Food, Toys and Family

Food in Turkmenistan

Every day we have lunch at one of the host families’ houses. She gets paid to cook this meal and it is wonderful that they chose her, because she is an excellent cook! There is always relatively fresh bread (more on this comment later), fresh cucumbers, tomatoes --interestingly, the Turkmen word for tomato is pomidor – a mayonnaise salad (either potato or beet), an eggplant salad and a main course which is either palow, manty, mash (lentil soup – A+) or stuffed peppers. All this week we looked forward to lunch because it was so delicious. Palow is fried rice (super-oily but delicious) with carrots, onions, meat and sometimes dried fruit. The rice here is short-grain. Manty are the Central-Asian dumpling. The two times I’ve had manty, it has been ground meat and pumpkin. They are steamed. Also, the method of folding them is very easy, at least by dumpling standards [There is a diagram which I will try to include. Ed.]

I am still getting used to the taste of goat – when our soup doesn’t have a lot of vegetables, the taste is prominent. The advantage of soup is its role in the bread situation. Every volunteer has reservations about the bread; when fresh it is soft and delicious. However, the bread is served with every meal and becomes rock-hard in two days. Thus, soup is very good for softening the bread. I just keep trying to appreciate that my body is ridding itself of preservatives. Unfortunately, there is no soup for breakfast, so the only recourse is butter and apricot jam. Also, as the guest, I get to drink the fresh cream from the cow. They boil the milk, so the cream has a skin. I’ve taken quite a liking to it, I must admit. I don’t feel too guilty, since I can barely eat the bread.

The bread-making process was fascinating. You roll out the dough until it is two inches thick, oblong and about the size of a dinner plate. I didn’t see the dough being made, but I think it must have been yeast, because it is not a quick bread (although sourdough is a possibility). Then, you poke a hole in the top and start a fire in the bread oven known as the tamtoor . This word must be related to tandoor from India. The word for cheese is paneer! Anyway, you start a wood fire in the dome-shaped clay oven with a hole on top. When the oven is hot enough, you wet the bottom side of the bread and stick it on the side of the oven. It only bakes for 10 minutes. My host mom gave me a big hunk with tons of melted butter and jam. It was to die for.

The subject of food leads nicely into the subject of parties/weddings/celebrations, known in Turkmenistan as toys. On my very first morning, I found myself, with the help of my host mother, a neighbor, and a Turkmen dictionary, invited to a toy. I was very excited, because I had heard so much about them and I thought it was a good opportunity to do some community integration, so I agreed. It was underwhelming. Sort of a backyard barbecue/family reunion with someone else’s family. I sat with a roomful of middle-aged women, was plied with food, and repeated the few Turkmen phrases I knew:

“My name is Jessie. I am 22. I am from America. I am a volunteer. I do not speak Turkmen well.” They laughed and discussed my need for a proper Turkmen dress. This region is very conservative and I have seen no alcohol consumption. Needless to say, when I was invited to another toy after being at school for eight hours, I wasn’t particularly excited. But I should have been.

From several blocks away, I hear some music with an infectious rhythm, and see a brightly-lit pavilion.. It sounds a bit like Arabic or Indian pop with traditional instruments. When we arrive, I see at least 150 women in this huge pavilion hung with brightly-colored fabric. There are dozens of tables covered in food, and hosts bring out more and more hot food. It seems the whole town is there, and this is just the side of the party with the women. We are near the back, but by craning my neck, I am able to see that there is a live band with a synthesizer keyboard that seems to play a horn part, a singer and a fabulous drummer. When he breaks out in a drum solo, a small group of men dance athletically, holding fistfuls of plastic bags or money as pompoms. Little kids are screaming, the music is too loud, someone passes out plastic party favors. Eventually, we make our way to the front to pay respects to an old woman, and I am able to conclude that this is, in fact, a wedding. A group of young women I walked over with invite me to dance, and I oblige for two songs. But my host mom looks tired, so I bow out and we walk home, the music’s notes fading before its rhythm. All in all, an awesome party.

With all the excitement, I was looking forward to a quiet Sunday of cleaning, writing letters and reading, but this brings us to the first interruption of the writing of this letter. After cleaning with Gulgemal, and my mother bring somsas for lunch from the market, they tell me to get dressed. I hear “toy” so I assume another party. I’m a bit annoyed, but we never stay long, so I don’t worry. After we leave the house, I discern that we are going to Ashgabat. My hopes rise that they are taking me to get a dress made, as was briefly mentioned earlier in the week. However, I eventually realize that we are visiting my mom’s sister. We hail a taxi (a shared van) into Ashgabat, then take a long bus ride. To make a long story short, her sister is a tailor. The have already bought fabric, and it is clearly a party dress. I am a bit disappointed not to choose my own Also, I have to figure out how to give her the money. Because it is being done by a relative, I cannot pay directly. I did figure out that the dress costs $15 but I don’t know if that includes the fabric. We spend 2 ½ hours with the sister and her screaming kids (3, 4 and 5 years old + pregnant) before hitching a ride to my mom’s brother. Except that we just hang out with her sister-in-law. As a parting gift her 18-year-old daughter gives me two porcupine quills and a dishtowel. That is not a joke. Al in all, we spent six hours in Ashgabat; I barely got anything done and I have a stomach ache.

Fun with Language

Here are some misunderstandings that have occurred:

1) Since I don’t understand every word, there is a lot of guesswork. My host mom was attempting to introduce a guest whose name contained “gerek.” This means “need.” I thought she was asking me if I needed anything and I said: “No, no.” She kept repeating the name, and I kept saying “no.” Eventually, everyone was laughing.

2) In the opposite vein, a classmate accidentally failed to lock the bathroom door. When a host sibling opened it, he meant to shout: “No, no” but instead shouted “Yes, yes.”

3) My language teacher thought it was hilarious when I misunderstood her cursive and thought that the Turkmen word for “ear” was “queak.” There is clearly a good sense of humor here.

I have made a lot of linguistic progress this week. I can now explain that 22 is too young to marry in the U.S. I can say, “When I sit down, my black skirt becomes white” (from the dust). And, I managed to say: “I locked my door, but I don’t have a key.” That was the second exciting interruptions; I locked myself out of the room. Luckily, I had left the window open so, after a failed attempt to find out if there was a Peace Corps approved locksmith, my host father removed the screen and climbed into my room. I was very embarrassed, but it was also hilarious. I will only be really bad if I let it happen again.

The mention of my host-dad leads nicely into the topic of gender relations. It is basically totally segregated. I have never talked to my host father except on the first day when I introduced myself. He does no work around the house and barely talks to his wife. However, perhaps because I do not yet have a project, the gender separation seems positive for female volunteers. There is no gray area for interaction, so we feel very safe.

What the town is like

All the roads are paved. The houses are cement brick. Most houses have one outdoor faucet. Everyone has gas heat. There is no bazaar or post office, but there is a school, a hospital and lots of small bodegas called dukans. I am 25 minutes walking distance, at most, from all the other volunteers.

My technical training consists of shadowing a family doctor a few days a week. We have a home visit tomorrow.

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.

A few notes before I go

Tomorrow, I get on a plain for Turkey, and by Wednesday at 2:45 am, I will be in Ashgabat, Turkmenistan. The great adventures begin.

Here are a few fun things I think may be of interest about Turkmenistan:

There are no ATMs in the whole country, so it is, quite literally, an all cash economy. Furthermore, only the crispest, most recently issued American bills are excepted for exchange. They must be perfect, not a single mark, tear or other blemish. Perhaps in an all cash economy, the physical bill takes on more significance.

There are no other major development organizations in the country. Peace Corps is truly unique there. What an incredible privilege to get to be there.

I will send more when I know more.

Welcome

If you're at this page, I just sent you an email soliciting paper correspondence so I won't feel too alone on my impending adventure. Please send me your address, too, if you want to receive mail. I won't have email, at least for the first three months, and life is slower there. So, when I'm not trying to pick up a Turkic language or improve my skills as a health educator/grant writer/cultural ambassador/volunteer, I'll have plenty of time to write letters.

You may also be visiting this blog because you actually want to learn about Turkmenistan. I didn't know where it was until I was nominated by Peace Corps to Central Asia, either. Unfortunately, I'm not in Turkmenistan, yet, so I can't tell you about personal experiences. But, here are links to the best information sources so far:

Current Peace Corps Volunteer Blog (He inspired me)

Flickr Images of Turkmenistan

NYTimes on the death of their leader, changes with the new regime

State Department