Posts Tagged handicrafts

Hillary Clinton Loves Peace Corps (But We’ve Still Miles to Go)

Let me get to the meat of it folks, I shook hands with Hillary Clinton. That’s right, I said it. Her hand was soft. None of that, of course, explains the grin captured on my face in this official US Embassy photo, however. I thought I was just smiling sweetly the whole time, but I’ll let you all be the judge of that.

It was a funny little moment, to have such an important visitor come to such a little country. She was fresh from a spell in Kazakhstan, and her time in Bishkek was little more than a layover, as she left not 6 hours after arrival for Tashkent. Between those two countries, however, she was able to meet with the president, shake many of our hands, (“Peace Corps? The rowdy ones!”) and field some interestnig questions at the local university.

“Mrs. Clinton!” Came a shout from the back, “How can we get more Peace Corps volunteers?”

“I love Peace Corps!” She said, “I look into it!” Now we’re all looking in to what that really means.

But as she left Kyrgyzstan’s great capital, so did we, and in Naryn again, it was business as usual. Personally, I found myself in one of the places I love the most, a tiny village, with poor cell phone coverage and hardly two nickles to rub together. I was out monitoring a training, where one local euntrepreneur was teaching village women to make slippers.

“Before I came here,” she told me, “these women couldn’t make more than one variety of slippers, now they can make 12.”

I took pictures and smiled, and even got a pair for myself. And then, I sat back, and appreciated the moment.

The house I was in was covered in traditional art, from rugs to wall hangings. There were only 4 rooms in the place, and only three were heated. The women were working feverishly. The trainer, one of the women who led my natural dyes training, had agreed not only to lead the sessions, but also to comission 100 slippers from her students. Her plan is to sell them at a festival in Germany in January, along with the products of other trainings, and from her own co-op. Fast forward, 6 weeks from now, to the clean and warm and comfortable world these slippers will enter. How will they even remember the tiny corner of our Earth, cold, where so little grows; that place where they came from?

And one of the trainees was as heartfelt as a person can be. “Please,” she said to the trainer, “teach us everything you can. Out here, we have nothing else.”

And from Hillary Clinton, among the most powerful women on Earth, who’s time was so tight that every one of her moves was choreographed by an army of aids, to these women who wanted only to learn how to sew, I had to wonder, really, in the past two days, how far had I come?

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Laptop Sleeves, Like the World Has Never Seen

In our continuing effort to pair traditional Kyrgyz art with modern consumer culture, out here in Sunny Naryn we’ve been building our repertoire of felt laptop sleeves. These suckers, designed entirely by the local women here, sport the wonderful damask designs of traditional Kyrgyzstan. Plus, they come in all manner of colors and sizes. One day, if you’re lucky, even these little netbook sleeves will be available at an outlet near you!

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Yurt in a Minute!

During the needs assessment for the handicraft development project, we found all kinds of novelties we’d never seen before. One of them was a little yurt. This guy was made of yarn and included all of the elements of a yurt in miniature. The woman was able to erect it in a minute! (Imagine using this sucker to teach your classroom about Central Asian life!)

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Presenting of a Shyrdak

So, as I’ve mentioned before, the Kyrgyz people are notoriously not camera shy at all. They are performers, and relish in showing off their excellent handiwork.

This is true as much in life as it is in shyrdaks. During my recent village visits, I took this little video of the women in their workshop. That old lady off to the right is 85, still working, and damn proud of it!

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Hoo hoo! Shyrdaktar!

So, as promised, I’ve been hopping from village to village this past week. I have now officially seen countless shyrdaks in all stages of production.

See folks, now is really the shyrdak making time. During the winter these farm folk have a lot of time on their hands. During the summer and fall they prepare thick felt for these shyrdaks, and in the winter they draw out their designs, cut them up, and then stitch them all together. This makes winter a wonderful time to visit their workshops. (for a discussion of production timing out here, check this out)

Shyrdak workshops are all kinds of colorful. From delightfully complimentary schemes to the most garish collections of neon colors, shyrdaks come in all shapes and sizes. There are little 1×2 foot doormats, longer runners, and room sized monsters. The largest one we saw was still in pieces, but the women claimed it would be 10 square meters! Meters! That’s nuts!

The women who work them are damn proud of their skill, and delight in showing it off. They’ll pull out same after sample, and then pull out some string and needles to look busy while I take pictures.

The designs are traditionally symmetrical curly things, and every one is an abstraction of something – from people to parties to mountains to eagles, shyrdaks have everything. My favorites, however, are the designs that update traditional designs, ones that take chances. One of my favorites was round, blue and yellow, about 4 feet in diameter, and featured a snow leopard in the middle with a black and white border of waves. The woman who made it was a shyrdak teacher in the local school, and had never sold a single thing; she just made them ‘cause she loved them.

Our work was to identify needs, and report them to the local university, to inform a course we’ve organized. But along with that, we’re just learning what these communities have to offer, and how we can help them. In one village, we met the only woman in the whole rayon who had a foot powered spinning wheel. Unfortunately, it was twenty years old, and the carpenter who made it long gone. In the next village over, however, we stumbled upon a man trained in wood work who said he’d made them years ago, and without pictures and video, could probably fashion a new one. Along with our expressed work, it is these kind of happenstance developments that can make some of the most valuable improvements.

But it hasn’t been all work and no play here in Sunny Naryn. After fifteen weeks of preparation, the local schools all competed in a fashion show sponsored by some university students. I had agreed to let one of these organizers borrow my camera, but when I arrived to give it to her, she informed me I was going to be a judge. See, the prizes, 3 giant teddy bears, 3 rugs and 1 television, garnered so much interest last year, the judges were bribed and everyone got upset. That meant, along with looking for the incorruptible, in Kyrgy Carl, they found their very own surly, foreign Simon Cowell ready to take the helm.

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President of Xanadu

As I walked past the main theater in town one morning, I saw large crowds, and dark suited men with springy white ear pieces. So naturally, I went in for a look. Elderly women were arriving in droves, decked out in full regalia. Old men were coming as well, in traditional, long velvet coats, with curly, symmetrical symbols embroidered, each donning tall Kalpaks and any and all WWII medals they might own. I saw one man taking pictures, so I thought I’d follow suit.

It was then I was approached by a man. He spoke what sounded like Cantonese with a long nasally draw on the end of his words. I told him I couldn’t understand him, in Kyrgyz, and he brightened a little, but not much. “Who are yooouuuuu?” he switched to Kyrgyz, “Where do you liiiivvveee? Why are you taking picturrrrrrressss? Will you send them back to Americaaaaaa?”

“I live here,” I told him frankly, “I’m taking pictures of these interesting people, I might send them to America. Who knows!” The fact that we were in a public place, and if I took the same pictures tomorrow there’d be no different, phased him little. Finally, he succumbed to my easy laughter though, and just asked politely if I’d buzz off. So I chuckled, and pursued another route.

Upon going to work at the UNDP, myself, the head lady, and a specialist in from Bishkek headed back to the theater. When I got out of the UN vehicle, I winked at the drawling man, but he didn’t wink back. Then we walked to the door (lacking the necessary tickets), found someone we knew, one thing led to another, and we were being escorted into the gala.

As it turned out (if you haven’t already guessed) the security was for the president, come to give a short speech for the 70th Anniversary of Naryn Oblast. We talked development among ourselves (and some friends who also happened to be in attendance) while waiting for the big man himself. He strolled in, half hour late, as any man of importance should. He gave a speech, we listened, I understood little but applauded with everyone else.

As wonderful as it was, we were there for the artwork, not the politics. We left the ceremony early to peruse at our leisure. I have never seen better handicrafts in all my life. The specialist brought out his recorder, and interviewed the peddlers on their supply chains. I have a project teeming in my head, to find a market in  the West for the beautiful felt and leather artwork from this, the Great Knot of the World: Kirgizia, (as our business-minded specialist wants to rename our quaint little country.)

In seriousness, though, its true. Perhaps, one day, in my post Peace Corps existence, you’ll stumble on my little Central Asian gift shop, tucked in a quiet Chicago neighborhood. Swirling in colors, you’ll wonder, from what Xanadu did these things descend? Then, harried, withered and old, I’ll squint softly in reply, “from a Xanadu I once called home.”

Originally Written October 29th, 2009

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