Blurbs and Bits

As the waitress brought out my pork shashlik (meat on a stick, like a shish kabob without vegetables) my gluttonous hunger doubled in intensity. The wait at these cafes is always an extended affair, probably to make the food seem better when it finally comes. After a short silent prayer I examined the portion and found it to be meek and wanting. A small pile of grilled pork, a couple slices of stale bread, some onions, and a dollop of ketchup. The smell, however, was quite decent, so I decided to make due. 60% fat! Was the make up of that pile of flesh. Highly undecent. It made for good chewing though. I was sucking flavor out of those chunks like sweetarts. I glanced around the table. The makeup of my company was as follows: Valentina, a 22 year old Russian Kazakh girl that goes to the same congregation as me, Paula, a 29 year old Brit, spending a month in Kazakhstan in preparation for missionary work, and 7 other Americans; 4 families that have come to adopt children from Kazakhstan. Valentina, who speaks excellent English, works at a local adoption agency translating for families during court appearances and also helps navigate through the rigors of the adoption process. Consider the following; Valentina’s agency does everything by the book, which means they don’t give out bribes. Unfortunately, at every corner in K-Stan bureaucracy, people are waiting and hoping to get their hands on some sweet filthy lucre. And if you don’t play into them, you’ll get through the system, but not without your share of headaches, delays, and losses of temper. Such were the scenarios of the families around me. Just delays and minor headaches so far, they were a pretty calm bunch. In contrast, a different agency in the city forks over the bribe loot and the clients zip through like shashlik through my own system.

Akmaral, my counterpart, is pregnant. I think its recent news. I called her up and she said she’s going into the hospital for a week and a half to get some vitamin injections. I don’t know what that exactly means but this girl is skinny enough to hang glide on a dorito. And if it thickens her up, I don’t know..I might have to get some myself, while I’m still in a country where it’s legal.

Here’s more writings from my recent Almaty trip.

I showed up at my old host family’s and noticed everyone seemed a bit more plump. Earlier in the year both parents had turned 42, and the events weren’t without celebrations. Unfortunately about two months ago, Kuat (the father) had some kind of stroke. He was coming out of the house and passed out flat on the ground. Guldan (the mother) happened to be home that day (instead of working) and she got him to a hospital. It’s hard to tell if people ever get a direct diagnosis because I rarely hear specific names for a condition. Usually it’s blamed on cold weather or water and a healthy load of pills is prescribed. I’m not really sure what happened to Kuat but the doctor told him to stop drinking and stop driving for a few months. However his job depends on driving, so now he just drives carefully. The day after I got in to Almaty, Morgan (another PCV) arrived back from Italy with his father John. We traveled together for the next week and half and I had the pleasure of watching John experience what I experienced almost exactly a year ago; not understanding much except that people want you to eat gobs of food and wash it down with their blood warming booze. Being laidback and easy going, John negotiated Kazakhstan pretty well. He was here for a month and leaves tomorrow.

From Almaty the three of us decided to go to Taraz, a city about 7 hours West by taxi, to visit another PCV. We were originally hoping to take an evening bus but it left by the time we got to the station. So we settled for three seats in the back of a low riding minivan. This thing must have come from somewhere around England because the steering wheeling was on the right side. I didn’t realize it until half way into the trip as I was thinking, the driver’s doing a pretty good job for being asleep.. Anyway, it was one nasty ride; choppy roads, tight accommodations, basking in a potpourri of engine fumes, high priced merchants at the gas stops..it was an attack on all senses. Once in Taraz, however, we were taken in by the gracious hostess and PCV Yen Li. Yen is a girl about my age and was an Uzbekistan PCV who came to Kazakhstan after Peace Corps was kicked out. We spent a few days there feasting, conversing on all topics, and making a short visit to the public pool. Then we went back to Almaty by way of train.