On a hot Thursday one year ago, just over a week before I left Kyrgyzstan, I made a small piece of Peace Corps Kyrgyz Republic history: I became the first volunteer in nearly two decades to lead a project in Batken Oblast. It doesn’t sound like a big deal if you don’t know Peace Corps Kyrgyzstan very well, so let me start from the beginning with an overview of what Batken is and why it’s so cool. Continue reading “Back In Batken Oblast”
Last week, I got to return for probably the last time to my favorite rayon in Kyrgyzstan, the high and remote Chong-Alay region, which is the southernmost region in Kyrgyzstan. As the crow flies, it’s only about 65 miles southwest of Osh (a 20-minute flight in the Soviet era), but thanks to the majestic Alay mountains, the drive is 300km and takes 5 hours on a good day. It’s remote, but as I had learned from my previous visits, it’s one of the most welcoming and hard-working places in the country. Continue reading “Winter in Chong-Alay”
February is the shortest month of the year, so that might be why it seems like I spent half of it in Kazakhstan with a few stops in Osh along the way. See, after the office rejected my plans to visit my friends and host family in Tajikistan last summer, I wound up with just shy of two weeks of vacation time with no way to use it but to burn it up before our COS conference, so I saved some of my local money (yes, I am able to save a little bit on an income of $250 a month living in the big city) and went on some adventures. Continue reading “Mile 22: A Whole Lotta Kazakhstan (and a little bit of Osh)”
Well, January came and went quickly. January is usually a very slow month in Central Asia because there’s a bunch of holidays and school breaks. With students out of school and universities closed, a lot of regular work stops as parents stay home with kids and people return to their villages from the city. Despite this, the month was still lively thanks to some beautiful snowfall and time with friends and a major work breakthrough. Continue reading “Mile 21: A Quiet Winter”
Mile 19 is about where you start to hit the wall in a marathon, depending on your training. It varies from person to person, from marathon to marathon, and depending on how you’re doing physically and mentally. I’ve run races where I never hit the wall. In another I hit it at mile 16. It’s not enough to stop you, because you keep going. You have a job to do, a goal to reach. But it’s been hard, and November has been, I think, a proverbial hitting of the wall for me. Continue reading “Mile 19: Hitting The Wall”
I have talked a little about a few projects I’m doing so far, but a lot of my stories have lacked some context. Today I want to explain to you how Kyrgyzstan’s health system works, what Health Promotion is, and how my work and my fellow volunteers’ work fits into this structure. Continue reading “Kyrgyzstan’s Health Promotion System”
When you’re not allowed to finish (or even start) a marathon, what do you do? Why you pick one the next month and enter it, of course.
The thirteenth month of my service saw my visa get renewed and a lot of planning take place. Then we had a bunch of holidays, and then a really awesome and productive trip to Issyk-Kul where I taught health lessons in a bunch of schools before running a marathon. Let’s dive in.
Continue reading “Mile 13: Health Lessons And A Sixth Marathon”
Coming out of Harvard, moving to New York City, and living the fly fabulous life of a millennial consultant gave me an interesting relationship with money. I had a lot of it, I spent a lot of it, and I honestly wasted a lot of it. Well, I probably shouldn’t be surprised that joining the Peace Corps has put my life into rather harsh perspective,* but in many unexpected ways.
See, when many people think of joining the Peace Corps, they think about living in huts, eating food they don’t know, and some sort of stereotype of living in abject poverty and hunger. But, the thing is, I don’t live in a hut. I like my food. I’m not uncomfortable here. I’m not unhappy. I live a comfortable, rewarding, and happy life here in a lower-middle income country. Seriously. And I don’t spend a lot of money at all.
Outside of my vacation, December and January were not particularly exciting months. It was hard to top the excitement that was my HIV/AIDS Stigma and Discrimination Awareness Training at the very end of November, and then it was hard to do much of anything knowing that I was going to be gone for nearly 3 weeks. But, we got a lot of things planned and some good stuff is launching… finally! Continue reading “Mile 8-9: Winter Recess”
The plane sits on the tarmac in Istanbul airport, and as soon as the doors close, the passengers redistribute so that most people have a row to themselves. I see blue passports and hear Kyrgyz chatter, and I know I’m on my way home.
Takeoff is in the darkness of the evening, and landing is in the middle of the night. The passengers applaud the landing in dense fog, stand before we’ve left the runway, and descend the stairs to the misty tarmac into the Cobus. We make way for women, elders, and a woman with a baby, and I know I’m on my way home.
People smile and chatter jovially in the passport control line. A few scoot bags made of plastic bags and duct tape forward as we wait our turn to enter. I am spoken to in Russian. My passport is stamped by an officer in a large fur hat. I walk into the next room, where I unload my checked luggage myself from the back of the baggage truck amidst a crowd of other people. I step outside, to the tune of “taxi, taxi, taxi,” and I know I’m on my way home.
I see Cyrillic everywhere, families reuniting, and my airport here in Osh. I see my family waiting for me. They shake my hand, and we touch our temples to one another on each side. We walk to the car, and share our holiday experiences in Kyrgyz. We get in the car, and it’s right-hand drive. There are beautiful seat covers, and traditional Uzbek music is playing on the radio, and I know I’m on my way home.
We pull up to the house, and I slip my shoes off before going inside. I retrieve my old fashioned key from my pocket and unlock my room. I plug in my heaters, and tidy things a little bit, and make up my floor bed of tyshyks. I go outside to brush my teeth. And finally, after three weeks away from site, I stoop down and slide under my covers and pull out my phone to send a message to my mother.
“I’m home.”
