December
6, 2008
Mail
Call
Back
in August several trainees began receiving packages from
home. There'd be a crowd around them for the carton's Grand Opening. You
could hear the oohs and aahs as items were pulled from the box; candy, mac
& cheese, Kool-Aid. At the time I thought, 'How
nice. They're young. You won't see me acting like that
over a silly package.' Yeah, right. Yesterday I received
a text from a fellow volunteer saying I had a package at the Post
Office. Given the trouble I've had receiving anything from the
States, I was skeptical. Still, I was up and out the door very early
this morning. When the lady actually gave me the package, I felt
like someone had just handed me my newborn child. I was the proud
daddy of a package from my folks.
When
I got home, I wanted to open it, but didn't really want to do it
alone. I wanted my own crowd ooh-ing and aah-ing. Fortunately I
didn't have to wait long. Two of my students were coming over this
morning to give me some potatoes. I ushered them into the living
room and made them watch as I pulled each item and explained it in
detail. “Now, this is thermal underwear. For when it gets
really cold, ya know?” Like they've never seen any
before. They were happy to eat some Twizzlers, though. So
was I. 'Twere not a Twizzler that saw the light of Sunday morn. (I'm
typing this Saturday night.) The winter clothes are being worn as I
type. One of the packages of tuna will be dinner after I finish this
email. And the DVDs of 20 Hitchcock films will get me through many a
cold winter's eve. Yes, I was a child today, full of joy and
appreciation, thinking how lucky I am to have such a great support
system. Two more packages are on the way. When they
arrive, I'll be texting my students, telling them to get over here for more
Grand Openings. Oooooh, yeah!
Let
Me See Your Passport
As
I was putting my newly purchased persimmons in my backpack, I was approached by
a guy. He said hello and asked for my passport. I asked,
“ким?” (Who are you?) He showed his police ID. I showed
him my Peace Corps ID. He was satisfied and walked away. He
was working in plain clothes at the bazaar. Must be where all the
foreign subversives hang out, I don't know. We get approached on
occasion, but usually only in Bishkek. Oh well, first time for
everything.
Our
Dog
The
attachment named Lyka is our dog. He's as friendly as can be and as
I'm the only person that pays him any attention, he goes crazy every time he
sees me. I feel bad for him as he's on a leash that can't be more
than 10 feet long. And no matter how cold it gets, he has to sleep
outside in his dog house. I mean, I know they're built for the
weather, but still. I'd let him sleep in my room, but I'd have to
give him a bath first.
Thanksgiving
Dinner
Relief accompanied the giddiness I felt upon the receipt
of the CARE package from my folks. I never received the first one they sent.
That doesn’t mean it didn’t reach Talas, because to this day, I believe it did.
One insurmountable obstacle stood—sat, actually, as the lazy cow couldn’t be
bothered to move—in my way of ever knowing the truth: the bulwark that
commanded that section of the post office. For over a week she continually
denied it was my package. I had one of my students ask if I could just go into
the backroom and check the address label. No. This lady was the bane of many
volunteers' existence, not just me. Based on her tremendous girth, it was thought that
cookies and candies from the bazaar would find her more accommodating. Nope, it
just found her in a larger dress. Actually, after several months she would
occasionally get out of her chair and look in the back room, but the only real
progress I was able to make with her was when she’d yell ‘jok’ (no) across the
long room the second she saw my face in the doorway saving me the walk to hear
it at the counter.
Also in the book, more postal horror stories, the joys of receiving packages and why I felt uncomfortable at large social gatherings.
