Halloween Comes To Kazakhstan

Our weekly English clubs have a habit of acquiring a tinge of monotony as time passes. Fortunately, there are many ways to spice things up and take a break from the usual routine of typical English-y games and activities. One method is to take full advantage of American holidays and there might not be a better holiday for this sort of thing than Halloween.

The preceding English club, we told everybody that we would organize a Halloween event and we encouraged everybody to dress up for the occasion. Despite these efforts, we questioned whether the kids would actually go through with it. Drew and I really did not know what to expect. Young people in Zhezkazgan are quite familiar with Halloween, but we were unsure whether they would get into it or not.

It seems as though the prospect of dressing up scared away some of the kids, but the 20 students who did show up, it's fair to say, went nuts. The whole event started up about ten minutes late because everybody was still in the hallway perfecting the makeup for their costumes. Most of the guys went down the "horror" route and riffed off of zombies, Frankenstein, Joker, et al. The girls had a more diverse array of outfits. Regardless, almost everyone would have been above-average by American standards.

(These guys didn't mess around.)

(Rarely do Kazakhs get the chance to take to the high seas, but at least they can make a fair impression of a pirate!)

We tried to pull out all the old Halloween classics. We brought a bucketload of toilet paper and challenged the kids to create the best old-fashioned mummy. We went for the candlelit scary story, but our group was a little too old to get sucked in. There was an attempt at trick-or-treating, but it was really just a massive candy exchange since the logistics for something more authentic would have been difficult to engineer. The evening concluded with bobbing for apples Kazakhstan-style (meaning bobbing for apples in Jamie's laundry bucket). The water was too shallow and it was a little too easy to pin the apple on the bottom, but hey -- it was better than nothing.

(The woman gave Drew a strange look after he bought six rolls of TP would have given him an even stranger look if she knew what we planned to do with it.)

(The mummies line up. In a moment of immense controversy, a winner was never selected.)

(For some reason, students felt the need to give their friends a little extra push down into the water. Settle down kids -- this isn't Guantanamo Bay.)

The Ties That Bind Us

I dedicate this post to all you black-fleece-haters out there.


Last night I met with a man from the US embassy at a restaurant for dinner. It was not a particularly formal affair; the embassy apparently sends staffers on regional trips to conduct local business and check in on volunteers and perhaps other Americans. In the case of Zhezkazgan, it is obviously just volunteers. Anyway, in the course of our conversation, he stopped mid-sentence when he noticed a small MRG logo on my fleece. Apparently, he had lived in Vermont only a few towns away several years before and frequently skiied there.

It's a small world.

Kazakhstan: Life and Times

After English club today, Drew and I went to a Uyghur cafe for lagman and beer. Of course, the cafe was out of beer and instead the waitress directed us to the neighboring convenience store. Not a problem -- beer is cheaper that way. About 30 minutes into the meal, a friendly drunk guy came up to us, enthralled by the sound of a foreign language. We told him that we were Australians, a response that is extremely effective because it explains our English but stifles follow-up questions since nobody knows much about Australia here. Again, not a problem since there wasn't even a whiff of hostility around this guy. Not long after, we asked for the bill and waited for our change of 250 tenge. The cafe was busy tonight and apparently they were out of change, so we received a 200 tenge bill and about half a pack of gum. They didn't just give us a pack of gum for the trouble, they pro-rated the gum. The waitress brought a 3/4 full pack and gave us about two-thirds of what was left. This wasn't really a problem since 50 tenge is worth about 30 cents, which is cheaper than the price of the story, at least in my estimation. This incident wasn't even the first time I have seen volunteers receive gum in lieu of money at a cafe. So really, not a problem.

Sometimes, I remember that I am living in a strange country. The strangest thing of all is that this series of events barely seems remarkable to me any more.

The Quest for a Bancomat

In Kazakhstan, pay day never slips by quietly. It seems to me that a great many people live from month to month, paycheck to paycheck. Some do this by necessity, others by "choice" -- in other words, a complete lack of financial planning. In America, we can be more "sophisticated" about our budgetary recklessness by burying ourselves in debt, but the interest rates on personal loans in Kazakhstan sometimes give the impression that local banks are institutionalized loan sharks. Therefore, the Kazakhstani spendthrift lacks the option of elaborately lying to himself and is left with little recourse but to simply spend the monthly wages as they come in. Tongue-in-cheek commentary aside, life is difficult for many people here, so I don't actually begrudge people buying a little happiness by blowing their money on a lavish dinner party. However, my unscientific opinion is that the savings rate must be very low.

So on pay day, which is usually around the end of the first week of the month, there is a full-blown assault on all the ATMs ("bancomats") in the city. There are quite a few, but not enough to avoid lengthy lines and chronic shortages of actual cash. I have been meaning to go to the bazaar for the last two days, but every time I try to withdraw a little money, I am faced with an insurmountable phalanx of chattering grandmothers, who somehow either take out cash $10 at a time or have 16 different bank accounts. In truth I don't have any idea what goes on with them, but the level of incompetence with an ATM is at times infuriating. Around pay day, the promise of an open ATM is always fool's gold -- it means that the cash allotment for the day had dried up long ago.

One strange thing about ATM etiquette in Kazakhstan is that there is no privacy. If you step up to an ATM, people behind you in line -- and by in line, I mean trying to outflank each other to force their way to the front -- will crowd up on either side and examine every button you press in rapture. There is no thought to the idea that one might like a little space while dealing with their finances, but this is unsurprising in the greater context of local culture. People often ask what my salary is, how much I pay for my apartment, and so on. There just isn't any stigma about questions related to money here.

Today, I was once again unsuccessful in finding a working ATM. Since my refrigerator was looking awfully empty, I was left with no choice but to go bargain-hunting in the bazaar. Avoiding meat and cheese, which are more expensive, I walked into the fresh produce area, foolishly concerned about the fact that I had only a few small bills. I walked out with a kilogram of tomatoes, a half a kilo of bell peppers, and five small spicy peppers, which cost a grand total of 140 tenge, or about 90 cents. I don't know what I was worried about.

Catching Up

Yes, I have neglected Kokpar and Carnivores for the past month or so, but I plan on resuscitating these pages with a few updates over the next week. My sincerest apologies go out to the four people who read this blog.

One Year

This past Friday was a landmark for Kaz-20: on August 21, 2008, we belated arrived at the Almaty airport after a lengthy delay in Frankfurt. While the end of the summer signifies the passing of one year, we still have another month or two until the halfway point of the 27 months spent in country.

Like with every experience I have in life, I look back on my first year in Peace Corps with two perspectives. On the surface, it feels as though one year has sped by and it is hard to believe that we have lived here for so long when it feels like I arrived yesterday. On the other hand, when I focus on a specific event from training or even when I first came to Zhezkazgan, it feels like it happened centuries ago.

One of the things that happens to volunteers around months 6-12 is a reclamation of a feeling of normalcy. During this period it is finally possible to find comfort in a daily routine, to familiarize oneself with one's organization and city or village, and to progress in language enough to free oneself from the shackles of being able to communicate only on a rudimentary level.

Considering how much progress we have all made in integrating into the community, getting to know locals, and speaking Russian, I am excited to see what the next year holds. Now that I better understand how everything works in society and in my organization, I am hoping that the progress in year two will be exponential.

On Showers

Coming from the cozy land of Western plenty, living in the developing world often provides sharp perspective on what is really necessary in daily life. Many of the creature comforts and technological marvels that have become indispensable to American life begin to slip out of one's consciousness. If I feel this way in Kazakhstan, I can't imagine what is going on in the head of the typical Peace Corps Niger volunteer.

For example: vegetable peelers. My mother sent me a peeler in the mail when I moved into my apartment. The gesture was, of course, appreciated, but the truth is that I rarely use it. (Sorry, Mom!) Everybody in Kazakhstan uses knives and while our worldviews don't always see eye to eye, I have really come around on this particular topic. Anything but a knife seems altogether unnatural now. From volunteer anecdotes, the vegetable peeler is a popular gift sent from a volunteer's family back home to his or her host family in Kazakhstan. I have never once heard of an instance where a host family actually used the peeler. Why? Well, people everywhere often stubbornly cling to what they are accustomed to, but in this case a knife is simply more efficient. Vegetable peelers: slightly less pointless than Febreze.

The dryer is an appliance that I have come to see as utterly superfluous. It is an awfully expensive alternative to a piece of string, which accomplishes the same task albeit a little more slowly. On the other hand, the purchase of a washing machine must add about three or four years to a person's lifespan. Hand-washing is back-breaking work and almost never results in a truly clean article of clothing. Jeans are the worst -- an absolute nightmare that require at least 10 minutes per pair. Coincidentally, my jeans happen to be a little dirty at the moment.

I first began to dwell on this theme about a month ago, which was about the last time I have had hot water although I have lost track of time since it disappeared. The lack of hot water is a mild inconvenience and not one that is worthy of a serious complaint. Many volunteers, even in a relatively rich country like Kazakhstan, have no hot water -- and many in the villages have no running water at all. Often, people in the villages clean themselves only in the banya (the Russian variant of a sauna), which is often only once a week. Volunteers can drag the ol' bucket out to the banya house whenever they want in the summer, but when it's -30 degrees outside it's not conducive to even a bucket bath.

Anyway, my district in Zhezkazgan seems to have fallen victim to a massive water main leak. This summer has seen a number of minor public works projects all over the city, which is good to see: repaving roads, beautifying parks, etc. Unfortunately, about two weeks after they repaved the little "streets" that snake through the haphazardly-arranged apartment blocks of my district, they promptly dug up about half of them in an effort to root out this water main issue. As the weeks have gone on, the digging has created a trench about half the length of the Maginot Line and it shows no signs of abating so it is safe to say that my poor apartment will be bereft of water for quite some time.

The lack of hot water posed a big threat to my daily routine, which includes a morning shower because like any good American I am completely and totally obsessed and addicted to showering daily. Faced with the prospect of a cold shower or the old-fashioned bucket bath, the choice was clear. My new routine is to put water on the stove to boil in a teapot when I wake up. I then pour the boiling water into my laundry bucket and mix it with cold water from the tub. With the bucket in the center of the tub, I squat nearby and I scoop water onto myself with my head over the bucket to catch most of the water so that I don't burn through it too fast. Shampoo, a little soap, and it is not even a hassle. As somebody who was prone to taking overly long showers in the US, it is amazing to me how little water is required to take a perfectly effective "shower". To be fair, it is easier for a guy with short hair, but all I need is about three or four liters of water. Since I have been forced to run with the "bucket shower" method, I would estimate that I have used about as much water in one month as I did in a one day's regular shower. That's pretty crazy, huh?

(Who knew that a green and purple bucket with festive drawings on the bottom could be a source of contemplation?)