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.
