The Final Bell

Salut, 

Just like that, school is over. All the lessons and schedules and freakouts, chaotic messes, garden clean-ups, snow days, all is over. It feels strange and maybe not fully sunk in. 4 volunteers in our cohort are extending their service, and 19 are from K-30, last year's new cohort.

I suppose I should just say it now, but Peace Corps Kyrgyzstan has canceled this year's cohort. No new volunteers will be arriving. As I implied in my last blog post, Peace Corps has been trying to cut and trim due to budget cuts from the top, and I heard from various staff members about the ways they were going to accommodate K31. Clearly, with difficulty. 

Proposals to move our weekly Hub Days during training to the main Peace Corps office, and proposals to eliminate the Ashu House orientation, among other things. I discussed in the first few blog posts how these affected my service. It's like I said, my cohort seems to have been lucky to have the most normal and fluid service since at least the pandemic. The others have faced COVID restrictions and fallout from the budget cuts and consolidation. In regards to K-31, those trainees and prospective volunteers are going to try to apply to other countries like the Phillippines and Mongolia. Various other posts around Peace Corps have closed or had their next year's cohort canceled, the former affecting Mozambique, South Africa, and Ethiopia, and the latter affecting Cameroon. The current working theory is that the Peace Corps is consolidating volunteers into countries with large numbers of volunteers to trim overhead costs. None of us know what this means for the future, we don't know if next year in 2026, volunteers will return or if the Peace Corps will meet the same fate as USAID. If Peace Corps Kyrgyz Republic does close, it will end Peace Corps' presence in Central Asia. Some posts have very large cohorts, Cambodia and Thailand famously have large cohorts, and I've heard many times Ukraine used to have over 80 volunteers in a single year before it closed. Small ones like the Kyrgyz Republic could close. All of this is hypothetical and none of it is actual policy or official, the only verified news is the cancellation and closures, we know nothing else.

We had a week-long break. I mostly dithered around at home; it’s blistering hot. Zach and Vanessa stopped by. Zach is the first volunteer to leave (second to Frank who left first 1.5 years ago), and he’s departing to prepare for Harvard in the fall, which is super exciting. They came with Enrique, who I'll talk about a bit more later in the post, another foreign worker in Jalal-Abad. My family served them plov/ash, and I know my host father was impressed at Zach's Kyrgyz and Russian.

During the last few days of break, I took a brief trip to Toktogul. I went to Toktogul last summer; it’s roughly equidistant between Jalal-Abad and Bishkek, and there are some volunteers there. I didn’t get the chance to meet any there, but I did run into Santi. Santi was passing through, and he and I met for lunch and had shawarma and pizza. He’s off to Malaysia when his service ends to get married. I loved Toktogul my second time there; it’s small, but not too small, and an hour walk (or 15-20 minute drive) to the lake.

A quick funny story in Toktogul city. I was chilling on a bench in the central city park on my phone in the evening, and an old man carrying a bag of peanuts asked me for the time. I showed him my phone, and when I told him I was from America, he said, "Oh, America, wow!" Then, he kissed my hand and shoved a bunch of peanuts into my hands, enough that some fell onto the ground. I visited the lake, which is about a 10-15 minute drive from the city, or a 45 minute-1 hour walk. You pass by numerous fields on the way, tractors and shepherds abound. Service is mostly fine. There is something immeasurably peaceful and beautiful about being relatively away from society by a lake, touching literal grass as it were. The lake was very cold, but worth it in 90-100 degree weather. I went mostly because I wanted to relax and get out of the house. In the park, I also went roller skating, as they had a little pop-up. I’m a much better ice skater than a roller skater, as I nearly fell multiple times.

After much delay, we finally had our consolidation drill. Last year, we had ours unfortunately on the same day lots of volunteers had pre-existing plans/events. This year, we all knew when it would be due to such delays, and Jalal-Abad, our city was the first to all meet up. Peace Corps sends the alert at 9 AM, and then waits and checks in for all volunteers to arrive at their nearest point (many oblasts in Kyrgyzstan are big enough and the volunteers are spread out enough, that there may be 2 spots in each oblast. For example, in Jalal-Abad, there are two: Jalal-Abad city, and Toktogul. In Naryn, Kochkor and Naryn city.) 

They time us to see how long it takes and what means of emergency transportation are available to us.  My group in Jalal-Abad city is very close to the city (some volunteers are, without major traffic and waiting around for a ride, at minimum 2-3 hours from their spot, I am approximately 30 minutes away), and we are also experienced without any new volunteers this time around. The drill is annual for each new cohort of volunteers. Due to my group being first, we swept through our emergency preparedness presentation, took naps, ate lunch and dinner, played poker with real money, drank some wine, and then went to Jalal-Abad’s version of a dance club. Really, it was just a toi dance floor with a bunch of young adults, some middling music, and some good sushi, which I partook in. Tahmin and Ben are both disappointed that my first foray into sushi was here in Kyrgyzstan. 

Volunteers have been super creative in ways to remember and celebrate their time at their schools. One volunteer is using their yearbook, the one we got that I mentioned in my last blog post, and having their students write in it. Others are using journals or notebooks to have students sign. Cobbling together something like that seemed really difficult. Instead, I got inspired to buy some poster paper and during the last week, ask students to sign their names and doodle or write messages on it. 

Getting students to sign my going away poster was much more chaotic than I anticipated it would be. It began easily enough, my 8th graders seemed mildly interested. While this was happening, I was also attempting to give away a lot of my stuff. I have amassed a hoarder'shoarder's worth of stuff in my room that won't fit in all my luggage. I have prepped packing away a lot of stuff already, most of it clothing. Miscellaneous office supplies, toiletries, airplane utility bags (and earplugs, earphones, and socks), copybooks, and other nicknacks. To make it fun, I amassed my collection and spread it out on a desk. I called up students during their period to play a matching verb game on the board, and once completed, they could choose a “prize” or “gift” from the selection and then write their names on my poster. It truly was random stuff, a soap dispenser, a cowboy hat (the one from the MST conference in 2024, the blog post is called Halfway Wrong, Halfway Right), a Rubik’s cube or two, sticker sheets, tea packets, a children’s fairy tale book, airplane toiletries, an unused sketchbook, etc. 

Throughout the giveaway, I had students sign their names using my crayons and markers. I told students they could write in Kyrgyz and draw to make it more comfortable for those who struggle with English. Eventually, it got chaotic as students started writing their Instagram handles, doodling and drawing their handprints, and scribbling over each others’ names. I managed to get all of the classes I have taught at least once this year (which is 5th-11th grade), even having to hunt them down. The last week of college or a regular American high school is usually devoted to exams or final tests. We conducted *some* tests, of course, but it was mostly chaos. Intensely more so this year than last, at least it seemed to me. Students running through the halls, stolen by our music teacher to practice dances and songs for the graduation ceremony, students playing volleyball, showing up late to class, or not at all. Regular tomfoolery but heightened to an 11. 

During this chaos, my counterpart, Baktygul, was subtly, not subtly, attempting to plan a goodbye event/portion of the main graduation ceremony. The jig was up when I saw on our class computer that she had requested help from ChatGPT to write a speech. Additionally, the students were also not covert when they asked me directly on Friday morning before it if they should give me my presents then. Peace Corps gave us some Goodbye phrases to say to our community, and Baktygul was a huge asset in helping me write a speech.

At my school, we had two celebrations: one for the general school population, and the other exclusively for 9th and 11th graders. 11th graders are finishing school for real. However, 9th graders graduate because if they desire, they can go to college after (college is pre-university, it’s like AP classes or an IB program, while the 10th-11th grade is what would be considered standard or level program). Last year, I’m pretty sure we only had one. During the general ceremony, we spent an hour alone with the director handing out awards. Awards are given by the school and local government to top performers, and my school also has a badass girl’s volleyball team, which regularly competes at different schools and local competitions, so they got an award as well.

Baktygul had asked each of the grade levels and individual classes to read some English words of thanks and make a gift or something. I did not expect to cry, but I did tear up, especially when I think of my students. I had favorites, and to hear them in English thank me warmed my heart. My hopes for them are infinite. The 8th A grade girls made posters with pictures of me printed and sourced from Baktygul, and the 8th B made a bouquet of chocolate candies, which I gave to my host siblings, as I don’t eat nut chocolate. One 7th-grade girl painted a canvas portrait of me with my signature bucket hat. 6th grade gave me jewelry and candy as well. 

After the ceremony, everyone trickled out, but I managed to have several photo sessions with the girlies. With it being both the last week and my last week with all of them, it was pictures galore! I’m not leaving immediately, which I told them, I’m leaving at the end of July/early August, but most of them, won’t come to my English summer camp, it was my last day to see them. 

Over the weekend, we met up with some of the other foreign workers/expats in Jalal-Abad. The other Jalal-Abad volunteers know them more than I do. Enrique works at Barcelona Academy. Speaking of that, I’ve mentioned maybe once but Jalal-Abad has an international football/soccer academy with a large field dome you can see from on top of the hill. One of the first days I was here in August of 2023, there was a ton of traffic on the road when we first arrived due to the opening of the academy. The Kyrgyz president was in Jalal-Abad for the ceremony, if I remember the details correctly. Anyway, Enrique is one of the trainers, and he knows various other people who work as staff. Vanessa knows them, and I mostly tagged along. While there, we met two Catalonian cyclists biking from Istanbul to Japan, who stopped in Jalal-Abad for a day or two. We watched a skirmish between the home team and a team from Osh and then got Korean food. I’m not super close to all the other non-PC foreigners and friends, but I did have a blast hanging out with all of them. 

The day before graduation, I came to school to help decorate. We blew up two balloon arches and hung up posters, and lots of balloons elsewhere. That is one other thing I’ve gotten good at here in Kyrgyzstan, blowing up balloons. I blew up most of the balloons for Elise’s bachelorette party. I don’t know when it happened, maybe during a Halloween celebration where I just learned. We spent around four to five hours of decorating. 

The final last bell happened on a dreary morning. Light rain turned into hard rain turned into everyone whipping out umbrellas. It must have been just as long, if not longer, than the school-wide ceremony. During the final ceremony, 9th and 11th graders arrive, usually paired up boys with girls, with sashes and bouquets, dressed to the 9s. Graduation without the cap and gown. Community members, the head of the local police, and local officials also came. Like last year, alumni from the school from 20 and 40 years ago came as well. They gave speeches and delivered gifts (I saw a new colored printer!). Lots of awards, both to teachers and students. I received two awards and a cash prize of 1000 com (12$). After it was over, lots of community members and students left to escape the rain. The teachers prepared food in the canteen, but I stayed and under the pouring rain of midday, the 11th graders, my 8th grade girls and I danced to Kyrgyz music songs. I love to dance in the rain, and it felt like a perfect ending. 

This was one major goodbye. COS was one of the first because I have no idea if I’ll see all of the volunteers again. Surely, I’ll see a good handful of them, but several, I won’t see again until our reunion, or possibly ever. With the end of school, it feels even more real. Most of the teachers I will see at the next toi and during the summer, and lots of students I’ll see at my summer camp or as they pass through. Sometimes you don’t know when the last goodbye is the last. I didn’t always know it for my friends in the past or strangers or acquaintances in high school. Through Instagram, I can still people’s lives, even people who I haven’t spoken to in years and would not call myself close to, maybe people I shared one class with in high school or college. As a teacher, it was harder because I had over 150 students. I don’t know who I said goodbye to for the last time. I had favorites; I remembered maybe ⅔ of students’ names, but I had good relationships with maybe 15-20, which is a lot (mostly those who came to my club). With the school chapter of my time in Kyrgyzstan reaching its close, (summer camp still to come) the most important and most impactful time of my service has come to an end. 

My primary goal was to teach students and work with and improve my counterpart’s English. Everything else, the clubs, the host family integration, the cultural knowledge and skills, all came secondary. The last things I need to do are submit and oversee all my reporting data and information back to Peace Corps staff and HQ, but my duties and responsibilities to my school, aside from the upcoming summer camp, are finished. The last week of classes was chaotic enough that it didn't hit me until it was over. I was racing to find ways to say goodbye, and I didn't process it all. It felt like a real goodbye but also half of one. The last few months of school seemed to fly by, the ending creeping up on me. My duty was to Baktygul, who I will leave in excellent hands. Speaking of her, I promised her I would buy new English workbooks to stock the classroom. Before I close the English door behind me for good, I will organize and clean and make as many resources and flashcards for her, and fill the school laptop with as much English media as I can.

Outside of just my school, I also provided and scanned new workbooks we can project and show on our SMART board, and now those materials are with the other volunteers. One unfortunate result of COVID is that a lot of Peace Corps records and the continuity of resources before it have been lost or decentralized. So when creating resources to help each other out with lessons, working with the textbook, and conducting clubs, we started only a bit above scratch. Since then, our data and resource group in our cohort have done a good job archiving and keeping information to pass on to new volunteers.

Winnie the Pooh famously said, "How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard". I said that shortly before I left for Kyrgyzstan, and I repeat it now. Life is full of goodbyes, and even if they're not completely permanent, it's worth it to say them. If I didn't love my students, it would be easier to leave. I said to them that I hoped they continue to learn English, and that I hoped their dreams and wishes come true. I celebrated and danced with them, and I felt love and happiness with them. Some of my students have graduated, and I know they've impacted me in ways I don't know or understand, even the quiet ones who rarely spoke in class. Some left words and touches on my heart, a shoutout to my neighbor girlies. One super important phrase or saying we learned is: Эки тоо көрүшпөйт, эки адам көрүшөт, which translates to "Two mountains will never meet, two people will." I'll repeat it at the end of my service when I leave. As people say, if two people will meet even if mountains don't, that means we are destined to see each other again. Even after the final bell rings. 

À Bientôt,

Grace