One Peace Corps Volunteer’s chronicle of life in Kazakhstan

It’s been a wilder ride than usual lately. I’m about to reach the end of the longest term of the school year, but it’s been a tough push for a while now. Some days I’ll be riding the biggest high of my life, and some days just the tiniest things can suck the life right out of me.

In any other situation, I’d say that I might be a prime candidate for a clinical depression diagnosis at this point, but I think all this craziness is just par for the course in the Peace Corps experience. Especially here in the northern part of Kazakhstan where winter is so harsh.

Motivation has been a stranger as of late. Occasionally he’ll drop in for a quick cup of tea, but then he’s off again. I think it will change soon, though. Like many other volunteers, I’m living for IST right now. We’ll all be back together to swap horror stories and things will get back on an even keel. I hope!

I know I can turn things around and really start making some progress, but right now it just seems to be slow going. Sometimes I feel like it might even be losing ground. Even thought I teach English classes in a Kazakh school, I’m hearing more Russian than any other language in class on a daily basis. It’s frustrating. Really frustrating. Some of the groups I have just seem to not care, and no amount of preparation seems to change that. At this point, my own attitude is starting to be an obstacle to progress, too (I’m sure that fact is quite evident at this point in the post).

My time in Kazakhstan is limited, so it’s important that I invest my time wisely. I need to spend more time in the areas where I am currently having an impact and have a good chance of accomplishing some great things. If the groups I am working with continue to show no interest in what I have to offer then I’m going to have to speak with my manager about the possibility of terminating my work with them. There are other groups at the school who would kill for the opportunity to learn with a native speaker, so I can’t continue to justify spending time with groups that don’t have an interest in learning.

It wouldn’t be a bad thing, either. I really do need to get out into the community more and start trying to develop a secondary project. I’m a volunteer for the entire community, not just for the school where I work.

Time to get to work on materials for class tomorrow. Hopefully tomorrow will be a good day. If not, I’m heading straight for Pavlodar after class on Saturday and that should help improve my mood. Especially after I have my tickets to Shymkent!

Hope you all like the blog design shift. One of my most avid readers (that would be my Mom) requested that I find something that made it easier to navigate my backlog ‘o posts. Hope this helps!

One of the things Peace Corps talks a lot about is third goal. There are three main goals of Peace Corps, and the third is the one that really never stops – helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans. And even though they switched taglines long ago, they never tell you that, in that respect, the toughest job you’ll ever love never ends.

I came across this story in the back of one of my seventh grade textbooks, and I thought it would definitely be a fantastic piece for third goal. It’s called “Bibi-Khanym and the origin of the Muslim Veil.”

If you recall, not long after September 11, there was a bit of an anti-Muslim backlash in the United States. One of the things that gained serious (negative) attention was the bhurka (spelling??), the garment that some Muslim women wear that completely covers their face and body.

Like all cultural things, there’s usually a story to explain it all. And so, without further ado, here’s one story that explains the Muslim Veil.

“Bibi-Khanym and the origin of the Muslim Veil.”

Almost seven centuries ago in Central Asia there lived a great king called Tamerlane. He was a very powerful soldier, and he wanted one day to rule a great empire stretching from the Atlantic Ocean in the West to the Pacific Ocean in the East.

He made his capital in the oasis city of Samarkand which he planned to make the most beautiful city on Earth. Many mosques were built with blue ceramic tiles outside and gold inside.

Tamerlane’s wife Bibi-Khanym was the most beautiful and the most important of all his wives.

She was deeply in love with him. In order to show her love to Tamerlane she decided to build a magnificent mosque to honour him when he was away fighting in a distant war. She found the best architect who designed the most magnificent mosque one could imagine. And then she found the best master builder who began the work immediately.

As the weeks and days passed by the master builder began to fall in love with her.

He threatened to leave the mosque unfinished unless she let him kiss her just once.

Bibi-Khanym wanted the mosque to be finished and at last she let him kiss her once.

But that was her terrible mistake because the master builder’s love was so big that when he kissed her he left a permanent mark on her face.

King Tamerlane returned and saw his wife’s face. So the master builder was executed immediately.

And then thinking that a woman’s beauty can be a dangerous thing, Tamerlane ordered that from that day all the women in the kingdom should never be seen in public without a veil that covers their face.

(Taken from the 7^th grade English book by Ayapova, 2007 edition. And edited significantly for grammar, but not content. Probably still some grammatical errors…. I’m too lazy to translate for a proper citation. Plus I’m not sure that I’d even be able to do a proper citation at this point. I’m a little out of practice)

So there you have it folks. The legend behind the veil.

Also, today is Soviet Army Day. It’s not an official holiday here – Kazakhstan celebrates a similar holiday in May – but it was celebrated in the Russian Federation today. And with those two intercultural tidbits I bid you farewell until next time!

It’s a grand Southern Christmas tradition. One that was immortalized in the short story by Truman Capote that many of us read at some point in school. It may be a tradition in other parts of the country as well, but I don’t know that any writers from other parts of the country have a celebrated short story about said confection.

Grandmother and Granddad Jones sent me a fruitcake just after Christmas this year, and it finally arrived today. I also had two other Christmas packages waiting for me at the Post Office so it was a good day.

Some people love fruitcake. Some people love to make fun of fruitcake. To all those who fall in the latter category, I would recommend that you try a fruitcake from Collin Street Bakery in Texas. That’s where my fruitcake came from, and it was one of the most delicious things I’ve eaten in a while.

This was no baby cake, either. So I decided I should share it with my host family. After all, cultural exchange is a big part of what I’m doing here. When we finished dinner this evening, the fruitcake was dessert. It was the first time any of them had eaten fruitcake, and they thought it was great. They all want me to pass along their thanks for it, too. Thanks, Grandmother and Granddad!

For some time now I’ve felt like there are a lot of similarities between Kazakh people and the people of Appalachia. There are so many things about people back home and the people here that are similar. Often Kazakh people remind me of people I’ve seen or known back home. In fact, I’ve often felt that the key to the Melungeon mystery might be right here in Kazakhstan.

While we were eating the fruitcake tonight I believe I got further confirmation of our similarities. Inside the cake tin was a brochure for other baked goods the Collin Street Bakery sells. When my host mom pointed at the deep dish pecan pie and joked that we should ask for someone to send us one of those I knew they were just as Southern as I am.

Next test: RC Cola and Moon Pies.

Cutting up the cake

The Christmas tide here is slowly coming to a conclusion. I should have blogged about this more extensively on receipt, but I kept forgetting to get the photos off my camera. It’s really about time I add some photos to this little adventure, and this is a prime place to start.

So, around mid-December Corey and Lana sent me a Christmas package. It arrived around the beginning of February. It had lots of good stuff in it. Emergency chocolate and beef snacks (in case the steady horse diet was getting old) a Christmas card with a picture of Avery, their heartbreaker in training, and all the necessary goods for a brother to brew some coffee!

Lana works for a little coffee outfit by the name of Starbucks, so I got plenty of good stuff to work with. I also had some quality brewing accessories.

“So, Brian, how do I make my own OG Felder coffee maker?” I’m so glad you asked, friends. Here’s a little visual guide to the genius that is Corey and Lana.

First, you’ll need the following items:
• A quality Starbucks insulated thermos
• A Starbucks re-usable coffee filter
• Tasty Starbucks ground coffee
• A silicon funnel
• Hot water

Put the funnel into the thermos

Hang on, because here’s where it gets a little crazy. Put the coffee grounds in the filter and then put the filter in the funnel.

Don’t forget the hot water. It’s kind of important.

Slowly pour the hot water through your coffee maker. The teapot was a little bit much to handle, so I tried doing it a little at a time with a teacup. I eventually settled on using the thermos lid. I think that some sort of measuring cup with a spout would probably be the best option, though.

After lots of slow pouring, reap the bounty of your reward.

And garnish with some homemade pastry, if you like.

The coffee was fantastic, and the thermos keeps it warm for a ridiculous amount of time. As in I left some coffee in the thermos for about two days and it was still lukewarm and tasty. We don’t waste, yo.

As of this evening the novelty of not having to worry about a runny nose because anything that ran froze in the nose wore off. Fortunately, I got a balaclava in a package from home today. Unless it leads to hassles by the cops, that should keep me toasty warm.

Another tough one to handle is the freezing and thawing of my fingertips. They don’t literally freeze, but they get quite chilly and then it stings something awful when they start to warm back up. And this is with gloves on!

Today was a banner day at the post office. Last week I got a package from Corey and Lana that was sent on December 17. I had a few other packages en route, but they were sent in early January. With that knowledge, I pretty much wrote off the possibility of getting any sort of mail this week. Sometimes it’s nice to be wrong!

Peace Corps had sent an envelope with several letters that came to Almaty after I left for site. They sent some before, so this was certainly a surprise. I also got a Valentine’s Day card from Mom and a New Year’s Card from Matt and Stephanie. I also had TWO package notices. One was from Mom, and the other was from Kathi and Nicole. Both were fantastic! Thanks everyone!

So my afternoon was pretty much spent reading mail and sorting through packages. Then it was back to the school to do some planning for one more class – physics. Usually the teacher and I communicate using a computer translator program, but it wasn’t working today. Not good. Still we got it all figured out. Well, I guess we’ll see tomorrow exactly how well we got it figured out.

As I write this entry I’m listening to the CD that Kathi and Nicole sent. A little taste of home. All the songs are either ones we used to listen to all the time or ones that have a connection to home. A win-win album, to be sure.

The bad news is I still have to prepare for lessons tomorrow and prepare my homework for Kazakh tutoring. I’ve been such a slacker when it comes to the language study. Hopefully I can start to turn that around, though.

One of the few posts that I haven’t pre-written! I came to Pavlodar for the weekend, which usually means access to Internet that actually works. Yesterday afternoon when I finally got here I met with some other volunteers. The main gathering happened at Maher’s English Club, which shows a movie in English every Saturday afternoon at 4. It wasn’t the initial main gathering point as other volunteers went to a local orphanage to make Valentine’s Day cards with the kids there.

After that, it was dinner at an Italian restaurant. I had smack. No, not drugs. The name of the pizza was smack. It had chicken, olives and mushrooms. It was awesome.

Then it was off to the evening’s abode to play on the Internet and crash. All in all, an awesome recharge.

Let’s hope it will get me through another week!

Interesting morning here at the host family abode. About 10:00 a car showed up outside and some men came in to talk to my host father. Everyone kept whispering something that sounded like “commission.” And it seemed to have something to do with me and my camera.

Flashback: Earlier this week the town got a nice coating of snow on everything, and it was absolutely beautiful. Since I hadn’t used it in a while, I decided it was the day to break out the D80. While my host dad and I waited for my host mom (we were getting a ride to school!) I took some pictures of the nearby scenery. When I finished and turned to get in the car, I noticed our neighbor was standing in the doorway of his gate giving me the evil eye. Fortunately, I’m skilled in the ways of warding off the evil eye so his powers had no effect on me, haha!

Later that day I found out he had called the director of my school demanding to know who I was (obviously he knew enough about who I was to call the school…), why I was taking pictures and if I was taking pictures of him. Apparently there’s a bit of a rift between my host family and this guy and he often calls anyone and everyone to try to cause trouble for them. I understand he was pretty high up in the Communist Party back in the old days, so I guess old habits die hard.

At any rate, “the commission” showed up this morning to follow up. They never talked to me, just my host dad, so I’m sure it was no big deal. Just in case I was wrong, I went ahead and sent an SMS to our safety and security officer. Because if “the commission” turns out to be whatever the secret police here is called, they came pretty close to crossing the line. They’re obviously going to be keeping an eye on me, but as I understand they’re not supposed to actually contact me.

Nonetheless, I suppose to an old Party die-hard an American with an SLR looks an awfully lot like a шпион (spy). Bless his heart. Obviously he hasn’t seen enough James Bond movies to know that real spies are much less inconspicuous. They drive Aston Martins, throw around lots of cash and pick up the prettiest women in town. Plus, they only use SLRs when they’re taking pictures of something from a yacht in the tropics. Much less inconspicuous than standing in the street!

Oh well. Just another story to amaze the grandkids with someday.

Until then if you need me just give me a call on my shoe phone. The number’s 007.

Last night I visited a friend in Aksu. He’s a former English teacher who now works at one of the plants in town. He speaks good English, but since he doesn’t have anyone to practice speaking English with he’s concerned that he’s forgotten much of the vocabulary he once knew.

As we talked last night, we covered a variety of topics: what’s the point of the perfect tenses (that one I still can’t answer easily), what do you think if the new President, what music do you like, what do you think of various current events in America, etc. What was a good bit out of the ordinary was when the conversation turned to my friend’s frustration with not having a sense of place here.

My friend is what people call “matisse” here. The word sounds just like the painter’s name. I don’t have a clue how it might be spelled in Kazakh or Russian. The word refers to people who have one Kazakh parent and one parent of another nationality. After learning this word, the first thing I did was start asking people if it was a bad word. In America, usually such terms are pejorative, so I didn’t want to stick my foot in my mouth. Apparently it’s kosher to use in conversation, though.

As I understood his story, he feels more closely affiliated with Russian people than Kazakh people. He has a Russian wife, and I met him through a Russian friend. He doesn’t know very much Kazakh, and he said he’s often reproached for that by Kazakhs. In general, his worldview is much more akin to that of most Europeans which is not always understood in a country that is more conservative in its beliefs. I got the impression that he has no sense of place in his own country.

He specifically mentioned the issue of homosexuality, which is very taboo here, but that he doesn’t have a problem with it. The official line is that there aren’t homosexuals in Kazakhstan. True story. This came up in the context of most people he’s told about me think I’m gay because I’m an American. And rich. It’s amusing on one hand, but on the other hand it just shows how much work I have to do over the next two years. That and letting people know that the “N-word” is not appropriate to use when referring to African-Americans. Seriously.

What he said next really kind of shocked me, and then I was shocked that it shocked me. He said he would like to go to America where people didn’t judge you for things like that and where you were free to say what you wanted, dress how you wanted and no one would bother you because of it.

I was shocked to be reminded of just how many freedoms we have in America (all “Patriot” Acts and other post-9/11 knee-jerk freedom clampdowns/civil liberty sucker punches considered). Then I was shocked that I had forgotten and taken it for granted.

Even in the midst of an economic crisis, a war on terrorism that has angered many other nations in the world and the usual suspects of anti-Americanism, people still see us a shining example of the brilliant ideas espoused in the documents drafted by our founding fathers.

And I suppose, more than anything, those ideas are what make me proud to be an American.

Footnote: in case I’ve not mentioned it before, “Russian” is typically used here to refer in a generic sense to anyone who has more of an Anglo/Slavic/Germanic appearance than that of a Kazakh appearance.

Footnote to the footnote: I really wish I had paid more attention in the German classes I took because anyone here who can speak German and thinks I look German wants to speak to me in German. They’re usually quite disappointed.

Today’s my third day in the new host family, and things are really going well. Any time you move to a new family there’s always that chance that things might not go well. Fortunately, that’s not the case.

My new host mother works at the school – she’s the manager of our cafeteria – and my host father’s a retired engineer. My host mother also owns a restaurant near the bazaar, I’ve heard. At any rate, they’ve got three kids, but all live elsewhere. Their daughter has two kids – her youngest is 5 and is rolling around in my room right now entertaining himself. The other is one of my 7^th form students.

The youngest host brother lives and works in Pavlodar. He also speaks really good English. He’s offered to help show me around Pavlodar, introduce me to his friends in Aksu and Pavlodar, and do anything else he can to help me out. Pretty awesome stuff.

I’m glad that it’s been a stress-free transition so far. Things are starting to pick up at school as we’re in the home stretch for the state examinations for 9^th form. My counterpart and I have been given the task of creating four variants of a test each week to give to the students for practice. Saniya Akashevna has a TON of materials, but most of them are hard copies. Since I can type fairly well I get to do the bulk of the keyboard work on these tests. Unfortunately, there are lots of instructions in Kazakh or Russian, so someone else has to key those in. Today, my slow day with just one class, I arrived at 9 and didn’t leave until almost 6.

Part of the reason for the long day was that our town’s mayor came to the school today to give his “state of the city” address. I got put on front door greeter duty. Even broke out the suit for it. It was a polyglot day for me. I got to greet people in Russian and Kazakh as well as tell my co-workers how to say the same thing in English.

On top of all that, I’m probably going to talk to my counterpart about taking on some additional courses this week. I want to team teach one class with each of the other English teachers, and I think I can fit in one of the physics classes, too. It might require a little input from my Regional Manager, but I think it should be doable.

Before I left my old host family, I got to help clear the driveway of snow one last time. Got some photos of it, too. Fun to see how deep it is in places. As well as how big the snow dump pile is getting!

Tomorrow I heard from one of my Oblast mates that we’re supposed to hit -40 tomorrow. That’s where the temperature scales meet up. It’s the same in Fahrenheit and Celsius. Which means it’s cold no matter how you look at it. Welcome to the race against frostbite!