Central Asia: The Lamb of God

I left the big city last week and rode 6 hours through the mountains to visit a small, isolated city and the IFES work there. We rode up the switchbacks, through a tunnel, and stopped for dumplings and tea on the jailoo (mountain plateau) where a few remaining summer yurts (traditional herder's tent homes) held out against October winds. As we left the mountains for a valley filled with neighborhoods, cows stood in the road, beautiful herds of horses crossed, and chickens watched from the ditches (Why would a chicken cross the road, really?). We barreled down on a flock of sheep traveling ahead of us, led by men on horseback. The taxi driver honked wildly and multicolored sheep bounced hurriedly out of harm's way. It happened at least ten more times.

As I lay in bed that night I thought of the sheep in the symbol of the Moravian church, the conquering Lamb. I imagined that Kyrgyz must understand much better than we Jesus's role as the Lamb of God. Little did I know.

A day later my hostess, Kyrgyz IFES staff, took me to the tomb of Manas, the larger-than-life warrior who united the 40 (Kyr) tribes against the Chinese, the Russians and the Tajiks. He is celebrated in the Kyrgyz's proudest literature: an days-long epic poem, memorized by ear and chanted/rapped by Manaschi. We walked around the statues, took some cheesy pics and headed past a building my host identified as 'for shamanism.' Then we came upon a patio ringed by pavilions; each had a fireplace with a metal bowl on top. My host explained, 'Here people put sheeps and kill for Manas...hm...like Old Testament.' Sure enough a man was boiling meat; we greeted him. Another couple was skinning a hanging sheep (he) and braiding it's innards (she). Their teenage son was chopping wood in his skinny jeans. He was one of this staff's non-christian students, and as they chatted he invited us to eat when the meat was ready. 'I not eat, for my conscience,' she whispered as we left them. This staff's own family wants to come and sacrifice next year, she told me sadly. 'Yes,' I said, 'I was thinking that Jesus is our sheep for God.' 'Yes,' she said.

We wound our way up the pointed hill within which Manas's spirit is said to live. At the top, overlooking the city, she told me about Kyrgyz Christian practice. In her church, a man who can afford it gives a sheep to the church every year. They slaughter it and have a picnic feast in the mountains on Easter day. They kill a sheep to celebrate the day when God sacrificed, in place of a sheep, Himself, for us.

I am reminded of Revelation, the letter John wrote to the churches of  Turkic Asia: " I know where you live—where Satan has his throne. Yet you remain true to my name. You did not renounce your faith in me, not even in the days of Antipas, my faithful witness, who was put to death in your city—where Satan lives."
 
Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches. 

Central Asia: Uyger Fever

One of my earliest cultural experiences in Kyrgyzstan is one I can't resist telling, but its difficult to summarize how many differences there were to take in. While It's not nearly everything, here's my best shot: 

We are Backwards Invited

On my second day in the country, my hosts and I were invited to a Uyger (pronounced Weeger, an ethnic group) circumcision party. This would be a big, formal event held at a restaurant banquet hall. The men were invited for the morning and women for the afternoon. A long skirt and sleeves to the elbow would be a Muslim-sensitive must. I asked my hosts why I hadn't been told we'd be attending. Well, they explained, they didn't know we'd be going, since, the invitation had been given the day before. What!? In Central Asian culture, you honor the last invitation you receive, not the first. Where we as Americans might say 'sorry, I already have plans,' a Central Asian would cancel any previous plan with a simple 'Sorry, something else has come up.'  Because a circumcision party is so important--like a christening or a Chinese 1st birthday--they sent the invitations at the last moment, so everyone could come.

The Pony Poops

When the men of my host's family returned from bunch and prayer by the local imam, we women set off. Our party was much better. About 300 ladies enjoyed four course feast, games for the kids, and dancing. As we sat down to our first course, two little boys in gold embroidered hats and jackets, about 5 and 7 years old, the circumcise-ees (who seemed fine), were paraded in on a pony. Grandmas cried tears of pride and joy, everyone Ooed and Awwed and congratulated. This was all very cute until the pony pooped right next to a table of old ladies. The banquet hall, tables piled with food and all, filled with the stench of pony poo. The ladies in their glittering dresses lost no time in covering their noses with their headscarves. This is not a culture where politeness dictates one must pretend something unpleasant isn't happening.

Tigger Appears

Soon games for the kids began and the mix of American and local entertainment got surreal. Vaguely Russian tunes switched to such classics as Bad to the Bone and YMCA. A very puffy Spiderman and some sort of blue-haired fairy danced with the kids while shrill Russian-speaking Tigger directed games. An emo teenage magician with a Harry Potter cape emerged to pull scarves out of various openings. Meanwhile I had Fanta with my traditional pasta salad dish. 

I have to Dance for Everyone

When the kids sat down, the MC came over to our table where the four white, western people were sitting. Since we were the guests from farthest away, we were to be honored most by being asked to give our congratulations first. We were called onto the dance floor and each given the mic in turn. I said "Congratulations" in English, which the MC (I am told) translated as "I am so happy to be here!" Then the music began and my neighbor hissed 'Dance!' I did so. The four of us moved in a circle in our best imitation of traditional Uyger dance-- which is a bit like hula without the hips. My imitation was poor. My hosts had mentioned we'd be dancing and I had asked their ten year old for a lesson. She said 'it's like this' and twirled her wrists. I did not understand that there was no time where everyone gets out on the floor to dance. You dance as a gift to all the guests, so that everyone can enjoy the sight. And if you enjoy the dance, you give the dancer a scarf. I got six scarves. Friendly, welcoming, pity scarves. Sheer pink flowers, silky leopard print, cotton stars on blue. I was grateful and confused. 

I Consider Regifting

Other women came up, gave their congratulations and danced. When the congratulations were finished women who were beautiful dancers graced us with their movements. At one point early on I was enjoying watching an old lady (it was mostly older ladies) dance quite near our table. She looked right at me and I smiled appreciatively. We had a moment. I thought, 'Oh, I should give her a scarf,' but the only scarves I had were those I had just been given. 'Would it be offensive to give away my gifts?' I wondered. 'Would she be disappointed I didn't give her a scarf?' Later, through careful observation I discovered that regifting was happening all over the place. Ah, well. 

As the Belgian lady shouted to me over the music: it was all very Arabian Nights. 

Central Asia: Pray for the Fellowship!

I got to meet with the IFES (International Fellowship of Evangelical Students) staff for the first time yesterday! They are very busy with the start of school. I had brought a presentation about donor communications from our national staff conference, but I wasn't sure if it would apply to the staff here. But one of the first things the director asked was if I could talk about good fundraising communications! A great fit! I've also offered to share about the Red Cup outreach, and they are interested to hear about our work and how God is working among students in the States. 

I will present at the city team staff meeting on October 22nd, just before I leave on the 23rd. They have also invited me to visit a city team about a 6 hour bus ride west, over mountain passes. This smaller city may have some english-learning based activities I can help with, as well as presenting to the staff. If the trip can be arranged, and hopefully someone can come with me, I'll travel to the other city October 12th-16th, so please be praying then.

Tonight I'll be attending the IFES women's meeting at one of the Universities here, and tomorrow is Bible study. They are called 'Salt of the Earth' in Russian and meet regularly Thursday and Friday nights.The movement can be fairly open in it's activities at the moment. Since the revolution the new government has other projects than monitoring church activity, but people are still cautious (hence not naming cities). Invites are mostly word-of-mouth, ministry is relational. The work seems much the same as in the US-- we are one body!--but I'll see for myself this evening. The city team leader will pick me up and she speaks English, so hopefully she'll translate a bit for me!

Central Asia: Curb Appeal

One thing I can't get around here is the language, which means, literally, I can't get around. Today I took the marshutka, which is a van/minibus- a jitney bus like in New York or Manila, almost by myself (one of my hosts road on to another stop). When you have to stand you can only see the curb looking down through the windows, so I'm learning to remember the number of turns and the way the curb looks. I paid my 8 som and practiced Russian for "Please stop at the bus stop" and "yes, yes." 

It's roughly 45 som to the dollar, making a marshutka ride one of the only things cheaper than in the States. Lunch is a bit cheaper too--200-300 som--at the cafeteria down the road from the office. The Ex-pat co-owners go home and eat a kit-kat respectively, so I've been eating with the two other employees, women around my age, one Russian, one Kyrgyz. They both speak English & we have great lunch conversations-- I wish I could zap my friends from work here to be part of it. 

I feel like I've already settled into the work. Probably not really, but I have been helpful. We work all in one room, just as I do at InterVarsity, and there are always multiple projects to work on, so the pace is similar. I've worked on a book cover, an identity and diagrams to come this afternoon, gone on a client visit, and will give a little typography presentation to the office non-designers tomorrow. With me doing some of the design and educational work, the creative director has gotten in a little time to research new opportunities--a good sign. 

Central Asia: Hello from the Future

Yes, I'm 10est/11central/12pacific ahead of you here in Kyrgyzstan and the weather is great: crisp but nice. After a week, jetlag is wearing off, but the tiredness that comes from everything being new hasn't. I have a bit of double cultural difference since I'm living with (very wonderful) Brits. We have tea instead of dinner and there is Marmite in the fridge, but most of the differences that catch me off guard are the ones I can't articulate. Even with those, though, they've really helped me feel at home.


Double Take--  Out and about most everyone is Kyrgyz, that is, they look Asian, with a few Russians mixed in. I have the odd experience of forgetting I look any different until a particularly Germanic, American-dressed white person walks by and I think 'oh they look like me!' and remember what I look like. I try to dress the part by wearing alot of black, skinny jeans and black boots like the stylish young locals. It seems like Hong Kong mixed with Moscow, with Asian bubushkas and old Kyrgyz men in their high felt hats, until you see the surroundings. Then it reminds me of Berlin--apartment building-lined avenues-- but leafy and more run down. Everything seems just a bit worn and uncoordinated, nothing matches, design is bad, because prices are the same as the States, but everyone makes less.

Aslan's Country-- Running in the mornings down by the dry canal I see yarrow, rose bushes, poplar trees and stray dogs. One of the high-walled expensive homes has chickens out back, then further there's an abandoned lot & old gas tanks. On the other side are the botanical gardens, where most people run and walk, but it's so over grown you can't see the high mountain peaks, do I don't run there. Someone's graffitied "Aslan" with a crown on one of the concrete barriers. No, they haven't read Narnia: Aslan is Turkic for 'lion' and a Seljid royal title, the ruling empire here from the 11th-14th centuries. There isn't much I haven't seen before in some way or another (except for the bubbly salty-sour yogurt & wheat drinks). It's more about the awesome mix: a culture with characteristics I think of as utterly separate. They sell burgers at the Bazaar.