August 20, 2009
As if the Kazakh wedding wasn’t enough celebration for me for one week, I got roped into another birthday party tonight.
I had sworn off liquor after I spent last Sunday vomiting the entire contents of my stomach so I was feeling good when I walked into my dressmaker’s home tonight.
Armed with a coffee cake (they don’t know it’s a breakfast dish in America) I smiled widely and said, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” in Russian.
“Great! You’re here! Go sit down!” she said enthusiastically.
After all of us were seated around the tablecloth on the floor she ran out of the room and returned second later with a huge smile on her face. My stomach turned as I saw she had smuggled in a bottle of vodka.
“My father didn’t see me!” she laughed and winked at me. “It’s my birthday and we’re going to party!”
Ohhhhhhhhh nooooo…I thought. Not again. No more vodka…
To live in a country where it’s incredibly rude to refuse food or drink is usually no problem for me. I typically enjoy eating and have always enjoyed alcohol.
But as the final rounds of toasts were made and my cup sat on the tablecloth unfinished they all pointed at me.
“WHY DIDN’T YOU DRINK?” they said in accusation.
“Okay that’s it!” I yelled. “You’re all pointing at me but look at YOU! You didn’t drink! And neither did you! AND LOOK! Your cup is half-full!” I accused right back at them. “This is NOT FAIR. You guys all like to pick on me because I’m American and it’s easy. But if you’re not drinking, I’M not drinking.”
With that the whole party erupted with laughter and the two girls sitting next to me told me okay, that’s fine. Let’s just take this last one together.
So we did and when the next round of toasts were made I happily raised a glass of Turkmen orange soda.
Sometimes you just have to draw a line.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Till Death
August 18, 2009
Love is in the air and now is the best time ever to get married.
The Turkmen government has created a new law that states that any couple who gets married will receive a gift of 16 million manat ($1120).
The downside?
This law also states that any couple who wishes to get divorced must pay a fee of 30 million manat ($2100).
I hope this causes more people to get married. I need more weddings to go to…more excuses to wear my awesome new hot pink dress.
That’s not a misprint guys. HOT PINK. For real.
Pictures coming soon…
Love is in the air and now is the best time ever to get married.
The Turkmen government has created a new law that states that any couple who gets married will receive a gift of 16 million manat ($1120).
The downside?
This law also states that any couple who wishes to get divorced must pay a fee of 30 million manat ($2100).
I hope this causes more people to get married. I need more weddings to go to…more excuses to wear my awesome new hot pink dress.
That’s not a misprint guys. HOT PINK. For real.
Pictures coming soon…
Party Like You’re in K-stan
August 17, 2009
Oh what a weekend…
Saturday was the Kazakh wedding. Two people I barely know were joined together in holy matrimony.
Decked out in a hot pink dress (yes, that’s right guys. HOT PINK) I sat in the corner with some other people I barely knew and toasted with them and swallowed the small shot glass of horrible Turkmen vodka.
And then everything started burning.
I know I was warned about Turkmen vodka before I came here and I usually try to stay away from the benzene-like substances, but I can’t refuse a toast.
Unfortunately I’m so damn polite that I continued to take shot after shot of awful Turkmen vodka and before I knew it I was taken out of the wedding celebration, stumbling through a dirt field and put in my friend’s car to be taken home.
“She’s totally trashed,” they announced to my host mother at the door.
Holy crap, they couldn’t just drop me off and go? Ugh.
“Angela why did you drink so much?” my host mother complained the next day.
“The toasts,” I moaned. “They just kept making me make toasts.”
“Do you know you could hardly walk last night?” I was informed later.
“Oh shut up,” I grumbled. I had just thrown up the entire contents of my stomach and was not in the mood to hear it. “You guys are making this all up.”
NEVER DRINKING AGAIN.
Oh what a weekend…
Saturday was the Kazakh wedding. Two people I barely know were joined together in holy matrimony.
Decked out in a hot pink dress (yes, that’s right guys. HOT PINK) I sat in the corner with some other people I barely knew and toasted with them and swallowed the small shot glass of horrible Turkmen vodka.
And then everything started burning.
I know I was warned about Turkmen vodka before I came here and I usually try to stay away from the benzene-like substances, but I can’t refuse a toast.
Unfortunately I’m so damn polite that I continued to take shot after shot of awful Turkmen vodka and before I knew it I was taken out of the wedding celebration, stumbling through a dirt field and put in my friend’s car to be taken home.
“She’s totally trashed,” they announced to my host mother at the door.
Holy crap, they couldn’t just drop me off and go? Ugh.
“Angela why did you drink so much?” my host mother complained the next day.
“The toasts,” I moaned. “They just kept making me make toasts.”
“Do you know you could hardly walk last night?” I was informed later.
“Oh shut up,” I grumbled. I had just thrown up the entire contents of my stomach and was not in the mood to hear it. “You guys are making this all up.”
NEVER DRINKING AGAIN.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Boredom Sets In
August 11, 2009
Today I started class like any other day.
“Hey everyone! What’s new?”
Silence.
“Alright come on…somebody give me some news. Something. Anything that has happened to you recently.”
Silence.
“DOES NOBODY HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY?” I asked again, exasperated.
“I bought a new pen,” a student said with a smile.
Everyone started laughing immediately and applauding him for his purchase.
“Wow that’s so great!” one student said.
“Congratulations!” another said.
Not a lot to report from Yoloten at the moment…
Today I started class like any other day.
“Hey everyone! What’s new?”
Silence.
“Alright come on…somebody give me some news. Something. Anything that has happened to you recently.”
Silence.
“DOES NOBODY HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY?” I asked again, exasperated.
“I bought a new pen,” a student said with a smile.
Everyone started laughing immediately and applauding him for his purchase.
“Wow that’s so great!” one student said.
“Congratulations!” another said.
Not a lot to report from Yoloten at the moment…
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
DJ Smash Foreva
August 6, 2009
“Angela, did you know who Dima Bilan was before you came here?” my friend asked me the other day.
“Nope,” I replied. “I didn’t have a clue who he was.”
“YOU DIDN’T KNOW WHO DIMA BILAN IS? But how is that possible?”
Seriously, how is that possible? How did I never know the glories of Russian pop music before I came here?
Keep in mind that I have since accumulated the biggest Russian pop music collection out of any other volunteer out here. And don’t get me started on how awesome these music videos are.
What will I do without RUTV in five months?
Maybe I should extend…
“Angela, did you know who Dima Bilan was before you came here?” my friend asked me the other day.
“Nope,” I replied. “I didn’t have a clue who he was.”
“YOU DIDN’T KNOW WHO DIMA BILAN IS? But how is that possible?”
Seriously, how is that possible? How did I never know the glories of Russian pop music before I came here?
Keep in mind that I have since accumulated the biggest Russian pop music collection out of any other volunteer out here. And don’t get me started on how awesome these music videos are.
What will I do without RUTV in five months?
Maybe I should extend…
Nightmares and Cookies
August 5, 2009
My new best friend in Yoloten and I were sitting in her bedroom today talking about superstitions.
“People aren’t superstitious in America?” she asked.
“Ehhh…I guess some are and some aren’t. It’s really not that big of a deal out there.”
She leaned over and asked me if I ever have nightmares. I told her it was pretty rare.
“Whenever I have a nightmare, I go buy a kilo of cookies and give them to children in the streets,” she said. “Then I won’t have any more nightmares.”
“You do WHAT?” I laughed.
“It’s true!” she said. “You don’t believe me?”
I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Oh man I have to write this down. Wait till my friends and family hear this one…”
“Okay,” she said. “Next time you have a nightmare just try it out.”
“Alright, I’ll get back to you on this,” I said, still laughing.
My new best friend in Yoloten and I were sitting in her bedroom today talking about superstitions.
“People aren’t superstitious in America?” she asked.
“Ehhh…I guess some are and some aren’t. It’s really not that big of a deal out there.”
She leaned over and asked me if I ever have nightmares. I told her it was pretty rare.
“Whenever I have a nightmare, I go buy a kilo of cookies and give them to children in the streets,” she said. “Then I won’t have any more nightmares.”
“You do WHAT?” I laughed.
“It’s true!” she said. “You don’t believe me?”
I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Oh man I have to write this down. Wait till my friends and family hear this one…”
“Okay,” she said. “Next time you have a nightmare just try it out.”
“Alright, I’ll get back to you on this,” I said, still laughing.
America! Heck Yeah!
August 5, 2009
Last Friday night on my ride back into the city I was stuck in a taxi full of boys.
“Wait, you’re AMERICAN?” one of the guys in the car asked. “I have a relative who lives in America. He’s a singer! Do you know him?”
The boy was Beluch, from our neighbor to the south in Afghanistan and as great as my Afghan music collection is, I couldn’t say I recognized the singer’s name. I was tired and irritated, and not in the mood to make random conversation.
“Come to the bazaar tomorrow!” the boy said as he was getting off in a small village outside Yoloten.
“Yeah, sure whatever,” I replied. I always tell people I’ll come around and visit after I meet them but it’s all talk and no action. Especially for a Saturday morning. The summer heat really adds to my laziness.
But then the next morning as I was doing my laundry there was a knock on our gate. I opened it up to find my new Beluch friend standing there with a big smile on his face.
“You didn’t come to the bazaar today!” he exclaimed.
How the hell did he find my house? He doesn’t even live in Yoloten.
“Angela, I want to go to America! How can I go?”
Standing there in shorts and a tank top (the most possible inappropriate clothes to be talking to boys in a conservative Muslim country) holding a pile of wet clothes I stared at him in disbelief. Did he really track me down and find my house on a Saturday morning to ask me how he can go to America?
“Uhhh…I’m just an English teacher, dude,” I replied. “I don’t actually work for the consulate and have no freaking clue how you would even begin to do that. I guess you need to apply for a visa or something.”
“I really wanted to see you!” he said. “I want to talk with you! I want to go to America. My relative lives there. He’s a singer!”
“Yes, yes you already told me this. Do you know any English?” I asked politely.
“I can learn English!” he said.
“Well let’s start with that and then work on you getting to America,” I said.
That was five days ago, and he’s proceeded to call me every day since.
“Angela! This is my phone number!” he said the first time he called.
“Yeah okay cool, dude. See ya.”
Two hours later:
“Angela! Do you know who this is?” he asked happily.
“Uhhh…who is this?”
“Hassan! Wait, you didn’t save my number?”
“Okay, okay I’ll save it now,” I said.
One hour later:
“Angela! Do you know who this is?”
“Yes, yes Hassan. I have your number.”
“Great! I really want to go to America!”
Ohhh boy.
“Good luck with that, yo.”
Last Friday night on my ride back into the city I was stuck in a taxi full of boys.
“Wait, you’re AMERICAN?” one of the guys in the car asked. “I have a relative who lives in America. He’s a singer! Do you know him?”
The boy was Beluch, from our neighbor to the south in Afghanistan and as great as my Afghan music collection is, I couldn’t say I recognized the singer’s name. I was tired and irritated, and not in the mood to make random conversation.
“Come to the bazaar tomorrow!” the boy said as he was getting off in a small village outside Yoloten.
“Yeah, sure whatever,” I replied. I always tell people I’ll come around and visit after I meet them but it’s all talk and no action. Especially for a Saturday morning. The summer heat really adds to my laziness.
But then the next morning as I was doing my laundry there was a knock on our gate. I opened it up to find my new Beluch friend standing there with a big smile on his face.
“You didn’t come to the bazaar today!” he exclaimed.
How the hell did he find my house? He doesn’t even live in Yoloten.
“Angela, I want to go to America! How can I go?”
Standing there in shorts and a tank top (the most possible inappropriate clothes to be talking to boys in a conservative Muslim country) holding a pile of wet clothes I stared at him in disbelief. Did he really track me down and find my house on a Saturday morning to ask me how he can go to America?
“Uhhh…I’m just an English teacher, dude,” I replied. “I don’t actually work for the consulate and have no freaking clue how you would even begin to do that. I guess you need to apply for a visa or something.”
“I really wanted to see you!” he said. “I want to talk with you! I want to go to America. My relative lives there. He’s a singer!”
“Yes, yes you already told me this. Do you know any English?” I asked politely.
“I can learn English!” he said.
“Well let’s start with that and then work on you getting to America,” I said.
That was five days ago, and he’s proceeded to call me every day since.
“Angela! This is my phone number!” he said the first time he called.
“Yeah okay cool, dude. See ya.”
Two hours later:
“Angela! Do you know who this is?” he asked happily.
“Uhhh…who is this?”
“Hassan! Wait, you didn’t save my number?”
“Okay, okay I’ll save it now,” I said.
One hour later:
“Angela! Do you know who this is?”
“Yes, yes Hassan. I have your number.”
“Great! I really want to go to America!”
Ohhh boy.
“Good luck with that, yo.”
Exploding Poop
August 2, 2009
This week one of our town watch repairmen decided he was going to paint his shop. Doing what any normal person would do he mixed the paint with benzene and finished the job as he liked.
Not doing what any normal person would do, he decided to dump the remaining benzene he didn’t need down the toilet.
Unfortunately, he later proceeded to smoke a cigarette while using the toilet…forgetting the hole was full of flammable gasoline.
“You could even hear the explosion from my house!” one of my host brother’s friends said. “I live over 200 meters away!”
The poor man suffered from some severe burns but is apparently doing alright.
“Those poor doctors,” my host brother laughed. “Can you imagine how covered in crap he must’ve been when he got to the hospital?”
Word to the wise: Smoking and gasoline don’t mix.
This week one of our town watch repairmen decided he was going to paint his shop. Doing what any normal person would do he mixed the paint with benzene and finished the job as he liked.
Not doing what any normal person would do, he decided to dump the remaining benzene he didn’t need down the toilet.
Unfortunately, he later proceeded to smoke a cigarette while using the toilet…forgetting the hole was full of flammable gasoline.
“You could even hear the explosion from my house!” one of my host brother’s friends said. “I live over 200 meters away!”
The poor man suffered from some severe burns but is apparently doing alright.
“Those poor doctors,” my host brother laughed. “Can you imagine how covered in crap he must’ve been when he got to the hospital?”
Word to the wise: Smoking and gasoline don’t mix.
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