Guest Blogger - My Roommate and Businessmate

Since the following post was written by my room/business-mate as a funny story to send home to her friends, anywhere that you see her mention "K" she is referring to me.

As a special Thanksgiving surprise, K and I got a call from the latest office where we had left our growing pile of registration papers, telling us to stop in on Friday morning to visit the head of the department and sign a few more papers.

Meeting department heads is always a big deal; getting them to like you can cut down on official requirements, speed along important paperwork, and generally make life a little easier. Incurring their suspicion, on the other hand, can cause turn a two-day requirement into two weeks or more of head-scratching waiting.

Upon entering this particular office, I immediately glanced around the room to try to determine who the main person we were going to see was, and what kind of assistants were helping him. Everyone looked about the same -- Asian (of course), male, middle-aged, even a promising comb-over or two. We were immediately told to sit down by the man stationed closest to the desk, which I took to be a good sign, since acknowledging your presence usually means the leader know why you're there. The lone open
chair was sitting next to a computer with a huge fluffy stuffed bunny sitting in the middle of a pile of fall leaves as the screensaver; an odd choice in the middle of the solemn dark wood office furniture and
sparse decorations. I commented loudly in the majority language to K about how I thought the bunny was cute, hoping to score a few points. K, as the senior business partner, took the seat while I stood attentively behind her, trying to look like someone competent enough to open and run a business.

After a few minutes of sitting awkwardly, some kind of meeting between the middle-aged men concluded. They shook hands and shuffled out the door, leaving (I assumed) the leader we had come to see. He looked up at us."So, which of you two can write in characters?" he asked.

K and I looked quickly at each other."I guess that'd be me." I answered timidly.

Here's another thing you should probably know -- the business we're trying to open isn't just another restaurant or coffee shop. It's a translation company. And when you've lived in this country for as long as we have, and you've written all of your documents in the local language yourself, there is a certain expectation of your language abilities. In America, this means being able to chat and joke and understand what's going on around you. But in Central Asia, where crowded classrooms and a
dislike of making mistakes influence education, written fluency is the far more important.

"You can write?" the leader said, looking directly at me."I can write a little," I answered. This is the standard response of every student, regardless of if they are completely fluent or can barely write their own name. Unfortunately, in my case it was also true.

"Come here," he said."I need you to write one more thing."He gestured to the leader-chair looming behind his huge desk. Normally, crossing to the official's side of a desk during an office visit is a faux pas that will cost you an extra week or two in document processing time, but his gesture was unmistakable. I lowered myself gingerly down into the chair, half-wondering if there wasn't some kind of trapdoor that was about to swallow me and all of our pages of detailed paperwork.

"Here," the official put several blank pieces of paper and a pen down in front of me."You brought your passports, right?"

"Of course! And copies, too."Please. Only an amateur would come to a high-ranking official's office without multiple copies of everything from passport and visa, to rental contracts and every official stamped document we've received so far in the process. I dug for the copies in our document bag while K covered for my momentary shuffling by drawing the official's attention to her actual passport.

"Yes, well as you can see, here," he pointed to K's visa page, "You entered our country on..."

"August 16th " K filled in quickly, in case the official didn't know how to read the page filled in entry and exit stamps.

"Exactly. And you came on..."

"August 2nd ," I added, pushing the copies across the desk and pointing to my own visa page.

"Yes. So all we need from you is a document saying that."He looked at me again.

I stared at the blank pages in front of me."You want me to write..."

"Just put your names at the top, and then write 'we entered the country on August 16th and 2nd , respectively, and have remained here until today's date."

My hand was shaking as I wrote our names, first in characters, and then in English."We... en-ter-ed..." I was suddenly very conscious of how sloppy my writing must look, like a 4th grader's printing. And on a
business document, no less."... entered the country on..." the official's gaze never left my hand. "re-spec-tive..." wait a minute, how was that written? If I wrote the wrong character, would he kick us out of
his office? Or make us do everything over?

"Re-spec-tive-ly," he said, slowly and clearly, as he drew the outline of the character in the air.

"Right," I nodded, copying out the character stroke-by-stroke.

The official waited for me to finish the sentence, and then continued dictating, "We hereby apply to the Business Bureau to register and open our translation and consultation company. Then sign both of your names and date it at the bottom."

I nodded again and continued scribbling away as fast as I could. Despite having written most of these characters recently, at least on my computer, many seemed to have flown out of my head. The official
continued to stare at me, which only caused my hand to shake even more."We... hereby... apply..." crud, is it with the little radical that looks like an 'i'or without?

The official raised his eyebrows."Like this," he said, drawing in the air again.

"Of course. We hereby apply... to register..." K pushed her registration card to me across the desk so I could copy the correct character for "register" from that."...to register... our translation..." K nodded toward the paperwork stack on the right side of the desk."That stack is ours, all the characters are on there," she whispered. I breathed a sigh of relief, and pulled the top paper on the stack toward me.

After what felt like several days later, I signed my name at the bottom of the page, and passed it over to K, who signed as well.

"Okay, just two more to go," said the official.

"Two more?"I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

"Here," he pulled a blank sheet of paper to his side of the desk. "Just copy this sentence above your passport and visa copies, and sign your names underneath."I thought I detected a tiny smile as he wrote out, in printing as clear as any elementary school teacher, exactly what he wanted. I didn't even stop to try to read what he had written, but immediately went to work copying it out on the other two documents.

With everything copied and signed and dated, the official thanked us for our time and sent us on our way."We'll call you when this is processed," he added as we headed out the door.

I didn't let myself breathe again until we were out of the office."He was actually really nice," K observed."And patient!" I added.

We were still chatting away our nervous energy when we got on the elevator going back down to the lobby. Since it was lunch time, we were squished in with all sorts of different uniforms, all making awkward small talk about the day so far.

Suddenly, at the tenth floor, the doors opened, and everyone but us abruptly left the elevator, while a new group of officials got on in their place. They continued to wait for the next elevator while ours,
only about half-full, continued down.

When we stopped at the seventh floor, the doors opened again. The group of officials waiting there saw who we were riding with and immediately stepped back away from the elevator."No, no, you go ahead, we'll catch the next one," they all exclaimed in their most polite tones, smiling and nodding all the while. The doors closed again.

K and I looked at each other."Should we have gotten off the elevator too?"I whispered."Who are we riding with?"

I guess even scary high-ranking officials are scared of people who are ranked higher than they are.

We never found out the identity of our elevator buddies, but did we manage to make it out of the building without further incident. So now we're just waiting for news on this latest batch of documents. If we get approval, we'll have two of the three main certificates done, which would be huge.

Proving My Point

I may not be American, but I did get this text message this morning from one of my close friends. It is over the top cheesy.

"I open my wallet, find no money.
I open my pocket, find no coin.
I open my life, find you,
then I know how rich I am!
Forever My Dear Friend
Happy Thanks- Giving Day! :-) "

Points for Texting

A great way to demonstrate friendship and care for people out here is to send a text message. The more flowery and over top the language the more you vaule the person.

On Korban I sent all my friends a message simply wishing them a "Happy Korban Heyt" I got points for remembering to send them a message, but I forgot to make it over the top with beautiful language. They sent me back messages that basically said

"May the great Allah bless you with Grace, Peace, Faithfulness Love and Hope on this beautiful and Holy day of Korban"

Yesterday I saw my opportunity to once again send my friends messages that demonstrate I not only understand the culture I live in, but also show how much I like them. The weather finally turned the corner from a crisp fall to a bitter winter wind. I need to upgrade to my winter coat and so I quickly grabbed my cell phone and wrote a text.

"Dear friend, the weather has turned cold, winter is here. Please remember to wear more clothing and take care of yourself."

It was so sickly sweet I almost chocked on the words as I typed them in. Personally I hate these rebukes to wear more clothing. I easily overheat and don't like to wear to many layers, but I have learned it is a very local way to scold someone lovingly.

My friends texted me back expressing their appreication for my care:

"Thank you my lovely friend for thinking of me. I was moved by your text and cried at how much you care."

Celebrate Good Times

In the past I have been quick to publish all the gruesome and bloody pictures from Korban festival (the yearly Muslim celebration remembering Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son, by once again offering a lamb). It might sounds like a gross holiday, but when you live here it is easy to get caught up in the excitement and joy of it all.

Days before the actual holiday I was walking through the bazaar buying dried fruit and candy for our table, greeting neighbors and talking to sellers about the meaning behind the holiday. There was electricity in the air rivaling that of a mall in North America the week before Christmas. Everyone was talking about the holiday and their plans; everyone was preparing their home for guests and generally enjoying the idea of something to celebrate. I was so caught up in the fun of it all I didn’t even mind having to step through the piles of sheep poop that are everywhere as the streets are flooded with these wooly creatures.

On the morning of Korban my roommate and I headed outside to interact with our neighbors and participate in all the activity. As we step out of our stairwell the kids came running toward us.

“Big Sister, Big Sister, come see my sheep”

“That one over there is ours” said one boy as he ran after his sheep and swatted it on the bottom, laughing when the lamb complained in a loud voice.
The next day these same kids talked the parents into coming to visit at our house. Everyone celebrates the holiday here by going from one home to another visiting family and friends and helping them eat their freshly slaughtered lamb. The kids dragged their parents up to our apartment, even before they made it to their real aunt and uncle’s place. We pulled out our leg of lamb to serve them meat, and gladly told them the story of the three sacrifices. They kids even borrowed our Uyghur copy of the Prince of Egypt movie. Other than the stomach ache from overeating it has been a great week.

I'm Loving It!

I mentioned that while I was away last week I took the opportunity to partake of some yummy McDonald's and other treats that have not made it out to this part of Central Asia. It is always a big thing for us to have a Happy Meal whenever we get away for a few days. As I bought my vegetables today I was reminded that even though you can't get a Big Mac anywhere in this city, McD0nalds does have a bit of a presence out here.

The bag that I got at the veggie seller to carry my stuff home was none other than a McDonald's dogie-bag.

A fruit seller's umbrella in the southern part of our province

The Pakistani restaurant where I eat brain, may be called Madina, but the first time I saw this sign I was sure civilization had finally made it's way out here.

The rip off version of McDonalds, that only sells chicken sandwiches, trust me when I say the quality of the food really does only deserve one golden arch.

Couch Surfing

I am currently sleeping on the couch of a bunch of strangers almost 2,200km from home. I flew up here late Monday night on a hope to head home on Friday. The purpose of my trip: to get a certificate of true copy for my passport. In the process of opening our business one office decided that our passports, in all its standard internationally accepted glory, was not official enough of a document. The lady at the desk wanted us to travel to our closest embassy and have it verified. Thankfully my friend had friends who live in the same city as the Canadian embassy, so at least I was provided a free place to crash.

When we went to the embassy yesterday I was enchanted with the simplicity of this office visit. Being Canadian at the Canadian embassy is being treated like you have come home. The staff is friendly and things are handled according to the same logical order that I myself tend to think in. The guy behind the desk was friendly and actually joked around with us a little, in stead of yelling at us like so many other offices have in the process. Our business was completed in under ten minutes (yes that does mean I spent 3 ½ hours on a plane, to do a 10min job). The saddest part was that the Canadian embassy had just sent a representative to our city five days ago, who would have been able to process our information on sight, but we had no idea of his visit. Oh well, this trip is turning in to a mini vacation since we found the import store and bought microwave popcorn and flavored coffee.

Warning: If You Don’t Like the Mention of Blood, Don’t Read

The other day I went to one of my favorite western restaurants for lunch. As I got off the bus at the stop nearby I could tell a small crowed was mingling around the front door. As I headed towards the steps a man stumbled out of the midst of them with blood dripping everywhere. He had a blood soaked towel pressed to his face, and his clothing looking like he had just emerged from battle. His appearance made me do a double take at who was standing around the restaurant entrance; it was then that I noticed that a lot of them were police officers.

“Karen” my friend yelled from the doorway “go around that way and get in here quickly!”

I followed his instruction cutting a wide path around the group and entered the café. Inside the staff were busy filling buckets with water and starting to scrub down the floor, which was splattered with blood. I could tell my friends were visibly shaken and the story of the last few minute’s events quickly poured from their lips.

Apparently there was a couple peacefully eating lunch in the restaurant, when suddenly a second man came storming in and accused them being together. He didn’t give them time to defend their presence together at the restaurant, before he pulled a knife from his pocket and stabbed the other man in the face, cutting a gash straight across the bridge of his nose. The two man than began to chase each other around the small restaurant (which normally has much more of a Grandma’s kitchen sort of peaceful feel), and the women yell “Stop, stop, it is not what you think”. The staff was able to force them outside, and the police, who were stationed right next door quickly made an appearance.

When I arrived five minutes later, the stabber was still there un-handcuffed (which is why my friend suggested I didn’t cut right through the middle of the crowd) and the bleeding man had still not been taken to the hospital. I might have missed witnessing the worst of the event, but seeing the blood splattered around one of favorite places to get a coffee and relax did shake me up a bit.

In Loving Memory

I got an email from my family yesterday informing me that my Grandmother had passed away. I wanted to take this opportunity to honour the wonderful person that was Grace Arthur.

From my grandmother I learned the importance of eating sweets in order to have a sweet personality. Whenever she went grocery shopping it seemed like candy and other goodies would just “jump” into my grandmother’s cart. She was quick to share her home made fudge, and fresh maple syrup.

From my grandmother I learned the importance of “taking five” when what you really need is an hour long nap to refresh yourself.

From my grandmother I learned that you can down play your faults by claiming “that’s the first mistake I‘ve made all year”. Somehow she could still get away with saying this in December.

From my grandmother I learned that the child-like excitement of Christmas can last well past the age of retirement.

But the most important lesson I learned from my grandmother was to always have a soft heart towards the Word of God. Every morning at their home my grandparents would read the Bible aloud over breakfast. If it was grandma’s turn to read, she often had to pass the book off midway through the passage because she was so chocked up with tears. She was filled with joy over what God had done for her. This sensitivity to her Savior was evident in her abundant service in church, her gracious interaction with family and neighbours, and her own well worn copy of the Word.

This classy, feisty and lovely woman was the wife of my late Grandfather, Lionel Arthur (Art). Her ninety years of life will be long remembered by all those who loved and looked up to her. It is hard to be so far away from my family right now, and not get to join in with them in the sharing of fond memories and celebrating a life spent running the race for His glory.

Saying Grace

I overheard a class of English students putting on a skit. They were sitting around a table and the 'father' started the meal by trying to imitate the act of giving thanks. He said:

Oh my God,
Everything is okay.
Let us eat beef.
Okay.

You’re Getting Married NOW!

Drama, Drama, Drama! One of my Uyghur friends is almost 25 and not yet married. While her family still lives out in a country village, she has been living in the big city since she was 18. Her family always figured her move to the city would allow her to meet a more wealthy and influential man to seal her future. But after seven years of singleness her parents were getting desperate.

A few weeks ago her mother came to town to announce that she had to get married NOW! She was disappointed with her daughter’s slowness in this area, and saw it as having a direct negative reflection on her as a mother. She really thought she had lost face in their village for raising a daughter that was either so inept that no man wanted her, or so wilful and headstrong that she wouldn’t accept a perfectly good match. When her mother came to town she came armed with a man to match her daughter up with. His parents were from the same village and approved the idea of their two families being joined. The guy was also living in the city, he was divorced with a child and was almost 15 years older than my friend. He needed a new mother for his soon to be teenage son.

Unbenounced to my friend’s mother was that her daughter had a boyfriend (Uyghur young people don’t tend to tell their parents about their love life until they are ready to start planning the wedding. At that point the young people often try to arrange a match maker to go to the parents and suggest the match. In the city some couples have been together for five years before their parents learn of their significant other). My friend had to quickly call up her boyfriend, who was spending three months out of town on business, and tell him to take the 24hour bus ride to come and meet her mother, or else she just might be married by the time he was done with work.

Two men, one wedding date (already set and arranged by the family) the drama between a concerned/ overbearing mother and a daughter with her own ideas ended with my friend keeping her families wedding date and plans, but switching out the groom. She and her boyfriend hadn’t been together long, they had never talked about marriage, and she isn’t sure she loves him, but at least she knows him and that seems better than marrying a complete stranger in just a few weeks.

I am so thankful, that even though I am 30 my parents are NOT forcing me into a life long union with a complete stranger.

Bike Riding

My friends and I went out of town last week, there were five of us, which is one more than fits in a taxi, so we decided to rent bikes. As some of you may know I have no idea how to ride a bike. We made quite a sight as we drove through town. It was fun to watch the locals’ response, to our parade through town. As the first bike drove by their was surprise at seeing a foreigner, the second bike made them smile, and by the time I pulled up the rear of the party they were out right laughing at what they had seen.

At least it had a long battery life and we were even able to take it off-roading in the woods. It was a great weekend.

A Nice Hot Cup of...

We had a friend stop by last night who is expecting. Because of the baby she is trying not to drink so much tea, since the black tea here is sooo full of caffeine. She loves fruit tea, but sadly we didn't have any to offer. Finally my roommate had the brilliant idea of preparing a steaming hot pot of koolaid. The bright red liquid looked so fancy pouring out of our flowery tea pot and into china tea bowls.

We ended up drinking the entire pot of koolaid before the night was over, and I had to stop myself from asking our guest "What colour is your tongue?".

Canadian Thanksgiving

94. Invited to a beautiful thanksgiving dinner with the other Canadians in town. The host family had heard through the grape vine that I was going to be out of t own for the weekend (a mix up since that is going to be this coming weekend) and didn't bother to call or tell me about the party. When someone else kindly pointed out I hadn’t been invited and didn’t seem to know anything about dinner, the hosts felt so bad and quickly called to include me in the event. Being the last one called meant that all of the dishes were already being prepared and all I had to do was stop and pick up some coke and juice. I am thankful for great fellowship, other Canadians and a beautiful feast that I didn't have to help prepare.

95. Warm blankets to snuggle under as we wait for the heat to come on in four more days.

96. Step three finally being finished

97. Friends birthdays to celebrate: we did a murder mystery dinner night and it was a blast.

98. My roommate had a French press since my coffee maker broke yesterday morning.

99. For newbies who don’t know the cultural value of nan, and therefore don’t feel bad throwing away our old moldy bread outside of our nieghbourhood.

100. Arthur Family phone call times every Saturday morning at 7am

101. When I visit a friend’s house and they serve me anything other than noodles.

102. The smell of fresh cleaning clothes hanging in my office to dry.

103. Draino, and its ability to break up the pieces of raw potato stuck in our toilet pipe (long story)

104. For people who respect personal boundaries

105. That our new house is finally a place where everybody knows our name. The other day another ex-pat came to visit us. She was sure which building or entrance we lived in, but as soon as the neighbours saw her white face they asked “ are you looking for the foreign girls?, because they live in that building on the third floor. I can show you if you want. “

106. The smell of sweet potatoes being cooked and sold on the street.

107. The great book that I am borrowing from a friend. I read this book a long time ago, but I am enjoying it afresh.

Persnickety Lee

Step 3 has been causing us a bit of a problem. After writing and translating fourteen pages of documentation and 5 face-to-face office visits, we weren’t any closer to getting approval from the woman in charge of the paperwork (who we have nicknamed Persnickety Lee). She just kept sending us back every time, and mostly for very small details(she commented on font size and other formatting issues. We are intelligent young women who can professionally format things in our own culture, but even that is different here).

By the end of five office visits, K and I both felt beaten down; we were incredibly discouraged at the length of time that this step had been taking, and the total lack of encouragement from the officials.

About an hour later, I called K. I t old her said that when I went to the office, Persnickety Lee was in a meeting, so I had to waited outside in the hallway until the meeting was done. While I was standing there, a minority woman (who we’ll call Helpful Hebiba) that I had met on two previous visits happened to come walking by. She and I struck up a conversation in her Uyghur, and several other office workers, surprised that a foreigner could speak their language, came out to listen. They all agreed that we should have gotten approval long ago,
but weren’t sure what could be done.

At that moment, the meeting ended and the office door opened. I and a gaggle of minority women all swept in together. Persnickety Lee was surprised to see so many Uyghur office workers there. Hebiba and the minority workers immediately began to talk me up (switching back to the main business language for Lee’s benefit), saying what a hard worker I am, how my business would be really beneficial to the province, and how many languages I spoke (I’m pretty sure she mentioned “Korean” and “Spanish” as part of that list, but at that point I was happy to have someone else talking).

When Lee began to nitpick through the forms again (“really, points 3 and 4 should be switched if you wanted the document to be perfect”), I started to get upset and tried to explain that this was my fifth visit, and that everything required by law was in the pile of documents, but Hebiba whispered to me(in Uyghur) to let her handle it. Hebiba then went on to explain, in her most flattering tones, that of course Lee wanted everything to be perfect, and that was completely understandable, but couldn’t she make an exception just this once, seeing as there was another holiday coming up and this cute little foreign girl had worked so hard? In the end, Persnickety Lee stamped the necessary documents, and Hebiba, myself, and the rest of the Uyghur workers trickled back into the hallway.

So we’re going to continue with the step-by-step process of opening a business. I’ll keep you posted as we work through the next 32 steps, hopefully a lot faster.

Business Scavenger Hunt

Starting a business in East Asia is a little like doing a scavenger hunt. I often wonder if the next step will read something like: “Get the signature of a man in a red hat eating a banana. Then take the document he signed to the purple building on the corner of 4th and University to a woman who goes by the nickname “Kiki” to get instructions for the following step.

Okay, it’s not quite that ridiculous. But there are a LOT of forms to download, fill out, make up from scratch, translate, etc. And then we still have to track down the right person at the right office, on the right day (who is most likely coming in late, leaving early, and taking a 2-hour lunch break, in addition to being out on national holidays and “doctor’s appointments” conveniently scheduled just before or after national holidays).

Bottom line: while opening a small business is crucial for my business partner and me in being able to get long-term visas here, it is in no way crucial to the hundreds of small offices that we have to visit in order to get everything in proper legal order. Plus, every time we ask someone to approve a form, it means a little extra work for them, which they would often just as soon avoid.

So rather than reject our applications outright, they find little things to nitpick. The font is too big. The copy is too light. The date should be at the top rather than the bottom. The bank statements don’t look official enough. The translations need an official stamp. And every rejection means another re-write, another appointment with a friend to check the newly added information, and another day of work lost.

In all, there are 35 consecutive steps that need to happen in order to get a new business opened. And they all need to be completed in approximately 6 months, or else the forms from the first few steps start to expire.

We started going to offices at the beginning of September, and have so far completed… 3 whole steps. With each step we finish we added a link to our paper chain commemorating all we have been for. Stay tuned for more details on the struggle of step 3.