2003-06-08 - 6:01 p.m.
I've just reread my "Last Bell" entry and found myself chuckling. The story I told makes my service sound so Shangri-la. Its' not! Mr. Kevin and Uzbekistan have real world dilemmas. For instance, as I write this email I lean my body slightly to the right because I have a painful rash on my left cheek, yep, that cheek. The rash is ten days old and has been diagnosed twice by the doctor, neither being correct. So, on Thursday, with my pants around my ankles, the doctor zoomed in real close. "I'm gonna need to take two. One from back here and one in real close," she said. The wonderful world of technology has enabled a doctor in Tashkent to take a photograph with a digital camera and then email the photo to Washington DC, where specialists can make diagnosis. So, yes my ass has been emailed across the ocean. However, this is not the first time my body has been emailed. In November, a series of red blotches covered my chest. The doctors, unable to diagnose me again, sent a picture of my chest to Washington. The blotches went away without medicine, and no real name has ever been given for what it was.
Despite my discomfort, several Peace Corps friends came to Xisarak last weekend to dig the pipeline for our village water system. We only worked one day, but the work felt good. For the many Uzbeks who gathered to watch us work, and to the others who worked with us, it was a solid symbol of teamwork. For the women of the village who saw Barbara and Alice digging along side the men, it was perhaps a catalyst for future independence. But, this too was not without its burdens. When examining my rash, the doctor also took a look and a pain in my lower abdomen. Yep, a tiny hernia has developed from my work. Not painful, but noticeable to the touch. If you weren't laughing before, now is the time. I could ramble off a list of other problems, like that my diet is poor and I often feel like a weak sack of flesh, but that would make me sound too wimpy. Besides, my problems will go away (hopefully), but larger ones in Uzbekistan will not.
For instance, as I commuted to Tashkent today I was upset by the sign above our Marshrutka (taxi-like ride) driver's rearview window. 400 Soum it read. The price of transportation I was told has increase 20%. As a Peace Corps Volunteer we are paid a high wage by local standards, $125 per month. But, for the locals riding this route, a 20% raise is a big deal.
Although school is done, exams are still taking place, and bribes are still being paid. Last week, before our dig, I was visiting a friend in Samarqand. She was giving exams and I attended class with her. Inherent in the Uzbek school systems is bribery. She gave individual spoken exams. Several students returned with their parents and food. The parents requested a retest with them watching. My friend refused, and the parents were a bit thrown, as this course usually works.
Finally, as I return home tonight, I will ride in a taxi or Marshrutka. Inevitably, we will be motioned aside by a green uniform with an orange baton. Sometimes I look up from the book I'm reading. Sometimes I take advantage of the pause in movement and try to finsh the page I am on. Nevertheless, the driver is walking up to the officer, shaking his hand, and paying him money. So it goes, and rarely a word is mumbled. So, Uzbekistan and Peace Corps service is not bliss, its service. Work. And sometimes it is really hard. Oddly though, despite all the different frustrations and pains, I like it here.
