Petersburg" (Bissell), "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" (Thompson), "White Teeth" (Zadie Smith), "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time" (Haddon), the collected aphorisms of Pantajali, and four Newsweeks cover to cover. I have been voracious.
I went swimming with my host father on Sunday. He someone reserved an entire Olympic pool at a nearby resort for himself, my host brothers, and me. It was nice to have a swim and a shower. My host family continue to be one of the only redeeming and gratifying features of my life in Kyrgyzstan. I went to a seminar at the GTZ Ecological Center this morning concerning some of the future projects on the lake. People were speaking German, Russian, Kyrgyz, and some, limited English. It was truly fascinating to just take in the linguistic exchange nevermind the discussions about water sanitation and irrigation. I will be a facilitator with English-speaking tourists this summer and will also be involved with some of the pilot projects they have started in the biosphere: like a yak farm, a yurt camp, various outdoors water and mountain sports, and the nature reserves especially in the south. I can't wait not to be teaching and to be more directly connected to the biosphere program. I have four more days of teaching, and I will be heading to Kegety (the first village) to see my host family. My first host sister, Venera, gave birth to her baby, and I have been invited to see him/her. I'm not really sure if it's a girl or boy. I am heading there with another volunteer, Rich, who lives a few villages down on the lake. We trained together and he's the first person I talked to back in the States the summer before I came.
We were given an estimated calender from the government about the different phases of the experience. I am definitely on-track with the extreme frustration I feel toward Kyrgyz culture, my work, my languages, and myself. The calender was compiled over the last 40 years and has this scary way of knowing what you are going through even if you haven't read it in some time. When I pulled it out a couple of days ago, it was so right on like a horoscope after five cups of coffee (it could say anything) that I was again amazed by its power.
The situation in Uzbekistan has lead to the influx of Uzbek refugees in the south of Kyrgyzstan. Some volunteers have been evacuated from the region near the southern Uzbek border, but the rest of the country remains unaffected by the rumblings in the tummy of our neighboring Stan. By the way, why is it snowing in the mountains behind my house, freezing cold and windy at night, and it's almost June? Answer this and you will be saved. -MJ

Shit the bed, Lucy

2005-05-13T01:43:00.000-07:00

We have a saying among the volunteers here, "You are not a volunteer until you shit your pants." As of roughly three in the morning this morning, I became a volunteer on account of some wickedly contaminated shashlik I ate yesterday afternoon. I woke up to the common feeling of distension in my stomach and assumed it was just gas. I assumed my on all fours gas management plan for about twenty minutes. While I was in cat-cow, I realized that I was suffering from some serious nausea as well. I went to the outhouse for a dissapointing lack of relief. I tucked myself into bed again and fell asleep for maybe a half an hour. I woke up to the feeling of an uncontrollable stream of diarrhea. I cleaned myself up the best I could and went outside to try to expel more in the toliet, which I managed to do. When I stood up from my further emptying, I had the urge to vomit which I did all over the backyard. I continued in this pattern until about 5AM when I called the doctor. In the meantime, I not only shit my pants but also my bed again. I am officially a volunteer now. I chose not to take antibiotics because the discomfort went away when I woke up this morning with the exception of general body pain from convulsing. Needless to say, I didn't give classes this morning and watched Russian shows and MTV on the couch for most of the morning.
The rift between the Muslim people and the dictatorial Uzbek government have been heating up over the past two days. A border town in the south of Uzbekistan dealt with huge protests and the release of all the prisioners from a jail there. A suicide bomber was shot down outside the Israeli Embassy yesterday as well. There is hightened security in Kyrgyzstan as a result of this development in the region. I haven't noticed any changes around the north lake; it's really just an Uzbek problem I would think at this point.
I have one week of classes left. I am heading to my former village to visit my first family next Friday before I head to Bishkek. I am extremely tired and have to head home to clean my room. A field nurse from Washington D.C. is coming out with our doctors to see how volunteers live in Kyrgyzstan tomorrow afternoon. I can only hope that someone else has had the pleasure of shitting the bed. Love. -MJ

Somewhat boring

2005-05-03T00:04:00.000-07:00

When I start to think that my blog has become boring, or worse yet that I myself am yawn-inspiring, I try to reflect on what I could be doing and where I could be doing that hypothetical job with what sort of fucking horrible people I would have to be around and so on. I still notice the unusual features of the topography of my day to day reality but maybe with more resolve not to let those things get to me anymore. Take for example, the proliferation of acne on my back since I have come back from Bangkok to the land of few bathing opportunities. It just doesn't bother my anymore for a number of reasons from my complete lack of interest in impressing a potential mate to the fact that I rarely even see myself naked let alone anyone else. In America, I would probably have already found three different organic products to take care of this problem, a solution that would retail at nearly half my salary for a month now. And now I have resigned myself to the changes that I am undergoing. Riding on the marshurtka, the glorified minibus, and inhaling the psychotropic gas fumes for an extended period while people throw up in carbon paper thin plastic bags and squack Kyrgyz at me asking me the same five questions that all Kyrgyz people ask me:
1. Where are you from?
2. What are you doing here?
3. Do you like our nature?
4. Are you married?
5. Where did you learn Kyrgyz?
I can literally answer the predictable set of questions without actually being conscious. The irritations of life here have fallen away and a sense of normalcy has arisen in its place. I have a routine. As a result of meditations on what I want to do while I am in Kyrgyzstan, I have conjured a sense of urgency to network and get things done, which says something insofar as urgency as a concept has yet to be adapted by anyone that I have ever met native to this country.
Every time I get a letter from America at this point, I sort of hold it in my hand and try to imagine what lies within the envelope. News of people's lives in America generally leaves me confused but assured. I have a working hypothesis that America pushes most people to a state of mania except that all the people around them are the same so they don't realize: overworked, always rushing, jammed full of manipulative media images, and perhaps far too acquainted with the discourses of psychaitry and new age self-help. I feel slow.
I am always reading about how people have made huge leaps in self-discovery or personal direction. I am still a teacher on a lake in Kyrgyzstan. I don't feel like I can have a designer self-identity makeover every three to six months here like I probably would in America. Kyrgyzstan is in no hurry and neither am I. Am I losing something in the semi-schizophrenic attempts at becoming 20 thousand people before I'm 25? I have a sense of personal stability that I have rarely felt ever in America. I have a clear role within my community being a teacher and volunteer. There are expectations that are realistic yet challenging that I can fulfill without working ungodly hours or sacrificing my health to stress. It is hard for me to think that nothing's really wrong with my life here because of my cultural baggage. I constantly feel the urge to dissect and analyze my life in order to find the gaps (the less than perfect) and attempt to make changes to make things even better and more efficent. I am an American but now I am slow.
Maybe it sounds like I am self-conscious about my lack of self-innovation and highly dynamic environment. Maybe I am. I guess that, rather than trying to run away from who I am or where I am, I am taking the time to enjoy where I am right now. I don't know when I had a chance to take account of who I was when I was in school. I have so much time to figure out what I want to do independent of anyone at home or the social pressures of living in America. It's liberating but it comes at the cost of no dance clubs on Friday night, no designer clothes, no professional haircuts or decent music stores. The lack of material things around me makes me feel naked. I can't hide behind new stuff that create surfaces that conceal the person without the possessions. I think too much because sometimes that's all you can do when you don't want to speak someone else's language and your eyes hurt from reading and you're too lazy to go for a run or out to the lake.
The absence of unending flux within my Kyrgyz life feels foreign. The things that were once weird and frustrating about Kyrgyzstan are more managable. Perhaps hearing about someone's introspective journey without details of diarrhea and cross-cultural mishaps is somewhat boring, but it feels like all I know how to write right now. Love. -MJ

Last of my kind

2005-04-29T00:03:00.000-07:00

I just talked to Roselle at the local internet cafe, and she informed me that yet another member of my training group will be early terminating her service. It feels a little like a knife in the heart to have already lost so many of the people I trained with and to have another leave. Megan and I did Kundalini yoga together in Kegeti village on the floor of my first host family's house. I hope that she will be able to make it up to the lake once before she ships out. Hearing news like this decreases my morale significantly, but I only have three weeks of school left before the long-awaited summer, my first on the lake. It is alleged to be the best place to be in Kyrgyzstan in the summer.
School this week dragged. I was trying to push my agenda of teaching some grammar, and the students protested and wanted to play baseball instead. Some days I gave up and found myself pitching to my kids for a couple hours every morning. Other days, I made them sit through an activity on forming questions using all the tenses. I never heard back on helping teaching the students in Kazakhstan for the summer, but I just read about an opening to work with Afghan kids for a month this summer to help them with a similar program. It would be from July until August.
I have been dealing with my stomach's readjustment to Kyrgyz food over the last few days. The real problems started during my third class on Thursday. I have been moving back and forth from diarrhea to feeling so stopped up that I might explode. I would think that it has something to do with indigestion of the copious servings of mutton over the last week. Tomorrow, I am going on a hike into the mountains for the day. We are leaving at six in the morning and plan to be gone for most of the day. I don't actually teach this student but he was friends with the last volunteer, Mikko. I have to carry a Russian dictionary to communicate effectively with him, but I like learning from him about his perspective on Kyrgyzstan from a non-Kyrgyz resident perspective.
I read Che's diaries from his trip around South America called "The Motorcycle Diaries." I would recommend it for anyone interested in Che, travel narratives, or the psychology of budding revolutionaries. It's a fast read and some of the aspects of health and food difficulties were familiar to me. I am readjusting to my site really well. Last night, my volunteer friend Sage stayed with me on her way to Bishkek and, then, Italy. We had a lot of time to talk about our last week and a half. She came to my classes this morning and got a sense of how the secondary schools in Kyrgyzstan function. She works at a university in Karakol. She is a really talented teacher, and I was able to pick up some more tips on how to deal with my most disrespectful students.
I'm making it. We have training during the last month of May, and it will be nice to see everyone (who's still around) and talk about everyone's experiences. I also look forward to the ability to take warm showers and have access to internet consistently during the week. We are talking about hiking from a village near mine to Kazakhstan around the time of my birthday. We would use a guide and it would take about three days. The trail cuts through some river valleys and is supposed to be well worth the time it takes. I have to go to the bathroom really bad. Godspeed, all. -MJ

Internet problems

2005-04-26T01:14:00.000-07:00

There are no computers with internet that is functioning properly in our whole area right now. I spent most of my hour for internet getting back to emails, but I will be back shortly. Apparently there's some post-revolution scandal about internet services or something. I don't care. I just want my internet back the way it used to be. -MJ

The computer keeps eating my blog

2005-04-18T05:02:00.000-07:00

First, I need to make clear that I unintentionally sent everyone in my address book an email about some email messaging service. I was trying to figure out what it was when it sent it to all of you because someone else had sent it to me probably unintentionally as well. I apologize for spamming everyone I know.
I came home to spring in full bloom. I realized how much I missed Kyrgyzstan when I saw my host family and slept in my bed after weeks in the oversized, starchy hotel bed. I went to school today and saw some of my students and colleagues. My students really missed me. I thought that they would probably be surprised at how much I missed them, too. I refrained from showing to much excitement at the thought of being a teacher again. I know that I am normally sarcastic about my work, but I really like the freedom I have as a teacher here. For example, I am bringing my new CD player and some cheap computer speakers to class, so that we can listen to some music. I will just show them some photos of Thailand. If we still have time, we can play catch with the baseball equipment. Life is so simple and fulfilling for me here. I knew that I really loved what I am doing when I felt nervous at the possibility of not being able to come back when the doctor made biopsies on my skin. I had time to reflect in Thailand between the delirium from the humidity, heat, and sun and the trips to the bar at night. I did think about how much I would not give up my life on Lake Issyk-Kul for anything. I was willing to argue my case to come back if the medical people in Thailand hesitated to allow me to return.
I missed it. Coming back, my Russian improved strangely because I wasn't speaking Russian in Thailand. Maybe what little I had studied and continually listened to at my house has finally sunk in as a language separate from Kyrgyz. My Kyrgyz continues to impress the Kyrgyz folk and didn't miss a beat from the second I got off the plane. I tried to remind myself about these languages everyday while in Thailand, so I wouldn't be a complete idiot in front of my kids when I returned.
Despite some minor protesting over public land control and the Western stores being boarded up under repair, life after the revolution resembles that before. I have to stop here. I wrote about ten more paragraphs, but the computer keeps deleting parts of my blog entry. You can fill in the blanks with your imagination. As for me, I have to go home to wash the rest of everything I own. -MJ

Aeroflot is good for nothing

2005-04-15T01:47:00.000-07:00

I just spent the last five or so hours looking for a place to wash my clothes from Bangkok. After a twenty-two hour trip back from Bangkok, my eyes are burning and my head feels heavy with sleep deprivation. Unfortunately in Moscow, our plane shortciruited as we were on the runway accelerating toward takeoff. We were literally going really fast and the plane just stopped. We had to wait for three extra hours for the next plane, and I was so hungry that I bought a sandwich and chips for nine dollars.
I probably wouldn't be this drained had it not been for the Songkran Festival in Bangkok beginning the day before I left. I ended up standing on the side of a Bangkok street with two Australian guys drinking whiskey, throwing water on people, smearing their faces with clay, and wishing them a Happy Thai New Year. One of the guys was an actor on my favourite Australian serial, "Neighbours," for years. The festival was clearly what the New Year should be for everyone. The whole city transformed into a water fight that involved people of all ages, classes, and so forth. Gangs of Thai people loaded up in the back of pickup trucks with buckets of freezing water and squirt guns. Buses and cars of defenseless people were attacked by these pick up truck posses. I am sure that there are excellent photos of the festival online, but I was afraid to take my new camera out of my bag lest it be ruined. I just did a Google search and there are some photos that hardly capture the energy of six Asian countries' water fight. Feel free to look at them anyway.
I finally talked the administration here into letting me use the laundry machine at the office, which the cleaning lady is only supposed to use.
I am listening to Cat Stevens and the sweet sound of an automated laundry machine. I spent a lot of money getting back to Bishkek because my luggage was over the preposterous limit set by the ticket the US Embassy bought for me. I was supposed to have only 20kg of luggage, 40lbs. I don't believe that this is the standard for international flights. I am fairly certain that it is closer to six pounds for two bags. I got suckered into paying $50 for ten extra pounds of luggage. I tried to argue the case that I had the luggage from the consolidation during the revolution when I couldn't go home. The admin officer was not buying my case at all. I also bought a few food things from Tesco and had to bring my deprived colleagues material affection at their sites on the lake. I paid it; however, Aeroflot is a fascist airline with bad planes and pilots. If you have any sense of democracy or the power of the free market, don't fly on the airline that still features a sickle and hammer on their logo.
I managed to convince my doctors to buy me a new mattress, sheets, and pillow. I know that I should write emails. My eyes are tired and the screen is coming in and out of focus. I will be heading back to Kara-Oi to resume my ascetism and stint as an English teacher. My ascetism will have to wait until tomorrow morning when I am out of the capital city, though. With heartburn and a headache (damn it's good to be back in Khirgizia). -MJ

On the power of editing one's self

2005-04-12T00:14:00.000-07:00

I had my stitches removed about five minutes ago. Due to a mishap with a fax, I will be here until Thursday at least. I have to fly through Russia on Aeroflot now because the route through Uzbekistan runs only twice a week. I am not sure what's worse: Uzbekistan Air or Aeroflot. I will try to flirt to upgrade my ticket. I was on my way to the beach south of Bangkok with my friend and his family when I received the call to head back across Bangkok to the office. I might jump on a bus and meet them there in a few minutes. The Thai New Year is tomorrow, and who likes to be alone on a New Year? The traditional celebration involves throwing buckets of water on one another all day long.
I have been propositioned by both male and female prostitutes since I have been here. The notion of being ashamed of one's sexuality, straight or otherwise, is nonexistent here. The Thai people are progressive concerning such matters. I will start with the less provocative account of the female prostitute's advances. She was staying in a room about three doors down from mine. I had just showered when I got her first call. I was confused and thought that she must have meant to call out of the hotel and forgot to dial the initial number 9. She wanted to know where I'm from and how long I will be here. She asked me if I was alone. Then, she started on about how she was in Bangkok to look for work and that she was lonely. I explained that I was unfortunately on my way out the door. I cordially ended what had went from pleasant information exchange to an odd confessional on her part. The second call came about five minutes later. Forcefully, unapologetically, she offered me herself in her room. I politely repeated I was just leaving but thanks, it's really too much, though. The next afternoon she had laid a garland of jasmine on the lampshade near my bed with the help of the cleaning ladies probably. The room smelled fresh and holy but, one layer beneath this transcendence, was the earthly smell of sweaty summer sex work and recycled hotel air.
I warn the Christian reader that the following account may be disturbing. I was working on a few postcards and writings in a bar. I was encouraging an appetite with a strong gin and tonic, concentrating on the stylistics of postcard writing. I finished up what I had planned to do. I looked up to discover a dark, skinny Thai boy with a lazy eye and faux bling who was staring intently on me. He had two cell phones, a sure sign of sketch. He offered to buy me a drink. Why not? I knew where I stood on the issue, which involved the visualization of a chastity belt or static confusion where my genitals once were. Never pass up a free drink. I sat and started a conversation with a girl who was sitting to my left; she was eager to practice her English. That was when the boy started to grab my thigh. I told him to stop. I continued conversation with the Thai girl about the masochism of working at the Hard Rock Cafe in central Bangkok. The boy glazed emptily at one of the phones, which phone I wasn't sure. I had not yet discerned which of his eyes was actually working, a task that requires some sustained eye contact and interest. He turned to me and explained that he works with a dance company as a promoter, that there was a party for us to go to. I explained that I was actually on my way back to the hotel. I noticed his drug-induced twitching and bad teeth at this point in the conversation. And that's when he went in for a kiss. I rejected. He didn't understand why. First, I am not interested and, second, I never kiss hookers at an upscale bar in the middle of a new city: That, simply put, would be social suicide and nothing less. The girl from the Hard Rock passed me a note that read: "Trust no one in here." The Thai boy finally cut the bullshit and explained: "I normally charge money. I am money boy. But I want to suck your dick in the bathroom. No money. Then I take you to party." I felt dizzy like throwing up and threw back my drink while moving to the other side of the waitress from the Hard Rock. This represents a typical Sunday night for me in Bangkok.
The number of these such incidents, conquests, and reemergences from the depths over the last two weeks cannot be comfortably or concisely summarized.
I dreamt that I was at a house on the Cowley Road in Oxford. It was Sophie's house where we used to party. Sophie loved reading Baudelaire, pretty boys and losing her mind on the weekends. I started climbing through windows and boxes, moving in unknown dimensions. I was falling sometimes through segmented tubes filled with viscous ether. It ended in Kyrgyzstan, possibly closer to the end of a tube of viscous ether than people realize. I had a dream that people there hated me for being gone. Their eyes were empty with rage. It is probable that I was just having a flashback to any of the teachers' holidays where everyone drinks a bottle of vodka, stops making sense, and staggers home to recover for the next two days. I woke up with anxiety about heading home, so I drank a cup of coffee and wedged myself onto the metro during commuter hours. I had to run. I tried to forget where I am and how far away it really is.
I saw about twenty Japanese transexuals check into my hotel yesterday. I have seen transexuals in Bangkok that helped me understand how drunk imperialists on Silom 4 take home men, thinking that they're women. I wonder how many of them realize that they've paid to have anal sex with a transvestite in their hotel room after 14 pints of Singha. Their wives are at home in Mobile, Alabama watching Lifetime specials and microwaving instant meals.
I have spoiled myself. I have resurrected personalities that I thought were long under my submission. I took liberties with people and their generosity while I was here. I placed myself in situations that I essentially had to flee from in metered taxis. I ate dim sum at a charity dinner for free and had gas for two days. Every plate had some type of liver in it.
I bought a fake Sony CD player. Send me mixed CDs if you love me.
And in the end, I am still the scared kid in the middle of Asia who wonders what's next. It seems like I have been running for a long time. When will I stop being a nomad? I will be on an airplane on Friday afternoon.
(Written after a hiatus.)
I made it to the bus station. I was planning to take the bus and even bought the ticket when I found out that I would have had to sleep in the port city until six in the morning to wait for the early morning ferry. I decided to go shopping for food and final items from Tesco.
I talked to my parents on the phone who were relieved to hear that it was just scabies again. I mentioned on one of my one minute answering machine messages that I should be the spokesperson for International Scabies Bureau (ISB) which need not be confused with IBS, Irritable Bowel Syndrome. After two weeks of spicy Thai food, alcohol, and stress from medical appointments, I could questionably be a candidate to represent this medical problem as well. I literally have been the most outspoken advocate of scabies that I know of and am frankly unashamed that I have been harboring the parasites for nearly eight months if the dermatologist from Yale's calculations hold up. I wouldn't mind becoming the spokesperson for medicine to treat scabies even.
When I showed up at the hotel tonight, I decided to pay for my telephone calls. I asked how much I owed. After about three minutes, the man answered with the total of 14,000 Baht about $500. I had had a long day moving across Bangkok on a series of Red Bulls and little food. Furthermore, Tesco was a mess with everyone stocking up on their supplies before the holiday. I explained to the gentleman that he was "out of his mind" and that his total was just "insane." I remembered this lady at the retirement home that I worked at over the summer in California called Louise. She had designed the spirograph, which was originally used to determine the fallout from bombs during the WWII. She had developed dementia, ate jelly on all of her food, and loved ice cream. If we didn't give her ice cream of jelly, she would say, "Well, that's just crazy." She always said the same thing. Sometimes she would see pigeons on the rooftop and take them to be ducks migrating. Anyway, I added up the total of the phone bills, which was closer to $15. He was confused and thought that I was paying for everything. We resolved the misunderstanding shortly thereafter.
I am awaiting a response from D.C. about a request for the government to fund a new mattress, pillow, and a laundry service in the capital. I will just reinfest myself if I use the same bedding that I was using before I left. I guess that I would be willing to buy the stuff myself; that money could go to nobler causes like a boombox for my classroom or speakers for my new CD player.
The person to the left of me is videochatting on gay.com with a man who's balding. The person to the right is on adultfriendfinder.com; she must be looking for a date for the New Year. I am ready to return to my conservative, Muslim world where the most sensational thing to happen is the Tajik baker showing up to the house loaded on a bottle of vodka having had sex with his hooker in the nearby town. The most unpredictable thing is having dinner a half hour earlier than normal. So many people around me in Bangkok are very naughty. My thoughts center on how I am going to pick up the pieces of my English classes to plow through the next two months of school. Based on what I have written, I could probably be denied immigration in the entire Central Asia region. I have an advantage in that few people who live there who would want to kick me out have fluency in English. Departure from civilization: 36 hours.-MJ

Nota bene: Kabbala is a cult

2005-04-07T02:49:00.000-07:00

I briefly would like to recount a segment of a BBC Investigative Report on Kabbala that I saw while I was in Bangkok. This reporter with the help of some "moles" infilterated the Kabbala Centre in London. They sell this water that is meant to make people heal from such ailments as colon cancer. The water is claimed to have been distilled from the purest of sources, but it actually comes from a factory somewhere in Michigan that has not submitted quality reports to the government for years. Moreover the red strings that everyone has taken to, which are claimed to have been wrapped around Rachel's Tomb in the West Bank, are also fake. The rabbi who works at this center offered them for free. The icing on the cake, even scarier than the seven quid bottle of water and fake bracelet and 230 quid holy book for scanning, is the retreat that they hosted in Israel. I was pretty hungover when I was watching this; however, the following images registered clearly into my fragile memory. Madonna was actually at this event but refused to comment on the problems with the Kabbala movement that the investigative reporter had uncovered. One of the leaders explained how Jews were actually responsible for the Holocaust, just as a child who has been hit on a bicycle is, because they have lost their connexion with what he called "the light."
Anyway, so all these people who paid something like 2000 pounds to go to Israel were in this conference room. In the front of the room, a televison screen with a video of the world from far away that eventually zoomed into Chernobyl, home of the worldest largest radioactive disaster. Although the Aral Sea is the largest ecological disaster. It's in Uzbekistan. About 300 people were shouting at this screen, having been convinced that, through the light, they were actually removing radiation from Chernobyl. It was really insane and Dionysian; these people had been brainwashed or something.
My plans to head to Cambodia are on hold for the moment. I am not sure how long I will be here, so I don't want to invest in a ticket in earnest. I felt like I should share the upshot of this reporter's multinational research into this cult conspiracy hypothesis. Don't believe the hype and stay away from Kabbala. Madonna has been brainwashed by the leaders of the Kabbala movement. It was one of the most unsettling and confusing hours of my television-viewing, yet perhaps one of the more beneficial as well. I will be here until next week sometime. I can't swim because of the stitches. Bangkok is such a manic place, but I am finding my way quite naturally.
I just got off the phone with the lady from the office in Bangkok. She informed me that I will need to get a new passport. The day that I was heading to the wat, the bloody bloody nose incident, I happened to allow my passport to become rather soaked in my pocket. I don't think that the Uzbek immigration officials will be too understanding. The Embassy people will have to send it to America on account of it's not being my personal passport. I will be here for a minimum of two more weeks. I will definitely participate in the Thai New Year now. For many reasons that cannot be summarized quickly, it feels right for me to be here right now. I have already had many wonderful experiences and have met intelligent, hot, helpful folks here who have helped me attain a fine bearing on the city. I feel like I could come back here again under different circumstances and live well. It will be awhile before I have to think about my next step, but I have found Bangkok liveable so long as you can get out of the city now and again for a breath of only slightly less polluted air. If you want a postcard, send me your address. I do have some time on my hands. With love and hot Thai pingpong sex shows. -MJ

Stitches scare me

2005-04-05T05:25:00.000-07:00

Somehow in the course of my childhood and adolescence, I never needed stitches. Today after getting two biopsies on my stomach and leg, the doctor mended me up with stitches. My skin was not responding to the scabies medication, which means there's a chance that it isn't scabies now. The doctor refrained from making judgement at this point, awaiting instead the results of the biopsy on Saturday. My primary care physician at the PC office in Bangkok's daughter is finishing her thesis at Reed; for those of us who went to Reed, you might know her. Her name is Tessa, and she had that beautiful golden retriever called Sienna, Bio-major. The doctor was not so worried about it; he thinks that I will be heading back to country. He wants to make sure that I have a definitive diagnosis before I leave with a treatment plan as well if necessary. I am sort of stuck in Bangkok. I have done most of the sightseeing that I am interested in doing. I also have already shopped for everyone at the Weekend Market and a few of the sidewalk vendors.
I found out who my friend from Bangkok is. He is the Prime Minister of Thailand's nephew, which is why he knows everyone (or everyone knows him). We went to the capital of Siam called Ayudhya. I hopefully will have some photos uploaded onto the website by the end of the blog. Ayudhya with someone who knows it was brilliant. We went to various temples, rode on a longboat around the city, and ate really good food off the street. The photos will give you some impression of the immensity of this city and the nature of the architecture. I found the Buddhist temples to exert such a spiritual power over me while walking around them. It is incredible to think that this city had once been the center of European and Siamese trade before the capital was moved to Bangkok. Many of the statues of Buddha had their heads cut off and taken away by Europeans. It's easier to decapitate a statue than to try to take the multi-ton object in one piece. Ask anyone imperialist treasure hunter.
I went to temple at Wat Mahathat in the center of town. That morning was pretty trippy. I got onto the metro to head toward the station to pick up Bangkok's public transport longboat. While speeding along, I noticed that my nose was running. It wasn't thick but runny like water. It was embarassing, and I was trying to use my sleeve to wipe it up as well as my hands. I looked down and realized that my nose had been bleeding for a few minutes. The people on the metro were stupified by the amount of blood and my unique capacity to smear it all over my hands and face in trying to be discreet. The blood was all over. I had been dripping for some time onto the metro floor. No one offered me a tissue. I got off at the next stop and had to walk to a 7-11 for water and tissues. I looked maybe like I had slaughtered something in haste under the florescent lights of the minimart. I discovered the section with the bottles of water quickly, yet I was dumbfounded by where they might have put the tissues. I almost bought (a) diapers or (b) some pads to clean up my face. I was meeting with a monk at 9AM, so I felt rushed on top of it all. Finally I found them at the register, the little bastards. It was pouring outside and, with the rain's assistance, I managed to clean myself up and make it onto a boat. I waited in the vicinity of the temple a few hours. The monk hadn't come on account of the rain pouring.
After lunch, I made my way back to the temple for instruction on Vipassana meditation, a form of Buddhist meditation that involves awareness of the present. I learned how to work on walking meditation and was introduced to a couple of new techniques about meditation in general. The foundation of this meditation is to focus on the rising and falling of the abdomen. It is important to connect your thoughts to your actions. At the beginning of the walking meditation, when you are standing, you think, "Standing standing standing" with your eyes close. Then you think, "Opening eyes opening eyes." Then "Intending to move intending to move." For every action you synchronize your thought with the action. I walked back and forth for an hour. This technique has some benefits for working on awareness of one's actions. If you think about what you are doing as you are doing it, you are meditating in this way. Monks here learn how to be aware of their actions throughout the entire day while eating, washing, and every other deed that Thai monks accomplish. The wat is one of the oldest in Bangkok and one of the largest.
I realized that the Thai script was actually taken from the parts of my dreams when I try to read and cannot. Do you know that feeling when you are dreaming? You look down to read something, and it's a mess. That mess most likely is Thai letters. Maybe if I learn Thai I will be able to read things in my dreams, though.
The doctor told me that I can leave Bangkok. I am thinking about heading to Angkor in Cambodia if I have enough money. My pin number is lost to my wavering memory. I have some cash and can probably take a train there. Apparently, it is a place that everyone has to see before they die, or so says Capt George. I also might be here for the Thai New Year when people throw buckets of water on one another in celebration. I will be sure to take photos of this. I met a lady at the PC office who wants to go out and party with me. I think we are going out tonight actually. I think it would be fun to party with "someone from the office." Haven't really done that before. If I don't head to Cambodia, I will probably lie in the sun at the beach for the next week and improve my tan. I can't swim. If I do, I will compromise the stitches' function entirely.
I miss my job and life in Kyrgyzstan somewhat. I really want to get back to my students and my school. I feel like a chump to be just hanging around Bangkok. I have realized how I can be a better teacher: have more fun with the students. I need to play more games and integrate more ridiculousness into my classes. I think that I can find ways. I also have realized how beautiful my village is having been in a dirty metropolis for the last week. I miss the simplicity and satisfaction of being a real volunteer at my site. I will get back to it, "gudai biursa" (god willing) as my Kyrgyz host father often says. In any case, write me emails and keep me posted.
The Pope is dead. Akyaev resigned. I have stitches in Bangkok. America hosted the largest faux terrorism exercies (DeLillo's prophecy). The only thing to do is dance at a hip bar. I will post photos from my friend's computer tonight. Kisses. -MJ

Bed and Supper Club

2005-03-30T22:09:00.000-08:00

Last night I went to the Bed and Supper Club in downtown Thailand with my only and, therefore, best Thai friend, Capt. George. He owns a well-established bar/restaurant in Bangkok, so he has connections all over the city. Apparently, he is somewhat of a celebrity here, as in I didn't pay for a single drink last night or the ten-dollar cover. The club was a nice mix of expats and Thai people. One half of the club was full of beds with white linen sheets and, true to the name, one can order supper, cocktails and lie in bed with your closest, most glamorous friends. It was very similiar to the place in New York on Sex in the City when Miranda (?) wears her pants from the eighties. Sorry to lean on the Sex in the City analogy, but it is the most recent American television to come my way in some time.
Tonight I am spending more time with the captain. We are heading to a club called Mystic or something to that effect. Tomorrow we are heading to the ancient captial city of Thailand and driving there in his sports car. My networking skills, if I may reinforce this point, have already gotten me fairly far along in Bangkok. I talked to Janine yesterday for something like an hour. I think that we are going to rent a flat in Thailand in the winter of 2006 and be fabulous together.
Cockroaches. So there are cockroaches all over the fucking place here. Even in the daytime in the shadows, you may see a roach scurrying along. I am not bothered.
I watched the BBC this morning. A Akyaev granted the BBC an exclusive interview and he claims that he is still president. He is completely deluded despite his constitutional legitmacy. He hinted through his bushy eyebrows at the possibility of civil war. Home sweet home. He characterized the protesters as alcoholics and drug addicts in a similar manner to the Chinese press release on the revolution. Simply false. I hope that he does not come back and takes his defeat with a modicum of grace. I did a little shopping at a mall that, if one were to expand its seven stories onto a two-dimensional plane, we would be observing a space slightly large, I assume, than my village. It's easy to walk around in the labyrinthine structures from the latest stage of capitalism. They fabricate, most of all, impressions of absurdity to me. I will look at a few more wats (temples) and go back to the hotel for a swim. Happy Birthday, mom! -MJ

Scabies revisited

2005-03-29T20:37:00.000-08:00

I saw the doctor this morning. He explained that I have scabies still and that this is my only problem. The other rashes and nodules are allergic reactions to the scabies' secretions. I feel like I could write one of those terse pamphlets you get in a college infirmary about something like UTIs or stress management but on scabies. I seriously know more about the subject than I should. I have to treat them this week while I am here. If they clear up, I will go home after the week. Another scenario would be my staying here for two weeks instead if my skin doesn't respond to the treatment immediately. The doctor didn't mind my tardiness or hangover. He's quite fabulous and got a kick out of my descriptions of my time in Kyrgyzstan, especially when I told him about how impossible it would be to clean all of my clothing, bedding, &c. He sort of chuckled and dealt me a why the fuck do you live in Central Asia again? sort of look. He prescribed me some pills. Furthermore and more interestingly, he's put an order in for medication for me that is typically given to livestock for their scabies. Has my life really come to this? Yes, it has. I guess people snort horse tranquilizers for kicks, specialK, so why shouldn't I take horse pills for my skin?
I may be sick but I love the smog and noise of the city. I never thought that I would come to Thailand during my service. Being here, I must recommend this destination very highly to anyone interested in seeing SE Asia. The people are so warm and helpful. Thai people just laugh when communication breaks down. They are constantly smiling and laughing. I feel that the Russian and Kyrgyz folks in my village could learn something from the Thai way of looking at life. In the meantime I am soaking up the attention and good vibes. I bought a camera yesterday afternoon. We have little to no technology in Bishkek because of the looting. The looters sacked the stores where I would have bought a new camera. The old one crapped out; it wouldn't advance the film when I was taking pictures. There are also photoprocessing facilities, so I will send some of the photos home. I may send a small package home with a few things from Thailand. If you are dying for something, shoot me an email and I will do my best.
I made a Thai friend here. We are going to take a drive to the ancient capital of Thailand where all the European traders used to go before Bangkok positioned itself as the economic and political center. Instead of shaking hands, Thai people place their hands in a prayer position in the center of their chest: rad. The Thai language makes me laugh a lot. The tonal system makes them sound really funny. When they speak English, they retain the tones: "Hehhlohh, whereh are youh fromh?" There are 7-11s all over the place here. I can handle the 7-11s. I also saw a Tesco and Mark and Spencers, some of my haunts from my time at Oxford. Where other than Marks and Spencers can you buy exorbitantly priced, prepackaged food in England? It has a following like Trader Joe's in the States except that nothing's organic as far as I remember.
I can handle my diagnosis. I wasn't all that surprised. Having a food allergy to something I was eating in Kyrgyzstan would not be an option insofar as we eat one of perhaps 12 foods there. Losing one of the staples would mean further weight loss and would be frankly impossible. I heard from someone that some kid came to Kyrgyzstan with a bread allergy. He early terminated in like a few months or something. You cannot live in Kyrgyzstan with an allergy to bread.
I bought some fruit that looks like aliens. I will take some pictures of the food in the markets. I have not seen probably something close to 30 percent of the Thai fruits and vegetables. I am trying to eat all the food I can before I go back to mutton, rice, carrots, potatoes, bread, fat from beef and mutton, onions, garlic, and maybe beets if you're lucky. I already feel like some of my vitamin deficencies are being ameliorated from a couple of days with tropical fruits.
I am going for a swim in the pool at the hotel. I think that I will walk around the city some more and maybe hit up some of the stores. I really want to capture some of the color and form of Bangkok. God willing, when I return to Kyrgyzstan, we will have internet. The Russians who run the internet shop packed up their computers fearing looting in Cholpon-Ata. I will write more tomorrow. Godspeed. -MJ

Coming out of my "post"-Soviet haze in Bangkok

2005-03-28T23:07:00.000-08:00

Sawat dii khrap. The flight into Tashkent from Bishkek was relatively uneventful. The Uzbeks took me for a Turk because I speak Kyrgyz. No one ever thinks that I am American in Central Asia. I always seem to get Turkish or German. I somehow took the wrong train to another part of the airport. The immigration people had to call for a whole bus to usher me over to the international terminal. I had a six hour layover that didn't feel like six hours. I realized that my sense of time has been distorted by the perennial tea time of the Kyrgyz village. My patience and ability to simply mindlessly sit around have expanded to the point that six hours felt like three or maybe two. I even sat and drank tea and watched Animal Planet dubbed over with Russian about this obssessive-compulsive husband-wife who raise Bengal tigers in Missouri.
I spent most of this morning and afternoon after arriving in Thailand utterly speechless. My thoughts that the world has gone on without me: fashion, technology, civilization, has been true all along. I didn't even know how to relate to people in Bangkok to get directions around for the first part of the day. Transitioning from a Kyrgyz village with about two or three-thousand people (if even that) to Bangkok has required me to return to a hardened self. I had to remember to look ahead and not make eye contact or gawk at the newest trends on sixteen year olds. People in Thailand are so rad. Everyone is smiling and laughing. I have been sweating all day and walking around in the sun. I found an excellent used book store near my hotel where I picked up a Lonely Planet guide to Bangkok for two bucks. Seeing the Americans here has been freaky. I have kept my mouth quiet to avoid having to talk to Americans. Most of the Americans that I have seen are of the type where the couple wears the same khakis, obnoxiously white tennis shoes, and fill their Hawaiian t-shirts like brautwurst in an expanding pig's intestine. Sweaty, pompous, loud, ugly Americans. I had one of the best plates of food in my entire life at a local cafe for a dollar (40 bhat) this morning. I made my way to the Golden Mount which provides a spectacular view of the city via bus. I made an offering of incenses and a lotus flower to the Buddhas and sat in meditation for some time, unfolding and releasing some of the stresses and delusions of the past few months. I am planning to meet up with a Thai Buddhist monk either tomorrow or the next day for some meditation guidance. They are free and offered throughout the city almost everyday. Buddhism compliments and enhances my yoga practice.
The immensity of the city remains unfathomable to me. I am sitting in an internet cafe with nearly a hundred people who are screaming in Thai about some psychotic, everyone-has-a-submachine-gun up computer game that they are all hooked on. The anonymity is familiar and comforting. Almost every place I have walked around today has provided something related to Buddhism, health, including massage (the real ones, not prostitutes), various apothecaries, Hindu temples, and everything else that makes life worth living. The enormity of the temples and their austerity causes me to stand in awe. Again, I found myself frequently breathless and confused at how a place like this could really exist.
I saw McDonalds and one of the metro stations unloaded me into a department store. I literally felt like a martian. I don't even understand these places anymore. A Starbuck's presence in the center of the city pained me. I will probably go out and see a show or have a drink tonight. I have my appointment tomorrow with the doctor. I plan to just keep writing on this one blog. Internet is cheap here. I will try to write again tomorrow after my appointment. -MJ

Revolutionary prose

2005-03-27T22:37:00.000-08:00

On Thursday afternoon, I received a call at my house that we had gone into the consolidation phase of our emergency response system designed for Peace Corps volunteers. I was planning to pack that night to head to Bishkek and then Thailand that day, so it was moderately stressful to have to think about not only being away for the house for those trips but to also think about leaving for four or five extra days or maybe forever from Kyrgyzstan. The reports of looting and revolutionary activity in Bishkek filtered in from locals' reports and from the news sources that were available to us. Seven of us crowded into a nearby apartment and awaited further information. The first night, I couldn't handle everyone's stress and my own stress, so I managed to gulp down a few beers and monopolize on the music on Rich's computer. We heard reports that night that the Kyrgyz president, Askar Akaev, had fled the country for either Kazakhstan or Russia and that the country had fallen to the opposition.
There had been some anticipation of this event over the previous week. Protests emerged in the southern oblasts of Jalal-Abad and Osh. We were already on another heightened security status as we were watching the events in the south unfold. We heard vaguely about 10,000 or so protesters in both of these oblasts outside the major government buildings demanding reelections and a restructuring of the government. Once the opposition took control of the major government centers in these towns and burned down the police station, we contemplated how we could continue our program in a country divided by civil unrest. When we heard from various locals as well as news sources about the opposition riding in marshurtkas, vans with glorified names, we wondered how long it would be before they would make it to the capital and how the president would respond to their demands. The president's son and daughter had been elected in by the blatently corrupt (according to international observers) parliamentary elections.
I thought that, although the opposition would make their way to the north, that Akaev's military forces or police would detain the revolutionaries and put an end to their movement. What I failed to realize, at this time, was that the police and many of the people who I reckoned were pro-Akaev actually wanted him out as well. As further evidence, a full-scale overhaul of the local goverment officials who were closely linked to Akaev were also thrown out of our local city government as well.
The first night was nervous. We conversed about our plans if we were to be evacuated and tried to call our parents to report our well-being. On the second morning, we moved out of the apartment in need of food and more news. We stopped in at a local cafe for lunch and watched the TVs there, which were broadcasting opposition leaders who were imploring looters to stop with the consequence of being shot by the police forces under the opposition control. The looters cleared out the major department stores in Bishkek, those mostly frequented by monied Kyrgyz and expats. As I was driving in yesterday, I read on various department store and restaurant windows, "Biz el menen" (We are with the people). I observed various buildings that had been burned out despite this vow of loyalty, mostly places that represented decadence or that were owned by foreigners especially the Chinese. The news clips of the looting were disturbing. I felt my first real pang of anxiety after watching the clips from the night before.
Kyrgyz television is naturally far more raw than American television and that was when it was controlled by a stable group of elites within their society. The images from the night of the revolution, our Thursday night, and the montage cooperated to create a sense of terror and dynamism. After the carefully edited video-photo collage ended, various members of the opposition party sat at a table against a backdrop and talked to "the people" as their newly-instated authority. I remember one man essentially yelling in Kyrgyz at the people who were still out in Bishkek looting the next day. He spoke across the screen at me like I was a child. I couldn't find the appetite to eat lunch.
Friday night we watched a movie and laid low, exhausted from the panic from the previous day. Our program coordinator arrived with some mail and news. She took our passports as a precaution. She left. We heard rumors about killings, food riots and civil war. We heard rumors that we were definitely going to be evacuated or that we would only be evacuated to Kazakhstan. The power of mild hysteria from being locked up in a small room with other volunteers and the wanton use of cellphones for calls and texts fabricated a history that paralleled the ultimate history of what was actually happening. We heard news from parents and friends from the phone. We heard little from the government or the Peace Corps actually, which in turn cause our appetites for any information to grow at an inverse rate. The less we felt we knew, the more we wanted needed to know. Rumor volat, as Virgil wrote in the Aeneid, has never meant what it meant to me over the last few days. Adding to our confusion, various news syndicates reported different information. Apparently, the Chinese have made a statement that the opposition were under the influence of narcotics. The Uzbek government has stated that they feel that the movement originated from Muslim extremist influences within the country. History takes time for its logical, systematic construction and writers with sources. We shall be waiting for some time to sort out the evidence to gain a clearer understanding of what has happened.
Saturday we spent time at the apartment in the morning. We went into the city for more food. The apartment at which we were staying had little to no food supplies. On Friday afternoon, we saw a group of about 50 men standing outside the goverment office in Cholpon-Ata. By the time we made it into Cholpon-Ata the next day, the deputy and akimiyat had fled the area, leaving the regional administration open. The city was disturbingly quiet. We were going to meet up at our local cafe, but it was full with out-of-towners. The glances from the Kyrgyz men as we walked in were unsettling. We quickly found our way to another cafe where we felt safe and had lunch. We ate and gathered our food and retreated to the apartment for another sunset, indoors and together.
On Easter Sunday we made pancakes and awaited some news from Peace Corps. We heard from our progam coordinator that the consolidation might let up over the next days. We were hopeful that it would be over by Monday. I had to take a marshurtka to a city on the other side of the lake. A Peace Corps vehicle was meant to pick me up and take me the rest of the way to Bishkek. I was picked up by a Russian man who didn't mind charging me 10 som less than the normal price. We talked for about five minutes in Russian before the silence from language ignorance set in. As he picked up other passengers, he announced that I was an American spy. He also kept talking about the USSR and the intelligence gathering from the Cold War. He freaked me out. What really spooked me was when I noticed a knife over his window. I was relieved to be finished with my ride. "Davai spishonka," the driver said to me as I exited, "Very well, my little spy." I found Peace Corps at a nearby house and we made our way toward the burned out, post-revolutionary capital city. Snow started falling as we made our way through the mountain pass. Weather may have actually had some part in the slow down of the revolution.
I spent the night in the hotel with some volunteers who were consolidated there. We watched the television program, "The Great Race," on someone's computer from a DVD. Now, I am waiting a half an hour before I will be given a ride to the airport in the city. I will first fly to Tashkent, Uzbekistan where I will have a layover for six hours. I will then fly into Bangkok for an eight day visit. The doctor told me that there is a small probability that I will be medical separated if treatment cannot be provided in the country. If I will be separated, I will most likely be given a choice of another program in another country. I have to think about the contingencies even if they are unlikely. As far as I know, the president is still out of the country, but he claims that he is still the president. Russia and the US have offered aid to help rehabilitate the economy and provide basic resources like flour and petrol.
I am tired and writing this as quickly as possible before my departure. If you have questions or want me to expand on some part of this entry, send me a comment. I will do my best. I would highly recommend reading some of the articles on the NY Times and BBC website. I am well. I hope that my skin condition will be treatable in country so that I will not have to start over again somewhere else in the world. I feel confident that I will be back in country. There have been further rumors of civil war in the country if the president attempts to come back. If the country goes on consolidation while I am in Thailand, I will stay in Thailand until it's over. I anticipate that the unrest of the last few weeks will continue to subside and that I will return to the lake, healthy with tulips in full bloom. To the revolution. -MJ

Bangkok on Monday

2005-03-23T23:59:00.000-08:00

My doctor informed me that I will be heading to Bangkok on Monday for an appointment with a dermatologist. I will be there for eight days. I hope that we will not be evacuated from Kyrgyzstan while I am there. I would then have no access to my belongings, which would be sent to my parents in California. The opposition have headed to the capital, Bishkek, to continue with demonstrations. We are on a hightened security alert and one step away from having to consolidate in the capital if things get nasty. I leave for the capital on Sunday. I am going to shave my head now. I had it cut but the Kyrgyz hair stylists' favorite instrument is the electric buzzer. The dollar cuts always let us down here. Refer to A. Kaiser's blog for more information from a female perspective. As long as the demonstrations remain at the level of violence that they are at now, there should be no evacuation. I made french toast this morning. I am still stuffed from eating a loaf of bread. My director said my face looks fat when I came to school today. I will eat ridiculous amounts of Thai food while there for everyone. Hopefull my face will explode all over a Buddhist temple, and I will granted sainthood. In the meantime, -MJ

REVOLUTION: Burning down the house

2005-03-22T00:25:00.000-08:00

So, I am now in the middle of a revolution here. Some recent news links have been posted below. You should definitely keep up on the news for the next week or so. In the last two days, the situation in the country has somewhat become out of the control of the Kyrgyz Government, which is now negotiating with the opposition that has taken over the southern half of the country. Life on the lake is quiet, but some developments are happening on the eastern side of the lake I am told. We are on a special security advisory for the time being. I cannot leave my site except to the nearby town. Our training has been postponed. There is a real chance that we may be evacuated if the president, Askar Akaev, is forced out of office. Right now the entire police forces in the south of the country are sided with the opposition party, and the official Kyrgyz government has no way to fight against the protesters in the south who demand a reelection of the parliamentary deputats who have been voted in during the most recent election. The opposition in the movement, quite large as the photographs online will evidence, has requested the president to step down out of office. Two major news sources have claimed that the situation is beyond the point of turning back. It is difficult to get a clear picture from our news sources that are mostly controlled by the goverment elites anyway.
The doctor from Bishkek also wrote today to tell me that I will be heading to Bangkok, Thailand after our training if it happens for medical. The doctors sent photos of my skin conditions to Washington D.C. The people in D.C. said that I need more tests and to be seen by a dermatologist in Thailand for my condition. I will be in Thailand for about ten days if I end up heading out there. I will keep you posted on these developments, too.
Yesterday was the Muslim New Year called Nooruz. There was a huge festival in the park in Cholpon-Ata. The sun was out in full force. I have been able to run in the mornings in a t-shirt and warm-up pants. We ate plov at my house, and I took it easy: no drunkness to speak of. I am on break and taking the full advantage of it despite being "confined" to the lake where I can spend afternoons on the beach with a book in the sun with an alpine breeze blowing through my greasy hair. Without further ado, some of the most recent headlines from Kyrgyzstan. Oh yeah, and don't worry about me. The muscular, courageous Marines will evacuate me with a helicopter from the top of a nearby burning Soviet apartment building called PMKa if shit hits the fan:

http://edition.cnn.com/2005/WORLD/asiapcf/03/21/kyrgyzstan.riots.ap/index.html
http://edition.cnn.com/2005/WORLD/asiapcf/03/21/kyrgyzstan.factbox.reut/index.html
http://edition.cnn.com/2005/WORLD/asiapcf/03/20/kyrgyzstan.riots.ap/index.html
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/4370875.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/4368837.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/4369139.stm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/4365945.stm
http://query.nytimes.com/search/query?query=kyrgyzstan&date_select=full&srchst=nyt

I am fine. I'm not scared considering my travel experience to Mexico City during their revolution and Israel where it's always fuckt. The protesting is reportedly making its way toward the capital. Stay tuned to the news for more information. Mom, don't have a panic attack. Love from the revolution, komrads. -MJ

Glam in the pedagogic sham

2005-03-18T03:32:00.000-08:00

The last real day of classes for two whole weeks finally. I finished my journals in record time, mostly a result of scheduling my assessments last week and barely anything at all for this week. I embody the elation that I used to feel at the onset of breaks when I was a child. I am ready for rest and to stay as far away from the school for the next two weeks as possible.
To my two highest-level classes I assigned a project of picking and developing a three to five-minute presentation around an important person. Most of my kids chose performing artists at first. Upon discovering that it would be impossible to answer two of the three questions that I dictated based on a pop singer (for example, the question: "Why is Britney important?"), the students retreated to writing about one Kyrgyz writer, Chingiz Aitmatov, and the nominal Kyrgyz Republic's president, A. Akaev. I listened to about twenty presentations on these two men. I was also encouraging the students to choose women, but apparently to their minds there are no important women (who work outside of the pop circuit). Of the sixty students who were assigned this project, all of the presentations were also remarkably similar, as most of the students feed like parasites off the two to three alpha-students in every class.
One student who delivered his presentation today chose Keanu Reeves. I couldn't really understand what he was reading to me during his delivery. After his presentation was over, he gave me the two index cards of the sort that I gave all the students for writing their notes. It became clear that he had copied his prepared statement on Mr Reeves from a magazine or the internet. What he failed to notice, though, was that in his editing of the autobiography of Reeves, he managed to deliver a parallel, one-minute presentation on Patricia Reeves, Keanu's mother. Her life's story was equally colorful from running away from India from her Hawaiian husband (as Henry Fielding might write, "the impudent slut") to her days as a fashion designer in the milieu of New York's stage performing elite. I ended up giving Eldos a 4 out of a possible 5 primarily because, in one sentence, this Kyrgyz male managed to associate three fantastic concepts that I thought I would never have heard about during my service, namely Fashion, Dolly Parton, and David Bowie. I guess that Pat Reeves used to tailor clothes for these folks back in the day. Who knew? One of those x degrees of separation phenomena to be sure. I appreciated this boy in a dirty track suit's tenuous affiliation with two of the divinities of the Glam movement.
I drank some water from Mecca two nights ago. A man who returned from his Hadj brought to our family a bottle of water from his pilgrimage. It might have actually been from a spring in Medina. In any case, it is a tradition to drink this water and make prayers. I was fortunate enough to have been jonesing for some caffine and headed into the kitchen just in time to drink this Islamic holy water. You drink the water in three sips and make silent prayers after each sip to family, health, and so on as you wish. You then drink the rest of the water. Caught in the moment I drank the water. The thoughts that followed the prayers to Allah were about the water's purity and my gastric health. Fortunately I avoided the shits from the Saudi water.
I realize that I sometimes sound negative on these blogs. My opprobrium for the Kyrgyz and Kyrgyzstan and my life originate from Love in actuality. I love how impossible everything feels sometimes and how the most insignificant slivers of time with students and family can resurrect me after hours or even days of deep (self-)loathing. The extremity of my psychic states provide challenges that continually require me to make shifts in my mind to further my personal flexibility and strength. It's sort of exercise for my personality and mind, yet it's hard to find the energy always to keep things sorted and to feel motivated to remain positive.
Our training has been postponed due to some residual revolutionary movements in the south of the country. Groups in opposition to the results of the parliamentary elections and ruling elite (excuse the Marxist nature of this account) have taken over government headquarters for one of the oblasts in the south in the Jalal-Abad region. About 1,000 people are protesting ("picketting" in Russian) outside another governemnt building in the Osh Oblast. The "Tulip Revolution" prophesized by the NY Times and Newsweek has come to some fruition. What remains to be seen is how these minor uprisings will compare with those in reaction to the presidential elections in October. Stay tuned.
I will stop now. Without doubt I will remember something I forgot to write as soon as I publish the post. Good Friday to you. Cheerio! -MJ

Links to some other volunteers' blogs

2005-03-12T03:02:00.000-08:00

If you want a glimpse of some other people's lives in Kyrgyzstan, check out these blogs:

http://www.aileykaiser.blogspot.com/
http://www.kyrgyzstankid.blogspot.com/
http://www.kumys.com/
http://www.kyrgyzsean.blogspot.com/

There's a picture of me on the lake that you can access through Ailey's blog. Enjoy them but not too much. -MJ

"momboo is a mtao." (If you didn't know)

2005-03-11T03:12:00.000-08:00

For all those who knew Saidie Jacobs (my dog), I have some unfortunate news: she died last week in California. I received an email from my mom telling me that her declining health made her life uncomfortable. They decided to put her to sleep instead of letting her suffer. I am sure that she transcended into a higher plane of existence for her next life. I read a story in "Newsweek" about the Pope's declining health and ridiculous opinions. I think that he should consider being put to sleep as well.
I have put some more thought to how I relate to the Kyrgyz people around me. When I came here, I figured that people would be interested in my life, my opinions, and experiences. What I have come to realize is that they are mostly interested in how much money I'm making and how they can materially benefit from my being here. I have more conversations about money in Kyrgyzstan than I have ever had probably in my entire life. People are obssessed with how much things cost, how much people make, and how they can get more money. I thought that I would be having more conversations centering around cross-cultural exchange.
I gave some tests this week to assess my students' levels before we have another break. The frequency of the breaks and holidays means that we haven't had a full week of school in about a month. Anyway, I wanted to provide some excerpts from one of the worst exams (Many thanks to Gulnaz from the 5th form, 11 years old):
Q: What is your name?
A: Ati body.
Q: How old are you?
A: LBmt Bom Cxon.
Q: What is your superhero like? (From one of our themes)
A: momboo is a mtao.
Q: What time is it? (4:30 written on the board)
A: 13:15 Kuao is haom.
Q: What time is it? (4:55 written on the board)
A: 16:8 I hoo tiioh is a tao.
I was impressed by the use of "tao" often in her answers, my class not being an Asian Philosophy Graduate Seminar and all. I made the joke to my host mother that I didn't know that I was teaching Swahili or Zulu for the last three months, "Momboo is a mtao." She was also confused and wrote that she is in the 11th form when she's actually in the 5th. I brought the test to the internet cafe. These are actual answers from Gulnaz's test. Am I a failure as a teacher? Most likely. Are students like Gulnaz deplorable students? Definitely. On an upbeat, the students have really enjoyed my introduction of "Hokey Pokey." It's almost up there with "When the Saints Go Marchin' In" now.
I have one week before our training in Bishkek and the students' break, yet another break. I have to fill out the journals again before I can leave. I plan to sit with a thermos of hot water, my Nescafe, and headphones and get through about half of them tomorrow morning after my one class for the day. I feel like I am paying my respects to the Soviet educational system more than actually systematically assessing my students performance, but that's life in Kyrgyzstan: venerating archaic, senseless systems set up by an empire that has disintegrated already.
I haven't gotten post in about three weeks. Every time something arrives it has been opened by some Russian inspectors. I have a mental picture of these inspectors drinking vodka and eating my chocolate and wearing my silk long underwear. Bastards. I have pretty much given up on the idea of getting a few things that have already been sent in the mail. Meanwhile, I am in Kyrgyzstan with no money, no love, and no real direction waiting for some words (and things) from friends and family. Listening to the five tapes over and over again that have come in the mail slowly slipping into a stupor.
I am living with this Tajik guy. I wrote about him in a previous blog, the baker. His name is Amir. In Central Asia, you address adults by their names and then attach another title (either "big brother" or "big sister") to show respect. In Tajik, "big brother" is aka, so his name is Amir aka. I noticed, while slightly tipsy on homemade orange wine on International Women's Day, that Amir aka is phonetically close to the word America. Since Amir is not exactly the most pro-American you will ever met, the irony of his name becomes slightly more pronounced.
I have started to realize more that I will be living from month to month for the next two years on the Peace Corps stipend. I keep thinking that, if I save my money and am really frugal, I will actually have some money by the time that summer comes. I am realizing that it's better just to get through the month instead of trying to save every som and stressing about money everyday. I live in the most expensive part of the country, even more expensive than the capital city. Living on the lake being a volunteer presents more of a problem than living in the middle of nowhere in a village. Because tourists come here in the summer, prices will rise even more. It's really weird to never have money. Money has begun to feel more and more abstract to me as just a means to various, limited ends.
I feel like everyone's doing all these stimulating, exciting, mind-expanding things in America and that I spend most of my time fighting with students, teaching uninterested, unmotivated students, and struggling to maintain and develop social relationships in this strange culture. like I never have money. like I haven't made many friends like I thought I would. like all my languages are stagnating, including English. People at home think that life here must be incredible. The truth is that sometimes it is, but there's a lot of waiting, meditating, and soul-searching in between. I do honestly miss school a lot. I want to help but am forever wondering what I can actually do now that I recognize some features of my Kyrgyz reality. Nothing's really what it seems in Kyrgyzstan, I have found out, which is something that's not a whole lot different from America. I guess that I thought by traveling half way around the world I would find people who would really recognize, who would care about a chance to learn and change their lives. I have found that apathy and breathtaking ignorance of the type which I hoped was confined to America actually exists out here: in the developing world. I hate having to resort to the mantra, even if I only help a few students, a couple of people, I have made I difference. As of late it has been one of the few things that keeps me motivated. -MJ

International Women's Day

2005-03-07T21:44:00.000-08:00

I went skiing in Karakol this weekend, skipping out on my 10 year olds for a change on my Saturday morning. I went out with some friends from the Karakol area to a slope above Karakol city for the day. The ski lift to get to the top of the slope was shaped like an anchor. It is possible to either place this anchor between your legs in the three to four seconds before the machines tightens the slack rope and begins yanking you up the hill. If you don't, you pretty much cause a scene in front of the more experienced skiers and are likely to be severly injured by the lift, as we personally verified. Another possibility is to place the anchor quickly behind two people's backs and, then, allow it to pull you up. This also doesn't work well if the people are not situated properly on the lift. We had some brillant spills using this method as well. The slope was pretty scary for me, but it was an excellent work-out and allowed for some amazing views of the mountains around Karakol all the way to the other side of the lake. My friend broke one of his poles which cost him 40 dollars. Other than a few bruises and throbbing muscles the next day, everything about the trip was delightful.
Yesterday was the beginning of International Women's Day, which is actually today. We had a quintessentially Kyrgyz secondary school party with the teachers. After dancing quite a lot and having some substantial shots of vodka, I started in on a conversation with one of the teachers about the nature of this holiday. The teacher, a Russian, was convinced that the holiday was actually international. I had to explain that anything that bears the name "International" was most likely a vestige of the USSR and its vision of a global spread of communist ideology if not the system itself. She conceded my point that this was probably cooked up in the early days of the USSR and that "International" is a surefire way to know that the communists had their hand in the creation of the holiday.
Today no one works, especially the women. One irony about the party at the school yesterday was the notable number of women clearing the tables and washing the dishes while the men continued to drink vodka. I guess that, no matter how much you try to give women a break for one day, it is sort of an impossibility in this quasi-Muslim quasi-republic. I have to teach tomorrow, but I plan to take it really easy today. I am heading over with my host brother to another volunteer's house for tea now. I hope that you find a way to make your International Women's Day special. Or maybe you should just shoot some vodka and dance to bad Russian and Iranian techno and completely ignore its function all together. Take your pick. -MJ

The Tulip Revolution will not be televised

2005-02-28T20:40:00.000-08:00

According to various NY Times articles a revolution was projected due to the parliamentary elections last weekend. We did not have any such revolution as forecasted. You can look up "Kyrgyzstan" on the NY Times website and read some of the articles from the past couple of weeks if you are interested. I submitted an application to take the Foreign Service Officer's Exam in the spring of this year. Even though I will not be eligible for a job until after Peace Corps, it is practice and a trip into Bishkek to take it. It will be interested to see what it takes to work for an Embassy. I am in Bishkek now and saw the doctor yesterday. My body continues to freak out as it adjusts to the climate, elevation, and food of Kyrgyzstan. I have some mild excema that is over a good portion of my legs and arms. I am going to start an elimination diet, and I bought a box of really expensive ($1.50) laundry detergent from the Turkish Beta Store in Bishkek that is formulated for sensitive skin. I could be having a reaction to my soap.
I skipped out of the commission's visit to our school today. I was not able to travel last night after my appointment because we are on a higher securtiy alert still due to the elections. I am heading over to the bazaar to try to find a cheap tape player for my classroom and buy a few clothes items I need. I made some homemade veggie burgers a few nights ago. If anyone wants the recipe, I will pass it along. I am looking forward to getting out of the city and back to my life in the village. Not much else to say.
(Written the next day.)
I am back in my site. My kids were really horrible today. I was feeling a little drained from the traveling from the capital, but I had a plan. They didn't have their homework. Today about 60 percent of my students showed up. In two of my classes, we are working on creating their own superheroes, so that they can talk about people in the third person. I wanted them to use their creative minds to create a comic strip that involves their superhero for homework. I felt like this would really motivate the students to use some of the spoken expressions that we have learned and to work with some new vocabulary as well. Instead the students feigned ignorance, acting like they had never seen a comic strip before. They were rude, loud, and didn't finish the assignment. I sometimes feel like I am wasting my time when the students don't try at all. With my younger classes, we are working on a house and household activities theme. They are really doing well. We talked about their dream houses today, and they really got into it. The idea of a "dream"-something had to be translated to them as much as the words themselves. I came home, feeling really frustrated with my work. I sat down to have tea and broke into tears: the third cry since I have been here. I can't believe that it happened in front of my new host parents, but sometimes you just can't hold in your emotions, the pressure in your head is too much. After about three minutes, I had had my fill of emotional indulgence. My yogic host father started to explain to me the power of meditation to create an undisturbable inner-calmness half in Russian and half in Kyrgyz. They also told me that the other volunteer had cried at their house a lot due to the terrible students in the village. I guess she changed her strategy for teaching, targeting only the students who were working and interested in learning. I have a really difficult time thinking that I should leave all but three or four students behind in most of my classes. I ate and had tea and spoke with them about why I'm so irritated by Kyrgyz students. I even suggested that, if I were in China, Japan, or many other countries, I would not be fighting with my students who would be respectful and open to learn. I don't know what students are really like, besides what I heard from my cousin and a volunteer who has already "early terminated" but I still have the feeling it would be better there. I have to keep on trying to be positive force here even if the students don't respect me or appreciate what I am doing to help them. Maybe one day they will wake up and appreciate me. It is sunny and spring has sprung. I am going to try to start having baseball for the kids most days after school. They really enjoy it, and only the good kids really come anyway to after-school activities. I am still fine tuning a full explanation for myself of why I am here. I know that I am not in a village in the middle of Central Asia just to teach kids how to speak the English. I want the students to feel creative, like individual minds sometimes, like they can control their lives and health, that they have potential. A foundation like this would help them to realize that learning English will help them with their futures and to become whoever they want to become. I feel like I am still working on the groundwork with my kids. They have stopped cheating for the most part except for the few students who are horrible at English. In the meantime, I just have to be patient and keep trying different ways to get through to them. It's disappointing that I have to work so much to motivated my students. It's not really what I was expecting coming here, but I will catalogue it with everything else that I didn't expect (most of which has been positive). And I got paid today, so nothing can really get me down that much. -MJ

Drew Barrymore and the Kyrgyz "meltdown"

2005-02-24T03:26:00.000-08:00

Today was never-ending, but I am recovering. Having six hours of back to back classes requires the patience of a Buddhist monk and much stamina. I have been really taking it easy during the last week and predominantly hanging around my house, trying to transition to my abode and carve out a place of my own. I baked peanut butter cookies and made some granola from scratch this weekend. I have been eating really well and reading, awaiting the arrival of Spring. In not socializing with the Americans recently, I have started to forget or lose my English. It is a peculiar experience when you start thinking in someone else's tongue. I spend most of my day speaking someone else's language, not feeling acutely conscious that I'm speaking another language. I was practicing piano today and, when I made a mistake, I was reprimanding myself in Kyrgyz. It is weird when it happens. When I first got here, I was really aware of when I was speaking Kyrgyz and rearranging my mental space to deal with the new culture. Now these things are natural and unquestioned features of my quotidian experience. I never thought that I would forget how to spell words in English, but that's slowly happening as well. Previous volunteers, especially the English teachers, told me that they started losing their language and speaking some weird, teacher's English as the time went on. Not looking forward to all that per se.
We are on the verge of what Newsweek has called a "meltdown" in Kyrgyz due to the upcoming elections. Americans here have to be on alert in case of a political emergency, basically a revolution. We aren't really supposed to travel until next week after it is clear that we are safe. There were many concerts and gatherings over the last few weeks, and the energy has been building up for the elections here. I don't really think that anything crazy will happen, and most of the volunteers reading that Newsweek article felt fairly dismissive about it. I did too. I think that the presidential election later this year should be the event we are really bracing ourselves for. What happened in Ukraine could just as easily happen here. As the Kyrgyz look toward different leadership, the present power structure and organization will have to find a new way to exist. Askar Akaev, the President now, has been President here since independence from the USSR. It should be interesting to see what happens as the Kyrgyz people make decisions for the future of their state.
Coinciding with election fervor was Men's Day, a celebration of everything about men but mostly concentrating on the glories of war. Next month, we will have Women's Day to counterbalance the masculine vibe. I found myself in the notorious basement of the school (note the entry around New Year's about the vodka, starting in the basement of the school). I was hanging out with the Kyrgyz men drinking vodka and eating cured beef fat and pickles. We gave toasts and drank, pretty typical of a Kyrgyz holiday or basically everyday for some people here. The female teachers beckoned us upstairs and they distributed small gifts to us in appreciation of us being men. I don't know how I feel about a holiday like this, but dare I protest vodka and gifts. I had another encounter with my drinking buddy, the 300 pound Russian math teacher (see that previous entry). We drank few more shots, and he handed to me a bit of wisdom:
Pointing to his shot glass, he said "Man and monkey." He then explained how drinking a lot makes us akin to monkies and having the power to restrain situates us closer to Man. He repeated himself about five times perhaps indicating he was somewhat more of a monkey after his last shot. The advice was well-received and I stuck to eating more cured fat and skipping out on the drink. The Russian guy, Sasha, and I went back to his house. He showed me around his estate and we drank some of his homemade moonshine. It was delicious. We, now including his wife, ate some bulgur wheat and cured fat and had tea. He passed along to me a biography of Stalin completely in Russian for what reason I am unsure. I consider it one of those goal reads that you have when you start a new language. The book features the picture of a monkey in a funny, clown suit on the back cover (the emblem of the questionable publisher). The book's sitting on my table at home now.
Upon leaving his house, I met up with one of my older students. I, being tipsy, invited him over to the house for tea. He then recommended that we go over to a student's Men's Day party. No one was at her house, so we proceeded toward the "discoteka" at the school. I ended up dancing with my students for a few hours with a buzz. They really liked that I showed up, and the music was dancable and, at times, relatively decent. I felt like Drew Barrymore, do excuse the low art allusion, in that movie "Never Been Kissed" where she does an article on what high school is like now. I think that she throws up all over the dance floor or something to that effect. Have you ever noticed how if, in a movie, an actor(-ress) gets really drunk and pukes, they never look like shit in the morning? When I make my first movie, someone's getting sick (for real) and we will postpone the shoot until the next day to capture all of the misery of a horrible hangover.
Besides Men's Day life has been kosher and stimulating. In effort to conserve my funds, I will abruptly end this entry. -MJ

Jumping Jack Flash

2005-02-19T01:44:00.000-08:00

I feel reborn in my new house here. I actually enjoying spending time at home, just relaxing and learning Russian from the extremely bright, respectful children I live with. They are also helpful and interested in me and learning about my life and English. I took a quasi-shower today at my house for about 10 minutes: long enough to feel clean. I have come up short on money this month because I moved and spent a lot of time in the nearby city in an attempt to avoid my family. Great for my piano and knowledge of the local cafes, bad for my pocketbook. I am not broke, but I have to dive into some of my back up money this month to get by. I just went to the bazaar to get food for the next week. Some of the volunteers near me went to Bishkek to say goodbye to a volunteer who has Early Terminated her service. Of the four other people I trained with myself and one other remain in our service. Alisha, who is leaving today or tomorrow, was the last of three to leave in the last month and a half. I know that I bitch a lot about how hard life is here, but I will say it again: Not everyone can do this. It is hard. I have chosen to take this week to reorganize my life a little, write some overdo letters, and make some peanut butter cookies. My friend, Joyce, who lives in a nearby village, called it quits with her first host family as well and has moved into an apartment. I guess some people are getting together at her place to hang out. I would rather hang out at home, not sleep on her floor, and find myself without a hangover on Sunday morning due to the inevitable drinking that will ensue if I make an appearence. I want to watch some Russian MTV at my house, make cookies in my sweats, and avoid being out in the cold, do some yoga, read, and go to bed. My little brother, whose name I don't really understand that well, who only speaks in Russian (the linguistic elitism of a five year old) and calls Kyrgyz "Chinese," said that I look like a grandfather in my Versace reading glasses. Perhaps it is more than my glasses. I feel myself wanting to slow down and relax on the weekends after a long week of work. I don't feel like playing the game of a double life of being in the village for the four days that I have to teach and, then, party with Americans and speak English for the other three days. It's not really why I came here. I don't think that it helps me stayed focused on myself, my work, and my relationships in the village that sustain my existence during most of my week here. I wrote a to-do list and lost it and now I am confused about what I am supposed to be doing here. That just infuriates me. I probably left it back at the bazaar. I want to clarify some misinformation that was passed along by my parents, I think. You can get money to me here. Do not put money in any packages. Neither the money nor the package will get to me. With my bank card, I can access my money at any bank here for a small charge. On the lake, they are used to tourists and there are facilities here for me to use. My bank is dependable. I would highly discourage people from sending heavy or large books or buying them for me. I can buy them with my bank card from the UK version of Amazon, and they can send them to Kyrgyzstan. I have been really relaxed during the last week because I am finally in a healthy living situation where I can be myself and relax when I need to. I feel really blessed. Some volunteers are too scared to leave their host families. I wasn't willing to live like I had been. Classes are interesting. I have come to a realization about my ability to teach English to students who don't really do their homework or want to work that hard. I think that my position here should be one of a motivator, a reinforcer. I want to help them see their potential and learn how to do things on their own without relying on copying or imitating other students' work. Maybe my students won't speak the best English, but they will have a work ethic, a sense of self-worth, and the knowledge that they are capable to create things individually. 45 minute sessions twice a week with a class of students doesn't really help the situation either. My Ecology and English Clubs have become quite popular with the younger students. We talked about the water cycle last week. The students really suck up any information that I deliver during the clubs. I always let them draw pictures and use paints and such to help them remember what I have taught. My English Club has been a mixture of sport and music. I think that, as soon as I can find the time and money to get to the capital again, I will buy a tape player. Right now, it is outside of my budget, and it is really something that a grant should cover in reality. I am trying to write a grant for the purchase of technology and seminars that would teach the teachers and students how to use the technology in the classroom. I think that it could really help my students be competitive with the nearby, rich, and well-cultured students in the city school. As far as the ecology grant, it has been put on the backburner since the organization has blew all its money (given to them by the German government), so they can't even afford electricity. This scenario represents a prime example of the problem with giving hand outs to people here. They will spend grant money on everything but what the grant was written for, on themselves and have nothing to show for what was given to them at the end of the day. I have to be really careful with the money I take in from the grant. If any money is unaccounted for, it comes out of my final allowance that is supposed to help me transition to the next phase of my life after service. So much to think about all the time here. It's never just: I'm giving English classes or writing grants or whatever. There's a whole complex set of cultural problems that limit what I can do and how I can do it. I have to be aware and careful lest I get fucked over by some schmuck looking for extra money from a wealthy American. We had an earthquake last week. The epicenter was in China, but I was having some intense gas, so I was awake. I felt what I knew was an earthquake. Because the houses are made basically out of glorified mud, I freaked out and headed toward the door frame. My host mother was awake making bread that she sells during the day. She hadn't felt it, about a 6.0 quake, and thought that I had had a nightmare. I thought that I was going crazy until my students questioned me about it the next day during class. I conviced myself that I had dreamed the sensation of an earthquake the next morning, the power of the mind. To all those who have sent me emails, mail, and packages, I am really getting back on the wagon for sending you replies. I have been short on money, hence no emails, and had no time, thus the lack of letters. I am sure you can understand. If there's anything that I should be writing in these blogs that I keep forgetting, then post a comment and I will try to address it in the next post. I know that I have a tendency to write in a detached, abstract way about things. Perhaps I will try to become more antecdotal. On that note, I send my love. -MJ

Loveless on my Valentinka

2005-02-14T00:49:00.000-08:00

I don't have a Valentine this Valentine's Day. I thought that, just as I had escaped the mindless, depression-inducing Christmas celebration, I would be able to avoid Valentine's Day. I was wrong. They call it "Valentinka," a Russian bastardization of our own "Valentine's." I have fully moved into my new house. I am putting a few finishing touches on the decoration tonight. Last night, I made curry chili for my new family and had a volunteer over to my house. We hung out with my family. I showed my photo album and we talked about energy, chakras, and mantras for a few hours after dinner. I have a really positive outlook about my new living situation. Today I had breakfast and went to one of the local resorts for a 30 som (less than a dollar) mineral water shower and swim. I had a bowl of borsch and met up with a friend in town. I think that I will play piano for a couple of hours today and prepare my lessons for tomorrow. Nothing special on Valentine's Day. Yesterday I met with the representative from the organization that might send me to Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan for lunch. He paid. We talked mostly about drinking beer in college (?) and he talked about fraternities at his college (??). I am slightly perplexed by our meeting, yet I have a feeling that he would not have come if he wasn't interested by my application. Perhaps a good sign.

My NEW address is:
Кыргызстан
Иссык-Кульская Обл.
Иссык-Кульский Рн.
722314 с. Кара-Ой
Советская 245
Майкл Джэйкобс

Kyrgyzstan
Issyk-Kul Oblast
Issyk-Kul Rayon
722314 c. Kara-Oi
Sovietskaya 245
Michael Jacobs

tel. 03943 54068 (omit the first "0" when calling)

I don't really have much else to say right now. I hope that everyone gets boozed up and lovey tonight. Have fun. Play safe. -MJ

Friday night packing

2005-02-11T03:01:00.000-08:00

DON'T WORRY ABOUT THE ADDRESS CHANGE. The lady at the post office knows me. I am the only American who gets letters and packages in my village. I will still post my new address in a few days for those who are interested.

Tomorrow I am moving to my new home. This week was weird. I had to dodge my host parents and family who clearly weren't pleased by my decision to move out of their house. I am packing my things up tonight, which should take no longer than a couple of hours. I will teach one lesson tomorrow and start to move after school's out for the day. My friend, Josh, who lives the closest to me will help me. I think that I will hire a taxi for a dollar and get everything I own here there in one load. I am moving in with a new Kyrgyz family, but they only really speak Russian. I will need to start learning Russian to communicate well with the people there. The host father is the guy, Rashid, who appreciates yoga and meditation. The gate of my house has a formidable yin and yang sign on it, something I don't see in Kyrgyzstan everyday. His wife is really sweet and an excellent cook. There are three older children who are excited for me to move in. They are also hosting a baker from Tajikistan who moved to Kyrgyzstan to work and make some money. My room will be smaller, yet the house is quieter and has Russian MTV. They won't think I'm weird if I make my own food. I feel like they will appreciate me and all my glory more than my current family does.
I spent last night over at a friend's house. We talked about why it's hard to deal with Kyrgyzstan. Did I mention one of my students stole the UNO deck my mom sent me from our Resource Center? Episodes like these really wear on my spirits. Students show up completely unprepared for class without even a notebook. I have to keep my head up and convince myself that I will impart some of my scholarly character onto them in due time. Some of my students are really excelling and feel highly motivated by my classes. I try to focus more on the successes than the failures. I am starting Tchaikovsky on the piano. I came in to play paino today, but the music school was closed. On Tuesday, I am attending a seminar from Mercy Corps about grants for my school and the music school in Cholpon-Ata with the directors. I will start writing my first grants after I move into my hosue sometime next week. My ecology grant is on hold because the center has no money now. The director of the center came to my house, but I wasn't there. I am assuming that he needed me to bail him out of some problem with finances, which I really can't do. I am thinking of shifting this grant toward more of a public education and awareness project and just asking for resources from the center as a side project.
It's Friday and I'm packing. I think that I may go into Bishkek on Monday for the day. I will see how I feel after this weekend. In any case, I wish you well. Happy Friday! -MJ

Can you help me move?

2005-02-03T03:59:00.000-08:00

Felt like things were looking up. I was reading the Gita, finding peace and connection with the Oversoul, as one does. I haven't had the shits in awhile. My students are with me. Almost all of my classes. I will get to this later. Those who aren't with me are against me, and I don't teach them anymore. The talk with my family with the coordinator seemed to bear comfort to my weary soul. I even fucking starting learning a J.S. Bach prelude. My Russian is finally starting to sink in. They were looking up until two days ago.
I have been on edge. I sometimes wonder if I am in a medical school practicum or a father of five. I don't sleep unless all of my "children," all five of them are asleep, too. I used protection so that I don't have to deal with children. I have been running on double shifts of four hours of sleep because a kid had a nightmare or needed to take a shit right outside our front door (as in not in the toliet). In reflection I am fairly certain that I was wavering in and out of sanity on a daily basis, sleep deprived, overwhelmed with work and the prospect of two years in this living situation, and having to speak three languages proficiently in front of my classes. Try that one on for size.
So, two days ago, the preliminary freak out. My 11A class (A signifies that it is a class with Russian speakers) came unprepared with about energy levels of anemic long-distance runners after a 50k run. I stared at them and inquired, "You don't have any other ideas?" in Kyrgyz. Even though this is a Russian class, they are ethnically Kyrgyz and can fluently speak Kyrgyz. First, no one spoke and I asked the question again. Then, two of the girls at the end of the table who were getting a kick out of the fact that there was a light blue pen in my set, saying "galuboi, galuboi" and laughing, which means "light blue" and "fag," started speaking Russian to each other. I said "Why aren't you talking?" One of the six girls in this class said to me in Russian, thinking that I wouldn't understand, "Why aren't you teaching?" or more grammatically"Why didn't you teach?" I snapped. First of all, I repeated what I thought I heard in Russian to the student, translating it into Kyrgyz. Speaking English would be useless because their levels are so low. Then, the other student said in Russian, "He understands." That's when I knew that my occasional dabblings in Russian had paid off. I took the girl who uttered this (a) nonsense and (b) completely disrespectful and (c) untrue proposition's notebook and closed it. I walked out of the room saying to them that I shame them and that I will never teach them again. After two days and talks with the director and other English teachers, I definitely will not teaching them rudimentary English ever again just so that they can go to university before they are stolen, taken to a man's family's home to be indentured for the rest of their lives, and never use the English I taught them anyway. But that's another topic for an ethnography and I digress here a bit.
So after this fantastic class, I managed to give another class and a teacher came into my class, during the class, to tell me that I had filled out the journals (these retarded red, leatherbond, bureaucratic vestiges of the Soviet Union where I fake some grading system that creates the appearence of an educational process) improperly. In front of all my students, after she more slowly repeated the family names of the students, it was clear that these were new students who were passed off by the other English teacher who has more seniority and wisdom to know that these kids were pretty lousy at English. The point is that there was no sense of respect for me as a teacher in front of my students. If your going to call someone out on something, don't do it in front of people from whom they are supposed extract respect, especially if the process it took to gain the respect took two months and careful planning. I got over it and went home.
I was relaxing at my house until my host parents showed up with my director (my boss at the school) at around six o'clock. I must say that I was slightly taken aback by the fact that my director had come. First I thought, "My host family wants me out." Then I thought, "My director wants me out." Then I thought, "My host family and director want money." Probably then, my memory is admittedly failing me, I thought, "What the fuck is she doing here?" So, I had to endure her presence for an evening. She talked with my host family at low levels, making me paranoid and uncomfortable in an already uncomfortable house. Did I mention another kid is living at the house? Yes, that would bring the total head count to: 12 and the children count to: 5. Five children under the age of 6 years old in the space that a 7-11 occupies. I curtly responded to questions from my director. I told her about the 11A class. She said it was not a problem. I was still confused, after my seventh cup of tea, why she was in my space. The time rolled along in caffine-induced delirium. I graded papers and planned lessons quietly in my room while my host parents and director talked in low levels outside my door. I put grades in the book as shrieking children pushed me to the furthest limits of sanity from which anyone has ever returned. I came out for dinner. The director was still there. That's when we got into my discussion of my fictitious girlfriend, Janine David, whom I would be blessed to ever have as my girlfriend or wife for that matter. Anyway, my director asked me, "Is she with (i.e. fucking) other guys?" All of the other people at the table got quiet. I responded that I didn't actually know. That things were "open." Then, everyone started laughing out of the discomfort I imposed through my response to this caddy, hag of an alcoholic woman.
I finished eating. It was clear that my director was staying the night at my house. Why? Why? The question moved cyclically through my mind. Why? Imagine your boss coming over to your house with no visible pretense and inquiring into the nature of your love life, when you go to bed, and when you are leaving the next morning to go to work. Bul tuura emes, the Kyrgyz would say. It's just not right. I dismissed myself from the table with my slightly less than Muslim kosher "Omen" and retired to my room. My head made it to my knees in yoga. It's been happening for the first time this week. Imagine sitting with your legs in front of you and grabbing your toes and bending down to touch your head to your knees. Your arms are outside of your legs, elbows touching the ground. I felt accomplished in relaxation. I read some more of the Gita and tried to sleep. Coming out of my relaxation, I felt uneasy. I started sweating and having really negative thoughts about my living situation (people's intrusiveness and disrespect) and my work. I thought that "This isn't as bad as Reed, as writing my thesis." Then, I reflected that it wasn't a matter if it was as bad as some other depth of unhealth that I had emerged from. I don't feel right in my house. I never relax. I was done. I convinced myself to sleep it off, that the subconscious will direct me to higher ground like a blind nomad who happens to make it to an oasis. It happened.
My students lift my spirits. Their ever increasing enthusiasm and English levels and their radiating personalities remind me why I came here in the first place. The director showed up at my classroom, interrupting my class again, demanding that I take a photo with my class. I obliged. Then, she told me that she needed all the Ecology books from my resource center. They will arrange these books in the Ecology classroom to create the simulacrum of education, the one I was talking about earlier in regard to the ridiculous, red grading journals. The Kyrgyz Commissiya of Education is coming in February. If the school looks like shit (like normal) and it is overt that no one is learning anything (which is blantant from the test scores and attendance statistics), the director gets canned. She was leaning on me for some help. She distracted my students and halted my class in the name of the illusion. I obliged her. The next class, a mother came to me, who being pathetic and sleep deprived, was unsympathetic to her complaints that I had given her son a low mark. She did this in front of my class. I had a terrible case of dejavu. I nudged the lady out of the door physically but polietly, asserting that "It was shameful to embrarss me in front of my class" but maybe not in those Kyrgyz words. That's when my head sort of bubbled over, spilling forth repressed anger and disappointment with my life during the last two months administratively and domestically. I went to the telephone office and phoned to a coordinator in Bishkek. I cried for the first time. I explained that I refused to entertain the thought of living like this for two years. I laid it all out in sobs and with fragmentary logic. She found a way to make sense of me. She said it's normal. Peace Corps coming tomorrow to move me out of my house to live in another house in the village.
I tried. I really did. When things just aren't working, no matter how hard you try, you gotta move on. Things should be particularly fucked at school for the next few weeks, considering that I live with two of the teachers. No one saw me cry, though, so I'm still a man. Only the lady at the telephone office and she swore not to tell anyone, after I spilled the beans on which she gorged her appetite for gossip. I missed half a class in calling. I gave another class. I talked to the director who apologized and told me that she saw what I was talking about after her visit to my house. She was actually quite reasonable but probably trying to kiss my ass so that I don't ditch her before the Commission comes. As of right now, I am not leaving my site, just my house.
After my breakdown and resolution, I headed to the music school in the nearby city for my piano lesson. I talked to my piano teacher (therapist) about what was going on. I met the director of the music school. I think that the music school is the secret hideout of the Issyk-Kul Rayon intellegentsia. I spoke about French New Wave films, sung "Michelle" with the director, and talked a lot of Russian. (The intellegentsia would never speak Kyrgyz, you know.) Through discussion with the director, she rationally, systematically stated her interest in my help for writing a grant for the school. I wondered: Am I in Kyrgyzstan? She showed me her violin. I played with my piano teacher. I could always work at the music school and the local ecological NGO (Non-governmental Organization) exclusively. I got a reponse about my grant idea from the embassy for an ecology project. They were positive in their email and said that I would be the first person to work on an Ecology grant for the Democracy Commission. I also had an exceptional interview for a summer position as a language and American culture coordinator in Kazakhstan. I would help Kyrgyz students, the most gifted and motivated, to prepare for a six-month stint in America. They are only looking for one or two teachers. If I get it, they will pay for me to go to Tashkent, Uzbekistan for training in April. I would work for three weeks in Almati, Kazakhstan in the summer. All traveling, lodging, food, visas, and incidentals would be completely covered by the organization. I don't want to leave Kyrgyzstan, but I want to exist in a suitable environment for mental and physical health. I should be moving within the next week. If you will be in Kyrgyzstan, you should give me a call. I'll buy the beer. -MJ

Blinded by myself

2005-01-27T04:10:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I allow myself to be weak here. I come out of these bouts of sadness, anger, or frustration and think that my susceptability to these emotions was entirely managable. Like with my family situation, I found out, through the help of a coordinator who helped me translate some complex and fragile concerns two days ago, that my family really cares about how I feel. I also learned again that the lack of privacy originates from an inherent part of who they are: their culture. Kyrgyz doesn't even have a word for our word "privacy": Tuck that into your wealth of trivia. I forget sometimes that I am half way around the world. During the conversation with my family, I looked across the table and saw sympathetic expressions the faces of my host mother and father. While the Kyrgyz coordinator spoke and even said things without really saying them to my family, which is something I can't do well not coming from this culture, all the foreigness of my living situation surfaced. As I already wrote, my family communicated to me how much they appreciate me and want to make sure of my well-being. My host father even said that the reason that I sit by him at the table is to make sure that if other guests come over that they know that "I'm with him." He is a protector. I thought about my dad and how he might respond to hosting a Kyrgyz host son; I noticed a resemblence. My host mother actually asked the coordinator if I liked living with them, starting our conversation. Because I had been sick and stressed, I didn't show them how much I cared. I thought about how my mom would be sensitive in the same way to a guest from abroad. I guess that what I'm trying to say is that it's easy to forget that I'm living in Central Asia when I'm at home in Kyrgyzstan. Sometimes it feels impossible to know what to say or how to act, but knowing that they care about me makes the occasional awkwardness excusable.
Work is back in full force this week. I have had all of my classes. I even had a suprising turnout for both my Ecology and English Clubs. We have been working on greetings and how to start a conversation. Even though they have had six to ten years of English before I arrived, they still have trouble differentiating between "How are you?" and "How old are you?" The problem with two basic expression really reflects the amount of work I have with these students. I have about half of my classes with me, and the other half, well, you just can't teach everyone English, can you? In my Ecology Club, we made collages of the mountains using trash that we found on the school grounds. There are no garbage dumps that I know of in Kyrgyzstan. Solid waste management means putting trash in a pile to be burned later. Our discussion after creating these art pieces was an interesting cross-cultural exchange. I left the club thinking differently about why there was so much trash on the ground in such an exquisite place. Kyrgyzstan lacks infrastructure like we do for trash disposal. Every week I take my bag of trash into the kitchen where it is burned. All the trash has to be burned, as it has no where else to go. Maybe they thought about the trash on the ground differently as well, considering how much there is and how to change this situation. I would really like to procure some metal bins for the school, so that the trash can still be burned but does not fly around when the wind picks up or get eaten by the wildlife.
I love my piano teacher here. I feel blessed by my luck with piano teachers. My last piano teacher in Portland and I have the same birthday and talked about Xanax frequently before my lessons started. She pretty much functioned as an hour of therapy every week during my third and fourth years at Reed. My relationship with my piano teacher here has some flare to it as with my former teacher. We laugh at each other a lot. I am working on a J.S. Bach prelude. Since about 30% of the keys don't work on the piano at my school, she found a way for me to play on a piano everyday for an hour at the music school. Once I buy a tape player, I may send a recording home of some of the pieces I'm working on. I love how music stimulates my brain. I can almost feel it tingle.
My family's Christmas package arrived today. I needed it after five classes and a club. It had a Blues tape in it called "Badass." My parents pretty much keep on rocking in the free world, it would seem. I was wondering where the synthesizer and off-key voice was, becoming so used to hearing techno on my radio. I have been writing more letters again, now that the Kyrgyz post has resumed service after a month of vodka drinking and holiday bliss. Relationships with coworkers, students, neighboring volunteers, and other people in my life have begun to take shape especially with my Kyrgyz and Russian steadily improving.
So, happily ever after again. I feel childish sometimes in my responses to situations and people. Coming from Northern California, I was never really taught how to be mean or suffocatingly aggressive. I am still working on how to talk about topics that require confrontation and me to be slightly offensive. Cutting out the nonsense of unnecessary politeness is high on my list for my personal development. Not wanting to hurt others feelings (like my family's in Kyrgyzstan) required me to endure suffering to no end. I read this really insane book by Gopi Krishna on Kundalini yoga, and a Jungian psychoanalyst provided a commentary. It was really far out. I am not sure what was weirder: the Indian guy's personal "evolution" or the Western, hokey interpretation of what was really going on. It was published in the 1960s by Shambala in Berkeley, which helps me to understand its audience. I'm ready to go back to the English countryside with Geo. Eliot as my guide. Not to look back to the last entry, but I can only think about scantily-clad Carrie ("Sex in the City") writing on her laptop about next to nothing. I wish you well. -MJ

Sex in the City in Kyrgyzstan

2005-01-23T23:43:00.000-08:00

I spent the weekend in relaxation with other volunteers in Karakol. We celebrated a volunteer's birthday and watched the first-half of the sixth season of "Sex in the City" in its entirety on someone's laptop. I took pleasure in the decadence of the program, the mindless dialogue, and, of course, the couture. We ate truffels and critiqued Kyrgyzstan while watching the lives of these four women unfold, episode by episode. I have been having a hard time here recently, so I embrace the escape.
I don't know what to do about my family situation. Like I wrote before, if I leave this family, I will create a stir in the village. I still feel like I can't really relax when I'm at home. I tried to sleep in this morning because I don't teach, and I was woken up early by children screaming and crying outside my door. When I got up, I greeted my family who rudely ignored me. My brother asked me, "So, you're not going to work today?" I responded, "Monday is my day off. I never work today." I always go into the school to prepare for the next day, which leads to my second nexus of problems (see below). I am working hard to not freak out at my family. One of the Program Coordinators will be coming out to my village tomorrow to help me with my domestic issues.
When I arrived at school today, my classroom was unlocked. I had forfeited my keys to my host-mother at her request. She said that the school didn't have a copy of my key. Both my classroom and the resource center were both open where I store some expensive items, including my Peace Corps issued heater ($150 easily) and all the books acquired by the previous volunteers. The janitors were really rude to me about this situation. Speaking of rude, on the way into the school a kid greeted me and slapped my ass. I asked him, "What are you doing?" He didn't really respond to my question. The kids do not respect their teachers here, I have found. After regaining my keys, which I will never give up again, I headed up to check my schedule and look for my school director who never seems to be around. They have scheduled me for 27 hours this week! The maximum I am meant to work in a week is 22 hours. This is due to Kyrgyz government limitations on how much they can pay me (this salary goes to my family for my rent) as well as PC's goal to have us working on secondary projects. I talked to some of the teachers, explaining that "I cannot and will not." I have no advocate at the school, as I am supposed to per the PC contract. The teachers remarked that all of the teachers are doing this to make up for the lost hours from last week. First of all, I was at the school for all of the classes last week, but my students didn't come. Secondly, the renovations were meant to be finished before our winter break ended. I do not feel responsible to make up for lost time when I had no contol over the schedule or the students showing up last week. To summarize, both the school and my host family have consistently failed to respect the contracts that we signed when I came here for my site visitation.
What is PC doing? They are coming out to try to resolve these issues with my tomorrow in the afternoon both at the school and at my home. I am really fed up with the three main parties I am dealing with right now: PC administration, my school, and my family. I have always shown up to work, stayed in communication with PC, and have been a respectful, quiet, and appreciative guest at my home. So, what's the problem? When I sign a contract in a professional capacity, I expect the dictates of that contract to be fulfilled. My director has directly violated our contract by teaching classes in my classroom when I did not have to work. I came to my room to plan the next day's classes to find her in my room with a class of students using the markers that I bought with my own money. I am supposed to be the only teacher who has access, and thus teaches, in my classroom. I have had workers smoking in my classroom leaving their cigarette butts and packets on my students' desks. When I told my director that the US government requires that it workers work in a smoke-free environment and that it is personally disgusting to me and completely inconsiderate to our students, she said that they would be gone within the week. They are still working in my room a month later. They are still smoking in my classroom when they work. I don't have to put up with this fucking bullshit from them anymore.
I am an intelligent, emotional, creative, and hard-working person. I can do anything I want. I can leave this program and attend graduate school. I can find another, better job. Many avenues lay open for me. I chose to come to Kyrgyzstan to give the students guidance for their future, help them with their English, and open their eyes to how life can be if they apply themselves and make good decisions. I came here to work on projects, like what I am doing with the Biosphere Center, to work on other issues. I did not come here to be disrespected, to have my opinions and needs unacknowledged, and to feel unappreciated by my students, coworkers, and family. I have some thinking to do about how to fix these situations before tomorrow afternoon. If PC cannot help me to ameliorate my situation, I will be doing even more thinking about whether I can live with these arrangements for the next two years. Right now (and over the past week), I have clearly and adequately stated: This isn't working for me, and I need some help to make it work. Tomorrow I will have a better sense of whether I will be asking these questions for the next two years or not.
I spent some quality time with volunteers who have been here for over a year this weekend. They have an admirable impervious way of responding to the Kyrgyz culture and laid-back way about dealing with their problems. They seem to have everything under control, maintaining a personal distance from their work. They have resigned to certain features about living here that will not change: the lack of professionalism and respect, the problems with conservative nature of this culture, and PC's inability, at times, to help them accomplish their goals. I noticed these trends in these volunteers who have been here awhile this weekend. Additionally, about half of the volunteers have changed their sites, host families, and sector of volunteer work while they have been here. I guess that "things weren't working out" for them as well. It is comforting to me to see that other people have had problems but stuck it out. Now they seem content and satisfied by their work and relationships. I need to take more time to fine tune what I am doing here before I make a rash decision that I may regret by moving out of my house, away from my school, or back to America. I think that the Kyrgyz directly around me everyday must realize that this job is extremely hard and that they are not making it any easier. My friend Roselle's host family in Cholpon-Ata realize this, give her her space, and respect what she's doing here. She has a counterpart who's on her side and helps her in situations like mine. She is able to rest and travel without the scrutiny of her family. I don't need perfection. I just want to start from the beginning again with my school and my family and with the contracts that we signed. Everyone should be reminded of what behavior violates the contract, as much of what pisses me off about my life now is exactly the things that violate the contract. And, I need to relax, but where? I will write more after my meeting tomorrow. They call PC the "toughest job you'll ever love," and maybe there's something to that. -MJ

How I'm mean and it's snowing

2005-01-17T23:56:00.000-08:00

First, I would like to make a concession about the last entry I wrote. I think that I was perhaps harsh on my family. I have to remember that I am probably doing things that are pissing them off as well. I must admit that I have had the winter time blues. I have to stay active in the winter so that I become terribly lethargic. Unfotunately, due to the lack of heating at the school, the first two weeks of classes have been cancelled. I have spent a lot of time at home with the family. I don't think that it is in my best interest to leave my family insofar as it would bring shame to my family from the village. My family is high-profile as far as Kyrgyz village families go, and people would wonder what had happened to cause me to move out. A sticky situation, indeed. I am meeting with the General Director of the Biosphere Center today to talk about the specifics of the grant that I am writing. I will attempt to create a partnership between my school and the Ecology Center in order to promote environmental education and democratic decision-making about the future of the lake. I will be submitting the grant to the US Embassy's Democracy Commission's Small Grant Program. I left them a couple of interesting trilingual messages in Russian, English, and Kyrgyz. I talked to a few other grant organizations on the phone using all three languages as well. My head hurts after code switching quickly on the telephone. About my family, I have been advised to talk with my director and other people in the Peace Corps office in Bishkek to work out a solution. My coordinator is in the States in D.C. right now taking a seminar. The post has been constipated by holidays and inefficency. I haven't received anything since 30 December in the mail. I will start teaching again on Thursday, and I am heading down to Karakol with some other volunteers for the weekend. We had planned to attend the Olympiad, but it was unfortunately moved to the beginning of next week. We were going to administer the English portion of the Examinations. Yesterday was my host father's 55th birthday. We had a party and I ate mutton liver and onions. My stomach was already on the rocks, and the exotic treats of the Silk Road managed to send it right over the edge. I am having a steady flow of diarrhea about once an hour. I spoke to the man, Rashid, in my village who does Kundalini yoga. He happens to practice martial arts and met Chuck Norris when he came to Kyrgyzstan. We talked about our yoga practices and decided to hang out and do some yoga sometime. His friends from Germany and Canada come in the summer; they have a yoga retreat in the mountains. He invited me to attend it. I'm going to eat a bowl of borsch and met with the Director across town. I hope that this entry sounds somewhat perky compared with the last one. It began snowing last night, and there is finally a substantial pack on the ground. For the first time, I can't see the mountains across the lake or behind my house. It is white all over. -MJ

Think it's time for a change

2005-01-14T23:51:00.000-08:00

The following comes from a letter to my coordinator concerning my living situation in the quaint Kyrgyz Republic village, Kara-Oi:

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Dear Saltanat.

I have some grievences with my family. I am getting frustrated to the point of thinking that it might be better for me to move out of my house and find something new. I have organized my thoughts into the following categories:

Money and grants (for the family)

My older brother, Ruslan, asked me first for money and, then, for vodka when he was drunk. I explained to him that I am a volunteer and don't have money. He hasn't asked for anything since, but I don't appreciate his hounding me. My family, this morning, asked me to borrow 2000 soms in front of the entire rest of the family after breakfast. I think that the situation that the put me in was rude, and I don't think that they understand that I do not have $50 to lend them. My mother last night (at 930PM) said that I need to write a grant for the family to convert their newly acquired farm into a craft factory from which the family would benefit. I explained that grants need to involve the larger community and that I have a lot of other work. It didn't seem to penetrate her ideas about what I'm doing here.

Bathing, clothes washing, telephone, and food

We are not bathing regularly. I think that my little brothers have scabies. They have bites all over their hands and stomachs. I have seen my brother applying medication to his sons. (I reported this to medical.) I have only had one bath in the last month at the house, and I need to bathe due to my recovering skin condition. It got to the point where I had to wash my clothes at Roselle's house. My family thought that this was rude and extreme. Some of my food, a head of cabbage, also disappeared while I was in Bishkek. I told them that if they need food to ask me first and that I will probably be able to spare some food. I don't understand why I am paying them for food if they are taking my food. I fully paid my portion of the phone bill, but they have the phone restricted ("locked"), so I have to ask them to use the phone. When I came home from Bishkek for the medical visit, I had to pay Ruslan 30 som to drive to Cholpon-Ata to make a call because our phone was locked.

Privacy and noise

I am not able to relax in the house, I feel. I am constantly being bothered by the children to learn English or translate from Kyrgyz into English. The radio is constantly loudly playing outside my room from about 8-9AM on. I have no space to practice my yoga under these circumstances, morning or night. I have no way to manage my stress in this noisy claustrophobic environment. There is no sense of a quiet time in the house. I have been kept up until 12AM by children and music a number of times. I feel like my parents are trying to monitor my life by constantly criticizing where I am going and what I am doing. They always want to know how much I am working; I feel like they are my bosses not my landlords. I feel like I am 14 years old again. We also have a problem with mice in the house. I have seen mice twice. Once, this morning, a mouse was running around my room in the daylight. Furthermore, my father tells me that "God doesn't like that," when I do things that he himself doesn't like. I don't appreciate the way that he uses his religion against me in the house. I am still learning cultural differences and trying very hard. It is frankly embarassing.

I think that my family either has failed to listen or needs to have certain things recommunicated to them. With all of the stress and problems outside of the house, I need to be able to come home to a healthier environment. I know that there must be other options available to me in the community if they are unwilling to make any changes for me. I have tried to communicate to them without trying to offend them, but I am at my wits end. Maybe I am not cut out for this type of huge family. I feel like something needs to change.

I hope that you can understand where I am coming from and that you realize how much I have been thinking about this. Even if you don't know what to do, I needed to tell you what's going on. Thank you.

Michael Jacobs

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I guess that I might be ready for a new family. I have concluded from my string of bad living situations that I must have been a terrible roommate during a past life and that I am now meant to reconcile these karmic forces in the Peace Corps in Kyrgyzstan. Furthermore I can't stand small children right now. If I hear anymore bad Central Asian pop while doing my kriyas, I will flip my shit. Love. -MJ

Svet jokh

2005-01-14T01:07:00.000-08:00

There's no power at the school right now, "Svet jokh." Class has been cancelled for the next week; it will recommence next Wednesday. I delivered some excellent classes despite the freezing cold classroom and students. I feel like this semester I have a better idea of my methodology for conveying the essential information. I think that shorter chunks of entertaining activities that sandwich a grammar lesson work well for my 45-minute classes. I was able to write some letters and practice a lot of yoga over the last few days in light of not having classes. I also delivered a seminar on the grants that are available to our school and community. I managed to brainstorm some exciting prospects for where we can go with the resources that are available to us. With one of the grants, we are going to get new furniture and linoleum for the school. I am going to attempt to create a partnership between our school and the nearby, brand-new Biosphere Preservation Center with the US Embassy Democracy Commission Grant. Using another grant, we are going to get some new technology, like televisions and maybe a couple of computers. Finally, the women in my community would like to find a way to get some new sewing machines with the Peace Corps Partnership Grant in order to start a sewing collective. I am really excited about this because it shows evidence of women's leadership and it's completely unexpected. I feel really positive after our discussion this week and am prepared to start this process in motion. We have the potential to bring in to our community about $20 000. I started taking piano lessons this week with a local teacher in Cholpon-Ata at the music school. I am working on Bach now, but we plan to move onto Russian composers soon. For one month, it will cost five dollars for eight hours of instruction, which is next to nothing compared to the $400 each semester at Reed. Between Russian, piano, and my excursions into the wild, I am really beginning to set up a stimulating life outside of my work here. We are definitely approaching the dead of winter here. I have never been so cold before in my life. You can be in the relatively warm house and still feel cold from within. When I was at the school yesterday, I got so cold that it took me about three hours when I got home to warm up. The Kyrgyz cure for being cold is drinking obscene amounts of tea, which makes me warm but manic. At my house, all of the siblings are within a mile radius right now, having come in from Bishekek and other cities. My family is huge between the mother and father and their four daughters and two sons (and their spouses) and the 10 or so grandchildren. I have never had to deal with so many family members in such a small place. My privacy is compromised, and it's never quiet. These experiences that push me out of shape at times are also the most beneficial for me to realize that I am not the center of the universe. I feel less homesick and stronger now that I have been at my site for two months. I find myself being forward-thinking and productive rather than thinking about the past or home. I can tell when I have been really busy when I start writing a letter and it feels like it's been awhile or check my inbox with too many new messages to respond to in one session. I still miss everyone incredibly, but I think that it's good for me to be here (in Kyrgyzstan) tuned into the present. I need to meet with one of my students now. I wish you well. Californian people, be careful of the mudslides and inordinate amounts of snow. I read about it on the BBC News, and the taxi driver talked about it on my way into the city today. Until we meet again. Love. -MJ

Cross-country skiing Soviet-style

2005-01-09T23:19:00.000-08:00

I ended up going down to Karakol at the other end of the lake to hang out with another volunteer and friend, Sage, and cross-country ski in the national park there for free. I went down on Friday and got back on Sunday night. I was able to see how volunteers who live in the city actually live. I think that some of the bourgeoise elements like well-stocked department stores, excellent taxi services, discotekas, and such would make my life here more cooshy. On the other hand, I would probably blow more money, drink more, and accomplish less here personally and profesionally. Part of my reasoning for coming to Kyrgyzstan was to get far away from such a lifestyle. I am admittedly far away from things like that here even if I have it good. We went out dancing, ate comparatively expensive food, and did "art" projects. I almost forgot I was in Kyrgyzstan - well, that's not true, but you get the point. We went cross-country skiing on Sunday morning starting at 7AM. We went out with Russian and Kyrgyz guides who teach at a vocational school where students learn how to be guides. It was free, but my equipment was shit. For my ski bindings, I had a rope tied around my boots to hold me in the skis. When I was going uphill, my foot would often fall out of one of my skis, which would hold me up. The terrain was beautiful, though, and the workout out of this world. We skied around 20 kilometers for about seven hours. Today my knees and legs are sore. I learned a lot about cross-country skiing in one day becuase the guides were really good at explaining what I should not be doing. I rocked the downhill part of the excursion, which was my saving grace. Skiing for free was excellent even if the equipment was something from the 1950s USSR ski team. The Russian ski guide, Valera, loved my Russian patonymic name. In Russian, you have your first name and a name that is derived from your father's name (which is the same as mine), so my name turned out to be "Mikhail Mikhailovich." There was a crazy drunk guy on the marshurtka who wouldn't stop talking to me. An older lady asked me if I was a spy, which is the first time I have been asked this ridiculous question here. I responded, "I'm an English teacher." People have some nerve here. She also asked me how much money I make and other questions that I would consider sort of rude. I spent the morning working on lesson plans and talking to my director about writing a grant. She is under the impression that I will do it all myself, and this perspective contradicts the recommended method for grant-writing. She pointed out that another volunteer had started writing, and I pointed out that she and the teachers are never around when they say they will be, so I can never talk to anyone about what the school needs &c. Sometimes the cultural differences in the professional realm are hard to deal with. They expect to reap all the benefits of my work without meeting me half way. I'm still working on that problem. All in all, things are alright now. I think that I am learning how to take things one day at a time better than I would in the States. I can live within my means here and be happy, which is also radically different than the States. School starts again on Wednesday. Pray for me. -MJ

Glorious rest

2005-01-05T20:42:00.000-08:00

I am spending the day writing lesson plans and drinking Nescafe coffee. I have about a week to pull together some ideas for what I can do with my classes for the next semester, which will last until the summer begins. Will the summer come? I spent yesterday with my friend, Roselle, from Georgia who lives in the nearby town called Cholpon-Ata. We had lunch and bitched about all the problems here with our work, families, and selves. I got a terrible haircut from a Kyrgyz lady who tried to marry me off in the somewhat brief 30 minutes that we spent together. We stopped by my house and picked up my laundry. I haven't done my laundry in about three weeks because we haven't had a bath at my house in about three weeks. I did laundry at Roselle's, and we engaged in some theraputic conversation about life in Kyrgyzstan. We had coffee and did facial masks this morning. She lives in a mansion and represents Peace Corps' sister organization on the lake, "Posh Core." She has a washing machine (but you still have to rinse by hand and the water is freezing cold and it's snowing right outside the door and you have goosebumps). Anyways, I was supposed to be at work this morning, but none of the other volunteers are working this week, so I am showing up late. I want to work on developing our first cooperative grant, but none (by "none" I mean about six) of the teachers at my school show up; this, of course, makes the whole prospect of doing anything cooperative ridiculous. I am supposed to be facilitating the grant-writing and not doing all the work. I am working on asserting my volition to my family and colleagues better in Kyrgyz, which is actually an art, involving cross-cultural as well as linguistic wealths of knowledge. I have to be careful not to piss off too badly anyone I'm going to be around for the next two years. I just talked to my boss in Bishkek who graciously granted me permission to travel to Karakol for the weekend. I think that I am going cross-country skiing all day on Saturday. I will be sure to take photos, as I am sure that it will be beautiful. Problematically, 90% of my clothing is wet. I guess I will have to use the hang everything on the wall heater trick that I used to use when I lived in Kegety. I will be back in a few days. Fondest regards. -MJ

Leaving Heaven, Heading to Heaven

2005-01-03T23:18:00.000-08:00

I spent the last 24 hours in urban ecstasy in Bishkek. I ate two huge slices of pizza, drank a cocktail last night, and watched music videos in the hotel room where I was staying. I had to come into the city to meet with the doctor to have a check up on my skin, and I took full advantage of it. I sent a package home (for Christmas). I also went shopping at the Turkish everything-you-ever-wanted-in-Kyrgyzstan store called Beta. I bought things like peanut butter and ginger powder. I am in heaven after this brief excursion away from the village. It will be some time before I will be coming back most likely. I picked up a bunch of new reading material while I was here, and I am starting Eliot's Middlemarch, which should coincidentally take me until March to finish due to its epic proportions. I will soon head back out to my home on the lake. I already miss my Kyrgyz family and have become something of a homebody at my house on the lake. I talked to my parents for something like an hour yesterday. It was so nice to hear their voices and to know that they are well. The connection between your continent and mine is fine at my house. Be advised that there is only one, maybe two, lines into my village. If someone else is on the phone, then the call will most likely not go through. I think that the consensus of my doctor's visit is that my skin is, for the most part, getting better. They are coming out to the lake next week and will check on me again then. Stay posted on these interesting developments. I have been reading about the effects of the earthquake on SE Asia. The earthquake did not affect us at all up in the Tien Shan Mountains fortunately in case you were wondering. I just wrote my first grant proposal to receive some books from an agency in Vermont. They should be here in three to six months. Well I just wanted to quickly say "hello" from a decent internet connection. One more thing. If you go to this website:

http://images.google.com/images?q=Issyk-Kul&hl=en

it has a lot of photos of the lake. Bearing sumptuous love from the Silk Road. -MJ

Happy New Year from the Kyrgyz Bacchus!

2005-01-01T22:45:00.000-08:00

I spent New Years with my Kyrgyz family. On Thursday, we had an excellent party at the school for the teachers. In my unending efforts to learn Russian here, I partied with the 350 lbs. Russian mathematics teacher in the boiler room at the school before the party. We had a little to drink, maybe two bottles of vodka (a few other men were there to assist), and I should not have tried to match his drinking capacity needless to say. I danced, sung, and brought a piece of the Dionysian Bacchanalia to a small village in Kyrgyzstan. I think that it will be the talk of the village until someone else does something to catch the radar of the faculty gossips. These village gossips are trying to match me up with the new, young English teacher here at the school. I know that people deal with sexual and other harassment in the States, but try having people try to set up a marriage when you are at work. I needed to let loose for the holidays even if it brought me some shame in my Muslim home. I feel the need to put in writing: I am not Muslim. Do not hold me to your contradictory moral standards. I don't plan on becoming Muslim anytime soon. P.S. I am not Christian either even though I come from America. I practice yoga and hold some eccentric subset of New Age/Kundalini principles. Religion has come up a lot here recently. I am asked to defend my religious beliefs for some reason. I never call people out on how they are Muslim but don't pray five times a day, smoke cigarettes, don't wash themselves before every prayer, and don't read Arabic. I am ready for them to lay off. Another thing about people laying off, why do I feel like I am 16 years old at my home? Every time I leave the house or return, there's an inquisition into my whereabouts, how much money I spent (generally very little), and with whom I was with. I am not a blooming, adolescent female. I am a 22 year old adult who can make my own decisions without being under the monitor of my affronted Kyrgyz family, whom I pay to live there. I think that I deserve a little respect insofar as I give my entire teaching salary and a third of my money from Peace Corps to them. If you can't tell, I need to rant. I received a lovely package from my grandparents with a beautiful sweater and some other warm goodies. It lifted my morale. The little Kyrgyz child-tyrants I live with are constantly screaming or crying, it seems. I want to start to yell at them, but I'm not sure about how far to stretch my role within the family. They pound on my door when it's time for tea. They also critique my every move. I guess that they learned that it's acceptable from my family. Egad! On New Year's, we ate a lot of food, drank non-alcoholic spritzer, and lit off some fireworks at the house. It was my first sober New Year's in a decade. Something's wrong with my camera here. I paid to have some photos processed, and the roll was blank. I tried with another roll, and the camera's not advancing. I finished Bryson's A Short History of Nearly Everything, and I highly, highly recommend it to anyone interested in some of the largest questions humans have ever posed in an entertaining, readable format. Now, I am reading Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray which helps me to remember the decadent, privleged Western culture from which I have come. All of the senselessness of the conversations and feelings of self-importance make me feel like I am at home. I would like to find an anthology of Pushkin's works and a guide on astronomy, so I could start to learn about the constellations. Long Dickens-esque novels are ideal to match my literary consumption. I haven't had a bath in two weeks today, and I am feeling a little pissed off from the oil and smell. I am heading into the capital tomorrow to the Peace Corps Office to talk with my supervisor and to make sure that the rash is healing properly. I could really use some seeds for my garden and cassette tapes of classical and jazz music (even tapes of the radio stations). I hope that everyone had a delightful time during the holidays. I will try to clean up my attitude for my next entry. Stinky, rotten love. -MJ

On calling me

2004-12-29T01:59:00.000-08:00

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

2004-12-25T01:41:00.000-08:00

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

2004-12-18T01:14:00.002-08:00

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

2004-12-11T23:34:00.000-08:00

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

2004-12-11T01:35:00.000-08:00

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

2004-12-06T01:47:00.000-08:00

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.

Christmas presents

2004-11-28T23:45:00.000-08:00

Family, friends, and other loved ones whom this posting may involve:

Do not send me Christmas presents. I think that the cost to ship them and the possibility that they will not make it are factors that warrant my warning. If you still feel compelled to send a gift, talk to my parents' about sending me some money or something. I don't have much money myself, so the gifts that I am sending are all going to California to my parents' house in one box. I hope that I don't offend with my frankness.

Leaving for Bishkek on Wednesday, life will be very different soon. I will also send a few letters that I have written in this package with American post on them. The address on the lake in the previous entry will be MY NEW ADDRESS, so take note please. I hope to hear from you soon. Love. -MJ

I killed a turkey

2004-11-25T23:54:00.000-08:00

These first few months of Peace Corps have been about me doing things that I didn't think that I could do. I can't believe that two nights ago I killed one of the turkeys. I held its warm, neck in my hand and slit it. I never thought that I could actually kill an animal that I would eat. I not only killed one of them, but I cleaned both and took the reins. I felt like a farmboy. I have pictures. It was intense under the full moon. Everyone sort of stood back and some hidden, latent, primal part of me emerged. No one really knew how to clean it, including my Kyrgyz family, but I figured it out. Everyone watched me clean them, and I barely flinched, except when I opened up the second one and it smelled like me after a night eating too much mutton. I have been pushed beyond all preexisting limitations that I thought I had on myself. I am really different after these first few months. The thought of coming home frightens me because I think that I would go into another shock coming back home, becoming the person I was before I left. After I killed the turkey, I realized that I could handle slaughtering chickens probably, too. So, in the spring, I will be buying a bunch of chicklets and raising them at my site. The spring is when they are the least expensive apparently. I cooked the turkey in a kazan and it turned out very well. I got kudos from all of the Kyrgyz as well as the Americans who were impressed that I was able to pull off cooking a turkey over a fire in a large, metal basin. There were no leftovers. The Thanksgiving dinner was emotional insofar as it was also a goodbye to our first host family. We made many toasts. I gave my toast in Kyrgyz and brought my mother to tears in remembering our first meeting: how I resemble my host mother and how my friend, Kenny, my neighbor, also looks like his host mother. I thanked her and explained what I sorry state I would be in without her culturally, physically, and linguistically. Her presence in my life for the last few months has been angelic. She often picked me up when I fell, got sick, or needed to know how something is done in Kyrgyzstan. She also gave me a toast. She does not speak English, but she borrowed my dictionary in the morning. She said a few words first in Kyrgyz. Then, she began to speak in English: "My boy, Michael, loving, sweet, intelligent, hard-working . . . I like [him] very much. I will miss him." She also made me emotional in the effort she made to push herself beyond her own boundaries to talk in front of about 60 people in English. On Wednesday, I leave for my permanent site. My address is in a previous entry, and you should already be sending mail there instead of the Bishkek address. Please send me seeds for starting a garden if you get a chance. You could enclose a packet in with a letter. I hope that everyone had a delightful Thanksgiving full of misinteractions with family and friends, undoubtedly motivated by a sincere hate of each other's idiosyncracies and love of everything else about them. Take care. I will write again from Bishkek. Love. -MJ

Thanksgiving: My first of three here

2004-11-24T03:23:00.000-08:00

I am in the local, big town called Tokmok briefly. I just finished my CPR training, and I jumped on the computer quickly to write a blog and a couple emails. I am killing a turkey and cleaning it tonight in the village. I think the plan involves: embracing the full moon spirit, drinking a couple of beers, and listening to the eerie tones of D. Byrnes' "Psycho Killer" on a post-Soviet cassette player (Read: barely hear the music.) I guess that this will be my first of hopefully three Thanksgivings here, which kind of trips me out. I tested very high on my Kyrgyz language exam; last year only one trainee received such high marks. The distinction is called Advanced Low in Kyrgyz. As far as I know, only one other trainee in the program, who coincidentally lives in my village also, has scored as high. Life has been hectic. I have been traveling a lot back and forth. I have also finished my teaching practicum in the nearby village, Sovietskaya, this morning with a Thanksgiving party. I hope that you eat until you feel uncomfortable and watch wholesome, American TV for me. I miss home on holidays. Always have and probably always will. Tomorrow shall be a debacle cooking a turkey in a Kyrgyz ashkana. Love. -MJ

Two weeks of training left

2004-11-20T22:34:00.000-08:00

First, I would like to write a little ode:

Ode to Fucking scabies

Fucking scabies I will miss you so
You bit my ass, my balls, my legs and wrists
You caused me such discomfort for months
and chronic excema
You showed me how an irresponsible roommate
equals reinfestation and
how paranoid schizophrenia and
the combination of culture shock and a
constantly itchy body
aren't very different.
Now you are gone from my temple forever.
All I have left to remember you is the excema, dried skin
trails of where you once shat and laid your eggs.

Yeah, so when the doctor said that I had scabies in Portland this summer, she was onto something. Although I had treatment for the scabies beacuse my roommate didn't I had a reinfestation. I have been living with misdiagnosed scabies for about four months. I had them so long that their feces and eggs caused excema. I haven't had much time to email this week because I have been heading back and forth from the capital seeing first a dermatologist and, then, getting treatment and washing everything that I have here. I already a lot better. The Russian dermatologist in Bishkek looked at my naked body. Her raspberry red hair, thin with age, and saggy skin assured my of her experience. It took her about five minutes, and she made her diagnosis. The interesting thing about all this is that in Kyrgyzstan the notion of medical privacy doesn't exist. People who are waiting for the doctor will simply come into the room while you are having an examination. We talked openly about my problems in front of other patients. She spoke in Russian and the Peace Corps doctor translated for me. I feel like I have beenm reborn. I felt like I was really going insane during my visit last week to my permanent site. Say a little prayer for no more reinfestations for me and a speedy recovery.

Training is slowly coming to an end. I have my last week of Kyrgyz language class next week. Basically, traning has been something like the Real World (Kegety, Kyrgyzstan) without a confessional booth or the bling. I now hate or have seriously hated everyone in my training village at some point. I am sure that some of these people will eventually become my good friends. The host family I have been staying with has suffered the brunt of my bitchiness, especially during the later "scabies period" as I would like to call it. My mother has accepted me, nevertheless, into her family. I am one of her long, lost sons. In Kyrgyzstan, no one except the family gets to see a newborn baby for the first 90 days. My host sister-in-law is pregnant, and I have been invited to come and see the baby when he/she is born. I feel like I have made a lot of progress with the language and that the community respects me for learning the language and trying to participate in the culture.

I started my teaching practicum last week in a nearby village called Sovietskaya. I have been teaching the seventh form. We are working on the seasons and the present simple tense. The students amaze me. I have found that I am a little more conservative with my teaching style than the rest of the volunteers, but my students have been learning a lot even if I don't throw around the frisbee and play games for the forty-five minute periods. I will teach two more classes next week and will not teach again until I move out to my permanent site on the 4th of December. The first few days of December, I will be in the capital for the swearing-in ceremony. The actual event is on the 3rd, and the president of Kyrgyzstan will be there. I will be wearing my Sunday's best then. My host family will be there, and they feel priviliged to be able to come to this event.

I received some letters and packages this week. I cannot express my gratitude for these gifts. I have been working on my thank you cards now. Mom, I still haven't received your package, though. Maybe next week. I now have some American candy, new books and magazines to read, and some more supplies for my classes. All of the expected values that you may think the items have in the States, quadruple this for the Central Asian factor where it is nearly impossible to find quality consumer goods. I love that I have some new tapes to listen to as well. I hope that everyone has received the letters I have been sending.

When I move out to my new site, I begin my two-years of service. I will be working at a secondary-school (public) teaching 20 hours a week. I will also be working on environmental education. I hope to make some connections with an existing volunteer to work with an EU non-govermental organization to work on an applied project and learn how to write grants and broker a community project. I feel like I am prepared for all this work. After I have my language assessment next week, I will start to learn Russian as well as Kyrgyz. At my permanent site on the lake, about 30 to 40 percent of the people are Russian, and I will have a few Russian sections. I will be living with two of the local teachers and a family. I am exicted that I will be able to cook and actually have some semblance of a normal schedule soon.

I have been doing really well, all health problems aside. I am still doing a lot of yoga. The current volunteer at my permanent site's host-mother's brother is really into Kundalini yoga and he has a sauna, so we are best friends (but he doesn't know yet). I actually really like Kyrgyzstan and feel like I will make it here. I am learning a lot about the realities of post-Soviet economic and social transition here. I am getting more used to bathing once a week and washing my clothes by hand. I have grown a thick skin and have become my own best therapist and support. I am proud that I have made it this far in such a difficult place. I feel really out of the loop of everyone's life. I feel selfish, too, at the same time. I don't want to lose touch with my friends, but it is really difficult to find the time to send emails all the time. Please be patient with me. I am doing my best, typing my fast, and trying to get out all of the thoughts that I think you will find interesting.

Next week is Thanksgiving. I am taking care of one of the turkeys. I mean I am killing, defeathering, and cooking one of the turkeys with my friend, Brian, from North Carolina who speaks impeccable Russian. I am sure that this will be a learning process. I plan to kill a lot of my own chickens over the next couple years, so I guess that it is good that I start with a turkey (I think it's more difficult.) Now that I am scabies free and proficient in Kyrgyz I am heading off into the mountains of Kyrgyzstan to do something noble, well, maybe. I will write again when I make it to the capital in couple weeks. I love you all and take care.

By the way, that address I gave in the last entry may change. Use it for now, though. I will keep you posted. I love you all. -MJ

On the lake, at my future site: Issyk-Kul and other such nonsense!

2004-11-13T01:39:00.001-08:00

So, I made it. I am at my future site for the next two years in one piece essentially. I will be living with two of the local teachers in a large house in a small room about a ten minute walk from the lake. It is blatantly the most beautiful place I have ever lived. I was granted my request and was placed where I visited about three weeks ago. I will be working on TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) and Ecological Education here, a pilot program as requested by the Kyrgyz Ministry of Education. It is difficult for me to imagine that I will be living here for two years. My permanent site, during the Soviet period, was the place where the Soviet elite vacationed and now the Kazakh and Central Asian elite as well as some Russians still. I am on the Miami Beach of Kyrgyzstan.
I met my director about three days ago. On our way to our site from Bishkek, we were travelling with four other volunteers who will be living next to me and their directors. Once we made it out of Bishkek city limits, we pulled over to the side of the road and had a picnic. Perhaps I am glorifying what happened, which was nothing more than the quick imbibing of two bottles of vodka and cognac. Nevertheless we headed through the mountain range on the border of Kazakh and Kyrgyzstan, barreling toward my new home.
I still have until 4 December before I come here, but I already feel like I am a volunteer. I am ready for the challenge. I have met three of the seven classes that I will teach yesterday. I was able to communicate in Kygyz and English suprisingly well to my new pupils.
Let me take a few steps back. I had this thought about a week ago, watching Russian Jeopardy. The final Jeopardy question had something to do with Andy Warhol. I don't read Russian, but I recollect that it was a quotation he made, something about the world's president perhaps. The answer to this question was Andy Warhol. Neither Warhol's name nor the allusion to Coca-Cola translates into Russian, save the transliteration into Cyrllic script. I sat back, after my thirteenth cup of chai, and thought how perfect it all was. The medium of Warhol's message, the TV and the multiplicity of popular culture's surface, which I always took to be his message, had come full circle. I guess that I think that he would be proud that his name and project made it to Kyrgyzstan, safe and sound, on the TV, untranslated and thus untainted. A: Andy Warhol. Q: What is Coca-Cola? The wonders of Americana.
At this point, it looks like I will be teaching about twenty hours a week, five days a week. I will also be working on the Ecological Education program. There basically is no better place in Kyrgyzstan to work on this project than here. I am living with the Ecology teacher in my new home. My patience with pre-service training is running thin. December 3rd's swearing in will be a blessing from God.
My stomach has been rocky. I think that the Peace Corps Medical Officer thinks that there's something going around the training group, perhaps amoebic dysentary. The word is that she plans to take stool samples from those who have had the shits in the last few weeks in the name of full-scale epidemic prevention.
The night before I left for my permanent site visit. We also drank a little vodka in celebration of our sites. I came home, in Kegety, a somewhat tipsy yet jovial with four other volunteers. We drank another bottle of vodka with my host mother and an aksakal (elderly respected village man). I ended up bringing out my radio and tuning in Retro Radio. "Let It Be" came on, and my host mother and I danced together. I participated in the sublime, being drunk, listening to the Beatles, and dancing with a new good friend at once. It was a rare and fabulous moment for me here.
I know that I have been slacking with the getting back to the emails. It has been a combination of not being able to make it to the bank and clogged internet connections. I am still writing letters. I read the emails, which takes about a half an hour, and have no time to respond to them on my lunch hour. I am taking some time today to respond to my entire inbox. I am not slacking; I will blame it on the developing world.
I start my teaching practicum in a few days. Ramadan is ending on Monday, so there is a holiday and no school. I am teaching at a nearby school for two weeks. I am addressing the themes of holidays as well as a couple of auxillary verbs. My friend and I are culminating our practica with a Thanksgiving party for the students. I also have my language proficency exam, which will determine how soon I will start learning Russian in two weeks.
I look forward to getting to my new site and starting over here again. I will be living not to far from the current volunteer's host mother's brother, who is into the same type of yoga as I. He has already had two gurus in India. Apparently he has a sauna, too. I will force us to be friends. I will met him tomorrow and see if he would be willing to meet with me a couple of times a week. I taught the volunteers a yoga class while we were in Bishkek. I have found my strength and mental and spiritual health in yoga over the last month and a half. I received a great response from the other volunteers, and I think that I will be teaching another class soon.
Tonight the other volunteers on the north beach of the lake and I are having a small gathering with the volunteers who are leaving in December. I am excited by the people who were placed near me. I already met a volunteer who will live really close to me; he's from Oregon. We were talking about going skiiing and hiking when I arrive at my site for good.
I have a new address. I need a few things. I promise that I will send you copious emails and letters if you try to scrounge up some of the things that I need now. First the list:
crayola markers and colored pencils, educational posters (especially environmental themes), white board markers, chunky peanut butter that won't rot on the way over, power bars, postcards of your cities, photos of your life (especially your dwellings and possessions), books: Light on Yoga, Autobiography of a Yogi (Edie, are you done with that? If youhave found any other good books on Kundalini, pass them along too), Dr. Suess books for my classes, books on astronomy (as I mentioned the stars are intensly visible here), MOM send me my piano music and the Bhagavad Gita, dietary supplements (Flaxseed tablets, powdered green foods, powdered soy protein, aloe vera tablets), my speedo, my olive Carhartts and Levis with a cord on the crotch with a whole in the leg, airmail paper and envelopes, cheapo bic pens (black and blue), five bars of Ayurvedic soap (in a small green box at Whole Foods, $1 a pop), nutella, Emergen-C packets, letters and love.
I know this list in huge. Pick one or two things. Send them with a letter. I will truly love you then. My address now:
Kyrgyzstan
Issyk-Kul Oblast
Issyk-Kul Rayon
722314 c. Kara-Oi
Karabaeleva 11
Michael Jacobs

tel. 03943.52517
If you send a letter or package, send it here now. The official Russian way the address is written is:
Кыргызстан
Иссык-Кульская Обл.
Иссык-Кульский Рн.
722314 с. Кара-Ой
Карабаелева 11
Майкл Джэйкобс

I don't know if this Russian address will be visible on your computers, but it is a more reliable way to get things to me. Make sure that you write "Kyrgyzstan" for our friends at the American Postal Service. I have only received Kenneth's letter to me so far. I am still waiting, still waiting. I need to head out now. I love you all. -MJ

IMPORTANT: Mail and such

2004-11-08T03:03:00.000-08:00

Do not send anymore mail to the address:

Peace Corps/Kyrgyz Republic
304 Chokmorov Street
Bishkek 720010 Kyrgyzstan
attn: Michael L. Jacobs

They will send letters and packages back to you (anything received after 30 November). I will be getting a new address soon. If you are going to send something within the next few days, wait. I will post my new address when I visit my new host family or apartment in the next few days after I receive my permanent assignment and head out on my visit. I have thus far only received one envelope from the Reed College Alumni Office about a 0 year reunion. Lame. Frowns and more frowns. Love. -MJ

Don't eat cold mutton; or a wolf, stomach problems, and a couple of days off

2004-11-03T23:29:00.000-08:00

I am still not sure what brought it on. It could have been the Beshbarmak from two days ago, the national dish of Kyrgyzstan. "Beshbarmak" means five fingers and is traditionally eaten with the hands. The intestines and other pieces of meat were cold. Maybe it was the dinner the night before, pilmeni. Some sort of evil jumped into my stomach a few days ago.

I woke up at 230AM on Wednesday morning with what I thought was heartburn. I immediately rolled over into the extended child's pose which generally helps my GI problems. Then, I got dizzy and realized that I was disoriented and needed to throw up. I quickly put on a pair of pants and ran outside. I didn't make it to the outhouse when the first eruption of vomit started. I puked to the side of the outhouse. I puked volume this first time. Immediately after, I had explosive diarrhea. I thought I was safe so I went inside.

Thirty minutes later, I had to throw up again. I quickly ran outside because I felt the pangs of diarrhea, too. When I made it to the outhouse, a wolf (or huge dog) was eating my vomit. Worried that I might creep in on his feast, I assume, he growled at me. I became very scared and threw up in front of the wolf and ran away. I arose suspicion from my two dogs who chased the wolf-dog away.

The vomiting continued and not once did I make it to the outhouse in time. In a divine progression, first the wolf-dog, then the dogs, and then the chickens and chicklets all partook in the communion of my bacterial stomach problems left in small piles around the yard. This continued until I felt unable to stand and woke up my mother around five, who became convinced that all I needed was a strong cup of tea and greasy fried potatoes.

Unfortunately, in my Kyrgyz class, we have not made it to the unit on clinical descriptions of gastro-intestinal ailments. I just kept repeating in Kyrgyz that I needed to call the doctor. We have no working telephone in my house, and I had to wait until my neighbor, another trainee, Kenny, came over to walk with me to the marshurtka to go to Tokmok for training. We called the doctor.

Within a few hours, I was in a taxi to Tokmok where I was given IV fluids and examined. Later, I was taken to Bishkek for the day for more tests and IV fluids. After two liters of fluids, some antibiotics, and a night in a local hotel, I feel refreshed. I am so grateful for the medical staff here. All of the tests came back fine. I am just taking antibiotics now and resting. I heading home in a half an hour.

I am not the first person with stomach problems, so I don't feel that bad about it. Plus, at the cafe in the hotel, I ordered an "omelette" and blini with honey.

I am dissapointed in the American electorate. I find out where I will be living for the next two years next week on Tuesday. I will meet my cooperating teacher the next day, and we will go for a site visit. I am getting really close to finishing my training. I am getting really excited. I love hearing from everyone through emails. Knowing that you are well eases my mind. I thought that you would enjoy this story. I don't mean to make you worry. I am well, and the medical staff are phenomenal.

Moral of the story: If the meat is cold and pinkish in Kyrgyzstan, don't be tempted to eat it. Love love. -MJ

Back from Lake Issyk-Kul

2004-10-26T01:03:00.000-07:00

For my site visit, I went to Lake Issyk-Kul. I went to a village on the lake called Kara-Oi. You should check out where it is on the map. You may only be able to find a city called Cholpon-Ata if you suck at internet searches. My last entry was probably one of my low points of self-discovery since I have been here. I am really energized after staying with a volunteer who has been here for over two years. I actually met two of them. The lake is considered a biosphere. The appearance is a cross between Lake Tahoe and Switzerland with plenty of Soviet and post-Soviet resorts. I will be able to work with local NGO's (non-governmental organizations), considered the basic building blocks of an emerging democracy, to educate the students on issues like ecology, eco-tourism, and biosphere preservation. There aren't a lot of movements against things like littering and polluting like we have in the US, which is a shame. It is a shame because this is one of the most beautiful and ecological diverse areas in the world. It is rumored that the Soviets tested torpedoes in the lake. It is really huge, and on a foggy day it felt like the ocean. I guess that there is a Reedie who is finishing his service on the east end of the lake in a town called Karakol. My health has been really good lately except for the continuous rash that I got from the dirty ass Bikram yoga center in Portland. Bastard hippies. I have been using antibiotic ointments, but when you only get to bathe once a week and only have two pairs of thermals . . .

To my friends in Portland, Marti, my vainglorious ex-roommate, has not turned in eight books to the Reed Library as she had promised me. Mates, break her kneecaps and get the books back for me please. Do send a photo of the assault if possible. Or call my mom (916) 723-3894 with her whereabouts if you see her.

I had a language assessment this morning, which went really well. I also had a placement interview for my final placement for teaching, during which I advocated my placement on the lake. The decision is pretty much out of my hands, though. I am eating the smoked trout I brought back from the lake. The whole smoked trout costed less than five dollars. Please write me letters. I am writing letters almost everyday. I only have about another month of training before I am sworn in. I hope it goes smoothly. It is starting to sink in that I will be here for a long time, and I can't really see myself coming home during my service. This means that those with adventures spirits who can afford the airfare and some living expenses must come to visit me. I will show you around Central Asia and will be able to speak Russian by the summer. Keep all this in mind when making your travel plans. If you know me, then you know its worth it. (Some of you know the sentence that should come after this one: But y'all don't know me because you don't know me . . . )

Also, anyone at Reed who is reading this, tell professors who you think I would want to know that I am alive "hello" for me. I need to get off now, so I have enough som to get home in a taxi. Internet for long periods of time gets really expensive on my meagre living allowance. Love you guys, really. -MJ

Full-time student, part-time rock star

2004-10-16T23:39:00.000-07:00

I realized something while I was listening to my Time Life Best of 1979 cassette tape. I was listening to "Rock and Roll Fantasy." I was writing a letter, too. I realized how much I like this song. I rewound the tape and listened to this track like three times or something. I went to a special place in my mind where I was really drunk and dancing in my front room in Portland in tight pants and big sunglasses. Then, I thought about how I had basically been a full-time student, part-time rock star for the last four years at Reed and Oxford. I turned up my headphones as loud as they would go and walked out of my room. For a moment, I was still in my fantasy world. Everything about my memories of my American life and this song began to make less sense as I saw my little brother driving the sheep into the field outside our house and walked toward the infamous outhouse, preparing to ooze. I kind of figured out that the person I was for the last four years had seriously been repressed deep into my mind in order to deal with my adaptation to Kyrgyzstan. Last night, I went with my host sister and mom to my sister's mother's birthday party. I had plov and vodka. It was fun, but I couldn't make my absurd jokes and strip off all my clothes in bacchic frenzy. Yeah, basically this entry is about how I have not really raged it in Kyrgyzstan, and I am not sure if people do here. Perhaps I should work on my networking. I don't have much else to say except that culture shock kind of sucks right now. Right now, I miss my friends and my family and all of the drinking and dancing of yesteryear. -MJ

A fast internet connection: Bishkek

2004-10-10T01:05:00.000-07:00

There are a lot of random thoughts swirling around in my brain this entry. I have been trying to think linerally unsuccessfully. I noticed this trend last night when I was writing in my journal. The last week was rough for everyone for some reason. I think that the initial excitement of arriving here is beginning to wear off. Plus, it snowed on the mountains around my village, and I freeze my bare ass off when I go out to explode in the outhouse in the middle of the night now. Things that I have noticed recently:
I don't like eating the marrow out of the bones from the mutton, but my family insists that it's good as they crack the thick bones open. Also, one of our calves was wasting away since I arrived. About three days ago, my elder host brother killed the calf and left its ribcage and four hooves outside as "dog food." The savage neighbor dog came over and tore at it all afternoon making loud noises, determined to suck all of the flesh off the emaciated cow's ribcage. I don't know how many of you reading this have watched either a sheep or cow killed, but it might make you a vegetarian especially if you have any attachment to the animal. Being in Bishkek is very different from being in the village. I see a lot more Russians here. People don't appear to wear the same outfits for a week at a time here, but they still smell like they do.
I really miss American music. Anyone who has gotten drunk or thrown up in a plastic cup at a Foghat concert with me knows my admiration for some good Classic Rock now and again. If you have a soul, you would think about making me a cassette of some good Classic Rock or Soul. I promise to also use it in my class and credit you. The music is either bad American pop, traditional Kyrgyz folk music, or bad Russian techno--quite maddening indeed. We are approaching Ramadan (called Orozo) here. I am not sure if my family will be fasting. The general way that this works is that everyone gets up early in the morning and eats, fasts during the day, and eats again once it is dark. There is no sex or drinking. I have not been doing much of either anyway and don't have big plans to start soon either. My family doesn't drink and my bed is meant for one. I do kind of wonder sometimes about how it feels to kiss someone with a full mouth of gold teeth, though. Most people have them here as replacements for when their teeth rot out of their heads. Does it taste metallic? I have been thinking about some projects for my class and the summer and will begin a music project on Monday at my local school in Kegety.
I will be working with a Japanese volunteer who is on the Japanese equivalent of Peace Corps; she is called Yukeimi. She has been teaching her students at the local school how to play recorders. I will be playing Greensleeves on the piano that is missing a few keys. At the end of the month we will travel for a performance with the kids. I have also been thinking about applying for a grant to take some kids on an archaeology or classics camp this summer. Alexander the Great, once upon a time, invaded this area and brought walnuts among other things, I'm sure. I would like to figure out where the remains of his visit are and teach the children about this period in the West. It would engage some of my knowledge base from university, too.
As far as language, I am still learning Kyrgyz. I am getting better because I don't have Russian as a crutch when I come home, so I am forced to use what I know. I have an assessment in December after which I will continue with Russian at my host site. I also have plans for some basic modern Arabic and Chinese while I am here, but one thing at a time.
I have been healthy this week. Sometimes I get freaked out when I am able to take a step back and realize what I am doing and where I am. Because I am around other volunteers everyday, it can sometimes not feel like being in a foreign country. The scenery and people become a backdrop for our American rancor. Then I spend thirty minutes trying to explain that people don't get married at 22 that often in the States to my host family or an hour in the morning making up imaginary, sometimes paranoid, narratives to go along with the Russian news program that I don't understand while I drink four cups of tea. It sinks in then. It also sinks in when I am walking with a group of friends and feel like I am going to shit my pants. I heard recently that a few people actually have already. Some people more than once. I guess that it sinks in when every single kid in the village shouts hello to me from various hiding places when, only after closer inspection, I will be able to identify where they are.
I really like the four other Americans in my village. We probably would have never met each other in the US, but we really do an excellent job of supporting each other here. I have spent a lot of time writing letters in the last weeks. I have written something like 10 or so. I am still waiting on some people to write me emails. I have to take a fucking bus for a half an hour and spend an hour to read my messages and write 2, so spend the two goddam seconds it takes to log on to your computer and write me a message.
I have stopped drinking 20 cups of tea a day, which means that I have also stopped twirling out my eyebrows while staring at the Persian carpet hanging on my wall before bed. A marked improvement. It has been getting really cold recently at night. The night sky in Kyrgyzstan in an astronomer's dream. I don't know any of the constellations really, except for the big dipper, so I am not able to analyze what I am seeing. I have never seen the Milky Way stretch in such a way even on my best camping trips in California. I feel this mandatory increase in my connection to nature. Even living inside a house in Kyrgyzstan can feel a little like camping. You are always aware of the wet or cold, where your food has actually come from (sorry but it isn't a grocery store, it's that animal that bleats at you), and your host mother never fails to insist that you are actually really, really cold when you aren't. I am literally a twenty minute walk from ascending the peaks of the the foothills of the nearby mountains. We walked around these hills one afternoon with a local boy, Adelet. We have a mountain spring that feeds the village its water.
I am getting tougher. It has been seven days since I have bathed, and I am unphased by it all. I washed my face for the first time in a week this morning. I have eaten some of the nastiest food with a shit grin on my face only to get the runs from the same food 45 minutes later. It's only polite to eat two full plates at a meal. It is the stuff that makes girls, women and boys, men. I make a dollar a day.
I hope to be able to write more letters in the next couple of days and send them out when I go into an actual city on Wednesday. By the way, mom, dad, Mark, if you don't email me, I will disown you (This is sort of a joke, but still kind of serious at the same time.) There was this psychotic teacher who came in to give us a lesson on teaching. She seemed like someone wrote her a nice script for Xanex and that that was just the first course She had us sing the ABC song. She also had us act out cleaning a sink . . . vigorously . . . now carefully. She was a real piece of work with her big hair, Minnesota charm, and thin, red leather belt up high, high on her waist. Years of teaching children had obviously eaten away any development after 8 years old that she might have undergone. Nevertheless, expect me to be the first to become the whacked out children's teacher, too. A long entry on a fast internet connection. Heaven. I love you.

Peace Corps/Kyrgyz Republic
304 Chokmorov Street
Bishkek 720010 Kyrgyzstan
attn: Michael L. Jacobs

By the way, I should take the time to inform everyone reading my entries that

THESE ARE ONLY MY OPINIONS AND DO NOT REFLECT IN ANY WAY THE OFFICIAL OPINIONS OR IDEAS OR PLATFORM OF THE AMERICAN GOVERNMENT OR THE PEACE CORPS, IN PARTICULAR.

Jakshi bar (Godspeed). -MJ

Lazy on a Sunny Afternoon

2004-10-03T01:17:00.000-07:00

I am in Tokmok, the largest nearby city to my village. Four of the volunteers who live close to me in Kegety, with whom I have my language classes, and whom I rely on for my support system and I decided to make a trip into the city. We went to the bazaar where I bought some beets, pistachios, and juice. My impressions of the bazaar: incredibly packed, fusion of colors and mixtures of patterns, pushing and bumping into the other shoppers and workers, no one wanting to speak Kyrgyz (and I am learning Russian). I am doing really well despite the barrage of stomach problems over the last week. I started making a point of doing an hour of yoga habitually before my day officially begins. I need to make sure that I center myself and check in to see how I am feeling. We had lunch at a local cafe and now I am checking my internet on the first fast connection that I have encountered here in Kyrgyzstan. Yesterday, we had a cultural exhibition at a local landmark called the Burana Tower, which is a minaret from the 10th or 11th century. Burana, the ancient city located about 20km from my house, used to be a hub of the Silk Road for Russia, Europe, and China. We had traditional Kyrgyz food. This involved slaughtering a sheep. I am not sure how many people have witnessed a man cut open a sheeps throat and drain the blood into a bowl. This sheep topped the plov that we ate and was crafted into a noodle dish called Beshbarmak (Five fingers) because it is eaten with one's hands. We had a music concert with Kyrgyz music and performance art. Then, we played Kyrgyz games and watched some demonstrations of the horse games. One difficult feature of living here is that the country is under linguistic transition. The official language from the Soviet period, is being phased out by Kyrgyz, which I am learning. Unfortunately, people are still speaking Russian in all of the major cities, even the ethnic Kyrgyz. When I try to speak Kyrgyz, everyone talks to me in Russian because they are (a) used to speaking Russian and (b) think that I am Russian for some reason. I really enjoy the people with whom I spend most of my time and feel fortunate to have been paired with them.

What I will need for my classroom:
multi-colored chalk
maps (Nat'l Geographic, State maps, any maps, even city maps)
Photographs (especially inside and outside of houses, cars, holidays, American culture)
many, many index cards
menus from your favorite restaurants

I will try to post photos sometime soon of the last few weeks. I am thinking of everyone and have written some letters. I don't know how long they will take to send. I love you all. I think about everyone more than you know.

Settling in in Kegety

2004-09-27T01:20:00.000-07:00

I am living with my family now. I have a mother, her eldest son, his wife, and her younger son. Her husband passed away seven years ago. Living in Kyrgyzstan is difficult. I live on a farm. We have six cows and about ten calves. We also have chickens and sheep. We make all of our food at home. Actually, the wife of my elder brother, Ulan, prepares most of the food and does most of the cleaning. I have been working on my Kyrgyz everyday for a few hours. We have class in the morning and sometimes in the afternoon. Today we have had the pleasure of actually going somewhere that has the slowest internet known to man. I am sorry that I have not written more personalized emails, but you try to do such a thing in Central Asia sometime if you don't like it. I took moncho yesterday, which is the Kyrgyz version of a Russian banya. You bascially feed a water heater with cow patties to warm the water. Then, groups of the same sexes wash together. It was my first bath in almost a week; I enjoyed it. I am working on writing everyone letters, but I have still been settling in. When I come home from working or studying, I am meant to sit and have tea and food. I average over twenty cups of tea and five meals a day. We eat a lot of potatoes, fresh noodles, bread, sometimes meat like mutton or beef, and homemade jams from the fruit orchards outside our house. My room has beautiful rugs, a bed, a table, two chairs, and a wardrobe. I am very much living at the level of the people with whom I live. I eat the same food that they do et cetera. Some moments here are really hard and frustrating, where you want to cry, scream, and run away all at the same time. For the most part, I have been having an amazing time, though. I need people to send me photos of their houses, apartments and cars. Pictures of basic American life for my classroom. Right now I am in a region called the Chui Valley. I had a placement interview today, and there is a good chance that I will move to either the Osh or Jalal-Abad oblast to teach predominantly Muslim children in a classroom without books. This is, of course, if I get my way. On Friday afternoon, I went out to the countryside with the local English teacher where I live. I was harvesting some corn and sunflowers with him. We rode on a carriage pulled by a horse. The foothills and mountains shot up from the valley. It was more breathtaking than I ever imagined it would be. Please send me some texts with poetry as well. Any books with short stories in English. I washed my clothes by hand. Actually, my host mom did, but she insisted. We are going to see an ancient tower on Saturday. I am really excited. It is called the Burana Tower. Because my family is Muslim, we do not drink. Shit status: yellow-brown sludge. We (the Americans) all talk about our bowel movements together. We laugh a lot about the immense divide between what was once familiar and what must now become familiar for us to survive. I hope that everyone is well. I am truly working on those letters. Love love love. MJ

In Bishkek, meeting host family

2004-09-20T22:16:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone.
I made it to Bishkek. We are meeting our host families tonight. I will be living with my host family for three months. I have been assigned to a Kyrgyz (ie not Russian) community. I started learning Kyrgyz yesterday. The other Americans are for the most part amazing people. It takes a certain kind of person to take this responsibility upon one's self. I packed the right things and feel confident about evertything coming up. I cannot stress how different everything is here. A kilo of potatoes costs about 20 cents. An hour of internet at a cafe costs a dollar. The problem is not money, just time. Mark, please go into my emails and throw away any recurring emails (BBC, Planet out, etc). Save only the necessary emails so that I can save space. I will not have access for internet for a long while. I don't think that I will be using the phone anytime soon either. This doesn't not mean I don't love you. I travelled 11000 miles in three days. I was totally fucked up when I arrived. We were all pretty insane, and they scheduled a program that allowed us to sleep for three hours before having to sit through meetings all day. I am impressed by the security program that the American government has set up for us. It will start to become more dangerous as we begin to learn the language more and we get to be on our own. I will be with five other Americans in my village it is outside of Tokmok in the Chui Valley. Kegety is the name of the village I will live in. We only clean ourselves once a week. I will be taking Banya with all the men in my house. They have a room that is like a steam room that they heat up. It is a social event where everyone bathes together. I will start shitting in a hole now tonight soon. Mom, the gifts that we chose were perfect for the family. I think that I have about twice as many as other volunteers, though. What else? . . . I am in the actual city now buying flowers. I am having tea with my family after we meet this afternoon. They will not speak English, so I will have to make by on the little Kyrgyz I know for the first night. They will probably be a Muslim family, which will be an amazing experience. THe people are so hospitable here. I am so impressed by all of the food. We eat a lot of meat. For breakfast, I had a hot dog, fried egg, tomatoes, and cucumber. I feel healthy. I had the shits for a day or so. I will get them again. I guess that there is a saying among the Peace Corps that you are not a real volunteer until you shit your pants. I am still waiting . . . Since I don't know when I will write you again. I want to say that I love you. And remember no good is good news. I think that everyone can hold off on buying anything to send me unless someone feels particularly inspired to send me foofy bathroom products, my favorite, magazines, music (tapes), or books. Kenneth, the poetry can start coming any time. Candy is good. Good candy is better. One note about mail. IF you send it ground, it will never get to me. Send by priority or air mail. Don't send express because express is not recognized outside of our country. Remember nothing valuable. PS Calling cards are useless without a phone. I will start writing letters now that I can unpack and fill in more of the details. I miss everyone. As soon as I can call or write another email/blog I will. Jet lag is a total bitch (14 hours difference.) I must go now. Love love love. MJ

Heading to Philadelphia

2004-09-13T17:27:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow morning I am heading to Philadelphia. I am still doing laundry. I also feel like I am forgetting a lot of things that I should be doing. I have this urge to call everyone I know to say goodbye, but clean breaks with the past are rare occurrences anymore. I hope that I will have enough room in my bags for everything I need. I mean, really, what do you pack for a trip for over two years? I had a splendid going away party with family and friends, which produced an epic hangover. I found myself throwing up in the backyard this morning: a cathartic feeling. I will write again when I get a chance. Probably in Philadelphia. I hope I get on with the other volunteers well. Love love. MJ

Never fully prepared

2004-09-08T11:29:00.000-07:00

Six days before I begin heading half way around the world to the Kyrgyz Republic. I got my last Hepatitis A vaccination yesterday, which finishes the gamut of shots that I can get from my HMO. I went to the thrift stores yesterday looking for some teacher clothing that will simultaneously function to keep me warm in the bitter cold. I just returned from breakfast with Kenneth, Nicole, Guillaume and mom at Annie's. I will spend the next few days gathering the rest of the items suggested on the list given by the government. I hope that I will be prepared by next Tuesday morning when I will be heading to Philadelphia for my staging for three days. I get the sense that one is never fully prepared to leave for two years. I just have to create the illusion of stability for myself through accumulating the recommended stuff, put it in a bag, and know that when it gets cold, when I have chronic diarrhea, or when I need to rewire my apartment's electricity or phone lines (One of the advised items is an electrician's kit) that I can. I thought that I would head back to Portland with Guillaume to say goodbye to friends and professors, but I have run out of time. I feel like I have a number of loose ends, unresolved emotions, and half-brained notions of where the Peace Corps will take me in the next few years. I received some language learning materials to help me get started learning Kyrgyz and Russian; I am finally starting to recognize the sounds that the Cyrillic letters represent. I can also say "hello" and "how are you?" in both languages. I put together a photo album last night and realized that most of my photos are of times of recent celebration. Hopefully my host family will understand that I am not drunk all the time. I wonder if the social dynamic between the volunteers will be in the manner of a reality TV show or more mild mannered. Saying goodbye to people for a long time has been difficult as well, but everyone knows that I am doing this to improve myself and help others who are in need of assistance. I think that Guillaume, Kenneth, Nicole and I may head out for a day trip to the ocean. This is my first post. MJ