Travels in Central Asia

It's 5am on Some Day

I have always liked that line from an early Billy Joel song and it's multiple levels of meaning: one of the night extending into day, another of incessant insomnia and still another for the person who rises early. In this case, I am not sure whether I am in Kyrgyzstan or back in the USA. My watch remains fixed at ten hours ahead of Eastern Daylight Time, one last remnant of my week long rush through the land of 3000 glaciers. This will be my last post for a while, or until I know more about my Fulbright application and will serve as a final summary of my last two days in Kyrgyzstan and the trip home.

The erratic sleep patterns have continued. Never could it be said that I had a restful and normal night sleep, and the saga continues. I have been awake since midnight, having crashed on my sister's couch for four hours following my trip from JFK airport in New York to her home on Long Island. To travel to Central Asia, unless one has conscripted private means of transportation, requires one day each way. Seyhit rapped at my door at 3:45am for the half hour ride from my apartment to Manas International airport. I had prepared a goodie bag for him, of a flash drive I had brought from Best Buy, of some March of Dimes flowers, and of a few bucks. At a research assistant's of $175 a month, my modest "fee for services" should help him.
The night before I gave the wonderful Elira a similar contribution, "for the baby of course." For perspective, when I was a graduate traineeship recipient in 1972 at Penn State University, my monthly check was $160. And, remember that Kyrgyz Turkish Manas University is one of the highest paying institutions in the region. I could have emptied my wallet and given the 15 or more research assistants similar tokens of my appreciation. They were that good. What is more important is that they all were invited to the common evening functions of the event.

The last function was held on Ala-Too Square, another monument to Soviet massiveness. Looming, boxlike marble structures, this time the State Historical Museum, with a soaring bronze statue in the foreground, flanked by a facade, which reminded me of the half circle stone perimeters which serves as part of the recently opened World War II memorial in Washington, D.C., dominate this 200 meter open space. Under the facade, so named to cover the pedestrian facilities behind it, in Soviet times the place where factory uniforms were made for the citizens of the Kirgiz SSR, the symposium attendees dined under the brilliant Bishkek sunset at a restaurant, the Orient, which occupied one corner of the facade. One long table stretched almost the length of the facade, with more than 40 of my new colleagues participating. At the end, another table with more than 15 research assistants, among them the camera people, public relations specialists, translators, and registration desk personnel who helped pull off this event.
I shared conversation with the photographer and the filmmaker, neither of whom spoke much English, speaking to them with the help of a Turkish scholar who took my English, translated it to a KTMU faculty member who understood Turkish and used this third hand way to speak in Russian to the photog and the director. We barely missed a beat. I learned that the photographer's son is entering his sixth and final year at Georgia Tech and that when I return to Bishkek I am invited to stay at his house. For two hours, we focused on our common ground, good company, the bonding quality of a good and relaxed meal, and the hope for more projects tomorrow. The dean of the communication faculty, the fiery, faux redhead Inek, hosted this final gathering until the Vice Rector arrived for a formal greeting. I am not sure whether it is a Turkish thing, a Russian thing, or a European thing, but when the boss enters or leaves a room, everyone rises and waits for an acknowledgment to sit. It is a very dramatic and respectful symbol of power that did not go unnoticed throughout the week. He himself is a handsome man with olive Turkish features with closely coiffured hair. Through my Turkish friend, I passed on a message that he should be a leading man somewhere, beyond his role as an educational power broker. In the governance of KTMU, he is the leading Turkish representative at the institution, bowing only to the Rector, who is from Kyrgyzstan and who attended several of the sessions of the symposium.

This was a powerful meeting for me, perhaps because of the tightness of the group and the relatively small number of participants (60). I learned that the Turkish academic system have their own powerful traditions and, at least in media and communications, could be competitive in U.S. academic circles. The level of accomplishment of the graduate students at KTMU (four students presented papers) was outstanding. One woman convincingly and dispassionately analyzed the newpaper accounts prior to and after the 24 March revolution; and another, Elira, produced a compelling analysis of internet usage, particularly online newspapers, in Kyrgyzstan.
Creatively, the photographic exhibits from students and faculty were also impressive, and most significantly, the films made by the KTMU film students incredibly important in depicting to the rest of the world different aspects of Kyrgyzstani culture. Thankfully, samples of their work was included in a final goodie bag of treats given to me at the final dinner of the symposium.

I had figured to stay up all night, typing a final blog at the 24 hour Internet cafe just down from the White House before waiting for my final ride to the airport. However, it was standing room only at the cafe, and after two unsuccessful attempts to land a machine, I gave up and took the sleep I was prepared to give up.

But, earlier that Friday, another clash of civilizations and customs unfolded for me. I had been to the Osh Bazaar several times during the week, ostensibly to shop for souvenirs and to watch people. One of the student films shown during the week, entitled Asil, was the story of a young boy working at the Osh Bazaar as a meat carrier. Each day, farmers from miles around bring their slaughtered meat by car or truck to the meat delivery area at the back of the Bazaar. As car after car pulls up, young men from 10 to 60 will race with their steel push carts to unload the fresh meat and a trip up a slight incline to the market area inside where the meat will be sold and the proceeds given to the farmer. Asil's story, in the day of a life genre, shows him unloading various parts of the slaughtered animal, arranging it carefully on his cart and pulling, pushing and negotiating the often uneven path to the selling area. The film continues with him returning home to prepare for school (children wear uniforms in many schools here), playing football with his friends and eating with his family. Last Friday, I returned to the bazaar and took pictures of the market in action, of a gaggle of Asil's moving meat, of an elderly couple in a late model Russian vehicle selling kumys out of the trunk of their car, and of a Russian "babushka" sorting, stacking and selling tomatoes to a gathering crowd. I also spoke to Ricik, a young man of 23, who was at the Osh Bazaar on this day as a middleman, having brought another farmer's slaughtered meat to the market for sale. He would earn $50, of the $500 total his cow would bring. Most of the time, he would spend talking to me, in very passable English, of his hopes and dreams. He drove a Mercedes sedan, lived at home with his parents and had studied English for several years. For a while, he had served as a driver for a civilian contractor working out of the Ganci Air Force base at the Manas Airport, earning $700 a month for his duties. He had recently lost his job when other vehicles arriving from the states made the use of his care superfluous to the mission. Some day, he wanted to own his own farm and make the lion's share of the proceeds of slaughtered meat. He told me that those who move the meat earn $1 for their trouble and that perhaps in one morning a cart pusher could earn between $8 and $20. He also told me that most of the young people who worked the bazaar did not attend school and often stayed with relatives or friends. I thought about their futures and their role models: did they look up to older men with lengthy or more stable carts?, what did they do outside of the bazaar?
As they sported an array of western logowear (Nike, Coca Cola, Hilfiger were advertised on this day), I admired their work ethic, little people pushing carts with hundreds of pounds of meat with grit anyone would admire. More than one youngster wore the markings of their toils: rivulets of blood painted on forearms, calves and even cheeks, to say nothing of clothes that should have been nothing but disposable but I knew would be worn for days to come. As I was leaving the Osh bazaar, I caught up with Ricik, hanging out with friends near the front of his car, waiting for the proceeds from today's carrion. He gave me his phone number and even insisted that he drive me around this day; indeed, it seemed as if Ricik really knew how to hustle a buck or a som. Perhaps, he is the role model the legion of Asil's look up.

My time at the symposium was short on this Friday as I managed to catch one session which featured the work of a young impassioned Turkish director, who spoke about his work on an ethnic community in Istanbul. Later, in the evening, he would give me a signed copy of his VCD.
VCD, or Video Compact Disk, is a popular Asian media format that I am told is rarely used in the U.S. It will take some doing to convert this video. However, on passion alone, I know that this work will be compelling. I did spend some time giving March of Dimes flowers and pens to the student helpers for the symposium. I was also given a 24 carat gold pin of Kemal Ataturk, the founder of modern Turkey and its first president, by one of the friends I made at the symposium. He is an education consultant living in Turkey who was involved in the initial planning stages of KTMU in the mid 90s. Two times a year, he returns to Kyrgyzstan for meetings such as this one and to renew his contacts with KTMU colleagues. I saw him sporting this pin on the lapel of one of the classy suits he wore to the symposium sessions and asked him what it was. He told me it was a profile of Kemel Ataturk. Think about it, can you think of anyone who has sported a lapel pin of a living or deceased individual? Ataturk's influence on Turkey is more than pervasive. Every room of KTMU sported a large portrait of him on the longest wall. In a dominantly secular state such as Turkey (in spite of its Islamic core beliefs), perhaps it is religious leaders who earn placement on a lapel.

Before I left the communication faculty for the last time, I visited with the dean and donated the books I had used in my presentation to the faculty's library. These were books on technical communication which I had found useful for my teaching during the past five years.

Two more stops were in order before I joined my symposium mates at the Orient Restaurant. I visited the engineering faculty and its dean to discuss potential interfaces with this faculty in a Fulbright year. When I first began exploring contacts in Kyrgyzstan in February, I sent ten emails to different Kyrgyzstani universities to explore a relationship. It was Dr. K. who communicated the most and kept me interested in KTMU. From him, I found out about the symposium, and through him, I submitted my original presentation abstract. Thus, it was great to put a face with this man who had introduced me to Kyrgyzstan. I found out that he is the dean of computer, food and ecological engineering, his own expertise in food science. He had spent two years at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, studying engineering, and had recently completed a research stint in Switzerland. He showed me his facilities and introduced me to the English language faculty who helped train his students. We will keep in touch.

My last formal stop was at Kyrgyz National University where I was to pick up a formal letter of invitation to teach at Kyrgyz National University as well as English language publications on the university. Iris was at a board meeting, so the dependable Turania provided me with the required goods. At this point, I had intended to spend two hours at the Museum of Fine Arts, but again, I was thwarted by a schedule change. The guide book says that the museum is open until 6pm on Friday, however, when I arrived at 3:55 pm, the waving finger from the other side of the door glass immediately told me that this museum was closed for the day. With two hours to kill, I spent time writing notes at a different park cafe, watching the young people gather at the end of the day. While there, I watched how new servers are trained in the protocol of the outdoor cafe business. Never leave an empty glass, an ash tray or a menu on an unoccupied table, serve only one table at a time, were two of the rules i could pick up. When one trainee seemed disinterested in learning the tools of the server trade, the cafe owner quickly approached him and told him how to shadow!

I watched another beautiful unaccompanied young woman come into the cafe and sit down at a nearby table, positioning herself so that she could see the entrance way. I recalled the dysfunctional pair at another cafe earlier in the week, she showing up, dressed to the nines, only to wait a half hour before her friend arrived, leaving soon after delivering stern rebuke to this disrespectful. I thought this was a Kyrgyzstani replay, but was relieved to watch that this young woman was waiting for a group of friends to arrive, each with a colorful bouquet of flowers for this young lady, who was probably celebrating a birthday or some other event.

My last major stop in Kyrgyzstan was to the department store known as dZum, pronounced "zoom." This five story block structure, situated opposite the monolithic telecom building and one short block from the Hyatt Regency hotel, could be described as a stacked version of the watch and camera stores that once dominated the 42nd Street area of Manhattan. Under one roof, every imaginable consumer goods, from plasma televisions to the most exquisite in Europen watches, was available. Of particular note was the FLOOR devoted to cell phones. In one area, I would guess 5000 cell phones were on display for purchase, each behind glass and angled in such a way to invite purchase. The contradiction in this culture is the dominance of cell phones in the absence of competitive incomes. It was rare to meet someone, at least in Bishkek, who did not have a cell phone. With phones selling from 100 to 200 dollars, and prepaid service available at the rate of $5 for 15 minutes, maintaining service is not an inexpensive proposition.
Yet, on the other hand, the availability of land lines in many homes is rare, and the prospect for future service even more unlikely. Beyond the cell phones, the visual memories of case after case of consumer products from Asia, Europe and the US, gathered in this capitalist monolith remain astonishing. Apparently, the dominant marketing maxim in play here is more is better with the focus on all available selections and existing stock in full view. You may recall that a competitor to the tZum stores, Beta Stores, was the only looting casualty in the revolution which occured on 24 March. It is undeniable that these stores were rooted because they were owned by the former president.

From here, I took a taxi back to my apartment to ready my bags for the trip home and to change clothes for the evening gathering of symposium attendees, my on the ground experiences complete for this trip but the fertile possibilities of new and challenging ones for tomorrow awaiting.

posted by Student Success @ 3:19 AM