Monday, February 11, 2008
Farewell to Karaganda
As our bags are packed and internet connection soon to be broken, the time has come for Becky and I to cast our farewell to Karaganda. Operation Kazakhstan has been about the addition of a new life to our American family, and I hope the pages of this web-log have helped to chronicle the adventure thus far. Andrei is a gift; something beyond our wildest expectations and something Becky and I are deeply grateful for. Thanks to those who have shared in the experience with us.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Field Report: Special Agent Andrei
Andrei was taken into custody at the Karaganda orphanage in July 2007, when he was about seventeen months old. Becky and I don’t know the details of his past except that his parent’s legal custody rights were relinquished to the state of Kazakhstan when he entered the orphanage. Six months later, Andrei made his first appearance to a group of adoptive parents that had traveled halfway around the world from America. Becky and I were among these parents.
Visiting the orphanage that day was an anxious time for Becky and I. Still jet lagged from the long journey that concluded only the night before, our stomachs were in our throats and our senses were adrift with delirium. The tarnished corridors of the old Russian orphanage were straight out of a Cold War movie and added a thickness to the emotions we were trying to compress. Soon, we were introduced to Rosa, the director of the orphanage, and Larisa, the adoption facilitator. Larisa, a very tactful woman whom I have come to understand is infamous for her curtness, gave Becky and I, along with the three other fellow American parents, a brief rundown about the child selection process. Shortly thereafter, a trickle of children started streaming in for us to see.
Blankets were laid on the floor and one by one, the orphanage care-givers started bringing in these stunning little Kazakh babies. Most were able to prop themselves on their elbows and hands and some were able crawl about and creep up on our pant legs. Before long, the room seemed flooded with babies and I watched Becky go haywire, hugging and adoring every last one of them. This was obviously a dangerous scene for a woman with ‘the fever’. Then came in a few toddlers, something Becky and I weren’t sure we could expect.
Of the toddlers, there were two little boys and a girl. Becky and I thought that we would like to adopt a toddler, but were told that the availability was unpredictable and not something we could count on. Days before leaving for Kazakhstan, we were told that we probably needed to fix our minds on adopting a baby.
As I watched Becky continue to wallow in babies from across the room, I turned my attention to the new arrivals. In particular, I tried to divide my attention between the two boys (the girl toddler, Anya, was already beginning to create a stir among the other parents). The smaller of the boys had ice blue eyes and blond hair - Andrei, as it turned out. Upon entering the room, he was immediately busy gathering toys and scuttling about. He genuinely seemed to be a good kid and instinctively I felt he might be good candidate for Becky and I. However, with so many options cruising around the room, I was hesitant to isolate any of the children just yet.
The other boy, a taller kid with brown hair, was also busy gathering toys, and having ‘bookmarked’ Andrei for later inspection, I decided to go ahead and try to acquaint myself with him. Despite my deliberate effort, I found myself completely unable to attract his attention. At maybe three-years of age, the brown haired boy had the dark bags of trauma hanging below his eyes and I could only guess that he was suffering from some degree of detachment disorder. Becky and I have been told that there is a special league of parents that are willing to take on a child like this, but it is a different type of adoptive game; ‘masters-chess’ if you will. Such an adoption would be beyond what our social-worker back in Salt Lake City advised for us. Meanwhile, I continued to take notice of the teasing that Andrei intermittently directed towards me. At one point, Andrei even offered a toy for my own amusement. While Andrei seemed to offer a positive impression of himself, I was beginning to wonder if Becky had set herself on a different course. As far as I could tell, she was sinking rather deep in a tide of babies.
Feeling like I had a working idea of what was going in Toddlerville, I broke off to see how Becky was fairing. At this moment, she was holding two babies, one in each arm and passed one off to me so she could pick up another. Fun and games, I thought. Again, this was a dangerous scene.
By the time the orphanage medical doctor began to read-off the medical reports for the children of interest, Becky and I decided it was time to get serious. Little did I realize, but while Becky was getting carried away with her baby-wrangling, she had also been eyeing little Andrei. I guess we were deciding to stick to our original intentions after all. Becky and I then gravitated to Andrei in an attempt to affirm what we were already sensing about him. With Becky and I now together and receiving the full dose of Andrei’s charm, we were starting to see the light. Andrei was definitely glowing before us. It took no time flat and we knew for certain that he was the one.
To my mind, agreeing on a child that both Becky and I could embrace as a suitable addition to our family would be the crux of our journey to Kazakhstan. As it turned out, accepting Andrei to be our own was the easy part. For the next two weeks, Becky, Andrei and I would spend a substantial amount of time together trying to forge a bond among strangers that we could carry back to a permanent existence in America. Getting to know the fickle and whims of a two-year-old child that has already learned an array of survival skills in an old Soviet orphanage has proved to have its challenges. In the beginning, everything was new and good and we were all having a really nice time.
Becky’s love affair with Andrei was nearly immediate. She has a gift for the subtle amusements of play. Her games might include: “stuffed animal storytime”, “mom’s restaurant”, and helping to make fun with the perennial classic, “all the little toy people getting stuffed in the little toy house by Andrei-the-Giant”. Andrei quickly grew to adore Becky and it was easy to see that these two would go far. My relationship with Andrei was a bit more uphill. As a masculine figure, I represent something of an alien to a boy who has been living exclusively under the feminine care of the orphanage establishment. Larisa, the adoption facilitator, forewarned me that this would be a hurdle to overcome. Fortunately, Andrei’s basel temperament is inherently good natured, allowing me to make inroads with him at a steady pace. However, after the first week came a confrontation that damaged some of the bond between Andrei and I.
One afternoon, Andrei began to throw some nesting bowls in a tyrannical manner. I told him twice to stop, and in utter defiance, he continued to throw the bowls. Firmly, I extracted the bowls from his grasp, and shelved them out of his reach, no longer rebuking him but gazing coldly into his eyes, as if challenging him to push me further. He held my eyes, and after a 45-second stand off, I could see him physically bow down and emotionally sour. I may have won the match, but it was apparent to me that my hammer might have been too heavy. I felt a weakening of the goodwill that had been slowly generating between us and it took a couple days for Andrei and I to recoup what we had lost. An upshot to this is that I think I have a better sense of where his personal will lies and can hopefully better gauge the disciplinary pressure to apply in the future. Already, I like to believe this small tribulation has opened a space for us to reach a new high watermark in our relationship.
Andrei is an incredibly good little boy. Uncannily, he reminds us a great deal of Edward when he was two. The primary challenge ahead of Andrei is getting his English speech at a par with his Russian. This will not be a great feat for him though, as his Russian is still mostly jibber-jabber peppered with a variety of his more practiced words. Some of Andrei’s favorite words include “peet” (a drink), or “paka” (see you later), and “garyachee!” (hot! - a common response in mom’s restaurant).
As of this writing, Becky and I are winding down with the final signatures and appearances necessary to finalize our adoption of Andrei. Our time with Andrei in Karaganda is also drawing to a close. Andrei and I will reconvene 3-4 weeks later in Almaty, once his U.S. emigration visa has been completed. As a swan-song to Becky and I, the orphanage will host a small party that will be attended by all of the people in Karaganda that have helped us along the way: Rosa, Larisa, and Olga (the director, facilitator and Russian interpreter for the orphanage), and all of the care-givers, many of whom work behind the scenes. From the party, Becky and I are off to the airport and on to Europe where we will meet our dear friends from Germany, Thorsten and Jovanka, for a long awaited visit on their home turf.
After spending some time with our friends, Becky will return to the States and to her work. Andre will remain at the Karaganda orphanage as other prospective parents arrive to adopt more of the awaiting children. I will bide away in Europe, keeping vigil until I am summoned to Almaty for the last strokes of paperwork at the U.S. Embassy in Kazakhstan. As I make my return flight back to Almaty, Andrei and his escort will be on an old Soviet railway, crossing the great steppes of Kazakhstan to meet me. I can’t wait to get this little bugger home.
Charles and Becky
Visiting the orphanage that day was an anxious time for Becky and I. Still jet lagged from the long journey that concluded only the night before, our stomachs were in our throats and our senses were adrift with delirium. The tarnished corridors of the old Russian orphanage were straight out of a Cold War movie and added a thickness to the emotions we were trying to compress. Soon, we were introduced to Rosa, the director of the orphanage, and Larisa, the adoption facilitator. Larisa, a very tactful woman whom I have come to understand is infamous for her curtness, gave Becky and I, along with the three other fellow American parents, a brief rundown about the child selection process. Shortly thereafter, a trickle of children started streaming in for us to see.
Blankets were laid on the floor and one by one, the orphanage care-givers started bringing in these stunning little Kazakh babies. Most were able to prop themselves on their elbows and hands and some were able crawl about and creep up on our pant legs. Before long, the room seemed flooded with babies and I watched Becky go haywire, hugging and adoring every last one of them. This was obviously a dangerous scene for a woman with ‘the fever’. Then came in a few toddlers, something Becky and I weren’t sure we could expect.
Of the toddlers, there were two little boys and a girl. Becky and I thought that we would like to adopt a toddler, but were told that the availability was unpredictable and not something we could count on. Days before leaving for Kazakhstan, we were told that we probably needed to fix our minds on adopting a baby.
As I watched Becky continue to wallow in babies from across the room, I turned my attention to the new arrivals. In particular, I tried to divide my attention between the two boys (the girl toddler, Anya, was already beginning to create a stir among the other parents). The smaller of the boys had ice blue eyes and blond hair - Andrei, as it turned out. Upon entering the room, he was immediately busy gathering toys and scuttling about. He genuinely seemed to be a good kid and instinctively I felt he might be good candidate for Becky and I. However, with so many options cruising around the room, I was hesitant to isolate any of the children just yet.
The other boy, a taller kid with brown hair, was also busy gathering toys, and having ‘bookmarked’ Andrei for later inspection, I decided to go ahead and try to acquaint myself with him. Despite my deliberate effort, I found myself completely unable to attract his attention. At maybe three-years of age, the brown haired boy had the dark bags of trauma hanging below his eyes and I could only guess that he was suffering from some degree of detachment disorder. Becky and I have been told that there is a special league of parents that are willing to take on a child like this, but it is a different type of adoptive game; ‘masters-chess’ if you will. Such an adoption would be beyond what our social-worker back in Salt Lake City advised for us. Meanwhile, I continued to take notice of the teasing that Andrei intermittently directed towards me. At one point, Andrei even offered a toy for my own amusement. While Andrei seemed to offer a positive impression of himself, I was beginning to wonder if Becky had set herself on a different course. As far as I could tell, she was sinking rather deep in a tide of babies.
Feeling like I had a working idea of what was going in Toddlerville, I broke off to see how Becky was fairing. At this moment, she was holding two babies, one in each arm and passed one off to me so she could pick up another. Fun and games, I thought. Again, this was a dangerous scene.
By the time the orphanage medical doctor began to read-off the medical reports for the children of interest, Becky and I decided it was time to get serious. Little did I realize, but while Becky was getting carried away with her baby-wrangling, she had also been eyeing little Andrei. I guess we were deciding to stick to our original intentions after all. Becky and I then gravitated to Andrei in an attempt to affirm what we were already sensing about him. With Becky and I now together and receiving the full dose of Andrei’s charm, we were starting to see the light. Andrei was definitely glowing before us. It took no time flat and we knew for certain that he was the one.
To my mind, agreeing on a child that both Becky and I could embrace as a suitable addition to our family would be the crux of our journey to Kazakhstan. As it turned out, accepting Andrei to be our own was the easy part. For the next two weeks, Becky, Andrei and I would spend a substantial amount of time together trying to forge a bond among strangers that we could carry back to a permanent existence in America. Getting to know the fickle and whims of a two-year-old child that has already learned an array of survival skills in an old Soviet orphanage has proved to have its challenges. In the beginning, everything was new and good and we were all having a really nice time.
Becky’s love affair with Andrei was nearly immediate. She has a gift for the subtle amusements of play. Her games might include: “stuffed animal storytime”, “mom’s restaurant”, and helping to make fun with the perennial classic, “all the little toy people getting stuffed in the little toy house by Andrei-the-Giant”. Andrei quickly grew to adore Becky and it was easy to see that these two would go far. My relationship with Andrei was a bit more uphill. As a masculine figure, I represent something of an alien to a boy who has been living exclusively under the feminine care of the orphanage establishment. Larisa, the adoption facilitator, forewarned me that this would be a hurdle to overcome. Fortunately, Andrei’s basel temperament is inherently good natured, allowing me to make inroads with him at a steady pace. However, after the first week came a confrontation that damaged some of the bond between Andrei and I.
One afternoon, Andrei began to throw some nesting bowls in a tyrannical manner. I told him twice to stop, and in utter defiance, he continued to throw the bowls. Firmly, I extracted the bowls from his grasp, and shelved them out of his reach, no longer rebuking him but gazing coldly into his eyes, as if challenging him to push me further. He held my eyes, and after a 45-second stand off, I could see him physically bow down and emotionally sour. I may have won the match, but it was apparent to me that my hammer might have been too heavy. I felt a weakening of the goodwill that had been slowly generating between us and it took a couple days for Andrei and I to recoup what we had lost. An upshot to this is that I think I have a better sense of where his personal will lies and can hopefully better gauge the disciplinary pressure to apply in the future. Already, I like to believe this small tribulation has opened a space for us to reach a new high watermark in our relationship.
Andrei is an incredibly good little boy. Uncannily, he reminds us a great deal of Edward when he was two. The primary challenge ahead of Andrei is getting his English speech at a par with his Russian. This will not be a great feat for him though, as his Russian is still mostly jibber-jabber peppered with a variety of his more practiced words. Some of Andrei’s favorite words include “peet” (a drink), or “paka” (see you later), and “garyachee!” (hot! - a common response in mom’s restaurant).
As of this writing, Becky and I are winding down with the final signatures and appearances necessary to finalize our adoption of Andrei. Our time with Andrei in Karaganda is also drawing to a close. Andrei and I will reconvene 3-4 weeks later in Almaty, once his U.S. emigration visa has been completed. As a swan-song to Becky and I, the orphanage will host a small party that will be attended by all of the people in Karaganda that have helped us along the way: Rosa, Larisa, and Olga (the director, facilitator and Russian interpreter for the orphanage), and all of the care-givers, many of whom work behind the scenes. From the party, Becky and I are off to the airport and on to Europe where we will meet our dear friends from Germany, Thorsten and Jovanka, for a long awaited visit on their home turf.
After spending some time with our friends, Becky will return to the States and to her work. Andre will remain at the Karaganda orphanage as other prospective parents arrive to adopt more of the awaiting children. I will bide away in Europe, keeping vigil until I am summoned to Almaty for the last strokes of paperwork at the U.S. Embassy in Kazakhstan. As I make my return flight back to Almaty, Andrei and his escort will be on an old Soviet railway, crossing the great steppes of Kazakhstan to meet me. I can’t wait to get this little bugger home.
Charles and Becky
Monday, February 4, 2008
Operation Kazakhstan Daily Summary
Now that Becky and I have managed to find our footing in Karaganda, we figure the time has come to do a bit of explaining about our daily doings:
Becky and I begin each day with a morning routine that includes a bay-window breakfast, a little personal scrubbing, and a glimpse of e-mail while we wait for our driver, Vladimir, to pick us up at a quarter of ten. Meanwhile, Andrei is also getting his day along with his eleven roommates: getting cleaned up and dressed in their winter layers (an ordeal as we have seen), eating porridge (I’m not kidding), and a morning group activity such as Russian story-time, Russian Sesame Street on the tube, or singing Russian songs to a piano accompaniment. While discussing Andrei’s morning routine, it is important to note that at twenty-three months Andrei is completely potty-trained, dresses himself, washes his own hands and face, sips his juice from an open cup with out spilling... What do these orphanage care-givers know that the rest of us don’t? I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it firsthand.
Becky and I arrive at the orphanage around ten. We take our boots and coats up to the playroom where we spend our daily visit, then carry off down the hall to retrieve little Andrei from his quarters. Andrei’s group activity is usually wrapping up by the time we arrive. To our continual surprise, we are then welcomed into Andrei’s quarters by the caregivers where we are greeted by the eager eyes of the children. As so many of the children at the Karaganda orphanage are not eligible for adoption due to various reasons, Andrei is the only one of his bunch that is currently undergoing the adoptive process. Therefore, it is a bit distressing to me when the kids call out to us as “mama” and “papa” (these Russian words are the same). I don’t understand why we are granted such unobstructed access, but I must say it is immensely interesting to see the habitat in which Andrei spends the bulk of his time. Having spent ten days with Andrei at the time of this writing, Andrei is running for us the moment we enter his room. It is quite a heady scene. Andrei’s quarters include a bedroom with two rows of beds for 'the little dwarves', a tiled area with a pint-sized wash-basin, two mini toilettes, a washing machine, and a cubby with a hook for each child’s cup, washcloth and clothes. There is also a common area with tables for eating and activities, and a carpet area for story-time and singing. Other scheduled events, such as music recitals and holiday programs are held in one of the larger common rooms of the orphanage.
Back at the visitation playroom, Becky, Andrei and I set about for a two hour session of unadulterated monkeying: balloon badminton, magic coin tricks, rifling through mom’s purse for goodies. We share our playroom with another family (that also happens to be from Utah) who are in the process of adopting baby twins. Generally speaking, it is a very pleasant, if somewhat tiring two hours. Our play session lasts until noon, and then everybody takes an extended European-style lunch break. Becky and I walk Andrei back to his quarters--swinging him between us like we used to do Edward when he was little--and return him to his comrades for more playtime, lunch, and a nap. Vladimir waits for us outside the building while we visit with Andrei, smoking cigarettes and telling Kazakhstan horse-stories with the other drivers. Becky and I catch a ride back to our apartment to eat lunch, then either go for a walk, watch the latest Kazakhstani music videos, decipher food labels at the grocery store, read, or nap. As far as Becky and I can tell, there are five other families, four from the U.S. and one from Spain, that are on a similar routine.
Returning to the orphanage at four, the afternoon session goes much like the morning: two-year-old dancing to an Ipod speaker, dumping out mom’s coin purse, playing peek-a-boo over the back of and old chair. During the afternoon session, the winter sun eventually sets through the room’s large south facing windows. By this time, I think everybody is finished for the day. Andrei gives Becky and I each a hug and a smacker for the road, and never fusses about returning to the other kids. As Becky and I leave the orphanage, the whole operation is winding down.
As Andrei and his homies begin their way to bed after a final bowl of porridge, Becky and I usually settle in for an uneventful evening of dinner, books, and maybe a DVD. We have gone out to dinner a couple of times with the other parents and have had a really nice time. The food here is excellent and actually quite cheap. In a Turkish restaurant one evening, we even enjoyed some live music care of the local talent. Pretty cool stuff.
Becky and I have ten more days in Karaganda, making for a total of three weeks. Our time spent in this old Soviet outpost has been enough for us to gain a fresh perspective on what it means to be American, something I will discuss further in a future post.
Charles and Becky
Post Script:
The Karaganda orphanage houses about a hundred and fifty children. Ages range from newborns to five years. I don’t know the percentage of kids that are eligible for adoption, but I get the impression it is surprisingly low. As long as a family member visits a child once every six months, the biological parents’ legal custody is preserved and the state will continue to care for the child as long as necessary. Beyond the age of five or six, kids are transfered to another orphanage that will continue to house them until the age of sixteen. From there, we are told, national military service is one of the more common avenues into the outside world.
Becky and I begin each day with a morning routine that includes a bay-window breakfast, a little personal scrubbing, and a glimpse of e-mail while we wait for our driver, Vladimir, to pick us up at a quarter of ten. Meanwhile, Andrei is also getting his day along with his eleven roommates: getting cleaned up and dressed in their winter layers (an ordeal as we have seen), eating porridge (I’m not kidding), and a morning group activity such as Russian story-time, Russian Sesame Street on the tube, or singing Russian songs to a piano accompaniment. While discussing Andrei’s morning routine, it is important to note that at twenty-three months Andrei is completely potty-trained, dresses himself, washes his own hands and face, sips his juice from an open cup with out spilling... What do these orphanage care-givers know that the rest of us don’t? I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it firsthand.
Becky and I arrive at the orphanage around ten. We take our boots and coats up to the playroom where we spend our daily visit, then carry off down the hall to retrieve little Andrei from his quarters. Andrei’s group activity is usually wrapping up by the time we arrive. To our continual surprise, we are then welcomed into Andrei’s quarters by the caregivers where we are greeted by the eager eyes of the children. As so many of the children at the Karaganda orphanage are not eligible for adoption due to various reasons, Andrei is the only one of his bunch that is currently undergoing the adoptive process. Therefore, it is a bit distressing to me when the kids call out to us as “mama” and “papa” (these Russian words are the same). I don’t understand why we are granted such unobstructed access, but I must say it is immensely interesting to see the habitat in which Andrei spends the bulk of his time. Having spent ten days with Andrei at the time of this writing, Andrei is running for us the moment we enter his room. It is quite a heady scene. Andrei’s quarters include a bedroom with two rows of beds for 'the little dwarves', a tiled area with a pint-sized wash-basin, two mini toilettes, a washing machine, and a cubby with a hook for each child’s cup, washcloth and clothes. There is also a common area with tables for eating and activities, and a carpet area for story-time and singing. Other scheduled events, such as music recitals and holiday programs are held in one of the larger common rooms of the orphanage.
Back at the visitation playroom, Becky, Andrei and I set about for a two hour session of unadulterated monkeying: balloon badminton, magic coin tricks, rifling through mom’s purse for goodies. We share our playroom with another family (that also happens to be from Utah) who are in the process of adopting baby twins. Generally speaking, it is a very pleasant, if somewhat tiring two hours. Our play session lasts until noon, and then everybody takes an extended European-style lunch break. Becky and I walk Andrei back to his quarters--swinging him between us like we used to do Edward when he was little--and return him to his comrades for more playtime, lunch, and a nap. Vladimir waits for us outside the building while we visit with Andrei, smoking cigarettes and telling Kazakhstan horse-stories with the other drivers. Becky and I catch a ride back to our apartment to eat lunch, then either go for a walk, watch the latest Kazakhstani music videos, decipher food labels at the grocery store, read, or nap. As far as Becky and I can tell, there are five other families, four from the U.S. and one from Spain, that are on a similar routine.
Returning to the orphanage at four, the afternoon session goes much like the morning: two-year-old dancing to an Ipod speaker, dumping out mom’s coin purse, playing peek-a-boo over the back of and old chair. During the afternoon session, the winter sun eventually sets through the room’s large south facing windows. By this time, I think everybody is finished for the day. Andrei gives Becky and I each a hug and a smacker for the road, and never fusses about returning to the other kids. As Becky and I leave the orphanage, the whole operation is winding down.
As Andrei and his homies begin their way to bed after a final bowl of porridge, Becky and I usually settle in for an uneventful evening of dinner, books, and maybe a DVD. We have gone out to dinner a couple of times with the other parents and have had a really nice time. The food here is excellent and actually quite cheap. In a Turkish restaurant one evening, we even enjoyed some live music care of the local talent. Pretty cool stuff.
Becky and I have ten more days in Karaganda, making for a total of three weeks. Our time spent in this old Soviet outpost has been enough for us to gain a fresh perspective on what it means to be American, something I will discuss further in a future post.
Charles and Becky
Post Script:
The Karaganda orphanage houses about a hundred and fifty children. Ages range from newborns to five years. I don’t know the percentage of kids that are eligible for adoption, but I get the impression it is surprisingly low. As long as a family member visits a child once every six months, the biological parents’ legal custody is preserved and the state will continue to care for the child as long as necessary. Beyond the age of five or six, kids are transfered to another orphanage that will continue to house them until the age of sixteen. From there, we are told, national military service is one of the more common avenues into the outside world.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Andrei
At the end of each day’s visit with Andrei, I like to seize just a moment before we part to give him a reassuring look in the eye and a good, deliberate hug followed by a kiss on the cheek. From the beginning, Andrei has been receptive to this, but slow to return the embrace as I don’t think he has had many hugs before. More and more, though, he has been hugging me back and today, he took it a step further. After I gave him his kiss, he pressed his mouth to my cheek, then gave me a delayed puckered smack, as if this was something experimental, something he had not done before. Becky, witnessing this, called for her turn and took little Andrei into her arms. Andrei promptly gave her the same treatment, this time more deftly.
Andrei’s caregivers are truly remarkable and I have a great deal of praise for the job that they do. But with so many children and such a range of needs, it is a sad fact of orphanage life that there is only so much that the caregivers can provide, particularly in the emotional realm. To witness the kids that are undergoing the adoptive process--some of whom are understandably withdrawn--surrender themselves to the affection of the new parents is very much a spectacle in transformation. Becky and I are immensely happy to see Andrei coming around.
Charles and Becky
Attention:
Becky and I may have neglected to address some of the obvious questions that are sure to arise as we post our web-log entries. If there are any such questions, please feel free to leave a comment at the tail-end of our posts. Becky and I will make sure to address them.
Coming up is a better detail of the daily routine for Andrei, Becky and I, and also some more story time about Karaganda.
Andrei’s caregivers are truly remarkable and I have a great deal of praise for the job that they do. But with so many children and such a range of needs, it is a sad fact of orphanage life that there is only so much that the caregivers can provide, particularly in the emotional realm. To witness the kids that are undergoing the adoptive process--some of whom are understandably withdrawn--surrender themselves to the affection of the new parents is very much a spectacle in transformation. Becky and I are immensely happy to see Andrei coming around.
Charles and Becky
Attention:
Becky and I may have neglected to address some of the obvious questions that are sure to arise as we post our web-log entries. If there are any such questions, please feel free to leave a comment at the tail-end of our posts. Becky and I will make sure to address them.
Coming up is a better detail of the daily routine for Andrei, Becky and I, and also some more story time about Karaganda.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
The Top Ten Things We Have Learned in Kazakhstan
A Super Brief History:
Kazakhstan is a vast area of northern latitude ‘steppe’, or grassland, and is much the same landscape commonly associated with neighboring Mongolia. In fact, the native peoples of Kazakhstan are of close kinship with the Mongolians thanks to the virility of Ghengis Khan and the many other passing hordes of Mongolian hell-raisers. The large swath of steppe that encompasses Kazakhstan is believed by historians to be the scene of the original domestication of the horse. Horseback riding is a national pastime in Kazakhstan and the horse is also part of the traditional cuisine.
As history progressed into the 1800s, and Russia pushed the frontiers of its expanding empire into Central Asia, Kazakhstan gradually succumbed to its sovereignty. During the interim between the World Wars, Stalinist Russia engaged in an abrupt transformation and the Iron Curtain fell over Kazakhstan. The USSR collapsed in 1991, freeing many of the non-indigenous citizens to leave, and Kazakhstan struggling to rediscover its own identity. Still, however, the Russian influence is huge.
Without further ado, Charles and Becky's observations and musings:
1) Your chauffeur is the perfect victim for testing your pigeon Russian: you have him right where you want him and he knows no English to bail you out. (Poor Vladimir, our driver, must cringe as he rear-view-mirrors us flipping feverishly through our Russian dictionary.)
2) White Kazakh anyone? It’s the new Ryon-house specialty! Warning: Even vodka and coffee liqueur cannot rectify the potent off-color taste of horse milk.
3) The Clean Air Act is our friend. The apparent lack of automobile and industrial emission standards in Karaganda blankets the area in a thick haze and gives even the snow a greyish hue.
4) The animal has to stand still for the meat to be tender. This may help to explain why the galloping horse hasn’t won over the cow for your rib-eye steak. I (Charles) bought some deli-sliced horse meat at the supermarket, and it was chewy enough for the first bite to last through an entire episode of The Brady Bunch (dubbed in Russian).
5) Being able the to read the cooking directions is not necessary for making good food. The nightmare strings of Russian Cyrillic characters of the back of food packages didn’t keep us from inventing a new dish every night.
6) A jacuzzi without warm water just isn’t the same. Have you ever heard the saying that you can’t warm a cup of cold coffee with a teaspoon of hot water? Becky and I could not produce enough pots of stove heated water to make this thing worth while.
7) Don’t take your high speed internet for granted. I did manage, however, to produce at least a few pots of water while my email pages loaded.
8) Don’t judge a glass of water by its color (or maybe you should). While it is true that we had to boil the tap water for drinking, we weren’t aware of its true color (brown) until we produced enough of it for a luke-warm bath.
9) Beer is part of the shared human experience. Even our driver, Vladimir, who only knows the English words ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’, made sure to point out the local Karaganda brewery for what it was (in English).
10) Kids are astonishingly resilient. Witnessing the inner workings of an orphanage can be trying on anybody’s heart, but amazingly the children are still smiling, playing, and acting like children should. Even if adoptive parents are only able to provide a home for one child at a time, they are helping to support a process that will continue to find new homes for the others..jpg)
Charles and Becky
Kazakhstan is a vast area of northern latitude ‘steppe’, or grassland, and is much the same landscape commonly associated with neighboring Mongolia. In fact, the native peoples of Kazakhstan are of close kinship with the Mongolians thanks to the virility of Ghengis Khan and the many other passing hordes of Mongolian hell-raisers. The large swath of steppe that encompasses Kazakhstan is believed by historians to be the scene of the original domestication of the horse. Horseback riding is a national pastime in Kazakhstan and the horse is also part of the traditional cuisine.
As history progressed into the 1800s, and Russia pushed the frontiers of its expanding empire into Central Asia, Kazakhstan gradually succumbed to its sovereignty. During the interim between the World Wars, Stalinist Russia engaged in an abrupt transformation and the Iron Curtain fell over Kazakhstan. The USSR collapsed in 1991, freeing many of the non-indigenous citizens to leave, and Kazakhstan struggling to rediscover its own identity. Still, however, the Russian influence is huge.
Without further ado, Charles and Becky's observations and musings:
1) Your chauffeur is the perfect victim for testing your pigeon Russian: you have him right where you want him and he knows no English to bail you out. (Poor Vladimir, our driver, must cringe as he rear-view-mirrors us flipping feverishly through our Russian dictionary.)
2) White Kazakh anyone? It’s the new Ryon-house specialty! Warning: Even vodka and coffee liqueur cannot rectify the potent off-color taste of horse milk.
3) The Clean Air Act is our friend. The apparent lack of automobile and industrial emission standards in Karaganda blankets the area in a thick haze and gives even the snow a greyish hue.
4) The animal has to stand still for the meat to be tender. This may help to explain why the galloping horse hasn’t won over the cow for your rib-eye steak. I (Charles) bought some deli-sliced horse meat at the supermarket, and it was chewy enough for the first bite to last through an entire episode of The Brady Bunch (dubbed in Russian).
5) Being able the to read the cooking directions is not necessary for making good food. The nightmare strings of Russian Cyrillic characters of the back of food packages didn’t keep us from inventing a new dish every night.
6) A jacuzzi without warm water just isn’t the same. Have you ever heard the saying that you can’t warm a cup of cold coffee with a teaspoon of hot water? Becky and I could not produce enough pots of stove heated water to make this thing worth while.
7) Don’t take your high speed internet for granted. I did manage, however, to produce at least a few pots of water while my email pages loaded.
8) Don’t judge a glass of water by its color (or maybe you should). While it is true that we had to boil the tap water for drinking, we weren’t aware of its true color (brown) until we produced enough of it for a luke-warm bath.
9) Beer is part of the shared human experience. Even our driver, Vladimir, who only knows the English words ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’, made sure to point out the local Karaganda brewery for what it was (in English).
10) Kids are astonishingly resilient. Witnessing the inner workings of an orphanage can be trying on anybody’s heart, but amazingly the children are still smiling, playing, and acting like children should. Even if adoptive parents are only able to provide a home for one child at a time, they are helping to support a process that will continue to find new homes for the others.
.jpg)
Charles and Becky
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