The End of the Year

Salut,

I think this may very well be my last blog post for the year. 

What can one say or think when reflecting on the last year? How did I start it? I remember being at home in January 2023. I was living in Austin and on the tail end of my last year in college. 

A lot can happen in two weeks, much less even one. In my last blog post, I was watching first snow. I surely thought I wouldn’t have a lot to say this time around, there’s just lots and lots of snow. I’ve had to stress to my family repeatedly that there is snow in the US, just not in the South. It’s a warm 60 degrees F (20ish in C) back home. Here it has been 40F and under every single day. The north has been particularly cold; I’ve heard from other volunteers it gets as cold as -20 degrees F. At the beginning of this week, it hit around -7C. I spent some time at the end of January 2023 in Montreal for a Model UN conference. I remember that opportunity fondly; when else would you get to be a in foreign city with a free hotel room? Of course, I paid for flights and food but an opportunity to be in Montreal in the winter? I skipped the last session to view the Montreal Museum of Art. If there is something I miss, I miss art museums. 

Classes were moved online this past week. It was a national decision due to the cold in the north. I have been trudging through boot-high snow this past week, and my host dad and brother have been shoveling it sporadically. After a few days, it all begins to melt and it falls in huge clumps off the roof. None of this is new to people who have lived in the north or are used to snow, but allow me to marvel as someone who doesn’t experience snow a lot. 

Online classes mean almost nothing, unfortunately. The vast majority of students don’t own computers, so online classes mean instead using WhatsApp. I think this is something that I knew about during the pandemic but it hadn’t quite fully been understood until now. I will always marvel and did so during the pandemic, as teachers have tried their hardest to make do with limited resources. 

It would be remiss of me to not mention this, but our cohort had our first early termination (ET) of service, meaning our first volunteer in our cohort, K-29, to leave Peace Corps service. ET is a complicated topic and one that is a result of lots and lots of different factors. While I was in Almaty, one of the PC staff I was with told me her cohort had dwindled from 45ish to 35ish or so (I forget the exact numbers), and her cohort has been in Thailand for as long as I have. It is very common for PC volunteers to quit service. It is called ETing, but it is also resigning. There are no strings attached, no obligations, you can leave whenever you want. I was surprised at how fast of a process it can become. 

                 Our first ET was actually the volunteer in my village, Frank, who used to teach at the largest school in our village. I had become friends with Frank and I relied on our communication as a shared understanding of someone who understood the crazy shenanigans happening. If the volunteer had been from a different oblast or someone I did not know very well, perhaps I would not mention it, but his absence now will affect my service here and I think that’s worth mentioning. Before, there were two of us here in a very large village (my village is 11-12,000 people, and most other volunteers are in villages 1-5,000). Time will tell what that changes. His zavuch, vice principal of sorts, was supportive of his decision to leave. I will not go into too much depth about why he did, because it was his own personal reasons, but I am understanding and sympathetic and know that had I been in his situation, I would have had a difficult time as well. Sometimes factors in our life are beyond our control, and we are not meant to always adapt or suffer through the consequences. Sometimes we have to prioritize ourselves. I explained to my host family why he left, as he had visited my house and my host family knew him and his host parents. 

                    Sometimes we are dealt bad hands or bad stuff happens, and I think that PC service should not always glamorize that as something to be resilient through. Resilience is not unbreakable armor, rather it is one being constantly repaired, with others around us to help us and mend us. I think that, not from PC itself, but the optics of leaving is viewed through, what I consider to be incorrect, the lens of “giving up” or “not being able to hack it or stick it through”. We all have our limits, our frustrations, and our challenges, and we all can’t muscle through them all. Perhaps I could be resilient in other people’s challenges and perhaps they would struggle or falter in mine. 

            Resilience exists on a spectrum too. The PC staff member said Thailand was just too hot for some volunteers. Resilience is complicated, and frustration is not as simple as “Oh it’s hot I’m uncomfortable”. Sometimes breaking is weeks or months of trying, of putting in everything you are, and things still fall apart or you’re not being met by others who are willing to bridge gaps and support you. 

                    

I think in these moments it makes sense for me to consider if I would ever ET. After he left, I reminded myself why I’m here, and why I’m committed but also know that factors beyond our control can tilt everything in seconds. My challenges with the school system and kid’s motivation and the isolation are trumped by my desire to be there for my students, the ones who need and want to learn. To be a warm presence for Adelya and Alihan whose lives are otherwise constant Masha and the Bear and to laugh with my sister-in-law whose life otherwise is cooking food all day and washing dishes. Also for them to be a constant in my life, where otherwise I would be sulking in my books. 

                        Beyond that, I want to see Adelya and Alihan grow up, I want to see Kuz Sykal, the infant baby, walk around the house. I want to see Adelya one day go off to kindergarten and see her come running home. I want to see the trees grow again and the flowers begin to bloom. I want to be here for their holidays and the new year, and I want to go to Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan with my counterpart or host family. I’ve grown to love my host family very much, and I want to be here with them for as long as I can, to rise the dawn with them and point to all the stars, to see seasons ebb and flow, the fruits sprout and the birds come back to sing. I want to be here as the snow continues, to hear the clumps fall off the roof, to trudge through blankets of snow on slippery ground, to run around and make snowmen, to see the sky when the white snow fog finally lifts. In those moments, in the stillness when the air has fallen deathly silent. 

                    Vanessa and I climbed up to the Jalal Abad sign again. Perhaps a bad idea as we went before we ate and were out of breath quite quickly. It was very cloudy and smoggy so the city was difficult to see, but the ice covering the mountains and the snowcaps were quite gorgeous. After we ate at Moko, our favorite little cafe/western restaurant. I bought tons of school supplies to continue my English clubs, and then Tahmin, Ben, Emily and I all went to a cute new bakery. The snow began to melt, the icicles atop the bazaar stalls raining down upon us, creating thick puddles to trudge through. 

By now I can finally see the grass and the ground. I didn’t think I would see it so snow and I’m hoping it begins to snow again. After several days, it has begun to be very gross. Muddy and slippery. 

This last week of classes has been interesting. We had some 7th-grade students write a dictation we read to them, and I saw two of the students praying during it (because of what I assume was some nerves). 

During the week, I became busy with classes and clubs, and I also fell a bit sick for most of the week, due to frequent headaches and what I think was a medication allergy. 

After classes one day, a group of teachers and I went to a funeral; one of the primary school teacher’s (Venera’s) father died recently. It wasn’t exactly a funeral, it was a Pata. A funeral is supposed to be a short 15 or so minute ceremony after the person dies where the Quran is read. A pata is more of a community coming to mourn with the family of the deceased shortly after the death. The teachers all went, and Dustan agai (the music teacher) drove me and some others in his car, though no one quite knew where her house was. When I entered they were praying together, and then Venera surrounded by who I presumed were other family members, began wailing and crying. There was something cold and warm about it, the chilly weather and the sound of melting ice outside, yet warm with all the teachers there. At almost all major events (weddings, funerals, etc.), women are given scarves, and men are given kalpaks (kyrgyz national hats for men), and all the teachers each brought her one and put each one on her head. Tears for sadness and grief but tears for a life well lived. We ate plenty of food because Kyrgyz people love to eat.

So not to awkwardly segway, but earlier that day, a bunch of students came running to Baktygul asking when the “circus” was coming to school. Apparently, that day! Baktygul described it as a “circus” but really it was a bunch of people dressed in animal costumes performing for kids (the Wiggles meets Chucky Cheese). It was probably the first time I’ve ever seen 4th graders moshing. One guy in a monster costume came out and 50 4th graders descended on him, he was not prepared. Poor guy fell over and the students kept dancing around him. 

This week, we also had English week. Because of my being ill, I was less involved and helpful than I wanted to be, but Baktygul organized good English activities. We had some of the teachers and the Zavuches and the director watch our English lessons. We did a lesson on shopping and I brought objects from home for students to pretend to buy, and for 10th graders, we did a similar lesson but more advanced (involving them asking about clothing sizes, methods of payment, and trying on clothing). Several of the grades each drew a map of an English-speaking country, though some of them had interesting choices (Germany, the US, Australia, New Zealand, the UAE, and Saudi Arabia). They gave short presentations about the country in English on Friday, which was good practice for them but no one except me and Baktygul understood them. We had some students sing Last Christmas, and one particularly brilliant 7th grader sang Lovely by Billie Eilish after practicing for a week. I sang Hallelujah which was alright. I’ve also had lots of my students start following me on Instagram.

This past weekend, I visited Osh with Tahmin. The first night we were there, we went to a cafe called Navat. Did you ever know about or go to a Johnny Rockets? Johnny Rockets is a 50s diner-style restaurant where the staff would dance every once in a while. Navat does the same thing, where they started doing a national Kyrgyz dance at the top of the hour. The city of Osh lit a gorgeous Christmas tree in its open public square. Tahmin and I explored it, where a small and festive Christmas fair was opened, mostly balloon darts and popcorn. Also a small rave with college students by the tree? Pretty lit (literally and figuratively 🙂). 

We met the volunteers in the South, who were on their usual run to Osh. Dr. Marat, our Peace Corps doctor, made a stop in Osh to give us COVID-19 vaccines (why? Who knows). Sidenote, but both he and Bayish, our Safety manager, have been looping around the country like Santa to meet each of us (Bayish mostly to check our smoke alarms lol and to deliver oranges and chocolate as a present). We ate at Sierra Cafe, a popular Peace Corps location due to its long association with it (I think I wrote about it in an earlier post called “A Summer in Bishkek”). We went to Tess’ site outside of Osh for the night. Her family was incredibly kind, and we made (mostly Michaela because she is the baker in our cohort) cookies (with ginger, cinnamon, and lots of other spices, sorry I don’t know my way around a bakery). We watched the original Grinch animated short and the Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer stop motion film. Today, we ate shwarma and returned to our sites. Despite the abundance of Christmas trees, people here in Kyrgyzstan associate the trees with New Years, not Christmas specifically. 

So, what can one say about the end of the year? Where was I in January 2023? I was graduating college, I had lots of friends, several of whom I still talk to and keep in contact with. I didn’t speak a word of Kyrgyz. This year, I didn’t have the jetsetting summer lots of people tend to have. This year, I went to Montreal for a weekend in January, I went to South Padre Island for three days during spring break, and I went to New Orleans with my family after graduation. Then I came here, and I’ve been to so many places already in Kyrgyzstan and awaiting the opportunity once spring comes to go even further (plus Kazakhstan). But our lives are not the sum of our Instagram photos, even if they are beautiful. Our lives are the sum of the things we did, not the things we didn’t, of our accomplishments, and not our missed opportunities. So, currently, my New Year’s Resolutions are to read and finish the entire Shakespeare canon and get Beginner-High in Russian (this despite the fact that I really don’t know any Russian, oh well). To 2024!

À Bientôt,

Grace

Christmas Music (only the best)

1. Merry Christmas- Ed Sheeran and Elton John
2. The Christmas Song- John Legend
3. Snowman- Sia
4. Jingle Bell Rock- Bobby Helms
5. Santa, Can’t You Hear Me- Kelly Clarkson and Ariana Grande
6. All I Want For Christmas- Mariah Carey
7. Mistletoe- Justin Bieber
8. You’re a Mean One, Mr Grinch- Tyler the Creator
9. December- Ariana Grande
10. Last Christmas- Wham!
11. White Winter Hymnal- Pentatonix
12. Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree - Brenda Lee
13. It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas- Michael Buble
14. Hallelujah- Pentatonix
15. Like It’s Christmas- Jonas Brothers