September Stephen A. Bugno

First day of school. It wasn’t as romantic as it used to be. Or I should say the night before…that’s where the real romance was- the last night of freedom. But whether they were ready or not, the day after Independence Day came. This being the first time I’ve been on the other side. Not completely, but halfway between. Not yet a teacher, but my first September without real matriculation. What a thought…

I saw a whole family ride into town this morning on a cart pulled by a donkey. Most people were out early, but the few scattered casualties of Independence Day I knew were still out late. It was the First Bell Ceremony. The first graders all had flowers for their teachers. Most everybody else just wore black and white. The school was full of chaos, but the bells did still ring on time and the two Americans still got stared at. The English teacher I observed was a little self-conscious. She must have known I was a grammar guru. What she didn’t know is that I’m going to revolutionize the Uzbek classroom. When I learn to spell, I’ll take over the world. But before that I ride the city bus over and over again. I’ll usually stand. Sitting is for women and the elderly. I’ll only sit if I feel elderly- which isn’t very often.

My Opa is 44 and has two two-year old twin granddaughters. I brought shame to her when I walked to the pit with shorts on. Fried fish isn’t the best thing to eat when you’re trying to get over diarrhea. But I know the five times that Allah is being prayed to. I even have tea when I should be praying. Good thing they have loudspeakers. The Mosque isn’t very far away.

It’s getting darker earlier. My mother is always the first one to point that out. But she isn’t here right now. So I have to remind myself if I don’t want to get caught out there some night. Fall should be coming soon. It’s too hot now. But the sun is always hottest when you stand in it. There is a lot of shade around here. I think that’s why they do it. The shade isn’t bad.

***

The old folks tell me prices in rubles. It makes me laugh inside every time. And the American asks in Uzbek how much the bar of soap is. And every time they respond in Russian, leaving the white girl confused even though she studied her Uzbek. But they answer me in Uzbek. But only if I ask. They tell me I look like an Uzbek, but I look at them in Russian. Russian is the easy way out. It’s my first reaction. But I can get by with bazaar Uzbek, like the others get by with taxicab Russian.

Incognito. I’m Stephen wandering around as Serogiddin. My clothes aren’t perfect and neither is my skin, but my brow is dark and almost connected. I’m certainly not Russian. My eyes are brown and so is my hair. I carry a reinforced plastic bag wherever I go. A backpack is suicide. Suicide when you’re playing the incognito game.

Should I be playing the incognito game? I’m supposed to be making friends- making peace. An American ambassador right there in the bazaar. An American ambassador right there next to the watermelon pile? An American ambassador right there next to spice control? An American ambassador right next to half-goats hanging in windows? Ambassadors don’t go there. I do. I get the biggest thrill from being least American. Sometimes I get too loud though. And sometimes I walk too fast. That isn’t good for Stephen. Someone might suspect. Rumors spread in these villages like wild fire. Good thing I’m not back there in Baytqurgan. I get helloed twice a block. There’s no Serogiddin possibility there. The word is out. There are 9 American Peace Corps volunteers in your village of a few thousand. Even the cows know. I see them laugh as I lap the football field at 7am, dogging their piles out on the playing surface. Not too many people can see me there. Not too many people can hear me then. But I still move in English. And everybody knows “good morning” no matter what time of day it is.

***

It’s something new every night here.

Tonight, just after dark while I was studying in my room, there was a knock at the window. Startled, I walked to the window and opened it. There was a teenage boy whom I did not know standing there. He called me by name. “Stephen,” he said in perfect English, “Could you help me write a resume.” He was holding a computer disk.

Now I have been a lot of places, and there has been very few people that I’ve know that have pronounced my name correctly. And this boy was a total stranger. So he stood there and waited for my response. He had caught me so off guard that I didn’t know what to tell him. All I knew is that I had an Uzbek exam the next morning and I couldn’t help him at that point. And how did he even know I knew how to write a resume? Just because I know English doesn’t mean I’m a resume expert. In fact, I just wrote my first resume less than six months ago and needed help myself.

So I saw this computer disk in his hand and my logical question was, “Do you have a computer?” He told me he didn’t have a computer. I wondered why he had this disk waving above his head. So I asked why he had the disk, and he seemed stumped by this question so I let it drop. I wondered for a second, if word had spread to him that I had a computer. Because the only people that know that are my family members. Other questions that were pestering me in that minute encounter with him were the following, all, which I kept to myself. How did you know my name? How did you know where I lived? How did you know the exact position of my room in the house? And why didn’t you use the front door?

I told the boy I didn’t have time that particular evening to help him. But I said that if he came back later in the week I might be able to help him. Finally, I made it clear to him that next time he should use the door.

***

And finally…an update. Some real news instead of more ambiguous pictures of life here.

Into week seven. We are already more than halfway into training. Things have been busy. The 3^rd of October will be the last day of “practicum”. Practicum was our chance to practice teaching in the classroom. I had the 9^th and 10^th grade at Chirchiq school No.12 on Mondays and Thursdays. It went fairly well. Meanwhile we continue Uzbek language and technical teaching training as well as cultural and health education.

Whenever I have an afternoon off I try to get into Tashkent. It takes about 30 minutes and I go in about or two times a week. I usually go to an Internet café for an hour or two or just do some shopping at the bazaar or simply stroll. Internet costs a little over a dollar an hour, which is quite substantial compared to the stipend we receive. But the best means of communication is real mail. A letter takes a couple of weeks to arrive but usually arrives safely, except that the U.S. embassy opens all of our mail before we get it. So far, friends and family have been great about mail and I am very thankful. If you haven’t heard back yet, wait patiently, it’s coming. I can always respond to real mail with less stress and you may even get a little treat out of the deal if you like Uzbek stamps and lovely leftover Soviet postcards.

During week five, we took a group bus trip to Samarkand for three days and two nights. It is quite an amazing city. Among the highlights was the Registan, a square with incredibly beautiful mosques on three of the four sides. Also we went to the main bazaar in town. In addition to visiting more of the historical buildings, we went with one of the current health volunteers to visit her site just outside of Samarkand. This allowed us to get a better picture of what it’s like to be a Peace Corps Volunteer. In the evening a number of us went out to an outside café to enjoy some beer, which also gave us a better picture of what its like to be a Peace Corps Volunteer. When we came back there was a discoteka on the roof of the hotel. The incredible 11^th story view of nighttime Samarkand was only enhanced by the cool, brisk breeze that filtered through the loud music, moving bodies, and dancing lights.

The best part didn’t come until the following morning. Rising at about 6am a friend and I wandered over to the nearest mosque and were met by the man we saw late the previous evening. He showed us the way to the entrance of one of the minarets. Inside was a spiral staircase, which led all the way up until we saw the morning sun. It was incredible to peer out at the same level as the top of the dome and see the city bathed in an orange light just after dawn. Two of the Samarkand pictures were taken from that spot.

Next weekend (12^th of October) is our site visit. I will be traveling one hour to the south of Tashkent to the city of Almalik to meet with my counterpart (an Uzbek English teacher) and visit my school and stay with my host family there. They have a 17 and 11 year old son and I understand I will be living in my own section of house that they already have built for the 17-year-old for when he gets married. Almalik is an industrial city of about 120,000 inhabitants situated in the Angren River valley.

Swear in is set for the 1^st of November. We will see how October goes first.

Thanks for making it this far. Keep checking back from time to time. I will keep writing.