In Turkmenistan there are certain rules surrounding bread because it is sacred as a symbol of the staff of life that once kept the nomadic people alive in times of uncertainty. Rules pertaining to bread include never turning it upside down, never tossing it, using both hands to tear a piece (you never cut it with a knife), always eating at least a bite of it at each meal, and never throwing it (including crumbs) away. Observing the Atkins diet in T-stan would be impossible. Because they never throw it away, families put out the same bread meal after meal, so it gets hard and stale. I always look forward to seeing a new loaf of ҫorek (T-men for bread).
Sex (not that kind)
Alright. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a feminist but would not consider myself particularly militant. (others might, maybe) Going into this I knew that obviously T-stan is not as advanced as America in terms of equality between sexes. I was prepared to wear long skirts and not tell the women here they were being subjugated and should rise up against their oppressors. At least, I thought I was. I knew that I was lucky to be an American as a woman. In an academic, abstract way. Here, I’ve come to feel concretely how very lucky I was when I was living in America. For training, I’m stationed in a town about twenty minutes outside of Așgabat. This town is supposed to be more liberal than many parts of Turkmenistan. My LCF (language and culture facilitator) says it’s okay for women to wear pants here, and, indeed, I have seen a few do so, although so far they appear to be Russian. But I still got looks when I chose to wear jeans to see camels getting milked. I didn’t want to get camel poo on the hem of my work skirts, but maybe that would have been better.
The host dad comes home from work and sits on his butt watching Russian television. My host mom comes home from work and makes dinner. My host sister and mom do all the housework (now that I’m here, I help clean dishes after supper, vacuum my room and do my laundry). My host brother is the youngest and is a brat who can boss his sisters around because if they yell at him, their father yells at them. (As he did at the dinner table last night.) The host dad raises his voice and is very impatient with me when I don’t understand him. He is like a comic strip character. I would try to remember that when he does such things but then I might laugh in his face.
Sexism is apparent in Turkmen language. Although words are not gendered, different sexes have different phrases that apply to them. The Turkmen for a married man means something like, he has a house, because Turkmen live with their families until they get married and then the groom’s parents give him a house. The Turkmen for a married woman is something like, she’s started her life. You apparently can’t have a life if you’re a woman unless you’re married. (In fact, outside of cities, the only acceptable way for a woman to live on her own is if she is a widow with grown children). There are also four different words for the siblings of one’s husband (older brother of my husband, older sister of my husband, etc.) We haven’t learned any words for sibling of one’s wife.
This is the clincher. Today I was going to meet up with some male PCT’s to play soccer. As I was walking I met up with a group of them and later we were met by another and his host brother. The host brother introduced himself to the male PCT beside me and totally ignored me when I introduced myself. He turned around and walked away. The other PCT looked at me and nodded knowingly because we had just been talking about sexism here. I said, “I better get assigned Ashgabat for my permanent site.” When we got to the soccer field, there were already about 30-40 guys there playing. There were two men in the stands watching. They gave me the stink eye. In the States, I loved playing sports when I was the only girl. I enjoy the company of guys because there’s no drama, they just play the game and have fun. And usually I’m an asset to my team by way of being underestimated by the other one. Guys at home might be surprised to see a girl play sports well, but they know we exist and they think it’s cool.
But here, I turned around and went home. I’m not looking for trouble. Playing and playing well would not prove anything here. I actually cried on the way home, feeling totally ostracized and hopeless. I’ve definitely felt like I didn’t belong in a group before, but never to this extent. I can’t articulate the anger and loathing I felt. We’re supposed to be culturally sensitive when serving the Peace Corps. But some things are culture and some things are just evil. The subjugation of women qualifies as the latter.
Laundry
We wash things by hand here. It’s an undertaking. In the States, I waited a couple weeks to pile up enough clothes to make two loads for the washing machines. Then, I read or watched TV while waiting to move clothes to the dryer. I didn’t care for laundry back home because I had to walk up and down my apartment stairs three times to finish and then had a big pile to fold. Now I miss doing laundry there. I can’t wait two weeks here. One, because I don’t have nearly as many clothes for rotation and two, because you can’t wash that many by hand without tearing the skin off your knuckles. I did laundry for the first time today and my host mom kept poking her nose in to see if I was doing it right. She tried to tell me something, but I didn’t understand so she called my LCF to tell me. What my LCF told me was to start with whites and then do darks. That’s what I was doing, so I have no idea what my host mom’s problem was. I read in our cross-cultural manual that female volunteers are not supposed to let anyone see our underwear when we’re washing them or drying them. So, I tried to shoo my host mom away, but she grabbed a pair of my undies and started cleaning, checking the crotch to see if it was clean. Please don’t look at the crotch of my underwear, host mother! That sort of thing is not something I would have ever thought I would find embarrassing, but she’s a total stranger from a different culture; I have no idea what kind of judgment she’s passing on me based on my unmentionables. Apparently my village is liberal in terms of laundry because when I was done, she took my laundry outside to hang dry in the front yard for all to see. Glad I changed my mind about bringing that lacy, black thong. Oh, and in addition to Islam, Turkmen mix in their ancestral religions and superstitions. It’s very important to hang your laundry inside out to dry. I’m not sure why. Maybe it makes you infertile. Many things do, apparently. Like sitting on concrete. Whoops! I’m barren.
Saint Kera
My host family had a volunteer before me named Kera. She’s a T-18a, which means she came last spring (I’m a T-18b). They are constantly comparing me to her, saying her Turkmen was great and mine, of course, is horrid. It is the host dad who brings her up and then the mom and daughters go along with it. I guess Kera still keeps in contact with them because the dad called her and put her on the phone with me. She wants to visit the family sometime soon and asked if it was cool if she stayed over. That’s fine, I’m sure she’s a nice person. I’m sure her Turkmen wasn’t that great when she first got here and that the family only remembers her from the end of her stay and, of course, her communications now that she’s been in the country for six months. However, it’s still not helpful to be compared to her. Especially the other night when host father said she read her dictionary, studying all the time, but I just sleep. Those of you who know me will have laughed at that. What’s Turkmen for, ‘Let’s see how much English you know after four days of lessons, douchebag’?
Always Look on the Bright Side of Life
I realize much of what I’ve written is ranting. Bear with me. The culture shock here is pretty intense. I mean, I poop in a hole in the ground at school and take bucket baths with cold water. But not everything is hell here. I really enjoy my days with our LCF, learning more of the language and about the culture. I’m excited by the prospect of one day living on my own here and cooking for myself with the fresh ingredients found at the bazaar. I’m really looking forward to seeing some of the museums and mosques and buying a Turkmen carpet. And according to my LCF and her boss, my Turkmen is coming along fine, even if I’m not where I’d like to be. It’s hard to study when my host brother is screaming and host father is yelling. My LCF wants to take us to Turkmen Disneyland, which I think will be a hoot. I hope she’s able to pull that off. And I like (usually) the other PCT’s in my group here, at least in terms of getting along with them and being able to chat or walk to the bazaar together. The other girl in my group is older and she and I have a special ‘we’re not fresh out of college” bond. (The others definitely still have a college mentality, especially toward alcohol.) Which brings me to…
Pray
Some of you reading already know about this, but I want to remind you and let others in on it. There are two things you can do to help me out. One of them is to send me letters. I’m very isolated over here, especially now when I don’t have regular Internet access. I have no idea what is going on in world news or local news back home. I brought a folder with me containing notes and letters I’ve received during the course of my life to remind me that there are people who like me and understand me. It would be nice to have fresh reminders.
The second, and more important, thing is to pray for me. Specifically pray that I’m assigned Ashgabat as my permanent site. On the way here, I met missionaries who have a nondenominational church in Ashgabat that they say is legal. Even if it isn’t, I know for certain that there are Russian Orthodox churches in Ashgabat. Additionally, Ashgabat is more liberal and I would be able to wear pants, live on my own, play sports, etc. without getting hassled or jeopardizing my effectiveness as a volunteer. Plus the Ashgabat assignment would be teaching college age students, which is my ideal.
I wish I had daily Internet access so I could post more regularly. I may be able to get an Internet enabled phone to hook up to my computer or go to Internet cafes depending on my permanent site placement (again, think Ashgabat). Until next time, I wish you the best, even if you are a stranger who just stumbled upon this.