UZBEKISTAN NOTEBOOK: THE EXPERIENCES OF A PEACE CORPS VOLUNTEER
By Jessica Teicher:
Eurasianet.org | July 26, 2005
http://www.eurasianet.org/departments/civilsociety/articles/eav072605a_pr.shtml
Part 1: Departure
At orientation in Philadelphia, I, along with 63 other Peace Corps
trainees, received little instruction about the intricacies of life in
Uzbekistan. Instead, we were given a general overview of the Peace
Corps' objectives -- world peace, global understanding and sustainable
development. We were also taught a few coping mechanisms to deal with
the inevitable culture shock. Then we were handed our passports with
three-month visas stamped in them, bussed to New York and, 24 hours
later, we arrived in the Uzbek capital Tashkent.
For the next three months of Pre-Service Training (PST), I lived with
an Uzbek host family in the suburbs of Tashkent, about a half hour
away from the city center. During PST, they tell you culture shock is
going hit you every day and they are right. It suddenly made sense to
me why it had been covered so thoroughly during pre-orientation. My
world turned upside down, as, in many instances, Uzbek customs
differed dramatically from common practices back home. For example, if
offered choy (tea) and non (bread) I learned to always accept, never
say "no thank you." In Uzbek culture, it is considered rude and
disrespectful to decline. Also, I constantly faced in Uzbekistan what,
in the United States, are viewed as personal and intrusive questions.
"How old are you?" and "Are you married? Why not?" were just some of
the queries that I received from people I was meeting for the first
time. In retrospect, it's not surprising that a significant number of
Peace Corps volunteers opt to terminate their commitment during the
PST phase.
Authorities in recent years have sought to strengthen Uzbek national
identity. Accordingly, many vestiges of the Soviet era have been
de-emphasized All over Tashkent, and throughout Uzbekistan, there are
big billboards that laud the Uzbek cotton industry, hail the
benevolent government, and extol the greatness of Uzbek culture.
Despite this, the Soviet legacy in Uzbekistan remains a very powerful
influence, especially among urbanized citizens. This is hard to detect
if you are not living in the country, not interacting with Uzbeks on a
daily basis. Many Uzbeks still recall with pride some of the Soviet
Union's most significant accomplishments, including the defeat of Nazi
Germany in World War II and Yuri Gagarin's first space flight in 1961.
Uzbeks celebrated Victory Day, May 9, with great pride.
In general, many urbanized Uzbeks harbor nostalgic feelings for the
Soviet era. Before independence in 1991, various Uzbeks told me that
economic conditions were better, jobs were available, money was worth
more, and shortages of gas and electricity were less common. Many
quietly blamed President Islam Karimov's administration for the
country's myriad economic and social problems, such as sporadic
running water in many areas and a lack of heating during winter. In
hushed conversations in bazaars, cafes and taxis, Uzbeks would paint a
bleak picture of life in Uzbekistan, one that was, in many cases, the
exact opposite of the government's portrayal of conditions. Making
sense of this dual reality, along with learning Uzbek, were the two
most challenging aspects of being a Peace Corps volunteer in Uzbekistan.
Soon after arriving in the country, I came to appreciate cotton's
vital role in the Uzbek economy, as well as its strong influence over
society, especially in western areas. Soviet central planners insisted
on turning Uzbekistan into a center of cotton production, even though
the local agricultural conditions weren't ideally suited for the crop.
As a result, grand irrigation schemes were developed to provide the
vast amount of water needed cultivate cotton. Little thought was given
to the potential consequences of diverting water from Uzbekistan's two
main rivers -- the Amu-Darya and Syr-Darya. Of course, the diversion
of water set off a chain of events that has resulted in an
environmental catastrophe -- the rapid disappearance of the Aral Sea.
Those living in western Uzbekistan, especially in the autonomous
region of Karakalpakstan, are now exposed to a variety of health
hazards connected to the shrinking sea.
Cotton cultivation is also a disruptive influence in education.
Harvesting cotton is labor-intensive, and in order to meet the demand
for field workers, the government buses students to work in cotton
fields September through mid-November. Students work, without pay, all
day for almost three months. The government provides the
transportation and is well aware that the students are not in school,
yet, teachers are required by the Education Ministry to write lesson
plans and dispense grades as if the students were in school.
As training in Tashkent drew to a close, our visas remained
un-renewed, and I grew concerned that I might never deploy for my
teaching assignment. Uzbekistan's recent turbulent past of Islamic
radical violence, coupled with the Uzbek government's increasing
wariness of Western non-governmental organizations operating in the
country, provided a precarious backdrop for the visa renewal process.
We knew that a group of Peace Corps volunteers who had been scheduled
to come six months earlier had never arrived because their visas were
never issued. If ours weren't renewed, we would need to leave the country.
As the visa uncertainty dragged on, the Uzbek-granted accreditation
for Peace Corps Uzbekistan expired, creating yet another bureaucratic
hurdle. But finally, just a few days before our visas were set to
expire, the Uzbek government came through. The catch was the
extensions were only good for one month. Peace Corps administrators
were familiar with these maneuvers and arranged for us to go to our
permanent sites while they kept negotiating with the Uzbek Foreign
Ministry. The whole thing was nerve-wracking, yet, for program
administrators, it was seen as somewhat normal.
---------------------------
Part II: Khorezm: "Where the Weather is Hot, But the Water is Not"
http://www.eurasianet.org/departments/civilsociety/articles/eav081005_pr.shtml
I was assigned to Khorezm, in the western part of Uzbekistan, where
the climate is hot, dry and dusty. My host family during Peace Corps
training in Tashkent was worried about me, because Khorezm is known
throughout Uzbekistan for its salty drinking water. During our
training, we were told to make up a catch phrase for our regions, and
we expressed this common sentiment: "Khorezm: where the weather is
hot, but the water is not."
I studied the Uzbek language intensively during my three months in
Tashkent. But in Khorezm, I found that people spoke a more
Turkish-sounding dialect. Social customs were different, too.
One new Uzbek word that made life easier was "oling," or "take just
once." In Tashkent, whenever I was eating and had an empty spoon in my
hand, my host would say "oling." As a guest, one must eat and drink
with relish to show respect for one's host. I felt annoyed with this
pressure, and "oling" was a polite, sincere way to appreciate a host's
generosity.
My new Khorezm family was warm and welcoming. There is an Uzbek
proverb, "treat your guest better than your father," and I experienced
this both in Tashkent and Khorezm. I can never forget how my host
families willingly offered me everything they could to make me
comfortable.
I had imagined going to a clay shack in the desert, where my host
family would force-feed me oily slabs of meat washed down with
turpentine vodka. But instead, their large, two-level house was quite
comfortable. We had electricity most of the time, although running
water was scarce, and sinks were located outside the house.
Although I had a moment of disappointment, since I thought a Peace
Corps volunteer should brave harsher conditions, I confess that I
adapted myself to what were, for an Uzbek family, relatively high
living standards.
The government controls waterand everything elsein Uzbekistan. If
one person falls behind with water payments, the pump for an entire
muhalah, or neighborhood, can be turned off until the whole bill is
paid. I asked whether people who pay on time ever ask the government
for their own water. My hosts replied that such a request would only
anger the government, and could cause trouble. It was not a subject
for further discussion.
The family consisted of a father, mother, mother-in-law, two
daughters, and two sons. The parents owned a profitable cotton
business, and had an apartment in Tashkent, where their elder daughter
and son lived. Their daughter was a university student, and her
brother worked for an international corporation. He was fluent in
English, and spoke a few words with me during phone calls home, to
make sure I was getting along well. Their teen-aged son and daughter
still attended school in Khorezm.
I had my own room on the second floor of the house. One day, while I
was searching through a cabinet for scissors and tape, I found a stash
of English notebooks and folders. In one folder, there was an old 2002
newsletter from the Organization for Security and Cooperation in
Europe (OSCE) discussing the impact of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks
on Central Asia. The newsletter described the efforts made by Central
Asian governments to assist America with its "War on Terror."
I was eager to discuss this issue with the family's son in Tashkent,
but remembered my Peace Corps training. The American embassy had
warned us volunteers to be careful in our phone conversations and
e-mails. I had already disregarded this warning at times with frank
e-mails about my frustration with the Uzbek government. So I never did
mention the newsletter, and was forced to leave Uzbekistan together
with my Peace Corps colleagues before I had a chance to meet my
surrogate Tashkent brother in person. But I am getting ahead of my
story. We had been instructed to open a bank account where the
Tashkent Peace Corps office could wire our monthly stipend, so we
never had to wait for money by mail. Soon after I arrived in Khorezm,
I tried to open a bank account and register with the regional
superintendent of schools.
At the bank, the teller spoke a little English. When he asked for
1,000 sum--about one dollar--I offered to give more, since the Peace
Corps had sent me to his bank with my whole first stipend in hand. The
teller refused. I learned that in Uzbekistan, banks are not a wise
place to keep money. Ten years ago, rapid inflation wiped out the
savings of many Uzbeks. There is no such thing as deposit insurance in
the country.
Later, just before I left the country, I got another banking lesson.
The local banks were closed after police fired on protestors in the
city of Andijan. I saw angry, shouting crowds of people try to get
into a bank, but they were pushed back by police.
I was the first American many people there had ever seen, and maybe
would ever see. They stared at me when I walked to the school where I
taught, almost as though I were naked. I am tall compared with Uzbek
woman, and I don't have gold teeth as many do. I wear what must have
seemed like funny clothes and shoes. Oddest of all, I am not married,
and have no children. I hoped that after a while, I wouldn't be such a
spectacle. But my early departure from Uzbekistan foiled that hope.
My students were eager to learn, and were excited to meet and talk
with a real, live American. We met in a temporary classroom where the
army had once trained recruits, with diagrams of machine guns and a
closet door punctured with bullet holes from what must have been
target practice. Most of the other teachers really didn't want to be
at the school. They did not get a regular paycheck, and if they did,
it was worth about $12 a month.
I had a counterpart, a full-time teacher who, unlike many of her
colleagues, was enthusiastic and devoted to her work. I was to help
her teach English in the local school.
Fortunately for me, she had spent some time at an educators' training
program in California, which the US State Department offered for
teachers in post-Soviet states. Her background was unusual. She had
divorced her husband, with whom she had a son. Divorce is not easy in
Uzbekistan. Her mother-in-law had forced her to work in the fields as
a cotton picker, and had tried to isolate her from her family. She
finally took her son and left, knowing this would inevitably provoke
negative mish-mish, or gossip, about her. Such a show of courage,
independence and a strong will are disapproved of, and Uzbek women
rarely show them so openly.
My colleague used the term "formalism" to describe the old Soviet
customs: bureaucracy, endless paperwork, cheating and bribery. The
school director was a "formalist," for example, because he supposedly
gave salary increases to teachers who brought him wine and vodka.
Despite the bureaucratic obstacles, she remained patient and
optimistic. When I was ready to pull my hair out in frustration, she
would sigh and say, "See, Jessica, this is "formalism." You must be
patient, and things will work out."
During my final days there, when it became obvious our Peace Corps
visas would not be renewed, my colleague remained hopeful. She urged
me not to give up, and not to lose hope, no matter how bleak our
situation. When I finally had to tell her I was leaving, she was
devastated. This was a blow to her dreams, and she felt personally
hurt. I was hurt, too. We were cheated of a friendship that was meant
to last two years, not five weeks. When I was back in the United
States, she sent me an e-mail: "Now, I feel badly, and am not
interested in my work. Please keep in touch."
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