Old Babushka's back in business along the Path of Destruction

I knew there was trouble this morning when, while eating breakfast in my kitchen, I could hear Ariston wheezing and coughing.  Ariston is the name I've given my hot water heater who lives in the bathroom, because that's the name of the manufacturer that's affixed in large letters to his round, white front.  Usually Ariston makes loud, assertive, proud noises when working at heating the water in my apartment.  But, today, before I even turned on the water for my bath, Ariston was huffing and puffing meekly, not like his usual self.  And sure enough, when I started my bath, only a tragically small stream of water came dribbling out of the faucet.  I'm quite sure I've been in the company of drooling St. Bernards who slobbered more liquid on me in a moment of greeting than was available today for my daily cleaning.  Why do I give inanimate objects in Kyrgyzstan, like hot water heaters, names?  Because they seem to possess personalities and frailties as profound and real as those of any person.

I arrived at work to find that the entire neighborhood around both my apartment and my office was without water.  It turns out that the work on the water main being done on the street where I live had gone horribly awry and, as a consequence, a massive chunk of downtown Bishkek found itself without water.

By noontime I really had to go to the bathroom, but our office had not even a bucket at our disposal.  So, I decided to go wandering to find a restaurant where I might be able to relieve myself and have a little lunch in the process.  Further and further from my office I wandered, but without any success as no restaurant I visited possessed a bathroom with even a drop of running water. Finally I gave up and had my lunch at a local coffee shop, despite its lack of functioning facilities.

But, I hadn't solved my more pressing concern.  I decided to walk to my apartment to use my bathroom.  Even though my toilet didn't work, at least I wouldn't be worried about how my bathroom usage would affect my co-workers.  My apartment is on Isanova Street, the street where the catastrophic water works are being conducted.  I might be mistaken, but I think the name "Isanova" in Russian translates to "Path of Destruction" because Isanova has been torn up now for the past couple of months and looks like an invading army has lobbed dozens of mortar shells onto the roadway.  In fact I have seen stray dogs almost fall into some of the open, 10-meter-deep holes that now dot Isanova Street.

Kyrgyz utility crews working feverishly this afternoon on the Path of Destruction to fix the accident that wiped out the city's water supply. (Irony alert.)  

When I arrived at my apartment building, I saw that the repair crew was working on Old Babushka. Yes, I have given the elevator in my building a name too.  Babushka was moaning and groaning as the repairmen tried to coax her into operation.  Hers is a chronic illness as she has been broken several times in the four months I have lived in the building--this particular ailment has kept her out of commission for almost two weeks now.  I call her Babushka because she is like a sick grandmother who is bedridden, having been flattened this time by the hot, Bishkek summer.  Even when Babushka is feeling up to operating, she moves slowly and unsteadily, causing one to perpetually worry about her health.

Luckily, I was able to take care of my bodily issues in my apartment and return to work in much better condition.  When I arrived at the office a co-worker said that all this dysfunction made him feel like he was a time traveler who was living in the past: he said he felt like he might have traveled to the old Soviet Union just as it was collapsing. I thought about this. Sometimes I feel like a time traveler too.  Except, I feel like I'm living in the future. I have this strange sensation that I am living through an early, mild version of what the future will be, except the real future will be much worse even than today in Bishkek, if we don't wake up and start to take care of the issues of climate change and other environmental concerns. I feel like I am witnessing a tiny glimpse into a dystopia where no water, no electricity, and collapsing economics will be just some of the lovely features of life for most of us in the not-too-horribly-distant future. Sadly, many of us are listening to the Donald Trumps of the world who don't even acknowledge the possibility of this potentially grim future and our responsibilities to act.  What will future generations say about us, we the oblivious of today, who condemned them to a life of misery because we did nothing when faced with the choice of courageous action or selfish denial?

I managed to make it through the afternoon, but during the last few minutes of work I did feel as though I had to sit very still in order to survive the work day. I scrambled out of my office and somehow managed to make it back to my apartment building to use my toilet, which now functions as nothing more than a fancy porcelain bucket. While the sight of water was still a mirage, I was astonished to find that Babushka was working again, although I decided the wisest course of action was to trudge up six flights of stairs, because I felt I couldn't trust her health quite yet. And as the day concluded, while sitting on my sofa, I decided I would go out to eat for dinner so as not to create any dishes I couldn't wash as I kept an ear out for Ariston who remained eerily silent on his perch above the toilet in the bathroom.

Babushka, ready for passengers.  Maybe, I'll try my luck tomorrow.