Meeting the Host Family

October 4, 2008

I have just met the host family and things seem OK although I still have virtually no language so I can’t be entirely sure of that. The family lives in the village of Herrick-Gala, 14 miles southwest of Ashgabat. The mother is 55 and the father is 54. They have two sons, 30 and 24. The 30-year old son is married and his wife and two children – a seven-year old daughter and a five-year old son – also live here. I haven’t met them yet, as I only arrived half an hour ago. Why am I hiding in my room writing this, you may wonder? Well, having exhausted my impressively minuscule vocabulary, I got the impression that my host mom wanted a break; she kept asking me if I was tired and wanted a nap, so I figured she was asking about herself. Despite this, she is very, very friendly. She kissed me and took my hand at the hotel. At the house, she showed me how to use the squat toilet (there is an outhouse in the garden, but running water to fill the bath). The mother has four gold teeth in the front of her mouth.

I get the impression that this family is upper middle-class or wealthy. The house is one story, and plain, but very neat, with a garden in the back (as I mentioned of the outhouse) and chickens and a cow! My room has a bed, a chair and a small desk, all of which is unusual. Usually, there is no furniture, only carpets and mattresses on the floor. That way, Turkmen can host lots of people as family visits. You just pull out the extra mattress and there is plenty of room. Outside the window of my gigantic room, twice the size of the one in New York, you can see the mosque that Nyzazov (“Turkmen-Bashi”) built in his own honor. It is a kitschy replica of the Taj Mahal, with four minarets and a gold-plated dome. You can look it up, as I am sure there are plenty of pictures (Editor’s (Dad’s) note: there is one at

http://www.bdtw.tv/photos/turkmenistan/turkmenbashy-mosque).

Also, outside my window there is some kind of squash plant. There is a major road about 10 meters outside the window.

This morning we learned a little more about the progression of our training: for the next nine weeks we will have four hours of language lessons, six days a week and a meeting every day to shadow a nurse or a doctor at the local hospital. We will also be giving three health-related presentations as our Turkmen progresses. While the English-speaking volunteers work 95% in English, we work 95% in Turkmen.

… Later, same day.

I helped with dishes! Yes, I can do that when I need to make a good impression on a Turkmen family (Dad’s note: wow). And I helped feed the bull and the cow. As it turns out, they have both. I think the host mother invited me to join in, but I wasn’t sure, so I didn’t. When my language gets better, I may add that to my chores. I did chop onions and peppers for the goat soup, though. Then the mother made fresh pasta. She used a thin wooden rolling pin to roll it out and, to get the dough super-thin, wrapped it around the pin and rolled multiple layers together. The pasta was boiled and then served with some of the warm water, yogurt and salt. I got a big bowl of that around 5:50 and thought that was it, but we got the goat soup I mentioned before. There is still no sight of the grandkids, and I am not entirely sure they live here, although their parents certainly do.

Now for some hilarious cultural misunderstandings. We were instructed in a few key points before we met our host family:

1. Bread is sacred. Ensuing taboos include stepping over it, placing it the wrong way upon the plate, breaking it with one hand. OBSERVED TRUTH: They keep the bread in a plastic bag.
2. Burping is extremely, extremely rude. OBSERVED TRUTH: People burp here.
3. Father will ignore woman (me) out of respect. This seems true.
4. It is believed that black tea and green tea have different health effects and are good for different people. OBSERVED TRUTH: I tried to ask if a given tea was black or green and the host mother dumped it left and made another pot. Perhaps she thought I was refusing one type of tea or another.
5. Turkmen believe that being alone is sad and will be very protective. OBSERVED TRUTH: My host mother’s niece insisted on accompanying me to the outhouse. She was very surprised when I told her I didn’t need her to do that. I haven’t figured out how to take a shower yet, but given the level bathroom supervision, I; sure I’ll figure it out.

Premier post from Turkmenistan

October 1, 2008

Greetings from the land of the Turkmen. We are staying in the Hotel Turkmentistan, which is apparently not the nicest of hotels, but is completely comfortable (at least as nice as anywhere I stayed in my trip to the Mideast). Outside our window – I have the room with a very nice girl from Flint, Michigan – you can see the Arch of Neutrality. This is the rocket-ship-like construction that supports the golden rotating statue of Niyazov, in a triumphant pose. If it weren’t a symbol of authoritarian rule, it would seem like something out of Las Vegas, as it is adorned with neon light at night, and changes color like the Empire State Building, only every few seconds.

From what I have seen of the capital, the whole city resembles the monument district of Washington, D.C. with grand while marble everywhere. Near the Peace Corps office, the buildings have Spanish roof tiles and stucco sides so that, with the dry air, you could mistake for California, if you weren’t looking too closely. As the Country Director pointed out today, Turkmenistan has tons of oil and natural gas, combined with a history of neutrality, so the wealth is evident in the capital. However, we will not be here for long; Friday we move into our small training groups for intensive Turmken study. In the Villages, the need for development will be instantly more evident.

Amid this loosely familiar scene, there is still evidence of traditional Turkmen notions. While the men wear western clothes, many of the women wear the traditional dress, with embroidery along the collar and down a panel in the front. Still other women wear pants and some I have seen wearing short skirts, but I believe they were Russian. Still, the neon glamor with post-Soviet sensibilities does not seem congruous with my fantasy of Turkmen culture. I guess I will see about the reality of that soon enough.