“nada”, she says as I attempt to fasten my seatbelt. We had gotten up at about 6 o’clock in the morning to drive to the hospital were Paul was. I sat next to her in the car and did the same thing I did yesterday. She didn’t like me to fasten my seatbelt, it means that misery will come over the passengers of a car. I did it anyway and she accepted quietly.
I mean. Why not drive without a front window then or maybe just three wheels.
We arrive at the hospital in time. The ride was in no way less adventurous than the day before. Overtaking in curves where no one could possibly see if a car would hit us frontal any second. Because the steering wheel is on the other side in Kyrgyzstan very often (and in this case was as well), she asked me if it was free to overtake or not. I always answered “niet” (no), being carefull not to say nada ( nothing) which would have made her hit the gas and overtake without second thought our own view on the road.
People here are not afraid to die. They live a life on the edge and through this somehow seem to be able to enjoy the moment more than the thought of a long life.
And I am surprised how good they live like this.
They park their car in front of a tunnel on the road, nothing happens when another car comes speeding out of the tunnel over our parking space, the children playing there know the situation. Everyone does, and so it no wonder they are so alert to this kind of situations that compared to a completely organized traffic like in Germany the number of crashes and accidents are relatively low. Let’s say. In Germany you enter a car and expect to arrive safely. Here you enter the car and you do not expect to arrive at all, that makes you extra careful and happy if you do arrive anyway.
Yesterday I called with my mother. I noticed how much I miss my family, my sister, my father and my mother and when I think about them I once more ask myself: I do understand how people here can live so close to death, but how can they let their family live the same way, how can a mother let her 2 year old child playing alone at the side of the highway on a parking lot while she is on the toilet.
Paul is still sick. Before I am allowed to take him with me the doctor shows me how to inject the medicine and we have to pay the fee. I say to the doctor that we have a insurance and that we need a check. The doctor answers ” niet”, closes the door and slides his fingers against each other, the sign to pay directly.
“Skolko”, I ask him. He acts a little pissed and says: 500 Som.
Shocked by the little amount of about 10 dollars I get my purse out and search for the requested amount.
“I only have 250 with me” I say and the doctor agrees and takes the money by shaking my hand.
“That was cheap, a night in hospital, medication and treatment for 5 dollar” Paul says to me.
At that moment the nurse entered the room, opens her hand and says:” prostite”,which means “pay”. Again we pay about 200 Som, the word spreads and our wallet empties. In the end we paid something like 20 dollar to the hospital-stuff. I can easyly forget about a check for my insurance by looking at that (compared to European fees) hilarious amount of money.
The friendly lady from the streetcafe brought us back to their place where Paul could relax the rest of the day. We also planned a little how we could manage with the few days that remained in our visas in Kazachstan.
This morning we stop up early. Paul still had a little fever but we decided to hitchhike to Osh anyway. We have to be in china by 12.6. If not, our visa will be invalid.
And we were lucky. A trucker with his cute little daughter took us half the way, to Jalal Abad. He drove very save and careful and although he didn’t talk a lot it was a interesting ride. Seeing the street from our companions view was very impressive. I still had a little bad feelings about the decision to hitchhike, but now, 150 km later I feel the advantage. Paul is getting better and the time we were chasing is now easy to be caught.
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