The Feast

As I approached the house walking back from class the other night, I saw a good number of guests through the kitchen window. I tried to sneak upstairs to do my homework and relax, but Aika sat me down at the kitchen table with a bowl of tea. The guests were in and out of the kitchen and my homestay mother rolled out dough on the counter. Pointing to her mother’s rolling pin, Aika asked me, “Do you do this in America?” I said yes, and mentioned my mother’s excellent bread, pizza crust and baking.

“No,” Aika clarified in English. “This isn’t for bread, this is for…like spaghetti! Do you make spaghetti at home in America?”

I had to admit that no, most people purchased ready-made pasta. I wanted to say that only yuppies made pasta at home, but this seemed like it would be too difficult to explain. “In Kyrgyzstan, many people are like in America nowadays,” she explained. “They are lazy and they don’t make spaghetti at home.”

She finished rolling out the pasta and disappeared into another room. I found myself staring at Aika’s sister across the table, not really understanding why. Then I suddenly realized she looks just like my aunts Kathy and Karen. I told her and Aika this, and she was very pleased. Aika said, “My sister looks like American?!”

“Many people say I do not look like a Kyrgyz,” her sister explained, smiling. “My hair and eyes are light. Kyrgyz people used to be beautiful, and European. Then the Mongols came through and gave us these Asian eyes and dark hair.” “Like mix!” added a cousin in English. I suppose anyone can claim European heritage these days.

Finally the food was ready and I followed the crowd into the living room. I was given a place on the sofa next to two very large aunts. Aika and her mother disappeared, and I was left with the relatives I had just met. This was especially disturbing as Aika is the only one in the family who speaks English.


The big people’s table

The aunts and I exchanged pleasantries for awhile and I learned one of them had been to New York. Her son had moved there years ago and she had visited “before September 11th.” She said now it was much more difficult for Kyrgyz people to visit and emigrate to America. I am not trying to make political commentary by retelling this, it is just the only thing that came out of her mouth that I understood. Then we began the plow through the usual questions. Do you like Kyrgyzstan? What do you like about Kyrgyzstan? I gave the only answer I could think of, which was “Yes, I love the food, the people and the mountains.” What else could there be to like? Even the travel guide admits that there are only 2 or 3 manmade attractions in the entire country. But this answer was obviously insufficient. One of the other aunts huffed, “Aren’t there mountains in America?” I was saved by a cute little 2 year old who ran up to us chewing on a sheep’s foot mumbling something in Kyrgyz.

Everyone persistently cut and chewed away at the sheep that had been cooked, chopped up and piled on a variety of platters. The head sat upon one, but now Aika’s brother-in-law was busy cutting and serving up the intestines in bite size chunks. They somehow looked tasty. This was the first time I had ever been around Kyrgyz people who left their tea pot to go cold as they focused exclusively on the sheep. They picked at the besh barmak noodles sitting in bowls at either side of the table.

I nibbled away at the kimchi and biscuits to justify my presence at the table, but this did not fool them. “Is it interesting to you how we eat meat in Kyrgyzstan?” asked Aika’s mother, who was momentarily sitting on the chair of the sofa next to me, laughing and holding a bone in her hand. I didn’t know if the answer should be yes or no, so I smiled. I suppose I should have said “Let there be good digestion.” An uncle told me, “One day you will be an old babushka and you will tell your grandchildren how Kyrgyz people eat meat with their hands!” Another asked if I wanted to take a picture. I guess this is all only fair. Little did they know I wouldn’t wait until my babushka days to tell my entire family about the night via blogger.com. I feel a bit guilty.

Aika appeared from the kitchen and invited me to join her and some of the younger members of the family. “Are you ok? Are you uncomfortable or embarrassed?” she whispered in English. I said I was fine, but took my leave and followed her anyway.


The kids' table

Hanging out in the kitchen made me feel a lot more comfortable, but I suppose there is always less scrutiny at the “kids’ table”. I sat there with Aika, The cousin hung on every stab of my broken Russian as I answered his litany of questions. Of course the first question is usually: Where are you from in America? Of course I don’t expect Kyrgyz people to know what or where Michigan is as I am sure the vast majority of Michigan’s population is similarly unaware of the Kyrgyz, so I said I was from Detroit. There was a bit of recognition in his eyes, so I followed up with “Eminem.”

“Oh, yes!” he said. “Eighty Meters, da?” Yes, Eight Mile, I said. He was very impressed that I came from the same place as Eminem, so he asked me what other famous people were from Michigan. I mentioned Henry Ford. “Cars. Ford Cars.” He found this interesting, but was disappointed when I told him Ford had passed away many years ago.

Is Gollywood a state or a city? Do you like Arnold the Terminator? Where does Jennifer Lopez live? Had I seen such-and-such film? Where is Hillary Clinton from? Where is Hawaii, and is it really a part of the U.S.? Where is Obama from? Where do the Indians (of the subcontinent) live in America? Where do the Irish live? Is Florida a prestigious state? How much is the minimum monthly salary? How much is an apartment in Gollywood? How much does a gamburger cost? Where is Chinatown?

He asked me my profession. I said I taught English in the past, but will go to grad school next year, and hopefully find a new profession. “Like what?” I said I wasn’t sure, maybe I would work in a firm, in the government, or for an NGO. He said, “Yes, but what profession? Teacher? Engineer? Doctor?” Good question. We called Aika over, and I tried to explain to her in English that even though my liberal arts Bachelor’s Degree had gotten me nowhere, I was now going to get a Master’s Degree in something similar and hope some employer would take an interest in me. The only thing she could relate this to is the people who make nature documentaries on the Discovery Channel. I said yes, kind of like that, but I don’t think I’ll make any movies. The cousin didn’t really like this idea, and recommended that I become a bookkeeper. “If you are a bookkeeper, then you get the most money, after the boss. You give everyone their salary and then you get to give yourself your own salary! I studied bookkeeping.” He has a point.