By Beckie Stewart
Guest Columnist
The winter of 2005 proved to be the most frigid winter in fifty years in the northeastern land of Kazakhstan. Within minutes of being outside, the cold promised to sap the breath out of those who walked in its domain.
Nestled 700 kilometers southeast of Omsk, Russia, the city of Semipalatinsk's temperatures dropped below forty degrees Celsius at night. The opportunity to learn about the region our daughter was born in was kept to day when sunlight warded off the worst of the bone-chilling weather.
One particular afternoon following our visit with our daughter-to-be at the orphanage, my husband decided to finish up our souvenir shopping before returning to the apartment. I remained in the van with our driver, Pasha. A communication barrier loomed between us as neither one of us spoke anything but a few sporadic words of the other's language.
After my husband and the translator left, Pasha nodded his head, peeked through the rearview mirror at me, and gave a grin that displayed jagged spaced teeth with portions of silver and tan. He rocked his head back and forth and pointed to the two men. Wrapping his arms around his body, he chattered his teeth. With his voice raised at the end of his sentence, I knew he asked me a question.
Nodding my head, I circled my finger around the side of my head and said, “Yes. They are crazy. I have no desire to be out there.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes. We watched cars scurrying up and down the street. Some cars parked, and those dressed in proper winter gear exited out and preceded toward the outdoor shopping bazaar. This place with the best bargains for traditional Kazakhstan kitchenware as well as clothing provided safety from the frosty weather with only a tent covering.
Tugging the flaps of his hat, Pasha pointed to the various men and women who walked by in their long mink coats. He shook his head, “No,” as he pointed to his head, the others, and then at me. I understood by now that one wears a head covering under all circumstances, but especially during these severe weather conditions. I learned that the men wore either a mink tundra hat or a leather beret. The women wore fur hats that resembled a huge ball of animal hair. Regardless of the style, each hat included flaps so the ears were protected from the icy winds sweeping through them.
“I was too hot in here to keep my hat on,” I said. I waved my hand in front of my face, stuck out my tongue, and panted like a thirsty dog. Pasha laughed and turned down the heat and reached to touch my head. Not wishing to offend him in anyway, I put my hat back on.
“How do the ladies walk in those boots?” I asked Pasha as I lifted up my foot and pointed to the heels. “I would fall down and break my neck,” I said as I collapsed onto the seat and grabbed my neck.
Pasha chuckled, lifted his foot, and with force rammed his heel down to the floor.
“Well, that makes sense,” I said as I shook my head, “But I’m sure I’d still fall.” I dropped back down on the seat again. He laughed and fell down on the front seat. When he sat back up, we exchanged smiles with each other.
As Pasha asked me a question in Russian, he swung his arms and reached around his back and said my husband’s name.
I nodded as I recalled the evening my husband recollected to me about his experience at the men’s bathhouse with the Pasha and Darkhan, the translator.
“Oy! Oy!” he said several times.
“Yes. He said it hurt when you hit each other with the sticks,” I said as I swayed my hands like I cracked a whip.
Pasha’s smile disappeared and with hesitation in his words, I realized he was concerned that my husband didn’t enjoy his experience. I wrapped my arms around myself and smiled to assure him that he liked it. He seemed to comprehend my message as his colorful teeth gleamed from his mouth again.
Time quickly passed as we continued our game of charades with lots of laughs shared between us. The lesson I learned that day was that actions do speak louder than words.
Learn more about Beckie at God's Gracious Gems blog, and at her adoption foundation, Our Creator's Hope.