I bought an electric heater for the apartment that I didn’t end up living in. On it is written “Super Electric Momtaz.” I wasn’t exactly sure what a momtaz was, but I figured if it kept me warm, it was ok by me. Since then I've moved to a nice apartment (heats itself! magic!) but have joined the team of "PCV's for free housing." Here's the deal--most peace corps countries provide housing fo the volunteers. For example, in Zambia, the village receiving a volunteer builds a home for them to use. Here, not only do they not give us homes, but we frequently get kicked out of where we are staying for one or more of the following reasons.
1) KNB put enough pressure on landlord, including asking for pictures of her children, so she kicks you out herself.
2) KNB comes late at night to try themselves to scare you by asking questions and "checking" documents.
3) Someone who is in line for a government apartment knows you are living in one (not allowed, it should only be the assigned family, but they build new houses and keep the old as their kids' future place--actual private apartments are expensive and hard to find.) and they call whoever they can to get you out so they can move up on the list.
4) Peace Corps itself tacks some strange qualification onto the ones you already have, making your apartment unacceptable.
So I'm not in the old apartment. Now I am going to pay more than my stipend to live in one of PC's reported 3 "safe" blocks in my city of 100,000 people. Now I'm not only a volunteer--I'm paying Turkmenistan out of pocket to let me work. At least I still have my momtaz and a lock on my door to hide from all the frustration
Dec 20, 2005
Random Wrath
The life of a foreigner living in Turkmenistan is either filled with grave ignorance of the surroundings or with bursts of anger that spray out like a fireman’s hose that’s too strong for its fireman. Rarely do the people who deserve this anger get fully punished, and often some partially-innocent bystanders face the brunt of the storm. I ended my day today running after a girl with a candy wrapper she had thrown on the ground, yelling, “Here! Take this. You have a dirty country. It’s dirty because of you. Why would you just throw that on the ground. Go home and tell your parents that you live in a dirty place in a dirty country all because of you.”
Yeah. . .
That, of course, is juxtaposed by the fact that I had just gotten a snicker and a “Hello!” shouted from a group of grown men dressed in black suits waiting to greet the P------ and watch the opening of a new hospital, who of course had time to pause first and laugh at the foreigner. That was after I’d set up a basketball lesson for begging students on a Saturday and then none showed up. So candy-wrapper girl got a bit of a shock.
I’m not the only one with outbursts, though. Katie, after too many stories of kids dying, yelled quite loudly at a boy outdoors who was about 2. She found him outside playing with a stick, a puddle, and a dirty syringe. She took the needle, yelled, “Dirty! Dirty!” and a bunch of other instructions and told him to go home. 2 year-olds with used drug needles are no contest for an angry volunteer.
Yeah. . .
That, of course, is juxtaposed by the fact that I had just gotten a snicker and a “Hello!” shouted from a group of grown men dressed in black suits waiting to greet the P------ and watch the opening of a new hospital, who of course had time to pause first and laugh at the foreigner. That was after I’d set up a basketball lesson for begging students on a Saturday and then none showed up. So candy-wrapper girl got a bit of a shock.
I’m not the only one with outbursts, though. Katie, after too many stories of kids dying, yelled quite loudly at a boy outdoors who was about 2. She found him outside playing with a stick, a puddle, and a dirty syringe. She took the needle, yelled, “Dirty! Dirty!” and a bunch of other instructions and told him to go home. 2 year-olds with used drug needles are no contest for an angry volunteer.
Violin Ensemble
I swore I’d never teach public school music classes in the states—and what do I do? I go and teach public school music in a developing country. I started an ensemble of 8 kids in either their 1st or 2nd year of playing. I’m lucky to have Katia, the other teacher, who was excited about the idea and immediately taught all the kids the song I wrote and passed out. They don’t really know much about low 2s yet or how to conquer the slur, so our repertoire is rather limited. That and the fact that every time we play a scale, Maksat forgets to switch strings, so we end up in 5ths for half of it. They pretty much play horribly, but none of them have ever heard a violin ensemble, or a violin being played at all for that matter, so I guess you can’t blame them.
It took me a few rehearsals to get Katia to stop yelling at them (if you yell, it means its obviously their fault they played it wrong, not yours. . . ) but I think they are enjoying themselves. Compared to the usual barrages of yelling, being called stupid, and occasional whaps on the head, my class must be just a treat—I’m usually smiling! Imagine!
Recently Nina, my friend who plays piano and irritates me, alternately, told me about her students’ exam. They played and she thought they deserved As. The teachers (right or not) gave them Cs probably out of jealousy and superiority issues since Nina went to University and they didn’t. She complains to me how the teachers wouldn’t give her a voice, takes lots of pity—how she cried. . . However, the next time she told the story, it was a tale of how her students played so badly and she yelled at them—“I told you how many times how to play that right! What’s wrong with you!” Long story short, it’s all about blame. Nothing good here ever came from taking rightful fault. Directly as a result there is lack of improvement or even the drive to improve since whether or not you get your diploma depends more on chance, money and connections than on your ability.
It took me a few rehearsals to get Katia to stop yelling at them (if you yell, it means its obviously their fault they played it wrong, not yours. . . ) but I think they are enjoying themselves. Compared to the usual barrages of yelling, being called stupid, and occasional whaps on the head, my class must be just a treat—I’m usually smiling! Imagine!
Recently Nina, my friend who plays piano and irritates me, alternately, told me about her students’ exam. They played and she thought they deserved As. The teachers (right or not) gave them Cs probably out of jealousy and superiority issues since Nina went to University and they didn’t. She complains to me how the teachers wouldn’t give her a voice, takes lots of pity—how she cried. . . However, the next time she told the story, it was a tale of how her students played so badly and she yelled at them—“I told you how many times how to play that right! What’s wrong with you!” Long story short, it’s all about blame. Nothing good here ever came from taking rightful fault. Directly as a result there is lack of improvement or even the drive to improve since whether or not you get your diploma depends more on chance, money and connections than on your ability.
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