How Emira Became Ema

Since my potato, bread, and cookie intake has shot through the roof in the last month, I decided to join the power gym to which my host brother belongs. So, for the fifth time in two weeks -and much to the alarm of the trainer who presides over the single stuffy room that is the "training hall"and doesn't seem to like to see women exert themselves too much - I have run my 5k and then proceeded to stretch and (feebly) lift weights. 

The demographic among women who attend the power gym seems break down into two pretty stark categories: the bodybuilder types who are intimidating to behold and seriously jacked, and the rail thin pretty girls who seem to have come straight from the salon to their workout. These women look terrific, their hair is styled, their little outfits are cute, they like to get attention from males who are working out, and they seem to never break a sweat. 

Following my run and stretch this morning, a young women in the locker room told me that I was "умна" (clever?) for being able to run so long and so fast. We chatted for while, she introduced herself as "Ema." I finally confessed that I was foreign, and told her as best I could why I am in Simferopol. She then confessed that she is Tatar and her real name is "Emira." But, she explained, people here have a hard time with that name.

I didn't press it any more, but you begin to wonder how many things besides pronunciation "hard time" encompasses. This is the second time in two days that a young woman has divulged her Tatar heritage in my presence by admitting that her modified or adopted name is an attempt to blend in. 

Yesterday, Milara-odzha teasingly called out the young woman who came to read her electric meter. Looking at her squarely, she said, your name is really "Карина"? - I could swear you look like a Tatar. The girl admitted that her given name is actually "Elvira," but it's easier to get around with the other name. She read the meter, and then joined us for coffee and cookies.

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I am boiling eggs and packing my bags for the 25-hour train ride to L'viv during which I plan to hone my basic knitting skills, practice Tatar silently, and finish the Norman Rush novel that I am engrossed in. Return journey will be through Kyiv with a stopover for a couple days, too. Very much looking forward to seeing long unseen friends and family in both places. Crossing my fingers that I don't have to share my train compartment with any thugs.