I’ve spent the past two weeks giving presentations on solid waste at each of the 6 the local K-12 schools. The teachers prepared 30 students, ages 15 – 17 interested in the subject, and we prepared a training and a coffee break. Good deal all around.

As my first real foray into the schools here, I’ve been just taken aback. As in America, the buildings hustle and bustle, feeling like their own worlds of miniature people. They frequent large murals of the hero Manas and idyllic mountain scenes. The boys generally where clean, well tailored suites, and the girls some variation on the white blouse and dark slacks. In the classes we teach, there is no semblance of that Asian stereotype, passive, quiet listening. The kids pay attention, but they are quick to ask questions, and debate rules the day. They have strong memories and are keen on group work. In all, it reminds me of my high school days at Northside College Prep in Chicago.

In this way, too, the kids are universal. There are the quieter kids, the louder, more outwardly confident ones, and even the jokers. One young man, sporting a clean cut look and spiffy little suit, topped off his ensemble with a beanie perched precariously on his head. He was the same joker seen at every school I’ve ever attended.

The most profound difference, I noticed, despite not being able to understand much, was the profound bilingual ability of the students. No single language dominated our classes, not Russian or Kyrgyz, regardless of which the school purportedly taught in. When giving presentations, kids would flip casually from one to the other, sometimes applying the grammar forms from one language to words from another, and no one even batted an eye.

When it came time for me to present, I told them about my work with the new recycling program in Chicago, and about the Three R’s (Reduce, Reuse and Recycle.) These translate delightfully into the Three K’s (and thankfully don’t hold their unique, American connotation.) To my surprise, I’m able to do this entirely in Kyrgyz.

However, that’s easier than it sounds. See, I always start my sessions with an apology, “I don’t speak your language very well, so I might need help.” With this in mind, the kids often fill in words I don’t know, and endings that I stumble over. I will smile and make hand motions, and they will spit out the word I’m miming. If I didn’t know the material well, I’d fall apart at the seams. You just never know what life will ask for.

In other news, I’ve recently become a connoisseur of fermented milk products. My grandmother offered me kymys the other day, and after pouring from the yellow, reused motor oil jug, announced that today the milk was from a cow, not a horse. I can now accurately report that cow kymys is thicker, and there is more sediment than from a horse. The flavor has a similar sourness, but tastes a little more “spoiled.” Once I go to Kazakhstan and sample shubat, fermented camel milk, I’ll have the trifecta complete.

Originally Written October 23rd, 2009