flamingo

A week or so ago, when I was still sick, some volunteers stopped my host family’s house to check up on me, and just happened to come by exactly when dinner was ready. As happens in such situations, they were forced to stay. (I suspect some volunteers “drop by” at my house at dinner time on purpose.) Dinner conversation is often a bit sparse, but it’s always friendly and never awkward. That night something magic was in the air, and the words flowed. Robert doesn’t speak Kazakh, Jon and I don’t speak Russian, and Ryan, Host Mama, and Host Papa speak Russian. Host Mama and Host Papa don’t understand English. Here’s an excerpt – not word-for-word, but not juiced-up, I promise. I felt it was necessary to leave out the parts about animal crackers. Incidentally, Kazakhstan is the northernmost home of the flamingo.

Jon, attempting to say “I know” to my host mother in Kaz, says “I dance” in Kaz.
Ryan, to HM, in Kaz: “Yes, Jon dances with chickens.”
Jon, to himself, in English: “Dances With Chickens.”
Host Mother, to Ryan and Jon in Kaz: “Jon dances with chickens?”
Host Father, to me in Kaz: “Susan, eat.”
Ryan, to H.M. in Kaz: “We went to Café Victoria. I had shashlick and Jon danced with chickens.”
Me, to Robert, in Eng: “Jon loves chickens. We talk a lot about chickens.”
Robert, in Eng.: “You do?”
Jon, to Robert, in Eng.: “Yah, we don’t know much Kazakh ‘cause the Rasta Donkey ate the Kazakh-English dictionary.”
Robert, to me, in Eng: “Susan, what do you think of the state of fictional literature in America today?”
HF, to Robert: “Eat!”
Robert, to me, in Eng: “What is he saying to me?
Me, to Robert, in English: “He’s telling you to eat. I don’t know much about current American fiction.”
Jon, to Robert, in Kaz: “Eat!”
Jon, to HM, in Kaz: “I love chickens.”
Robert, to me, in Eng: “Really? I’m surprised. But really I mostly read nonfiction. I believe . . . .[deep intellectual discussion follows].
Ryan, to HM, in Kaz: “He loves chickens. He thinks they dance well.”
HM to Ryan: “And does Jon dance well, or just the chickens?”
Ryan, to HM: “Just the chickens.”
HF to me: “Eat!”
Ryan, to HF, in Kaz: “She doesn’t need to eat as much. She’s a girl.”
Me, to Ryan, in Kaz: “Thanks!”
HF to Robert, in Kaz: “Eat!”
Me, to HF, in Kaz: “Robert only speaks a little Kazakh. He lives in Koktube 1 with a family that speaks Russian.”
HF to Robert, in Rus: “Is your host family Russian?”
Robert, to HF, in Rus: “No, they’re Uighur”
HM to Robert, in Rus: “Oh, so then there’s salt in your tea!”
Robert: “Yes.”
HF to me, in Kaz: “Eat!”
Me, to HF, in Kaz: “I don’t need much food tonight. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be better.”
HF to me, in Kaz: “Is it your throat? And do you have a fever?”
Me, to HF, in Kaz: “Yes. I’m taking antibiotics.”
Robert, to me, in Eng: “’Antibiotics’ is Russian. Are there many technical terms in Kazakh?”
Ryan, to HM and HF, in Rus: “Are there many technical terms in Kazakh?” [intellectual discussion about Soviets trying to kill languages follows]
Ryan, to Robert and me: “Well, even we don’t have many of our own technical terms. All of ours are Latin compounds. They make sense to us, but they didn’t come out of our language.”
[Jon somehow discovers how to say “crazy” in Kazakh]
Jon, to Ryan in Kaz: “Ryan, you’re crazy.”
HM, to Jon, in Russian: “Well done!”
Ryan, to Jon, in Kaz: “No, I’m not. You are!”
Jon, to Ryan, in Kaz: “No, I’m not. You are!”
Robert, to me, in English: “Susan, have you seen the movie Pi?”
Jon and Ryan to me, in Kaz: “Susan, you’re crazy!”
Me, to Jon and Ryan, in Kaz: “Uh, thank you?”
HM, to me, in Kaz: “Don’t thank them! They’re bad children!”
Me: “oh.”
Me, to Jon and Ryan, in Kaz: “You’re crazy.”
HM: “Well done!”