Yesterday, while enjoying the last few hours of a last minute escape to the city, I received a call informing me that school in the village was cancelled for the week due to "potato harvest". As it is now Monday and my students are aiding their families in picking potatoes thus leaving yours truly with no work for the day, I feel inclined to do some other productive activities. Now that the ever laborious cleaning and laundry are completed, this blog is the result of said notion. My apologies if this entry lacks direction as it concurrently also lacks inspiration.
Lately I've been thinking a lot about what Peace Corps likes to call "The Fishbowl Effect". As volunteers, we were warned at pre-country departure orientation, in-country pre-service training, and possibly even in the initial interview about this fishbowl concept. Most prominent in villages, The Fishbowl Effect can be described as a volunteer becoming like a fish in a fishbowl to villagers- the subject of conversation, curiosity, interest, gossip, gawking, intrigue, and constant requests for "things"- just to name a few. There is no way to prepare for this reality, as one cannot understand what is it like until experience takes place.
My conclusion regarding this fishbowl idea is that it ends up putting a whole heck of a lot of responsibility on the volunteer. In the states, I could go to the grocery store and be completely anonymous- I'd most likely never met any of my fellow shoppers before nor would I likely see them again. In my village, I venture out to the magazine (store) and I am stopped by people on the street (many of whom I've never met) asking where I am going. At the store, I'm asked what I am buying and why I need such things. The following day at school, I'm approached by a fellow teacher telling me that she heard I bought bread at the large magazine, but it is much better and more fresh at the Asel's store on the main road.
Forget anonymity because, in the village, whether I like it or not, I'm apparently a person of extreme interest. I never thought that I would mourn the loss of anonymity- I mean, don't we spend our lives longing to be known? Whether by our family, friends, or a significant other? In America, I'd grown accustomed to this idea that I could hand pick what I wanted people to know about me, what I wanted people who knew me to view me as, and even what I spent my paychecks on. The thought of anyone, unless they were stalking me, to take interest in what I bought at the grocery store was a ridiculous thought. When I wanted to talk about things with others, those things became known, and what I didn't care to talk about stayed tucked away. Now, in the colony known as my village, it's widely the topic of conversation and incredibly interesting when I go for a run, walk to my sitemate's home, or when my boyfriend comes for a visit.
The people in my community don't find it rude to ask about the details of my life because, in their upbringing in the village, very little managed to remain private and the prospect of a question possibly seeming rude never occurred to them. Privacy- yet another intriguing idea. I doubt that my Eje has spent more than maybe an hour in alone time in her life. Constantly surrounded by immediate family, extended relatives, friends, neighbors, or whomever- the Kyrgyz would likely be confused if I brought up the concept of alone time. My host family finds it perplexing that I can spend hours in my room by myself, if I were to broach the idea that I indeed need this time, they'd just as soon assume me to be crazy. Oh the glory of cultural differences!
No comments:
Post a Comment