A change of pace
Hey everyone. First off, I want to thank Erin for posting all of the pics of both my final days in Gokche and my family in Mary. This week marked a new turning point of my service in the Peace Corps. Why you may ask have I had such a grand turn in my service?
The main reason is that I am no longer living with my host family.
Last weekend we had a toga party to celebrate a fellow Mary volunteer’s birthday. Hopefully I can get you some pictures here in the coming months. There are definitely some hilarious ones! When I came back to my host family on Sunday afternoon and crashed. I slept from six that night until six in the morning the next day.
I woke up feeling refreshed. I took a shower, ate breakfast and got dressed for work. Right before I left to go to work I unlocked the lock on my luggage to get some money out of my hiding place and lo and behold there is no money! The total missing totaled more than a million manat and over a $100.
I looked around the house to see if anyone was there that I could tell about what had happened. Unfortunately, everyone was gone either to schools or work. So I went to work and told my co-worker about what had happened. After work I headed home, not quite prepared for what was going to happen. When I came in, I told my host mother, sister, and brother what had happened. The look of shock on their faces was one to confirm that none of them had done it. I showed them where it was and how it was gone. My host mom hurriedly went out the door saying something about calling Juma and talking to my host grandfather about what happened. When she came back she had money in hand, the amount that had gone missing (not the same bills). I asked whether or not they knew where Juma (host dad) was and they had no idea. This marked the first time that he had been gone since I had been there.
Fast forward to Wednesday night…
I come home from work dreading the thought that my host dad would be there. Sure enough there he was when I got home. So in front of the entire family including an aunt that served as the translator and a cousin sat in the living room and began to listen to me tell what has happened. Before I got to the point of who or what I actually thought happened, my host father started yelling at me. He was yelling that I had insulted his family, made nothing but problems, that he didn’t care how much money was there that he didn’t need it, and that he didn’t want me to live there anymore. I tried to tell him that I wasn’t accusing him of anything, but he wouldn’t listen. After the second time of him repeating his rant, I yelled at him to go fuck himself and that I was leaving tomorrow. I slammed my door and started packing.
After an hour I emerged from my room to the morose faces of my host mom, sister, and brother. I felt like I was stuck in a Pat O’Connor’s Prince of Tides story, where I was torn in the love and great relationship that I had with the majority of the family and then having a complete an utter emotionally erratic host father who has lost all my respect. I knew as I was packing that this was one of those moments that defines a person in Peace Corps. What was my reaction?
The next morning, Thursday I packed up my stuff and headed toward another volunteers apartment with my stuff. I am not quite sure now how it all happened this way, but it has definitely made me think a great deal about how this experience could possibly be described to those avid readers of The Schirm Project back in the states. To tell you the truth all of the feelings that came onto me at once, was something that one can find in those moments of stress and confusion that instead of turning you into a ball of nerves, it cleared my head. I concentrated on one step at a time, one bag at a time, one taxi ride at a time, and one stair at a time until I got to the other volunteers apartment. It was only once I was sitting in the apartment that everything that had happened in the past 24 hours.
I will head back to Mary next week to start looking for a new host family, but to tell you the truth I am not in any hurry. I want to take my time and find a host family that this cannot happen to again. I hope that all of you are doing well and if you get a chance in the next couple of days to give a call please do so. 011 993 12 35 57 31
To the next step forward.
Chris
The main reason is that I am no longer living with my host family.
Last weekend we had a toga party to celebrate a fellow Mary volunteer’s birthday. Hopefully I can get you some pictures here in the coming months. There are definitely some hilarious ones! When I came back to my host family on Sunday afternoon and crashed. I slept from six that night until six in the morning the next day.
I woke up feeling refreshed. I took a shower, ate breakfast and got dressed for work. Right before I left to go to work I unlocked the lock on my luggage to get some money out of my hiding place and lo and behold there is no money! The total missing totaled more than a million manat and over a $100.
I looked around the house to see if anyone was there that I could tell about what had happened. Unfortunately, everyone was gone either to schools or work. So I went to work and told my co-worker about what had happened. After work I headed home, not quite prepared for what was going to happen. When I came in, I told my host mother, sister, and brother what had happened. The look of shock on their faces was one to confirm that none of them had done it. I showed them where it was and how it was gone. My host mom hurriedly went out the door saying something about calling Juma and talking to my host grandfather about what happened. When she came back she had money in hand, the amount that had gone missing (not the same bills). I asked whether or not they knew where Juma (host dad) was and they had no idea. This marked the first time that he had been gone since I had been there.
Fast forward to Wednesday night…
I come home from work dreading the thought that my host dad would be there. Sure enough there he was when I got home. So in front of the entire family including an aunt that served as the translator and a cousin sat in the living room and began to listen to me tell what has happened. Before I got to the point of who or what I actually thought happened, my host father started yelling at me. He was yelling that I had insulted his family, made nothing but problems, that he didn’t care how much money was there that he didn’t need it, and that he didn’t want me to live there anymore. I tried to tell him that I wasn’t accusing him of anything, but he wouldn’t listen. After the second time of him repeating his rant, I yelled at him to go fuck himself and that I was leaving tomorrow. I slammed my door and started packing.
After an hour I emerged from my room to the morose faces of my host mom, sister, and brother. I felt like I was stuck in a Pat O’Connor’s Prince of Tides story, where I was torn in the love and great relationship that I had with the majority of the family and then having a complete an utter emotionally erratic host father who has lost all my respect. I knew as I was packing that this was one of those moments that defines a person in Peace Corps. What was my reaction?
The next morning, Thursday I packed up my stuff and headed toward another volunteers apartment with my stuff. I am not quite sure now how it all happened this way, but it has definitely made me think a great deal about how this experience could possibly be described to those avid readers of The Schirm Project back in the states. To tell you the truth all of the feelings that came onto me at once, was something that one can find in those moments of stress and confusion that instead of turning you into a ball of nerves, it cleared my head. I concentrated on one step at a time, one bag at a time, one taxi ride at a time, and one stair at a time until I got to the other volunteers apartment. It was only once I was sitting in the apartment that everything that had happened in the past 24 hours.
I will head back to Mary next week to start looking for a new host family, but to tell you the truth I am not in any hurry. I want to take my time and find a host family that this cannot happen to again. I hope that all of you are doing well and if you get a chance in the next couple of days to give a call please do so. 011 993 12 35 57 31
To the next step forward.
Chris
posted by Schirm 2605 | 4:36 PM
<< Home