Extra "You Call this Pollo"

Every year there YOU is a conference in North America for clubs that have adopted the YOU people in praying.  I was able to attend in 2007.  The hosting club was located near a community of YOU immigrants in Canada.  Someone from the club had told their U friend they wanted to host a party to help other people learn about their culture.  Therefore the last night of the conference ended with a joint party between many of the YOU’s living in the area and people that were dedicated to Praying for them.  The YOU community of course had no idea about the conference, or why even all these people wanted to learn about their culture, or that many of them had spent years lifting up their people group, but had never actually met someone form that group. 

The organizers of the party were struggling with how to explain their whole thing to theirYO U neighbors and therefore asked those of us who spoke YOU or lived in central Asia not to mention it.  I remember one man who had lived in this part of the world for over twenty year, entered the room and kept his coat one.  The observant watcher could tell his hands were balled into fists in his pocket.  He was doing all in his power to restrain the urge to greet men in the customary warm handshake, followed by a respectful placing of the right hand over their heart.  I myself was trying to keep my face neutral and not give away hints that I could over hear and understand much of the conversation around me. 

One of the other girls who had attended the conference came up to me and ask, “How do I start up a conversation with someone.  I am nervous; I don’t know what to say.” 

“Here lets grab our plates and head to the food line, we can ask the person in front of us some questions.”

We followed our noses to the smuggousboard of wonderful smelling Central Asian food.  On quick glance at the table confirmed that all of my favorites where there; rice with mutton and carrots, big plate of chicken, deep fried noodles bread stuffed with mutton and so much more.  I had been in Canada for almost two months and could wait to have some good U food again.  As we stood in line behind a u man I started pointing at a variety of the dishes on the table.  “What is this one called?”  I asked

“That dish is called ‘pollo’” he said proudly

The girl with me and I both took turn repeating the name of the dish.  “Did we say it right?” I asked

“Yes very good.  You are one word closer to speaking YOU” he said jokingly.

The sentence was barely out of his mouth when I hear the familiar sound of “Mehriiiiiiiiiguuuuul” That’s my YOU name ( while actually my YOU name is Mehrigul, but when U women are excited or calling for someone they hold the vowel  sounds a really long time at a high pitch).  I turned, and there, manning the drinks at the end of the table was a familiar face.  I totally forgot my promise to not speak YOU and ran over to embrace her, all the while squealing out the mandatory YOU says that must be said when you meet a friend you haven’t seen in a long time.  When we finally finished our hugging, laughing and catching up exchange I turned back and say the man who had been in front of me in line.  He looked at me quizzically and said “you needed help knowing how to say pollo”.

I wasn’t the only one caught in the lie of trying to hide my knowledge of this people and language.  The guy who had held his balled up fists tightly in his jacket pocket ran into at least four of his former students from when he had taught English here.  Before the night was over, we were both forced up on stage to sing or dance YOU style.