For the first 2 1/2 months I was in Kyrgyzstan, I didn’t spend it in Darkhan. I spent it in a small village called Epkin, which is about 20km from Kant in Chuy oblast. Each new Peace Corps trainee (Peace Corps won’t call you a volunteer until you finish Pre-Service Training, or PST) was assigned to live with a host family as soon as they arrived in the country. For the trainees, such as myself, this was a stressful time. We didn’t speak the language, we were living with families who oftentimes didn’t speak any English, and we were expected to learn the language and how to be Peace Corps volunteers in this environment. But, this form of training was necessary to weed out those who actually had what it took to be Peace Corps volunteers (we lost about ten people out of 61 who came to Kyrgyzstan during the first 2 1/2 months of PST).
Perhaps there is a bit of the Helsinki syndrome for trainees with their PST host families. PST often feels like a prison for many of us – our movements are heavily restricted (we had to secure permission from Peace Corps to go anywhere outside of our PST villages), we don’t speak the language, and we are living in a completely foreign environment. We depend heavily on our PST host families to guide us on the correct path – they cook for us, they give us a place to sleep, and they help us with learning a new culture (they are compensated quite well from Peace Corps for this, I might add). So, we develop strong bonds with our “captors” – our host families.
By the time we become full Peace Corps volunteers and are sent to our permanent sites, we already are familiar with the culture, the language, and what needs to be done – our permanent-site host families (we were required to live with host families for the first three months at site) only serve to give us a roof over our heads. Some Peace Corps volunteers have commented that they developed much stronger bonds with their PST host families than their permanent-site host families – I can understand this phenomenon.
This day was also the first time I really began to take notice of Kyrgyz politics…
11 October 2007
Tomorrow is Eid Al-Fitr (I think that’s the Arabic name for it), or Orozo Ait in Kyrgyz, or the official end of Ramadan (thank God! – I was starting to feel guilty every time I chewed gum, drank, or ate in public). It’s also an official Kyrgyz national holiday, so all schools are closed. Tomorrow (if my host family wants me to), we will visit all of our neighbors’ homes and drink tea and eat borsok (Kyrgyz fried dough). According to Muslims, all peoples’ homes are open for guests at the end of Ramadan, and anyone may come and be treated as a guest. My host mother was busy preparing borsok this morning in the kazan in the garage (kazan is a big wok-shaped metal cooking pot that is heated by fire, usually fueled by wood or dried cow dung). And my host relatives were busy cleaning the house, I assume in anticipation of guests tomorrow.
I might just celebrate tomorrow as Columbus Day, Italian-American Pride Day, or Canadian Thanksgiving day. The reason for that is that I’ve been immersing myself today in non-Kyrgyz things, like reading tons of old Newsweeks left at school by Taylor and watching my “Heavy Metal Parking Lot” DVD (HMPL was filmed in Landover, Maryland). I’m feeling a little homesick for some good-old American comforts, like constant access to news in English and even the Baltimore accent (Hey hon, let’s goe downy oeshun.). Sometimes I feel like I’m a time traveler – I’ve traveled back in time with some stuff from the future, and I’m remembering life twenty years from now.
But as soon as I start feeling like I traveled back in time, my host brother Altynbek walks by blasting Lil’ Jon from his cell phone.
I went to school today and taught three classes. By myself. Temirlan showed up for class, but then immediately found out that he had to go to the other side of the school as an observer for a national referendum taking place regarding changes to Kyrgyzstan’s constitution. I don’t know what the changes are, and because of Peace Corps regulations regarding political activities of volunteers, I shouldn’t know, and I didn’t ask Temirlan any more questions about it. But, the other side of my school is set up just like an election is about to take place – it looks familiar. I was told once that five-year-old Kyrgyz children can discuss Kyrgyz politics – by contrast, no-one in neighboring Uzbekistan discusses politics. It was observing government crackdowns on political activity in Uzbekistan and blogging about it that helped get the Peace Corps kicked out of Uzbekistan.
The classes weren’t bad, and I got a group of apathetic ninth-grade girls excited about my class by the end. Kelly called me during one of my classes, which was great to hear her voice, but was in the middle of my class – she was checking to see how I was doing (I probably scared her by emailing her that I’m on Cipro – I’m taking the last Cipro tonight). I told her to call later, but I haven’t heard back from her yet – that’s probably because she’s asleep right now. After the classes were over, I stayed and read Newsweeks that were sitting there. One article that I read was about modern Russia and how Putin completely dominates the social and political landscape. It reminded me of what I saw on Russian TV the other day – like American TV sometimes does very late at night by playing the national anthem, Russian TV played the Russian national anthem behind the backdrop of a flowing Russian flag. What I’d forgotten up until then was that a couple of years back Russia brought back the old Soviet national anthem. So there’s a flowing Russian flag (as Aizat was playing with her baby in front of the TV) with the Soviet national anthem – I could barely contain my laughter. A lot of PCV’s here are interested in visiting Russia either during their vacation time or after their service ends – I am not one of those PCV’s.
At lunch I got a surprise phone call from Zamira, my host sister at my training site in Epkin, near Kant. She’s about to finish university, and she’s going to be a teacher in Bishkek. I think she’s going to be an English teacher, but don’t quote me on that. I didn’t realize how good her English was – she didn’t really speak English to me that much in Epkin. I also realized how much I miss my Epkin host family – they were such a sweet family, and I felt close to them. Plus, my host mother there never glared at me like I was an asshole (but sometimes my host father in Epkin did). I never had sisters growing up, so living with a family of sisters made me feel like a real older brother – I felt extremely protective of them and didn’t want them to get hurt. Also, I wasn’t just Agai to them (Kyrgyz term for a teacher – I’m Mr. Jackson in the English classroom, Kanat Agai around the rest of the school) – my host brothers don’t call me Kanat or Cuyler most of the time, they call me “Agai”, even around the house. Aside from the vodka I had to drink thanks to my host father, I really enjoyed my training host family. I still feel like visiting Epkin right now would feel like going home, in a way. After my conversation with Zamira, I texted Rebecca (who was also a trainee in Epkin) about Epkin’s postal code – I want to print off the last photos I took of them during my swearing-in ceremony and mail them to them.
My PST host family and I - Zamira is on the far left
Anyway, back to the conversation – she asked me when I was coming to Bishkek, and I told her probably in January (that’s when In-Service Training occurs, and it’s in Bishkek for a week). She said she was hoping that I’d come in November or December – that’s when she’ll begin teaching at School #11 in Bishkek. I told her I’ve been teaching for a few weeks, and that being a teacher is hard work, but that it’s rewarding. Soon thereafter she had to get off the phone and told me she’d see me in December or January.
Maybe if I have time off from classes in Darhan either before or after In-Service Training (IST for short), I’d like to stay in Epkin for a few days.
