One Year Back

A year ago, I came home from Kazakhstan.

Honestly, the exact day escapes my memory. I remember that it was snowing in Almaty the day I left, and the streets were dark as we drove away from the Peace Corps office so early in the morning.

It is good to be back in America. I am throwing back on the personality I once had -- the person who has a full day, every day. Graduate school, work, and other obligations will make a person busy, and these are the aspects of life that I have chosen.

Sometimes I am shaken and I see my life through Kazakhstan eyes. What am I working for? Where is my family? Will I catch a cold from that open window?

There is not a day that I don't think about Kazakhstan or Liberia.

Part of that is a factor of this life that I am choosing: I work in an office draped with Central Asian paraphernalia. I got to colloquium lectures about the evolution of steppe pastoralism. I discuss public service reform in class and think about Liberia. I study the effects of language and educational achievement and think about my students.

I still find it hard to talk about. Yesterday I gave a video conference presentation to 7th graders in Ohio about the Silk Road (my job has included stranger things...). At the end, one of them asked me, "Was it difficult to live abroad for 2 years? What was is like?" How do you answer that? Of course it was difficult. But leaving was the scariest part.

It is so good to be home. I am learning how wonderful it is to be able to call people. I can think about someone, and then talk to them a minute later. This is an amazing thing after those long months of wondering, of having my weekly phone calls with the parents and the beautiful letters from friends as my only lifelines. It is incredible to feel like I am again a part of the lives of the people I love.

Sometimes I forget, though, and I let myself get sucked into this daily grind. I am trying to honor where I was and what I was. But I forget that for hours a day, for months at a time, I was a teacher. That my life was students and crazy English textbooks and a cold school building where I did squats between classes to stay warm.

I miss it. I miss the language, the banya, and I even miss the food. My first Kazakh teacher was here for an exchange program this fall -- we got to meet and talk for a few hours last week. And both of us complained about how American food lacks soup. Our other mutual pet peeve was shoes on carpets.

Mostly, seeing him reminded me of the people I miss. I get emails from my former host brother, who is now studying in Russia. His phrasing makes me laugh out loud. And berate myself for not properly teaching him: he still writes like a gangster (sista instead of sister, lil' instead of little). When I go back, if I go back....

In any event. I've survived the past year. I've lived in Almaty, Kazakhstan; Minneapolis, MN; Zwedru, Liberia; Minneapolis again; Montpelier, VT; and Bloomington, IN. I guess I'll recover from it all soon enough.

Stumping for Discs

In the summer of 2008, six intrepid Peace Corps volunteers gathered in a small town in northern Kazakhstan. Their mission: to teach thirty 5-9th graders the fundamentals and joys of Ultimate Frisbee. Meeting every day for a week, the camp exceeded all expectations and a royally good time was had by all. We formed four teams, each with a volunteer leader, and throughout the week, calls of "Superstar Monster forever!" "Alright, Counterstrike!" "Yeah, Flying Crocodiles!" and "G-unit!" rang across the steppe.

Girls love Ultimate

Ultimate is a wonderfully addictive game, and soon these kids were hooked. Their leaders, older and a bit more prone to wear and tear, had to drag them off the fields at the end of morning practice. Afternoon activities included designing team logos, video clips of Ultimate, and one amazing project:

It would not be Ultimate without some tie-dye!

There are more photos and camp commentary on the June 28, 2008 post of this blog. Check it out!

Recently, my site mate Jeff told me that he is resurrecting the camp this year. Sounds like there has been a lot of interest from both the community and other volunteers. He is hard at work organizing and scheming for funds -- I'm writing here to get you all to help!

You can't have an Ultimate Frisbee camp without Frisbees. And discs are impossible to purchase in Kazakhstan. Last year, Discraft sent us some free reject discs (we covered shipping costs) and family, friends, and teammates came through with some beautiful new and almost new discs. THANK you for everyone that helped out.



This year, Discraft has said no more -- they have sent as many discs as they will to Kazakhstan. So I hope that loyal readers and passionate Ultimate stars will step up to help us out. Bring a disc to give away to Get Ho, or toss a few bucks my way to help purchase discs and mail them.

Just to head off the inevitable question of, "Hey, what happened to the discs from last year?" We made a rookie mistake and gave the discs away to the participants. Great idea, right? They could keep playing all year, remember the summer fun, etc.

One problem: all the Americans signed the discs and we used them as awards for participation. This turned the discs into precious mementos, not sporting equipment, and none of the kids want to use their discs, for fear of erasing those signatures and accolades. This year, in light of the growing interest in Ultimate, donated discs will be kept, either for future camps or for school sports programs.

Let me know if you are interested in helping out -- we would greatly appreciate discs, cash, cones, cleats, or any other Ultimate-related sports gear. I will ship what we've got in mid-May: every little bit helps.

Peace,
Nora

norawebbwilliams@gmail.com

An end to a journey

Most of you loyal readers likely already know the latest news: I've returned home to the good old USA after almost 8 weeks in Liberia. This is more short-term that I'd originally intended. And let me say first that I am in good health and was mostly safe for most of my service in Liberia. I came home voluntarily for many reasons; the two easiest are that my work was not what I expected and that personally I felt it was time to reconnect with America. Regarding work, there was no job ready for me... I was assigned to teach English in a high school, but with scheduling issues I would have ended up teaching 6 classes in 10 weeks. This is frustrating because I went to Liberia expressly to work, to share my expertise, to really be of use. What is hard is to think of the students I left -- bright 10th and 11th graders who need all the learning they can get so that they might rise out of conflict and into wisdom. The classes were between 90-120 students each, a challenge certainly, especially as most were young men and some were older than me. I feel that I was up to the task, however, and I think that we made the most of the 3 classes we had together. It was curious to be addressed as "Madam" by students, but as the only female teacher on staff, it was understandable that they didn't take easily to calling out "Ms. Williams". I wish that we could have had more time; they deserve a long-term educator. Preferably one who knows the curriculum they are expected to cover and is paid by the Ministry of Education (as in the Soviet reconstruction period, most teachers have gone months without pay).

The second reason for my resignation from Peace Corps was personal. In Liberia, I had many interactions with international workers -- experts from the UN, consultants, NGO staff, etc. One unifying theme they all shared was a distance from their families and home cultures. Yes, it has always been a dream of mine to travel, to live abroad and feel the rush of being foreign, but not at the expense of my family and friends back home. I would like to be a better friend, sister, daughter, or if not better, than at least closer. I may still be awful about picking up the phone to chat, but at least now I have that option.

Liberia itself is a country still struggling, still trying to recover, still trying to hold onto peace and rebuild. Never before have I lived in a place where humans and nature were so bolding interfering with one another. The bush reclaims fallen homes; farmers and road builders burn the bush. The termites and cockroaches believe they own everything; humans try to convince them they are wrong. In many ways it feels like a losing battle: at times I wondered if it wouldn't be better to just leave this land of malaria and mold to the birds and spiders and jungle vines.

Of course, I had the option of leaving. The people of Liberia are boldly choosing the other option: they are coming back. Back from Guinea and the Ivory Coast, back from Sierra Leone and back, even, from the USA. They are brave, they have struggles, and I have nothing but hope and prayers for their success. I wish to see the day when, eventually, the UN will leave, the international NGOs will trickle out, and Liberia will try to stand on its own feet.

Peace Corps will probably still be there on that day, and probably will be there for as long as the government will have them. It was very inspiring to be in a country with such a history of Peace Corps -- former volunteers and FOL, you made some big impressions. My favorite landmark on the drive to Monrovia was a sign in Saclepea boldly proclaiming that they had a PCV from 1963-1965, "mentor, teacher, coach, you will never be forgotten."

Thanks for reading, let you know where the next adventure leads!

On the road again

I was never really sure that I would be in this position again.... that is, sitting and humming with anticipation, ready to go back over the ocean. The bags are packed, the visa is attached, and the tickets are in order.

It is hard to imagine a more different country from Kazakhstan than Liberia, and yet Peace Corps is ready to take me to both. This time around, it is education from a more administrative position (at least as far as I can tell). I don't know much about the assignment or the organization I'll be working with, but I am comforted in knowing that this is just how the Peace Corps works. Anything that they told me now would be outdated by the time I arrive. We'll just have to wait and see and learn as we go! I'm most excited by the children's books I'm bringing. It was great fun to sort through all the books from my childhood and pick out a few.

There is a group of Volunteers (technically, we are Peace Corps Response Volunteers, or all returned Volunteers coming back for more -- this time in short term, high impact assignments) already in country. I'll be arriving with just one more gal. She is working on the midwifery project, which sounds like quite the job. After just a few days of training, we'll be out in the field!

As always, for safety reasons I will not identify where I'll be working or living by name or exact address. For that information, you can email me.

Well, time to go get the rest of my things in order. Wish me luck and traveling mercies!

Love,
Nora

Home, where my thought's escaping...

I'm just going to put this out there once: two weeks from today, all things willing, I'll be on a plane, winging it home to Minneapolis... So anyone in the Minneapolis area, I expect to see you soon!

There's been a huge shift in my thinking from last week to this; suddenly the end seems so close and my energy is moving away from the new trainees and onto more serious questions like, "how many beautiful pieces of embroidery can I carry on a plane?" The trainees themselves are restless, itching to get out from under the watchful eyes of trainers and teachers.

The culprit that prompted all this distraction is site visit, the week long trip that trainees take to check out their new homes. I used this time to travel to my site, too. Only mine was a farewell tour, a last chance to see the people I've grown so close to. A lot got packed into 4 days: a birthday party, Republic Day concert, the Fall Ball beauty competition and school dance, a good-bye concert and tea at school, a good-bye cafe evening with my host family, a small but important send-off at the train station...

I snuck into my favorite classes at school and sang my favorite songs with students, made cookies with Jeff, helped the new volunteer who is replacing me settle in, got many, many, many presents...

In short, we wrapped things up and I finally feel like I have done good here in Kazakhstan. It was a very affirming week. Thank you, KZ.

Maybe more coming, maybe this is the end of the KZ blog? More stories, of course, but I can share them with those that want to hear face to face in just a few weeks!

19, 31, 53

19, 31, and 53... Not only are all three of these numbers prime (I've been studying for my GREs, can you tell?), they each have a particular significance in my life right now, and they each represent a number of days. Curious? Read on!

31 is easy: that's the number of days the new trainees have been in country. They have started their teaching practicum and soon will find out where they are being sent after training. How exciting! I'm still enjoying working at training, though I miss my own site every day and can't wait to see them again in October (I'm going for a week to say my goodbyes).

19 is the number of days I've been observing Ramadan. Ramadan, the most holy of months according to the Islamic calendar, is known as Ramazan or Orazai in Kazakhstan. Kazakhs, like most other Central Asian ethnic groups such as Uzbeks, Tatars, or Kyrgyz, are nominally Muslims. They consider Islam to be a cornerstone of their ethnic identity, but they practice a strikingly secular version of the faith. Most Kazakhs rarely go to the mosque, don't know the words to Arabic prayers, and have never read the Koran They are similar in their practices to people I've heard referred to as "Christmas/Easter Christians," meaning they are moved by a faith and enjoy fun celebrations and joyful moments without the rigor of real religious structure. Perhaps needless to say, this means that very few Kazakhs observe the traditional Ramadan fast, in which it is forbidden to eat or drink anything from just before dawn to sunset. Besides the fast, throughout the month of Ramadan devout Muslims try to make peace with enemies and avoid conflict and be particularly careful around the always forbidden alcohol and pork.

I've known select people throughout my two years who have kept the Ramadan fast, including teachers, students, and fellow volunteers, but I've never lived with anyone who is keeping it before. This is the third time I've been in country for Ramadan, and in my third host family there are three of us keeping the fast: grandmother, oldest granddaughter, and myself. The first four days were rough, I tried to limit my physical activity, but my job involves travel and lots of presenting, not exactly conducive to saving energy. I whined about how lucky Muslims are in the Middle East: they are blessed with a late dawn and an early dusk, whereas we had to rise at 3.30am to finish eating by 4 and were not allowed to let anything pass our lips until 7:45 in the evening. Really, I'm just lucky the fast is in September: it moves back every year, so next years' fasters will have an even longer day. Somewhere around day 5, though, my body got used to it. There are still the occasional grumbles in my stomach and thoughts about a nice cold drink, but now the difficulty is mostly in reminding myself not to accidentally taste anything. As the days go on, breakfast tea gets later and dinner happens earlier, and I've only had one day where I felt I might faint. The culprit on that day? Not lack of food but lack of tea: I'd forgotten to have anything with caffeine at the pre-dawn meal and was hit with the corresponding symptoms of withdrawal as soon as I woke up for good. My 7.15pm emergency bottle of Coke on the ride home instantly erased my headache and nausea. I'll have to get over my caffeine addiction, but quitting cold turkey doesn't appear to be the way to go.

53 is.... the number of days I have left in Kazakhstan! Really, I've never been one of the volunteers with a daily countdown till the end of service, and I had to think pretty hard to come up with that number, but now that I look at it, that's a pretty small number. Less than two months... Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, and globetrotting adventures will just have to wait. I decided last week that I'll need some recoup and recovery time back home once training ends. Seeing my name on a flight listing to Minneapolis was a heart-pumping moment: I'm not done with Central Asia yet and just thinking of leaving KZ brings tears to my eyes, but to see home again.... to speak to my family in person.... to have hugs.... to laugh with friends.... to eat all those foods I've missed.... It will be a joy to be back.

So plan a trip to Minneapolis in November! I'll be sitting in a coffee shop wrangling with the question of what comes next and planning my own trip around the country to visit you all.

Lots of love,
Nora

Round Three

Quick, who can tell me how many gold medals Kazakhstan won in the Beijing Olympics? First person to answer correctly gets a free cheap ice cream cone dedicated to them before I eat it!

I won't ruin the surprise of your frantic Google searches, but I will say that I have watched Kazakhstan win gold, and it is an amazing thing. Kate (the other volunteer working at training) and I were literally jumping up and down in the Peace Corps lounge with tears in our eyes. It was a moment that attested to just how assimilated we two are; it really was like our country was winning. Or if not exactly our country, at least our cousin-country that we can't help but root for.

Peace Corps has long told us that our final three months in country would be our most productive, the time when we feel the most at home, and there have been other signs these past weeks of our final acceptance of Kazakhstani culture before we head home. Both of us have moved into new host families for the duration of training; mine is a couple with a large extended family and a good deal of respect/power/money in the community. To be honest, even after Kate and I were presented as the experts in host family living to the new trainees, I am surprised by how fast I've been adjusting to this new environment. Already grandmother is treating me as her oldest granddaughter, chores and treats included. Yesterday was a big party for almost the whole family; a bit of people overload but again, I felt adjusted. I was aware enough of traditions to know that I was not being tested but rather honored when they presented me with a large chunk of gelatinous sheep face to chew and an entire leg bone of mutton to pick apart. I felt especially respected, not especially repulsed, when the elders offered me a tidbit of brain and a cut of the hip bone meat.

There are different ways of showing love, respect, and affection, to be sure. Consider the event for which we had all gathered: a circumcision. This is an important moment for Muslim men in Kazakhstan, but I think every man I know in America will cringe when I say how old this little grandson was... the ceremony is usually performed for boys between the ages of 3 and 5. Our guest of honor had the surgery done Wednesday and the party Saturday to give him some time to recover, but he still walked bowlegged in a pair of pants with the crotch cut out. A wise parent safety-pinned a brown derby hat onto the hem of his shirt to keep him from bumping into anything.

Our new trainees are just starting out in Kazakhstan; they had a rough first few days with jet lag and a tightened schedule due to a flight delay, the toughest part of my job was staying awake myself and holding hands as exhausted trainees sat through a barrage of vaccines. Now they are starting their on own long paths to adjustment. I'm trying to get used to my new role as expert and guide; I'm also trying to stay out of their way. So far they are still humming with the new and problems have been small. However, there are a few who are already ending their time here. This is hard to see, as we have tried so hard to prepare for their arrival and there are so many sites waiting eagerly for a volunteer.

On a happier note, I'm preparing slowly for my own departure. In the works: Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan (visas willing), GREs (who knew you could take them in Almaty?), grad school aps (Central Asian Studies, Russian Language, Creative Writing?), and the holidays at home. Less than 3 months left! Can you believe it?

Love,
Nora