a project fulfilled.

I approach the entrance of the school to find a group of Baikes squatting and chatting next to a smaller , bright yellow semi truck. They stare at me as I walk up to the courtyard, probably wondering if I am with the group of Americans coming from the Transit Center. "Salamatsizdarbuh!" I exclaim to them. Surprised, some of the men respond with quiet "Salamachuluk" and return to their boisterous conversation. The American volunteer is a well known concept in my community, as my site mate and I are the 5th and 6th volunteers to live and work in Barskoon village. Most people in the village are excited to meet us, grateful to communicate with us in their native Kyrgyz tongue, and hopeful for the potential projects we will pursue.

Walking into the school I find several Kyrgyz women in their longer dresses, sandals, and head wraps working tireless to clean the entrance and hallways of the school in order to impress the Americans soon to be arriving at the school. One woman mops the floor while another is dusting windowsills and yet another is moving a table and some chairs to a storage room. I travel up the stairs to the third floor of the older children's wing to the newly created "English Resource Center". I enter the room to find stacks of fresh, newly printed textbooks, workbooks, crisp bookshelves, and a new computer. The 14 English teachers crowded around the books, speaking in brisk Kyrgyz, greet me with beaming smiles and extend a copy of one of the textbooks for me to review. Here it was, the fruits of Joanna (the previous Barskoon volunteer) and her counterpart, Dinara Eje's hard work. They had written a project to the Transit Center at Manas Airport to fund an English Resource Center for the English Department at the school in Barskoon. After a long wait, the project was approved and now the contractor had delivered the things from the grant. The men from the Transit Center would arrive any minute to conduct the "Dedication Ceremony" for the English Resource Center.

Crowded in the room which now housed all of the new teaching materials, the Director of the school addressed a room full of teachers, staff members, community members, and the 8 men from the Transit Center. Exuding gratefulness and pride, the Director made a promise to the Americans who funded the project. The promise was that the teachers would use the materials to their full potential and these materials would certainly be a great help for the students to increase their English language knowledge. A rewarding project with a sustainable plan for implementation... Yep, this is why I joined the Peace Corps. I knew that the materials would not only help the students' English skills, but would increase the teaching abilities of the English teachers- affecting generations of Kyrgyz students who would fill the seats at the school in years to come. Much to look forward to here!

taxi taxi!

        (photo taken on taxi ride between Bishkek and Barskoon village- mountainside KG pride!)


I approach the bustling aftovosal (bus station) squinty-eyed from the bright sunshine reflecting from the numerous parked cars. I look to my left at my trusty Bishkek taxi driver who smirks and then promptly swings his door open. He knows what is coming. Before I can even get out of the taxi, drivers approach me from all sides. "Taxi, taxi!!!" "Kochkor? Kochkor???" "Cholpon-Ata?!" It's hard to keep a straight face and not look like a surprised tourist... especially with a backpacker's backpack that makes me stick out like a soar thumb. It's overwhelming yet ultimately the typical scene at the aftovosal. The drivers are running around trying to snag riders to fill up their cars so that they can just hit the road already.

They begin to get more aggressive and start grabbing for my pack. I look at the group and simply say "No, Barskoon. I'm going to Barskoon.. Near Karakol. Are any of you going there?" That cleared at least half of them out of the mob. One driver said "Okay" and grabbed my bag and led me to his car. We arrived at his empty car, which right away sent the signal that I could be waiting for a while for other riders. After an hour of waiting and getting moved around 3 times, I finally ended up with a driver who lived in Barskoon. Thank goodness.

I ride off with Jemir Baike, who is telling me that we are picking up the others just outside of town. We arrive at a "neighborhood" on the outskirts of town and pull up to a small concrete house. A very young mother and her 3 children are waiting for us. She explains that they are going to Barskoon to "have a rest" near the lake and will stay with her sister. After Jemir breaks down a bike and some ride-able children's toys, we hit the road for our nearly 5 hour journey. The Eje explains to me how her husband works with volunteers in Bishkek she wishes that a volunteer would live with them because she would like to learn some English. Jemir chimes in and says he has known past volunteers in Barskoon, asking me if I knew the volunteers from 5 and even 10 years ago. Not wanting to disappoint him, I tell him no, that I was only a young teenager when some of them were serving.

Jemir tells me all about his 3 children, all of whom live in Bishkek and either attend university or live and work in the city. He tells me that he comes to Bishkek as often as he can to visit his children. He also tells me that he loves my name- "Amanda. Amaaaaaandaaaaaa. Beautiful name", he says in Kyrgyz. Every chance he gets, he uses my name for the remainder of the taxi ride.

We attempt an ongoing conversation for as long as my Kyrgyz conversational skills would allow before Jemir turns up the music and one of the boys in the backseat sings along with the Kyrgyz song on the radio. After several stops and several miles of travel, Jemir asks me if I'd like to stop for a swim. Thinking he's joking, I laugh at him, only to find that he is indeed serious. In my mind, we were on a schedule- I mean it should only take about 4.5 hours to get to Barskoon, right? Pushing my American "tight schedule" mindset out, I tell him I'd stop but I probably wouldn't get in. The Eje in the backseat wouldn't have it, though, so onward to Barskoon we went.

After arriving in Barskoon, I realized I'd made some new friends on my journey. We all exchanged phone numbers and hugs as we were dropped off. The avenues in which we can meet new people and hear their stories are endless... if we're open to the journey. Here's to many more taxi rides and new friends to come!

a peek at Democracy Camp, etc.

There was a thunderstorm on the first night of Democracy Camp!

                                     

                            The campers reading about the democratic process.

                           Team blue brainstorming about creating their own democratic nation.

                      The campers present their fictitious democratic nations to the rest of the camp.

I had the pleasure of meeting the U.S. Ambassador to The Kyrgyz Republic at the Swearing-in ceremony. Ambassador Spratlen just happens to be a fellow Northwest girl! :)

Jade The Blade.

                                          (wheat field, Barskoon village, Kyrgyzstan)


"May I practice my English with you? Please?" A young, tall, Russian girl approaches me confident and beaming with excitement. Even though she was one of the campers, she looked mature, maybe a few years younger than I. But I knew that sometimes, looks could be deceiving... "Absolutely! What's your name? How old are you?" I asked, glad to be speaking a language I felt comfortable with. "I'm Tanya! I am 14 years old." (or, "Jade The Blade", as she would later choose as her camp name) "No way!" I thought to myself and apparently also said out loud... "You look and seem much older than 14...." I replied honestly. "Yes, people tell me this all of the time. I think it is because I am tall." She spoke her English with such ease and free of mistakes... this was something I'd not yet experienced in Kyrgyzstan and especially not with someone as young as my new friend. "Well maybe so, but you're speaking English so well as well! This is very unusual for people your age, my dear.." "Oh yes, thank you very much! I study English a lot because I want to go to university in America. Maybe not at Harvard, but I would like to go to state university. Is this correct to say? A state university?" My young friend was blowing me away. Most 14 year old American teenagers have barely started thinking about which university they will attend (unless their parents have already decided for them ;).


Meeting my friend Jade The Blade was my introduction to the high school aged campers at a "Democracy Camp" put on by an American organization known as "IFES". Around 50 bright, talented, free thinking high schoolers were selected (based on submitted written essays) to participate in the 10 day Democracy Camp. I had the privilege of working with IFES and these young, promising individuals for one week. Soon after meeting Jade, I met many other 'youngins with incredibly impressive English speaking skills. Campers spent their morning in "lessons" regarding democracy and the democratic process. This information is invaluable to the campers for several reasons, one of those being that Kyrgyzstan is a democratic parliamentary republic, and it's important for the youth to be aware of how the government in the country works. Corruption exists, and the campers recognize this unfortunate fact, but they believe in progression towards a promising future for this country they call home. Several of the kids aspire to be politicians and even international diplomats. To say that I was impressed with these youth would be an understatement. We ended our work at the camp by teaching the kids the Cha Cha Slide... nothing like a 'lil nugget of silly American culture for the kids to remember us by ;)


Unfortunately, I'll have to wait until my next post to put up some pictures of the Democracy Camp. I'm in the city for a few days before I head back to Barskoon (a.k.a. "home") and later next week start a youth critical thinking and leadership camp with some fellow Peace Corps Volunteers. Jakshe Colingez! (Stay well!)

a surprise inside.

Lets remember back to a time of Cracker Jack boxes... a simpler time. Honestly, I didn't even like Cracker Jacks all that much but the surprise inside was always worth it! I remember when my brothers and I were addicted to playing with Pogs- and behold! Pogs were the surprise in the Cracker Jacks. Priceless.

My experience with my Eje has resembled a Cracker Jack surprise for me. This strong woman, in her late 30's, raising 2 sons while her husband is driving a truck half the time. She has a tough shell- something I can tell even though we don't speak the same native tongue. She loves to laugh and has many friends who visit her- I can tell she is adored by many people. She's not overly affectionate, which is a common characteristic of Kyrgyz women whose lives are overloaded with household responsibilities. Though, each time I've been sick, she's nursed me back to health in the comfort of my room. Although once I'm healthy again, the tough shell is back on with her fast speaking Kyrgyz. I wondered if my Eje really liked me, or if she sometimes looked at me as a burden- someone she could barely communicate with and who got sick a lot. Last night my question was answered.

I'm plastered up against the inside of the small taxi with 3 Kyrgyz women to the right of me sandwiched in the back seat. "Amanda, tura?" I looked to my side and noticed a 20 year old Kyrgyz girl I'd met my first day in the village. "Oh, hi!"I felt bad for not recognizing her but quickly forgot as I had to think fast and put my newly learned Kyrgyz skills to work. We began talking and before long, I noticed the astonished stares from the 2 other Ejes that this white girl was speaking Kyrgyz. Of course, one of the Ejes invited me to Chai Eech at her house. We drank tea, ate watermelon, and fresh bread with honey. When I left, she gave me an grocery bag full of raspberries. You couldn't have slapped the permagrin from my face. A Chai Eech get-to-know-you conversation with a family whom I didn't know conducted entirely in Kyrgyz... I felt as though I'd graduated.

While on this high, I head home to find the 20 year old Kyrgyz girl from the taxi and my Eje drinking tea. I set the raspberries down and tell them to "je!" (eat!). My Eje asked me who gave them to me with a slightly offended look on her face. Still struggling with Kyrgyz names, I told her I'd already forgotten the names. She said just as long as they knew that I was her "kuhz" (girl/daughter), then she'd eat the raspberries with me. There it was! I'd found my Eje's soft side- she was territorial over me. With only 2 days with them left, I ran to my room and grabbed the gifts I had for her and her family. A shot glass with an American flag (they love the vodka here), some Oregon jam, a book of postcards from Portland, and a nice bottle of wine I'd bought in Bishkek. She immediately opened the jam and started feeding some to my baby brother- success! My Eje then grabbed my hand and said she never wanted me to forget her. She took one of her rings off her finger and put it on mine. Both our eyes got teary and we embraced for our first hug. I'd found the sweet surprise inside my Eje- and she did a good job of hiding it!

A terrible picture, but a picture nonetheless. Here are some of the members of my current host family: My baby brother, Aidoniz, My 14 year old cousin, Nortelik, and myself.

Thunderstorms.

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! 
:)

Chai Eech!

Chai Eech! One of the most common, if not THE most commonly used phrase in Kyrgyzstan. These people love their tea. Chai Eech or “drink tea” is the term used for exactly that, drinking tea, or eating food, spending time with friends at your home, visiting friends at their home, and the list goes on and on. A neighbor may stop you on the street for Chai Eech or a friend may invite you over for late night Chai Eech on any given night. This collectivist culture’s focus is not hard to miss. The Kyrgyz absolutely love spending time around other people. It’s a beautiful concept that we Americans often drop the ball on. We value our space, alone time, and independence greatly- often to a fault for some. I have yet to meet someone in Kyrgyzstan who lives on their own!

There is so much more I could say about my time in Kyrgyzstan thus far… the struggles with language(s), the hospitality of the local host families, the excitable children playing in the streets, packed Marshrutka rides, the incredible “banya” (a.k.a. sauna + bucket bath), the breathtaking mountains, fried nan (bread), changing my name for children because the beginning is a dirty word in Kyrgyz (ha!), a hill conquering hike, Janul the café lady, my wonderful freckle faced 7 year old ini (little brother), and so much more! Often, I have to remind myself I’ve only been in Kyrgyzstan just under a month… it already feels like several months!

Stay tuned, pictures of the host family to come!