BrittaAbroad: On Valentine's Day

I was recently in a village outside of Toktogul for a meeting with leaders of local village health committees. I took my seat in the tiny room, packed to the brim with chairs and people, and an older man who I had met before sat down next to me. He leaned in close, and by way of greeting, said “Жигит таптынбы?”

“Have you found a man yet?”

I burst out laughing. I cannot possibly exaggerate the extent to which questions like this are a part of my daily life. Everyone wants to know if I’m married, if I have a boyfriend, when I will get married, why I am not married. A woman recently asked me if I had siblings, and when I said I had a younger sister, the woman asked, “Well, is she married?”

At some point, I think most volunteers here have to decide to either become incredibly bothered by the constant barrage of marriage questions, or to find the humor in it. I choose to find the humor in it, a stragegy I have successful utilized with many other small annoyances of life here (getting stuck in sheep-traffic jams and being served the delicacy of sheep’s eyeball at a party are examples that come to mind…..yeah, sheep are a big deal here).

I’ve been thinking about marriage and relationships a lot recently, not solely because of the slew of questions that I get on a daily basis, but because I’ve been having more conversations on the topic with locals. I’ve been using a rather liberal definition of the word “health” in the lessons I’ve been planning for my youth health group. We’ve talked about healthy and unhealthy relationships, gender issues, bride kidnapping and soon I plan to get into the even grittier topic of sex. It’s been really interesting to hear their perspectives and share my own perspectives with them.

The thing that has become abundantly clear is that teenagers here are not really so different from teenagers in the States. They are nervous and excited about the idea of having boyfriends and girlfriends. But apart from the prospect of having someone special to text and go to movies with and maybe steal a kiss from, they haven’t thought too much about what they want from relationships. They haven’t thought about the ways relationships can be harmful, too, the skewed power dynamics that can develop, particularly within this culture. I ask them if women are oppressed here, and they him and haw: “Maybe…” “No, but I think we are equal…” “Some women are….” These students have certainly seen and experienced gender oppression, but they don’t necessarily connect the dots between their experiences and the larger system. And so much of their energy is consumed with dreaming of and working towards their futures. They are too busy imagining all they can become to ruminate on the things that might hold them back.

I’ve also been having many relationship-related conversations with a friend of mine, who I’ll call Ainazik. Ainazik was bride-kidnapped about ten years ago, when she was in university. She didn’t finish her degree as a result, and now lives in Toktogul with her husband, three kids and mother-in-law. Ainazik loves her kids a lot—that is clear—but she has big problems with her husband, a guy who fits the Kyrgyz man stereotype of drinking, smoking, snoring and eating without working much or accomplishing anything. Her mother-in-law is emotionally abusive toward Ainazik, and always takes the side of the bum husband. The work of raising the family, earning money, caring for the mother-in-law and running the house falls soley on Ainazik. On top of that, she deals alone with the sorrow of having her dreams stolen from her the day she was bridekidnapped. Ainazink once said to me, of her husband, “at least he doesn’t beat me.” It was one of the most heartbreaking things anyone has said to me. That a woman should feel she is lucky to be in an emotionally barren relationship with a lazy man who at least doesn’t beat her is a pretty bleak picture.

I asked Ainazik if she thinks women are oppressed here. She didn’t skip a beat. “Yes.” For her, it’s not a theory. It’s her life story, her daily reality.

The contrast between my students and Ainazik is sobering. Ten years ago, Ainazik was one of them. I know she was a hardworking student, I know she is incredibly bright. Despite only finishing half of her university education, she speaks better English than nearly every English teacher I’ve met here. Just as my students view bride kidnapping and gender oppression as abstract ideas that probably won’t affect them, I’m sure Ainazik never imagined where she would end up.

I am very lucky, though, because I live with a host family that provides a daily example of how things could be different. This week, my host mother Asel has been in the south preparing to take an exam that will mark the completion of her finance degree. My poor host father, Uchan, has been nearly beside himself with loneliness, missing her and the baby, shuffling around the house and cooking bizarre potato concoctions for himself. This morning, Uchan and I ate breakfast together, and I reminded him that it’s Valentine’s Day. “Maybe you should call Asel,” I said, “And tell her you love her.” He thought about for a minute, then said he would call her. “But you know,” he said, “I tell her that every day.”

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone.