Mom, there’s a dead sheep in the kitchen.

A frozen carcass is lying on the floor, thawing out. Based on size and locations of extra fat, I’m left with no doubt it’s a sheep. So what do I do on the morning I find an entire carcass on the floor of our kitchen? I reach over it to get a mug for my morning tea. And inconspicuously listen for the moment everyone leaves the room so I can take a picture.

Maybe I’m a person who’s hard to get a rise out of. Or maybe I can start counting my losses – mainly, my American eyes. Things that should be absurd are mostly taken in stride. And maybe, just maybe, I can look back at the roller coaster of culture shock and label myself “adjusted”. *Knock on wood.*

With over a year left, there’s no doubt more eccentricities of Kazakhstani culture will make my eyes pop. But I take a certain amount of pride going through a list of cultural norms that just don’t have an affect on me, now that I’ve been in country for just over a year. For example…

- Stores being labeled, for example, “Milk Drinks and Ice Cream” with a smaller sign admitting (all summer long), “We don’t have ice cream.” Just because the words “Ice Cream” are on a large sign prominently displayed on your building doesn’t mean you have to sell it.
- Shopkeepers telling me what I want to buy is crap and that I shouldn’t buy it. Case in point: Me: “I’d like 4 tomatoes.” Shopkeeper: “Our tomatoes are no good.” Me: *confused, stepping closer to the tomatoes, reaching out to touch them* Shopkeeper: “See, awful tomatoes. You should go across the street. They have good tomatoes there.” …I bought tomatoes across the street. They were delicious.
- Needing to leave large purses or bags in a small locker just outside the store. And still having more security personnel than customers in grocery stores. And having to walk through sensors after leaving the store. And having security personnel look at your receipt to check your bag against your purchases.
- Stepping out of that store to find street vendors leaving tables of products out for any ol’ passerby to grab and slide into the bag that had to be in the locker at that fancy store. One of these days, I want to see someone take a pair of socks and glide on down the street. Street vendors should borrow one of those grocery store guys. Or would someone jump from behind some corner and promptly tackle the offender? Oh, I’m curious…
- Walking past people hanging out on the sidewalk with a scale that reads 10 Tenge (or 20 if it’s ritzy), and knowing locals really do pay to step on it. I’ve just got to ask around to find the scale that tells me I’ve lost 5 pounds…
- Waitresses seeming to be completely unaware of your presence, or the notion that you may eventually want to pay your bill. And then when they do bring the check, waitresses hovering as you scrape out your pockets and dig through your purse to find enough money to cover your bill. Complete with glaring and (I swear) the occasional foot-tapping. Don’t worry – they include their tip in the bill.
- You may also find a charge for “music”. Did you like the guy who sang so loudly you had to yell at your companions during your nice meal at that formal restaurant? Not really. Is there any way out of paying for music if you’re there for any amount of his performance? Not a chance.
- Asking the waitress what they have and being told “everything”, only to ask item by item down the menu …and discover they have about half of the items listed. Are they upset about this fact? No. Are they afraid this reflects poorly on them? Not in the least. What do they expect you to do? Precisely what I’ve learned to do – go down your list of preferred dishes until you happen upon something lying about over in the kitchen.
- Public restrooms without toilet paper. Don’t dare think I’ve adjusted to paying for public restrooms. But I do now expect that I need to provide my own tp. So when I go to a beach and find a hole in the ground with four walls around it… and then I spy a roll of tissue nearby, I think it’s a high-class place. True story.

And oh my, does the list go on. May call for future installments. But I’m finding that this life that is lived so differently in some ways is fine living nonetheless.