One confusing feature in Kyrgyzstan is that since independence there has been a tendency to change place names, especially from the older Russian version to new Kyrgyz names.  In many cases the new name is a form of an even older Kyrgyz name – but not always.  In a way, this is isn’t altogether surprising.  The young nation wants to assert its identity.

Of course, as new towns, suburbs and streets are built then they acquire new names – it is the same all over the world.  The trend here, however, is for names of existing towns, villages and streets to be changed.  Indeed a recent proposal to rename some villages by replacing their Russian names with Kyrgyz ones has proved to be extremely controversial.

The name of the country itself has gone through several forms – The Khirgiz Soviet Socialist Republic, Khirgizia, the Kyrgyz Republic (the official name) – but it is commonly known as Kyrgyzstan.  The name Kyrgyzstan, however, has a number of drawbacks.  First of all, it is often confused by Westerners with Kurdistan (an area straddling the borders of Turkey, Iran and Iraq).  Also, the ending ‘stan’, has some has unfortunate connotations and many Westerners are confused by the mass of stans … Afghanistan, Hindustan, Pakistan, Kazakhstan, Kurdistan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan …

Individual settlements have also borne different names over the years.

The settlement on the site of Bishkek has had several names over the course of time … Jul (6th-12th century); Pishpek (1825-1926); Frunze (1926-1991); Bishkek (1991 to the present).

Some towns and villages have reverted to former names: for example, Karakol (called Prezhervalsk by the Russians).  Perhaps the most confusing is Balykchi, which was renamed from the Russian Rybachi (after the fishing that took place on the lake) as Issyk Kul – but this caused some confusion, the town, lake, rayon and oblast all called Issyk Kul – and so the name of the town was changed once again, this time to a Kyrgyz version of the Russian name – Balykchi.

Other names have simply been made more Kyrgyz by changing the spelling – such as Tokmok (which was Tokmak) and Ozgen (which was Uzgen), Jalaabat (Djalal Abad).

“Old habits die hard” and some people, especially the older generation, still cling to the old names.  To make matters worse, sometimes the same person can switch between former and present names in the middle of the same conversation.

To add to the confusion, several names are found in several different places.  We need to remember, of course, that in the United States, there are settlements called, for example, Paris, London and St. Petersburg … so perhaps it is not surprising that in the Kyrgyz Republic there is, for example, one called Moscow (in Batken), another called Boston (in Djalal Abad) and one called Bagdad (in Batken).

The regional centre of Djalal Abad shares its name with a town in Afghanistan, which has recently been in the news.  There is a city called Osh in France.

Within Kyrgyzstan itself, there are at least four settlements called Kara Suu – two of them located in the Osh oblast, and at least five villages called Aral – two of them only twenty kilometres apart.   In the Talas oblast, as well as the regional centre – Talas – there is another settlement sharing the same name.

The Soviet era has also had an influence on place names. No less than three villages bear the name Komsomol. There are also villages named Bolshevik, Commune, Communism – and each of these has become a proper name for two or three other populated areas as well.  For patriotic reasons, probably, villages and farms were named Kyrgyzstan, Kyzyl (red) Kyrgyzstan, Kyzyl (red) October and Kenesh.

There are villages with holiday names such March 8th (in Naryn oblast), May 1st (in Djalal Abad oblast).

It is not only towns and villages that contribute to the confusion. Streets have also been renamed – especially in Bishkek, (where there is an official list that records almost 100 changes in the fifteen years following Independence).  Once again this isn’t altogether surprising … but it can lead to some confusion.  The name of Prospect Mir (= “Peace Avenue” in Russian) was changed, but when it was suggested that maybe this implied that the Kyrgyz weren’t interested in peace it was swiftly changed back.  In some cases the old names are still in use – in others the new names are used but with the epithet “vishe … followed by the old name, (= “formerly …”, for example: Isanova vishe sorok liyet = Isanova formely Sorok Let).

In Bishkek:

• the main street is now known as Prospect Chui, before that it was Leninsky, prior to that Stalinsky, earlier still …
• the road now known as Jibek Jolu (= “Silk Road” in Kyrgyz) used to be “Fifty Years of the Khirghiz SSR”, before that “Leningradsky” (which is confusing because the next major  road running parallel to it to the North is now also called Leningradsky), and prior to that Tashkentsky – as it was the main road to Tashkent.  We still encountered people who referred to it as Leningradsky as late as 1999.

Here is a list of some of the name changes:

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Let me illustrate with two stories:

A couple of years after arriving here, I had to go and buy a spare part for the car.  I was told that there was a garage which normally stocked the part I was looking for and given an address for it, something-something Tashkentskaya.  Now, I didn’t know where Tashkentaksaya was and so I asked for directions.  I was told: “It’s down there, a main road two or three streets down, then turn left and the garage is two blocks to the left … it’ll take you about 10 minutes.”

So off I went, in the direction that had been indicated, two streets, three streets, across Jibek Jolu and further.  At each crossroads I looked for the road sign giving the name of the street.  Each time it said something different so I crossed the road and carried on my way.  The 10 minutes were well and truly up, but maybe the person who said that was guessing, or was just mistaken, but eventually I decided to ask somebody else.  As is usual in this sort of situation, no one wanted to stop and answer questions.  When I found someone who would, they looked at me with a dumbfounded look across their face.  At first I put that down to my poor Russian, or maybe my accent, but the experience kept repeating itself.

Eventually, I found someone who told me: “You’ve come too far, you need to go back up there two streets.  That’s Tashkentskaya.”  ”But,” I replied, “that’s Jibek Jolu.”  ”Yes,” I was assured, “Tashkientskaya was the old name.”  ”But,” I continued, “the old name was Fifty Years of the Kyrgyz SSR.”  (I knew that because the old signposts hadn’t all been replaced, even though the street had been renamed something like five years previously.)   However, as I was told, “Yes, but it was Tashkentskaya before that.”

Old habits die hard.  The was established in 1926, so the fiftieth anniversary of the Soviet Socialist Republic, (when the street was renamed and was last known by the name Tashkentskaya), fell in 1976 … some thirty years before this incident occurred, and the street was still be referred to by it’s old name.

A few years later I happened to be at the corner of Kievskaya and Sovietskaya in downtown Bishkek.  Sovietskaya is one of the main streets with a variety of apartment blocks, shopping centres, and so on.  Although it was on a much smaller scale, I used to joke that it was Bishkek’s equivalent of London’d Oxford Street.  Times have changed, however, and there are many more shopping centres in town so it no longer possesses the dominance that it once had.  I looked up and saw that the city authorities had installed some new street name signs that proudly bore the inscription, “Sovietskaya”.  I thought to myself, that this was a sign that they weren’t going to rename the street.

I was wrong, as a few months later the city council passed a decree doing just that and so the postal addresses of some of Bishkek’s major attractions, (such as the Fine Arts Museum, the Opera and Ballet Theatre and not forgetting the Hyatt), are no longer Sovietskaya, but Abdrakhmanov Street.  Still, as I said, old habits die hard and in everyday conversation, practically everyone still refers to it as Sovietskaya.

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Incidentally – it is not just in Bishkek that street names have changed. Our Guesthouse in Naryn is on the street that used to be known as Moskovskaya – but after independence was renamed Razzakova. The whole suburb was, and still is, called Moskovskaya. The official address is now Razzakova 42, but most locals will still understand Moskovskaya 42.

I’ve missed an anniversary.  Surprisingly, little was made of it here, even though it was a nice round number – “It was twenty years ago …” as the Beatles sang on the title track of “Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”, that the Supreme Soviet of the Kyrgyz Republic, then a constituent republic of the Soviet Union decided to pass a one line resolution to restore the name of the capital city to “its historic name”: Bishkek.

The historic decision was taken on 5^th February 1991.

On the same day, they also passed a resolution making Noorus a Public Holiday in the republic.

In fact, as I understand it, Bishkek wasn’t the historic name of the settlement.

The name “Bishkek” is, actually, surrounded in mystery.  For many foreigners, arriving at the cities Manas airport, the confusion starts with the airport designation code … FRU.  That, at least, is relatively easy to explain: it derives from the name by which the city was known at that time when the system of codes was designed and allocated: Frunze

There have been four major settlements on the site that is now occupied by Bishkek: Jul – 6th-12th century; Pishpek – 1825-1926; Frunze – 1926-1991; Bishkek – 1991 to the present

Jul – A Sogdian city on the Great Silk Road – 6th-12th century.  Although archaeological excavations have recovered artifacts, all traces of this city have now disappeared.  A walled quadrangle, it occupied an area between the modern streets Orozbekova, Lenigradskaya and Kirova.  A varied population included Zoroastianists, Buddhists, Nestorian and Manichean Christians.  The Mongols and Tartars under Genghis Khan destroyed it.

Pishpek – one of 35 fortresses built in the region by Khokand to extend control over the Chu valley.  Built in 1825, it occupied approximately 250 sq. m.  It had high clay walls and two concentric perimeters and contained living quarters, a guardhouse, armoury, workshops, mosque and treasury.  About 150 soldiers were garrisoned here, and hostages of the local population also lived here as a “peace pledge”.

A settlement grew up around the fortress populated mainly by Sarts, (Uzbeks).  Conquered by a detachment of 600 Russians from Vernoe, (present day Almaty) in 1860 in a 7-day assault, it was abandoned, although a stronger fortress was later built by Kokand.  In 1862, local Kyrgyz and Kazakh chiefs appealed for Russian aid in overthrowing Kokand domination and succeeded in destroying Pishpek once again.

Increasing numbers of Russian settlers began to arrive, mostly freed serfs, who enjoyed tax breaks, cash incentives and free wood to help build new homes.  At this time the Russians administered the region from their base at Tokmok, but a flood in Tokmok 1877, led to the adoption of a plan to develop Pishpek.  Army engineers planned a rectangular grid of streets, which survives to this day and was elaborated in the Soviet period.

The city occupied the area between the modern streets Jibek Jolu, Togolok-Moldo, Engels and the Alamedin River – an area of about 5 sq. km.  In the first official census in 1882, there were 2135 inhabitants, mostly Sarts, Tartars, Dungans, Russians and Ukrainians – there were 6 Kyrgyz.  The Dungans were probably refugees from the Uprising in Xinjiang – given subsidies by the authorities and assigned a plot of land to the West of the town rubbish dump.

By the end of the century there were over 752 houses, mostly simple thatched roofed brick shacks, two schools (for Europeans), one three-bed hospital, and a small industrial sector with flourmills and leather works.

The city elected its first mayor in 1895 – Ilya Terentev.  By 1914 the city was home to some 20,000 inhabitants.  There was a cinema, a newspaper, two orthodox churches, several mosques, a Russian high school for boys, a horticultural school as well as several other schools for the local population, a brewery, a distillery, flour mills and other small plants and at least one automobile.  (The brewery made 10 times more money than the other 18 enterprises combined).  There were over 500 shops, a weekly market and an annual fair.  A new one with 14 beds had replaced the hospital, the ambulance was a sledge pulled by a camel.  In the uprising of 1916 – Pishpek was left alone although neighbouring villages were raided.

After a New Year’s party on 1st January 1918, a group of Bolsheviks armed themselves and “arrested” the garrison command, releasing the prisoners held in the local jail.  Over the next few months, they established control over the region, but in December they faced a counter-revolution.  In the village of Belovodsk, about 30km west of Bishkek, the post office was seized by a curious group of anti-Bolsheviks who managed to take control of large parts of both Pishkek and Djambul regions.  Within a week they were marching on Pishkek itself.  The battle for the city lasted 8 days, but the defenders (commanded by Logvinenko – who hurried here with reinforcements from Almaty) – managed to overcome the attackers and the counter-revolution was defeated. The soldiers who died in the fight defending the revolution were buried and a memorial erected in Oak Park, near where the Russian Theatre now stands.  Logvinenko became a hero and had a street named after him.  (When he died in the 1930, he joined the “Martyrs” in their communal grave).  This ended the counter revolution in the North of the country, but during the civil war the Bolsheviks were threatened by the Basmachi movement which even “liberated”, for a time, the Parmir district in the South.

In 1924 Pishpek became the political and administrative centre of the Kyrgyz Autonomous Region.

Frunze – The city was named in honour of M.V. Frunze, a famous Communist leader and Soviet hero who was born in the city then called Pishpek in 1885 – the son of a Moldavian doctor’s assistant.  His statue stands opposite the railway station at the top of Prospect Erkindik – and there is a museum dedicated to him on Frunze Street.  In the museum a small house is preserved that, so it is claimed, is the one in which he was born (although it is now thought that they preserved the wrong one!).  After a tempestuous youth in Moscow, (and numerous arrests for revolutionary activity), he ended up commanding the Red Guards who occupied the Kremlin in October 1917.  He was a major character in the Civil War directing the defeat of the White Army in Siberia and the campaign in the Caucasus.  Frunze led the Bolshevik forces that seized Khiva and Bukhara after the uprising of 1920, and pushed the Basmachi rebels out of the Ferghana valley.  He replaced Trotsky as Commissar for War, introduced compulsory universal conscription and helped shape the Red Army into a formidable force.  After Lenin’s death he survived several mysterious car accidents, but in 1925 he was told he was ill and that he had to undergo a stomach operation – not by a doctor but by the Central Presidium!  He died as a result of the Operation.

There is an account that the local citizens wanted to rename the city Fruzegrad, after the style of Leningrad and Stalingrad, but the idea was frowned upon in Moscow as too grand and quickly forgotten.

During WWII – Frunze developed as a major city.  Several key factories, (including the Lenin works on Prospect Mira) were evacuated to the city away from the approaching German armies.  Non-military enterprises, which were relocated, included clothing factories (for example, making knitwear for the army and general population alike); leather works; shoe factories (which made more than two million pairs of shoes); silk factories; pharmaceutical factories.  In addition, some 18 research establishments were created.  Whole populations of Russian Germans and Koreans were forcibly repatriated here.  Kyrgyz soldiers fought in the Red Army and number some 7 “Heroes of the Soviet Union” among their ranks.  Busts of these heroes can be found on Molodiya Gvardia (Avenue of the Young Guards).

Following the war there was a planned expansion of the city with the development of the micro regions (like suburbs) with numerous apartment blocks being built, and many public buildings.  During the 1970’s and 1980’s there was again a massive building programme and many of the impressive, white marble faced government and public buildings were erected.

Bishkek – The city was renamed Bishkek in February 1991.

There are many different stories about the origin of the name “Bishkek” … but none of them has the status of an “authorative” version.

There are several versions of what the name means – but the most common version is that is from the name of an implement – a long wooden stick with a bulbous end – used by Kyrgyz women to beat milk in a churn to make koumiss (a fermented drink made from mare’s milk).  There are examples of a Bishkek to be found in museums, such as the Historical Museum in Bishkek.

One such story tells how a woman forgot her “bishkek” when her family packed up and moved from their camp by the Alamedin river.  As soon as she realized – people were sent back to search for it – but couldn’t find it … and so the place where they had camped was remembered as the place where she had lost her bishkek.

One legend has it that it was a Khan’s wife who forgot her bishkek and as it studded with jewels and therefore very precious, the khan was very angry and sent 40 men to search for it.  Unable to find it, and afraid to return – they settled down to a life in exile and called their encampment Bishkek.

In another version, the place was named after an energetic craftsman … who was always busy, and so he earned for himself the nickname “Bishkek”, (raising the tempting comparison to of ”busybody” – someone who is always “mixing it” or “stirring”), and there place where he lived was duly named after him: Bishkek’s place.  After he died, the name stuck.

A similar version involves a warrior, rather than a craftsman, (Bishkek Baatyr) who earned the earned the nickname from his exploits on the battlefield – because he appeared to be everywhere at once.  According to the legend, he was buried at this spot.

Another legend involves a pun – and suggests that the name is derived from the phase “Besh bek” – or Five Men – and denotes the fact that five men fought over the land because it offered particularly good grazing for the livestock.

A different play on words is offered in another version.  In this one the name is derived from the phrase “Besh Biik” or five peaks … although it is hard to identify which peaks could be referred to.

The “Atlas of the Kyrgyz SSR”, however, concludes that the name is probably derived from a ancient Sogdian word and which basically means “place below the mountains”.  Although there is no record of such a place name in any ancient records … there is apparently some linguistic support for this version.

When, in February 1991, the Kyrgyz Supreme Soviet decided to rename the city of Frunze, the decree said that it was reverting “back” to the former name of Bishkek.  There is, however, apparently no record of Bishkek as a place name … so why Bishkek?  Maybe the intention was to revert to Pishpek … but the sound “p” is not very common in Kyrgyz (although it appears to be more natural in Kazakh) and it could simply be that the intention was return to the former name, Pishkek, with the initial letter “kyrgyzified” to the more natural “b”.

I have had to learn a whole host of name combinations:  Tatiana Ivanovna; Vera Nikolaevna; Oleg Vladimirovich; Nikolai Stepanovich; Sergei Davidovich; Vladimir Anatolovich, Emil Satarovich and so on.

A few years ago I had to go and collect an official document and the young Russian who went with me as an interpreter was somewhat perplexed.  The application form that we had to complete asked, as is usual here, got the Full name, “FIO”: Familiaya, Imya and Ochestvo, or in English: Family name, Given name and Patronymic.  That wasn’t a problem, or at least it shouldn’t have been.  This is how the conversation went:

Sergei: “Family name?”
Me:      “Claytor.”
Sergei: “Given name?”
Me:      “Ian.”
Sergei: “Patronymic?”
Me:      “… aha … we don’t have them.”

He looked perplexed as I told him this.  He thought for a while and said, “What was your father’s name?”, so I told him, “Robert” and he duly filled in the form with “Robertovich”.  I asked if he was sure that we needed to do this, and he said, “No, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”  He wasn’t sure if the official would understand that in the West we didn’t use Patronymics.  As it happens, there was a problem because when the official came to check the form against my passport, there was no mention of “Robertovich”, and as forms have to be completed “beeyez oshibok”, (“without mistakes”, you cannot correct something!), we had to take another form and fill it in all over again.  It would have been easier to leave the patronymic out and write it in if the official had insisted, but there was no harm done.

On another occasion I had to go to court as a witness.  Sitting up on the bench were three judges, busily scrutinizing the folder of documents describing the case in front of them.  I was called to the stand and asked to identify myself: “Familiaya, Imya and Ochestvo”.  So I said in my best pigeon Russian , “My Family name is Claytor, my given name is Ian, but I am a British citizen and we don’t use patronymics.  However, if you need it for the official record then my father’s name was Robert and you can write “Robertovich.”  The court fell silent, well it already was silent, but the judges stopped turning the pages in the folders in front of them and slowly looked up.  It was clear that no-one had warned them that I was foreigner.  One of them asked for my passport and decreed, “Forget the patronymic, in the passport it is just Ian Claytor.  That will do.”

In those two cases the officials were happy to cope with the lack of a patronymic, but that is not always the case.  The custom and practice is so ingrained, however, that some of the locals have difficulty coping with it.  As a result some people actually do call me “Ian Robertovich”, whilst others will refer to me in full as “Ian Claytor”, (but they sometimes seem a little uncomfortable with this as it seems a little rude) and others fall back on the more formal ”Gaspodin Ian”, or “Mister Ian”.  Some people even translate this into English and call me “Mister Ian” in everyday conversation, and it can be difficult to get them to drop the “Mister”.

It’s even more confusing when it comes to Kyrgyz names.  I sometimes find it difficult to get my tongue around the names.  To things more interesting, Family names, or surnames, were not common amongst the nomadic Kyrgyz, this was a practice adopted with the arrival of the Russians and increasing Russian influence. People were known by their given name followed by the father’s name. Men and boys often have a name like Almaz Jyrgal uulu. Uulu is like Mac, Mc, O’, and Ben meaning “son of” so this name reads “Almaz, son of Jyrgal”.  For girls the equivalent of uulu is kyzy – for example: Ainura Ustanbek kyzy.

The Kyrgyz use a number of titles as a sign of respect. An older male may well be refered to as baike, (aka or ake) and an older person may refer to a younger one as uke or uka. My driver, for eample, is referred to as Sultan Baike.  In pre-soviet times a number of titles were used – khan, bek, (as in ianbek … and this is still commonly used), bai and myrza were assigned to men, whilst ayim (= “madam”) to older women. The Kyrgyz word joldosh was the equivalent to the Russain “tovarisch”, or comrade, but is not used that much today, although it is a fairly common as a given name.

Now, when Kyrgyzstan declared Independence from the Soviet Union, it was at a time of rising interest in cultural and traditional culture and identity.  As a result there was an increase in the use of uluu and kyzy when naming children.  Some people even claim that they weren’t asked, and when they received the birth certificates for their newborn son or daughter, the officials had inserted the word automatically.

It a report that came out yesterday, it appears that there is a new trend for people to change to change their names, replacing the Kyrgyz epithet with a Russified patronymic, (Kyrgyzstan’s Name Game: Love Thy Neighbor, Ivan the Rich).  As the report puts it: “it’s out with the “uulus” and in with the “-ovs.””

Given that many people in Kyrgyzstan sometimes seem to be obsessed with re-establishing their cultural identity and the need to strengthen their national heritage, this seems to be a strange trend.  I am not certain how many people are changing their names, (the report claims that in Bishkek alone, there have been about 1,000 cases.)  So, if it is happening, then why?

The report suggests that it is because of problems in Russia.  Many Kyrgyz travel to Russia in search of work and it seems that a number of them have had problems with Russian authorities who “demand” that they change the uluu and kyzy in order “to register in schools and universities and more.”

I wonder what they would make of a Brit like me … with no ochestvo.  Perhaps I would have to adopt Robertovich after all.

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For the record:

Amongst the nomadic Kyrgyz it was considered important to find a suitable name for a newborn child.

A child was usually named after one of their relatives, (usually someone who had already died but who had lived a long life), but sometimes special consideration was given to their particular circumstances.  For example:

• If there was a history of infant mortality in the family, then a child might be given a name like Toktogul, (meaning “Stop, slave”), or Toktosun, (meaning “let him stay alive”).
• A name indicating strength might be chosen, for example: Tashturghan, (meaning “Standing stone”), Omurbek, (“full of life”), Tashtanbek, (“Strong as stone”), or Bektemir, (“Strong as iron”).
• Sometimes children were given names as if to fool vengeful demons and evil spirits that the child was not really of any significant importance - for example: Asrankul (“Adopted slave”), Bokbasar (“Stepped on dung”), and Tezekchi (“Dung collector”).  Likewise, children were sometimes given names to make them unnoticeable amongst everyday, household, items - for example: Tutkuch (“Potholder”), Tuzbay (“Man-Salt”), Kiyizbay (“Man-Felt”), Itybay (“Man-Dog”).

The character Beshkempir in the film of the same name, received his name because he was adopted – and was allocated to his adoptive family by a committee of “five grandmothers” (“Besh Kempir”).  When he learns of this in his adolescence, and confronts his grandmother about it, she denies it and insists that he is “of her blood” and tells him that he was given the name as a charm: “To protect you from the evil eye.”

Many of the names are based on things found in nature.  For example, a common girl’s name is Aigul (eye-GOOL), a combination of Ai, meaning “moon,” and gul, meaning “flower.”

Some years ago some Peace Corps volunteers have prepared a set of teaching materials based on Kyrgyzstan and Kyrgyz lifestyles.  Unfortunately, they no longer seem to be available on their website, but here is an excerpt from their notes about Kyrgyz names: a list of some words that are combined to create some popular Kyrgyz names, along with their meanings.

Kyrgyz Word - English Meaning

Adilet – Justice
Ai – Moon
Almaz – Diamond
Alsu – Rose water
Altin – Gold
Azamat – Very good
Bak – Tree
Bakyt – Happiness
Bek – Male (masculine ending)
Cholpon – Venus (morning star)
Gul – Flower
Jildiz – Star
Jyrgal – Gladness
Mir – Peace
Nur – Ray of light
Sulu – Beautiful

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]]> http://ianbek.kg/?feed=rss2&p=3024 0 http://ianbek.kg/?p=2755 http://ianbek.kg/?p=2755#comments Fri, 24 Dec 2010 04:12:57 +0000 ian http://ianbek.kg/?p=2755

In the post about Izhkak Razzakov, I mentioned that after his death in 1979, his body was buried in the Kuntsevskom Cemetery in Moscow, but that in 2000 his remains were returned to his native Kyrgyzstan and interred in the Ala Archa cemetery in Bishkek.

Somebody wrote me an email saying that they were confused – as the guide books say that Ala Archa was a National Park.  That’s true, but it is also the name of the country’s premier cemetery – the equivalent of the National Cemetery.

One of the problems here is that  there is often some confusion over names.

Several places around the world can often share a common name.  I was born and gre up in Malvern, Worcestershire – but there are several places called Malvern around the world.  One of battles of the American Civil War was the battle of Malvern Hill, and my uncle Terry caused a stir after he moved to America and sent back a photo of the memorial plaque at the battle site.  It even got published in the local newspaper, The Malvern Gazette.

In the United States, there are also settlements called, for example, Paris, London and St. Petersburg … so perhaps it is not surprising that in the Kyrgyz Republic there is, for example, one called Moscow (in Batken), another called Boston (in Djalal Abad) and one called Bagdad (in Batken).  The regional centre of Djalal Abad shares its name with a town in Afghanistan, which has recently been in the news.  There is a city called Osh in France.

Within Kyrgyzstan itself, there are at least four settlements called Kara Suu – two of them located in the Osh oblast, and at least five villages called Aral – two of them only twenty kilometres apart.   In the Talas oblast, as well as the regional centre – Talas – there is another settlement sharing the same name.

For the Record:

The Ala Arch Cemetery if on Abdumomunova street, to the west of Molodaya Gvardia, (the Avenue of the Young Gaurds).

Cemeteries are interesting places, often being peaceful parks as well as places as interest historically and socially.  Bishkek has a number of cemeteries in the outlying districts – this one is relatively near the city center.

Once surrounded by a metal fence, but there is now a newly constructed brick wall which runs around it and can be seen along Jibek Jolu from the junction with Molodaya Gvardia towards the Western Bus Station.  The entrance is tucked away at the south end … through a concrete archway.

On the original arch was written (in Arabic script) “Ishak, Hadji of Kazan” in honour of the philanthropist Daulbaev who contributed to the establishment and upkeep of what was, at that time, the only Muslim cemetry in the town.  (Hadji is an hoourific muslim title for someone who has undertaken a pilgimage to Mecca).

The largest number of graves in the cemetry are of Kyrgyz people, although there are some Jews and Uighurs buried here as well.  Russians are not buried here – they have other cemetries.  Now it is an official cemetry and special permission from the Government or Bishkek city council is needed for someone to be buried here.  The central alley, running North from the entrance is reserved for people who have made a considerable contribution to the republic in political, cultural or other fields.

The area on the right (East) has a few memorial, but most of the graves are unmarked, whereas on the left (West) and in the distance straight ahead (North) there are many memorials.  Some are quite plain wheras others can rightly be described as “monumental”.  Halfway down the central alley is a small, semicircular area overlooked by some of the more recent, notable graves.

The cemetry has some significant graves – including two Prime Ministers of the newly independent Kyrgyzstan, who died whilst in office (Nasirdin Isanov – 1991 – and Jumabek Ibraimov – 2000).

Amongst the other notable personages buried here include:

• Sayakbai Karaliev (the poet and manaschi who is featured on the 500 som note) – under a big stone monument along the northern east-west avenue,
• the ballerina Bibusara (who is featured on the 5 som note),
• the surgeon Achunbaev (whose monument includes a hand holding a heart),
• Okeev, the film producer

… and even a Kyrgy Vice Admiral (he served in the Soviet Navy), oh … and, of course, Izhkak Razzakov.

The central part of the cemetry has only a few trees but some of the outlying areas to the North are somewhat overgrown.

Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
… O, be some other name!
What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;

What she meant is clear:  ”What matters is what something is, not what it is called.”

That may well be true, however unfortunately, it is not that simple.  The answer to her question, “What’s in a name?”, is actually, “quite a lot”.  A name is used to identify something, and according to ancient tradition and Platonic philosophy, is supposed to convey something of the essence of what it names.  Unfortunately, it can also conjure up mental images which can cause misunderstanding and confusion.

Take the name of the country, Kyrgyzstan.

The name itself attracts a lot of comment … the unusual combination of letters in “Kyrgyzstan” often draws jokes and remarks featuring “Alphabet Soup” and a potential high score in Scrabble, (a basic 30 without any bonus for using a double or triple letter, or word, squares - needing a well placed opening, the only K, the Z and both the Y tiles – not to mention the additional bonus if you happen to be able to use all of your nine tiles in making the word … but then, you wouldn’t be allowed the score because the rules forbid the use of country names).

The country has a number of aliases.  As well as “Kyrgyzstan” it has been, and is, also known as:

• The Kyrgyz Republic, (technically, the official name of the country);
• Khirghizistan, (from the German form of Kyrgyzstan);
• Kirgizstan, (from the French form of Kyrgyzstan);
• Kirgizia, (based on the old Russian name);
• Kirgizskaya Respublika, (the name in Russian – transliterated into the latin alphabet)
• Kyrgyz Respublikasy, (the name in Kyrgyz- transliterated into the latin alphabet), and
• Khirghizische Republic (from the German for the official name of the country)

… amongst others.

One of the other names that have been coined recently is “Kyrgyzland”.  The Central Asian countries of Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan, are sometimes known collectively as the ”Stans”.  The suffix “stan” basically means “The land of …”, so Kyrgyzstan means “The land of the Kyrgyz”; Uzbekistan: “The land of the Uzbeks”; Kazakhstan: “The land of the Kazakhs” and Tajikistan: “The land of the Tajiks”.  It is also true for other countries, such as Afghanistan: “The land of the Afghans” … and so on.  Unfortunately, some of the “stans” have a troubled history and so, to try and offset the association with troubled times and regions, the name “Kyrgyzland” was coined with parallels drawn with names of countries like England, Scotland, Ireland and Deutschland.

If the abundance of names didn’t provide enough source for confusion, many people confess to ignorance – or, at least, to being confused – about what Kyrgyzstan is and exactly where it is located, and the name of the country is often the source of that confusion.

I often tell the story, for example, how, in 1995, my mother telephoned me after I had told her that I was coming to Kyrgyzstan.
“Where did you say you were going?”,
“Bishkek, in Kyrgyzstan”,
“Well, why can’t I find it on the map?”
The reason was simple – the fact that she was using an old edition of the Pear’s Encyclopaedia which showed the USSR on the map, and the former Soviet names of Khirghiz ASSR, (yet another name!), and Frunze.

One of the most common examples of confusion, however, arises from the fact that Kyrgyzstan sounds similar to Kurdistan – “The land of the Kurds” – a region with a long and troubled history which straddles parts of Turkey, Iraq and Iran.  In fact, quite a few people confess that they don’t know where either Kyrgyzstan or Kurdistan are on the map, but because of the troubles in that part of the world, most have at least heard of Kurdistan and so there is some form of “name recognition”.  (Perhaps the situation will change now as, since the Tulip Revolution of March 2005, more people will have heard of Kyrgyzstan – albeit in a revolutionary context.)

At least both Kyrgyzstan and Kurdistan are “somewhere in Asia”.  Perhaps more difficult to understand, (apart, that is, from the fact that their names both begin with the letter ’K'), is the travel website that managed to confuse Kyrgyzstan with Kenya - honest! – an error that has now been corrected.

According to Juliet, what matters most is not what something is called, but what it is.  Kyrgyzstan is a country which, according to one travel guide, has breathtaking landscapes of mountains, glaciers and lakes, whose isolation has ensured that “they have been almost ignored by the crowds”.  The lakes and mountainous terrain providing excellent opportunities for activities such as trekking, horseriding, skiing, climbing, sailing, swimming and even simply sunbathing.  It’s location on the Great Silk Road enables the modern day traveller the possibility of following in the footsteps of traders, explorers, soldiers and pilgrims who plied their way across the mountains between China and Europe.  The preservation of a traditional nomadic lifestyle by a proud people in a remote and isolated region enables the modern day traveller to experience something of a world long since disappeared from other parts of the globe and gain a glimpse of what those earlier intrepid travellers must have experienced.

Juliet may well have implored – “O, be some other name!”, but just as her surname was Capulet, (and Romeo’s was Montague), Kyrgyzstan is the name of  country.  It may lead to jokes and confusion.  It may sound like one of the world’s trouble spots, but what is really important is not the name itself, but what Kyrgyzstan is and what the country has to offer the visitor.

Occasionally they feature an article from Kyrgyzstan: on Poverty and Pollution; on relationships between Kyrgyzstan and the US and Russia; on the effects of the demise of the Soviet Union on a small community and so on.  There aren’t that many articles from here, but there are over 180 countries and territories around the world, and the BBC have hundreds of foreign correspondents … many based in places where there are interesting events happening and lots of material competing for a place in the broadcast.

Now, Kyrgyzstan is not the best known country in the world, and I can imagine a correspondent being posted here asking: “Where? …”.  People are often confused about where Kyrgyzstan is, or what it is called, or how to say the name.  I think there used to be a clip on one of the video sharing sites featuring an American President’s difficulty in saying the name…. I wish I had saved it.  He’s not alone, however, there are several presenters on the television that have difficulty saying it.  Even some of the ex-pats here seem to have a variety of ways of pronouncing the name.  To be fair, however, the correspondents from the BBC never seem to have any difficulty.

On one occasion when I looked at a newspaper report on-line, (on the site of a very well-known and respected publication), about developments here in Central Asia.  There was a graphic which claimed to be a map of the region.  I say “claimed to be a map” because the artist had created a very pretty schematic, but had somehow forgotten about Kyrgyzstan.  It just wasn’t there.  There was Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan, but no Kyrgyzstan.   I wish I had saved a copy, as I did with the travel guide, because people often don’t believe me when I tell them about it.

On another occasion I was filling in an on-line form and when I got to the “Country” box I was presented with a drop down menu which listed all the countries of the world … bar one, at least, that is: Kyrgyzstan.

A few years ago I was browsing a travel encyclopedia website and got a bit of a surprise when I looked up Kyrgyzstan.  There in the centre of each country page was a map – but I was faced with not of Kyrgyzstan, but of Kenya.

Although I felt a mix of emotions ranging from confused to outraged, I confess that I was also slightly amused and saved a screen dump for future reference … if you see the original, (not the reduced version here), then you can clearly see the address of the page.

Well, I cynically thought to myself, I suppose that both countries begin with the letter K … To be fair, however, it was probably just a simple programmer’s error … the files containing the two maps were probably stored close to one another … and the mistake has now been corrected.

So, you can imagine how my interest is piqued every time they mention Kyrgyzstan.

It’s not just the art6icles on Kyrgyzstan that are interesting, however, which is quite good, because there aren’t that many of them.  Many of the other articles are interesting and provide insights.  Sometimes they are about places I have visited, on others they give a background to items which are in the news, and yet others  provide insights of a more general nature.  This week, for example, I was intrigued by an article about Zambia.  Their reporter, Jo Fidgen, (based in Lusaka) posed the question about “how much good does the plethora of NGOs do in Zambia?”.

As I sat listening to it, it all sounded so familiar.  I couldn’t help thinking that in many places she could have replaced the Zambia with Kyrgyzstan and so much of what she said would apply.

Of course, the two countries are far apart – and not just in distance: Zambia is a lot larger than Kyrgyzstan, it is in Africa not Central Asia, was part of the British Empire not the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union … but there are many similarities as well.  It is one of the least developed countries in the world, facing many challenges and as such attracts a large number of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) trying to help the local population in one or another.   Transport can be difficult and few tourist or other outsiders make it to the more areas.  The four pillars of the economy are: mining; agriculture; tourism and industry.

There is also a growth in the number of hotels in both countries.  Jo Fidgen wondered how all these new hotels kept going in Zambia, where did they get their clients from?  The answer, she suggested, was provided by the plethora of NGOs in the country, who needed to accommodate their international consultants and venues to conduct their workshops.  The same is true to a certain extent here in Kyrgyzstan and, obviously I have a vested interest in this … as we have two hotels and the recent increase in the number of hotels opening in both Bishkek and Naryn means greater competition and keeps us on our toes.

She went on to review the vocabulary of NGO-ese; how their mission was often to “sensitize, empower and build capacity”; and the often chosen method of workshops, (here they are often called Forums, Seminars or Round Tables), and commented how they were often well attended for the first session, but with fewer participants staying after the coffee break.  I have often commented how few people stay after the coffee break which follows the initial presentations, when the Minister and the press have left.  This is usually the time when most of the real work gets done, and it always strikes me as a shame that important people – often major players in the topic under consideration – just “melt into the woodwork” and disappear when they really could make a difference.

She went on to give some examples of projects in Zambia – some good … some not so good … some involving inappropriate interventions such as recommending some foreign experience which is not suited to the local circumstances … and I thought of similar examples from Kyrgyzstan.  Although the role of the International Consultant is to bring their wider experience and expertise to bear, to inform decisions, it can be frustrating when they appear to have been simply “parachuted” into the country, knowing little or nothing about the local circumstances and simply repeat a presentation which they have made before … sometimes not even changing the name of the country in the obligatory Power Point presentation.

That’s not to say that NGO’s aren’t effective.  Here in Kyrgyzstan there are a number of particular examples that make a real difference and are worthy of respect, such as: CACSA – The Central Asian Craft Support Association; KCBTA – the Kyrgyz Community Based Tourism Association and Babushka Adoption.

Jo Fidgen’s conclusion was that Zambia was a bit like her car, that keeps breaking down and needing repair: it’s not in great shape … with plenty of people willing and trying to help fix its problems … with some, despite their good intentions, doing more “damage” than good, although the odd one making a real difference …

As I said, it all sounded so familiar! – even if it was about a country far, far away which I have never visited …

I look forward to listening to the next broadcast, and will keep a special watch for more of Jo Fidgen’s contributions.

For example, “Name?“: I thought that was no problem, and I gave her my business card which has my name in both English and Russian, so that she could get the spelling right.  However, I should have known better … and should expected the supplementary question, “Otchestvo?“.

In Russian everyone has three names:

• a Given name – which, when I grew up, was always referred to as a “Christian” name, (in my case: Ian)
• a Patronymic – taken from their father’s name … for men it ends in “vich”, (such as Robertovich), and for women in “vna”, (such as Ivanovna)
• a Family name – or “surname”, (in my case: Claytor)

Sometimes this results in interesting situations like Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin …  It is very rare for someone to be addressed just by their given name, (only close friends and family use just the given name), or by the given name and the family name and the polite form of address is to use the given name followed by the patronymic, so Vladimir Putin would be referred to or addressed as Vladimir Vladimirovich, and I would be Ian Robertovich.

When I said that I didn’t have one, she got quite concerned … there is a space for it on the form, so it has to be filled.  She looked perplexed and then, speaking slowly and precisely, as if she had recognised that I was obviously mentally deficient – a ‘slow’ foreigner, she asked me what was my father’s name.  I was tempted to opt for the simple life and tell her that I was Ian Robertovich, (it wouldn’t have been the first time).  However, as the ‘otchestvo’ doesn’t appear on my passport, I anticipated further difficulties in the future and so both I, and my interpreter, tried to explain that, in Britain, we don’t use an ‘otchestvo’.  She finally accepted, although she shook her head a little.

Then there was the question was, “Nationality?“.   I replied “British” … but she wasn’t happy with that.  “No, no,” she said, “that’s your citizenship – you’re a British citizen, you have a British passport – but what is your Nationality?”

Kyrgyz passports, as in most former Soviet republics, record a person’s Nationality … Russian, Kyrgyz, etc.

Here in Kyrgyzstan, the term “nationality” does not necessarily mean  what we might take it to mean in the West.  Although one definition of the term might refer to “the country, or state, to which a person belongs – either from birth or as a result of naturalization”, there is a wider sense in which the word can be used: “identifying the group of people, or the nation, who share a common origin or a common culture”.  The first refers to a person’s citizenship whereas the second is their nationality.   As is the case with many other former Soviet countries, Kyrgyz passports, still record not only a person’s citizenship, (for example: Kyrgyz Republic), but also their nationality, (such as: Kyrgyz, Russian, Uzbek, German, Tartar … and so forth) and it is claimed that Kyrgyzstan is a multicultural society with over eighty such “nationalities” represented in the population.

I tried “British” once again, but she wasn’t too happy about this – presumably, “British” isn’t on an approved list of accepted nationalities somewhere – so we agreed on “English”.

Despite these little “problems”, she was actually very pleasant and made what could have been a very difficult, onerous and stressful experience something much more like a simple formality.

There is a great importance attached to getting things right on forms, applications, etc.  There are often specimens of completed forms or standard letters displayed on the notice boards that line the walls of various government offices – all with the prescription that they have to be completed “bez osheebok” – “without mistakes”.  One mistake and you have to rewrite the whole lot on a new form.  No “tip-ex” or correcting fluid is normally accepted.

The other day, for example, our accountant went to hand in a tax report.  Fortunately, before she got to the front of the queue, she was looking at the form and discovered a small mistake … the form was in triplicate – that means there were three copies, but it wasn’t NCR (“no carbon required”) paper so there were three separate copies, all written out by hand, and she saw that they had different figures on them.  There was only one figure different … when she was copying the information from the first copy onto the second, she had missed out one digit … and then copied the incorrect figure onto the third copy.  It seems to me that it should be easy enough to correct, but no … she had to return to the office and re-write the two “spoiled” forms.

An error in a single digit can be extremely expensive.  Presenting incorrect information to the authorities can result in an inspection and/or a fine.  For example, a single error on the annual return to the Social Fund can, technically, involve a fine on the company of 25% of all the payments they have made, (or should have made) to the fund during the reporting period.  Don’t misunderstand me, the form is important – for example, this annual return is a list of social security contributions made for each and every individual employed in the company and the data is used to calculate their pension entitlement – and I could understand a fine based on the value of the error but instead it’s based on the total sum … which can amount to huge sums.    For a small company with, say, less than ten employees, and especially if the accounts are all automated, (computerized), then preparing such a report should be fairly straightforward.  For larger companies, for example such as ours – in the course of a year we may well have employed well over a hundred people – then the task can involve a considerable amount of time and because the consequences of even a small error are so substantial it involves a considerable amount of checking and rechecking.

Last year I counted nearly three hundred reports that we had to complete – reports to the Tax Authorities, the Social Fund, the State Statistical Committee, the State Agency for Tourism and the National Bank … each one to completed “bez osheebok” and submitted, in person, to the offices of the appropriate body.

To be fair, mainly because the tax system has been revised, some of those forms no longer exist … however, the authorities have managed to think up some new ones to take their place.

Oh, and for the record … it’s not just on official forms that we have to be careful.  The banks, for example, are just as officious.  In Britain, if you make a mistake on a cheque, (say in the date), then you simply cross the mistake out and write the correct version next to it, and sign to signify that it was you who made the alteration.  That’s not allowed here.  You have to cross the whole cheque out, write “Isporchen” – “spoiled” – across it, and then write out a new one.  I have lost count of the number of cheque forms we have “spoiled” like this.

So, why “bek”?

I suppose I could have chose ianclaytor.com but it seemed a bit longwinded and I wanted a name that would reflect the fact that I was here in Central Asia.

So what were the alternatives?

Some of my (Russian) friends call me Ian Robertovich because my father’s name was Robert.  In Russian everyone has three names:

• a Given name – which, when I grew up, was always referred to as a “Christian” name, (such as Ian)
• a Patronymic – taken from their father’s name … for men it ends in “vich”, (such as Robertovich), and for women in “vna”, (such as Ivanovna)
• a Family name – or “surname”, (such as Claytor)

Sometimes this results in interesting situations like Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin …  It is very rare for someone to be addressed just by their given name, (only close friends and family use just the given name), or by the given name and the family name.  Although many people now call me Ian Claytor, I still meet locals who can’t call me that and insist on using “Mister Ian” or “Mister Ian Claytor”, (or worse still “Sir Ian” – I haven’t yet been knighted, nor am I ever likely to be!).  The polite form of address is to use the given name followed by the patronymic, so Vladimir Putin would be referred to or addressed as Vladimir Vladimirovich, and I would be Ian Robertovich.

However, ianrobertovich.com also didn’t fit the bill and, anyway, we don’t use patronymics in English.

There is also a tradition of giving people nicknames, or diminutives … so, for example, Alexander becomes Sasha; Vladimir becomes Volodia or Vova; Mikhail becomes Misha; Constantine becomes Costya; Nikolai becomes Kolya and Georgiy becomes Gosha.  Of course, as Ian is a foreign name there isn’t an equivalent – although Ivan, (the Russian equivalent of Ian and John), becomes Vanya.   Within the family, or close circle of friends, names are turned into terms of endearment by adding endings like “-ka” (as in Danka or Romka) or “-chik” (Vanchik or Romchik) … but, for some reason I wasn’t too keen on ianchik.com as a name.

Now, “bek” is often added to men’s names here in Central Asia, so you have examples like Askarbek or Kurmanbek … or Ianbek.  It could just as easily have been ianbaike.com because baike is another term added to names here, but baikie is a term of respect reserved for elders and this seemed presumptuous.

So in the end, ianbek.com was the chosen name for the site.

It is short, identifies itself with me as an individual and it also has a taste of ”Central Asia.”