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Hi all! I am back in the US, having returned at the end of December. I kind of got super busy in my last few weeks in Yakutsk so I didn't have much time to post anything. But, I am now back, beginning to write my dissertation. I am hoping to have the dissertation finished by May of 2010. It will focus on a constellation of culture, family/gender and religion, looking at how all of these things are employed to address the economic and social ills in the present. The dissertation will be written in English and then translated into Russian. There is also a possibility that parts may be translated into Sakha language as well. I hope to make all versions, Russian, English and Sakha widely available in the US and Russia. As I write, I will try to post excerpts here--feel free to leave me questions, criticism and other feedback.

Cheers!

BACK TO THE CITY

Hello to all! Just to give you short update on what's going on...I'm back in Yakutsk, the capital city of the Sakha Republic, where I was in the spring. It's pretty funny coming back to the city after spending so much time in the countryside--you begin to see things in a different way. If before, I thought of Yakutsk as a small Soviet city, now I see it as a big Sakha metropolis. It is the center of this region and carries itself like a center--people come from all over the republic and are awed by the glamour of the big city. It is a young person's paradise--movie theaters, restaurants, cafes, discotecs, shopping centers, parks. The city is a strange mix of old old wooden houses, Soviet block apartment buildings, and flashy "postmodern" architecture--or at least the Siberian interpretation of postmodern. This includes bright purple facades, orange arches and pseudo-Arabian minuets. In the center of the city, stands the "old town": a reconstructed version of what Yakutsk was supposedly like 100 years ago. The "authenticity" of this reconstruction, however, is hotly debated, such that people jokingly call it the new old town. The streets are paved with stone and lined with lamps. There are newly refurbished and rebuilt wooden buildings, all finished to a shine. The names of the restaurants and shops that now fill the buildings are advertised in giant red letters. It's pleasant to walk around the two blocks that it occupies but gives you the feeling of being outside time somehow.

I'm living in the dormitory here, as I was in the spring, on the floor with all the international students and teachers. This time I got put on the side with the teachers, fortunately, as the student side is a bit raucous, filled with 16 Koreans, 3 Austrians, a Finn and a Swede. They are all here studying Russian (an interesting choice of place to study Russian, you might be thinking, and you would be right--but it is an adventure and they are enjoying themselves if the sound from their side of the hall is any indication). On my side of the hall are 4 teachers: Belgian, Japanese, Korean, and Chinese. They are all really nice, speak great Russian and we often cook together (or they teach me how to cook).


A NEW PRESIDENT FOR THE WORLD

Many people have been curious as to what the reaction to Obama's presidency was here. I definitely got an interesting international perspective on this living amongst almost the entire foreign population of Yakutsk. In the dormitory, they were ecstatic. The Europeans were almost as excited as I was...but not quite--I think it would have been really difficult for anyone but an American to have achieved that level of excitement. And the Asians were all smiles and congratulations for me as well. Our cleaning lady (a local Yakut woman) didn't know what I was talking about when I told her the news, neither did the lady who sells me eggs down the street. But most everyone else I've spoken to has wanted to ask me about that, is excited, interested, curious. Just as most people were frustrated by Bush the first time I came here, most people are excited by Obama. Although, at the same time, in contrast to the Europeans in the dormitory, few people here are involved on a personal level--they see my excitement and agree that, yes, indeed, he appears to be a good candidate, and they hope that things can go in a different direction. But the most common attitude is simple curiosity. Curiosity in the American political process, surprise that we care so much, wonder that Americans think that it matters who their president is.


POLITICS, YAKUTIAN-STYLE

The political climate here is much much different than it is in the US. Where in the US, everyone pays attention to the federal elections, and no one much knows who runs for local office, in Russia everyone pays attention to local elections and no one much knows about the candidates for national office. I was in fact here, in Yakutsk, during the election of Medvedev as President of Russia. The event went by as almost unnoticeable--had I not known it was happening, I'm quite sure I wouldn't have even realized that there was a presidential election going on. Of course, part of this is due to the fact that he had no real competitors--no one was under any illusion that he wouldn't win, so there wasn't much of a need to talk about it. But, it was also eclipsed by the furor of local elections: the election of representatives to the regional parliament and to the city legislature. There were real contests as the communists, "United Russia" and "Fair Russia," as the three significant political parties battled for spots, battled for influence on a local level. Candidates promised street repair, building repair and all sort of other issues close to the real lives of residents and people paid attention. Of course, Putin and Medvedyev's party, "United Russia," as the most powerful party won the parliamentary elections with a sweeping majority of delegates, but the other two parties remain significant voices in the legislature.

What was also interesting was being in Mirnii--a "Russian" city in Western Yakutia, where I was for a week and a half in September. At that time, there were elections being held for Mayor of the city. I was helping to teach English at the university there. The English teachers were loaded with work, a component of which was to encourage students to vote, and to vote for the candidate the university administration supported, the "United Russia" candidate. The teachers were annoyed at the extra responsibility, but grudgingly accepted it as necessary. I was myself was confused and surprised by what I interpreted as a farce of democracy. What kind of democracy is it that relies on the political machines of institutions to force their members and students to vote for certain candidates? When I expressed this attitude, the other teachers forcefully disagreed with me. One active young teacher explained that the average person doesn't know much about politics, doesn't have the discretion to support one candidate over another. And for students, what's good for the institute is good for them. The university, then, votes as a block, just as labor unions in the US tend to vote as a block. When it comes down to it, no one checks precisely who a given individual votes for, but students are encouraged to come out in mass in support of their institute's chosen candidate.

This conversation really kind of opened my eyes to the knee-jerk, very "American" reaction I had to Russian political process--the immediate assumption that a political process that proceeds differently than ours is automatically undemocratic. Its very easy to look at one particular phenomenon through the already established lens of "Russia is an authoritarian country" and see that this is the case. But if you look at the politics in the context of a deeper history and broader social structure, the process begins to make a little more sense. Public life, at least in Yakutia, is closely connected with workplace, with labor group. As a rule-by-workers political structure, the Soviet Union was originally organized in this way, where "sovets" or labor unions were the main political units. This structure remains reflected in the importance work collectives have for political and public life. Work collectives not only organize political process, they also organize public celebrations--each workplace is expected to send representatives, to take part in the festivals. Even social action is organized through workplace--this summer, I participated in a youth project to clean up an area by the river covered in litter. The leaders contacted each workplace and requested that they inform their workers. In the fall, each labor group (e.g. cultural workers, educational professionals, health care) held a large event at the local "house of culture" to give awards and to celebrate the achievements of workers in their field.


THE TIMES THEY ARE A CHANGING...

Of course, this type of social structure is quickly changing as unemployment, for instance, has appeared for the first time, and a less vertical political structure begins to take shape in the region. Beginning in 2009, the government will introduce a new system of worker payment, that aims toward eventual privatization of many government offices. The hardest hit by this new system will be the administration of culture--a branch of government dedicated to organizing all "cultural" activities and events, from the organization of public festivals to administering the local library. Libraries will still retain substantial public funding, but most professional artists and writers, actors and musicians are currently employed by the administration of culture, make their living as government employees and soon be set free. Government support (or control--however you want to look at it) for the arts will soon be phased out, creativity will be privatized and all these people will have to learn how to market themselves and their talents, to make them profitable or find another job.

What I think this underscores, is not necessarily the cruelty of the market, but one of the myths of capitalism--the myth of "freedom" in the idea of free markets, or even the notion of "freedom" period. Forgive my theoretical digression here but I think this is important. One of the things socialistic government are often accused of is totalitarianism. Americans are particularly afraid of "big government," of government having too much power over our money and our property and so we seek privatization, deregulation as way of increasing "freedom." When you look at the arts, in particular, people on the left and the right are equally concerned about government involvement to the extent that it might stifle freedom of expression, even if not directly, a government employee is dependent on a certain political structure for job security, etc. and we fear the indirect influence of this system. And this is absolutely a valid concern. I am foremost among those who would be wary of any government monopolization of the arts. Indeed, even in education I have my qualms.

However, seeing and hearing the fears of my friends who work in the administration of culture as they prepare for this transition made me see things in a different way. They were afraid of the constraints the market would put on freedom of expression. All of a sudden, they were forced to think about how to sell their art, how to create something for consumption, something that would appeal on a mass-scale. And this was terrifying. "I lose all my freedom," one poet friend told me, now I simply have to make things that will sell.

And here is where the myth of "freedom" falls flat. I do not pretend to say that there is any more freedom in a government structured cultural administration, just that there is not necessarily less freedom there than in a market-structured cultural environment. Either way there are constraints. And in both situations, the person not dependent on their art for money is free to do and say what he pleases.

Northern Lights

The one good thing about having to leave your house to use the restroom here is that it forces you to go outside occasionally. It's already well below freezing here, so we're not hanging out in the yard late into the evening anymore. But, thanks to the lack of indoor plumbing in Nyurba, I finally got to see the northern lights yesterday night. And it was spectacular. My friends were unimpressed...apparently a comparatively weak show. But, for a person who has never seen them before, it was breathtaking. A line of dancing green clouds lit up half the midnight sky, flickering like neon flames out of the heavens. They flickered and, very slowly drifted, fading in and out. Now stronger, now weaker, but bright bright green. I watched for around 10 minutes, before I was dragged inside to keep from freezing. When I went out again an hour later, the sky had turned black again.

My friends told me the event was unexciting at best. This time of year, they show up regularly, they say. A good show will fill the whole sky with not just green but all sorts of colors. I get different stories on this, however. Some say this almost never happens, others say quite regularly. I'll have to start making a habit of checking every evening, a couple of times. I spent my childhood wondering at those photos in the National Geographic, always dreaming to see Aurora Borealis. I came to Yakutia the first time in February and last winter also in February and had hoped to see them then. But,apparently, here, the northern lights are primarily a fall phenomenon, so I wouldn't have had the opportunity before.

I think putting up with the cold and the long winters might possibly be worth getting to see the Northern Lights.

Updates and Observations

Hello all!! I'm so sorry that I've been so lax in my blog updating, but my internet access has simply not been the most reliable. Anyways, I've been so busy that I simply haven't had the time to write blog posts.

I hope this most recent posting finds all of you well. I have been having a really fantastic summer, doing a lot of interesting work and meeting the most incredible people. For most of the summer, I've been going to the forest, collecting berries and mushrooms and have also been trying to travel around the "Nyurba ulus" which is kind of like a county--its just one region "or ulus" of Yakutia and the city of Nyurba is the administrative center of that region.

But, most days, when the weather is good, the women of the household all pile into their row boat and go across the river, looking for berries, mushrooms and other items the forest might be able to provide them. Occasionally men will also go berry collecting, but apparently it is a predominantly a female activity, with the men occupied hunting or fishing. Although, the hunting season didn't start until the middle of august here, so the ducks could swim freely in the lakes most of the summer :) The first berries to ripen are wild strawberries. They are the hardest to collect, being small, growing singly and often times hidden amongst thorny plants. But they make the best jam, so we spent weeks collecting the strawberries alone and ended up with jars upon jars of jam as a result :) About the same time as the strawberries, red currants also ripen. While red currants are plentiful and easy to collect (they grow on tall bushes in large clumps), they are sour and require a lot of sugar to make tasty jam, so we didn't spend

so much time collecting them. Furthermore, they stay ripe all summer, so there is no hurry. Just a few hours a couple of days was enough to collect 3 bucketfulls, which ought to last all winter. Near the end of July, blueberries ripen. There are no good blueberry reserves close to Nyurba, but in the forest 10 kilometers from here, they are plentiful. So one beautiful day, I set out with three other women and hiked the distance. We walked 3-4 hours there, spent two hours collecting berries and hiked 3-4 hours back. In just 2 hours, we managed to collect almost an entire bucketfull between the 4 of us.

In August, rasberries and black currants appear. Mushrooms also start popping up so that sometimes we were collecting multiple kinds of berries and mushrooms all at the same time. However, we typically went with one item in mind, looking for a good place to find bushes. Now that its closer to the end of August, most of the other berries have disappeared and a berry called "brusnika" (or "cowberry"? in English) is the main object of our searches. While not the sweetest or tastiest berry in the world, it grows in enormous abundance, in clumps on bushes that cover the forest floor. Gathering brusnika is almost like picking up beads from huge basin filled with them. And then, the berry is firmer and more durable than other berries so that you can freeze it and save it all winter without turning it into jam. The berries can then be boiled to make juice, used in baking or mixed with whipped cream for a tasty desert. Since brusnika is so easy to collect, it doesn't take long to collect enough to last the family well into the following summer. This way, they get the needed vitamins, etc. that are not so plentiful in the long winter here.

Preserving tradition in the Sakha Countryside

The family I'm staying with doesn't own cattle, so I am not getting the full classic experience of living in the Sakha countryside. But those who do own cattle, spend most of July, August and September cutting and preparing hay for the winter. While the horses are able to fend for themselves during the winter, the cows have to be kept in the barn or "hoton" all winter and are fed hay. To have enough to last all winter, families who keep cattle are incredibly busy with the hay cutting most of the summer. Many families now have tractors and other equipment to make it a bit easier, but those who can't afford the machinery still do everything by hand. This makes for an interesting relationship with "preservation of tradition."

Whenever I talk about my project and my interest in Sakha "ethnic identity" many people ask me whether or not I think that the Sakha have preserved their ethnic identity, that is their traditions. I always have trouble answering this--it's really a complicated questions, with a whole lot of different angles from which I could respond. But I try to turn the question around, to get the perspective of those with whom I'm talking. Most people will say that in the villages they've preserve Sakha tradition. And, one of the markers of preservation of tradition, is the fact that they raise cattle just as their ancestors did more than a century ago--they haven't been spoiled by modernization. So, when I expressed interest in going out to observe the hay cutting, people immediately thought of people they knew who didn't have tractors, who did all the cutting by hand. And, indeed, my one trip out to the hay fields has been with such a family. A classic Sakha family if there ever was one--they have 10 children, who all help with the hay cutting and berry-picking and hunting and fishing. So one beautiful day, I took the ferry across the river to the village of Kundyade and spent the day with Akhmed Dmitriev and his family.

Cutting grass by hand is a lot of work. It involves swinging a large iron scyth at grass more than half as tall as a person, with a rhythmic circular swing. The grass initially is left to lie where it falls. Once it dries--typically after two days if the weather has been decent, the weaker members of the family (children and women) gather it up using rakes and pitchforks into small half-spherical piles, shaped so that the rain will fall off them, rather than soaking the dried grasses. After a few such piles are made, the men transport them to the large hay pile with the aid of two long pieces of wood stuck underneath the stack. The larger stacks are then enclosed by a wooden fence so that the cows and horses can't get into the stacks to early. Each full-sized cow eats around 2-3 tons of hay a winter, which means that a family like the Dmitrievs must gather more than 12 tons of hay to feed their 6 cows.

For this reason, in the Sakha countryside, big families are still a blessing. And furthermore, boys are seen as a far greater asset than girls. While it certainly makes me cringe when I hear this repeated over and over, you can understand the sentiment from a certain point-of-view. Women help out with the hay-cutting, and some women even swing the scythes themselves, doing almost as much as the men do. But, the fact of the matter is that cutting hay by hand requires an enormous amount of strength--it was difficult for me to even lift the scythe, much less swing it for hours at a time. Without many male family members, it is difficult for a family to gather the necessary hay for the winter.

But this all brings us back to the preservation of tradition. Akhmed and his family were praised widely for being the model Sakha family, especially for their traditional methods of hay-cutting. And Akhmed was clearly proud of this himself as he showed me around the hay fields. Almost all of the tools they used, he had made himself. The male children, even the youngest (9 years old) were all adept at hay cutting, all helped out and managed to hunt and trap animals at the same time as they were working the fields. The family was able to produce almost all of their food themselves. At lunch, I studied their table--with the exception of tea leaves and the sugar, eggs and flour used to make the bread, there was nothing they had bought. The milk, butter and sour cream, they made themselves. The potatoes, tomotoes and cucumbers were from their garden. The fish had been collected in the nearby lake. And the jam had been made from berries collected by Akhmed's wife.

Indeed, in many ways, they were living in much the same way as their ancestors might have lived 100 years ago. At the same time, as we walked around the hay fields, Akhmed occasionally made comments such as, "if I had the money, I'd buy a tractor." Or, even more telling, "during the Soviet period, this was all done with machines." And just these sentiments were expressed over and over to me by people in the villages. One man, a composer, recognized all over Yakutia and even in other parts of Russia and Europe, complained to me one day, saying "I don't want to live in the village, I don't want to raise cattle. But I have to." And indeed, while city Yakut extoll the virtues of their countrymen who have eschewed the mechanization of their Soviet past, returning to their roots, those very bearers of tradition dream of having the means to regain this mechanization. Or even to leave the difficult pastoral life behind.

And so, the "preservation of tradition," proceeds not from the enduring legacy of the Sakha traditional culture, but from contemporary economic stratification, which forces people to make do without the benefit of technology, which precludes people from full participation in the market economy. Yes, people love their homeland, are proud of their ability to survive in this harsh landscape. But, they also wouldn't mind some of the comforts that city-dwellers enjoy, a sink to wash their dishes, central heating, a car to do grocery shopping or visit relatives in the nearby village, or at least the time to take a vacation and enjoy the summer time, rather than spending every free day in the fields.

THE SKIES OF YAKUTIA

If there is any reason to come to Yakutia, it is for the sky alone. Whether it's sunny, rainy, windy or dry, the summer-time sky is simply magical. When there are clouds, they seem so close, that if you ran to the horizon, you could touch them. Even the darkest of days, you can see every ripple in the clouds above you so that it doesn't feel like clouds, but rather giant, soaked cotton balls, wrapping the world in their folds. And even then, the sun usually peeks through in tiny patches. In the forest clearings, or alaases, these rays of sunshine appear like markers of hidden treasure, the heavens opening up just briefly, to show where to find heaps of pearls, gold and diamonds. Sometimes, I imagine that the geologists who first searched for diamonds here must have followed just these arrows of light in their searches through the Taiga. When there are no clouds, the sky is blue blue blue, like a never-ending roof that stretches above you, convinces you that everything is attainable, that you too could reach the sun if you collected enough feathers. Once the grass and the trees turned green, they seem to sparkle in the sun, that's never so high, always rising or setting. The days are so long that dawn and twilight last for hours, turning the sky and the clouds every shade of pink, purple and orange imaginable, bumping off the clouds, giving the forest an enchanted mystique. The other day as I rode home from a trip to the villages, I noticed the moon, larger than I had ever seen, sitting like a giant purple sphere sitting on the horizon. You could see individual craters on the purple sphere. I made the driver stop so that I could climb down and take a picture, but no matter what angle I tried, I just couldn't capture it in the right way.

My Two Cents on the Georgia-South Ossetian Conflict

So this post is a little off topic, but considering the fact that I'm in Russia at the moment and therefore getting quite a different perspective on the whole issue, I thought I'd share my thoughts about it for those of you who are interested.

For those of you who haven't been paying too much attention, the gist of the conflict is this: Georgia claims South Ossetians are terrorists, invaded the region to stop attacks, Russia sees itself as protector of South Ossetia, stepped up in their defense, ended up invading Georgia, claiming this was necessary to prevent further Georgian aggression, Georgia claims Russia is trying to destabilize their government, the US agrees and diplomatically backs Georgia. The US media vilifies Russian imperialism, the Russian media vilifies US imperialism. The conflict has now gone well beyond the Georgia-South Ossetia issue and threatens to become the beginning of new cold war-like relations between Russia and the US.

Naturally, this concerns me, being an individual who benefits from friendly relations between the US and Russia. And it also concerns me that the US does not see the hypocrisy of its vilification of Russia in this instance. To give you a little bit more historical depth on the situation, I thought I'd explain a bit more about the conflict's history. The most important thing to remember here is that this is not an isolated incident, but has a long complex history, the recent events have just brought in two superpowers, making it seem sudden. And, even my explanation will seriously simplify the issue.

South Ossetia and Abkhazia are two regions of Georgia populated predominantly by non-Georgian ethnic groups that speak totally different languages, have different histories, etc. During the Soviet Union, both regions (South Ossetia and Abkhazia) were so-called "autonomous regions" of the Republic of Georgia. When Georgia separated from the Soviet Union, both of these regions sought independence from Georgia and, in fact, sought assistance from Russia, willing to join the Russian Federation in their desire to be free from Georgia. Georgia's split from Russia and the Soviet Union was rather bitter and, facing the possible danger of a break-up itself along ethnic lines, Russia naturally supported Ossetian and Abkhazian independence and accept them into its fold. As such, since the break-up of the Soviet Union in the early 1990's, there has been almost constant skirmishing along the South Ossetian and Abkhazian border, at times breaking into full-fledged war. However, the Russian military has been preoccupied with other issues and anyway, Georgia has not had the audacity to really push the issue. As such, with the help of international peace-keepers, the fighting has not escalated significantly. The last major fighting was in 2004, after which a cease-fire agreement was signed. At that time, Georgia agreed to a certain degree of autonomy for both regions and, Russia, seizing the moment, proceeded to act as if it had annexed the two regions, even going so far as to issue passports.

It should also be noted at this point that there have been multiple referenda on the issue in both of these two regions, all of which have gone more than 95% in favor of independence from Georgia. The regional population is not split on this issue. They want independence.

So, since 2004, there has been no major fighting, but there has been constant skirmishing. Ossetian/Abkhazian rebels occasionally attack Georgian border troops, the Georgian army responds with bombing of Ossetian and Abkhazian towns. The situation is in some ways similar to that of Israel and Palestine, just significantly less aggressive on both sides. And, it should be noted as well, the US has been a huge supporter of Georgia especially since the election of their current president, Saakashvili, even promoting Georgia's joining NATO. (On a side note, NATO being a military alliance, if Georgia were to have joined already, we would be at war with Russia right now).

Against this backdrop, presumably counting on unconditional support from the US, Georgia escalated its retaliation. In early August, they claimed that Ossetians were carrying out terrorist attacks against the Georgian population and, in response, sent considerable amounts of troops to invade the capital city of South Ossetia. Russia, claiming to be protecting the defenseless Ossetians, sent its own army in to repulse the Georgian forces and ended up crossing the border of Georgia and occupying a large part of Georgian territory.

Interestingly, both sides look to US actions in other situations as a precedent justifying their own actions. The Russians claim that US support for an independent Kosovo parallels Russian support for South Ossetia. And, just as the US found it necessary to launch military strikes against Serbia to ensure Kosovo's independence, Russia has found it necessary to launch military strikes against Georgia. Of course, on the other side, Georgia looks to Israel and even to US invasion of Iraq as justification for its own invasion of South Ossetia.

My standpoint in all of this is an interesting one. Everyday I watch the Russian news, which is full of pith and fury regarding Georgian cruelty and US hypocrisy. They have video footage of crying, wounded Ossetian refugees, destroyed Ossetian towns, aggressive, cruel Georgian soldiers pillaging the countryside. Everyone here has been utterly astonished at the backing the US has given to Georgia. At the same time, I have been trying to read the Western newspapers online and to some degree, I see America's justification--what the Russian media fails to report is that the Russian military invasion and occupation of Georgia is cruel and viscous in its own right. Of course, in the context of other tensions, such as that over the Ukraine, to the American point-of-view, this appears as classic Russian expansionism. Russia uses Georgia's aggression as an excuse to invade the country, which has been a thorn in its side for quite some time, given its pro-Western stance.

What concerns me in all of this, is that it is awful reminiscent of cold war politics. Russia tries to retain/expand its sphere of influence, buffer zones along its border. The US tries to "spread democracy," i.e. create pro-Western enclaves throughout the world. And, what neither government understands is that neither one is "right." Sure, Russia shouldn't be invading Georgia. But, Georgia shouldn't be invading South Ossetia either. But both states are looking to US policy as justification for their own actions. States will be states.

I do not justify the actions of either Georgia or Russia, but I don't have much to say about them, considering I'm not a citizen of those countries. But I am a citizen of the US, so I can look to my own government and ask that it try to behave like a grown-up in this situation, rise above the conflict, instead of taking sides. Really and truly seek peace, seek a role as mediator, rather than instigator. And I also warn people watching footage displaying the cruelty of the Russian military to remember that war, any war, is cruel. The Georgian invasion of Ossetia was cruel, Russian invasion of Georgia was cruel and the US invasion of Iraq was cruel. No government can completely control the actions of its soldiers at every moment. And, having the strength to go into battle requires a slightly cruel mentality. Therefore, whenever you have war, you will have vicious atrocities on both sides. You cannot judge the justice or injustice of a state's actions by the conduct of its military alone.

Right now, in our relations with Russia, the current administration insists upon seeing an aggressor, seeing a mean, imperialist bully. What they don't see, is how much Russia is like the US. It is not a "rogue state" with a crazy dictator at its head who wants nothing but world domination, but a former super-power with pretensions of becoming a super-power again, seeking to challenge US hegemony in the world, for the good of its own citizens and for those people who suffer from that hegemony. Just as the US seeks to retain its role as leading world super-power in order to continually promote American values and interests throughout the world. I'm not so idealistic anymore to ask the US government to give up all together its pretensions of power. I simply wish that the US could let go of the reigns a little bit, learn to share power, work with other countries and in that way, lead by example rather than by force. As it is, in our condemnation of Russian action in Georgia, we simply appear as horrible hypocrites.

Summer in Siberia

Hello Hello! Sorry again for the long delay, but its not so easy to use the internet and I keep forgetting to bring with my USB stick with my blog posts when I do. Anyway, to give you all a short update on where I am, what I’m doing—I’m in the town of Nyurba (see my last post) in western Yakutia, where I’ll be until the end of the summer. For the last week or 2 I’ve been teaching in the mornings at an English summer camp. It’s a lot of fun, but teaching is really hard and really draining, especially when you have no experience and education for teaching the subject matter you’re supposed to be teaching. But I’m getting by and I think the kids are enjoying it anyway. I have two groups of students, one younger (ages 9-12) and one older (ages 12-14). But I’m trying to make things interesting by teaching them English songs and games. But they speak almost no English, so its kind of tough at times. If anyone remembers any good, simple games that use the language a bit please remind me! I’ve already taught them duck, duck goose (that went over best), I spy, I’m going to grandma’s house, London Bridges, and hangman. But I’m open to suggestions J
Anyway, here are some things I’ve written in the last few weeks. I tried to include photos but it just didn’t work out with the internet connection. I hope you enjoy anyway!
Love to all!
Susan

Where I Live, With Whom I Live

I’m living here in Nyurba with the family of my friend, Sardana, whom many of you know or have met. I met Sardana in 2003-4, when we were both in the School of Education at the University of Pittsburgh—it’s largely because of her that I ended up in Yakutia at all, since I had hardly even heard of the place before I met her. Anyway, I stayed with her family when I was doing my master’s research here in 2005 and got to know them well and they are kindly hosting me again, despite the fact that Sardana is now in graduate school in the U.S. (thus not here).
Constantly living in the house are Sardana’s mother (Rita), her father (Nikolai), their granddaughter (Nyurguyana), who is 12 now and Sardana’s brother (Kolya), who is 24.

However, since Rita and Nikolai have 7 children total, all of whom are grown, the extended family is quite large and there are always others around. When I arrived, the oldest son, Dima and his 6-year-old son Vova were living here temporarily. Sardana’s older sister Anchik is also often here with her 2 children, Vika (5) and Nikita (1.5), who are both adorable little bundles of energy, ensuring that life is never dull when they’re around. Sardana’s younger sister Dunya (25) was raised by their aunt, Nikolai’s sister, who didn’t have any children of her own. But she and her “mother” live close by so I see them often and Dunya and I have become close friends. Dunya works as the journalist/editor of the town’s Russian-language newspaper and as such is a great help, letting me tag along to any events she attends as part of work. More than that, she’s also a super interesting person—we have endless conversations about politics and history, anthropology and culture.

Rita and Nikolai’s house is located not far from the city center, one street down from the river bank, near the small port of Nyurba and a canal that flows into the river. They have maybe ¼ of an acre of land, which like all the properties on the street, is enclosed by a wooden fence. As you walk in through the gate along the wooden planks laid as a walkway, their 2-story wooden house is to the left, and to the right, lining the entire border of their property is a system of garage/sheds where they keep their motorcycle (their only form of motorized transportation), various tools, and firewood. Behind the house is a small field where they plant potatoes and 2 decently sized green-houses for tomatoes, cucumbers and other vegetables. On the other side of the house, Nikolai keeps his carpentry tools—a good-sized collection of machines that he uses in constructing just about anything you can imagine, including their house and the houses of various family members. In the far corner of the property is the outhouse—a simple small wooden structure with a hole in the floor. Next to the outhouse is the doghouse, where they keep their dog chained just out of reach of people on their way to the bathroom—this caused me no small amount of terror before the dog became convinced I was supposed to be there, as every time I went to the bathroom, he’d jump up, barking with such furor that I was certain, each time, he’d break through the chain and that would be the end of me.

The house itself is made entirely of wood. I live on the second floor, which is more or less a small loft/bedroom above the kitchen. On the first floor there are: 2 large rooms (the kitchen and living room) and 3 small bedrooms, an entry room/air lock where they keep barrels of water and the furnace, and a “veranda”—basically a storage room that’s outside the main part of the house and therefore, not heated—they use it for storing various things (including an old piano), but its especially useful for extra food storage in the winter. The house is heated by wood and by coal (in the winter), using a system of pipes and radiators that keep it nice and toasty. The walls are thick and each of the windows has three panes of glass separated by a foot or so of space between the panes, so that the house is well-insulated.

ICE DRIFTS AND FLOODING

Every year in the middle of May, the ice breaks up on the river and starts flowing, heralding the end of winter and beginning of summer. The whole process is very sudden—the ice begins to melt long before, but is still fairly thick when one day it begins to break, as the current from up river reaches Nyurba and pushes the ice downstream. This year, in some places, the ice had already melted entirely before the major push began, so that the night before, the river appeared almost totally clear. The next day, all the ice from upstream showed up and began banging into the rusting barges and boats that were left at the port all winter. As Dunya, Nyurguyana and I stood watching, one of the barges that had sat chained there for years was swept away as a huge sheet of ice rammed into it. The ice-driftage, or “ledokhod” lasts a couple of days and is typically accompanied by strong winds that carry the ice away and rising waters.

This year, the rising waters began even before the ledokhod began as the snow melted, turning the dirt roads to a muddy mess and even flooding some regions. However, once the ice started to flow, the stream/canal filled to the brim, reforming the lake it had been dug to empty in the 1820s and completely flooding the low regions of the town. Two pedestrian bridges were wiped out by the rising waters and hundreds of residents had to be evacuated, living with relatives or in government shelters for a month or more, waiting for the waters to subside. Regionally, the flooding destroyed a number of bridges along the highway to Yakutsk, making ground transportation to Yakutsk just about impossible until the rivers freeze again—and even then, they won’t be drivable until December, when the ice becomes thick enough to support traffic. While there are rumors that the steamship that used to ferry passengers may make the trip to Yakutsk again this summer, for the most part, people are connected with Yakutsk only by air, which is getting more and more expensive every year—for instance, my one-way ticket from Nyurba to Yakutsk cost 7,000 rubles, almost $300. When you consider that a typical monthly salary here is around 10,000 rubles (about $415), the cost of travel becomes even more exorbitant. And this is only to Yakutsk—a 1.5 hour plane ride away.

SUMMER ARRIVES

After the ice flows away, summer gradually unfolds. By the middle of May, it was already light until 11:30. Now, in the beginning of June, it never gets dark. The sun sets for 2-3 hours each night, but it stays light enough that even in the darkest part of the night, I can sit outside and read a book. The weather is strange—constantly changing, one day sunny and hot, the next day snowing. For example, one day this week, I woke up to cold, windy, rainy weather—I went out in the morning wearing my winter coat, hat and gloves and still was shivering. The same day, when I went out after lunch, the sun had come out, dried up the streets, and it was so hot that I was warm walking around in short sleeves. On such days, the sun is intense. I’m not sure why—perhaps it’s because of the northern geographical position, or perhaps it’s just because my skin has gone so long without any sun exposure, but I feel like the sun is more severe here, like it almost hurts my skin and that I burn more quickly than I do at home.

After 8 long months of winter, everyone follows closely the revival of the natural world that accompanies the warmer weather. People cheerily point out every new bird song, eagerly seeking a glimpse of the source. I can almost identify more birds and their songs in Sakha language now than I can in English—I’ve never been so attuned to the different sounds around me. Work “collectives” (the staff of a given workplace) take the afternoon off and go together to the “forest,” the woods just outside the town, to enjoy the first glimpses of green and to gather the first flowers, called “nyurguhun” (in English, snow drops, as they sometimes appear before all the snow has melted). In the woods outside the city, the small white, purple and yellow flowers are indeed everywhere, beautiful little jewelry for the trees.

Since the beginning of warmer weather, I have gone to the forest just about every weekend (and a few times during the weeks as well). The “forest” consists of just about any of the area outside the town and includes woods but also wide clearings, or “alaases,” often encircling a lake, where long grasses grow in the summer time. These are the hay fields, the foundation of cattle raising here, providing the cows with food during the long winter. The vegetation is characteristic of forest-tundra regions, with just a few species of trees that cover the whole region. Close to the town, there are primarily thick clusters of birch trees, dotted with the occasional larch. Old larch trees play an important role in Sakha traditional belief, connecting the upper, middle, and lower worlds and to this day are considered sacred. Dead larch trees are supposed to be home to abaahi, evil spirits, still very much alive in the present, stories about them told like ghost stories are in the US—some people take them seriously, others dismiss them as superstition. Birch trees are also very important part of Sakha culture—the easy-to-remove outer-layer of bark is used to make all sorts of handicrafts, artwork, and jewelry and in the spring time, they drink the sap that drips down the trees like juice. Further from the city, are pine forests, dark with tall evergreens, creating the feeling of a real “forest.”

Gone Fishing:

Nyurguyana had been begging her grandfather for weeks to take her fishing. One of the first warm weekends after the ice broke-up, he finally agreed. As it turned out, the day was a great one for heading to the forest, so Anchik and her kids wanted to tag along, and Vova wouldn’t be left behind—we decided to make a day of it and we loaded the whole family into their small row boat and rowed across the river for a picnic. The current was still strong so that rowing all 8 of us across was no easy task—Nikolai started out rowing alone, but soon, Anchik joined in. On the way back, Dunya and I switched off with her as well. As it was, we still ended up quite a ways downstream from where we wanted to be and had to row up stream along the shore, where the current was weaker.

Once docking, the first order of business was to build a fire. Nikolai quickly found a few pieces of wood and some kindling and got it going, while the rest of us found bigger pieces of wood to keep it going. Nyurguyana and Vova disappeared almost immediately after with their grandfather, taking with them their home-made fishing rods and cans of worms they had enthusiastically gathered the previous night. The rest of us stayed and got lunch ready, heating water for tea and for soup, a whole feast constructed right on site. Soon, Nyurguyana and Vova came up, showing off their catch—a pile of minnows, they held in a jar of water.

After lunch, the non-fishers went in search of snowdrops (the first flowers of spring), dragging the little kids, Vika and Nikita with us. The birch trees were beginning to bud and Rita remembered that a friend of hers makes some kind of medicinal rub from birch buds, so we collected handfuls to give to her. Walking in the woods, we also got the rare glimpse of a muskrat, swimming upstream—they were apparently brought to Yakutia from North America at some point in the 20th century and have since multiplied and spread all over, quite suited to the habitat. Local people hunt them as their fur is quite valuable. We hiked for an hour or two and finally dragged ourselves back at the insistent behest of Vika who had grown tired of picking birch buds long before.

We got back to find everyone else just about asleep in the tent they had brought with them. We packed up, loaded everyone into the boat and rowed across the current once more.

Summer in Siberia

Hello Hello! Sorry again for the long delay, but its not so easy to use the internet and I keep forgetting to bring with my USB stick with my blog posts when I do. Anyway, to give you all a short update on where I am, what I’m doing—I’m in the town of Nyurba (see my last post) in western Yakutia, where I’ll be until the end of the summer. For the last week or 2 I’ve been teaching in the mornings at an English summer camp. It’s a lot of fun, but teaching is really hard and really draining, especially when you have no experience and education for teaching the subject matter you’re supposed to be teaching. But I’m getting by and I think the kids are enjoying it anyway. I have two groups of students, one younger (ages 9-12) and one older (ages 12-14). But I’m trying to make things interesting by teaching them English songs and games. But they speak almost no English, so its kind of tough at times. If anyone remembers any good, simple games that use the language a bit please remind me! I’ve already taught them duck, duck goose (that went over best), I spy, I’m going to grandma’s house, London Bridges, and hangman. But I’m open to suggestions J
Anyway, here are some things I’ve written in the last few weeks. I tried to include photos but it just didn’t work out with the internet connection. I hope you enjoy anyway!

Love to all!
Susan

Where I Live, With Whom I Live

I’m living here in Nyurba with the family of my friend, Sardana, whom many of you know or have met. I met Sardana in 2003-4, when we were both in the School of Education at the University of Pittsburgh—it’s largely because of her that I ended up in Yakutia at all, since I had hardly even heard of the place before I met her. Anyway, I stayed with her family when I was doing my master’s research here in 2005 and got to know them well and they are kindly hosting me again, despite the fact that Sardana is now in graduate school in the U.S. (thus not here).
Constantly living in the house are Sardana’s mother (Rita), her father (Nikolai), their granddaughter (Nyurguyana), who is 12 now and Sardana’s brother (Kolya), who is 24. However, since Rita and Nikolai have 7 children total, all of whom are grown, the extended family is quite large and there are always others around. When I arrived, the oldest son, Dima and his 6-year-old son Vova were living here temporarily. Sardana’s older sister Anchik is also often here with her 2 children, Vika (5) and Nikita (1.5), who are both adorable little bundles of energy, ensuring that life is never dull when they’re around. Sardana’s younger sister Dunya (25) was raised by their aunt, Nikolai’s sister, who didn’t have any children of her own. But she and her “mother” live close by so I see them often and Dunya and I have become close friends. Dunya works as the journalist/editor of the town’s Russian-language newspaper and as such is a great help, letting me tag along to any events she attends as part of work. More than that, she’s also a super interesting person—we have endless conversations about politics and history, anthropology and culture.
Rita and Nikolai’s house is located not far from the city center, one street down from the river bank, near the small port of Nyurba and a canal that flows into the river. They have maybe ¼ of an acre of land, which like all the properties on the street, is enclosed by a wooden fence. As you walk in through the gate along the wooden planks laid as a walkway, their 2-story wooden house is to the left, and to the right, lining the entire border of their property is a system of garage/sheds where they keep their motorcycle (their only form of motorized transportation), various tools, and firewood. Behind the house is a small field where they plant potatoes and 2 decently sized green-houses for tomatoes, cucumbers and other vegetables. On the other side of the house, Nikolai keeps his carpentry tools—a good-sized collection of machines that he uses in constructing just about anything you can imagine, including their house and the houses of various family members. In the far corner of the property is the outhouse—a simple small wooden structure with a hole in the floor. Next to the outhouse is the doghouse, where they keep their dog chained just out of reach of people on their way to the bathroom—this caused me no small amount of terror before the dog became convinced I was supposed to be there, as every time I went to the bathroom, he’d jump up, barking with such furor that I was certain, each time, he’d break through the chain and that would be the end of me.
The house itself is made entirely of wood. I live on the second floor, which is more or less a small loft/bedroom above the kitchen. On the first floor there are: 2 large rooms (the kitchen and living room) and 3 small bedrooms, an entry room/air lock where they keep barrels of water and the furnace, and a “veranda”—basically a storage room that’s outside the main part of the house and therefore, not heated—they use it for storing various things (including an old piano), but its especially useful for extra food storage in the winter. The house is heated by wood and by coal (in the winter), using a system of pipes and radiators that keep it nice and toasty. The walls are thick and each of the windows has three panes of glass separated by a foot or so of space between the panes, so that the house is well-insulated.

ICE DRIFTS AND FLOODING
Every year in the middle of May, the ice breaks up on the river and starts flowing, heralding the end of winter and beginning of summer. The whole process is very sudden—the ice begins to melt long before, but is still fairly thick when one day it begins to break, as the current from up river reaches Nyurba and pushes the ice downstream. This year, in some places, the ice had already melted entirely before the major push began, so that the night before, the river appeared almost totally clear. The next day, all the ice from upstream showed up and began banging into the rusting barges and boats that were left at the port all winter. As Dunya, Nyurguyana and I stood watching, one of the barges that had sat chained there for years was swept away as a huge sheet of ice rammed into it. The ice-driftage, or “ledokhod” lasts a couple of days and is typically accompanied by strong winds that carry the ice away and rising waters. This year, the rising waters began even before the ledokhod began as the snow melted, turning the dirt roads to a muddy mess and even flooding some regions. However, once the ice started to flow, the stream/canal filled to the brim, reforming the lake it had been dug to empty in the 1820s and completely flooding the low regions of the town. Two pedestrian bridges were wiped out by the rising waters and hundreds of residents had to be evacuated, living with relatives or in government shelters for a month or more, waiting for the waters to subside. Regionally, the flooding destroyed a number of bridges along the highway to Yakutsk, making ground transportation to Yakutsk just about impossible until the rivers freeze again—and even then, they won’t be drivable until December, when the ice becomes thick enough to support traffic. While there are rumors that the steamship that used to ferry passengers may make the trip to Yakutsk again this summer, for the most part, people are connected with Yakutsk only by air, which is getting more and more expensive every year—for instance, my one-way ticket from Nyurba to Yakutsk cost 7,000 rubles, almost $300. When you consider that a typical monthly salary here is around 10,000 rubles (about $415), the cost of travel becomes even more exorbitant. And this is only to Yakutsk—a 1.5 hour plane ride away.

SUMMER ARRIVES
After the ice flows away, summer gradually unfolds. By the middle of May, it was already light until 11:30. Now, in the beginning of June, it never gets dark. The sun sets for 2-3 hours each night, but it stays light enough that even in the darkest part of the night, I can sit outside and read a book. The weather is strange—constantly changing, one day sunny and hot, the next day snowing. For example, one day this week, I woke up to cold, windy, rainy weather—I went out in the morning wearing my winter coat, hat and gloves and still was shivering. The same day, when I went out after lunch, the sun had come out, dried up the streets, and it was so hot that I was warm walking around in short sleeves. On such days, the sun is intense. I’m not sure why—perhaps it’s because of the northern geographical position, or perhaps it’s just because my skin has gone so long without any sun exposure, but I feel like the sun is more severe here, like it almost hurts my skin and that I burn more quickly than I do at home.
After 8 long months of winter, everyone follows closely the revival of the natural world that accompanies the warmer weather. People cheerily point out every new bird song, eagerly seeking a glimpse of the source. I can almost identify more birds and their songs in Sakha language now than I can in English—I’ve never been so attuned to the different sounds around me. Work “collectives” (the staff of a given workplace) take the afternoon off and go together to the “forest,” the woods just outside the town, to enjoy the first glimpses of green and to gather the first flowers, called “nyurguhun” (in English, snow drops, as they sometimes appear before all the snow has melted). In the woods outside the city, the small white, purple and yellow flowers are indeed everywhere, beautiful little jewelry for the trees.
Since the beginning of warmer weather, I have gone to the forest just about every weekend (and a few times during the weeks as well). The “forest” consists of just about any of the area outside the town and includes woods but also wide clearings, or “alaases,” often encircling a lake, where long grasses grow in the summer time. These are the hay fields, the foundation of cattle raising here, providing the cows with food during the long winter. The vegetation is characteristic of forest-tundra regions, with just a few species of trees that cover the whole region. Close to the town, there are primarily thick clusters of birch trees, dotted with the occasional larch. Old larch trees play an important role in Sakha traditional belief, connecting the upper, middle, and lower worlds and to this day are considered sacred. Dead larch trees are supposed to be home to abaahi, evil spirits, still very much alive in the present, stories about them told like ghost stories are in the US—some people take them seriously, others dismiss them as superstition. Birch trees are also very important part of Sakha culture—the easy-to-remove outer-layer of bark is used to make all sorts of handicrafts, artwork, and jewelry and in the spring time, they drink the sap that drips down the trees like juice. Further from the city, are pine forests, dark with tall evergreens, creating the feeling of a real “forest.”

Gone Fishing:
Nyurguyana had been begging her grandfather for weeks to take her fishing. One of the first warm weekends after the ice broke-up, he finally agreed. As it turned out, the day was a great one for heading to the forest, so Anchik and her kids wanted to tag along, and Vova wouldn’t be left behind—we decided to make a day of it and we loaded the whole family into their small row boat and rowed across the river for a picnic. The current was still strong so that rowing all 8 of us across was no easy task—Nikolai started out rowing alone, but soon, Anchik joined in. On the way back, Dunya and I switched off with her as well. As it was, we still ended up quite a ways downstream from where we wanted to be and had to row up stream along the shore, where the current was weaker. Once docking, the first order of business was to build a fire. Nikolai quickly found a few pieces of wood and some kindling and got it going, while the rest of us found bigger pieces of wood to keep it going. Nyurguyana and Vova disappeared almost immediately after with their grandfather, taking with them their home-made fishing rods and cans of worms they had enthusiastically gathered the previous night. The rest of us stayed and got lunch ready, heating water for tea and for soup, a whole feast constructed right on site. Soon, Nyurguyana and Vova came up, showing off their catch—a pile of minnows, they held in a jar of water. After lunch, the non-fishers went in search of snowdrops (the first flowers of spring), dragging the little kids, Vika and Nikita with us. The birch trees were beginning to bud and Rita remembered that a friend of hers makes some kind of medicinal rub from birch buds, so we collected handfuls to give to her. Walking in the woods, we also got the rare glimpse of a muskrat, swimming upstream—they were apparently brought to Yakutia from North America at some point in the 20th century and have since multiplied and spread all over, quite suited to the habitat. Local people hunt them as their fur is quite valuable. We hiked for an hour or two and finally dragged ourselves back at the insistent behest of Vika who had grown tired of picking birch buds long before.

Nyurba and Life in the Yakutia

Nyurba:
Again, I apologize for my lengthy disappearance. I’ve moved away from the big city and have much less regular internet access. You can take the next few weeks to read the new posts, since it will probably be a little while until I can post again :). However, I have been writing, so there’s quite a bit all at once.
Anyway, I’m now in a small town, technically called a city, Nyurba. The population is about 10,000 and it is the administrative center of the Nyurba ulus (or “county). The town is situated on the banks of the river, Viliui, which itself flows into the Lena a few hundred kilometers downstream. Bridges are apparently really difficult and/or expensive to build in permafrost regions, making pan-river development more or less impossible. As a result, the entire city is located on just one bank. To look over the river (about 500 meters wide), you see only forest as far as the eye can see on the other side. In actuality, there’s quite a lot going on over there, between potato growing, hay fields, horses and cows roaming and hunting, but if you don’t know where to look it seems like just wild forest. In the winter, its easy to get to the other side—just walk or drive over the ice-covered river. In the summer, the only way is by boat. In the late spring and fall, when the ice isn’t solid enough to cross, people simply don’t.
At the moment there isn’t a single paved road in the town of Nyurba, although there are rumors that the main street may be paved sometime in the coming years. This is a much awaited event as complaining about the roads is a favorite topic of conversation. Indeed, in the springtime, as the snow and ice melts, the roads become unbearably muddy, whole lakes developing in the middle of the road. Many walk around in galoshes, bringing their shoes with them to work and to school. In the summer, when the roads dry, they become dusty, dirt filling the air with every gust of wind. The roads are best in the winter, covered with snow so that the ever-present trash is hidden and then dirt and mud trapped beneath the white blanket. Furthermore, few cars actually continue driving all winter since the gasoline freezes without a heated garage, a luxury few find particularly useful in this small town.
Most of the buildings in the town are made of wood, but there are a few more solid structures in the town center, the most prominent of which is the offices of ALROSA-Nyurba, the regional branch of the state-owned diamond industry, ALROSA— “Almazii-Rossiya-Sakha” (almazii=un-cut diamonds). There’s also the new hospital, and a building housing Schools number 2 and 3, both built with funds from ALROSA. Older prominent structures, include School number 1, city government, and the House of Culture, the latter of which was recently refurbished with funds from ALROSA. Not surprisingly, the new city logo for Nyurba includes the ALROSA logo. I come back to the diamond industry in a later post.
Other than the above listed buildings, the city is pretty much entirely wooden. This is rather unfortunate because the wooden buildings quickly weather in the harsh climate and even relatively new structures end up looking ancient. The local college, for instance is just 10 or so years old, but is already tilting due to the permafrost shifting underneath it. Walking through the corridors on the second floor, makes you feel a little like Alice in Wonderland as the floor seems to wave up and down. In the city center, there are a few stores and other public buildings lining the two main streets. Buses run down these two streets, carrying passengers in and out from surrounding villages and also from one side of the city to the other. Fortunately, it’s possible to walk almost anywhere you want to go in half an hour since the buses take a break at lunch time and don’t run past 7 in the evening.
As far as residential buildings go, there are both houses and apartment buildings. The apartment buildings are small, typically two-story structures, also made of wood. These often will have something that approximates indoor plumbing so that the residents don’t have to use outhouses. But the houses all lack indoor plumbing, even those of the wealthier residents.
Life without indoor Plumbing:
How, you might ask, do people get along without indoor plumbing? It is a bit of a pain, but honestly you get used to it after a while. The worst thing is the rarity of bathing oneself—once a week, minimum. Other than that, its surprisingly easy to get used to. The toilet is in a little wooden structure, a little ways from the house—you just have to put on a coat and hat to go out. Of course, in the winter this can be pretty miserable, but even then, you just run out and back in so that the cold doesn’t get inside of you. To wash hands, they place a bucket with a spigot-like thing over a sink. To wash dishes, they simply use a tub of soapy water. They are also pretty sparing in their use of dishes so that there is rarely an extensive bulid-up of dishes. For many meals, the dishes consist of a cup and a fork for everyone and the pan of food (more often than not meat and potatoes) is put in the center of the table and everyone just digs in. Despite its offense to Euro-American germophobia, it certainly makes the clean-up afterwards much easier—and I don’t think people here are sick any more often than they are in the US.
Slightly more complicated, is washing clothes. The family I’m staying with (the Nikolaevs—relatives of my friend Sardana, who first introduced me to Yakutia when we met at the University of Pittsburgh) does have a washing machine. How common this is, I don’t know. But, to use the washing machine, they simply pour the water in at the appropriate moments themselves and it works just fine. They usually reuse the same water for a number of loads, making it necessary to wash whites first, then progressively darker loads.
Most complicated is bathing. There are no showers here. From what I understand, people who don’t have their own “banya” (sauna-like bath house), go to the public baths—but I haven’t encountered this personally, so I can’t say for sure. Others just bathe with a tub of water, in their house. Fortunately, I live with a family who does have a banya. It’s a little wooden structure that is just barely too small for me to stand up straight in (this seems to be a constant problem for me here, as everything was made for people who are shorter than me). Its heated so that you sweat considerable while in it—the sweating is part of the cleansing process, considered very healthy. There is a barrel of cold water and a basin of really really hot water (sitting on top of the furnace). To bathe, you mix the cold water in a tub with the hot water so that it’s a good temperature and use a wash cloth to clean yourself. Being a separate bathhouse, you just let the water fall to the ground so that its relatively easy and pleasant to bathe. The whole experience is really the highlight of my week, to tell you the truth. Not only do I come out clean, but it’s also relaxing and rejuvenating, just like sitting in a sauna.

Sakha Pastoralism:
Sakha traditionally speaking are horse and cattle pastoralists, which means that in prerevolutionary times, they lived primarily off of horses and cows. To this day, Sakha living in villages almost all keep horse and/or cattle. And many living in small cities, such as Nyurba also keep horse or cattle. They eat the meat and drink the milk of both horses and cows. Horse meat is actually quite healthy. Apparently, the Japanese import rather large quantities of horse meat from Yakutia for medicinal purposes. From fermented horse milk, they make kumiss, the Yakut national drink, which is used especially for ceremonial purposes and given to people when they are sick as it is rather expensive to produce—horses produce quite small amounts of milk in comparison to cows.
Both horses and cattle are special breeds, adapted to life in the severe climate of Siberia. Both the horses and the cows are small and thick, in comparison with European horses and cows. The horse hair is unique in that it is hollow, like a pipe, providing extra insulation in the winter time, but allowing them to breathe in the warmest days of the summer when temperatures can get above 90 degrees F. The horses also are able to dig under the snow to find grasses and other foods, so that they feed themselves all winter. With these adaptations, the horses need almost no maintenance in the wintertime and are let to roam freely around the pastures and forests near the villages. The cows require significantly more maintenance than do the horses but have their own adaptations, like thick coats of hair and small height that helps them to endure the cold better.
Despite these abilities, pure Sakha horses and cattle are relatively rare nowadays as the Soviets mixed them with European breeds in order to increase milk production. This of course also severely decreased their ability to survive without constant maintenance on the part of the keepers. Today, great efforts are made to preserve the purity of those few unmixed herds and furthermore to increase the quantity of such herds.
Many people today will keep horses and hold another job quite easily. However, cow farming, even with real Yakut cows, is more of a full time job. Cows can’t live on their own through the harsh winters and so are typically kept in a small structure all winter, where they are fed hay. Traditionally, this structure was right next to the house, and sometimes people lived together with their cows—this way they could share heat with the animals and spare the firewood. The hay is grown during the summer time, traditionally through slash and burn methods. A swath of land would be cut or burned to grow hay. In late July and August, the hay is harvested—the busiest time of the year when whole villages go out for the hay cutting. On bigger farms this is done mechanically, but on many smaller farms, the cutting is all still done by hand with scythes. Those who complained about having to mow their lawn—imagine what it must be like for Sakha teenagers (and adults) who have to go out to the fields and cut hay. During the Soviet period, all the young people in Nyurba were expected to work at least 2 summers on the state farm, cutting and gathering hay.
In prerevolutionary times, the cow farming cycle required regular movement. Sakha were not completely “nomads” in the sense of constantly moving, but rather “transhumant,” meaning they moved seasonally—winter dwellings were typically in places sheltered from the wind, made of wood, mud, grasses, and manure, while summer dwellings were in clearings good for growing hay and looked more like teepees, made from poles and animals skins. Nowadays, of course, residences are permanent and most live in wooden cottages in the Russian style that are nowhere near as effective for protection from the climate.
In the present day, most people in Nyurba at least also have gardens, including all-too-necessary greenhouses, near their house and many also have a larger field outside the town borders where they grow potatoes. Agriculture in Yakutia only started with the arrival of the Russians, and Yakut people came to widely practice agriculture and horticulture only in the 18th and 19th centuries. Until then, Sakha people got flour and other agricultural products only through trading with the Russians and so lived almost entirely off meat and milk products. As a result, in traditional Sakha cuisine, they make extensive use of every part of the animal, since many necessary vitamins and minerals can be obtained from the liver, intestines and other parts that make most Euro-Americans cringe.

Fishing, hunting and gathering:
Fishing, hunting and gathering are also a crucial part of Sakha lifestyle, both historically and today. As one man told me the other day, almost all Yakut men consider themselves hunters and when hunting season starts, the villages empty of adult men, who all disappear into the forests. Most commonly hunted are duck, rabbits, and other small game. Next are moose and wild deer/reindeer. Expert hunters will even hunt bears. Professional hunters (that is, people who are hunters by profession) hunt fur-bearing animals—sable, foxes, muskrat and others—following extremely strict laws that protect these animals from the over-harvesting that just about wiped them out in the 18th and 19th centuries.
Up until the mid-19th Century, all “aliens”, that is non-Slavs in the Russian Empire, among whom of course were Sakha, were required to pay tribute, or “iasak” in the form of expensive furs. Local officials, governing far from the oversight of the central government, often ran their regions like little fiefdoms, demanding enormous quantities of furs, only a portion of which they passed on to the tsar, keeping the rest for their own profit. As such, some animals, e.g. sable, were hunted almost to extinction throughout Siberia. Today, Sakha largely import their furs elsewhere. However, with strict protections in place, many animals are starting to revive, local fur production is growing again, and Sakha are able to earn a living from hunting.
Fishing is also an important source of food, especially vitamins, for Sakha. “Stroganina” or frozen raw fish, sliced in thin strips is considered a national dish and a delicacy. Indeed, made from good “chir” (a kind of white fish) it’s quite tasty. The best fish is found in the north in significant numbers, although sometimes in the central regions they can be caught as well: sturgeon, burbot (?), and others that I can’t find an English translation for. More common is “karas” (translated in my dictionary as “European carp”), which is a small, bony yet tasty fish, often fried. People fish all year round here, drilling holes in the ice during winter, and taking big nets out onto the river in the summer time. I’m learning words in Yakut language for all the different kinds of nets that they use, that I wouldn’t have the first clue how to translate into English.
Finally, where fishing and hunting is largely a male pursuit here, berry and mushroom gathering is the classic female summer activity. They say that Sakha people didn’t even gather mushrooms until the 19th Century when Russian habits came to be more widespread, and some even say that berry gathering was not so popular either before then. Now, however, both are significant additions to the regular diet. Beginning with the rains in June, mushrooms start popping up—they usually eat these immediately rather than canning and preserving them. Then, beginning in July, wild strawberries appear—these are the tastiest (you don’t even need sugar for the jam), but also are the hardest to gather, necessitating hours of searching through bushes, plucking one at a time, just to get a single bucketful. Later in the summer, red currants, cowberries(?)-“brusnika”, and black currants ripen--these are gathered in large quantities, made into jam reserves that typically last all winter long.

Industry and Ecology:
I was speaking with one older Sakha man today (who, incidentally, proudly declared himself a devoted communist), and was telling him about my interests, my research. I mentioned I was interested in the influence of industrial development in the region—his response was to immediately start talking about the disappearance of the animals and fish. For many Yakut, this is what the “influence” of industry in the region means. Ask any older Sakha here and they will tell you that in their youth, the woods were full of ducks and rabbits, the rivers full of fish—you only had to walk to the edge of the forest and you’d find plenty. Now, you have to go all the way to the river “Markha”—a good half-days walk, where the water is still clean and the woods are less polluted to find anything worthwhile. It’s hard of course, to be certain exactly what caused this, but if you ask Nyurba residents, almost all blame industrial development.
The most important industry in the region is the diamond industry. As I noted in my first post, Yakutia’s diamond industry produces almost 100% of Russia’s and 25% of the world’s diamonds, making it an extraordinarily lucrative enterprise. At the moment, it’s almost entirely state-owned, controlled largely by the federal government, although they have plans to sell-off portions of the company in the near future. Diamonds were discovered in the 1950’s, along the basin of the Viliui river, which runs through Nyurba. Since then, the incidence of cancer in the region has risen considerably, birth defects and other problems have increased as well. The significant presence of heavy metals in the water, by-products from the mines, is a well-known fact to all and is widely thought to be the cause of many health problems and the disappearance of fish and other animals from the region. It’s because of this that people have to make their way to the nearby river to find “clean” water.
Of course, however, one of the central aspects of my own research, is that 10 years ago, they found diamonds on one of the tributaries flowing into the Markha, and have started intensive mining there. As of yet, significant pollutants have not yet reached the lower Markha, but most Nyurba residents I’ve spoken with have low expectations for the future environmental health of the river. At the same time, it’s incredible the amount of attention paid in the media and in the press-releases from ALROSA to the issue of ecological security. In reading through old newspapers, almost every article pertaining to the company, mentions the significant role it is playing in the region’s “program for economic and social development,” a large portion of which includes environmental protection. As such, it’s clear that the company is aware of the problem. What precisely they are doing about it, however, is less clear—but it is difficult to say that they are doing nothing since I don’t have any strong evidence either way. Just the assertions of the company on the one hand and the assertions of friends and acquaintances on the other.