Rollin'

Autumn has arrived in Toktogul. Leaves are turning yellow, the evenings are crisp and cool, and I’ve been eating apples by the bucketload. People are busy with school, with the harvests and the many parties and celebrations that go along with the harvests. And, at long last, I’m busy too.

The Kyrgyz word for summer is jai, which literally means “slow” and certainly described my life for much of the past few months. Everyone—Peace Corps staff, other volunteers, my host family, my work counterparts—told me to chill out over the summer, to rest, to meet people, improve my language, read a few books, get extra sleep. And I did, repressing the ultra-American/Seifert part of me that likes to have 80 things on my plate and move at 100 mph at all times.

Now though, as kyz (just means “autumn.” No cool double meaning) rolls in, things are picking up for me, and I’m excited. I’m forming a “Youth Health Educator” group, and spent much of the past week visiting local schools to recruit students. Two high school students from each of the four schools in Toktogul have been selected be in my group. We’ll identify pressing health issues for youth here, create lessons and activities to implement in the local schools. My eight students are stellar; we have our first meeting on Monday and I can’t wait.

I’m also teaching four hours of English club per week at a local high school. I constantly get requests to teach English and I mostly agreed to do the club in hopes that some of the haranguement would subsist. But yesterday was my first club, and it felt so good to be back in the classroom. It made me miss my days teaching at good ole Marshall High School last winter! My students are very sweet, and I think that forming relationships with them will help me integrate here. Plus, I plan to have a health bent to many of my English lessons and activities. So how’s that for, as the Kyrgyz say, “killing one rabbit with two bullets”?

Other news is that I’ve moved. No more IKEA palace, no more shower, no more sweet little Malika luring me out to play with her by telling me it’s dinner time (she’s smart, that one, and I fell for it every time). The grandmother in my previous host family fell ill and had to move in, along with other relatives to care for her, and they couldn’t host me anymore. I understood, and now I’m living with another host family. They are great, too—my host “parents” are only 25 and 26; they have an infant son and their 11-year-old nephew lives with them as well.

I really like my new place. Because my hosts are about my age, our relationship is very relaxed. They’re very interested in learning about American culture, and teaching me about theirs. I feel very comfortable in my new space, and have been doing a lot of cooking, which has been great. PLUS, they have a banya, my most favorite way to sweat it out and get clean.

That’s about the update, friends. The weather's changed here, things are rolling along, and overall life is ever so good. Hoping you’re all well, and sending my love.

Roses and Thorns

Time is passing. The summer heat has finally yielded to pleasantly warm days and cool nights. The mountains are capped with a new layer of snow. In a few days, I’ll pass the five-month mark of my time in Kyrgyzstan. I’ve learned a thing or two about this place over the past 150-some days. I thought it’d be interesting to share some of my  “roses,” my favorite things about Kyrgyzstan, and some of the…er…“thorns.”

Rose: Roses. Or simply flowers and plants in general. Most Kyrgyz people have vegetable gardens, but they also grow flowers and keep potted plants in their homes. I see a lot of jade plants here, which always reminds me of the jade plants my dad grew in my home in America. It’s nice to be among people who value the beauty of living, growing things.

Thorn: The myth that wind carries dangerous diseases. This myth is particularly frustrating on long, stuffy taxi/bus rides, when fellow passengers refuse to open windows. On my six-hour bus ride to Karakol, I was pleased with myself when I managed to grab a seat right behind an open window. But then, a young father seated near me asked that the window be closed, clearly convinced that the wind would infect his infant with a fatal disease. Not wanting to be the insensitive American who wants babies to die, and lacking the language skills to engage my fellow passengers in a discussion of how diseases are actually spread, I bit my tongue—and sweated it out—for six hours.

Rose: Fresh, delicious, bountiful, cheap, local produce. This is the stuff that yuppies and hippies in America pay the big bucks for—delicious tomatoes grown only miles away, deep pink watermelons, cucumbers by the bucketload, trees that offer more apricots and plums than anyone knows what to do with. In the winter, of course, this will change drastically. But, for now, it’s been darn good.

Thorn: Sheep fat. Specifically the widespread belief that it is 1) tasty 2) healthy and 3) will make you strong and capable of producing many children, and thus should be eaten often and in great quantities.

Rose: Families take care of eachother. Within a very short period of time, my host family in Toktogul took in an orphan (somehow related to us) who had nowhere else to go, and my host dad’s mother who needed care following a stroke. This is the norm here—in fact, there are very few nursing homes or orphanages here because they aren’t needed. Families are big, and very close-knit. When someone needs to be taken care of, Kyrgyz families step up and make sure no one gets left out in the cold.

Thorn: Kurut. I have to give the Kyrgyz people credit for finding some pretty creative uses for horse’s milk, but kurut is one I could gladly go without. It is horse’s milk boiled until it becomes solid, and is then formed into balls. At some point, an obscene amount of salt is added. Kyrgyz people eat this like candy. Personally, I consider it to be one of the more offensive things I’ve ever tasted. 

Rose: MOUNTAINS. The beautiful, beautiful mountains, everywhere you look. This country—particularly my little corner in Toktogul—is absolutely stunning. I feel so lucky to have the opportunity to spend two years in such a gorgeous place.