Ramadan Wrap Up

Maybe. Maybe it's a wrap up. I just have a lot I could write about, so this "wrap up" might come in installments. We'll see :)

Overall, my experience was wonderful. There wasn't anything that I didn't like about my observance of Ramadan, but there are aspects that I can be critical of.

I love how the focus during Ramadan is on family and friends. The iftar meal each night is a chance for different families to host and be guests of each other. It's really a community celebration, even - and especially - when not done at the mosque. Side note here: I had briefly thought about continuing my experience, but it is truly pointless to observe on one's own. Fasting all day only to eat some cereal by myself at 8:33 at night does not make any sense. The point, again, is community.

I also appreciate the true focus on what Islam means, both globally and to Muslims personally. Contrary to how I perceive that Christian holidays have slowly lost meaning over time, what I saw of Ramadan leads me to believe that it is solely about the religion and the Muslim community. There's no way around it. Muslims are supposed to read the entire Quran during the month, and long sections are read out loud at the mosque each night. No one misses prayers during Ramadan. It's not okay to skip them during this month. There's no room for half-heartedness. And the fact that the strict observance lasts for 30 days solidifies commitment to the religion. It's would be a different matter if it only lasted a week or so. I should also mention charitable giving and helping those in need - part of the reason for fasting, my friend said, is to know what it is like to be hungry and to have true empathy for the poor - and then to do something about it.

My critique of all of this is what I perceive as legalism. I kept thinking things like, "How cruel is it to forbid drinking water! You can't even miss one prayer? Why is it necessary to wake up at 5 a.m. and not simply eat breakfast when you wake up and fast the rest of the day? Why are there so many rules?!?!?" The answer to these questions, though, is that the strict observance keeps Islam true to its roots. My Muslim friends stress that above everything else. The reason for all of the rules and stipulations and strictness is so that Islam does not drastically change over time. (And that is something that I personally struggle with in regard to Christianity - that I believe it has changed into something that was not originally intended.)

And now for a discussion of women and hijab. I think hijab is great. It's not mandatory to wear it. Each woman makes the decision for herself. (Obviously, some countries and cultures have their own rules, but I'm speaking generally.) Some women never "veil." Women who do wear hijab are taught not to look down on those who do not. My friend said to me, in reference to a multitude of subjects like showing feet during prayer and how to place your hands, that each Muslim has his or her own view of what is right or wrong in regard to the smaller details of the religion, and it is what is in the heart that matters. So a woman who does not wear hijab may be a "better" Muslim in her heart than a woman who wears hijab and thinks herself better than others.

And now I'm going to get personal and vulnerable: I said I think hijab is great, and I don't just mean that I think hijab is great for Muslim women. I truly, honestly loved every minute of wearing it. I have struggled lately with people's perception of me. I don't struggle with who I am or what I stand for, but rather when people misjudge me or talk down to me because I am different from what is expected in society - that I am introverted or don't drink, as examples - I internally respond negatively to those people (which I know is the wrong attitude). When I was wearing hijab, however, I did not feel those same perceptions. To put it another way, when I wore hijab, I was perceived in the way that I wish to be perceived. I felt respected. I felt like I did not have to explain who I am. Head coverings are not just a Muslim expression, and I think it's important to consider that. I felt protected wearing hijab. I did not receive any catcalls from men in cars, as is wont to happen on the east side of town. No one was rude to me, as sometimes inexplicably happens on the bus. Instead, children smiled and waved at me. Adults gave me the sweetest, most touching looks, and I felt tenderness emanating from them. I feel that I radiated a positive attitude and a sense of peace. The world would be a better place if that persisted everywhere, would it not?

Even though I didn't fast today, I wore a loose scarf over my head to the grocery store. Note: Hijab is different from just tying a scarf; Hijab covers the hair and hides the neck, which I felt was bothersome and restrictive. Plus, you have to pin it, which is just a pain. So what I wore today showed my hairline and was very loose and drape-y around my neck. Anyhow. I think that covering my head is an expression of who I am. Some people have unique hairstyles or wear bright colors or have painted nails or a tattoo or piercings or a particular style of dress or a certain car or house... the list could go on. Wearing a head covering has nothing to do with religion. People wear hats and headbands, or artistically tie scarves on their heads all the time. I have never felt more myself than when covering my head.

And I'm not sure what to do about that.

A relaxing iftar

Last night I went to my friend's apartment for the evening sunset meal (iftar) for Ramadan. She is an American Muslim and is engaged to a Palestinian man. Their two mutual friends were there - another Palestinian guy and an American Catholic who is fasting with his friends for the entire month.

My friend had spent all day cooking: A baked whole chicken, roasted lamb with chickpeas, russet potatoes, green beans, basmati rice, watermelon, and a wonderful spinach salad. I brought some mocha brownies and ice cream for dessert, and there was also turtle cheesecake, almond cake, and white chocolate mocha trifle. Wow. I tried to rationalize my gluttony with, "I haven't eaten ALL DAY...!" Ha.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. We initially broke the fast at exactly 8:33 with dates and water. The evening was much more relaxed than the previous night at the mosque. In fact, after the dates and water we immediately filled our plates with the meal and didn't pray until the very last minute. I think we were actually a little late...

(There is a start time for each of the five prayers, and you have until the next prayer time to do that prayer. So 8:33 p.m. is when you can start the sundown prayer, and you have until around 10:00 p.m. to complete that prayer. At about 10:00 is another prayer, so you have until the next morning around 5:00 a.m. to do that one. Make sense?)

After the meal we talked, watched parts of movies and got seconds of dessert. Since my friend and I were the only women, I felt a little awkward hanging out with just the guys, so I convinced my friend to let me help her clean up!

She and I did the sundown prayer in her room together, and then the guys (except the Catholic) did theirs alone in her study room. Then, since we had run up into the 10:00 p.m. one, we all did that one together in the same room.

After the prayer we had some homemade spiced chai and talked until after midnight. The conversation was about what is and is not haram, or impermissible, in Islam. It was more of a philosophical debate, and it was very interesting. Some topics included dating and marrying non-Muslims and whether it matters whether it's a male or female who is the Muslim and whether smoking cigarettes and/or smoking hookah are okay (conclusion: Okay! We used the hookah pipe last night, haha!). Then the conversation moved to the subject of jin which are a separate creation from humans but are not demons - this topic got really creepy, and we merged it with stories about scary dreams we've had, and shadow people, yikes! We also talked about evolution, including mutations, adaptations, micro-evolution, and Judeo-Christian vs. Muslim beliefs on the subject. Whew!

Another reason I felt the iftar was really relaxed is because my friend wore a loose hijab. When women are with family and close friends, they don't have to be as strict as in public. She had a thin scarf draped over her head without pinning it, and it flowed beautifully around her face. I still kept mine pinned closely because I didn't want to mess with it, take out the pins, etc. Plus, I really didn't know these people that well. Honestly, I was not concerned with my appearance!

It was great to just hang out with young Muslims from all different backgrounds. I understand much better what it's like for them to be in America and to be misunderstood. When my friend hears someone say something awful like, "Muslims just need to go back to where they came from!" she can only laugh it off because she is FROM here. And the Palestinians? "If we had somewhere to go, we would be there."

Muslims are people just like you and me. They come from all different backgrounds. Even devout Muslims who pray five times per day and fast during the month of Ramadan live normal lives, hanging out with friends, watching movies, doing hookah, eating way too much dessert...

I'm glad I got to participate in both a proper iftar at the mosque, and a casual iftar at my friend's place. As for my two days of fasting, it really wasn't that big of a challenge, although it was fabulous to wake up this morning at a normal hour for breakfast :)

Breaking the fast

After work today, I came home, took off my pink-striped hijab, and changed into pajamas. I took a nap, and it was wonderful. My stomach had been hurting, I had had a headache, and I was tired. When I woke up two hours later, I changed into a bright blue scarf - a gift from my best friend from when she went to Israel. (Thanks, Chris!) I also put on a tunic-style shirt over my jeans so that I wouldn't need to worry about my back showing during prayer at the mosque. Unfortunately, I pinned my scarf a little too tightly and it bothered me the entire evening. During the day, I had not had this problem...

When my friend and I got to the mosque around 8:30, we entered a cafeteria-like room crowded with women and children, and we found seats at a table in the back. (The men were in an adjacent room.) There were napkins, cups, spoons, and jugs of water on each table... and in the center of each table was a plate of dates. They were mesmerizing. Prayers were being piped in through speakers on the wall, and as soon as those were through, we all took a date and ate it slowly. I'd never eaten a date before, and it was glorious. Apparently dates contain a very high amount of potassium, which helps with hydration.

(Ramadan is celebrated to reflect the time when the prophet Muhammad received the words of the Quran, and he ate dates and drank water to break his fast. Today, the fast is broken each night in this way.)

After this small nourishment, the sunset prayers were done as a group in the main rooms of the mosque. There were so many people there. So many. The men pray on the first floor, in a huge room in which one person at the front with a microphone leads the prayers. The women and children are on the second floor, which overlooks the men's area on the first floor. Both areas are carpeted in a certain pattern that designates individual spots for prayer. Basically, the carpet patterns are shoulder-width apart in even lines that allow enough room for prostration.

The actual prayer is led in Arabic, and consists of a series of motions. Standing with arms against the stomach, bending at the waist, standing again, prostrating, kneeling, prostrating, standing, and repeating this different numbers of times based on the time of day.

After the sunset prayer was the feast. We returned to the dining area where we had eaten the dates, and we were served plates heaped with lamb meat, roasted chicken, rice, different sauces and stews, nan, salad... so delicious. I kept thinking that someone had made all of this food, but hadn't even been able to try it. I was lucky to be busy in an office all day and not thinking about food... but being in a kitchen with all those delicious smells?

After this meal, there was about an hour to kill before the next prayer time, so my friend and I went... to McDonald's for coffee. We knew it was ridiculous, but we had some great conversation, and she explained to me a lot more about what was happening at the mosque.

And finally, back at the mosque, we did more group prayers. My friend had explained that these would be a little different than the normal ones that I had just finally learned. The leader of the prayers would read the Quran in Arabic throughout, and the idea is to read the entire book over the course of the 30 days. This usually goes on for over 3 hours per evening of Ramadan, but we only stayed for the first hour or so. This time, the rooms were even more crowded. We prayed in an overflow room with lots of women and children.

I mentioned the speakers on the walls of the rooms; every room and area in the mosque has these speakers so that everyone can hear not only the calls to prayer, but also be involved in whatever is happening at the mosque at any time. So even in our overflow room, we felt very connected to what was happening in the main area.

The atmosphere the entire evening was mixed. Everyone was hungry and tired. Hungry and tired mothers struggled to control their hungry and tired children, who were constantly shrieking. When the food was being served, some people were rude or demanding. But at the same time, there was an overwhelming attitude of celebration, gratefulness, and that of wanting to help others. Ramadan is a time when every good deed done by a Muslim during that month will be magnified in the afterlife. It's like a race or contest to do the most good things with the best attitude possible in your heart.

I learned a lot about myself through this experience. It also solidified in my mind some of the values that I stand for and why, including modesty. I actually appreciate that men and women are so separate at the mosque. I never once thought about how I looked or appeared. The focus was only on attitude, and that was wonderful.

Ramadan question:

Caitlin, is your observance of one day of Ramadan insulting to Muslims?

No. Everyone I have met welcomes participation and interest in their religion. More importantly, we need to stop viewing Islam as "other." Do we get insulted by those who go to church only on Christmas and Easter? Do we call out as hypocrites those who pray to God only in the hardest times of their lives? What about people who wear crosses or get them tattooed to their bodies because they like how the cross looks or because they see symbolism in the object? See what I mean... we shouldn't judge Muslims and Islam the way we have been taught in our culture.

Muslims, like those of other religions, believe that it is your heart and attitude that matter. I'm not doing this day for "fun" or because it's cool. Like I said in my last post, I want to learn and experience it, and I want to show outward respect for my Muslim friends. To reiterate, have you ever gone to church just because someone you respect invited you? Have you prayed for a loved one because they believed, even if you didn't? To me, the concepts are the same.

Preparing for a day of Ramadan

I’m going to be observing one day of Ramadan with a Muslim friend tomorrow. Ramadan is a month-long period of fasting during daylight hours, and this year it falls during August.

When I went to (a Christian) high school, we often discussed Ramadan, and Islam for that matter. I used to think Ramadan was a sham because you can totally eat and drink before sunrise and after sundown. Cheating. Lame. Foot in mouth.

I should also remind my readers that when I was in high school, Ramadan fell during the winter. Much shorter day!

But it’s still not going to be easy.

Tomorrow I’m going to be waking up at 5:00 a.m. to make and eat breakfast – probably something like oatmeal! Since I’m not a Muslim and don’t know Arabic, I’m not going to actually do the Fajr prayer at 5:15 a.m., but I will at that time meditate on what Islam means.

Then I will go back to sleep.

At 6:38 a.m. is the sunrise prayer.

After this, I will probably go back to sleep until 8:00, even though I usually wake up at 6:15 to go for a walk/run and do things around the apartment before work. But tomorrow, I don’t want to be tempted to eat before work at 9:00.

I’m going to be wearing hijab, or a head covering, as well as fasting. The Ramadan practice is to obviously not eat anything, but also to not drink. Water is acceptable only if absolutely necessary and if done in private.

I let my coworkers know about the hijab, because wouldn’t that be awkward if I hadn’t said a thing? I think they probably wouldn’t recognize me at first, and then I’d have a ton of explaining to do all at once. I really don’t want any attention tomorrow.

I sent a brief email to all 12 or so of my coworkers this afternoon, and everyone has been very supportive – not that I expected any differently. What I’m doing is really not that big of a deal, anyway… but seriously, I had to at least mention that/why I’m going to look different tomorrow.

Anyway, the next prayer time after 6:38 a.m. is 1:38 p.m. Since I’m not taking a lunch break, I’ll take a moment to meditate again and reflect on the day and what Islam means to me.

In the evening, after a nap at home, I’m going with my friend to the mosque – the same one I went to earlier this year. The 8:37 p.m. Maghrib prayer is when the sun goes down, so afterward everyone eats together, and then sticks around for the 10:02 p.m. Isha prayer, the fifth and final one of the day.

Now the big question is: Why am I doing this?

First of all, I was invited to the evening at the mosque, which I immediately accepted. And then I thought it would be hypocritical and rude if I didn’t fast all day. More importantly, I just want to. Islam – cultural Islam in particular – has really played a huge role in my life the past few years. Out of respect for my friends and what they have brought to my life, I am observing one day of Ramadan. I want to dig deeper into who I am, what I stand for, and how Islam has impacted how I view the world. I have a great respect for the religion and my Muslim friends.

The First Time I Wore Hijab

I can tell a good friend by how she suggests we spend time together. I got this text at work yesterday:

“I’m going to a conference tonight at Masjid Noor and was wondering if you’d like to come. There’s going to be some really great speakers. Let me know.”

Movies, a bar, shopping… not so much. A conference? On Islam? Heck yes. Friends for life.

“So I wanted to let you know, in case you were wondering, that you do not need to cover your hair at the Masjid. You can if you’d like, but it’s your decision, and totally ok if you don’t want to : )”

She came over after work and we ate portabella mushroom salad, and then I put on hijab. It was so normal, and that’s what I’m writing about. I put it on and walked out the door. We went to the bank and chatted with a woman at the ATM. I don’t even think she noticed my head covering. So normal. We drove to the mosque. All the women were in hijab, so of course it was normal. We did salat. So normal. We listened to a speaker. We did salat again, because it was that time. Another speaker. And salat. And a speaker. Beautiful.

Have you ever learned so much in one evening, yet you feel like you knew it all along?

Pork

I lived alongside dozens of Muslims for four months. My second day back home, my family had pulled pork for dinner.

I don't think I have ever felt so conflicted and guilty in my life.


*Update* My mom just read this and informed me that it was NOT pork, but rather beef. That does not take away the strange and unnatural concern I now have for foods I used to frequently eat.

**Another Update** My mom would also like me to add, for some reason, that it was City BBQ beef brisket.

The Fight

So my last post was basically to introduce a cultural custom that culminated in a fight in my dorm that my friend Rustam broke up. Here’s the story.

I was coming back from eating dinner with my friend Lily when a huge, bloody brawl broke out at my doorstep. Lily and I climbed the back stairs up to my floor, and at the top of steps were about 30 of the guys from Central Asia. They were blocking the way to get to my room. We had heard them yelling as we came up, but when I saw their faces, I was scared to death. I grabbed Lily and turned the other way, going straight to Rustam’s room for safety. But Rustam’s door was wide open and no one was inside. We went back into the hallway, but in the opposite direction of the fight.

It suddenly got really, really quiet. Then Rustam marched down the hallway into his room. He went to his bathroom and started washing his hands, but not before I saw all the blood going down the drain. There was blood all over his shirt, too. I took Lily’s arm and we tried to go back to my room, but all the guys were still there and wouldn’t let me through. I just starting pushed them aside and went through anyway. At my door, there was blood smeared all over the hallway floor and wall. I felt sick.

Later, Rustam came by and told us the story. A guy from Kazakhstan went to shake hands with a guy from Kyrgyzstan, and he intentionally shook his hand “the wrong way” showing disrespect. They yelled at each other for a few minutes, then all the Kazakh guys came to defend their country, and the all Kyrgyz guys did the same. The Uzbek guys obviously wanted to watch. While they were yelling, Rustam was doing his evening prayers. Needless to say, people started throwing punches, and a bloody nose made everything messy. At this point, Rustam went out to break up the fight. He said two guys were fighting, and the rest were just watching. Disgusting. Rustam also said that when Lily and I came up to the floor, the guys were mortified. And they didn’t want to let us go through when it was over because they didn’t want us to see the blood. While they can be pretty wild and like to fight, they always keep a sense of respect for women. When I see them now, some act ashamed. Rightfully so.

Hello, culture shock.

Christmas, maybe

Chinese students keep asking me how I’m going to celebrate Christmas. I say I’m probably not going to because… how would I celebrate it? Christmas is a family and community holiday, and even if you observe it by yourself, you can’t really call that a ‘celebration.’

When I’m asked about Christmas, the students always get really excited and say we should celebrate together (um… I don’t even know you!). I ask how they would want to celebrate, and they just want to go out to eat at a ‘western’ restaurant, or one that is ridiculously expensive. Celebrating Christmas in China means you’re hip and cool, because westerners celebrate Christmas. I think that’s missing the point.

I asked one of my teachers about why Chinese students want to celebrate Christmas, or pretend that they do. She said because everywhere else in the world, people celebrate Christmas (not true). I asked what they were celebrating, since it’s certainly not Jesus. No response.

Then, the office sent out a decree that each class must put on a Christmas performance for everyone. I don’t think the office realizes that at least 90% of the international students here are Muslims and aren’t excited about celebrating Christmas.

My class put me in charge of our performance. Why does this always happen? So, thanks to my eclectic skills of audio editing, cheerleading, and Chinese karaoke, we are going to be doing a combination song and dance to a famous Chinese song (“Love, Love, Love” by Jolin, anyone?). Please note that this has nothing to do with Christmas. So, we are going to wear Santa hats. Very festive.

I went to a supermarket today to scout out some hats, and it was reiterated that Chinese people really have no clue about Christmas. I found the Santa hats on display with Halloween costumes and Mardi Gras masks. It’s not that China is celebrating these three holidays together, they just don’t know the difference. Also, Christmas in China this year is sponsored by 7Up. (Take THAT, Sprite!)

Islam

My friend from Uzbekistan, Rustam, is teaching me about Islam. I’ve taken two classes on Islam at Muskingum, and I’ve read several books and numerous articles dealing with the religion, but seeing how one Muslim lives his life every day is a whole different matter.

Rustam prays five times every day. He knows the Koran well. He doesn’t drink or smoke. He’s not allowed to hug or kiss a girl. One time Rustam told me, “I am human. Of course I want to do these things. But living my life the way that I know is right is the most important thing.”

I know many other Muslims who are not so strict about their lifestyles. I appreciate learning about Islam from someone who is not only a close friend, but is someone who knows what he believes, why he believes it, and lives accordingly.

We have talked about what Christians think of Islam, and what Muslims think of Christianity. Basically, one simply has to decide which teachings to believe. Both sides think the other started out correct, but then went down the wrong path.

I can’t stop thinking about one thing… Both Christianity and Islam cannot be right. If what I’ve been taught my whole life is true, does God not hear Rustam’s prayers? Why would God listen to me, a horrible person, and not Rustam, who is so pure and sincere in his faith? My heart hurts when I think about this, and I have to believe that God does listen.

My Uzbek Friends

I met my first real friends here while in the kitchen. Rustam and his sister Shokhina are from Uzbekistan and prefer their country’s food to Chinese food. Rustam and I speak Chinese to each other, and Shokhina and I speak English. To each other, Rustam and Shokhina speak Russian or Uzbek. Each of us acts as translators at some point during every conversation. It’s a pretty good system.

The night we met, Shokhina was cooking soup with lamb, carrots, and rice. We talked for a long time since it took a while for it to cook. They invited me to eat with them, so in Rustam’s room we talked for an hour more.

Since then, we often hang out and go places together. I really enjoy being with them even though the cultural differences are significant. Many American girls would be offended by the way Rustam treats me; He doesn’t want me to walk anywhere alone, I’m not allowed to pay for anything when we’re together, and he often suggests things I should or shouldn’t do based on how life in Uzbekistan is. I remind him that things are different in America, that I am very independent, and that I have been living my life my own way for over 20 years. It’s just too hard for him to accept sometimes, and it’s never a big deal to me, so he usually gets his way.

For example, one time our taxi driver wouldn’t accept a large bill from Rustam. I had smaller change and paid before Rustam could object. Later, Rustam insisted on repaying me in 1 and 0.5 denominations. We argued about it for several minutes, and there was nothing I could do but take it. Another time, I hung out with Rustam and Shokhina after I had taken a shower, and my hair was still damp. Rustam handed me a hairdryer and made me blow dry my hair because he thought I would get sick otherwise.

I’m learning so much about Islam, Central Asia, and Uzbek culture from Shokhina and Rustam. I’ve watched Rustam perform his ritual hand and head cleansing, get out his prayer rug, face west, and spend five minutes praying out loud, standing, kneeling, and bowing. I’ve learned how sacred bread is to them. “You can stand on the Koran to reach bread, but you can’t stand on bread to reach the Koran.” Shokhina is getting married soon, so I’ve also learned about their wedding traditions and family life in Uzbekistan.

In addition, Rutam has started teaching me Russian. Last time I was in Lanzhou, I wish I would have taken more advantage of all the things I can learn from my classmates. So, I’m going to first learn to read Russian, and then learn to speak it. I don’t expect to learn very much since Chinese is difficult enough, but I hope to get a good background in the language.

Xinjiang and Current Events

While in China, I traveled to the Xinjiang province. I met several of the Muslim minority of Uighurs*, and even became good friends with a Uighur girl about my age. Moreover, Lanzhou has a high Uighur population, whom I interacted with on a daily basis. During my time in China, I learned about the daily struggles of minorities in China.

A good friend of mine who is Han Chinese surprised me one day. This girl is extremely intelligent, sensitive, and kind. She has lived in America (albeit not-so-diverse Muskingum) and speaks English. We were saying goodbye as I was about to take a train to another province. One of the last things she said to me was, “Watch out for the minority people. They are dangerous.” I kind of laughed and asked why, and her reason was that they are allowed to carry knives on trains (unlike everyone else, I guess). I’m not sure if I believe her excuse, but that is beside the point. I understand her concern for my safety, and, yes, there had been recent riots involving minorities. The problem here, in my opinion, is that the Han Chinese fail to see how they and the Chinese government provoke these riots. The minorities aren’t innately riotous and violent. The monkeys at the zoo aren’t either, until you start throwing your trash at them and banging on the glass.

Minorities in China have no way to peacefully express their opinions. There is no organization, and it’s not because they are incompetent. It’s because the government moved massive amounts of Han Chinese into minority regions. The minorities used to be the majorities in their provinces, but were overtaken by the Han (Voice of America).

The government, without fail, cites its generosity toward minority and autonomous regions whenever problems arise. “We gave you billions of dollars and you should be thankful,” the government storms (Associated Press). It reminds me of parents who try to buy their way into a good relationship with their children. The kids don’t want another video game or more candy; they want love and understanding. So it is with the minority regions in China. They may be thankful for the new infrastructure and bolstered economies, but what they really want is independence. And, my opinion is that the government has poured money into these regions partly because a ton of Han Chinese moved there and insisted on more development.

These problems in China have no obvious solution. I disagree when westerns cry for China to give these regions their independence; it’s more complicated than that. China believes that Xinjiang, Inner Mongolia, and Tibet are and always have been part of China. And the minorities want their freedom and independence. If China lets one area go, the rest will follow. This would create a disaster for China, and an international disaster for the rest of the world to deal with. Probably even more minority deaths would occur. I see China’s side, but I don’t agree with their methods. If the government could be more understanding toward the minorities instead of trying to control them and make them conform, the problems of unrest might diminish. Instead of teaching children to distrust minorities, teach them to get along, share, and play nicely.

Lastly, the western world has been all up-at-arms about Tibet; why are the Uighurs and Xinjiang less important (My Sinchew News)? I know, they are lesser-known and the nature of their culture is different, but I just wanted to throw that out there for some thought.


* “Uighur” is just one of several English spellings for this people group, and is pronounced /wee′ -gher/.

Hami

During our holiday that began last Tuesday, my friends and I traveled to Dunhuang. By Friday, we had seen everything we had wanted to in Dunhuang, so we pulled out a map of China. We decided to travel even further north into Xin Jiang Province to the small city of Hami. We took a bus for six hours from Dunhuang and arrived in Hami at nine in the evening. Because all of China is on Beijing time and Hami is quite west, it was light out until about ten.

When we first got to Hami, my friends and I got a hotel room. We left our backpacks there and went out for dinner. At dinner, we met a young Xin Jiang girl and ended up talking with her until about one in the morning. We walked back to our hotel room to find that they were kicking us out because we're not Chinese!

I was so angry because I didn't think it was fair. We had paid for a room and were given a receipt, and now they were putting us out onto the street at 1:30. I yelled at one of the workers in Chinese. Really. I said that in America, there are tons of Chinese people and they can stay at any hotel they want. I told her that she's a person, I'm a person, everyone is a person; we're all the same. How inhumane of her to put us out onto the street! (Ok, so I don't know the Chinese word for "inhumane," but I think she got the idea.)

To be fair, it wasn't a personal dislike that these people at the hotel had with us- they wanted us to stay but they didn't have the right paperwork, apparently. It was an issue with the Chinese government and the hotel not having the right paperwork to house foreigners, but it makes me wonder what would lead a government to discriminate in this way. And anyway, they let us have a room and we paid for it, so how can they take it away?

So there we were, on the streets of a strange city at two in the morning. We were tired, frustrated, offended, upset, and more. Luckily we found another place to stay, but it cost twice as much.

We slept in the next day and got over our outrage at the previous night. We met up with our Xin Jiang friend and spent the day learning from her about the culture and language of the Xin Jiang people. We also learned a lot about the interactions between the Xin Jiang people and the Han Chinese. She showed us around Hami. We visited several parks, rode some rides, ate Xin Jiang food, and took too many pictures.

Our train left at nine that night, and we had to say goodbye to our friend. It was a strange feeling. I doubt if we'll ever meet again. She was so kind and sweet and beautiful, and we really got to know her throughout the day. Because of her, my memories of Hami will be of the fun times we had that day, and I won't think about what we experienced the night before.

Holy Cookies

I went to a Chinese bakery with two girls from America. We picked out some sandwich cookies and took them back to my room.

The cookies were very dry and crumbled everywhere. At first, we tried to contain the crumbs with our hands, napkins, and the trashcan. We finally gave up and let the crumbs fall everywhere.

Due to an ill-timed series of events, we had to leave my room without thoroughly cleaning up the mess. My roommate likes to keep the room very clean, but I knew she could forgive me this once, especially since I planned to vacuum up the crumbs as soon as possible.

When I got back to the room later, the first thing my roommate asked me was "Is this bread on the floor?" I began to apologize and explain that I was going to vacuum soon, but I saw she already had the vacuum cleaner out. She cut me off again with "Is this bread on the floor?"

This time I tried to explain that it was not exactly bread, but cookies. She didn't want to hear any of it. "Is this bread on the floor?" she asked again.

I gave up and just said that it was bread.

My roommate turned the vacuum cleaner on, and I tried to take it from her and clean it up myself. That's when she turned the vacuum cleaner off and explained to me what was going on.

In her home country of Kazakhstan, bread is considered sacred. My roommate said that from the time she was a child, she learned that bread should never be on the floor. I felt bad simply for leaving the room a mess, but the fact that I defiled her room made me feel terrible. And then she wouldn't let me clean it up so I felt even worse.

Sometimes I drop a few small crumbs of bread on the floor. You know the kind where they're too small to pick up, but you can still see them? Well, I rub them into the carpet so she doesn't know.

Am I a horrible person?

Aidana

My roommate is from Kazakhstan and speaks Kazakh, Russian, English, and is now learning Chinese. Her name is Aidana and she has been at Lanzhou University for about 7 months. She has been so helpful to me by showing me around the campus and city. We went to the supermarket, the bank, and out to lunch together my first day here.

Aidana is a Muslim, and luckily for her, Lanzhou has a large Chinese-Muslim population. The most common meat served in China is pork, but there are many halal restaurants in Lanzhou that serve mutton and beef instead.

Aidana and I get along very well. We are both neat and quiet, and we study a lot, but we also like to go out in Lanzhou and have fun.

English is Aidana's third language, so she learns new words every day and fixes her grammar as we speak. I learn the Chinese words for the English ones I teach her. I forget most of them, but I have started writing them down. Also, since classes have started, I'm picking up Chinese more quickly.