November

The longer you leave a blog alone, the harder it can be to kickstart it. With fear and trembling, I pick up my pen (read:keyboard) to tell you, gentle readers, about the last two months of my life in Bishkek.

Okay, that sounds like I'm dying or about to leave Bishkek. Regardless -

The weather is a safely innocuous place to start, if you can call six inches of snow innocuous. It's a been a freezing fortnight. I routinely walk to school in the dark, upon sidewalks with the shape and texture of a bowling ball, while my nose hairs freeze and my bazaar-bought boots leak a little ice-water. The first step from the padyest involves a coughing fit as my lungs seize up in -19 Celsius.

School is reasonably warm, however, and the apartment fluctuates between lukewarm and toastywarm. That is a true blessing, given the frequent electricity and gas outages.

Here's a brief overview of my weekly schedule: School, school, English conversation club, school, Bible study, school school school, drama auditions, SRC meetings, church, school school school. Did I forget anything? Oh yeah, school. Good thing I really enjoy school.

Any word becomes weirdly foreign when you say it repeatedly.

There's an exciting event on the horizon. I'm going to Thailand for ten days over Christmas to visit my sister and parents, taking only t-shirts and sandals (and related clothing) and a bag full of gifts, leaving an ice-bound city in my wake. This is a happy-making thought indeed.

 There. Consider my blog kickstarted. I'll try to write something more lively this week. In the meantime, here's a picture of me and my new flatmate (also colleague), taken on Twin Day. Note lens-less glasses and Germanic hairdo, both courtesy of said flatmate.

Evening Postcard

Since reentering Bishkek and moving to Vostok Pyat, I've noticed changes in this city: the call to prayer is more frequent, the number of bearded, hatted and robed men (and covered women) has increased, and there is more movement around mosques. 

I was wondering if this was all in my head until a colleague made the same observation.

What happened over the summer? I'm not sure, but this article has some interesting comments about the recent growth of Islam in Central Asia.

Anyway, it's 7:20 PM, and the call to evening prayer is floating through our courtyard, mixing with the shouts of children and Russian pop music. E and I just got back from a visit to the Domkom: the Domkom is a socialist relic, the appointed building official to whom we pay our stairwell cleaning fees and who resolves issues between comrades in the complex. Every building has a Domkom. Ours is on duty between 6-7 PM every Tuesday and Thursday. She has commandeered a tiny little bunker in the basement, painted the walls pink, and sits there stamping documents and swapping neighbourly gossip. We went to introduce ourselves and explain that we speak "chut-chut" Russian. It was like stepping back in history - I'm pretty sure the setup was the same in Soviet times! I love moments like that, stepping into a different culture and era. It happens from time to time.

Anyway, we're back. There's a pile of test papers on the coffee table. Our dinner guests, fellow teachers who live nearby, have left - we keep early hours around here. We ate hamburgers (or a close approximation) and strawberry tarts. I'm building up to grading the papers, but first there is a cup of tea to make and some more procrastination to enact.

That said - I'm enjoying my classes. Teaching geography is a challenge, and so is teaching the Westminster confession to middle schoolers, but the English classes are a pleasure, and so is my homeroom. I'm teaching ESL to small group of Korean high schoolers; there are two staff meetings a week; I'm helping with the SRC once a week; in October, I'm starting a weekly English conversation club with the local school across the road. There's the school play to think about, the service trips, the monthly visits to the orphanage for disabled children.

Life is full - that's one way to look at it.

Did I mention that I'm getting a root canal tomorrow? I found an American-trained dentist: she doesn't speak any English, but she is very good. I don't know what to expect, really, but it might mean a couple of days away from school, which is not altogether a bad thing, since I don't think I've had actual consecutive days of rest since - well, I can't remember.

Using a root canal as an excuse to rest - yes, I hear the crazy.

Tinned Horsemeat

'nuff said.

Door to the Sky

I suppose it looks more like a window in this photograph, but take my word for it - this is a door to nowhere on the seventh floor. A Soviet's idea of a practical joke?

Look What I Found!

Pretty excited - the last piece in the Thai food puzzle. I brought some herbs and curry pastes back with me - now there shall much feasting.

Merry Merry King of the Bush is He

Tonight, as I lay on my third-floor bed, reading Ivan Denisovich and wishing for cooler weather, I could have sworn I heard a kookaburra. There was a cackling in the courtyard, and just for a moment I was back in Macedon, with muted gum trees out the window and sharp clean air all around.

Of course, it's only children, shouting and clambering over the rickety, rusting play equipment; the air retains its customary aroma of cigarette smoke and smog, and the only things out my window are the innumerable other windows facing it; still, I am left aching for my land.

This is Kyrgyzstan

This is Kyrgyzstan.

An innocent phrase, but when uttered wryly and with that universal hand gesture of abandonment, it becomes the catchcry of the expat.

For instance:

I go upscale and take a Manas Taxi (as opposed to a private taxi) from the airport, thinking to buy a little peace of mind with the extra 50 som. My driver is a burly middle-aged Russian. He hoists my bags into his boot, and then poses a question: this here lady has a problem getting home, can she share the taxi with me? Deep down, a little internal alarm goes off, but sure! I say breezily. What harm? Well, naturally, it turns out the lady in 'distress' is the taxi driver's girlfriend (though he just told me about his wife and children - what?), and he's going to drop her off, a little out of the way. Bugger. I negotiate: she should pay part of the fare. On this point, as indeed on all points, I am firm. So is the driver. But he finally agrees to lower the price by 50 som; drops off his girlfriend; and proceeds (it is now 3:30 AM) to veer sharply off the main road and onto a dirt road, away from the city. Holy cow. Heart skips. My phone isn't working yet. Thinly disguising my panic, I demand to know where we're going. Eh, no worries, it shortcut! Shortcut! I spend the next twenty minutes frantically looking for landmarks, and the taxi does eventually veer around back to the city - a shortcut indeed, but one that cuts through deserted warehouses and unlit back streets. It is an unspeakable relief to finally see a street that I know.

This is Kyrgyzstan.

My new apartment (which I share now with another teacher, who shall henceforth be known as E) is reasonably comfortable and well-located. However, we have noted the following features:
- Several bad lots of milk later, it has been established that the fridge seals don't really work.
- The downstairs neighbour smokes like a chimney. Coincidentally, the vents that connect our two apartments are unsealed, and we are now collecting a healthy daily dose of secondary smoke.
- There is a badly behaved child and an angry father in the apartment above us. At approximately 11:30 PM most nights, they proceed to interact accordingly.
- The local mosque has a surprisingly regular call to prayer: just before midnight, and just after 5 AM. I can also report that the acoustics in this area are excellent.

This is Kyrgyzstan.

Ah, but it's good to be back, all the same. After all, the mosque's call to prayer is, in fact, beautiful, as well as being an exhortation about my own prayers. Bishkek has a certain dusty (read: smoggy) beauty if you look at it hard enough, and its people are my people, now. And, soaring far above all these things is the fact of being back at school, among students, colleagues, friends. I can endure many things for the sake of this community that I love.

I am tired, though. How I am tired! Last night was my best night - five straight hours of sleep. It was bliss. I've taught and survived a week of classes - reading up frantically about physical geography, the Westminster Confession (for Ethics), Shakespeare's The Tempest (delight!) and the gulag (in preparation for One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich). Teaching some ESL, as well as devotions every morning. There's a teacher retreat in the mountains tomorrow, and then next weekend is the high school retreat, also in the mountains. I'm helping out with the SRC this year - elections next week.

So it begins.

This is Kyrgyzstan, and where else should I be but here?

Rolled Up Sleeves

In an effort to become slightly cooler (in both senses of the word) I've taken to rolling up the sleeves of my t-shirt. Some people do this and look effortlessly fashionable: I do it and look slightly deranged, but I don't care, because this perpetual sheen of sweat is really irritating.

I'm waiting for my flight to Almaty (I wonder if anyone in the history of the world has ever flown Chiang Rai - Bangkok - Almaty - Bishkek?) and while the wi-fi continues, I'm going to write. Once on the plane, I have the following things to console me: Tim Keller podcasts, Father Brown stories, Tom Wright's commentary on the pastoral epistles, and a large packet of dried pineapple. Oh, and some sort of pill that I'm told will make me sleep. I've never slept on a plane yet, but stranger things have happened. Plus, I'm pretty tired.

This summer has been a surreal experience: two months, four countries, hundreds of people. I'm not just physically tired - I'm worn out mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and any other way you care to mention. The idea of being in a classroom in two days time is too farfetched to be alarming, and yet that's the way it is. Could I have done these months any differently? I don't think so. America was wonderful - I wouldn't have missed being in Erica's Ithaca wedding, seeing Val in Boston, or experiencing Texas with Aubre, for anything. Nor would I have done it differently in Australia, given the choice. Telling people about Kyrgyzstan was wonderful; hanging out with school and church communities and other groups of friends was a delight; spending time with friends and family was beyond price.

And if you think I'd have gone home without seeing my sister after nearly two years, you're dreaming!

But there's a price to pay, especially for a determined introvert like me. I don't know what it is, yet. But I do know that the God who has sustained and provided and challenged and grown me over the last two years in still in charge, and all this falls within his mandate of care. That makes me very content.

More anon.

(Postscript: upgraded to Business Class! Heck yes!)

Last Morning in Chiang Rai

I'm sitting in a most peculiar cafe, just down the road from the DR office; it's delightfully retro, with a big Astroboy in the corner and fantastic thin-limbed leather chairs with funky cushions. There are kewpie dolls and gumball machines on display, and Bebel Gilberto is drifting through the ancient speakers. I just inhaled a gorgeous piece of coconut cake and a very good coffee: so good that I might have another. However, what makes the whole setup peculiar is the requisite portrait of the bespectacled Thai king on the whitewashed wall, and also the tropical downpour that began several minutes ago: this isn't, in fact, inner city Melbourne. My arm is resting on my motorbike helmet, since Bess dropped me off and is likely to pick me up again. Being chauffeured on the back of a motorcycle is a pretty decent way of getting around - I'll miss it.

I do like Chiang Rai. I like my sister, too. But I'll be leaving it, and her, tomorrow - yoicks. Yet another transition, yet another goodbye. So many in the last three months - and it hasn't gotten easier with practice.

I began my sponsorship of a DR rescued girl this morning. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. She's one of Bess's cafe trainees: she's sixteen, understands enough English to have a conversation, and is a cheerful, keen learner. Her name is Sunsanee and her story is both typical and tragic. Here's what I know: both her parents are farmers. Her father is sick with tubercolosis and is an alcoholic. She has nine siblings. She moved to Chiang Rai to find a job to pay off a large debt incurred by her parents, and ended up working in a bar, becoming exposed to the sex trade. Before being rescued by a DR team, she experienced things no child should ever encounter.

Now, she lives in one of the DR homes, where she's learning English, training to work in the cafe, and discovering what it's like to be loved unconditionally. She's acquiring skills and community for life. I get to help finance that - what could be better? Yes, I know I'm living on a minimal wage that is provided by my supporters - but I don't think they're the kind of people who will begrudge this small expenditure.

You'll see a link to Destiny Rescue on the right of the page. There are lots of girls (and a few boys) who need sponsoring, both in Thailand and elsewhere. I've seen firsthand how donated money is used: all foreign workers here are volunteers and self-funded, which means that 100% of your money goes directly to the welfare of the child, rather than administrative costs. This is a grassroots Christian organisation with great accountability and integrity. They make it easy to sponsor kids. Check them out!

Big, fat, bucketing rain - I might not be going anywhere for a while.

Adopt a Babushka!

Would you consider adopting a babushka? It isn't uncommon to see elderly women (and men) selling their last possessions on the streets of Bishkek - lightbulbs, socks, cups and saucers - in an effort not to become beggars. The Kyrgyz pension is around 16 euros per month: hardly enough to buy food, let alone pay for heating or transport or basic needs. This organisation, Babushka Adoption, is a legitimate means of supplementing an income for elderly people without families and without dignity: an extra 10 euros per month can greatly enhance quality of life. It also arranges social and healthcare visits to the elderly.

Check it out! (And don't mind the loud Russian advertisement on the homepage!)

www.babushkaadoption.org

Chiang Rai

I'm kickstarting my return to regular blogging, with help from one of the abundant and free wi-fi cafes in Chiang Rai. It's pretty obvious that I'm a fulang (foreigner), since I'm about twice as tall (and wide) as most Thai people, and very pale. Though I'm a fulang in Kyrgyzstan too, it's less obvious because I can pass for Russian. Here, there's nothing I can do (short of extensive and probably world-first surgery) to blend in. Thus, I have embraced my foreignness by ordering a rum frappacino and cranking up the Mac, while Bess is off buying supplies for cafe training.

What am I doing in Chiang Rai? That's a sensible question, and thanks for noticing. It's the last stopover along a very frantic summer. My sister, Bess, recently started working here, and since I can write openly about it, I shall proceed to do so.

She works for an organisation called Destiny Rescue. Please read about them here. To summarise, there are about 800,000 child prostitutes in Thailand, which contributes to a billion-dollar sex industry - one of the biggest destinations for 'sex tourists.' Destiny Rescue exists to rescue and restore sexually exploited children, in Thailand and elsewhere. How do they do this?

- They send trained teams into red-light districts, who identify and rescue children being exploited. Last month in Thailand, 25 children were rescued by DR teams.
- The children are brought to "safe homes" where they are given intensive psychological, emotional, and physical care. They are also given tools and skills to reintegrate into society.
- DR focuses on hill tribe communities and slum communities. They offer opportunities and employment to 'at-risk' girls, and provide education and awareness training.
- They also alleviate poverty by providing training/development programs for families; things like small business loans, agricultural training, supplying running water, etc. This means families are less likely to sell their children for income.

Bess's job is to train a group of rescued girls to run a cafe: she is teaching them to cook, to wait, to speak enough English to serve fulangs. The cafe opens in a month and she'll be overseeing and managing the project for at least a year. She also teaches dance classes - fun! And let me tell you: these girls are happy. They are cared for; they have hope for the future; they're not just rescued from unthinkable darkness, they're being redeemed. It's impossible to see this work and not respond.

Please read up on the DR website - this is truly remarkable and heart-rending work. You can sponsor girls, you can volunteer here, there are so many tangible ways you can help.

I've heard such stories and I'm bursting with the desire to write about them - I'm leaving on Friday, though, so it'll be a while before I can do that.

In the meantime, there has been much motorbike riding and delicious food, torrential rain and crazy humidity, elephants and coffee and waterfalls. I've been posting the pictures on FB, so go check them out!