Ultimate Reloaded

The week went off more or less hitchless. A few hiccups, but nothing that truly mattered went catastrophically wrong. I am, of course, speaking of Ultimate Zhelezinka: Frisbee Camp 2009 (A title I came up with mid camp).

Nora Williams, volunteer legend of Zhelezinka, organized this camp last year and I was little more than an innocent bystander caught in her wake as she created dozens of teen "Ultamites." This year it was my turn. I decided to up the ante and work for 60 children, 15 more than last year. I won't bore you with the planning stages because, frankly, they bored me as well.

When the time came for the camp to begin, Zhelezinka was descended upon by five additional Americans who crowded into my cozy apartment and brought with them an arsenal of discs, energy and Americana. Camp began with about fifteen children standing outside my school swatting at bugs and wondering when we'd get on with it. We dragged them inside, ran through an abbreviated version of last years opening ceremony, since there were few people of interest in attendance to impress, then high-tailed it for the field.

Frankly, the details of the camp aren't all that exciting. Mornings were filled with demonstrations and training in the techniques of Ultimate: throwing, catching, cheering and running around, and afternoons were full of games or other activities. I will give you my top ten highlights of the week, some of which include out-of-camp antics.

Number 10: A six level card house built by the talented Mr. Fledder-Johan, with structural support provided by my foot.

Number 9: Rain dances and huddling in metal shacks waiting for the thunderstorm to pass directly overhead.

Number 8: Frisbee golf with the final target being an unsuspecting Aaron "Arboose" Hueth

Number 7: Ice cream and Coke floats

Number 6: Tie-Dye shirts and a camp banner. This was the favorite activity outside of actual Ultimate. The kids wanted to know when we would do them. There was some confusion, because I thought our local sports deparment of the education center was going to donate shirts for us to paint. When I showed up to get the shirts, they wanted to make sure I would return all 23 of the shirts I was taking. I said we had planned on painting them. Apparently they hadn't heard me the first several times I had mentioned that part, and it was a no go. Luckily, I had enough shirts left from least year that the kids could each get one, though some volunteers were left without one.

Number 5: S'mores and Shashlik on our final night. "Slav" pulled off a great feast and marshmellows were a highlight for a culture that considers pure sugar an essential part of each meal.

Number 4: The returning children from last years camp being pros already and improving greatly on their skill. Honestly, they were really good this year and defintely remembered a lot of what they had learned from last year, a testament to the success of the camp run by Nora and hope for future itereations of the camp.

Number 3: The amazing dinners cooked every night by various chefs. Meals included pancakes loaded with apples, chocoalte, bananas, strawberry syrup, powedered sugar, tacos!, and plof.

Number 2: Late night games of Oh, hell!" filled with anger, surprise and hilarity. It's a great card game, for those of you who don't know, where you have to try to make a bid and rarely manage to. I, the all-star, managed to get the all time highest single game score and still come dead last in the overall, end of the week, average score.

Number 1: America vs. Zhelezinka end of camp game. Five or six of us volunteers took on 15-20 children in the traditional Ultimate game to conclude camp. Last year it was a crushing by America. This year, the kids kept their own and brought the game to a 4-4 tie using a "mob" technique that left three or more kids on every volunteer. We did America proud, however, and scored the final goal and called it game. We'll see how America does next year though, when most of the original camp leaders are back in America.

So that was camp, and it was a load of fun. The kids loved it and want to know when we'll be playing more. The volunteers also had a blast. My apartment barely survived the invasion and after a couple hours of cleaning, was more or less back in order. Summer is just beginning and the good times will continue on. In a short while there will probably be another post, of more or less general musings as my service is winding to a close. It's hard to imagine I only have four more months left here. Bittersweet.

King of My Own Castle

Well, here I am. Sitting in my apartment. Typing a blog on the internet in real time. Yes, you read that correctly. I am on the internet in my own apartment. On May 1st I packed up my boxes, said goodbye to my third host family and traveled twenty minutes across town (3 minutes by taxi) to my new pad. It's on the second floor of the only three story apartment building in Zhelezinka, so everybody knows where I live when I tell them "The 3 storier." My apartment consists of a spacious living room, a bedroom and a small kitchen. There is a bathroom (more on that later) and an entry way for taking off shoes and hanging up coats, plus a small, glassed in balcony that is currently overrun by drying underwear (hand washing is not fun).

After a couple days I had unpacked my boxes and suitcases, arranged my books on the window sill and hung pictures up on my walls. I rearranged some furniture in the living room, put new sheets on my bed and washed all the pots and pans that had been left for me. One huge benefit of this apartment is all the furniture and most of the dishes were left behind. I have barely bought a thing besides a sharper knife, bedding and hand towels. Megan came over for the first evening and we cooked pelmini, my favorite local dish. Jane came the next day to keep me company.

On Saturday some men from my school came by to do some work on my toilet that supposidly didn't work because of a bad tank. They hooked it up, put a bucket under the place it dripped and said they'd come back later with a new tank that wouldn't drip. That's when things started to go wrong. Sunday morning at 7 am I woke up to a pounding on my door. I enquired who it was and the reply came that it was a neighbor. She commanded me to open the door. Me being a obliging American, I turned the key and opened the door. I was nearly trampled by the small Kazakh woman who stormed in, screaming about a leaking ceiling. She charged into my bathroom to discover that it was flooded.

She ranted and raved at me until I finally pushed her out the door and called my landlady. She came hurrying over and saw the mess. She began mopping it up and blamed it on the workers from my school for hooking up a leaky toilet. I wasn't convinced that was the problem, since the leak persisted even after the toilet was unhooked and the tank drained.

The water got shut off after some time. It was a problem because the Soviets who built this apartment decided they could save money if they didn't put a shutoff valve in each apartment

but instead one for the entire building. So now all the neighbors were angry that the water had been shut off.

Over the next two weeks I was constantly hounded by my downstairs neighbor whose ceiling dripped whenever the water was turned on and other neighbors who wanted water. I, in turn, hounded my landlady, who assured me that she was working diligently on the problem. This turned out to not be the case. She didn't want to pay for this repair, so was pretending to get work done and really getting nowhere. No less than three different men came to look at the problem and all said the same thing: there is a pipe that is rotted and has to be replaced. Then nothing would happen.

After two weeks of no water, people were very angry. The water would occasionally get turned on and then the lady downstairs would race around until it was shut off again. I kept telling my neighbors that something would be done soon, and it rarely did. I missed a soccer game/tournament because I was sitting waiting for the plumbers that never came one Saturday. I developed a strong ability to yell in Russian as well. My neighbors came a few times yelling and telling me to do something, to call my landlady. She would yell for five minutes until I would become fed up and yell back that I can't do anything well she was yelling at me. I'd usher her out the door, getting angrier and angried (though I still empathized). Finally, the neighbor threatened to go to a judge and sue both me and my landlady about this. She ended up calling the director of my school.

I, Slave (my counterpart) and the vice-directors were called into a meeting with her. She wanted to know what was going on and what we were going to do about it. We explained it (Slava laying some of the blame at my feet for wanting to move out on my own) and she told us to get it

done now. Slava and a worker from the school ran off to get somebody who could replace the pipe.

The men came, they worked for a couple hours, and got it done. My landlady agreed to pay them for the work. They had to tear apart my bathroom a bit to get it done, but I didn't mind. Finally, the water was running, nothing was leaking and peace returned to the 3 storier. Lots of the neighbors came to watch the welder work and comment on it. I thanked them, and finally, after two weeks, relaxed and let the stress leave my body.

After that, I got internet hooked up. Now I'm online entirely too much. Even with all the problems and stress, I'm still very happy to have moved out, I like this apartment and I think my remaining time will pass quickly and happily.

In other areas of life, things are good too. School is over officially tomorrow. I have a frisbee

camp coming up in a couple weeks with five volunteers coming from out of town to help run it. I've got plans to do some work with the local hospital that hopefully I can begin on now that things are settled in my apartment. Things with the girlfriend are good, especially now that we don't have to impose on anybody if she comes to visit. I've got books to read, I'm cooking my own meals (which is nice because it fills up some of my free time that was incredibly boring before). Life is good.

the update

People have been complaining about the snow adn teh cold and the wind for months now. So what do they do once it gets warm? Move into the shade.

The snow is finally all gone, the cold, biting wind has turned into warm, dusty wind and life is moving along according to some sort of plan, I'm sure. I am soon moving into my own apartment after over eighteen months of living with host families that feed and shelter me. There are many skeptics out there that believe I will go crying back to a host family in less than a month because men are incapable of cooking, cleaning and washing without somebody to guide them through it. I've assured the many people that I did live without my parents or anybody else to look after me for two years while I was in college (though mommy was always there to tell me what spin cycle to put my clothes on).

The apartment is definitely the most exciting thing for me personally right now. It's two rooms, a kitchen and a toilet. No shower, no banya, so washign myself will not be as easy as before. I will manage to afford internet and food at the same time (though time with one will have to be sacrificed for the other, and I think we know which one will win out). I move at the end of the month, if not sooner, and at this point teh anticipation keeps me up at night. I've always been that way, unable to stand the wait.

Other news, Jane took me to a Kazakh wedding, which was somethign I've been wanting to do for a long time. It turns out it's not so different from an American wedding. It started with a ceremony at the mosque which was in two languages, neither of which I understood, but I got the main idea being about love and committment to each other. We traveled to the family's house, where sixteen extended family members all live under one roof, though considering Kazakhs don't have the same temperance as the Brady Bunch, I imagine it was more like an insane asylum than a home. We left the group for a few hours and met them again for the reception that night.

Kazakh receptions again resemble American ones, except in two areas. The first is the importance of food, which is served all night long, with three main dishes that everybody sits down to stuff their faces with. They then get up and dance, preparing themselves for another round. In addition, all through the night, toasts are given by every guest at least once. Some run long and windy, others (like those given by an American who'd never met the happy couple before) are terse but thoughtful. I would say the same amount of time is spent toasting as is dancing.

We managed to get out of there around 11 o'clock or midnight, about three hours earlier than most other guests would. I had talked with several people and came away with some valuable knowledge. One man informed that the world is a cycle and America is at fault for the current crisis, which means capitalism is going to collapse and socialism will return followed by communism, which was great for the people of the Soviet Union and will work well all thruoghotu the world. I became frustrated when I couldn't find the proper langauge to tell him how absurd his theories were. The second story that I enjoyed was from the emcee, who came to our table to talk. He told me and my fellow Americans that Kazakhstan is a place without boudnaries, so once you get here and realize what you've fallen into, you can't get out.

I'm going to keep the update to that. I don't know if there will be more frequent updates once I have internet at home, or if I'll still have nothing exciting to talk about.

Routinely Different

Updates at this point are few and far between. Why is that? Not because nothing interesting happens to me, and not because I’m tired of telling you all about it. I don’t update because this life is not as spectacular seeming as it once was to me. I’ve commented on people’s mannerisms, the motivations of people and psychotic geese terrorizing me in my own backyard. Where once it was foreign, exotic and exciting, it has finally become common place to me.
I feel (and have been told a number of times) that I am very well adapted to this country and am one of “them.” The language is finally making sense to me, routines and peoples quirks are expected and life generally rolls on. I like my life here and am enjoying my time. That’s not to say I’m not counting down the months until I get to see you all again, but I am no longer just “surviving” my service. I can relate to these people and their struggles, which I think is a large part of what Peace Corps service is, beyond the stated goal of teaching English. What I can take away from the service is an understanding and empathy for cultures that seem bizarre to me, and begin to appreciate the differences with my own bizarre culture.
I think that I have scared a few people with my talk of possibly staying on a third year of service. Let me reassure you all now, that’s the remotest of possibilities. There was a point where I felt one hundred percent at home and wasn’t really sure what I would need from back home. That feeling has mostly passed when I was blindsided by another bout of homesickness. There’s still lots at home that I can’t get here (like my mom) that even a month stay at home wouldn’t remedy. Knowing that strong depression and a longing for home can still hit me like they did convinced me that a third year here just isn’t for me. There’s nine months for me to flip-flop back again, but I think the end result will be the same: see you all in November.
Now that that’s all covered, here’s the latest. It’s finally cold! Part of my adapting is realizing that -20 and -25 degree weather is not that cold. Now, minus thirty-five degrees (Celsius) is absolutely freezing. I usually judge the temperature outside by the amount of frost stuck to the inside of our door in the morning. This morning there was barely any at all so I figured it would be fairly warm. I was very, very wrong. I stepped outside and started my fifteen minute walk to school.
Five minutes in my face was bright red and stuck solid with needles of frost. Another five minutes and I caught up with a group of teachers also on their way. I joined them for the walk. A HUGE mistake, because these women plod. One of my many winter enjoyments is watching the short, round women of Kazakhstan plodding along in their huge fur coats, looking like great hairy bears, to and from their homes. In this case though, it really slowed my pace. By the time we got there I was yelling “mush, mush” inside my head trying to get them to move it along.
On the return trip an hour later because classes were cancelled I pulled my scarf up to cover most of my face. I probably looked like a Siberian version of the Invisible Man. It kept me warm enough though, except the steam that escaped from my breath was shot straight up so that my eyelashes and eyebrows were completely frozen by the time I stepped inside. Grandma had a good laugh at this, since I looked completely absurd. Alright, so in the interest of saving some stories for when I get home to you all in LESS THAN A YEAR!!! I will end this update here. I will leave you with a teaser though. Ask me about my counterpart’s strategy to get new computers in our classroom from a well-known philanthropic celebrity when I get home. You’ll enjoy that one.

A late Christmas poem

Here's a Christmas poem for you guys, in the tradition of last year. You may not understand all the jokes, but I hope you enjoy:

Twas the night before Christmas

and all through the land

not a creature was stirring,

Not even in Kazakhstan

This ain't a repeat of last year

I'd never be so lame

give me a little credit

I do have a modicrum of shame

Since landing in this country

over a year has gone past

where I used to daily freakout

Now I'm sure I can last

Bring on the vodka

Bring on the Russian

Though after a few shots

I may star blushin

I can tell a good joke

and give an eloquent toast

these people now love me,

though I do hate to boast

I've learned to love this country

where I'm too small for my pants

and people seem to think,

I know how to dance

I used to tremble and cry

when I thought of the time left

now thoughts of leaving

leave me quite bereft

Not to say I don't miss home

and this season is quite hard,

when I prefer eggs and coffee can bread,

I get porridge and slices of lard

My presents are stacked

beneath my glass mirror

though they lose much meaning,

without those I hold dear

With all of the new 20's

I must be a rock

cause with their tear filled eyes

I see they're still in shock

Trust me young ones

when I tell you this fact

of all the 19's

Not a one hasn't cracked

Not a year ago

I was crying for mommy

now all that I need

is a sandwhich of pickles and salami

Now a short message to mom

who may end up in tears

I assure you all is well

Nothing I can't fix with a few beers

Now it's time to celebrate

this wonderful time

cause soon we'll be home

with no job and not a dime

The economy is failing

and jobs are not found

all through Kazakhstan

talk of the criziz is around

Better to be in a job

that pays us no bucks

than begging for work

at one of Sasser's Schucks

So thank your lucky stars

you're in this crazy place

your service may feel like forever

but it flys at a quick pace

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all. Goodnight.

A Seasoned Greeting

To start, I just want to say, I don’t think this entry is my finest work. I was distracted, it’s been written over many installments, and frankly, it could be better. That being said, enjoy.
Let’s begin with the unhappy, angriness. Walking through the city with some friends, we decided (I decided and dragged them along) to play soccer with some local kids. We walked over and I asked, in Russian, if we could play with them. The ringleader, an obvious punk, turned to me and gave me a firm “no.” No explanation, no nothing, just a no. I tried to reason with me but he didn’t say another word, so I stormed off in a huff, my friends tailing behind and listening to my angry muttering.
To counter that encounter, today I was carrying all my things from one friend’s apartment to another, and had just walked out the door, when I started getting honked at by a car. I thought it was just some jerk, but it turned out to be Nikolai Mickaelovich. I didn’t know him, but he drove a truck for the Red Cross and offered me a ride. After forcing open the canopy on his truck with a wrench, we threw my things in and I climbed in the cab. We shook and introduced ourselves and he proceeded to tell me that Americans are good and everybody in Kazakhstan drives like there are no laws. The few minutes we rode together to my destination were pretty enjoyable. He asked for me to give him a few tenge, for his grandchildren, which I was happy to do and we parted. It’s the kindness of strangers and not the bratty insolence of stupid kids that makes this job really fun and worthwhile.
Other brief thoughts and anecdotes: I saw a half eaten cow leg along my path to school the past two days. The bottom half of the leg, with half the bone exposed and the hoof still attached. I’ve had very strange dreams, one of which involved me having to do calculus and left me terrified (a sure sign I’m in the right place, far from math). I’ve taken up the guitar finally, and progress is slow but steady. There isn’t a lot of snow but there’s a lot of cold. This year I like it a bit more and am enjoying the beauty of the frost on everything.
Other news is that I spent the last week down in Almaty for a gathering of all the 18’s and 19’s left in the country. Those are all the volunteers that have been around for at least a year. We got together to gossip about the new volunteers at our sites, drink some beers, make plans for summer and listen to a few seminars. Besides the chance to reconnect with some old friends, I believe the biggest benefit of these biannual events is they reenergize and motivate me to get more work done and be a better volunteer. If that feeling can last the 30 hour train ride back to my site, then I’m in good shape.
Nothing overtly amazing happened this week. I spent some time with my original host family and they once again gave me the huge self-esteem boost of telling me how thin I’ve gotten and how great my Russian has become. I am able to hold real conversations with them and discuss a variety of topics. Sharing jokes and relating various stories about the past half a year in Russian without having to fake a laughter or get something explained to you makes the experience that much more enjoyable.
On the topic of my Russian, I took the language test that the Peace Corps gives out. They have among the staff accredited testers, so it’s an official thing. During the test I was explaining things like the difference between American and Kazakhstani schools, what a White Elephant Christmas Party is and other things that I couldn’t even imagine having spoken about a year ago. When I finished my training I had a score of Intermediate Low. It ranges from Novice Low to Advanced High and finally Superior. This time around I got a score of Intermediate High but the tester, Lena, told me that I had come as close to Advanced Low as I could without actually reaching it. Grammar. Go figure. Who needs it? Anyway, she told me that I have a real gift for the language and talking to me had been a real pleasure.
When I told her what my plans might be for after Peace Corps, being a school teacher, she was appalled and worked hard at convincing me to continue my studies in Russian. She didn’t want me to waste my talent, she told me. So she has me looking at programs to study in Russia or elsewhere in Central Asia, and also proposed that I would be an ideal candidate for Kazakhstan’s flagship program where they hire native speakers to teach English. It would be the same I’m doing now, only paid and working for Kazakhstan and not Peace Corps. It’s just some things to consider, I don’t have anything in concrete now.
On the way back to site Mary, a fellow Pavlodar volunteer, and I were riding on “the peoples train” which is the official name for the open wagons where you intermingle with all the folks around you, when the two older women across the table from us stroke up a conversation. We did the general talking but then feeling bolstered by my new language confidence, I tried to make some point about discrimination in Kazakhstan in the north, where many ethnicities and cultures mix, versus the south with is more or less homogenously Kazakh. I’m pretty sure I lost them at some point, but I managed to pull it back together with some references to America’s south and all that. It was an awkward bit, but in the end I think we really entertained each other and understood most of what each of us was saying.
Having a decent ability in the language makes the Peace Corps experience so much more enjoyable. Talking with people, finding out their stories and all that, is incredibly interesting to me. I see these new volunteers and how incredibly awful their Russian is (sorry Jane, Emily, Sean, Ryan) and think how that used to be me. As your language gets better and you gain in confidence, the experience becomes much richer.
Kazakhstan Independence Day has come and gone. I hung out in the city with the other volunteers, and we celebrated Jane’s birthday, who is the awesomest awesome volunteer in the awesomest awesomey oblast (did I get that right Jane?). That was a lot of fun, and then it was back to Zhelezinka, where I’ve been for the past week.
Two days after I was back we had our KBH comedy competition final. We had won the first round earlier, now we were up against two other teams from our county, I suppose you’d call it. Long story short, we won it again. If you want the full story, find me in a year when I get back, because you probably had to be there for it to be funny. The point is though, that after we won, we took our prize, a glass vase, around to various shops in the village trying to sell it so we’d have more money to celebrate with. The night ended at the café with lots of food and lots of vodka. Let the pictures speak for themselves.
Tomorrow is Christmas, and though I’m not as down and filled with feelings of loneliness like I was last year, I still miss my family. When I look at the pile of presents they sent me, sitting on my vanity, I get a bit homesick. I enjoy presents. Who doesn’t? But I enjoy them so much more when they are surrounded by other peoples presents under a festively lit Christmas tree that can barely be seen beneath the hundreds of ornaments that have been collected over the years.
This is a tough time for many people, wherever you are. I can get through this Christmas without a problem because I know that my family is thinking of me as much as I am thinking of them, and I keep the thought that next year I will be back with them, telling jokes and laughing at all the dorky comments getting tossed around.
This year I’m hoping I will have a chance to get into the city on the weekend to celebrate with all the rest of the volunteers. I have another obligation that I’m regretting agreeing to at this point, though. My school needed somebody to play the Kazakhstani version of Santa Claus, called Grandfather Frost, for their New Years celebration. This apparently happens multiple times, and of the times they want me is Saturday evening, when I expected to be celebrating Christmas. If I can, I’m going to get somebody to cover for me that one day, but as all things go in Kazakhstan, getting definite information and a solid schedule is impossible until the day of. I think I can make it work, I’ve learned a thing or two in this country, and they love me here so they’re often willing to work around my needs.
I’ve had lots of great comments from people about how much they enjoy me and what a good person I am, which is part of the reason I love doing things like this for them. But I also need to think of myself and my own personal needs. This is a hard time, and being able to be around close friends relieves a lot of the depression. A little alcohol doesn’t hurt either.
So with that thought, I’ll leave you all. I miss you guys, I love and I’ll be there next year.

Cross-dressing for the win!

Those of you who have been following this blog for quite awhile may remember an event last year called Kavan (KBH in Russian). This is a team comedy competition that last year was held at our village’s concert hall. This year it was in another village. I had the dubious honor of joining teachers and a few students from our three schools to create an ultimate Zhelezinka comedy team.
The way Kavan works is you put together a few skits for various competitions. There’s an opening hello set of skits, a musical group, another they call homework where you have to do some sort of skit based on a theme they give you and a funny speech or story given by the team captains.
Our team ran on a platform of gender-bending and An-American-speaking-Russian-is-automatically-funny. I can’t really relay the jokes (you had to be there), but needless to say with my flawless delivery of lines I barely understood and struggled to remember, our team took first place!
This was coming off of a day and a half of preparation. On Wednesday a teacher came to me asking if I wanted to be in the show. I of course agreed, and I showed up for “rehearsal” at 3 o’clock that day. They gave me my lines, explained to everybody what we would be doing, and then we went home. I was told we would be recording our lines so nobody had to memorize them.
The next day I show up in the morning and am informed that my lines won’t be recorded. I have to memorize a dozen lines of Russian. Fine, I said, I can manage that. And I did. I must have read my lines over 100 times. I had them down (pronunciation was another matter). The time came for the show. I hit my first parts without a stutter. Third couplet I stalled on a line, but luckily my partner knew my part and fed me the line. The final couplet I was going along with it, then for some reason got drowned out by our cheering section. They must have realized that I was going to screw it up and figured it’d be safer to just scream and shout. They were right, actually.
So in the end, we were the funniest of four teams and now, for better or worse, we have a final competition in about four weeks. I am going to once again have about two days to prepare because the week before the competition I will be in Almaty for a Peace Corps conference that I don’t plan on missing.
Otherwise, things here have been pretty calm. My sitemate, Megan, is getting along and seems to be doing pretty well in the village. I have come to respect Nora (yes you, Nora) even more for being able to listen to all my complaints and stress relieving diatribes, as I am now doing the same. I don’t mind it because I know how much it can help to unload.
As for my depression loaded previous blog, that time has passed. That’s what happens in Peace Corps. Things get bad, then time passes. You find a distraction, you get a package from home or you email bomb all your friends (except Alex, sorry) in order to get a lot of love in return. Time passes, and soon you’re home.