Two Stops Past Siberia » snow

Reflections in the Snow

KyrgyCarl — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 10:14:50 +0000

While so much of America was getting pounded with snow this week, so too did we in Naryn get a little bit, though only an inch. While it still took me an hour to clear our whole driveway/compound, it was easy work; easy work that catered well to having a three-year-old helper at my side.

Folks, my time here is growing short, and that weighs on me more and more with each passing day. As my host dad stunned me at lunch today, “Carl, I’ve never seen your pictures from home. Would you show them to me?” I complied with his request, and then felt the most powerful homesickness I can recall. There, all of the sudden before us, were the smiling faces of my siblings, the warm embraces of my family; I was shot back to long evenings, falling asleep on the couches belonging to my closest friends.

And at the same time, those feelings brought me back to the present, with a deep intensity. Last night I made paper airplanes and ambushed a screaming host sister, and then I wondered if she’d tell her school friends, “look at this design! It’s how they do it in America.” Later, I helped another host sister with an English paper, assuring her that “200 words or less” didn’t mean a relevant assortment of 200 nouns, adjectives and verbs; but instead a collection of cohesive sentences who’s total component words should total 200. “But Carl,” she said, “it says words, it doesn’t say anything about sentences.

And this morning, as I put off going to work so I could shovel the snow, I made sure my little three year old host brother got dressed and came outside with me. He threw little snowballs at me. And while I batted them away with the snow shovel, laughing together with him, I wondered if he would remember even a single one of our moments together, or if years down the line, the older girls would talk about me, while he just sat quiet, or maybe asked, “did Carl play with me, too?” And later, while he crunched eggshells by the compost, ones I had so gingerly laid out for him, I wondered, how many of these moments, so important to me, will stay in these people’s minds.

But that is life for the transient, the temporary guest. My memories are largely my own, for I know that years down the line I will have very few to reminisce with, but so is the path I’ve chosen. But then again, each moment is new, and each brings with it a surprise to turn around my thoughts.

When I broached the subject of a replacement volunteer with my host family the other day, they balked, and it made me happy. “Maybe, if there was another one, a boy, just like you, we could it,” said my host dad. But then he reconsidered as he looked at his daughters. “No,” he said, “we’ve grown accustomed to you. You eat when we eat, you are thirsty when we are. I don’t think we’d want a new volunteer after you are gone.” I smiled and knew I wasn’t a tenant, a source of income for the family. But why did I even need reminding?

Or this past Monday, during my weekly banya, I bathed with a guy just a few years younger than me. He said that even though he had no work and no money, he was hopeful, and spent his time going to the mosque to pray. He said he had sworn off alcohol and cigarettes, the real opiates of society. He asked if I was married, and when I would. I asked him if he’d marry for love, or just kidnap a girl off the streets, as is not uncommon.

“No, for love,” he said.

“Why?” I asked him.

“Because there isn’t enough love,” he said so simply.

And then, for the next few minutes I basked not only in the depth of his answer, but also its context. Here we were, in a deeply impoverished land, and this young man, with no education, in a community where men want to talk to me about little more than sex and prostitutes, he gave me an answer more profound than I could have imagined. He was marrying for love simply because there isn’t enough love in this world, and he wants to add to it. What better answer is there?

And so, these, among so many others, will be my memories. And that leads to the natural question, what will be yours? You, the readers of my letters, when my travels are done, let me be so narcissistic as to ask, what will you all take from all that I’ve shared?

Assertive Tendencies Among the Mounting Snow

KyrgyCarl — Wed, 22 Dec 2010 08:57:06 +0000

Well, the snow is finally here. The last two times that I have written about snow here in Sunny Naryn, they were one time, freak events. Where last year we had boat loads of snow from October on, this year it has taken its sweet time. But, if the international news is serving me well, it sounds like compared to the Midwest and Europe, we’re still getting off easy.

On the one hand, folks, the snow has its upsides: heightened surface albedo makes a flashlight unnecessary at night. On the other hand, though, it brings with it new challenges, and that’s where my story takes us today: to the local politics of snow removal.

As I was shoveling the driveway this morning, I had a wonderful idea: why not make a speed bump of snow, I thought. That will slow down cars in this winter wonderland! And so, with my makeshift plywood shovel in hand, I killed two birds with one stone: pretty property, safe neighborhood.

Then one of my neighbors emerged. She was all dressed up for the cold, and had two kids in tow. “Hey, quite making a mess,” she said, motioning to my hump of snow. But my reply was curt.

“No,” I said.

“Cars will run into that,” she said.

“I know,” I responded, “kids play here, like yours. The roads are slippery, this will slow down the cars.”

That quieted her, and she just stood there. Then, whether to imply she was going to tell on me, or just as a shift to normal conversation she asked, “is your host dad at work?”

“Yes,” I told her, and then went on my merry way.

Now, a year ago, the young Kyrgy Carl would not have been nearly so bold. It’s not that I wouldn’t have defended myself, but quite the contrary; I never would have done something like that in the first place. By this point, however, I’ve been around the block.

First off, I’ve seen more substantial, though still hand-made and ad hoc speed bumps in other places, even on the main roads between villages. Second, I’ve gotten taste for how things like this get done around here: by individual effort, and individual decisions. If I want to slow down traffic, it is up to me to do it. People will have their opinions about what I do one way or the other, but no one is likely to stop me, much less undo what I’ve done.

A year ago, I would have let the traffic continue to speed down my snowy street, feeling that it was not my place to impose my values. Today, I’ve got a lay of the land, and a sense of how to attack problems. I’ve done enough work that I can defend my decisions, and furthermore, my actions. I can put responses in context: this woman was about to go for a drive, her expressed desires don’t speak for the community as a whole. Last spring, when I drained a huge puddle, some old ladies lauded my efforts, a very drunk grandpa told me I was desecrating a holy space, and a crew of drunks help me did. The tenderfoot volunteer has a much harder time differentiating between individual voices and the sense of their community.

Now, when I get home from work today, I’ll surely find out what my host family thinks of my new blustery confidence, and we’ll see whether I’ve gotten ahead of myself after all.

Meat with Rice is Good

KyrgyCarl — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 06:03:31 +0000

So, that warm snap I encountered in Bishkek last week has been creeping towards us Naryners here in the highlands. Where Bishkek was a mud puddle, we are simply awash with melted snow.

I guess I had forgotten how much snow we got over the winter, and how, in most places, it was never removed, but simply packed down. Aside from the heaps of snow piled in the limited green space along (and in) the roads, many of those roads and sidewalks sport ice or heavily packed snow as much as 6 inches thick!

This all means the amount of slushy water that has infiltrated the city is beyond the pale. I have never seen puddles this big in my entire life. They’ll occupy entire an intersection at the end of an alley, and submerge your foot to the ankle, like after a big rain in Chicago. But these puddles have no plans of going anywhere. Furthermore, they’re filled with snow and slushy ice, and bear an uncanny resemblance to the regular snow and ice we’ve had since October. That means, unless the guy in front of you just made waves, you’re unlikely to be able to tell the wet from the dry.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, the melting icicles on the eaves of tall buildings are big like lightning bolts, and scare even the savviest of men. People can be seen marching around on their roofs, shoveling off big sheets of snow. I’m just waiting for another cold snap though, when these giant puddles turn our fair city into the largest urban skating rink the world has ever seen.

But, like all good cold-weather people, this nonsense hasn’t put a damper on a thing, and its business as usual. At work, our handicraft business course, which was originally supposed to start today, has been delayed, for a second time, to the 15th. Something about money, overlapping skill-sets, and an inkling suspicion that this same thing has been done before…

And at home with my lovely family, my homestay mom has just celebrated her 40th birthday. No one told me about this until I got home from work, but that was okay, as the whole celebration was decidedly subdued. We had cake. My dad gave silly, yet meaningful toasts. Aijamal, the six year old, presented a book half filled with pictures she drew of horses and mermaids, put it in a bag, and tied it all up with a scarf.

In fact, it was Aijamal, the Christmas whisperer, who really stole the show. She’d been a bundle of energy all day, just laughing and saying anything that’d come into her head. And one of those things, she said, while standing on her chair at the dinner table, after taking a bite of her rice with carrot shreds and boiled beef, was simply, “meat with rice is good, huh,” as if she was having it for the first time.

Snow Removal and the Kyrgyz Home

KyrgyCarl — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 12:02:39 +0000

So, according to everyone around, while temperatures this winter have been mild (yikes), where we’ve really had excess is in snow. It first came down from the sky in October. It hasn’t really ever melted, and for a while there was falling every day.

This makes snow removal an issue, to say the least. The one main street in town, Lenin, is one of the very few that are paved, and the only one that is plowed, though only rarely. On days when the snow is fresh, the cars that don’t have chains on their tires make sliding stops as regular practice. When the snow is tough and packed, the only real concern is slipping while you cross.

The side streets show no hope of plowing, and the thick snow does wonders to fill the pot holes. When kids aren’t sledding on the hills, or sliding, for fun, on every possibly decline, they’re grabbing onto cars as they slow down to round corners, and then sliding down the street attached to them (a practice I’ve heard is also common in Detroit.)

Now shoveling, as we think of it, is a bit different out here, if for no other reason than the curious layout of the standard home. Kyrgyz houses don’t generally have a front door. Instead, facing the street is just the plane side of the house, and next to it, a tall, metal gate. This gate will generally have one entrance for people and one for cars. Once inside, there will be a driveway, at the end of which features a garage. Before that garage, however, will be a turn off, sending you to what we would consider the back door of the house. This does not occupy all of the space in yard, however. Generally one can also find some yard space, an outhouse, maybe a fruit tree, and a large dog cage. Sometimes there will even be two buildings for different uses depending on the season.

Take note here: Long driveway, little lawn. Good for cars in the summer, bad for your back in the winter.

At my house, this all means starting from the gate and pushing all of the snow towards the back where there is a little strip of green. We filled that up about a month ago. Next was the same procedure, just a little farther back, to another green spot, until we filled that up too. The last timed it snowed we went way back, to a far corner. But for this maneuver, my family had a system. We’d shovel out a path, and then lay a fleece blanket down. We’d pile a mountain of snow on the blanket and then drag it to the back corner, where we’d shovel it again.

That was cool, but we’re the lucky ones. Up and down the streets here in Sunny Naryn, both big and small, there are huge mounds of snow, some 4 feet high, and the average American would assume them to be from the giant shovel of the plows. But no, not here. Here, it is the concerted labor of countless men, bearing one load after another of snow, carried in wheelbarrows, on blankets, pieces of siding and sleds. All of this sound pretty reasonable? Now, imagine that instead of an ergonomically correct, light plastic shovel, you’re doing this with a piece of plywood fitted between the teeth of a picthfork. But thats just life, folks, and I love it.