Yes, you read that right, I noshed on these delectable tidbits the other day walking to basketball practice. You would assume that so haughty a gastronomic endeavor as this would be a specialty item at an expensive store in the capitol city center. Nope, the local market in the middle of my village. The same place that really only stocks TP, Mayo, Chocolate, carbonated beverages, and alcohol. The cost was only about 40 cents too, what a bargain!
I didn't really pay attention to the packaging , not that the Russian letters emblazoned in yellow would have really helped me make the split second decision between the nuts or a sack of slightly sweet cookies that have been sitting in an open box for the past.....Who knows how long.
I have been studying the Russian alphabet for the past couple of weeks, so after I inspected the strangely coated yellow gobs in the packet, I figured I would at least give reading the label a try. I thought I understood, and the taste confirmed it, they really were the delicacy they claimed to be. Good thing I like fish eggs.
I spoke in my last entry about the things that I am thankful for, and I take this concept up again for a moment this week. I am thankful for my education...and for my experiences.
They say that education is the progressive discovery of your own ignorance. I wholeheartedly agree, and put forth that life experience is the best form of education. I won't insult the numerous tombs of knowledge that I have perused in my relatively short life, but nothing like experience can really open your mind.
I never had an appreciation for being illiterate until I came here. There were times that had been exposed to foreign language, but normally it was only a fleeting encounter, and had relatively little bearing on my life. Now though, as I go grocery shopping, and search for the necessities of life, I am constantly confronted with strange tongues. Shopping here has a much more international flavor, with products coming from almost every country in Europe. Thus the sugar comes from Germany, the baking powder from Poland, and a lot of other stuff from Russia. There are labels below the products from time to time, but a lot of times they are in Russian.
Not only are the words unrecognizable, but the letters themselves are as well. You can typically decipher something that is written in German, French, Spanish...etc. Russian though is another animal, with random weird (to me) symbols, mixed with familiar symbols that don't mean the same thing as they do in Latin script. One symbol is actually described as a "martian spaceship landing". Thus it is quite a humbling experience to be an educated (moderately) person, and not have a clue what flavor the bag of chips are on the shelf. Pictures don't always describe what is actually in the package.
Equally humbling is having to get a translator when I do computer repairs, because I can't understand Cyrillic error messages. Thus this (socalled) comp whiz can't fix a darn thing without a 12 year old at my side.
Thus, through experience, I have gained a minor glimpse into the life of an illiterate adult. Something I feel I would not have understood without living abroad. I also feel I understand a bit more of how difficult a situation this can be. After a week or so of studying the alphabet, I still make a multitude of errors, and I am moderately bilingual. Imagine how it would be for someone who has never read in their entire life.
Thus thanks again for everyone who has participated in my education. Multumita tie (thanks to you)...parents, grandparents, brothers, family, friends, teachers, coworkers, students, authors, museum curators, musicians, filmmakers, random strangers....and anyone else I may have failed to mention.
Mergeti in paci.
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Hi Ian, I'm Greg Austic's mom, he's a PC volunteer in Belaureshti, Moldova (I'm sure I didn't spell that right). Anyways, keep up the great writing, very thoughtful and insightful.
Your comments about education remind me of a guest at my house who emigrated from Russia where he had been an aeronautical engineer in the air force. He wanted a better life for his daughter. He came not knowing English, and had to take a job delivering papers. No driver's license, of course, so he would wait on the street corner at 3 am for a ride to work. When his ride was late because of car trouble, and a cop drove by and stopped to see why he was standing on the street corner at that time of night, all he could say was that he didn't speak English. I imagine he was shook up momentarily. Anyways, I just wanted to add that you will always have an understanding of what it means to be an immigrant.
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