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YES, THEY ARE KNOWN FOR THAT TOO…

For about four months, I had been in the city of Osh, second largest city of the ex-soviet and predominantly Muslim country of Kyrgyzstan.  Osh dates back to the 8th century and was a key stopping and trading location along the ancient Silk Road that connected Central Asian countries from China to the Mediterranean Sea.   I was there on assignment from a U.S. based microenterprise organization, tasked with organizing anywhere from 15 to 20 women from a given village into solidarity groups that would function as a “Village Bank”, receiving and managing a series of small loans invested in individual businesses.

I was hosting a visit from a colleague from the main country office in Bishkek, the northern capital of the country.  We had decided to take a break from work to climb the stone steps carved in the side of the sacred mountain of Sulaiman-Too that overlooked the city.  The steps led to a small mosque built at the top, reportedly near the tomb of the Koran prophet Sulaiman (Solomon).  A pilgrimage up the mountain by pregnant women was also believed to guarantee the birth of a healthy child.

We hiked up past brightly-colored “prayer flags” – small pieces of cloth tied to the trees and bushes along the way, finally reaching the summit with it’s incredible view of the city and the surrounding Fergana Valley.  Very near the small mosque, just off to the side, squatted an old man in tattered clothes, wearing the traditional men’s hat – a “kalpak” - with its black fleur-de-lis design on white felt and fingering a set of prayer beads.  It made for a great photograph, but as I raised my camera the old man shook his finger at me and then motioned my guest and me over to him.  My Russian at that point in time was crude but passable for basic communication purposes (although the Kyrgyz have their own language, Russian was universal):  “Dobriy Den – Good Afternoon” “Skolka sto-it – How much is it?” “Spaceba – Thank you”.  I understood much more than I could speak.  The old man asked where we were from.  I told him I was from Ahh-mare-eee-kaa and he nodded, saying “Ahhh, Amerikanski!”  My colleague was from Canada and when I said so, the old man became animated, almost frantic, and began rapidly rattling off a dialogue punctuated by “Kan-ahh-dah!”  “Amerika!  “Kanahda!”   He was speaking much too fast for my limited Russian and I kept telling him that I was sorry, that I didn’t understand.  He became increasingly frustrated with his inability to get across whatever he wanted to say about Canada.  At one point, he reached to the side and broke off a small branch from a nearby bush, searched around for a pebble, place the pebble on the ground in front of him, hitting it with the stick, all the while rolling out a string of words with “Kanada!” and “Amerika!” jumping out periodically.  I figured it was time to start slowly backing away.  Was he trying to say something about how America and Canada were going to fight with each other?  Was it some Soviet-era political diatribe?

Finally, a look of relief came over his face as he continued to beat at the pebble with his stick.  He pointed down with his other hand and sputtered out:  “CANADA!  CANADA!”…………..”HOCKEY!!!”

Yes, he was an ice hockey fan….


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