Seasons of Turkmenistan

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes, how do you measure a year in the life of Turkmenistan? In cups of tea, in camel sightings, in harrowing Lada taxi rides, in fluctuating dollar exchange rates, in ants. In deteriorating Soviet monuments, in golden Presidential statues, in 10 foot-tall rotating Ruhnama book statues, in ripe melons. Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes, how do you measure such a year in life? How about in summers so hot it’s like a heated skillet to the head, how about falls and springs where the rain turns the dust roads into three-inch deep mud, how about winters so cold the stray dogs crawl beneath other dog carcasses to stay warm? How indeed do you measure a year in Turkmenistan? Is it in the rhythm of the girls’ pounding away at their carpets rather than going to school, in the sound of bubbling green tea, in the sound of boys playing soccer with a half-pumped ball? You measure in the moments of insanity, the moments of overwhelming joy, the moments when you think you’re in love, the moments when you laugh so hard you think you’ll burst your intestines, the moments when you cry so hard it’s like a puddle inside, the moments when you think your world is going on end, the moment when it does, the moment when it begins again, better than before.

A year ago my parents dropped me off at the Holiday Inn in Georgetown and I met my fellow T-16 Turkmenistan volunteers. Two days later we boarded our personal versions of the roller coaster which is Peace Corps Turkmenistan, a ride with no safety belts and wheels that often don’t connect with the rails. The highlights are all about the people, the stories are usually about the food, the adventures are when things went wrong, and the parts I like best are the bits that don’t make good stories. It’s time to celebrate still being here after a year in the blessed and beautiful Turkmenistan, a land which during orientation we were warned might not be at the entrance to Hell, but is definitely just a short bus ride from there.

What still gets to me about T-stan a year in:
1) The Star Wars theme song opening the daily news broadcast on the national government-run radio station. The Imperial March opens the second half of the broadcast.
2) Taxi rides in old Soviet Ladas where you need to manually hold the door closed as you’re going down the highway and the gear shift is decorative.
3) Needing to explain to every man, woman, and child the reasoning behind my marital status within the first three minutes of acquaintance.
4) Older women greet you saying, “hello, how are you? You’ve gained weight.” Or, if they’re being complementary, “Hello, how are you? I remember you being fatter, have you lost weight?”
5) Turkmen explanations for how the world works: if you’re overweight, you drank too much water and you need to eat more sheep fat; if you have a sore throat, you ate ice cream in cold weather; if you have diarrhea, you sat under the fan in cool weather; if your stomach is sore, you ate too much watermelon and fruit; if you’re inexplicably in a bad mood, a bird walked across one of your shed hairs; if you’re hit by a car, someone gave you the evil eye; the internationally weak dollar exchange is the sole fault of the new Turkmen President in conjunction with God; if a girl acts like a bitch it’s because her skin is dark-complexioned; if a child has trouble paying attention is school, their family is poor and stupid; children’s personality and behavior patterns are innate and determined by God and not influenced by parenting.
6) Herds of goats still make me paranoid.

What makes me still happy to be here:
1) My Turkmen teaching partner, Altyn, whose eyes light up when she hears a new idea.
2) The other PC volunteers, who every day inspire and astound me with their ability to joke about the taboo, ridicule the unspeakable, hate the easy, and embrace the hilarious. 3) My students who look like they’re going to cry when I tell them class is canceled.
4) My comfy couch bed, a pile of imported movies, and tons of free time to enjoy them.
5) Melons and pomegranates that make American produce seem like pale shadowy imitations of the real thing.
6) I still have no idea what’s going to happen from one day to the next.