So much to say, so much to say.

Mom, Gulnara, and I went to Samarkand and Bukhara. Gulnara went as our guest, in return for what we intended to be largely symbolic translation and caretaking duties.

On Thursday afternoon we agreed that Gulnara would call us from work on Friday if she could get her travel papers, and then she would come to our house and we'd leave for Samarkand. Thursday night, Mike called with news. He'd talked to his advisor about the possibility of marrying Gulnara (there were Islamic law issues that are far too tedious to describe here) and the advisor was all in favour. Now Mike wanted to talk to Gulnara herself. He asked if we could have her call him from our house Friday morning. I agreed to do this, and went off to the kitchen to report the news to mom and Kir. Mom did not approve at all. She told me to call Mike back and tell him that he should come over in person. And bring a single red rose. And…at that point I decided she should just talk to Mike herself, so I called him back and handed the phone off to my mother. She gave him strict instructions and a reassuring pep talk, and he agreed that he would come over in the morning.

Friday morning, Gulnara called to say she had her papers and was on her way. I called Mike and he said he'd be right over. He got there about 20 minutes before Gulnara, carrying a rose. He occupied himself by pacing around my apartment and clanking his keys. Eventually Gulnara arrived. She wasn't expecting Mike and she got all blushy when she saw him. We discussed the details of the trip to Bukhara for a while, I shot Mike a significant look, and he told Gulnara he had to talk to her and took her off to the second living room.

Mom, Kir, and I all knew what was going on, of course. We resisted the impulse to follow them and watch - instead we stood around the kitchen pretending to do something useful and wondering how it was going.

"Is it like a trial? The less time the jury spends, the better?"

They came out very quickly, both of them looking odd. We all stood around being awkward for a bit - then Gulnara went to the bathroom and Mom asked Mike what had happened.

"She said she'd tell me when she came back from Bukhara."

Mom and Gulnara and I then left, leaving Kevin and Kir to their own devices.

Out in front of our building, Gulnara flagged down a taxi and negotiated the price for a ride to the Sobir Rahimov metro station, where the taxis leave for Samarkand. She was clearly taking her translation responsibilities seriously. At the metro station, she also found us a taxi to Samarkand, and we agreed to pay 20,000 som to have the taxi to ourselves all the way here.

The ride took two and a half hours, and it was actually nice. Mom enjoyed seeking the Uzbek landscape of farms, desert, and mountains, and Gulnara and I talked the whole way. About Mike, of course. But I love Mike and I once a had little crush on him myself, so I can live with talking about him. In Samarkand, we were met by a relative of Abdullah-aka's - a guy named Otabek, about my age.

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USAID is one of many donors for the project I work for. The views expressed herein are the author’s own views and do not necessarily reflect those of the author’s employer or especially those of the United States Agency for International Development or the United States Government. And I mean it. I probably give the US government heart attacks.