Reading the Exodus in Kazakhstan

Monday, April 21 2008
Aktobe

In addition to Passover, Saturday was also “World Friendship Day” in Aktobe.  There was a huge cultural festival at the drama theater, with 15 cultural centers staging song and dance skits, each lasting around an hour.  I could only stay for the first five groups, but if they were representative of all of the groups, each performance included a short interpretation of that culture’s integration into Kazakhstan, singing, dancing, instruments, and food.  Kazakhstan is a very diverse country, though the policies of cultural integration and appreciation are different in some meaningful ways from the States.  I saw the Russian, Ukrainian, Polish, Jewish, and Armenian Centers perform.

Following this showcase of multicultural Kazakhstan, I continued the theme of the day and began my Passover celebration.  I had a Seder with a sampling of the Jewish community in Aktobe.  While there are around 1,000 Jews in Aktobe, most do not celebrate the holidays.  Largely as a result of the former Soviet classification of nationalities (including Judaism), Judaism is viewed as a description and thus, the religious celebrations are not vital to identity as much as the blood relation seems to be.

While there is a different relation to Judaism here compared to the States, Jews here do celebrate holidays and engage in cultural activities, both with the larger community and individually.  There is a nice cultural center, which organizes events throughout the year, including Hebrew lessons, holiday celebrations, art classes, support for disabled Jews, and activities for children.

Ya’akov, the designated unofficial “religious leader” of the Jewish community here, and I organized our Seder together.  As is common in Kazakhstan, whereas more people had said they would be attending, due to the late closing of the cultural festival (at which the Jewish community won first place), a number of our guests could not make it.

In addition to us, there were eight other guests: three businessmen, three male pensioners, and two female pensioners.  Everyone was very friendly and seemed to enjoy the Seder, despite my lack of a mastery of Russian.  Ya’akov owns a small grocery store and café, so his staff prepared the food for dinner – all Kosher for Pesach.  Matzah and Pesach desserts from Detroit, and Kosher for Pesach wine and juice from Almaty (not Manishevitz) joined the Aktobe Pesach dinner.

All of the food was on the table from the start of the Seder, leading some people to snack throughout the service – a compliment to the food, including chicken, fried fish patties, carrot and walnut salad.  We did not have a Seder plate with spots to put each item, so we improvised with a large round metal platter; placing each symbol on the plate in its correct spot.  Ya’akov and I co-led the service.  He did the Russian, including explanations for each step, the bulk of the story, as well as some additional interpretation of Pesach.  I read and sang the Hebrew along with some Russian commentary and translation, as well.

It felt strange to be doing a Seder entirely in Russian and Hebrew, especially as I was leading it and speak neither Russian nor Hebrew fluently (though the Russian is good enough to have conversations for three hours about more than the weather).  As I said at the start of the Seder, this was my first Seder away from my family and close friends and was different in so many ways from what I have become used to.  While not being with people I have grown up with was sad, the warmth of the community and interest in celebrating the holiday was wonderful.  For some of the people there, it was their first Seder in many years or their first Seder ever.  Celebrating together, with a community so far from home and far from what many think of as any center of Jewish life, was really meaningful.  While Judaism may be celebrated differently, many people care about their culture and religion, want to learn more, and want to be a part of a community – it was a wonderful Seder.

Happy Pesach.

Living the Dream of a City 100 Years in the Future

Sunday, April 13 2008
Aktobe

Astana is a strange city.  The city is divided into two parts: (1) the expensive present and (2) the future (aka “if you dream it (and are a government trying to create a legacy with lots of money), it will be built).  The “old part” is also not that old, although most of it looks the same as most other cities in Kazakhstan; Soviet blocks of apartment buildings, small shops, and new, obviously expensive building popping up like weeds between sidewalk cracks.  The city is also incredibly flat.  The only height is the drop into the river and if you were to jump from a building.  This part of the city had lots of people walking around and seemed full of activity.

The other side of the river, “Kazakhstan Future Fun World Today”, might as well be another city.  There were more people on one block of the old side than walking around the entire new part of the city when I was there in the middle of the day Thursday.  Between the city sections, you first have to pass the Big Dig of Kazakhstan and are confronted by huge houses bordering the road.  Then you cross the river and emerge into what could be purgatory.  It was silent with the wind louder than the traffic when we got off the bus under the shadow of the House of Ministers, an expansive series of buildings dividing the fun part of the city from the primary executive and judicial sites.  New apartment buildings (most still unoccupied) border the road and lead to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the main plaza, headlined with Bayterek, the new monument of Kazakhstan.

The monument is inspired from a Kazakh legend and is a very cool structure.  At the top is a golden ball, translucent from the inside but apparently solid from outside of its radiant warmth (it’s very hot inside).  On the other side of the monument is the Ministry of Defense.  Also sitting along the plaza’s borders are the National Library of Astana, the National Archives, more unoccupied yet expensive apartment buildings, the site that will be the Ritz Carlton, and another plaza leading to the President’s Residence (though this tour stop is not accessible despite the empty bus that pulled into the parking lot).  Largely because of its surrealism, I found the city worth the stop, in addition to some business meetings.

Prior to Astana, I spent four days in Karaganda, a city slightly larger than Aktobe, three hours south of the capital.  Peace Corps organized a HIV/AIDS seminar, inviting volunteers and host country partners to discuss and plan for how to develop effective HIV/AIDS programs in Kazakhstan.  Because Kazakhstan does not currently have the same disease density that other parts of the world are cursed with, now is the time Kazakhstan has the best chance to minimize a greater outbreak.  Unlike the States, where the disease is most commonly spread through sex, the largest transfer vectors in this part of the world are needles.

After being out of site for around four weeks of the first four months, I plan to be in Aktobe all of May.  Happy Passover, Orthodox Easter, and Spring.

Two Weeks Around Kazakhstan, part 2: Nauruz in Shymkent (aka Dead Goats, Fresh Meat, and Sun)

Thursday, April 3 2008
Aktobe

Nauruz in Shymkent is an experience apart in Kazakhstan.  The holiday is the Central Asian Spring festival.  It originates from an ancient Zoroastrian New Year’s festival but has since been drained of its religious significance and serves as a purely secular holiday across the region; particularly strong in Kazakhstan.  Celebrations occur all over the country but the South parties the hardest.  Shymkent, the largest city in the South and the center of Kazakh nationalism, is also the bastion of Nauruz.

After arriving in Shymkent in the morning, showering for the first time in four days at our apartment, my fellow Kostanai-area PCVs and I took a walk around the city.  Shymkent is very different from both Aktobe and Almaty.  Even in Almaty, Kazakh is clearly a secondary language for the majority of the population.  In Shymkent, the sounds drifting along the street are overwhelmingly Kazakh.  This trend is accompanied by a larger number of Kazakhs in the city, although there are still a considerable amount of Russians and other ethnicities living peacefully together.

Nauruz (March 22) was the second day of our visit.  After again not sleeping for more than two hours, we woke up early, and went out to the hippodrome for the games.  Outside of the horse stadium (a huge field with bleachers up one side) felt like a State Fair.  The colors dazzled.  Over half of the people gathered around yurts, swinging on big swings, taking pictures in front of Kazakhstan Mickey and Minnie Mouse, and enjoying the shashlich, plouf, chai, and beer, wore traditional Kazakh garb of so many different colors.

A few hours after basking in the shashlich smell with a few local Shymkent beers, a couple thousand Kazakhstanis, and about 40 PCVs, the horse games started.  It started off with about ten parachuters – most landed very well, one drifted a little off course.  Then the horses.  On the ground, not in the air.  Parading, jumping, racing, kissing, whipping, wrestling, and goat carcass polo.

It’s hard to choose a favorite out of the three traditional games.  The kissing and whipping game was exciting.  A guy is on one horse and a girl is on the other.  On the way down the track, the guy has to kiss the girl on the other horse.  If the guy doesn’t get the girl, then on the return drive, the girl gets to beat the guy with a horse-whip.  Girls 3. Guys 1.

Game two lasted a long time.  Horseback wrestling, while sometimes slow, hard not to get into.  Two guys on two horses with the goal to tear the other from his horse.  Many draws, one or two clear victories.  It looks easy to stay on, but it’s intense.

After these warm-ups we have the main event: kokpar, goat carcass polo.  Two teams line up on each side of the field on their horses.  The goat carcass is relaxing between them.  They dash towards it, grab it with their hooks, and have to throw it into their big container on the other end of the field. Apparently, after the game, the winning team eats the carcass in a huge feast and it’s a particular delicacy.  Horses and hooks are also used to ram into other riders, grab the carcass, and prevent the other team from taking hold of the prize.  One horse flipped into the goal – not part of the plan.  At the beginning, it’s a little difficult to get into the game; it’s hard to see the carcass as it floats across the field, the teams break at random points, and it’s hard to feel ownership of either team when you only just arrived.  But then it starts to click.  After a few minutes of focusing on the carcass, the crowd grabs you and it doesn’t matter who anyone is, just that there are many horses, one dead goat, and two goals.

I’ve posted a video of our dance in Kostanai, enjoy: http://youtube.com/watch?v=X5h2KHx4n8E

Happy 23C (73F) in Aktobe.

Two Weeks Around Kazakhstan, part 1: No donkeys (or camels) but lots of dancing wheelchairs

Tuesday, April 1 2008
Aktobe

Training Across Kazakhstan

A 30-hour train ride can be fun.  A 12-hour overnight bus ride is an entirely different category.  There are two compartment options on the train: cupe and plascart.  Cupe (ku-pay) is a private room with four beds, two on each side and a fold-up table in the center.  Except for one check by the conductor, no one else consistently enters your space; assuming that you know your three travel buddies.  If not, you may be getting lots of guests.  The trains bring out the friendly nature of people; it could also be the alcohol that tends to accompany many passengers.

Plascart is a messy version of Facebook.  It doesn’t matter that you have never met the vast majority of the other passengers in your car, you all become quick friends.  Plascart is an open wagon, with each wagon full of compartments on both sides of the aisle.  One side has four beds, two-on-two stacked perpendicular to the wagon.  The other side of the aisle has two beds running with the wagon’s length.  There is one table in the middle of the four beds and one (that folds down into the bed) on the bottom of the two-bed section.

I traveled to Shymkent from Kostanai with four of the Kostanai-area volunteers.  After spending the past few months primarily identified with Aktobe and the volunteers around here, suddenly spending around 35 hours in a contained space with volunteers from another city felt slightly traitorous.  The feeling didn’t last long – train travel buddies are the way to go.  The first few hours, maybe you feel comfortable lying in bed, reading, napping, watching the land drift by (if the window is clean enough to see outside; not a given).  After a few hours of that, you start to really appreciate the company.

The second night on the train, we had a party in our section – the five of us PCVs, a girl also in our compartment, a guy from another car who found the Americans – watching Anchorman.  During the movie, three of four little girls drifted in and out of site of the computer; some parts of the movie are universally funny and other parts we were all happy that we were the only English-speakers at the time.  The girls ran away giggling during the kissing scenes and while the religious couple behind us seemed to enjoy the movie, they averted their eyes for select scenes.  No need for earmuffs for anyone.

The overnight bus from Shymkent to Almaty was not nearly as pleasant.  The bus left at 6:30 PM.  We arrived in Almaty at 7:00 AM.  In between, I slept around two hours.  Although I had the middle seat in the last row (more leg room), the level of comfort didn’t nearly reach the length of foot space.  Sometime in the middle of the night, we stopped at a rest area.  A few magazines, a café, and a wonderful restroom facility.  I think that when there are no people there, animals make you of the restroom facility – or maybe it had simply not been cleaned in a few years.  Fortunately, we could spend most of our time in the café; the food wasn’t bad.  But, since we didn’t know when the buses would leave, except for a honk! that could have matched any of the 20 buses at the stop about a minute before departure, we were pretty nervous at the table.  No one was left behind and we made it to Almaty right on time.

Wheelchair Dancing

I often have no idea what to expect when I learn of a new activity I agree to participate in.  The wheelchair dancing was one of those things.  Vika and I had been practicing for around a month, but we still did not know the details of the competition; exactly how many people would be participating, how prepared the competition would be, who else would be there, or even where we’d be staying.  It turned out that we were the only couple not from Kostanai and were invited as special guests.

The competition was more than just dance.  The even was originally planned to celebrate Women’s Day on the 8th of March, but was rescheduled.  The eight women, therefore, were the center of attention.  They each cooked, answered trivia questions, created a handicraft, danced, and had the opportunity to showcase other talents, such as Vika’s singing.  The whole event was beautiful and the Kostanai community was very warm.

After the dancing, the judges and organizers did the round of “thank yous” and identification of special guests.  I was delighted when they recognized Vika and gave her a huge bouquet of flowers.  Then, they spoke about me and gave me the same gift.  It was entirely unexpected and I’m sure the happy surprise was etched across my face.  Then, they presented the awards.  Each women participant won an award, including “Most Intelligent” and “Most Beautiful” but then they also handed out a first place award for the dancing.  Apparently, the judges really liked our waltz and we won.  All of the dances were really inspiring.  I only learned about our victory later, the language thing can still sometimes be difficult.  The event was a lot of fun and one of the volunteers from a nearby town came up to watch.

A few groups of local kids also performed.  Some cute dances and a few songs.  We were all a little surprised when one of the young girls sang a song from a Russian movie about a prostitute and then another young girl did a Shakira-like belly dance.  The dancing sailor-boy was good too.

After the dancing, we returned to our apartment.  My favorite part of the apartment was the Dumbo wallpaper in one of the rooms.  While we were dancing, some friends of the event’s organizers cooked.  The living room was occupied with a huge table with around 25 people around.  The beshparmak arrived quickly after the last car returned from the competition.  Three platters of freshly cooked beef and just baked oily noodles.  No head this time but lots of wine, cognac, vodka, juice, and water.

Four hours later, everyone had made a toast, most of the drinks were gone, post-beshparmak soup was sipped, we did some singing, a little dancing, chai was drunk, leftover beshparmak was in the fridge, and we started to clean-up.  After all of our guests left, the five of us from Aktobe took out “Risk”.  The language made it a little more complicated than normal, but no one jumped across the table or “accidentally” allowed the dice to run across the board.  Ukraine, however, traded hands every turn.  Afghanistan was also a hot piece of property.

Many people have said how wonderful it is for me to have participated in the dance competition, that it must have been great for my partner, boosted her self-confidence and esteem.  Prior to this she hadn’t danced in a formal competition, but she’s been very involved in disability issues and activism.  I add another perspective to the experience.  I think how wonderful it is that she suffered through my lack of dancing and stuck with it, always encouraging me, despite my difficulty in a basic three-step.  I never thought that Peace Corps would involve me dancing in front of a large crowd, filmed by national television.  Our hope is that we can start dance lessons mixing the disabled and general community in Aktobe, inspire disabled individuals to gain more self-esteem, have fun, and add a new program to create a new, more positive image of disabled citizens in Kazakhstan.

Cows, Fish, and Corona

Friday, March 14 2008
Aktobe

I was feeling the end of a long-week.  On Monday, I leave for Kostanai for my two weeks of travels.  The morning started out like normal, a little organizing, talking with my co-workers, delegating.  Earlier than usual, around 12:30, my director arrived and asked if I were available in the afternoon.  I thought there was some sort of meeting.  Then, the two of us, plus a driver, and a friend of hers start driving to lunch.  In the car, I still have no idea where we are going except that it involves eating.

Then we arrive at her brother’s house.  Three old men are lounging on the couch.  Six old women are sitting in chairs on the opposite side of the table.  Not so much talking yet.  Then we move to the table.  Three large platters of noodles and potatoes, with not-yet-carved cow meat resting on the noodles, are brought to the table.  The head quickly follows.  I was worried I would get the head; fortunately it went to the man two seats away.  I had enough trouble with turkey and goose, slicing ears and skulls must require more skill.

A few small plates and spoons were brought to the table; one placed in front of me and the other a few seats down.  Traditionally, beshparmak (this traditional Kazakh meal) is eaten straight from the platter with your hands.  I turned down the plate and started grabbing, though initially a little more gingerly than the others; I learned by the end.

Before you start digging, a water basin was brought around the table for hand washing; three times the water is poured onto your hands.  Then you pour a sauce onto each platter.  I thought the sauce was soup.  Fortunately, I did not stick my spoon in; I did find it a little strange there were only three soups on the table for 12 people; though there were only two plates as well.

Eating brought talking.  Following a solid 20 minutes of ensuring you eat nothing else for a day, we stopped.  The man who carved the head also led a grace after meals, one prayer in Kazakh and then next in Arabic.  Then, my director’s father followed with a third chant.  Then, soup with a sour yogurt.  The soup is the broth in which the meat is boiled – helps digestion following the big meal.

Then chai and dessert.  I still do not understand how the entire table could be covered with salads, candies, fruit, jam, and baked goods after eating beshparmak.  This lunch involved so much food.  Later, at home, I ate more.  Now, I can barely move.  It feels like I’m trying to stock up for the 26-hour train ride across Kazakhstan.

Today’s holiday was a celebration for the start of spring.  As my organization’s director explained, the day is an opportunity to start fresh, absorb some vitamins and protein (and carbs), and move into a new frame of mind for the new season.  I’m really happy she invited me today.  It was entirely unexpected and very nice that she wanted me to see traditional customs, meet her parents, and eat a lot of food.

Happy Spring!

The Steppe is Still White

Monday, March 10, 2008
Aktobe

Kazakhstan, like many former Soviet republics, has a lot of holidays.  Most are celebrated by someone, but only a few seem to be embraced by the vast majority of the population.  Those that survive are hard to miss.  In the past month, we’ve had the “Day of the Nation’s Protectors”, more popularly known along the line of “Man’s Day,” followed on March 8th by “International Women’s Day”..  In a few weeks, we’ll have “Nauruz,” the traditional Kazakh New Year.  Somewhere over the past week, we also had the fleeting holiday known as “Spring”.  Spring, like “Day of the Nation’s Protectors”, was sparsely celebrated and disappeared before it could be recognized as having occurred.

“International Women’s Day” is likely one of the most widely celebrated holidays in Kazakhstan and incredibly popular in the Former Soviet Union, despite being forgotten in most every other country.  There’s a long history (which we discussed in English Club last week.  For those curious about the holiday, visit http://www.internationalwomensday.com/.  Most families have relatives over, lots of food and chai (of course) throughout the day.  Traditional gifts include flowers (only odd numbers; even numbers signify death) and sweets.  Just like around New Years’, for the past week there have been signs and billboards proclaiming Women’s Day and the 8th of March! plastered to the football stadium and buildings around town.  Also, Air Astana offered 50% off for select tickets for women.  I imagine a gender-based discount wouldn’t be as embraced in the States.

My organization delivered gifts to its members for the 8th of March, both to disabled women and the mother’s of disabled children.  Then, on March 7th, a large delegation of well wishers stopped by the organization to personally give their best wishes to my director.  The constant guests over the week led to a large collection of chocolates and cakes sitting in the office fridge.  It would be wonderful if people also took “sweet” to mean fruit; a collection of apples, oranges, and cherries would be so much better than 20 boxes of bad chocolate.

Work has been very busy.  We had 25 new volunteers at our last Volunteer Club meeting and home visits are continuing.  As one of my most active volunteers noted, however, the challenge will be to sustain the initiative when I’m not here.   The problem is not that students don’t want to be involved, but volunteering and particularly working so closely with disabled people is largely a new concept here; it can be scary, uncertain, and entails a lack of control that many people may not like.  I’m confident, however, that as the students continue to form relationships and we can host events bringing people together outside of the one-on-one environment, people will stick around.

Sometime next weekend or next week (date changes are just part of what I’ve come to expect), I’ll be traveling to Kostanai for a dance competition where my partner, Vika, and I will be doing the Waltz.  Then, assuming the train ticket purchasing works out, an overnight in Astana, then Shymkent for Nauruz, then Almaty for In-Service Training for Peace Corps, and about two weeks after leaving Aktobe, back to the far West.

Bus Banya

Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Aktobe

Banyaing would be incredibly redundant today; the bus to work fully served that purpose.  Being spewed out of the bus with sweat caked along my neck; I realized what I had just gone through.  0C (32F) has never felt this warm; other people apparently agree, the bus was crowded like an Almaty bus.  The winter coats, bags, and yelling do not help.  Like normal, we all crowd onto the bus, every participant clamoring to the top of the mountain.  Then the sweating starts.

Every so often, the doors open one in the middle, where most people get on and the front, mostly used for exiting the bus (though there are always a few people who can’t quite make it to the other door, jump on, and stand right in the middle of the path).  To be fair, this group often consists of the elderly who may only be taking the bus for one stop, and thus it makes more sense to get on in the front, where it is then more manageable to get off at the next stop – but, it’s not always the elderly and they are not always getting off at the next step.  You would think that the cold air from outside would be a welcome gust from the locker room smell wafting through the bus.  I would think that too.  Unfortunately, due to the congestion, the air sits, stale, over us – only warm.

The bus, of course, has the heat on.  In the banya, it’s appropriate to douse the coals in water in order to heat up the room – on the bus you have the heat and you add more people.  Then, the tradition is to hit yourself (and each other) with eucalyptus leaves – on the bus the irregular but constant stop. Go.stop.go.        stop. and resulting banging into other passengers, poles, and seats leaves healthy bruises.

While a naked bus ride would likely result in odd stares (and incredible pain), the fondness you immediately develop with your fellow bus mates quickly and effectively makes up for the clothes covering your body.  Looking back at the bus after you depart, you cannot escape the feeling that you participated in some ancient Roman ritual, despite your four layers of thick clothes.

The banya concludes with a jump in a cool pool – the fresh air and 0C jolt you back into the world and you can start your day refreshed.

Wheelchairs and Waltzes

Sunday, February 17 2008
Aktobe

Just as that feeling of regularity starts to kick in, you hear a little knock to jolt you out of the daze.  Each day continues to be unique – but there is this sense of an overwhelming amount of work – although when I step back, I realize it is very manageable – only in Kazakhstan, there are added challenges.  The work is fun and this week moved the projects along.  The wheelchair factory and volunteer club are in better positions than a week ago.

Along with these projects, I started dance lessons this week, much to the amusement and delight of everyone at the office.  My friend, Zhanna, who has been translating for me, has particularly enjoyed my hike up the learning curve.  In mid-March, my partner, Vika, and I will be in a dance competition in Kostanai – one partner (Vika) in a wheelchair, the other (me) not.  We’re doing a waltz.  I think I have the three-step down.  Before our teacher left after our first lesson, she gently suggested that I practice for the next lesson.  We’ve had three lessons now, I’m hoping for a stunning performance in Kostanai and on International Women’s Day in Aktobe.

Some of my happiest days here seem to be built on such horrible realizations.  Our local volunteers have really embraced the goal of meeting with disabled individuals, but it is difficult – both to arrange times that work and to build up the courage to go.  I try to accompany them, especially for the first visit.  Yesterday, Dustin and I went with Janara to visit Katya.  Katya is 30 years old, in a stroller, is barely able to talk – but is clearly loved and taken care of by her grandmother and her neighbor.

We knocked on the door and Katya’s grandmother answered – she was very suspicious.  Janara and I tried to explain that we were working with my organization, coming to visit, that we called – in the moment it was frustrating but understandable.  They (grandma and the neighbor) want to protect Katya – three new people, two who don’t speak the language, arrive at your doorstep, saying they want to spend time with your disabled granddaughter – but, after a few minutes of confusion, miscommunication, and trust – we were invited inside.

What Katya lives in cannot be called a wheelchair – it’s a modified baby stroller, with sheets attached where the original fabric would have been too tight, with other small modifications to make it a little more comfortable.  To move, she rocks the chair; backwards, forwards, sideways – it seems violent, but it’s the only way for her to get around.

When Katya gets excited, you know.  English, telling us about herself, and having guests all excited her.  She started to shake the chair, and her neighbor would hold her wrist and talk gently to her.  Janara walked into the apartment scared and unsure of what to do.  By the end of our visit, she no longer looked at me for approval to ask a question, but spoke straight to our hostesses.

I also left the apartment feeling much better – I think everyone involved really appreciated the visit and learned a great deal.  The lack of an acceptable wheelchair for Katya is still holding me in shock.  Part of it is due to the expense of new wheelchairs; part due to the low quality of those supplied by the Akimat; and there are probably other parts I don’t know about.

Later today around six of my local volunteers and six disabled children will be seeing a Kazakh play.  It will be nice to see the kids out of their houses and mingling together.  More dance lessons this week, prepping for a conference in Almaty in March, and hopefully finishing the business plan for the wheelchair factory are also on the agenda.

My best wishes to everyone, the weather’s a warm -15C – almost time to head out to the beach.

Coffee’s Always Better on the Other Side

Monday, February 4 2008
Almaty

Almaty holds a lot of surprises.  The city is not yet a café and shopping capital to rival major European or American cities, but it seems that there will soon be enough cafes that good choices are not just isolated to those who “know where to look”, but as easy as walking down the street.  Restaurant development seems to clearly be following a few paths.  There are the small, traditional Kazakh and Russian cafes that seem to have been there for ages.  Then there are the new restaurants and coffee shops, catering to an ex-pat crowd as well as local emerging wealth.  This second option is likely already more numerous than shashlich bars and small chai houses.

When Almaty was my second home during training, it stood alone as my example of big-city Kazakhstan.  Having Aktobe to compare, now, the development, size, variety, and pollution of Almaty is much more clear.  Aktobe is no backwater city, but it is tiny compared to the Southern Capital.  While a lot of money may be flowing into the West, it is a trickle compared to the money flooding Almaty.  In many of the restaurants, coffee shops, and stores, there is a clear attempt to cater to the Western-inspired vision of success, as well as Westerners.  Each development, however, also stirs in a unique Kazakhstani flavor.  Almost every café has at least one flat-screen TV – always and only playing music videos; a woman generally cleans the floor during hours of service, often without regard for if someone is nearby; and the staff glare at you if you sit for a time without ordering, even in largely empty cafes.

As Lonely Planet didn’t sponsor this trip, eating was not my only priority.  The seminar was organized by Counterpart International (CI) and focused on organizational development for disability NGOs (DPOS).  While CI has run other similarly themed seminars before, this was the first to focus solely on DPOS.  Roughly 25 DPOs from across Kazakhstan were represented, though with a large contingent from various Almaty-based organizations.  The activists are very impressive.  Kazakhstan, like the rest of the Former Soviet Union, is not so friendly to disabled people.  Because of the work of those in attendance as well as many others, the situation improves, but a great deal of inequality and difficulty is still very clear in public life.

The seminar took place at the Sanatorium MBD, a hulking building almost at the base of the mountains outside the city.  It could be a nice place.  But, the turned-off heat, ostensibly to save money, detracts from the friendly atmosphere.  Rather, the peeling wallpaper, bright light jolting through various windows with other hallways caked in the slight light of dusk, and need to wrap your coat tighter inside than on the street, reminds you that you are in an old, under-funded building.  Many Kazakhstanis, however, love the place and respond only positively when I say I was there for a week.

I decided not to stay at the sanatorium, not just because of the lack of heat and hot water, but also because I wanted to be in the city to spend time with friends in addition to at the seminar.  I stayed with my language and cultural teacher from PST, Sherali, and his four roommates (two other guys, two girls).  There are five of them in a two-bedroom apartment, in a relatively central location.  It was interesting going from living with a host family to living with a bunch of 20-somethings in the big city.  They rotate cooking every night, but still, the girls were the one cleaning-up and preparing chai on a regular basis.

The seminar was entirely in Russian.  Great for my language learning but there were definitely parts that escaped me, especially when we started getting detailed in advocacy and financial practices.  I think that overall, however, I understood a good portion of the seminar – it was definitely a worthwhile trip.  I met good people, made substantial progress on the wheelchair factory, and had a nice vacation.  It was hot in Almaty, as well – only 0C.

One of the most valuable parts of attending was gaining a more developed picture of the disability movement in Kazakhstan.  Prior to last week, I had read about DPOs in Central Asia and Kazakhstan, and heard from other volunteers about their organizations, but did not have first-hand impressions of a broader disability movement.  Now, I at least can place faces to types of work throughout Kazakhstan, and better understand activism throughout the country.  Of course this perspective is valuable when trying to work with a local NGO that is part of a broader movement.  Peace Corps tries to bring together PCVs and their counterparts for a planning conference in March, but this still only provides snippets of various types of work, an even smaller self-selected contingent.  There are lots of conferences of various NGO sectors.  PCVs should be encouraged to attend and form relationships with other organizations, especially those that may not have prior relationships with PC.  I feel like I’m writing a conclusion to an OS essay.  After learning more about the work of other organizations, it seems that to be most effective and best understand local work; you need to understand both the local environment and the organizational environment, the people involved, the work being accomplished and attempted, and the challenges faced by others involved in similar work.  Freshly ground coffee is better too.

Naked on Ice and Disability Across Kazakhstan

Monday, January 28 2008
Almaty

Standing naked on a frozen river at night is not something I would recommend dragging out.  I would particularly advise against this after jumping into the river through a whole cut in the ice and submerging yourself multiple times.  One of my local friends asked if I was crazy.  So, when I had the chance to participate in this Russian Orthodox tradition to celebrate the Epiphany, I of course, embraced the invitation.

This is an Orthodox tradition but it has grown into a cultural standard.  During the day, the priests come to the river and bless it – ensuring that anyone who submerges themselves in the evening will not get sick; although there is no protection against freezing.  The water is really cold.  Colder, however, is after you get out, rush over to the big towel spread over the ice, strip naked, and attempt to throw your clothes on as fast as possible without losing any body parts, or slipping and falling.

I went with Micha’s family.  Micha is the friend of Gena’s who I had previously been kite-skiing with on the frozen lake a few weeks earlier.  His family, a few other families, and me (all of us who had also been at the river, but not all jumped in) then went to the banya.  The submerging is based on Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan River; the banya is to thaw out.  The fact that the seasons don’t correspond so much is a minor factor – and it toughens you up.

When I arrived home a few hours later, Jennie and Marina had finished cooking the pumpkin bread, the Scrabble game Dustin, Jennie, Nastiah, and I had started was moved off the table, and my fingers were still shivering slightly – but I felt great.

The last week has been incredibly busy – I’ve felt very productive.  This past Saturday, I flew into Almaty for a business trip.  My Director invited me on Thursday.  I jumped at the chance, booked my ticket on Friday, and flew in the next day.  More on the seminar later, but in brief it is a seminar for Disabled People’s Organizations (DPOs), organized by Counterpart International and focused on organizational development.  There are roughly 25 DPOs from around Kazakhstan represented, although I am the only PCV in attendance.

Last week included two school experiences in very different educational institutions.  On Monday, Gulmiera and I were invited to Gymnasium 51, said to be one of the best schools in Aktobe.  The Kazakhstan school system is a mix of institutions that would scare educational policy makers in the States.  I’m still unsure of all the details; but to my understanding, Gymnasiums are allowed to charge admission and receive funding from the government, ensuring (given relatively good management) a quality education for their students.  Gymnasium 51 (the number doesn’t correspond to the number of Gymnasiums nor the number of schools in the city – I think their numbers are picked from a hat), for example, has wonderful, large facilities (built just a few years ago), a large teaching staff, and an expansive language program (with the primary language Kazakh but also teaching English, German, French, and Chinese).

I first thought we were just speaking to some of the young teachers.  Then, however, we were shepherded into the packed auditorium, with all of the upper-level students (courses 9 through 11).  The school rolled out the red carpet, beginning with a dombra concert, beautiful flowers, speeches, a singer, and gifts at the conclusion.  Two of the students translated for me.  The vast majority of my translating experience is English/Russian.  At the school, however, it was English/Kazakh – an interesting shift that brought me make to the days of not understanding so much of what was going on around me.  Even when not understanding the language now, however, I still felt more comfortable in not knowing what was exactly happening.  We were invited because her old science teacher now teaches at the school and Gulmiera’s story is inspiring for the teachers and students.

Prior to our visit, I did not know how Gulmiera had lost her legs and left arm.  A few years ago, she was a schoolteacher.  From what I understand, she was then in a tragic car accident where she had to have her legs and left arm amputated.  Rather than retreating into her house and living silently, she began to work at the organization where I am working.  Although not teaching in school anymore, she taught through a different venue, holding Kazakh classes for disabled citizens, and becoming an instrumental part of the organization’s team and vision for how to serve the disabled community in Aktobe.

The next day, I had my first teaching experience at “Chaika”, the Children TB Sanatorium.  I am immensely appreciative for Olga and Aloyna, two local students who we’ve been working with a lot.  They developed a good part of the lesson plan – animals and games to play with the kids.  Additionally, since the kids spoke a very low level of English (and some only Kazakh), their language skills were important in teaching English.  I now have a much better idea of how to conduct the lessons for the future, although I hope that I’m able to continue to involve local volunteers to introduce them to their little-known neighbor just out of town.

We taught 4 classes for about 40 minutes each.  The kids ranged in age from six to 16, with classes ranging from ten students to around 20.  They all seemed to be very interested in learning English.  The rooms are nice and new, but you can see that they’re still missing a lot of supplies that would be useful to have – such as multimedia equipment, maps, and various other tools.  One attraction to teaching at “Chaika” is that many of the kids are from villages across the Western part of Kazakhstan, often small, and often poor families.  When they go back home (after their three to 12 month stay, they may not have the same level of educational opportunities; being able to help even a little, and relatively easily, seems like a really good thing.

Outside of teaching, I’ve spent a lot of time working with local school and university students on the Volunteer Club and continued work with the Wheelchair Factory, including a visit to the site that will be the factory.

Best from my favorite coffee shop in Almaty with Internet.