Mirrors- Pre-Service Training (PST)

 Саламатсыздарбы / Salut,

Pre-Service Training hit me like a truck. Saturday morning, June 17, I set out with the cohort for the Host Family matching ceremony. Leaving behind gorgeous mountains for a more city-like environment. A larger village, less AC ( 🙁), amongst other things.
I met my host family at the ceremony. They separate our cohort into six groups, 4-5 people in each one in separate villages to begin learning the culture and language. Some are closer to Bishkek than others. My village is a large one, so it’s two groups in one, which is a nice benefit because I have seven other trainees in my village. We’re about an hour and a half from Bishkek. Most people are in a small village, but some are closer to the mountains so I envy them.
My wonderful host mother, Elmira, and her baike (older brother) came to pick us (and a neighbor) up from the ceremony. It was a fun experience. Zachary, a fellow trainee, packed with his host mom into the car, and we stopped along the way at three different stores to get food for meals. With Zachary’s and my luggage sitting in the back, the accumulated food, and the three of us in the back squished together on bumpy roads, the car experience was definitely a new one. A PC volunteer currently in Kyrgyzstan said that here, you can walk out the door unsure of what life will throw at you and something entirely different will happen. And I think that’s what I want. ETing (Early Termination) happens a lot, so I have been told. Already fears sink around you; hearing about the cycles of PC volunteers and how some get depressed, feel isolated, and their relationships suffer, it’s all hard. Other PC volunteers often are your primary support network, and family and friends are your secondary ones back home.
Several host families had children with them at the ceremony, and the vast majority of children, if they can talk, speak some English. Lots of families had teenagers and even some families speak varying degrees of English, and the vast majority alternate between Russian and Kyrgyz (lots of Krussian). Because we are closer to the capital more people speak Russian, but out in the mountains- where I hope to be placed, Kyrgyz is more predominant. The children have been immensely helpful in communicating and translating between parents and volunteers.
I arrived to the host family home and noticed that the eldest daughter, my syngdee (it means younger sister- younger sister is a different word in Kyrgyz depending on if you are a boy or girl- was fast asleep. My host mother- apa is mother- is a single mother, and I lack sufficient vocabulary to ask what happened. She is a teacher, and her brother supports and visits her, and she has an elder son who works in Moscow. My host sister, Eliza, works night shifts at a hotel during the summer in Bishkek, and she normally is a student at a university in the capital studying business. Eliza is 19, and she has been my primary translator, particularly on the first day.
I titled this section mirrors, mostly because it was immediately intriguing to me, that of all host families I could get ranging from full three-generation households to single widows, I got the host family that reminds me the most of my own family back home. A 19-year-old sister working night shifts and rarely at home, a reserved single mother with adult children, and a supportive father-like figure roaming around the area with children of his own. My permanent host site family will probably be different, but I see my own self reflected in this family. It reminds me that diverse families exist everywhere, even in Kyrgyzstan where young and big families are the norm. I don’t have the vocabulary to explain the similarities, so it mostly comes through translations. I’m learning, and every day, besides words, I’m learning what Kyrgyz households and families look like.
During my first weekend of PST, it was so much fun. My village, in the region of Issyk-Ata, again being the largest of all the ones the trainees are in, meant that our first Sunday we spent hopping between everyone’s houses and getting room tours. We heard from the other volunteers from last years’ cohort, K-28, that it is easy to get jealous of others’ accommodations: who has a nicer toilet, a nicer shower, AC, who has a bigger garden, farm animals, etc. Most village houses are similar if structured differently, each with a unique flair. Most have a low table, often outside (but not always), for guesting and food. Most have a living room of sorts with huge stacks of rugs for more guests. A small bathroom with a bathtub or shower and a toilet, which depending on the family, can be used during the day or only at night. Others have only outhouses and no inside toilets, with toilet paper that looks like bandages or long ribbons and flies hovering over the hole in the ground. Makeshift kitchens and most rooms have simple beds, a desk, maybe a wardrobe, or more. And as I said, families are all different. Tess’ is the most popular, with several generations in one large house with a large outdoor garden (cherries, apples, currents, apricots, etc) and cows in the back barn. (They milk the cows three times a day, so one day we’ll all get the chance to do it!)
A highlight of Kyrgyz culture is the food. In every single house we visited the family offered us food, sometimes light tea, other times large amounts of bread, yogurt, fruit, etc. You go to a house expecting to say hi and spend an hour there eating food. One must always expect to stay longer and chai-each чай ич (literally “tea drink” which seems to be an all-encompassing word for the large meals families offer you). We rotated around people’s houses from 10:30 to approximately 4 PM on that first Sunday.
The most difficult part is usually the first few days, and I will openly admit that. Disorientation and getting used to not knowing what’s going on around you. Google Translate is a Peace Corps Volunteer’s best friend, even if it is not 100% accurate. Host family members who speak some English is the best tool. Being in a house where no one speaks English and you know maybe a few phrases to get you past introductions and that is it. You kind of smile and watch people have entire conversations you can’t comprehend.
I’m a naturally embarrassed person and I think of what people think of me easily, not wanting to appear dumb or stupid. I think that letting down my inhibitions, and allowing myself to openly make mistakes in front of strangers and families is the biggest roadblock and the biggest key to success. It’s hard. I used WhatsApp to video call a friend just briefly at night and I found it so comforting in a way I hadn’t realized I needed it until I felt it.
On the second day, my host family members watched Avatar 2 and then Midnight, a South Korean psychological thriller, both in Russian without English subtitles. I sort of just vibed on the divan диван, couch, and on my phone, pretending I knew what was going on and trying to pick up the story but failing somewhat miserably. The first few days are the most awkward.
Stripping away language forces you to rely on both nonverbal communication but also the most basic and fundamental forms of what you know. I realize that to my host family, I must sound incredibly dumb. I think that because of language barriers we often forget just how smart and intelligent others are, often judging people based on their limited English. What did Gloria say in Modern Family? “Do you even know how smart I am in Spanish?” The idea that in our own native languages, all our smarts, nuances, jokes, and passions can be entirely understood and that can be lost in learning and speaking different languages. No matter how much Kyrgyz I learn, if I’m not beyond conversational, will I really know my host apa and my host families? Can connections be formed despite such barriers? After a few days, I’ve been able to learn simple phrases to describe what food I like and don’t like and ask basic questions. After a week, I’ve been able to learn how to describe basic activities, using time, present and (some) past tense verbs.
In Issyk Ata (which by the way translates to Hot Father/Dad), while the mountains are much farther in the distance, the world still seems small. Secluded, as if all my problems and troubles back home disappear. I pass by the local school every day on my way to Rakhat eje’s house (Rakhat is our LCF who is teaching my group Kyrgyz for the next ten weeks- we meet at her house and sit in her dining room for class/lessons. Eje (эже) means “aunt,” or “older sister” and in general, is an honorific given to an older woman). The small stores are full of food. Most people in these villages work government jobs or are teachers. My host mom is a teacher, which subject, I’m not sure. (UPDATE: she teaches first and second-grade math).
PST is long and hard from what I’ve been told. It’s a lot of the same; lots of classes running from 9-5 with some breaks in between. Technical teacher training on some days, one day a week (Hub Day) where our entire cohort assembles closer to the city. For lunch, my group is alternating houses lunch every day between each host family; today we ate at Michaela’s host family’s house, and tomorrow Rakhat’s. Apparently, all the host mothers are in a WhatsApp group chat so they coordinate who hosts lunch. Rakhat and Rahat are both in it, and they’ve told me there’s no tea… yet. The whole first week everyone told me villagers gossip and everyone talks about everyone, and everyone knows everyone and everything about everyone.
The most cumbersome adjustment is the lack of AC in most houses. While it is much hotter back home in Houston, a raging 100 high it is around 80-90 here, but with no AC, the room stays way too hot. It cools a bit at night, so we keep windows open and mercy allowed us a fan for classes (I know Celsisus decently well but this is an American audience so…) Rich Rakhat’s house (whose group I am NOT in) has AC (we use adjectives to distinguish the two Rakhats, my Rakhat is Responsible Rakhat). Rich Rakhat has a wicked sense of humor, and distinguishable intonation in her pronunciation of Kyrgyz we all try to imitate. You can hear us all saying AZAMAT (азамат- amazing) throughout the day. Our key terms for the first few days were salamatsyzby (саламатсызбы- Hello, singular and formal), kandaisyz (кандайсыз- how are you, singular and formal), ooa (ооба- yes), jok (жок- no), and of course, the one and only key phrase: jakshy, rachmat (жакчы рахмат- good, thank you). When in doubt in Kyrgyzstan and you hear a lot of words you don’t understand, give a mild mild smile and say jakshy rachmat. People will laugh at you most probably.
During the normal week, after classes, we sometimes like to visit each other’s houses, and go to the local stores, schools, and open fields. A train runs through our village, and some trainees live close to the train tracks. My LCF’s house has a small magazine магазин (shop) attached to it, owned by the host family, so during breaks, we like to buy a soda or juice (usually 40-60 som, 1 USD= 88 som). My house (for now) has wifi, so my language group came over to mine to use it, and when being at someone’s house, you must chai-eech, as it is considered immensely disrespectful to refuse hospitality.
Time flows slowly here. The early evening seems to stretch and stretch, getting out of classes at 5 PM and sundown closer to 8:45-9 PM. One can see sheep and cows herded around the village and kids riding horses through open fields. Power can flicker in and out, and heavy wind during the summer appears out of nowhere (катуу шамал - katuu shamal- heavy wind).
I rode a marshrutka today for the first time!! TLDR, a marshrutka is the public transit system in most post-Soviet states. They’re (mostly?) private owned (or state owned, shrug) buses that drive around the country. There are formal bus stops, but locals can usually flag one down the same way one would call a taxi. You hop on, pay the driver, and sit/stand. The buses are actually work van types and can fit maybe 20-30 people but they get crowded very easily. An average ride is 15-50 som, and my group today (ten of us!) pushed ourselves into one to get to the hub site, where we meet the rest of our cohort (our cohort is 26 people) every Wednesday. There’s also no formal button/stop, you just yell at the driver when to stop. We’re at a train station, and marshrutkas don’t run through our village, so we take taxis (which are mildly more expensive) to get to the main roads leading to Bishkek.
People have been getting different degrees of sick. Food poisoning and upset stomachs. Vomiting. We’ve developed lots of inside jokes. Another village with volunteers has been subject to numerous dog bites all from a single puppy. Due to the risk of rabies, the volunteers have had to go to Bishkek for treatment. One sent pictures of Bishkek, and now I want to get bitten by a dog! I see a dog sit outside my LCF’s house every morning, and I have been MOROSE that I can’t just pet him. Missing my dog Bean so much.
During the first week, they had us map out our community. Walk around, figure out how many mosques, post offices, stores, and main roads there are. I’ve heard from some other volunteers they have maybe one or two stores. Ours apparently has upwards of 10 or more! Some are small with just drinks and snacks, others have lots of food, toiletries, cords, etc. I feel like a sponge, soaking up so many words and phrases constantly, from host families, my LCFs, everyone else. Lots of it goes in one ear and out the other, but some of it sticks.
In the evening, we like to play in the field and gym by the local school, a few minutes walk from my house. Several bought a football during our hub day and kicked it around with some other local kids. Around 6 and onwards, the field becomes the main center of movement. Valerie, Jacob, Alex, Santi, and I all played volleyball together (with Jacob’s karendash- host younger sister) and lots of local kids joined in. We’ve pleasantly discovered that a few key phrases make them all instantly giggle and impress them. (jashoo) ushundai - that’s how it is/ such is life and bazarjok- no way! Saying bazarjok during volleyball made them instantly smile and warm up to us. Most of them speak in Krussian which is a bit unfortunate for someone trying to only learn Kyrgyz.
I’m okay with admitting my faults in how I’m adjusting. I felt incredibly embarrassed when I accidentally left hair in the shower with water leaking out of it on the floor, leading to large puddles in the bathroom. My host mom kept saying jok when showing me the outhouse (jok-no), so I assumed it meant it was an old outhouse no one uses, and then she texted me a few days later telling me over google translate to stop shitting in the inside bathroom. I talk to them, and Eliza, my host sister, sometimes helps me practice when she is home (but she works in Bishkek, so she’s not home often). With only a week (and maybe half if I count my time in the guest house) of Kyrgyz practice, I feel as if I’m moving fast. Rakhat eje moves fast, throwing lots of words at us, and after talking with other volunteers, I’ve figured out we’re farther ahead. There are two groups in my village, and we learn Kyrgyz separately, but largely walk around and eat lunch together. Zachary and Valerie are the most advanced, both having lived in Kyrgyzstan before, and both already knew some Kyrgyz and Russian previously. Valerie was an English teacher in Bishkek before this! We rely on them both when the Rakhats are gone and when we’re confused. All of this to say is that the Peace Corps is truly a variable experience, one with some uniting factors, but also one that I’ve seen comes down to you.
For me, it’s a struggle to integrate, and I try every day. But it’s hard. It’s really hard. I miss home in a distant sort of way. My friends back home are all visiting each other and partying together (I’m STILL underage!). I think the first week is always the hardest, but I have such a good group of people. No enmity, no cliques. I want a deeper friendship with them, and that just takes time. Just like before though, my time with them counts down. Soon, in two months, I will swear in and we will all scatter around Kyrgyzstan. The first week is settling in, but I’m already so excited and so anticipatory of branching out, going out. I miss the mountains, but I relish the cool 65-70 degree air, particularly at night.
The summer lull is real. On the weekends and small periods during the day, the streets run entirely and eerily empty. I remember one afternoon in Viterbo and the city was eerily empty, no one was out and about. Hustle and bustle don’t make a place real or interesting; sometimes the shepherdess and her cows and sheep lazily walking through a large field can be enough. Sometimes laying outside and looking out at the stars, smogless, is enough. We’re not at the guesthouse so it’s not entirely smogless; they burn trash here and during the day, you can see the smoke near the train tracks. But the only sound outside at night is random animals and once the adhan.
I have 27 months, and I come home in August 2025. My philosophy is that what I do until then is up to me, no matter how much or how little. No deadlines, no hurry, and no need for fast paces. I take the last hour or two before I go to bed to text friends if they’re awake and watch old YouTube movies/show clips to remind me of home.
In the end, as I close out my first week with my host family and also in my village, it truly is a mirror; I see myself reflected in my host family and my community and my government-issued friends, I see my teachers (LCFs) who have lived long and interesting lives, and I see the changes and the differences in this culture, in the things I don’t understand and the things I challenge myself to learn. I see the woman at the dukun (shop) who said Jacob looked Kyrgyz (he’s half-Korean. He and I both have said we both have the best chance of being mistaken for Kyrgyz due to being the two East and Southeast Asian individuals). I see the children running in sandals to kick the football. I see the raspberry chai I’ve grown to rely on (and the nasty canker sore in my mouth I’ve developed due to lots of hot and acidic food here). I watch the Russian movies my host mom puts on to pass the time (she doesn’t work during the summer, so mostly cooks and sleeps all day- which is kind of a vibe to be honest). I see my half-functioning water filter which sometimes keeps me awake due to the dripping sound. I see the train conductor out when the cargo passes through the center of the village. I see life in small things, my own experiences, life and culture, but distorted but reflected back at me like rain puddles.

À Bientôt,
Grace

Notes:
My blog will probably have regular weekly or biweekly updates during PST, just because routines get established and then change so quickly.
The chronology is kind of out of wack; just assume it all takes place over the course of a week.

Саламатсыздарбы (sal-a-mat-syz-dar-by)- it means “greetings everyone” or “hello everyone” and can be used when speaking to a large group of people