Monday, July 10, 2006
Typical Uzbek Conversation
Here’s a typical conversation that I would often have upon meeting people for the first time– one that I could muster in my basic command of the local language in the first year, and that the few people who spoke a little bit of English were able to manage.
Uzbek: How old are you?
Me: 30
Uzbek: Are you married?
Me: No
Uzbek: No??? Why Not?!!!! (usually accompanied by a grimace of horror on their face).
And as my command of the language grew better, I could come up with a number of defenses…The usual one being “In America we marry later.” I think someone must have suggested that one to me early on. It seemed that there was a conspiracy among Americans that “this is the line, and we’re all sticking with it,” because many Uzbeks had heard this before. In fact, they often said that they had heard this. So why do they continue to ask it…Maybe they weren’t buying it.
Anyway, fact of the matter was, I wasn’t about to tell them that I was gay. That was just out of the question. I’m sure that straight people weren’t very happy about the question either. Most people who wound up in Uzbekistan and were single didn’t want to have to talk about their failed and complicated romantic life – I met plenty of those people who regaled me with tales from the kitchen sink. It got me thinking at times that maybe our lives would be simpler if we were thrown into arranged marriages like in Uzbekistan.
Sometimes the conversation didn’t just end there. Sometimes there were the preachy conversationalists determined to teach me something. They’d say that I was letting time pass and that soon it will be too late. I’m not sure if this was meant to make me feel better about myself. They would say that by my age, they already had three children.
After some time, when I got to know the trajectory of this conversation well…and because I could get away with it, I would lie about my age, and just tell everyone I was 25. I looked younger than my age, certainly younger than a 30 year old Uzbek, because I moisturize and stay in shape. Most Uzbek men age quickly – their skin wrinkles from the harsh sun, from the tough life, from poor nutrition .They grow paunches which they lovingly call their “autoritet” or “authority.”
It was the perfect ruse. I figured, if I’m 25, I’m not violating the life schedule of an Uzbek, not yet. And they’d lay off with their preachiness. Sometimes they’d jokingly tell me that I should marry an Uzbek girl, that they make fine wives. They would advise in an avuncular manner that I still had some time to marry, it was not too late yet, but shouldn’t wait too long, before I got too old, which in reality, apparently I was. ¶ 7:59 PM
Here’s a typical conversation that I would often have upon meeting people for the first time– one that I could muster in my basic command of the local language in the first year, and that the few people who spoke a little bit of English were able to manage.
Uzbek: How old are you?
Me: 30
Uzbek: Are you married?
Me: No
Uzbek: No??? Why Not?!!!! (usually accompanied by a grimace of horror on their face).
And as my command of the language grew better, I could come up with a number of defenses…The usual one being “In America we marry later.” I think someone must have suggested that one to me early on. It seemed that there was a conspiracy among Americans that “this is the line, and we’re all sticking with it,” because many Uzbeks had heard this before. In fact, they often said that they had heard this. So why do they continue to ask it…Maybe they weren’t buying it.
Anyway, fact of the matter was, I wasn’t about to tell them that I was gay. That was just out of the question. I’m sure that straight people weren’t very happy about the question either. Most people who wound up in Uzbekistan and were single didn’t want to have to talk about their failed and complicated romantic life – I met plenty of those people who regaled me with tales from the kitchen sink. It got me thinking at times that maybe our lives would be simpler if we were thrown into arranged marriages like in Uzbekistan.
Sometimes the conversation didn’t just end there. Sometimes there were the preachy conversationalists determined to teach me something. They’d say that I was letting time pass and that soon it will be too late. I’m not sure if this was meant to make me feel better about myself. They would say that by my age, they already had three children.
After some time, when I got to know the trajectory of this conversation well…and because I could get away with it, I would lie about my age, and just tell everyone I was 25. I looked younger than my age, certainly younger than a 30 year old Uzbek, because I moisturize and stay in shape. Most Uzbek men age quickly – their skin wrinkles from the harsh sun, from the tough life, from poor nutrition .They grow paunches which they lovingly call their “autoritet” or “authority.”
It was the perfect ruse. I figured, if I’m 25, I’m not violating the life schedule of an Uzbek, not yet. And they’d lay off with their preachiness. Sometimes they’d jokingly tell me that I should marry an Uzbek girl, that they make fine wives. They would advise in an avuncular manner that I still had some time to marry, it was not too late yet, but shouldn’t wait too long, before I got too old, which in reality, apparently I was. ¶ 7:59 PM
