Day 14 - the end of solitude.

After the entertainment of the night before I was happy to sleep in on Thursday morning. I was woken by the phone: it was Lena with some news for me. Bolek had been asked to move out of the flat where he was staying and they had been unable to find anywhere else for him. As my flat was quite spacious, would I mind him living with me?

I’d already been told by my students that in Kyrgyzstan you home must always be open to friends, guests and relatives. If you find a job in the city, you can expect to have regular visits from your rural relatives who want to see Bishkek (and in countries like Kyrgyzstan, the cousin of your grandfather’s cousin’s nephew’s wife counts as a relative); these visits can last indefinitely. If somebody from a village decides to study in a Bishkek university then they live, like Lena, with a relative there: university courses last about 4 years, so they simply move in with a relative for 4 years. I suppose it’s all part of the tradition of hospitality, and apparently it would be terribly rude to refuse a visit from even a distant relative: you would be ostracised by your whole family.
Picture: the view from my balcony. Actually, the view is usually obscured by net curtains and a mosquite-proof net. But when I move these aside, this is what I can see.

These thoughts went through my mind, and anyway, if Bolek had nowhere to stay, I couldn’t really refuse. I wasn’t happy though, and I explained to Lena that I saw this as a short-term solution and that the Aiesec girls shouldn’t give up trying to find somewhere permanent for him. I didn’t mind giving him a roof for a couple of weeks if necessary, but the thought of someone I’d met just twice moving in with me for the rest of my time in Kyrgyzstan really didn’t appeal to me.

I was considering going back to bed when the doorbell rang. There were several people outside who seemed to want to come in but they didn’t speak English; something about a “home-see”. I liked the sound of that even less than somebody moving in with me, so of course I didn’t let them in. Five minutes later they were still standing outside my door when the phone rang again. It was Aigul, the other secretary from the school. Her aunt, who owns my flat, wants to sell it when I leave, and these people outside my door had come to view the flat. Could I let them in please?

The afternoon passed uneventfully. I taught until 10pm, enjoyed the 5.40 class and the last class of the evening, and didn’t enjoy the 3.00 class. After waiting for my payment, it was to home and to sleep, for my last night in the solitude of my flat. I would write peace and quiet, but I have the noisiest fridge in the world and even closing the three doors separating it from my bed isn’t enough to reduce the buzz. Of course, it could be because the doors in my flat fit so badly that even the strip of (brown) carpet stapled inside the doorframe at head height isn’t enough to keep them closed and I have to wedge one shut with a length of telephone cable and another with a tea-towel.
Picture: the view from my bed. Behind these cupboards lies the kitchen and the epicentre of the humming.