ARGH! I had written this entry once already, but I had saved it on my flash drive. Then I deleted the one on the flash drive, thinking that I should upload the updated version on it. How the hell do you find something deleted on a removable disk? All the emotions found in the original entry written at the most opportune time are so regrettably lost, but some things were salvaged:
Today is my last day at my permanent working site and family, and I will leave tomorrow. I will return in the beginning of December and move in permanently with my host family and start two years of work at my House of Health. This brief five-day visit to our permanent sites was to make sure everything was compatible and ready to go. My site is pretty neat. At this point, I am actually reluctant to leave, since I have built good relations with both my family and my hospital staff. Saying my goodbyes, I feel in limbo. Five days were really short, but I tried really hard to be as courteous as possible, since the next two years are what I make of it, and first impressions last a long time.
At this point, I am really happy with my permanent family. My sister studies in Ashgabat and only comes home on the weekends, but today she called me to say goodbye, and it was very sweet. She had an exam today, and she said it didn’t go so well. I wished her good luck on the next exam. Then she asked me if I was really going to come in December, and I reassured her that I would be here to spend the New Year’s holiday with her. “I will be at the house when you move in,” she promised. My family meanwhile was following along with the conversation and was suitably impressed that I could carry on a coherent conversation. So impressed that they proceeded to call all the neighbors that they could think of and have me relay certain messages to the neighbors. I played the part of the bumbling American pretty well, although I had fun adding my own touches of ingenuity.
The culture here continues to amaze me, and the hospitality of these Turkmen people is so far-reaching. At every meal, every single dish was pushed as close to me as possible, while the rest of the family reached across the eating mat to serve themselves. Also, since meat is relatively very expensive in this country, my family would save the meat for me and not eat any themselves, saying that they didn’t like to eat meat. I don’t really believe that, since I have heard some people say that only in America people can choose to become vegetarians. In Turkmenistan, the people who didn’t eat meat are the ones who couldn’t afford it.
In addition, my family always says that I am too skinny and that I need to eat more, much more. I in turn pointed out that they are themselves very skinny, and they argued that they eat a lot and just can’t gain weight. Once all my protestations and arguments are rebuffed and overturned, I am forced to intake more food. My mom and my sister would coax me, “Just one more spoonful. Just one more.” Almost at every meal, I have to say that my stomach hurts to stop their coercion and convince them that their guest is indeed well-fed. I do understand that my family is trying to be the most hospitable hosts they could be, and I gratefully appreciate their efforts. They try so hard, and it touches me so much. And they are so protective. Every time I step outside the door to wash my hands, brush my teeth, or wash my face, they have ready a pitcher of warm water to hand to me. They tell me that it’s really cold outside, and they are afraid I am going to catch a cold, which I did. And after each shower, they would insist that I stand next to the gas heater for a while to warm up, and although they don’t use it themselves, they brought out an old-fashioned hair dryer for me. I wasn’t allowed to leave the room without using it; they didn’t believe that I go around all the time with wet hair in America, even in the winter. I think I will save the story of the many times my wet hair had frozen in the winter air for later, when they are more convinced that I am capable of taking care of myself.
My mother is the sweetest person ever. She has pretty bad teeth, with a lot of them missing, and when I first met her, she kept covering her mouth with her hand when she talked, and she kept apologizing to me, saying that she will get a fake set of teeth put in soon. That touched me and also confused me, almost appalled me – the fact that she thinks that I would view her differently based on how she looked. I strongly stated that I didn’t care about that, but she nonetheless went into the city twice to get a set of fake teeth put in, even though she had to take time off work, neglect the family, and have her gums hurt so she couldn’t eat. Every time I see her painstakingly swallow without chewing, my heart breaks a bit more.
In addition, my family tries to anticipate my next move and do for me something before I even ask. For example, the outhouse doesn’t have a light, so I take my flashlight with me when I have to go to the bathroom at night. First, there’s the man-sized Alabay dog that I have to watch out for. Second, the path to the toilet is pretty treacherous: it’s a narrow and uneven path between two garden patches, and sometimes I have to step off the dirt path to avoid hitting tree branches. Third, the nightlife is quite lively. I have stepped on two frogs on my way to the toilet, and I am terrified of snakes, which I suspect the tall grasses sometimes hide. Although it’s winter, I think I have heard some slithering and hushed sounds of movement, especially since the cold-blooded snakes would want to be near the warm bathroom. Anyways, my flashlight comes in very handy: I could see the frogs that I have accidentally bruised limping around. My father on the third day of my visit installed a light bulb inside the outhouse. I hadn’t expected it since I hadn’t said anything, but they had glimpsed the flashlight, and wordlessly, they had installed a light, although they hadn’t needed a light themselves. These accommodations reminded me of a story that a veteran Peace Corps volunteer told me. When he was a volunteer, his family always had toilet paper in the outhouse, but when he went back to visit, there wasn’t any. They had only bought the toilet paper for him.
My family also told me that they would install a patio light for me, to make it easy for me. In addition, when they let the dog run free at night, my younger brother goes with me when I need to use the toilet. He would on the one hand catch the lunging dog while I escape to the toilet. I distinctly remember the time when I was sick and spent quite a while in the outhouse. All the while, he was standing out there, shivering in his T-shirt, holding onto the dog. My family tries so hard that there isn’t anything that I could ask for. Every one of my actions is anticipated, to the extent that I sometimes feel comfortable, wondering how I could repay this kindness. Most of the time, however, I am so deeply touched by their gestures of kindness. Living in a strange country and initially with strange people, I greatly appreciate the feeling of being looked after. It goes a long way to make my cultural integration that much easier.
Maral. I have to tell you about her. She’s ten years old, and she’s one of my many host cousins. She has really beautiful curly black locks cut short, and her light brown eyes are super accentuated by super long and sooty lashes. She has a really boyish air, and she’s easily becoming one of my most favorite people in my new village. I went to guest at her house, and that day, her parents and brother had gone to visit her mother’s parents, so she was alone in the house with her elderly grandfather. It’s the Turkmen culture to show the guest photos of the family, and Maral brought out every single picture that was in the house, including a stack of black and whites that told of a different generation. As I worked my way through the mountain of photos, she brought out everything she deemed interesting and worthy enough for my eyes: a Russian vodka bottle that was given to her father for his birthday, an anti-aging cream that belonged to her mother, a broken cell phone, some pictures that her father had drawn of her, and an address book full of her cousin’s drawings. The vodka bottle had looked too heavy for her skinny arms, yet she managed. Looking at the eager and earnest look in her eyes and observing the careful way she takes her of her grandfather bring happy tears to my eyes. (The girls in this culture are so hard-working and good children.) And when she came guesting at my house, she handed me two small packaged marshmallow cookies, and I felt that I couldn’t accept them. I didn’t have anything to give her, but she was thoughtful enough to bring me something from a store. She was ten years old! When I finally said goodbye to Maral, I did cry. I gave her a long hug, although shaking hands is more appropriate here, and at the last moment, she turned around and blew me a kiss.
In addition, I have formed good relations with my all-female clinic staff, and I managed to talk to everyone and ask their age, their name, the number of children they have, and essentially their life story. On my last day of work, I brought in a box of chocolate truffles to share for the staff to share. Although they thought I’d overpaid, they enjoyed and savored the chocolates. For my family doctor counterpart, I gave her five packs of Orbit gum. I didn’t really know what she liked or what I could afford with my volunteer salary, but I had seen her buy a stick of this gum before, so I bought her some more. Although she probably didn’t know what to do with all the gum, she was very touched and was embarrassed that she had nothing to give me. Then she proceeded to tell everyone about what I did, and now they are all planning to give me a present that would be from all of them. Hopefully, I had objected strongly enough; I already feel indebted enough to their taking me under their wing.
The goodbye with the staff was very awkward, yet touching. They kept asking me who was helping me travel back into the capital and made sure that I understood that I could always ask them for help. Then they held out their hand, and I went in to shake it goodbye, but they kept tugging me towards them. Oh, a hug, I thought. But it turned out to be a huge noisy kiss on my cheek or near my ear. Ok, I have seen many a Turkmen kiss people hello or goodbye, and they would kiss on both cheeks. Naturally, I presented my other cheek for the kiss. No such luck. I was pushed back. This proceeded with all of my staff, as I tried to shake their hand and as they tried to kiss me. Then we all awkwardly laughed. It was great, and I was reluctant to leave their circle of camaraderie.
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