This here is Kyrgy Carl, writing from the (possibly) most mountainous country on Earth.
I’ve just had a taste of my dream job, boiled mutton and lots of dairy products made from horse milk –hang on tight folks, and enjoy the ride.
So yesterday I began what looks to be a very promising partnership with the local United Nations Development Project. They have agreed to let me tag along with their poverty reduction work in local villages, in exchange for little more than the opportunity to bask in my unbridled excitement (as best as I can tell.)
The day began with the UN driver, boasting intimate knowledge of every road, river and valley in the Naryn oblast, taking us to the village of “Uchkun” or “Spark.” Half hour or so outside of Naryn City, we found a room full of 20 eager women, ages 25 to 50. The ladies had recently developed “self-help groups” among themselves, and were preparing for micro-finance loans to develop handicraft cooperatives, milk processing facilities, and a host of other small enterprises.
When they asked me what I thought of it all, I tried to explain to them how exciting their excitement was, and how valuable their energy was. God only knows what came out, but everyone seemed pleased as punch that I spoke as well as I did.
After the meeting, we were invited to the community leader’s home for a lunch of boiled lamb over a kind of fried rice. This dish comes complete with the salty, oily water that the lamb was boiled in as a drink, and if you prefer (which I do) you can mix it with fermented mare’s milk.
Down an exceedingly bumpy road, which our driver navigated with expertise, after lunch we arrived at “Lone Poplar,” a veteran UN project village. These women, just as excited, but clearly old pros, had more concrete questions, like complications with handicraft sales, and improving technology for turning milk into cheese and cream.
They also had more concrete questions for me, like, “who was that girl you were walking with in town on Monday?” and “didn’t I see you the other day on the news?” It seems that, due to no fault of my own, I’m becoming somewhat of a celebrity in my own right.
And, true to form, after this meeting, we were invited to another house, and served more fried rice, boiled lamb as well as the boiled, oil-water to drink.
Traveling to local villages and helping them develop is, as you might by now know, definitely my dream job.
But the capstone on the dream, was, as always, what I found upon arriving home. When I walked in the door, my father said to me, “Carl! We killed a sheep today!”
“How come?” I asked.
“Because we didn’t have any other meat!” he said.
Fresh sheep? That means Besh Barmak – boiled sheep over very well cooked noodles, with, as always, the salty-sheep-meat-oil-water as thirst quenching drink. As I mixed my drink with yogurt made from horse milk, I watched my sister-in-law tear the roof of the sheep’s mouth off, and split it with my 9 year old sister. Then she poked the sheep’s eyes out with her thumbs, backwards, threw the temples.
I’ve finally arrived folks, its true.
That’s all from my corner of the world. Thanks for reading, thanks for writing back. I love all of you.
Originally Written July 30th, 2009
