Getting to Know the Neighbours

Since moving into my new apartment in September, I've barely seen my neighbours. The are four doors clustered at the top of the stairwell. The one next to me, I'm fairly sure, is empty, because the bills (which are stuck between the door and the jamb) are never collected. Across the way is a young couple who always look a bit cross (although they're Russian, so that doesn't mean anything). The fourth flat must surely be occupied, but I have never seen anyone coming or going. I am on the third floor out of four floors.

Until today, I'd had maybe three conversations in total with people in this building. That all changed when the old codger downstairs started doing repairs: he (inadvertently or otherwise) managed to cut the power to the whole building last night. There was a terrific thump around midnight and everything went dark and quiet. It was still off this morning, which effectively ruined everything in my freezer. I could have gone and dumped it all in the snow outside, but it didn't occur to me and if it had, I probably wouldn't have risked my already dubious reputation as a foreigner.

Anyway, as the morning wore on, I got a bit worried and investigated. My neighbours did the same, and suddenly we were bound together in our concern. It's the dusty, rusty Soviet wiring, you see. Difficult to fix, not to mention dangerous. I learned the names of several neighbours as we congregated on the stairwell and discussed options. My language abilities are pretty rubbish, but I followed along because the conversation stuck to fairly basic vocabulary. In time, some electricians turned up and went to the roof and everyone returned to their flats. After several hours and many false starts (which I fear may have killed my fridge) power was finally restored.

Nothing will change probably, except that perhaps we will make more eye contact than normal and more meaningful nods of heads when we pass each other. I got excited for a moment and envisioned myself making cookies for everyone, until I remembered the last time I tried that, in a different block of flats - many suspicious looks and some flat-out refusals. I guess I'll stick to nods.

Three Degrees!

The temperature reached three degrees today, and the snow was radiant in the sun. I squinted a bit and wore my lightest jacket. The slick ice was entering that slushy crunchy stage, so it was much easier to walk (if messier).

I don't know what has happened to this, the most cold-bloodedest of Australians, that she should find this to be mild and delightful weather.

On the marshrutka today:

As usual, I bumped my head while paying the driver. It was standing room only, so I found a space between a seat and the window and ignored the usual armpits in my face. Shortly after, the very, very old woman in the seat near me tried to get up, and plumped down when the bus veered unexpectedly. In that moment, I noticed her feet were at strange angles: there was obviously some kind of deformity, and her steps were tentative. She had a face like an apple in storage and smelled of damp mothballs. I offered my green-gloved hand, which she took and heaved herself up. There were three large men between her and the door, so with her hand in mine I steadied her, while the other hand guided her through the bodies. The marshrutka shrieked to a halt on the corner and she picked her way down the steps, her feet in first position like a ballerina's. Maybe she'd been a Soviet ballerina. I immediately created a whole life story for her. Since I was standing, I couldn't see through the window how she fared, and the whole thing probably took about five seconds. But how my heart swelled with love and pity and regret: love for her gentle, aged face; pity for her wretched physical condition and probable poverty; regret that I had not descended the steps with her and ensured her wellbeing.

Though it is painful, I am glad God aligns my heart with his. It awakens me to pray with yearning. It also confirms my desire to study community development this year, because more and more, I long for the skills and aptitude to help women like the one on my marshrutka today. I cry out for that ability. I think God is prompting me in this direction. I guess we'll know more shortly.

My Last Day at the Gym

Well, here is a hideous truth. The owners of my Russian gym (named 'Monroe' and replete with a Marilyn clock, her face in the tiles, and bright pink weight machines) have just installed a bunch of seedy hotel rooms above it, rented 'by the hour.' Many of the girls who come to the gym work in those rooms. Mostly they're teenagers.

I need to find a new gym. I will not give one ounce of profit more to the owners. And once again, with a furious heart, I grieve for the women here; so exploited, and somehow so resilient.

I met one young woman at this gym. Her name was Aibeka. Aibeka had pretty good English, and I learned that she'd recently returned from working in Dubai airport, in customer service. It seemed like a pretty decent job for a local girl. But no. It's no good, she said. No good. They take your passport away. They make you pay for every glass of water, every bus trip from the accommodation to the airport, so that in the end, you don't make much money at all. The only way to make money (for your family back home, which is why you came in the first place) is to give in to the prostitution racket. Most girls do.

Lord, Lord.

Top Secret Drum Corps - Edinburgh Military Tattoo 2012

Winter's a-coming

There is a frost in the air that's been absent until now. The trees are as yellow as can be. I had to wear gloves this morning, and I've dug out my best winter coat and hung it by the front door. Snow is predicted for Monday, and that is really the beginning of a new season that doesn't end till the start of April. 

Happily, the heating has been turned on; somewhere in the recesses of Tetz, the ancient factory near Vostok Pyat, cogs and wheels are spluttering fuel into the heating pipes of an entire city. The sadly ironic consequence is that I have to open all my windows, to let the frosty air mingle with the stifling heat and create a temperate environment. Awful waste, but one over which I have no control.

Today, my 11/12 English class wrote exam essays about dystopias; my 10 English class dissected an IGCSE poem by Elizabeth Brewster; in ESL support, we worked on new vocabulary; I advertised upcoming auditions for the school production; I ran English club; I met with my landlady because she wanted to give me potplants (not realising that she was effectively committing them to death); and I met with some friends at a Japanese restaurant. 

That's an example of a nicely balanced day. I'm learning how to look after myself in this regard - how to fine-tune my time. After last year's burn-out, I am determined not to push myself. I go home before 6 PM. I do not take grading with me. I eat all the vegetables I can find. I take time to cook real food. I walk more, go to the gym more. I listen to music and sermons and thereby feed my soul. I reply to emails promptly. I say 'no' to many opportunities. I commit all these things to God, and thank him for caring enough to teach me about rest.

Putin, the Immortal

So, in Tzum today (Tzum is the Soviet equivalent of a mall), this wall hanging was advertised, on sale. Fancy your very own larger-than-life Russian President?

You can't see it so well here, but it's a rug woven with the face of a much younger, immensely glamourous Putin. He appears to be wearing lipstick and contemplating the future with dreamy eyes.

You could also order Lenin, and have a face-off across the living room.

                                       

Sunday Poem: Lift Up Your Hearts

Recently, I was lent a copy of Christina Rossetti's reading diary. Some of her best poems are in this collection - the poems I like best, anyway. I skipped ahead tonight (she was getting her 'Anglo-Catholic' on in the latter parts of October and early November, which I found tiresome) and alighted upon this little piece. She often lifts her spiritual dryness to the Lord and has nicely metered conversations with Him about it; I recognise my own constant prayer in hers - do for me, Lord, what I cannot manage - be both object and enabler of my faith! And so, she begins with that oft-repeated phrase:


'Lift up your hearts!' - 'We lift them up' - Ah me!
I cannot, Lord, lift up my heart to Thee:
Stoop, lift it up, that where Thou art I too may be.

'Give me thy heart.' - I would not say Thee nay,
But have no power to keep or give away
My heart: stoop, Lord, and take it to Thyself today.

Stoop, Lord, as once before now once anew
Stoop, Lord, and hearken, hearken, Lord, and do,
And take my will and take my heart and take me too.

Christina Rossetti
Time Flies: A Reading Diary, November 12

Saturday Song: Rivers & Robots

Rivers & Robots have recently become one of my favourite bands, and it's not just because there's an ampersand in the name. It's because of songs like this one. I love the lyrics. This whole album is gorgeous! Do yourself a favour and fork out a couple of quid on it.

The Regal Touch

I have an addiction. It's been going on for years. Just when I think I've cast it off, it comes back with a vengeance.

My addiction is The West Wing.

I've watched so much lately that I've had several dreams related to it. Last night's was the most peculiar of a very peculiar lot.

I dreamed that I was Josh, and that POTUS was coming to visit. I was wearing pyjama shorts, which felt indecent; so, I did what any normal person would do - I stripped my bed. I wrapped my doona cover around me like a skirt (taking the doona out first) and then I put my pillowcase around my shoulders. You know, for a regal touch. Then, I walked out to the living room. Then, I woke up.

That is all.

(I still haven't made my bed).

Erkindik

This is Erkindik Boulevard, something the Soviets did well. I walk this way most days. Erkindik means 'Freedom.' In winter, I imagine it will be beautiful in a different way.

I Saw Three More Things (of a Mildly Humorous Nature)

1. A hot water pipe outside a hospital, insulated with cooking foil and old shirts. Yep, we sho' be ready for winter 'round these here parts.

2. A crew of men trying to adjust electricity wires above a busy street, and a tallish concrete truck driving by at an inopportune time. I had an (internal) chuckle and kept my distance, since there was no evidence to suggest that the wires were not live wires, or that the men were electricians by trade.

3. A little girl on her way to school with traditional white puffy decorations in her hair. They were easily as large as her head, one on either side, and the result was Star Wars/1970s wedding/cartoon.

Three days left of fall break. Alas and alack.

I Saw Three Things in Three Days

1. A woman with her arms wrapped around her ten-year-old daughter, in the middle of Erkindik Boulevard. The daughter was clearly disabled, gazing at the trees and groaning and dribbling a bit. The mother was soothing her by humming. They swayed together in this public place, and I couldn't get the image out of my head, because the woman was an Uzbek, and this is a country where the disabled put away; dumped in whitewashed institutions on the outskirts of the city and rarely mentioned in polite company thereafter. I have never seen such a sight in Bishkek - such openness and such an obvious bond between parent and child. The mother obviously couldn't have cared less about the openly curious passers-by, and that was deeply beautiful to me. I still picture them clearly, framed by autumn colours and caressed by the breeze.

2. Every morning on my way to school, at the same time, I pass a Russian woman in her mid-fifties. She is surrounded by plastic bags and swarming cats, under a tree in a crumbling apartment block. She is pouring milk into bowls and feeding scraps, and talking to herself/the cats all the while. Again, this is a rare sight - someone paying attention to and caring for the stray animals that roam Bishkek. (I also passed a stray ginger cat with a broken leg, mewling in the gutter, and trying to defend its territory from dogs. I cried for a long time afterwards because there was nothing I could do - not unless I change vocations and start looking after the needy animals everywhere, which is a job for a hundred people who are not otherwise occupied. So, I pray the prayer for the thousandth time - Lord, let their suffering be mild and their lives short).

3. An old woman, bent double, dressed in ancient and innumerable layers of wool, a walking stick in one hand and a crumpled plastic bag in the other, crossing the street. That's all. Not unusual. But most likely, she lives on a pension that doesn't extend to, you know, food. She might beg. She might go through trash for food. She might not have family. She's probably Orthodox, so maybe the church helps her. I don't know. But every atom in my body cries out to - what? Do something! - and the realisation that I cannot is crippling - not so that you'd notice, since my back isn't bent like hers. But something is bent.

When I first arrived in Kyrgyzstan nearly three years ago, seeing orphans and cripples and elderly and stray animals and homeless people every day was an impossible sadness. I would give money to old women to stop them going through my trash. I would buy cheap sausage meat to give to gutter dogs. I would buy samsi from street sellers and give them to gypsy beggar boys. I still do. But it is never enough. I cried from guilt and shame and then went from my well-heated flat to my vibrant workplace and ate all the food I wanted, plus more besides, and laid down in a safe, comfortable bed. I could choose to forget when I wanted to, which was often.

Like most people, my gut reaction is emotional - visceral - burdened. It should be, I think. It would be evil not to care. James wrote that to look at your brother and sister in need, and do nothing, is a lifeless faith - dead faith. Tim Keller's excellent book, Generous Justice, has been helpful in shaping how I think/feel in response to these things. It affirms that God's constant call is for social justice; that He cares for the orphans and the widows and oh, how He cares, and how He will restore them, and how He gives us hearts like his, to sorrow and weep with Him. I want a heart like His, and so I will continue to let it break. I will also continue to trust in His promises of restoration and justice, and rejoice that He is good. It is possible to weep and rejoice together, you know. It isn't comfortable, but it's all there is.

Disproportionate Globe-Trotting

By the end of 2013, I will have been in ten countries. Several more than last year. Let me explain. No, there is no time. Let me sum up.

 To begin with, I was in Thailand with my sister and parents for the new year, before coming back to Kyrgyzstan for the second semester of school. In March, I was privileged to travel to Germany for a conference, stopping in Switzerland on the way to visit an old friend, and swinging by France, too. By the end of June, I was very happy to return to Australia for some TLC, but not without a two-week stopover in Korea to visit past and present students.

Once returning to Kyrgyzstan, I led a wonderful group of students to Hungary for a conference. This adventure was quickly followed by a weekend in Kazakhstan, where I met a drama teacher to discuss a new production. And now, as Christmas approaches, I am planning to be in England with family, and quite possibly stopping by Scotland as well.

I think I have some kind of disease, where I must travel at least every three months, or risk keeling over. I am reluctant to be cured, though. As a single person living on a volunteer's income, I am whole-heartedly thankful and aware of my blessings in this regard - a workplace that pays for me to attend conferences, family members who contribute to plane tickets, an organisation that puts my health and wellbeing first. God knows my love of travel and is giving it to me in abundance. I don't know how long this patterned lifestyle will last, but I embrace it and acknowledge the wonder of it, right now.

Arcade Fire - Afterlife (Lyric Video)

The Story of Jonah as Told by The Cutest Little Girl