An m&m in hand is worth two in the dukon

“Do you like em-em-dems?” his brother asked at the dinner table one night.

“Huh?” he questioned.

“Em-em-dems, sneakers, mars…tweeks…”

“I’m pretty sure it’s em-and-ems…or at least em-en-ems.”

“In Kyrgyzstan, ‘em-em-dems,’” he laughed at the sound. The volunteer had to laugh too. It brought him back to that little dukon store outside the bus stop in Bishkek, where the owner sold him a candy bar that fell out of its wrapper and hit the floor as he picked it up. She refused to give him another one and so he told her off and blasted the store in front of the other customers. He took it as proof his language was improving. His counterpart’s sister felt bad and bought him a packet of m&ms from a different dukon. He didn’t really like regular m&ms, but it was the principle of the thing. In a few weeks a package would arrive from the states, carrying all kinds of goodies. This volunteer stood by his volunteering principles by not accepting cash, but if you could bribe him with anything it would definitely include Cheez-its, baked goods and candy bars.