2003-02-08 - 1:55 a.m.
8 eggs. When I only picked at the norun in front of me on my plate, I was asked what was wrong by my guest. Norun is dough and sliced beef, and probably rather tasty. And although I had devoured the pickles, tomatoe pickles (green tomatoes that taste like pickles) carrots, Korean salad, peanuts, raisins, bread, potato soup, and two mandarins, my guest was worried about my timid actions toward the norun. Then I was cornered into mentioning that I did not eat meat, a concept almost laughable to Uzbeks. But I have developed a line, and as a foreigner the caveat adds to my novelty. In addition, once my guest is in the know, they tell everyone when we later meet. "This is Kevin. He's 25. He's not married, lives in Xisarak, and does not eat meat. How are you?" With typical reaction, they asked me what I ate, and I said that nuts, milk, and eggs, in addition to my fruits and vegetables was enough to keep me full. Content with that we moved on, drinking some tea and me trying to follow the rapid fire questions from twelve me around the table. I was "guesting."
Last Saturday I headed to school to do some lesson planning. Students are in classes on Saturday, but I do not have lessons. As I wrapped things up and was heading to our teachers meeting (something that I try to attend but do not always make) two young students came into my room. They whispered to eachother. Then they looked at me and in their best half English, half Uzbek, said, "Mr. Kevin, Nafosat Mekmon." This meant, " Nafosat guest." In other words, did I want to be a guest at Nafosat's house. Nafosat is an eighth grader. At first I hesitated and then reverted to my usual line of saying that maybe next week, but I might also have work. However, of the two girls, I suddenly realized, neither was Nafosat. Then I remembered. About two weeks back I did commit to a February "guesting". Nafosat invited me to her fathers birthday party. So I paused for a moment, then agreed to follow the two girls to their friends home. Being invited to a home as a guest in Uzbekistan is the way of showing respect and warmth to the newcomer. I have visited several, but as mentioned before, I do not go so easily, mostly because the offers come so frequently. Our walk to the Mahalla, or neighborhood gave rise to a prime example. On our way, we passed the local bazaar. Behind the bazaar runs a tiny road and a bridge crossing the local mountain river. Carefully crossing the road with the two girls, a car swung to my side. At first I was startled. Then both front doors popped open. Standing before me were a teenager girl and her father, while little faces and a mom peeked through the rear window. The father came joyously to my hand, shaking it and smiling. I recognized his daughter as a girl in the performance group which I had help select as the illegitimate winner of the academic challange. As of late, the jingle bells tune I provided them with for regionals was a big hit. Anyway, as we were on our way, her father introduced himself as the owner of several bazaar shops, pointing to them as they were in sight and saying "Mening," or mine. Then he invited me to go with them to their home. I explained that I was on my way to another home and perhaps some other time. After some more hand shaking they were off.
At Nafosat's home, I was ushered into the guest room, where men surrounded the table. My major complaint with guesting in Uzbekistan is that, by custom, I never actually visit with my students. Instead, I come over, the dad invites all his cronies, they break out the vodka bottles, and I go through a routine of answering questions. This does have some advantages though. For instance, I know the questions that will be asked (always the same) and therefore my Uzbek sounds very good. When they find out I've only been studying it since August, my ego boosts, as the Uzbeks try to figure out why the kids study English for years and know only a little, but in 5 months I can hold a decent conversation. Nevertheless, I explain that I need it everyday, and the kids only use it for class. However, this also helps with encouraging the parents to encourage the student. After the conversation dulls, I usually try to slip out before dark. But today I was early, about 4pm and I had a few hours to go yet. But the crowd was wasted. Luckily, they were happy go lucky guys. Sometimes it gets miserable as drunk Uzbek men talk nonsense and force eachother to drink like schoolboys. Of course, I continually refuse and eventually they get it, but only after pulling out the beer, the wine, the local alcoholic milk mixture, and so on. This day though, Nafosat's father was not going to let me get off so easy. As we chatted, and I picked at the finger foods, Nafosat came in. A rare sighting and I was happy to see her, although I new she was not destined to stay long. Then I noticed in her hand a bowl. A bowl of eight hard boiled eggs. Then the bowl was set directly in front of me, with the typical "oling," or "take" which is said repeatedly at the dinner table. So I laughed to myself, and ate, but only three. Eventually then men tired, and I slipped out, but not without another entertaining storie and a doggie bag full of five eggs.
