Living the Life

I’ve been here how long and still I’m adapting. Here’s how:

I’m becoming more and more comfortable with my host family. Why? Because I’m slowly, slowly overriding all those years of US conditioning and beginning to think as a member of a family unit.

Communal living and family-centered culture. These two ideas are not at all difficult to grasp. I could have explained them to you long before leaving the US. I probably would have said something along the lines of: Communal living means sharing work, chores, money, food etc. Family centered living means that your family is the central unit, the central focus of your life.

But living with a host family ‘communally’ within a family-centered culture has shown me just how hard-wired I am against this kind of thing! In fact, it has taken me almost a full two years even to recognize how hard I have been fighting against this kind of lifestyle.

In the US, we are so used to reciprocity and exchange. We are so used to keeping tallies of what someone has done for us and so careful to make sure we do only the same or perhaps a little more in return. If Timmy goes over to Sam’s house, next time Sam will come over to Timmy’s house. If Sarah does all her chores, she will receive her allowance. If you pay for me this time, I will pay for you next time. If you invite me somewhere, next time I will invite you somewhere. If you bring a bottle of wine when you come to my house, I’ll bring you a case of beer next time. For the most part, we are hesitant to loan or borrow money. We are hesitant to ask favors, even small ones. We are, in general, uncomfortable in a place of owing, in a place of deficit to someone else. Similarly, we feel used if we feel we have given too much. This is not so in Turkmenistan.

We are also used to concrete lines of ownership. I bought this cheese and if my roommates use it, I’m gonna be pissed. If the shampoo is in her bathroom tote, than it is off limits. If I loan you this book, you have to return it. This is my room. You have your own room. This is my life; I don’t want your advice! Even if I wrote a book, no one else can use it. If I did my homework and someone else copies it, they have done something wrong because it was my work. We like to have our responsibilities and even our chores divided into mine and yours clearly and without exception. Again, not so in Turkmenistan. I think these lines of ownership help facilitate the system of equal exchange.

My current host family has done what Peace Corps asked of them: they have truly taken me in as a member of the family. What does this mean? This means that I have entered a world free of tallies and of ownership. Whatever discomfort or dissatisfaction I have comes as a result of my inability to change over entirely to this system.

So, in my current life, I do not have assigned chores in this family. I do what needs to be done if I notice it first. I do not have assigned days to cook nor does my host sister. Whoever comes home first cooks. All three of us, my sister, my uncle, and I, do the shopping. There is no method to the shopping madness. My uncle decided he likes Head and Shoulders so we all use the same bottle of shampoo. I sweep the carpets (yes sweep! it works!) when they need to be swept but my host sister seems to have less of a tolerance for dust so she usually sweeps. Dishes are dishes. Everyone does everyone’s dishes. It is not a horrible faux pas to leave a dirty cup in the sink and leave the house. Someone else will wash it. Similarly, if someone leaves their dishes, you do them. Also, I no longer expect thank you for these things although I am still careful to say thank you. These are all merely contributions to the communal good.

Bedroom doors are rarely if ever closed. In fact, bedrooms double as dining rooms, guest rooms, and occasionally exercise rooms. My time belongs to my work or my family. Clothing is shared. Bedding is shared. Meat and produce are shared. Packed lunches are shared. Homework is shared. Ice-cream is shared liberally!

Is this system better? Well, I have gotten over my discomfort enough to recognize the benefits of this system and have concluded as unbiased-ly as possible that it is simply different.

Ok. Enough preaching. Here are updates on my life:

-My brother (real one) graduated from high school!
-One week of school left before the summer.
-I have six months left of my service.
-I found a how to book on “paper engineering” or creating pop ups. Fun!
-I can say with some level of confidence, that I can cook Turkmen food.
-It is getting hotter by the minute.
-I’m attempting to gain admittance to the city’s Olympic-sized pool. It is a process.
-Hilary is coming to visit next week.
-All-volunteer conference brought the entirety of the Peace Corps program to Ashgabat last week for lots of good times and a rockin’ eighties party.
-I’m meeting my family in June in Istanbul.
-I’m pondering how to make the work I’ve done sustainable.
-I’m thinking about future jobs. If anyone has one for me, let me know!
-I’m having a neon pink, patterned, full length, velvet dress made for my counterpart’s wedding.

And that’s about it. I miss you guys.

Tess

Chalk

I realize that I have been horribly remiss in my blog-writing duties. I have a nice little story to offer as compensation.

It was the last class of the day and my students were tired. We had a month left of school and everyone was waiting for the end. About 20 minutes into the class, I had done pretty well keeping my students attention. I turned my back to write something brief on the board. When I turned back around, the three boys in the class all had their heads on their arms and their arms on the desk. I gave the usual spiel: I know you are tired, I know it is the last class of the day, but stay with me. They lifted their heads. I turned again to write something on the board. When I turned back one of three again had his head on the desk. The other two looked soon to follow.

I decided to finish writing and then deal with the sleepers. When I turned back around to the board, the teacher called to me. “Tess,” she said, “you have some chalk on your skirt.”

I had noticed earlier that some specks of chalk had fallen down the front of my long black skirt. For Turkmen, appearance is everything and appearing tidy is commonly listed as one of the top five characteristics sought after in friends or life-partners. After living here for a year and a half, I had also become hyper sensitive to my appearance. The chalk specks bothered me but I had been unable to do anything about them because both of my hands were also coated in chalk. Oh for dry-erase boards!

“I know,” I replied to my teacher, “but there really isn’t much I can do about it at the moment.” I showed her my hands and prepared to continue class.

My teacher stopped me again. “No, Tess. I don’t think you understand. You have chalk on the other side.”

I looked at my backside and sure enough, my hind-end was covered in a layer of bright white chalk perfectly accentuated by the black of my skirt. Apparently some mischievous or simply thoughtless individual had placed their chalk on the teacher’s chair.

“Oh, that’s different. Perhaps I’ll go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in 5 minutes,” I said and prepared to make my escape. No such luck.

“That's unnecessary," my teacher informed me. "Mahre will help you.” I looked at Mahre, one of my students. She was advancing towards me with wet wipes aka baby wipes. I reached out my hand to accept them but she dodged my extended hand. Instead she began to wipe the chalk off me in front of my class. I didn’t know what to do so I submitted myself to her attention and laughed helplessly. The boys kept their faces turned away as they joined me in my laughter.

Hope you all are doing well! 'Til next time . . .

Adios!