A Filipino VSO volunteer, Amelyn, left for home last week at the end of her service. She had a pretty tough time here, between not knowing any Russian at all when she arrived at site, having a negligent organization, and not having even seen snow before coming here. We all had dinner together at a restaurant the night she left. At the same restaurant, there was a group of middle-aged men who had, I think, been purchased for the birthday party they were having. Between toasts to the birthday-boy's wealth and success, they stared morosely at their plates and listened to the loud Kazakh-pop DJ. They and we were the only ones in the restaurant.
So it wasn't surprising that when they found out that we were foreigners, they crowded around our table seeking entertainment that wasn't to be had at the other table. Bryan and I were invited to take vodka shots, but I explained that Americans are biologically unable to digest vodka, and that we consequently had to refuse. One asked me to translate "very accurately" some slurred, drunken, probably romantic phrase to Amelyn, and when I said I didn't understand what he was saying, he pointed and loudly announced to his friends, "this American doesn't understand Russian!"
They insisted on dacing with the girls, of course, but after one dance (during which one old fat man actually picked Amelyn up in a bear hug and swung her around), they weren't interested anymore. The refused invitations started slow, but soon every sixty seconds someone was coming over to invite them to dance. Because I was the token translator, being seated next to Amelyn, I was involved in all this. Finally, I told one rejected pot-bellied man, look, she doesn't want to dance with you. He said, tell her I invited her. I said, she understands that, but she doesn't want to dance. He said, but I want to dance with her. I said, do you want to dance with someone who doesn't want to dance with you? He said, but I invited her, did you tell her I invited her? I said, I told her, but she doesn't WANT to. He turned to one of our Russian friends and said, the American doesn't understand me, explain to him what I'm saying.
And when the birthday boy came over, he told me that it is rude to congratulate someone sitting down, so I stood up. He then subsequently refused to let me sit down for some time, even grabbing my arm and holding me up, for no clear reason. We stood in silence. What is your nationality, he finally asked. I am an American, I said. No, no, your nationality. Really, I am. No, where are your ancestors from. I proceeded to explain that I'm Ukrainian, German, Italian, and Finnish. A "mestizo", I said. (This word, though rude in English, is a commonly used word in Russian when I tell people my ancestry. That and "hybrid".) He thought for a long time. Well, he said. The most important thing is that you're a PERSON.
When we left, Bryan and I were the last of our friends to go. On our way out, he politely congratulated the birthday boy, shaking his hand. The birthday boy refused to let his hand go. Drink vodka with us! he insisted. No, no, our friends already left, we have to go, we can't drink vodka, he said, but the man wouldn't let him go. Bryan was literally struggling with both hands to free himself, and the man wouldn't release him. I managed to free him - but only by offering my own hand, which the man took by instinct, but now I, instead of Bryan, was stuck. So I started making a loud congratulatory birthday speech in Kazakh. All the Kazakhs heads snapped to attention, but the birthday boy, who was Russian, was livid. What do you think you're doing, why don't you speak Russian to me! he said, and saying this he spread his hands in indignation, releasing me. Bryan and I fled to the sound of adulation from the Kazakh guests.
