10.10.2008

Alright. I bought an adaptor today at the bazaar, and I was so excited to finally charge my computer and type on the computer. But then I got home, plugged in my American surge protector into the adaptor, and found out that the adaptor doesn’t fit into the outlet. The two prongs were too big. It was a small thing, but I was grossly disappointed. It seems like every step of a process, despite the extra thinking, still fails. So I brooded, read my cross-cultural book in an anti-climatic mood. When my host sister came through the door, I sought her out. In a flurry of confusing one-worded questions and wild gestures, I tried to ask her why the Turkmen adaptor won’t work in a Turkmen home. Then she said something in a resigned sort of way, waved me away, and left. I was thoroughly confused, but I was getting used to this. So I waited in my room and settled back to the chapter dedicated to teach me about the sacred nature of bread in this culture.

After 15 minutes, she came back with another adaptor to which I fit my set of adaptor, surge protector, battery charger, and finally computer. It was a neighbor’s adaptor, and it obviously adapts big prongs to smaller ones that fit into the outlets in this house. When she plugged it in, it made a large popping sound, and I thought my computer was fried. But thankfully, it worked. I was very thankful for her help. I kept saying “Sag bol” (thank you) over and over again, but she didn’t seem to acknowledge my gratefulness. And I felt really bad. She was only 14 years old, and she has to wait on me hand and foot. She waits for me to come out of my room in the morning to serve me breakfast, and she makes dinner for me, and overall she looks out for my well-being. When I want to help clean the dishes or help prepare food, she waves me away. She serves every meal and cleans up after every meal. I am 22 years old! But she seems to accept that she has to take care of me, and because I am so inept in this country, I do depend on her directions a lot. But I don’t know how to convey that I want to help out too. I don’t want to be a burden, but a friend, an older sister. However, her mother makes it seem that she has to do all the chores in the house, and I have become yet another cumbersome chore. I think I am catching on to her annoyance with my demands and questions. I mean, she is an exemplary 14-year-old, but nonetheless, she’s a 14-year-old. In comparison, I was a monstrously spoiled 14-year-old who could barely take care of herself. I really respect my host sister for her domestic capabilities.

[I think there’s a party/wedding outside of the house. There has been booming music for a while now. I wish I was invited.] Ok. So I now have a working computer, and I will chronicle my first two weeks as a Peace Corps trainee (yes, they want to make sure that I understand that I am not yet a volunteer).

I left my house in California at 7AM Friday, 9/26/08 (exactly two weeks ago today). The plane to Philadelphia was at 9AM. We were running late, and my dad was cursing the traffic on the road. I, on the other hand, was mentally checking that I have packed everything, suddenly realizing that I should’ve packed more cute blouses. I am a health volunteer, so most of the clothes that I packed were professional clothing and long skirts, complying with the dress codes in Turkmenistan…aka clothes that I would never wear in the states. However, I did manage to sneak in some cute jeans and shirts, and volunteers now tell me that I should’ve packed more of the things that I would wear in the states since I could get Turkmen clothing in Turkmenistan. I do love my comfort clothing, and as I am typing this, I am wearing comfy sweats and a T-shirt. Ahhh…it feels so good to not be dragging around and tripping over a floor-length skirt. However, I have to change when I go out to eat dinner. I wonder if I can ask my host mom if she will accept me in this as long as I promise not to leave the house. Haha.

Anyways, I was on time for the plane ride to Philly, but it wasn’t ready for me. Due to horrible weather in the east coast, the plane was delayed for four hours. I didn’t mind. There was much on my mind. It suddenly sank in that I was leaving for good for two years. I sat on the hard airport seat, my arms wrapped around my knees, slowly taking in the realization. I cried. Before there was excitement, but finally, when I had a moment, I realized the weight of my decision. I had already started to miss my family and my friends, especially my family. Sure, they can get on my nerve, and I have had more than my share of fights with them—sometimes love and hate walk on the same line. But in that airport, I knew that they would always be my anchor. Sure, they all have their idiosyncrasies, but at the end of the day, they will still love me, and I them.
Anyways, all that sappy talk aside, I was in for 12 hours of travel time to get to Philly. I was crossing my fingers, hoping that this delay and horrible traveling experience weren’t an omen for my upcoming Peace Corps experience. It was a pretty grueling experience. I was dragging around 2 huge bags, 1 carry-on, and a backpack. When I got to Philly, I was exhausted, but I managed to find ground transportation to take me to the hotel in the historic district. Then I checked in at the hotel, dragged my baggage to the third floor, stood in front of my room and breathed a sigh of relief. I was there. For better or worse. The experience had started.

On the other side of the door, I met my roommate, a fellow Turkmenistan volunteer. She was a welcomed sight. I was super excited to meet another person who was also about to embark on this experience. Also past volunteers have said repeatedly that your training class of volunteers would become your new family, since they will be the only fellow American faces that you will most likely see for the next two years. You will be at their weddings, and you will hold their babies. That’s what they tell me. So I was prepared to make my roommate my new best friend. It was easy. Her name was Megan, and she was from Montana. She was really friendly, and we hit it off. We were both from the west coast, so we had come a half day early, so the next day we went and explored the magnificent history contained within this city. I saw the Liberty Bell and was sorely disappointed. From pictures, I had thought it was huge, but it was small! The cobblestone streets were more interesting by comparison.

At 1 PM, we were ready for the official check-in of Turkmenistan volunteers to begin our staging process. Actually, the Macedonia group had already been there a day earlier, but they don’t talk to us. And a couple of them later even threw firecrackers at some of the guys from our group, so a joking ill-feeling had been bred between our two groups (on our part at least), so we now blamed all our misfortunes on “those Macedonians.” They were personally responsible for all our diarrhea, for example.

Anyways, I was very excited to meet the rest of our group, our family of volunteers. Everyone seemed a bit nervous but friendly. I had thought Peace Corps volunteers would be very hippie-ish, but my nervousness of not fitting in faded as I realized that most of them were walking in my shoes: recent college graduates. They were just like me. In our group of 44 volunteers, 2/3 were girls, and 2/3 were English teachers, whereas 1/3 were health volunteers. And as I watched our group file into the meeting room, I realized that I was the only Asian girl in the group, although there are two other Asian guys. (Now I realized that being Asian or non-blonde-hair-blue-eyes has both advantages and disadvantages. Some people think that I am Turkmen, and I feel that I am more easily accepted. On the other hand, my neighbors sometimes asked if I speak English. For those that don’t really want to believe that I am American, I respond, “A little.”) There are also two black people in our group. There you go – American diversity.

Our first activity was to get to know each other, and all of us were at first a bit shy. We held back and tentatively shook hands, but over the course of the next hour, the din of the room and the laughter rose exponentially. We were going to be together for the next two and a half years. Let’s be friends! Of course there were those individuals that I clicked with immediately, and we stuck together for the rest of the Philadelphia staging, and even as I write this, we are still together now. That always reminds me of the book Blink and how in a very short amount of time, you can gauge the personality of a person.

The next activity and the rest of the day were lectures, about Peace Corps policies and basic orientation stuff. Not especially exciting, but necessary. It was interesting and perhaps a bit distressing to see how easily I fell back into college mode. I took notes on practically everything. I wonder where those notes are now. However, we also wrote down our fears and aspirations. Many common fears and aspirations emerged. Among the fears were the weather, the lack of modern toilets, squatting (ok, there was much talk of that, and writing this now, I have to say I have never talked so much about toilets and stool in my entire life. We analyze each of our bathroom experiences), water, food, health, camel spit, homesickness, and the fear of not being able to do a good job. In that list, most of it comprised of our basic needs: food, water, and shelter. And among the aspirations were to leave a positive impact on our community and integrate into our community. (I might expand on this part later.)

And that first night in Philly, I was eager to try the famous Philly cheese steaks. I went with a bunch of girls to a local restaurant, and while I chatted with the girls about their fears and aspirations about the upcoming years, it again struck me that I was finally there. I was leaving American in two days. The application process had taken almost a year, but finally I was starting this chapter of my life. And the famous Philly steaks were not that special. I have had better in my college cafeteria. After dinner, my roommate and I watched Sweet Home Alabama, one of my favorite movies, on the hotel TV. I savored the experience, since American TV with all its faults would soon become a rare commodity.

The next day started bright and early, and after putting on our professional clothing, we headed downstairs with our cool Peace Corps folders. (I am sorry that I didn't finish this post, but I will continue it later and tell you all about my time pre-Turkmenistan.)

HOWEVER, you can write me!! Please do. The address and some directions are below.

US Peace Corps/Turkmenistan
P.O. Box 258, Krugozor
Central Post Office
Ashgabat, 744000
Amy Q. Quan
TURKMENISTAN

Türkmenistan Aşgabat, 744000
Merkezi poçta
abonent 258, Krugozor
Parahatçylyk Korpusy, Türkmenistan
Amy Q. Quan
TÜRKMENISTAN

1. It costs less than $1 to send a letter, but it would mean so much to me. (See plea below)
2. put “Airmail” and “Par Avion” on the letter and perhaps also “Via Istanbul” to ensure its arrival, and usually it takes 2 weeks to 1 month for letters to arrive.
3. And I promise to write back to every one, since without Internet, I have picked up writing again, and I am writing tons of letters each day.
4. And tape your letter to discourage tampering with the mail
5. Number your letter in case some letters don’t make it
6. And please keep track of the letters you send and send me an email (amyquan@gmail.com) when you do send one. I usually get to check email once a month, so I will look out for possible mail and keep track of the letters on my end.
7. And if you want me to start writing first, please send me your mailing address via email. I would love to write you! Please keep in touch.

Excerpt from one of my diary entries:

"Letters and packages from our family and friends are simply the most welcomed sight in the world here in Turkmenistan. I can’t express that with the all the sincerity that I feel about that. Mail informed us that we are loved and missed by others, and that we still remained in contact with our loved ones. And they make the outhouse smell better, the bucket showers more exciting, the language learning easier, and the loneliness easier to bear, from day to day. Home. Mail is home. Mail validates our existence, that we matter. Are you convinced yet?"