SUBSCRIBE for email notifications

X
Author

Janet Givens

  • amazon author page
  • facebook
  • goodreads
  • gplus
  • instagram
  • linkedin
  • twitter
Skip to content
  • HOME
  • ABOUT
  • BLOG
  • BOOKS
    • At Home on the Kazakh Steppe
    • Events
  • LEARN MORE
  • CONTACT
A Little Fish in a Mennonite Sea: Shirley Hershey Showalter
Tatiana

And So It Goes Janet Givens’ Blog More on the Blog's name

And so it goes -- sometimes So it goes -- the lament that permeates Kurt Vonnegut’s classic Slaughterhouse-Five, addresses the notion that certain events are beyond our control. It honors fatalism, resignation, and the inevitability of death (among other things), and the consequent acceptance of our fate.


Just as Vonnegut tried to educate his readers to a greater understanding of the human condition, And So It Goes, the blog, tries to educate readers to a greater understand of the culture that, inevitably and unconsciously, molds us.


We do that by looking at cultures that are different than our own. And we pay special attention to the parts of those cultures that trouble us, that make us gasp, that make us turn away.


Here on my blog, we take the time to take a closer look, to chew on what we’ve been swallowing whole. Adopting the existential notion that we create our own reality, we understand that that reality is also molded by our environment and perpetuated by our culture.


And so it goes.

Pa Nos

posted on January 22, 2014 by Janet Givens
9 view comments

September 1 is a special day in Kazakhstan. Throughout the country it is the first day of school and is known as Knowledge Day, an opportunity to celebrate the start of a new school year.

But I’ll remember my first Knowledge Day for another reason. In a year in which many surreal moments filled my days, this one quickly became the most surreal of all.  I knew, even as it was happening around me, that someday I would write about the moment.  I assumed it would be in the book, but alas, it has been cut in the interest of maintaining my “narrative arc.”  Still, I think it works here and I’m happy to share it, finally.

*****

Gulzhahan had been talking about “going out for shashlik” since our counterpart conference at the end of training. “Shashlik in Zhezkazgan is the best in Kazakhstan,” she’d told me when the Peace Corps held a shashlik barbeque. “We will go for shashlik when you come,” she had said, more than a few times. It appeared to be an activity for special occasions. And Knowledge Day was, indeed, a special occasion.

 

Shashlik cooking on an outdoor grill
Shashlik cooking on an outdoor grill

 

I liked shashlik. It was, I thought, shish kabob without the vegetables: marinated cubes of meat grilled over an open fire. The restaurants served it with raw onion, fresh bread, and vinegar. Each meat-filled skewer cost only 150 tenge. At 135 tenge to the US Dollar, it was a deal. I’d not be eating any that day, though. My lower GI troubles — what I’d dubbed Genghis Khan’s revenge — was still in full swing and I’d put myself on a modified clear liquid diet.

 

The ten English teachers who had shown up for the college’s Knowledge Day festivities gathered in the courtyard, ready to “go for shashlik.” As we walked along the sidewalk between our college and our shashlik, seven-year-old girls in white dresses with giant bows in their hair and seven-year-old boys in “Sunday suits” filled the sidewalk either coming home from school (the morning group) or heading to school (the afternoon group). Many walked with their mothers, some with both parents, and others walked in small groups of children. None walked alone. A memory from long ago flitted through my head: young boys and girls walking to their first communion at the local Catholic Church. How I envied those girls; I secretly wished my family was Catholic so I could get “a pretty stick-out” dress too. I smiled at the memory.

 

Classic first communion dress
Classic first communion dress, similar to dresses worn by first graders in Kazakhstan on Knowledge Day, the first day of school.

 

As we walked the long blocks of Gagarina toward Nekrasova, passing cars threw up clouds of dust, leaving a fine coating over us as we meandered down the sidewalk. But I seemed to be the only one to notice. The café Sony (which they pronounced sa NOO) was an open-walled area, sunken a few steps below the sidewalk level, with picnic tables under a sun-shielding roof. We chose a table and waited while the young waitress set it up with salt, flatware, the traditional single menu, a small pile of white paper napkins, and a small soda bottle filled with vinegar.

 

“My diploma is in German,” the young teacher to my left told me soon after we sat down, using me to practice her English. I didn’t mind. She knew enough English to tell me that she’d never studied English formally and I was impressed. I was even more impressed with her eyeliner. In a group where few wore makeup, Aizhan had used eyeliner pencil to draw thick lines above, beneath, and beyond her lashes. The elaborate raccoon effect captivated me and I found her fascinating.

 

Aizhan
Aizhan

 

“Un botelka vadoo, ee pan. Pazhalsta,” I said to the waitress when it was my turn, proud that I could order a bottle of water and some bread in Russian. Using my Russian language workbook from training, I’d figured out the words earlier that morning. I’d even practiced.

 

And, when Aizhan asked, “Why are you not eating?” I could answer her in Russian because I’d also carefully memorized the Russian word for what ailed me.

 

“Oo meenya pa nos,” (I have diarrhea) I told her quietly. We were in a restaurant, after all. My announcement brought a nod of understanding. And a question I hadn’t expected.

 

“What is the English word for pa nos?”

 

Before I had a chance to answer, Gulzhahan, sitting across from me, introduced the teacher sitting on her left. Tolganay smiled a shy, slight smile. Then returned to her colleagues to her left.

 

Aizhan asked again. “What is the English word for pa nos?”

 

“Gulzhan is the best cook,” Gulzhahan interjected, referring to the woman on her right, seated across from Aizhan. Gulzhan smiled at the compliment, looking demure.

 

I turned to my left before Aizhan had a chance to ask again. “Diarrhea,” I said quickly.

 

I liked Aizhan. I liked that she talked to me. While the other teachers gave me friendly smiles, they mostly seemed shy. I found Aizhan’s boldness, in contrast, refreshing.

 

She repeated the word after me, and I worked a bit on her pronunciation as she took her plate from the waitress. “Di-ar-rhe-a.” She said softly.

 

“What is it?” I heard someone else ask. “What is pa nos?”

 

“Di-ar-rhe-a” Aizhan called out, slowly, clearly, proudly, and … loudly. From farther down the table, another called out, “What is it? What is pa nos?”

 

“Di-ar-rhe-a,” someone else filled in. And as I sat there sipping my water and savoring the fresh baked bread, I could hear up and down the table, each one taking care to put the emphasis on the right syllable, “di-ar-rhe-a” — ten English teachers practicing their new English word for the day.

 

I sat quietly, content in knowing that the moment would eventually pass, like the bad herring that had started it all.

 

The English teachers of Zhezkazgan Humanitarian College September 1, 2004
The English teachers of Zhezkazgan Humanitarian College September 1, 2004

 

******

Sometimes sharing our “most embarrassing moment” brings laughter. While this may not serve as a “most embarrassing,” still, it’s up there.  How about you? What memories are you finally willing to share?

 

Sharing is caring:

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Pocket
  • Pinterest
  • Reddit
  • Tumblr
  • Email

Like this:

Like Loading...

Related

tagged
  • embarrassing moments
  • Janet Givens author
  • Kazakhstan
  • Peace Corps
  • shashlik
categorized
  • Cultural differences
  • Deleted Scene
  • Kazakhstan
  • Peace Corps

9 thoughts on “Pa Nos”

  1. Marian BeamanMarian Beaman

    One good thing about deleted scenes is that they can become useful after all. I always learn something from your Peace Corps experiences. This one had extra spice to it. I guess I can thank you for giving me a “Knowledge Day.”

    I’ll have to think about an embarrassing moment and post later, Janet.

    Reply
    January 22, 2014
    • JanetJanet

      I look forward to that, Marian. Somehow, in the retelling, we can better get in touch with the humor. Thanks, always, for being here.

      Reply
      January 22, 2014
  2. Kathleen PoolerKathleen Pooler

    Janet, these deleted scenes are treasures and I’m so happy you have found a way to share them. “Killing our darlings” can be painful. My editor slashed five chapters that I loved but, alas, narrative arc and commitment to story line trump all. The lesson from your post…never discard your work as it can be used –effectively–in other ways somewhere down the line. I am enjoying learning about this culture and your Peace Corps moments.Thanks for sharing.
    Kathy
    http://krpooler.com

    Reply
    January 23, 2014
    • JanetJanet

      Hi Kathy, I love the “kiilling our darlings” phrase. It is so apt, isn’t it. With this new phase of edits (I call them the final final edits) I’m afraid I’ll be posting Deleted Scenes for some time. Will try to limit them to twice a month, however. My condolensces on your five chapters. Ouch. I hope you’ll try my elixir and post them on your blog. Looking forward to your own visit here in February.

      Reply
      January 24, 2014
  3. gulzhangulzhan

    Hello Janet!!!Such unforgetable day! I remember that day.Yes you are right I used to be shy. I was afraid to talk to you.I understood English but I couldn’t ask questions that time. It has been 10 years since that day. Thanks PC and PCVs I improved my English!

    Reply
    January 24, 2014
    • JanetJanet

      Gulzhan, hello. I’m glad you left a comment. And I would add, not only is your English better; your great sense of humor now really shines through (idiom alert!). My mother still talks of your visit and how much she enjoyed meeting you. So glad you dropped in. Thank you.

      Reply
      January 25, 2014
  4. AssemAssem

    i was at maternity leave. I came back in the middle of october and glad to see you!!! The second,wonderful PCV!!!

    Reply
    January 28, 2014
    • JanetJanet

      Hi Assem. The middle of October, was it? I remember well the day you came back and how friendly you were. That’s one of the best parts of writing a memoir: I get to live those moments twice. Thanks for coming by.

      Reply
      January 28, 2014
  1. Raw Herring and Other Peace Corps Dangers |

Leave a Reply Cancel

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Have a blog you'd like to share? I use CommentLuv Click hereShow more posts

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

A Little Fish in a Mennonite Sea: Shirley Hershey Showalter
Tatiana
  • Search

  • Categories

    Age Blogging Conservation Crossing borders Cultural differences Deleted Scene Education Family Friendship Holidays Kazakhstan Life Lessons MidLife Change Peace Peace Corps Politics Recipes Social Media Therapy Travel
  • Subscribe

    Subscribe to my blog.

    SUBSCRIBE

  • At Home on the Kazakh Steppe:A Peace Corps Memoir

    Praise from Kirkus Review
    “...she writes engagingly ... a sharp-eyed journalist. A worthwhile read for anyone with an interest in humanitarian work.”

    At Home on the Kazakh Steppe, A Peace Corps Memoir, by Janet Givens Buy the book

  • Facebook

    Facebook
  • Top Posts & Pages

    • Meet Lindsay de Feliz
    • A Two For Tuesday Prompt #3
    • My Most Embarrassing Moment
    • When Cultural Difference Is Used As An Excuse -- Part I
    • The Four Stages of Friendship
  • Post Archives

  • Facebook Group

    Join me on Facebook atWe Love Memoirs
  • Gutsy Anthology

    I’ve got a chapter in Sonia’s second anthology. Check it out here.

  • ©2012-2019 Janet Givens - All Rights Reserved made with by Memphis McKay
    ^
    up
    loading Cancel
    Post was not sent - check your email addresses!
    Email check failed, please try again
    Sorry, your blog cannot share posts by email.
    %d bloggers like this: