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.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
The End of Winter
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!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Returning from the Land of Normalcy
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
To Communism's Triump Lead Us On
“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.
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.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Leaving the Barren Steppe for Eternal Light in Siberia
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.
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.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Outside the Classroom
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.
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.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Spring Break - Kazakh Style
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!
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!
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