Katie declares they’re hell on earth. Laura hates them. Courtnee wants to slam the piroshki lady’s head in the car door. I, however, have to give them another chance after yesterday’s experience.
We had pulled into the Serdar taxi station to find a ride to Balkanabat. Three white girls with three suitcases makes a sweet target. We hear shouts of various cities and calls for attention, but we ignore all voices besides our own for a few minutes.
Katie speaks the best Turkmen, so she begins the bargaining. The price is high as always, and they all snicker and elbow each other when we ask if the car has seatbelts. (Aren’t they the same people who weekly mourn friends and relatives who’ve died in accidents?) The price finally lowered, we put our bags in the trunk and begin the waiting period—there’s a 4th seat in the car and I’m not buying it out.
The snack sellers come over, and I automatically say “no” and hope they go away. These people generally follow refusals by repeatedly demanding, mocking us and our language attempts, and, at the least, following and staring. Katie has other plans. “What are you selling?” she asks the second boy who is following us, staring, but without wares to sell. He looks embarrassed and shakes his head and clicked 'no'. She teases him a little, and I feel a bit embarrassed at the exchange. This interchange, however, leads to a game of soccer played with a tiny inflated pink soccer ball. They kick it around for a while—2 boys and Katie—before she gets tired. Vocally tag-teamed, I jump in. In front of a bunch of onlookers—not even regular onlookers, but the obnoxious taxi-stand men—I claim my place in the sports world. It’s a pure Peace Corps experience. The boys are young and wear old clothes, the ball is not great, the sun is hot, and everyone’s watching the white girl. But today in this game they watch in kind amusement—not in lust or hatred, but in camaraderie.
Our 4th rider arrives, and we say goodbye 12 times to our new friends. I reach a hand out of the window to wave one last time when one of them grabs my hand and holds on, running beside the car as we pull out. I’m a local celebrity after a mere 20 minutes of positive communication. Hopefully three boys I just met will have a bit more respect for women, a little more patience with foreigners, a shred more respect for adults, and a great story to tell their families when they get home.
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