The Week of Ennui

Okay, I’m getting a little cranky and a little homesick. Maybe more than a little. It’s cold here, like really cold, like all the time. Our clinic hasn’t has any gas (as in natural gas, as in the stuff that makes our heaters and stoves work) all week, so I’ve been freezing to death for seven hours a day, and the only consolation I’ve had has been the constant stream of warm tea that I’ve been making with my new electric tea pot. Best invention ever.

I realize it seems like I’m whining a lot about the cold considering my home state, but let’s discuss for a moment the crucial differences between “Alaska cold” and “Dashoguz cold”, shall we?

1.Alaska and Dashoguz are both approximately the same temperature when its “cold” outside, and both have low humidity, and a fair amount of snow. So far we’re batting pretty evenly, right?

2.Alaskans usually drive everywhere, with cars that have heaters that sort of, kind of work sometimes. We also have snow tires, four-wheel drive, and a general knowledge of winter driving.

Turkmen drive almost nowhere, and when they do, it’s in a taxi that has the most archaic non-functioning car heater known to man. No snow tires, no four-wheel drive, rarely even seatbelts. You can’t even stomp your feet to keep them warm because it’s possible they may go through the car’s decaying floor. Suddenly the public bus system in Anchorage is looking pretty posh.

3.Alaskans do all of their shopping in malls and supermarkets. This is typically a fast process that involves shopping carts, reasonably organized aisles of merchandise, set prices, and a bagger boy who follows you out to your car to help put the groceries in.

Turkmen do all of their shopping in an outdoor bazaar. In the freezing cold. This is a painstakingly tedious process due to the fact that Turkmen bazaars have no rhyme or reason in their product placement (one stand will sell onions, eye brow tweezers, socks, matches, and toilet paper). You could wander for hours and still not find everything on your shopping list. In addition, there is no such thing as a final price, everything has to be haggled for. This is particularly torturous when you can hardly count the agreed upon amount of money out to the seller due to the fast developing frostbite in your fingers. Finally, once you have managed to find everything you need, and managed to carry it all around the bazaar with you in a motley collection of plastic bags, you then have to find a car to take you home, with all of your groceries barely contained in your lap, as you share the back seat of a tiny four door sedan with three other people.

4.Finally (and most importantly) there is the issue of indoor heating. In Alaska, most people have pretty good insulation in their walls, and typically employ the use of natural gas heaters to keep the inside of their homes comfortable when its cold outside. If that gas should ever “go out” all we have to do is pick up the phone and call our local gas company whose perky customer service attendant will assure us that our problem is being rectified immediately.

In Turkmenistan, people most commonly use mud and hay as their primary means of insulation (and building materials, coincidentally). This is not always the most effective method of keeping one’s home warm, particularly when your primary heat source (natural gas) has a nasty habit of disappearing for days at a time. Not joking, people around here will be without gas for days, sometimes weeks. It’s hellaciously unpleasant. And when there aren’t any phones in your village, its rather challenging to call one’s gas company to complain… because I’m sure those complaints would be met by a perky customer service attendant who would reassure us that our problem is being rectified immediately…

As a result of the cold this week (and the lack of gas), I once again found myself without a school to teach at, and no one came to my pregnancy class at the clinic on Wednesday (I’m beginning to wonder if my fetal-development lesson is cursed). It was very sad. The stupid cold weather is taking all of my friends away. To compensate, I’ve begun writing letters, long ones. Having never been a big fan of letter writing, this is a big adjustment for me, but in light of the lack of internet, I think its probably my only shot at remaining sane. We’ll see how it goes. It’s nice at least to have an opportunity to express myself in English.

In other news, I found out that my gelineje is going to have a baby in August of this year, and my host-sister (who doesn’t live with us because she lives with her husband) is going to have a baby in May. I think this will make me an aunt… sort of. A host-aunt maybe? Anyway you look at it, I’m going to have two brand-new babies to play with this summer. It should be interesting. I miss Bagila, she’s been gone for three weeks. On the plus side, I feel like I’m getting to know the other nurses and doctors in my clinic better since Bagila isn’t here for me to hang out with. It’s funny how much I crave close relationships here.

Sunday came, and my homesickness came to a head. I needed to talk to my family. I had been asking around the village and other volunteers, and had finally figured out that you need to dial 101 before dialing the state code in America. So now you know, in case you were having the same trouble.

I hopped into a taxi to head into the city, and once there, headed straight to the one place I was always sure to find an American: Kelly and Dennis’s building. Peace Corps was terribly considerate, realizing that I am occasionally imbued with difficulty in finding my way around large metropolitan areas, and as a result (of me, I’m sure), they decided to put two of our city volunteers in the same apartment building, only two floors apart. The building is even on a major street, which makes it an ideal first stop whenever I happen to be in the city.

Anyways, my sister’s 21st birthday was Saturday and I was bound and determined to call and wish her a happy birthday Sunday morning (still her birthday in Alaska). I was really bummed that I wasn’t there to actually spend her birthday with her, but figured a phone call from across the globe would have to suffice. To my shock and awe, it actually worked. The cab ride into the city was cramped and bumpy, and the connection at the telegraph office was weak and static-filled, but I was able to talk to my family for almost ten minutes. It was amazing hearing their voices. I never thought a ten-minute phone call could be so important, but I was amazed at how much better I felt after talking to them. I guess just knowing that they hadn’t forgotten about me, and being able to tell them how much I missed them was all I really needed. We made a date to talk again in February, and I skipped home to the village in much better spirits. (Except I didn’t really skip, I took a long, cold, bumpy cab ride there, but almost the same, right?)