1st annual strip-n-dip festival

The last four days have been some of the most hectic, exciting, fun, awesome days I’ve had in Kazakhstan. After our MST conference in December, we decided that we needed to organize a winter conference and other activities for other PCVs to come visit our lovely site. The best opportunity to attract volunteers from all of KZ presented itself in the Russian Orthodox January 19th Chrishenya event. Last year I joined the crowds of people on the frozen Ishim River, but decided just to take pictures and pass on the nearly naked dip into the freezing water. When I asked my counterpart if we could host a seminar for the day before or after Chrishenya, she said she’d see what she could do. In the course of three weeks I planned a day-long conference and invited 120 local English teachers and about 20 volunteers.

The volunteers, fourteen from out of our oblast, arrived on Saturday to lead an English club at the American Corner on the theme AIDS/HIV. We had about 25 students who came and participated in activities that uncovered myths and stereotypes about the disease as well as engaged their English skills. That night we put the extra volunteers up in a rented apartment as well on my and Mike’s floors. Nineteen PCVs in a small city like Petro can be a lot to manage, but we pulled together all our logistical and organizational skills – not to mention patience and flexibility – and made it work.

Every day we tried to plan some form of “work” so that the volunteers who used work travel would earn their stay, but some work is just too fun to be called that. Sunday morning we took a trip to a local boarding school/orphanage, where some local university students had planned a trip to play with the students aged 5-18. We jumped at the idea and organized a short concert and an hour and a half of games and songs to entertain and play with the kids. I spent those 1.5 hours singing “If You’re Happy and You Know It” at different speeds and volumes with rotating groups of kids. They were SO excited to see us. Some of them wanted to practice their little bit of English knowledge, while others clearly wanted to play with someone new and then tell them about their school and home. After the games we split into small groups and were lead around the complex by miniature tour guides, competing to capture the attention of the strange Americans. My tour guide was a 12 year old girl named Regina. She took me by the hand and personally explained each of about 100 different rooms. We chatted about America, ice skating, school subjects and seasons. She made me promise to come back.

That afternoon we went to a local café to put on a concert. This was the public premier of my band “Dai Pyat” (Gimme Five). So far it’s just Mike and I playing acoustic guitars, but this show featured Joe from Taldy-Korgan in the south, the PCV I played with last month in Almaty. We played for a semi-packed house for an hour, entertaining volunteers, students, host families and other local friends. It was fun to say the least. Monday I went back to work at school while some volunteers went to Bishkul (Ashley’s suburb) to lead an English club. That afternoon we gathered our warm clothes, towels and courage and headed to the river. Like last year, the church had blessed the water and set up an ice cross, a network of trenches in the frozen river to fill buckets of holy water, and two holes for dunking. Last year I remember thinking, “I’m not THAT crazy to go jump in a frozen river!” I guess now I know just what a year in KZ can do to someone. Sixteen of us Americans stripped and dipped and I could – probably should – write a detailed account of the experience, but for now it’ll suffice to say I did it. It was cold. It was a great experience. I don’t remember much of it, what I was thinking or feeling, but I distinctly remember how difficult it was to draw breaths in between each of the three dunks. And that afterwards, having dried off and redressed, I felt warmer than before I went in. Whether it was the adrenaline rush, the shot of vodka after the dunk or the Holy Spirit itself, I’m not really sure. Videos and pictures will be up soon. A student of mine happened to be there and video taped my dunk on his cell phone, and today I noticed several copies of it being shown around to huddled groups of highly amused students. Whether I get cool points or just crazy points, I’m not quite sure.

Having washed away our sins in the river, that evening we headed to the banya to wash away the river. Somewhere between the extreme cold, extreme heat, cold beer and the company of great friends, I found a wonderful sense of belonging to an amazing group of people and a confirmation of what I’m doing here. My work may or may not drastically change Kazakhstan, but Kazakhstan has influenced me greatly. We sat around for hours telling life stories and amazing experiences. We heard about ancient underground temples in India and man versus moose in Maine. And Tim told us (again) how he randomly met the son of a local restaurant owner when he was in Nevada this summer. The night wore on and prepared for our last day, and my biggest role of the weekend.

On Tuesday, 65 teachers from city schools and surrounding villages came to the local Pedagogical Institute where I sometimes work. Twelve volunteers presented six sessions aimed at practicing language, improving grammar, developing methodology and exercising some reading and round-table discussion mental abilities. The PCVs were great. The teachers were appreciative. After reading the post-conference evaluation themes, the resounding suggestion was that we do it more often. At 6pm weight of the conference and responsibility of organizing 14 out of town PCVs dissipated and I slept. I slept hard for about an hour while we waited for the exclamation point on our phenomenal weekend.

At 11:00pm local time on Tuesday night, a man stood on a podium half a world away and made a group of Americans in a crowded apartment cheer, hug and cry. We listened on internet radio as Barack Obama stumbled through the presidential oath and then announced to the world that a new day has dawned. In Mike’s small living room we pressed close to the computer speakers and answered his statements with hell yeah’s and amen’s. We had turned a new leaf in the pages of history and it felt like New Year’s all over again. We started singing Auld Lang Syne and gave hugs all around the room. Sagar (who is 1st generation American from Indian parents) commented that the days of claiming Canadian citizenship while abroad are over. It was a monumental, incredibly memorable event. We found out later that it had been broadcasted on local TV, meaning that we could have seen the faces of the millions in DC and the ceremony and speech itself, but for some reason I really enjoyed seeing only the faces of my fellow Americans in the room. We grew closer. We saw and felt our common goal and purpose in being here together, working to make the world a little better than we left it.