Mexrep in Canada

This past week I travelled out to Vancouver for a conference and got to hang out with one of my friends. I also meet some of the Uyghur community that have immigrated to that part of Canada. They were having a large party, often called a Mexrep, which just means there was a lot of good food and dancing.

When I first arrived I had was shy and decide to not mention to much that I had lived in Central Asia, or spoke the language. So I was just asking people questions about the food, the culture, and there clothing. When I got to the end of the serving table I heard a person yell “Mehrigul” (my Uyghur name). The girl severing drinks also formerly lived in my dorm building at the university. Next thing you know she was speaking Uyghur to me a mile a minute, and everyone looked shocked. Before the end of the night this girl had me up front singing a traditional Uyghur folk song ( and if you know me at all you know I should not be up in front of anyone, singing any song in any language).




Dinner at My Uyghur frinds house

It turned out to be a great trip. My friend gave me the grand tour of Vancouver. Neither my home in Central Asia or here in Canada are surrounded by such beautiful mountains and rivers.






I can't belive that I actually crossed that bridge.

And This Little Piggy Ran WeeWeeWee all the Way Home

Yes that's right I am home; back in Canada. Some of you might still be asking “what happened?” A few weeks ago I mentioned I wasn’t sure where I would be spending this next semester. I had applied for a job in a small town twelve hours from where I have been living. We waited for several weeks and in the end were informed the school was not able to obtain the proper work visa’s for us. By the time they told us, however, the school semester had already started and I was to late to apply to study for another semester. So I decide to head home for a little while. It has been 2 ½ years since I was last here.

One of the bonuses of being home is my freedom to once again eat pork. The Uyghur people are Muslims. Most of them may never have read the Koran, nor do they always pray five times a day, but every Uyghur knows that eating pork is wrong. So wrong they will not even say the word, they call it ‘the big meat’. So for the sake of my friendships I have chosen to give up any pig product while I am in Central Asia. Whenever one of my Uyghur friends asks if I have ever eaten or tried it I answer “yes. in my culture we eat it quite often. We believe that it is not what you put into the body that makes a person clean but what comes out of it.”. I do tell them that all of the dishes in my house are ‘clean’, never having touched pork, nor do I ever go into restaurants that serve it. I promise them I will not eat it while living among them because I value their friendship and respect the culture

But that doesn’t stop me from partaking all I want when I am home. Since returning a week ago I have had bacon, pork chops and Ham. This little piggy really has come home.

This picture was sent to me by one of my classmates over a year ago. He had left Central Asia and stoped in to visit my parents. My mom made a great home cooked dinner with lots of ham, and my classmate took this picture to to rub it in.

A Taste of Home – Or Atleast as Close as You can Get

Since I am still hoping to move south in the next week and a half or so, I am trying to soak up all the joys and luxuries of the big city. Once I move to Aquk everyday will be laghman and pollo with hardly any variety in the daily menu. But while I am still in the city there are choices.

There is KFC, there is Pizza Hut(except it is not hala) and there are three foreign restaurants run by other foreigners. Ones like the Vine- which has a Caribbean feel, The Rendezvous – which has borsch on the menu and Texas Café – I guess they are not really tastes of home, but they’re about as close as you can get. I can take my computer down there, get on their wireless connection, catch up on emails, and spend a couple of hours drinking real coffee. So during the meals that I am not out with friends saying goodbye I am trading in my noodles for pizza and hamburgers, I better enjoy it while I can… all good things must come to an end.


Relaxing at The Vine with a Friend

The Front of the Texas Cafe

The Bigger the Butter the Better

Buying real butter for cooking is kind of hard our here, and when you do find it at the couple of participating stores, the price will nearly knock your socks off. Other foreigners in town have found that you can buy it in bulk. One family will buy the block and then cut it up and sell it to the rest of us in usable amounts. The other night I was on hand when the bulk load of butter was being cut up and sold. The original block was 50kg, and about 2 cubic feet in size. You can just imagine the type of knife needed to cut that baby. It was huge, it was the bigger butter.

It Sounds Like a War Zone Out There

Yesterday was considered the last day of the Lunar New Year. Chinese New Year is celebrated all over Asia, and the 18th day marks the finale. On this night everyone lets off firecrackers. Trust me when I say that July 4th has nothing on this party. Every family lets off fireworks. I didn’t even know they made so many different kinds until I moved out here. Some are long strips that people hang on poles from their windows, others are cases of sparking type fluid, some can be shot into the sky like a gun. I always thought fireworks were meant to be beautiful, but last night I learned some are just loud and bright.

We were walking to my friends house after dinner, and had to watch our step, sparks were falling from the sky, firecrackers were popping up from the sidewalk, some were bouncing off windows, cars had to drive slowly so that they didn’t get set on fire. It was a crazy night, but the celebration is now over, and the ground is covered with red paper from the light display.

Hands in My Pocket, Hands in My Pocket!

If you read the Lonely Planet guide to this city you will be warned about the number of thefts in the downtown area. All of the travel books suggest locking your backpack, carrying it in front of you, and keeping an eye on it in case someone tries to slash it. While I have never gone to these sorts of measures the truth is that you do have to watch your bag closely. One of my friends has had two cell phones and three wallets nabbed from her, someone else had their palm pilot taken. Thankfully I have only lost one cell phone, but there have been many other times I have felt a hand at my side.

It is most important to be careful on busy street corners or crowded buses, anywhere someone might accidentally bump up against you. Whenever I feel someone going after my bag, I slap his hand as hard as I can and yell in the local language, “this is not okay”. The thief does not want to be noticed, so he will quickly fall back into the crowd and try someone else’s pocket. If you are on the bus you may witness someone stealing from another passenger, if you confront the thief he might threaten you, the best way to intervene in the situation is to step on the foot of the person who is being stolen from, this way they will move and hopefully the thief will no longer be able to reach their pocket.

As foreigners we often get together and share our pickpocket stories. My friend told me the best one last week. She was on the street shopping when she felt the light brush of a hand against her side, she quickly moved, and looked down at her purse. The zipper had been opened a couple of inches. She quickly started checking the contents of her bag to make sure nothing had been taken. While searching through her purse she came across a pair of long handled tweezers that did not belong to her. When she pulled them out to examine them better a man tapped her on the shoulder. He then asked in Uyghur if he could “have those back”. My friend was so shocked that the man had the nerve to ask, and that she was actually able to understand him, that she gave the tweezers back without thinking. But if you give the thief his tool back he’ll live to pickpocket another day.


This is where I got my cell phone stolen, it may look like a peaceful part of town, but in turth it's a crime scene waitng to happen.

When Does School Start?

I was talking to my parents on the phone this past weekend and they asked about this coming semester. Mom wanted to know when I would know if I would be moving down south. These ‘when’ questions are hard to answer out here. Today is the last day of February and the new semester is suppose to start the beginning of March. I still have no idea if I will be moving south to teach or if I will go on being a student.

Time and scheduling work very different in Uyghur culture. In our North American mind set if something is important you have to tell people early enough that they can set the date aside in their day planner. The further ahead you book the more important the event must be. We would hardly ever think of cancelling something that has been inked in for months. Out here the later you tell someone about an event the more important it is. If you are invited to a wedding two days before you know you are an honoured guest. If you are told about a meeting a few hours ahead of time you can bet it is important. So I guess if we do get the job we can assume they must really want us as teachers to have left it this late.

Me and a group of Uyghur students I taught English to two years ago.

I Survived the Police

Today I had to do one of my least favourite tasks of all out here, go to the police station. It was time to renew my visa, AGAIN. I have been here two and a half years and this will be my 8th visa. Every time I had to get a new one I had to go to the police station twice and face the music. I am proud to report that I have only cried on two of those occasions and today was not one of them. One of those two times was when my visa was nine days over due and I had been illegally living in the country.

I am thinking about having T-shirts made up that say “I survived the Police station”. I can wear it whenever I have to get my visa renewed. Thankfully right down the road there is a KFC where I always drown my stress in a cup of coffee. The new visa I applied for today is only a one month visa, so I can already look forward to my next set of visits. But thankfully none of these trips to the Police office have ever lead to this:

A long Road Home

Early in the morning of January 17 I got on the plane and headed to the warm weather. The first stop was Hong Kong, (where we had originally hoped to process our new work visa’s for the coming semester but since the paper work did not go through in time) we ended up just hanging out. Hong Kong is a huge city. We where able to stay with one of my friend’s family. Although I was a little offended when her 80 something year old aunt suggested that I was a country bumpkin lost in the big city. I just kept staring at everything, tall buildings, Subway systems, shopping malls and crowds pushing their way through it all.



I learned that there are only two things to do in Hong Kong: eat and shop. We sure did a lot of the former.




From Hong Kong we flew to Thailand. Bangkok has one of the most amazing hospitals in the whole world; in two hours you can see a doctor, get blood tested, fill your prescriptions, have an eye exam, review the results of the blood test with the doctor and drink some Starbucks coffee, no appointment necessary.



I spent two weeks in class/conferences which were a lot of fun and encouraging. I learned that if there is an American idol night to stay as far away as possible, if you don’t go you can’t be asked to sing a song you don’t know in front of a group of people. My performance was more like a laughing hyena than a song. It was wonderful to be surrounded by sunshine and friends



There were many more exciting steps of the trip along the way, but I am just so thankful to be back home.

Letting It Go to My Head

Anytime I step into a room, or get on the bus I feel like a movie star since every head turns and all eyes are focused on me. Since white western foreigners are still some what rare in this part of the world, I tend to draw a lot of attention.

I mentioned in my last post a group of women my classmate and I met when we were Hati lopping. When I entered the room these women all stared at me. One of them touched my hair, amazed with how "yellow" it was. Two of them sat across from me commenting to each other. "look at her nose, it's so big" and "look at her skin she is so white and pale". I don't think they realized at the time that I could understand every word.

When I first started understanding local languages, it was a real struggle to over hear people talk like this about me. It took me a while to realise they meant it as a compliment. In the west we don't see being repeatedly called a big nosed pale white person as a compliment, instead it is a sign to get a nose job and go to the tanning parlour. I was really self conscious about my appearance and how often and openly the people around me were discussing my flaws. But the truth is everyone here has slightly darker skin, and they believe the whiter you are the more beautiful you are. So every cream in the store has a whiting ingredient in it. They also think people with tall noses are beautiful and lucky (if you have looked closely at my nose in profile you would know just how lucky I am).

These same woman who asked my friend if she had had plastic surgery, sat across from me for over an hour saying I was so beautiful, that they wanted a nose like mine. They asked if I rubbed milk on my skin each night to keep it this white. By the end of our visit my classmate way very afraid I would have gotten a big head from hearing for an hour straight how gorgeous I was. Thankfully in Uyghur when you tell someone they have a big head it is also a compliment meaning they are very diligent and organized. Who knew I was an organized beauty.

Have you had Plastic Surgery?

I mentioned in my Christmas post that a lot of what Uyghurs know, or think they know about western culture comes from what they see in movies. This point was further verified to my classmate and I recently when we went visiting over the holiday. Uyghurs do watch a lot of Hollywood movies, (likely because they are sold in the underground DVD market real cheap) but their favourite of all is Korean dramas. All of my teachers are addicted to Korean dramas, which have all been translated into Uyghur and are daily shown on television. Uyghur culture and Korean culture are very similar in how they respect elders and the lack of public displays of affection on TV. When we visit student's dorm rooms they have large pictures hanging above their beds of their favourite Korean actors, and our teachers are always talking about what happened on the latest episode.

My classmate is Korean American and so people are always asking her questions about Korea and the latest drama. When we were visiting over the holiday we went to a friend’s house. She had four or five other women over visiting, all of whom live in the country side. One of these women knew a lot about her favourite movie star and therefore she figured she knew a lot about Korea in general. She looked my friend up and down and said, “you are pretty, when did you have your plastic surgery done?” (it took us a while to understand since plastic surgery was not covered in our textbook). My classmate was rightfully a little shocked and taken back. The woman went on to explain that she had read some where the large percentage of Korean actors that have plastic surgery, and that even a lot of none actors are starting to also have surgery. Her own reasoning therefore said “they must be an ugly people group if everyone needs plastic surgery”. My classmate, however, was not ugly so she figured she must have had work done to get that way.

It just goes to prove that you can’t believe everything that you see on TV, and have to be very careful about drawing assumptions from a limited amount of knowledge. This is a good rule for me. In the last few weeks all of my local friends have been busy preparing for exams and studying so my new favourite pass time is watching Uyghur movies. It is great since now I can actually understand some dialogue and see some of the culture played out in front of me.

Exams

Our teacher called us last night at about 8:30pm and asked if we would be up to having our final exam this morning. Thankfully it was just our reading class exam and all of the answers were right there on the test page for us. I feel a 99% coming on baby.


Happy New Year

Happy 2007. It is hard to believe that this is the third New Years I have celebrated out here. This year the general celebration of the New Year was very much over shadowed by Korban festival, but my friends and I still had a good time. I hope you did too. I also hope that this New Year will be a great one of growth for you, I know that is my hope for myself I want to grow not only in knowledge of local language and culture, but also in personal maturity.

The Colour of Forgiveness

It has been more than 40 days since I wrote about all my rules for eating food in a Uyghur home over a holiday. You can tell how many days since we have already come to the next major Uyghur Holiday. Just 40 days after Muslims celebrate the end of the fast they have the day of blood. This is the holiday that remembers the sacrifice that Abraham almost made of his son Ishmael. It is said that at the last moment God saw Abraham's faithfulness and sent a lamb down from heaven. Each year Muslims around the world sacrifice a lamb in memory of this event. But the lamb is meant to be more than just a memory. It is a means to receiving forgiveness.

Reading the koran over the the Lamb

This year I got up early in the morning on the 31st and went down to one of the biggest mosques in town. If there is one call to prayer a Uyhgur would not dare to miss all year, this is the one. By 8 in the morning the street had to be closed down since there were so many men gathered around with their prayer rugs. We stood on the overpass near by and were amazed at the colourful patchwork their prayer rugs made all laid next to each other. Off to every side there were herders selling sheep to be sacrificed. So much for being with our blemish or spot, each sheep was marked by their owners so they would know which ones were theirs to sell.



Later in the day I walked around the neighbourhood and witnessed the number of sheep hanging from the trees as their blood spilled to the ground. Soon the black snow was covered with blood, and sheep parts. Amazingly enough three days later the black snow was covered over by a fresh white clean layer of snow- now if that doesn’t ring with the colour of forgiveness, nothing does. As I walked about that afternoon I stopped to talk to the women who were outside. I asked many questions about the holiday and about sacrifices in general. I learnt a lot about there thinking and was even able to share some of my own. It was interesting having both the biggest western holiday and the biggest Muslim holiday in the same week. It has been a week to reflect on birth and death of giving and sacrifice.

We think we gain weight in the west over Christmas, I have no hope. This week will be filled with going to visit local friends in their homes. At each home the freshly slain lamb meat will have been boiled and be sitting on the table to eat. It is impossible to leave a home without eating a lot of meat (or in most cases a lot of lamb fat). Oh well, I guess I will just have to revisit my own eating rules I wrote about in October.

Lack of Communication

Due to a recent earthquake in the area, internet access is very limited, and will continue to be so for the next week or more. For instance right now it is almost 2 in the morning; I thought it was the only time of day I might be able to connect. So for a little while the KSA Daily should more rightly be called the KSA whenever I can get connected. Sorry.


Class is Over; When I say it is Over

I remember the days of school schedules and time tables. When you knew the first day of September when would be your last day in May. Everything was written out for you and kept.

School here works very differently. Over Christmas everyone was asking when my last day of class was. There were many times I had to plead ignorance on the matter. We had cancelled class for both Christmas and Boxing day. When we reported back to class on Wednesday our oral teacher informed us that this was going to be out last day of class, and that our exam would be on the 8th of January after she got back from her in-laws. The next day on the 28th (yes I did go to class that day), both of our teachers likewise informed us that we were having our last class (they were getting to busy to teach us). They also said that since we had just finished a lesson and it was pointless to start a new one that we should just sit around and talk (If I get the teaching job next semester this might have been my last official day of formal education, talk about anti-climactic). One of our teachers said she would call us when she had time and give us our exam, but not to worry about it too much since she was planning on photo coping another teacher's exam from a different class, so some of the material might not totally match what we have studied. She told us we could work on it together at home and she would collect it 2 months after winter vacation was over.


A Treeless Christmas Pizza

Merry belated Christmas. The day of Christmas seems very much the same, but the build up as I said before is very different. This year I didn't set the tree up in my room, instead we took it over to my classmates house. Part of the problem is that all the Uyghurs know about Christmas is what they have seen on TV and movies, that information is then reinterpreted through their own understanding. Some think we worship the Christmas tree (I guess one to many movies have scenes with westerners standing around the tree holding hands and singing "Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree"). So to avoid misunderstanding I did not decorate.

I spent Christmas day with some of the other foreigners who live in town. We exchanged gifts and had a pot luck. The only thing is that luck was not totally on our side, none of the people in my group had the good fortunate of being excellent cooks. Dinner, therefore, consisted of whatever people could make. We had pasta, stuffing, sweet potatoes and pizza with a fruit and whip cream dessert. It was good, just different.

I think we all tend to miss home most at this time of year, so many of the foreigners spend a lot of time together celebrating and eating food from home, in the midst of the festivities I found myself asking where the mutton was. I was eating so many hamburgers, and wraps that I really missed the whole big bone of meat just being set in front of me.

Eating for Ears

Winter is now upon us and locals believe that on the first day of winter or the shortest day of the year it is important to prepare for the cold that is coming. One way they get ready for the winter is by eating dumplings. They think the dumplings resemble the shape of your ear. The line of reasoning goes that if you eat enough dumplings on the first day of winter you can protect your ears from falling off in the cold. You will be pleased to know that I ate enough to keep my ears in place for another year.

You should ask my family about eating dumplings. I took them out to my favorite dumpling place when they were here last year. I ordered 50 to start figuring we could order more if we needed them. I know I ate at least 20- 25 of them, and the rest of the family only finished about 12 all together. I guess it is an acquired taste. My only warning is wear a hat this winter, because if you didn't fill up the other day..... Who knows where your ears will be come spring.

I Have a Dream

The middle of the winter is cold and dark. One of the things that helps get me through is the knowledge that over winter vacation I have to go for further schooling in Thailand. I dream of when I will trade in the the cold, dark, coal dust polluted days for the bright sunshine of summer.



from this...

to this

Only one more month and counting.

Sounding Local

I am so proud of myself; tonight my friend and I were standing at the side of the road trying to get a taxi right at change time. Every night between 5:30 and 6:00p.m., as everyone is getting off work, the taxi drivers also switch from the day shift to the night shift. It is next to impossible to catch a cab, either they already have someone or they are heading back to headquarters and are no longer taking passengers. Despite this I was able to hail one tonight.

We were standing on the side of a busy four lane street in the middle of rush hour. We had been waiting for a while in the cold when I finally spotted an empty taxi on the other side of the street, three lanes away. In my best possible local voice I yelled “Whay” (the h is very throaty and the ay is kind of shrill). The drive must of heard because he turned his head, nodded at me and made a u turn as soon he could. Once we got in the car and I heard how loud he was playing the music, I was even more impressed with my shouting ability.

This Santa Thing is Getting Out of Hand

Yes Christmas is right around the corner. I can imagine that at home you are almost constantly surrounded by sights, sounds, and smells that point to the coming of the holiday season. At home all the stores would be playing Christmas music, brightly coloured lights would be flashing from almost every window around town, and fresh baked good would be constantly pulled out of the oven. Christmas really is only 10 days away.

Here, however it is not a national holiday. Students still have school, infact some of my friends even have their final exam on Christmas day. Everyone still has to go to work on the 25th, it is just another day on the calendar. But you wouldn’t know it from looking around town. Santa’s face is everywhere. Every store seems to have bought a cut out cardboard copy of it and placed it in the window. Here anything that is western is considered cool. That is way so many people are learning English, why so many people want to watch American movies and wear American style clothing. The more of western culture the more they try to take it in an imitate it.

It is sad actually because they do not know what is it they are pretending to celebrate. I asked one of my local friends what they knew about Christmas and they said that it was Santa’s birthday. Talk about having your facts mixed up a little. Some of these stores that put up decorations now will keep them up for months. Back in September I was in a little bakery across the street from my school and they had a “Happy Christmas” sign hanging up. I don’t care whether they were early or late, Christmas decorations should not be up in September. Down at the Grand bazaar there is even a cut out of Santa riding a donkey and playing a rewap(local stringed instrument). Or the hotel that tried to combine cute ideas by decorating with a "Finding Nemo Christmas" They had a big Santa wearing a scuba diving mask. It is just wrong.


It is one thing to celebrate or at least recognize the historical part or Christmas, since it is universal. But they have just witnessed the commercial elements of our holiday and are trying to adopt them without any background. This is how I feel about the whole thing.

Red Hands

I am getting the urge to dye something again. I remember when my roommates in college would get this same urge, normally it meant it was time for a new hair colour or just a few high lights around the face. However, when Uyghur girls get the urge to dye something it is normally their hands or their fingernails. I must admit I have dyed mine three times and actually kind of enjoy it.

When dying your hands there is only one colour RED. The girls buy henna powder on the street for just pennies a box and then mix it with hot water. The paste can be put on the palms of your hands, soles of your feet, nails and hair. You have likely seen the beautiful designs that they use henna to make in India, unfortunately here the effect isn't quite as decorative. I have asked a number of my friends what the henna symbolizeses. I have read that in strict Islam it is related to fertility. Most of my Uyghur friends have never heard that, they say that there is no meaning, that it is just like makeup to make you beautiful.

Don't you think it is beautiful?

Don't worry it does come off the skin in five to seven days, but will stay on your nails until they grow out. The deepness of the red depends on how long you leave it on. Most times I make up the mast, apply to my nails, wrap each nail in a little bag and than sleep like that for the night. When I get up in the morning my nails are a dark blood red. The first few days are a little scary because I often forget that my skin is dyed and when I look down it looks like I am bleeding. I have to keep reminding myself how beautiful I look to my local friends.





I will follow this local makeup tip, to try to fit in, but I think It will be a long time before I go out and buy the plant they use to get the unibrow look (which is also considered very beautiful by people who live in villages).

Black Hands

One of the most satisfying things about living out here in the winter is washing your hands. As I have mentioned before ever single surface gets covered with a layer of coal dust, your hands are not exempt. As I use hand railings in staircases, or touch things for sale on the street my hands also get covered in it. There is nothing more satisfying than coming home and washing them (okay I guess if I actually had warm water to wash in that would be a little more satisfying) just watching the dust and dirt and grim drip off and get washed away. The end result is fresh, white, clean hands.

The coal dust does not only turn my hands black it turns everything black. I often keep a tea set set out on the table so that I can serve guests when they come over, however now I have to dust it every day.

Worst of all is the white snow. I am listening to Christmas music as I type and all of the songs are about white Christmas’ white winter wonderlands, but not here. This is what the coal dust does to the snow just a few days after it has fallen.


Pretty isn’t it.


And that is one of the offending coal piles that I use to look out at, when I lived at my old school.

Bu Yao

Even here in central Asia there are a number of north American foreigners we all often get together to hang out and enjoy speaking English at a normal pace. All of these friends have really become a family far away.

One thing we often do is bring our old things. Anything that at home you would put out on the front lawn and sale at a garage sale, we take to our get-togethers and give away to each other. Parents bring the clothes that their children have out grown, others bring DVDs that they have watched or books that have been sent from home. Recently I found one of the greatest finds out here. Someone was giving away a ergonomic keyboard.


I had one of these things in college and it helped my sore hands type longer and faster, but it was just too big to put into my suitcase and bring over when I moved. All emails for the last two years has been a little slow and painful. But now thankfully I have a new one. You can tell by looking at it that its previous owner had been learning Russian, since the keys also have the Russian alphabet, but who cares it works.

When ever you go to someone's house for the night they will announce that there is a pile of bu yao stuff in the corner and to take what you want. Literally translated the words mean don't need, previous owners are getting rid of what they don't need. But the fun thing is that when said slightly differently in sounds like "oh yah", or something we might say at home when we found something really good. If you live here long enough you will see the same things you bu yoaed two months ago being re-given away by the next person. One persons junk really is someone else's treasure.