One morning as I went off to work, my neighbour Nargiza called on me. Aron! I was a little late as usual, but I always had time for a little chat with my neighbours:
– Aron, can you slaughter a chicken? By 11 o’clock?
She must be kidding: Nargiza, I’m from Sweden, you know that. People like me have no idea how to slaughter a chicken, let alone within two hours. Besides, as you know I’m off to work, I tried to explain.
– But we have a funeral and the guests are coming.. she tried
– Terribly sorry Nargiza, I’m afraid I can’t help you.
– Will you then come to the funeral at least?
– Sorry, duty is calling me…
After seven months in Gori, the sleepy town in the rural Georgia, this was a perfectly normal morning conversation. Sure, I was a little surprised that she had approached me with this request, I figured she would’ve known that slaughtering a chicken is not part of my skill-repertoir.
Coming home after work, we met again on the yard. Come, come! You have to visit my relatives! So I follow her to her appartment only to find the dead grandfather lying in his coffin in the middle of the living room – an open coffin of course – and a couple of relatives quietly sitting around. Well, again very strange experience for me, but a perfectly normal situation in my context.
Those were the Gori days. Yes, miss Gori sometimes..!