Governments Gift

My friends aren't the only ones who decided to give me a gift for my birthday. The local government published an article on the one web page our province has had access to for the last seven months saying that they are going to "slowly start to re-open" international communication (ie: Internet and phone calls). I have been asking my friends when they think this slow opening will have us back up and running full throttle. Most people guess it will be at least another six months before we are back to where we were before this summer's situation. While six months still seems like forever without being able to regularly check e-mail, at least we have an update, at least the government has given us some news, some hope, the mention of some sort of plan.

Timmies Run

If you are a Canadian, or if you have ever been to Canada, I don't need to explain how much Timmie Runs are a part of the everyday ebb and flow of life. When I was in college I use to stop in everyday on my way to work or school and grab a large double-double and a sour cream glazed doughnut. There were many days that I would need another pick-me-up half way through the afternoon. I have so many good memories hanging out at Timmies with my friends, and now I can add one more big one to that list.

With the Internet still being off I don't know when you are reading this....but December 28th was my 30th birthday. Sadly the day didn't start the greatest for me (I was still really exhausted from basket delivery the night before. Yes the Christmas season was just so busy we put off playing Santa until two days after Christmas. We figured people here always celebrate their holidays for days after the event and they would never know the difference). This old body could barely make it out to the living room. My roommate unexpectedly had to head into work for the morning, and I couldn't find my favorite Tim Horton's coffee mug anywhere.

As I was laying on the couch trying to recover from the long trip from my bedroom one of my friends called. She was also not feeling well, I guess she had eaten something the day before that had sent her stomach into convolutions (it is funny this girl and I often are affected by the same foods). She was calling to see if I could come over and take care of her. Normally the three minute trip to her house would not be a big deal, but on days when I am moving slow, and the ground is slippery it seems like miles to me. I made apologies that I just wasn't up to it and hoped she felt better soon.

She called me back a few seconds later to tell me that she had been lying and that she was on the road walking towards my house to pick me up and take me back home with her. I have to admit to being a little mad, I mean if she had a birthday surprise that was worth lying to me for, why didn't she just bring it with her instead of making me go back to her place.

We made the slow cold trek to her house and when the door flew open I was greeted with the most amazing sight. There were all of my closest friends wearing Tim Horton name tags. They had moved the kitchen table to act like a front counter. There was my favorite "missing" coffee mug filled with freshly brewed Timmies coffee (they had had the grinds sent from Canada) and homemade sour cream glazed doughnuts. They had traced the logo off my mug and had made signs for the walls. We spent the morning just sitting around Tim Hortons on the other side of the world, drinking coffee and hanging out. It was the sweetest birthday treat ever.

10 Baskets in 1 Night

This year my friends and I decided to celebrate Christmas like we did last year, trying to outdo Santa himself by delivering baskets of goodies to friends and neighbours. Last year we were set on the people we wanted to deliver to. We went to homes and if people weren't there we tracked them down at restaurants or offices to deliver our gifts.

This year we were a little more flexible. While we had developed pictures of us with our friends and framed them, we were willing to grab out the picture and change who the basket went to at the last minute. We gave them to our vegetable lady, the lady who owns the photo copy shop, the young girl who works at the convenience store near our house, the wait staff at our favorite restaurants and more. Only one of the homes we went to was a repeat from last year's basket delivery extravaganza. At each stop we sang one stanza of a Christmas carol in both our native tongue and theirs. We also included a letter that we had written in both the local languages that told the reason for the season. It was a great night, but once again we were totally exhausted.

2012

I don't know how big of a deal this movie has gotten to be back in the west, but out here it is the have-to-see-flick of the year. Everyone on the street is buzzing with talk of this movie. I have now watched it in both English and Uyghur, and while yes the cinematography and special effects are pretty amazing, like when all of California falls into the ocean, the truth is I still don't really know what all the fuss is about.

But apparently this movie has a lot of people worried about the end times. There are men standing on street corners selling nothing but copies of this one movie, reminding people to be prepared for the end. The movie shows rich people being able to buy their salvation. My friends here see themselves as having no hope to be saved if this is the case.

Country Cousin

My Uyghur mom and her family recently took in a distant relative to help them raise their grandchildren. They have two small boys that it is mainly their responsibility to raise. Their son is living in Europe and their daughter-in-law who, lives with them, is a police officer and is so busy with work that she is hardly ever home. That means that my mom, who is almost 65 spends her days running after a five year old who is tough and has never heard the word "no".

I kept telling them it was too much for them to handle on their own. In the end their daughter-in-law asked a second cousin living in the country to move in with them and help with the children. She is a 12 year old girl, who like I mentioned before is not registered. Twelve is a weird age for girls some of them look like they are going on 30, and others, like this young girl, look like they're still 8. She has learned how to read and write along the way, but doesn't really speak any of the national language. She can barely lift the baby but she is very dedicated to helping with the laundry, dishes, cooking, and such.

My Uyghur parents have offered that if she is willing to stay and help around the house they will pay for her to go to a training school after their grandchildren have started school. It sounds like such a sad life for a young girl, but living with my Uyghur mom and dad and having an opportunity to learn a trade is a lot more than she could have hoped for otherwise. Her mom is getting remarried and her soon-to-be-step-father wants nothing to do with her. Sad stories like these are a daily part of my life.

Give or Take a Couple of Million

If you read my last blog post you might have noticed that I took an estimated guess at how many people live in this city. It might not be an exact guess considering I allowed for a difference of up to 2 million people, but population is a hard thing to nail down around here. For instance, there is a law on the number of children a family can have. Uyghur families living in the city can have two, those in the country can have three. But some people don't abide by the law and end up having more children. In order to keep these extra children they either have to a pay a big fine to the government, or else keep the child a secret by not registering them. A non registered child officially does not exist, which means they can't go to school and they are not included in a population count. These children will end up being street sweepers, house cleaners and such. They will never be able to move up in society because they officially don't exist. As sad as it sounds it is actually a very common thing, so common that some people actually figure there are likely two million unregistered, non legal children.

Weird Sights and Smells

So the other day I stepped out of my apartment to see a cow standing by the garbage pile. Keep in mind, we are living in a city of 3-5 million people, but the sight of the cow in the middle of my apartment complex was somehow not that surprising of a sight. I naturally assumed that many of my neighbours would be eating beef for dinner. As sure as sure could be a little over an hour later when I came home there was no cow, but the ground outside my front door was all bloody and red.

No Saying No

I was babysitting some of my friends children recently and was amazed at how well they listened. They understood that when I said no, I meant no. They willingly accepted my authority and listened so well.

I am not use to this attitude. Uyghur's believe that you should not discipline a child until they are thirteen and old enough to handle it. I have been over visiting some of my Uyghur grandmothers and while they were in the kitchen getting tea their grand kid has punched, bitten, and kicked me. When the lady came back and saw their precious child playing roughly with me, they didn't tell them "no" or get the child in trouble. Instead they just joked with him "you better stop this or big sister might not come back to visit you" "if you keep hurting your big sister her father might have to come and beat you up and he is a big, mean, strong man" (she issues the threat without knowing what a gentle and kind man my father really is). Disciple was issued only in terms of empty threats, it doesn't take a kid long to understand there is nothing behind them. It is just supposed out here that young children will be naughty and there is nothing to be done about it but wait.

Visiting some of these friends once landed me in bed for almost a week with a sore back. The kid had head rammed me in the stomach, driving me back into the wall. I was actually scared to go back to that ladies home and actually found out when her grandson was in preschool so that I could do my visiting when he was not around.

Worth it After All

So last week I was using the blog to bemoan my age and complain about a long night spent outside the airport. Our vacation is coming to a close and as I reflect on the relaxing week it has been I am forced to admit it was more than worth one uncomfortable night. I think the pictures can speak for themselves.

Great Views

Cable Car rides in the sky

Tall Waterfalls

Splashing in the waterfall's pool

And of course : The Beach

Fish Feasting on My Feet

Part of our annual holiday fun is to get a foot message or some sort of Asian spa treatment; it is cheap but relaxing and makes us feel fantastic. This year we saw an advertised fish message. Yes you read that right; it is a fish foot message. You stick your feet in a big over sized fish tank and let all the little guys swim around and in-between your toes eating the dead skin off your feet. Their mouths tickle against the bottom of your feet, but the result is pretty amazing. After 30 minutes of sitting there my feet were as soft as can be.

Too Old For This

To save on the cost of one night in a hotel, some friends and I decided to spend the night waiting around the airport. Our flight landed in at 12:30 a.m. and we had to be going again by 7 a.m. the next morning. While this is never the wisest idea, it is manageable if you can find a bench off in a back corner, then you and your friends can take turns dozing off or being the one to stay awake and watch the stuff. However, last week our brilliant $25 (spilt three ways) plan back fired on us. You see the airport was being fumigated, and even the 24 hour McDonalds was closed for 6 hours. We were all locked out of the airport and spent most of the night restlessly on the hard ground outside the airport. It was a miserably uncomfortable, muggy, long night, but it did teach me one very important lesson: "I am way too old for this".

Visual Contradictions

My friends and I had a six hour layover in Macau last week and we decided to go out and explore the city. Talk about confusing your senses: The city was a balance of old ruins and brand new bright light casinos.

It was also a weird blend of Portuguese and Chinese. All the architecture looks like it was pulled straight out of Portugal but the music sounded like it came from Beijing opera, and all the decorations look just like what I imagine most of China looks like. It was a sea of contradictions that were hard to put in their place.

Macau, use to be part of Portugal, but in 1999 the city was given over to China with the promise that nothing would change for 50 years. That means that you don't need a Chinese Visa to visit Macau and it is a cheap fun place to have a layover when travelling. All of the signs around town are in three languages, Chinese, Portuguese, and English.

No Two Snowflakes are Ever the Same

When we started to get into the Christmas mood out here my roommate and I decided to throw a party and invite some of our friends over to help us decorate. We got out the paper, markers, and scissors and decided we could have our friends help us make paper chains for the tree and cut out snowflakes for the window.
I had already make a few snowflakes before the guests arrived (ever since elementary school I have loved cutting out snowflakes and trying to make them as delicate as I can). Several of our friends saw the samples and decided they wanted to make them, but no one knew how. We had a group of over ten local college aged friends and none of them had ever cut out a snowflake before. I explained how to fold the paper, where to cut and where not to cut, I even made a new one as I explained. They all folded the paper, picked up one of my finished one and used it as a tracer. I tried to explain that no two snowflakes are the same and they they should use their own imagination to make their own. At that suggestion some of them gave up and went to make paper chains or to help hang the lights.

The whole situation made me think of what my American friends had commented about when they sent their kids to a local school. The education system here is based solely on rote memory and following examples to the letter. Creativity and imagination are not encouraged in school. They tell the story of when the teacher called them in because their son's picture of a cow was not the same. The teacher had been teaching an art lesson on how to draw a cow. Their son had changed his picture by making the cows head down and having him eat grass. The little boy had even added the grass to the picture. The teacher saw this as a child not able to follow directions and called his parents in for a meeting. The parents saw their son's picture as creative and fun, and praised him for thinking outside the imposed box.

Thinking back on this story reminded me why none of these young adults had never made a snowflake before. We cut them in school as an expression of our individuality, not a strict lesson in following rules. My friends still wanted a sample and so they cut out ones that were identical to mine. Now in our window there are more than 'two snowflakes that are the same'.

Coats Inside Out

Culture and customs can manifest themselves in the simplest every day actions. A westerner was visiting out here recently and I offered to take their coat. As they passed it to me they folded the coat by grabbing the shoulders and folding it. I took the coat and without even thinking about it refolded it the other way. My guest raised their eyebrow just slightly at my reflex action. Locals out here fold their coat so that the inside is facing out. They value keeping the outer part of the coat clean. I have had so many Uyghur guests through my home, and taken so many local peoples coats for them, that I now routinely fold them inside out. It is such a small thing, but it does reflect the little customs that are unique to different places and different peoples.

Using Internet

This post is once again coming to you live. I am out of the province, out of the country and on the internet. It's great! I am smiling from ear to ear right now. For the last few months we have been making a list of things to look up and do when we have internet again. Anyway over the next few days I will be adding pictures to past posts and such. Now is the time to leave comments, since I will actually get to read them myself. Thanks to those of you who have been leaving them, even though I wasn't able to check them personally until now, it is still fun to go back and read.

Since getting into town last night, I have already gone into the office to apply for a visa (I can pick up my first year long work visa on Thursday). I also got to sleep in and eat good food with friends.

Holiday Hostess

Due to the flu not all the students will be able to return to their home towns over the Korban Festival. My roommate and I got to thinking how lonely and miserable it would be to have to spend Christmas in dorm away from family and friends. We may not be good Uyghur Mama's but we figured we could open up our home over the holiday for some of our local friends who are stuck here away from their families. So the night before Korban the girls came over to our house and prepared some traditional food (lamb meat ball soup). They all shared some favorite traditions and memories and we tried to make as many of them come true as we could. Normally foreign students around the world feel honoured if they get invited to someone's home to share in the traditional holiday, this year we, the foreigners, played host to a festival that was not our own.

A Gun to the Head

My roommate works for a translation company, the other day two strange men came strolling into her office. They were dressed in uniforms and entered saying "everyone stay seated and don't move". The younger man pulled something from his pocket and pressed it against my friend's temple. A momentary fear griped her as the man pressed a button on the object pointed at her head. "37" the man said curtly to his associate, before moving on to her next work mate. It took my friend a second to realize they were taking every one's temperature to check for H1N1.

I had a similar experience last week just trying to go into a book store. It seems like all over the city people are scared of the spread of the virus. If a class have five students report being sick, the rest get the week off as well. My winter cough has set in, but I am scared to cough anywhere outside for fear that someone will lock me up in isolation for a week.

Face Mask Instead of Fruit

When news of the swine flu first started to be reported last year, I heard more than one Uyghur joke that we wouldn't have to worry, since the Uyghur diet is no pork allowed. But as we know H1N1 has spread far and wide and there have been some reported deaths in our city. This has fears running high and face masks on.

Every local store now sells surgical face masks. They come in every colour and fashion print imaginable. The other day my friend came over for a visit, but instead of bringing me the customary gift of fruit, she brought a pale purple heart print face mask.

Mehrigul Gets Ready for the Holiday

The Islamic holiday of Korban is fast approaching (or it will likely be over by the time my mom posts this blog entry for me) and I decided to go to the bazaar and let my neighbours help me get ready. The week before the market was just bustling with people preparing. People buy fruit and candy, cakes and cookies to offer when guests stop by, most women buy a new outfit so they have something pretty to wear when they go shopping, and some people buy small gifts for the children.

As I walked through the market I could hear people whispering to each other "that was the girl who was on the Lucky Star game show last week", or "that is the girl who was on T.V., her name is Mehrigul". Other people just started singing the folk song I had sung as they walked by. I stopped a group of college aged girls and asked if they could help me get ready for the holiday. For the next two hours it seemed like everyone in the market was thrown into the task of helping Mehrigul get ready. Those girls helped me choose a black, gray, and pink plaid skirt. At the next store other people helped me find a bright pink sequent sweater to match. Some old ladies helped me pick out pink stoned heart shaped, surrounded by diamond looking earrings. I had more help getting knee high black boots with rhinestones on them. The whole outfit cost me about $30 Canadian. It may be a little more bling than I would normally wear, but I didn't have to bargain to get the get the real price. The shop owners had seen me on T.V., they had heard my limited language skill, and they still viewed me as one of them.

When It Rains It Pours

A few months ago I shared how excited we all were with the opening of a new ice cream place. After years of going without and good frozen treats we were thrilled. Our joy has been doubled recently - a Dairy Queen opened. Dairy Queen can you believe it????? We don't even have a McDonald's out here yet. They have blizzards, brownie sundaes, fancy frozen coffee drinks, and so much more. It tastes a little different than home, just based on the ingredients available. It is really expensive (for the price of a medium blizzard you could buy dinner at a average restaurant). Oh well, I have only been there once in the month it has been open, but just knowing it is there if I ever want some is half the fun.

Guilt Trips Start Early

Our landlord and his wife came by the other day. The pretense was that she had never seen the place and was curious. The story seemed a little fake considering my roommate has been living there for almost two years. She wasn't home at the time so I let them in. His wife kept commenting on how nice the place was, how big it was. She said it was nicer and bigger than where they were living. At that warning lights started going off in my head. As they were taking their tour I quickly called my roommate to find out how long there was remaining to her lease...and report what was up. Her guess was that the landlord was going to try to raise the rent next time. We still have six months before we have to resign a contract, but around here games and guilt trips start early. I started playing along by pointing out flaws and problems with the place. They countered by commenting on its convenience and what not. They left after 15 minutes or so...but the game is on.

Korean Soap Opera Junkie

Uyghur people love to watch soap operas. They tend to be a lot cleaner, and a lot cheesier than American ones. The plot is always one of tragic or ill fated love that overcomes family oppositions or near death. In the end their love is always stronger because of it.

Sometimes when I am out with some of my old lady friends they will start talking about the characters on their favourite soap as it they are real people. In fact, I once asked what hospital a car accident victim was in so that I could go visit her, only to find out she was a Korean soap opera fictional friend.

The other night I had on the TV and accidentally got hooked into watching one of these unfolding plot lines. It was captivating....before I knew it I was hooked trying to figure out who was whose real son, and why he couldn't be with the the girl he loved. The hour was up quickly and so was my study break....only as soon as that episode ended the next one started. I didn't have to wait to find out what happened next. But hour two bleed into hour three and hour three into hour four. They just kept showing the same soap opera. Finally after five hours of sitting there (a wasted evening) the series ended. The next day when I talked with my local friends I finally felt in the loop. I asked if they normally play the whole thing back to back like that. I was surprised to learn that they had started that series Friday night and had played all thirty hours of it over the weekend. I guess I had only caught the last five, but now I know why some of my friends are so busy over the weekends and why they sometimes cancel our plans.....they are Korean soap opera junkies.

Good Connections

In order for me to be able to appear on the TV Game Show, I had to obtain permission from the City Foreign Affairs Officer. Sadly the TV station didn't realize this until the day before it was to air, which caused us to have to do a lot of running around. In the end, like many things in this country, it all came down to who you knew. One guy's friend, knew a guy who went to school with the Head of the Foreign Affairs Department.

In order to fully appreciate what I saw that day you have to understand that most offices out here look pretty shabby. The floors are normally cement, the white wash on the walls (never real paint) is faded and covered in coal dust. They are ofter small little rooms crowded with three or four desks, each person working on an unrelated task. But the office we were ushered into was nothing like what I had grown to expect. It was almost equal to the size of my whole apartment...the floor wore a rich thick carpeting, one whole wall was lined with windows, another with bookshelves, and the other two looked clean and fresh. There was a whole living room area, with comfy sofas and such, and one large richly decorated desk, that could have sat six, but was really only the work space of this one Head Officers into whose presence we had just been ushered.

With the quick snap of his finger this high ranking official was able to get someone to work on our paper work. The TV station employees went out to make sure they got the stamped permission form that they needed,while this leader invited me to stay and drink tea with him. Talk about a good connection to make in a world that is all about who you know.

On TV

My former teacher called me last week and asked me to do her a favour. I agreed only to find out that she needed a Uyghur language student to appear on a local game show program. I would be interviewed in Uyghur and asked trivia questions. Ugh, I was nervous. I don't mind public appearances and I don't mind speaking Uyghur, but put them together and the whole thing seemed a little over whelming.

There were two other contestants. The topic of the day was language learning. One of the others contestants was a Uyghur guy who was studying the majority language in University. The other was a majority guy, who grew up going to a Kazak school who was now studying Uyghur in University (the two are related languages). Both were able to speak much more fluently than I. The station had helped by feeding us some of the answers....but not all of them. I also had to sing a Uyghur folk song (for those of you who know me well you know I should never sing in public, much less on TV for everyone in our province to watch), and talk about some Uyghur proverbs. My former classmates came and cheered me on from the audience.

I ended up winning a Uyghur/English dictionary for my computer and a fluffy, white, lacy computer cover. Those are small compared to my new found fame. It might have only been local television.....but ever since I have been recognized on the bus and in the bazaar. The other day when I was walking down the street people started to sing the same folk song to me.

Do you want my autograph?

Foreign Face Fame

I am going to be on TV again. This time it is a Uyghur program and they are talking about language learning.....they wanted a foreigner who has studies language to add to the discussion. The whole interview will be in Uyghur and I am supposed to wear my traditional atlas dress. I am a little nervous but it should be fun. I guess it is activities like this that help everyone in town fell like they know me.

Real Time

This blog is coming at you live, today, right now, from my own hand because ... I AM ON LINE!!! While I was home this summer I heard more and more people were being driven to take a Stay-cation because of the economic downturn. While people in my province are being driven to take a Web-cation. Some people leave the province for a weekend just to get connected. Right now I am in Thailand renewing my tourist visa and surfing the web.

The last two months worth of posts were sent to my mom in an e-mail that my friend carried out of the province. My mom has been sparingly posting on every few days. Which means the red in my hair had almost faded by the time that made the blog. Sorry there haven't really been any pictures, they are just too big of files to have some one send to my mom. While I am out I have another ten posts or so ready to go to mom. So even though it is currently the Islamic holiday of Korban... you likely won't hear about it for another month or two. Sorry.

We can connect some using a long distance dial-up connection, but it can be both slow and expensive (not to mention that it is a round about way and still not officially allowed, aka- illegal). So I have basically gotten out of the habit of getting on line. There are some days I really miss being able to look anything up at the touch of a button, but I have almost an extra hour or more everyday to work on other things because I am not tied down by writing emails and such.

Red Head

We get a little bored around here without internet to entertain us. I think for that reason more than any other, one of my friends finally talked me into using henna to dye my hair. I have dyed my finger nails several times in good Uyghur fashion, but I had never done my hair. Henna on black hairs gives it the faintest hint of red that reflexes beautifully in the sun light, but on white hair it is a shocking orangery red that looks more like it belongs on a cartoon character.
My normal hair colour is somewhere in the middle and I was always afraid, it could either look good or REALLY bad. One night my roommate and I decided to go for it and dyed our hair together. Our Uyghur teacher even came over to help. She mixed the dye henna powder with strong black tea, an egg, and a little honey and started to slather it on our heads. She then tied a plastic bag on top to keep it from dripping or drying out, and had us wear a head scarf on top of that to keep it warm. We had to sit like this for four hours or so before washing it out.
For the first few days it seemed like a little too intense of a red. But for the next few weeks every time I washed my hair I could see the water turned red and more and more colour came out. Now almost a month later Anne Shirley would be happy to know "it has settled into a real handsome auburn."

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow Goes by a Dismal Pace

Macbeth had it right, sometimes it seems like tomorrow will never come, especially here where tomorrow really might mean next week, or a month from now. This culture is famous for its expressing time in shorter increments than what it will really take.

For instance people are always telling me they are 'on a horse' getting the job done. It means that they are doing it as fast as they can, or that they will be there right away. When I first arrived I thought this expression meant that they were only minutes away from having the job done, or right up the street in a taxi. I have since learned that if someone is 'on a horse' it will be at least an hour before they get there maybe more. In fact, I have started to use the expression. Some days I am still in my house puttering around when someone calls, I tell them I will be right there "I am coming on a horse". I hang up, finish my cup of coffee, have a nice hot shower, pick out my clothes for the day, and slowly make my way to the bus stop, nothing hurried.

They mean the same thing when they say "tomorrow". If you don't know something will be ready, or when someone will be back you can just put the person who is asking off by saying 'tomorrow'. Both you know and they know that it is really not going to happen the next day, but
it sounded like a good answer.

I was recently out with a friend and we were told an official we need to talk to would be back in two days. I was all excited to have an actual time frame. But my friend who is a local told me that I had to learn what times expressed like this really meant. I told her I understood that "right now" was in an hour or so, and that tomorrow wouldn't be until at least next week, but this lady gave us a qualified number of days so it must be true. "No," said my friend "in two days is just double the uncertainty of tomorrow, this person might not be back for a month or two".

Fake ID

The other day while sitting outside chatting it up with a bunch of my new neighbors the topic of my arthritis came up. They all suggested that I move to a more southern part of our province, because the dry weather would be good for me. I tried to explain how protective the government was, and why it was hard to obtain permission to live there. One guy suggested that I just wear a head scarf wherever I go and no one will notice (yah, right I have tried that before). I asked him what I should do when I go to a check point and the police wanted to see my personal ID card, and all I had to show them was a Canadian passport. His solution was "Don't worry, I know a guy who could make you a fake ID card...for a price, of course."

Now I never had a fake ID to sneak into bars or anything...but students that do in North America the worst thing that can happen is that they are kicked out of their choice party location for the night, the card is confiscated and they have to buy a new one. If I was ever caught with a fake ID card here I would likely be kicked out of the country and never able to return. The risk really isn't worth the joy of living south.

Blanket Making Outside

Since I have moved into my friend's house across town I realize I no longer know all of my neighbors. I had lived on campus for almost three years and spent a lot of time becoming part of the neighborhood. In order to once again establish this relationship with the people about me I have been taking my cross-stitching and crocheting outside. I sit on a stool and wait till people walk by and ask what I am working on. I am making both projects as wedding gifts for friends. It is a great way to start up a conversation and get people use to seeing my face around the area. I have been taking my stool and sitting in different places up and down the street.
Sadly the weather is starting to change and it is getting chilly. The blanket my roommate and I are making is sadly granny squares, which are too small to really keep us warm as we work outside. Within the next week or so I will have to find a new way to meet my neighbors, or freeze trying.

Working the Gossip System

I mentioned in my last post how my neighbors talk about me behind my back. It is not out of malicious motives, it is mainly just out of curiosity. Last year when my roommate's fiance came to visit I learned how to spin the stories in my favour.

After watching Hollywood movies most people out here assume that most North American have loose morals. I have to dress more conservatively and intentionally not spend time with single men outside in order to fight this stereo type and still have my neighbors see me as a 'good girl'. That is why i was worried about what they would say about how much time her fiance was spending at our house. I knew they would notice the times he was coming and going. If he happened to stay really late one night or came early in the morning, before they were at the post watching, I was scared of how they would repeat the story. So I went outside a few days before his arrival and joined the older ladies on the bench. I said "Oh my roommate is so excited; her fiance is coming to visit in a few day. He is going to be staying at the hotel here on campus, but she is already making all of his favorite breakfast foods in preparation....you know there is no kitchen in the school's hotel rooms. So she is hoping he will come early every morning and eat at our house. It has been months since they have seen each other. My guess is that they will sit in the living room and chat until late in the night. I think the hotel shuts the door at 11 o'clock or midnight. My guess is he will head back right at the last minute. It is so cute to see how excited she is."

For the rest of the week when we walked by you would hear things like "who is that guy?" "oh he is engaged to the one girl, he came to visit and is staying at the hotel here on campus".

I won! I knew they were to gossip about us, but I was able to put my own spin on what was being said.

Known Everywhere

I really feel at home here and often can be lulled into the illusion that I even look like I belong. I will be sitting on the bus heading to my destination when I realize the whole bus is starring at me and that I am the only person with light hair or white skin out of the forty of us packed like sardines on the bus. Add to that my slight limp and I am surprised with how many people know me, or at least know about me. I have gone into stores and had a shop keeper say they know to deliver my stuff to the University campus. Other times I have gotten in the taxi and the driver asked if I was heading home, they also knew to head towards my school, a few guys even knew to go right to my building since they said they had driven me in the past. These people are not really stocking me, but it does feel a little creepy at times.

The best was when I went south a few weeks ago to talk to the office about the fact I won't be working there, and collected my stuff that I had started to send down. I was walking down the street with my friend and we could tell that the three ladies coming toward us were totally starring at us. I nodded and smiled at them. As soon as they had passed I heard one lady say "oh that girl goes to ....." and she named my University. This city is a twenty four hour train ride from where I live at the school, and yet this lady recognized me. I didn't know whether to be scared or impressed with how many people feel like they know me, or like to talk about me behind my back.

Update

Some of you may remember that I returned to Central Asia on a Tourist Visa with a lot of decisions that needed to me made really quickly. I spent the first couple of days in the country Capital with friends and from there was able to learn that my school was not welcoming students back to study. They were also not letting foreigners stay on campus. This meant even before getting back into town I knew I was going to have to move. Thankfully I have a good friend who had an extra bedroom. One of the benefits of where she lives is the nice police office under whose district our place falls. As foreigners we are expected to report into our local police office. At my last home the guys in the office were kind of jerks and often told me how much they "liked Canadian girls" in a leering gross voice. Other people live under the rule of demanding local police who on every visit ask for 12 copies of your passport and a hundred and one other pieces of paper work. But here our local police officer is really nice. He registered me to live at my friend's house even though I only have a Tourist Visa (I really should have to stay in a hotel). This took off the added pressure of having to find a job right away. So for right now I can live at her house without hassle for three months.

As far as the job situation goes, the company I have been talking with down south for the last year, took my paperwork in to be precessed and it got rejected. This means it will not be possible for me to move south at this time. The company does have an office here in the city where I have been living. Since the company has been promising me a job for almost a year now (paper work takes a long time out here) they are going to hire me to work here instead. This means over the next month or two I will be spending a lot of hours running from government office to government office collecting the signatures and necessary stamps of permission to work here.

In the Dark

The province where I live is still very much under a cone of silence. We still don't have access to the Internet and international phone calls are hard to both make and receive. This blog post in fact is only able to be posted thanks to the help of many people. Two of my friends left the province for a few days on what we have come to call "Internet Vacations". They sent an email to my parents which included several blogs I had written to be cut and pasted over the next few weeks into my blog. It is weird after blogging for more than two years I now think of my life as a series of blog postable events. Even though we don't have Internet there are several time a week I say to myself "that would have made a funny blog post". In fact I was getting so many of these that I started writing them down.

As much as that is true it is nice to no longer feel like I am chained to my computer....there are no emails to answer, no pressure to post something, and now way to look up "what else that actor form the movie we're watching was in". It is quiet. But I also feel like I am in the dark on my family and friends lives. I also don't know what is going on in the world, nor can I easily let people know what is going on in mine. I might as well get use to it though, the Internet was shut down at the beginning of July and if rumors are correct might not be back until either the New Year, or maybe even as late as April. So the blogs to follow over the next few weeks are ones I sent my parents.

I'm Leaving On a Jet Plane

All my bags are packed and I am ready to go, today is the day that I start to make my way back towards Central Asia and my home away from home. I will be stopping in the capital city for a few days to visit friends and gather some more information. In the last few days I have heard that the tensions and ethnic struggle that brought me home for the summer, is still rearing its ugly head in some places.

Don't know when I'll be back again. Not only do I not know when my next trip to Canada will be, I don't know when I will next get a chance to update this blog. While I am in the Capital with friends, I will still have access to the Internet, but after that who knows.

Tell me that you'll wait for me... or at least check back in with this blog periodically over the next few months to see if I am up and going again.

Pincushion

On Wednesday I had an appointment with my rhuematologist. Even though she is a very "in-demand" doctor with a long waiting list for appointments she always tries to fit me in when I am in Canada. The other day she gave me five cortisone shots one in both of my angry ankles (as she called them based on all the swelling) and one in my shoulder. I was expecting five needles, so I actually walked away less of a pincushion than I thought I would be. Today I woke up and could tell the drugs had started to work, my shoulder didn't hurt for the first time in months and had actually let me have a good night sleep. So I am very thankful and am in good shape to head back on Tuesday.

I Want to Win Coffee

Tim Horton's, my all time favourite coffee place, is having a contest this summer. We had to write a true story about how our summer road trip included Tim Horton's. My trip home at the end of July might not count as a 'Road Trip" per say since I flew the whole way... but it did make a good coffee story.

You can check it out, my story is entitled "Friendly Stranger". Please feel free to vote for me. One of the prizes is a years supply of coffee. I hope they are willing to send that overseas if I win.

What's Important

I think we have all been asked that good old ice breaker question: "If your house was on fire, what three things would you try to save?" The question is meant to test ones values and point to what is really important in life. In my case the question is better asked "If you only had 50lbs luggage weight allowance, what would you take with you to the other side of the world?"


Everyone answers that question differently. The other night I was helping my friend at an English corner he and his wife run for new immigrants. One of the girls that participates is from a near by town in Central Asia. I happened to notice the pen she was using to take notes was a very famous local brand from that part of the world. I jokingly made a comment about the pen looking familiar and she said "Oh I like these pens, so I brought a bunch with me." I have to admit that at first I thought it a bit of a waste of her precious suitcase space... but then I remembered I have also taken good ball point pens, or one year I took a lot of scotch tape. Sometimes we are just more use to the quality and style of things we grew up with.

So I am in the midst of packing and creating my wish list of things to take back. The guest bed room is starting to be over run with my shopping for new shoes, books and other goodies. It is hard to anticipate what I might miss or have a craving for six months from now. So my question is: What about you? What would you have packed in your suitcase?

Visa Road Trip

Monday morning dad and I got up at 2:30 in the morning and did the crazy road trip all the way to Toronto in order to submit my visa application. We were standing in line outside the front of the consulate before the doors opened. I handed in my paperwork with no problems and paid the extra for same day processing. After meeting up with a friend in TO for lunch, I was able to go back to the consulate and pick up a six month double entry tourist visa. The only down side was the $30 parking ticket we found in our window.

As soon as we got home yesterday I got on line and started looking at flights back. Last week I had seen a ticket for only $500. I hadn't bought them since I didn't have a visa yet... but by the time I was ready to make the purchase the ticket price had gone up to $968. Talk about frustrating. Oh well I bit the bullet and paid the price, and now I have both Visa and tickets in hand. I will be heading back September 8th.

Restaurants Open for Lunch

We are now officially in the month of Ramadan. This is when Muslims world wide fast from sun up to sun down every day for a month. They will raise early in the morning before first light to have breakfast, and wait until after dark to eat dinner. The fast is such an important part of the year and peoples schedules, that local restaurants often close right down.

Even during the years I have chosen not to officially participate in the fast, my eating habits have had to conform to when the restaurants around me were open and serving food. During these times I have had to resort to sneaking snacks in my own home to help tie me over. Which is why I was so surprised when I realized Ramadan had already started this year. Being home in Canada means every restaurant is open at lunch.

Not Bad For a Foreigner

I once again set my hand to the task of Uyghur cooking. This is not a new experiment for me by any stretch, but unlike in the past my guests today have actually lived in Central Asia... they know what the food should taste like.


The menu consisted of one dish "da pan ji" literally translated "big plate of chicken". It is a large platter filled with; potatoes, peppers, garlic and of course chicken. When I first moved to Central Asia five years ago I hated it. I found it way to spicy. But now it is one of my favourites. I try to make sure I get some da pan ji at least once a week.


In Central Asia they use what we fondly refer to as chainsaw chicken, a whole chicken that has just been hacked up into bit size pieces, but today for my families enjoyment I used boneless skinless chicken breast. The real question is... can you tell the difference?

Thanks Mom and Dad

This weekend my family and I took a road trip up to my old college stomping grounds. I was able to reconnect with several friends, profs at the school, and even got a visit in with both of my grandparents. It was a crazy busy weekend, and I never would have been able to pull it off with out the help of my mom and dad.

Part of the weekend involved playing Princess with my friends kids

When I am home I not only don't have a car to drive around... I don't even have a licence to drive a car. I never have. When I was 16 and the age that every teen is biting at the bit to take the keys and hit the road, my legs were so bad that I couldn't really move my foot from the gas to the break without taking my hands off the wheel and using them to help move my leg over the couple of centimeters. My father deemed this an unsafe way to drive; I think we was scared that I would hit a cat or a dog or a kid or something with that slow of a reaction time. By the time I was in university I lived on campus and the grocery store was just across the street. I didn't need to drive anywhere and I didn't really have to money to afford a car anyway. So I put off taking my drivers test.

Since moving to Central Asia I have never really even considered driving; for one the traffic and driving style is insane, and two the bus system is superb. A bus comes rolling into the stop in front of my school's gate on an average of every 35 seconds. Each bus ride only costs about 15 cents. It is the most convenient thing ever.


But when I return home to Canada, I am always struck afresh by how much North American culture is about having your own car and getting yourself around to where you want to go. I still can't do that. I have tried looking into taking the test now, but with this graduated licencing program and never knowing how long it will be between my visits back... it is hard to proceed. So instead I must lean heavily on my most gracious parents, who seem willing to help me out. There were several times this weekend that I left my friends house, or came back from chatting with someone, only to find them both patiently sitting in the car reading their books.


Thanks mom and dad for all you do to help make my time here run smoothly and for helping me catch up with friends. It was a great weekend.

Over my shoulder

Where I live in Central Asia it is a known fact that there are some topics we just don't discuss out loud in public. Anything about the government and politics or religion could easily get you in trouble if over heard by the wrong person. We as foreigner to the area have learned to either avoid having in depth conversations about these topics in public places, or we speak fluent English at a rapid pace in slurred hushed tones, choosing abbreviations or words that we know most local people have not studied. This way of life has become so normal to me over the past few years that I don't really think of it as that unusual anymore.

Last night when I went out with one of my old friends for coffee (yeah Timmy's when ever I want), we had a great conversation. We not only touched on the superficial topics like the weather and whatnot, we started taking about politics (even complaining about how the garbage pick up strike was handled) In Central Asia you never criticize the governments handling of an issue out loud. From there we moved on to religion and our own personal beliefs. It was a great chance to catch up.

About an hour or so into our conversation my friend asked me what I was looking for. I was rather confused by her question and she told me that I kept looking around. Anytime we changed into what would normally be a sensitive conversation to have in such an open location, I found myself taking a quick glance over my shoulder. I was checking to see who was in ear shot, and if they seemed to notice us or be paying attention to our conversation. I must have repeated this "check out our surroundings" glance several times throughout the night. I didn't even consciously know I was doing it...but our conversation just seemed so open I wanted to make sure no one was watching us. It is just another way that living over seas has changed me. I now view what we often take for granted as 'rights' in Canada, as really a gift of freedom many others around the world do not get to enjoy.

Garbage

As I was getting ready to board the plane from Toronto to Windsor last week one of the people at the airport commented to me that I must be glad the strike was finally over. I naively asked them "what strike?" Only to find out that city workers in my hometown have been on strike for almost 16 weeks. That meant there had been no garbage collection going on. No wonder my dad was wandering around the house today so excited that it was garbage day. I guess it has been a bit of a long smelly strike.

This got me to thinking about the garbage houses where I live. When ever I am heading out I can grab my trash bag, whether it is full or not and just toss it into one of these huts on my way by. There are several of them located in every apartment complex. Once every few days a large truck will come and back up next to the hut, and all the garbage will be shoveled into the back. It is important not to walk to close the guys working because sometimes their aim is not the greatest and old banana peels will come raining out the other side of the truck. Normally a few hours before the collection guys are due to arrive you will see people picking through the piles of bags pulling out bottles and other items they can trade in for money.
I already find it pretty stinky walking by these deposit spots, and I have to work on intentionally not scrunching up my nose in disgust as I go by. I guess if they hadn't picked it up in almost 4 months, I would be like my dad, pretty excited about garbage day.

Things I miss

So I have only been home a week, but as I was watching my pictures flash by on my screen saver this afternoon I realized there were already a number of things I miss. I think what it really boils down to is that I miss a world where the most usual sights seem like they should be normal. It really is a wonderful world where the following do not seem strange:

A big load on a little bike

A donkey cart at the front gate of a major university

A bird carried on the bus

A little lamb following Mary through the department store.

Man Hug

I am always surprised by the little cultural things that freak me out when I return to what should be my home culture. This time it was the hugging.

I am use to physical contact with Uyghur woman... in fact sometimes they are a little more touchy- feely than I am use to. It is not unusual to sit on the couch holding hands with a Uyghur girlfriend... sometime she is holding one of my hands and using her other hand to stroke my knee or pat my back. This sort of interaction is normal... even expected between female friends. Every time they greet each with an embrace and a kiss on both cheeks. Women often walk down the street arm in arm, or swing their hands like school girls. I remember finding all this physical touch stuff hard when I first arrived, but now it seems normal. In fact when I am back in Canada I often wonder why my friends sit on the opposite side of the couch, or why they just give me a quick embrace as a hello greeting.

My teacher and I are close friends and often sit with our arms around each other

Men, on the other hand are a totally different story. I went to church with my parents the other day and was shocked and slightly uncomfortable with all of the men who wanted to give me a hug. I know it is totally normal here, and doesn't carry any extra connotations... but when I go for months with out any physical contact with the opposite gender ( I don't even shake hands with guys out there in public), it really threw me off.

Me keeping my distance from even some of my closets Uyghur guy friends

Safe - In Canada

If you follow the news at all you may be aware of the fact that in recent weeks the Uyghurs have been making the front page. There were riots in the the northwest area of China, as Uyghur people responded to other violence in Guang Dong province. This was more than just a retaliation from these events, but a culmination of years of frustration over not having their own country.

As a result of the recent violence among the Uyghurs the government where I live also decided to shut down Internet activity and block international calls in hopes of preventing this incident from spreading to some of the other Central Asian countries where Uyghurs live (Mongolia, China, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Northern India).

The university I attend took further precautions this week by sending all of their foreign students home for summer vacation. They did not want to be responsible for us while school was not in session. So on Tuesday I was called into the Dean's office and told that I had 3-5 days to pack up my stuff and return to Canada. Students are invited to return for their studies at the beginning of September.

Friday morning I jumped on a plane and after more than 28 hours of travel I called my parents from our hometown airport. They had no idea I was coming home (since I had been unable to really contact them), and I think they really liked the surprise of knowing I was here.

My return plans are still uncertain at the moment, as I had already notified the school that I do not plan to continue my studies in the fall, but instead pursue a business opportunity. The paper work needed for my work visa is also currently on hold.

I did dye my fingernails with Henna the night before I headed out and told all my old Uyghur lady friends that I hoped to be back before all the colour grew out and my nails turned back to normal colour (that gives me about 2 months).

International Freedom Festival

Growing up on the Windsor/ Detroit border, the beginning of July was a double celebration of freedom and Independence. July 1st is Canada day, followed a few days later by Independence day. The two cities combine their firework budget and have the biggest display imaginable off of three barges in the middle of the Detroit River. They purposely use to have this display on the 2nd or the 3rd so that it officially fell on neither countries birthday, but celebrated both. We even had a jingle to commemorate the event; International Freedom Festival, Nation to Nation, Friend to Friend.

This week I once again tried to get as much play out of the holidays as I could. All of the Canadians in town met on Wednesday night and had a great time. We let off fire works ( left over from Lunar New Year), drank Tim Horton's coffee and sat around reading the you know you are Canadian when list.

You know you are Canadian when...

• You stand in "line-ups" at the movie, not lines.
• You're not offended by the term "Homo Milk".
• You understand the sentence, "Could you please pass me a serviette, I just spilled my poutine".
• You eat chocolate bars instead of candy bars.
• You drink pop, not soda.
• You can drink legally while still a 'teen.
• You talk about the weather with strangers and friends alike.
• You don't know or care about the fuss with Cuba, it's just a cheap place to travel with good cigars and no Americans.
• When there is a social problem, you turn to your government to fix it instead of telling them to stay out of it.
• You get milk in bags as well as cartons and plastic jugs.
• Pike is a type of fish, not some part of a highway.
• You drive on a highway, not a freeway.
• You know what a Robertson screwdriver is.
• You have Canadian Tire money in your kitchen drawers.
• You know that Thrills are something to chew and "taste like soap".
• You know that Mounties "don't always look like that".
• You dismiss all beers under 6% as "for children and the elderly".
• You know that the Friendly Giant isn't a vegetable product line.
• You know that Casey and Finnegan are not a Celtic musical group.
• You participated in "Participation".
• You design you Halloween Costume to fit over your snow suit.
  
• You have an Inuit carving by your bedside with the rationale , "What's good enough protection for the Prime Minister is good enough for me".
• You wonder why there isn't a 5 dollar coin yet.
• You brag to Americans that: Shania Twain, Jim Carrey, Celine Dion, Michael J. Fox, John Candy, William Shatner, Tom Green, Matthew Perry, Mike Myers, Neve Campbell, Pamela Anderson Lee & many more, are Canadians.
• Like any international assassin/terrorist/spy in the world, you carry a Canadian passport.
• You use a red pen on your non-Canadian textbooks and fill in the missing 'u's from labor, honor, and color.
• You know the French equivalents of "free", "prize", and "no sugar added", thanks to your extensive education in bilingual cereal packaging.
• You are excited whenever an American television show mentions Canada.
• You make a mental note to talk about it at work the next day.
• You can eat more than one maple sugar candy without feeling nauseous.
• You know what a toque is.
• You have some memento of Doug and Bob.
• You know Toronto is not a province. (...yet)
• You never miss "Coaches Corner".
• Back bacon and Kraft Dinner are two of your favourite food groups.
• You actually get these jokes and forward them to all your Canadian friends.

Then yesterday, July 4th, one of my American Friends decided to have a party with some of her local friends. Since she needed help cooking dinner for the 12 guests she had invited, and because I could sing all of 'The Star Spangled Banner', I was once again invited to join in on a US Holiday. We made Sloppy Joes and watched Independence Day, the old Will Smith movie in the National language.

So Happy Birthday to both Countries. Even living on the other side of the world I get to celebrate the International Freedom Festival, Nation to Nation Friend to Friend.

The Waiting Game

Some of you may know that I am once again in the process of trying to move south. I say once again because I tried it three years ago to no avail. Sadly we can't just live where ever we want or where ever we find work in this country, we need to get a hundred and one stamps of government approval first.

I have already been offered a job in a city that is about a 24 hour train ride from here. Not only have I been offered the job, I have signed a contract and rented an apartment. The job is with a Uyghur handicraft export business. My roommate and I went down to check it all out the beginning of May, but to agree to work for them and finding a home was just the beginning. Now the waiting game starts.

The company is in the process of getting my paperwork done. They originally anticipated that it would be ready by the end of June, which is why I had hoped to be in Canada already ( I have to go back to my country of origin to change from a student visa to a work visa). But paper work takes forever, the company keeps sending me updated spread sheets with an estimated time as to when they should be able to get me the stamped paper work I need to take home with me. At first it was moved to the first week of July, then July 17th, next July 27th and just yesterday they sent me an email saying likely not until about Aug 5th. I can't really buy air tickets home until I have all the local government approval. So I wait.

My friend and I at the office down south, standing in front of one of the carpets that I will be helping to export.