Creepy-Stalker-Man

So I was in the office Friday morning, getting ready to hunker down for a long day of translating my NGO’s informational brochure – word for word, from Russian to English, looking up every other work in my pocket-sized dictionary when…I heard my counterpart’s voice in the adjourning room; she was talking to my director. And then, I heard something unfamiliar and strange sounding. A third voice. A man’s.

Patiently, but curious, I continued my self-assigned task in the back corner of the small room that contains my desk as well as the office manager’s, the library, the safes, one computer, a very loud and constantly ringing old school telephone, a coat rack, 2 buckets of water, a cleaning lady who is always making me lift my butt of the chair so she can dust it, and 2 wooden chairs. This room is, no lie, no bigger than my room at my mom’s house (the one that used to be 2 closets). I reasoned with myself that they put me here – along with the other valuables, to keep me safe and hidden, for dangerous situations that arise like this current one. Plus, out of site, out of mind.

An hour or so passed, I was half listening and half working. I kept hearing my name and “Korpus Mira.” I knew they were talking about me. My ears were ringing. I wanted to see the man.

(This is really ironic. You’ll never believe this. Just a minute a go my director and her daughter walked into my house. It’s Saturday night. 8 pm. Just found out my director is my host mom’s sister. People keep coming in, looking into my room, staring at my weird – futuristic computer, and me then go. My director came all the way into my room, looked at my things, asked me about the “man” (I’ll get back to this part later) and is now sitting in the other room: Guesting, along with 7 or so others. I’m not included.)

Anyways, so finally I get summoned, “Reeebeekkka!!” I take two steps from my desk and am in the adjourning room face to face with the man. He’s wearing a grey suit. Looks about 25 years old. He’s holding a soft pleather briefcase. It looks empty. His resume is lying on my director’s desk in front of her. My counterpart stands up and introduces me to this man. He’s going to help you out, she says. I think, okay but I thought that was your job. I’m confused but not surprised really. Weirder things have happened in Kyrgyzstan. My director asks me what I want, and although I understand her question – both my counterpart and the man repeat it to me in English. I feel like they think I’m dumb. What do I want? Did she mean did I want a coffee? Did I want to go home? A list of wants races through my head, but I’m trying to put her question in context.

10 minuets later I’m walking through a muddy park with the man. This is not what I wanted. We’re headed to a film festival about trafficking and other issues in Kyrgyzstan. He keeps accidentally bumping into me, asking me to tell him about myself, asking me what food I like so when we picnic he knows what to bring. He asks me why all Americans like to talk about Jesus (apparently he’s only met American missionaries). He asks me what my dreams are, then proceeds to tell me all of his. His mother is Russian. He is still in school. He sells tires. He’s missing class right now, but that’s okay because he’d rather be in a park talking to me (gag!). I should have brought my whistle, I think to myself, but feel he’s pretty harmless. He’s skinny I could use my self-defense skills on him if I had to. I’m more creeped out than anything else. And still confused. He says my director hired him to translate for me 9-4 Monday through Friday. Excellent. What a waste of money, I think to myself, and how am I supposed to learn Russian.

It takes about an hour to locate the film festival. It was in the movie theater, not the park. The schedule is off. The man is hungry so we go to the gamber stand. I brought my own lunch. I go to buy a coke and he won’t let me pay, or carry it to the table. When I sit down he pours my coke into a glass. He keeps insisting I try a bite of his gamber. I explain I’m a vegetarian. He keeps insisting. I keep refusing. I feel like I’m on a really horrible blind date that will never end. But my boss is paying him.

For the next two hours he follows me around – to the film festival, to the American Corner Library. And every time I say, “Okay, See you Monday!” He replies, “I will escort you.” Finally, when it was time for me to meet up with Meg for our first Women’s Club, I sternly told him I wanted to, and knew how to go alone. When he went in for a hug I ran like hell.

So that’s the story of Creepy-Stalker-Man aka my translator. I’m dreading work on Monday. And the film that I saw was about Africa, not Kyrgyzstan and not about trafficking.

Friday got a lot better after I ditched Creepy-Stalker-Man. Meg and I ran our first Women’s Leadership Club. Our objectives are to give female students the space and the opportunity to practice speaking English, while discussing topics that are important and relevant to their lives – topics such as career skills, marriage, politics, global issues, women’s rights, and health. Five girls 15-20 years old showed up for our first meeting. I think it went well. This club will meet every Friday from 2:30-4. A good way to end the week, and the best part is: no men allowed!

Afterwards we met up with Theo and a gangle of his coworkers who were showing him apartments. We saw one apartment that cost 6,000 som a month (approximately $160), fully furnished, 1 bedroom. Great location. Way out of our price range.

Then we saw Theo’s office – which was an incredible mansion, complete with a rose-filled courtyard, the organization’s acronym spelled out in plants, a guest quarters, kitchen, 2 conference rooms, chandeliers, internet, couches, and a lively staff. It was beautiful and clean.

A K14er had told us of this beer garden that they all go to every Friday night, so we went, but no one was there. Megan invited us to her place, so we bought some veggies, noodles, and beer and headed over. A few others were there, so there were about 10 of us altogether. We cooked a fabulous and healthy stir-fry and relaxed. Decided it was unsafe to travel after dark so Kelly, Meg, Theo, Erika, and I all spent the night. We made popcorn and watched Zoolander and laughed our faces off. Megan made us all cozy with mats, blankets, and pillows. I got the couch. We all slept in our work clothes.

This morning we made scrambled eggs with fresh veggies and toast with jam. A lot of times Kyrgyz families place big dishes of food in the center of the table and everyone just takes a spoon and digs in. Last night and this morning we ate “Kyrgyz Style” to minimize the dishes we would have to wash. I laughed out loud thinking about what a germ freak I used to be. This practice would have totally grossed me out 3 months ago.

We checked out the one “laundry mat” in town. It was a small room with a washing machine and one lady. 35 soms a kilo to have her wash your clothes. Outside there was a sign for a second hand store, which we inquired about and she took us outside and pointed to a few lines of hung clothes. This is what happens to your clothes apparently, if you don’t pick them up on time.

Down the street there was another second hand store, which was actually the basement of an apartment building. It was full of coats and that’s it. No purchases were made.

So now it’s nine and many people are still here. I really have to pee but I’m holding it because the bathroom is right near the room where everyone is eating.

Saw a Kindergarten…
So last Wednesday I didn’t have to work so my counterpart invited me to see the kindergarten where she works. The building itself was nice, big, and clean. When she started the tour I was surprised to see indoor and outdoor swimming pools, a dance class, Russian, Kyrgyz, and English language classes, a math class, a sleeping room full of mini beds, and a huge kitchen. The kids ranged from 2 – 5 years old and rotated classes every 20 minutes. When we peaked into the dance classroom, we saw 2 and 3 year olds coupled up and dancing along to the rhythm of an old man playing the accordion, while the instructor sang. It was unreal.

While my counterpart taught 7 English classes in a row, I sat in a little yellow chair in the back of her classroom and leafed through the photo albums she piled onto my lap. From the photos it seemed as if the school was really into teaching the kids about cultural traditions and holidays. There were photos of events and concerts, of teachers dressed up in costumes, and plays. Then, there were pictures of children outside in the middle of winter in their undies, pouring buckets of water over their heads. There were photos of naked kids running and laying in the snow. When my counterpart was done teaching, I asked her about these (disturbing) photos and she looked at me like I was crazy. It’s a science, she explained, that makes the kids healthy and strong.

During her 7 lessons I heard the same Beatles song about 300 times. Okay, maybe just 21 times, but still. The little ones knew how to say hello and goodbye and a few other basic phrases in English. It was impressive.


Hot Damn!
So I’ve been cooking for myself, or at least trying to. I’ve got the buying part down. I can go to the bazaar or the store and find the ingredients. The other night I thought I’d try to make something other than ramen. I though stir-fry would be quick and easy. The hardest part would be lighting the stove. Well, I successfully lit the stove; found a pan, chopped up my veggies, threw some olive oil in a pan to sauté the onions. I walked backed to the kitchen and before I could even grab the bowl of chopped veggies, heard a nasty popping and sizzling sound. I ran back to the stove closet, flinging open the door in a panic, just in time to snatch the sparking pan off the flames. I came within seconds of starting a house fire – with my luck the whole stove would have combusted and blown out the side of the building. I waited till the pan cooled, and the smoke disappeared to find my host mom. Then I asked her to show me how to light the stove – I thought maybe she knew how to sauté without flames.

Eventually, my stir-fry was finished – though according to my host mom I didn’t use enough oil. Half way through eating my finger tips start tingling then ease into a painful burn. What the heck did I touch, I kept thinking while staring at my hands waiting for blisters to appear. But there were no blisters, just redness. I tried everything to make the burning sensation stop for 2 whole hours. I washed my hands in cold water, I smothered them with lotion, I even popped some aspirin. I tried showering, then reading, then anti-itch cream, and finally elevation. Nothing worked. I called Karen; she always knows how to cure things naturally. She asked me what chemicals I had been playing with and when I replied that I only cooked – she found the culprit: Chili peppers. I remember fishing the little seeds out with my fingers and chopping the pepper to add some spice to my stir-fry. I didn’t think I was allergic, but I certainly wasn’t careful.

Afterwards, when the burning subsided I felt so silly for having panicked over something so stupid. But hot damn, what a good story. And for future reference: lemon juice stops chili pepper burns.

Monday, October 1, 2007
My translator quit!!!! No more creepy-stalker man! Wooohoooo!!
I was sitting at my desk, watching the minutes roll past 9am, then 10. By lunchtime he still hadn’t showed. While walking to a little café for lunch with my director she informed me that he called this morning asking for more money. I guess he decided over the weekend that he wanted more money to follow me around. When my director refused to increase his pay he said he didn’t want to work anymore. Thank You Jesus!

Walking to lunch I kept repeating the 3 Russian sentences I knew how to say that would show my gratitude for this miracle: “We don’t need him,” “His English was bad,” and “I do not like him.” My director agreed and said in 1 month I will speak Russian well enough to work. I’m so happy right now.

Climbed a Mountain…
Yesterday I climbed Solomon Mountain with Meg and Theo. There were stairs leading all the way to the top, and admittance was only 3 soms. There was a mosque at the top and many people think this is a very sacred and holy spot because King Solomon used to sit up there. I was surprised how many old men and women were at the top, praying. The view was amazing – the city seemed so much bigger from up there. I could see my house, my office building, the parks, and universities. I could see the whole city cradled by mountains all around.

We found a Turkish café and ate mouth-watering baklava. Afterwards we walked around the bazaar and found sun-dried tomatoes. Theo bought slippers. Meg bought paper for her classes. I bought vinegar, basil, tomatoes, and this delicious cabbage and soy meat salad. After that we ran into a volunteer that has been here for a year already and she showed us her apartment. It was dirty, but had potential. I borrowed some DVD’s from her.