Embracing the Steppe

Living on my Own: Finding Paradise in a Childhood Nightmare

2009-08-19T22:51:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, I was always haunted by thoughts of failure. I had a vision of myself living in the worst part of town, in a small rental with peeling paint and broken gray tile, rusting exposed pipes and chipped enamel bathroom fixtures, in a building with broken windows, no lights but several drunks in the stairs—overall, a place covered in a mist of poverty and despair. That vision is now an accurate depiction of the apartment I’ve been living in for the past seven months.

As I wrote earlier, nearly all cities and towns of the former Soviet Union have the same feel—endless blocks of identical, usually five-story, concrete and cheaply constructed flats. These housing units were rapidly built in the late fifties and sixties under Nikita Khrushchev to provide every Soviet citizen with a home. Today, they are still called Khrushchyovki. The residential neighborhoods in which these structures are located usually contain plenty of open space between the buildings. The open space has a few trees, but is mostly leftover dirt from the construction. Yet these spaces are highly utilized by the residents to relax, beat carpets, play cards, gossip, and for the kids, to run around and play soccer. Despite resembling some of the worst American inner-city projects, these neighborhoods have much more of an “alive feel” than the one in which I grew up and actually remind me of the street scenes in photographs of old New York.

My apartment is located in such an area and is pretty typical. The entrance and stairwell are extremely sketch, dark, and falling apart. But once you open a door, a comfy and bright apartment is presented to you. Mine is two rooms (apartments are described by number of rooms, not bedrooms) with a kitchen and separated toilet and bath areas. The living room is basically the only room I occupy. Typically, it is long and narrow and it is decorated with brown floral print carpet, brown and black patterned chairs, and a brownish zebra print futon. There is also a circular white patio table that I use as a desk and satellite TV. At the far end there is a door that leads to my balcony (almost every apartment has a balcony) where I hang my clothes to dry. A few stuffed animals and other knick-knacks are thrown about, but my favorite piece of décor is a decorative wooden shaft about a foot tall and with a carved eagle head on top that conceals a knife. I call it “L.J.” My bedroom is a much smaller room with a double bed, a vanity table and mirror, and a closet. I rarely sleep in this room because in both winter and summer it is too hot.

The kitchen is perhaps my favorite place, most likely because it is here that I can finally prepare food that I like, in the quantity that I need, and at the times that I want. Against the wall there is a Soviet era stove, a washing machine (real Peace Corps, right?) with a single cabinet above, and a sink. Most of the room is taken up by a medium size table and wrap-around seating. The room has a comfortable nook feel and due to the juxtaposition of the stove, table, and seating I can cook a whole meal without having to even stand up.

The switch to my own place has been ideal, although I still have a close relationship with my host family. It gives me greater independence and offers me more challenges to overcome. I’ve had to deal with broken appliances, water shutoffs, and a hysterical neighbor pounding on my door at midnight yelling that I was flooding her apartment. And even though I am in a sense living a childhood nightmare, I couldn’t be happier about my surroundings.

Kyrgyzstan: A Brief Visit to Kazakhstan’s Forgotten Sibiling

2009-08-15T21:55:00.000-07:00

At the end of June, my friends Tim, Phil, and I took a weeklong trip to Kazakhstan’s southern neighbor—Kyrgyzstan. Kyrgyzstan is considered the country most similar to Kazakhstan in the region. The Kyrgyz are genetically and linguistically very similar to the Kazakhs and in fact have often been referred to in Soviet times as “mountain Kazakhs.” But whereas the empty steppes of Kazakhstan hid fantastic riches of oil and minerals, mountainous Kyrgyzstan was blessed with only water. Thus despite close relations, there is great economic disparity between the two countries. We decided to check it out and after a frustrating acquisition of visas, we caught a taxi from Almaty to the Kyrgyz capital of Bishkek!
Arriving at the Bishkek bus station was like entering the mirror world of Almaty. Yes, the bus station was the same Soviet monstrosity, and there were the same cab drivers with their ladas waiting outside, and even the same majestic Alatau Mountains towered over the city. But the whole scene was poorer, the mountains were to the north, and the lada-driving hagglers were screeching “Almaty, Almaty, leaving for Almaty” as opposed to the Bishkek-calling drivers to the north.
Thinking we were poor tourists, we decided to walk to downtown Bishkek. A woman selling piroshkis told us we had “to walk a very, very, very long time…about 500 meters” before we got to the main road. After that epic trek, we arrived in downtown Bishkek and witnessed a much poorer version of Kazakhstan. There was very little new construction, the people had the same fashion of small town Kazakhs, and aside from some new Kyrgyz symbols of independence the whole capital had a provincial Soviet feel. Yet being from Balkhash, I like these smaller Central Asian towns and the people were in general friendlier than their neighbors to the north. One thing that startled me, however, was the greater number of tourists and facilities to accommodate them. There were several souvenir shops in town and unlike the single one in Almaty, they were all packed with foreigners. Kazakhstan might be richer, but apparently tourists prefer the mountains and lakes of Kyrgyzstan to modern cities and barren steppes.
We explored central Bishkek for a few hours and then headed up into the hills to celebrate the 4th of July at the American Embassy. The embassy was built more like a base in an occupied country than a friendly “Hello!” to the host country. I am probably not allowed to say anymore about this. Anyway, once we passed some intense security the atmosphere was definitely that of a traditional Midwestern 4th of July BBQ. There was beer, real American burgers and buns brought in from the nearby US military base, festive red, white, and blue hats, and even those chocolate-chip cookie ice-cream sandwiches! There is a surprisingly large American community in Bishkek ranging from the typical NGO staffers to interning business lawyers. We met up with some local PCVs and exchanged stories. Their experience is a lot more “real Peace Corps” and one volunteer explained how in his waterless village, his host grandmother cleans the dishes with spit and her thumb.
That night we caught an overnight marshrutka to Karakol, a provincial town with easy access to mountain treks and Issyk Kul, one of the largest and highest alpine lakes in the world. The town has only 60,000 people, but at the time we were there it had eleven PC volunteers (Balkhash has 80,000 people and two volunteers). The volunteers showed us around town and introduced us to ashlyanfu, a Dungan soup with cold noodles, vinegar, and eggs. Yet the best part of Karakol is the Sunday Animal Bazaar. Herders from all over arrive in Chevy pickup trucks filled with sheep while others bring in cows and horses. The prize animals are sheep, whose worth is less in their meat or wool, but more in their ass (or fat tails). Some of the sheep had so much “rear-end” fat that it almost matched the weight of the rest of their body! Many of the Kyrgyz traders wore the traditional kolpak, a tall, white felt, four-sided hat with black thread detail work on each panel. These hats are a bit ridiculous-looking to an outsider and appear to be more cumbersome than useful. Overall, this place had a true Central Asian feel—obscure nationalities in odd outfits trading in animals in the shadow of great mountain ranges. For one of the first times in my life, I was experiencing a world of which Western media and education had not already given me a pre-conceived notion.
After a few days in Karakol, we hiked 15 kilometers up the Alatau Mountains and into the valley of Altyn Arashan. The walk was fairly easy and rather than the cold and rain of the previous days, it was quite sunny and warm. We arrived in the valley in the afternoon and arranged to stay in a yurt at the Yak Tours guesthouse. A yurt is a traditional Central Asian nomadic dwelling that resembles a squashed teepee and is covered with felt. In the evening, the proprietor of the guesthouse served us and some Polish travelers laghman and shashlik, played some songs on the guitar, and we all had a great time. At one point, Phil took over the guitar and Tim was accosted by two Polish men, was forced to drink vodka, and eventually he promised to meet up with them in Poland. That night we fell asleep exhausted with the sound of a glacial river roaring past our yurt.
With only a few days left in our journey, we decided to head to the most touristy part of Kyrgyzstan—Chopa Ata. The town is situated on the northern shore of Issyk Kul and is the tourist destination for Russians and wealthy Kazakhs. We met up with a local volunteer who showed us around and let us crash at her place. The town had some great facilities and decent cafes, but locals said that these places were designed for the “wealthy Kazakhs” and that the Kyrgyz cannot of course afford such amenities. It was remarkable that the locals I am assisting in Peace Corps are considered well off and privileged in the region. We spent the day at the lake, which is the same Caribbean blue as Balkhash but freezing cold since it is fed by glacial water. Although it is one of the largest lakes in Asia, one can still see a hazy view of the majestic Alatau Mountains on the other side. The following morning we left the town and after a quick transfer in Bishkek, I was back in Almaty that same afternoon. Although only a few hours away, Kyrgyzstan felt like a continent away from the glass towers and new Lexus SUVs of Almaty.

My Last Bell

2009-07-19T23:55:00.001-07:00

On May 25th, my school celebrated the Last Bell, symbol for the end of the year. For me, the Last Bell marked the conclusion of my role as an official teacher (although I will still have to teach for two months next school year). The end of my second year teaching was a bit more of a struggle than usual. My counterpart was absent for most of our lessons and my students had finally become comfortable enough to disobey me. I had one 8th grader storm out of my lesson when I didn’t review his class-work first. Another 10th grade girl was brazen enough to tell me she couldn’t participate in one of our class activities because she was doing her math homework. Yet aside from the decline in discipline, my counterpart’s absence afforded me much greater freedom over the lesson plans and ensuring continuity between them. Without any guilt, I tossed aside the textbook and taught themes I thought were important and which were fun for me—like maps! I spent more of my time working with the stronger students, a complete reversal from my prior strategy. For several of my advanced 11th graders, I held a separate seminar where I taught about and then we discussed American history. It’s impossible to quantify any results, but I feel that for the past two years I was patient and gave these students my all and that I did manage to have an impact.

This spring also witnessed the second annual American English Competition of Balkhash (AECB), a region-wide English competition that I and my fellow local PCVs started. Fifteen schools and almost 250 students from the 7th to 11th grades participated in the event. The competition had two-rounds—a general written portion focused on grammar and writing followed by an oral-round interview with the finalists. My goals for this year were 1) to make sure it occurred and 2) to lay the groundwork for locals and future PCVs to take over when I leave. On both counts, I succeeded. The AECB is now a known and respected event in the city and the local government and school board is invested in ensuring its survival. In addition, volunteers from other towns helped us conduct the event and they plan on organizing similar events at their sites.

Now that school is over, I am livin’ up my last summer as a Peace Corps volunteer. I just returned from a month long vacation that included Ukraine and Kyrgyzstan (more on that in my next blog). Situated on one of the largest lakes in Asia, Balkhash is an ideal summer location. The broad promenade along the harbor is full of people, outdoor cafes, and shashlik (grilled meat on a skewer) stands. Despite the “crisis,” the town is a lot livelier this summer. There are now two small amusement parks, cotton candy and popcorn stands are everywhere, and we even have a doner kebab place! I also discovered some nearby villages with much better beaches than the harbor and factory-polluted ones that I went to last year.

Aside from these everyday attractions, the town is busy with festivals and other events. Last week the soccer team of Kazakhmys, the company that runs our factory, played against the “Africa” team in our town stadium. I went to the game, but I am still confused on some of the details. The scoreboard just labeled the team “Africa” and the players were black and foreign. However, no one could tell me whether they were from a specific African country or why on earth they would come to Balkhash. Anyway, they lost 3-0. This weekend was the town’s most important celebration—Metallurgist Day. There were skydivers, an evening concert on the promenade, and other festivities. The event also coincided with an international bikers rally in town.

The summer is also a time of work for me and I have several projects that will keep me busy. I am currently organizing an English Leadership Camp that will begin next week and last for two weeks (more on that later). In August, I will conduct a workshop for local English teachers in Balkhash and then take part in another seminar in northern Kazakhstan.

The End of Winter

2009-02-28T05:10:00.000-08:00

In Kazakhstan, seasons always begin on the first of the month—summer begins on the 1st of June, winter on the 1st of December, etc. So today is my last day of winter in Kazakhstan and I’ll recall some of the more memorable events of the season:

On January 19th, I celebrated my first Russian Orthodox holiday—Kreshenya. This holiday is the equivalent of Epiphany in Western Churches, which Wikipedia hazily describes as either the coming of the three Magi or the baptism of Jesus in the River Jordan. In Russian Orthodoxy, it is a holiday during which priests bless the water. In the morning, I went to a classic Russian onion-domed church and took part in the two-hour ritual. An Orthodox service is very different from the Jewish, Catholic, and Protestant services I’ve been to. In a large room without pews, churchgoers crowd in and stand. The vast majority of the worshippers were elderly women and all were Russian (interestingly, it doesn’t seem there was an effort, or at least not a successful one, to convert Kazakhs). The entire service is ritual; there is no sermon, personal prayer, or even interaction amongst the worshipers. Priests and a hidden group of women chant while the priests swing incense globes, open and close the gates of the shrine, and carry the bible around the room. While the priests chant, the worshippers repeat certain phrases and cross themselves in sets of three. After this ceremony, the old women pass up glass jars or plastic bottles of water for the priest to bless en masse. Many of these babushkas came late to the ceremony and proceeded to pass up their open water containers to the front, getting most of the congregation wet in the process.

After the church ceremony, the priests lead the worshippers to the frozen lake for the final blessing. I was told that this half-kilometer walk was supposed to be a sacrifice. I laughed this off at first because the distance was so short, but after five minutes of walking at a snail’s pace in the freezing cold in a narrow column of pushy babushkas I discovered the sacrifice. But this procession was interesting. In front, the priests and a singing female trio carry tall crosses and icons and lead chanting, which the worshippers repeat. When we got to the lake, there were probably over a hundred worshippers present. There was a large cross carved into the ice exposing the water and a wooden ladder attached to one end. The main priest blessed the water for half an hour and afterwards, invited his congregation to jump in the water. Few of the actual worshippers did, but dozens of secular men and women jumped and they quickly turned this solemn event into a college party.

A few weeks after this event, I arrived at my classroom ready to teach and was greeted by my students playing with two AK-47s, the automatic gun of choice for rebels around the world. They were practicing disassembling and reassembling them and loading magazines. For safety, the students practicing with the bullets and cartridges were a good two meters away from the students playing with the real guns and empty magazines. Unfortunately, the teacher who was observing left at one point and one of my crazy students took a gun, attached a full magazine, and proceeded to point the now loaded gun at the students. Preferring not to be shot, I abdicated my role as only teacher and just watched the scene.

So why were students playing with AK-47s in my classroom? Interestingly enough, it was for the purpose of peace. On February 5th my school celebrated the 30th anniversary of the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan. It is odd that they choose to celebrate this event instead of just forgetting about it the way Americans forget Vietnam. Those who recall the war say that it is important to remember what happened in Afghanistan so that future generations will avoid war (cough, cough). To mark the occasion, my school held a military competition where students from different schools competed in a range of army related activities from marching and assembling an AK-47 to eating and getting dressed quickly. Although Kazakhstan is a country that shuns the idea of war, all of its students—boys and girls—are prepared to join the army in a moment’s notice.

The other notable event of winter was my host dad’s 50th year jubilee. Although this occasion is probably important in all cultures, Kazakhs treat it as an event as monumental as a wedding. In fact during the preparation, my host family would frequently and accidentally refer to as a wedding. So like a wedding, hundreds of guests are invited. I think around 250 attended this one. The event takes place in a banquet all. People are seated at tables piled high with food, which keeps getting replenished. Much vodka, of course, is served. There is an MC, professional dancers and singers, and a video guy. And like all Kazakh events, toasts! Yes, we have toasts in America, but Kazakhs push this tradition to the limit. Every person present (remember, 250) must give a lengthy toast. Groups of four to ten are brought to the front of the room where they each speak for a few minutes about the greatness of the honored person, who must remaining standing the whole time. When it was my time, I pulled out the classic triumvirate—a toast in English, Russian, and Kazakh. Although I know very little of the Kazakh language, Kazakhs go crazy with excitement when you say even the simplest of words. When I finished, everyone cheered and I was mauled by an overly affectionate Kazakh man.

In so many ways, American and Kazakhstani cultures are so similar that it is easy to be disappointed at the lack of culture shock initially. But in celebrations— religious, national, or family—the real differences emerge and they are a hell of a lot of fun!

Returning from the Land of Normalcy

2009-01-18T00:17:00.000-08:00

For three-weeks at the end of December, I revisited “reality” and “the normal life,” ie the United States. The previous sixteen months I had spent in Kazakhstan was the longest unbroken period I had been in one country, including the United States. In Kazakhstan I live with a family, have a real job, and converse almost exclusive with locals (in Russian). In essence, I’ve become integrated in a community significantly different from my native one. Thus for the first time in my life, I had the opportunity to view my home country with partially foreign eyes. Below I recount some of the differences I observed between the United States and Kazakhstan.

On the third or fourth day I was back in New York, I was riding on the subway staring at a man wearing a hat that read South Africa. I was wondering if he was a tourist and why he was becoming all fidgety when my mom yanked my shirt and told me to stop making that man feel so uncomfortable. Apparently, I had forgotten one of the main survival rules in New York—No Staring! At least in New York, there is a mindset that one should not violate a stranger’s personal space by interacting with him or her. Such rules and mindsets are completely absent in Balkhash. In a similar situation with reversed roles, I was on a train going to Karaganda in which there were also a bunch of Balkhash students from another school. As soon as one of the girls identified who I was to the rest of the group, they all began to trade the information that they had heard about me. They pointed at me, laughed, and spoke about me loudly in Russian. Although they never engaged me, I actually didn’t feel that awkward. I understood that I was still something of a novelty and they were just interested.

And I guess this leads to the general difference in attitude towards privacy. Back in the United States, my space was MY SPACE. I needed my own room to which I could withdraw when I wanted to be on my own. Peace Corps recognizes this sentiment and requires that all volunteers living with a host family have their own room with a lock. So I was a little surprised when I returned back to Balkhash two weeks ago and saw that my room was turned into the computer room/a continuation of the family room. Although it is still my room, my two host sisters regularly come in and work on the computer even when I am sleeping. But what was the biggest shock? I didn’t actually care that much. I could say it was because I understood in Kazakh culture privacy from family members is non-existent and I wanted to be open-minded and accepting. But that type of logic doesn’t work on me. Instead, I guess I had already adjusted to “how things are” in Kazakhstan. I still think having privacy is required in my life, but I am glad that I can now live in a place where privacy doesn’t really translate over.

My favorite difference, however, is over political stances. I know Peace Corps completely frowns upon engaging in political conversation, but locals always confront me so it is fine to respond. From the summer war in Georgia to the recent Russian-Ukrainian gas row, locals receive a completely different set of facts and opinions. The main news stations in Kazakhstan are based in Russia and they broadcast what I initially thought was pure dribble. For example, when reporting on the Georgian war, footage of the Georgian president Saakashvili speaking was phased out by nearly identical footage of Hitler speaking at rallies and then followed by Saakashvili surrounded by religious Jews speaking at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem (I don’t get the last message…controlled by the Jews?). Anyway, this really irritated me and anytime I tried to argue the opposite side people would pull out either total lies or irrelevant facts. I blamed it all on the Russian media and thought that if the locals just 1) watched Western news sources only and 2) recognized that they were much less biased than Russian ones, then everyone would know the truth and be happy. But after visiting the United States I recognized that Americans are just as ignorant of the “true” facts, blame Russians for everything, and watch media that is also heavily and unjustifiably biased. I’m still an ardent American patriot but I no longer spend so much energy trying to convince locals of the unwavering righteousness of American actions. I still argue and still hold very different opinions, but I prefer to spend my political talk time just learning their opinions and questioning their justifications. I continue to believe that people here have a very skewed sense of the global reality (as do Americans), but for the first time I have learned to deal with it and not force my opinions.

And now the most important difference: locals in Kazakhstan do not get hurt. The other day, my new site mate Christina and I were walking on frozen Lake Balkhash when we came across a huge cross (12 feet long) carved into the ice and some kids playing near the exposed water. She wanted to warn them and I advised her that there is nothing to fear; people simply don’t get hurt. As I described earlier, Balkhash looks like post-war Chechnya. Deep holes exist sporadically along walking paths and the public spaces surrounded by apartments are nothing more than dirt moguls (such as on double black diamond ski slopes). In every city in Kazakhstan, each person would have several dozen lawsuits pending against the municipal government if such a legal options were available. Since they aren’t, people content themselves with not tripping over missing stairs in public housing or falling into uncovered manholes. My host grandfather can barely walk across the living room, and yet he frequently climbs down 5 flights of broken stairs and traverses 200 meters of rolling mud hills crisscrossed by knee-level pipes to visit us. This is the greatest mystery in Kazakhstan and whose secrets I am not yet privileged to learn.

Last month I thought I was leaving the crazy country that is Kazakhstan and returning to the land of the normal. Yet while the “reality” and “normal life” I expected to encounter was there, it was no more real or normal than my life in Kazakhstan. Yes, the two places are vastly different. But I think now I have an ability to comfortably interact in two dissimilar communities and not feel lost in either. That is a comfort to remember for my last nine months of service.

To Communism's Triump Lead Us On

2008-09-30T04:41:00.001-07:00

“KKK Hate Schools Found Throughout Atlanta” and “United States Refuses Soviet Aid for American Poor” are some of the headlines that startled me from a crumpled old newspaper we were using to protect the classroom floor from wet paint. These lines were from a 1990 issue of the Moscow Times, an English-language newspaper published during the Soviet Union. Although I’m in a country where school history books completely omit the Soviet Union, I am regularly reminded about the legacy of the USSR and Communism in Balkhash. As an American, this living legacy has been one of my most interesting experiences.

Balkhash and my oblast (province) have a special Soviet legacy. Most of the cities including mine were built in the 1930s with forced labor. In fact, my oblast was home to one of the largest gulags—the size of France. Taking a walk through Balkhash, one can see still remnants of Soviet symbols. Our City Hall still has the hammer and sickle emblem on its façade. The tops of apartment complexes have mosaics that say “Glory to Labor” and “Glory to the CCCP.” And of course, most people still live in Khruschevniks, the five story mass produced gray apartments commissioned by Nikita Khruschev. As in many cities that still have large Russian populations, there is a Lenin statue. There is still debate about what to do with these symbols. Recently in Karaganda, the second largest city, a huge outcry prevented authorities from removing their Lenin statue. At the camp I worked at near Petropavlovsk, the administration only painted over an enormous red star this summer.

The Soviet Union also lives on in official holidays. This February, I celebrated Red Army Day at my school. There was an assembly and all male teachers—three including myself—were placed in the front of the room. Since all men are expected to have served in the Red Army, teachers made speeches thanking us for having defended the Motherland. I wonder if they also thought it was ironic that they were including a guy who represented the enemy they were defending against. Anyway, they thanked us and gave us complimentary daggers for our service. Later that night, the host dad of my ex-site mate Andrew said that Red Army Day didn’t celebrate war, but friendship. Many Soviet soldiers did not fight. There mandatory two years of service was a time when they forged close friendships with people from other parts of Union—Ukranians, Georgians, Azeris. Red Army service bound all the different members of the Union together. The following month, we celebrated the complimenting holiday—Women’s Day. The male teachers put on a concert for the female teachers. My role was to sing old Communist songs, including “The International”—the Communist anthem.

The Kazakhstani government exerts much effort in trying to instill Kazakh pride and nationalism amongst the people. They are building statues to Kazakh heroes, renaming streets and cities, and adding Kazakh holidays to an already extensive collection of Soviet ones. Yet there is less effort in removing the old symbols. At first I thought this was because the government didn’t want to alienate the enormous Russian minority. But now I think that many Kazakhstani citizens still regard the Soviet Union fondly. These remaining Soviet symbols were not forgotten; they are still being lived and reminisced upon.

Leaving the Barren Steppe for Eternal Light in Siberia

2008-08-25T23:36:00.000-07:00

When I was first nominated for Peace Corps Central Asia, I was told that I would be working as an English teacher during the school year and in the summer, I would organize and run sports camps—GASP!! For those of you who know me, you are aware that I am no sportsman and the idea assisting über-athletic Kazakhstanis in sports is comical. Luckily for me, Peace Corps doesn’t mean everything it says and I was free to choose my own summer work plans.

For most of the year, I live and work in Balkhash, which is in the south-central part of the country and surrounded by barren, uninhabited, flat nothingness. As a result, I jumped at the first opportunity to volunteer in the north of the country, around the city of Petropavlovsk. Petropavlovsk juts pretty deep into Russian Siberia and is populated mostly by Russians. In fact, the region is basically part of Russia—many people run on Moscow time and the train station is actually considered Russian territory. Technically, this part of the country is also considered steppe, but it is vastly different from the steppe in which I live. It is grassy, contains pockets of birch forests, and is one of the country’s two breadbaskets. For any history buffs out there, this was where Khrushchev executed his Virgin Lands program. Petropavlovsk itself has around 200,000 people, has a pretty decent nightlife, and is close by the Ishim River, in which I almost drowned.

I arrived in the north to take part in a summer camp with some other volunteers, but in true local fashion the camp was delayed and I was forced to chill out in the city for a few days. When we finally arrived at the camp, it was a true, Soviet-era, Pioneer Camp (Communist propaganda camp)! There were red stars galore and statues of children in glorious poses in honor of the motherland. Also, the camp was littered with scores of seesaws and other such playground fixtures and there was one field that my friend Tim referred to as a “freak carnival bazaar.” Our role at the camp was to conduct English clubs and help cabins prepare activities and games. However, Kazakhstani camps are a bit different from American camps. The next day’s plans were always organized at 11o’clock the night before, which was deceiving because the sun didn’t set until almost midnight. We thus had to spend each day frantically preparing for that afternoon’s concert and series of games. For those South Park fans out there, I was strongly reminded of the episode in where the kids are sent to what is basically a concentration camp to correct their bigotry. There is one scene where a Nazi guard is yelling at the children to draw crayon pictures of friendship and pulls out a gun to make them work harder. Minus the gun, this is exactly what I witnessed one day when kids had to prepare crayon pictures to decorate some building. However, there were also a lot of fun activities that we participated in such as Pioneer Ball, which is a Soviet version of volleyball, and Joyful Soccer, in which the counselors and volunteers, dressed as clowns and with no requirement to observe any of the rules, got to compete against the campers. I had a fun time and would like to participate again next year.

After two weeks at the camp, I decided last minute to participate in a Russian learning camp for volunteers a bit farther south in Shuchinsk. This area is famous for being the gateway to Borovoe, which is nicknamed “the Switzerland of Kazakhstan.” Although far from being Switzerland, Borovoe does have beautiful mountains, pine forests, and great lakes. When you haven’t seen anything of the sort for the past year, it is pretty stunning. Yet even though it was July, it was cold and rainy and so we couldn’t swim often. I spent about a week there before I returned to Balkhash.

One of the greatest things about this summer was finally experiencing the trains. Nearly all volunteers travel around by train, but since Balkhash isn’t located on a main route, I have always taken a bus. I got my chance when I was in Almaty and took a 31-hour train ride to Petropavlovsk. I had brought plenty of reading material and had fully charged my i-pod to prepare for what I thought would be an incredible boring trip. However, it turned out that I struggled to find time to read! Kazakhs are known for their hospitality and I think this is nowhere better demonstrated than on the trains. In second-class cars, passengers are put into open cubicles with six bunks and a small table at one end. In my cubicle, there were a husband and wife, an old teacher of disabled kids, and two university students. The entire 31 hours was like one long tea party. Everyone put out the food they had brought and all were expected to take without asking. This generosity was so unsettling that I kind of wished I could just eat what I brought, even though their food was so much better. We quickly bonded, mostly through their initiative, and we didn’t fall asleep until late at night. Through the eyes of an American, there is of course a lot to criticize in a former Soviet country. But the sense of camaraderie with strangers and almost unconscious generosity with limited possessions is a cultural attribute that the United States sadly lacks.

Outside the Classroom

2008-05-30T21:12:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, classes ended and I am finally on summer break. This is now an excellent time to sit back and ponder on my accomplishments as a teacher. Or not. This year has actually been only trial and error and if I were going home tomorrow, I would be a failure as a teacher. Instead, it would be better to talk about my main secondary project, which was completely successful—an English competition for Balkhash and the surrounding villages.

The idea for this project occurred in January when the two other Balkhash volunteers and I were sitting in a café, stressed out about how schools care less for the quality of education than their own prestige. Prestige, which is based on rewards and prizes, does not reflect the ability of students in Kazakhstan. So basically, the problem was how to make prestige of a school dependent on the strength of its students. Simultaneously, we were complaining about the recent Olympiad, which is an official competition that covers a range of subjects. As I cannot elaborate on my bitterest criticisms of the Olympiad in a public forum, let it suffice to say that it was not an honest competition. In addition, the material was extremely difficult (especially given the average English abilities at the secondary school level in Kazakhstan); was not broad enough to accurately assess English ability; and incorporated too few students to effectively motivate other students to improve their skills. We then realized that if we created our own competition, we would not only be able to rectify these problems, but encourage schools to seek prestige by having their students do well in an honest exam

From the start, we wanted the tests to include a slightly wider grade range and number of students than the Olympiad. We decided to include grades seven to eleven (the final year in Kazakhstan) and have five students from each grade from each school (25 students from each school; the Olympiad only allowed one person from each grade from each school). The test would have two rounds. The first round would be an hour long written exam that focused on English grammar and which would be mostly multiple choice with five fill-in the blanks and short answers. The finalists would then proceed to the second round, which would be a one on one interview with a native English speaker that would focus on conversational English. For the interview, grammar would be much less important than the ability to communicate ideas.

With these objectives, the first step in organizing the project was to gauge interest of local schools and then get them on board. Luckily for us, organizations here are rigidly top-down systems. Hence after only 15-minute meetings conducted in our poor Russian at each of the schools, directors signed a contract committing their schools’ participation. By mid-February, we had fourteen town and village schools on board and thus enough support to make this competition a reality. Over the next two months, we figured out logistics. We decided to hold the exam simultaneously at two different schools to ensure no one school was perceived as too “influential” over the outcome; make practice exams and theme lists for participating schools; and secure local government support. To fund the competition (paper, printing, prizes, certificates, etc), an official from the education department arranged a meeting for us with the head of the biggest bank in Balkhash. After we explained to him our idea and goals, he opened his wallet and on the spot gave us 50,000 tenge, which was enough to fund the entire project.

The first round occurred on April 25 with nearly 300 participating students. And in true Kazakhstani fashion, we commenced the event with a lavish opening ceremony that included a short military march, traditional Kazakh dances, speeches by us volunteers and distinguished guests, and the singing of the national anthem. Reporters from local newspapers were also there. Afterwards, students registered and the test began. It all went flawlessly! A lot of last minute problems of course occurred, but we dealt with them swiftly. That night we graded the tests, announced the finalists, and the second round occurred a few days later.

When we announced the winners at the beginning of May, there was a lot of excitement but also some criticism. Parents of some of the winners profusely thanked us for giving their children an opportunity to demonstrate their skills. Others were impressed that our students and friends didn’t get top places. For example, my host sister who is strong in English wasn’t a finalist. Many assumed she would be due to her relation to me. However, many of the winners did come from the richest and most influential families in the community and this caused suspicion. Yet this was because these students can afford private tutors and other resources, a problem that also exists in the United States.

Overall, the competition was a great success and hopefully it will be an annual event. Moreover, the exam gave us a mountain of data on the English abilities of local students. This summer, we plan on analyzing the data and then organizing a teachers’ workshop in August that will be tailored to the needs of the community.

Spring Break - Kazakh Style

2008-04-27T01:09:00.000-07:00

I finally had my first real spring break. Since 9th grade, I’ve always wanted to go traveling with friends during the school year. So for the last two weeks of March, during the break between the third and fourth school term, I did just that. My site mate Andrew and I threw a few things in a bag, spray painted on T-shirts a map of Kazakhstan and ВЕСЕННИЕ КАНИКУЛЫ, 2008! (Spring Break 2008), and took a 17-hour bus ride to the southern oasis of Shimkent.
Every year, nearly a hundred Peace Corps volunteers go to Shimkent at the end of March. Shimkent is one of the three largest cities in Kazakhstan and it is the heart of Kazakh culture. It is a non-descript city, but there were two things that immediately struck me upon arrival. The first was the heat, which I had completely forgotten about during winter in the steppe, and the second was the grass. Grass is one of those things that are completely unappreciated when common. But after five months living in a city where the smog kills anything that grows and which is surrounded by brown and yellow steppe, the lush green color of grass seemed grossly unnatural.
The first day was spent basically going from outdoor café to outdoor café drinking cold beer, eating delicious plov and shashlik, and hanging out with the other volunteers. But being the cultured individual that I am, I did take a short break from this hedonism to visit the Museum of Repression.
The next day, we went to the historic and holy city of Turkistan (the word Turkistan was also used in the 19th century to describe most of Central Asia). The city is famous for the mausoleum of Khwaja Ahmad Yasavi, who founded the Yasavi order, which is a type of Sufism (Islamic mysticism). It was built in the early 15th century by Tamerlane, who despite raping most of Asia, was actually quite the aesthetic ruler and built stunning monuments in the area. In my opinion, this mausoleum is the most beautiful structure in Kazakhstan (though better examples of this style exist in Uzbekistan). The mausoleum is an enormous building with a front entrance that is more imposing that the rest of the structure. Most walls are covered with tiles in different shades of blue. The top is crowned by a large dome, also decorated with blue tiles. Tamerlane died before it was completed and so the imposing entrance is plain brick with the original scaffolding still in place. I am bad at describing things, but you should definitely look it up on Google.
Turkistan is perhaps the most holy site in Kazakhstan and it is said that three pilgrimages to the mausoleum counts as one to Mecca. So I am one third of the way to becoming a hajji! But strangely, the site isn’t treated with as much respect as it deserves. There were few people praying and visitors were allowed to enter with their shoes! I’ve been to many mosques and Muslim mausoleums in the world, and that was the first time I’ve seen that. Well after a few hours of spiritual meditation, we returned to Shimkent for some beers.
The next day was Nauryz, the Kazakh New Year. As I mentioned earlier, Kazakhstan has many new years and this was the fifth that I celebrated in the country. Nauryz is the most traditional of Kazakh holidays and since independence, it has been used to revitalize Kazakh culture. Since Shimkent prides itself on being the center of Kazakh culture, Nauryz is celebrated with much greater fanfare there. At the hippodrome, the city funded an enormous festival to accompany the traditional Kazakh horse games. The festival included free food such as heaping portions of plov, flat bread, sweets, and drinks; traditional music concerts; and a number of yurts (traditional Kazakh nomadic homes, which look like flattened teepees). The whole festival attempted to recreate the feel of nomadic Kazakh culture and I guess, also instill national pride in Kazakh-ness that was suppressed under the Soviets. But it felt artificial. It seemed people were mostly fetishizing the culture and they seemed disconnected from the yurts they dined in and they dombra (Kazakh string instrument) music to which they listened.
However, the main attraction of the day was the horse games. Whereas most of the Kazakh culture displayed at the festival was just for show, people were seriously engaged in the horse games. The hippodrome in which the games took place was just a colossal depression in the steppe with people observing only on one side. There were hundreds of people there, including an unusual North Carolina family who were touring Kazakhstan just for fun (who does that?!).
The horse games were exciting. There were many games, but I’ll just describe the three most interesting. The first was wrestling on horseback. In a small circle, two guys on horses try to knock each other off by just using their arms. In the next game, Kyz Kuu, a man on horseback tries to overtake a girl on horseback. Whenever he gets close, the girl can lash him with her whip. If the guy wins, he gets a kiss from the girl; but if he fails, then the two race the other way, but this time the girl gets to whip the boy the entire length of the track! The game was played twelve times and each time, the guy lost and received some brutal lashings. The last and most popular game is called Kokpar. This game is supposedly similar to polo, but instead of a ball they use a dead goat carcass, which they must grab with their hands while on horseback. Once a team gets a hold of the bloody goat, they try to place it on the other side of the field. Around 70 horsemen participated in the game. The main thing I got out of this Nauryz celebration was that Kazakhs like their horses.
For the next ten days, we all went to Almaty where Peace Corps conducted more technical and language training. But in reality, it was Peace Corps telling us things would get better and that we shouldn’t quit. They did a good job motivating us, but now that I only have a month left of teaching, I can’t wait for summer vacation!

Why Am I Here?

2008-02-28T21:47:00.000-08:00

Peace Corps has recently told us that the period between our sixth to ninth month of service, the time I am now entering, will be the most difficult time. It is the period when most PCVs decide to terminate their service early. I just want to say that I spent both of the last three-month periods thinking they would be the most difficult to adjust to. Apparently, we realize that we are not doing anything productive and we can’t stand being here for another 1.5 years. So I think this is a good time to assess my experience so far and speculate on my future impact.

My main goal is simple: to improve the English skill levels of my students. It sounds easy enough to attain—prepare lessons for the day’s scheduled theme and teach it. Well, when the theme is “Global Foreign Policy after [the] Events of September 11: Prospects of Asia and [the] West,” in the passive voice of course, it is difficult. Now teaching this theme to students who don’t even know the simplest grammar is impossible.

So what to do? Simple—revolutionize how English is taught here. My strategy has three parts: teach to their skill level, improve the teaching style, and create opportunities outside the classroom for students to improve their English. Let me quickly say that I do not see myself as some grand reformer who is the only one qualified to do this. The problem is that the Education Ministry provides terrible English books and sets unrealistic goals for each year. As an outsider and native English speaker, I see issues from different angles; and as an unpaid volunteer, I have more freedom to try new ideas and don’t have to worry about being punished. Besides, if I get yelled at I can tune out the Russian.

Teaching to a student’s skill level is perhaps the most critical. The skill level of the students is very low and is compounded by the fact that they do not fully grasp the absolute basics—verb conjugations of regular verbs, simple verb tenses, articles, ‘to be,’ questions, and elementary vocabulary. The reason is that teachers teach the material once in 5th grade and expect them to know it forever. They rarely review. As I am currently studying Russian, I know that students need to review the same material again and again. As a result, I am trying to include these basic reviews at the expense of new material. At first, local teachers were resistant because they are required to teach new material and argued that the students already knew the material. I don’t know why they were reluctant to admit low skill levels, but it might because it could reflect poorly on their teaching, which was not fully the case. I argued that we want students to speak English and that by teaching material so fast at the expense of review, they were actually learning nothing. Although review might “waste time,” it guaranteed that the students would be able to speak English to some degree. A few weeks ago, I stood aside in awe as my counterpart stopped her lesson after students were having trouble with ‘to be’ and spent 20 minutes reviewing it. That might seem like a small deal, but I felt awesome.

This also shows a change in teaching style, which should be improved. Teachers are required to teach out of a national textbook, which is divided into one-class lessons. However, each lesson presents enough new material for a week or two. This partly explains why teachers rush their lessons and students don’t retain much. I have basically tossed aside the textbook (there are many more reasons why these books are awful and they are essentially a crime against the country) and I am encouraging teachers to design their own lessons based on the book’s themes. This will hopefully ensure that only a few new ideas are presented in class and that the students will actually understand and retain the information. Also, perhaps due to the rushed nature of the textbook, teachers employ not the best strategies. These include completely ignoring weak students, which accumulates over the years and creates huge disparities in skill levels; asking questions and then immediately giving the answers, which prevents students practicing the new material and hides their weaknesses; and just not giving students much time to speak and hence practice their skills. All of these problems can be eased by greater patience, individual attention, and positive reinforcement. This approach has already worked with several of my weakest students, who are now improving and eagerly participating in class.

The last problem is that since there is so much to learn and the students are so far behind, there is not enough time to review and teach them enough skills to be comprehensive in English. Consequently, I am focusing primarily on creating outside opportunities for students to improve English. These include English conversational clubs, English grammar clubs, practice sheets (which do not exist), and my biggest project—a Balkhash Regional English Competition. This idea came about due to a failed state run English test in January (I can’t say in this blog why it failed without probably getting censored by Peace Corps). My site mate Drew and I decided to organize a competitive test between the twenty schools of Balkhash and the surrounding villages. As of now, we have most of the schools on board and the test should take place sometime in April with 300+ students!

The honeymoon period of service has definitely ended. But despite being frustrated and outraged everyday, things are going pretty well…or at least I haven’t broken down in the classroom and sobbed hysterically. I didn’t expect to move mountains and if there were nothing to be frustrated about, then there would be no reason for me to be here. I am not worried about the next three months.

Happy Holidays Times Ten!

2008-01-21T18:59:00.000-08:00

I have been in Balkhash for almost two months and working hard! Well, hard except for about the month plus of holidays. Kazakhstan likes it holidays. Since I’ve been in Balkhash, I’ve celebrated Id (a Muslim holiday), Republic’s Day, Independence Day, Catholic Christmas, New Year, Orthodox Christmas, and Old New Year. So while you back in the States get one holiday each for Christmas, New Years, and Independence, we here in Kazakhstan get two. With all this time off, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to experience how Kazakhstanis celebrate.

Whether the holiday is religious, national, or other, it is celebrated the same way—a dinner with tons of people, heaping portions of the same foods, and plenty of vodka. These holiday “dinners” are marathons with all of the ones I’ve been to lasting at least five hours and at most eight! The central act during these dinners is the toast. Each person is given a rumka, or shot glass, which must always be filled. As soon as everyone is seated and the rumkis are full, someone makes a toast and the shots are downed. No mixed drinks here; only straight up vodka. Every five to fifteen minutes, another person makes a toast and we go around the table toasting and drinking for the whole epic dinner. As you can imagine, the amount of vodka consumed is phenomenal and would put fraternities across America to shame. But whereas in American college parties you can abstain from drinking or get completely wasted and still be respected the next day, in Kazakhstan you must drink like a fish and be able to walk a straight line afterwards. Abstinence, or even moderation, is offensive. Refusing alcohol invites taunts such as “Kto ne pyut, ne Ruski” [He who doesn’t drink, isn’t Russian.]—an amusing comment considering that many of the people who give into this taunt aren’t Russian. To minimize damage, one option is to take half shots, although you are warned that “if you sip vodka, it goes to your head; but if you down it, it goes to your stomach and you won’t be tipsy.” But the better strategy is to eat huge servings of fatty foods after every shot. So despite the health effects of consuming a mountain of fat cubes and mayo salad with a bottle of vodka, I’ve only embarrassed myself with my poor Russian. In fact, several times I’ve received compliments from my host for not being drunk. Strange that they were expecting it since they forced me to drink…

Another fun part of these parties is the local food. Kazakhstani cuisine is eclectic, combining Kazakh (and other Turkic), Russian, and Korean influences. In fact, I feel that in a lot of ways these people have the ideal attitude, i.e. mine, towards food: meat and potatoes are plentiful, vegetables are rare and unavailable during the winter, and spinach is actually considered a weed! Let me give a quick culinary tour of Kazakhstan:

Beshbarmak: Means ‘five fingers’ in Kazakh because you are supposed to eat it with your hands, this dish consists of hulking size pieces of cow or horse that has been boiled on top of flat square noodles. Some of these meat cuts are pretty impressive and at weddings, you can see the whole top of a horse femur bone. And speaking of this delicious meat, the first time I tasted horse was the day I fell off one…kind of fitting, right?
Kurdak: This is a hit or miss dish. It is basically heavily fried meat and potatoes. When the meat is normal muscle, it is phenomenal. But on special occasions they substitute muscle for cut up tongue, kidney, heart, and liver. Unfortunately for me, every time I eat with people who want to impress me, I end up having to dine on unappetizing foods. For example, guests are always given an enormous bone (sometimes several ribs still connected to a chain of vertebrae) with generous layers of fat. I am looking forward to the day when I am fully integrated in my family and I can go for the delicious fat free and juicy tenderloin pieces of beef in the communal plate that everyone else ignores.
Plov: This is an Uzbek dish and all Kazakhs who have cooked it for me made that very clear. It is a basically a fried rice dish with meat and carrots. It is different from the Chinese/American dish in that the rice is much shorter in length and stickier.
Monte: These are Kazakh-style dumplings stuffed with meat, potatoes and sometimes pumpkin. This is one of my favorite dishes, which means there is nothing wrong with it and hence no interesting stories.
Lagman: This is simply beef noodle soup with the added benefit that the long noodles are freshly made and are somewhat chewy.
Baursak and Leposhki: Fried bread—always delicious
Salads: Every table always has a few “salads,” but these are basically small dishes with shredded meat, finely diced potatoes and carrots, and two-thirds mayo. For so many salad dishes in this country, I have yet to see lettuce. In the States, I was vehemently against mayo, but here it is essential as a good counterweight to vodka.
Jams: The homemade jam here has totally redeemed jam for me as a whole. Unlike in the States, the jam isn’t overly sweet and it basically tastes like cheery, raspberry, or strawberry syrup or puree. You can eat it right out of the bowl with your spoon…and people do. As a result, I avoided jam for the first several months because I thought it was a cesspool of bacteria, which it probably is here. But my family in Balkhash makes such amazing jam that I happily risk some debilitating illness.

Kazakhstanis are very generous, especially with food. Tables are always covered with dozens of dishes and bread is spread over the whole table. You are expected to put much on your plate, eat much, and waste much. I think part of the reason for this generosity is that at the end of the Soviet Union and during the first ten years of independence, food was scarce. Stores were basically empty and it was a time when people didn’t know if they would even be able to eat. Now that things are going so well, it is almost as if they are celebrating the end of scarcity with a cornucopia of food.

One of the most memorable dinner parties I had was for Id. My family and I went over to the home of some Uzbeks. The wife was one of the more “free-spirited” and fun women I have met in Kazakhstan and reminded me of my host mom in Uzunagach. She improvised a bunch of crazy dance moves and invited me to Uzbekistan. When we decided to leave, it was snowing heavily. The Uzbeks walked us to the car and then the wife ran back upstairs and came back with a handful of shot glasses, a bottle of vodka, and a plate of sausage and cheese. As the snow fell, we took shots on the hood of the car, sang songs, and danced; Ithese people know how to live!

Livin' It Large in Balkhash

2008-01-03T01:37:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays! Winter has come to Kazakhstan like the Mongol invasion—fast and brutal. For the past month, I have been at my permanent site, Balkhash, which I will now start to describe. Today is supposedly –45C, or –49F, so if anything seems negative it is the weather talking.

Balkhash is a town of 70,000 and is situated on beautiful Lake Balkhash. The town is small enough to be navigable by foot (well, for a New Yorker) but large enough to enjoy yourself. Balkhash can be divided into two parts—an attractive downtown area with Eastern European style architecture and colors such as bright yellow, blue, and pink and a glum periphery with Soviet era concrete apartments, exposed pipes, and a feel of an abandoned construction site. The downtown area is defined by a wide boulevard, Lenin St, and a perpendicular two-lane street with a pedestrian lane down the center, Wallihana St. In this area, there is plenty of decent shopping, cafés (which means restaurant and bar), billiards, a bowling hall, a fitness center, and attractive buildings. The most impressive is the Culture House, which is a neoclassical yellow building several stories high, and is located at the intersection of Lenin and Wallihana. At the opposite end of Wallihana, which is only several blocks long, is the main square with a statue of the local hero, Agabai Batir, and small yurt-like structures. I, however, live ten minutes away in the gloomy periphery. I live in one of the few houses in Balkhash, but the rest of the area reminds me of news reports from Grozny in Chechnya. This image results partly from gunshot-like sounds made by children playing with firecrackers. The area has the look of an inner-city project and the public areas inside these buildings are even worst. But this is only superficial; the apartments themselves are renovated, well maintained, and very comfortable and homey. As a whole, the town has a feel of a place much bigger.

Balkhash was founded in 1937 as a center from which to exploit the vast amounts of natural resources in the area—copper, gold, coal, and many others—and process them. As a result, the most defining feature of the town is the copper factory. The structure is enormous! It takes up a good chunk of the town, has eight smokestacks, and can be seen from anywhere. The entire town is geared towards this factory—most people work there or in the associated mines, the universities and institutes prepare students to work there, and it runs 24/7. Even I deal with the realities of the factory everyday. About once a day as I walk outside, my chest and throat begin to hurt and I have trouble breathing. Suddenly, I have an awful taste in my mouth, but I cannot see or smell what it is. I start coughing. GAS. Although the factory was designed to have its smoke blow away from the town, the winds often change directions and Balkhash is covered in this odorless, invisible, and yet able to taste gas. Yes, I live in a factory town.

But I guess what makes a town is who you live with and I have a fantastic host family. There is a mother, a father, two daughters, and a female cousin who lives with us. The father is a boss at the factory and works every day including Sunday and holidays but he is always jovial. The mother is a kindergarten teacher who at first appears calm and quiet, but in actuality she loves joking around. The oldest daughter is 22 and is named Indira, after Indira Gandhi…why, I don’t know. The other daughter, Kamila, is 16. She is one of my students and the family member with whom I get along best. Although she is only 16, she has the maturity of a 25 year old. She is calm, smart, collected, and responsible. We live in a house, which is anything but what you would expect from Peace Corps. In addition to all of the minimal luxuries I didn’t expect from electricity, running water, and an indoor toilet, the place is furnished like an average small European house. And la piece de la resistance—a brand new sauna, or “banya.” In my room, it’s difficult to feel as if I am in the developing world. My family told me that they used to have beautiful ornate carpets hanging on all the walls, but they took them down because it was too traditional and I guess they want to be modern. The one main difference is the lack of bedrooms. Although they have a sizeable living room and dining room, I have to myself the only bedroom. And yes, I feel awful about that, but Peace Corps demands it. The rest of the family sleeps in makeshift beds. I am still in the process of getting tight with this family, which is a bit more difficult than with my family in Uzunagach because here they actually expect me to understand everything they are saying. Eh, that won’t happen anytime soon.

“I am Fit” vs. “I am Fat”

2007-11-30T20:55:00.000-08:00

Continuing with my experience during Pre-Service Training…

Aside from learning Russian, a more important task was learning how to teach. The mission of Peace Corps states that only trained people will be sent overseas, but in the case of English teachers nearly all of us had no substantial teaching experience. And to be honest, in my ignorance I did not think there was that much training required for teaching at the secondary level. But I was wrong. Thanks to the incredible training staff at Peace Corps, in three months I learned how to design lesson plans, present and practice difficult materials, and communicate despite an enormous language gap.

But first, let me give some background on the school at which I taught. When I first saw the building, I thought I was in a rich suburb of Southern California. The building was new and freshly painted pink. There were at least four computer rooms and a language room with brand new equipment. All students wore impressively neat suits and dresses and girls wore white poofs in their hair the size of their heads. Is this really the type of school that Peace Corps sends people? But soon after we started observing classes, I saw room for improvement. In all subjects, many of the teachers just read from the book and the little drilling used was completely ineffective. Most of these teachers cared for their students, but from an American viewpoint the creative components that I used to take for granted were painfully absent. Hence even though we trainees did not have formal training, we innately incorporated interactive and creative styles in our teaching.

The most critical skill I learned in training was lesson planning. I was taught to create feasible and measurable objectives for each lesson, such as “students will be able to create a dialogue of six sentences using the new vocabulary.” Also, Peace Corps uses the P3 method of teaching: presentation, practice, and production. For presentation, the teacher presents the material, vocabulary or grammar, and uses visual aids and gestures to demonstrate meaning across the language gap. For practice, students use the new material in creative ways that emphasizes speaking and interaction. For example, I create games or activities such as ball tosses, relay races, or board games that force the students to speak the whole time and use the new material. All these games must directly serve the objectives of the class, which is executed in production. In this last phase, students make a dialogue or a text or answer questions without notes and without my help. This tests what they have learned that day and requires them to use it unassisted. Lesson planning takes a long time because the themed chapters I am supposed to teach are extremely eclectic and making visual aids and game pieces is also time consuming.

The most important part of training was of course, teaching. I must admit I was nervous about standing up in front of fifteen perhaps unruly children and trying to communicate without any Russian. I thought I was going to hate teaching for at least the first year. But after the first minute at the board, I became exhilarated! Although the production of my first lesson was a crash and burn, my second was executed very well and I have since got the hang of it. I now love teaching, though I will not make it my profession. In the five weeks that I taught in Uzunagach, I saw amazing progress! Instead of spending the whole 45 minutes not saying a word in English, students actually were excited as they tried to form sentences and even after class they were eager to speak. I was told by one teacher that she was shocked that some kid actually volunteered to demonstrate a dialogue in class because he always refused to speak.

However, there have been some difficulties, especially in team-teaching. Since a goal of Peace Corps is to make sure most of what the volunteers contribute is sustainable, we teach English with local English teachers. This exposes these teachers to different teaching styles. But sometimes these teachers aren’t interested or misinterpret what you say. My favorite example is when I taught a lesson on being fit and I asked my counterpart to translate “I am fit” and she translated it as “I am fat.” For the next ten minutes, students were confused at how activities like weight-lifting and running makes you fat.

In addition to teaching English, I also ran English clubs. The English club was an informal forum to speak in English and learn about American culture. Since their English levels were very low, club was limited to singing songs and playing games. But it got students interested in English. I guess the goal of these clubs is to find a small group of interested students who will be able to discuss ideas in English and actually prepare them for a future that will involve these skills. For the other students, it is just fun and might improve their performance in class.

But one of the most rewarding components of teaching (and well being an American) is the immense popularity. Yes, that sounds shallow. But when you have children constantly yelling your name and some random English words or phrases and crowds always around you, it is impossible to not feel happy and eager to work. Maybe it is because I have never been this popular at school, but I think it is good that these kids look up to me because that will make them more interested in learning English.

That is basically the end of my pre-training service in Uzunagach saga and my next entry will be about my life in Balkhash, which for the past three weeks have been great!

Horses and Cannibals

2007-11-19T18:57:00.000-08:00

It has taken exactly three months, but I finally decided to sum up what I have been doing in the middle of nowhere Kazakhstan. I am currently at my permanent site of Balkhash where I will be an English teacher with the United States Peace Corps for the next two years. But before I talk about that, I should explain what I have been doing since I arrived in Almaty on August 23, 2007.

For the past three months, I was in Pre-Service Training (PST). This is the period where Peace Corps trainees are placed in a village with around ten other Americans and you learn all the skills you will need for the next two years. This includes language training, teaching training, and cultural training. In addition to studying the language—primarily Russian, but also Kazakh—we taught classes, ran English clubs, held teacher workshops, and came up with and executed a secondary community project. In short, it was an extremely hectic three months and although it felt like forever, now that I am at my permanent site it seems like PST lasted only a week.

For PST, I was placed in the Kazakh (meaning over 75% Kazakh) village of Uzunagach. The village is a bit over an hour from Almaty, the former capital and still commercial center of Kazakhstan. Uzunagach is a pleasant place with around 30,000 people and though it is called a village, it had more of a suburban feel. The main strip of the town is very typical of a Kazakhstani town and village. There is a monument to the local hero, Karasay Batir; the akemat (local government); an enormous building for the education department; the “Culture House;” WWII, or Great Patriotic War as it is known here, monument with eternal flame; and further down the bazaar, the post office, and KazTelecom. Nine other Americans were placed in Uzunagach (one later dropped out) and we were split into two groups and were placed into different schools. In these groups, we learned Russian and worked on projects, but all eight of us became very close.

Although I was technically located in Uzunagach, I actually lived in a much smaller village outside called Jana Khurlus, which is 30 minutes away by foot. Jana Khurlus is an interesting place. The name apparently means “New York” in Kazakh—Jana means New and Khurlus means…York??? Everyone told me this and unfortunately my Russian and certainly my Kazakh were not at a level where I could get a straight answer about how this is possible. Jana Khurlus also has a high population of Chechens. I should mention here that Kazakhstan is a heterogeneous country. Only 60% of the population is Kazakh, around 30% is Russian, and the rest is German, Ukrainian, Korean, Chechen, or other Turkic—Uzbek, Uigher, Karakalpak, Turk, Tatar. Most of the peoples, including the Chechens, were put in Kazakhstan under Stalin to keep them from being disruptive.

In Jana Khurlus, I lived with a Kazakh family in what felt like a farmhouse. Although they were one of the poorer families with which an American was residing, it was definitely not what I expected. It was decently spacious and there was first, electricity, and second a TV, DVD player, stereo, and computer, but alas no internet. There was no running water, however, and I had to use an outhouse, wash clothing by hand, wash myself with a bucket and ladle, and the house was heated with wood. Still, not exactly the full Peace Corps experience. I should mention that by the end of my stay, my family had firmly moved into the middle class. One day, my host brother comes back with a washing machine, a microwave, and iron, and a cell phone and a few weeks later we had a sink with running water. The house itself was very typically Kazakh. Enormous detailed rugs were hung on all walls within the house and the outside door and window frames were blue with white geometrical carvings on them.

The family I was living with was absolutely amazing and with whom I will stay in contact with for the next two years. The head of the house is Zaurie, a mother and a teacher of Russian. She has two sons—Timur (22) and Sanjar (20), both of who are physical education teachers. There is no father, which actually was the case with almost all the host families. Zaurie deserves a whole blog entry to herself. She is a loud, egregious woman who loves jokes (and lies) and always made me feel completely at ease. Though even by the end I only spoke a bit of Russian, there were never any quiet moments. Everyday, she would tell me the local gossip or some fantastical story such as the one about the Uzunagach cannibal who had a penchant for Russian girls and made dumplings out of them. She had a way of telling stories that crossed linguistic boundaries. But she did dedicate much of her time, despite having no free time, to helping me learn Russian. Whenever she saw me studying, she would ask if I needed help and regardless of my response, she would take my books and notes and go through it with me. She is also a very traditional woman, despite her love of alcohol and vehemence toward her own religion, Islam. Whenever she thought I might be ill or that there were bad spirits around, she would light matches and swirl them over my head. Since I showered only once a week, I sometimes thought my hair would catch on fire. She also made me pin a tiny evil eye on the inside of my shirt collar to keep away these spirits and especially those sent by our next-door neighbor. She accused this woman of cursing me for “my beautiful face” and causing me to fall off a horse…yes that did happen and yes, that is the end of my dream to ride a horse everyday to work in Kazakhstan. But as one can imagine, it was awkward walking past this sweet looking neighbor as my host mother whispers that she is cursing me. Zaurie also describes herself as a fortuneteller and using an ordinary deck of cards, told the future for everyone.

The two sons were also great to have around. Timur is the one with whom I became closest and who kind of took me under his wing. For the first two weeks, he walked me to school everyday and would pick me up. He stayed at home at night and we watched TV together. Sanjar, on the other hand, is the wild son who went out every night and came back at four or five in the morning. He was always fighting with his mom and yelling, but there is also some childish innocent in him as well. I love the names Timur and Sanjar and one day I will get two dogs and name them after these host brothers.

This is getting long and there is still so much to tell about my stay in Uzunagach. But as I don’t want people to stop reading cause of the length, I will post the second half later.