New Year's Celebrations

Picture Denotations (top down):

1. As the guest, it's absolutely undeniably mandatory that I am the first to cut the cake. (from left: cousin, paternal aunt, me, and mom)

2. Turkmens love posed pics! (from left: mom, brother holding cousin, me holding another cousin who's older sister to the aforementioned cousin, neighbor, neighbor's son, and my extremely tall brother)

3. As the foreign guest, I am always dressed up in traditional dresses/get-ups. I oblige smilingly.

4. I give my parents a small package of Lindor chocolate truffles courtesy of America for the New Year's...and was forced to pose forever for this picture to be taken.

5. Our happy family and the feast (the one on the right end is a neighbor. She was an early widow and lives alone, so we include her in all our family happenings. She's super duper.)

6. My hospital staff's home-cooked cake for our small celebration; it costs 180000 manats, which is $12, pretty pricey for a cake! It made me miss the fruit-topped cakes from home.

7. As the guest, I have to have the biggest piece of cake. I felt like the fat kid in Matilda's: I eventually ate the whole thing.

8. Me and one of my favorite nurses. She's really sweet.

9. My staff and me, made up of doctors and nurses. The supervisor, head doctor, is taking this picture.

1/15/09 (Thursday): Conserving Water

I gave myself a paper cut today, and I thought: that’s going to sting when I take a shower tonight, but then I grinned. Today is not a shower day. Every other day, I brave the cold and the possibility of a cold shower to take a shower. Before, I had taken a shower every day, but then I saw how my family had to physically pour water into the huge metal container in the bathroom. It’s an endeavor alright. Then, the water in the container is heated by this tiny metal hook. We would light a match to light the hook, which I assume there’s gas coming out of the five holes there. I am not yet familiar with the workings of the shower, but my point is this: hot water is the most prized luxury, and I am aghast at how much hot water I used to waste in the states. Now I try to conserve each drop: when I shampoo my hair, I turn all the water off; when I lather on soap, I turn all the water off; and my showers are usually only 10 minutes long, compared to the hour-long showers I used to take that steamed up the entire bathroom. Now I would rather shiver than let hot water trickle down from the makeshift showerhead because if I use more than my share, my family would take cold showers. You see, they always wait until I take my shower first.

12.29.2008 (Monday): Reflections

Everyone told us that the first month at our permanent sites would be hard, but I didn’t expect it to be this hard or this lonely. I didn’t anticipate losing all of my privacy and any semblance of independence. I didn’t anticipate feeling this awkward and uncomfortable all the time. I am always surrounded by my family, but that could be particularly isolating, as I don’t know what I am supposed to do but sit there dumbly, mutely. So I stare at the TV, letting the waves of Russian soap operas wash over me, and whenever there was any movement among my family members, I find myself holding my breath. Perhaps I could find an excuse to retreat to my room, solitary yet comfortable. That is tempting, but I always force myself to sit there, for one moment longer, for one more episode of Russian TV. I need to integrate into this family circle, after all. This is for the long haul.

Work: another area needing improvement. I have accepted the fact that my staff sees me as an addition to the furniture. That’s what they want. This culture works through indirect means, and veteran volunteers and the Peace Corps staff tell us health volunteers to just sit there and drink tea with our staffs, for the first three months at least, to gain their trust and acceptance – to accept that we are going to be fixtures there for the next two years. I was skeptical at first, but I prepared myself to do that. I mean, what do I learn? Maybe jumping into this with both feet would scare my community more than gain their friendship. But this means that my staff only treats me as a guest, not a contributing member of the health community. They ask me questions about America and China. My doctor counterpart wants to go with me if I decide to take my first vacation in China. They ask me to teach English, and I have obliged, grateful for any scrap of work that I receive. They invite me to eat with them for the daily lunches. I had impulsively thrown it out there that I will also bring lunch every week so I don’t leech off of them. It was a good idea at the time, but I don’t exactly know how to cook. I turned to my family to teach me, and I helped whatever I could (i.e. peeling carrots and potatoes), but I regret to say that my host mom has mostly wrested control of this initiated cooking project. I am learning though, and I am taking some responsibility in the work domain. Overall, my staff doctors and nurses are perfect hosts and make me feel welcomed, some more than others. I really can’t complain, if I don’t mind being part of the backdrop, being the exhibit of the demure, slanted-eyed foreigner.