Humor

How to poop in a hole

This was one thing that I was legitimately worried about before arriving. I had only squatted once in my entire life, and that was an emergency so things just kind of happened on their own. Now that it was going to be intentional, I wasn’t so sure how it was going to work out. I still remember one of the trainers on our last day of orientation at the hotel saying, “Oh yeah – one more thing – you get down like this,” and proceed to flat foot squat on the floor. He must have been missing a tendon or two because my legs didn’t bend that way and I was positive that position would send me straight down the hole.

The first morning in my host family’s house was all trial and error. I went to the outhouse seven times in two hours, but ironically nothing was coming out. Did the pants go in front or in back? I honestly had no idea; I kept swinging my hips forward and backward, eyeballing the distance between my jeans and the imminent free falling object. I could only squat for about 45 seconds at a time, both arms straight out to the sides bracing myself in a tremendous iron cross that would make an Olympic gymnast jealous. I was a nervous wreck for days, avoiding the toilet and corking it “until the time felt right.”

I had been completely spoiled by my previous living abroad experience those two years in Japan. Those people know how to go in style: built in bidets with dials to adjust the temperature, knobs to change the angle and pressure, and a button that when pressed plays the sound of tinkling water for the more modest goers. Even the seat was heated; you could take a nap on it and still look at yourself in the mirror afterward.

imageThere’s no toilet in the toilet

When I arrived in Kyrgyzstan I found not only an absence of the bells and whistles but the complete absence of a toilet at all. It did, however, force me to acclimate very quickly. I can cork it a good while, but there just ain’t no will power on God’s green earth that will stop a bout of giardia from passing as it so pleases.

Now a year on, I’ve grown so accustomed I just squat and play Sudoku on my cell phone – with a vice-like grip mind you – mashing the numbers and hoping it doesn’t fall. My legs have gotten more flexible. I can stay down for about 16 or 17 minutes before my feet go numb (I time it with my Sudoku games – don’t judge).

The one upside about being able to poop in a hole is that it is a truly transferrable skill. I can now poop in all kinds of holes in all kinds of places. Of all the things I’ve learned in the Peace Corps, that right there is the most satisfying.

Now doesn’t necessarily mean now

In Kyrgyz there’s this simple, small word whose translation is completely meaningless. If you ask for a translation, and worse yet, believe what you’re told, you are in for a world of hurt. But, since I’m now too far down the rabbit trail, I’ll let you in on what’s been tumbling past me in wonderland: the word in English means now.

In Kyrgyz, however, now could mean now; later; in a little bit; later this afternoon; tomorrow; this summer; sometime in the next few years; or some other indefinite and indefinable future date.

I was at a conference hosted at a hotel several months ago. Since we had computer equipment stored in a meeting room, one of the organizers asked me to tell the front desk to please lock the door after we left. Noticing the door was still unlocked, I notified the person at the desk asking in Kyrgyz, “Could you please lock the door now?” She smiled, said yes, and returned to the magazine she was reading. I waited a few moments and asked again, “Ah, could you please lock the door now? We’re leaving.” She smiled, nodded her head and struck up a conversation with her co-worker. I guess I should have included the definition of now I was after: “Could you please lock the door at 6:02pm and 39 seconds? Oh – would you look at the time.” But instead I just motioned for her to follow me. I was headed to the door, and she was coming, now.

This little word lends itself to all kinds of frustrations, and even more so when it comes as a response. “When is the concert starting?” “Now.” “So…should I hang around or go take a quick vacation and then come back?” Hours spent standing around just waiting for things to happen makes a volunteer go crazy.

As frustrating as it is to hear “Now,” when asking when such-and-such is going to begin, the word can be quite useful when wielded to one’s advantage. Like with this little project my vice-principal’s been asking me to do. I think I’ll start now.

A donkey costs less than a bicycle

This is true. You can even get one for free if you catch one wandering the streets. It’s amazing that a horse is the pinnacle of all culinary options while its little brother the donkey is detested in almost every possible sense, not least of which is its meat. I mean, the Chinese eat donkey.

I asked my counterpart, Nazgul, one day how much a donkey cost – four, five hundred dollars? A horse costs twelve hundred at least and usually goes for two grand. She laughed at me and said, “Forty bucks. And if they try to sell it for more they’re ripping you off.” So then I started thinking transportation costs. Fifty dollars to ride a bike. Forty dollars to take a donkey.

I wasn’t the first volunteer to be thusly persuaded. A man asked me just the other week if I was going to ride a donkey to school since that’s what volunteers do who live in the villages. It was probably one guy like fifteen years ago, but our reputations outlive us so grandly. Ten years from now I doubt anyone in my village will remember my name, but they probably will remember me famously mispronouncing “horse fat sausage” for another word that only looks like horse fat sausage.

Nazgul and Ulan’s son got a young donkey recently. He’s keeping it in the feed pen so it won’t run away. He’s super excited. I asked if Ulan had got it for him and Nazgul said, “No, he found it on the road.” “But what if it belongs to someone?” I answered. “Well, no one’s called saying it’s theirs yet.” People often times just turn them loose since they are apparently less valuable than the grass they graze on, growing out in tuffs here and there in the yard.

Yet, despite all of this, the reason why I won’t end up getting a donkey is because I don’t want to wear one of those ridiculous Peace Corps issued bicycle helmets while riding one. I could get administratively separated (or, “fired from volunteering” – wait, is that semantically possible?) for riding anything without a helmet. Yes, I’d look ridiculous. But then again, I’d be riding a donkey.

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