Home.

My eyes creep open; I wake up – though I’m not sure which one of those happen first. With the back of my glove I scrape an opening into the frosty window beside me. As I peak through the fresh hole in the glass my eyes come into focus. I see a very familiar winter wonderland. We’re in Zerenda, I’m home. Oh…

Ohhh?

I start to ponder the many places I’ve called home in the past few years: a quaint apartment near the shores of the Mediterranean; a four-level-10 person palace in Columbus; a row-house on Capitol Hill two blocks from the extravagant building itself; home home, the ideally placed house in Lake Michigan’s rolling dunes. I’m definitely awake now. The bus rolls to a stop, but I haven’t finished thinking. How did I end up here? How is this familiar? How is this home?

My adventure started last week, Wednesday, December 30th. The second to last day of the year began with the 5th grade New Year’s party. After taking in the absurd images of 5th graders dancing to Katy Perry and then being forced to join them up on stage at one in the afternoon, I was free of my duties in Zerenda for the next 5 days. In just a few hours I would begin my journey to a city called Karaganda where I would meet several volunteers and have my own New Year’s celebration. Eleven hours on the train was something I was actually looking forward to. I could finish up some reading, doze off when I wanted to, and in just a few short hours many of the friends I had been thinking about over the past 3 months would finally be reunited. Over the next four days we had our fair share of adventures, whether we intended them to be that way or not. Dreams came true via camel rides. Chicken and fireworks were enjoyed by some and despised by others. Windows were mysteriously cracked. Beer pong was played and the boys dominated. Taxi rides may or may not have been fully paid for, but I think I finally learned the word “joke” in Russian permanently. Some very complicated people attended a Georgian restaurant, though I can’t be sure how many people were actually present. At the amusement and frustration of others, I ice-skated for four straight days. Toby’s clone was discovered, playground equipment was mocked. Backs were destroyed and are still sore after sleeping on hard floors. The “Backpacker’s Pantry” was opened and freeze dried cheesecake with sprinkled graham cracker crust was eaten for first time ever in Kazakhstan. And at least one volunteer continues to feel grateful for the relationships he has formed since arriving in country.

I guess, in summary (because I am sure a lot of that doesn’t make any sense), it was a welcomed break from the daily pressures of Peace Corps. Upon departure from Karaganda I learned a couple things. New fact number one: return trips are depressing. An eleven hour trip spent excitedly anticipating your destination is different than an eleven hour time span reflecting on the fact that the time at the destination is sadly over. New fact number two: vacations do not depend on the location to be a good time. In many ways Karaganda is actually a depressing city. During the Soviet Union people were sent there for punishment. It is notorious for the many Gulags and the manual labor Soviet prisoners were forced to endure. For decades people feared an arrival to the city and rejoiced an exit. Over the course of five days my emotions reflected a completely opposite succession. I had no desire to leave and with the right group of people Karaganda can make a great vacation spot. But I made the best of my departure, and my train ride, and my bus ride, and now I am back at...home.

Of course I know the answers to those questions. I’m here in Zerenda because a long time ago I told myself I wanted to be a volunteer and this is where they sent me. I’m home in Zerenda because several months in one location will naturally bring feelings of familiarity. But, I find myself unsatisfied with the literal explanations. Yes all that is true, but how am I really here and how is this really home. I think no matter where you are it shocks you when you have that “home” realization for the first time. Obviously, Kazakhstan is no different. It takes a few moments, but you have to recognize the more complicated aspects of that fact will never be understood. You just have to accept it. Zerenda is home. As I walk through the door, set down my bags and crawl into bed for a brief nap before I head off to school, I realize I’m ok with that. Zerenda is home. I wake up, splash some water on my face, finish a cup of tea and head to school just in time to see the sunrise over the villages’ numerous wood stove smoke stacks. No, I like that.

This blog post would not be complete without mentioning my huge sense of appreciation for everyone included in the Christmas package. It was such an honor to read all of you letters for the twelve full days of Christmas. A Merry Christmas indeed and I owe that to all of you. I hope to respond individually to all of you sometime soon. Thank you so much.

The first picture included is my view of the sunrise on Christmas morning as I exited my apartment building. Celestial is the only word I could use to describe that picture. The next is what I found on the board from on the 8th graders. They may not understand flying reindeers, but they do understand how to spread Christmas cheer. I reciprocated with some Christmas chocolates. Next I included pictures of my school and bedroom. I wanted you to get a sense of my actual living environment, so I didn’t clean my room. That or I’m just too lazy. Finally the new banner picture is what I meant by the sunrise over the villages’ wood stove smoke stacks – smoke billowing out of chimneys until they disappear into an orange horizon. Not bad.

Red-Nosed Reindeer???

I used to think that cold was just cold. That there were no varying degrees of cold – once the temperature became low enough all cold was equivalent. Ignorance can make you believe some crazy things. In the past 7 weeks I learned that negative 35 degrees Fahrenheit has a few differences with plus ten Fahrenheit. One penetrates your clothes no matter how many layers or what fabric you have on and one doesn’t. One makes your nose run like a faucet and follows by cruelly freezing that liquid to your upper lip and one doesn’t. One demands you wear a scarf while freezing the condensation from your breath in its fibers and the other allows scarves to be a fashionable and sometimes helpful accessory. One you can feel in Siberia and the other in West Michigan. Fortunately, I have a relatively short walk to school – it is waiting for the bus that makes the appendages really burn. Unfortunately, as I have told others, I have yet to spit and have it freeze before it hits the ground. I hear that happens at about 40 below. I’ll keep you posted.

The extreme temperatures have not forced us into complete hibernation. Since the Autumn term began, and my last blog post, I have been churning out lessons, preparing for four English clubs, traveling occasionally on weekends to see friends, and sneaking in as much Russian as possible. I am busy and I have had no time to properly realize it. The fact that I have finished 7 weeks at site already is unbelievable. My schedule is a bit strange. I am teaching 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th and 10th graders. I have classes all day on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, a light load on Tuesday and no classes Thursday. The free day Thursday and light load on Tuesday make the schedule seem undemanding but it is not like an American school where teachers give the same lessons six times in a row. On Friday and Wednesday I have to prepare for four separate lessons each day and give them all twice. The light loads in between are the only thing that make that possible.

What is happening in the classroom is much more interesting. In Kazakhstan students’ motivation varies greatly and there is no middle ground. The students are either studious and respectful or behave like characters in “The Little Rascals.” I have fun venting frustration by comparing students to Alfalfa and Spanky; however, it is the other, more motivated, group that deserves most of the focus. Only the older students really understand the service I can potentially provide but even the younger ones have a healthy sense of curiosity. There is a look in these students’ eyes that goes beyond simply questioning why this goofy American just appeared. It is a look of curiosity, yes, but it is also a look of sincere interest. When I sit in the miniature chair next to them, consequently cross a barrier most Kazakh teachers would not dare, and give them extra assistance with a difficult concept, I can watch that look transform into a gaze of appreciation. Simple transactions like that tell me there is potential in a large majority of these students. I love having the responsibly to educate and consider it a daunting task. Each lesson can either succeed and the students receive the progression they deserve or the lesson can fail and the students are hampered by a lack of knowledge. The evolution of their gazes tells me they long for the potential progression. My perfectionist tendencies when it comes to actually granting this to them may be the reason I have been so busy the past few weeks. Successful lessons bring a sense of satisfaction, making the preparation seem worth it. Failed lessons introduce guilt about the likely preceding laziness. I prefer the former and can handle it if that means some obsessive lesson planning.

Despite my full schedule I have found time to read at a pace I have never achieved before in my life. I try to keep a bookmark in at least one fiction and one non-fiction at the same time. Right now I am reading All the Kings Men and The Gulag Archipelago. Recently I have introduced a new genre: children’s books. I just finished Snow White and have moved on to Beauty and the Beast – in Russian. I don’t understand every word, so my dictionary comes in handy, but the Russian I have and the prior knowledge of the story allows me to get the gist. Not only am I satisfied by reading Russian, I am also enjoying cartoons complimenting the literature and the reminder of the coolest villain in Disney history: Gaston.

A few weeks ago I celebrated Thanksgiving with 23 other volunteers who all came to see me in my village. We stayed in the old Soviet cross country skiing training facility and were spoiled rotten by the volunteers who have been here for a year already. We had every Thanksgiving essential with the exception of all the missed family back at home.

Thanksgiving going so well has left me to dread the coming of Christmas which I know will be much more difficult. We are not given the day off and I will be working. In order to make the day actually feel like Christmas I will do my best to mix some Jingle Bells and Deck the Halls into the lesson plan. This past week my 8th graders were actually learning about the American holiday season. The Orthodox Catholics do celebrate Christmas, but it is a separate date and the traditions are a little bit different; so this material was new. I don’t think you can fully realize how completely absurd the tradition of Santa Claus is until you have to explain it to people ignorant of the idea. I explained to them, “Santa Claus in America is a fat man with an overgrown beard. His flying reindeer, one of which has a nose like a light bulb, help him to get from house to house. They land on the roof and he jumps down chimneys (I say this despite the fact that I just finished emphasizing his chubbiness). Then he fills hung socks with goodies and places presents under a tree that is now located inside the house. This happens for every child in America.” It feels weird to say all that together and actually expect any sort of comprehension. Remember that things like “flying,” “reindeer,” “nose,” and “light bulb” are all vocabulary words for them. They know what the mean but don’t have confidence in that understanding, especially when the words are so illogically grouped together. I had to actually draw Rudolph with wings to confirm their suspicions and I couldn’t do it with a straight face. My students were looking are me like I was crazy. And that was a good thing. Their looks of confusion meant they understood my English and realized how utterly ridiculous it was sounding. I absolutely love this holiday and this time of year but for completely separate reasons. Christmas really is much simpler. What I will miss is the yearly puzzle, adventures to Chicago to pick up Lydia and Scott, epic shopping trips to Meijer, mom’s eggs, mom’s cinnamon rolls, whatever else mom cooks, the frigid walk on the beach, singing “Silent Night” at church and embracing my pyro tendencies, playing the game I thought mom was crazy to buy but I always end up enjoying, gory cookie decorations, wearing pajamas until Christmas dinner, Dad’s campfires that keep us warm, eggnog, wine and the cheer. Especially the cheer. Without the cheer the things on this list are not all that special (except the cooking). With the cheer, with the knowledge of what makes this time of year so special and the ability it has to bring people together, all these things become extraordinary. Including all this in the Kazakh textbook would probably make the holiday sound just as unusual, but at least it is peculiar in my own way, and that’s the way I like it.


Merry Christmas everyone! I miss all of you!

A week of firsts.

On Saturday October 31, 2009, a little bit over a week ago, I woke up at the obscene hour of 5:20 am. After rolling out of the most uncomfortable bed I had ever slept in for one final time, I finished packing my bags, threw on a suit and was on a bus by 6 a.m. Unable to fully grasp the changes my life was going to undergo in the next 24 hours, I promptly went back to sleep and avoided the thoughts completely. By 11 am, I had sworn to support and defend the Constitution of the United States and was an official volunteer. Fast-forward twenty-four hours and I was on my first Kazakh train ride, the first of the “firsts” that I want to share.

Fifteen of us with about 5 bags each stampeded our way into that poor little train station. Getting our bags to platform #3 was an adventure in itself. We drew a lot of attention to ourselves but ended up with an assembly line that functioned. As far as I know everyone got their bags. We were going to be traveling “kupe” style, which is the typical type of train you see in most movies. Harry Potter fans should know what I am talking about. Usually made for four people the kupe has four bunks and minimal space for luggage. Because I had my entire collection of worldly possessions with me the Peace Corps decided to be nice and buy us two tickets on the train. I entered the kupe, placed my bags in the most orderly way possible and came to terms with the fact that the next 27 hours of my life would be reduced to the 3 by 7 foot square box that I was able to call mine. It is really not as bad as it sounds though. It is not very often where I am given that extended of a period of time to just sit. Airplanes do offer that but even they definitely don’t compare. An airline would laugh at an engineer who considered comfort when designing their chairs. I found the train bench to be pretty relaxing. A standard road-trip is not the same either because there is the inconvenience of actually paying attention. On the train you have no responsibilities at all, just your mattress/bench, pillow and blanket. I made myself comfortable and took advantage of the opportunity to do absolutely nothing. Well, I guess I did do something. I caught up on some sleep, journaled, read and watched. Watched as the steppe crept by and avoided showing any trace or evidence of that fact. It left me in awe. It was like watching the moon on an empty road and star filled night. No matter how fast you drive you can’t seem to gain ground on it. No matter how long the train moved the same exact landscape stayed in your window. There was nothing out there. The sheer nothingness provoked thought, and I had a lot to think about. I felt bad for the lack of communication with my kupe-mate but I did not want to manufacture conversation out of nowhere. The serenity of silence or carefully chosen music was a better option. Granted it was just the first time but I enjoyed the train.

Upon arrival to the city of Kokshetau I was greeted by my counterpart and two other English teachers. To my surprise, one of the other teachers had a car to ease the completion of my journey to Zerenda. During the car ride we listened to “Jenny from the Block” and a Christina Aguilera C.D., because randomness is a way of life in Kazakhstan. We pulled up to an apartment building and I was introduced to the family who graciously offered to take me into their home for 6+ months. They have two children, a seven year old boy and a twelve year old girl. They are quite shy, but in this situation that is better than the alternative. I did not stay there the first night but I was given a chance to shower (yes, they have one) and was able to leave my all my belongings behind. The rest of the week was a bit of a disappointment. The students went on a weeklong break Wednesday afternoon though I was expected to lesson plan and prepare the classroom for its entirety. Wednesday night I was surprised by a text from my counterpart explaining that she would be leaving town for a few days. Not the best news. I did not have a key to our classroom so that meant I could not work. It also meant two straight days of sitting. The peacefulness of nothing had lost its luster on the train and I was ready for some action. It never came. As the weekend approached I needed some new scenery and decided to hop on the bus to visit Kokshetau. My itinerary for the day was to visit the internet café(thank you for the emails), visit the bazaar, and have lunch with another volunteer in the city. All of that was accomplished and there was one more task I managed to complete prior to my departure. It happens to be the next “first” I want to share.

My first altercation with the police in Kazakhstan made about as much sense as a family pretending their boy is trapped in a giant balloon (yes I still read the news, yes it still shames me). I was standing at the bus stop and a policeman walked up to me and asked for my documents. Not too much of a problem, if a cop wants to spend his time making sure everyone that looks like a foreigner is actually there legally then that’s fine by me. I showed him my documents, told him I was American and that I was a volunteer. Under normal circumstances that would have been in it and I would have caught the next bus. He had different plans. He kept my documents, told me to walk with him, and left me to wonder how much money I was going to have to pay to get those back. I quickly pulled out my phone and called our Peace Corps Security Officer in Almaty. I told her the situation and handed the policeman the phone. They talked for a bit. He then turned to me and asked me if I had been drinking. Fortunately, I was able to say no I had not, but that wouldn’t matter. He smelled my breath and returned to the phone to say that yes I was in fact drunk in public. (Why he did not ask me that in the first place, I could not tell you. I still believe I was about to be bribed but when I made the phone call to someone official he had to make something else up.) So now I have a police man who is claiming I am breaking the law through public intoxication and a Peace Corps employee on the phone who probably believed him. She told me to go with him to the police station; not what I wanted to hear. At the station she called repeatedly and talked to various officers while I was put into an isolated room with a few other officers. The officers quickly learned that my Russian was not sufficient for a proper interrogation. This did not, however, stop their questioning. It was as if this room mandated questioning. Due to my lack of Russian they would proceed to ask the most irrelevant questions possible. I was not in the mood, but they proceeded to learn my sisters’ names, my favorite sport and that I have a girlfriend in Michigan (she is imaginary, we all have them). Minutes later I was given the phone and discovered that I will be released as soon as my Regional Manager picks me up. I would wait 30 more minutes for her. Meanwhile, the questioning eventually stopped and I had more not so peaceful quiet time. When she arrived she confirmed my breath was alcohol free and proceeded to scold and scream at the entire station of officers. I have no idea what she said, but I definitely agreed and I gave them my best smug look and condescending nod. Then we left and it was over. Now I would like to draw attention to that fact that in very beginning of this paragraph I characterized the words “altercation with the police” with the word “first”. If it is that easy to get into trouble, I am sure there will be a second. There is corruption here and an extreme suspicion of foreigners, another left over trait from the Soviet days. I am sure there are more altercations to come. For the most part though, it was painless. I knew I did nothing wrong and while it took some inner convincing I was able not to worry; you shouldn’t either.

After coming home Sunday afternoon I learned that my eventful weekend was not over. My host dad invited me to my first banya. A banya is a public shower/sauna/steam room. If you have seen the movie Eastern Promises and remember the fight scene you should picture that without the knives and bloody eyeballs. Banyas are full nudity, split male/female and are packed with culture. I was filled with excitement and ambivalence at the same time. This was new for me but after 11 weeks in this country, I was overdue. After disrobing I walked into the wash section where filled a bucket of boiling hot water. Throughout the next several minutes I used this bucket to splash and then wash repeatedly. The bucket doesn’t last long and I made many trips back over to the faucet. After I felt cleansed I made my way over to the sauna where I beat myself with a bundle of branches. I don’t know what type of plant it is, but it smells nice and gives you a nice crisp whipping sensation. Some people have a partner perform part this for them, I opted not to. I told you this place screamed culture. And I know it all sounds weird, but to be honest once I got over the stigma of how strange all of this seemed to my western mentality the whole experience was intensely relaxing. As the heat from the sauna forces your pores open, your worries seem to just seep out. The air inside is so thick it made me gasp and struggle to take a productive breath of air, but that was alright. Simply sitting in a room and concentrating on the basic actions of inhaling and exhaling was a nice release from my anxieties and insecurities. If you are brave enough to look through the dense steam you will notice the area is not only a means to cleanse yourself but also a social environment. For decades, men and women throughout the Soviet Union, and elsewhere in the world I am sure, have gathered on Sunday afternoons to share that weeks’ gossip. I couldn’t help but think about the large decisions that have been made in this environment. I just read in a book* that said U.S. Secretary of State James Baker and President Nazarbayev of Kazakhstan once shared a banya together to discuss the disarmament of Kazakhstan’s nuclear bombs. That is one example of a decision on a grandiose scale but I am also in aware of the countless other major personal decisions that had been confirmed in this setting. Whatever the decision is the banya allows a huge portion of the world to be absorbed in deep, profound thought. Yet, most of our country has no idea of its existence (including myself a short time ago). Again I go back to what I consider to be the essence of cultural exchange. Something so common to them seems so foreign to me. I’ll admit, at first I was uncomfortable, but part of my reason of being here is to embrace the unfamiliar. I came to have my comfort zone stretched a little bit. This week it was given quite the tug.


I was asked to give a better explanation of where the heck I am in this unfamiliar country.  Take a look at this link http://www.tlfq.ulaval.ca/axl/asie/images/kazakhstan-map.jpg .  If you draw a line from the capital Astana to the farthest north city called Petropalv and make a dot at the half way point I live just about on that dot.  Hope that helps. 


*The book is a short and light read called Apples are From Kazakhstan by Christopher Robbins. I highly recommend it. The premise of the book is essentially to accomplish exactly what I am trying to do with this blog, though he does it much better. After realizing his ignorance of this foreign land, the author traveled around Kazakhstan for two years and wrote a book to share his discoveries. He touches on the culture, history and ambitions of the Kazakhstani people, which you will see are actually quite rich. It is the antithesis to Borat, an easy way to minimally understand the young country I will be giving two years of my life.

Sorry this post is going on forever but I also want to include my new address and a general package request list. My address here is:


021200
Kazakhstan
Akmolinskaya Oblast
Zerendinsky Raion
Zerenda
Mira St. 38a Apt. 12
Myles Fish

021200
Казахстан
Акмолинская Область
Зерендиский Район
Село Зеренда
Улица Мира, 38а, Квю 12
Майлс Фиш

I suggest simply printing this off and taping it to any potential package.

General package requests:
Peanut Butter and Reeses Peanut Butter Cups - for some reason when you are deprived of peanut butter its appealing qualities grow exponentially
Beef Jerky - yum.
The Economist and Newsweek Magazines -Russian won’t help my political science degree if I have no idea what has happened in the past two years
People Magazine - I’m really just after the pictures, if you just want to cut out some celebrities and pictures with verbs that’d be even better
Swedish fish, gummy worms, cheesy gordita crunches.

I will probably have more specific requests periodically. This is a general list that can always be referenced.

Hope you like the pictures.  The first one was taken out of my bedroom's balcony as you can tell I really lucked out there.  The next two give you some perspective on the train.  The last is my first encounter with a U.S. Ambassador.  

See you in two months.

Sunday Morning. Last night I returned from to Issyk (my village now) after a week in Almaty (large city close by) for my counterpart conference*, followed by a night to unwind with friends in the city. As the weekend concludes I am sitting in my room with a realization that I am quite content with my life here. A life that is about to drastically change once again.

Although all along I have been aware of the temporary nature of my life here in PST it has not prevented me from having a real sense of sadness to be leaving my home of the past 9 weeks. This past week probably only exaggerated that feeling. During counterpart conference we received the Peace Corps version of pampering. We spent all day with 35 of our friends, had 3 full meals a day provided for us and had no lesson plans or other extracurricular work to worry about, meaning our evenings were free. The combination allowed a great opportunity to solidify the friendships that will now be torn away from us this weekend as we all venture out into our perspective steppe.

We joke a lot about the “vastness of the steppe” but I don’t think I fully grasp yet the isolation I am about to encounter. Back at home I went to school 5½ hours away from my family and that inconvenience was considered a much larger distance to travel than normal. In Kazakhstan, one should actually feel very fortunate if they are given a group of friends within that radius. Here in Issyk I am a 24 hour train ride away from my future home of Zerenda. I have good friends that will be traveling as little as 2 and as much as 40 hours. It is hard for me to think of distance in terms of days. I will be in the same country, but literally days (yes, plural) away from certain friends. Essentially this means the relationships I formed and appreciated for the past 9 weeks, and that blossomed even further this past week, are about to be ripped away. Consequently, they will be maintained just as I maintain relationships with people back at home. Though in some instances I spent 10 hours a day with these people for 9 emotionally demanding weeks our contact will now be reduced to a monthly email and periodic text.

Now, it is true that our purpose here is not to form relationships with the Americans we trained with but instead to integrate into our villages and assimilate into the local culture and social construct. However, a November arrival into a village along the 58th parallel presents major obstacles to integration. As soon as I get there I will begin teaching around 9 in the morning and likely will finish my day around 5 to 6. This means that until somewhere around the beginning of March I will spend my days void of sunlight for six days a week. I expect it to be difficult to integrate when people cannot see me. Plus, even if there was light outside the frigid temperature of 0 degrees Fahrenheit that Zerenda will average as its high means most sane inhabitants will sit in a cocoon for several months, including myself. (They already have 10 inches of snow). By the time March rolls around I will be encouraged by seeing new things and fresh faces that I had no idea existed at my site. During the first few months when sunshine is infrequent and the town is in hibernation I will really long for the people I just spent 4 great days with in Almaty.

Fortunately, I consider myself the quintessential optimist. I can’t help but take pleasure in that fact that it took me just nine weeks in Kazakhstan to have something I feel blessed about and know that I will miss. I am sad to be leaving all these people in a few days but am encouraged to be in Kazakhstan and be thankful for something. The awareness of ability to find a positive outlook allows a sense of relief. Despite the steppe presenting some real gloom, I know I can be only two months away from finding encouragement and sitting down to reflect/report on that. I can’t wait.

*Counterpart Conference was a four day conference where every volunteer was introduced to the person they will use as their liaison to life at their respective sites. Every counterpart was trained into Almaty from all across the country and the four days was filled with relationship building activities as well as an introduction into Peace Corps philosophy. My counterpart is just a second year teacher and very shy but she gave me glimpses of friendliness that lead me to believe we will get along great. I think the entire experience was a little bit overwhelming and perhaps intimidating for her. On Sunday, I received a text of hope. She sent an unsolicited text that explained she was back in Zerenda and excited for my arrival. Baby. Steps.


Below is picture taken in an American run coffee shop after our night to unwind. The scrabble game and beverages were fabulous. The simple things usually are.

Zerenda!!!

My site has been announced and I could not be happier. I ended up about a 45 minute bus ride outside of the city I requested and I could not be happier. My village is tiny, it has only about 6,000 people and very rarely is there running water. At first that seems a bit daunting but I really do think it will be nice to have the “real” Peace Corps experience with water pumps and outhouses while having a larger city nearby to keep my sanity. People describe the area as the Switzerland of Kazakhstan, and while from the pictures I have seen that’s probably a huge stretch I do think it’s fair to say it resembles the boundary waters. Search for either Kokshetau or Zerenda if you want to find some pictures of your own. There is a bigger resort area not too far from me, but I don’t remember what it is called. If you search around you may be able to find it.

The picture that is included is the lake I will be living next to for the next two years. Its circumference will be frequented many times as I am sure therapeutic runs will be a necessity.

Love you all.

A lot to say

A lot of time has passed since my last post. There is a lot going on and I know that sometimes overwhelms me while I sit here and try to explain all that I am going through. I think my expectation was that somehow I will be able to truly immerse you into my life here simply through a blog and I need to realize that can’t be the case. I’ll admit that I can get a bit discouraged sometimes and will admit it seems the pressured hour or two a week at the internet café challenges me emotionally more than it fulfills me emotionally. I just have to realize that the internet café isn’t necessarily about explaining every minute detail. The internet is a fascinating technology but is not capable of putting people into my shoes when they are half a globe away. What it can do though is allow me to maintain personal connections. If you understand minimally what I am going through and what my general emotions are, that should be satisfactory, and that is my goal.

So here goes…
Since my last post the biggest addition to my life here has been the introduction of “Mr. Myles” and my initiation into the classroom. After three weeks of it I have to say teaching is an enthralling profession. The students are fantastic, I love being in front of the class and basically I am spoiled rotten. For the five weeks of PST I was placed at a private liberal arts school that concentrates in language training. The school is not at all typical of Kazakhstan, and my experience at site will be quite different. For now though, I am taking advantage of an opportunity to teach 10th graders that for the most part function at a conversational level. I am teaching them about things like money and occupations. Last week I had them write a few sentences about what they wanted to be when they grew up. It was a question many Kazakhstani students are never asked to think about until they reach university level. Education is valued here, but the fact that it is a means to an eventual end is not something that is ever understood. In fact even when they are pressured later on many girls will admit, void of any shame, that their time at university is a way to meet a husband. All the students here are great, but the girls especially are so bright and have so much potential that they are completely unaware of. I approached my task of questioning them about their future very seriously and was thrilled with my results. I heard from many future oil business men (which I guess means that means they understand economics), but I also heard bankers, teachers, an international organization worker and even politician from my least advanced student that has only volunteered maybe once or twice in class before. The amount of time in the classroom has progressed each week, starting with just an hour the first week until next week when I will have the class for five hours, their entire English schedule for the week. At the end of next week they will be asked to write a 3 paragraph essay, the first they have written in any language. As important as writing composition and essay writing skills are they seem to be totally ignored here. My last class with them I will introduce the concept of a beginning, middle and end and ask them to come up with a story according to the prompt I give them. Some in the class will excel, others will probably really struggle but that’s not really the point. They should just understand how important the skill is and the places it could someday take them.

While I am on the topic of education I want to include another small tidbit about the Post Soviet world. As I said, these students really are bright; they have a desire to learn and the intellectual capacity to compete amongst anyone at the international level. What they are no able to do is understand how education could be considered some sort of competition, that there are a limited number of jobs out there and they need to strive to achieve them. In the post-soviet world competition is still very much unnatural and at times even uncomfortable. This is engrained in them and is without a doubt the biggest problem with this educational system. The fact the students are uncomfortable competing against their peers in a classroom game is something that can be overlooked, but the notion that there is zero concept of cheating and that “helping” each other on tests is accepted and at times expected is a huge concern. So far I have only seen the former, but I have heard stories from current volunteers about national testing days that can make stomachs turn. Unfortunately this is not something I will come close to changing in my two years here. My hope is just to engrain in my students the value of individual work, so that when a 3 paragraph essay is turned in they have something that they themselves can truly be proud of.

Lastly, I want to share a bit about an incident that a few of you already know about. I hesitated to put this on here simply because it is not something people should be worrying about without knowledge of the full details. I changed my mind when I realized there are important lessons about this country and this could be seen as an opportunity. A group of my instructors, who are current volunteers and American, got shot with rubber bullets by a prominent local business man at a café(bar) in town. All real bullet guns are outlawed here which is definitely fortunate but the rubber bullets penetrated the skin and did their damage too; the three guys spent the night in the hospital. The volunteer that was attacked had a beer or two (not drunk), was dressed in flashy attire and after being asked to dance did so in an unaccustomed way. All three of which we have been suggested to avoid, nothing truly provoked any violence though. Although this sort of thing is very rare it is a great reminder of the problem this society has and that although we are welcomed here by the people who need it most, the people who have interest in the status quo consider us an unwanted target. Ultimately after learning about this and processing the details the story has become a motivation tool for me. I am not going to the save the world while I am here but situations like this means I have a great opportunity over the next two years. The essence of PC is an effort to open up dialogue and facilitate conversation at a localized level. The hope is that will lead to understanding and not only prevent anything like this from happening but to develop into an appreciation of the values we live for. My job as a teacher is only one third of my duties here. The other two are to promote better understandings of the American people, and to promote better understandings the local people amongst Americans. As I left I think a fair amount of people still had a hard time grasping why I would spent two years of my life in some Kazakh village. It is a difficult thing to understand and even more difficult to explain. So, if at some point my friends can understand why I’m here, I’d consider that a great start. But I can pack my bags and come home if the man at the café grows to understand that I am here not only to provide the English language but also to establish a relationship and connection between him, the average Kazakh man, and the American values I am embody. I guess that means I have some work to do.

I find out what city I will in for the next two years of my life on Friday. Because this country is so vast the differences between cities and regions can be quite different. Last Thursday I was interviewed about my preferences. I went into the interview with pretty specific preferences and feeling pretty good about my chances to have them achieved. I came out of the interview with much less of a specific site in mind and feeling much more uncertainty about whether any of my preferences would actually be considered. As the interview progressed and I was asked questions about my ideal site it became apparent to me how selfish my specific choices were. In the relatively short conversation I realized I’m here to address needs and not have mine met. I also realized that about one year ago I was explaining to a Peace Corps recruiter that I would be willing to go anywhere that was necessary. Had I been sat down at the point and asked specifically where I would go if I could control it, I am pretty positive I would not have chosen Kazakhstan. One year later I am sitting in a post soviet country, learning Russian and I could not be happier. What this tells me is that perhaps Peace Corps knows what is good for me even better than I do. Saying all these things in the interview pretty much gives the PC Kazakhstan the flexibility to send me anywhere. Although I had not planned or intended to mention them, I mean it sincerely, and that has given me much more peace of mind as Friday rapidly approaches.

Love and miss you all. I promise to be a little more available over the next few weeks. Hope to hear from any of you soon.

Myles

E.L.T.

First, I’d like to apologize for the insane about of typos included in the first two posts. I was in a rush and not operating under the best of circumstances. They were typed while I was rushing in between two classes, they were copied from my digital camera’s LCD screen as my flash drive still doesn’t work (yes I took a picture of a Word document), and I was paying for the internet at the time by the minute. Plus, I never realized how much I relied on Mozilla’s spellchecker until it only checked for Russian. So, please accept this apology and consider it to be retroactive. I do care about both grammar and spelling, they have just moved down the priority list for about 2⅓ years.

Let me explain to you a little bit of what I have been doing for the past two weeks. My first ten weeks of PC (Peace Corps) are at a “site”, near the city of Almaty for my P.S.T. (Pre-Service Training). I was placed in a city called Issyc with about a third of the other volunteers in my class. PC Kazakhstan implements what is called community based training which means my PST consists of Russian language training and English teacher technical training. The English teacher training involves some teaching theory, the observation of English classes and finally we will end up conducting lessons on our own. So far though, English has not been the focus while Russian has overwhelmingly. In fact, I feel PST has earned a new name: E.L.T. or Exhaustive Language Training. Peace Corps is an acronym factory so this would fit both their standard communication procedures and their operating procedures; I feel I have been assaulted with language instruction. At this point, information overload is an understatement, but I’ll admit there is a real sense of accomplishment. Last week, we had days with six hour Russian classes plus some technical training and PC policy stuff mixed in-between. This week, we had a little more technical training, a little less policy stuff and I started attending personal hour long tutor session. This morning we had one final cruel addition, our first lesson in Kazak. It was overwhelming, but it will be nice to have that foundation in a country that grants immense respect to American Kazak speakers. Overall, Russian is much more difficult than Rosetta Stone led me to believe. Since arriving in country I have discovered that not only are verbs conjugated as they are in Spanish, French and most romantic languages, but nouns and adjectives have their very own cases as well. Just two weeks in though, I feel have a basic understanding of how things work. The trickiest part is the noun and preposition relationship, a different preposition referencing a noun means a different ending for that noun. Less confusing explanation: in Russian the word girl will have two different pronunciations in the following sentences. The girl is beautiful. I was charmed by the girl. It’s a process to grasp, so on another note I am happy to say that I’ve been here two weeks and can effectively read the Cyrillic alphabet. Peace Corps says to focus on your successes and not your insecurities. Cheers to that new alphabet.

Lastly, I want to express that I REALLY want to post about living in a Post-Soviet country. But, I can’t help but have some trouble collecting my thoughts. As a result, writing coherently on the subject at this point is not an option. Just know that the Post-Soviet world fascinating. The Soviet Union definitely built my apartment building, and the twelve other perfectly identical buildings surrounding it.

Oh, and my host dad was a Soviet soldier in the 80s.....
That should explain my shifting thoughts.

До свидания!*
(Good Bye!)
*pronounced Da Svidanya