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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.

People like the things they grow up with

There’s no law of nature that says a medium rare steak is high culinary art. (Though this author happens to agree.) Likewise, there’s no law of nature that says a blow-torched and boiled sheep is the pinnacle of all dining experiences. (Thank God.) Yet in a country where a sheep rib will serve as a pacifier, it’s hard to find someone who will bend to the opinion that people living elsewhere may, perhaps, prefer different options.

The US Embassy in Bishkek funds and supports several different programs for sending Kyrgyz people to the United States for a period of time, like FLEX for high school students or TEA for teachers. One such program is more of a mini tour/vacation for directors of schools to get a picture of what the American education system is like. One such director received an all expense paid trip this past year to wine and dine in the fancier restaurants on the east coast while checking out schools from his limo. I’m not complaining about the lavishness; rather, I’m all for showing a Kyrgyz person a good time. But what absolutely destroyed me was the first comment out of his mouth: “The food was terrible. There was no boiled sheep.”

This comment has been corroborated by several other primary sources, which clearly proves that people are crazy.

imageWould you like your sheepskin burnt or charcoaled?

And by people, I mean all people. Why do we get so attached to particular ways of life? Why are we so ethno-, (culturo-, experio-) centric? I think we’re attached to what we grow up with, appreciate the familiar, or just can’t see over the trench that’s been dug by so many passes down the same path.

Someone who has had significant experiences in places other than where he or she is starts to see the grey around the edges that separate black and white. Maybe a fine cut of grilled beef doesn’t claim inherent goodness (shudder). And maybe, just maybe, boiled sheep could be traded for some roasted chicken or a nice cheesy potato bake at the next village gathering. That’s what I grew up with anyway.

Laugh. Pretty much always.

I was walking down the street and saw this Lexus with initials embossed into the seats and I thought, “That’s pretentious.” (You have to spit a little on the first “T.”) Being in a dismal mood I was ready to write anything off as ridiculous, preposterous or just plain stupid. But then I was pulled back to the days when I lived in America and drove a car with plates that had the initials LAF. My initials.

I had gotten those letters embossed on my plates because I always wanted to be reminded to. My parents gave me a gift, or God maybe, and that was to see the laughter each time I agreed to the regulations for a driver’s license or finished an arcade game.

I thought about those days, driving that car to the disc golf course in Rapid City, or across vast stretches of Dakota land, or spinning in an empty parking lot after a shift at the restaurant. I got lost in these thoughts for a while, reminiscing about happy times.

I must have looked actually lost because I was suddenly pulled back by a man asking me if I was looking for something. “Happiness,” I replied, with a wistful look. “Ha, that’s good!” he said, and laughing again, “That’s a good answer!”

And I thought back over those last few moments – the sweetest girl, with a smile to match answering my question in the local language, a poster in Japanese advertising the sukuri matsuri, or summer festival, and now this man, a beam of light in answer to an off-handed remark.

And then it hit me – I had completely missed it. Completely missed the joy that was inherently present in each interaction, in each sign, in each moment, waiting to be drawn out. My own pretentions had covered them all like a blanket, smothering the spark of happiness that would ignite into a warm flame if I would only whisper a breath of hope.

Sometimes pretentions aren’t pretentious. Sometimes they’re just joy without worry or hope without fear. I hope you search for that joy wherever you are and in whatever you do. If that means initials on your leather seats, then heck – enjoy it!

imageThe least pretentious family you’ll ever meet – and the most joyful

It’s about the people

As Peace Corps Volunteers we sometimes find ourselves saying, “I could do my job if it weren’t for these damn people.” It’d be so much funnier if we could catch ourselves in the irony. But we get caught up, rather, in the frustrations of trying to get things done in the ways we want to do them, on our time, under our conditions, for our own goals.

I believe every volunteer is here because they want to help people. I can think of about 187 other places I could go to take a two-year vacation, and despite their obvious draws and benefits, I’m also not here for the sheep fat dinners, pit toilets or bi-monthly bathing sessions. But I do enjoy shooting the breeze around a meal, digging a hole with a neighbor and the occasional back scrub at the local sauna from a newfound friend.

The give and take is found here too – it starts here in fact, in the day-to-day stuff that makes up so much of our experiences. In order to help people we first get to know who they are, what they want and how they want to go about getting it. It’s their goals we’re after, and if it’s through our methods, then we have adapted them to make sense to the people whom they benefit. The Peace Corps wouldn’t be here if there weren’t things that needed to be changed, but we have to remember that in the end it’s not about procedures but about relationships. Yes, it’s going to be frustrating at times. But that’s because we’re working with people. And that’s why we’re here.

The usefulness of being able to communicate with another 0.06% of the world’s population

I speak Kyrgyz. Or, at least strange sounding syllables spill from my mouth that occasionally result in shared meaning. It might be the gestures though. It’s amazing the number of things you can get by simply pointing and grunting.

They say if you learn Chinese you can instantly communicate with another 1.3 billion people. The only catch is they’re all in China. (Well, if we’re speaking percentages, mostly anyway.) There’s nothing wrong with China, but you have to have pretty specific business to make the language knowledge worth it. Now take Kyrgyz. We’re talking 5 million, tops. You have to have a very specific reason to use that long term, like marrying a Kyrgyz person or being locked in a Kyrgyz prison for drug trafficking.

From the beginning I only had two goals for my Peace Corps service: make friends and learn the language. These come slowly for me and especially the language half – I have to study the same things over and over again until they stick. Yet, I’ve never regretted a single moment spent studying. Despite the persistent question of future usefulness, I guarantee you that every little thing I learn now is immediately beneficial. And learning the language helps make huge strides with making friends, too.

And that’s why I spend the hours and the energy, and soak in the sweat that drips from concentration and embarrassment alike. I do this to make my time effective, to make my time worth it and to grow these relationships. The Kyrgyz might only be one tiny fraction of the world, but they’re the whole world to me.

imageA lesson in vowel-harmony zen from Bakyt-Baike, our fearless tutor