I love both my host sisters. They both have added love and laughter to my life in Turkmenistan. The youngest, Gulalek, makes me laugh but my bond is stronger with Bagul, the eldest. Bagul is 22 and studied at bank school a few years ago. She was supposed to grandfather into university, but whatever loophole they were going to use closed the year she finished. She returned home and that was that.
Bagul is not cut from the same cloth as most of these village girls. She is bright, determined, and worldly. She wants more from her life than to be someone's daughter-in-law. She wants to fall in love and not be married off to some random village kid. We've had discussions about homosexuality and Bagul serenely states that she thinks it's natural – a rare point of view among Turkmen. When I tell her that girls in America are able to date openly, that we can kiss boys and not be viewed as tainted goods, that we can wait until we are 30 or 35 to get married or never marry at all, she sighs and wonders aloud why she was born in Turkmenistan.
We've had a lot of discussions about her future. I know she's been trying in vain to get a job. There's just no work in the villages or in the larger towns nearby. If she had the chance she'd go to university... but there's no way she could ever afford the $30,000 price. Her more realistic goal is to study to be a teacher or do a few more years at bank school, but even then she can't scrounge together the two or three thousand dollars she'd need for tuition.
Her sister needs to study. The family is now saving money for Gulalek's tuition. The eldest son needs to pay two thousand dollars to get out of his compulsory military service. Then both brothers must marry and that costs another few thousand dollars. So while Bagul shows great promise, her mother simply says that there is no money for her. She already studied. Money is needed elsewhere. And, her mother adds, all Bagul's friends are getting married and having babies, so she should start thinking about that, too.
Bagul has been trying to save her own money. She sews dress after dress and yet still can't save enough. And as a job has been impossible to find, she's resigned herself to the fact that she probably won't get to study anymore. Now she tells me, "hopefully my children will have more opportunity."
It kills me. Especially now since she's given up on her dreams. And I get it. What good is hope when all odds are against you? When you've already tried and gotten nowhere? I understand her need to protect herself and shut down. Maybe it doesn't make her cry anymore, but after we had this discussion again last night, I left the room with angry tears stinging my eyes.
Sure, it wouldn't be sustainable to give her some money and if the village found out it would set a horrible precedent for future volunteers, but how can I sit here in my position of privilege and just watch this girl give up on her modest dreams? I know we can't help everyone, but what kind of person am I if I don't help those who I have the ability to help?
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