Last week I asked PC for permission to come to Bishkek this Wednesday. Tuesday morning, less than 24 hours before I was planning to leave Osh, I got an email saying that my trip was approved. Talk about cutting it close. I managed to purchase a plane ticket, get to the airport at 8 am, and get to the bazaar in Bishkek without getting ripped off. That's an achievement, I think.

When I met up with my friend Nurgul at Fatboy's (an ex-pat restaurant) for coffee, I felt great. I hadn't realized how much I needed a break from Osh. While in town, I wanted to inquire about getting visas for my upcoming trip to India and Pakistan, so Nurgul and I went to the Indian embassy right after Fatboy's.

I read in my Lonely Planet Central Asia guide that the Indian embassy here accepts visa applications between 2-4 pm so we arrived right at 2 to find out that applications must be submitted between 9 and 11 am. So I got the form, and then tried to explain to the Russian receptionist that I'm Pakistani-born, that India is going to take my passport and use it as a paperweight or something for three months before actually giving me my visa, or at least that's what they do in the States, so I had to submit it then. She didn't want to deal with me, so she let me speak to the consular officer who then drilled me about my family history, and gave me a lecture about being an ignorant ABCD (American Born Confused Desi, even though I'm PAKISTANI born!) when I couldn't remember exactly which little Indian village my father was from. But all my problems were solved when I got my dad on the phone and had him speak to the officer. That's so typically Indian... Even on the visa application, they ask for your father's name or your male spouse's name. Grr. As soon as my dad spoke to the consular officer, I was granted an interview with the ambassador himself, who, upon hearing that my parents were doctors in Pakistan, gave me a visa right then and there. Indians...

Because of the craziness at the Indian embassy, Nurgul and I were late for our 4 o'clock meeting with the Pakistani ambassador, but because he's a close, personal friend of hers, he didn't even mind. I had my second cup of real coffee for the day (woohoo!) with him, and we talked about random stuff for two hours, and it turns out that I have a distant relative from Pakistan living in Bishkek! It's such a small world! AGH! And about my visa... next time I'm in Bishkek, we'll sit down for another cup of coffee as it's prepared. Score.

Today, I had a meeting scheduled with someone at the resource center in the American Embassy, and because I was a little late for it, I wasn't allowed past the gate. They wouldn't even let me reschedule the appointment because appointments have to be made by phone. Of course the only embassy that gave me trouble was my own. Of course.

chaos. that's all it is.

Talk about insanity... Today was the first day of school after winter break. At 8:25 a.m. I walk into my classroom today to find it full of students that aren't my own being taught by someone other than me! So I go to the teacher's lounge to figure out what's going on and correct the zavuch's (vice-principal) incorrect schedule which indicates that I have class now. Tamarahon, the zavuch, looks at me like I'm slow as she informs the that I do, in fact, have a class and it's going to be taught in room 18 (my room), of course. Before I finish explaining that there is another teacher using the room, she practically runs out of the lounge to kick out the other teacher, a poor girl from the Education Faculty (program) at Osh State University that was just doing the school a favor by teaching for free. Only after the zavuch kicks out the student-teacher and moves her students to a different class does my old but not-so-wise counterpart (who's been standing in the lounge following the drama the entire time) reveal to me that the schedule's changed two more times since the "final" one was posted last week, and that the students (who are clearly not the reason why these women come to school every day) aren't aware that the schedule changed, so it's unlikely that they will be coming to class.

(Note about schedules in this country: they rarely last for more than a couple weeks. The powers that be change the schedules at random intervals for reasons I have yet to understand. I only taught for three weeks before winter break, so I only experienced the erratic schedule-changing a couple times. But having seen and heard the teachers at my school gossiping in the lounge more often than than I've seen them teaching, I'm beginning to realize that the "random" schedule-changing is not so random after all. Every time a teacher decides she doesn't want a class at a certain time for whatever reason, the powers that be change the damned schedule.)

So as I sit and write this in the teacher's lounge, I wonder how I might help them with their commitment issues. I can't possibly motivate them to actually take on responsibility--it's not in their culture to do so, and they're definitely not getting paid enough to take some on. Even the director, who I've actually come to like, feels no obligation to this institution; he's currently MIA... on the first day of school.

What a lovely start to my first semester of teaching in K-Stan, don't you think?

the clouds are clearing

Maybe the sky in Kyrgyzstan is finally clearing. On Friday I discovered the hottest, most powerful shower in this country. I can’t remember the last time I was in a shower so long that my fingers turned prune-y. Then I went to the aftovoxal (bus station) to go visit Rachel in Jalal-abad, and I got a 20 som discount off the 150 som fare because a taxi driver recognized me. Late Friday night in Jalal-abad, Rachel and I took a cab back to her house and our driver didn’t charge us for the ride. That’s pretty much unheard of in this country where the taxi fare is ridiculously high after dark. Saturday afternoon, our lunch at the only Turkish restaurant in Jalal-abad was paid for by a friendly Turkish guy who came over and practiced his English with us. Saturday night I had Betty Crocker brownies thanks to Betsy, and on Sunday I had an amazing, hot banya at Rachel’s house (2 baths in 3 days! whoa!). And I got two packages full of food. And today I had a really good burrito with real enchilada sauce. Karma kicks my butt so often, but it’s really great when it gets off my back and good stuff comes around. Maybe all I needed was some good karma (and a shower) to clear up my mind and allow me to focus on what’s important…changing the world. ;)

old post-Dec. 28

Winter break doesn’t officially start till tomorrow, but my school hasn’t had any real classes since last week. Today was the older students’ (grades 9-11) holiday celebration. It reminded me of the Indian dance shows I went to at khane (my mosque) when I was younger. It was just a bunch of kids doing Uzbek dances with cheesy dialogue in between. One couple tried to imitate an American rap video, which was funny for about a minute, but got old really quick. They also played a game in which four couples competed against each other. They laid out one sheet of newspaper on the floor, and a couple had to dance on it for a minute. Then the paper was folded in half, and they had to dance for another minute. It was folded in half again, and again. You get the idea. By the end of it, these kids were all over each other. It was shocking, actually. In Uzbek culture merely walking alone with a boy older than yourself who’s not your brother is shameful. I certainly didn’t expect that, but now that I think about it, it’s not really surprising, considering how sexually repressed this culture is. The (embarrassing) highlight of the celebration was my slow dance…with a student. They get a kick out of slow dancing here; they call it a “waltz”. I was just sitting on the side, playing with my camera as I waited for the next dance group to perform, when I heard the words “Americalik mehman” (American guest) and “raks” (dance) in the same sentence. Nervous dread came over me as I realized what was going on, and before I could protest, Bahtiyor, one of the best English speakers in the 11th form, grabbed my hands and pulled me out on the floor. It was just me and him, alone on the dance floor in front of all these students, principals, and teachers. Yuck. It honestly wasn’t that bad, but if you know me, you know I’m not the kind of person who wants so much attention focused on her. I really like the Uzbek/Kyrgyz dance culture—they dance every chance they get—but it’s definitely going to take a while getting used to being the American mehman (read: American plaything) at every cultural event I go to.

$80 a month is not a lot of money

*I know all I keep writing about is bad... I can't help it. There's so much I want to write, but every time I actually sit down to write, only the bad comes out. ha ha. Sorry, less depressing stuff to come, promise.*

It’s been snowing in Osh for the last two days. We must have gotten a good 7-10 inches. I’ve never seen so much snow accumulate. Correction, I’ve never seen so much real snow accumulate. ;) It’s beautiful but eerie, which is why I haven’t ventured outside of my family compound since New Year’s Eve. Today I’d planned to go out into the city and make full use of my first pair of snow boots. As I got ready to go out, I realized that my wallet was missing. My pretty red wallet, with more than 3000 som (~ US $75), a credit card, and my driver’s license, was gone. I had it when I went to the bazaar Saturday, and when I later went to an internet cafe. I almost remember seeing it in my bag when I got home. Almost. I can’t be sure. But if it was there when I returned…what does that mean? I am now short some material possessions that can be easily replaced, but I’m left with a newly planted seed of doubt about my security in this family.

On Friday, I exchanged some money so that I could purchase more units for my cell phone. At the moment, I have .19 useless units. .8 units will allow me to send one text message in Kyrgyzstan; 6.0 will allow one to the States. I didn’t buy one on Friday because I couldn’t find one anywhere around town. Today, I must have been to 10 dukons (convenience shops) but no one has any, and won’t have any for a few days? weeks? I don’t know, I didn’t understand their Russian explanation because PC didn’t teach me Russian.

Losing money is always painful. Losing $75 when you only earn about $80 per month...well, what do you think? Imagine losing a month’s salary… I’ve never felt so poor and helpless to get myself out of the “poverty” I live in because PC policy prevents me from taking a job that would result in monetary benefit. This “poverty”, however, is pretty good living by Kyrgyz, even Central Asian standards. The average teacher’s salary in Kyrgyzstan is 1000 som (US $25) per month. 70-80% of the people in this country live below poverty level. Here I am, homesick, longing for hot running water that never runs out and Starbucks coffee, and these people barely have enough to eat. I’m upset about losing money, but for a host country national, such a loss would be devastating, not just mildly upsetting.

The sharp contrast between life for most of the world’s population and life as Americans know it is glaring and ugly. We Americans are terribly spoiled. The realization that we live our posh lives as the majority of the world suffers is beginning to disgust me. I seek comfort in knowing that I have the ability to return at any time to my leisurely life back home, but that, too, disturbs me. If seeing is believing, then I can no longer deceive myself and pretend like these seemingly hopeless conditions don’t exist. Anyone with a conscience is changed after seeing such destitution. The blame is not my own, yet I can not help but guilt myself for the life I have lived.