Grumplestiltzkin.
My favorite days here in Kyrgyztan usually happen when my lessons went great, my kids listened, participated and actually benefited from my presence. On those days the sun seems to shine a bit brighter, the birds seem to chirp a bit louder and the flowers seem to bloom at the exact moment when I pass them. Let me just say that last Friday was not one of those days.
As of 3 o’clock we were supposed to be on stand fast so I had to get into Bishkek, run my errands then get out of town. Just to set up the picture, this day was a blazing 4 million degrees outside and my first stop was the bazaar. I try to avoid the bazaar at all costs, it’s crowded, I always get lost and people are always pushing me around because I don’t know my way. I just assume pay a few more sohm to walk into a store where things are more organized and I can semi-recognize what I’m trying to buy. But I thought, no, I’ll be brave, it’s been awhile since the last time I was here and this time I won’t wander around like a stray puppy for 3 hours, after all, I only have a few, simple items on my list. Right? Wrong.
First of all, no one seemed to know the word for mousetrap in Russian, even though I had it written down on paper. I had to pantomime a little mouse dying and one guy was laughing so hard and being of no use to me that I just had to walk away. So I go to about 100 more stalls when someone tells me that they are at the complete opposite end of the bazaar (Note: this is the biggest bazaar in Central Asia and takes up about 4 very concentrated city blocks, at least). Great. I dodge and weave my way through the crowds and at this point, I am already a sweaty, disheveled mess. I finally found one lady that was willing to help me and she pointed in the right direction. I didn’t see what she was referring to so I asked, “mishelovka?” (Mousetrap in Russian). She held it up this contraption, nodded fervently and said, “Yes yes. Kill mouse.” I thought… now this can’t be right. She must have said, “kill moose” because this thing more closely resembled the Jaws of Life than it did a little mousetrap. This thing was huge and metal and even had spikes on it. Spikes! I am not trying to annihilate the thing; I’m just trying to lay it to a peaceful death. I think using this thing would put me into the “cold blooded murderer category.” I asked if they had any wooden ones and tried to explain that I was trying to kill a small little field mouse, not a jackrabbit. Silly me. Of course they didn’t have anything like that. I figured I should just drop the 20 sohm to buy one rather than having to hunt it down again, so I did.
So at this point I am just about finished at the bazaar. I have my kilo of oatmeal, my mouse poison, my mouse-death-trap and a few other miscellaneous items. Everything was starting to get heavy and the back of my t-shirt was soaked through with sweat and I had had enough. I’m just about to leave the bazaar when SMACK- a plastic bullet hits me square on the side of my head. Let me tell you right now that there is nothing more degrading than being shot in the head with a plastic bullet. It’s not enough to do damage, but it just leaves you feeling like a dumbass for being shot at by some punk kids. I turn around to give my now ubiquitous, “what-the-” look and I see a group of boys giggling and running away. I wanted to chase after them and tell them that I could be teaching their brother/sister/son or daughter English but I was too tired to make a scene so I hung my head down in shame and went home.
So to make matters worse, now I am sitting in my room, the mouse trap is sitting in my closet and my mouse is busy sleeping until exactly 3:00 a.m. (right in the middle of my R.E.M cycle) when he’ll get up and pitter patter back and forth on my floor boards until I try to wake back up in a half-zombie state at quarter to seven. I swear, one more night of this and I’m going to break out the Jaws of Death, I don’t care how messy the clean up will be.
As of 3 o’clock we were supposed to be on stand fast so I had to get into Bishkek, run my errands then get out of town. Just to set up the picture, this day was a blazing 4 million degrees outside and my first stop was the bazaar. I try to avoid the bazaar at all costs, it’s crowded, I always get lost and people are always pushing me around because I don’t know my way. I just assume pay a few more sohm to walk into a store where things are more organized and I can semi-recognize what I’m trying to buy. But I thought, no, I’ll be brave, it’s been awhile since the last time I was here and this time I won’t wander around like a stray puppy for 3 hours, after all, I only have a few, simple items on my list. Right? Wrong.
First of all, no one seemed to know the word for mousetrap in Russian, even though I had it written down on paper. I had to pantomime a little mouse dying and one guy was laughing so hard and being of no use to me that I just had to walk away. So I go to about 100 more stalls when someone tells me that they are at the complete opposite end of the bazaar (Note: this is the biggest bazaar in Central Asia and takes up about 4 very concentrated city blocks, at least). Great. I dodge and weave my way through the crowds and at this point, I am already a sweaty, disheveled mess. I finally found one lady that was willing to help me and she pointed in the right direction. I didn’t see what she was referring to so I asked, “mishelovka?” (Mousetrap in Russian). She held it up this contraption, nodded fervently and said, “Yes yes. Kill mouse.” I thought… now this can’t be right. She must have said, “kill moose” because this thing more closely resembled the Jaws of Life than it did a little mousetrap. This thing was huge and metal and even had spikes on it. Spikes! I am not trying to annihilate the thing; I’m just trying to lay it to a peaceful death. I think using this thing would put me into the “cold blooded murderer category.” I asked if they had any wooden ones and tried to explain that I was trying to kill a small little field mouse, not a jackrabbit. Silly me. Of course they didn’t have anything like that. I figured I should just drop the 20 sohm to buy one rather than having to hunt it down again, so I did.
So at this point I am just about finished at the bazaar. I have my kilo of oatmeal, my mouse poison, my mouse-death-trap and a few other miscellaneous items. Everything was starting to get heavy and the back of my t-shirt was soaked through with sweat and I had had enough. I’m just about to leave the bazaar when SMACK- a plastic bullet hits me square on the side of my head. Let me tell you right now that there is nothing more degrading than being shot in the head with a plastic bullet. It’s not enough to do damage, but it just leaves you feeling like a dumbass for being shot at by some punk kids. I turn around to give my now ubiquitous, “what-the-” look and I see a group of boys giggling and running away. I wanted to chase after them and tell them that I could be teaching their brother/sister/son or daughter English but I was too tired to make a scene so I hung my head down in shame and went home.
So to make matters worse, now I am sitting in my room, the mouse trap is sitting in my closet and my mouse is busy sleeping until exactly 3:00 a.m. (right in the middle of my R.E.M cycle) when he’ll get up and pitter patter back and forth on my floor boards until I try to wake back up in a half-zombie state at quarter to seven. I swear, one more night of this and I’m going to break out the Jaws of Death, I don’t care how messy the clean up will be.
posted by Katie P. at 2:10 AM
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