Lost

During my first week in Kazakhstan, I have been lost the majority of the time. I get lost when attempting to understand Kazakh grammar, I am lost regarding food (particularly the incredible love that Kazakhs have for meat), and I am still lost in the ways of some cultural norms (mastering the art of making Kazakh bread will take a lot of practice!). Even the most basic activities such as bathing, excreting, and eating were slightly confusing when I first arrived in Kazakhstan. My host sister, Gaziza, had to show me how to properly use the banya (Russian sauna/bucket bath operation) and explain when to use the outdoor toilet (#1 only in the toilet inside the house, #2 goes outside, no matter the season…thank goodness it's almost Spring!), and my host mother, Zhanna, is continually answering my mealtime inquiries, e.g. What's this? What's that? I've found that the more questions I ask, the more I learn about my new home, so I always attempt to ask as many questions as possible, regardless of language barriers. Getting a little lost when trying to understand an unfamiliar culture is normal, but on one of my first days in Kaz, I felt more mentally lost than I have since I was a kid.

 

During our first 9 weeks in Kazakhstan, all of us Peace Corps Trainees (PCT's) are busy with Pre-Service Training (PST- Peace Corps really loves acronyms). My PST site is a small village just outside of Almaty (the largest city in Kazakhstan), and there are 10 other PCT's in my village, all living with different host families. On the average day, we have lessons at the local school from 8:00am-5:00pm, and during that time we focus primarily on Kazakh language, English teaching methodology, and the occasional session on cultural norms, staying healthy, etc. After lessons, we head home to our respective host homes for dinner and family time. I am lucky, as my entire host family spends their days in the same school where I have PST classes. My host father is a biology teacher, my host mother is one of the vice principals, and my three host sisters are all students at the school. Every morning, we walk to school together, and every day when we all get home we have tea time and talk about our days (using a lovely mixture of Kazakh, Russian, English, and exaggerated hand gestures).

 

On our first day of PST, our lessons ran about an hour later than expected. For many PCTs, the delay wasn't a problem as they knew how to get home and most of their host families lived near each other, so they could walk together. My host home, however, is in the opposite direction from most of the other PCTs, and as our class was dismissed, I realized that I hadn't coordinated a way to get home with any of my family members. I walked outside with the other trainees and watched them pair off and walk into the distance, wishing me luck with my solo trip along the unfamiliar, unmarked roads of the village. One trainee, Pete, stayed with me while his host cousin and a Russian student kindly attempted to give me directions to my house. But alas, the directions were in Russian, and I only speak Kazakh…barely. I stood on the side of the road, staring into the abyss in the general direction of my house, wondering how on earth I was going to make it by myself. Did I remember the way? No. Did anything look familiar? Nope. Was I comfortable walking home alone among strangers, very obviously a foreigner in this Kazakh village? Not at all. Could I ask for directions? Tried. Failed. I was lost. Suddenly I remembered the Montana wilderness safety tip that I was taught as a kid, "If you get lost in the woods, stay put! Hug a tree! Someone is looking for you and will find you if you don't move!" So I stayed put. I probably stared down the street, my feet rooted to the ground, for only 5 minutes or so, but it felt like several hours, and with each passing minute more and more Kazakh school kids stopped to look at me- a poor, sad, American girl, who was desperately confused and scared. Walking home from school never seemed like such an ordeal.

 

Then suddenly, out of the darkness, came a voice! "Michele! Michele!" Zhanna! My dear, sweet host mother was still at the school and had tried to find me after PST class only to realize that I had already left the classroom. She panicked and ran outside to find me before I attempted to journey home alone, and found me rooted in front of the school, pondering my predicament. Zhanna was as worried about me as if she were my real mother (and as if I was about 5 years old…which I am, when it comes to this culture). All that concern after we'd met only two days prior! Sweet relief. Zhanna walked me home, clutching my arm along the way so I wouldn't run off. Although it may seem like a small incident, I truly felt as if I had been lost and then found. That afternoon, my host mother saved me. Stay put. Someone is looking for you. Someone will find you.

 

Despite all of the moments during this first week in Kazakhstan when I've felt confused, alone, and totally lost, in reality I have always had an army of people behind me. My host family has been beyond phenomenal at teaching me their culture, opening their home to me, and appreciating my differences, and like me, they love to laugh; my fellow trainees have been wonderfully supportive and sympathetic to my anxieties and concerns, as we are sharing this experience and thus we have the same anxieties and concerns; and the PST staff is working as hard as they can to keep me healthy and safe, and to improve my Kazakh language skills with every lesson. Yes, of course Peace Corps is already challenging, but I am not alone. Even when I feel lost, I know that I have an amazing support system here, and also back home. Stay put. Someone is looking for you. Someone will find you.