It wasn’t supposed to be this way..one girl's story

She knew she wasn’t alone in the world. She had brother in another city and a sister at the orphanage behind her. And somewhere she too had a mother. Everyone has a mother. For years she told herself her mother loved her, she hadn’t meant to get addicted, never wanted to leave her children, but after 17 years, she was having a more and more difficult time believing herself. Half the time she didn’t even understand her own actions. One minute she was high as a kite showing the world they couldn’t push her down anymore. The next she couldn’t seem to get up the energy to care about anything. What hope did she have? Living with strangers, girls who had the same defenses she did, out to protect themselves, scrounge what things, what love, what hope they could, clinging to and yet destroying one another in the process. What hope is there? Isn’t this world just a burden to bear? Isn’t everyone supposed to take what little pleasure there was where it could be found? But the highs were followed by the emptiness, sometimes regret. It was broken. The world was broken. She was broken. Deep inside her the truth screamed to be heard, “It’s not supposed to be like this.” But who would hear her if she screamed? Who would care and who could fix it?

Kaida Ember?

Kazakh lessons are going zhaksa (good). I’ve learned lots of kitchen and food words from home like schkinty kask (tiny spoon for tea) or bishparmack (five fingers which is the name of a traditional KZ dish that is supposed to be eaten with your five fingers). From the children I’ve learned otramiz (sit down) and atom koom (name?). I have a great teacher who is strict, but excellent. I did get overwhelmed with words at one point, so I slowed down. Sadly my teacher came down with pneumonia, but the staff here at the office picked up teaching where she left off. Now I’m back in class, and finally, I can ask questions! For so long I could only talk about myself, but I’m branching out now which makes for better conversation. I just need more practice! With the majority of the staff being English speaking, it’s too easy to rely on what I do know. Thankfully my host family only knows a tiny bit of English, though they are learning more each day as I learn Kazakh. Some weeks I am eager to learn and practice, but other weeks I just want a break! Hopefully it will even out and I’ll be able to make a truly consistent effort at using what I know.

My girls...talking about my girls!

Four of "my girls" from my first trip in 2005 now live in Taraz. We've met a few times for talks and birthdays and random stuff. But this past week, I had them over for dinner at my apartment. We ate and laughed and talked about their hopes for the future. Afterwards we reminisced and looked at pictures and then had a good old fashioned pillow fight. It was so great! I’m going to try to do this as often as time and my means allow. I've offered to teach them to cook and take them to the square and maybe have a slumber party! :)

Roosters, cars, ice cream & Americans

Seven Americans recently visited Kazakhstan from Richmond, Virginia. They came to meet the children they sponsored, to see how Interlink works, and to have some discussions with local doctors about medical supplies. My job was to help wherever and whenever needed. One of those happy occasions was a trip to the park with children from Saramoldeava orphanage and then a trip with the older children to the bowling alley. Here are some pictures. More info about their trip and a video can be seen on the Interlink blog.

The beauty Kazakhstan

The beauty of this country is enough to take your breath away. Although the cities are expanding and more and more western goods are showing up in increasingly walmartesk shops, much of Kazakhstan is still untouched. The mountains are majestic and the villages picturesque. Driving through it’s almost as if time has stood still. Old women sit on benches outside their homes exchanging the latest gossip about their children, grandchildren, and neighbors. Men sit alone or together smoking in solidarity of a long life lived. Children toddle among them happy and dirty. And always, someone is working whether they are hauling water, prodding along an unwilling calf, or working on some piece of ancient machinery. Time moves slowly marked by the seasons, births, weddings, and deaths. And there’s a beauty to it, a simple life to be envied by those whose life is so dominated by things, places, and schedules. But of course it’s always easier looking in. While we in the west see the hard working laborious life as a relief from the burden of prosperity, I’m sure that electricity, running water, and health care are no small lacks in these villages. The challenge I think for us all is to seek contentment no matter what the circumstances.

The decay of Kazakhstan

Everywhere in KZ there are signs of decay. There are foundations to buildings that have sat for years. Houses half done looking more like ruins than new construction. Old Soviet factories speckle the land around each city, huge, silent, and rusting, worn down by heavy snows and fierce winds of dust. The Soviets built “…Krushchev blocks that eventually filled the Soviet Union, and that were exactly the same wherever they were erected in Kabul, in Kaliningrad, or Kiev: five story buildings with two-, three-, and four-room apartments….[with] customary Soviet decay.” (Asne Seierstad). In KZ they have brightened the winter gray and summer brown landscape by covering the cement with Easter candy colored paint. But still the buildings chip & crack. Newer buildings go up constantly as the economy of KZ rises, but no sooner are they up, sometimes even before they are finished, the buildings blend into the background of decay. It’s in the building materials apparently, too little cement in the cement, too many walls full of sand or cheap rock, always the cheapest contractor, always trying to make a little profit by giving the cheaper product. Cost reigns over quality here in so many areas.

Little lamb, little lamb, who made thee?

For Easter we attended a local service in Russian and then headed up into the mountains for a picnic. We ate, sang, and explored the streams, trees, and animal friends in the foothills of the beautiful KZ mountains. My guitar came along for a bit of singing and the combination of the glorious green grass, the singing brooks, real honest to goodness lettuce on our sandwiches, and the knowledge the joy of an Easter celebration made it a day to count our blessings. On the way home we ran into a friend, a shepherd the team often meets on their trips. He had a special surprise for us…a little lamb not more than two hours old.

The meaning of it all filled my heart with such joy. The miracle of new life, the beauty of the sacrificial Lamb, and the tender beauty of creation warmed my heart and reminded me of one of my favorite poems from William Blake:

Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,

By the stream and o'er the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,

Softest clothing, woolly, bright;

Gave thee such a tender voice,

Making all the vales rejoice?

Little Lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee.

He is called by thy name,

For He calls Himself a Lamb.

He is meek, and He is mild;

He became a little child.

I a child, and thou a lamb,

We are called by His name.

Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Little Lamb, God bless thee!