Morning in the Village
I don't need to open my eyes, I can already tell it's morning by the light falling onto me from the window at the foot of my bed. My Nokia cell phone is about to tell me, "It's time to wake up, the time is 7:15am" in its robotic female voice. I briefly plan out how I'll shut her off with as little movement as possible then begin my mental preparation for the day.
Life in general is full of surprises, but those surprises in the peace corps life affect my mood to a markedly higher degree. The potential emotional swings of the day require a daily mental preparation.
I decide I'll wear my blue button up and my only pair of pants that I can stand in the 100+ degree weather I've come to expect in Chui's summer heat. I'll splash water on my face, because it feels good in the morning especially when I only wash every ten days or so, but also because it's culturally rude to eat without having rinsed your face first. This is a culture note I find odd since water is often unavailable in the villages here. After fulfilling my mandated hygiene requirement I'll fix myself a teacup of piping hot instant coffee and use the outhouse as my coffee cools to a drinkable temperature. Then I'll walk to work. Ok, enough mental preparation, time to execute.
No water.. I use a very conservative amount of water from my filter instead. No water in the morning is a bad sign, that likely means there will be no water for the rest of the day, and no water all day is a problem. It's not yet 8 this morning but I feel the heat of the coming day lapping at my skin as I walk to the outhouse, dodging chickens and prickly weeds on my way. The floor boards creek and the walls shift as I enter the familiar home of my many sick days, carefully stepping around the hole in the floor that serves as the toilet. The door doesn't quite close, but the distance from people provides enough privacy. Heading back to my coffee I notice with relief that my host mother is watering the vegetable garden. We do have water today, it was just being rerouted to the hose. Upon seeing me, my host mom, the very considerate woman she is, helps me route the water back to the sink so I can wash my hands and brush my teeth, two habits I've been pleased to see my host family has adopted over the past month.
A wave of bliss runs through my body with the first sip of coffee. I've always enjoyed coffee, but for some reason here my entire body appreciates it even more. The second sip runs another wave of pleasure first shooting up from my throat to my brain then to my toes and fingers. Coffee is not the morning beverage of choice here, in fact it took me about three months to start drinking it again. Tea reigns supreme. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner and any conceivable moment in between is not complete without tea. The Kyrgyz phrase for "time to eat" is literally translated "Drink Tea." Tea culture being how it is, I was pleasantly surprised when my host family was supportive of my switch to coffee. By sip three it's back to a regular coffee experience, so I take my time between the first two sips, relishing every moment. I'm drinking my coffee in a building outside my house, it's a small one-room building designed specifically for making and eating food. It seems to be the Kyrgyz way to build multiple single purpose buildings around the main building, which is the one people sleep in. This kitchen/dining building is guarded and monitored by a small kitten. I've been given the privilege of naming the kitten but have yet to pick one. For now his name is Atijoke (Nameless). As I'm sipping away at my coffee I feel Atijoke brush by my leg and jump up on the bench I'm sitting on. He is demanding an offering for my entrance into his domain, I secretly place a single boar-sock, a small piece of fried dough common at parties and other celebrations, in front of him and he is appeased. I feel guilty as I look around to make sure no one saw me slip him the boar-sock. While it's Atijoke's favorite food, boar-sock is considered a type of bread and bread is basically revered here, so I'm not supposed to give it to him. Bread can only be given to an animal when it's no longer suitable for people to eat, otherwise it's disrespecting the bread. But throwing bread away is even worse, so at least I didn't do that.
With my coffee done, teeth brushed, and briefcase in hand I'm ready for the day. I slip on my good shoes and tell my host mother I'll see her later in the day. She wishes me farewell, and sees me to the gate. As the gate door closes behind me, I begin my mile long walk to the office, the morning routine is over and my day begins.
Stay tuned for "Afternoon in the Village" and "Evening in the Village" coming soon.
My dog:
Walking with my niece to the office in the morning:
