Cool Deals are Disturbing Realities

The most common form of advertising in this country is not a flyer in the mailbox or a billboard at the side of the road. Instead companies big and small pay individuals to stand on the street and hand out business cards or coupons with their information printed on it. I have heard some of these employees get paid per card they get rid of. Which means the worker are quite insistent to press the information into the palm of your hand as you stroll by. Some companies try to make their handout more appealing by printing up a brochure of some type to be distributed in the same manner.

My friend stopped to accept one of these handouts the other day. This time the advertisers had gotten creative. The information was printed on a cardboard type heavier paper and cut out in the shape of a fan, each one of the flyers even came with a handle so that passer byers could fan themselves with a cool breeze as they continued on their way in the hot summer sun. My friend noticed that the fan was printed with several large price tags declaring low, low deals. She quickly scanned the paper to see what was being sold so cheaply and was disturbed to realize it was a hospital praising the painless and healthy means by which they executed abortions.

This brightly colored and animated summer cool down advertisement that has been forcefully pressed into her passing hand was a reminder of a painful reality that abortion is part of everyday life here. Small children and adults alike were fanning themselves with these deathly good deals, there was no shame in publicizing the topic.

Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner

What do you do when you are the first to enter a room that has a table in the corner for you and your friends to sit at?

If you are in North America, the polite thing is to file into the back corner, farthest from the door, so that those who come after you don't have to scurry past you to find a seat. Right? It would not only be inconvenient it would all seem rather rude, if you sat close to the door and forces others to squeeze into the corner.

If you are in Central Asia it is the exact opposite. The seat in the corner furthest from the door is the seat of honor. If you are the first person through the door and naturally assume you are worthy of sliding into the back seat, you seem presumptuous and proud. The proper response is to sit in the seat right by the door and let the older and more important guests struggle to climb over your legs and situate themselves in the back corner. It may seem inconvenient, but it reminds me of a story of parents often told:

"When you are invited by someone to a wedding feast, do not take the place of honor, for someone more distinguished than you may have been invited by him, and he who invited you both will come and say to you, 'Give your place to this man', and then in disgrace you proceed to occupy the last place. "But when you are invited, go and recline at the last place, so that when the one who has invited you comes, he may say to you, 'Friend, move up higher', then you will have honor in the sight of all who are at the table with you."

In the west taking the chair crowded in the back corner is the same as taking a low place. You may hear a friend say "oh don't sit there I can squeeze in instead" -- but in this culture that same back corner seat is the place of honor.

Line-ups

While in Canada last month I was making frequent trips to the walk in clinic for dressing change and wound care. Mom and I learned quickly that it was best to get there first thing in the morning before they opened and wait outside for the door to officially be unlocked. Arriving even ten minutes later could result in a much longer wait. We weren't the only ones to discover this, every time we drove into the lot a ten to eight there were a couple of people already loitering in the vicinity. Some were leaning against the building playing on their cell phone, others hanging on the handrail as they gazed across the street. To say we organized ourselves in a straight line in front of the door would be a stretch to the definition of "lining up". But this cluster of people, no matter where they were standing or how they were occupying their time, were very aware of who had arrived before them and who showed up after. When the door was finally opened we all filed in orderly according to the amount of time we had been standing around.

As much as I love life here, I wish I could transport the courteous custom of lining up to this culture. Here, no matter who arrived first, it is the person with the sharpest elbows and the ability to push the hardest that gets in first. In most cases there is no such thing as even a loosely formed line, all that exists are blobs of humanity striving to get through the same doorway at the same time.

In elementary school we use to yell at the student who tried to slyly make their way to the front bypassing the wait...we would scream "so-and-so is a Cutter - they just cut in front of me". Instead of being a reason to tattle on each, the value of a good 'Cutter' seems to be a learned and much practiced skill.

My Convenience Store

At the front gate of my apartment complex there is a small convenience store. I stop there all the time because I am friends with the owner. I had noticed that it was odd before, but after spending a few months in Canada the sight of their shop struck me as downright hilarious.

They got government permission to open their own shop in that location, but they couldn't get the permits needed to cut down the tree. So they just built around it and now hang their wares off the trunk. It is my local tree fort/store.

Who are the People in your Neighborhood

While in Canada several friends and family sincerely asked if my life in Central Asia was lonely. I am so fortunate to say that nothing could be further from the truth. Upon coming back this time I was struck by how much I fell like I am a part of life here, that I am a member of our neighborhood.

In my neighbourhood there is the older almost toothless Uyghur man and his wife who sit at the front gate of our apartment complex running their tine convenience store, every time I head out they smile and ask where I am going, on my return they eagerly check my bags to see what I have purchased and invite me to sit down next to them and chat for a while.

There is the woman responsible for cleaning our apartment complex, in the summer she uses her over sized straw broom to sweep the ever present dust, in the winter she shovels piles of snow and chips away the ice so we all have a safe place to walk. Due to what I think is a birth defect with her mouth she is unable to talk and often wears a face mask to cover the deformity but her eyes are so bright and welcoming that you don't need to see her lips curve upwards to know she is greeting you with a huge smile. She is part of the majority people group, but can understand both languages and using her hands and different grunts has found ways to communicate with those around her. She always stops and puts down her broom so her arms are free to give me a hug.

In my neighborhood there are the children who come running after me yelling "Acha, Acha" - which means "big sister, big sister". When I turn to talk to them they say in heavily accented English "hello" and then run away giggling to themselves. But they always come back a few minutes later to show me their newest toy or tell me a story about what happened at school.

In my neighborhood there are so many shop keeps who nod and smile as I pass by, or even step out of their shops to yell a greeting across the street. Yesterday the carpet salesman was in the middle of enticing shoppers into making a purchase, when he spotted me and stopped mid way through boasting about why his carpets are the best, to greet me and ask how I was and why I had been gone so long.

Not to mention the seamstress by the front gate who can tailor make any outfit you want, the drycleaners down the street who always clean and press my finished cross stitched things for free or the policeman who offered to help my business in any way he could, the university professor who has studied more English than anyone else in our area and is so pleased he can converse with me im my language. There is a 14 year old Uyghur girl who loves to sneak up behind me on the street and tickle me until my obnoxiously strange laugh breaks out.

These are the people in my neighborhood, and I am so glad to be one of them. Yesterday the water deliveryman was having trouble finding my apartment and I told him just to ask someone on the street "where does the Canadian girl live?" because all of my neighbors know where I live and count me as part of the community that surrounds them. With wonderful people like this close by I am anything but lonely.

Tickets Have Been Purchased

Last week when I was at the doctor’s office I got the go ahead. It seems that my incision and infection have healed amazingly quickly. I think I heard the word “prefect” pass the mouth of a medical professional in response to my case. With that pronouncement I started looking into flight and ordering tickets. I am now knee deep in purchasing fun North American treats and trying to pack them in my small weight allowance.

I official leave here Thursday night at about 9pm, but due to about 20 hours spent in layover, 4 different flights, and huge time difference created when travelling internationally I don’t actually land in my destination until 11pm Saturday night ( that is 11 Central Asia time – I guessing about 1 in the afternoon here). It will be a long journey, but my strength has returned and so am I returning.

Thanks to all of you for your thoughts and support in so many ways over the last few weeks. Some prayed, some sent cards, and others called to see how I was doing – all of it meant so much to me. A special thanks goes out to mom and dad who ‘held my hand’ through the roller coaster that has been this past month.

Home for Canada Day

It was nice to be in country to celebrate our nation’s birthday; but for such an important event I knew I should find a date. I always did have a thing for TALL , dark and handsome men in uniform. I got myself a Mountie!

Polu

Since coming home a few months ago, everyone asks question about what the food is like where I live. They all want to hear the crazy stories of when I eat sheep brain, or the time I tried fried bugs. But on the whole Uyghur food is really good and filling. The following is the recipe to make Polu. This is one of the main foods in the Uyghur diet, and is mainly eaten at the lunch. In fact restaurants make one batch a day and if they are out by 1pm and you can forget about trying to order it for dinner. It is one of the foods I miss the most when I am home.

Polu (Rice with Carrots and Mutton)

1 cup salad oil

1 kg mutton cut into 4 big chunks

5 big carrots (some yellow, some orange), cut in thin slices on the diagonal, then cut into tiny long strips

½ medium-sized onion, cut in chunks

3 cup rice

4 ½ Cups water

2 tsp salt to begin with (add more to taste – up to about 3 ½ tsp total)

¼ tsp pepper

1 tsp cumin (optional)

Put oil in the pot and let it get very hot. Add salt to oil. Add mutton and cook from 2 minutes. Add onion. Keep frying until mutton is brown. Then put in carrot. When it comes to a boil, turn the heat down and simmer covered for 15 minutes. Turn heat up and add water. When it comes to a boil, turn the heat down and simmer covered for another 15 minutes. Taste and add salt if necessary. Add rice on top of vegetables. Push not water but DO NOT STIR. Poke some holes in the rice. If a little too much water, cook at a high heat for a minute or two, then turn heat right down, cover and simmer for 30minutes. Turn off heat and let sit covered for another 10 minutes. Don’t remove lid until you serve it. Stir and serve.

Options: Add raisins, dried apricots, currants, or eggs tucked into the top of the rice before the final 30 minute steaming.

A Second Bellybutton

Since surgery and since my brother's wedding I have come down with an infection at my incision sight. While the infection itself is clearing up, and looks good, the doctor had to cut a hole in my stomach in order to clean it all up. The hole is currently the size of my pinky figure and healing slowly. They can’t stitch it back up, because that would close any remaining infection inside, which means I am waiting for it to heal on its own. The doctors have given a variety of time length indicating how long this might take, I have heard everything from 2 weeks to almost 2 months ( as Uyghurs would say when they hear bad news ‘Huda Suklasun’ aka- God Forbid).

I asked friends in the nursing profession if there is anything I can do to speed up this process. One suggestion was to stay away from sugar - a hard thing to do in the Canadian land of plenty surrounded by chocolate, ice cream, cinnamon rolls and other decadent treats. But in an earnest attempt to do all that I can I have not only turned my back on these sweet indulgences, I have even cut the sugar from my coffee. (Long suffering sigh)

I ran into some friends the other day who were surprised to see I was still in Canada. They said they had been checking my blog, but since there was no update either way they just assumed that I was in the process of traveling and unable to post anything. Sorry to all who have been faithfully checking in hopes of hearing news. I have been taking so many antibiotics to fight the infection that I didn’t have any energy left to sit at my computer, much less try to be lighthearted while admitting to my delay. I will keep you posted on the state of my second bellybutton and my plans for return.

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."