The Milk Mission

September 6, 2010

Three weeks ago, I did not know a single Kazakh word. Today, I am a
talking machine. However, I only know about fifty words, so I repeat
them over and over again. "Hello!" "How are you?" "My name is Anne!"
"Hello!"

These phrases are great, but on occasion, I need to use more words
than just, "I am an American, from Missouri." Then I'm up a creek.
That was the case last Friday.

My host mom asked me to go to the corner store for some milk. I walked
into the shop with a big smile on my face, glad to have a mission. As
I looked around, the smile faded. Where was the milk?

The shop-owner asked if I needed help. Umm, yes. I searched my
vocabulary. "I am a Peace Corps Volunteer…" "I have a little sister…"
"I like to run…" Somehow, none of those were gonna get me the milk.
Then I had an ah-ha moment.

"CYbIK, Kaida?" I blurted out.

He looked at me quizzically and showed me to a refrigerator of sodas.
Oops. Wrong word. I did some quick brainstorming and came up
empty-handed, but I still needed to find the milk. That was my
special mission.

I put my fingers up to my head to symbolize horns and I said, "Moooo."
Then I pantomimed milking a cow. The storekeeper bent over laughing.
"CYT! Moo!" He said between laughs. He repeated my gestures to his
fellow shopkeeper, then to everyone else in the store. There were
laughs all around.

I left a few minutes later, milk in hand. Mission Accomplished
(though unorthodoxly!)

When you barely know more than an infant, you use any tools you have…
including making a fool of youself!

In the end, my host mom got her milk, everyone got a good laugh, and I
made a new friend.

Thank goodness I grew up in a charades-playing family!