maybe bumpy is better

On the recently paved road from Petropavlovsk to Shuchinsk, our bus is gliding smoothly along toward a weeklong Russian camp in what is rumored to be one of the most picturesque regions of Kazakhstan. Compared to every single other thoroughfare I’ve travelled in this country, this road is phenomenal. Tim hasn’t stop smiling since we left the bumpy, unlined, two lane road just south of Kokshetau, saying, “I can’t believe it. It’s like we’re in America!” The flat forest-speckled steppe of North Kazakhstan Oblast has transformed into rolling hills and green farms as we head south.

Along with two other PCVs, we’ve set up shop in the back of a nearly empty German coach bus, and the conversation winds back and forth from past to future. We talk about Pre-Service training in Almaty, our high school teachers, our study abroad experiences, and our reasons for choosing the colleges we did. We ponder the future paths ahead of each of us, returning to school to teach in the fall, going back to the States in 17 months to resume studies or venture out into the work world. I’m glad there aren’t too many locals in our section of the bus, as the conversation is loud, lively and in English – three things that don’t always make fellow passengers too happy. As we talk about all these transitions, I realize how little time I’ve had to catch my breath since summer began. Two hours away from our destination, I close my eyes and lean my head back as the conversation around me goes on.

Alex mentions that one of his reasons for not getting a regular job right out of college was his uncertainty with his own abilities to manage different situations. College has prepared us to think independently, critically and productively, as well as to manage time and hold ourselves accountable for our own work by our own merit, but what did college teach us about leading groups, solving problems, organizing projects, finding our practical strengths and weaknesses? How could he be successful at a consulting firm without already knowing what his abilities and limitations are in situations that don’t involve lectures and term papers? Tim agrees, noting the American Day we organized at Camp Dostik last week.

When I broke my collarbone on June 1st, I thought that our months of struggle with the local Education Department were sent right down the drain. I’d be lying in bed for a month while the camp went on without me. However, my body surprised me again with a relatively quick recovery. My job at camp was to teach English songs, and after flying back to Petropavlovsk (thank you, Peace Corps, for not sending me 31 hours on a train) I found that I could play guitar without much pain. Off to camp we went, quasi-prepared to lead English activities for 180 kids from age seven to sixteen.

Camp Dostik is owned by the city Education Department and organized by an agency called Planet Tourist. It is situated about thirty minutes south of Petropavlovsk, tucked in the woods between the village of Bishkul and the Ishim River which runs from Astana up into Siberia. We arrived with eight local camp counselors who are third-year education students at the Pedagogical College doing their practicum. The first 36 hours were spent preparing for the next day without any campers… or food. The camp didn’t inform us that the kitchen didn’t open until the day the kids arrive and therefore we didn’t bring anything to eat. After complaining about our hungry stomachs which were ever more quickly eating us from the inside out, the counselors pulled together a lunch consisting of milk, and a dinner comprised of bread. I am happy to say that we all did in fact survive the Great Famine of 2008 and things got progressively better as the week went on. As the foreigners in resident, we preformed tasks such as leading games and activities with the kids, posing for pictures, signing autographs, and even MC-ing concerts (in Russian, even). We had four rising 11th grade students from mine and Tim’s school who served as Peace Corps Volunteer Assistants (PCVAs), which I admit, is pretty low on the scheme of positions one could hold – Really, who wants to be an assistant to a volunteer? – but they all four had a great time practicing their English, helping us with our Russian, and leading various English activities with the kids. I personally taught several songs throughout our time there, including Fire and Rain, If You’re Happy and You Know It, and This Land is Your Land, while the PCVAs and I wrote an original song about Camp Dostik. Stay tuned for the video. It’s hot.

Unfortunately, we had to leave the camp five days early due to the conflict between a delayed start to the camp (cold nights and unclean water being the culprits) and our commitment to the Shuchinsk Russian camp. But, judging by the amount of tears shed (by campers and PCVAs), pleas from the director to stay and endless photos with everyone, I can say we were a success. Of course there were things we would change given the opportunity to repeat the experience, but we taught some English, made some friends, had some fun, and gave some kids a meaningful summer experience.

In the rushed and hectic sixteen hours between arrival to Petro and departure for Shuchinsk, I realized that I will be seeing my parents in a week. Time is flying by faster than the trees outside the bus, and as the smoothness of the new road gives way to the familiar jostling of cracked pavement, I open my eyes to see the outer edges of our next destination popping up to my left and right. We start preparing our bags for our next transition, not knowing whether it will be smooth and painless like the recently paved section between Kokshetau and Shuchinsk, or perhaps a bit more unpredictable and interesting like the majority of the roads, and experiences, here in Kazakhstan.