1243-Crest park
Lukpan AKHMEDYAROV
Uralsk-Washington-Filadelfia- Baltimore-Uralsk, Specially for Exclusive
Crest Park is a small cozy district in the suburbs of Washington. According to my preliminary perceptions, here birds, squirrels and other representatives of fauna are considerably more numerous than people. In working days the street with the house of my hospitable hosts as if dies out. The adjoining forest comes in sight just beyond the last line of houses. Every day on the way to my studies and coming back home I saw deers grazing by the road. Catching sight of me, they raised their heads, pricked up the ears and stand motionless gazing on me. We could stand so scrutinizing each other for several minutes. For the third time of our meeting I decided to take a photograph of them. At home skipping through the photos I could see nothing there but the forest and rivers. But how could it happen that they disappeared? They just blended with the background. It was hardly possible to discern their contours against the background of trees, bushes and foliage. Later I met them several times and unsuccessfully tried to take pictures of them. At last I understood what to do. I yelled! The deers began to run away, but I had time to make two snapshots. They turned out to be most successful. Funnily, but those pictures uncovered for me a philosophy, in a way. You should display yourself in order to see deers. In order to see America, you should show your worth. It seems everywhere — In Kazakhstan too — the pictures are different, depending on your ability to display yourself. The point is which picture suits you most. Right?
I started to select pictures for publication and understood: that in United States I was taking wrong pictures. Looks like I have lots of pictures however there is nothing to show. Hardly I chose few pictures. Same I could say in regard to signatures: I could never do them well. Always I have something like «Hardworking Marfa Petrova (from the right) with her cows»
I started to select pictures for publication and understood: that in United States I was taking wrong pictures. Looks like I have lots of pictures however there is nothing to show. Hardly I chose few pictures. Same I could say in regard to signatures: I could never do them well. Always I have something like «Hardworking Marfa Petrova (from the right) with her cows»
The theme of the workshop organized for us by USAID sounds strange for our ear — Cooperative Social Responsibility (CSR)…
Professor Khozer Elms from G. Washington University told us about positive CSR practices. For example he mentioned the fact that the company Nike, pressed by American public opinion, ceased using child labor in the countries of SouthEast Asia. From time to time somebody’s skeptical remark interrupted the lecturer: ‘It works here in your America, but it would hardly work in our country.’ At some instant professor Elms asked us, ‘Why do you think that it would not go in your country?’
We began to enumerate our reasons: we have corruption, non-transparency in many spheres is a great problem, laws are imperfect, our people are inert and so on.
Having listened to us, she asked a concluding question, ‘In general, does business exist in your country?’ …
And it seemed to me that we spoke different languages with her. As far as I understand, she talked about Cooperative Social Responsibility of which we even don’t dream at all… But it seems we are to begin to think about it.
AMERICAN BAGGAGE
I was not the only slow-witted. Nearly all of us were leaving America with the baggage of unanswered questions. For example, Shaidulla Suerbayev, director of a business ‘hatcher’ failed to solve the riddle of a family that sheltered him.
‘That’s a normal family. The host is professor, his wife also works somewhere and earns her living. They can afford travels and good clothes. Yet their daughter during two weeks wears lacerated jogging shoes which she wrapped around with Scotch tape! Why?
Aigul Turkina wondered at her host all the time, ‘During all three weeks my host was gloomy and dissatisfied with me. Time and again he expressed his displeasure that I cleaned up his house and grumbled at me that I don’t know English at all. I thought I was too burdensome to him, but when we parted he was sad and nearly cried.
As you understand we lived in different families. I was received by Marsh and Carren, a young married couple of 30 — 35. They put at my disposal the entire ground floor with a drawing-room, bedroom and bathroom. They seldom came in to me and at that always begged my pardon, as if they were my lessees.
They patiently explained to me, ‘Mr. Lukpan, this is your room. You are the host here. That’s why we make excuses when we come to you without your invitation.’
Serik Kairshin said, with a hint of criticism, that his hostess never crossed the threshold of his room. In his opinion, she might show more concern about her guest since she invited him.
PRIVACY’S A GOOD HABIT
As you understand, our questions were mostly of private character. Quite naturally. Americans are rather squeamish about the issues of private life and private territory. Having slightly touched each other in a crowd, they hasten to make excuses. Standing in line at the cashier’s desk, they observe two — three meters of distance between each other so as not to peep, even accidentally, at the neighbor’s purse.
Vladimir from Ukraine has been living in America for over ten years. He, jesting, answered our questions in the following way, ‘You know, this country was formed by armed emigrants. If somebody was rude toward his interlocutor, he might simply be killed. Of course, the times changed, yet the habit to be polite remained. In America, private life is highly respected in everything. Parents knock at the door of their child if they want to come in. The chief does not know how much money his subordinate earns. No ministry of internal affairs exists in the country because the matter concerns the issues of private life. The laconic inscription Private can be seen on the walls of houses, doors and fences which, by the way, can rarely be seen. This nation has exerted every effort to learn to live all by itself. All the more so, it’s really miraculous that it managed to build up a society which takes proper account of all aspirations of its citizens. These ‘individualists’ cordially (and gratis!) received us, citizens of a country unknown to them. They interestedly listened to our stories about Kazakhstan and childly wondered at our souvenir yurtas and scourges. They also wondered at low prices for cigarettes and vodka and high prices for real estate. They astonished us, and we, in our turn, astonished them.
A woman from our group was nearly shocked that they knew nothing about our president whereas we know everything about president Bush. In order to understand the Americans one should try to imagine oneself as if standing on their place. We were not always successful in such our attempts.
The booklets we were given read as follows: ‘Remember that the host families does not get remuneration for their hospitality, and they are interested in getting more information about the culture of your country.’
»No, no, it’s incredible. They have been paid for us; they simply conceal it from us’, we cunningly thought. But it turned out in the course of events that we were wrong. American volunteers can do many things absolutely free of charge. At the time of my first visit to the USA an American pensioner rode me in his car free of charge. Volunteers nurse children from poor localities free of charge, instruct tourists who went astray in Washington, take part in major actions (for example, keep order at concerts or render assistance to sportsmen at mass rounds), gather offertories and donations for arid regions of Africa. At the time of our sojourn in Washington I several times met volunteers who collected signatures for the appeal to Chinese authorities to stop violence in Tibet. It’s worth noting that even their outward appearances were not Chinese. Cordiality and sincere desire to help unknown people is the characteristic feature of volunteers’ activities.
Vladimir, Kazakh (sound funny — her reminds me lines of Sergei Dovlatov: TV commentator during boxing match of blach and white sporstmen, he said: you could determine black sportsmen by white line on his pants) and Allen, an American. Language barrier was not a problem for them, rather it only helped in communication.
SHALL WE TALK?
Most families were eager to communicate with us. Of course, the language barrier was a problem, frankly speaking, due to our own fault. Vladimir Gabidullin from Kaztalovka was only able to learn several English words during three weeks — Hello, Goodbye, Sale. In the absence of the interpreter, he somehow managed to communicate with his American interlocutors in Russian only. His receiving family knew not a single Russian word. Every morning Vladimir ‘informed’ us how he communicated with his host family last evening. ‘I ask him how it is done in this country. And he answers me: so and so… I don’t understand how they understand me, but they do understand!’
A quite different example: two women of our group every morning complained that dwelling conditions in America were inhuman. ‘We sleep on the floor, there are many animals in the house; and only a child communicates with us.’
‘Did you tell that to them?’, I asked them.
‘But how is it possible? They don’t understand Russian at all; likewise we don’t understand English.’
That’s possibly why it was necessary to change the place of residence for those ladies. As for Vladimir, Allen and Paula who received him parted with him with tears in the eyes.
However those are just particulars. In general, no language problem exists in America. The nation of emigrants is very tolerant towards persons with poor command of English, and it encourages everyone who is interested in studying the language. My English improved from day to day, but all the same it remained far from being perfect. My interlocutors vividly reassured me, ‘Don’t worry, we understand you!’
In America Spanish, Chinese and Russian are also popular with the corresponding ethnic groups.
WE ARE DIFFERENT
We are different. We live in opposite parts of the Earth with different time zones, let alone different languages and political systems. The booklet we were given before the trip warned us about possible attacks of depression after coming back home. Yes, that comes true. Against the background of tidy, cozy and successful America, the domestic present-day reality casts a gloom over the returnees.
One of the persons from our group said, ‘Why cannot we do the same? They are just like we are — one head, two hands and two legs, and it works here, whereas we cannot set it in motion at home.’
This conversation was directly relevant to our visit to the state control department of the city administration of Washington. This department is engaged in the only yet very important affair — it effectively controls the quality of state services. Thanks to this department’s activities, there are no queues in the power corridors.
Here is a small dialogue on this theme.
‘How do you distribute plots of land?’
‘What for?’
‘For example, I want to build a house.’
‘The procedure is very simple. You should enter our website with requisition forms, fill out one and send it through e-mail to us. In an hour or two you’ll receive an answer.’
‘Very convenient!..’
In America conveniences are common practices, in any case in Washington. One easily gets accustomed to the subway, the map of the city, satellite communication, slot machines, the wireless Internet nearly in every small restaurant… There are folding tables for swaddling babies in every toilet. Every block of buildings has a call- box for calling up police or ambulance. The public conveyances and taxi have special conveniences for invalids, so numerous disabled persons self-dependently visit superstores, parks, cinemas, gymnasiums, fly by planes and so on. On the contrary, disabled persons in Kazakhstan are absolutely deprived of the above opportunities.
In Alexandria (the city adjoining Washington) I was interviewed by a blind journalist. Her amaurosis does not prevent her from making reports, which are very popular with the local readers.
After the interview she asked me, ‘How would people treat me in Kazakhstan? Could I find a job in your country?’
What could say to her? After a significant pause I said, ‘In Kazakhstan you would be treated as a brave woman.’
‘Well, how is America? Tell us!’, people ask me here in Uralsk. This simple question sets me at a loss. How to start? What to tell about? To narrate that I was slowly getting used to the strange language, and that I was not accustomed to smile to unknown people and greet them? To tell that I was slowly discovering the country and its people, and that I am nor sure that I have considerably progressed in it so far?
‘No wonder, they live on the opposite side of the globe and go head over heels with regard to Kazakhstan.’, I thought to myself.
These are my host family March and Karen, I will send them Exclusive magazine address: 1243-Crest park, Silver spring MD, Good luck rd., Washington, DC
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