arrived in Moscow, we turned up the volume to listen to Russian President Vladimir Putin – who Misha called “our president” – say a few words. An hour later, the new year arrived in Turkmenistan. We raised our glasses, drank to 2005, and cheered. Sasha and Denis leaned out the windows and shot Roman candles into the streets. Children were shooting fireworks from windows all over the neighborhood. Colored sparks rained down the sides of the concrete dominoes. When we ran out of fireworks, we put on our jackets and went out visiting, leaving plates and glasses strewn around the apartment.
I’d promised Ana and Sesili I would stop by their apartment, so I split off from my host family and walked across town to their place. Inside, their home looked like mine, with dishes strewn everywhere and the remains of a feast spread across their table. They were leaning back in their chairs, looking a little stunned. I sat down with them and picked at leftover salads, plov , shashlyk , fruit, nuts, candies, and cakes. We shared stories about the parties we’d had and made toasts to the new year.
About 3 a.m., I told them it was time for me to leave. Sesili walked me part of the way home to show me the route I should take to avoid the police. The streets were filled with drunken families, calling out holiday wishes to each other, swaying as they hurried home in the cold. At home, I put on my long underwear and my hat, crawled into bed, and fell asleep.
* * *
The first day of 2005 was cold and gray and gloomy. My back hurt from squeezing my body into my miniature bed the wrong way. My head hurt from drinking too much vodka. In the kitchen, we ate leftovers for breakfast and Olya poured us each a shot of vodka for breakfast – to help with the hangover. At first I thought she was kidding, but when she drank hers and chased it with a spoonful of cold plov , I followed her example. Then we both went off to work. It was not an auspicious start to the year.
At Red Crescent, no one was working. Aman had come and gone and the others were sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and talking about the big news of the day: Geldy had been fired. None of us knew why, but we didn’t puzzle over it for long. There were plenty of good reasons. It didn’t matter which one Aman had picked. Luckily for Geldy, he’d immediately found a job at the Red Crescent office in Ashgabat, as an AIDS educator. He was a smooth talker who cultivated friends and connections everywhere, so it was no surprise he’d landed on his feet.
That didn’t help me, though. Geldy was the one who had asked Peace Corps for a Volunteer. No one else at Red Crescent Abadan was really interested in working with me. I was on my own. That was bad news, since I hadn’t managed to do much of anything without Geldy’s help. He’d brainstormed projects with me, told me who to ask for permissions, and helped me translate lesson plans and grant proposals. He wasn’t a very ethical person, but he was good at getting things done and he was usually on my side. I felt abandoned.
I met Geldy in Ashgabat that night, and we went out to his regular bar, a place downtown called Ak Gamysh, to celebrate the end of his career at Red Crescent Abadan. He went there because his ex-girlfriend Nastya and her friends, Mehri and Aka, hung out there. They liked it because it had private booths with curtains where they could smoke cigarettes without word getting back to their parents. It was considered unseemly for women to smoke. That night Geldy and I drank coffee and cognac while the girls drank soda. They were aloof and stylish, in high heels and short dresses. They sipped their drinks, drew delicately on their cigarettes, and talked quietly, urgently, into their cell phones.
Geldy didn’t seem upset about his recent employment crisis. I knew he hated Aman and had been miserable working for him, but still, I expected him to be a little sad about leaving Abadan. I began to think maybe he
I’d promised Ana and Sesili I would stop by their apartment, so I split off from my host family and walked across town to their place. Inside, their home looked like mine, with dishes strewn everywhere and the remains of a feast spread across their table. They were leaning back in their chairs, looking a little stunned. I sat down with them and picked at leftover salads, plov , shashlyk , fruit, nuts, candies, and cakes. We shared stories about the parties we’d had and made toasts to the new year.
About 3 a.m., I told them it was time for me to leave. Sesili walked me part of the way home to show me the route I should take to avoid the police. The streets were filled with drunken families, calling out holiday wishes to each other, swaying as they hurried home in the cold. At home, I put on my long underwear and my hat, crawled into bed, and fell asleep.
* * *
The first day of 2005 was cold and gray and gloomy. My back hurt from squeezing my body into my miniature bed the wrong way. My head hurt from drinking too much vodka. In the kitchen, we ate leftovers for breakfast and Olya poured us each a shot of vodka for breakfast – to help with the hangover. At first I thought she was kidding, but when she drank hers and chased it with a spoonful of cold plov , I followed her example. Then we both went off to work. It was not an auspicious start to the year.
At Red Crescent, no one was working. Aman had come and gone and the others were sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and talking about the big news of the day: Geldy had been fired. None of us knew why, but we didn’t puzzle over it for long. There were plenty of good reasons. It didn’t matter which one Aman had picked. Luckily for Geldy, he’d immediately found a job at the Red Crescent office in Ashgabat, as an AIDS educator. He was a smooth talker who cultivated friends and connections everywhere, so it was no surprise he’d landed on his feet.
That didn’t help me, though. Geldy was the one who had asked Peace Corps for a Volunteer. No one else at Red Crescent Abadan was really interested in working with me. I was on my own. That was bad news, since I hadn’t managed to do much of anything without Geldy’s help. He’d brainstormed projects with me, told me who to ask for permissions, and helped me translate lesson plans and grant proposals. He wasn’t a very ethical person, but he was good at getting things done and he was usually on my side. I felt abandoned.
I met Geldy in Ashgabat that night, and we went out to his regular bar, a place downtown called Ak Gamysh, to celebrate the end of his career at Red Crescent Abadan. He went there because his ex-girlfriend Nastya and her friends, Mehri and Aka, hung out there. They liked it because it had private booths with curtains where they could smoke cigarettes without word getting back to their parents. It was considered unseemly for women to smoke. That night Geldy and I drank coffee and cognac while the girls drank soda. They were aloof and stylish, in high heels and short dresses. They sipped their drinks, drew delicately on their cigarettes, and talked quietly, urgently, into their cell phones.
Geldy didn’t seem upset about his recent employment crisis. I knew he hated Aman and had been miserable working for him, but still, I expected him to be a little sad about leaving Abadan. I began to think maybe he
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