Merry Christmas, all! (even though I'm a day late -- the wishes are warm all the same)
So it's been snowing here. A lot. Like 4 or 5 inches every other day...so the layer of ice and snow that stays on the sidewalks from December to February has arrived. We've also had some interesting geological activity - as I was preparing my 8th graders for the Rudolph skit they will perform tomorrow for the school holiday program, we had a smallish but definitely noticable earthquake. The kids immediately poured into the hallways, to get outside in case the building started falling apart (an occurance that isn't all that unlikely -- last year, a friend of mine had to change sites after his house was made unliveable by a quake). Anyway, my kids and I emerged unscathed from the earthquake...
All the snow has made weather the conversational topic of choice once again. During dinner a few nights ago, my host sister told me that my littlest host sister -- Nazik, who's nearly 2 now -- was born during a snowstorm. She then proceeded to tell me that during the storm (and, therefore, during her labor), the electricity in the hospital went off. FOR 4 HOURS. True to her character, though, she didn't complain about it at all -- just said, after seeing my horror-stricken face, "Oh, it was ok...I mean, it was still warm inside." Talk about a badass.
Happy Holidays everyone -- hope the new year finds you healthy and happy! I know that I'm pretty excited for 2008, as I'll be spending the first two weeks of it in India.
Terri
26 December 2007
08 December 2007
Especially for the Kingsporters
So the other day, I walk into my 7th form (8th grade) class and see a brand-new map of America taped to the blackboard. I quickly see that it's in Russian, so don't really give it more than a passing glance. I do note, however, that the American landscape is covered with dots of various sizes and colors. I figured it had something to do with natural disasters and then proceeded to start to take attendance.
Predictably, however, my kids then dragged me back over to the map, eagerly asking where my family and I live. I point to some random blank space that looked about right (the States not having been labelled, it was a pretty vague gesture). But then my kids go, "Ahh...Kingsport!" I did a double-take, and realized that the dots on the map referred to the American industries....and Kingsport was a sizeable purple (for chemical plant) dot! Bigger than almost every other dot in the vicinity! So score one for good ole Ktown.
Predictably, however, my kids then dragged me back over to the map, eagerly asking where my family and I live. I point to some random blank space that looked about right (the States not having been labelled, it was a pretty vague gesture). But then my kids go, "Ahh...Kingsport!" I did a double-take, and realized that the dots on the map referred to the American industries....and Kingsport was a sizeable purple (for chemical plant) dot! Bigger than almost every other dot in the vicinity! So score one for good ole Ktown.
01 December 2007
Speakers and Socialists
Last weekend (after a meatless but nevertheless delicious Thanksgiving dinner in a nearby village. I'm pretty sure that I will make pumpkin pie with fresh pumpkin from now on -- it's that delicious.), I headed out to complete the first (and, arguably, most exciting) phase of our club renovation project: the purchase of all the electronic sound equipment. My school counterpart and her husband came with me, since -- much to their surprise, since I'm a technologically-savvy American in their minds -- I had absolutely no idea how to go about purchasing speakers, microphones, DVD players, or switchboards. We went to the cheapest and biggest bazaar in the area -- a huge expanse of booths selling everything from vodka to folding chairs to cardigans to toilet paper that was swarming with Kyrgyz, Uzbek, Russian, and Tajik buyers and sellers. At one point, I found myself in such a crush of people that I was literally carried about 15 feet by the masses before I found a way to release myself. Eventually, though, we made it to the back of the bazaar where all of the electronics are sold.
Like any good bargainer, my counterpart's husband made us go to every single speaker hawker in the bazaar (he's a bit of an electronics guru, which came in infinitely handy this day). This was made slightly complicated because of the fact that they are both these hugely tall Russians and I am this strange-looking redheaded person wearing a lime green fleece -- and therefore prime candidates for being ripped off. My counterpart told me not to speak English for this reason...but since they are Russian speakers and I know only Kyrgyz, our interactions probably looked kind of funny. First the big Russian guy goes up to the seller and surveys the merchandise. Then he talks to his equally tall wife in Russian, who then speaks to the redheaded girl in Kyrgyz. Anyway, the errand I thought might take an hour ended up taking three and a half...but we left with two big, beautiful 9000W speaker, two microphones, and an awesome new DVD player (which, to my director's relief, wasn't Chinese -- Kyrgyz people are very suspicious of Chinese manufactured items, since the stuff that makes it to Kyrgyzstan from China is usually complete crap, the stuff other countries didn't want). We presented them to the school the next morning -- which was an especially nice moment of appreciation for me. And I've scored major points with all the boys at school, who -- like their American counterparts -- are total technophiles. Can't wait for our Christmas disco, when the strength of the speakers will be tested by 50 the newest Enrique and Turkish techno music.
In other village news...earlier this week, I was walking through my village and noticed several new bright red banners hanging from formerly abandoned buildings. At first, I thought these might be some sort of holiday decoration...but then soon read the nationalistic slogans hanging beneath them and remembered that elections are coming up in a couple of weeks. President Bakiyev dissolved the Kyrgyz Parliament earlier this fall, after it failed to draft the new constitution in time. He then summarily started his own political party -- Ak Jol ("White Way" -- a reference to a moral, upright way of life, not a KKK-esque message) -- which is literally painting villages and cities red with its distinctive banners. Not to be outdone, though, a few of the opposition parties have also set up political offices in my village...including the Socialists. So I'm living in a technically democratic country which is currently in a state of political deadlock between the increasingly heavy-handed president and the increasingly vocal opposition (which includes the good-ole-Lenin-loving Socialists). This is kind of funny to me, since the only thing that's really changed in my village in the recent months has been the price of food necessities (flour prices have doubled -- and in a bread-loving culture like this one, that's been really hard on most families, especially those with lots of hungry children at home).
Also -- funny thing of the week: My kids came into class the other day and asked me what "Pimp My Ride" means (thank you, MTV, you globalizer, you). So I first had to explain what a 'pimp' was (I said that it was a person who organizes whores, which set them to giggles...the Kyrgyz word for 'whore,' by the way, also means 'to lick'). Then I explained that it can also refer to a girl or boy who is found very attractive by the opposite sex. So I had kids going around saying "I'm a pimp!" for the rest of the day. And it was awesome.
Like any good bargainer, my counterpart's husband made us go to every single speaker hawker in the bazaar (he's a bit of an electronics guru, which came in infinitely handy this day). This was made slightly complicated because of the fact that they are both these hugely tall Russians and I am this strange-looking redheaded person wearing a lime green fleece -- and therefore prime candidates for being ripped off. My counterpart told me not to speak English for this reason...but since they are Russian speakers and I know only Kyrgyz, our interactions probably looked kind of funny. First the big Russian guy goes up to the seller and surveys the merchandise. Then he talks to his equally tall wife in Russian, who then speaks to the redheaded girl in Kyrgyz. Anyway, the errand I thought might take an hour ended up taking three and a half...but we left with two big, beautiful 9000W speaker, two microphones, and an awesome new DVD player (which, to my director's relief, wasn't Chinese -- Kyrgyz people are very suspicious of Chinese manufactured items, since the stuff that makes it to Kyrgyzstan from China is usually complete crap, the stuff other countries didn't want). We presented them to the school the next morning -- which was an especially nice moment of appreciation for me. And I've scored major points with all the boys at school, who -- like their American counterparts -- are total technophiles. Can't wait for our Christmas disco, when the strength of the speakers will be tested by 50 the newest Enrique and Turkish techno music.
In other village news...earlier this week, I was walking through my village and noticed several new bright red banners hanging from formerly abandoned buildings. At first, I thought these might be some sort of holiday decoration...but then soon read the nationalistic slogans hanging beneath them and remembered that elections are coming up in a couple of weeks. President Bakiyev dissolved the Kyrgyz Parliament earlier this fall, after it failed to draft the new constitution in time. He then summarily started his own political party -- Ak Jol ("White Way" -- a reference to a moral, upright way of life, not a KKK-esque message) -- which is literally painting villages and cities red with its distinctive banners. Not to be outdone, though, a few of the opposition parties have also set up political offices in my village...including the Socialists. So I'm living in a technically democratic country which is currently in a state of political deadlock between the increasingly heavy-handed president and the increasingly vocal opposition (which includes the good-ole-Lenin-loving Socialists). This is kind of funny to me, since the only thing that's really changed in my village in the recent months has been the price of food necessities (flour prices have doubled -- and in a bread-loving culture like this one, that's been really hard on most families, especially those with lots of hungry children at home).
Also -- funny thing of the week: My kids came into class the other day and asked me what "Pimp My Ride" means (thank you, MTV, you globalizer, you). So I first had to explain what a 'pimp' was (I said that it was a person who organizes whores, which set them to giggles...the Kyrgyz word for 'whore,' by the way, also means 'to lick'). Then I explained that it can also refer to a girl or boy who is found very attractive by the opposite sex. So I had kids going around saying "I'm a pimp!" for the rest of the day. And it was awesome.
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving – my favorite holiday – is nearly here again. I love the simplicity of it – that all you have to do to celebrate it is gather with your loved ones and eat a lot of food (this part I have begun to appreciate more over the past couple of years, especially once I realized that turkey is, in fact, delicious). You’re basically just celebrating being part of this earth – and giving thanks that you get to do it with people you love.
Life over here in the Kyrgyz Republic has been more difficult lately. I’ve heard older volunteers say that, perhaps besides the first month at site, this is the toughest part of Peace Corps service. I’ve been here long enough to hone my language skills and cultural understanding; I can conduct decent lessons and get kids to behave; I know where to find good pizza, omelets, and Kyrgyz specialties like pumpkin samosas and lagman. I’m not a complete retard anymore, which is (obviously) a good thing…but I’ve also reached a point where, although I recognize and (for the most part) respect the culture in which I’m living, I understand that I will never be a real part of it. I’m like Long Duck Dong in Sixteen Candles. I am still welcomed, yes, but usually relegated to a corner after initial greetings. That, or am peppered with questions that seem to be getting increasingly personal (revolving around my love life [and how they can affect it] and salary [and why I’m taking Kyrgyz people’s jobs – which, I might add, I most certainly am not]). And, on most days, I don’t mind satisfying their curiosity. I know how much of an oddity I am…and to be perfectly honest, they all seem to me like delightful oddities themselves. But, after a while, it just wears me down, especially after a long day teaching in a cold classroom to rambunctious teenagers and dealing with progressively annoying school administrators. I have a newly deep respect for the immigrant – that person who chooses to leave home and try to make a permanent new one somewhere else. It’s hard to adapt, no matter how much you like your new culture. Old habits and customs die hard.
But, this is a holiday, after all, of giving thanks, of remembering that things aren’t really as bad as you might let yourself think. So I’m going to be cheesy for a moment and recant all the things that I have to be thankful for in this place.
I’m thankful for coffee, that warm, bitter beverage that helps me greet the day – something that becomes even more necessary when the sun doesn’t decide to come up until I’m supposed to be on my way to school. Also, thanks to Starbucks for not being completely serious when they say that you should use coffee by a certain date; I’m drinking stuff that I was supposed to consume about 4 months ago and it still tastes alright to me.
I’m thankful that donkeys can reproduce, because baby donkeys are oddly adorable.
I’m thankful that teenagers around the world are pretty much the same cocky but insecure creatures the world over. This means that I can have a lot of fun in the classroom, that it’s ok if I laugh at my students when they do dumb stuff because they laugh at me when I do dumb stuff, too. And I often milk this dynamic to get them interested in lessons. All I have to do is give an example about a boy liking a girl or explain some of the finer points of 50 Cent or Justin Timberlake’s lyrics and am sure to get a laugh out of them. This is especially helpful when I find myself reviewing the same grammar point again and again (Honestly, I get that things like articles are difficult to grasp because your native language doesn’t have them, but how hard is it to remember that simple present tense verbs need an ‘s’ on the end for 3rd person singular? Or that the past tense of ‘sleep’ is not ‘sleeped’?)
I’m thankful for packages and letters, for those little tangible bits of home that the global postal service manages to cart halfway around the world for me. I’m particularly glad about a recent discovery I made about the nature of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese: you don’t actually have to boil the noodles, you can just pour boiling water into a mug and let the noodles sit for a while; and as long as you eat it immediately, you don’t even need milk or butter for the cheese sauce. These findings have greatly improved the quality of my lunches this week.
I’m thankful that I sometimes get out of school for the day for strange reasons, like, oh I don’t know, Russian Cosmonaut Day and Women’s Day…and for downright ridiculous reasons, like last week, when I discovered that my host mom had locked me inside the house with no chance of escape (my initial playing-hooky-esque excitement was soon dimmed by the silvery, persistent tingle no doubt caused by that blasted 3rd cup of coffee).
I’m thankful for those individuals responsible for the existence of things like Barf brand laundry detergent, t-shirts that proclaim “Just Pukedd” or “Sometimes Everyone Needs a Little Puta (which means ‘bitch’ in Spanish), and wall hangings which depict landscapes that look something like I’d imagine a Photoshop-addicted miniature golfer’s fantasy to be. Lots of gazebos, whimsical bridges, waterfalls, flower fields, and the occasional herd of cows crammed into the same 3’x4’ poster. Sightings of things like these never fail to bring a smile to my face.
I’m thankful that humans have a kind of gypsy wanderlust encoded into their DNA. Otherwise, why else would anyone want to leave the comfort of home to go anywhere at all?
Mostly, though, I’m thankful for those people who have supported me through this endeavor in Kyrgyzstan and all the endeavors before it. I’m pretty sure I’d have cracked by now if I didn’t have your support, whether through newsy emails, junk-food-filled packages, or way-to-go letters. You all rock so hard you could give Jimmy Page and Mick Jagger a run for their money. Take care of yourselves during this holiday season. I’ll miss each of you but look forward to that time – which isn’t so far away, actually – when we can celebrate things like Thanksgiving and Christmas together.
Terri
Life over here in the Kyrgyz Republic has been more difficult lately. I’ve heard older volunteers say that, perhaps besides the first month at site, this is the toughest part of Peace Corps service. I’ve been here long enough to hone my language skills and cultural understanding; I can conduct decent lessons and get kids to behave; I know where to find good pizza, omelets, and Kyrgyz specialties like pumpkin samosas and lagman. I’m not a complete retard anymore, which is (obviously) a good thing…but I’ve also reached a point where, although I recognize and (for the most part) respect the culture in which I’m living, I understand that I will never be a real part of it. I’m like Long Duck Dong in Sixteen Candles. I am still welcomed, yes, but usually relegated to a corner after initial greetings. That, or am peppered with questions that seem to be getting increasingly personal (revolving around my love life [and how they can affect it] and salary [and why I’m taking Kyrgyz people’s jobs – which, I might add, I most certainly am not]). And, on most days, I don’t mind satisfying their curiosity. I know how much of an oddity I am…and to be perfectly honest, they all seem to me like delightful oddities themselves. But, after a while, it just wears me down, especially after a long day teaching in a cold classroom to rambunctious teenagers and dealing with progressively annoying school administrators. I have a newly deep respect for the immigrant – that person who chooses to leave home and try to make a permanent new one somewhere else. It’s hard to adapt, no matter how much you like your new culture. Old habits and customs die hard.
But, this is a holiday, after all, of giving thanks, of remembering that things aren’t really as bad as you might let yourself think. So I’m going to be cheesy for a moment and recant all the things that I have to be thankful for in this place.
I’m thankful for coffee, that warm, bitter beverage that helps me greet the day – something that becomes even more necessary when the sun doesn’t decide to come up until I’m supposed to be on my way to school. Also, thanks to Starbucks for not being completely serious when they say that you should use coffee by a certain date; I’m drinking stuff that I was supposed to consume about 4 months ago and it still tastes alright to me.
I’m thankful that donkeys can reproduce, because baby donkeys are oddly adorable.
I’m thankful that teenagers around the world are pretty much the same cocky but insecure creatures the world over. This means that I can have a lot of fun in the classroom, that it’s ok if I laugh at my students when they do dumb stuff because they laugh at me when I do dumb stuff, too. And I often milk this dynamic to get them interested in lessons. All I have to do is give an example about a boy liking a girl or explain some of the finer points of 50 Cent or Justin Timberlake’s lyrics and am sure to get a laugh out of them. This is especially helpful when I find myself reviewing the same grammar point again and again (Honestly, I get that things like articles are difficult to grasp because your native language doesn’t have them, but how hard is it to remember that simple present tense verbs need an ‘s’ on the end for 3rd person singular? Or that the past tense of ‘sleep’ is not ‘sleeped’?)
I’m thankful for packages and letters, for those little tangible bits of home that the global postal service manages to cart halfway around the world for me. I’m particularly glad about a recent discovery I made about the nature of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese: you don’t actually have to boil the noodles, you can just pour boiling water into a mug and let the noodles sit for a while; and as long as you eat it immediately, you don’t even need milk or butter for the cheese sauce. These findings have greatly improved the quality of my lunches this week.
I’m thankful that I sometimes get out of school for the day for strange reasons, like, oh I don’t know, Russian Cosmonaut Day and Women’s Day…and for downright ridiculous reasons, like last week, when I discovered that my host mom had locked me inside the house with no chance of escape (my initial playing-hooky-esque excitement was soon dimmed by the silvery, persistent tingle no doubt caused by that blasted 3rd cup of coffee).
I’m thankful for those individuals responsible for the existence of things like Barf brand laundry detergent, t-shirts that proclaim “Just Pukedd” or “Sometimes Everyone Needs a Little Puta (which means ‘bitch’ in Spanish), and wall hangings which depict landscapes that look something like I’d imagine a Photoshop-addicted miniature golfer’s fantasy to be. Lots of gazebos, whimsical bridges, waterfalls, flower fields, and the occasional herd of cows crammed into the same 3’x4’ poster. Sightings of things like these never fail to bring a smile to my face.
I’m thankful that humans have a kind of gypsy wanderlust encoded into their DNA. Otherwise, why else would anyone want to leave the comfort of home to go anywhere at all?
Mostly, though, I’m thankful for those people who have supported me through this endeavor in Kyrgyzstan and all the endeavors before it. I’m pretty sure I’d have cracked by now if I didn’t have your support, whether through newsy emails, junk-food-filled packages, or way-to-go letters. You all rock so hard you could give Jimmy Page and Mick Jagger a run for their money. Take care of yourselves during this holiday season. I’ll miss each of you but look forward to that time – which isn’t so far away, actually – when we can celebrate things like Thanksgiving and Christmas together.
Terri
10 November 2007
Halloween, Snow, Etc.
I'm in Bishkek for the weekend, trying to get plane tickets and visas worked out for my trip to India in January (Mumbai, Goa, and the southern Interior are on the current agenda). So my plane was delayed four hours yesterday, which I initially attributed to the general malaise that occasionally affects Kyrgyz public transport. A couple hours later, however, I found out that our plane was grounded because, even though it was 65 degrees and sunny in Osh, it was pouring down snow in Bishkek. When we finally landed, there were maybe 5 or 6 inches of the white stuff on the ground! I hadn't counted on winter coming for a few more weeks, so I was thrown for a bit of a loop.
Anyway, I've been pretty busy the past couple of weeks with the end of the first school quarter and then our fall break. At the end of October, I held my second (and last -- thank God...haha) Halloween party for my kids. My head nearly exploded because of grand event, as we lost our (reserved) location about 45 minutes before the party was to begin then were unable to locate a DVD player so we could have music then couldn't find any non-Turkish-techno CDs and, finally, had a mild riot when the ghetto-ly constructed pinata burst after one swing and candy went everywhere. But, as often happens, the anxiety brewed in the time prior to the event completely evaporated once the damn thing got started. I split my time during the disco dancing with my kids (in that slightly awkward teacher-getting-down-but-not-getting-scandalous-with-her-students way) and standing in the corner being a responsible chaperone and laughing to myself at the high school antics that occur during every school dance that has been or ever will be held for high school students. We had the initial gender-separated dancing circles which were eventually mixed when a couple of brave boys started teasing their female classmates; the group of too-cool-to-dance-so-goof-off-behind-the-stage boys; and the 'after hours' dancing done by the student council member who were helping me clean up. I think that, all in all, a good time was had by all...and I've got a request for a Christmas disco in December.
Anyway, I've been pretty busy the past couple of weeks with the end of the first school quarter and then our fall break. At the end of October, I held my second (and last -- thank God...haha) Halloween party for my kids. My head nearly exploded because of grand event, as we lost our (reserved) location about 45 minutes before the party was to begin then were unable to locate a DVD player so we could have music then couldn't find any non-Turkish-techno CDs and, finally, had a mild riot when the ghetto-ly constructed pinata burst after one swing and candy went everywhere. But, as often happens, the anxiety brewed in the time prior to the event completely evaporated once the damn thing got started. I split my time during the disco dancing with my kids (in that slightly awkward teacher-getting-down-but-not-getting-scandalous-with-her-students way) and standing in the corner being a responsible chaperone and laughing to myself at the high school antics that occur during every school dance that has been or ever will be held for high school students. We had the initial gender-separated dancing circles which were eventually mixed when a couple of brave boys started teasing their female classmates; the group of too-cool-to-dance-so-goof-off-behind-the-stage boys; and the 'after hours' dancing done by the student council member who were helping me clean up. I think that, all in all, a good time was had by all...and I've got a request for a Christmas disco in December.
24 October 2007
Wedding bells (well, not really, thank God)
I found out last week that I'm worth 100,000 som and several cows. That's maybe $3,000 plus cows, which doesn't sound like a lot to my American currency-based-mind, but -- I'm pretty sure -- is a pretty tidy sum in Kyrgyzstan. The average teacher, for example, makes 2,000 som a month; a doctor makes maybe 3,500 som. So I'm guessing that, should I decide to take this particular offer for marriage, I would be purchased on credit. I could then sell my story to MasterCard with something like:
Bride price: 100,000 som
Herd of cows: 50,000 som
Wedding dress: 1,000 som
Fluorescent-colored ribbon to wrap around various rented Mercedes: 100 som
200 bottles of vodka: 800 som
Vaguely talented singing DJ: 500 som
Wedding of the year in a Kyrgyz village: Priceless.
Bride price: 100,000 som
Herd of cows: 50,000 som
Wedding dress: 1,000 som
Fluorescent-colored ribbon to wrap around various rented Mercedes: 100 som
200 bottles of vodka: 800 som
Vaguely talented singing DJ: 500 som
Wedding of the year in a Kyrgyz village: Priceless.
12 October 2007
Soap Operas and Ramadan
So I'm currently listening to a Russian version of Coldplay's "Yellow" -- sung by a guy who sounds like a cross between Neil Young and maybe Bryan Adams, or that Italian pop singer Nek (who is way cooler than this guy currently singing) -- which is a nice background for this posting full of the random events of the week...
Today marks the end of Ramadan, the Muslim month of fasting during the daylight hours (plus of abstinence from sex, alcohol, cigarettes, and other vices). So, on my way to the city, I passed several flocks of white-kalpak-ed old men (kalpaks are the Kyrgyz traditional male headwear -- a tall, angular wool hat with Kyrgyz squiggly designs on them and a tassel on top) who were on their way to various homes for guesting. Muslim tradition (at least in this part of the world) says tells the faithful to make up for all those days of not eating by stopping by seven houses for food and fellowship. Kind of a nice testament to the value of community in the Muslim tradition. I personally will kind of miss Ramadan, since it's virtually the only time of year that I can accurately predict what time my family and I will be having dinner -- at sundown, once the call to prayers begins. All other times of year, we have dinner at 5:30 one day and 9:30 the next, which can get annoying (especially on those days I'm at school til 3 or 4 and have tea and stale cookies from the school cafeteria for lunch).
Actually, though, now that I think about it, my family has been following another pattern of determining the evening schedule -- the Russian soap opera "Tatiyana's Day." Even though my Russian language skills currently consist of things like "Check, please," "I don't understand," and "Bitch, please," I can usually follow the show's ever-twisting plotlines, which usually seem to involve falling in love, questionable paternity, or both. My love for the show and its outrageousness was confirmed this week when, after missing a single episode, I found that the main character was pregnant (again) with her estranged lover's baby. Last time, they did a fast-forward-5-years bit to shake things up. This time, they made things interesting by having the new "slutty" girl on the show get paid off by Tatiyana to pretend to be pregnant at the same time so that she can take the baby and Tatiyana won't have to tell the guy. Scandal! This is especially fun to watch with my preschool-aged host siblings and uber-straight-laced host mother...since the little ones don't understand Russian, either, the family conversation goes something like this:
Ermek (4 year-old boy): Grandma, why did that man run over that woman with a car?
Grandma: [avoiding the real explanation that they woman was a huge whore who cheated on the guy, her husband, and broke his heart...which was a huge mistake given his history of violence] She told lies.
Ermek: Oh, ok. [Then proceeds to drive his own imaginary car into his cousin and, just for dramatic effect, crashes into the wall and enacts a lengthy death scene.]
Who says that family life is boring?
Today marks the end of Ramadan, the Muslim month of fasting during the daylight hours (plus of abstinence from sex, alcohol, cigarettes, and other vices). So, on my way to the city, I passed several flocks of white-kalpak-ed old men (kalpaks are the Kyrgyz traditional male headwear -- a tall, angular wool hat with Kyrgyz squiggly designs on them and a tassel on top) who were on their way to various homes for guesting. Muslim tradition (at least in this part of the world) says tells the faithful to make up for all those days of not eating by stopping by seven houses for food and fellowship. Kind of a nice testament to the value of community in the Muslim tradition. I personally will kind of miss Ramadan, since it's virtually the only time of year that I can accurately predict what time my family and I will be having dinner -- at sundown, once the call to prayers begins. All other times of year, we have dinner at 5:30 one day and 9:30 the next, which can get annoying (especially on those days I'm at school til 3 or 4 and have tea and stale cookies from the school cafeteria for lunch).
Actually, though, now that I think about it, my family has been following another pattern of determining the evening schedule -- the Russian soap opera "Tatiyana's Day." Even though my Russian language skills currently consist of things like "Check, please," "I don't understand," and "Bitch, please," I can usually follow the show's ever-twisting plotlines, which usually seem to involve falling in love, questionable paternity, or both. My love for the show and its outrageousness was confirmed this week when, after missing a single episode, I found that the main character was pregnant (again) with her estranged lover's baby. Last time, they did a fast-forward-5-years bit to shake things up. This time, they made things interesting by having the new "slutty" girl on the show get paid off by Tatiyana to pretend to be pregnant at the same time so that she can take the baby and Tatiyana won't have to tell the guy. Scandal! This is especially fun to watch with my preschool-aged host siblings and uber-straight-laced host mother...since the little ones don't understand Russian, either, the family conversation goes something like this:
Ermek (4 year-old boy): Grandma, why did that man run over that woman with a car?
Grandma: [avoiding the real explanation that they woman was a huge whore who cheated on the guy, her husband, and broke his heart...which was a huge mistake given his history of violence] She told lies.
Ermek: Oh, ok. [Then proceeds to drive his own imaginary car into his cousin and, just for dramatic effect, crashes into the wall and enacts a lengthy death scene.]
Who says that family life is boring?
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