Life in Kazakhstan provides for plenty of reading time. Thirty hour trains, bad Russian television, and the familiar comfort of the English language have driven me to read a lot more than I did living amidst all the distractions of America. One of the books I have recently read is Thomas Friedman's The World is Flat. His premise is that over the past 20 years, a variety of technological advances and historical developments have combined to create a much more globalized economy in which a person's ability to find work and reach their potential is no longer handicapped by geography.
Ironically, the land of the steppe is not a particularly “flat” country. Cities such as Astana and Almaty are Westernized to a certain extent and connected to the global community. Outside of the big cities, however, everything immediately becomes more insular. In Zhezkazgan, I can read about financial crises, political happenings, and foreign affairs but everything feels very remote and slightly surreal. Nonetheless, even in this hidden corner of the world, we have telecommunications companies and DSL. It may take weeks of processing paperwork, but technology has a way of inexorably, if slowly, marching into even the most obscure and esoteric locales.
I didn't quite envision typing away on a DSL connection in the comfort of a sub-Siberian apartment when I applied to Peace Corps. It certainly does not fit the Peace Corps paradigm of a mud hut on the banks of the Volta or a hammock on a far-flung Pacific isle not seen since Captain Cook set sail. It is a different experience with a different set of challenges. Peace Corps Kazakhstan volunteers can suffer from “close but no cigar syndrome”. Physically, Kazakhstan doesn't look incredibly different from America. Apartments, cars, groceries, Snickers bars, even barbershops are similar. The culture, however, is very different and this dissonance can be very frustrating and it inevitably wears on even the hardiest Westerner. I'm sure every single Peace Corps volunteer in Africa would roll their eyes at me. Of course, it's doubtful that more than a handful of them would ever be able to read this...
In any case, having a solid internet connection will allow me to post photos and videos of my trials and tribulations here, which will hopefully make Kazakhstan easier to visualize and less of a murky concept.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Rumblings From The Heart Of The Steppe
Zhezkazgan is located in the center of the most desolate region of the Kazakh steppe. It is about equidistant between the larger cities of Karaganda (511km by road ENE) and Kyzylorda (428km SSW). Zhezkazgan and its smaller neighbor Satpaev owe every ounce of their existence to the discovery of copper many years ago. If, as rumored, the copper runs out in the near future and the Kazakhmys corporation leaves, the future looks very bleak. If no economic alternative can be found, Zhezkazgan will suffer from crippling unemployment and will face a mass exodus of its population. In 30 years it is possible that Zhezkazgan will exist only as a ghostly village trapped in the withered shell of a city designed to house up to the 150,000 people of its heydey. Zhezkazgan is currently home to only about 100,000 people; it has already been slowly bleeding population. However, all is not yet lost. Everybody in the city is keenly aware of an ominous future looming just beyond the horizon even if some prefer not to talk about it. Some way, somehow, a solution may be found.
I have a map of Karagandinskaya Oblast – the center of Kazakhstan – which makes Zhezkazgan's isolation even more clear. The Ulytauski region, which includes the entire western quarter of the oblast except for Zhezkazgan and Satpaev, can claim only 16,600 inhabitants spread throughout a handful of tiny villages. You could leave Zhezkazgan in almost any direction and travel for hundreds of miles without seeing any sign of human existance. There's a reason why the Soviets built their Baikonur space facility nearby.
In such isolation, it's become easy to equate life in my city with the rest of country. If that's a mistake in any country, it's doubly so in Kazakhstan. The climate, geography, ethnicity, language of choice, and even some major cultural characteristics can vary wildly from region to region. It's essential to travel – judging Kazakhstan from life in Zhezkazgan or in a village would be just as silly as drawing conclusions about the country from a comfortable perch in Almaty or Astana. That's why I was glad to get out of town and spend a few days in Karaganda.
Karaganda is the capital of our oblast and feels like a whole different world. Regional capitals in Central Asian countries are not often labelled cosmopolitan, but it's all relative. To be fair, Karaganda is the fourth largest city in Kazakhstan. It was built on the back of the coal mining industry and housed an enormous gulag under Stalin's rule, which explains the large numbers of Volga Germans who once lived here (the Kazakh SSR served as the dumping grounds for many internal Soviet – and even Czarist – exiles, but most Germans have left after independence). It's also centrally located in the Kazakh railway, which is the lifeblood of the transportation system here. Because of the complete dearth of human existence in the center of Kazakhstan, there's not always any easy way to navigate across the country. All things considered, Karaganda is where I would want to be based if I had to visit every Peace Corps volunteer in the country bearing in mind there are none in the far west. That's why it was a convenient place for volunteers to reunite, relax, and vent for a little while.
My sitemate Drew and I decided to do it the hard way and took the bus to Karaganda, a decision that required us to ignore the strenuously expressed advice of every local we knew. Despite apparently being the only two people to buy tickets for the 8pm bus and being bumped, the 10pm bus was sold out and crammed. At 5'11” I'm not exactly Gheorghe Muresan, but Kazakh men trend on the shorter side and the seats were built accordingly. There's no limit to how far seats can lean back on the bus, which makes for an unfortunate bus ride when combined with the fact that common courtesy in public settings is a poorly understood concept in this country. The contrast between the enormous hospitality of the home, and the brusque indifference shown on the streets is stunning at times. Needless to stay, we didn't sleep much. Nonetheless, it was an interesting experience if only to see the numbing emptiness of the icy road. Bumping along at the most frightening 55mph of my life, the headlights illuminated the wind-whipped snow screaming across the two lanes in strange patterns. Save for a few darkened towns, the only sign of life was the occasional snow rabbit scurrying for safety.
Even though the bus saved us about five hours, we took the train back. It was worth the extra $5.
I have a map of Karagandinskaya Oblast – the center of Kazakhstan – which makes Zhezkazgan's isolation even more clear. The Ulytauski region, which includes the entire western quarter of the oblast except for Zhezkazgan and Satpaev, can claim only 16,600 inhabitants spread throughout a handful of tiny villages. You could leave Zhezkazgan in almost any direction and travel for hundreds of miles without seeing any sign of human existance. There's a reason why the Soviets built their Baikonur space facility nearby.
In such isolation, it's become easy to equate life in my city with the rest of country. If that's a mistake in any country, it's doubly so in Kazakhstan. The climate, geography, ethnicity, language of choice, and even some major cultural characteristics can vary wildly from region to region. It's essential to travel – judging Kazakhstan from life in Zhezkazgan or in a village would be just as silly as drawing conclusions about the country from a comfortable perch in Almaty or Astana. That's why I was glad to get out of town and spend a few days in Karaganda.
Karaganda is the capital of our oblast and feels like a whole different world. Regional capitals in Central Asian countries are not often labelled cosmopolitan, but it's all relative. To be fair, Karaganda is the fourth largest city in Kazakhstan. It was built on the back of the coal mining industry and housed an enormous gulag under Stalin's rule, which explains the large numbers of Volga Germans who once lived here (the Kazakh SSR served as the dumping grounds for many internal Soviet – and even Czarist – exiles, but most Germans have left after independence). It's also centrally located in the Kazakh railway, which is the lifeblood of the transportation system here. Because of the complete dearth of human existence in the center of Kazakhstan, there's not always any easy way to navigate across the country. All things considered, Karaganda is where I would want to be based if I had to visit every Peace Corps volunteer in the country bearing in mind there are none in the far west. That's why it was a convenient place for volunteers to reunite, relax, and vent for a little while.
My sitemate Drew and I decided to do it the hard way and took the bus to Karaganda, a decision that required us to ignore the strenuously expressed advice of every local we knew. Despite apparently being the only two people to buy tickets for the 8pm bus and being bumped, the 10pm bus was sold out and crammed. At 5'11” I'm not exactly Gheorghe Muresan, but Kazakh men trend on the shorter side and the seats were built accordingly. There's no limit to how far seats can lean back on the bus, which makes for an unfortunate bus ride when combined with the fact that common courtesy in public settings is a poorly understood concept in this country. The contrast between the enormous hospitality of the home, and the brusque indifference shown on the streets is stunning at times. Needless to stay, we didn't sleep much. Nonetheless, it was an interesting experience if only to see the numbing emptiness of the icy road. Bumping along at the most frightening 55mph of my life, the headlights illuminated the wind-whipped snow screaming across the two lanes in strange patterns. Save for a few darkened towns, the only sign of life was the occasional snow rabbit scurrying for safety.
Even though the bus saved us about five hours, we took the train back. It was worth the extra $5.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Yes, It's Cold
According to the locals, November was outright balmy, and really, it wasn't that bad. In early December we transitioned to what I am used to as "regular winter", which is the 15-35 degrees F range. That too was probably "balmy". Last week the temperatures really dropped, heralding the start of the real Kazakh winter. I still haven't figured out exactly how cold it is because I have yet to see a thermometer in this country. The locals don't really care exactly how cold it is and perhaps they actively don't want to know. I suppose the novelty of -30 C wears off after the first few years.
It hasn't gotten to be too bad yet and I don't think the temperatures have fallen much below zero degrees Fahrenheit. It's only the beginning, though. And yes, mom, I am already wearing thermal underwear. All that said, I have always liked winter and I want more. -40 degrees is about where Fahrenheit and Celsius meet each other so we might as well go all the way. I was promised miserable, freezing temperatures and I'll be disappointed if Zhez doesn't pull through.
Over the last week and half, Zhez has been blanketed with frequent but light snowfall and we probably have eight inches on the ground now, where it will stay until...April? We'll see. In any case, the snow has brought out an interesting development. From what I could tell from the summer, Kazakhs were never big on baby carriages and while they exist, there isn't exactly a suburban-mom-baby-stroller convention going on here. However, they are huge on "baby sleds". I see mothers dragging their 3-year-olds on tiny little sleds everywhere. Occasionally a man will come by dragging food or other random items on a big sled. The kids here are extremely sledding-deprived here, as you might expect from Children of the Steppe. Now that there's a little bit of snow, there are scores of little embankments up to and including snowed-over steppes to "magazines" (the identical convenience stores that make this country function) have been intentionally iced over and turned into pathetic little sledding hills. Better than nothing, I guess. But if those skiiers out West think it sucks in New England, they ought to come down here.
It hasn't gotten to be too bad yet and I don't think the temperatures have fallen much below zero degrees Fahrenheit. It's only the beginning, though. And yes, mom, I am already wearing thermal underwear. All that said, I have always liked winter and I want more. -40 degrees is about where Fahrenheit and Celsius meet each other so we might as well go all the way. I was promised miserable, freezing temperatures and I'll be disappointed if Zhez doesn't pull through.
Over the last week and half, Zhez has been blanketed with frequent but light snowfall and we probably have eight inches on the ground now, where it will stay until...April? We'll see. In any case, the snow has brought out an interesting development. From what I could tell from the summer, Kazakhs were never big on baby carriages and while they exist, there isn't exactly a suburban-mom-baby-stroller convention going on here. However, they are huge on "baby sleds". I see mothers dragging their 3-year-olds on tiny little sleds everywhere. Occasionally a man will come by dragging food or other random items on a big sled. The kids here are extremely sledding-deprived here, as you might expect from Children of the Steppe. Now that there's a little bit of snow, there are scores of little embankments up to and including snowed-over steppes to "magazines" (the identical convenience stores that make this country function) have been intentionally iced over and turned into pathetic little sledding hills. Better than nothing, I guess. But if those skiiers out West think it sucks in New England, they ought to come down here.
Monday, December 15, 2008
A Sobering Thought
Drinking is a serious matter in Kazakhstan. I'd say too serious. Why? They don't have drinking games. Come on!
Not everyone in Kazakhstan drinks a lot and in fact many Kazakhs do not drink at all. However, the people who drink, drink a lot. Vodka is very cheap. As my sitemate Drew says, the cheapest stuff is fouler than you can imagine, but even the mid-tier vodka here is as good as higher-end vodka in America. I am a beer guy and while the local offerings are nothing special, they are much better than I had imagined. There's plenty of both and not much of anything else except for cognac.
Getting back to the original point, I had thought that a place like Kazakhstan with its long, cold, dark winters (sunrise is already after 9am) would be rife with drinking games to make the time go by until April. Sadly, I have been disappointed. I wasn't expecting to be greeted with a round of flipcup by my host family, but still -- there are no signs of anything anywhere.
This means only one thing. It's time to bring Dartmouth pong to Kazakhstan.
Wish me luck. I can't even convince the other volunteers.
Not everyone in Kazakhstan drinks a lot and in fact many Kazakhs do not drink at all. However, the people who drink, drink a lot. Vodka is very cheap. As my sitemate Drew says, the cheapest stuff is fouler than you can imagine, but even the mid-tier vodka here is as good as higher-end vodka in America. I am a beer guy and while the local offerings are nothing special, they are much better than I had imagined. There's plenty of both and not much of anything else except for cognac.
Getting back to the original point, I had thought that a place like Kazakhstan with its long, cold, dark winters (sunrise is already after 9am) would be rife with drinking games to make the time go by until April. Sadly, I have been disappointed. I wasn't expecting to be greeted with a round of flipcup by my host family, but still -- there are no signs of anything anywhere.
This means only one thing. It's time to bring Dartmouth pong to Kazakhstan.
Wish me luck. I can't even convince the other volunteers.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Food, Revisited
A while ago I pissed and moaned about the food here. It's true that Kazakh cuisine is pretty simple and lacks much of an imagination. However, my biggest problem has become clear to me over time. As much as I hate to say it (which actually isn't that much), my PST host mother was just a remarkably awful cook. I've had all the same dishes that she cooked since I've left Issyk and suddenly they are all decent. I think I'll write short posts about individual dishes at some point because some of them are pretty different, if nothing else.
I also received the Peace Corps Kazakhstan Cookbook in the mail. It provided a good view into food & vegetable availability too. This varies based on location in the country and city size, but it's a good rough guide. There's a decent variety in the summer, but the only reliably year-round items are apples, cabbage, potatoes, carrots, onions, and beets. I think other perishables can be found in Zhezkazgan in the winter, but they come a long way in non-refridgerated trucks so they are expensive and often not very good quality.
The PC cookbook is a pretty great resource to have, albeit one that I probably won't use for a while. It's pretty hard for any male PCV to defeat the notion that no matter what he says, there's absolutely no way he could possibly know the slightest thing about cooking. Members of my family sometimes work odd hours so it's not too rare that I eat by myself. In that case, my host mother becomes direly concerned that I will starve to death and goes to great lengths to show me how to turn on the electric stove top. Come on. But at this point it's become a joke although they never can quite let go of their instincts.
While my family is fantastic in every way, the only thing I've never really adjusted to is also related to the female Kazakh belief that all males are completely worthless in any sort of domestic sense (however, Kazakh males do not go to great lengths to dispel this theory). I can't so much as wander into the kitchen without my host mother or host sister getting up, following me in and asking if I am hungry. Only once or twice have I managed to sneak off to wash a dish myself and the few times I've even managed to come close to pouring myself a cup of tea, I've been received with utter bewilderment.
This obviously isn't a big problem, but it's interesting to see how neither side has acquiesced to the other culture's gender roles. Gender roles here are definitely more clearly defined than in America, but there's still a fair amount of wiggle room should a woman choose something off the beaten path. I'll keep on fighting because I don't think I'll ever feel that comfortable being waited on hand and foot, but I'm not sure I can win.
I also received the Peace Corps Kazakhstan Cookbook in the mail. It provided a good view into food & vegetable availability too. This varies based on location in the country and city size, but it's a good rough guide. There's a decent variety in the summer, but the only reliably year-round items are apples, cabbage, potatoes, carrots, onions, and beets. I think other perishables can be found in Zhezkazgan in the winter, but they come a long way in non-refridgerated trucks so they are expensive and often not very good quality.
The PC cookbook is a pretty great resource to have, albeit one that I probably won't use for a while. It's pretty hard for any male PCV to defeat the notion that no matter what he says, there's absolutely no way he could possibly know the slightest thing about cooking. Members of my family sometimes work odd hours so it's not too rare that I eat by myself. In that case, my host mother becomes direly concerned that I will starve to death and goes to great lengths to show me how to turn on the electric stove top. Come on. But at this point it's become a joke although they never can quite let go of their instincts.
While my family is fantastic in every way, the only thing I've never really adjusted to is also related to the female Kazakh belief that all males are completely worthless in any sort of domestic sense (however, Kazakh males do not go to great lengths to dispel this theory). I can't so much as wander into the kitchen without my host mother or host sister getting up, following me in and asking if I am hungry. Only once or twice have I managed to sneak off to wash a dish myself and the few times I've even managed to come close to pouring myself a cup of tea, I've been received with utter bewilderment.
This obviously isn't a big problem, but it's interesting to see how neither side has acquiesced to the other culture's gender roles. Gender roles here are definitely more clearly defined than in America, but there's still a fair amount of wiggle room should a woman choose something off the beaten path. I'll keep on fighting because I don't think I'll ever feel that comfortable being waited on hand and foot, but I'm not sure I can win.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Obama
Due to the presence of Russians, there are plenty of white people in Zhezkazgan, but nonetheless the three volunteers in the city stick out like a sore thumb -- in part because we may comprise the entire ex-pat community. Our obvious foreign-ness was summarized yesterday when I went to the post office f0r the first time. I walked up to the desk in the P/O box room and said hello to the lady, who obviously had never seen me before. Instead of questioning my identity or even asking what box, she reached into P/O box 18, handed me the contents, and resumed what she had been doing, all without saying a word. Well, that was easy. According to Robert, P/O box 18 gets every piece of English-language mail that comes to the city; if it is clearly labelled for another box, it is assumed a typo and given to us anyway.
When more talkative Kazakhstanis recognize that we are foreign, which happens frequently, there is usually a pretty standard set of questions whose lack of variety is limited by our language ability more than a lack of imagination on their part. It usually goes like this:
"Where are you from?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Where do you live?"
"Do you like Zhezkazgan?"
"Obama...he's good. What do you think about Obama?"
Talking American politics is a whole different ballgame here than it is in Europe. Kazakhstanis don't have a ton of knowledge about domestic American politics in part because they don't have the same international links that European society does, but mostly because the USA does not play a huge role in Kazakhstani foreign affairs. From what I can tell, most people know that (a)he's black and (b)he's not George Bush -- but most are unaware that he's not currently president. It's an interesting exercise in psychology that he can get universal approval from a society despite that society knowing virtually knowthing about him or his policies. I think Kazakhstan is far from unique on the world stage in this respect. I'm an Obamaphile but it's still slightly troubling to see the complete lack of reasoning behind a belief.
On the other hand, it's miles ahead of what it was like on the European hostel circuit during the Bush administration - especially because I've spent a fair amount of time in Eastern Europe when American travelers were more likely to be isolated. There's nothing worse than listening to a chorus of hypocritical coffeehouse Europeans bitching endlessly about everything under the sun. I became personally responsible for every decision and action of the US government and therefore became subject to knee-jerking groupthink of the worst kind -- even though I voted for the glorious John Kerry (sorry dad). Another one of my favorite things from this period were the Canadians who, to a man, had a maple leaf patch on their packs. They called it patriotism but it was clearly the "I'm not American so please don't even start with me" patch.
In any case, in over three months in Kazakhstan, I have yet to face even mild hostility over my nationality or anything else. The people here could teach most of the world a thing or two about hospitality.
When more talkative Kazakhstanis recognize that we are foreign, which happens frequently, there is usually a pretty standard set of questions whose lack of variety is limited by our language ability more than a lack of imagination on their part. It usually goes like this:
"Where are you from?"
"What are you doing here?"
"Where do you live?"
"Do you like Zhezkazgan?"
"Obama...he's good. What do you think about Obama?"
Talking American politics is a whole different ballgame here than it is in Europe. Kazakhstanis don't have a ton of knowledge about domestic American politics in part because they don't have the same international links that European society does, but mostly because the USA does not play a huge role in Kazakhstani foreign affairs. From what I can tell, most people know that (a)he's black and (b)he's not George Bush -- but most are unaware that he's not currently president. It's an interesting exercise in psychology that he can get universal approval from a society despite that society knowing virtually knowthing about him or his policies. I think Kazakhstan is far from unique on the world stage in this respect. I'm an Obamaphile but it's still slightly troubling to see the complete lack of reasoning behind a belief.
On the other hand, it's miles ahead of what it was like on the European hostel circuit during the Bush administration - especially because I've spent a fair amount of time in Eastern Europe when American travelers were more likely to be isolated. There's nothing worse than listening to a chorus of hypocritical coffeehouse Europeans bitching endlessly about everything under the sun. I became personally responsible for every decision and action of the US government and therefore became subject to knee-jerking groupthink of the worst kind -- even though I voted for the glorious John Kerry (sorry dad). Another one of my favorite things from this period were the Canadians who, to a man, had a maple leaf patch on their packs. They called it patriotism but it was clearly the "I'm not American so please don't even start with me" patch.
In any case, in over three months in Kazakhstan, I have yet to face even mild hostility over my nationality or anything else. The people here could teach most of the world a thing or two about hospitality.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Thinking about Thinking
I've heard culture compared to an iceberg several times. It's a corny analogy but it persists because, sadly, it's fairly apt. The small, visible tip of iceberg conceals and draws attention away from the vastness submerged away from sight. It's easy to identify the music, art, language, architecture, food, dress, and even customs of a culture. A more difficult element of culture to grasp is the set of values that gives rise to those visible elements of culture. And more importantly, those values that comprise the foundation of a culture are inextricably intertwined with a cultural mindset, although I believe they are distinct. Combined, they result in the everyday attitudes, beliefs, and decision-making of a culture.
Of all the things I could possibly be thinking about on the subject of Kazakhstan, I dwell more on this than anything else. The way people think here is fundamentally different from the way an American thinks and this difference can be seen on a daily basis. The way kids behave in classrooms and in English club, the way people discuss relationships, the sort of questions they ask me and all the other volunteers, all the small cultural quirks people care strongly about (SHAVE your goddamn stubble for the love of GOD!!!), and many others things that I've gotten so used to that I am starting forget they are different -- they all belie not just different cultural values, but a different method of approaching fundamental things in life.
I haven't been here nearly long enough to make any sort of dramatic proclamations about Kazakhstani society because I am still learning and I still have more to learn before I can start to digest it all and really sort it out. At the moment, I am most fascinated by the challenge of explaining concepts that do not exist here. By concepts, I am not referring to discussing the finer points of Nietzsche or something -- I'm talking about trying to explain what a suburb is. Suburbs certainly do not exist in Kazakhstan, the 9th largest country in the world despite having a population less than half that of metropolitan Tokyo. (I don't think there's a word for "metropolitan" in Kazakh, either). That's not to say that an American wouldn't have some difficulty understanding some aspect of Kazakhstan that is foreign to us, but I do believe that this culture is a little less suited to that sort of thing. It's been isolated for a long time and only now do people have the freedom and in some cases, the money to travel.
On a micro level -- in a classroom, for example -- the kids are a strange mix of unadulterated enthusiasm and instinctive reticence that I suppose is an indication of the times; the first generation to have no living memory of the Soviet Union. They show up in big numbers and most of them are quite interested in learning English. When we run activities though, it's always hard to scrounge up volunteers to participate. They know the answers, but there's some instinctual nervousness preventing them, which isn't a huge surprise considering the rigidity and authoritarianism of the school system here. The worst aspect about it, to me, is that it really drills the creativity right out of these kids. Those kinds of activities are the toughest.
--
On Thanksgiving I was invited to a class of roughly 16 year olds who were studying to be English teachers (all girls -- any boy studying to be a teacher would be run ragged by his friends). The girls put on a presentation with a short play and some games. This school has had a series of volunteers spanning six years and ending this past October and it showed. They spoke good English, but what really stood out were several things -- the no-hands-baursak (pastry-ish) eating contest and a bake sale fundraiser for a local organization for disabled children.
On their face, those things are silly and mean nothing, but they do represent a creativity and an ability to think outside the box. If you take that creativity and willingness to delve into the unknown and uncertain and apply that to teaching or to running an NGO, you can accomplish anything. America is rife with the entrepreneurial spirit and as far as business ventures, marketing, fundraisers, and gimmicks, we've seen it all and we take it for granted, but it's not like that everywhere. Part of the reason we are so good at it is because we grow up with it and we are exposed to it from the day we are born. When it's just not there, it's a fitful learning process and one that isn't always successful. After the first wheel was invented, I'm sure everyone said "I should have thought of that!". That's easy to say, but as simple as that is, it took a sort of small brilliance to conceptualize something that had never previously existed.
I don't mean to paint a picture of extremes here and I hope that I haven't because that's clearly not true. Nonetheless, Kazakhstan is a country with ambitious plans and a promising future, but at the moment they aren't quite equipped on a societal level to drag their institutions (particularly education) forward. The average American's jaw would hit the floor if they were transported to Almaty or Astana, which are thoroughly cosmopolitan cities that couldn't be any more contradicting of Borat. However, the rest of the country needs to catch up to the city elite and building critical thinking skills is the best long-term way to do it.
The encouragement of that mental flexibility -- the willingness and ability to be creative and to critically analyze something and make it better -- is one of the pillars of every volunteer's job here. Even sitting at the kitchen table with my host mother, I frequently ask "why?". The question and the answer usually make both of us think about something in a new light.
Of all the things I could possibly be thinking about on the subject of Kazakhstan, I dwell more on this than anything else. The way people think here is fundamentally different from the way an American thinks and this difference can be seen on a daily basis. The way kids behave in classrooms and in English club, the way people discuss relationships, the sort of questions they ask me and all the other volunteers, all the small cultural quirks people care strongly about (SHAVE your goddamn stubble for the love of GOD!!!), and many others things that I've gotten so used to that I am starting forget they are different -- they all belie not just different cultural values, but a different method of approaching fundamental things in life.
I haven't been here nearly long enough to make any sort of dramatic proclamations about Kazakhstani society because I am still learning and I still have more to learn before I can start to digest it all and really sort it out. At the moment, I am most fascinated by the challenge of explaining concepts that do not exist here. By concepts, I am not referring to discussing the finer points of Nietzsche or something -- I'm talking about trying to explain what a suburb is. Suburbs certainly do not exist in Kazakhstan, the 9th largest country in the world despite having a population less than half that of metropolitan Tokyo. (I don't think there's a word for "metropolitan" in Kazakh, either). That's not to say that an American wouldn't have some difficulty understanding some aspect of Kazakhstan that is foreign to us, but I do believe that this culture is a little less suited to that sort of thing. It's been isolated for a long time and only now do people have the freedom and in some cases, the money to travel.
On a micro level -- in a classroom, for example -- the kids are a strange mix of unadulterated enthusiasm and instinctive reticence that I suppose is an indication of the times; the first generation to have no living memory of the Soviet Union. They show up in big numbers and most of them are quite interested in learning English. When we run activities though, it's always hard to scrounge up volunteers to participate. They know the answers, but there's some instinctual nervousness preventing them, which isn't a huge surprise considering the rigidity and authoritarianism of the school system here. The worst aspect about it, to me, is that it really drills the creativity right out of these kids. Those kinds of activities are the toughest.
--
On Thanksgiving I was invited to a class of roughly 16 year olds who were studying to be English teachers (all girls -- any boy studying to be a teacher would be run ragged by his friends). The girls put on a presentation with a short play and some games. This school has had a series of volunteers spanning six years and ending this past October and it showed. They spoke good English, but what really stood out were several things -- the no-hands-baursak (pastry-ish) eating contest and a bake sale fundraiser for a local organization for disabled children.
On their face, those things are silly and mean nothing, but they do represent a creativity and an ability to think outside the box. If you take that creativity and willingness to delve into the unknown and uncertain and apply that to teaching or to running an NGO, you can accomplish anything. America is rife with the entrepreneurial spirit and as far as business ventures, marketing, fundraisers, and gimmicks, we've seen it all and we take it for granted, but it's not like that everywhere. Part of the reason we are so good at it is because we grow up with it and we are exposed to it from the day we are born. When it's just not there, it's a fitful learning process and one that isn't always successful. After the first wheel was invented, I'm sure everyone said "I should have thought of that!". That's easy to say, but as simple as that is, it took a sort of small brilliance to conceptualize something that had never previously existed.
I don't mean to paint a picture of extremes here and I hope that I haven't because that's clearly not true. Nonetheless, Kazakhstan is a country with ambitious plans and a promising future, but at the moment they aren't quite equipped on a societal level to drag their institutions (particularly education) forward. The average American's jaw would hit the floor if they were transported to Almaty or Astana, which are thoroughly cosmopolitan cities that couldn't be any more contradicting of Borat. However, the rest of the country needs to catch up to the city elite and building critical thinking skills is the best long-term way to do it.
The encouragement of that mental flexibility -- the willingness and ability to be creative and to critically analyze something and make it better -- is one of the pillars of every volunteer's job here. Even sitting at the kitchen table with my host mother, I frequently ask "why?". The question and the answer usually make both of us think about something in a new light.
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