In fact one senses an overall selfless attitude that strengthens people's relationships and makes families especially close.
Being part of my wife's Uzbek family, I was automatically included in this sincere familial connection. This too was a valuable reminder of my Iraqi roots and how I was never able to adopt the "all occasion greeting card" culture that somehow is meant to relieve responsibility and clear the conscience.
On the other hand, I now value the freedom of not being unconditionally obligated to every single member of the family.
You know you’re not in Europe when a bazaar shopkeeper asks you where your ancestors come from! Uzbek markets often have a colourful mixture of characters with various origins and backgrounds.
To my surprise, one late afternoon before the bazaar’s closing time, an older lady who was trying to sell strawberries in plastic buckets suddenly started talking to me in broken English. “Good morning – two thousand, good evening – one thousand,”- she exclaimed. She was obviously referring to a half price sale on her strawberries. She won my custom while explaining that she used to be an English teacher before her market days. Her husband who stood behind helping her with the change certainly looked proud of his wife, his own multi-lingual saleswoman.
While in Bukhara spice market, my wife and I came across another colourful character, an old gentleman who was more interested in our background than shifting his spices. He turned our transaction in cumin into a deep historical conversation. Once he learned that my translating companion was in fact my wife, he leaped forward, slapped me on the back and shouted “Molodets, Arab!” (Well done, Arab). He hugged me and looked around at his co-traders with pride. Upon learning that between me and my wife we have three teenage sons, his eyes started filling up. He turned away, waved his hand for us to leave him so we wouldn’t witness his tears.
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