Carpet from the Carwash

The last piece of our new home is finally in place. We picked up our freshly cleaned carpet from the carwash. It is one of the odd combination business; carpet cleaning and carwash, (I think the flower and cigar shop close to my college still counts as the weirdest mix of all). Just wanted to show off some shots of the new place. I know a lot of people might not really care, this post is really just for my Mom.

The Living Room

Kitchen Space

My Bedroom

The Office/ Clothes Drying Room

Hallway

Bathroom

My roommate even drew a floor plan to help her mom better understand how the whole place is set up (So 'my bedroom' is hers, and 'K's' bedroom is mine).

The clean Carpet that my grandparents sent me money to buy back in 2006, when I thought I was going to move to Achuk. My friend has been carpet-sitting it for me for the last four years. This is the first time I'll really get to enjoy it.

We are already having friends over and enjoying the new space.

Unwanted Company

The new house is starting to take shape, although it seemed to take us forever to get the shower, toilet, washing machine and internet up and going. We started inviting friends over before the process was finished. So even though there were no couch cushions to sit on, we tried to make our house warm and welcoming to our guests, by setting out dishes of snacks on the table.

I grabbed a few pistachio nuts to nibble on as I talked. Suddenly, I was distracted from our conversation by a little tickle crawling down my thumb. It seems like the pistachios were older than I thought, and a little worm had moved with us to our new house. I tried to discretely brush him away without drawing my guest attention to our other little friend. I was rather embarrassed by the infestation of my snack table.

A few minutes later I notice my friend was tapping the shell on the table before eating its contents; sure enough a little buddy also fell out onto the table and started to slither along the surface. Another Worm! What was this a whole family of unwanted company, come to munch on our food? I really shouldn’t let it bother me so much. I don’t know how many times I have been at a person’s house and had to eat around critters in my fruit or crawling out of the bowl. But this week it was my house, Oh the shame.

Still Thankful

81. Movers that can carry half my stuff on their back at one time
82. Friends who let you keep coming back to shower at their house, since I still haven’t got the water issue fixed at my new place.
83. My first morning with coffee in a month (now that Ramadan is over)
84. Likewise being able to eat whenever I want
85. Nice neighbours to visit over the holiday. We hadn‘t meet any of them yet, so we just waited to Rosa Heyt and then went door to door introducing ourselves. They all gladly welcomed us in to join. Can you imagine a strange foreigner coming to your door on Christmas expecting to be ushered in to join in the celebrations?
86. Hosts that only make you eat half and melon, couple of handfuls of nuts and raisins and a few bowls of tea instead of forcing you to eat three days worth of food in three hours. (Two homes didn’t actually feed us full meals)
87. Being able to buy a replacement fuse box , plumber’s tape, and the flotation thingy for in the toilet even though I don’t know any of those words in either local language ( based on my use of the word ‘thingy’ I don’t think I know proper terms in English either)
88. Hardware store owners who like playing charades, and are willing to pull apart half the store to help me find what I am looking for.
89. Another step checked off the list in the ‘we are trying to open a business’ red tape
90. Getting the map hung up in my new bedroom, which always makes a place feel more like ‘home’ to me.
91. That the new neighbourhood kids seem to be getting tired of the ‘run up to our door, bang on it, and giggle’ game
92. That students who went home for the summer are back in town
93. It is only a $1 taxi ride from my old house to my new one

2:30 is a Great Time for Noodles

The human body is truly an amazing organism. I’ve heard stories of people who have lost their ability to see, but whose bodies adapted by becoming more sensitive to the small noises, smells, and textures that would have otherwise gone by unnoticed.

As foreigners living in a Muslim city, our senses have adapted in other ways.

From up to two rooms away, I can identify the thwack of freshly pulled noodles slapping against a countertop. The thunk of a knife chopping a cantaloupe in half. The scraaape of a cooking pot being taken out of a cupboard.

Recognizing these sounds is crucial to our survival here. Guests in local homes are expected to be able to eat on command. And while there are ways of avoiding eating a full portion (only eating when the host is in the room, putting part of your own meal on someone else’s plate, etc.), there is no getting around the fact that sooner or later, you have to eat something.

Normally this isn’t a big problem – after all, there is no need to visit more than a couple of houses in one day. But this week is the end of Ramadan. Our Muslim friends have spent the last month fasting from food and drink during daylight hours, and now it’s time to party! During the next few days, anyone can knock on anyone else’s door and expect a warm welcome, complete with tea, snacks, and a hot meal.

Since K and I just moved into a new house, we decided that this would be a great time to meet our new neighbors. Knowing that there are at least 7 or 8 Uyghur families in our apartment building, we decided to plan carefully. We had a light snack instead of breakfast and lunch, and planned on visiting neighbors between 1 and 4 p.m. in order to avoid mealtimes. That way, we could just drink tea and pick at snacks on the tables, visiting a lot of new houses without having to eat too much or stay too long.

Our plan started off well – we were in and out of our first house in just fifteen minutes, with only a few mouthfuls of melon and a cup of tea. But the second house wasn’t quite so easy. Our hostess was excited to tell us that they had only just finished eating, and immediately brought us two bowls of noodles so we wouldn’t miss out on the meal.

I should probably mention that Uyghur noodles are basically like homemade spaghetti, with a little bit of sautéed lamb and green pepper thrown on top in place of sauce. The noodles – a fairly tasteless tangle of starch – are the main event, and the more the better.

Luckily, bowl number one wasn’t too big (about half of an American portion), so we polished them off with no problem and headed to our next house. A few quick introductions and melon slices later and we were on our way again. The next house we hit another snag; the woman who answered the door was alone, and dressed very conservatively, which is usually the sign of a big feeder. Sure enough, within a few minutes of being seated in the living room, we hear the telltale thwack, thunk, and scraaape coming from the kitchen – noodles and melons. K and I did our best to wolf down a full-sized portion of noodles, plus a couple of slices of melon and several cups of tea, thanked our hostess profusely, and headed out again.

Our last stop was a big family gathering. Almost immediately upon entering, the grandma of the family brought out plates heaped with dumplings, rice, and fruit. K and I didn’t budge. So she brought out a second plate – more fruit, meat pancakes, and bread. Full teacups were pushed into our hands. “Eat, eat,” urged the family members.

We eat our share from the edges of the rice and sipped our tea slowly. The grandma reappeared, this time with two bowls of noodles. “Here, I made these for you,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. We both did our best to smile as we took the bowls, which were full to the brim. “You eat so slowly!” one of the girls remarked, watching us mechanically shoveling noodles into our mouths. “Don’t you like it?”

Eventually we excused ourselves, narrowly missing another round of dumplings and rice, and went home to rest. In just three hours, we had each eaten three helpings of noodles and half a melon. I decided to skip dinner.

What’s in a Name?

My business partner and I are in the process of selecting a name for the Language Consultation and Translation Company we are hoping to open. Names really are tied closely to both the language and the culture from which they come; it is hard as an outsider to pick a name that will resonate with native speakers.

Three years ago I was walking to class, when I was stopped by a few local students who wanted my advice in choosing a good English name for a hotel. I asked what it's name was in the original language, and tried not to laugh as they seem to go on and on, with a long flourishing name.

“So in English that is literally ‘Imagine Peace and Happiness Everyday Hotel’” she told me proudly “What do you think? Is that a good name?”

I shook my head, “It is too long to be a good name and it is way too cutesy”

“What about ‘Imagine Peace and Happiness Hotel’?”

I shook my head again. “You could try just calling it ‘Imagine’”

“No,” she said firmly “ What about ‘Everyday Peace and Happiness Hotel?’”

We were nearing my classroom building and I was getting frustrated. “I already gave you my suggestion as to what I think most native English speakers would like for a name”. And with that I quickly dismissed myself from the decision making process.
Skip ahead in time until last week. My business partner (who is also from North America), and I were trying to come up with good local names to register our company under. The form said we needed five names in case our top choices were already taken. Most of the names we liked were two words, short and sweet type names, although we had only come up with four suggestions. I needed to fill in the fifth spot, so I wrote in a joke, just to make my business partner laugh.

As a joke I had taken a local saying which basically means “One heart and one mind”. It is kind of a cliche way of talking about being unified. The word they use for ‘mind’ is pronounced very similarly to the word for translation. So I switched out the last word and wrote ‘One Heart and One Translation’. My business partner saw it chuckled and said “Funny, but no way, it is too long”

One of our local friends accompanied us to the office, she saw the list of names and her eyes were immediately drawn down to the bottom of the list “Oh is this the one you are going to use? It is so meaningful”

“No that was just a joke, we don’t really like that name, we just needed a fifth option”

“Oh” she said sadly

After seeing her reaction my business partner grabbed the list and asked a group of random people which name they liked the best. Everyone resonated with the long and cumbersome cutesy choice. Remembering how much I disliked having my opinion as an English speaking discounted in picking an English name and not wanting my own culturally based pig headed preference to hold back our company, we decided to listen to the masses and use our final option as the number one pick.

We are now officially ‘One Heart and One Translation Translation and Consultation Company’. With such a solid name blazing a trail for us, I can’t help but imagine peace and happiness everyday for us in the business world.

Proud to be a Canadian

My friend and I were out running around town the other day and getting things ready for our new apartment. We were both pretty worn out and not really in the chatty mood when this story took place. Here is how my friend explained the interaction on her facebook page:

"So you're students?"

I looked at Karen. I don't feel like talking to strangers today, I whispered in English. Let's just nod and smile and say yes to anything he asks. Karen nodded.

"Yup, students." (actually, Karen works at an export company).

"But you speak our language; you must have been here a while... maybe a year or two?"

"Uh-huh." (reality: me -- 2.5 years, Karen -- 6 years)

"So what will you do when you finish school?"

"We're going to open our own business."

"Oh, teaching English?"

"More or less..." (Reality: we're starting a translation company)

"And you're from America?"

"Yup."

For the first time in this interaction, Karen's national pride got the best of her: "Actually, she's American, but I'm Canadian," she jumped in. The stranger and I both turned to look at Karen, but that was all she had to say.

Which just goes to show you that in the levels of "what it's okay to fudge the truth about," letting a Canadian be taken for an American is never okay.

The List Goes On

61. Female Police officers because they don't leer and make rude comments as you try to register
62. Being able to register at a new house in under a half hour.
63. Finding an apartment that comes partially furnished with two beds, a couch, a hot water heater and a couple of desks. Now all we need to buy is a fridge.
64. People who invite me over for dinner, especially when an evening in their home feels like a mini vacation.
65. A landlord at our new apartment who seems fair and treats us like anyone else.
66. Cleaning ladies who, for only a small fee will clean away two years of dust at an apartment.
67. Packages! We got one this week from a family that use to live here. It was the best! They knew just what to send, since they knew first hand what you could not get out here.
68. Bus drivers that know me and will stop and pick me up, even if I am not at the bus stop
69. The material I have to teach this week, already having been translated into Uyghur
70. That I was able to get the Uyghur font program up and running again on my computer
71. Uyghur friends who call, just because they miss me and we haven't talked in a while.
72. New people who have moved to town
73. Skype conversations with friends and family at home
74. People who are willing to lend me books to read
75. Bread, fresh out of the bread maker
76. Quiet days of reflection
77. Other people who are willing to teach English corner
78. Getting over my cold
79. Books to read to children when you are babysitting. My friends had to go to the hospital the other day, during the three hours I watched the kids I think we read 20 story books (it was the only thing that would keep them quiet).
80. Slowly getting a better picture of the financial aspect of starting a company

I Can’t Tell a Lie

Aforementioned Ramadan is once again upon us, but the fast is more than just abstaining from food and drink while the sun is in the sky, it is a month that calls all Muslims back to a holier way of life. There are more beggars on the street, and I am sure they make more than double the money this month, since it seems everyone is stopping to give them loose change. A gift of alms during the month of Ramadan is considered to be even more generous.

Last week I learned another aspect of life that is affected by holiness rehaul of Ramadan. My friend and I were souvenir shopping for her at the market. While we were bargaining, one of my favourite sellers said. “That is the real price I paid for it. I can’t lie to you because it is Ramadan right now.” Wow, honesty is the policy only when you are not eating. I guess now is the time to go shopping.

(Yes, this picture was taken in 2005 when my family came to visit. I often use file footage instead of running around all day with camera in hand)

New People, Old Friends

What is the North American custom for meeting new people? I know it is sad that I have to honestly ask that question but I don’t remember. The other day this Uyghur guy I had known for the last five years or so introduced me to his new wife. I had never met this young lady before, but I automatically greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks. As we talked for the next few minutes, I realized I was holding her hand and she was genteelly rubbing my back.

At the same time there was another couple with us, who had just arrived from the States a few days before. They were unable to understand what we were saying and had no idea that we were just covering introduction stuff. As they stood witnessing our interaction I heard them say “Oh wow, old friends being reunited, how sweet”. I guess that much physical interaction is not normal for perfect strangers. The sad thing is two days later I can’t even remember the girl's name. Just like the women in this picture. I met them once, and they are already hugging me. I love meeting new people and feeling like I have old friends.

What A Week

A friend and I are in the midst of a lot of change. We are hoping to open our own “Language Consultation” Company in the next few months. The first step to opening a company is to find an office space, so that every receipt and documentation can be registered to that location. One of our friends was getting rid of her old office so we rented it from her. One step down only about a 1000 left before I am an official business owner.

I am also trying to move to a better location in town that will put me within walking distance of our new office space. I used a local apartment locater service to help me find a place. I wanted to find a place no higher than the third floor, and close to a main bus stop. Some of the places they showed me this week were ‘less than positive’. In one the kitchen was nothing more than a cement box, in another the walls were just metal dividers. After a lot of looking I finally found a perfect location today. It is a five minute walk from our office building, it has three bedrooms and it is fully renovated.

When renting an office or a home in this country we are required to pay the first years rent right up front. This is a lot of stress and change at the same time. While my responsibilities will be increasing I am afraid my bank account will find that this week has a definite decreasing effect on it.

Thankfulness

38. Friends visiting from out of town
39. Guests that bring coffee with them
40. The chance to share more about life out here
41. People who ask good questions, that inspire thoughtful answers
42. Meeting old friend's babies for the first time
43. When the baby doesn't cry when I hold her
44. Learning a day later that the baby was crying because her first tooth was coming in, not because she met her Aunt Karen for the first time
45. People who are anxious to hear what I learned at the class I recently attended.
46. Diplomatic emails - and the thought that goes into writing them
47. When people comment on my blog or respond to my letters by email.
48. The rain coming and the pain leaving
49. That I am not under the same pressure to marry as my Uyghur friends
50. That my parents have never shown up at my door with a man in tow saying "We gave you long enough to try to find your own husband, and since you haven't found one, you WILL marry this man"
51. Being able to be the person whose shoulder my Uyghur friend choices to cry on.
52. Getting a good deal on office furniture for our new place of business
53. People who have started a business here before and willingly give us hints and share their knowledge on the best way to go about it.
54. That first drink of water after a long hot Ramadan day
55. Taxi drivers who know where they are going
56. Evenings spent cooking Western food with Uyghur friends
57. Earning the respect and trust of my friend's parents
58. Shop keeps that know me so well they give me a better price than most locals can get.
59. Decaf coffee at 10pm
60. Seat near the door on the bus

Flattened Figs

Out of all the fruit for sale on the street I always thought the figs looked the funniest. They are sold as flat round disks, not at all what I had pictured a fresh fig looking like.

Recently while I was at a friend’s house we were sent, by her mother, to go and pick figs from the back yard. Each one my friend pulled off the branch she would squish three times between her hands, it looked almost like she was spanking the fruit in order to reshape it.

After about the 5th time I couldn't let this strange behaviour pass without asking “why?” The answer I got was rather surprising. Uyghur, and perhaps all of Islam, have been taught that the enticing tree from which Adam and Even ate forbidden fruit was none other than a fig tree. The fruit is still seen as evil and in need of punishment. So each fig picked gets slapped three times for it’s involvement in the fall of all mankind.

My Job Just Got A Lot Harder

The month of Ramadan has started again; this is a hard time of year to live in a Muslim neighbourhood. Whether or not, I as an outsider, choice to join in the fast or not, there is guilt involved in eating on the street insight of many hungry people. I often feel bad if I start to prepare my dinner before it dark out since it is like knowingly allowing the delicious aroma of my food to tempt them.

For the past month or so I have been helping fill in for my friend at a foreign run café in town. The means I go each day and spend a few hours sipping coffee or fruit shakes with the staff, and helping the local manager think through what needs to be done. Talk about an dream job, nice hours, and little responsibility.


But Ramadan at a café is even harder. Some of our staff is fasting, so they spend their day in the kitchen cooking food for other to enjoy. They smell the intoxicating smells that go with their job, but can not even taste the sauce to see if it is right. Ramadan fasting rules are quite strict actually forbidding water from sunup to sundown. This is murderous on a hot summer day in the kitchen with the oven and stoves going full force. So, out friendship I am not eating or drinking while I am there either. Trust me when I say a day at a café with no coffee in hand is less than complete. This month my job is going to get a whole lot harder.

Bus Accident

Traffic here can be a little crazy at times, the rules of the road are viewed more as suggestions than a hard and fast thing that must be followed. I know that who ever can get their nose in a spot first gets the spot. I also know that if you can go faster by driving in the oncoming lane that that is totally okay.

As I am sure you can imagine this can cause a lot of accidents. But in city driving is normally so slow that accidents don’t amount to much. In fact earlier this week the bus that I was on hit a pedestrian. We happened to be going so slow that it really only knocked the man's shoulder, when he turned and saw a bright orange bus millimeters from his face, he actually laughed and kept on walking.

However later in the week another bus I was on got in a real accident (the car we hit was likely a write off). Unfortunately I was standing at the time. Buses fill up fast here and they have learned that seats are a waste of space since you can pack a lot more people on without them. So there is a single row of seats along the sides and the back, and the rest of the bus is left for standing room. Right at the back door is a solid pole which is my favorite place to stand if I can get it (my roommate calls it the ‘open bar at the back’). I was the only one standing (when you are packed like sardines there is nowhere to move or get thrown to when the bus makes a jerky stop), so there was no one to cushion the impact for me. I held on to the bar as the driver jammed on the brakes, I was still standing as we were jerked back the other direction by the impact of the crash itself. Eventually I bumped into the lap of some one sitting close by and slid to the floor. As you can imagine this old body really hurt after that sort of trauma.

33. Thankful for no broken bones
34. For an “open bar” to grip hard as we were tossed about
35. A few days that I could move my schedule and just rest and recover
36. Friends who bring take out home so I don’t need to cook or move around
37. To be feeling better enough that I am actually up for writing about it and laughing about it.

Connections - Who do you know?

In Central Asia it is true that in most situations it is all about who you know. Connections are a key word in the vocabulary. A few weeks ago when my friend and I were traveling down south I was reminded afresh how important it is to have the right connections.

The sleeper bus we took pulled into its destination at 3:30 a.m., in spite of the early hour the bus driver allowed us to keep resting on the bus until 5:00 when he obnoxiously went around banging on all the windows to wake the patrons and announce our early morning arrival.

To avoid paying overpriced taxi fees we walked to the nearby hotel where I normally stay in that city. After waking up the desk clerk who was not expecting guests to arrive at the crack of dawn, we learned that there were no rooms to be had in the whole hotel. We walked around a little looking for a new hostel friends had told me about, but when we couldn’t find it we opted for the more expensive place close by (we were tired and dirty and willing to pay the almost $40US just to rest).

As we checked into the hotel I mentioned to my traveling companion that they didn’t fill out the right paperwork for foreigners to stay at a location. Which explains why less than half an hour later ( when my friends hair was still dripping from her quick shower), we were kicked out of the one room we had been able to find. The hotel staff felt so bad they tried calling around to other hotels that did have the proper permits to have foreigners. Sadly there was a convention of some sorts going on in town that week and not a single room to be found anywhere.

We left the hotel still weary and maybe even a little cranky. Across the street was a western café. The sign said they didn’t open til 9 a.m., but since we live in two time zone at the same time I wasn’t sure if that meant we had to sit on the front step for 20 minutes or for 2 hours and 20 minutes. Either way we feared that we would be back on the bus in less than 10 hours without a goodnight sleep in a real bed.

Twenty minutes later when the coffee shop opened we found the connection we needed. The owner of the shop heard our sob story and offered to help. She made a few phone calls and came out with the name of a hotel written on a scrap of paper. We grabbed our bags and got our exhausted bodies into a taxi. The lady at the front desk at the new hotel gave us a very uncertain look as we stepped through the door hopefully. I told her that my friend had made a reservation for us, the women sat stone still and giving me a look that said “I doubt it, we are all filled up”. I mentioned the coffee shop owners name and amazingly the women sitting across from me had an entire change in her countenance. She pulled out the paper and started the registration process.

One name was all we needed, we not only got a room we even got a discount for knowing the right person.

31. People who are connected and willing to help
32. A good night sleep in a clean hotel room

1000 Gifts

Recently I came across a friend's blog, she was taking every Monday to list things she was thankful for. As I read I realized it was not her alone, but a group of bloggers who were part of a gratitude community. After a really hard year filled with a lot of upward struggles I wanted to join them in expressing a multitude of thankgs giving... so here we go:

1. Fresh starts
2. Tears - that bring healing
3. Friends who care about all parts of my life
4. Wise women and older mentors who can speak truth into confusing situation
5. Fans on a hot summer day
6. Internet so we can connect with home again
7. Hospitable people
8. Brainless movies
9. Buttered microwave pop corn from home
10. Friends who call just when you need a reason to get out of a hard situation
11. Other people who bake for you when you are suppose to be playing hostess
12. Uyghur language Study buddies- that help you go over the stuff you never learn in call
13. Read aloud time with my roommate and all I learn from her insights
14. Getting new books that other people don't want any more
15. Wear bright Uyghur Atlas fabric, the colour is enough to cheer anyone up.
16. Dinner with hardly any cleanup
17. Finding an apartment for friends
18. Nice police man and a good landlord
19. Care packages
20. Colouring Books
21. Eggplant kabobs
22. Friends who care enough to listen to me try to explain what in on my heart in Uyghur
23. When my friends clothes don't fit them and they give them to me and vis-versa.
24. Bright summer sunshine
25. private rooms in restaurants were you and all your friends can have an emotional break down.
26. People who know more about computers than me.
27. People who are willing to look into my computer when it suddenly crashes (like yesterday).
28. Strangers and friend's blogs that encourage me with the list of things they are thankful for.
29. My brother found a wonderful women to marry - sorry I missed the engagement party.
30. Having enough of both of the languages spoken out here to be able to get tasks done.

Dream Interpretation

I may never be able to join the psychic network, but over the last few weeks I have had more and more practice in how Uyghur people interpret dreams.

One night I dreamed of eating Nan- the famous Uyghur bread (okay so my dreams aren’t really all that detailed or involved). All night as I laid in bed trying to fall back asleep I could only think about was the warm, fresh taste of nan melting in my mouth .I swear I could smell the yeast rising around me. I told my friend the next day and she said that dreaming about Nan means that you are going to have house guests. When guests come Uyghur women are stuck in the kitchen for days cooking and serving food. So dreams of food only seem fitting to the fate that awaits them. Sure enough four days later Emily came to stay with us for two weeks. Sorry Emily I never baked you any fresh nan as a fulfillment of my dream, but you were a very welcome guest.

One of my friends called me one day very concerned with how I was. We hadn’t spoken in a few weeks and she seemed worried that I was in trouble. I assured her I was fine, and while she seemed relieved she continued to inquire about what I had been up to. When I finally got to the bottom of her questioning I learned that she had had a dream about me. In her dream I was almost nine months pregnant. I tried to make some weak joke about how she must think I am some sort of loose women. Only apparently when Uyghur people see a pregnant friend in their dreams they interpret it as a sign of being under stress, weighing you down, bearing a heavy load. She had this dream right about the time I was trying to support a close friend through a personal struggle. I have to admit that I had taken on a lot of extra stress.

The last dreams meaning was totally different than what I would have understood. A young Uyghur woman I know was considering marring this guys she had just met a few weeks before (Uyghur weddings happen fast). After hearing gossip from others she had reason to believe he might not be as nice of a guy as she had been lead to believe. In fact, she had heard he might be cheating and sleeping around with other girls. One night she had a dream in which she saw him naked. When I heard this all I could think was ‘dirty’, but she seemed relieved by the vision. Why? You may ask, apparent Uyghur people believe if you see a person naked in your dream it is because they are pure. In response to this confirmation in her sleep the very next day she went to start to get her marriage license.

So what have you been dreaming about?

Stomach Update

So I have to be honest I didn't make it through all five days of drinking my mud like medicine. I think drinking boiled orange and pomegranate peels, ginseng, and branches actually made my stomach issues worse. Oh well, I guess it goes on the list with sand therapy, as something I can say " I tried." The good news is my friend actually seems to be finding some relief.

Traditional Medicine

Last month I gave into the pressure of local friends telling me I needed to try sand therapy for my joints, this month I decided to let a friend take me to the Traditional Medicine doctor in hopes of finding a cure for my stomach issues. Yes, I have stomach issues. They are not something we discuss much in a North American context, but out here it is totally normal to complain about your bowel movements . Ever since my friend and I drank some not fully boiled water almost two years ago we have had reoccurring troubles. Since we had mentioned it a few times to local friends we finally had one women insist that she wanted us to see a traditional Doctor, ironically it was her restaurant we drank the water from two years ago.

I had one run in with traditional medicine before. Once when I was in a black taxi (a.k.a random car that I talked into taking me where I wanted to go), the driver said he had studied traditional medicine and asked if he could show me. At first I thought it was his sneaky way of getting to hold the white girl’s hand, but after he grabbed my wrist he just held it like he was taking my pulse. After a minute he said “oh you haven’t been sleeping well because of pain in your shoulders. You take a lot of different medications and you have also had surgery on your legs and they have metal in them”. I was shocked and surprised that he could gather all of that so quickly and just from holding my wrist. His accuracy made me more open and willing to go with my friend and at least see what the traditional medicine doctor had to say.

The appointment with the doctor only cost us about $1.50. My friend went first; as he held her wrist he asked questions about her stomach and how often she was using the washroom. After a few minutes he had the secretary write up a prescription and she was done. I paid my money and stretched out my hand. He asked me what I was there for. I mentioned struggling with some of the same symptoms as my friend. He once again called out a prescription, but as you can see by the photo, based on what he felt in our bodies even though it is the same issues he suggested different treatments.

He told us we could fill our prescription in the other room. We would have to boil up the contents of what they gave us and drink it twice a day for five days (at least everything is all natural, mine is the one with the orange peel, dried red dates, and stick looking things). The doctor also said we were to avoid eating spicy or cold food (his definition of cold food is not based on temperature). The lady in the next room, in accordance with the tradition aspect of it all, actually rang our total bill up on an abacus.

Our medicine (mine is one the left)

Boiling it up

Reaction to the first sip

Realization that I still have to drink 9 more cups of the stuff this week

Stress Relief

Sometimes all you need is a good laugh to get through a long day.

Super Powers

Every good superhero has a power that sets them apart from the average guy. Some are born with these powers and some get them due to traumatic incidences. Superman can fly and look through things with his x-ray vision, Spider man can climb walls and shoot webs from his hands. Last week, while traveling around the desert (what many might call a traumatic experience) ,I learned about my own super power – the ability to pack everything I need for a week of uncertain travel in a small backpack. While it may not be right up there with crime fighting, I think most North American women would be impressed (or possibly shocked and appalled) to learn that I fit: clothing, pj’s, toiletries, books, and snack food all in that little bag.

Ode to the Sleeper Bus – The Continuing Story

In honor of reaching the big 300 post mark I thought I would fulfill a promise made in one of my first posts. Ahhh, the sleeper bus, really is an experience that is hard to capture with words. This past week I once again found myself enduring long hours of this mode of transportation. In five days my friend and I figured we spent a total of 55 hours riding the bus.

The friend travelling with me had just come from the US and so much of what we saw and experience was new to her, especially the bathroom situation. So like I promised way back in 2006 the following is a description the rest stops along the highways of Central Asia.

(Warning the following is not for the faint of heart, or for the germiphobe )

Most sleeper buses do not come equipped with a bathroom per say, some drivers will stick a bucket on the stairs by the door to handle emergencies if someone just cannot hold it the six hours between stops. When the bus does actually pull into a rest stop it is often just a shack with one side labeled men and the other women. Inside are half wall dividers between each stall, none of them have doors on the front. In each section there is a big hole in the floor that you are meant to straddle and squat over. (If you have seen the movie “Slum Dog Millionaire” than you have a fair idea of what can be clearly seen and smelled from each hole and I can save us both the disgusting details). That’s it. There is nothing else in this washroom. No flushing toilets, not sinks to wash your hands, no toilet paper or hand dryers. All there is, is a row of about 4 holes, and a smell that tells you no one has cleaned up in a long time. Sadly some ladies can’t seem to wait for a hole to become free, so you do have to pay close attention as you walk across the floor.

Because of my legs I can’t really squat all that well which, trust me, all of the locals notice. Since there are no doors I have had many of them gather around the front of my hole (as I am relieving myself) and comment to each other “she’s doing it wrong” or “doesn’t she know how to go the bathroom”. Since I speak enough language I have one of two choices, try to ignore the growing group of women who want to watch me go, or try to explain why I can’t do it right. Once, when choosing the latter, I had a woman who was so excited that I could interact with her that she asked on the spot if we could be friends. I have to admit that I was tempted to yell “I’m going poo here, can you just give me a little privacy, you are already seeing me in a much more intimate situation than most of my friends”, but I bit back my sharp retort and gave her my phone number.

The best thing about last week’s trip was that my travel companion had brought that anti bacterial hand sanitizer stuff which she willingly shared. I can’t tell you how great Bath and Body Works products smell in contrast to a stinky Central Asian roadside washroom.

Village Dreams

Growing up I always thought I had been born in the wrong century. I wanted to be one of the girls on “Little House on the Prairie”. I wanted to live the idyllic country life. The only problem was I was viewing it with city girl eyes.

When my friend and I were in the country side visiting my sand doctor I realized that as quaint as it may be, I really value running water. I don’t like having to go out behind the shed and squat over a hole in order to go. When it is dark you can barely see where you are walking, I am always scared I will trip over a stone and land in the hole instead (gross). After you're done you were suppose to wash your hands in the stream that ran behind the property. The only problem is I couldn’t bend down that far.

I learned that wet ones may be a city thing, but they are a great thing to bring with you to the country. I came home with a new appreciation for a toilet you can sit on and an easy to reach sink. I learned that I have been spoiled by my modern city conveniences, and that I will never get to live my village dream. I also learned that I am totally grateful to not be Laura Ingles .