The Main Event

The whole purpose behind my trip home this year was not just to visit with old friends or even to have my appendix out… the main purpose was to witness the wedding of my big brother and to share in their special day.

June 4^th marked this important day in their lives and I was glad that I could celebrate with them. The ceremony itself was very beautiful and very intentional in it message. I finally have a sister!

You may notice that we are wearing shawls in a few of the pictures… those were not standard wedding apparel. In fact I picked them up at the grand bazaar in Central Asia before coming home. I had seen a picture of the bridesmaids dresses on-line and knew they were way too revealing. I had told my Muslim neighbors that I was going home for my brother’s wedding, if I brought back photos of me looking that inappropriate they might disown me. I bought a white shawl for the bride as well, so that they would know my brother had found himself a virtuous wife (since being home I have got to know her and see her beautiful heart… but sadly that wouldn’t communicate cross-culturally if all that can be seen is bare shoulders). Decent or indecent it was a beautiful day.

Doctors Still Make House Calls

Thank you all for your concern over the last week. I just wanted to let you all know that I am out of the hospital and safely recovering at home.

Since my wonderful Canadian health care (the one I have boasted about many times to you Americans) lapsed since I have spent too much time overseas.... Since I wasn't sure what sort of coverage my international company had in Canada I was scared to go for medical help when I first started to feel sick. I spent two days lying around home moaning in pain, before my parents suggested we call one of the doctors that attends the same church as my brother and at least tell him my symptoms over the phone. He not only suggested meds, but decided to stop by the house on his way home (who knew Doctors still made house calls???)

After a quick examination the doctor was the one who actually called 911. The ambulance guys arrived at our house checked my vital signs and declared that all looked good. They even asked if I really wanted to go to the hospital. If it wasn't for the kind doctor still standing in the corner of my bedroom vigorously nodding his accent, I likely would have stayed put. As it was the ambulance guys said they couldn't get the stretcher up the five stairs in our house, so they asked if I would mind walking outside to their vehicle.

Their lack of concern placed me low on the triage list at the hospital waiting room. We arrived at 6:30ish and likely didn’t see anyone for 2 ½ to 3 hours. During that time I was sitting slumped over in the wheelchair they provided watching as limping people came out with casts and other maladies seemed to be being treated all around me.

Within a few minutes of calling my name the nurse had me on IV for my dehydration, still not sure how the whole thing was going to be funded I have to admit I started counting each vile of blood they took and each bag of medicine they hooked up to drip into me. Blood work showed that my white blood cell count was elevated indicating some sort of infection. More tests and several hours later they realized my appendix had ruptured. Suddenly the pace picked up and I was being presented with release forms to sign and prepped for surgery. It wasn’t until 5:30ish in the morning that we actually got the show on the road.

I spent a week in hospital hooked up to IV and feeling weak, but thankfully I am home now, with the guarantee from my international insurance company that they will pick up the whole bill (they have even called a few times just to check up and see how I am feeling). I am still really tired and wear out from a quick walk about the block, but thankfully I am okay. As one woman encouragingly said to my mom the other day “You know you can die from that”.

This is my first day trying to eat something other than soup and liquids. It looks like I may have to push my return date back a few weeks, from June 9^th until the 20^th or so. I still need to look into the price change, but mom assures me she is willing to pay the difference.

Where In the World is KSA???

Since I haven't blogged for over a week I thought you might be beginning to wonder where I was. So I asked my mom to post a short something for me to explain my absence.
So - Where In the World is KSA??? - she's in hospital recovering from an emergency appendectomy on a ruptured appendix and has been since Friday evening May 20th. She seems to be coming along and her spirits on the whole are good but any prayers and good wishes you wish to send her way would be appreciated.
Once she's home and doing better she'll be back.

The Joy of Friendship

Last weekend I had a wonderful time renewing old friendships… all of my college roommates got together and threw a reunion barbeque/ welcome home Karen party. I haven’t seen some of these girls since I graduated almost 10 years ago. It made for a fun, and slightly crazy afternoon as they all brought husbands and children with them. Thankfully one of my friends had the brilliant idea of making the kids wear personally designed hats with their names on them, so I could tell everyone apart. The hats didn’t last long in all the excitement… but long enough for me to learn who everyone was. Here are a few pictures from our great day.

Kid Magnet

My mother has always called me a “kid magnet”. Even when I was a child myself, I was known for gathering the younger kids around me getting them to play together. At the mall I would smile at child and they would scamper away from their mother’s side feeling the pull to come and talk to me. This slightly stockerish trait is still alive as well as part of my personality.

Last Saturday I took the train up to visit friends. A little girl and her grandmother got on at the same stop as I did. Before I really even knew how my friendship has started with this little fellow traveler, she had brought her crayons and princess’ story book over and plopped down in the empty seat beside me. For the next two hours she chattered away telling me all about her little brother, her classmates in kindergarten and her purple backpack. By the end of the two hour ride my seatmate gave me a huge and proudly declared me to be her “new best friend”.

She and her grandmother disembarked at an earlier destination, moments after they were out of ear shot, one of the women sitting a few sits ahead, popped up and turned around to face me.

“You’re really good with children,” she said “you should have lots of them when you grow up.”

I knew she meant it as a compliment, but I didn’t think my behavior over the last few hours had been so juvenile as to discount any adult status granted to me for my 31 years of life. She was still looking at me, seemingly waiting for a response. I did know what to say, so I quietly mumbled a lame “thank you”.

Bea-u-ti-ful

One of my fellow expats living in Central Asia is known throughout our community for her over the top enthusiasm. Her expression of delight tends to manifests itself in an extra syllabification to punch up her sentence. Something is never just Amazing it is A-maz-i-ing, or Fan-ta-sti-ic . The more syllables she can stretch a word into the better it reflects her enjoyment. She uses hyperbolic super adjectives.

Last weekend I made a trip to Vancouver BC and down into Bellingham Washington. I have to admit the cool vibe and the gorgeous sights made me want to infuse a little more life into my speech just to capture the full wonder of it.

Look at these pictures they are GOR-GE-OUS

Turn Up the Heat

When I am traveling I hate the question “how did you sleep last night?”. I very rarely sleep well when I am in a strange location, but this weekend while I was staying up in a hotel in Washington state it was exceptionally bad, and totally unnecessary.

I guess Seattle area is known for its rain this time of year, and many people expressed that April had been colder than normal. All of this culminated in a rather chilling hotel room. It was one of those nights that I would lay in my bed, with toes like icicles, dreaming a beach on the equator, just hoping my dreams would be enough to keep me warm. I was scared to move or roll over in the middle of the night since I knew the sheets themselves were cold I and would have to spend half an hour warming up and new location.

This restless frozen state continued until 6 in the morning. Just as I was preparing to give up and go have a hot shower I noticed the radiator located under the window. Suddenly the reality that was us back in North America flooded back to me. I jumped up quickly, grapping the blanket off the bed to wrap around me as I went to check it out. Sure enough there were controls on the side and within seconds I could feel hot air being blown out with force into the room. Between the happy hum of the heater and the gradual increase in temperature and dozed off for an hour or so of actual sleep that night.

Where I live in central Asia the heat in a building is regulated by the government. The heaters are turned on and off at a set date in the year, no matter what the weather is outside. Some of you may have heard me share recently about the struggles of being willing to give up my rights in order to better acclimatize myself to life overseas, that includes the right to warm and toasty on a cold wet day.

Many people at the conference got a good laugh from my 'how I slept last night story', especially since many of them have lived in the same part of the world and knew what it was like to try to overcome years of thinking one way in order to fit in at home.

161) Personal controls on the heater

162) a much better, and warmer night’s sleep my second night in the hotel

International Coffee

I remember my first trip back to Canada. At that time I was overwhelmed at the speed my brain could process it’s native language and therefore the amount of information I gathered through unintentional eavesdropping. I would be at a large group event and struggle focuses on the person in front of me because my ears, rejoicing at hearing the familiar buzz of English, would pick up bits and pieces of everyone’s conversations. I knew about the new puppy one family had gotten, or how poorly one women’s son was doing in his high school physic’s class, I knew the girl across the way was waiting to hear back from the cute guy she had gone out with the other night and I knew who had spent more on redoing their kitchen. At that time I still lacked the listening skills to be able to interact with the world around me to that level in Uyghur.

Now that I have been living overseas for almost six years I find myself equally as subconsciously taking in the event s of the lives of my neighbours in Central Asia. I can understand when they call their friend from the bus to inform them that we are running late because we are stuck in traffic. I can hear the girls sitting behind me comparing answers they got on their afternoon math test. I know that the women and her daughter were just looking at dresses for the daughter’s upcoming wedding. The more I understand the more I feel more like a part of life there. I have also come to realize how similar the topics of small talk are around the world.

That is why I was shocked last week when I was sitting in Timmies sipping my double double (for all you none Canadians out there, that is a Tim Horton’s coffee with two cream and two sugars). Since I was sitting at the table alone I found my attention being drawn to their other coffee shop customers. I quickly realized that I couldn’t understand a word of what anyone was saying. The group directly behind me was speaking Cantonese, I think. Those to my left sounded more German, on my right I heard the semi familiar sounds of Spanish… or was that Protégées they were speaking. Finally above the din of the mini UN meeting taking place over several hot cups of coffee I distinctly heard someone say “while my granddaughter just loves her kindergarten teacher”. There it was, there was my mother tongue, there was a group of people speaking English again, there was the familiarity that I was craving.

My trip to the coffee shop left me slightly in disbelief at how much I miss even in my own context, but it also left me very proud to be a Canadian. If one coffee shop is any sort of microcosm for the rest of our nation, than here in Canada we have something quite unique. Here we are sounded by the world, people from all different ethnicities, countries and backgrounds living in one area, not to mentioned joined by the common love of one great cup of coffee ( no this blog post was not sponsored or paid for by Tim Hortons- but I wouldn’t say no to a free cup of coffee if their offered it).

Finding Fabric

Back in January I was in the Uyghur material market shopping for fabric to have a dress made. I had a basic idea of what I was looking for, but as I started to wonder through booths waiting for something to jump out at me, I was accosted by many eager sales people. In good local tradition some of the sellers grabbed bolts of fabric and actually intersect my path as they loudly called out to me and waved the material in front of my face: “Miss you like this one, very cheap for you, I give you good price”. Normally the items they chose to show off to me are about the last thing I would ever consider buying. I remember on this particular occasion one man was determined to show off one particular pattern. He stood there lovely running his figures over this brightly colored fabric. “This would look very pretty against your white skin miss” he said as he held the end of the roll up to my face. The hideous material looked like it had fireworks exploding all over it in multiple shocking colors. These bright bursts were in a shocking pink, and electric yellow and even and an over the top green. My tastes have changed greatly since living overseas (my family use to be known for our love of a lackluster navy color wardrobe and now I proudly don atlas for any formal event), but this rainbow explosion seemed to me they type of pattern only a Uyghur person could truly appreciate the beauty of. I politely shook my head to indicate it wasn’t quite what I was looking for, but he insisted again that it looked great on me.

Considering my strong revolution to the material he had suggested, you can imagine my surprise when shopping at the mall this week in Canada to see a dress made out of the exact same fabric. I had gone into the store and the woman at the counter had greeted me upon my entrance telling me to feel free to look around. As I searched through the racks of summer dresses I saw a section filled with outrageous patterns. Sure enough right in their midst was the explosive fireworks of color that I had turned my nose up to on the other side of the world. The dress was a shot, tub top style (something no Uyghur women would ever wear for the sake of modestly), even in light of its lack of material it was still the most flashy one hanging there. I guess I should have listened better to my local Uyghur sales man; it would have looked great on my skin and allowed me to be in fashion on both sides of the world.

Biography Quote

I am currently in the middle of reading a famous Uyghur biography. This individual also took a chance in starting their own business. One particular quote caught my attention and reminded me that the struggles we faced last semester with all our running around are just par for the course. "These critical governmental procedures required me to work with the bureacuracy myself, though it is something I would have much rather delegated. For many of these additional stamps, I was required to revisit the same bureaus at least fifty times, waiting and waiting for my turn. Each stamp of approval peeled away only a fraction of the bureaucratic layer. I thought that anyone else would have given up on this project just because of the bureaucracy."

Driving- and Outsiders Look at Road Rules

The following is taken from an email my friend sent to summarizing his week long trip to visit us in Central Asia:

I did learn some important things about driving during my visit. The roadways are shared by a variety of both modern and outdated modes of transportation (foot, bike, taxi, donkey cart, bus, three wheeled scooter...) and has an interesting set of traffic guidelines. Here are some basic groundrules:

1. Don't wear a seatbelt. We are not quite sure what this part of your vehicle is meant to do, but until you find out, it's best to leave it where it is.

2. When driving, remember blindspots. Blindspots have to do with people who have no vision, and have nothing to do with motor vehicles. Since you have eyes, keep them looking straight out the windshield in front of you.

3. Make sure your horn is working and test it frequently. Honk when you pull blindly into traffic, merge lanes, cut someone off, pull a uturn in oncoming traffic, or drive on the wrong side of the road. If you haven't touched it in the last few minutes, give it a quick honk just to make sure that sucker is still working.

4. Sidewalks. Read that again, slowly this time. P a r k i n g area. There, that's better. Of course there are people here- use your horn! Pedestrians have the right to get out of the way. Sidewalks also can function as a great alternative to getting where you want to go faster that the traffic jam in the actual road.

5. Left hand turn lanes. Left hand turn lanes additionally function as the ideal point for positioning yourself to overtake the traffic stopped at the red light. If the lane is empty, scoot right in. Then when the light turns green- voila! - you can cut right back into traffic (remember the no blind spots rule and to use your horn dramatically). Blinker completely unnecessary, and a waste of time. Plus, that hand probably has a cigarette or a cell phone in it already, and it would be a shame to stop talking or texting or give up on the smoke for the sake of a little blinking light. (priorities, people. Priorities. Get them straight.)

Near accident experiences: 325. And then I stopped counting the second day.

Thankful for a smooth safe trip

146) Found a taxi right in front of my house when I left Thursday morning at 5am – I was not anticipating the idea of dragging my suitcase on a ten minute walk through the streets trying to hail one. 147) No mention by the lady at the check-in counter that my bag were 3.7 kilos over weight. 148) On my two longer flights there were only two of us assigned to sit in the bench of three seats, so it meant we could spread out and have a little more room.

149) I had to change terminals during one of my layovers; two strangers generously helped me lift my heavy bag up the steps onto the bus.

150) I stopped at Starbucks during my first layover… that is only a practial thankful thing - the price of Starbucks at the airport astounded me, I paid basically the same price that myself and two of my best friends can eat for when we go out for a nice dinner at home.

151) Fun movies to watch during the 12 hour flight

152) I made it through Canadian customs… I wouldn’t have thought that was a difficult thing, but when the officer saw how long I had been out of the country he made me scratch out my parent's address as my residence and fill in my address in Asia. He also spent a long time challenging the fact that after being gone for 19-20 months that I was really only bringing about 375 dollars worth of goods back with me. I was glad to get by the mini interrogation and be safely in my home country.

153) That first sip of a hot Tim Horton’s Coffee and a fresh Sour Cream glazed doughnut.

154) Making it home during Roll Up the Rim Season – although sadly neither of my first two coffees have won

155)My flights were all basically on time, I even got in a few minutes early.

156) My mom standing there waiting for me and waving enthusiastically, and the ensuing great big hug.

157) My bag made it back in one piece with nothing broken. I had packed three Uyghur tea pots, 18 tea bowls, and a cream and sugar all in my check in luggage. Each item was wrapped in tank-tops and other soft clothes to help protect them… and it worked.

158) A good night sleep in my own bed.

159) Cinnamon toast crunch cereal for breakfast.

160) Relatively little struggle with jet lag – I made it through a bridal shower for my soon to be sister-in-law without dozing off.

But Wait, There is More…

I finished packing my suitcase, with 24 hours to spare before the plane takes off. I had bought gifts for several friends and family members, as well as clothing and other little trinkets; they are all packed in tightly into one bag. I am slightly over the domestic weight allowance, but hope they will take pity on me when they see I am travelling straight home to Canada.

Today I made last minute calls to say goodbye to some of my close Uyghur friends. I don’t know if it is a cultural thing, or a friendship thing, but none of them would let me leave empty handed. I was literally showered with presents. Several ladies gave me scarves for my mother; others presented me with fruit and nuts that are famous in our region, not to mention of the heavy bag of rock sugar that one friend thought would we a sweet treat for people in Canada. They offered their tokens from their heart and their generosity was amazing, but my luggage allowance is still just as tight. By mid afternoon I was scared to run into anyone else I knew for fear they might try to load me down with more bounty. One or two of the scarves might make it on the plane, the rest will likely stay here to be re-gifted at a later date ( I better label them so as not to give a person back their own gift).

Cobbling

Right outside the front gate of my apartment complex is a blast from the past, a look at a trade that has all but gone by the way side in North America. The Cobbler/ Shoe repair man sits outside all day, rain sleet or snow waiting for someone in need of getting their footwear fixed. This guy can shine your shoes, or when it snows he can winterize them by adding a slip proof tread. It is so much cheaper to pay him one dollar to re-sew on the sole or reinforce the bottom of my shoes instead of buying brand new ones. Since I hate the whole process of shoe shopping, bending down, and trying on pair after pair to find one that fits just right, I keep going back to fix the old ones. I think I have done it one too many times, when the guy who does this for a living takes one look at the footwear in my hand, rolls his eyes, and says “These shoes again”.

The Governments Got My Number

Ten days ago I turned my paperwork into the visa office; all that was left was to wait for it to be processed. The date stamped on my receipt was March 21^st. At 9pm on the night of the 20^th I heard my phone go off indicating that someone had sent me a message. I didn’t recognize the number, but I soon realized that the government had my number on speed dial and was sending me text messages in two languages saying “By midnight tonight either submit your new visa application or get out of the country”.

The first time I read the text, my heart skipped a beat. My paperwork was submitted to the office nine days ago, it should be ready for pick up first thing in the morning. Why in the world was the government suggesting I get over the border in less than three hours? What red stamp had been passed over to the point that their computer system was not aware of my application? I was slightly nervous but managed to shake off the disconcerting horde of elephants that had moved into the pit of my stomach. An identical text message arrived less than 30 minutes later. It was the second of seven text messages that they government sent to my personal cell phone in a few hour period. I tossed and turned all night, trying to keep my mind from falling into the deep well of worry. The rare moments of shut eye I got were filled with dark dreams of sprinting for the border without my passport.

So obviously I was up first thing in the morning, dressed and on the bus heading up to the police station to figure out what was wrong. I was the second person in line waiting for them to open. I paid my bill and less than an hour later I was literally strutting down the street with my passport securely in my purse; pasted proudly on its seventh page was a work visa valid until March 30^th 2012. I don't care how many police stations or government offices have my number on speed dial, or how many intimidating texts they send me… I have more than a year before I will need to make any middle of the night flights for freedom across the country. It is official I am legally here, working for myself.

139) A yearlong work visa

140) Not having to make a run for the border in the middle of the night

141) Tickets home to Canada – just over a week to go

142) Friends who put up with me and all my stress in the process

143) Guests who refresh encourage me (some visitors can be very draining in their expectations)

144) Wise words to meditate on – words that help me to move towards hope

145) Spring is finally coming… I heard the sound of water dripping off icicles all day

Dust Storm

Yesterday a group of us took a day trip to a city close by that is known for its warmer temperatures. We were able to trade in our winter coats for a day as we played hide- and-go-seek around a two thousand year old city.

As the day went on we could feel the full force of a wind storm blow dust in from the desert. The clear blue sky evaporated and was replaced by air so thick with sand we almost had to chew it. Small pools of mud gathered in the corners of our eyes as we blinked to see through the thick heavy air that was whipping around us.

The Office

I realized that I have written a lot about the process and the hassles to opening my own business, but I have never shown you the results. So the following are a few shots to help you feel more like a part of it all.

Our office building (which is located right beside the cities Grand Bazaar – making it convenient to everything)

Inside the office (it is small but cute). The carpet we bought for the floor was much too big for the room. So we cut it up – an act that many would consider disgraceful (you never cut a carpet). We saved a lot of money using the extra pieces as seat covers for the coach. Also noticed how proudly all of our certificates are hung on the wall by our desk.

My Business Card

It is finished!

On Friday I officially finished opening my business. I am the co-owner of a fully invested, fully foreign owned fully set up and ready for operation company. I have run the gauntlet of over 90 office visits and passed the test, collected all the needed red stamps and even put in my visa application to be the first worker for this new company. It is finished, the battle is over, Fusion Translation Consultation Station is up and ready for business!!!!

135) All of those who have been thinking of my business partner and I over the last few months

136) That all the paperwork is submitted and approved

137) That the process is behind me.

138) The Lazy day I had to day (I literally did nothing all day)

Buying Flowers

I had a couple come into the office this morning asking me to tell them about my last six years overseas. It is hard to sum up in a few hours all the joy and struggles that I have faced since I left home in 2004. One thing their question did force me to do was reflect on some stories from my first few years (even before I started keeping this blog). Those were the days when everything seemed like a challenge. I was equal to less than a two year old in my understanding of language and culture, trying to find my way around town and make myself understood. I am still not a fully functioning member of society, but I feel much more competent in daily life and the variety of interactions it throws at me. It is so humbling to look back on those early days.

The following is a story from my first two weeks in town.

I was invited to attend an ex-pat ladies tea, and we were all asked to bring a flower with us. My roommate was sick and couldn’t make it, so I was left on my own to find the florist and go shopping. My roommate had given me pretty good instructions about where to go to find a flower shop. I was pretty sure I was on the right street, likely even the correct block, but since I couldn’t read any of the signs I had no idea where to go.

I got the attention of a couple of people walking by and started my attempt to ask directions. I knew the word for flower (well I sort of knew the word). The trade language is tonal so I tried saying it with every possible combination. Since I was sure my pronunciation was likely very off I decided to add a little mime to my question. I acted like one of my hands was a bud blossoming to life, while I took a deep breath of its fragrant smell. I kept repeating myself in multiple ways I could think to say the word flower. When I could tell my growing audience had finally guessed what I was trying to communicate I moved on to the next part of the question.

I pretended to look high and low, shrugging my shoulder to indicate that I was uncertain of the location. And tried to ask as clearly as I could “WHERE?” The question’ where’ and the answer ‘over there’ can also sound very similar, so I wanted it to be clear that I had no idea which direction to head. As I kept up my elaborate display, I could hear those who were watching giggling to themselves at the dumb foreigner.

Finally one gracious man took pity on me and my over the top acting skills and pointed across the street. I couldn’t clearly tell which building he was pointing at so I tried another question.

Thankfully I knew how to say the colours.

I asked, “RED?” , by which, if I had been a fluent speaker of the language I would have said, “Are you pointing at the building across the street with the large red sign?”

Thankfully he could tell he was dealing with an idiot, and answered very simply, “No, blue”. I looked across the street and noticed that beside the building with the big red sign, there was a blue painted building, and sure enough I could see flowers in the window. I had found the florist and another day of communicating in a new and strange country was behind me.

Looking back I am so glad those days are over!

Dead, Dead, DEAD

I love the ancient tradition of calling your wares, vendors taking their goods to the streets. You can often hear these sellers wandering down the lane calling out what it is they have to offer. From my house I can hear their voice echoing as they go… there is the person peddling their cart filled with freshly steamed corn on the cob, or the man who can sharpen your knives or clean your stove top. Some of the older ladies use wood clappers or bells to draw the attention of the crowd to the goodies they tote in their baskets.

The other day I was walking down the street and I heard the most particular version of this trade. The man was riding his little bike and singing as he went. The tune was happy and cheerful and his manner was drawing a lot of attention from passer-byers (singing in the streets is not a normal thing to do anywhere). This melody was accompanied by the strangest of words.

“Rats or Spiders,

Mice or Cockroaches.

If you don’t want them I can help.

I have poison and traps,

To kill them all dead.

Rats, spiders, mice and cockroaches,

Dead, Dead, DEAD. “

I don’t know who his lyricist is, but he had this little ditty down pat. He would repeat it over and over as he travelled through the neighborhoods. His voice rose into a frenzy as he belted out the last line ‘dead, dead, DEAD”. I couldn’t help but smile to myself as I listened to him sing it through a second time. I soon realized I wasn’t the only person on the street chuckling over this sales mans impromptu musical. Walking towards me was a very devote Uyghur women; she was wearing a head scarf that covered everything but a thin opening for her to look out. Our gazes met as we passed each other, and I could tell just from the sparkle and joy in her half hidden eyes, that she too was enjoy the travelling musician.