Home away from home

Finding a place to rent in a small Kazakh town is no small task. Because I knew I would never succeed on my own, I enlisted the help of my counterpart English teacher. She started spreading the word immediately: the American teacher needs a place to live. The next week she came to me and said "This afternoon, let's go look at apartments." I was excited to see what kinds of possible homes had surfaced. But when we set off from the school that scorching afternoon, it quickly became clear that this wouldn't be a tour of open houses. In fact, we didn't have a single lead on a house. We were just going to have to find one ourselves. 

Here is one way to house-hunt in Kazakhstan: walk toward the general area you would like to live, ask everyone you see on the street if they know of any places for rent. Yell up to friends through open windows, go into neighborhood shops, stop for tea with former colleagues. Ask women hanging up laundry, men sitting on upside-down buckets, children on bikes. We didn't ask any stray dogs, but by the end of the afternoon, it wouldn't have surprised me.

In the end, it wasn't canvassing the neighborhood that landed me in a house. A nice chemistry teacher from our school heard that I was looking and offered the two-room side house in her yard. We agreed on a $100 per month rent, and I moved in that weekend. Here's a little tour:

Walk down this street, and turn in at the green gate. 

If no one's home, it'll be padlocked shut. If someone is home, it may still be latched from the inside---you'll have to bang on the gate and holler loud enough for the land lady to hear you over the barking dog. 

Inside the gate, you'll see two houses. On the right is the entrance to my land lady's house. (She's a kind chemistry teacher from my school). Straight ahead is my front door.

On the way to my stoop, you'll pass a nice little bucket sink and mirror for washing hands, brushing teeth, etc. 

In the yard behind the houses, you can see our blue outhouse.

Here is the inside view. Bring your own toilet paper.

We were lucky to have a water spigot in our yard so we didn't have to take our buckets down the street.

Do come inside!

Be careful not to knock over my refrigerator (which only works in the winter....fortunately I didn't live here long enough to need a summer solution).

And pull the door tight behind you.

First you'll see my kitchen, complete with table, cabinetry, and water filter.

A gas oven heats the whole house (ideally) and a one-burner gas stove is perfect for a pot of hot water.

Think cooking would be impossible with such a spartan set-up?

All it needs is a visiting mother and a bag of masala powder, and voila! Dinner!

Dishes?

Oh, you'll have to go back outside to do that.

(Yes, that is actually the brand name of the dish soap.)

And finally, my bedroom/living room/study:

The bed was constructed essentially like the table next to it, but with a 2 inch cushion and some blankets. The best part of sleeping was the heat (and nice orange glow) that came through the hole in the wall behind the gas oven.

Halloween

Teaching English isn't entirely about past participles, gerunds, articles, and conjugation drills—thank goodness! This October my Peace Corps site-mate and I rallied our English Clubs for the best Halloween party I have ever attended. My students knew of Halloween thanks to the abundance of American movies and Russian-dubbed MTV playing on their home televisions, so were eager to have their own just-like-America Halloween festivities. I made it clear that this wasn't something Lisa and I could magically make happen all on our own—we would need them to do a lot of planning and prep work. So, for 2 weeks leading up to the 31st, our students came after school to plan games, make decorations, and publicize our party.

I was biting my nails right up to the last minute—would Gulnar actually bring apples? would the PE coach suddenly need the gym for basketball? would Aigerim remember how to explain the mummy game in English?—but as soon as kids started to arrive in the gym all my planning anxiety flew away. Teenage coolness had prevented all but the bravest from donning costumes, but didn't get in the way of whole-hearted limbo bending, exuberant mummy wrapping, and full-faced apple bobbing!

Have you tasted our national dish, Beshbarmak?

We Americans don't really know what it's like to have a national dish—a particular meal that we prepare for every major event, and probably eat at least once a week regardless of whether there's anything to celebrate. In Kazakhstan that dish is Besh-bar-mak. Every birthday, wedding, holy day, circumcision, or guests-over-for-dinner, means a big ol' platter of pasta and horse meat. Upon meeting a foreigner, many locals will ask, "Have you tasted our national dish, Beshbarmak?" The answer of course is "Yes, I have, and it's great!" For some Peace Corps volunteers this was more of a white lie than for others. I found that my fondness for beshbarmak varied relative to how recently I had eaten it and how much fatty organ I had been compelled to swallow at the last event. But overall I liked it. I never quite got over the thrill of eating pasta with my hands and in truth there's nothing quite like hot buttery pasta to warm you all the way to your soul.

Making Beshbarmak:

1) If you're going to make a LOT of Beshbarmak, set up your extra large cazan outside and get a friend to come help.

 

2) Boil horse meat, fat, and organs (and maybe some carrots and potatoes) until well cooked. Scoop it out, leaving a strong broth. For regular weekday beshbarmak, horse meat may be substituted with beef or mutton.

3) Prepare handmade pasta. Cut into big, wide rectangles.

4) Boil pasta in the meaty broth.

5) Fill several big platters with pasta, topped with meat, sauteed onion, carrot, potato, and drizzled with extra broth.

 

Eating Beshbarmak:

1) Cut up the meat into somewhat more manageable pieces. Usually the most senior (or male) person at the table will do this.

2) For an extra-important occasion, also slice the meat off of a sheep's head. I never saw sheep's head prepared, but I think it is also boiled.

3) Present a special cut of horse meat and of sheep's head to the honored guest. I was relieved to learn that I wasn't actually expected to eat the entire leg, just to say a gracious thank you and share the extra meat down at my end of the table. And you'll want to know: sheep cheek tastes like rubber eraser.

4) Enjoy! Beshbarmak is traditionally eaten with your hands straight from the communal platter. (In fact, the name comes from the words besh meaning five and barmak meaning fingers.)

 

If you are an American, your hosts will likely offer you a fork and a small plate, but I suggest responding like this: Bah! Nege vilka bereciz? Miende kolum bar! Why do you give me a fork? I have hands!

 

Goal 3: Why my Peace Corps service isn’t really over (and what that means for you)

When I became a Volunteer, I committed to the three goals of the Peace Corps mission:

1)      Helping the people of interested countries in meeting their need for trained men and women.

2)      Helping promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.

3)      Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans.

I like to think of these goals as: 1—Do good work, 2—Bring America to the world, and 3—Bring the world back to America. 

When I packed my bags and boarded a flight out of Almaty last month, I mourned the premature end of my Peace Corps service. I felt, in that deepest part of my stomach, the ache (and hint of shame) of leaving an important task undone. But in the weeks since departing I have skype-called my Kazakh host families, read love notes from students, scrolled through thousands of pictures, and come to several important conclusions:

1) I did good work. (Goal 1: check.)

2) Re: America to Kazakhstan—we brought it. S'mores, Macarena, Frizbee, and all. (Goal 2: check.)

 

 

 (A map of all 117 volunteers in Kazakhstan. I'm at the veerrry bottom.)

3) My opportunities for bringing the world (or what I’ve experienced of it) back to America are really just beginning. I have a year-full of stories, photos, and insights to share, so in the coming months I’ll continue posting little tastes of my experiences in Kazakhstan, along with some from my time here in Mauritius! But, for my Goal 3 plan to be successful, my stories have to actually reach America...and I’m not there...so this is where you come in. I’m asking you to do two things:

- Read my posts, enjoy my pictures.

- Share something you’ve learned with someone else.

 

Face it—none of us had heard of either Kazakhstan or Mauritius before this year; few of our friends know of them either. And there’s no better way to impress people than with a well-placed casual reference to an exotic country. So live it up! Next time the milk goes bad, say “Well, at least it’s not as putrid as fermented mare’s milk. Did you know they drink that in Kazakhstan?” Or, when dreading a drive all the way from Tijeras to Rio Rancho at rush hour, ask your car-pool, “Can you imagine living in Mauritius? The entire country is the size of Bernalillo County!” See? This is going to be fun.