Tropicana... thank God in America it is only an oragne juice!

The girls... and really good food!
Dont worry; no liquor in those glasses. If you look hard you can see the feathers in the background!
For Christmas my team went to the Big City. We all arrived at different times, and after everyone got in, we decided to meet for a fun "night out". We tried to be as Kazak as possible; so we decided that we would not go until after 8:00 that night. We tried to decide where to go, and two of us named a place called Tropicana, which both of us had heard was fun. Now, I had been there once; for an early evening dinner, and knew that there was a show that came with the meal, but I was not prepared for the "entertainment" that we got.

We were greeted at the door by a man who looked strangely like Lionel Richie. This is strange for two reasons; first, there are only about 4 black people in this entire country; and two, that one of the four would look like Lionel... Anyway, as soon as we checked our coats we knew we were in for WAY more than we bargained for. Everyone else in the restaurant was dressed to the nines, suits for the men and cocktail dresses for the women. There was one guy in a sweater...Thats about it! Of course, we were seated at the table in the front, so we had to parade through the restaurant in our jeans and tennis shoes and oversized sweaters. We sat down and our personal waiter seemed quite anxious for us to order. We tried to order several different things; but of course, as a reminder that we were still in KZ, they were out of chicken and beef. We were quite confused as to why there was such a rush for us to order, but as the band took the stage we understood that we had arrived right at the start of the show, and they were ready to start.

I'm not sure that there was anyone among us who was prepared for what happened next. From women who were wearing scarcely more than feathers, that kept falling off, to the queen of Sheba who perched on stage with her shirtless "bodyguards" (who couldnt have weighed more than 100 lbs); each act provided more laughter, embarassment and frankly, jsut sheer confusion. The crowning glory of the night came in the middle of the show, when Santa Claus showed up.

Several things were remarkable about him. First, he was black, which is rare because we dont see black people here (that makes two for the night if you are counting), and second, after about 5 minutes of playing Santa Claus, he stripped off his clothes to reveal traditional African dancing costumes. He and the woman who had previously been an elf, began dancing around the room in what they called, "the Dances of Africa". Their goal was simple; people in the room were supposed to get up and dance with them... and guess what? It worked. Old people, in very expensive clothes, who had been enjoying their "dining and drinking experience" for the past 5 hours, began to parade themselves around the room.

I've got to be honest here- it was hysterical. We ate our food and left early, something no good Kazak would do. But man oh man, it was a night that I, or anyone else who went, will EVER forget!

Normalcy... what is that really?

I was in my kitchen last week, cooking fried pickles, onion rings, and red beans and rice with two of my teammates when it hit me, this feels normal. It felt like I was at home in the States, either in Mobile or in Shreveport, hanging out with old friends. We were having the best time; Scott was entertaining us with Russian pop songs and dance moves, and Phil and I were laughing hysterically. It was really fun. I made that comment, just that in that moment it felt like I was at home, and both agreed, it was just normal. Since that day, I have had several moments of things feeling strangely normal. Here are some of my thoughts on the subject:
1. I tried to fight the initial feelings of normalcy. I told myself that there was no way this could be normal, as admitting comfort would somehow betray my life in the States. I told myself there was no way this could feel normal.
2. Then I realized, normalcy for me is not about a place. Its not even about the people. Its about being where I know that I am supposed to be, about being in the place that God has designed for me. So many people think that life can only be normal in one place, or with certain people or things surrounding them, but that is just not the truth.
3. I guess normal is what you make it. I have wanted this dirty, small, broken apartment to be my home. I didnt want it to merely be a place where I slept; instead, I wanted it to be a place where people would come, a place where locals felt at home. I worked really hard, not at making the walls less cracked, or the plumbing work better, but at making it warm and inviting. I have learned valuable lessons about hospitality, and appearances, and about how the pretty places arent necessarily the inviting ones.
4. All is normal, yet nothing is normal. Every night, when I lay down to sleep, I spend about 5-10 minutes listening to the sounds around me. I hear people yelling, singing; I hear people walking up stairs, smoking cigarettes on the front step, doing remodeling work on their apartments. This has become so normal to me; but in the same breath, it is the opposite of the normal that I am used to. I would love one night of absolute quiet; but here it is just not going to happen.

Bottom line, there are so many random, not normal things that are part of every day. Things that make me laugh, furrow my brow, sometimes cry, or just stand in utter amazement that places in the world still operate in this manner. Its not always my first instinct, but I am choosing to make those things my new normal. Sure, it will never be the way that I like it, or the way that I am most comfortable with, but it is way it is. Thats good enough for me.