A thunderstorm booms just outside a small corner of the
world I call my room. Turning the lights on would only interrupt the natural
show of luminosity unfolding before my eyes. What an incredibly powerful show
of might, a thunderstorm. Many
people are easily frightened by this illustration of booming sounds and light.
However, thunderstorms always cause me to think. I remember back to the most
incredible thunderstorm I’ve witnessed to date. I happened to be on a plane
flying down the east coast, over the Atlantic Ocean to the Dominican Republic.
I watched below me as the blanket of clouds lit up in swift sparks of
lightening striking one strand after another in a rapid armed battle on the
ocean. I imagine this is what a nighttime battle looks like. Flashes of light
as the opposing sides open fire on each other. So there I had it, the clouds at
war over the ocean, with only the beams of lightening to use as ammunition. For
over an hour, I gazed wondrously at the most astonishing natural light show known
to man.
It is late Saturday night in Peervomaiskey, a small village
in rural Kyrgyzstan, which I temporarily call home. The baby boy (whom I refer
to as “tamposhka” meaning “cute, chubby baby”) wails in the room next door, I
assume from the booming of the thunder. The faint sound of Kyrgyz pop music
drones down the hall from the kitchen where Erbol, the 9-year-old boy and his 13-year-old
cousin are almost certainly playing a game of chess. My Kyrgyz family,
including the children, typically stay up late, often past midnight. The
overwhelming majority of Kyrgyz families do not eat their last meal of the day
until somewhere between the hours of 9pm and 1am.
My Eje (honorable term referring to women older then
yourself, also meaning “older sister”) is attempting to distract the sweet
Tamposhka from his tears by singing to him a sweet Kyrgyz song which I can only
assume is a lullaby. In Kyrgyzstan, the women are allowed 3 years of maternity
leave after they give birth. In a conversation about professions with my Eje,
she informed me that she is a Russian language teacher meanwhile explaining the
“3 years off” standard to me. After which, she asked me how long women in the
states are allowed for maternity leave. She was astounded when she heard my
response. She thought I must’ve been pronouncing my words incorrectly (which
routinely happens…) or I was confusing the words for “year” and “month”. When I
assured her I indeed was not, she simply gasped and shook her head.
The concept of “family” is so incredibly important in this
culture. In fact, the family card trumps all others. During introductions,
Kyrgyz people are more likely to ask about your family even before inquiring
about your profession. I was slightly shocked (in proper pretentious American
fashion) when my host family inquired about my parent’s ages in our initial,
introductory conversation. This concept of age is an entirely customary inquiry
in Kyrgyzstan for one very important reason: respect. In Kyrgyz culture,
respect is determined by age, and age is a factor of upmost importance in well,
all settings. I made the mistake only once of referring to my Eje by her first
name alone before my language teacher corrected me. “Amanda, you should always
refer to people older than yourself as “Eje” or “Baike”. These are terms of
respect. Please only call her “Ainura Eje”.” Note taken.
I realize I promised pictures of my host family in my previous post… I must report that I have yet to capture some. I’m working on it! Stay tuned!
:)
