February 18
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In which things become VERY official.

In the movies, the alien lands his spacecraft and demands, "Take me to your leader."  It would be more true to life if he asked, "Where do I sign?"

We've signed a lot of documents and handed over not an inconsiderable sum of money since we left the United States a month ago.  We don't care, you know, with the baby and all.  But still, it would be nice if we could read what we were signing...

Today was birth certificate day, the day our adoption became official in Kazakhstan.  The moment we'd been waiting a month for took exactly two and one-half minutes to complete. 

Oleg picked us up at 10:15 this morning, drove a few blocks to a non-descript building pictured below, left.  (It was not the courthouse, by the way.  For all we know it could have been a deli.)  There, we were quickly ushered into a back office. 

I signed twice and Robin signed twice.  Then we were handed a birth certificate and certificate of adoption by the nice lady behind the desk.  She said something in Russian (which Inna translated to, "Congratulations!  May your baby be very healthy!")  After that we were hurried back out to Oleg's car.

Oleg congratulated us and then asked us to hand over our newly acquired certificates.  Something about passports and paperwork that had to be filed by noon.  Again, we don't know.  In fact, for all we can make of it, the "birth certificate" could easily be the menu for the deli.  There's a picture below.  Make of it what you will.

As a side note, for all they know, we could have been Garth Brooks and Britney Spears.  Once again, no one checked our passports.  They also didn't ask either of us to sing, so it is possible they had been tipped off as to our true identities.

Back in the car, Inna gave us some more official news:  We're under curfew.

You may recall there were big plans for a tchassliki outing this evening.  All of the American couples, the Peace Corps boys and the interpreters Inna and Sveta were going to go out to the Hunter's Lodge to have enormous skewers of deliciousness.  (We had a night-time babysitter lined up and everything!) 

It seems, however, that word of our 14-person party got back to the adoption coordinators and they were less than keen on the idea.  Not only did they put a kibosh on the outing, but we now aren't allowed to go out after 6 p.m..

Ah, Almaty!  We can't reach your sweet shores soon enough.

Apparently the city workers have not been paid in two months.  We believe this-- the Peace Corps boys told us about the situation in context of the teaching staff some weeks ago.  The problem has escalated according to Dr. Natalia and foreigners are being stopped on the streets and asked for their papers. 

What's more, because we have to register a residence with the office of immigration, the new folks won't be able to move into the cottage from the hotel after Robin and I leave.  There's a crack-down, we're told,'on checking reported addresses.

We haven't really processed how the lack of city workers being paid translates into a crack-down on foreigners, but Inna was pretty plain on the rules.  Ever the resourceful Amerikanyetc, we formed a Plan B.  We'll order one of the so delicious pies for this evening-- chicken and rice in a flaky crust!  To heck with Dr. Atkins!-- and we'll order tchassliki enough for a party tomorrow afternoon.

Adrienne and Jim Connolly were here as we solved the dilemma.  (Because there WAS going to be a shish kebab party, KGB or no KGB!)  They thought a pie sounded good.

"Well, the pie will get here at 6:30 and you absolutely cannot join us, Adrienne and Jim!"

"Absolutely.  And we absolutely wouldn't bring drinks if we were going to join you.  Which we absolutely will not."

Inna sighed.  "Perhaps if you are under my strict supervision, you can be out until 7 p.m.  But I know nothing of this."

Officially, she doesn't.
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Before everyone thinks we've gone all "Michael Jackson at the balcony," please rest assured that Robin is just out of camera shot ready to catch Tripod Boy should he lean too far.