Fly Through the Air With the Greatest of Ease

Last night my classmates and I went to the theatre downtown to take in a performance entitled Yakximosiz Ependy – literally ‘Hello Sir’. It was an amazing two hours filled with singing, dancing, juggling, and acrobatic tricks. In one act eight of so girls came out riding unicycles. Each one had a number of tea cups stacked on her head. They started by doing a line dance type number where they rode their bikes in unison in every different direction across the stage. Next they started taking the cups off their head, balancing them on their feet and kicking them to another girl across the stage. She would effortlessly catch the flying cup on her head on top of the stack of six she was already balancing… all of this while still riding way up high on their bikes.

In another act contortionists bent this way and that, balancing against each other. This act alone was pretty amazing considering they could move their bodies in ways I never even considered possible… but to top it off they did it all with lit candles on their heads.
And my personal favourite was the tight rope walkers who can not only skip and dance on a little wire high above the stage; they can balance other people upside down on their head while doing it. At one point in the act three of four guys were standing on the rope at intervals of several feet. A fifth guy climbed up on the shoulders of the first and then proceeded to jump from there to the next guys shoulders and so on down the line. It was Amazing.
This art form is called "dawaz" in Uygur means aerial tightrope walking. According to historical records and uncovered relics, this form of art has at least a history of over 2000 years and it originated in part of Central Asia. Dawaz is an ancient sport widespread among the Uygurs. Since then Central Asia has been a breeding ground for such acrobatic arts as pole stunts, ball juggling, sword skills, magic, and animal taming. Traveling showmen who made their livings from acrobatic shows have taken these breathtaking skills far and wide. We talked to the father of one of the performers after the show who said his fourteen year old daughter has travelled to the Middle East, Canada, and Japan performing these stunts.

Our white western faces once again served us well as we were invited back stage after the show to meet the performers and take a few pictures with them. These guys told us they had been practicing and rehearsing for this show for almost three years, and trust me when I say it was worth it.

Dynamic Equivalent

I was talking with one of my fellow expats the other day about the coming of spring. I was going on and on about how the ‘open weather’ was doing so much to lift my spirits. She laughed and said “that is a really wooden translation from the Uyghur, but I know what you mean.” The sad thing is I didn’t even realize that wasn’t a proper English expression. I have gotten so use to hearing it in Uyghur, or hearing Uyghur English speakers express it in those terms, that I just figured I was speaking my native tongue properly. I even noticed that I phrased it that way in my previous post, which got me to reading over a few recent posts to see if there were other examples of my declining English ability.

It is bad enough that I still speak the national language like a three year old, or that I speak Uyghur like a six year old, but if my English also escapes me I will be left making a fool of myself in three languages. The longer I am here the more I do question my own English… I am forever asking “is that really how we say it? Is there a better way to translate that? What is the dynamic equivalent?”

In Like a Lamb

For all of you who care about the weather and the fact that it is the first of March, I am pleased to announce that we started the month with a beautiful day. Our temperatures actually got as high as -3 (almost spring jacket time).

You could feel the sense of excitement in the air… the anticipation that our long dark winter might soon be drawing to a close. It is still a little early to expect a full onset of spring, but the sense of hope has begun. Everyone has started to peek their heads out of their homes again. The streets were busier with pedestrians, while the buses seemed to have a little more room (I wasn’t standing in some man’s arm pit with a woman’s purse pushing into my bottom). Not only did the weather seem more open, so did the general population’s mood.

This lightness of heart is really absent here over the winter. I feel like we all live under the same dark cloud of gloom. I remember the first time I heard some one talk about seasonal depression. I thought it was just a hoax, made up by people who were to scared to handle a real Canadian Winter. I need to publically apologise to all of you, for so drastically underestimating the seriousness of this condition. Since living here and suffering through the dark winter, when the sun can’t shine through the pollution ( a Canadian paper recently list the city I live in as one of the top most polluted in the world), when temperatures of -15 seem like a fairly nice day, or when all of our friends would just rather stay inside than endure the elements to come and visit you (mind you I only offered them to come over, so that I didn’t have to get bundled up in my winter gear to go to their place), I have had to face the reality of seasonal depression. It has never gotten to the point I can’t get out of bed, or function through daily activities, but everything I do in the winter feels like it is being done in slow motion, under a black cloud. And it is not just me, it is the whole city, we have a population of between 3-5 million people and we almost all collectively spend the winter struggling with feeling down.

But some how the darkness of those long winter days, make a day like today, days when March comes in like a gentle lamb, seem even more refreshing and reviving.

Sweet Spot

Today was the first day back to class and one of my teachers commented on how much better I was looking after the break. Well actually what she said was that I had gained weight, and then she proceeded to use her index finger to stroke under my chin, like I was a cat. She said it was my sweet spot, and the fat that made me look cute. As you can imagine I am not used to getting complimented on my double chin, or having it pet (so you can also easily guess why there is not picture coinciding with this entry). I knew I had gained a few pounds from eating doughnuts in Thailand, but I wasn’t quite prepared to be called fat the first day back to class.

Just another local compliment to add to the list of those that aren’t very trans-cultural between the east and the west. I have actually noted quite a few over the years. I remember going into a hotel lobby once several years ago and over hearing two girls talking about me. One girl said “look at how white her skin is, she is whiter than a ghost”. The other one responded by saying “I was looking at her nose. It is so tall and big, I think it is the biggest nose I have ever seen”. As my hand self-consciously rose to cover my large protruding snout, the two realized that I could understand their conversation. They giggled awkwardly and quickly left the room, leaving me standing there feeling like a sickly pale version of Pinocchio.

It took me a long time to realize that people here think tall noses are beautiful, and that pale skin is a sought after commodity. These two strangers were not trying to be cruel or nasty in their assessment of my appearance, in fact they were looking on with awe (okay so maybe they weren’t that impressed with what they saw). But they both knew that their evaluation of my appearance was positive, where as I had perceived them to be making fun of me. The same with my ‘sweet spot’ today in class. The Uyghur people like a lady with rounded features instead of the slim lines we admire in the west. But as she continued to go on about my ‘fat’ and my double chin, I had to remind myself that it was a compliment, otherwise I might have developed a complex.

Saying Goodbye

I am once again roommateless. Early this morning I took Amanda up the airport and hugged her goodbye. She has been here for exactly one year today and it was time for her to board a plane and head for her home in the US.

I think one the hardest things about living here is the goodbyes. They are constant. I am either flying from Canada to here and having to say goodbye to all of my friends and family on that side of the world, or I am leaving here to go there. To top it off it seems like a lot of people come out here for a few weeks to a year. They are fun and wonderful people to have around…and I find myself drawn to them. But because their time is only temporary, I know even as I am getting attached I will have to face the inevitable goodbye. I remember when I first meet one of the expat kids who has grown up out here. Their very first question to me was “how long are you here for?” I think it was a bit of a defense mechanism for them. If I know how long you will be around for, I know how deeply I can get attached.

I am the same way, I am often tempted to protect myself against short term visitors by not allowing myself to get close to new people. But the problem with that is that I am only cheating myself. I end up missing out on getting to know some great people. And so I have learned to allow myself the pain of days like today. And my heart joins with the Muppets in “Saying Goodbye”

Saying goodbye, going away
Seems like goodbye's such a hard thing to say
Touching a hand, wondering why
It's time for saying goodbye
Saying goodbye, why is it sad?
Makes us remember the good times we've had
Much more to say, foolish to try
It's time for saying goodbye
Dont want to leave, but we both know
Sometimes it's better to go
Somehow I know we'll meet again
Not sure quite where, and I dont know just when
You're in my heart, so until then
Wanna smile, wanna cry
Saying goodbye
La la la la la la la la
It's time for saying goodbye
Muppets Saying Goodbye - Amazing videos are here

On the River

I am finally back at my own desk, writing from my own home. Vacation took a little longer than expected, but as you will see it was a lot of fun. A few friends and I decided to take a boat from Northern Thailand up the Mekong River which flows between Myanmar and Laos right into China. The original plan had been to take the boat on Monday the 9th, but China for some reason decided not to let boats into the country that day. We had to wait around in Thailand an extra day or so.

It was a beautiful jungle trip. The boat even stopped on the beach of Myanmar as the staff wanted to collect rocks to take back to China with them. They said they would be able to sell them for a good price. This meant that we were playing on the beaches of Myanmar illegally since we didn't have a visa to be there. The river was pretty narrow where we stopped and right on the other side of us in Laos.

It was a suppose to be a nine hour trip, but took us closer to twelve, even then they let us off at the wrong port in China and we had to take a two hour bus ride through some very winding roads (in the dark... it was a little scary at the speeds we were going).

Once in China we found that the tickets we had tried to reserve had been sold out from under us (since we arrived two days later than planned we could no longer purchase them, and the flight was sold out) my friend and I were stuck there for an extra two days. It was quite the adventure. But we did see the famous Chinese Pandas and even found an old style traditional architectural Starbucks... ah when the old and the new, the east and the west meet, it is a beautiful thing.
For some reason even after waiting two days it was hard to get a flight back to Central Asia. The only tickets available were first class. We ended up buying them, but I think the stewardess (and probably everyone else in our cabin) could tell this was a new experience for us. We thanked them every time they came by. We oohed and ahhed over our soft pillows, fluffy blankets, free slippers, real dishes, and big comfy seats. And by 2 a.m. on the 15th I was finally home.

Shown up by Elephants

The other day some friends invited us to join them and their kids to go to an Elephant camp. It is always more fun to go with a family and share the joy with children ( maybe that is why I have already gone to the Zoo twice and the aquarium once since being here). Elephant camp was cool, but I went away feeling so stupid, a group of big dumb animals are smarter and more talented than me.

They can dance,

Hulahoop,

Paint pictures -something I have never been good at. When I was in grade 11 my geography teacher took marks off my work because he said that my mountains looked like pyramids with snow on top. But an elephant's artwork sells for 2 000 Baut.

Play soccer- I tended to run away from the ball when I was in school

And haul heavy loads.

Just Like Tim's

All through college one of my favourite things to do was go order a large double double and a sour cream glazed doughnut from Tim Horton's. In fact I have even had dreams about this combination ever since moving to Central Asia. I heard that they had opened one for the troops in Kandahar, and even pulled out a map to see if I could figure out how far it was to my closest Timmy's (when I saw that I would have to cross some tall mountains, pass through Pakistan just to get to the base, I decided that maybe it wasn't worth it). But hitting Timmy's is the first thing I do when I arrive home in Canada.

Thailand really is the land of plenty, it might not be flowing with milk and honey, but it does make my dreams come true. Yesterday while walking through the mall I noticed that Mister Donut had something on the sign that strangely resembled my long lost friend, mister sour cream glazed. I was a little sceptical to actually try it, having been disappointed many times in the past by baked goods in Asia that look like the real thing, but tasted nothing like it. My friend had noticed how I was salivating over the picture, and bought me the doughnut to try today. I am pleased to report that it lived up to my memory. I still have three more days here, so the question is... how many doughnuts can I eat in that amount of time???

Pleasant Trip to the Hospital

Yesterday I made my annual pilgrimage to the hospital in Thailand (I don't really trust the medical care where I live in Central Asia). What is normally a dreadful and avoided situation for most people is almost a highlight of the trip for me. It is hard to believe all that can be accomplished in a few hours.

I learned years ago that you do not have to make an appointment in advance, you can just show up at the hospital, and get in to see a specialist. This is totally amazing to me since I come from Canada and specialists have waiting lists that can be several months long.

Anyway I normally show up at the hospital and tell the front desk clerk what type of doctor I would like to see. Within ten minutes I am often sitting in his office (much better than the gruelling three hour waits I remember from my childhood). Most of the doctors at the hospital in Bangkok have all been trained in the west and speak excellent English. This doctor can then order all the tests I need. From there it is a well oiled machine, first I go to the lab, then off to ex-ray followed by a quick eye exam and back to the original doctor who, by this time, already has the results of my blood work and the ex-rays, he gives me his general report and off I go to pay the bill and pick up meds. Since I am filling a prescription for a whole years worth of medication they sometimes need a little longer , which gives me time to swing by Starbucks on my way and enjoy a cold, icy, frappe, tall, grandee, treat of coffee goodness. And all of this for the low, low price of $1,200 CAD (Not counting the coffee). All of this running around from office to office can be accomplished in 2 and a half hours. It is utterly amazing.

After another of year of this grand tradition, you will all be glad to hear (or at least my mom will) that I have been deemed healthy and fit for another year. I love the hospital.

A Night in the Airport

I am currently in the warm sunny south of Thailand. It was a long and adventurous trip to get here, but we made it to the land of good food and warm sunshine.

When we first checked in at our local airport it was interesting to see what items in our checked luggage caught the official’s attention.
We had to open our bags and show off the five jars of peanut butter that we were carrying for friends that had moved out here. They also searched my friend’s bag and questioned her on her “gang of four” which is nothing but a card game, another friend also had his pack of Uno cards called into question. Meanwhile our third bag was filled with a bread maker, blood pressure cuff, and other odd electronic devices that passed through without even the raise of an eyebrow.

We took three flights and had six hour layovers between each flight. We ran into old friends in the Bangkok airport and spent our layover not sleeping on the hard metal benches. Thankfully there was a McDonalds in the airport. A big mac tastes so much better when you haven't had one in months.

Ever since I had my surgery last year I have been displeased by the dark red scars that it left on my knees. But I have finally found a reason to be thankful for them. Going through metal detectors when I have enough metal inside me to be the bionic woman can really make a lot of noise and draw a lot of attention. At one of the security checks that I went through I actually had to pull up my jeans to prove that the sound was coming from inside and that I had nothing attached to me. The security guard looked a little perturbed by the whole thing and actually asked another official what she should do in this case. . Thankfully her co-worker could see the obvious signs of my surgery from across the way and waved me though the metal detector.

Celebrating another Birthday

Today is my roommate’s birthday; we started the celebrations off last night by going out with a bunch of her friends to one of our favourite restaurants. Our poor tutor came along because my roommate had assured him that some of her friends were bringing their husbands, but he ended up being stuck at a table of all girls (you would think that would be most twenty something guy’s dream come true).

All of her friends brought nice gifts, but I think the best was the tea pot cozy that doubled as a hat. You see these elaborate tea pot warmers for sale everywhere in the bazaar and for months my roommate wasn’t sure what they were… was it a pillow, a hat, or what? Well she found her own use for it...

The restaurant we went to is normally known for its show and dancing. First they entertain the customers with a performance. In the past they had two Uyghur midgets dancing, more recently it has been a tightrope walker. The show is always followed by music and an open dance floor. While I was never much of a dancer at home, I have learned to love Uyghur dancing since I moved here. Sadly last night they were remodeling the big room and we didn't have any sort of entertainment (other than one of our friends Patigul – she is hilarious). Oh well, here are some pictures from a few years ago, to show you some of the fun we missed out on.

Pakistani Food

Living in central Asia means I am surrounded by many different ethnic groups. In fact one of my friends who lives here is from Pakistan. She is here studying to be a medical doctor. We went out with her yesterday for lunch to a Pakistani restaurant in town. This is not my first time going to this restaurant; in fact since living here I have become a big fan of Pakistani food.

Yesterday we let our friend order for us, since she has a much better handle of what is good. One of the dishes she ordered looked a lot like scrambled eggs, but much to my surprise it was actually brain (we are still not sure whose brain, but either sheep or cow). The first time I tried it I have to admit my gag reflects was on over drive. I think there was something just mentally disturbing to me about eating brain. The whole time I was chewing I couldn’t stop thinking “I am eating some poor animal’s brain, it use to think with what is in my mouth”. But on second taste I tried to convince myself it was just like any other dish on the table and to just have a little with my bread. It was actually really good and I found myself going back for more.

So I have officially expanded my worldview and may even be a little smarter for doing so. Eating brain is definitely one of those things that it is better to ask what you are eating after you have already tried it and know you like it, instead of going into the situation with preconceived disgust.

Set Until the End of August

This morning I went to the city police station to pick up my passport and was pleased to find that I had been granted an eight month visa. I was a little worried this time around since I had attempted to change schools for next semester. This past year I have not had the best learning situation, both the beginning and the end of the semester, were very stressful. In an attempt to avoid the same situation next semester I was hoping to attend the Arts College, which is only a 20 min walk from my home. But after filling in all the paperwork with both my current school and the one I was hoping to transfer to, the Education Commission refused my transfer (frustrating… this really is a place where the government is in control of everything). I was sincerely hoping that they had not tagged my name in the computer system somewhere preventing me from getting a new visa. In fact, the foreign affairs officer at the Arts College was very surprised today when she found out I was still able to get a visa through my old school with out any trouble.

Disney Goes Uyghur

One of my favourite ways to study language is to sit back and watch a movie. It is amazing the vocabulary you can pick up by just vegging on the couch before bed. The only problem with watching Uyghur movies is that they are all so tragic. In everyone one someone dies, someone is in jail, or being cheated on by their spouse, or something very emotional is happening. The movie covers almost always have a picture of someone bleeding and someone leaning over them weeping and wailing. When ever I watch a disk before bed (most movies come on 2 VCD’s) I tend to go to bed all sad. Here is a small clip I found on YouTube, while there are no words being spoken, I am sure you can see how depressing the story line seems to be.

In an attempt to lighten the mood of my language pursuits I have started to buy Disney movies that have been translated. In the last few weeks my collection has really grown. I have Beauty and the Beast, Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, A Bugs Life, Shrek, Toy Story, Finding Nimo, Lion King, Tarzan and others. They are a lot more fun to watch before bed… and are actually packed full of useful vocabulary. I have even found such classics as Gone With the Wind and Titanic in Uyghur.

It is kind of funny to see what they have done with some of the songs in the Disney cartoons. As you can imagine it is hard to translate a song and get the syllabification to fit in time with the music. In some cases they have kept the English song and just have a Uyghur voice over speaking the meaning of the song. In other cases they sing the song in the national language hoping the Uyghur kids will be able to understand some of it. In some movies they have sadly cut the video short by cutting out all the songs. And in others they have kept them in English, some songs like “A Whole New World” have become popular world wide and don’t need any translation.

At Home In My Own Home

Last weeks flu brought to light some more cultural differences between our North American ways and the way things are done here. The main one that caught my attention was the act of blowing your nose. We consider it very appropriate to grab a tissue and blow your nose, even if other people are around. Here, however, that is the rudest possible thing to do, even if you have a cold. Instead of blowing your nose in a tissue it is considered more polite to: snort and spit, or to cover one nostril and do the good old farmer blow. Either of these polite alternatives can be done on the street, in the stairwell, or even in the school hallways (which is why you have to watch so closely where you are walking). Even tonight as I was walking home I saw a woman all dressed up fancy spitting on the sidewalk.

To local people the whole idea of using a Kleenex is gross. They can’t understand why we would want to wrap up our snot and often reuse the same piece of paper to blow again. They are equally offended by this action as you likely were with reading their practices. In my process of fitting in to this new life style I have found this adjustment very hard. I will admit to occasionally spitting when I am outside, but I can’t bring myself to do it in a building. I often excuse myself and go and blow my nose in another room away from my local friends.

Which is why when my tutor came to our house last week my roommate and I both were jumping up and heading to the washroom whenever we had to blow our noses. This got to be very distracting to class (since we were both so sick and every five minutes or so one of us would have to leave the room), we eventually just brought the whole roll of toilet paper into the living room and plunked it on the coffee table. Our tutor spends about ten hours a week at our house, and he has told us more than once that it feels like the most free/relaxed place for him. We figured if he can feel relaxed at our house then we should be able to too. And so for the first time in four and a half years I blew my nose in front of a Uyghur person.

A Little TLC is the Best Medicine

The silence this past week has been due to my being sick. For the last several days I have been down with a sinus infection, added to my regular winter cough and I have been feeling pretty miserable. It was the type of week that I would have just liked to stay in bed and groan (which I did get to do some of).

But despite how I was feeling there were things that needed to be done. My own visa was coming due, which meant I had to go to the school and pick up the proper paper work, which then
had to be taken to the city police station and submitted (I should know by Wed. if I have a new visa for the next eight months).

Also a new couple moved to town and I had offered to try to help them settle in. Once again getting set up out here takes work and a lot of running from office to office obtaining the proper red stamp. There are trips to the school, meeting the landlord, the local police, the city police, medical checks, setting up cell phones, and home phone and so much more. I tried for the first day or so, but my head was swimming so badly and I was so cold and feverish that I could barely focus, much less translate well. I was so thankful when a friend stepped in and offered to take over. He willingly interceded between them and the landlord, accompanied them to the local police station and even set up their phones.

I have been offered so much advice over the past week on how to get better that I almost drowned in it.
There was the obvious advice of :

• Wear more/thicker clothing
• Drink tea with honey it

But I was also told:

• Put Vicks on the bottom of my feet
• Drink snake tea
• Eat black nan
• Eat only Hot foods
• Use a humidifier and air purifier
  
• Drink flour and water mixed together
• Go get an IV (Uyghur cure for everything)
• and so much more
  

All of these suggestion were given in love, but what I really needed was rest. This weekend one of my friends invited me over to her house on kind of a retreat. She told me to just come lay on her couch and she would take care of me. Another friend came by and made me homemade chicken soup. I think these acts of loving kindness have gone further than any home remedy to helping me feel better. To have someone jump in and take over with responsibilities that I just couldn't handle, to have someone buy the soft tissues so that my nose wasn't getting beat up by a fourth roll of toilet paper, to have chicken soup, to be given a hug, all of these things have demonstrated the love of my friends out here. Thanks guys!

A New Look for a New Year

Happy 2009.

In honour of the new year ( actually I think it had more to do with celebrating class being over for the semester than anything else) I decided to go for a new hair do. I have gone to beauty shops around here before, but it is hard to explain what I want exactly, and I always seem to walk away with something a little more Asian funky than I was hoping for. So this time I let one of my classmates have a go at it. She came highly recommended after having cut someone else's hair once. It is a little shorter than I originally intended, but this way I had enough to mail my ponytail to Locks of Love. Oh well, it will grow back (now the only thing is that you will all be able to tell when I am lazy and just use old file photo's on my blog-which trust me I do often since things haven't changed much in the four years I've been here).

All of my Uyghur friends are mourning the loss of my hair, since they place a high value on a woman's long locks... but the rest of the ex-pat community seem to think it is really cute.

Enough about outward appearance, I do hope that 2009 is a year in which we will grow in the important areas of life and that we will continue to walk the walk.

Happy to Me

Yesterday was mine and my classmate’s birthday. We decided to keep up my annual tradition of going to the People’s Square and checking out the ice sculptures ( a weird practice for a girl who hates ice as much as I do). We had fun, but this year they had tape around the sculptures to keep us form climbing on them for pictures. We didn't last long outside this year because the thermometer read -17 degrees, so we snapped some pictures and headed to the restaurant to continue our celebrations.

Introducing Roommate #14

This week we got a new roommate, this one is much furrier than any others to date. Meet the cat with many names: Gush (uyghur for "meat"), Aslan (Uyghur for kitten) Bu Yao ( national language for "don't want" - I think the mom of the family we got him from wasn't too thrilled at the prospect of having a cat in their home) and Puss in boots ( sometimes he looks just like the cat from Shrek). We are officially just babysitting the cat for a few weeks while friends of our are back in the states. Roommate 13 has been bugging me to get a cat since she moved in, so she is overjoyed about the new addition to our home. She said it was the best Christmas present I could have given her.

On that note I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas. I sure did, although all the parties tired me out.

Going out with a Bang

We are nearing the end of our semester and I was reminded of the struggles we went through to start the semester. The school is trying so hard to formalize it procedures and function more like a North American University, unfortunately with little luck.

This week has been exam week which was anything but normal. My first exam was actually just a reused one from my teacher's fourth year local student's class… all of the questions were written in the majority language, which I can read a little of, but not enough to understand when it says “conjugate these verbs in to the perfect past continuous forms”. Because our class used a different textbook this year, it wasn't really based on the information we had studied. I was also unable to translate whole sentences between these two foreign languages. In other words I bombed it.

In the afternoon on Monday we scheduled to take the exam for our oral Uyghur class, but because the teachers need to hand in hard copies of our exam, it would be a written test. When we showed up to take the exam, we were hustled off to another room, where a bunch of young Russian kids were writing their listening exam (this meant the teacher kept reading passages out loud to them) making the room anything but quiet. The proctor then gave us the wrong exam paper (we thought we were writing an exam based on our oral class and he gave us our grammar exam –which I thought I still had one more night to study for). The font that was used on our grammar exam was next to impossible to read (many of the letters were formed incorrectly because the computer it was printed off of did not have Uyghursoft) and took double the time to read. We tried to tell the proctor it was the wrong exam and that it was illegible, but he doesn’t speak or read Uyghur. He told us not to complain and just write. “Anyway” he said “it doesn’t really matter, these exams don’t count for anything”. IF THEY DON’T COUNT THEN WHY IN THE WORLD ARE WE TAKING THEM?????

When our teachers saw how poorly we as a whole class did on these exams they invited us over to their homes separately (secretly). If a teacher’s whole class does poorly it reflects on the teacher and they will loose face (shame is a very big part of this culture). At their homes we drank tea and corrected our exams together one by one… but we had to have different answers in some places so that it wasn’t so obvious that we had cheated. The whole thing was so frustrating. In the last two day I have written three exams of which I had to re-write two of them. I try not to use this blog as just a place to vent my cultural frustration… but today this is me venting.

No Harm Done

Recently I mentioned that a friend had given us all of her old packaged food goods from the states. I am pleased to let you know that at lunch we made the Mac and Cheese dated 2001 and ate it with no problems. Mind you we had spent a lot of time upfront sniffing, smelling and taste testing it with our figure before we decided to just go for it and give it a try. I was right those dates really don’t mean anything. Seven year old macaroni made my day.

I Don’t Know How Santa Does It

Christmas is drawing near and this year a few of my close friends and I decided not to buy each other gifts… but instead to pool that money and make gift baskets. We were each allowed to choose two or three local friends or families whom we wanted to give a basket to. We spent Saturday afternoon baking, buying fruit and finishing up cross stitch decorations. Each parcel contained banana bread, cookies, crocheted snowflakes, cross stitched winter senses, oranges, pomegranates, and some hot chocolate. We had even practised singing a song in the national language (which could be understood by Uyghurs and everyone else) to greet people with when they came to their door.

We started the night by taking buses from one stop to another, but soon broke down and paid the little extra to go by taxi. We had a lot of stops to make, and our arms were loaded with yet undelivered baskets. We almost had to be rude at each home as we wanted to just sing them a song (which is a lot harder to do after climbing six flights of stairs), pass off the gift, take a picture (which you will notice are mainly from the waist up… as everyone was answering the door in their long underwear) and leave for the next delivery, this was hard with Uyghur friends continually inviting us in for tea (a two hour event).

It was a cold crazy night, the temperature seemed to be dropping between each stop. It dropped so low that the batteries in both our phones and cameras were dying and making it hard to contact those at our next location. But we did it. We made 11 stops in just over three hours, with only one family not home to get their gift. We were all wiped out and very glad to crash at the end of it all. One night around the city was more than enough for me, I don’t know how Santa does the whole world in a night.

It's Back

My annual winter cough is back with a vengeance. I am not really sick it is just the coal dust in the air that causes me to have problems breathing. It makes it hard to visit friends when every time I open my mouth to talk and cough and wheeze like a smoker.

Rejoice with Those Who Rejoice

Over the last week I have spent several days visiting for the holiday. It is amazing the number of neighbours I have met in these few days. Many of them recognize me from around campus- I guess there aren’t many young white women that have been living here for almost four years. Each time I met a new person they commented on how wonderful it was that I wasn’t on my crutches any longer and that my legs seemed to be doing so much better.

I even met up with my old crutch buddy. This woman is in her mid seventies and part of the majority people group (ie speaks the language I am not as good at). She was so impressed to see me up and walking on my own. She is still on her crutches moving slowly but greatly rejoiced with me in my restored health. I couldn't help but think what our good North American Medicine would be able to do for her, if only she had the access I had.

It is wonderful to be part of the community here… not just to realize that all of the neighbours know me (and everything about me), but to have them greet me on the street. The vegetable man salutes me everyday as I pass by on my way to class… the sweet potato man waves from across the street, students run to catch up and walk together, my teacher calls me her oldest daughter and mocks me unmercilessly. I love the fact I get to live here.

On the Bloody Morning After…

In my last post I mentioned that it was Korban Hayt. The holiday officially stretches over three days as family and friends go from house to house visiting. Yesterday I was able to make it to four different homes and was served four different plates of boiled mutton (mainly fat in some cases). It is a fun festival filled with food and visiting friends and family…

but the day after is DISGUSTING. I am very thankful that Asian people see it as rude to wear your shoes in the house, because on the day after Korban, I don’t even want to think about what is on the bottom of my shoes. You really have to watch where you walk outside, there is sheep poop, the sheep guts and intestines everywhere, blood and the contents of the sheep’s stomach get tracked up and down the streets. It really is gross here (This holiday moves about a week or so every year, but I am thankful that every year I have been here it has been winter and all this stuff freezes, as does the smell). If you keep your eyes open, you may even find a foot, head, horn or hoof that they forgot to clear away the day before.

All of the above pictures are taken just steps outside my front door. These same scenes are repeated in ever apartment complex courtyard around the city and throughout the province. It is a bloody, bloody day.

Happy Hate

Today was Korban Heyt (pronounced hate), the Muslim holiday made famous for its slaughtering of sheep. Early this morning my roommate and I made our way towards one of the largest Mosques in town. The Uyghur people treat this holiday the same way many North Americans treat Christmas… even if they don’t believe in God, they might be able to find to a Christmas service of some sort… in the same way Korban is the holiday on which even the most nominal of Islam followers will find the time to practice their religion. There were literally thousands of men lining the streets, blocking traffic and participating in prayer time. Even where we stood on the bridge above the street was getting crowded with men and women and their prayer rugs.

Off to the side of the street are the sheep for sale.

The first day of the holiday is often reserved for family. They gather at the oldest family members house and eat the meat of the sheep that was sacrificed on their behalf. Today instead of going to a bunch of my friends homes, and eating food till I burst, I went to the hospital. I remember as a kid when I was in hospital right up until the 24^th of December, it wasn’t fun to feel like I was missing out on the celebration. My teacher’s sister-in-law is currently in the hospital struggling with cancer. My classmate and I spent the afternoon visiting her and some of the other patients in that ward. We had packed a dozen small bags filled with bread, dried fruit, nuts and other goodies, all things you would normally find on a Uyghur table during the holiday season.

It’s Beginning to Look a lot like Christmas

I got my sad little Charlie Brown Christmas tree put up this week, which really gives the whole apartment more of the feel of Christmas.
Also the huge amounts of snow that was dumped on the city this week went quite far to getting me in the spirit of things.

I was out walking on the first day it snowed (before the masses had gotten out to clean off the roads) and actually went for quite a tumble. I am alright… although I was pretty stiff there for a few days. The good news, if you can say that when you slip on the ice in the middle of the road, is that I sounded local while doing it. Out of all the sounds, noises, or colourful metaphors that could have come streaming out of my mouth in this moment of panic… I screamed “Woi Jan”. This Uyghur expression would most literally be translated “Oh dear”. The guy walking behind me a few feet thought it was hilarious to see a foreign girl scream out like an old Uyghur lady that he was still laughing to himself as he gave me a hand up.

Sometimes Owning is Better than Eating

One of my friends and her husband are moving, which means they are in the midst of cleaning out their apartment and giving away a bunch of stuff. My roommate and I scored all of their old foreign food mixes.

All of our new treats

Packages from home filled with Mac and Cheese, soup mixes, coffee and hot chocolate are one of the most exciting things to get in the mail. It’s like sending all the joy of a North American grocery store in a box. My roommate has been known to say that a care package doesn’t really live up to its name unless it has food supplies.

My roommate and her sister sitting in the midst of all the goodies her sister brought with her

It is so fun to open the kitchen cupboard and see it full of all these goodies we just can’t buy here. As I look at each box I can clearly imagine what the dish tastes like, I start to salivate. Just standing looking at it brings so much joy.

Sometimes the joy of just owning the food is better than actually eating it. If you live overseas you know what I am talking about… the anticipation of what it will taste like, the dreams and images it conjures by merely feasting with the eyes go on and on… but once you have opened the box and consumed the food the dream is over. The box no longer joyfully greets you when you open the cupboard… the anticipation has been met… the longing fulfilled… and dead.

I know I am not alone in this feeling, in fact it would explain why all of the supplies my friend gave me the other day are past their best before date. (Do you think it is safe to eat Velveeta – still sealed- with an expiration date of 2004???). I tend to view these dates as mild suggestions printed to merely relieve the company of any legal obligation. Although I do remember this same friend once making a pie for thanksgiving using shortening that was years old, the end result was just gross. I think in that case she should have held on to it longer and enjoy the dream instead of the reality.

Not Fast Enough

The Uyghur people value the idea of marriage, or at least its statues. I have been told more than once by friends that it is better to have been married and gotten divorced, than to never have married at all. As girls get older they will feel enormous amounts of press to marry and ‘get it over with’.

Traditional Uyghur bride and groom

With this cultural understanding as a backdrop, you will understand why all my friends and teachers have started an outright campaign to get me married off. My roommate thinks she knows the prefect person for me… her ‘perfect person for me’ has a suggestion of his own on who would be a good match. My teachers spent half of our class period the other day discussing the matter. One teacher even offered me her younger brother… which is quite the allowance, considering what a devote Muslim she is (the whole idea of letting such an unclean, pork eater as myself into the family is unthinkable). Thankfully I stopped them before we got to my bride price.

I can pretty much avoid most of the offers with a quick etymological look at the Uyghur word for husband ‘yoldash’. Yoldash literally means ones road mate. It implies that two people have chosen to walk together through life on the same path. When I point out that most Uyghur man walk on the Islamic road, and I am personally on another road, they see that it would be quite impossible for us to truly be road mates.

A few weeks ago after giving this little speech, in attempts to put an end to my teachers match-making meddling, one of my favourite staff members from the school’s Foreign Affairs office walked in. She is a single Uyghur woman about my age. The teachers quickly switched the focus of their inquires to her. “You’re still single, aren’t you?” they asked. “You don’t have a boy friend?” “Do you want to get married?” And off they were again… throwing out names and suggestions of men that might be a suitable suitor for her. I was glad to be out of the lime light on this discussion. But yesterday this same girl invited me to her wedding in January. The matching making, the set-up, the dating, the proposal, and the setting of the date were all done, now all she needs to do is show up. My teachers kept looking at me like it was my fault I didn’t act fast enough, as if to say, “It could have been you, we tried our best.”

Modern bride and groom dancing in a common reception hall