Author: Luther

The map changes

I have a friend who is trying to visit 30 countries before she turns 30. Since I’ve already turned 29 for the second time and am only sitting at 9 countries, I’m fairly impressed. As we sat and talked about numbers and places, I wondered what people do when a country they’ve visited gets split or is absorbed into another. For example, if you had traveled through Sudan from north to south prior to 2011, could you now up your count by one?

And if you’re traveling with your Chinese friend from Beijing down to Taiwan, would you dare boast to him about hitting a “new country?”

And don’t forget the Central Asian conundrum. Having declared into being the new country, “Kyrzakhstan,” American Secretary of State John Kerry in a word docked the lists by one of any traveler to these two, unique countries. (If nobody’s heard of the countries you’ve been to, do they still count?)

My friend is counting Scotland even though it’s not technically a separate country, although it could become one after a referendum to be held this September. (By then my friend will be 30 anyway!)

It’s strange, this shifting and changing world. For all of human history we’ve physically only added and lost a few islands, but think of the millions of miles of arbitrary borders that have bobbed and weaved over mountains, along rivers and across valleys for millennia! It’s a strange concept, that borders change, because we’re used to living in the present and at any given moment (the miles of disputed borders aside) there is one lay of the nations.

I was one who used to think the world stayed the same. I had a printed map, after all, and Mr. P, my seventh grade teacher, expected me to memorize the names inside all those squiggly lines or else I’d fail the class. To me countries were green, yellow, purple and orange and smaller than my hand.

But rivers shift. New presidents are elected, or generals usurp control. And the ideas of these leaders shift more than rivers. Some start to think that maybe the grass really is greener on the other side.

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 Hanging out in Transnistria. Wait – does that put me at 9 1/2?

The recent news about Crimea has most of the western world up in arms. (And let’s hope they don’t accidentally fire one of them.) But think about it—if you were learning geography in 1958, you’d say America has only 48 states and it wasn’t until various referendums, acts and contentious votes that the president finally signed the bills that joined two new states theoretically to America’s shores.

And if it’s Putin’s military presence we’re upset about, it was only a couple generations ago that Great Britain—still today America’s biggest ally—ruled an empire procured through decades of bloody campaigns across the world.

The world changes. That is a fact. Whether it should or not is another debate, but we can’t be surprised when it happens. Rulers of nations and peoples have been changing borders since the beginning of history and aren’t going to stop anytime soon, no matter how many Eurovision concerts are held or joint space flights are launched.

Sunday’s vote by the citizens of Crimea to join Russia plus Putin’s signing of the annexation today proves that. I’m not defending nor decrying the legitimacy of these actions. I’m just saying it happens all the time and we shouldn’t be so surprised.

So add another question to the list: should you have happened to visit Crimea in the past and counted it for Ukraine, do you change your mark for Russia? What’s the call now?

Be affectionate

This spring marks 8 years since I’ve been in love. It was that kind of love that awakened the butterflies in my tummy and lifted my feet to the clouds. I was hers and she was mine and as long as we stayed off that ground called reality, we could dance on those clouds indefinitely.

Indefinitely turned out to be 5 months.

Neither of us made long term commitments or true gestures of service toward each other. Mostly we just enjoyed making out or holding hands in the car. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t love. But the affection sure was nice.

But affection is not just for those (in my case) rare and deep relationships. Affection is a life need as much as air or water and without it we wither, we wilt and we die.

I first felt this in my time in Japan, discovering stretches of months where I hadn’t hugged anyone or even shook a man’s hand. Now with five months behind me of living on my own in Kyrgyzstan I’m starting again to feel the ground about me become parched and cracked.

I’d be good to learn to be more affectionate and open to closeness like most Kyrgyz people show so well. I don’t know if it’s a deep-seated piece of Kyrgyz culture or if it simply stems from situations where 40 people are squeezed together in a van, but here people seem to wear their personal-space bubbles like body suits. Touching is ok.

People lean in when sharing pictures on a cell phone, brush your knee as you sit cross-legged around a meal of plov, and stroke your arm in condolence. You can see young female friends walking down the street hand-in-hand or guys in their 20s with an arm around each other’s shoulders as they walk. Handshakes sometimes last for an entire conversation and won’t end until one is pulling the other towards home for some tea. Neighbor kids playing in the street look out for each other too, and if one falls, an older kid will be quick with a kiss to make it all better. Even the more manly young men will at least head-butt upon meeting a friend.

And sometimes affection just falls in your lap

Butting heads is not quite the same sensation as holding hands with a cute little butterfly whisperer, but it definitely shows you you’re loved. And that’s the good and right meaning of affection—that others feel close to you and desire to be close enough even to touch. So as I learn how much it means to me, I’m working on being affectionate to others as well. That means showing up at the door and returning that tiny and grimy, snot-smeared hug when I’m back from a weekend away. It means leaning on arms at story time and true bear hugs of reckless abandon that say I’m all-in. By being affectionate, we give each other that wonderful opportunity to grow and blossom, surrounded by flowery friends, in a well-watered and beautiful garden of life.

Doubt and Survival in the Peace Corps

Peace Corps service is something that can rock you to the very core of your being and shake your innards until they’re so scrambled you can’t tell your dreams from your nightmares. Why did you even come here in the first place? What was it that told you it was a good idea to leave everything to do this? Is the world any better off for you having been here?

You wanted to do this so badly for so many years and now all you want to do is go home. This is about the point in your thought process when you find yourself at the bottom of that downward spiral called doubt.

I’m not talking about doubt’s healthier cousin, skepticism. A healthy dose of skepticism can be good for you. You should question your motives, probe your thoughts, consider your feelings and weigh the pros and cons when making any important decision. Here I’m talking deep-seeded, soul-searching gut-wrenching, ulcer-inducing doubt. Why am I here? What am I doing? Is any of it worth it? Is this where I want to continue to give two years of my life?

imageI’m suddenly doubting every past decision to eat meat

At no other point in my life have I wavered in so much doubt. I’ve agonized over staying or leaving and even talked to an Army recruiter on the phone a couple of times the first autumn I was here, willing to scratch my name off the line to sign it on another, even longer contract.

It comes and it goes like tides pulled by a giant orb above our heads, almost as sure as the moon herself. Now, fortunately, she’s sailing in another sky and with any luck this season of survival will last for awhile. Yet, having been here for almost two years, I have started to realize a pattern of strategies for riding out the high tide of doubt when it inevitably comes.

Stop asking so many questions

I never used to ask myself, “Am I doing enough?” As soon as that question crept into the back of my mind, things started to go downhill. At the end of any honest search to this question lies a resounding, “NO.” You could always do more, always reach more people, always start one more project. There is way more that needs to be done within a community and country than you can possibly do. Asking yourself this question is guaranteed to result in a crushing, soul-searching session sooner or later.

And if you start questioning the work you are able to accomplish, you will soon find yourself doubting the good when weighed against the sheer hopelessness of making a dent in the world’s problems. As long as you’re working and connecting with people, you’re doing some good here. Leave it at that.

Do what you like to do, and keep doing it. One of my volunteer friends has a great strategy of simply doing a level of work that he knows he can repeat again the next day, and the next, indefinitely. This way he knows he won’t burn out, but will continue to thrive in enjoyable, meaningful work.

Take care of yourself

You are going to be miserable help to everyone if you are miserable yourself. There’s a reason flight attendants remind you to put your own oxygen mask on before helping anyone else. You’re not very useful if you’re dead.

Take the time to eat right, exercise and drink water. One of the biggest boosts to motivation is simply drinking more water. Water helps brain function, helps you get more rest while you’re asleep and keeps you alert and in a better mood throughout the day. Peace Corps issues you a filter—make good use of it.

Don’t give up on your hobbies just because you’re in a different place. Continue to do them or share them with others if you want.

Seek to strengthen your relationship with God. Your need for Him will likely be felt more acutely here than anywhere else.

Relax and breathe. Seriously. You’ll forget to do this at multiple points of your service.

Find humor in just about everything

You are going to experience some tough things, and there is a time for being somber and mourning with those who mourn. But even people going through their darkest days don’t want to wallow continuously. There will be plenty to get angry at or upset about and those are appropriate reactions to injustice and suffering. But don’t stay there. You have to balance those emotions with the little quips and smiles because brooding is a sure onramp to the downward spiral highway of doubt with no exit sign in sight. If you’re here to make things better, enjoy doing it.

And if you need to go home, go home

There’s nothing worse than after carefully weighing your options, you choose to suffer. The world’s not going anywhere. There will be more volunteers, more projects and more opportunities. As much as it is a hit to the ego, at the end of the day we Peace Corps Volunteers are just one small slice of what’s going on in our communities and in the lives of our friends, co-workers, students and neighbors. They’re going to be fine, and so are you. You can continue to keep in touch or even come back sometime, if you like.

Why I still put up with the doubt

Having said that, I’m glad I’m working through the doubt and am continuing to decide to stay. If I hadn’t I would never have met Maksat, a great friend, business partner and inspiration to me and the future of Kyrgyzstan. I would never have met my best friend Nazgul or experienced first hand the struggles of those living in a small village, out of the reach of big city resources and opportunities. I also never would have gotten to share my own English teaching skills with as many teachers nor had the time to be an influence on other people’s lives. There are so many things you can’t learn or do unless you have the backing of months or years.

For me, I think of it like being married. When I do get married, I’m not going to just wake up one day, doubt my decision and take off. The doubts will be there and maybe for a long time. But you don’t get married so you can see how it goes, playing it day by day. You get married because you’ve decided, “I’ll love you forever.” I often have doubts about being in the Peace Corps and being in Kyrgyzstan. But I also know that I’ll love them forever. And that’s why I’m still here.

imageThis one’s going to last

The second cup of tea is the hottest

“Kat!” He waved his arms and shouted. The horse feigned left then took off in a single-horse stampede to the edge of the river.

“Bleen…!” rolled down from the chorus of men now hovering outside the yard.

This one was an ahzoh – a fighter – and I have never seen so much trouble and effort for a horse slaughter. Even after the blood stopped flowing and her head lay folded back against her neck, I could see her nostrils flair and her hooves push softly against the jumble of rope about her legs.

Before, we had been inside pushing cups of tea down the line of women to be refilled. I took a sip and almost yanked the cup back – I burned my lip on the second cup.

When we had first approached the house a group of young men stood huddled in the driveway. “Arty kairyluu bolsun,” I nodded to each man, the standard phrase of respect for funerals. “May this be behind you.” As we walked past the yurt a thin wail escaped the layers of wool draped across its roof. Ropes from the top of the tunduk hung, suspending rocks to keep the wind from blowing it away.

I had been standing, chatting with my landlord’s wife when she got the news. A student came up to her and said he died last night. She and my landlord were guests at his house yesterday.

The winter chills almost everything, inside and out. The small, bowl-like chynys used for serving tea lose their heat to the winter air and suck it back greedily as they’re filled for the first time.

“Eng bir chyny ich,” she says, “Drink just one more.” I’m full but politely accept the offer. It passes the somber time spent supporting friends and neighbors who have lost a father. I pass my cup back down the line, the lip exchanging the brushes of fingers for others.

People are the same everywhere. They’re just different.

There was a knock at the door.

Bang bang bang

I decided to ignore it. I had come home from school not feeling very well and so had slipped into bed for a couple hours of afternoon rest. The door was locked to keep any neighbors or friends from just wandering in as they occasionally do so I could have a couple uninterrupted hours.

There was another knock at the door, this time combined with callings of my name.

Bang bang bang “Lu-ter!” Bang bang bang. “Luuu-ter!”

It was my landlord, who lives in the adjacent house on the property.

“Ignore him,” I thought naively, “That’s the best way to make him go away.” Unfortunately, it only served as a challenge.

There were several yanks on the door, the loose deadbolt rattling in its locked position. More knocking. Then the phone started to ring. I let it ring through. It rang again. I let it ring through again. It rang twice more before there was a reprieve in ringing and knocking.

“Thank God. He’s finally learned I don’t want to go to the door.” But it was just the eye of the storm. Moments later he returned with his son who, while my landlord began a barrage of knocks on the front door, walked around the side of my house and launched an attack on the window. It was too much. I waved my white flag.

“WHAT?!?” I screamed from my bed.

“Lu-ter,” my landlord said in a cheery voice, “Come drink tea!”

I was furious.

“Is my house on fire?” I yelled back.

“What?”

“Is. My. House. On. Fire?”

“…No…”

“Then leave me the hell alone and stop knocking!”

“Lu-ter – just come open the door.”

“No! I will not open the door!”

“Why?”

“I want to rest! Why is that so difficult to understand?”

“Ok, ok, just asking…” He walked away.

By this point I was so irritated I couldn’t get to sleep. Why didn’t he understand that when nobody answers the door, it means they don’t want to and aren’t going to? Doesn’t he know how rude it is to knock more than 2 or 3 times?

Doesn’t Luther know how rude it is not to answer the door when someone is knocking?

I didn’t get why my landlord wouldn’t stop knocking. My landlord didn’t get why I wouldn’t answer.

The difficulties in living and working cross-culturally are in our expectations. Growing up in one particular culture, we are conditioned to expect certain behaviors from people in specific situations. And when people don’t behave as we expect, we get frustrated, annoyed, confused or upset.

I came in knowing there would be cultural differences, but I didn’t think about how difficult it was going to be to draw the line between what makes us all the same as humans and what separates us by our cultural habits. It’s not so easy to know if your landlord is simply knocking because it’s the culturally friendly thing to do, or if he is inherently rude. Just what is it about human beings that makes us the same? What are the universal truths about our species? What are the behaviors we should expect out of any person, anywhere?”

imageEveryone wants to be immortalized…in carpet.

I believe it comes down to God’s truths laid out in the Bible. God’s truths cross all cultures and all of history, laying out the expectation that we are to respond in service and honor and worship of Him by doing things like pursuing justice, taking care of widows and orphans, being honest and showing one another grace.

But just how this plays out in our behaviors isn’t always clear. Being raised in one environment makes it very difficult to separate out truth from behavior. Kyrgyz and Americans are both hospitable, but a Kyrgyz person will show this by force serving you multiple cups of tea beyond your bursting point while Americans will tell you to “help yourself.” Americans and Kyrgyz will want you to eat well so Americans will feed you a portion from each section of the food pyramid while a Kyrgyz person will watch in eager expectation as you try to swallow the lump of pure-fat-sheep-butt in a breadless sheep-liver sandwich. Americans and Kyrgyz respect the elder generation and so Americans will create opportunities for elders to continue to take control of their own lives while grown Kyrgyz children will make space in their already small homes to provide for all the needs of their elderly parents.

Our intentions are often exactly the same because as humans we’re following one, collective gut in how we should treat people. But, while what our gut tells us may be the same, what our gut tells us to do can be oh, so different.