And that side of the Haze
"Besides the Autumn poets sing / A few prosaic days / A little this side of the snow / And that side of the Haze"
--Emily Dickinson
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And she’s back!
After a three-month interlude, I’m back with less than three months left of my Fulbright grant. What have I been doing with my time? Well, actually, I’m almost done collecting data for my project and in April, I will start writing.
Here are some highlights from the last few months:
At the end of January, I traveled to southern Kazakhstan to interview people. I stayed in an Uzbek village near Shymkent, visiting schools, interviewing people in town, and eating tons of plov (a tasty Uzbek dish consisting of rice, lamb, carrots, garlic, and spices). I love southern Kazakhstan! Sometimes in Almaty, a big, Western-style city, I forget what Kazakhstan is really like and how overwhelmingly hospitable Kazakhstanis are. My trip to Shymkent and Taraz really reminded me of how kind people are and how willing they are to help.
On my way back from Shymkent to Almaty, I met my friends in Taraz (also in southern Kazakhstan) to go to a charity rap concert. Austin and Jenna (above) performed in their third concert abroad. While in Taraz, we stayed with friends of Jenna’s, went to a Russian-style banya, and eat homemade lagman (another Uzbek dish made of noodles and vegetables).
Back in Almaty, I continued taking interviews with local students to hear in their own words how they imagine Kazakhstani national identity. I presented my research at the Fulbright conference in India:
Along the way to India, we had a layover in Abu Dhabi, where my roommate and I went on a desert safari and I rode a camel:
The conference in India helped me organize my research and start thinking about certain trends in the interviews. Now that I’m back in Almaty, I’m working on filling in certain parts of my project and writing it up. Once I have more, I’ll post the results here. Until then, I’ll do a better job of sharing what’s going on in Kazakhstan!
I’m looking forward to going home in a few months and starting grad school, but I’m already starting to realize that I will miss Kazakhstan. I’ve lived abroad for almost two years now, and it will be strange to be living in the US again. I don’t have to think too much about this yet though—there is still time! Today is a wintry, March day, but soon, it will be spring here, and I can’t wait to start traveling around Kazakhstan again and to spend time outdoors, hiking in the mountains and walking in the tulip fields. More pictures and commentary to come!
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"Hooligans," a.k.a. protestors
On Friday, December 16, Kazakhstan celebrated its 20th year of independence. In the western oil town, Zhanaozen, at least 11 were killed during fights between workers and police.
The government claims that the violence is due to “hooligans,” potentially financed from outside the country. But journalists and human rights groups argue that violence broke out as a result of worker frustration over the government’s refusal to solve a wage dispute.
President Nazarbayev has called a state of emergency for the region, which includes curfews and prohibitions on audio and video recordings. Journalists are unable to enter the region, and Internet has been cut off.
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Exciting news! I eloped in Kazakhstan!
Just kidding!
In Central Asia, when I say “no,” people seem to understand it as “yes.” This is definitely not a language problem. If I know anything confidently in Russian, it’s the difference between “yes” (да, pronounced da) and “no” (нет, pronounced nyet).
Men are very confident here. It is not unusual for the guy selling you fruit to ask whether you’re married and insist on getting your phone number. Even though I’ve lived in Russia and now Kazakhstan for more than a year, I still have trouble being forceful. People interpret this as weakness. It doesn’t help that it’s a cultural practice to play hard to get. I’ve been told that girls often reject a guy’s attention several times before she finally accepts and goes on a date with him. In some parts of Kazakhstan, bride-napping is still a problem. Yes, bride-napping, a forced marriage that involves the groom kidnapping the bride. Once she enters his house, she cannot return to her family because she has become impure. It is shameful for her to leave.
Here, in Almaty, all of this seems very distant. Don’t worry, Mom, I won’t be kidnapped!
Returning to the initial subject, I’m a straight-forward person. When I say no the first time, I mean no every time after that. Somehow though that doesn’t always come across.
But I have found a solution! Today, as I was walking home for lunch, a guy approached me and asked whether he could walk with me. I told him no, but as usual, he interpreted that as yes. I was very non-committal to the conversation, and he had a lot to say. At one point, he asked me whether I was married, and that’s when the thought hit me. Why not tell people I’m married? It avoids so much trouble. I pointed to a simple silver ring that I wear and replied, “Yes, I am already married.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked.
“No, I have a husband.”
“Give me your telephone number.”
“Sorry, but my husband wouldn’t like that.”
“You are very good! Correct.”
“Goodbye,” I said, turning down the road away from him.
“Goodbye, pretty girl (красавица, not sure how to translate this).”
And that was the end of this conversation! So easy! Why didn’t I think of this earlier? It saves the hassle of arguing about phone numbers, and it gets rid of the guy. It also avoids the second part of the conversation, which is usually when I try to explain why I am not already married. Surprisingly, this is actually very hard to explain. As I’m frequently reminded, 22 is the prime age to get married. Don’t I want to have children? If I do, I better find a husband soon (aka, the guy I’m talking with) because I’m not going to get any prettier and I’m only going to become increasingly more infertile. When I was in Uzbekistan, a woman went even so far as to inquire innocently how many months pregnant I was. She predicted I would have a boy. “I’m not pregnant,” I replied, “Just car sick.”
Ahh, Central Asia! What am I going to do next year without you and without all of your interesting questions?
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Astri's blog
My friend, Astri, keeps a much better blog than me about life in Kazakhstan. Check it out!
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Office life in Kazakhstan
Back in August, when I first arrived, I was pleased to find out that I had an office at KIMEP, my university affiliate. On the third floor in the Economics department, it’s quiet and bright. One of its most valuable assets is the printer. If I bring my own paper, I can print all the articles and papers I like. Until you have lived in Russia or Kazakhstan, you do not realize how valuable this is. No waiting in line in the underground to only hear that they don’t print PDFs or they’ve run out of paper. No waiting in line to find out that right before your turn, the person working there is starting a never-ending lunch break and that you’ll have to come back. As a result, I value my office, and it’s usually where I go to work without distraction.
Until last week that is.
Episode #1
It’s normal for people to open my door throughout the day, peek in, and then close it rapidly, sometimes before I even have a chance to turn around and see who it is. I am never the person they are looking for.
Therefore, last week, when a girl opened the door and actually entered, I was surprised. Our conversation began in Russian but soon switched to English once she realized that I was not from here.
“Wait, who are you? What are you doing here?” she asked.
“This is my office,” I said. “There’s a sign on the door. I’ve been here since August.”
“Oh. They told me this room was empty. You’ll have to leave then.”
“What? Leave? Why? Who told you that I have to leave?”
“HR [I think this stands for Human Resources]. They have a new professor. He needs your space. So, you should pack up and be ready to leave this afternoon.”
“Okay,” I said doubtfully. “Who should I talk to about this?”
“I don’t know. It’s not my problem.”
“It’s not my problem.” Perhaps she didn’t say this specifically, but whatever she said, it translates into this phrase, which I hear ALL the time. When I sought help from above, the secretary told me, “Yes, you have to move. We’ll find somewhere else for you.” When I inquired where that would be and whether there would be a printer, she pointed me to a closet. I share an office with two other grad students. There was no way that we could literally all fit in there. And there was no printer. I pointed these problems out to her. Her answer? “It’s not my problem.”
I can’t tell you how often I hear someone explain to me in so many words that whatever it is I need is not his/her problem. My theory is that it’s a Soviet legacy and a result of continuing corruption. There’s no accountability to those above or below. The only person you can rely on is yourself. If you have a problem, if someone mistreats you, you can’t just go to the police and file a report because they won’t help you. The effect of this system is widespread, and it trickles down to even small businesses, schools, and individuals.
Leaving the secretary’s office, I left, irritated and frustrated. I sat in my office, trying to work on my personal statement, but all I could think about was the fact that I was losing my nice workspace and my beloved printer. Two hours later, I had gathered my courage, so that I could suggest an alternative solution and fight for my space. But when I arrived, she just smiled and said, “Oh, by the way, everything is all settled. You don’t have to move.”
If only someone had told me sooner!
Episode #2
The next day, I was working once again in my office when the phone rang. I picked up.
“Allo,” I said in Russian.
Without any introduction or explanation, a voice replied, “I’m not going to be back until 11:30. I need you to go put a sign on my door, saying this.”
“Who is this?”
“What do you mean? It’s Professor SO-AND-SO. I need you to go do this.”
“Um, okay. Where’s your office?”
He explained with irritation and then hung up. I wrote a note, went to his office, and found a creative way to hang the paper without tape.
An hour later, my door opens suddenly, and a man looks in. “Where’s Aigul or Inara?” he asks.
“I’m not sure.” (I’m also not sure who these people are.)
“Have they been in at all today?”
“No.”
“Sh@t!” The door closes; he leaves. I’m guessing this is the person who called earlier.
Episode #3
I arrive at my office yesterday, ready to write this personal statement! I try to turn the computer on, but nothing happens. I check the plugs, and everything is in order. I then realize that the light hasn’t turned on. I have no electricity. I check with my neighboring offices, and they have electricity. It’s just my room.
I’m not sure what to do, so I go to the Dean’s office and ask them to call someone to help me. About 30 minutes later, a man arrives. He tries turning on the lights and the computer, then says (in Russian), “You don’t have electricity.”
“Yeah, I know,” I reply. “This is why I called you.”
He turns to leave. “Wait!” I cry. “Aren’t you going to fix it?”
“Well, I have lunch now, so afterward.” Great, I think. Who knows then when this will get resolved. It’s only getting darker because it’s raining and late in the day.
“May you please check the fuse or something before you go? I really need light.”
He makes a deal of sighing heavily, complaining about how people misuse him, that it’s not his problem, etc. while leaving my office. But 10 minutes later, everything goes on, so he must have done something.
Ah, the adventures of having an office in Kazakhstan! Despite the frustration and irritation I experienced last week, I find these moments funny in hindsight. Last year, my friends and I used to say, “Только в России (Only in Russia),” but apparently this works for Kazakhstan too. Oh, Kazakhstan!
