Postcard from Bishkek

This page was written in 2003 and was one of the most popular pages on the original ianbek.com site … and people still refer to it, even though the site has been down for a long time. One person even claimed that they chose to visit Kyrgyzstan because of it … and I forgive her for not choosing to travel with the Celestial Mountains Tour Company, because … well … she booked a package with an American tour operator who had different partners here …. and, anyway, she used part of her valuable Baggage Allowance to bring tins of luxury cat food for them – which they loved!

One day I was sitting in a cafe and having a conversation with a young Kyrgyz acquaintance, Aybek, who expressed great sympathy for me.

Sympathy? Why sympathy? Because I was single and have no children.

When I was a schoolteacher, if someone had made a similar comment I would have replied that I had “the best of all possible worlds” — I had 800 children but I was able to say “Goodnight” to them at four o’clock every evening and I didn’t have either the hassles nor the expenses involved with bringing up a family.

On this occasion I couldn’t say that. The attitude of the Kyrgyz is quite different and they don’t understand the modern western approach to the family. The family is a vital part of their society. Everything revolves around the family.

I used to think it was all about perpetuating the family name. I once went to a birthday party for a Babushka — the grandmother of my of my young acquaintances. Around the table sat the whole of the extended family in Bishkek … her sons and daughters, son-in-laws and daughters-in-law, grandchildren … and a host of family friends like myself. The conversation got round to family members who had moved away and were now in Russia, Uzbekistan or some other far flung part of the former Soviet Union. One of her sons pointed out that, although there were many grandchildren, only his children would carry the family name — and as they were both sons, only they would be able to perpetuate the family name for future generations.

But, there is more to it than that. There is a great respect amongst the Kyrgyz for the older generation. The Aksakals – “old men with white beards” – hold a special place in Kyrgyz society. By tradition, the youngest son, always lives in parents home looking after them in their old age – and his reward was to inherit the family yurt (the traditional tented home of the nomadic herdsman).

Aybek’s sympathy arose out of concern for me in my old age. I would have no comfort in my old age – no-one to watch over me and care for me. I could end up in an “old people’s home” – which is not necessarily a very attractive prospect even in the West.

I couldn’t help but remember my parents. My mother was one of eight children, and my father one of six. By the time they died they were the only members of their respective families left in their home town. Everyone else had moved away. To America, to New Zealand, to other parts of the UK, … and I moved to Kyrgyzstan! When my father was finally fell ill and was taken to hospital he said to me: “I’m not afraid of dying — but I would have liked to have gone home one more time.” What would happen to me?

I tried to make a joke – I may not have children, but I have my cats. Aybek wouldn’t accept that. The cats won’t look after you, cook your meals, clean the house …

That’s true, but they do provide me with company and much more besides.

When I first came to Bishkek I lived with friends. Life was quite comfortable, but the time came to move on and I moved into my own flat — nothing luxurious, but comfortable. One of my friends gave me a kitten to keep me company. Sinok — it’s Russian for “son”, or “sonny” — was a little bundle of energy. He quickly settled in and made friends with all the neighbours. Then one day came a shock.

I was in my office and there was a knock at the door. It was a little girl, one of our neighbours. What she said surprises me still today, many years later. “They’ve stolen Sinok.” Pardon? What was that? Apparently, two middle aged ladies had been walking along the street and seen him playing in the yard. They called him, and without any fear he went up to them. They picked him up and began to walk off with him. The girl ran after them … “What are you doing?, where are you taking him?”. They said that they thought he was a stray and when she said “No he’s not”, they pushed her to the ground and got into a taxi. She ran to tell me. Of course, it was too late. Even though we later found the taxi and discovered where he had taken the women it didn’t help. We advertised, and got offered all sorts of replacement kittens – but that didn’t help. I wanted Sinok back. I can’t tell you how depressed I felt. Of course, if it had been a child, then “all hell would have been let loose” — but it was just a kitten. So I had to accept it.

What makes it worse was the stories I was told about cats being stolen and then eaten.

After a couple of weeks, it was clear that Sinok wasn’t coming back and another friend appeared one morning with two kittens – one grey and the other a tabby. “Choose which one you want”, he said. “Why must I choose? Can’t I have both?”. It had occurred to me that they could keep each other company, play with each other, and were less likely to wander or be stolen if there was a pair. And so I acquired Zita and Gita.

At the time we thought they were both girls – but it later turned out that Zita was really a tomcat – and now he is confused because some people call him Zita, but others have taken to calling him Vita, or Victor…

For a long time we lived a nice contented life. They come when I whistle and show me great affection. They don’t argue with each other. They don’t mess up the house. They run after me if I leave for a meeting. Some people say they are more like dogs than cats.

Although they are brother and sister, they are totally different. Gita is a huntress. Many is the time I have had to take a dead or dying bird out of her mouth. “Thank you, but you don’t need to bring your trophies home”, I tell her – both in Russian and English. Sorry, but I can’t say it in Kyrgyz. Zita, on the other hand, although he enjoys playing with string or a ball, is as lazy as anything. He has tried to catch his own prey, but it seems to be so much easier to sit and watch until his sister tires with her new toy, and then sneak up and steal it when she abandons it.

If I have any complaint about them it is that they wake me up at five o’clock in the morning, mewing to be let out.

Then something happened. One of my neighbours brought home a “ginger tom” — Reggie. Now, cat society seems to have it’s own set of rules. Tom cats have a habit of wandering. Reggie does his fair bit of wandering — but never very far. Usually he just comes next door, to visit Zita, Gita and me. The fact that he could be guaranteed an extra meal may have been an incentive … but he soon settled in — and although he never became “a member of the family”, he is more than just a visitor.

OK — so that’s three cats.

Night time, there is often a cat’s chorus in the yard outside my flat. Obviously there are other cats in the neighbourhood. Most of them don’t seem to have homes. They are strays. Most of the time they are ravishingly hungry. Of course, they can cry out very loud. Some days I am suiting in my office and I can hear this mewing. I should know better by now and just ignore it … but something inside me won’t let me. I get up to go and investigate.

And that is how I have managed to acquire five strays. Dealing with the first one, “Gray”, was easy. Tatiana, my accountant, fell in love with him and offered him a home – where he soon settled in with the other five, the two dogs, the rat, the fish and the frogs (yes, the frogs).

Next came “Peter” – a Siamese. He was already fully grown and it seems obvious he had been “thrown out” … taken to a strange part of town and dumped. His tail was broken and at another point it was wounded and needed attention.

When he saw a plate of food he stopped being a cat and became a vacuum cleaner. He wolfed everything down as if there was no tomorrow. It seemed that not only it was a long time since he had last eaten, it was as if he didn’t know when he would eat again.

He didn’t seem to believe his luck and for several weeks wouldn’t leave the office – unless it was to follow me upstairs to my flat – where he liked nothing better than to sleep on my bed – or better still under the sheets. He would sneak under the blanket whilst I was fast asleep and I would wake up with a mouthful of fur as he snuggled up into my neck.

He has grown so big and waddles around that I say he isn’t really a cat, he’s more like a sheep. Tatiana says he is more like a horse.

He gets on fairly well with Gita and Zita. At first they weren’t sure what to make of him. But the jealousy died down and the three of them were almost inseparable. Peter, however, is really a solitary cat. He wants to be the only pet and although he is happy to put up with these two he has no time for the later arrivals.

Next to appear was Alicia. Another Siamese. When she first appeared she was totally wild. She didn’t want to be handled and cowered in front of the others, growling in a threatening manner. She soon settled in, however, and then started growing fat. But it wasn’t that she was eating rather well. It appears that she was expecting kittens.

She grew fatter and fatter, then suddenly one day she appeared and was so small it was hard to image it was the same cat. We spent ages looking for the kittens, and although we could sometimes hear them, we never found them. Then one day, when they already quite big, they appeared on the lawn in front of the building. Two of them – one with pure white fur and the other a tabby with four different colours in her marking. They found the plates of food and settled in. We named then Agatha and Christie.

Christie, the white one, proved to be very popular. Lots of people wanted to adopt her – but Agatha was ignored by everyone. I don’t know why, because she seemed to have the better character and was much more playful and affectionate. Anyway, Christie found a home and Agatha is still with us. She is now, probably, too old to find a new owner … so that makes five cats – six if you count Reggie.

Marquise appeared next – a small black stray with a white streak down his back. Another vacuum cleaner when it comes to food. His problem, however, is that although he likes human company, he is scared of the other cats and sits angrily growling at the others. When he first started visiting, he would announce his arrival with loud meows and would wander from room to room looking for plates of food, only to crouch and growl if one of the others would appear. Now, he has learned to sneak in unannounced in hope of avoiding the others and only makes a noise when he sure the coast is clear.

Alicia has now produced her second litter. She obviously became pregnant straight after dropping the first litter — and, incidentally, has done so once again after dropping her second – so I am expecting some others kittens in another couple of months time.

It was just like last time. One evening she was as a big cat, but in the morning she appeared just a slip of her former self. Once again we searched in vain for the kittens. This time, however, she only waited a week before she brought them “home”. One Saturday I came into the office and heard some mewing. At first I thought it was Agatha, but when I listened closely I could distinguish two different voices. Then she wandered in with a little ball of fluff in he teeth, glanced up at me and, apart from that, paying me absolutely no attention, marched past and put the new arrival in a corner. “So, there are three kittens this time”, I thought to myself – but later I discovered a fourth – all with totally different markings and characters. This time there were three male kittens and it was easier finding them a home. I am having trouble finding a suitable home for the girl (I haven’t named them yet … it seems to make parting with them that much more difficult), but the tom cats are all suitably placed.

Alicia isn’t quite sure of what to think about the disappearing kittens. She spends time mewing, calling, and when they don’t respond she wanders around the place, searching high and low. She has taken to lying across the doorway as if to inspect each person as they leave to see if they are taking her children away.

So, at one time I was feeding eleven cats – plus the odd one which might treat us like a restaurant and wander in for a snack. I was told that I could “get rid” of them fairly easily – just put them in a sack and drop them in the Be-Che-Ke – the Bolshoi Chui Canal, but I couldn’t do that.

Unfortunately, they didn’t come alone. They brought little friends with them – fleas. One Friday afternoon we had a great time locking them in the bathroom, one by one – kittens and all – and shampooing them with special shampoo, and then fumigating the place. I had to sit for several hours out in the sun while they dried out and the chemicals did their work in the office. There I was sitting on a bench in the yard, with the kittens in a bucket and cats sitting in a circle around me – watching me with betrayed looks on their faces. More than one person walking along the street did a double take when they saw us.

A few days ago another cat appeared, mewing loudly. This one is about two or three months old, an interesting fawn colour, and obviously used to human company. She’s not scared of us humans – but doesn’t know what to make of the other cats. Perhaps she will stay – perhaps not.

So, 2003 has not exactly been the “year of the tourist” as far as we are concerned, and to the Chinese it may be the “year of the Ram” – but for me, I suppose it is turning out to be “the year of the Cats”.

For the record: Gita disappeared one day, never to return, but Zita is still with me, although now we all call him Victor. The others have all been found homes so Victor (Zita) now rules the roost as king of the office. He is very placid and gained quite a fan club. Visitors often ask after him and it sometimes seems that they come to see him, not me, as they make such a fuss over him.

He doesn’t get lonely because a couple of other strays have appeared on the scene … or, at least, appear twice a day, (morning and evening), to be fed. A typical case of “Cupboard Love”.

Tags: Cats, Cultural_Differences, Expat, Family, Life_in_Kyrgyzstan, Me, Reminiscences