I have now been to half of the countries in the world beginning with the letter 'K'. I'm not sure how or when I'll make it to Kuwait, Kosovo, or Kiribati, but the simple notion that I've visited three of the six is enough for me to make it an official life goal. I may not get to see every country in the world, but seeing all of the Ks is within my grasp. The odor of yesterday's border crossing and kumis had been washed away by the rain, and as I looked out the window of my room in the Almaty station, it was clear that we were officially over the rainbow. The FEBC station in Almaty is a large three-story office and apartment building owned by a charitable foundation and under Rudi's direct management. Most of the rooms are vacant, especially on the top floor, but there is a handful of tenants on the first floor, as well as a business. The business couldn't be any more strangely coincidental–it's a peanut butter factory. Not only is the one substance to which I'm most susceptible being manufactured right below me, but it's probably the only place in Almaty where it's being manufactured at all. Peanut butter is not very popular in this part of the world, so such a factory is a rarity to begin with. Furthermore, since Rudi manages the building, the toxic tenants downstairs keep us supplied with little cups of kryptonite for free. Of course Rudi just can't resist offering me a sample every time he gets a delivery. With the exception of not being included in the free treats club, there's nothing to smell aside from coincidence, and there are no ill effects aside from irony.
Nevertheless, I was glad to escape the irony and embark upon our first full day in Almaty. Our primary task was to purchase a satellite radio receiver with accompanying dish, and travel out to a rural part of Almaty where we would install it at the home of a woman helping to manage a rehab center for men recovering from drug and alcohol addictions. And when I say 'we would install it', I mean 'Nurlan and Ardak would install it while Rudi and I skulk about doing nothing'. Our secondary task was to spend some time seeing the city. Secondary things first. We braved the chaotic traffic through downtown Almaty to an area that was once something like the Soviet cultural center of Central Asia back when there were Soviets who wanted to implant their culture in Central Asia. There is a large memorial called the Paniflov War Memorial dedicated to the 28 Kazakh soldiers from Almaty who died fending off Nazi tanks near Moscow in 1941. There's an inscription that reads something to the effect of "This far, and no farther." It's a compelling sculpture of soldiers hewn out of solid stone: very raw and foreboding. But we did go farther, because beyond the war memorial sits the Ascension Russian Orthodox Cathedral, sometimes known as the Zenkov Cathedral. It rivals to some extent St. Basil's Cathedral in Moscow, although the domes are more traditionally European in design, and not onion-shaped. Of course there are fewer tourists around, so the pigeons have more room to run. And run they do, because there is a throng of Kazakh children scampering about in frenzied attempts to catch the flying rats. On a couple occasions, I witnessed a child actually apprehend a pigeon, and in both instances, the child was completely dumbstruck as to what to do next. Both kids simply stared at their quarry, mouth agape, knees knocking, with little child wheels turning. When, after a few moments, the wheels had finally turned enough, each kid released their respective pigeon in a sudden panic, realizing, "oh oh OH – I should not be holding this!" And each kid immediately returned to pigeon-chasing. While I was stalking Kazakh children who were stalking Kazakh pigeons, Rudi was stalking me and explaining some of the history of the cathedral. It's still active, but not nearly as active as it was before Kazakhstan gained independence from the USSR. It's noteworthy because every piece of it (down to the nails themselves) is made out of wood, and it's the second-tallest wooden building in the world.
After some sightseeing, we went to something like the Kazakh version of Radio Shack to purchase parts. Of course I was accosted for even having a camera, though I'm certain they didn't know I was taking pictures. And in keeping with policy: if you give me trouble, I take your picture. The portrait I captured of the store manager is distant and blurry, but I just can't bring myself to delete it, because he asked for it. City exploration accomplished and purchases made, it was time for installation, but it would take us a while to get there (especially traveling these crowded streets), so first, it was lunch time.
The movie Demolition Man (a film unsurpassed in excellence and one of the most egregious Academy Award snubs in history) takes place in a futuristic society in which all restaurants are Taco Bell. The expertly-fabricated backstory explains that the food industry in the utopian society came under a monopoly, and even the most fine dining experience is provided by Taco Bell. There was a time when I made mockery of this idea, noting how ridiculous it was that what we consider to be the lowest class of food service could possibly become so highly esteemed. Now such a dystopian future seems all too real a possibility, and it's not funny. Without time for an authentic Kazakh lunch, we went to KFC. And it was a temple. Suddenly the Orthodox Cathedral I had just visited seemed insignificant. This KFC had an ultra-modern decor, a swanky lounge area, and more space and variety of seating than any fast food restaurant I'd ever seen in the USA. There were LCD advertising screens inlaid into the bathroom mirrors. Clearly this was Colonel Sanders' very own private eating establishment. He was just allowing the simple people of Almaty to dine with him. I asked if the Colonel was in, but I didn't understand the response. So what would often be considered among the lowest classes of fast food in the US is actually a high class experience here. And it's expensive to boot (our bucket of chicken and 5 sodas amounted to $37), but the place was packed. Apparently this is not a struggling franchise. It's been a while since I've been to a KFC, but I immediately recognized that the chicken here had a slightly different flavor, and in our discussion over lunch, I discovered the reason why. In Kazakhstan, all restaurants serving cooked food must use local products. Kazakhstan Fried Chicken. Furthermore, McDonald's apparently won't play along with Kazakhstan's rules, and that explains the conspicuous absence of golden arches in Almaty. It probably also explains why KFC can be so popular here–less competition. I left lunch pondering the end of the world and whether or not the inevitability of all restaurants becoming KFC would happen in my lifetime.
After quite a long drive through the city, a seemingly interminable stretch through a bazaar of sorts (where we bought a miniature flag of Kazakhstan and were presented with many more trinkets that we did not buy), and a short jaunt down a rolling dirt road, we finally arrived in a rural village north of Almaty where we found the rehab center. We were greeted by Dorothy and her dog Grom. Dorothy is a 71 year old retired school teacher from New Zealand who developed a heart for the Kazakh people and has been here on a semi-permanent basis for nearly 20 years. She has sold most of what she owns and lives very humbly in a house near the rehab center. Technically it's two stories, but the bottom story looks like it was originally built by Genghis Khan, and the top appears to have been assembled by very large birds attempting to build a nest out of ancient tree branches. Dorothy has a meager farm with pigs, chickens, rabbits, and an assortment of fruits and vegetables. She makes jam and other delights for the men, and puts several of them to work tending the pigs (pigs–I might add–that stink more like pigs than any pigs I have ever smelled). It's a very primitive way of life.
Suitably, Grom is also quite a primitive creature. If all dogs are decedent from the gray wolf, then Grom seems to have been plucked from an older part of the family tree. He's a large German Shepherd with a wagging tail and one floppy ear, but he's no mild-mannered Toto. He barks uncontrollably at every passerby. Though he seems good natured at first, there's a distance threshold that, once crossed by a stranger, converts Grom into a primeval wolf-monster. If a person is within about 12 feet, the teeth come out, and he starts straining desperately at the end of his chain with all his paleolithic might, yearning to tear them apart. Furthermore, he has a real wolf's den. This is no doghouse. It's a cave in the ground, entirely of his own making. Apparently he has delved so deeply that he can reach the limit of his 20-foot chain underground. Soon after we arrived, one of the men tossed Grom a chicken that had died of unknown causes and was unfit for human consumption. Apparently Grom did not have the same reservations about its cause of death. First he buried it, and when we came back a couple of hours later, he had deemed it appropriately seasoned, and had almost completely devoured it. I discovered later that 'grom' means 'thunder'. A primitive beast named for an ancient force of nature.
Dorothy, too, is a force of nature. She has traveled farther and endured modes of transportation far more frightening than a tornado. How many grandmothers could really live like this? She lives on the pennies they earn from selling eggs, jam, and honey by the side of the road and to the neighbors. The men also make bricks, some for sale, but mostly for the sake of improving the rehab center. There are usually around 20 of them, though the number fluctuates as men become ready to rejoin the world or grow deeper in need of being removed from it. They all live together in a moderate two story house, much nicer than Dorothy's, but still no palace. Having the ability to listen to FEBC on satellite radio provides them with great encouragement and sound teaching. Useful tools for living with courage in the world, let alone for overcoming oppressive addictions. They need every bit of emotional, psychological, and spiritual fortification they can get. Dorothy helped to found the center, and the men see her as their grandmother, even though she has actual grandchildren elsewhere in the world. "The worst part," she remarks, "is being so far from my grandkids." A true grandmother. Her cares are limited to her grandkids. Everything else is easy to manage. She does have an apartment in Almaty city, but she stays here alone on the farm for most of the summer, and even parts of winter. She has made this place her home, and her example gives the men the courage to dare to think that it could be their home too. "If granny can do it, why not a big tough guy like me?"
One of the things I've always liked about the Wizard of Oz is the way the Wizard grants the wishes of the four travelers. I suspect that there are those who look upon that as the worst part of the story. Some might say that it's a total cop-out. Anti-climactic. The Wizard who we've so eagerly anticipated would solve all our problems doesn't possess magical powers at all. Instead, he gives us a few trinkets, a kind word or two, and pats us on the head. He's just a glorified grandmother behind smoke and mirrors. But what the nay-sayers don't see is that the Wizard does have magical powers–they're just not the powers we expected. The Wizard possesses the power that all of us possess, and the power that good grandmothers wield so effectively; the power to find value in people and to help them see that value in themselves, bestowing dignity upon them. The smoke and mirrors routine is only for those unfortunate critics who are too narrow-minded to value the magic as it is, and need it to be something else. When you pin a medal on someone's chest, it's more than a reward. It actually does grant courage. A cowardly man who has been honored with a medal is no different than he was before he had it, but he will see himself differently, and subsequently, he will act as someone who has courage. The military has been doing this for centuries, and there's a reason they keep doing it. It works. There's a great exchange in the movie Kingdom Of Heaven in which a critic sees Balian (the protagonist) knighting the common men of Jerusalem before battle and contests "Does making a man a knight make him a better fighter?" Balian dubs another knight, turns to his critic, and with great certainty, simply says "Yes". As soon as he responds, there is a gleam of valor and pride in the eyes of the poor common man who was just knighted. You get the sense that even though that man might die, he will fight like a banshee and die with honor. The sooner we can live our lives simply seeing ourselves as knights of the kingdom of God, the sooner we can approach life with courage we never thought possible.
I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this. In this story, Dorothy IS the wizard. She values the men living in the rehab center and treats them with dignity. For many of them, this is their second, third, or fourth prolonged stay. Each time they return, they are accepted, even when the cycle seems unbreakable, and even when the thought of returning only seems to multiply shame upon shame. We spoke–well, Rudi spoke with several of the men and heard their stories, then relayed the big picture to me afterwards. Every guy Rudi talked with had a compelling story, and conveyed the feeling of hope and purpose he had been given because of the rehab center. I've no doubt that the same is true of the guys we didn't meet. Grace is power and love is magic. They are older and stronger than thunder. They break chains, defy logic, and grant hope. We may not always wield them perfectly, but we have an example of One who did, and we can both accept for ourselves and grant to others real courage when we follow that example. We can become knights and bestow knighthood of a new country, and make that place our true home without the use of sequin-bedazlled shoes. Dorothy is a great example, but she'd tell you that she's just following the real Example. This trip over the rainbow has helped me to see that in a new way.
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