Archive for January, 2011

Pilgramage

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on January 27, 2011

As you may or may not know, my dear friends and quiet confidants, I am a lover, not a fighter, of all things Chicago. Among all the many things within it that I hold dear, one of them is football’s greatest rivalry. That’s right. I said it. Kyrgy Carl isn’t just a slap happy do gooder. No, not at all. I like football. American football. The game with the giant men who make me look tinier and tinier every day.
 
Now, for those of you who didn’t know, there was a grand and momentous game played last week: Chicago versus Green Bay Wisconsin. When I heard of the play-off match-up, the first since WWII, I knew wild horses couldn’t keep me from watching it (a surprisingly relevant idiom, considering my present location…) So, folks, battling a soar throat and the onset of a nasty cold, I mustered all the Chicago grit that I could find, and booked myself one ticket to Bishkek, where a local bar had promised to show the game.
 
Now, seeing a football game in Kyrgyzstan is a little bit harder than in some other countries I’ve been to. In 2007, when I saw the Bears get Super Bowl walloped by the Colts, I was at a crowded ex-pat spot in Beijing, China. I was already living there, so the only special preparations we had to make was buying beers the night before, so we could get good and buzzed when the game started at 6:am the next day. This time, though, it involved a 6 hour ride in a shared taxi on Sunday, waiting in the foreign, big city land of the capital, and then making my way to the one expat bar I even knew of at 2:am.
 
At first, folks, I was afraid I’d have to watch the game alone, lost in the bar crowd throng. But when two volunteers offered to watch it with me, I was only worried that we’d get there in time to find a table. But when we arrived at the bar at 2:10, just missing the successful and devastating first Green Bay drive, we were amazed at what we found: the bar, while open, featured not a soul. Here I was, having traveled 6 hours, with another 6 to go the following day, and no one beyond my motley crew had thought to come out for the game. I wanted to yell from the roof tops that this was a once in a life time moment, that tickets were averaging $1,000 resail in Chicago, but no one was awake to hear me.
 
Then, after a painful shellacking, and a call to my father (a very happy Green Bay fan) and my brother (a gently inebriated Chicago fan), we headed out. It wasn’t what I had expected, but here in Kyrgyzstan, what ever is? My two friends and I then wrapped up the remainder of our morning by watching the Steelers make a very definitive start to their game, and headed out into the world.
 
Not all was lost, of course, we are Peace Corps volunteers, after all. We used our early morning advantage (and the fresh snow) to ambush the Peace Corps staff with snow balls as they headed into work in the morning, at least one member quite aware as to how we happened to be up so early. From there, my heavy head and sniffles worsening all the time, I headed back to the long-distance taxi stand, bought another seat in a taxi, and headed home.
 
It was an easy ride with three men who were transporting TB supplies to a hospital on the way. Conversation went something like, “in America, do the women thrash their men when they stay out late and get drunk? Good, we thought ours were the only ones.” And, “you don’t mind if we smoke in the car, right? We’re all guys here.” And then, thankfully, it wasn’t long before I was home, doing pull-ups with my host sister, and shooing the three-year-old boy off my bed, desperately pleading that he just wear some pants.

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Weight Weight, Don’t Tell Me (or My Mother)

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on January 18, 2011

Weight; my weight; and the weight of a volunteer. These are topics of consternation for all parties involved, not the least of which being parents (just ask my worried mother).
 
Personally, I am fairly characteristic of the Peace Corps norm: I have lost significant amounts of weight since coming to country. Where I rolled in at a very comfortable 180, my most recent scale setting put me 25 pounds below that, and everyone laughed at how absurdly heavy that seemed. At my lowest, I was in the mid 140’s.
 
Now, for the record, I am not the biggest loser, not by far. We’ve got a guy out here who came in at around 200 and now sports a lean, mean 140. He’s in a village, and laments the countless winter dinners of little more than fried noodles, especially when they represent his only meal of the day (I’m not in such dire straits). Furthermore, I am not even close to being medically evacuated for weight loss. In this scenario, which does indeed happen, volunteers (typically male) are sent to America for a couple of weeks just to fatten up.
 
And I say male volunteers see this happen more often, because, well, it’s the truth. Here in Kyrgyzstan, men lose 15 and women pick it up, or so it generally goes. What’s more, I’m told this is a nearly universal phenomenon in Peace Corps world wide. The reason? “In developing countries, diets are higher in carbohydrates, and men are better at processing those.” Or so goes the rumor. Whatever the truth is, my host family has their own explanation.
 
“Carl was fine until the revolution,” they like to say, “it was only then that he started losing weight.” Regardless of the fact that official Peace Corps health records dispute this claim, they’re not so concerned: when I show my host sisters pictures of me from America, they can’t help themselves but to giggle, “you were fat then,” they always say, “you look much better now.”
 
Still though, my impressive weight loss of last Spring caught the eye of my superiors, who then graced me with a rice cooker, and the effects have been transformative. This pleasant contraption sits at my girlfriend’s apartment, and works to feed feed us when I’m there on the weekends and the occasional weekday (and her any time she wants!). Far from just rice, however, we have also used it for pasta, buckwheat, barley, beans, and even grilled cheese sandwiches! Furthermore, this one little tool has helped us branch out into other cooking experiments. What all can you do with rice? we’ve wondered. Where previously weekend meals meant little more than Ramen noodles, we now make up fried rice and stir fry, just ’cause it’s so easy.
 
And then there’s the beans. When I strolled home from Talas last year with 45 pounds of white beans, little did I know what would happen to them: when there were still tomatoes and bell peppers in the bazaars, chili was the name of the game. Now, I have them for breakfast with rice and eggs whenever the situation suits me. In fact, those little guys end up in just about anything we eat recently, including the greatest of concoctions: the bean burger.
 
That’s right folks, when ground beef is expensive and suspect, or you’re simply in the mood for something quite different, the bean burger is definitely a new favorite. Just last week, for the first time, Anne mashed up beans with garlic, onions, carrots, bread crumbs and eggs, dashed in plenty of salt, pepper, and some very tasty curry powder, to make the most flavorful patties this side of the Himalayas. They were so good, in fact, I joined in for another (much larger) batch two days later.
 
And, from that, folks, I feel somewhat confident saying: some basic knowledge of how to turn simple ingredients into tasty food must be the cheapest way to improve quality of life. If only I had known sooner.

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Re: 20/20 – Safety and Security, Peace Corps Kyrgyzstan

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Bonus Content! on January 15, 2011

First, as a disclaimer, I cannot directly speak to the stories portrayed in the recent 20/20 piece, or the other stories that ABC news has recently promoted, as I have had no personal experience with the people or countries involved. However, as an actively serving volunteer in the Kyrgyz Republic, I can speak about the safety and security situation here.

First, for context, Kyrgyzstan is a small, post-Soviet nation in the heart of Central Asia. The country, with a population around 5 million and the land area of North Dakota, rests on China’s far western border. It is heavily impoverished but boasts the only parliamentary government in the region. Where on the one hand, Kyrgyzstan has one of the poorest performing economies in the area, it has also been called Central Asia’s “Island of Democracy.”

Democracy, then, being a messy affair, has also led to some trouble here. Most recently, as Google Trends can attest, we have seen civil unrest, a new government, and ethnic violence. In light of these events, thankfully, and worthy of much praise, Peace Corps Kyrgyzstan may be considered the opposite of the image 20/20 has recently portrayed:

We didn’t lose a single volunteer, and no volunteer suffered bodily harm. Volunteers were evacuated from their sites when their safety was threatened. Volunteers who witnessed violence were provided professional counseling. Sites that displayed signals that violence might continue were closed permanently.

Furthermore, both long before any hint of nationwide violence was in the air, and since, our safety and security team has aggressively prepared us for emergencies, from the scale of the individual to that of the nation. We have multiple phone numbers to call, from hard power connections with local police to our Peer Support Network. Between the solutions staff provides, and the local support network they have helped me cultivate, I have never once felt seriously threatened.

It is the opinion of this volunteer that the stories presented in the recent news must be given appropriate gravity, however they must also not be taken out of context. Working and living abroad comes with its own unique brand of personal safety concerns. Peace Corps Kyrgyzstan, however, having seen more than its fair share of recent violence, gets high marks in my book, the context of this blog act as testament to that.

For anyone with questions or comments, please feel free to post below.

Furthermore, for the official Peace Corps response, go here. And for their official statement on volunteer safety, see the safety section of their website.

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The Great TV Divide

Posted by KyrgyCarl in Letters on January 12, 2011

So, it’s cold here in Naryn, even with our paltry amounts of snow. On the one hand, the city is dry and dusty without its winter snow; on the other, the roads are safer than last year without their 6 inches of caked ice…

Along with the cold, folks, comes indoor activities. While I don’t believe that the girls at my house are spending any more time studying (and God knows they’d never consider spending any less), there has been a definite increase in time spent watching TV. That’s right folks, the boob tube: its a ubiquitous machine here in country, present in even the smallest village houses. The is seldom more than one station available in Kyrgyz, and usually 4 or 5 more in Russian. Most homes, it seems, also sport DVD players. These little accessories make the wonderful world of Korean soap operas a very real phenomenon.

While in China, I had often heard that Koreans were the pretty boys of Asia, and that their television programming was a great export, particularly popular with the ladies. Here in Kyrgyzstan, DVD collections of these series flood the market. In one, four very rich boys gallivant amongst dramatic familial intrigue. In another, a 4 member, all boy, glam-rock band features a member who is a girl, but beneath all the make-up and general androgyny of the scene, nobody knows it. It is all exotic and the kids sometimes stay up until the wee hours of the morning watching it. Unfortunately for me, however, it is all in Russian.

In fact, folks, my family, all being fluent in the language, watch TV almost exclusively in Russian. “There is no interesting Kyrgyz programming,” my host dad had once explained. Unfortunately, of course, that means I can’t really partake. When the family retires to the den, unless I can scratch out a tickle-fest with the toddlers, or a chess match with one of the older girls, I inevitably sink back into my bedroom. Before my computer died, I’d write on it, and now I read, or just visit friends away from the house. This, I have noticed, has created a very real divide. Much of the unstructured social time in our house is dominated by the television, and that means I can seldom participate.

That is, until the other night.

Just the other day, I happened to be home around 6 pm. At this same time, the TV happened to be on (two not infrequent occurrences), but this time, it was the Kyrgyz channel that was playing. Then, out of nowhere, I heard an excited holler from the other room, “Carl!” my host sister shouted, “the news is on, in English!” When I came running, it was true. I had always heard of a mythical Kyrgyz news program delivered in English, but had never really believed it. But there, before my eyes, was a young Kyrgyz woman reading the news, the domestic Kyrgyz news, in English! Then, as I watched, with my host mother and sister in the background, I learned about many things that otherwise would have gone far over my head, including a general strike threatened by the country’s medical professionals.

“Oh, are they talking about our strike?” My host mom chimed in from the background, herself a doctor who delivers babies and performs more c sections than she can count (all for a salary that would make the Ameican professional weep). She is an impeccably smart lady who studied English in grammar school. Between that and her knowledge of English-Latin-Russian cognates from her medical training, can pick up a lot if she’s listening.

“Yes,” I said, marveled.

“They asked us to hold off until the first of February, when they think they will have more money to pay us. I hope so,” she said.

And right there, over just the littlest bit of shared media, we bonded in on a new level. For at least that moment, I wasn’t just a silly foreigner blissfully unaware of Kyrgyz national affairs; I was in the know, and I liked it. But then, as brief as it had come, the fast-talking Kyrgyz news anchors were back, and I was underwater again, trying desperately just to keep up. And, easy in retrospect, I know it is moments like this, thrust out of my comfort zone, that I realize just how many things there are working to divide us, even down to what kind of TV we watch. Needless to say, though, the divides are shrinking, and my host family and I grow closer every day.

Love always, and mind your TVs.

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