Two Stops Past Siberia

To the Fine Folks of America and Beyond!

I’ve just come back from a professional development conference on cross-sector cooperation. To prove it, I’ve a head full of knowledge, and a fancy certificate.

In the spirit of working within different sectors, the conference, help on the shores of Lake Issyk Kul, was given in two language sectors, Russian and English. However, my language here is Kyrgyz. This meant that in order for my counterpart and I to discuss what was going on, we had to listen in either Russian or English, translated from the other, and then discuss it in my broken Kyrgyz.

When you try to identify all that you take for granted in life, how often do you include, “conversing with native speakers of my language” as one of them?

Now, in the spirit of living in Kyrgyzstan, I took this travel opportunity to do all the guesting I could.

Before the conference, I and two other guys from my training group went to visit our old host families. I brought mine some Kymys (the fermented mare’s milk), and a pyramid of bread. It was like visiting a favorite relative. We talked and caught up, but then their lives went on, and they put me to work. One night, dad got home, and told me to go to the shop and keep the 12 year old daughter, Jildiz, safe after dark while he took a banya, and caught up a little later. It was easy and comfortable, just like visiting family should be.

Then I made my way to Bishkek. I had been warned that Kyrgyzstan’s capital is so Russified that Kyrgyz speakers there can be hard to find. To quite the contrary, while at the gigantic Osh Bazaar, bargaining in Kyrgyz, I got an excellent deal on some well faded, heavily creased, “Dolce & Gabana” blue jeans: the height of Kyrgyz Fashion.

Since the conference ended, I’ve spent this last weekend at my former teacher’s house, Tamerlane the Hero-King. When I arrived, he was picking apples in his back yard. With around ten trees, each brimming with fruit, he was busy picking them and preparing them for sale, and I was eager to help. He gave me a ladder, and I twisted the apples one by one, setting them gingerly in my bucket. I watched the branches spring back towards the sun once I’d gathered their load. Our pace wasn’t the most efficient, and didn’t seem ideal for making money, but it sure was fun.

The next day, we found ourselves at an “Apple Festival” at my teacher’s school, filled with local products and happy people. Among other festivities, this place sported a wide ranging cook-off. While vying for tastes of each delight, I learned that if Kyrgyz people can do one thing quickly, its grab food. God bless ’em.

Love Always,

Kyrgy Carl

P.S. As a result of the conference, I know have a project all to myself here in KG, and I’m gonna try to make it work. I know lots of you folks have been asking about pictures, so I’m going to make an new section of the website dedicated to projects. Photos included. Have a gander.

Originally Written Oct. 3rd, 2009