My Overseas Volunteer Trip to Dumbistan in West Asia

Day -1: I’m hoping that putting my notes in my first-ever journal captures them in ‘amber’ to share with my future family. Ugh! After landing there’s another six hours to go tomorrow.

Day One: Still reluctant to travel to the backwoods, or fields, of a tiny new country on the Euro/Asia border, I only hope my turbulent nine-hour flight will be the worst part of this annoying ten-day volunteer trip.

We’d been diverted to Kars, Turkey, about a hundred-sixty bus miles from the end of the world, I mean roads, in Armenia. The two-star hotel overnighter was decent enough. I hope the rest of this ‘voluntary’ trip gets way better. It turns out that the village in Armenia is about twenty miles from Lake Sevan. At last, some refreshing news!

Day Two: I’m writing this by firelight since electricity doesn’t exist in this village—yet. The four-hour, dusty yet dank and clammy bus ride in thick air, and deeper into the hot and humid plains, was grueling. Worse was the ninety-minute, sweaty walk, defined by my crude, penciled map, along the laughable trail after the trident of roads ended. Carrying a sixty-five-pound backpack was no picnic either.

I arrived at the village I was to rescue an hour before sunset. Though initially greeted with hostility by near naked men with drawn arrows, that changed when one of the twelve elders recognized my counterfeit ‘PEACE CORPS’ patch. The village elders understood my pictogram letter and quickly warmed to me and my project. My instructions in my introduction letter were to ask for the Chief-of-Elders pictured in his distinctive and huge headdress.

After some excited and unintelligible greetings, one of them took me into his crude lean-to and had his beautiful twins, Eli and Ela, clear out a corner for me. I didn’t yet know I was being honored by the new tribal Chief-of-Elders since he wore only the simple, blue ribbon head band all Elders wore. They literally MADE a bed for me of beaten burlap stuffed with straw—just like the middle ages. Yippie!

Nearly all the natives were dressed only in leather or leafy loincloths, the rest were naked. Most loincloths were two small flaps, front and rear, loosely tied together only at the waist. Men and women wore the same outfits. A few had no rear panels so muscular, bare butts were shamelessly exposed. Most of the women had a similar flap tied around their chests which loosely covered their olive-toned breasts.

The Elder summoned an interpreter, Nikia, who informed me, in the worst broken-English I’ve ever heard, that I was the Most-Honored-Guest of the Chief-of-Elders, their King. His name, or ceremonial title, is unpronounceable. She explained that they referred to me as angel-helper because of what I was doing for them. I asked her to tell them my name was Kevin. The best they managed was Gehffen—that will do for now. She told me the mom’s name, Reigna, translates to Queen. That was a suspiciously Anglican name. Just eight more full days to go!

At least Nikia, with big pointy breasts and thin but wild bush, was easy on the eyes. She explained a little of the tribal rituals and pointed at her vulva and my groin twice before shaking her head in frustration at my bewildered expressions. Watching that muscled rear dance as it left was a delight. Maybe this trip has some redeeming value after all.

When the sun set, the temperature finally dropped to a comfortable range. Shortly after dark, the dad started a fire in the middle of the shed for light and warmth in the coming chilly desert night. Happily, the roof was vented to allow the smoke to escape. Mom’s naked beauty was a surprise, but she paled next to her beautiful twin girls. The barren scenery suddenly improved a thousand fold.

Mom boiled some water and dumped in a handful of rice and herbs for dinner. We struggled with hand signals and a tiny bit of broken English throughout dinner. Soon afterward, all four chattered what must have been a ‘good night’ and casually stripped naked, stacked their loincloths in one corner and slipped into their fur skin covered ‘beds’. Though shocked to stupidity, I chose to sleep in my jeans. No. I don’t know why.

The naked beauty of the three women made me recall my initial, quick scan of the population. Skin tones ranged from jet black to olive, except for the twin ingenues next to me. They too were olive, but barely. Their luminous faces had signs of Russian beauty and reminded me of the beautiful Julie Benz. They were the only golden blondes in a raven-haired village and, if there were any doubt, their short but unruly pubes proved they were true blondes.

Day Three: After sunrise Reigna boiled breakfast of two rocks, rice and a mint leaf. We sat on the ground around the fire to eat in a half-lotus pose, all naked but me. I enjoyed the view of the three splayed genitals and forgot the tasteless meal. Afterwards, the family casually dressed in their loincloths. The twins dug out matching, pale blue, short, fastenless vests made of loosely woven cloth. I wondered where they got those. Ultimately, I understood that those vests were their ‘Sunday best’ clothes.

After the meager ‘breakfast’ I got a better look at the shanty-town village. Somehow, I had missed the surprising cultural greetings. The Frankensteinian pastel structures and thatched sheds were built from ‘Kindness’ drops of supplies and the wood pallets and plywood crates they came in. Parachute cord was used for hinges, fishing line and various, resourceful roles. The largest shed had a bamboo cross hinged to the roof. The missionaries who built that were long gone. Nikia told me that when ‘services’ were held, it was propped up as the reminder that the structure was THEN a church. When the cross was down, the shed was a gathering spot or the official village hall for Elder ceremonies.

I tried desperately to ignore the sight of every villager tending to morning chores stark naked. Most of the women were skeletal and unattractive, unlike Nikia, mom and the twins. As the early morning chill became a midday scorcher, more and more villagers began putting on their loincloths. My guess is that the cloths gave them some sunburn or dehydration protection for delicate areas, probably both. As villagers resumed their routines, I noted that several chores required squatting. Those still naked did not sit on the hot ground.

Men or women who wore two flaps tucked and sat on the rear one. Though the front flaps of the squatting or seated men were short enough to stay above the dusty ground, some of them, and all women who wore only a front flap and chose to sit, would guilelessly slide the front flap to the rear to keep their butts clean and free of intruding gravel. They sat in circles, knees splayed, and seemed incognizant of the widely exposed genitalia.

Imagine my surprise when approaching neighbors greeted each other with a hedonistic handshake. How did they learn that? Or maybe we learned it from them?! {edited kids} Family members usually tended to hug instead. Those were lingering, meaningful hugs, groin to groin. Instead of hugs or cheek kisses, friends reached for each others’ genitals!

The villagers pointed and laughed at me, still in my travel clothes. After a long, voyeuristic hour, their nakedness seemed perfectly normal. The beautiful twins introduced me to their friends who seemed offended I didn’t greet them ‘properly.’ The twins chuckled and squealed something and all smiled an apology for my ignorance. Each friend then stepped closer and grabbed my groin. They giggled their surprise and offered me their montes veneris. My hips brazenly thrust forward involuntarily and my head snapped to Ela. Smiling angelically, she nodded at the proffered mounds with raised brows so I reached out to tentatively cup both montes at once. Ela quickly slapped my left hand away. Apparently I’d forgotten something—they used the bare-left-hand-butt-wipe practice. That was why it is considered rude to greet a bare genital with your left hand! Makes sense.

The twin beauties continued my tour. Each time we met friends, I thrust my hips forward and confidently reached around their loincloths to cup their willing genitals. {edited kids} They were all pleased by how readily I conceded to their custom. Me too! Happily, all the men were too occupied with their labors to greet me individually. Yet, I couldn’t help noticing that all the men had small round tattoos on their left legs—two to five dark dots. None of the boys had them. When I asked the translator about them, she mimed {edited kids} She laughed and walked away! I’m so confused.

The discolored ruins and oldest huts testified that the village has a long history—at least a hundred years. How could they survive here without help? I recalled all I had learned about this quizzical country and still had many questions.

 Three countries were in an alliance deal with Dumbistan. But why?

 They offered purified water and electricity for a 99 yr lease on tribal land, not including the village grounds.

 Dumbistan will have international recognition by the U.N. and an Embassy in the U.S.

 There would be no oil drilling, but Dumbistan grants the alliance all rights to rare Earth metals & minerals.

This village in the middle of a great, arid wilderness is testament to the hardiness of mankind—this group in particular. Ela pointed to a small creek in the distance and gibbered as though I understood. Nikia translated some, then went downstream. When I saw a few buckets upstream, beside the farthest hovel, I did understand. That was how they got minimal, clean water to drink and supply the crops. Downstream was a widened area with a dozen naked bathers.

But what am I doing here? No one back home would explain why this extremely remote village of nearly four hundred was so important to this tiny, nascent country that was seceding from Armenia. Why was their water purification project worth funding for the emergent, cash-strapped country? Or was some other entity buying their favor? I recalled meetings with my organizer and some stuffy looking people in excessively expensive suits. The pressure they applied on him was passed down to each ‘volunteer’ who came to this wasteland. After signing a strict NDA, Non Disclosure Agreement, he gave each of us triple the normal stipend for a trip out of country. We would also get a huge ‘expenses’ bonus for completing our phase on time, but we would lose it all if we discussed our mission with anyone—even each other. Why all the secrecy?

I pulled out my Sat-phone then called in my status and cleared us for the next drop. Previous volunteers had reinforced the town hall to support solar panels, rigged basic power lines underground to the Chief’s hut and instructed the villagers how to grow more crops with donated seed and their creek water. Basic hand tools were also in the drops. My job was to install the items from the next and final drop—the solar panels, electric and manual pumps and water filters—find deep water and confirm the new systems were working. A dozen lamps would light up the main square and essential paths. A lamp bar of three small LED flood lights would go in the Chief-of-Elders’ hut and a similar pair of light bars would go in the main hall. At most, this was a three-day job unless water was hard to find.

Despite all the naked flesh, I hate the sweltering hot days and the bone-chillingly cold nights. Just ten days here to endure, seven to go, and I get to leave it all behind, my duty fulfilled, my bonus earned. Their laughable local transportation were several rusty, balloon-tired bikes that they all shared. There is a bicycle attached to a cart that is just wide enough to hold two large, blue plastic barrels like those I’ve seen to capture rain water. Eli pointed to the cart then farrrrr out in the direction of the lake. She mimed swimming fish. I mimed back and said ‘FISH’ and mimed a hook catching them. She nodded happily and repeated ‘feesh’.

At least the frequently all-naked women were entertaining. They had a sensibility about nudity that didn’t match the Middle Eastern mores. Though they seemed primal, they’d imported some European influence. I noted that the loincloths all came off by late afternoon when the sun was waning.

Once the loincloths were gone, the villagers continued their chores, and were especially busy in the big hut. I didn’t realize they were preparing a village ‘thank you’ meal for me, though I hadn’t actually started work for them yet. Ela and Eli walked me back to their home and all the family ‘dressed up’ for the simple, early, gratitude dinner.

I am hurrying to write and now edit this after the evening’s surprising activities!

Mom stripped and coyly lingered openly before putting on a sheer sarong-type wrap that covered her head, wrapped over a shoulder, across her full breasts, dropped to cross her hips to cover her dark, shapely and trimmed bush then fell loosely to her shins. Bits of bare flesh showed thru below her breasts besides one bare shoulder and one hip. {edited kids} Her husband and kids applauded my acceptance of their custom.

I had nothing to change into. After some prolonged bowing and hedonist greetings ceremonies, this privileged guest had a special dinner of salted fish and rice. I wondered where they got any fish in such a dry wasteland. After dinner, I bowed my appreciation for the extravagant meal and the gorgeous girls walked me around the back of the ‘village hall’ then out to a grove by the creek, a short distance from the village. {edited kids} their incoherent giggles and babble were useless. I knew I had to teach them a few choice words.

Ela and Eli pulled me to a thick tree with heavy, low branches. I pointed to it and said “TREE.” With childlike giddiness they climbed to the lowest branch and flashed their perfect legs. “Tee, ni TWEEE, ni Tehree!” Close enough. They smiled coyly and their faces lit up. {edited kids}

They were certainly not as innocent as their youth implied. Who knew what the age of consent is here or would be in their new country, but I was certain they were nearly twenty, and recklessly didn’t want to know otherwise.

When we entered their shack, dad looked at us and smiled; mom stared at us and sighed. I put my shirt on, but the girls had not put their clothes on and {edited kids} Mom smiled coyly and whispered something to me I didn’t understand, then caressed my groin as her man and kids watched. The girls came to us and chattered something as they reached into {edited kids}. Dad laughed and nodded. Would their parents allow us to continue? I debated stripping down too. Apparently this intimacy wasn’t considered intimate and was overly common so no one but I was aroused.

Day Four: We rose at dawn. The father/Chief slept nude on the fur skin while his wife and daughters were wrapped in ragged sheets. The twins shared a burlap bed for warmth. Yeah, warmth! No one seemed to care that I was still in boxers under my coat and paper blanket. I couldn’t help noticing the golden haired beauties were still so shapely even under their rags.

{edited kids} The still young and pretty mamma smiled at my exposure before she turned to dress. Dad saw and laughed too. He gave me the ritual two-tug greeting and I had to return the groin-shake.

Reigna’s olive skin was as lustrous as her children’s and her slim, shapely body was extremely tempting. Her scapular length, jet black hair left her slim waist and muscular rear exposed to me. Her bright blue eyes to her shapely, gorgeous legs were incredibly appealing to me, yet ignored by her husband. Dad didn’t seem to mind his wife exposing herself and teasing me. I left my {edited kids} What an ego boost!

We all ran outside at the sound of a slow cargo plane and watched it drop three pallets of goods. They landed softly just outside the village. Thirty men greeted the family hedonistically then included me by tugging on my still exposed manhood then waited for me to tug them back. After the first three, I was no longer embarrassed to squeeze and tug them as the ritual required.

They helped me unpack the parts and carry them and the pallets, crates and chutes back. I set up the equipment with the help of the distracting twins. The men could do no more than position equipment since they spoke no English. The previous volunteer had prepared the town hall well. As I bolted in brackets and braces, I wondered if he got the same royal treatment I got. As the men hoisted the solar panels to the roof, I used a ground radar to find a tributary of the creek in the open town square.

[One year after my adventure, I decided I better not leave my journal intact if there’s any chance my children will read this. I’ve already said too much despite sanitizing my notes. The rest of the trip went well, but is too bawdy to leave unprotected, especially day 10. Ask your mom to share the un-edited journal after you’re grown and I’m gone. Sorry kids.]